Note: Co-written with the amazing almanera, whose Voldemort and Blacks have no equals in their authenticity and majesty.
I hope you will enjoy this story, which is based on the dystopian AU established in Redemption and Sleep of the Soul and has been a delight to write.
The corridors of Malfoy Manor were deserted, which Severus found mildly surprising, for the entire Death Eater group was present in the grand house, waiting and speculating. For his part, he was too weary to feel much curiosity. He was aware the Dark Lord's decision would have vast consequences and might even define the course of the future months if not years, yet all he could think of was Lily, whom he had barely seen during the five last days of intense work. He had left her sitting at the window with a quill and parchment in hands while their baby son had been crawling excitedly around the room. The need to be back with them was eating him alive.
Besides, the Blacks were finished, and sparing Andromeda Tonks or her half-blood child would not bring back the glory of the fallen House. Frowning in thought, he entered a high-ceilinged hall, where he was grateful to spot a flash of Lucius's white-blond hair. He saw at once the appearance had deceived him, though: it was Corban Yaxley and not their host seated near the fireplace. Rodolphus Lestrange was keeping him company.
"Any news?" Severus asked. If anyone would know, it was Yaxley, one of the men who had volunteered to take care of Andromeda.
"The woman is to be spared, it seems," the latter replied, ever the politician.
Rodolphus heaved a sigh; he knew Bellatrix was not happy about it.
"Is that so?" mused Severus. "A clever creature. Who brought the news?"
Yaxley grimaced, his expression more eloquent than words, before turning towards the broad-shouldered man. "You'd better hurry, Rodolphus; I'm afraid Bellatrix might end up burning down your mansion."
Lestrange sighed again. "Why do you think the Dark Lord chose this option?"
"It's the woman's half-breed bastard." Yaxley smiled. "It seems she has a certain rare ability. She's a Metamorphmagus, you see."
The other two men froze in astonishment.
"Impossible," Rodolphus asserted. "The Blacks used to have Metamorphmagi in their family, yes, but this ability disappeared centuries ago. Everybody knows that."
"Until now," Yaxley pointed out. "It has been confirmed. And Andromeda Black is the one who gave birth to this Metamorphmagus—a woman who is still fertile, mind you. So you see, gentlemen, it's not difficult to understand our Lord's reasoning."
Severus's face had clouded at the revelation. A Metamorphmagus. Unless he was mistaken, this meant the Blacks had been carrying this magic trait all along, all of them including the accursed Sirius Black. If the Animagus had lived to marry a woman of a lesser blood status, perhaps he himself would have become a father to wizards with this rare talent. The Death Eater forced down his bile and cleared his mind.
"What comes next then?" he inquired. "Are there any hints as to who will claim her?"
"Well, I do believe I have good chances," Yaxley said. Sure enough, his voice was brimming with confidence. "Andromeda Black might be a traitor who has adopted an insignificant surname, but she is still a Black. Her name carries status, and I just happen to be a wizard who knows how to use that status."
"Well, you certainly have more self-control than Rabastan or Antonin," Snape conceded. "The Dark Lord always knows best, though. I only hope we'll find out soon."
He intended to Apparate back to his family the moment this affair was closed.
"We shall indeed find out soon enough," Yaxley nodded. "It all depends on what we have to offer, doesn't it, gentlemen?"
Nodding absently, Snape walked towards the glassed terrace door and looked out onto the rainy gardens. For once, the white peacocks were nowhere to be seen.
"Where is Lucius?"
"In the West Wing, I believe," Yaxley replied. "A house-elf let me in here."
"Well, I might as well get going," Rodolphus muttered. "Do pass my greetings to the host, should you see him. Bellatrix needs to redirect her rage, and who else is there to help…"
Severus watched him get to his feet and wondered whether he should imitate him and make a detour to Hogwarts while the Dark Lord took his time settling his matters. He was on the verge of following this urge when a house-elf popped into the room and told them squeakily to come to the drawing room at once. Their waiting was finally at an end.
"This is it," Snape smiled at the other two wizards, relieved.
Not for the first time, they were filing into the monumental room, which was plunged in the shadows, all its curtains drawn. Footsteps and scraping of numerous chairs filled the air as usual; never before, however, had anticipation and excitement been so dense at a meeting. The Death Eaters kept their eyes respectfully downcast when facing their Lord, but they could not help stealing glances at the frail figure chained at his feet. The young woman was beautiful and weak from her imprisonment, with haunted eyes yet proud features.
Silence fell over the assembly the instant everyone was seated. Snape had taken his place on the Dark Lord's right, followed by Avery, Dolohov, Nott, Rookwood, Rowle, the Carrows and Gabbon. Yaxley had mirrored him on the opposite side of the table, flanked by Crouch, Lucius and Narcissa, the Lestrange brothers, Karkaroff, Macnair and Mulciber. Bellatrix's absence was akin to a gaping hole in this gathering, and while no one commented on it, all of them were conscious of her helpless rage.
"My loyal Death Eaters," the Dark Lord addressed them, for he always had the first and the last word, "remind me, how long has it been since the last member of the Order of the Phoenix, led and driven by Albus Dumbledore's delusional ideas of justice, dared oppose my rule?"
"Two years, my Lord," Yaxley answered readily.
"Two years," the Dark Lord repeated in his susurrant voice. "Two yearsss, and still we have to deal with the dirt the crooked-nosed old man left behind."
The wizard paused, approaching the captive his Death Eaters were observing so eagerly. The woman looked down, not meeting his eye.
There was something quite terrifying in his very gesture. A step: an immense accomplishment for a toddler growing into a child, an ordinary motion for any human being, and yet such a majestic and formidable one when performed by their Lord as he contemplated the witch with his ruby-red orbs gleaming on his snake-like face.
"How many rebels have we recently captured, Yaxley?" he asked almost casually.
"More than fifty, my Lord, from the two separate rebellions."
"More than fifty," came a soft echo. "The rebels take their inspiration from the likes of the deceased Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A half-blood, I shall remind you; a half-blood with rather liberal views on Muggles and the Mudblood scum, as well as the rightful hierarchy we have long since restored, my friends. Mating with such scum is, sadly, often inevitable, I'll admit that much. Giving them titles, however, lifting their importance despite all the times they've tried to slaughter us… now that is what makes all the difference. That is unacceptable and unforgivable. And yet, should we really be surprised there are the likes of Dumbledore still out there? Enemies who try to destroy us from within? No. Not if the best of our kind provide an example for them to follow. Traitors are despised for a reason, my friends."
The chained witch gave an involuntary twitch at those words. One could almost say she had sniffed or suppressed a small cry, but it was hard to tell.
The Darkest wizard of the century kept looking down at her, disgust visible on his features. Then he turned back to his Death Eaters.
For the most part, the men's expressions were blank, though the glint of interest in their gazes could not be missed. Yaxley's eyes displayed eagerness while Rabastan's shone with malevolent confidence. Antonin was watching the woman, and his emotions were more difficult to read. Out of the three of them, he was studying her the most attentively.
"Narcissa, you seem unhappy," the Dark Lord said suddenly.
Everyone's attention shifted to the Malfoys. Narcissa Malfoy was the only one who had not spared her sister as much as a glance. She was staring straight ahead, her inscrutable face as pale as her long silvery hair hanging down her back.
"Your will is clear, my Lord. I can only respect it," she said.
"Indeed."
The Dark Lord then spoke to the rest of them.
"For those of you who are not yet aware, I have decided to spare Andromeda Black's life despite the severity of her betrayal. I believe this is the cause of Narcissa's grief, am I correct?"
Narcissa held their Lord's gaze, never flinching under its ferocity but responding to it gently, like a lady, whereas most other witches and wizards would be cowering in fear.
"Your will is clear, my Lord, as I said. As your humble servant, I must respect it regardless of my own opinion on the matter."
"And if I were to change my decision?" the Dark Lord wondered.
And as if on cue, a silver dagger appeared in front of Narcissa.
"Would you do the honours and execute the traitor, who, by all means, deserves it?"
Narcissa looked at the dagger, not taking it yet never looking away. Under the table, her husband reached for her hand, expecting to find it covered in cold sweat. Instead, her delicate fingers were warm, her hands free of any tremor. Narcissa Malfoy was utterly calm, even serene. Everybody was eyeing her intently, even the men who had been so focused on her imprisoned sister, and even the captured witch herself, although her intelligent coppery eyes betrayed nothing.
"I would do anything that would please you, my Lord," the blonde witch responded. "And if you were to take my sister's life, nothing would please me more."
Her words were true, and the Dark Lord saw it. The dagger dissolved in thin air, not leaving so much as diamond dust in its wake. The three men who had offered themselves as Andromeda Tonks's guardians appeared relieved at this sign.
"You and Lucius have served me well," the red-eyed wizard stated, addressing Narcissa, "but I am afraid I cannot heed your request. As I have already explained to Bellatrix, Andromeda Black is a traitor, a disgrace to our kind, a living proof that even those of the purest of blood do not know the true value of a gift so rare as magic. And yet, she is one of the purest of blood. Her blood carries power, and she shall be more useful alive than dead. She shall be spared."
Everyone seemed to straighten up in their seats. The eyes of the three tensest Death Eaters wandered from the woman to the Dark Lord's face, anticipating his next words.
"Which brings us to the most significant question of the night. If Andromeda Black is to be spared, what shall become of her? Should I snap her wand? Should I imprison her for her crimes for the rest of her days? It would be fair, but it wouldn't be wise. And it just so happens that three of my loyal Death Eaters have volunteered to take charge of this particular captive."
His gleaming eyes travelled to the men in question, and for once, eagerness had the better of them, for they did not look away. He would have had no trouble deciphering their thoughts and feelings even if he had not been the world's most powerful Legilimens.
Ambition and excitement dominated Yaxley's mind-the only kind of excitement he knew: that of politics, plotting, power. He was attracted to the woman's name and everything she represented. There was nothing personal in his desire to be her guardian; he was barely even appreciative of her looks.
Rabastan's emotions were not much different, but the aura surrounding him was darker. He loathed Bellatrix and, by extension, all the Blacks, for in his opinion, they were responsible for the decline of the Lestrange House. In his eyes, Andromeda was a copy of Bellatrix—a copy he could punish and torture for all the wrongs Bellatrix had, in his opinion, ever inflicted on his lovesick brother.
And then there was Antonin, who, unlike the other 'suitors', was not driven by thoughts of political prestige. He certainly was not insensitive to the name of Black, yet ambition and power play were not at the core of his interest for the witch. He was fascinated by her good looks and furious at the humiliations he and his family had endured at the hands of the Blacks. There was anger and desire for revenge, but it was far less personal than Rabastan's savage hatred, and carnal desire played a larger role in his request.
The Dark Lord's mouth curved into a twisted smile. He let his gaze roam along the Death Eaters' faces. They were all impatient to hear the name he would speak; so impatient they did not even bother to pretend otherwise. Finally, his eyes passed over Narcissa Malfoy, who remained as impassive as before, though a certain defeat showed in her shoulders if one were to look closely. Then his look stopped on Yaxley.
"Antonin," he said while Yaxley glanced back, barely containing a smile of triumph, "approach. You are to make sure Andromeda Black stays in line and serves us well."
For a few seconds, there was a nearly deafening silence, and then Antonin Dolohov rose, his delight tinged with only a hint of surprise. He approached his master and sank to one knee.
"You honour me beyond words, my Lord. Thank you for your trust. I shall not disappoint you."
Whispers broke out across the table, as if impossible to withhold, and amazed looks were exchanged. Rabastan and Yaxley looked as though someone had knocked all the wind out of them.
"I trust you not to, Antonin, or else, you know the consequences," the Dark Lord responded, beckoning the tall dark-haired wizard to rise and take the chains the witch was bound with. "Two years, my loyal Death Eaters. Tonight, we celebrate a victory, for even those who try to deny our rule cannot do so any longer."