Disclaimer: If it were mine, I would not be feeling so remiss about how much my travel plans are shooting over budget...

Updated: Friday, 27 April 2007.
Edited: Wednesday, 02 January 2008

Chapter 9: Making Connections

By simply refraining from hexing those who crossed him and keeping his pointed opinions to himself, Arcturus found that many in the household still looked upon him as though he were five. Chalking it up to their poor observational skills, he had overruled Harry's suggestion that they come clean; the boredom of sitting idly in a house prompting him to remain ambiguous. Ever so slowly, the end of summer approached, and Arcturus knew that his game would come to an end soon. Presently, the nearly sixteen-year-old wizard was curled up in his grandfather's chair in the drawing room, pouring himself over a thick, musty tome he'd rescued from an overlooked nook in the attic. His Aunt Lucretia had confiscated the book from him nearly seven years earlier, and Arcturus was feeling rather pleased with himself for uncovering it at last; having harboured fears that his aunt may have sold it in Knockturn Alley for a tidy profit, or otherwise gone outside with it and had it seized by the Ministry.

"What are you reading, there, kiddo?"

Arcturus snapped the book shut and leant over it protectively as his uncle sauntered into the room casually. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment Sirius had started with his quaint little endearments, and by all means had he not been trying to maintain a certain childish image he would have hexed the man the first time he'd been addressed by anything other than his rightful name, but now as his uncle's words washed over him, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the warmth in the man's tone. Avoiding Sirius' gaze, Arcturus scowled at himself for entertaining such thoughts, even though a part of him suspected that this was one area Esme had ruthlessly controlled in the past and what was emerging now were completely natural reactions.

"Where did you get that book?" said Sirius, stunned. Whilst Arcturus had been waging an inward battle, his uncle had crossed the room and tilted his head to inspect the spine of the book in his nephew's hand.

One look at the man's face was all it took for Arcturus to know that Sirius knew precisely what kind of book they were dealing with, and he levelled a glare in challenge. Whether the man was still of the belief that his nephew had regressed in age was unclear, but he seemed to know better than to try and wrench the outlawed book from Arcturus' hands.
"I don't think you should be reading that…" said Sirius slowly. "I don't know how or where you found it, but I'm guessing it had been hidden for a reason…"

"Yeah, Aunt Lucretia did not want me to try any of the spells on her," snorted Arcturus, wistfully thinking of all the hell he could have caused had he found the book sooner. Truth told, he'd forgotten about it entirely, and it was not until he had been up in the attic looking for a locket his father had left him, and he'd not worn since Esmerelda bestowed him with his Token, that he'd come across it. Right now he was searching its pages for anything that may reference the powers of a vampire's Token, and he was not about to give it up.

A light went off in Sirius' head. First, he'd come in to find the boy immersed in a very large, and very complicated text, and then there was the tiny matter of Aunt Lucretia.
"Your Aunt Lucretia could not have moved in until you were about seven," Sirius pointed out, eyes wide as the truth began to hit home. "Are you getting some memory back?"

"Feels like it never left," said Arcturus casually, feigning a miraculous turn around.

Sirius regarded his nephew through hooded eyes, his expression pensive as he considered the possibilities.
"Assuming it never did leave, why the act?" he asked levelly, years spent as a prankster in his Hogwarts days filling him with the insight necessary to detect when someone was about to come clean.

Arcturus shrugged.
"Oh you know, the lengths people would go to in the avoidance of boredom," he quipped flippantly, removing his possessive hold of the book in his hands once it was clear that Sirius was not about to try and take it away. He flicked through a few pages casually, feigning nonchalance, though his intense stare gave a distinctly different impression. "Also, you needed to learn not to jump into things without considering first the consequences…"

Put out by the boy's admission, and all the days of worry the teen had purposefully put him through, Sirius found it difficult to keep his temper in check.
"But there were no consequences to consider, were there?" he snapped, gesticulating wildly. "It was all an act! How could you do that?"

"It was quite easy," said Arcturus, picking at a nail boorishly. "I simply adapted to my surrounds. Honestly, Merlin knows why the other teenagers haven't staged a mutiny, what, after an entire summer of being oppressed and kept out of things! Don't even try to deny that you found dealing with a child better than the constant battle of keeping an adolescent in the dark…"

Sirius growled.
"Yes, but why, Arcturus?" he asked, begging for understanding. "I did something major without your input, and you were rightfully pissed about it, I get that, but why not just yell at me and get it over with? Why did you have to put me though all that worry? All of us! Merlin knew what we were going to do with you when school started… you were showing no signs of recovery…"

Arcturus shook his head in revulsion.
"I'll tell you why," he said quietly, cutting his uncle off mid-rant. He tucked the book under an arm and stood tall, his eyes flashing with barely compressed emotion. "I did it because I wanted you to feel as helpless as I did! My behaviour of late may have been contrived, but the principle behind it is sound. Do you have any idea, for instance, what it's like for me to suddenly have autonomous control of parts of my mind that were under her influence the vast majority of my life? I feel as emotionally needy as a damn five year old, and my judgement has gone to hell – the old me would certainly not be disclosing any of this – so yeah, if it will make you feel any better, thanks to you part of my mind has regressed horribly! Happy?"

With that, Arcturus brushed past his uncle and stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned Sirius Black in his wake; one though reeling through his mind…
'What have I done?'


Arcturus could not believe he had just let go of all his angst, holding almost nothing back as he confronted his uncle. Why had he said so much? Was that what being a hormone-riddled teenager was all about? Irrationality? Uncontrollable urges? The ridiculous belief that one was simultaneously impervious to danger and the victim of all those around them?

Whatever the cause, Arcturus knew that he needed to calm down, and there was only one thing good for that. Unfortunately for him, a certain slimy-haired cousin spotted him retrieving his grandfather's Pensieve before he'd even thought of locking the study door behind himself, and his trip down memory lane was rudely interrupted.

"What the hell are you doing here?" snapped Arcturus as two figures appeared beside him in his father's memory; his uncle and bat of a cousin.

Suddenly, the intensely private boy felt self-conscious about exposing Sirius to the scene that, ultimately, led to his father's death, and he attempted to block their view.
"Get out! Why didn't you just pull me out? God! Do you have to stick your nose into everything?" - the profile of his cousin's abnormally long nose caught his eye and he could not help but throw in an insult – "You, Snape, I can almost understand - it's a congenital hazard after all - but it's still inexcusable. So get out!"

Having arrived in the memory at the point just after he and his father's arrival at Grimmauld Place, Sirius could not tear his eyes away from the brother he'd never seen looking so despondent. The tune he was nervously humming to the newborn wrapped in his cloak was immediately identifiable as the same one he'd heard his brother's mother-in-law use on Arcturus weeks earlier. He went rigid as began to watch the scene unfold.

"Mother!" Regulus Black bellowed, immediately sporting a look of self-reproach when the hungry, unsettled infant in his arms began to fuss.

The door to the study opened out into the hallway and a figure Sirius knew all too well burst into the scene.
"Regulus! What are you doing back so soon…" the voice of the Black patriarch stopped short as his silvery grey eyes spotted the squirming bundle. He took a measured step forward, his face softened to a degree Sirius had no living memory of witnessing. "Is this… Regulus, what are you doing, removing an infant from its mother so soon? Son, is everything all right?"

"She's dead," Regulus said flatly, clearly in shock. "The potion was supposed to minimise her pain, and prevent blood loss… I got the remedy from the Dark Lord himself! It seems He viewed my wife as a threat…" the young wizard's voice cracked and he gazed down at the restless infant in his arms. "Soon as they suspected what had happened, her parents cast us out. Father, what am I to do?"

"You can start by introducing me to your heir," said Orion Black in a strange tone, seeming to falter in his words as the child's gender remained undisclosed.

As if the rest of the world had suddenly ceased to exist, Regulus' face brightened and he re-affirmed his possessive hold on the baby in his arms. Gazing down at the infant, he smiled uncontrollably before looking his father square in the eye.
"Father, I would like for you to meet my son," he said proudly, offering the bundle of blankets to his child's grandfather. "Arcturus Phineas Black."

Accepting his family's newest heir, Orion Black studied the alert face of his grandson.
"You have chosen well," he said approvingly, leaving it an open question as to whether he was talking of the choice of name, or the genetic gene pool that had been aligned with the Black line to create the child.

Suddenly lost without the anchor of his son in his arms, Regulus slumped and bowed his head.
"I chose poorly," he said dejectedly, rubbing at his marked arm pointedly. His head snapping up, as though remembering something horrific, he stared at his father in alarm. "Kreacher!"

A shivering mass of soaking wet House Elf appeared on the floor with a weak 'crack', impromptuly summoned by the exclaimation of its master.
"M-m-m-aster Regulus!" Kreacher quivered, his dull eyes widening with hope and admiration as they set upon the younger of the two brothers Black.

"Kreacher! What happened to you?" snapped Orion, taken aback by his elf's dishevelled appearance. Sensing something untoward, he narrowed his eyes at his son. "Regulus?"

Regulus shifted his feet almost sheepishly – an act Sirius well remembered from their shared youth – and avoided his father's steely gaze.
"The Dark Lord required a volunteer… a House Elf…" said Regulus, his voice trailing off in bitter self-reproach. "I leant him Kreacher. But that was before I knew of his plans for my wife!"

He turned his attention to the elf that had clearly been traumatised by the hand of the Dark Lord. Because his father was unable to do so on account of the infant in his arms, he pulled out his own wand and rid the shaking elf of the foul intrepid water that clung to his leathered skin like quicksilver. In a move Sirius recognised as being something his nephew had taken pains to emulate, the watching boy's father stooped down on his haunches and addressed Kreacher at almost eye-level; a comforting hand on the shaken elf's shoulder.
"Kreacher, what did He have you do?" he requested answers. "Tell me everything."

The memory shifted slightly, causing Arcturus to bristle with what Sirius could see was a well-rehearsed frustration. It was with a jolt that the unwelcome Animagus realised that the memory they were now viewing was not from the point of view of his brother, but now that of the family's elf, Kreacher.
"Kreacher is sorry, Master," the elf appeared inconsolable in unspoken grief. "Kreacher did all that he could do, but Master Regulus wished to stay…"

"Kreacher, where is my son?" demanded Orion Black, rising steadily from his chair in the drawing room – the one Sirius had noticed his nephew favouring. Across the room, his very alive mother sat rocking the bundle of blankets that cocooned her grandson, all traces of the insanity that ultimately claimed her life apparently missing. "If my son is dead as you say, I must see his body! Where is he?"

"Kreacher… Kreacher cannot say," the elf said regretfully, but before his master could advance upon him in reproach, he held his head high and added quickly; "but Kreacher can show Master."

Orion Black nodded once, impatient, but the elf made no move to immediately comply. Watery tears unshed in his eyes, the spindly elf squared his shoulders and raised his chin slightly, apparently determined to hold himself together in execution of his absent master's final wishes. Approaching his mistress, and the infant in her arms, he held out a bony limb; his fingers firmly clasped around something that extended from a silvery chain.
"Master Regulus did leave this for young Master," Kreacher said sadly, unfurling his fingers to reveal a locket. "Young Master is not to wear it, but keep it safe. When Young Master is older, Kreacher will help Young Master to understand, but Master Regulus is not wanting Kreacher to say anything yet."

"Very well, Kreacher," said Orion in understanding, apparently content with his son's judgement to impart his secret to the family elf. "If Regulus trusts you, then I will not question you further. Walburga, what are you doing?"

Walburga Black looked up from where she had been fastening the locket around the infant's neck, and tightened her possessive hold on the baby.
"He'll wear it in memory of his father," she declared tearfully, leaving no room for argument. She held the baby up so that her husband could better see the jewel their grandson now wore. "Don't you recognise it, Orion? It is Slytherin's mark! I don't know what Regulus was thinking… surely, Kreacher, you heard him wrong… to wear such a heirloom is surely an honour!"

Habitually slipping into the role of placating his wife's whims, Orion merely nodded in acquiescence and returned his attentions to discovering the fate of his missing son.
"Kreacher, I want you to take me to Regulus," he commanded.

Kreacher looked positively terrified.
"But Master," he said urgently, in a rare show of defiance, fat tears now falling. "Kreacher does not wish for Master to suffer the same fate as Master Regulus-"

"Desist with your snivelling, Kreacher, and take me to my son!" demanded Orion angrily, having no more patience for the House Elf's loyal sentiments. "I will see his death avenged!"

At that, the memory faded and the three wizards found themselves returned to the imposing Black study. Striding purposefully to stand before the empty grate, his back to the unwelcomed witnesses of his father's legacy, Arcturus stared unseeingly at the mantle.
"Grandmother blamed Kreacher, when her husband followed my father into the grave," he said lowly. "The elf would not show her what had happened either, on my father's word…" he turned slowly to stare at his uncle. "She showed me that memory, every night in my waking memory, so that I would be ingrained with the duty of avenging my forefathers. After her death, it was one of the only things that tied me to my past."

"Do you know where Kreacher took them?" asked Sirius quietly, slightly shaken by the memory's implications. "Where… where Voldemort had led the elf?"

But before Arcturus could answer in the affirmative, beginning to nod slightly, Snape cut in brusquely.
"The Locket, boy!" he snapped with a terse urgency. He stepped forward menacingly and failed dismally in his attempt to tower over the tall teen. "What became of it?"

Lips curling into a secretive smile at the opportunity that had just been afforded him, Arcturus turned his nose up at the insistent Potions brewer and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"I am still not convinced your hand in my mother's death was incidental," he said scathingly, through gritted teeth. "What makes you think I would volunteer such information to you?"

Sirius looked between the two wizards in mounting confusion.
"What's so important about this locket?" he asked dumbly. "So it was Slytherin's-?"

"So, it was was what my father died for!" snapped Arcturus testily, rounding on his uncle; "and, by extension, your own!"

Sensing that his nephew was not going to divulge any useful information in the presence of their mutual nemesis, Sirius turned to glare at the resident Potions Master.
"Snape, don't you have some place else to be?" he suggested leadingly, prompting the Slytherin head to turn and sweep out of the room. Calling after the departing wizard, he shook his head in contempt. "And don't let me catch you following my nephew into his Pensieve again!"
He turned to his nephew.
"Sorry, kid, I didn't intend to spy, I was just out to make sure Snape wasn't giving you a hard time… do you have any idea why he would be compelled to follow you into that Pensieve?"

"What, besides being a nosey git?" said Arcturus dryly, though if one were to look closely they would see he was a little rattled at the implication that Snape had been particularly fixated on the locket. He crossed the study floor and retrieved a familiar crystal decanter. "Drink?"

"You know, I really shouldn't condone you drinking," Sirius began, changing his tune when he saw his nephew's expression. Changing the subject, he asked the question he felt he would gain more ground with than his unwelcome houseguest. "This locket Regulus died for… did Kreacher end up telling you what your Dad intended for you to do with it?"

Arcturus finished the nod he had been prohibited from completing earlier.
"His secret was the only thing that kept him alive, for many years," said Arcturus, referring to the blind rage his grandmother had felt towards the elf, and the manner in which Lucretia had been tempted to rid the house of all young Arcturus' allies. He shook his head at the memories and frowned at his uncle. "After Lucretia died, and I was free to act on my own volition, Kreacher showed me what my father intended for me to see…"
He lowered his gaze and was astonished to feel a lump forming at his throat. The memory Kreacher had shown him depicted his father's death, and he was so certain it was an image he had long since come to terms with; but evidently Esmerelda's influence stretched so far as to mute his own grief. Summoning up all his strength, he revealed to his father's brother what he had seen.
"Kreacher showed me my father's death," he said flatly, avoiding his uncle's piercing gaze. "Specifically, his final words…"

"What were they?" Sirius whispered, unbidden.

Arcturus blinked and frowned at his uncle.
"No," he denied the man an answer. "I'm not ready to share that with anybody yet."

Reeling back slightly, suddenly reminded by the wedge he had inadvertedly created between himself and his nephew when he had refused to acknowledge his brother's letters all those years previously, Sirius sighed and nodded. Though the teenager's stubborness frustrated him, he could understand it, and had resigned himself to taking things slowly. Catching the boy's eye, and recognising the expression thanks to the genetics Arcturus shared with the wizard he'd once known so well, Sirius stepped forward and did the one thing he'd wished someone was there to do for him when he'd been fifteen and trapped in his parent's oppressive home. Grasping both shoulders firmly, he bowed his head slightly so that he were at eye level with his nephew and sighed.
"It's okay, Arcturus. You can let it out…"

In denial, Arcturus shook his head violently. Squeezing his eyes shut, he refused to look at the man.
"No, I can't," he said desperately, confusion leaking into his tone as he battled with emotions the vampire witch had, until so recently, kept a tight cap on. For the first time in years, watching the last known memory of his father had a marked effect on him, and now he was no longer distracted by the anger he felt whenever in Snape's presence, felt his resolve begin to crumble. He shook his head again. "I can't afford to be so weak! There's a battle to fight…"

Gripping the boy's chin, Sirius urged the boy's head upwards to face him.
"Arcturus, open your eyes and look at me," he said steadily. Resistance against his hand told him that the boy was trying to shake his head. "No, Arcturus, look at me!"

Determined blue eyes glared into grey.

"Grief is not a weakness," he stressed. "There are several vital stages, of which anger and vengefulness are but one. Let it out!"

Seeing the sincerity in the man's eyes, hearing his concern, and feeling his presence, it took all of Arcturus' resolve not to react. The pair maintained eye contact, words unsaid passing between them, when suddenly, an all-too-familiar presence swirled into Sirius' line of sight; sending a electrifying shock through the pair.

Eyes wide, Arcturus backed away warily, Sirius having let go of his nephew and moved on his own accord.
"What the hell was that?" he said, sounding shaken.

"Esme…" whispered Arcturus, one hand rubbing frantically at the nape of his neck, where the tiny hairs that had never failed to rise in her presence were standing on end. He shivered. "She's trying to reach me through you."

"Did it work?" said Sirius, his throat dry, and eyes wide.

"Oh, she got through to me all right," said Arcturus, furrowing his brow in confusion. "But I wasn't as happy to see her as I thought I would be."

"It's more than just a novelty; the whole thinking independently thing, eh?" said Sirius, trying to add some brevity to the otherwise dismal circumstances they found themselves in.

"Yeah, you ought to try it, sometime," Arcturus quipped back, quick as a flash.

Sirius scowled in mock indignation and seized the boy's shoulders again, figuring that they would be safe so long as they don't have any more skin-to-skin contact like before.
"I'm not side-tracked that easily, kid," he said softly. "If that unscheduled little, er, visit, threw the mood off the market, then good riddance, but don't forget that it's perfectly normal… perfectly acceptable… to acknowledge all seven stages of grief."

"There's seven?" question Arcturus with a raised brow. "Like the seven deadly sins?"

Sirius shrugged and, taking a dare, ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.
"Well, you know what they say about the number seven…"


Esmerelda was furious. Her tenuous link with the man who had become cursed the moment he'd taken the boy away from her could not be called upon for days. Feeding off Sirius Black's emotions as he dallied around his mysterious nephew, aloof and possessed with fear of rejection, she found that she could not force his hand. All she'd needed was for the man to come into contact with the boy, and then she'd be able to reach inside Arcturus' mind once more.

After ten years of having a part of herself within the boy's head, overseeing his every thought and helping to shape who he had become, she missed it. It wasn't so much about regaining the control, a hold that the boy had been largely unaware of, rather it was a matter of recovering that which made her whole. For Arcturus, as their separation had helped her realise, was not like any of the others that had come – and gone – before him; he was the one: the perfect embodiment of all that Esmerelda had ever lost. Child. Companion. Confidante. Warrior. Lover? Esmerelda had not been blind to the boy's misguided overtures – in fact she loved to tease the child about it – but that was just it; he was a child to her.

Or was he?

Irrevocably wrenched from him as completely as a spirit is exorcised from its host, she could not help but liken the void in her chest to how a widow might pine for her husband. Indeed Arcturus had grown into a man; perhaps not yet technically so, but mentally and emotionally she could not fault him. Under her careful guidance he had become a warrior, though if she were truly honest with herself she would admit to having very little to do with that transformation. Whether by birthright or circumstance, Arcturus Black had what it took to lead armies; Esmerelda had merely encouraged it.

But now here he was, her little warrior, severed from her influence in the first time since he was a child, and though she would never care to admit it, Esmerelda was scared. Irrespective of the precise nature of her feelings towards the teen, the fact remained that they were real. Having forcibly bound herself to Arcturus and doctoring his emotions for so long, she now had cause to question if he would still look at her the same way in return. The autonomy of his thoughts and possibility of his rejection was never a concern so long as he kept the Token; he'd never considered removing it whilst under her thrall and had no family around to convince – or force - him otherwise.

Arcturus' family.

Esmerelda's blood boiled at the thought of them. The link that had now been forged between herself and the man who had destroyed Arcturus' Token was not nearly as strong as she would have liked. Still confident that she was the only one who could remove the mark that the Token had left upon the man who dared to interfere with its purpose, Esmerelda suspected that Sirius Black had, from all his years in Azkaban, become adept at protecting his mind from outside influences, consciously or otherwise. Either that, or that infuriating fool Dumbledore had surrounded the man with more of his impenetrable magic; which is why she could not do anything without Black physically touching the boy first. One touch would be all that she'd need to exploit the likenesses in their blood and cast herself into Arcturus' mind. The connection would only last so long as the physical contact itself, and it would not be enough to exert any influence, but to assure the boy that she had not forsaken him - to see what he was thinking – would be enough. For now.

When the moment came, Esmerelda was ready. When she pushed the boundaries of whatever protection prevented her from controlling the older Black, she could see through his eyes. For the most part, she had contended herself with what the man's mind revealed to her – which was everything not externally shielded by magical vow or charm – but when she had felt the man's concern towards his nephew, she had to witness it firsthand.

Seeing through the man's eyes, Esmerelda was shocked to see that her conduit had been gripping the boy's chin entirely without her knowledge. Cursing herself for underestimating the unknown power that kept the Token's parting curse from taking full effect, she didn't have time to think. Acting quickly, she stretched the limits of her bond and, using the physical contact between the two Blacks as a bridge, thrust herself into Arcturus' mind. She'd barely made it through his Occlumency shields when the force of her efforts drove man and child apart, severing the link she had fought to establish.

Gifted with but only a fragmented glimpse of Arcturus' mind, Esmerelda was disheartened by what she found. Through the rush of uncontrollable hormones that flooded his mind now that she was not there to keep them dammed, one thing was undeniable: he was not happy with her.

Her body falling into an uncharacteristic slump, she sat back and considered her options. So preoccupied with how much she missed the boy and how the separation was, in turn, effecting him, she'd paid no mind to what he'd feel when he'd come to realise just how much she had controlled his emotions. As it were, Arcturus' teenaged inclination to rebel had pushed the limits of her control, and she had favoured indulging his whims over subtly shaping his mind into submission. It was never any secret between them that the teen had no ambition to be turned, to join her immortal realm. She had fed off his thirst for revenge and encouraged the exploitation of her numbers in the knowledge that, when he was done avenging his parents, she would remain all that he had, and that when that time came he'd be ready for what she wanted. Yes, she could have ensured this by coercive means, but Esmerelda had thought time to be on her side, and knew the virtues of patience.

Looking back on it now, Esmerelda almost wished that she'd exploited her hold over the boy whilst she'd still had it. Strangely, she did not regret her actions, though, for to completely alter the boy's perception and turn him into a mindless drone would do nothing to set him apart from the countless scores of Muggles she had Turned to do her whim. No, Esmerelda respected Arcturus as his own person, only doing what was necessary to ensure both his safety and effectiveness in battle. How any normal teenager could ever reach a rational conclusion with such a war of hormones raging within them was unfathomable, and Esmerelda had only wanted to spare her protégé from the indecision.

Sensing his anger now, over all else, Esmerelda felt jilted. Knowing the boy as well as she did, and knowing how much he loved both his knowledge and power, she could not bring herself to feel surprise at his reaction. But where she had hoped Arcturus would be rational and acknowledge that she had only endeavoured to assist him, the flood of testosterone that flowed freely without her guard had clearly chased all semblance of reason from his mind. He resented the control she'd used sparingly, beginning to doubt the origin of his feelings towards her in the process. In that one fleeting moment, all of Esmerelda's fears were coming true: she was losing him, and if she didn't speak with him soon all hope would be lost.


"What of Karkaroff?" the Dark Lord's voice was low and menacing, his followers grateful for the lack of the letter 's' in his request, lest it be rendered entirely indecipherable. Unfortunately for them, the answer would not be pleasing to their Master.

A weedy looking wizard whose foolhardy rashness and brave countenance may have seen him sorted in Gryffindor had he ever attended Hogwarts stepped forward.
"My Lord, we have tracked the traitor to the Romanian hinterland," he said, bowing so low that he missed the flash of impatience in his master's eyes. "He has found sanctuary with a coven there."

"There is no coven in the wilds of Romania, fool boy!" snapped the Dark wizard, wordlessly hurling a Cruciatus Curse in the man's direction. He had to yell, then, to be heard over the unfortunate wizard's throes of pain. "I spent the better part of ten years turning those woodlands inside out, waiting for one of my most loyal to bestow upon me a body. The Darkness therein is intoxicating! Not even I could cross its boundaries. Coven or no, whatever lies within those shadows would never bow down to the needs of a traitor!"

"He was sighted…" the man croaked out, knowing that if he were not to regain the Dark Lord's favour with his next bit of news then it would mean certain death. "Montague traced the boy's escape. He had a liege of Vampires assisting him take down our men, I'm sorry my Lord, but I assumed that they were the ones protecting Karkaroff… traces of his magic were found at the point where Black entered the forest with the undead army."

Voldemort bristled as attention was drawn to another situation that was plaguing him of late: Arcturus Black. He had been trying to get his hands on the boy since the day of his birth; the boy's father having sealed his son's fate the moment he'd left the infant in the 'safe keeping' of relatives and openly defied him. The Dark Lord had hoped to recover quickly that which the traitorous Black had stolen from right under his nose, but after the boy had escaped with his son only to die a coward's death at the Inferi's hand rather than face him, Voldemort had no choice but to pursue the traitor's kin in the hope of recovering what he had lost.

Much to his chagrin, the Black matriarch was a force to be reckoned with. Like her son's home, no one could cross her threshold without invitation; but unlike her youngest son, she had the wits about her to deny an audience with the likes of those who had taken her husband and son from her. Following his temporary demise, two of his most faithful – none other than Walburga Black's own nieces – had tried in vain to do their master's bidding in the hope that it would give them a way to bring him back, but it was all to be in vain. Had Voldemort possessed a corporeal form at the time he might have punished Bella extensively for losing her temper and trying to torture the information out of the old woman and her House Elf, for they had burned all bridges behind them after that. Not only had the woman survived Bella's attentions with a measure of sanity intact, but she refused visitors thereafter and whatever provisions she went on to make for her grandson's ongoing care after her death made the boy near untouchable.

The only time any of Voldemort's people had gotten close to the young Black heir was when he were enrolled in Durmstrang. Thinking, then, of how Karkaroff had masterfully stood in the way of any reprisals, it was insulting how the man's eventual defection remained a surprise. Igor had assured Lucius – who'd never given up trying to exploit his wife's blood tie to the boy after the child was left without a guardian – that Arcturus Black had no knowledge of the circumstances that surrounded his father's demise and that, given time, the child would grow to become one of the Dark Lord's strongest followers. That the boy waited until his mentor was safely hidden before revealing his army and indiscriminately waging a war against those who bore the Dark Mark, was of no coincidence, and it was widely suspected that the boy was helping Karkaroff hide.

"What news of the boy," the Dark Lord shifted his attention, suspecting now that the boy would be the only person who could lead him to both his missing heirloom and the cowardly traitor.

"He hasn't been seen since the post-game gathering, nearly two weeks ago," whimpered the man at his feet, not wanting to prescribe any of his comrades to the fate that already awaited him. He looked up, a fool's hope glistening in his eye as he kept trying to please his master. "He left quite suddenly, looking in considerable pain. The Seeker, Krum, was heard saying something about a Blood Bond. It would explain how he responded so promptly when we attacked his grandparents' home…"

"I already knew of the Bond, you stupid man! Why else would I have targeted his mother's kin if not certain of the fact that it would draw him out?" snapped Voldemort. "Now tell me something I don't know, and I may just consider sparing your life… why didn't anyone think of acquiring him there? It was a crowded club… he could have been spirited away…"

"He did not leave the team's table the entire night, my Lord," said another wizard fearfully; the one who had been in charge of staking out the popular nightspot after the Bulgarian team's victory in the anticipation that the Black boy would show up. The Dark Lord had forgiven him his impertinence on account of the combined strength and influence the families of those Quidditch players held; whilst none of the team were loyal to him, none were demonstrably against him, either, and all preferred to keep it that way.

The Dark Lord waved off the man's response and returned his attention to the wizard still cowering on the floor.
"You do not know something I do not?" he asked, sounding disappointed as he raised his wand to kill the incompetent man. "Pity…"

"No! Wait! My Lord!" the man spluttered, staring into the face of death and reeling back from what he saw awaiting him. "Wait… the boy's Token… I think it explains everything!"

The wizard formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle stopped short. It had been closely observed by his sources at the school that the young Black had exhibited a certain affinity amongst the population of Dark Creatures on its grounds. Previously, all reference to the boy bearing a Token had come from the natural conclusion that the half-breed alumni of the school had chosen to pledge themselves to him and protect him; though very few had seen any trinket on the boy that could pass as such a gift. But those creatures who had been seen assisting the boy kill his Death Eaters were of a variety none had ever seen. So, if the boy did indeed have a Token, and it had come from a source outside the school, then how did he come to strike such an allegiance if he'd spent the past four summers trying to avoid Lucius? Curiosity getting the better of him, Voldemort lowered his wand and beckoned the quivering man to continue.

"He needs to keep it exposed in battle, to effectively ward off attack from any Dark Creature, right?" the man stumbled over his words, stuttering and pausing like a condemned climber hanging from a cliff with only his nails for purchase. He went on. "The… the… gathering at the nightclub was the same night as the attack… he… he… didn't appear to have changed his attire: you could see the Token quite freely."

At this, Voldemort leant forward in unmasked interest. While it was necessary to keep a Token in sight of the creature posing a threat, even he could not deny the difficulty in securing a good look at something when you are too busy fighting for your life. Until quite recently, it had been doubted that the boy even had such a thing in his possession; it was on Greyback's testimony alone that one really did exist, though the bloodthirsty werewolf was incapable of describing it. Seated at a table, comparatively unguarded as he celebrated with his Quidditch playing comrades, it was wholly conceivable that the boy had left his Token in plain sight long enough to get a description from anyone smart enough to watch for it.

"Well?" he said impatiently when the man hesitated. "What of it? Who gave it to him?"

Tokens were unique to each Coven, and Voldemort awaited eagerly for the information that would enable him to retaliate against the loss of his men. It would not do to strike out at the Vampire community blindly; turn the historically neutral race completely against him. The man swallowed nervously.
"I do not know," he confessed. "Whoever left their mark on him is either not widely known, or they are fiercely guarded. That the boy only uses them in battle at night, and that he has been tracked to that particular forest, lends itself to only one possible conclusion."

The Dark Lord nodded his reprieve, one name coming to mind. Esmerelda Bane. He leant back in his chair and toyed with the wand in his hand. The woman was the stuff of legends… very few had set eyes on her and lived, and no one had ever succeeded in uncovering the secrets of her coven. Leaked files from the Vampire Council had narrowed down her location to the Romanian wilds, but not even they could track her movements. The vampire witch was an enigma… one that had intrigued the Dark Lord ever since, as a student, he'd come across an old book whilst serving Detention with his Defence professor.

Whilst he had regarded the class as nothing more than an opportunity to see how a potential enemy might defend themselves against attack, he had built up a grudging respect for its teacher. When catching his student perusing the clearly Dark book, the man had made no effort to reclaim it, instead embracing the young student's desire to learn and regaling him with some of the stories from within the book's pages. The fable of the vengeful Lady Bane scouring the earth for her heir had struck a chord with the orphaned Slytherin, and he had often fantasised of the power they would have wielded together had he been so chosen. Truth be told, he sought her still, wholly of the belief that once acquainted the woman would be able to identify with his goals and work with him. It had been why he had chosen Romania to recover in, after that initial attack on the Potter boy divested him of his body.

"Strange, how fate doth play its hand," he mused aloud, thinking it almost poetic that the great-grandson of the man who had first introduced him to the idea of an all powerful vampire witch would also be the one to lead him to her. Remembering something else, then, he snapped his head towards his most ambiguous of followers. "Snape! Step forward!"

The contrived double agent belied no hesitation as he resumed his predecessor's position kneeling prostrate on the floor; the younger wizard having been released back into the circle with an impatient flick of a wand and scuttling back to his place like a cockroach avoiding light. Staring down at the greasy hair of his most competent Potions brewer as it spilled from the sides of his mask, he chuckled menacingly.
"Do something with your hair, Severus," he said, degrading the proud head of his forefather's house. "Your students would recognise it anywhere. Now, take off your mask and look at me…"

As the Potions Master fluidly complied with the request, his body showing no signs of having heard the sniggers of his brethren behind him, Voldemort could not help but nod approvingly when he could further detect no sign of affliction in the unmasked wizard's eyes. Maintaining eye contact just enough to probe at his spy's shields in warning, he moved in for the kill.
"The Black boy is heir apparent to your grandparents' estate, is he not?" he asked, cruelly drawing light to the fact that the older heir had been overlooked on account of his dirty blood. Whilst the closely guarded half-blood Slytherin heir could relate to the plight of his little half-blood Prince, he could not deny that by virtue of blood, the Black child held more currency.

"It was given as his mother's dowry," confirmed Snape, no emotion evident in his tone.

"So it is his parents' matrimonial home, yes?" said Voldemort, his eyes glinting with hidden promise. He smiled malevolently.

"That is correct, my Lord," replied Snape. Having sensed where his master was taking the conversation, he spoke out of turn. "It is such a shame to see such a fine estate go to waste. The boy has it at his exclusive disposal and yet has never stayed a night within its walls."

"You would know this, how?" Voldemort's face darkened at the thought of having had a missed opportunity to get at the boy.

Keeping the incidence of their meeting at Order Headquarters out of the equation, the illusive double agent offered his explanation.
"The wards, my Lord," he said, averting his gaze to bow once more in apparent contrition. "They may not grant me entrance without the knowledge of the recognised heir, but as the elder I can still sense their movements."

"Can you manipulate them at all?" said the Dark Lord, intending to know if the disgruntled heir could wreak damage or get someone else through the wards.

"I have not tried with any certainty," the Potions Master responded, keeping his head to the floor lest the man catch him in his lie.

"And the boy? What does the Order make of his location?" said the Dark Lord.

Severus straightened and strengthened his mental shields before facing his master once more.
"They are still searching for him. I suspect they learnt of the Blood Bond and were responsible for the boy's abrupt departure from the nightclub," said Severus. "It is possible they are keeping the child in seclusion; I have not been called upon to attend a meeting since the first attack at the beginning of summer. I've been reporting directly to Dumbledore, at Hogwarts."

"Find a reason to accompany Dumbledore to his safe house next time you meet with him. If the boy is there, I want you to take decisive action," said Voldemort, leaving no room for argument. "Now what does the boy know of your claim to his parents' home? Does he believe you capable of seizing the property?"

"He is of the impression that I poisoned his mother of my own accord, seeking to reclaim my birthright before he could be born," said Severus, looking up with a genuine sneer on his face. "He refuses to believe that his own father's foolishness in choosing a wife who was sympathetic to Muggles as much as signed her death warrant after she had served her purpose in providing an heir."

Much to everyone's surprise, the Dark Lord laughed.
"Ah, I see I have finally struck a nerve," said Voldemort happily, smiling like a cat who had just found got the canary. "Tell me, Severus, does Dumbledore still believe you to be a spy for him?"

Cautioned by this turn of events, Severus was quick to reply.
"Of course, my Lord," he said.

"Good… good," the Dark Lord reached out and stroked the length of his familiar, Nagini, who was wound around the arm of his chair, seldom leaving his side. Hissing something to the imposing snake in Parseltongue, he smiled again at the Death Eater before him. "Now, then, I want you to go back to Dumbledore and report to him that I intend attacking the Prince estate in retaliation of the men I have lost at the boy's hand. Assuming the Order now have the child, do you think you could do that somewhere within earshot of the boy?"

"With all due respect, my Lord, the Black brat will see straight through the ruse," said Severus. "And even if he didn't, then telling Dumbledore would only decrease the boy's chances of leaving."

"Then you shall do whatever it takes to help him," said Voldemort silkily.

When the dark-haired wizard looked set to protest he shook his head slightly.
"Whatever it takes, Severus," he said in quiet warning. "If the boy does not turn up, then I will have no choice but to follow through on my threat… and I would so hate to destroy that which represents all that is pure in your blood."

"Yes, my Lord," said Severus submissively, bowing a third and final time as the Dark Lord dismissed him. He'd almost gotten away remarkably unscathed when he was hit from behind with the Dark wizard's favoured Unforgivable.

"For speaking out of turn," the malevolent wizard said, the promise of more retributions glinting in his eyes if Severus did not fulfil his latest task.

'That boy better be at Headquarters,' Severus Snape scowled to himself as he made a show of disguising his pain as he resumed his place in the circle. Merlin forbid how he would get word to the brat otherwise. He scowled inwardly as the Dark Lord continued issuing orders, most all of them revolving around the young Black heir; believed to be the key to finding the likes of Karkaroff and Lady Bane. The meeting ending thereafter, his movements stiffer than usual – but not noticeably so – Severus Snape began to stew.
'If it's not a Potter, it's a Black,' he lamented to himself as the cousin he'd been happy to never meet unseated Potter as the new bane of his existence.