A man in a black robe stood in a tunnel. The walls were lined with skulls. The walls were made of bones, some of them hundreds of years old. This did not deter the man in a black robe. Indeed, he almost seemed at home among the dead. In his right hand he clenched an old oil lantern; from the lantern, an eerie blue light spilled out. If someone listened closely, they would hear faint whispers echoing from inside the lantern. The only visible part of the man was his right arm; it was thin, not wiry and strong, just thin. The rest of him was covered by the black robe, itself covered in dust. He walked quickly, but eerily silent, the only sound in the catacombs the whispering of the lantern. He eventually came upon a door, a large wooden door, covered in sigils and runes. With an almost reverent air about him, he set down his lantern and with both hands; his left as thin as the right, he traced the sigils. Eventually he stepped back from the door and breathed in, long and deep. What emerged from his mouth was not just an exhaling breath; it was a chant, a litany spoken in a long-forgotten tongue. Then he tapped four of the sigils: a lightning bolt surrounded by a ring of fire, a pentagram, a bull, and a long snake biting its tail. The four signs glowed green, and turned one hundred and eighty degrees. With one more word from the robed man, and the door slammed itself open. The room the door had been sealing was small. Like the rest of the catacombs the walls were made of bones, and the floor was made of dirt. In the very center of the room a waist-high alter rose from the floor. On the altar lay a sword, it had clearly been there for a while as it was covered in cobwebs and dust. The man quickly strode to the altar and gazed upon the blade. With a few, experienced sweeps of his hand he removed all of the cobwebs and removed the sword from its sheath.
It was a Roman Gladius, and it shone like the sun itself. With a shaky hand the stabbed the sword into his hood, right where his face was; a loud clang echoed throughout the room. After a second the man re-sheathed the sword, and walked out of the room with his head held low. With an angry gesture the man seized his lantern and stormed out of the catacombs. When he reached the exit he stared at the sword, and sighed, "It wasn't strong enough either." The only thing he said, in English, throughout all of his time in the catacombs. Then he left, never to return.
Why oh why did his father have to bring him here, was the average thought running through Draco Malfoy's head at the moment. The sixth year had been thrilled to here that he would be relieved from his summer break boredom in order to go on a mission for the Dark Lord. That excitement vanished faster than Peter Pettigrew when he saw a cat; when Draco was told they would have to slog through a dark, Russian forest filled with insects.
"Draco, pay attention! We will be arriving soon, and you could learn something if you would only pay attention!"
"Father, what could I possibly learn in a magic-forsaken place like this? A pureblood should not have to go into places like this; it's a job for mud bloods and squibs." Draco whined.
"You ignorant little brat! Our Lord ordered us to do this. It doesn't matter if he tells you to shovel dragon droppings you do it! In addition this is a mission of utmost importance and I thought you could actually learn something."
Draco shrunk backwards from his father's anger. The two Death Eaters walked in silence for a while. Draco eventually summoned up some small before-unseen well of courage and asked his father; "What are we doing here, Father?"
"There is a man who has a great deal of fame in Europe, we have been sent to present our lord's offer to him."
"Is he some great duelist, like Dolohov?"
"No, as a matter of fact his raw magical power is nearly non-existent."
"What on Earth could someone like that, offer the Dark Lord?"
"He is not famous for what he is capable of, but what he possesses: knowledge, and magical artifacts to be specific."
"What a few rusty swords and old cloaks?"
"I'm done explaining. Now Draco, keep your eyes open and your hands to yourself, we are here."
Lucius stopped abruptly, nearly causing Draco to run in to him.
"Father, there's nothing here."
Indeed the two of them were standing a clearing, the only one Draco had seen since entering the forest. This clearing, however, was filled with snow. It looked like a small patch of land was trapped in winter while the rest of Russia was in the grip of summer.
"So it seems, Draco, so it seems. However if one knows how to look, there is so much more here."
As Lucius was speaking he removed a small bag from one of his robe pockets. When he was finished he tossed it forward.
The air in front of them rippled like water, the stones hung at the epicenter of the ripple and then they exploded. The air in front of them crystalized into a large bubble, roughly fifty feet high. The bubble then disintegrated, revealing a small wooden cabin.
"Very well come along Draco." Lucius strode toward the cabin leaving Draco staring, his mouth open in surprise. He then shut it and raced after his father.
"Father, Father!"
What is it now?"
"What is it? How-How did, I thought he didn't have any magical power!"
"Who dares?" A deep, dark, cold voice filled the valley; freezing Draco in his tracks, "Who dares enter my valley? My Domain?" To Draco the voice wasn't human; it was something far older, and far more powerful. He was cold, so very cold, and tired; and that snow looked so welcoming now, when before it was cold.
"Yes, sleep now little intruder, become a part of the valley."
Yes, yes being a part of something as beautiful as this valley would be wonderful. He knelt on the ground and began to dig into the snow.
The next thing he knew his father had dragged him up to his feet, slapped him, and pored a potion down his throat.
"You damn fool boy, I warned you to watch where you stepped!"
"Father? Wh-What happened? "
"You were not careful, look."
Lucius drew his wand, and with a wave cleared the snow in a precise square where Draco was previously standing. In side of that square was a pentagram, made of some black liquid that had somehow not mixed with the snow.
"What is that Father?"
"The blood of a Wendigo, drawn with a silver sickle," a third rougher voice joined their conversation with the creak of rusty door hinges.
Lucius turned away from the pentagram, and Draco took two large steps from it, he looked at the pentagram twice to ensure it couldn't attack him, before he looked at the newcomer.
The newcomer was covered in a plain dark robe with the hood pulled over his head. His hands, the only part of him not covered by the robe, had silver gauntlets covering them. The fingers of the gauntlets were rectangular and the ends were flat. He leaned against the door frame, trying to appear nonchalant and failing miserably at it. A half-blind man could see that he was ready to bolt.
"Tell me, what business do two servants of Lord Voldemort have with a simple merchant?"
Lucius quickly pasted a charming grin on his face and bowed, "My dear sir, you are far more than a mere-"
Whatever Lucius had been about to say was cut off by his son marching up to the merchant and putting his wand in the man's face.
"What did you do to me? Tell me! What was that, that voice?" His arm was shaking like a leaf, a side effect of the cold. In a flash of silver the hooded man snatched Draco's wand from his hand and chucked it into the pentagram.
Without thinking Draco dashed after his wand, barely stopping himself from leaping into the pentagram. His head flashed from the merchant to his wand, disbelief clear on his face.
"The first rule of doing business with me is no wands in the cabin. You may either place your wand with your son's or give it to me, Lord Malfoy."
Smile still on his face, Lucius strolled up to the cabin, climbed the steps and handed the merchant his wand.
"So you know who I am?"
"Of course I do, the Malfoys are one of the most prestigious families in the world. I keep an eye on families like that."
"More correctly on their treasures, am I correct? It is an honor to know that my treasures are worthy of the Masked Winter's attention."
"Fair enough." The thief reached a gauntleted hand into one of the pockets of his robe, and removed a wand case that should not have fit. He quickly placed Lucius's wand in it and with a snap closed it and stuffed it into his pocket.
"Alright, come on in." With a wave of his hand he beckoned in Lucius and Draco, who had just given up on retrieving his wand. Lucius walked into the cabin without a trace of fear. As opposed to Draco, who was very clearly expecting to fall into another trap, and was glancing everywhere.
The small cabin was very cluttered. There were chests and display stands lining the walls. A tiny bed was at the very back of the cabin, and in front of that was a plain wooden table with four chairs around it.
"Come, sit." Lucius sat down gracefully but Draco just stared at his chair. He nearly jumped three feet in the air when the thief clasped a hand on his shoulder.
"Relax; it would be very bad for business if I booby-trapped the chairs my customers sat in."
Draco, very reluctantly, sat down flinching when the chair slid backwards under his weight. The merchant sat down and steepled his fingers.
"So what can I do for Lord Voldemort?"
Lucius smirked
"My Lord requires that y-"
"More importantly, why should I help him? I have no doubt that he knows who I am. How could he not?"
The merchant lifted his hands to his hood and pushed it back, revealing a metal mask. Its face was that of a man screaming in unbearable pain. The mask covered his entire head and the top half of his neck, stopping just before his adam's apple. There was no clear fastener responsible for the mask staying on; indeed, it looked like it could be removed easily.
"My master does indeed know who you are, Mr. Harry Potter."