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Intermission: In the Shadow of His Power

"And what is your main conclusion from your visit?"

"Acting Minister Juniper is an idiot."

Monika had long since learned to control her face. She was often grateful for that skill, but this was one of the most violent bouts of gratitude she'd had in some time. Otherwise, she would have laughed at Evamaria's statement, and that would not have suited the grave image she needed to present.

As it was, she inclined her head slowly, and did not even shift the position of the one hand that rested on the table in the Minister's office. Evamaria stood at the window with her back to the Dark Lady, examining the enchanted view of dark forests and a glacier-fed lake. Only a slight tension in her shoulders showed how nervous Monika's magic made her. Evamaria made Monika more content than any of her servants had in some time. She struck the right balance between serving their country abroad and being Monika's servant at home.

"He is, my Lady." Evamaria turned around and shook her head. Her neck looked slender enough to snap like a twig, but Monika knew many people who had thought that about dear Evamaria. They'd been roundly disabused of what they should already have known, every one, when they tangled with her. It sounded as though Juniper had allowed himself to be taken in completely, however. "He treated me like a child when I questioned him. He claims to want the International Confederation's help to protect his country from the discovery of Muggles, but he rejects the most common-sense measures, such as to concentrate on the largest disruptions and leave the small ones alone, or work with the Muggle government to provide what plausible excuses they can for some breaches in the wall. He wants nothing less than complete Obliviation of all Muggles who have seen something suspicious in the last few months." Evamaria let out an exasperated breath and writhed her fingers into a knot, then rested the knot on the back of her neck. "All or nothing. And he wants the same thing of Harry."

Monika nodded. In truth, she was more interested in what Evamaria would say of Harry than of the Acting Minister. But she had not sent her servant to Britain with only that purpose—Evamaria might mistake her Lady's interest for fear—so she could not look more excited about one piece of news than the other. "And what is your impression of Harry vates?"

"I did not meet him, of course." Evamaria shifted restlessly, as if that were a failure on her part. Monika understood that the Acting Minister's invited friend would hardly have been welcome at Hogwarts, though, and nodded her understanding. When her servants made their best effort, she could forgive them their shortcomings. "But from the impression I had of him through the Acting Minister, he is a competent, powerful wizard hampered more by others' perceptions of him and the Dark Lord's personal enmity than by his age or the difficulties Juniper wanted to ascribe to him. I am sure he has faults. I could not come at them based on what his enemies said about him, however."

Monika nodded again. That was not truly unusual for a Lord or Lady. Those who had never met her said very contradictory things of her, too.

But what did it mean?

She knew what it meant for her own purposes, and that was really all that mattered.

"Thank you, Evamaria," she said, rising to her feet. "I will contact you again when I need you."

Evamaria bowed deeply as she Apparated away from the room. The Ministers of Austria had not always been such good friends to Monika, but she had taught the ones who were not, often removing them from office. Evamaria took her natural submission to Monika's power in good part.

Monika reappeared next to her home, and held up a hand as the avis-serpens came coiling down to her. She had not decided how many legs it should have yet, two like its bird parent or none like its snake parent, and so for the moment, it had one as a compromise. It perched on her wrist, shifting awkwardly back and forth, using the tail to compensate for its balance.

She stroked the sharp scale-feathers, and smiled into the distance.

There is a young Lord, heir to the most powerful wizard in the world, battling foes on all sides. He will survive, according to the prophecy, and inherit that power. But he will be reeling, off-guard after such a large battle, and he will receive no legal protection from his own Ministry than might make a case of interference problematic.

I will wait until after that battle, and claim the magic that no child should be carrying then.

That decided, she went to check on the progress of the mating she'd arranged that morning, between one of her tentacled sheep and dear Liane's sister. Liane had failed her most spectacularly, and such things had to be punished.

SSSSSSSSSSS

Indigena did not recognize the pattern sketched on the floor.

She recognized the material it was made of, of course. Since the failed attempt to kill Remus Lupin, her Lord seemed to be obsessed with growing ever stronger. He had sent Sylvan and Oaken to capture what straying wizards they could, and a few other Death Eaters who had more knowledge of the Muggle world to snare those Muggleborn children too young to be missed. They were brought back to him. Voldemort drained their magic, and his power grew stronger still, a brooding shadow that spread around him like a pair of constantly-flared eagles' wings.

Then they were left with the bodies of the new Squibs. Voldemort gave them to Sylvan and Oaken, with very specific instructions. And the bodies came back out as rendered flesh and blood, poured as thick liquid into the design that Voldemort wanted, and then dried and frozen and enchanted to stay in place. The victims' own pain and suffering probably also helped with that, Indigena thought. Though willing sacrifice was stronger, even unwilling sacrifice—blood magic—had power.

The design was not yet complete, but its outer form was a huge circle. In the middle, innumerable knots and stars and lines crossed to form a pattern that Indigena could not penetrate or understand. Sometimes she saw darting shapes in it, a bird, a lizard, a snake, but those were more likely her eyes trying to make sense of the changeable, she thought, like the shapes one saw when peering into a fire.

So her Lord's ultimate purpose, other than gaining more magic, remained mysterious, but this evening Indigena had noticed a new thing. As her Lord stood in front of the pattern, something joined him.

It was a glint, a glimmer of shadow at first. Then it resolved, and Indigena made out a black stone woman carrying her head under her arm. The head writhed with snakes. Indigena quickly looked aside, making sure not to meet that head's eyes.

Of course, more dangerous than the possible Medusa magic of that head was the sense of might that lurked around it. And by the chaos that accompanied it, clawing at the burrow walls and making streams of dirt fall from them, Indigena knew what this creature of Dark magic really was: a cover for the wild Dark.

It walked around the pattern with Voldemort, and, when it reached a certain point in the outer ring that corresponded to a blank place in the center, it vanished. Her Lord gave no sign that he had noticed.

Indigena bowed her head. If he is calling upon the wild Dark, and draining magic at the same time, what can he be planning?

She decided that he was unlikely to tell her if he had not so far, and in any case, it was not her task to prevent that. Her eyes focused across the room, where Sylvan and Oaken were dragging in another victim.

There is my task.

She turned and left the burrow. Her Lord had gone deep into contemplation, and was unlikely to call her back. She mounted the steps to the surface, and then cast a complicated spell on one of the stones in the tumble-down wall also woven with anti-Apparition spells and dense wards.

Little by little, she was altering the stone to have a heartbeat, and sing. It caused an immense amount of magic to leak above the wards, if one knew what to look for. Indigena had chosen it as the spell most likely to work as a summons and not attract attention. If her Lord asked, Indigena knew at least two uses the spell could be put to on prisoners, and could say she was practicing for those, trying to get over her squeamishness about torture.

But its main purpose was as a call.

And, tonight, it finally worked.

Indigena caught a glimpse of movement that resembled the wild Dark's, and looked up at once. Evan Rosier stood not far beyond the wall, staring at her, clutching the Hufflepuff cup in one hand.

Indigena cocked an eyebrow and murmured. At Evan's feet, a tendril rose, uncurled, and laid a message at his boots.

Now it remained to be seen if he would read it or not.

But Indigena could not stay to see. Her Mark was burning. She turned and went below.