Warning Signs Read Desolation

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.

Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.

Chapter Eleven

Oh no, Harry thought and quickly backtracked out of the dining hall, hoping that no-one had seen him. The room had been crowded with witches and wizards; a large group of them seated at the middle of the table, conversing in a friendly manner, some of them reading the Daily Prophet and others merely chatting and laughing, all of them drinking from steaming cups; a smaller group of three was seated at the left end of the table, the two dark-haired wizards and the blonde witch looking tense as they too were reading through their own copies of the morning's newspaper; and lastly, at the right end of the table, in Quirrell's usual seat, sat a young, skinny wizard with long dark hair kept in a low ponytail.

I can't go in there, Harry thought with slight panic, I'll just eat in my room instead.

"You will have to confront them sooner or later," said his soul shard, who he had decided to call James to make things a bit clearer for himself.

After their long conversation yesterday, Harry had found that the more he spoke with 'James', the less he could think of him as himself. Their manners and opinions were very much the same, but also strikingly different at times, which complicated things. So, Harry had taken it upon himself to simplify; hence, James. His soul shard hadn't seemed to mind the christening, but had only seemed amused by his antics, not feeling in need of having a name at all.

I know, Harry thought and sighed, annoyed that he was suddenly wishing for Voldemort to be in the room, so that he wouldn't have to make this decision himself. Surely, if his master was there, he would be expecting Harry to be too. But as of yet this morning, Harry hadn't seen the man at all. I just don't want a repeat of what happened at the dinner party. I don't fancy being surrounded by adults trying to smoulder me with fake affection, or trying to speak with me about the Ministry or the pocket-sized Pixy-Scope Thingamabob somebody has invented.

"I very much doubt they will repeat that faux pas," James mused with amusement. "For one thing, they're not tipsy right now. And besides; Voldemort made his expectations quite clear. You're above them in rank, and should act like it. As long as you make them remember, they won't bother you. Remember how Voldemort told you to look confident right before he started reprimanding Malfoy? Just go out there, like you normally do, and don't make eye-contact with anyone. Just walk to your seat and start eating as if you're not bothered by them at all."

But I AM bothered, thought Harry with some desperation as he straightened his back and tried to steel himself. Here goes ...

He walked around the corner and into the Dining Room, heading down the long table towards his usual seat, doing his best to ignore the way all conversation had come to a stop at his entrance. People's curious looks burned the side of his face as he took a seat, but he managed to ignore them; completely focused on keeping his hands from shaking as he picked out some eggs and bacon from the tray in front of his seat.

As he started eating, the conversations started up again, and Harry was finally able to relax a little bit once he felt some of the heavy stares shift away from him.

"Well done," James commended him, and Harry's confidence swelled at once at the praise. His lips quirked into a small smile, and he looked up to search the table for the tea pot, and came face to face with the young man in Quirrell's seat, who sat staring quite unashamedly at him; namely, at his forehead.

Harry now saw that the man was not dressed in robes, but in an odd mixture of formalwear and casual wear; he had on a pair of tight black leather pants and a pair of black boots to match, but then he also wore a dark long-sleeved shirt with red details on it, and a worn vest on top with odd flaps where the brass buttons sat. His face had a bit of stubble, and was a bit dirty, as if he had been going up and down a chimney a couple of times; and most notably, he had a sharp red streak running down the right side of his dark brown, slightly curly hair.

"You're 'Arry Potter," he pointed out, blinking, as if he could barely believe his own eyes.

"Err, yeah," said Harry and quickly looked away, busying himself with pouring tea into his black ceramic mug. He felt how the man kept staring at him, and tried his best to ignore it.

"Whatcha 'ere for?"

Slowly, doing his best to appear confident, Harry looked up and met the man's blue gaze. "You haven't heard?"

"Just got 'ere," the man explained with a shrug. "'Aven't 'ad the time to 'ear much of anythin'."

Harry blinked, and looked down, losing his nerve. Staring down at his plate, feeling how curious eyes had started to look his way again, he murmured his answer. "I'm the Dark Lord's apprentice."

"'Is apprentice?" the man exclaimed, efficiently quenching the last of the half-hearted conversations down the table. "Blimey, that's unexpected, ain't it? And 'ere we all reckoned 'e wanted to off you."

Harry stuffed his mouth full of food to distract himself, trying to calm down. Why isn't he leaving me alone?

Suddenly, there was a sooty long-fingered hand thrust in his face. "Name's Scabior," the man said and grinned when Harry looked up at him and hesitantly shook his hand. "I've 'eard loads about you, of course – it'll be interestin' to see what you're really like. Couldn't be the little goodie two-shoes everyone expects if you're with 'im, now can you?"

"Right," Harry replied faintly, feeling crestfallen. What should I do? How do I make him stop?

"You must be authoritarian," James suggested urgently.

What? How? Harry questioned with growing anxiety.

"If only they knew," Scabior said with a breathless laugh. "Bloody ironic, it is. Don't you think? Wish I could see the look on 'Dung's face if 'e found out you've been 'ere all along. That soddin' idiot! Been runnin' about the whole bloody country, lookin' for you, he has."

"Straighten up!" James urged. "Make eye contact!"

Harry did his best to follow instructions, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of unnaturalness he got from sitting straight as a rod. That feeling, however, had nothing on the feeling of staring Scabior straight in the eye.

"I see. That's nice," he stated, feeling his throat constrict and his mouth run dry when his cold reply made Scabior's expression lose all sense of humour.

"Question him about something!"

Racking his brain for something to ask, Harry thought furiously for something to say, and almost lost his chance as Scabior opened his mouth to speak. "What are you doing here?" Harry blurted, efficiently interrupting him right before he started.

"Me?" said Scabior after a short pause and shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an air of carelessness. "Got 'ere to enlist this mornin', Fowler an' I. Got to meet the Big Boss an' everythin'. 'E's upstairs, Fowler that is, greetin' 'is ol' friend Greyback; don' know if you've 'eard of 'im? Right nasty ol' werewolf, that one. I figured I could grab sometin' to eat in the meanwhile."

"So you're a Death Eater now," Harry stated, trying his best to sound confident.

"Not as simple as that, but I'll be one soon enough," Scabior assured with a wicked grin. "Got to sort out that Markin' Ceremony first, but then I'll be a proper one, yeah, for sure."

Harry tried desperately to come up with another question to ask, when mercifully, there was a sudden sharp whistle from the doorway. As one, all heads turned to look at the source of the disruption, taking in the sight of the lanky shape of a man who stood there. He looked about fifty, with thinning brown hair and a pair of sunken, dark eyes and was, just like Scabior, dressed in an oddly miss-matched garb and covered in soot.

"Scabior!" he called out in a raspy voice. "Time to scram – quit dilly-dallyin'."

"Right, Fowler; no rest for the wicked, eh?" Scabior answered and scrambled to his feet, lifting an imaginary hat Harry's way in farewell. "Catch you later, Potter."

Everyone at the table sat in silence, watching the pair leave, some sporting highly affronted expressions, as if the men were misbehaving in some way. Harry, for his part, was infinitely relieved to finally be left alone. He listened with half an ear as the conversations around the table picked up again, accompanied to the gentle clinking of silverware on porcelain platters, as well as the rustle of newspapers.

As he took a gentle sip of his steaming hot tea, Harry noticed that Scabior had left his own Daily Prophet neatly folded next to his empty platter. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and started to leaf through it. At once, bold headlines screamed out to him, competing valiantly for his attention.

- NEW LEADS ON THE AZKABAN BREAKOUT; AURORS CONVINCED IT WAS AN INSIDE JOB

- THE SEARCH FOR HARRY POTTER AT AN END; MEMORIAL CEREMONY TO BE HELD

- HOGWARTS BOARD OF GOVERNORS HENCEFORTH TO TAKE CHARGE OF THE EMPLOYMENT OF TEACHERS; 'WE REFUSE TO HAVE ANOTHER QUIRINUS QUIRRELL FIASCO' – LUCIUS MALFOY

- MORE AND MORE CHILDREN SICKEN IN DRAGON POX; ST. MUNGOS CAUTIONS PARENTS

- ON ALBUS DUMBLEDORE'S PUBLIC ATTEMPT TO CONVINCE THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC THAT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED HAS RISEN FROM THE DEAD; HAS HE BEEN CURSED, OR HAS HE SIMPLY GROWN SENILE?

Harry frowned darkly at the unfairness of the last headline – if only they knew. Putting aside his annoyance for Professor Dumbledore's sake, his eyes jumped up to the part of the page that screamed out his own name. A memorial ceremony, huh, he thought darkly. I guess they've given up on me, then.

"They were bound to, sooner or later," said James carefully, possibly trying to comfort him. "It's been eleven days by now, and there's been no sign of you. You can't really fault them for that; they've got their own lives to get back to. The Aurors will probably keep looking since it doesn't say that the case is closed, but the public needs to move on."

I guess that's true, thought Harry, trying to see the logical side of it; but his chest still stung with betrayal. He would have thought that at least some of his friends, or his professors, would keep looking for him. Somewhere deep down, he had still been hoping that he could be saved. Now, it appeared that the only way for him to escape this place was to do it himself.

"Are you sure that you really want to, though?" James inquired softly. "You have a place here now; it could be a home to you."

Yes, I'm sure, thought Harry furiously, clenching his hands into fists so that the frail paper crumpled at the corners. I don't want to stay here with HIM!

"Why not?" challenged James carefully. "You're taken care of; you get to learn things; you have a high position."

I don't care about any of that, he defended heatedly, I can't just conveniently forget that Voldemort is EVIL.

"Evil how, exactly?" asked James. "You keep saying that, by why do you think so?"

Harry huffed in annoyance at having to explain something so simple to a part of himself. It's obvious, isn't it? He kills people, and tortures them, and tries to start a war to take over the Wizarding World.

There was a pause. Then; "I don't see how those things necessarily make him evil. He has his reasons for killing people, and he only uses torture to punish followers who misbehave."

But his reasons for killing people are selfish, Harry argued, doesn't that alone make him evil?

"I don't think so," James claimed. "He has explained to you already that he had no other choice than to kill Mr Bryce, to protect himself and you. That might sound selfish, but I don't really see it that way – he's a leader who's trying to change the world for the better. His resources are limited, and he has had to do a lot of things to get back to health, but he doesn't do it just for his own sake."

Isn't it evil to kill someone just to save yourself?

James fell silent for a little while again, before replying. "What I'm saying is that he's not doing it just for himself ... Look at it this way; would you think a mother is evil if she let other people starve while she eats a lot of food, so that she can be healthy and breastfeed her children that way?"

Harry hesitated. Not evil, I guess ... but it's not nice.

"I never claimed Voldemort was nice."

I guess, thought Harry, frowning, but that doesn't mean I want to stay with him ... he killed Mum and Dad ...

James fell silent at that, and Harry felt a foreign sadness coming from him at the mention of their parents. "I know ... but it was war ... they were on opposite sides, and ... I get these odd glimpses now and then. Voldemort is ... confused. He doesn't fully understand why he was so obsessed with killing you. He got wind of a prophesy, saying that you would be the one to have the power to kill him, but he hadn't ever really believed in Divination before that point."

A prophesy? Harry frowned. Like, telling the future?

"Yes," said James simply.

So that's why, thought Harry with new understanding. But Voldemort doesn't usually believe in them? Was it all a mistake, then?

"He doesn't know," James said slowly, as if trying to discern the answer at the same time as he spoke. "And it bothers him."

They fell into silence, and as Harry sat there, picking at his food, the company in the middle of the table arose and trickled out of the room, lead by a crooked old man with thick round glasses on the edge of his pointy nose. Trying not to look their way, Harry focused on his cold breakfast, eating with a growing sense of accomplishment. He had got through this, on his own, and it hadn't ended in catastrophe. That, at least, had to be worth something.

"You've done well," James praised. "If you keep this up, you'll fit in in no time."

I told you, Harry insisted as he arose from the table and made to head outside, gingerly ignoring the two wizards and the witch who sat watching as he left. I don't want to stay here. I don't care if I fit in or not.

"Are you really sure?" questioned James with some disbelief. "What do you think would happen if you actually did escape? You'd just be going back to the Dursleys."

Harry faltered in his step, imagining with dread what it would be like to return to his aunt and uncle. With quite some reluctance, he admitted to himself that that would be even worse than being stuck with Voldemort had turned out to be.

After thinking that treacherous thought, Harry blanched and decided firmly to think about something else. Dead set on finding something to occupy him, Harry put his hand on the doorknob to head outside, but was interrupted by a sudden pop behind his back.

"Mr Harry Potter, sir," a squeaky voice called out, and turning around, Harry saw that it was Bleak. "Master has requested you comes to him now. Bleak will takes Mr Potter to him."

Well, at least that's a distraction, thought Harry dryly and followed the little elf upstairs and down the corridor of the first floor. Arriving outside a door that, as Harry recalled vaguely, led into a study, Bleak stopped. She timidly knocked three times, and of its own volition, the door slid open, admitting them into the room.

Bleak hurried forwards, and Harry slowly followed, his eyes instantly zooming in on Voldemort when he came into view; standing to the left side of the room, looking out through one of the tall windows at the billowing ocean.

"Is there something else master wants Bleak to do, master?"

"No," said Voldemort quietly, turning around right before the door clicked shut behind Harry's back. After Bleak had bowed deeply and popped away, Voldemort gestured for him to come closer. "Have you come to terms with ... your second self?"

"Yes, master," Harry said quietly and came closer, wondering why he had been asked for.

"Very good," said Voldemort with a short smile as he reached into one deep robe pocket and picked out his wand. "Do you know what the differences are between Transfiguration and Conjuration?"

Harry watched as Voldemort conjured two chairs out of thin air and sat down in one of them. "That was Conjuration," he then said before sitting down as well, "because you created the chairs from nothing. When you Transfigure, you have to have something from the start ... You have to change something into something else."

"Indeed," said Voldemort with another smile. "What are their advantages and disadvantages?"

"Err, do you mean, why is one better than the other?"

"And vice versa," Voldemort said, tilting his head slightly. "Why would you chose to Conjure chairs rather than Transfiguring them?"

Harry racked his brain for a good answer, but couldn't remember Professor McGonagall ever lecturing his class on something like that. "I don't know, master."

"Like you said; when you Transfigure an object," Voldemort explained, "you need to have something to start with. This object is, preferably, of the same size and material as the object you are going to change it into. Say, for example, that you have a stump that you want to make into a chair. That is simple and will cost very little Mana. However, if you only have a pebble, it will take a lot more Mana to produce that same chair. Moreover, unless you have a good material to start with, the finished product will be in poor shape. A chair made out of a pebble, for example, would break the moment someone tried to sit on it."

"All right, so it's better to Conjure a chair if you don't have something good to Transfigure it from?" Harry reasoned.

"Precisely," Voldemort said, "however, Conjurations have their disadvantages as well. For one thing, creating something out of nothing takes a lot more Mana; something that limits most wizards in their spell casting. Additionally, Conjuration depends on precise casting – if it is not up to par, nothing at all will happen. Transfiguration, however, will allow for the caster to transform the object even if the casting is poor. What have you Transfigured in class so far?"

"Err, it was ... a match into a needle, a mouse into a snuffbox –"

"– Yes that will work nicely," Voldemort interrupted and swished his wand, producing a tiny matchstick, holding it up for Harry to see. "Now, I Conjured this. Will this affect the Transfiguration in any way?"

Harry thought about it, frowning. "No, right?"

"No," Voldemort confirmed. "As you can see, the match is of an almost exact size of a needle, which will allow for a fairly simple Transfiguration. Watch."

Flicking his wand over the match, Voldemort intoned "Aschusverto", quite obviously mispronouncing the "Acus" part of the incantation. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the match changed colour into steel grey and split in the middle, creating a rugged little eye.

"As you can see," Voldemort explained, holding the object up for Harry to inspect more closely, "my faulty spell casting resulted in a slight but unsatisfactory change. However –" He flicked his wand to the side and said "Ahavis". Nothing happened. Next, he turned his wand to the half-matchstick half-needle and said "Evanesco". At once, the object vanished into thin air. "What did I just do?"

Harry blinked, knowing the answer, but hesitating because it sounded too simple. "Err, well you vanished it."

"Yes, so what happened to it?"

Harry hesitated again. "It disappeared?"

"Disappeared where?"

"Where?" Harry repeated dully, feeling confused. "I don't know."

"Do you think it was banished to another place anywhere in the universe, or do you think it simply ceased to exist?" Voldemort asked with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"I'm not sure," Harry said warily. "It could be either one."

"No, there is only one right answer," Voldemort contradicted with a smile. "And we might find our answer through asking yet another question. Can I make it come back?"

"No, I don't think so," Harry muttered, trying, and failing, to think of a time when he had seen someone vanishing an object and then making it come back again.

"You are correct," Voldemort stated with a nod. "I can recreate the same shape," he then said, flicking his wand and making the half-match half-needle appear, hovering in front of Harry's face, "but it is not the same – it is a completely new object, which proves that Vanishing something completely erases its existence. Do you have any questions?"

"No, master," Harry said, "everything's clear so far."

Voldemort gave another smile before heading into another array of questions. "If a wizard can Conjure or Transfigure an object – how come he has to buy or gather, for example, Potions ingredients? Why can't he simply create them?"

"I don't know, master."

"Surely, it is entirely possible to swish one's wand and conjure, say, a belladonna plant?"

"... I guess?"

"So why go through the trouble of acquiring a belladonna plant through other means?"

"Maybe it won't work?"

A pleased glint appeared in Voldemort's red eyes, and he leaned forwards in his chair. "Why wouldn't it work?"

"I don't know," Harry said, starting to get fed up with this guessing game. "Maybe it just wouldn't work right with the potion."

"That is correct," Voldemort allowed before switching into lecture-mode. "I have previously told you about Mana – now, there are, to simplify, two types of Mana; natural and magical. Natural Mana is what flows in plants, in rocks, in animals and humans – it is a sense of naturalness coming from something being produced without any magical manipulation. Magical Mana, however, is what wizards have and use to perform magic. Hence, whenever something has been manipulated by magic, it will be held together by magical Mana. Do you understand this? It might be a bit complex."

"Yeah, if there are two kinds of Mana," Harry said carefully, "and wizards have the magical kind ... shouldn't they have the natural kind as well, since they are humans?"

"Exactly," said Voldemort.

"All right, then I think I understand," said Harry, receiving a pleased smile from his master.

"Very good ... So, you could Conjure a belladonna plant, but, like you concluded, it would not work for potions, and that is because it would lack natural Mana. Similarly, you know that I asked Quirrell to gather toads for me – the reason being that I needed true animals with natural Mana for the use I wanted to make of them. Moreover, while Conjuring or Transfiguring animals is possible, it is not very useful a practice. Do you know why?"

"No, master," Harry replied and watched as Voldemort waved his wand in a highly intricate pattern and intoned "Avis". A jet black raven materialised and took to the air, zooming about the room before perching on the backrest of the chair behind Voldemort's desk.

"Look at its eyes," Voldemort instructed, and Harry did so, squinting his eyes to try to peer into the bird's black orbs. "That is not a living being," Voldemort said, and watching the animal stare blindly into the wall, Harry instantly understood what he meant. "A wizard can create flesh and bone, and he can animate it to assimilate life, but he cannot create life. He cannot Conjure a soul. However –"

Voldemort swished his wand again, in a far less complex pattern, and said "Avisortia". Out of the tip of his wand flew another bird, identical to the first one, but otherwise quite obviously different from it. Looking into its eyes, Harry could instantly tell that this animal was very much alive.

"It is possible to Summon a living animal, like so," Voldemort concluded. "As long as the animal you want to Summon is in close proximity, the spell will search it out and Apparate it for you. Thus, a Summoning Spell is always split into two parts; search and transport. It is, of course, very simple to reverse the spell and Banish the animal you have summoned," Voldemort finished and flicked his wand at the living raven, which was currently seated on the top of the desk, picking at the quills. In an instant, it disappeared, leaving its hollow-eyed cousin behind.

"This is very much to be preferred to Vanishing a Summoned animal, since it is infused with natural Mana. This Conjured animal, however, only has magical Mana, and is thus very simple to Vanish. Vanishing something with natural Mana is immensely more difficult, not only because it takes a lot more power, but also because the amount of Mana used needs to be very precise to work. Thus, the Vanishing Spell has potential to be one of the most difficult spells to master, even though, with a simple target, the spell might also be one of the simplest."

Aiming his wand at the staring raven, Voldemort intoned "Evanesco", and at once, it completely vanished. Next, he stretched out his left hand to his desk, making one of the mistreated quills zoom into it, before handing it over to Harry. "You will practice on this. Are you familiar with the wand movement?"

For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Severus slowed his breathing and forcefully cleared his mind. Then, he turned on the spot and Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. The handsome manor at the end of the gravel driveway was glowing with soft candlelight radiating out of the diamond-panned windows. Relaxing the tiniest bit at the sight of the familiar house, Severus walked through the wrought-iron gates, instantly recognised by the wards, and up the road to the front door. It swung open for him on its own accord, spelled to do so for expected guests, and at once after passing the threshold, Severus was greeted by his closest friend.

"Severus," Lucius said with a smile that softened his usually very stern-looking face. "Thank Merlin – I was hoping it'd be you. Come, let's make ourselves comfortable. It has been a very trying couple of days ... Ministry's in a horrible state."

"I can imagine," Severus said with an answering smile, following Lucius' black-clad form as he crossed the vast hallway and moved towards the ground floor parlour. "The Minister is throwing all sorts of accusations around, I hear," he mentioned casually, thinking of Dumbledore's resigned expression as he mentioned Fudge's hostility during the Order meeting earlier that day.

Lucius chuckled darkly as he stepped into the spacious parlour, leading the way to a pale blue and gold sitting group in French Empire style. "Oh, our dear Minister is quite distraught. I swear, when I first caught sight of his wretched appearance Monday morning, I almost mistook him for Arthur Weasley. Wine?" Lucius questioned, standing at the heavily stocked liquor cabinet, looking over his shoulder at Severus with a bottle of wine in his hands.

"Please," Severus answered and sat down in his favourite bergère, both having the advantage of being closest to the crackling fireplace and having a clear view of the doorway. "I could use a drink."

The wine bottle was uncorked with a suckling pop, and shortly thereafter, a light clink and a pouring sound was heard. "At least, watching Fudge chase Dumbledore out of the Ministry provided some entertainment ... But overall; it's been chaos. Of course, a bit of a stir is to be expected after such an event," Lucius allowed as he crossed the room, delicately handed one of the elegant glasses over to his guest, and then sat down in the lavish sofa. "But to bow down to such mindless hysteria ... Where is the dignity, I say?" Keeping eye contact with Severus, he took a slow swig of his drink.

"Sadly, such behaviour is to be expected from the riffraff the Ministry employs nowadays. They hardly have the presence of mind to tackle this kind of situation logically. I would know – I unfortunately attempted to educate them," Severus said with a sneer, taking a sip of wine as well. Superior Red, he realised at once – Lucius' favourite.

His expression startled another laugh out of Lucius. "A tedious task, I'm sure. Yes, I would have to agree that many of the younger talents at the Ministry distinctly lacks," he chuckled with glittering grey eyes," talent. But I would not claim that the older generation is any better in that department. It is a marvel how many believe this was an inside job, conducted by poor Miss Odelia Thorn. But then again, that rumour doesn't hold a candle to the theory that Quirinus Quirrell – infamous kidnapper and 'murderer' of poor little Harry Potter – lies behind the breakout."

Severus sneered in disgust. "Quirrell? I am appalled at the mere suggestion. He has been teaching Muggle Studies at Hogwarts for over a decade – surely, his mediocrity must have been apparent to the poor souls that suffered under his tutelage?"

"They might be in denial," Lucius offered with a smirk, "people are desperate for an answer to the riddle of Potter's disappearance after all."

"Indeed," Severus answered quietly and took another sip from his drink.

"I was surprised," Lucius declared after a moment's silence, "that you were not present at the meeting last Sunday. Otherwise occupied?"

Severus tensed and didn't bother to hide the worry that started to seep out of his pores after that comment. Lucius leaned forwards in his seat at once, studying his expression with intrigue. "I was summoned by the Dark Lord a couple of days past," he confessed tensely. "And he was ... far from impressed with my loyalty."

"Truly?" Lucius breathed out in incomprehension. "After all those years at Dumbledore's side? Why would he have reason to doubt you?"

Severus smiled at his friend, amused by his gullible trust, and strangely moved. His own deceit burned sour on his tongue by contrast. "Before the Dark Lord's fall, I had asked him for a reward for my service as a spy."

"Lily's life, yes," Lucius said in a hushed tone, "I remember. You were inconsolable for months ..."

"I hated him for taking her away from me," he confessed, receiving an understanding look from his friend.

"And the Dark Lord recognised that," he stated, leaning back against the backrest of the sofa again and taking another sip of wine.

"Indeed," Severus answered tensely. "He is ... very sharp of mind, now. Compared to how he acted in our youth, he's not at all as ..."

"... insane?" Lucius supplied with a weary smile.

"... yes," Severus said, carefully hiding any sign of the suspicion his friend's comment had inspired. He couldn't know, could he? No, that was impossible. Was his loyalty wavering? "He picked up on my resentment at once, and nearly had me killed ... but he refrained."

"Obviously," Lucius said with a hint of humour.

"Indeed ... The Dark Lord did not make his plans for me clear," Severus continued. "However, his decision to exclude me from this first mission alludes to his continued mistrust."

Lucius looked thoughtful, and they both sank into a contemplating silence, slowly drinking their wine. Once Lucius had finished his glass, his pale eyes flickered over to Severus, shining with cold determination. "I was ... startled to learn of the Dark Lord's return. I was unaware that he had such power and, I must confess ... in the aftermath of the war, and after my narrow escape from prison, I started to doubt ... I did indeed find that many of his decisions had been ... rash, and had pointed towards a sort of insanity. It complicated matters. I have, just like you have, found that the Dark Lord shows signs of a far superior intellect now ... but I am yet unconvinced that it will remain so. Indeed, did not the Dark Lord start his campaign as a young, handsome man with unchallenged charisma? And yet, he deteriorated into ... an almost inhuman state before his fall. I had not planned on voicing these opinions, of course, since I was convinced that the war was over. And yet ..."

Severus listened attentively to his friend, feeling a sting of remorse for keeping him out of the loop. This, at least, proves that he indeed is unaware of the cause of the Dark Lord's insanity.

"Your doubts are completely understandable," he answered soothingly, making Lucius visibly deflate with relief. "But, like you said, the Dark Lord seems to be ... completely lucid at the moment."

With a stark urgency burning in his eyes, Lucius leaned forwards and started speaking in a hushed tone. "I have taken some precautions, just to learn more and make sure to be made aware the moment his sanity starts to slip – if it ever does. But as it happens, it will only be made possible with your help."

Not very much liking the sound of that, but still feeling intrigued, Severus leaned forwards in his seat as well.

"A few days ago," Lucius continued, "the Dark Lord asked for a couple of donations from me and his other allied families. Amongst the matters requested were house-elves, and I made sure to send one of my own into the mix – one that has proven to be ... uncommonly spirited; prone to following its own orders."

"Dobby," Severus concluded tightly, carefully concealing his thundering excitement. This was almost too perfect to be true. That the elf would have the opportunity to do anything at all to help Severus had been a long shot – but if he was indeed stationed at the Dark Lord's stronghold ...

"Naturally, I had to sever his bonds with me and my family, however ... I did not sever his bond with you. I do not believe that the Dark Lord is aware that you are extended family. This will, of course allow you to –"

"– keep contact with the elf. To learn what the Dark Lord is planning," Severus filled in.

"And report back to me," Lucius concluded, righting himself with a regal look.

"Of course," Severus agreed with a short nod, sharing a short smile with his friend, who looked about to suggest another glass of wine. But then, they were interrupted by the door sliding open.

"Father, when is Mother coming back?"

Looking over at the doorway, Severus saw his godson stand there, his arms crossed and with a bored expression on his face. Once he caught sight of Severus, however, his expression switched to excitement.

"Professor," he exclaimed and walked further into the room, brushing off invisible lint from his impeccable navy blue robes, "I didn't know you'd come. Are you staying for dinner?"

"Draco," Lucius reprimanded firmly, halting the teen in his tracks, "you do not simply barge into a room unannounced like some bumbling Muggle-loving Weasley."

At once, Draco's face went pink with anger. "I didn't know anyone was here," he defended hotly, glaring darkly at his father, who returned the glare tenfold.

"The more important to knock," Lucius hissed. "I do not think you would have liked to barge in on the Dark Lord for instance, if it had been he and not your godfather who was visiting. I would have thought Sunday night taught you better than this."

At those words, Draco's glare faltered, and he actually looked ashamed; an expression Severus had very rarely seen on that particular boy's face. "I apologise, Father. I will correct my behaviour."

"Sunday night?" Severus questioned with raised eyebrows, efficiently breaking the tense moment as Lucius stopped glaring and turned to look at him instead.

"The Dark Lord's dinner party," his friend explained and sighed heavily. Carefully, Draco treaded closer and sat down in the bergère closest to the door. "Father insisted on bringing Draco ... To present him to the Dark Lord, and flaunt him in front of the other families."

Severus couldn't help but sneer. "And you agreed to this?"

"Father is still Head of the family," Lucius defended carefully, sneering as well. "I couldn't very well oppose his decision ... however ill-versed I deemed it."

"I did all right," Draco muttered sullenly to himself, lounging in his plush seat with his arms crossed. "If it weren't for Potter, I would have –"

"Potter?" Severus echoed, trying very hard to school his expression so that he didn't seem overly relieved by the news. "The Dark Lord alluded to having Potter in his possession, but it was impossible to tell whether he was sincere or not."

Before Lucius could respond, Draco piped up. "He's the Dark Lord's apprentice, Professor." Severus blanched. "He's strutting around the Dark Lord's fortress as if he owns it –"

"Draco!" Lucius snapped furiously, arising from his seat in his anger. "That is enough! How many times do I have to reprimand you? Was the Dark Lord's public display not enough punishment for you? How dare you persist in this? You know what I think of your little rivalry with Potter; put an end to it!"

"But it wasn't my fault!" screeched Draco and flew to his feet as well. "Potter's the one who attacked me!"

"TO YOUR ROOM!" roared Lucius with furiousness Severus had only very rarely seen his friend display before; whatever happened with Draco and the Dark Lord must have truly scared him. Indeed, if Severus judged the situation correctly, Draco might have been inches away from being tortured.

Draco didn't seem to recognise his father's fear, however, and sent him a last hateful glare before stomping out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

In the lingering silence following Draco's hasty departure, Severus allowed himself to react to the new revelations. Potter was not kept prisoner, but had been chosen as the Dark Lord's apprentice. To Severus' utmost outrage, he did not have a Possible Scenario prepared for this particular outcome.