There is a Manor, an old thing with no name or known origin, only that it is the Lord's Dominion. It's location is mystery, and those who upon reflection attempt to remark on The Manor, suddenly find themselves unable. There are scarce known characteristics of The Manor, but one prevails above the others.
Id est, that the Dark Lord's most precious possession resides there.
Lucius Malfoy on one such lazy morning, finds himself portkeyed to The Manor. A message awaits him at the entry that his Lord will arrive shortly, to be prepared to impart to Him all of his recent progress. It is vital that there be progress to report.
Lucius glances at his engraved pocket watch. The hands swing from Familial Recreation to settle firmly upon Business Afoot.
It had been bright at the Malfoy Manor, a pleasant summer morning. He can still hear Narcissa and Draco speaking softly over tea, something about a weekend excursion to Croatia. The windows of The Manor by contrast are dark, a featureless void beyond the glass.
Lucius takes the hall to the Dark Lord's primary conference chamber, the only room he's seen before. The secrets of The Manor are concealed behind winding halls that seem to glow an ethereal blue, halls that beg for poor fools looking to lose their way. Lucius does not wish to play the fool.
A door jumps ajar as he passes, and out tumbles the most precious possession.
"Lucius Malfoy," Harry greets breathlessly, with a boyish grin.
He wears but a large, obviously borrowed open robe, one of Lord Voldemort's he can assume, and nothing else. Lucius averts his eyes, keenly uncomfortable. He is but a boy in a king's position, barely fifteen, a reality the Dark Lord's army tries mightily to forget.
The nature of the relationship has always been suspect.
Aside, there is something… strange about Harry's body, strange and unsettling.
There are rumors of course, within the inner circle, that the Dark Lord's heir is as otherworldly and strange as his Master. It is another matter altogether to see for oneself the unnatural sleekness, the hairlessness, the sheen of scales.
"I've done something terribly wicked," Harry confides with relish.
Lucius belatedly notices the blood soaking his small hands and feet.
"Come see, Lucius, and have a laugh with me."
Harry grasps Lucius' arm with his wet, scarlet hand and pulls him into the room.
It is unremarkable, but for the body that sprawls in its center.
"Good Godric," he gasps. "Is that Severus Snape?"
The man lies prone on the rug, his neck torn open. Nagini is coiled around the man, bloodied tongue flickering in the air.
Lucius covers his mouth with a hand.
Harry steps up to Snape's body, feet dragging carelessly through the blood that's pooled under Snape's head. He bends and plucks a stained roll of parchment from the man's chest.
"You see, I found him writing a letter to Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter remains the Dark Lord's closest companion," he reads, preening. "Rumors of the Potter child's apparent vampirism remain unsubstantiated."
The boy bursts with laughing, holding his stomach.
"A vampire? The Order thought I was a vampire! Why, I could have told them everything in this letter myself."
He nudges Snape's slack face with his foot.
"I'm afraid your usefulness was expired long. Poor sod."
Lucius swallows, his mouth very arid. He knows, with highest certainty, that Severus Snape was named among the most vital instruments in this war, that his life was an orchestration of carefully mislead espionage, that it was imperative he remain untouched so as to maintain an image of ignorance; that the Dark Lord did not know He was being double crossed.
He knows this because he is here today to discuss the exact topic.
"I knew what he was, of course," Harry says with glee, stroking a sullied hand over Nagini's undulating back. "He was always so smug. How mighty the mouse feels afore caught in the mousetrap!"
Harry spins around, and Lucius diverts his gaze once more. The boy is flushed, glowing. Lucius swallows.
What will await Harry when this is discovered?
"You should never think yourself too important to die," Harry laughs, looking down on Snape. "Though I'm not sure this is a lesson pitiful Severus appreciates so much now."
Lucius suddenly feels this diversion has a deliberate message; a message for he, himself.
"Of course, Master Harry," he says smoothly.
The door behind him creaks, and his Lords stands tall in the entrance, an icy surveyour.
"My Lord!" Harry blossoms with the Dark Lord's appearance, stepping again into the puddle of blood and tracking his maroon steps all over the carpet. He sinks into Lord Voldemort, plasters his front into Him and clings.
"My treasure," He says, a hissing whisper of breath. "The one man I bade you must not kill lies dead, and you greet me with a cat's smile."
Harry withdraws, face petulant.
"I did it for You. He mocked You by his betrayal!"
"I gave you but one order," the Dark Lord replies.
Harry turns his back on Him, silent for a moment.
"You once told me I was the sun that sets the day. Yet you would make a man, Severus Snape, more important than me!"
Lucius presses himself upon the dark wall, heart beating and face wet with fear. He has been fortunate enough to avoid the legendary tantrums; it seems fortune has at last abandoned him. Lord Voldemort bears the force of his creature's rage without challenge. He looks upon Harry unchanged, immovable.
"My Harry has rather forgotten who the Master is," He says, withdrawing His wand and caressing its length, savoring. "What do you think, Lucius? Does he need to be reminded?"
"You should have killed me at the start, if you were going to make me so worthless. I hate you! Avada kedavra!"
Lucius is thrown to the floor, locking eyes with Snape's blank stare. He watches with terror as the acidic green curse slithers through the air from Harry's wand and into the wall; the place he had been standing moments before.
"My-My Lord," Lucius stutters, trembling in Snape's blood. "I-I-You saved me."
Of all the servants lost to Harry's rage, for naught a one has the Dark Lord raised a hand in aid.
"Look at me!" Harry screams at the Dark Lord.
"I look at nothing else," Lord Voldemort says, raising His wand. "Crucio."
Harry's scream is terrible. It renders Lucius immobile. He watches the boy writhe and jerk, claw at himself to escape the pain, yet finding no relief. He rips off the robe as though it will free him, becomes covered in blood. It seems to stretch on forever.
At last Harry's body falls still, the room echoing with his wretched sobs.
"Oh, My Harry," the Dark Lord sings. He kneels and wraps His fingers under Harry's jaw to lift his face up. "I would not have to hurt you if only torment did not suit you half so well. Love Me, hate Me; all you feel is Mine."
Harry curls into the touch, clutching to His hand. He hisses something in the Snake's Tongue and kisses His palm.
"Lucius."
Lucius startles and jumps to his feet, eager to escape unscathed.
"Yes, My Lord?" he says, looking away as Harry runs his red hands over Lord Voldemort's face, smearing Him with blood.
"Retrieve Severus' hair and go to my antechamber. We will need to conceal this."
"Yes, My Lord."