Chapter 11

Manipulations & Machinations

"No you're not!" Hermione screamed at once. Harry, are you crazy? You can't just go to the Malfoys'!"

She appeared with Ron and Dumbledore around Harry. Snape was absent. Harry really did not need his nagging friends and Dumbledore's increasingly irksome presence at the moment.

"Besides, I shouldn't have to tell you you're not welcome," Lucius tossed over his shoulder.

Unshaken, Harry made to follow them but a firm hand took his shoulder. He swatted Dumbledore's hand off and glared up at the infuriating eyes of brightest blue.

Hermione looked beside herself with incredulity at Harry, peeking up at Dumbledore with the corner of her eyes, fearing what he might do to punish Harry for his disrespectful conduct. Ron was making a solid effort to study the surroundings as he wrung his hands in discomfort.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, with a fatherly look down at Harry. "You cannot let your emotions decide for you right now. We have to go about this sensibly."

Harry detested Dumbledore's calm voice refused to be swayed by it. "So I'm over-emotional now?" he charged.

Dumbledore kept a steady eye at him and allowed the moment of silence that passed to answer Harry more eloquently than he ever could, the echo of the words telling Harry he had gone over the line by quite a large distance. But he remained defiant at Dumbledore.

"Harry, please!" Hermione begged in a hushed whisper. Ron was grimacing as he tentatively peered up at Dumbledore, plainly expecting him to react harshly to Harry.

But Dumbledore simply kept cool. "If you follow the Malfoys, you risk all three of their lives by allowing them to be seen with you. What's more, you will risk capture by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. If he's capable of perpetrating such atrocities, as you have personally witnessed, against the ones closest to him, I daren't imagine what he may do to you – his arch nemesis."

Harry's blazing eyes shifted from one side to the other, his glare softening with his indecision… They stared into the space in front of him as he tried to find a reasonable loophole in what Dumbledore had told him. He knew the man was right, but he did not have to like it. But... Draco was being hurt – he was still in danger…

"I can't just stay here knowing what's happening to him! I have to do something!"

Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder, which he did not have the courage to remove this time. "The best thing you can do is getting the memory from Professor Slughorn."

Harry could not look into Dumbledore's eyes after these words. If only Dumbledore knew how spectacularly he had failed at that. He received a commiserating look from Dumbledore.

"Professor Slughorn handed me his Leaving Letter only moments after the two of you left my office this morning," Dumbledore said, his beard twitching slightly. "However, I managed to persuade him to stay just a few more days." One blue eye twinkled at him.

Harry tried to lie to himself about how even slightly calming Dumbledore was being right now but he could not: the twinkling eyes and the homily familiar and grounding experience of being in Dumbledore's presence when he was in fine form, dropping gems of knowledge, lines of humour and waves of assurance…. And not to mention surprises – he was full of them… He was perceptive and prudent… He was cunning… He was... manipulative – he took his mail without giving it back; he promised Draco refuge but Draco still hurt under Voldemort's hands; he sent him away with old men with fat fingers and enterprising faces so he could do his biddings. And now he was letting the Malfoys leave to make do with their own devices to save their son.

Emerald orbs sparkled and relit with renewed defiance and resentment. "That's it? Just get a memory while Draco is under the Cruciatus Curse? Why can't you just perform Legilimency on Professor Slughorn and get it yourself?"

Dumbledore's expression hardened, and all kindness was extinguished from his eyes. "You're speaking of very intrusive magic, idea of which I have made an oath not to entertain. I am most ashamed to be – forgive me – rather extremely proficient at it than most men. But as skilled as I am I will never use it for my gain without the express permission of the person on whom I wish to perform it."

Harry could not believe his ears. This is total hypocrisy! With tremendous effort he pulled himself away from the verge of giving Dumbledore a mocking round of applause. "This is a war and you're having moral conflicts? Aren't we supposed to do everything besides kill and torture to win? We haveto win, right? Have I got that right?"

Hermione shook her head woefully as she looked on at Harry, disappointment shining in her tearful eyes.

Dumbledore gave a short sigh, looking wistfully into Harry's eyes, as though he had lost the boy he had known for four years. "No, Harry, we do not. We are not like them and shouldn't employ their devious practices." Dumbledore paused, for a moment seeming to be lost for words as he looked at the ground. He looked back up at Harry and sighed, "Don't let this battle destroy you, Harry. You can still be good and survive. We must make do with what we can afford. This is the exact reason I was desirous for you to be proficient in Occlumency – you are emotionally vulnerable as long as you house that connection with Voldemort."

Harry shook his head. He was being beaten at every avenue he tried here. In a defeated, unguarded, low voice, he cried, "I just want to save, Draco. I just want him safe. Can't I have that?"

Dumbledore smiled softly. "I know, Harry, I know. But I have to insist that you cannot afford to be seen at Malfoy Manor. Harry, listen to me, listen to me very carefully." Dumbledore's air was suddenly serious.

Despite himself Harry piqued warily. He looked up at the bittersweet image of his headmaster. He was still battle with his extreme dislike and resentment for him but he could still appreciate this unusual urgency about him. Dumbledore seldom looked this grave.

"I might soon have to give you information that is going to be crucial in defeating Lord Voldemort in light of my shortening time."

Harry's eyes sank to Dumbledore's blackened hand. He had to believe it someday. He nearly hissed at the man, 'Don't say that!' But he knew it would be futile.

"That is, if my suspicions are correct. The memory. Harry, right now, just focus on getting the memory – that is all I ask of you. Then, and only then, can we see where we can go. Until then, we should not approach Lord Voldemort. This will be a crucial time in your life, as well as the Wizarding world, because then we will finally know if indeed Voldemort is truly immortal or not. Had we been certain of this, I would surely have accompanied you together with Mr and Mrs Malfoy to their home. It all relies on this one memory, Harry. I deeply lament charging you with this, but I have no other choice. I do not wish for any one of us to want to resort to anything remotely close to Voldemort's wicked ways."

Harry deep down knew all of this – that one should not sacrifice one's morality for victory – but he thought, It's just reading someone's bloody mind! It's just a quick in-and-out! Who cares if we go just slightly bad in order to win?

Harry had the mind to reel at this one at last. He took a breath and realized just the dark nature of his thoughts. What was he turning into? He could not afford to change Voldemort was affecting him more and more as each day passed – he was slowly controlling his life and smothering his freedoms. First it was that depression-like state he fell into back in the summer. Then it was... Draco... just him and Draco. And now it was his heart, his morals, his very ethics. He could not let this vile, insidious force continue to spread inside him. He needed cures, and those were Occlumency and the memory.

He swallowed thickly, and he looked down at the unyielding, unsympathetic, dispassionate cobblestone floor. And he found no answers in them. He felt Dumbledore squeeze his shoulder.

"Harry, we will get through this. We just have to do what we know we have to do."

Harry did not know whether Dumbledore expected a reply. He nodded once without looking up, resigned, and felt the hand slip off his shoulders.

"I believe it's time you three get yourselves into bed – it's well into Sunday. Sleep well."

It was a dismissal. Harry, Ron and Hermione turned around and set off up the corridor while Dumbledore ascended the spiralling stairs and returned to his office. Only then did Harry become aware of Ron's and Hermione's; for half of the conversation with Dumbledore they had been something of an afterthoughts. Nevertheless he did not care much to calculate how much they had heard, how much he had revealed and how close they were to piecing things together for themselves.

They made their way back to Gryffindor Tower in silence. Then a shadow passed over Harry before he suddenly took off, stomping ahead, his hands fisted on his sides. He took Ron and Hermione aback. The both of them exchanged looks before quickly following.

"Harry, mate, what's with you?" Ron asked tentatively, as his long legs easily kept up with Harry's swift strides.

"Harry, what are you thinking of?" demanded Hermione, a shrewd glint flashing in her eyes. And then they widened to the size of two Bludgers. "You can't honestly be thinking of..."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking of, Hermione," Harry said in a calm, conversational manner as though they were having tea at Hagrid's. He looked back at the empty hallway. Malfoy and his wife could not be far. He started running.

Hermione stared wordlessly at Harry's back for a few moments, speech abandoning her. Ron was looking at her confoundedly, unsure as to what to do: follow Harry and risk her wrath or stay with her and stillrisk her wrath.

"Harry, you can't be serious! You'll get yourself killed!" Hermione shouted before breaking into a run, Ron behind her.

"Constant Vigilance!" Harry yelled at the snoozing Fat Lady. "Hey! Wake up, lady, and let me through!"

Ron and Hermione caught up, and Hermione was not finished with him. "Harry, you're not going to the Malfoys'! I can't believe you pretended like that in front of Dumbledore!" She looked so shocked that Harry was capable of deception and that perhaps he was not as straightforward as he was before.

Harry thought if Dumbledore could be manipulative then so could he. He spun around so swiftly he caught Ron and Hermione by surprise, and with his green eyes gleaming with a spirited, unwavering determination, they both appeared as though they knew it was all lost before Harry even opened his mouth.

"I'm going to Malfoy Manor whether you're coming with me or not." He back around and banged on the Fat Lady's large face. "Constant Vigilance!"

The Fat Lady mumbled something before there sounded a suspicious noise came from her after she moved a little in her sleep, at which Hermione's jaw dropped and she clucked at her disgust.

"Constant Vigilance!" Harry roared, and finally the Fat Lady jumped out of her uninhibited nap and swept open, muttering about obnoxious teenagers sneaking out for late-night rendezvous. Harry flew up the stairs, Ron right on his heel, but Hermione got as far as the foot of the stairs, where she dug her heels into the carpet and crossed her arms across her chest. Her lips were pressed upon each other so hard that they seemed to disappear altogether.

"Harry James Potter, you're not going to Malfoy Manor! It's too dangerous, Harry! Why do you have to always save some damsel who's always in distress! Don't you see? There's always going to be someone needing saving! You can't save them all by yourself!"

Harry proceeded into the fifth-year boys' dormitory after catching a growl of frustration from Hermione below. He went for his trunk.

Ron hovered between Harry and the door. "Harry, mate, you can't be serious. Malfoy Manor? It's probably a bloody gothic manor with chains and dungeons and its own lightning and ghosts and house-elves and…! Look, you don't have to do this – Dumbledore will sort all of thi-!"

"Don't you dare tell me about that man right now!" Harry hissed furiously, as his hands threw item after item out of his trunk. He could not care less if he woke up the other boys. Then he froze as he was about to throw Useless Magic over his shoulder to the other stuff and looked up at Ron. "Are you coming with me?"

Ron's face vacillated indecisively for a few seconds before a resigned sigh pushed his shoulders down. Harry did not even need to hear the answer but continued searching for what he was looking for in his trunk, while out of the corner of his eye noticing Ron preparing himself as well. His heart suddenly constricted his windpipe… They were actually doing this. Now that he had worked off some of his adrenaline throwing things out of his trunk with satisfying abandon, the actuality of what they were about to do sunk in.

They could be killed. They stood a chance to face Lord Voldemort. Harry felt a slight whisper of fear ghost around his throat, constricting it further, and he tried to shake it off. Could he risk his dying with his friends for Draco Malfoy, the snot-rag git who had taunted them relentlessly for whatever reason felt convenient, as well insulting their bloodlines and overall worth, all in very colourful language? Draco might have been refined in his more sedate moments, when the three of them were not within his vicinity. But Harry knew he could still wield a good stock of expletives upon notice and readily throw his head back in laughter at someone's expense.

These sedate moments were mostly when he was not surrounded by his fellow Slytherins. In the rare occasion when they found him alone, Draco would then seem to be less... expressive, less obvious, less... less Malfoy, Harry guessed, and more... more like the Draco of his dreams. The soft, nuanced, calculating, smaller boy. And it hit Harry as he thought about it. He had never seen it like that.

In the few times he and Ron would accompany Hermione to the library, Malfoy would sometimes be there, and he would not deign to look their way to dignify Ron's scowl and his own admittedly similar expression. What about the Saturday when he and Ron were going down to the Quidditch pitch and found Malfoy just sitting there, looking at who knew what? He had not said anything to them, much less looked at them.

Furthermore, perhaps less rarely, when Malfoy travelled the corridors alone, he would scarcely approach them. Most of the time he would merely toss a stinging remark across at them as they passed, and this never failed to elicit a reaction from them. And in that brief exchange Draco seemed to be... to be... to look smaller, finer, smoother. He would be more... he would be sharper – his eyes would be ready, silver bullets, his stance would be more forward – more engaging, and his speech would be more subtle, articulate, and clipped. Perhaps this was when Draco was himself most. Perhaps in those moments he was least guarded. Perhaps there were two different people there. Or perhaps Harry was just hoping for all of that...

Reinvigorated by his revelation, which made him feel he was doing something somewhat more honourable, Harry pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and Sneakoscope. They were going to save Draco, then, not Malfoy. They were going to save that almost insultingly beautiful boy from that disgusting thing that was a definitive insult to humanity.

Before shutting the lid of his trunk his eye was shaved by a silver gleam. He lifted the lid up again and reached into the trunk and grasped the hilt of Sirius' dagger. He studied the ornate weapon with hasty awe, without much of a clue as to what role it would play in his mission. But he claimed it anyway and quickly shut the lid of his trunk.

He came to his feet, and his adrenaline-soaked blood surged back to his legs again. He urgently strode to his bed and plucked his wand out from under the pillow he hadn't the mind to grab before going to Dumbledore's office for some reason. He was developing a dangerous tendency to do that, he realized, but he couldn't mentally berate himself because at that moment, his brain began diligently producing harrowing images of Draco's alabaster, marble body being defiled in the sickest of ways.

As though on cue Ron finished his packing the moment Harry did. He was holding his wand, a cloak, and a few useful items from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. They met at the door, which Harry opened and then powered down the stairs, determined to get through Hermione when he got to the bottom.

Her jaw dropped. "You're actually serious…" she breathed as they passed her, apparently having expected them to remain upstairs after seeing sense. Snapping out of her dream-like state of disbelief she hounded them towards the portrait hole. "Harry, Ron! What on earth has gotten into you two? Ron!"

Harry would have felt bad seeing Ron looking so torn apart. In fact he had no time for it and was not thinking straight. His thoughts were strictly on Draco and getting him away from Voldemort, Just... just get him away, get him safe... please.For one, stunning moment before he broke into a run without warning Ron, he thought about why on earth he was actually doing this, how much he was risking and just what he was actually doing. And in that same instance he had all the answers to those questions.

The shorter, raven-haired figure hurtled down the corridor, the other, taller redhead keeping up with long, gangly legs. As the two ran past each portrait, the faces cursed with increasing creativity along the corridor.

"Harry, Ron! Wait! I'm coming!"

As far as he was down the corridor, Harry could hear the furious mutters that followed those words, which probably went to the tune of, "Can't believe I'm actually going on this futile rescue operation! Honestly! Three school kids! Ridiculous!"

Ron held back a little for her, shooting a covert glance at Harry, who, however, was not waiting. He streaked down the corridor, his dark school robe billowing snappishly behind him in a manner of which Snape would have been proud… Or perhaps not… From behind him he heard Ron snarling something to Hermione. Then, in apparently renewed haste, her footsteps stomped louder and faster down the hallway. Harry and Ron rounded corner after corner before slowing down near the Entrance Hall. Sneaking up to the doors, they were finally joined by Hermione, together with her heavy, irritating pants. Why did she not just do some lung exercises with those huge tomes of hers?

Harry pushed the large doors open, and there, an unmistakeable beacon: in the black distance, the tell-tale sign of platinum-blond hair glimmering distinctly in the night, now swinging furiously from side to side in the patriarch's haste. A dizzying wave of relief slammed into Harry but it was soon survived by panicking urgency: the two small figures were rapidly approaching the school gates.

"Let's go!" he hissed at his friends, before taking off down the grounds in a crouch, hearing their footsteps following him from behind. Before diving behind the glass wall of one of the greenhouses, to say he was overwhelmed by panic would be an understatement when he saw just how close the Malfoys were to the gates. Heart arrested mid-beat, Harry flung all reason out of the window and ran for the two bobbing blond heads in the low distance.

"Harry!" he heard Hermione whisper behind him at his reckless abandon. He did not care – he needed to get to those two. As he ran in a half-crouch he pulled his Invisibility Cloak around him. Being under it reminded him of the times his friends hid under it; his feet faltered contritely and looked back over his shoulder at them. Ron caught up quickly while Hermione trailed behind.

Harry did not know why he was acting so independently tonight. Perhaps he was going through a personal, internal experience. And he also did not know why he was reluctant to talk either. He wished his feet would just get him to the Malfoys already.

Finally both Ron and Hermione caught up. Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak around them all and together they ran down on the stooping pathway to the school gate, their legs in tenuous synchrony as they battled the gravel and the hem of the Cloak. Hermione prudently cast a Silencing Charm to kill the noise their shoes made with the driveway gravel.

Their collective necks swivelled to the dark, empty hut of Hagrid's as they moved along quickly. Neither of them spoke, enveloped by a new sense anxiety that suddenly arose at the sight but continued jogging down towards the two figures, having just enough time to slip through the school gate before Lucius swung it closed.

They then watched the two Malfoys stand in the road. Lucius' gloved hand delved into a pocket of his robe and pulled out what appeared to be a thick hairpin with glittering diamonds twirling around it from a pearl head. His wife's arms locked into his.

"Portkey," they all whispered at once.

Extremely slowly they approached from behind. Suddenly they found themselves in a unique air. Their noses picked up subtle notes of perfume. Lucius' robes and Narcissa's dress gave a rich shine under the dour moonlight. The tight bun on Narcissa's head was immaculate and Lucius hair was a stunning sheet of white pouring down his back without a single lock out of place. Their minimal and inorganic movements too were most alien. In summary the two of them smelled and looked like class, and Harry almost felt like he was an insult to it standing in their presence. He tried to dismiss this as firmly as he could, convincing himself that appearances were not everything.

Before they knew it they heard a faint drawling mutter. Harry's breath caught in alarm. His hand shot to the hook of Lucius' other arm, damning the consequence of being felt, and his sudden movement jerked his Sneakoscope out of his pocket and onto the ground. He felt the instant pull behind his navel and the accompanying nausea. His lungs were squeezed together with his mass as he saw the world give way.

Hurtling through a colourful kaleidoscope of blurring structures and whipping scenery, Harry soon found himself in front of huge, wrought iron gates with two 'M's overlaying each other at the top and a wording under them written in some indistinguishable language. The new air was dark and cool, crisp and suspicious. He stared through the gate at the large edifice that loomed there in darkness.

He threw off the Invisibility Cloak off and looked around feverishly as he breathed small puffs of mist in the cool air. Where were Ron and Hermione? They were supposed to be right beside him.

It looked like he was on a private land – there were no other immediate structures as far as he could see, which was not much in midnight darkness. He looked back to the smooth stone path leading up to the grand mansion, its enormous structure eerily shrouded by black shadows. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, and now he had to go against that all on his own? He immediately regretted how isolated and single-mindedly he had worked when they were preparing to arrive here. He should have known his selfishness would come back to bite him much sooner than later – and here he was. He was scared beyond his wits and stranded in the middle of Merlin knew where. Where was Malfoy Manor in Wizarding Britain? If Dumbledore was right that this place was Unplottable, then Harry was royally hapless – nobody would find him.

But he had actually done this… He had gone from the Hogwarts grounds to the unpredictable vastness of open Europe. Harry slowly along the length of the gates, bumping his hands along its railings. What was he to do now?

But, assuming Malfoy's parents were already deposited inside the manor, why did the Portkey land him here and not with them? Perhaps only Malfoys or purebloods were allowed to do so. He stared longingly at the mansion. Draco was in there, being tortured, or raped, or whatever other whim that captured Voldemort. Harry shook his head, refusing attention to the disturbing images that had suddenly emerged. He could not think like this. He should not allow… He heard footsteps. Harry froze, heart stuck in his throat, panic rushing blood furiously through his ears.

"Don't be daft, Rockwood! The Dark Lord will reward me! He promised me a taste of that sweet thing, the prince of the manor himself! I've been looking forward to tonight for a very long time! Always wanted to wipe that smug smirk off that Lucius Malfoy. This will do just about that!"

Harry struggled to keep his breathing as low as possible under his Cloak, unable to believe what he was hearing from the approaching obtrusive voice, trying to wrap his head around it all. The footsteps shuffled closer, and Harry could hear another different voice – this Rockwood probably. Harry took his Cloak and flung it around him. He carefully crouched to the furthest side of the gate, the noise of his shuffling feet on the ground swallowed by the rushing blood in his ears.

They were talking about Draco like some piece of meat to be shared! That gruff, growling voice was so indulgent it was disgusting. How could a man think of an innocent schoolboy like that? Did he not have a wife? Why was Draco attracting men? The wrong sort of attention? It was making him suffer! Looks were not meant to make him suffer. They were meant to get him girls and popularity and success – not this unthinkable lust from men three times one's age!

Shakily drawing breath, Harry squinted into the ground before him as he heard the two footsteps drawing nearer. Finally he spied two figures in dark robes approach the gates in quick steps. The taller one looked the most urgent. They both stood in front of the gate and Harry watched them touch their wrists to the railings. The large gate instantly opened in a slow, graceful, eerily soundless arc. Spontaneity accosting him, Harry sneaked through the gates with the two men, his fear rising as he crossed the threshold into the property of the Malfoys. He followed the two figures in a crouch from a safe distance behind.

These were Death Eaters. He found himself in their presence once again. Followers of Voldemort, indiscriminately malevolent, heartless to the core. They did not discern life from death, they took life and placed death in its place. It was their daily charge, it was their daily bread, and with gruesome pleasure they ate it – Death Eaters.

Harry wished his Invisibility Cloak could cover the whole of Hogwarts, as it now felt smaller, lighter, weaker, less perfect, less powerful. He was standing mere yards away from Voldemort himself! His mind was half absent and half there as he followed Rockwood and the larger man to the looming edifice ahead. He thought he smelled wet dog from the taller Death Eater – a poignant, thick, repugnant odour. Argh!

It then hit him, a small flash of inspiration in his mind. He had seen, or heard, or mentioned, or experienced this smell somewhere, or whatever reminded him of it. Where did he smell it before, if he ever did? Harry gripped harder and harder onto his Invisibility Cloak the closer he came to the ever-growing mansion. On each side of the smooth stoneway sprawled a sea of striped grass, and if his ears weren't deceiving there was a soft sprinkling noise of more than one fountain near. In front of the elevation of the first terrace was a colourful stretch of various flowers The place was huge.

He made sure to keep his footsteps as light and soundless as possible. His heart was beating monstrously against his chest and his adrenaline was settling at the bottom of his veins again, making him jumpy and edgy and feel constricted in the quiet, warm space under his Cloak.

"So have you good news for the Dark Lord?" Harry heard the shorter Death Eater ask.

His companion seemed to rustle uncomfortably at this. "Of course I do!" he yelled into the night in a raspy voice. "What do you think I am? Suicidal! The Dark Lord's already agitated as it is by that whole Malfoy clan. Do you think I'd come back only to upset him even more? It would be the last of me!"

"Can't say that's not a right shame to hear."

The taller Death Eater growled and aggressively approached Rockood as if itching to pounce on him. But he restrained himself and then grunted loudly before quickening his pace. Rockwood promptly matched him. Harry, too, crouched a little faster behind them towards the manor.

"My Lord, it was my plan to get closer to the Potter boy, not to betray you – I wouldn't dare." Lucius kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, seeking to be absolved for the sake of his family. Nagini flicked her tongue dangerously at his bending form.

"Take your seat, Lucius," Voldemort commands quietly.

Lucius' swift but almost stilted strides took him to the other end of the long, mahogany dining table. He took the furthest seat from Voldemort, next to his wife on his left.

As soon as Lucius' chair stopped creaking there crashed a deafening silence into the room. The Death Eaters seated on each side of the table, tense and edgy, made small movements which attested to their discomfort. Meanwhile Voldemort's red slit eyes were boring into Lucius from the other end of the table. A moment later a malevolent smile curved his lipless mouth.

"You lie, Lucius. Lord Voldemort always knows."

Blue light from Voldemort's wand hit Narcissa in the chest. A terrible shriek fills the room as she is lifted slowly from her chair and feebly fights off the invisible ropes binding her. Her face is contorted with absolute fear. She flailed her legs and her designer shoes flew off her feet as she is laid in the centre of the table. The Death Eaters leered at her petite struggling form, at the jerking limbs and spinning head. But she cannot do anything against the force that pressed her down on the table and spread her legs apart. her.

Voldemort's slitted nostrils moved up in his face as a sneer of disgust took over his face. Lucius' stoic expression remained as the eyes of the Death Eaters around him gleamed coldly down at the inviting scene before them.

Voldemort gave a sadistic grin. "I'm terribly disappointed, Lucius. You've been a most useful and impressive servant thus far, and have been loyal to me for so long a time. It's a shame you've let yourself come to this point…"

Voldemort kissed the cool scales of his snake as the great doors of the manor opened and shuffling, urgent feet could be heard. Lucius' eyes swept to the two cloaked figures that entered the room. They approached Voldemort and bow lowly on either sides of him.

"My Lord," the two gasp in unison.

"Rockwood, Fenrir, welcome. Take your seats." Voldemort sneered again as his red, gleaming slits watched Fenrir loom over the table and take his seat amongst the others as though he were of their kind. "Fenrir, I trust your mission went well?"

Fenrir threw his large build out of his seat as he rose and bowed his head at Voldemort. "Yes, My Lord, it did! The werewolves are with us! They will listen to you, My Lord! I think we had a spy in the pack: that Lupin character was always a little bit dodgy! Rest assured I went after him but he managed to escape me! But I got a good swipe of him before he got away!" Fenrir gave an evil, self-satisfied grin, revealing his large, yellow teeth gleaming with blood. "My Lord, may nothing perturb you – you command their loyalty for the big event and beyond!"

Voldemort's breath hisses as he inhales in immense satisfaction. A soft grin breaks out on his face as though he were hearing a delightful melody. "Excellent," he said. He kissed Nagini again and inhales slightly, his slit nostrils flaring. "Rockwood."

The tall figure two seats from Lucius' right bowed his head in his seat. The comparative sedateness of the gesture highlighted Greyback's natural boisterous and crude carry. "My Lord, the giants have swayed our way. That useless oaf Hagrid tried to gain their trust for old Dumbledore's side but we managed to fend him off in the end. It's certain the giants will fight for us, My Lord."

A rumble of excited mutters filled the room. Voldemort ran his long, pale spidery hands across the bulging length of his snake, caressing it lovingly like Harry would his Firebolt. He smiled coldly.

"That excuse of a giant Hagrid is still there, and as fiercely and foolishly loyal to that champion of commoners as ever. How would he find to have his own cousins crush him with their feet...? I remember Rubeus Hagrid… quite vividly, in fact. It is a shame, a priceless shame, indeed..." He smiled again. "Nott, do tell us your findings, they're sure to be interesting."

The slightly large man seated two seats from Rockwood prepared himself to speak. Perhaps it was the large jowls on which his head rested as he looked down at the table and smirked at it that made him seem all the more pompous.

"My Lord," he said, "my son Theodore has reported to me that he has seen the Potter boy coming and going to Dumbledore's office quite frequently these days. He'd seen him start to do this from two weeks ago. Potter has been receiving messages from Dumbledore as well. His fellow Housemates tried to reveal one of the messages but they were always blank and Dumbledore always sent them with random people – Slytherins even." Nott turned a cold, even bigger smirk at Lucius, and the atmosphere quivered and thickened. "When some Housemates asked Lucius' boy to lift the concealment charms on the letter, since he's one of the brightest student in Slytherin, he apparently didn't oblige."

Lucius continued to stare blankly at the air in front of turned his head slightly in his direction. A small smile played on his mouth before he glanced down at the imprisoned figure on the table. "Continue, Nott," he urged, with a soft, myseterious note stirred within his cold, high-pitched voice.

Only too glad to oblige, Nott swelled his chest and his smirk grew even further into an inflated grin. "It was only two days ago, on Saturday, that he saw Potter again. But this time the boy was with Draco. Cozy, they were, he said. The boys apparently took each other in the arms, wiping each other's tears off." Nott's voice had grown so full of smug it had started to quiver.

Again Voldemort said nothing and did not even look in Lucius' direction. But a grin still stretched on his fluorescent face as though this was all music to his ears. Lucius remained impassive at the other Death Eaters' gleeful looks and vindicated smirks.

Then, there was a suspicious sound, a breathy sort of sound, like a sharp inhale.

Voldemort's cold smile only widened.

Lucius' eye darted suspiciously to each face to try to figure out who had made the sound. Voice quivering, Nott tried his best to keep himself in check as he continued, "Potter's latest sighting was just tonight. He was walking away from Dumbledore's office back to the Gryffindor Tower. But then he came back out and, oh, did he have a serious face on him. He looked like murder, he did. Ran down the corridor with his friends and followed the Malfoys to the gate under what must have been an Invisibility Cloak..."

Voldemort thew his head back and hissed again as he took a deep breath as though smelling the air. "So, we have an unannounced guest with us tonight." He looked aside and stared fixedly at a spot on the floor a few yards from the table, and his biggest, most threatening smile came across his face.

"Do join us, Harry."