The Sybil's Oracle: Book Three

Chapter 7

By Pigwidgeon37

Sirius Black leaned back in his chair, yawned and closed his eyes. “I’ve been here for three days, and I still feel I don't know enough about that Crouch guy. I mean—” he yawned again “—I remember him from school, of course I do. But the memory is so… lifeless, you know what I mean?”

Owen undid the top buttons of his robe and shirt. “Too damn hot,” he muttered, and took the robes off altogether. The others followed suit. “Lifeless, you said? Well, that means you’ve got the picture. Barty was an un-person. Practically a compendium of rules walking on two legs, running on fanaticism. Remember that, and you’re going to do a great job.”

“Besides,” Lucius interjected, “he and Voldemort only saw each other once or twice during the last year. Those weren’t long meetings, either. Barty was first in Azkaban, and then under his father’s Imperius Curse. For years! So I’d say you’re almost free to improvise, provided you stick to the basics.”

“But…” Black turned to Severus. “But wouldn’t Barty have told him things? Things you don't know?”

Severus, who had been physically present throughout their afternoon session but not really participating much, stopped fingering his locket. “Do you think you could get it through your thick skull that Voldemort isn't an Agony Aunt? He almost never talked to anybody in private—” To you, he did, said the small voice in his head, to you, he did. And you still miss it, don't you? He sighed. “Or at least,” he continued, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, “he certainly didn’t do so with Barty.”

Lucius nodded. “Certainly not. You see, Barty never used to be one of his favourites. They are blood relatives, that’s why Barty got such a high position in the first place. But then, he bungled mission after mission, and finally fell out of Voldemort's graces, to be replaced by Owen.” He reached for his glass—they had all opted for lemonade today, as it was stifling hot, with an overcast sky that threatened thunderstorms—and summoned another chair, on which he propped up his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “What you should really be concerned about is Pettigrew.”

The expression darkening Black’s face was one of intense hatred. “Yes,” he said, his voice raucous. “That, and what Voldemort might order me to do. I’m not sure…” He raked a hand through his hair.

Shrugging, Owen refilled his glass and observed, “It’s not that difficult. You have to get into the right state of mind, that's all.”

“I wasn’t aware,” Black snarled, with considerable venom, “that there was a right state of mind for killing.”

“You are not a saint, Black, whether or not you’d love to believe you are. If what I heard is correct, you would have killed Pettigrew, a year ago.”

Black’s eyes narrowed. “He was a traitor, and a villain. He caused the death of my best friend—why wouldn't I kill him?”

“A traitor, you say? Ah, but Black, what will you be once you have taken the Polyjuice and present yourself to Voldemort as Barty?”

“You can’t compare me to Pettigrew!”

Seeing the unhealthy red tingeing Black’s face and throat, Severus cautiously curled his fingers around his wand. “Interesting,” he said calmly, “And why not?”

“Because I’m doing this for a good cause—”

“Pettigrew certainly thought his own dreams of power and glory to be a sufficiently good cause for betraying his friends,” Lucius interrupted. “Speaking of traitors, what exactly do you think we are?” His thin smile was not really calling for blatant honesty.

“I have no idea,” Black said gruffly. “I have been wondering what game you might be playing. It’s not as if you were open books, you know?”

Owen chuckled. “I hope not. If that were the case, we’d last exactly ten seconds in Voldemort's presence.”

On Black’s forehead and upper lip, minuscule drops of sweat were forming, and he wiped them off with the back of his hand before taking a large swig of lemonade. “At least, I’d like to know more about your intentions regarding Hermione.”

Maybe, Severus thought, it was wiser to let Lucius or Owen answer that question. Today’s absentmindedness was mostly due to the veritable flood of conflicting thoughts and emotions concerning Nimue. And particularly his intentions concerning her, although Black certainly had in mind a very different meaning of that term. He had hardly slept last night, and, during the short intervals when slumber had finally got hold of him, disturbing dreams had immediately set in, strange images where Nimue morphed into Voldemort, holding him and whispering words of comfort. The mention of Voldemort having private talks with his followers had hit a sore spot. Severus knew—although most of the time he tried to deny it even to himself—that he craved the kind of acceptance he had believed the Dark Lord was offering him. Later, when he had recognized that this was merely one of many subtle methods his then-Master employed to bind people to him, he had suppressed this craving with all his might. Only to finally project it into the shadowy idea of a woman. Now he knew her identity, and it was hard enough for him to come to terms with his own tangled feelings. Yelena’s revelation, which had come down on him the other morning like a load of bricks, had given him enough to grapple with. Nimue’s future, as far as it involved Voldemort, had faded to almost nothing, compared to his own emotional upheaval. Black’s question, however, had reminded him that it was far from inconsequential, especially as that future—whatever it might develop into—was probably going to be heavily influenced by the Dark Lord.

It was Lucius, in fact, who answered Black’s query. “As of yet, we haven’t decided anything. Her adoptive family is officially dead and thus safe. And we agreed that it might be preferable not to mention her until Voldemort himself remembers her existence. Fortunately, she’s still too young to be of any use to him. He doesn’t recruit underage wizards.”

“Too young?” Black gave a derisive snort. “Even if Voldemort never learns about the time turner, he’ll be able to calculate that she’s going to turn fifteen in little more than two months. I suppose that he’s cautious enough to respect this kind of magical thresholds, especially when he doesn’t lose more than two months by doing so. I have to admit that my knowledge of Dark Magic is quite limited, but even I know that a virgin’s blood is a powerful and precious ingredient.”

“And history repeats itself,” Lucius muttered. “Loath as I am to admit it, you’re right. We had not thought of that possibility.”

“And Lucius is an honourable man…” Black commented, evidently surprised at Severus’s low chuckle. “Anyway, now you’re aware of the problem. What are you going to do about it?”

Owen sighed. “Given our experience with Voldemort’s wrath whenever he doesn’t get what he wants… Especially if it’s blood of any kind…” He smoothed his moustache and fanned himself with his other hand. “Never mind,” he said to Black, who was looking puzzled, “It’s kind of a private joke.”

“Although I wouldn’t call it a joke—” Lucius’s tone had become quite sharp “—we certainly have our experiences. In that, I agree. Supposing Voldemort has not renounced his plans for achieving immortality—”

“I think that’s a given,” Severus interjected.

“Indeed. Whatever his other plans might be, I suppose we can be pretty sure that immortality is still his ultimate goal. In order to gather sufficient strength to perform it, a bit of virgin’s blood might come in quite useful. Especially if the virgin in question is a powerful little witch like Nimue.” He looked at the others. “We might indeed have to recur to… methods past.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Black asked suspiciously.

“Deflower her, you moron,” was Owen’s blunt answer.

For a few seconds, Black said nothing and just sat there, slack-jawed and very obviously shocked. “You… You…” he stammered, and glanced from one to the other. “You can’t just… I mean, who or what gives you the right to make such a decision? Hermione is a child! She’ll be traumatized forever—”

“Would you like me to give you a detailed description of the Virgo Incubus ritual?” Lucius sneered, “Then maybe you’ll realize that ‘trauma’ only very scantily covers what would happen to her, were she to be subjected to that procedure. Voldemort himself would have to perform it, for one, and it involves, among many other interesting items, the use of an incandescent iron needle, so as to burn certain runes into—”

“Enough!” Black had turned slightly green. “I really don’t need to hear more of that sick stuff. You are—” he briefly covered his eyes with his hands “—you must be total perverts, Malfoy. Who else would care to even know about such a thing?”

Severus shook his head in disbelief. “Apart from the fact that not all Dark Magic is disgusting, even you should be able to realize that, if we didn’t know what exactly the ritual involves, you would have left the decision to the girl. Three guesses what she would have chosen—or did you harbour the secret wish that you might do the honours?”

“You filthy bastard!” Black roared and jumped up from his chair, ready to strangle the other wizard. Owen, sitting closest to him, was quicker though. Whatever his methods of increasing his muscular strength—Severus had long ago decided not to give the matter too much thought—it was considerable, and Black was yanked back into his chair where he landed with a yelp.

“Calm down, Black,” Owen said and grinned at him. “No need to go into overdrive. Especially since this is a matter Nimue should decide for herself. Let her choose, if you really respect her dignity so much.”

Rubbing his right arm, Black shot him an evil look. “Dignity,” he spat, “doesn’t have anything to do with this… this squalid business. I remember how you—” he pointed an accusing finger at Owen and Lucius “—used to treat the girls at school. Not even the second-years were safe!”

“You should be the last to cast aspersions,” Lucius said, “After all, you didn’t target only the female students. Or are you complaining because we didn’t leave enough virgins for you to initiate to the dubious pleasures you might have given them?”

Owen’s hand was hovering near Black’s right arm, ready to grip—and probably break this time, Severus thought—and so he remained seated, breathing heavily. “I swear,” he finally croaked, “I swear by all the deities and powers that I’ll kill you once all this is over.”

“Excellent,” Lucius said and poured himself another glass of lemonade, “Because that is exactly what some of us were planning to do. For now, however, we ought to decide who is going to break the happy news to Nimue. All of us together might be a trifle overwhelming.” He cast a look at the others, eyebrows raised. “Well?”

Severus, who during the last part of this discussion had felt as if he were drifting through a very strange dream, cleared his throat. “I think,” he said, “we might leave that until we know for sure that Voldemort is interested in her. What would be the use of upsetting her, if there’s nothing to worry about?”

“You’re merely afraid you might be the one who has to talk to her,” Owen said. “Besides, I was going to suggest that you do it. After all, you have fifteen years’ experience with teenagers, including female ones.”

All too conscious of the absurdity of such a situation, should it really come to that, Severus replied, “I would certainly do it if you wanted me to. But I repeat: let us not rush things. We have identified a potential problem, and we have time enough to deal with it once it actually arises. And now, I propose that we return to the far more pressing matter of Barty Crouch.”

~~~~*~~~~

Black left Malfoy Manor two days later, with the promise—or, as Lucius put it, the threat—to come back in about a week, when the Polyjuice Potion was ready. He had agreed to take the first dose then and there, for a last rehearsal before Barty Crouch returned to his Master.

It was that return that gave them all a headache, because it was impossible to be sure whether Barty’s Dark Mark—even if the potion reproduced it as faithfully as every other physical trait—was going to work the way it should. After two hours of debate, as useless as it was unnerving, they decided that, if it did not, one of the Phoenixes would have to cast an Invisibility Spell on himself and transport Black to the Riddle house. Although far from being flawless, this was the only method of ensuring his safety. Once there, it was highly unlikely that Voldemort would send him on errands very often—Pettigrew was the errand boy, after all, and Barty, if anybody recognized him, would be captured immediately and turned over to the Dementors. Moreover, Voldemort did not seem to plan on moving away from the Riddle house anytime soon. If Black really had to leave the premises, he could easily Apparate back without the help of the Dark Mark. He would be in need of guidance only the first time.

After the Animagus was gone, normality slowly returned to the Malfoy household. Or rather, it seemed to return. Severus, completely worn out by five days of fiercely-kept self-control, so as to avoid clashing with Black, and by dream-infested nights that left him exhausted and with heavy, itching eyelids, was maybe more aware of all the undercurrents; subtle and almost non-existent, they allowed people to hold on to the illusion of everything being as it should, a temptation made all the more alluring by the very real difference between having to cohabitate with a boisterous Gryffindor and being, once again, en famille. More or less at least.

Severus, however, was sure that everybody felt it. For almost a week, there had been no summons from Voldemort, and the longer the Dark Lord remained silent, the more insecure he and Lucius were growing. Far from being omnipresent—they had returned to the teaching schedule established at the beginning of the holidays, and those lessons provided some degree of distraction even for the grown-ups—the tension manifested itself every now and then, when Severus’s patience with his disciples came to a sudden end, or when Lucius’s movements assumed a certain edginess instead of their customary smooth elegance.

But Severus also had to deal with his own issues, which where far from being resolved. In unspoken agreement, he and Narcissa tried to behave as naturally as possible, but the friendly ease which had always characterized their relations had ceded its place to a forced politeness. Only now did Severus recognize how much his well-being at Malfoy Manor had always depended on the affection they had for each other. In its absence, life at the Malfoys’ home had lost much of its former appeal. Lucius obviously sensed that something was amiss but limited himself to the occasional raised eyebrow. And although there had not been any open conflict between Yelena and him, Severus felt uneasy in her presence, too.

Nimue had made two more attempts at gaining admission to his chambers, but he had locked and warded his door, thus denying her entrance. If she was hurt by his behaviour, she was quite good at not showing it. Not that she would have had many opportunities, for he studiously avoided being alone with her and scarcely spoke to her at all, except during the lessons and when they were working on the defence against Dementors. The only truly positive aspect of those days of fallacious harmony was that Nimue seemed to get on a lot better with Draco. This, Severus assumed, was largely due to Selene, in whose presence Draco always tried to be on his best behaviour. More than the two teenagers, the toddler seemed to feel the somewhat crooked atmosphere and spent much of her time with her brother and Nimue.

There had been a single exception to Severus’s careful dodging of possible encounters with the girl: on the morning of the day of Black’s departure, he had ordered rather than asked her to accompany him to the workroom, where the Polyjuice Potion was still simmering.

“I have been experimenting with a new formula for a light healing potion,” he explained as they strode down the corridor. “And I would like you to sample it.”

“Why me?” she asked sulkily.

“Are you afraid I might poison you?”

“No, I simply wanted to know why I have to play lab rat.”

“Because the potion is meant for Selene. The usual stuff you can buy at the apothecary’s is much too strong for children, and it doesn’t work to full effect if diluted.” This was true, but he already had brewed and tested such a potion, which was sitting, ready and bottled, in one of the cupboards. Maybe giving it to Narcissa might serve as a first step towards re-establishing peace.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand—”

“Nimue,” he interrupted her, rolling his eyes. “Try to use those brains. You are currently the smallest and lightest individual I can get hold of, and therefore the most handy object to test the potion on.”

“Oh!” was all she said.

Once they had reached the workroom, he picked up a small but sharp knife, not unlike a scalpel. “This is the part that requires your Gryffindor courage,” he said with a smirk, handing her the instrument. She shot him an offended look. “Make a tiny cut, into a fingertip or the back of your hand. Be sure to draw blood, though.” She silently did as he had told her. A minuscule red droplet welled up on the back of her left hand. Nodding in satisfaction, he handed her the vial containing the Falsitaserum. “Now drink this.”

The incredulous expression on her face that followed the grimace of disgust when she swallowed the concoction almost made him laugh. “Nothing… nothing happened!”

“Strange…” he muttered, frowning at the empty vessel. “I could have sworn… Well, it seems that I’ll have to re-examine the formula.” He whipped out his wand and pronounced a healing spell. “Thank you, anyway. If we were at Hogwarts, I would award half a point to Gryffindor.”

“I wasn’t aware that avarice, too, was among your many vices,” she spat, and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

~~~~*~~~~

That particularly sultry day in the middle of Black’s sojourn at Malfoy Manor had brought a night and a day of violent thunderstorms and, in their wake, forty-eight hours of uninterrupted rain. But today, they had all awoken to a tepid summer morning, and through the wide-open windows and French doors entered a gentle, velvety breeze smelling of moist earth and ripe fruit.

For some unknown reason, everybody seemed to have got up at approximately the same time, and so this was the first day that found all four Malfoys, Severus and Nimue together at breakfast. Even Draco, who had been sullen and morose during the last two days—he was very much an outdoor person and loathed having to stay inside the house all day long—seemed to have got back his good humour.

Albeit in a bright and shiny mood, Draco knew better than to ask favours of his father before Lucius had had his second cup of coffee. Severus observed the boy, whose gaze seemed nailed to Lucius’s hands. “Father,” he said, as soon as Lucius had put down his cup, “do you think we might skip this morning’s lessons? We’ve been confined to the house for three days…” He sent Lucius his most winning smile and even tried to make puppy eyes. Severus felt quite exhilarated at the sight.

“A little Seeker practice would be advisable,” Lucius said. “And considering that nobody else in this house is able to properly survey you…”

For the first time since their last conversation had ended so unpleasantly, Severus exchanged a glance of conspiratorial mirth with Narcissa. They both found this behaviour, so typical of Lucius, extremely funny. He would have bitten off his tongue rather than to admit that he was itching to get on a broomstick and do a few Wronski Feints himself. ‘Like his father,’ Yelena mouthed to Severus, who nodded and smiled. It seemed that the ice was finally broken.

As the morning was really too beautiful to be spent indoors, the whole party set out into the grounds after breakfast. Lucius and Draco immediately released the Snitch and soared off, and Nimue offered to supervise Selene, who, eyes brimming with tears because her father had refused to take her with him, at least wanted to ride her own toy broom. It did not rise higher than maybe three or four feet, nor did it go very fast, but Nimue stayed close to her all the same, wand in hand and ready to perform a cushioning or levitating charm in case the little girl fell off.

Narcissa, Yelena and Severus stayed in the shadow of a group of ancient oak trees, comfortably ensconced in deck chairs and reading. Maybe fifteen minutes passed in silence, then Narcissa closed her book with a sharp snap. “It seems that you are making considerable progress with the Dementor project?” she half-asked, half-stated.

“Indeed.” Severus put his still-open volume into his lap and, with more care than was actually necessary, inserted a bookmark into the cleft between the pages. “We had to do a lot of research concerning the Pensieve—fortunately they teach Ancient Runes nowadays at Hogwarts.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Yelena was watching them over the rim of her book.

“Lucius told me that the basic idea was Nimue’s?”

“Yes,” he agreed, not quite pleased at the turn this conversation was taking, although he had foreseen it. “It was her idea, but Draco had his part in it as well. He is, as I have often told you and Lucius, a very talented, not to mention intelligent, wizard.”

“He would have had a hard time if he weren’t.” Narcissa reached down to put the book on the grass next to her chair. “I do hope that Selene, too, will grow into a talented witch. She hasn’t shown any signs of magic yet.”

“Neither did Draco, at that age. Phenomena such as Nimue’s early display of accidental magic are quite rare, or so I have been told.”

“Ah,” Yelena chimed in, unable to stay out of the conversation any longer but still hidden behind her book, “so you do remember that?”

He sighed. “It would be hard to forget that particular evening. Aside from boasting about his daughter’s precocious magical abilities, St. John also demanded that she be engaged to Draco, unless memory fails me. And the consequences were rather… unpleasant.”

Narcissa briefly closed her eyes. “You never told me to which extent Lucius was maimed that night by Voldemort.”

“I thought it unnecessary. Besides, the scars he still has say a lot about the state he was in.”

“I think,” Yelena said after a while, though without raising her eyes from the page, “that, had Lucius known how she was going to turn out, he wouldn’t have been against such a betrothal.”

“Don’t forget that she was not raised by St. John and Tabitha. I suppose the result would have been different, and not in a pleasant way.”

“So,” Narcissa said, reopening her eyes and smiling at him, “you think that she turned out rather well?”

“What a very complicated and underhanded way of making me admit that, yes, her adoptive parents did a good job.”

Yelena finally stopped pretending she was reading and put down her book. Severus mentally braced himself for a cross-examination. “Do you like her, Severus?”

“Like her… I know exactly what you two are aiming at,” he said, frowning at each of them in turn. “However, what difference would it make if I liked her? There’s a long way from liking to…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’d rather say that I don’t dislike her, although that’s what she probably thinks. But, regardless of the way I actually treat my students, I do not even allow myself to like or dislike them. Some need more disciplining and some less. That's about it.”

“Are you saying she needs more?” Narcissa sounded faintly amused.

“Of course,” he said defensively. “I’ll grant you that, apart from Draco, she’s one of the most intelligent students at Hogwarts. Creative intelligence, mind you, not that kind of single-minded, unimaginative intelligence many Ravenclaws possess. I mean, she was the only one who worked out that Lupin is a werewolf. And that logical puzzle I created to protect the stone was meant to befuddle a fully trained wizard, not to be solved by a first-year. Not to forget that she logically concluded Rita Skeeter was an Animagus.” The two women chuckled, and he threw up his hands in exasperation. “What?”

“Well,” Narcissa said, “we were talking about Nimue needing to be disciplined. And you start singing her praise—if that is not slightly funny…”

“I had not finished yet. What I meant to say was that, yes, she is bright and willing to learn and all that. But in a classroom, together with others who are less gifted than she, the girl is a nightmare. And therefore,” he finished, underlining his words with a flourish of his hand, “very much in need of a damper every now and then.”

“And all the same,” Yelena observed, shooting him a shrewd look, “she seems to be more at her ease with you than with Lucius or Owen.”

“If that was meant to be a compliment,” he retorted, “I beg you never to offend me deliberately. Of course she is more at ease with me! First of all—” he grabbed his outstretched left forefinger with his right hand “—she has known me for four years. I’m certainly not her favourite person, but at least she can be sure of my reactions. Lucius—” the middle finger joined its neighbour “—completely overturns her beliefs and convictions. Maybe she begins to understand that her view of Slytherins was far from correct, but I suppose that’s more unsettling than reassuring. And Owen…” He shrugged. “In my opinion, Owen is too… well, male for her to be comfortable with. At that age, most girls—at least the inexperienced ones—rather shy away from men who practically ooze sexuality. So, there’s your explanation, although I fear it’s far from romantic.”

“Severus—” Yelena leaned forward and locked eyes with him “—did you honestly believe that either of us sees you as the romantic type?”

“I’m glad to hear you don’t.”

“This… prediction,” she continued, still firmly holding his gaze with hers, “is anything but a trifle. And it has nothing to do with romance, either. If two people, regardless of their age, provenience and momentary desires, are destined for each other, there is something very elemental involved. Something that goes far deeper than romantic dinners at candlelight or being fond of the same kind of poetry. And it certainly goes way beyond any traditional restrictions concerning teachers and students.”

At that, he bristled slightly. “You certainly can’t accuse me of taking this lightly! Quite the contrary, I daresay! I—”

“Severus!” Narcissa interrupted him, and her tone of voice was so intense that he jumped slightly. “Severus, aside from your reaction to Nimue, I just wanted to… well, to eliminate that misunderstanding. You know how much I like you, don’t you?” His eyes narrowing, he gave a short nod. If this was going to turn overly sentimental, he most definitely did not want it to continue that way. “I understand how much my reaction hurt you, but I want you to understand that you misinterpreted it. Completely.”

Suddenly aware that his right hand had been covering the locket as if to protect it, he let go of it and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Really, Narcissa, this isn’t necessary. Yes, I was hurt, but I’ve gotten over—”

“It is necessary. Maybe only for me, but I feel it’s important, so you will kindly hear me out.” Her hands clenched around the armrests of her deckchair. “What shocked me so deeply when I thought it was Selene—after all, I didn’t know you had already met Nimue—what caused my reaction was the realization that you would have to wait at least twelve years until a relationship became possible. You’ve been lonely all your life, Severus. I was simply terrified that this loneliness would have to last another decade.” Her face was flushed with emotion.

“I appreciate that, Narcissa. I really do.” In a sudden rush of affection, he reached over to squeeze her hand. Yelena’s eyes lit up at the sight. “But please do me a favour, both of you. Don’t tell anybody. It would merely complicate the situation. And, most of all, don’t tell her. When the time comes… Or rather, if the time comes at all, it will be difficult enough for her.”

Yelena shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Of course we won’t tell anybody. We aren’t your average gossiping females. I merely told Narcissa the truth because she was so desperate.”

Severus heaved a deep sigh. “I seem to excel at driving women to desperation.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said lightly, “that is one of your more endearing traits. By the way, did you already manage to give her the serum?”

“Two days ago, yes.” He told them about his manoeuvre.

“It seems,” Yelena said, pointing towards her right, “that we might need your potion sooner than we thought.”

And indeed, Nimue was approaching them, carrying Selene, who, although the traces of tears on her cheeks were still moist, proudly held up her right forearm, which was badly chafed. “Lene dive!” she called, waving to them.

“Sorry,” Nimue said, “I didn’t expect her to try a Wonky Faint right into a tree. All I could do was divert her a little, so she merely scraped against the bark.”

“How fortunate,” Severus remarked—a little belatedly, for he had not immediately understood her distortion of the Quidditch term, “that I found the error in my formula.” He got up and went towards her, in order to examine Selene’s arm. “Quite a scratch you got here, young lady. Will you take a potion I made especially for you, so it goes away?”

Selene frowned up at him. “Lene want pottice.”

“But the potion acts much faster than a poultice. You could get back on your broomstick immediately.”

“And it tastes so good,” Nimue cooed, shooting him a look of pure malice.

In the end, Selene consented to at least have a look at the potion—which actually did taste of strawberries, much better than the Falsitaserum—and the four slowly made their way towards the house, with Severus and Yelena bringing up the rear.

“That,” Yelena whispered, “was a highly idyllic scene.” The mischievous twinkle in her eyes reminded him of Dumbledore.

“Stop it. Immediately,” he said, shooting her a stern look. She cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “I’ll try,” he said, feeling utterly defeated. “I don’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

~~~~*~~~~

During the ten days since they had last been called by Voldemort, the Riddle house had definitely improved. As Pettigrew, who had been waiting for them in the hallway, proudly told them on their way upstairs, he had put up Confundus Wards. Lucius’s sarcastic question how on earth he had managed to do that—erecting wards was, indeed, a kind of magic that required not only great power but considerable skill as well—had brought forth some very useful information. The silvery hand Pettigrew had received in return for the limb he had sacrificed was, apart from possessing enormous strength, also designed to enhance the power of his spells. The three looked at each other through the eye-slits of their Death Eater masks and silently filed the knowledge away for later use.

But the wards were not the only alteration that had taken place. Once safely absconded from unbidden Muggle curiosity, it had been possible to restore the house to its former state. The dust and cobwebs were gone, the floors polished and the chairs had lost their threadbare shabbiness. And, as Severus saw with surprise, there were now bookshelves in the drawing room on the first floor. This was strange, he mused, for when he and Lucius had checked the house in Albania seven years ago after Lupin’s letter to Dumbledore, there had been no books. He tried in vain to remember the state of the house on the night of 31 October 1981—his lack of memories irked him, but he was also aware that at the time, his mind had been occupied by much more pressing concerns. However, Voldemort was apparently in possession of his library once again.

The Dark Lord was sitting in his customary chair near the fireplace. Not for the first time, Severus wondered whether the snake venom he ingested, daily and in large quantities, might not be turning him into a poikilotherm. If that really was the case, Voldemort was extremely vulnerable. And to relatively simple tactics, which made the information all the more precious. As of yet, it was nothing more than a hypothesis he would have to discuss with the others upon their return home.

The three fell to their knees to greet their Master; Pettigrew remained standing. The look on his face, as he observed the three powerful wizards prostrate themselves in front of the Dark Lord, was one of baleful malice—Severus saw it well and did not like it in the least. Like many weaklings, Pettigrew had chosen to serve Voldemort not out of devotion or conviction, but merely because he felt safe, hiding behind a figure of power and authority; obviously he harboured the illusion that part of the reverence paid to Voldemort was reflected upon him, like sunlight off a mirror. This illusion would have to be shattered in due time.

“My faithful followers…” The satisfaction was palpable in Voldemort’s voice, as they kissed the hem of his robes. “Rise, rise and sit with me.” All three bowed their heads and summoned chairs, so as to group them in a half-circle around the Master’s. Although without explicit invitation, Pettigrew joined them. Since the action went unpunished, Severus assumed that he had been previously told to do so. For some reason, this made him feel uneasy.

The Dark Lord gave a conspiratorial wink—an oddly incongruous gesture, and not only because his eyelids lacked lashes—before continuing, “My most devoted servant—” Pettigrew’s watery eyes took on a sulky look “—is still being detained at Hogwarts. Not for much longer, though. And then,” he said, leaning back but moving his head forward at the same time, in a way which eerily reminded of a snake, “then we will be ready for our first action. Have you made a plan?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Lucius answered. “May I show it to you?” At Voldemort’s nod, he produced the parchment they had prepared and handed it over.

“A contact of mine at the Ministry,” Owen explained, “has given us the coordinates of the Isle of Azkaban. We can Apparate there without difficulties, provided we create a breach in the wards before.”

“I see.” Voldemort perused the parchment attentively. “You propose a preparatory mission? Why?”

“I truly hope you approve of the idea, My Lord, as it was mine,” Severus said, bowing his head. “But I thought that it would be preferable to scan the wards beforehand. As you see, the success of our plan depends very much on exact timing. It would be awkward, if delays were created merely because those who have to disable the magical shield need more time than actually necessary.”

The Dark Lord nodded and continued to read in silence. “Well done,” he finally said. “Well done indeed. I see that you have lost none of your skills. Who should participate in the reconnaissance mission?”

“Unless you have any objections, My Lord,” was Lucius’s demure response, “we thought that one of us might be more than sufficient. The fewer, the better.”

“Well…” The red eyes with their uncanny, slit-like pupils scrutinized them, one by one. “You—” a florid, sweeping gesture of his right hand bared an inch of scaly reptile skin, before the robes were quickly drawn over his wrist again “—have always accomplished my orders to my highest satisfaction. However, you are guilty of having done nothing, nothing,” he repeated, and the venom in his voice made them all cringe, “to find me or help me regain a human body. Such behaviour, while not actively directed against me, is certainly not worthy of praise or reward. You might even be pardoned, provided your further conduct is immaculate. For the time being, none of you is fully worthy of my favours or trust.” Severus felt his heart starting to beat again—for a few terrible seconds he had thought this might be their end.

“Once my most faithful follower returns to my side, he will become my right-hand man. You shall retain higher honours than the rest of my servants, but will be fully accountable to him. Call it a lesson in humility if you will.” He chuckled. “That is a virtue you all have to learn. Therefore, you may decide who of you is to go to Azkaban, but whomever you  choose will be accompanied by his superior.”

“Whichever rank you deign to confer on us, My Lord,” Severus said, gliding off his chair and to the Master’s feet, “we will be most happy to serve you and the man who has shown more loyalty than we.” The other two followed suit, murmuring their assent.

“We shall see,” Voldemort said nonchalantly. “For now, you are dismissed. I shall call you again once my loyal second-in-command returns.”

After repeated bows and humble expressions of thankfulness, the three silently descended the stairs and left the house. After maybe a hundred yards’ walk, they had reached the protective wards, stepped through and Disapparated.

~~~~*~~~~

“Do you think we should have mentioned her?” Owen asked, while they were sharing drinks and opinions in Lucius’s study after their return to Malfoy Manor. Nobody had been waiting for them today, as they had been summoned at three o’clock in the morning.

“If Barty were really Barty,” Severus said, “it would have been the better option. As things are…” He sighed and leaned back into the corner formed by the back- and armrest of the large sofa. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure whether to rejoice or despair. To have Black in the position of sole confidant is certainly more than we hoped for in our wildest dreams, but...”

“Try to see the positive aspect,” Owen said. “If he makes it through the first week, he’ll grow used to the part he has to play even faster.”

“If he makes it,” Lucius muttered, staring into his glass. “However—” he looked up at them “—I don't quite see the point of worrying about that right now.” He sighed and swirled the glass between his fingers. “You know what I found quite unsettling?”

“You mean apart from planning to hoodwink the most powerful Dark Wizard of the century?”

Lucius snorted. “Very funny, Owen. But the answer is yes. I wonder why he didn’t say anything about Hogwarts? I’m going to be the new Headmaster, but he doesn’t give me orders—that’s strange, isn't it?”

“I suppose he’ll do that after Barty is back,” Severus said. “Besides, there’s not much you can do right now.”

“And,” Owen chimed in, “he’ll certainly wait until you know more. Right now, you couldn’t even tell him which positions you have to fill.”

With a groan, Lucius refilled his glass. “Don’t even mention that! Can you imagine the pressure? Dumbledore will try to influence me, Fudge, that idiot, will certainly want to have a say in the matter, then there are the Governors, and, last but not least, Voldemort will be hell-bent on infiltrating the school.”

“In order to avoid that,” Severus observed, “I think we should owl Dumbledore immediately. He hasn’t yet been officially removed from office, has he?”

“Good heavens,” Owen exclaimed, “You really don’t read the papers!”

“I really don’t see the necessity. It's a waste of—”

“Spare us your philosophy, Sev,” Lucius cut him off. “No, Fudge hasn’t yet worked up the courage to make it official. Imagine the uproar! Seeing as how Skeeter wasn’t able to cover the Triwizard finale, only very few people know what really happened. Anyway, you’re probably right. I should write to him immediately and ask him to fill all the vacancies if he hasn’t already done so. I’d rather have to deal with complete idiots for one year than to have a staff I can’t trust.”

“So you’ll only have to deal with a staff that doesn't trust you,” Owen said, grinning.

“Don't you think that writing might be a bit risky?” Severus asked. “Owls can be intercepted…”

“I know that owls can be intercepted, I’m no idiot, Sev. So what do you propose? Should I talk to him via Floo? Given the readiness of Owen’s connection to spill the location of Azkaban, I’m not so sure about the Floo Control Panel’s loyalties.”

“Hmm… It seems that one of us will have to go, then. And it would be best if I went. It would be quite easy to find an excuse. At least easier than explaining why you or Owen would pay a visit to Dumbledore.”

“Great idea.” Owen crossed his arms. “And what are you going to say? That you forgot your toothbrush?”

“In case Voldemort even learns about my visit, I’ll simply say that I went there to get information out of Dumbledore.”

“Why should you do that? He’s got his own spy at Hogwarts—Merlin, I’m so fed up with this cat-and-mouse game!” Lucius hissed; his face was flushed and he slammed his glass down on the table.

“We all are, Lucius. To answer your question, I would do it because I don't even know the spy’s identity. Do I have to trust him? Officially, I don't even have to be sure he exists!”

Lucius stared at him in disbelief. “You must have lost your mind! Are you aware of the consequences? You can’t just waltz in and tell Voldemort that you thought he’d made it all up and went to Hogwarts to check! Didn't you pay attention when Pettigrew bragged about his prosthesis? Would you really want to be put under Cruciatus by him?”

“Flattering as your concern doubtlessly is, Lucius, I think you are the one who’s overlooking two important facts. First, that Voldemort seems to have grown even more vain and susceptible to adulation than he was before.”

“Small wonder,” Owen observed, “After having been bested by that boy, he’ll be in dire need of every bit of flattery he can get.”

Severus shot him a quick smile. “Exactly my thoughts. And, secondly, you—” he tilted his chin towards Lucius “—are sorely underestimating my ability to turn what seems like insubordination into an act of unbridled admiration.”

“I think you’re just completely, totally and utterly nuts,” Lucius said, the light slur betraying that his mind was not very clear anymore, either.

“What if we continue this discussion in the morning?” Owen rolled his shoulders and stifled a huge yawn. “I, for one, am absolutely knackered.”

The other two nodded, and, after a short good-night, Owen left by Floo. Lucius and Severus slowly strolled down the corridor. Once Lucius had entered his own chambers, Severus felt the tiredness envelop him like a leaden blanket. Unsurprisingly so, he thought wryly, as outside the first light of dawn was already luring the birds into making what he deemed an infernal racket, although more poetic natures would probably have described it in other terms. Half-asleep as he already was, Severus nearly stumbled over a solid object in front of his door. The walls of Malfoy Manor were about three feet wide, and thus the doors, which inside the chambers were level with the walls, were set into deep niches that interrupted the corridor walls at large intervals.

The solid object gave a squeak and scrambled to its feet in a wild commotion of hair and fabric.

“Nimue? What on earth are you doing here?”

She stared at him rather blearily. “I… I couldn’t sleep and so I heard you and Lucius leave. It could only be because of Voldemort, and so I decided to wait up for you. Just to see whether you were okay…” Her fingers fidgeted with the sash of her dressing gown. “You… are okay, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and so is Lucius. Go back to bed, Nimue. It’s only half past four in the morning, and I, too, need my sleep.”

Her face took on a stubborn expression. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t have bothered you. Not that your method of letting me know was subtle, but I understand when I’m not wanted.”

Severus looked down at her and sighed. “I’m really not in the mood for discussions now, Nimue. But should you want or need to talk to me, you’ll find my door unwarded. Would you now please return to your bed, so I can go back to mine?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, grinning up at him.

He stayed in the corridor, following her retreating form with his eyes until he heard the soft click of her door closing. Then, shaking his head in wonderment at himself, he undid the wards protecting his door. Once inside, he did not reset them.