His most loyal, his most faithful servant
I said that I wouldn't continue the series, but I couldn't resist taking my version of the Tale of Three Half-Bloods another step further - and giving every character their worst nightmare.
This story may not make a lot of sense unless you already know all of Snape's dirty secrets.
Chapter 1: Severus Snape
He's disappointed his master, he still doesn't know where Helga Hufflepuff's cup is hidden, he still doesn't have the information that his master needs - and his master is angry. The vivid green eyes have suddenly turned to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils, he knows that he's in for the mother of all beatings, so he drops to his knees, kisses his master's robes, trembling and whimpering, "Master, I tried, I tried, do not punish me …"
But his master won't be placated, his master is raising his wand - and it feels as if every nerve of his body is on fire, the crucio hurts so much, the pain is so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knows where he is, he opens his mouth to scream ...
And then he'd woken with a start, shaking and shivering despite the fake coal fire burning in front of the blocked-up fireplace, and groping at his left forearm - but the Dark Mark wasn't burning and he wasn't in that dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles, he was curled up in the scruffy old armchair in his own sitting room at Spinner's End. So it was only a dream, but even in dreams you never really get used to the Cruciatus Curse, fucking hell, it hurts, so he'd reached for the half-empty bottle of firewhisky - firewhisky is the best palliative, chocolate for Dementors, firewhisky for crucio …
He'd tipped most of the rest of the bottle down his throat but it hadn't been enough to settle his nerves because that was a really nasty dream, a really disturbing dream, so he'd pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the carton stashed in the bookshelves behind his armchair and lit one. OK, OK, he'd told Potter that he was going to cut down on his smoking, but it's been a long hard day and it's shaping up to be a sleepless night, and he'd really needed a fag.
He'd drawn hungrily on the cigarette – sweet Merlin that was doing him good – and then he'd fumbled for the TV remote. A Muggle amusement, and the Dark Lord can get really weird about his Dark wizards messing about with Muggle stuff, but he doesn't have to worry any more about Wormtail running to the Dark Lord and telling tales that might get him, Severus Snape, into trouble – the rat had made his appointment with the Grim Squeaker the moment that he'd gone to the Dark Lord and tried to beg off the Azkaban mission. The Dark Lord had been furious that the cowardly little sneak feared the Aurors more than he feared his master's anger - and how stupid must Pettigrew have been, not to realise that he had at least some chance of surviving the firefight with the Azkaban garrison, and no chance at all of surviving the loss of the Dark Lord's protection?
He'd settled back in the armchair, turned the TV on - not that there's likely to be anything good on at this hour of the night, but anything to get his mind off that horrible dream - and Pettigrew was a distraction, too. It had been execution, not murder - he'd done the job that Lupin and Black had been too gutless to do in the Shrieking Shack - but vengeance had been very sweet, he hadn't given Pettigrew the dignity of dying like a man, he'd killed Wormtail in his Animagus form, and it hadn't been a pretty way to die, either. No, it hadn't been pretty – he'd used the eviscerating potion from Moste Potent Potions, simple but effective, and a fitting way to kill the vermin, because a rat can't vomit, that's why the Muggles use rats for their nasty experiments. Dumbledore wouldn't have liked what he'd done to Pettigrew, but Harry Potter isn't Dumbledore, is he? And he'd saved a little memento for Harry, a little coming-of-age gift ...
Remembering how Pettigrew had squeaked and struggled when he realized what was being forced down his throat, he'd thought, the rat would have been better off taking his chances in the Azkaban mission alright, because the Azkaban raid had gone exactly as planned. It had been an excellent opportunity to blood the new recruits, to teach them what real duelling was like - and a dress rehearsal for when the time comes to storm the Ministry of Magic itself. Of course they'd suffered casualties, but no more than the Dark Lord expected, no more than the Dark Lord was prepared to accept, because breaking Azkaban open is about more than freeing the Death Eaters captured in the Department of Mysteries, it's about open defiance of the Ministry, sending the message that it's war now, not just terrorism.
Yes, the Azkaban mission had gone very well, even his special orders regarding Lucius Malfoy. He'd been dreading that, but Lucius had made it easy for him, Lucius had known what was coming as soon as he'd smashed in the door of the cell. He'd whispered into Lucius' ear that Draco still lives, as a last act of kindness to his old friend he'd told Lucius that Draco isn't dead, he's only sleeping in his coffin, dosed with the Draught of Living Death - and there he'll stay, safe from the Aurors, the Order and the Dark Lord until it's all over, until the prophecy is fulfilled. And then he'd said the words that had stopped Lucius' heart – and it hadn't hurt at all, he'd been as high as a kite on adrenaline and the afterglow of Avada Kedavra and he hadn't felt a thing. No, he hadn't felt a thing, but afterwards it was all a bit of a blur, he'd really let himself go - the Dark Lord's instructions had been to leave nothing alive on the island of Azkaban, to kill all the ordinary prisoners as well as the guards, and he'd been like a fox in a henhouse, slashing and snapping until nothing was left alive to flutter and squawk.
Remembering that, he'd frowned – when the fog had cleared, he'd been furious with himself for losing control, and he won't be making that mistake again, he needs to have his wits about him at all times - but the raid on Azkaban had gone like clockwork and the Dark Lord had been pleased, the Dark Lord had praised and rewarded him. But while Bella lives the Dark Lord won't share the secrets of the Horcruxes with any other servant, and that was always one of the sticking points in the Headmaster's plan, because even after he'd fulfilled the Unbreakable Vow that psycho bitch Bellatrix Lestrange would still stand between him and being entrusted with the Dark Lord's most precious secrets.
Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange is the problem, the obstacle that until today he hasn't been able to see his way through, because Bella is one of the martyrs, one of the faithful few who went to Azkaban rather than renounce the Dark Lord. And they both have jobs to do; his job is to train up the Dark Lord's army; hers is to hunt Harry Potter, and he dare not kill her until she's failed in her task. But the Dark Lord is getting impatient, Bella hadn't exactly distinguished herself in Little Whinging or at the Burrow, and today the Dark Lord had made his displeasure with Bella clear - she'd bungled Moody's interrogation, and the Dark Lord hadn't been impressed. No, the Dark Lord hadn't been impressed, and he'd been annoyed when Bella had played the Prisoner of Azkaban card yet again - really annoyed. And they'd all understood what it meant, Bellatrix Lestrange is falling from favour and if she fails the Dark Lord again, the Dark Lord will look the other way while the rivalry between his right-hand man and his right-hand woman is resolved, one way or the other.
He'd stayed calm when Moody was brought in for questioning, because if he was going to lose his head in every crisis, how long would he have lasted as a double-agent? Not that the situation wasn't serious, it was deadly serious, because Moody was a real prize, Dumbledore's replacement as the leader of the Order. And Moody had valuable information, priceless information, Moody was one of a very small number of people who know that he serves two masters, and Moody knew the location of the safe house where Harry Potter and his friends were hidden - information that not even he had, because you can't tell what you don't know. But it was a situation that he was well prepared for, it was a scenario he'd run over in his mind a dozen times, and he'd long ago decided on his plan of action. If Moody cracks under interrogation, if it looks like Moody will betray Harry Potter, he'll kill Moody before he can talk and then the snake Horcrux if he can - and after that it doesn't matter, because he won't be of any further use to the Chosen One.
But he'd been confident that there was no real danger unless the Dark Lord decided to interrogate Moody himself, and Moody was Bella's prisoner, all things being equal it was Bella's privilege to question him. So he'd merely slipped his hand into his robes, grasped the handle of his wand, and settled back to watch the fun, alert but not alarmed, because Bella hasn't learned a thing from the Longbottom fiasco, she still doesn't appreciate that really effective interrogation requires a skilful cocktail of pain, humiliation, Veritaserum and Legilimency. Oh, the Cruciatus Curse hurts, he'd never deny that, but it would kill a tough-minded bastard like Moody before it broke him, and Moody wouldn't last more than a few minutes anyway, sure, he was a powerful wizard, but he wasn't young – and old people never last long under crucio.
He'd watched while Bella crucioed Moody again and again, and all she'd got was screams and swear-words, and finally just screams - while the Dark Lord looked increasingly pissed off. He'd actually been a little bit regretful, which surprised him, because he has his own history with Alastor Moody, his own reasons to hate the son-of-a-bitch – but bastard though Moody was, he'd rather deal with him than with a weak sister like Lupin.
And then the Dark Lord had raised his hand, gestured to Bella to step back - and he'd been ready for the worst, because while Moody knew something of Occlumency, he hadn't the skills to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind, even if he wasn't a shaking, bleeding, moaning heap on the ground. But the Dark Lord had beckoned to him, and he'd understood at once what was going on, the Dark Lord was giving him the opportunity to publicly humiliate his rival – and Bella had made the mistake of protesting! The stupid cow had ranted on about Moody being the one who'd arrested her and her little gang, and being entitled to revenge for all those years in Azkaban - and she hadn't shut up until the Dark Lord raised his wand.
He'd looked into Moody's eyes – eye – and he'd rummaged through the tattered fragments of Moody's mind, looking for something to offer up to the Dark Lord, something good - and when he'd found that Moody had managed to send a message to Harry Potter before he was hit with a stunning spell, a message to get out of the safe house, get out now, don't ask any questions, just get out – he'd given the Dark Lord the address of the place. He'd known that he was risking the life of the Chosen One, but he wouldn't still be alive if he couldn't make that kind of decision in a split second - and the gamble had paid off, because even though the birds had flown by the time that they'd raided the nest, his credit with the Dark Lord has never been higher.
But there'd been a price to pay, he's got the entire Gryffindor brat pack sleeping under his roof, it was completely, utterly insane, but he couldn't think of anywhere else where they'd be safe tonight – if they are safe, because Harry Potter won't be safe until the prophecy is fulfilled, and even now it's just possible that the Dark Lord knows where his true loyalties lie, it's just possible that the Dark Lord is stringing him along, using him to get to Harry Potter ...
He hadn't cared so much about Harry seeing the Muggle dump that he was raised in, because Harry Potter knows all of his dirty secrets, but the Weasleys are pure-bloods, the Weasley line is as old and as pure as the Malfoys', and Granger's parents are dentists, professional people, Muggles with money - and for a moment he'd felt self-conscious about his discoloured, uneven teeth. He'd felt like a teenager again, acutely aware of his crooked teeth, greasy hair and shabby robes, and desperately afraid of anyone finding out about his Muggle father, because a half-blood is only one step up from a filthy Mudblood.
The whole of the wizarding world knows about his Muggle father now - the Daily Prophet had wallowed in that delicious little tidbit - and it's something he can use against Bella, it's something he can use to goad her, to provoke her into making a fool of herself, because Bellatrix Lestrange's star is fading, and if she shows herself to be too unstable to make a useful servant, the Dark Lord will discard her. The Dark Lord values no one, cares for no one, and if Bella disappoints her master again, she's going to find out that the Dark Lord is a "but what have you done for me lately?" kind of guy.
There'd been a time when he'd almost felt sorry for the poor deluded cow, but not now - and he couldn't stop his fingers flexing with rage when he'd remembered how Bella had taunted him on the night he'd taken the Unbreakable Vow, the usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action, he'd taken the Vow to shut the crazy bitch up, but it was only supposed to be to watch over Draco and to protect him. Well, there's no slithering out of action now, he's been off the leash since Dumbledore died, and if he gets the chance maybe he'll do it the Muggle way, wrap his hands around her throat and press his thumbs against her windpipe until she thrashes and chokes. And if he kills her with magic, it won't be Avada Kedavra, that's quick and maybe even painless, and it doesn't leave a mark, no, he'll use something that will really make a mess of the pure-blood princess. He might use his own curse, Sectumsempra, for enemies, if he holds his wand against her throat that curse is powerful enough to slice her head off - or he might kill her the way that he killed her cousin Regulus, give her a traitor's death, use the Cruciatus Curse to hurt her so much that the convulsions will break bones, rupture internal organs, and made blood pour out of every orifice ...
Hell's bells, it was giving him a hard-on just imagining what he'll do to Bellatrix Lestrange if he can, she deserves it, the evil fucking bitch, if she hadn't interfered, if she hadn't come with Narcissa that night ...
But the thought of Narcissa Malfoy had cooled his blood immediately, poor bloody Narcissa, the Dark Lord knew very well that he'd lusted for years after his best friend's wife, and when he'd returned in triumph from Azkaban the Dark Lord had been minded to be generous. The Dark Lord made it clear to them all that when the Dark Lord has won, when the Dark Lord is Minister for Magic, the half-blood Prince will be rewarded - he can help himself to anything of Lucius Malfoy's that he wants, and that includes Lucius' beautiful widow.
Shit, he did not want to think about the Dark Lord's gift right now, so he'd finished off the dregs of the firewhisky - cheap stuff, but it does the job - and flicked around the channels until he'd found a repeat of one of those BBC wildlife documentaries that he likes, but he'd hardly settled down to enjoy the soothing, mellow voice of the silver-haired old Muggle presenting the program and the engrossing images of the giant black and white porpoises surging through the surf and snatching baby seals off the beach, when a door in the book-lined wall had swung open - and there was Harry Potter, in flannel pyjamas a size too small for him, mumbling something about couldn't sleep, and if you don't mind.
Well of course he bloody well minded! But he'd kept his mouth shut, because he watches his tongue around Harry Potter now. Before he knew what the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal meant, he'd thought Potter weak, spoiled, undisciplined, unworthy of his mother's sacrifice and unworthy of Dumbledore's sacrifice; he'd been furious that the Headmaster put so much faith in a gormless teenager who couldn't even cast an Unforgivable, and in his rage and disappointment he'd taunted the boy, no Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter, you haven't got the nerve or the ability - but now he knows better, and he minds his manners around the Chosen One.
And if he was in the habit of feeling sorry for people, he might even feel a little bit sorry for Harry, because they're both in the same mess, really. They've both been marked by the Dark Lord, and if Rufus Scrimgeour finds out what Harry Potter is, if the Minister for Magic finds out that Harry shares his soul with the Dark Lord, Harry Potter won't be the hope of the wizarding world any longer - he'll bump Severus Snape off second place in the list of the most wanted wizards in Britain.
So now he's hunched in his armchair, intensely conscious of Harry Potter perched on the edge of the threadbare old couch, while that nasty dream churns around in his head again. And it's not as if he doesn't have plenty of nasty dreams, so why is he getting so churned up?
But he knows the answer to that question, because anything to do with Harry Potter churns him up - he'd always hated James Potter's arrogant brat, but since the encounter with his Boggart in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, he's not sure how he feels about Lily's son. The Boggart had taken the form of the Dark Lord, and he'd been taken completely by surprise because his Boggart had been a werewolf for so long he'd never thought that it could change. He'd been so shattered when the Dark Lord stepped out of Kreacher's grimy little cupboard that he'd lost his head completely, he'd done nothing more useful than stand between Harry and the Dark Lord - and the boy had tried to save him, he'd been prepared to take on the Dark Lord for the sake of the wizard who'd gone running to the Dark Lord with the news of the prophecy and who'd killed Dumbledore in front of his eyes! Not that it meant anything, it was just the usual brainless Gryffindor heroics – and the kid has got to be trained out of that kind of stupidity, Harry has got to learn that he's the weapon against the Dark Lord and he can't let anything or anyone get in the way of fulfilling the prophecy, not even Ginny Weasley.
And the Dark Lord has plans for Ginny Weasley if he can lay hands on her, the Dark Lord is very interested in the little girl who so nearly had the life sucked out of her by the diary Horcrux, and who's grown up to be Harry Potter's biggest weakness - because Harry is so much in love with beautiful, talented, spirited Ginevra Weasley that it's painful to watch.
Love! Dumbledore was always banging on about how the Dark Lord didn't understand the power of love, but Dumbledore didn't understand the power of hate. Oh, sure, he'd loved Lily - and he's not ashamed to admit it, she'd been one of the few good things in his life – and he'd loved Dumbledore, too, but he wasn't spying on the Dark Lord because of love, he wasn't spying on the Dark Lord because he was a good person, he was spying on the Dark Lord because he hated the Dark Lord, and he'd told Potter so. And Harry Potter knows what he is, knows what he's done, what he's enjoyed doing - so why Harry would want to spend one unnecessary minute in his company, he can't understand.
Harry is avoiding his eye, pretending to be engrossed in the flickering images on the Muggle box, he knows that something is bothering the kid though he can't tell what it is. And the boy looks like he could really use a drink, so although normally he doesn't use magic at Spinner's End - the house is warded to hide magic but every use of magic requires the wards to be replenished - he Summons a bottle of the elf-made wine and a couple of glasses, bugger the no-magic rule, it's his own rule and he can break it.
He watches Harry sip his wine, and he can't stop himself from brooding over that damned dream again – it has to mean something, the mind is a complex and many-layered thing and that dream had come drifting up from somewhere ... he'd dreamed of Harry Potter casting an Unforgivable, and that had to mean something.
And then he knows what that dream means, the boy is fated to be the Dark Lord's executioner – or to die at the Dark Lord's hands - Harry will have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, but Harry's got to start somewhere, and there's much, much more to casting the Unforgivable Curses than just pointing your wand and saying the words. Like all powerful spells, they need training, they need practice - so why didn't Moody teach Harry the Unforgivables? True, the Headmaster had been against it, but Moody wasn't squeamish, he'd used the Unforgivables himself - so why the hell hadn't he taught Harry? Maybe not the Cruciatus Curse or the Imperius Curse, but when the Horcruxes have been destroyed and the Dark Lord is mortal again, Harry is going to need the Killing Curse just to get near the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord doesn't play fair, he'll sacrifice his servants without hesitation, and the Chosen One is going to have to step over the bodies of a dozen Death Eaters before he even gets close to the Dark Lord.
He can only see Harry's face in profile, and without eye contact he can't see the boy's thoughts, but surely the kid must know what he'll have to do to fulfil the prophecy? Harry isn't an idiot, he must know that it isn't going to be a wizards' duel, cast your first spells on the count of three, it's going to be a dirty, messy job – and Harry is going to need every spell known to the Dark Lord, he's going to have to turn the Dark Lord's own weapons against him ...
So although he doesn't really relish the job, he leans forward, pours Harry another glass of wine, and catches his eye. And when he's got Harry's attention, he makes the little speech about the theoretical basis of the Killing Curse that he makes to all the raw recruits who've never used it, tells him, "The Killing Curse is comparable to the Patronus Charm. The Patronus requires you to concentrate on a single, very happy memory, and conversely, the Avada Kedavra requires you to concentrate on a memory that inspires hate and anger, to focus such a memory. You really need to mean it, you must really want to kill."
Then he watches for the memories that Harry could use, and there's plenty to choose from, Lily pleading, "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything ...", Cedric Diggory whispering, "Take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents ...", the look of fear and surprise on the wasted face of Sirius Black as he sinks through the ragged veil hanging from the archway - and then he looks away, because he doesn't want to see any more, he doesn't want to see Dumbledore being blasted into the air, hanging suspended beneath the Morsmordre, and then falling slowly backwards over the battlements like a great rag doll ...
And there's something else he ought to tell Harry Potter, though he shrinks from it - the Avada Kedavra is a buzz to use, a real kick, better than sex or "recreational potions", but before he can find the right words, his Intruder Charm tells him that he has an uninvited visitor, and for a moment he almost panics, his heart starts to turn to ice in his chest - then he gets a grip, thinks, it's not Him, it's a witch, and how many witches know where I live, anyway? It can only be Narcissa ...
Thank Merlin, Harry's brought his invisibility cloak and his wand downstairs with him – the boy is finally learning the importance of constant vigilance – so he gestures to Harry to throw the cloak over himself and slide behind the couch, leaves the wine bottle and glasses where they are ... he'll get rid of Narcissa as quickly as he can, he'll tell her that he already has company, feminine company, she'll believe that because the Dark Lord's favourite can have his pick of the young female camp-followers ... and opens the door, but it's not the blonde sister, it's the dark one.
For a moment he has to struggle to hide his fear, but although Bellatrix is not unskilled in Occlumency she's not even trying to hide her thoughts, and she has no orders, this is all her own idea ... the rabid bitch is still fuming over the belting that she got today! Of course she blames him, and this might just be the opportunity that he's been looking for, but he'll have to let Bella throw the first hex, because the Dark Lord will want to see this memory, he'll want to know how Bellatrix Lestrange died.
He jerks his neck in the semblance of a bow, steps back to let her enter, and offers her a glass of wine - oh this is just getting better and better, because when Bella sees the wine bottle and the two glasses she turns on him in a fury and demands to know where Narcissa is! He shrugs, if she thinks that her sweet little sister is upstairs in his bed, it might just be enough to push her over the edge ... but it's not really about who's fucking Narcissa Malfoy, is it? It's about who's first in line to kiss the Dark Lord's robes, and now it's coming out, an incoherent torrent of abuse about filthy half-bloods, and she doesn't trust him, she's never trusted him, no half-blood can be trusted ...
He waits until Bellatrix pauses for breath, and then he drops into the silence the names of the members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, toujours pur, who've been such trustworthy servants of the Dark Lord ... Andromeda, Sirius and Regulus. And the mention of Regulus' name has really pushed Bella's buttons, there's fear as well as rage and hate in the expression on her gaunt face, now she's pulling out her wand – and he whips out his own wand, feeling a sense of fierce joy, because he's been spoiling for this fight for a long, long time.
And when he looks into Bella's eyes and sees the curse that Bella is planning to use, he's amused at how limited her palette of pain is – it's crucio, always crucio with Bella – and he thinks, I know a Shield Charm strong enough to bounce it right back on you, oh yes Bella, you're going to be in every kind of trouble if you try to use the Cruciatus Curse on me!
Bella raises her wand and screams her curse, he throws up the shield - there's a deep, gong-like note, and Bella is lifted off her feet by the force of the deflected spell, and slammed against the wall. As she slides down it to the floor he scoops up the wand that she's dropped and steps forward, his wand pointed at her chest - it's his turn now, and he's going to give her a taste of her own medicine, hold her under the Cruciatus Curse until she vomits blood, until she drowns in her own blood ... and no one is going to interfere, let her scream as much as she likes, in a rough area like Spinner's End no one is going to call the Muggle police if they hear a few screams.
Bella is screaming her guts out alright, because time and space matter in magic and at this range the spell is causing muscle spasms powerful enough to crack a rib ... and Harry Potter is watching, let him see what the Cruciatus Curse can do, if you really want to cause pain, if you enjoy it, yes, Harry Potter can watch while Bella dies the hard way - and then he has a better idea, he'll do what he always does when he's breaking in the new recruits, he'll step back and let Harry finish the job. It will mean lying to the Dark Lord, but he can do that, if he can lie to the Dark Lord about what happened on the Astronomy Tower, he can lie to the Dark Lord about this.
And Harry must have the same idea, because Harry has thrown off the invisibility cloak, Harry is shouting at him to stop - so he lowers his wand and stands aside, but he doesn't take his eyes off the woman lying on the floor, because while Bella may be down she's not out, and even without a wand she's dangerous ...
But at the sight of the Boy Who Lived, Bella doesn't look surprised, or even afraid, she looks triumphant, and he can see in her eyes that she's thrilled at this proof of his treachery, bloody unbelievable, the fanatical bitch will die happy knowing that she's the Dark Lord's most loyal, most faithful servant ...
But Harry isn't doing anything, he hasn't raised his wand - and Bella is practically begging for it, she's needling Harry in her mocking baby voice, asking Harry what's wrong with him, hasn't the little bitty baby Potter got the guts to make an easy kill?
Now Bellatrix is looking at him, the stupid cow has, as usual, put two and two together and come up with four and a half, she thinks he's chosen a new master because of the prophecy, that he's thrown in his lot with Harry Potter because he's afraid, because the child of the prophecy will have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord! And the bitch is laughing at him, "You've got a problem, Snape, the boy doesn't seem able ..."
Harry's face is white, he looks like he's fighting down the urge to shout, or to vomit - but now he's setting his jaw and raising his wand, and there's a look of hatred and revulsion on the boy's face … and then he knows what he has to do, what the Headmaster would want him to do - because when the time comes to fulfil the prophecy Harry Potter won't need the Unforgivable Curses, Harry will have power the Dark Lord knows not - and before Bella can finish the sentence, the jet of green light shoots from the end of his wand and hits her squarely in the chest.
He knows that she's gone, she can't hear him, but he still needs to say it, he still needs to put his chaotic, confused thoughts into words - for his own sake and for Harry's - so he pushes away the euphoric pleasure of having destroyed yet another one of his enemies, bends over the body and tells her, calmly, "The Chosen One will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and he doesn't need to soil his hands with filth like you, Bellatrix Lestrange."
The Grim Squeaker is borrowed, with thanks, from BAGGE's wonderful "Scabber's Death and other stories".