Chapter 54

THIRTEEN

At dawn, Harry realized he must have dozed off for an hour after all. His glasses were clenched in his hand. He put them on. Scanning the couch, he noted that most of the Death Eaters were snoring. Willimar Avery was playing solitaire with an Exploding Snap deck—evidently determined not to rest until his boy had won his way back into the Dark Lord's good graces. Voldemort and Snape remained deep in conversation. Malfoy leaned toward them, glancing from face to face as if trying to keep up. Ariel Daine was also awake, huddled on the loveseat, legs folded to the side, apparently enclosed in a bubble, too. The Muggle girl slept fitfully, wrapped in a nightmare. As Harry watched, she sighed and flopped over.

When Harry looked at the Djinn ball, he swallowed hard. It now focused on a different scene: the marble rotunda where Professor Dumbledore lay, resplendent in one of the embroidered robes Harry remembered seeing in the high-ceilinged gallery where Draco had foiled the fourth attempt on the Headmaster's life. The light from a thousand candles bathed him in a warm, golden glow. At the moment, only Professor McGonagall stood guard, her dour face pensive, her eyes moist.

He's sleeping, merely sleeping, Harry told himself. He tested the height of his invisible prison, then wiggled himself into a sitting position so he could see better.

On one side of the chamber stood a pair of massive oak doors. As Harry stared at them, a smaller door cut into the bottom of one of them opened. Wilhelm Avery, the Death Eater's apprentice, shimmered a moment as he edged through.

"Headmistress," the Slytherin said humbly. "Professors Sinistra and Flitwick would like to speak with you."

McGonagall scowled. "I thought I told you to get yourself to bed, young man. You've been through a harrowing two days. It's a wonder you're not ill."

"Others have suffered more than I have. I must be strong. Before I can even think of sleeping, I need to pay homage to the Headmaster. This has been a tragic day."

At the Slytherin's earnest words, McGonagall's stern look softened. "Certainly. We must all buck up. If you could keep watch, I'd consider it a comfort. I need to see to funeral arrangements. I'll be back to relieve you as soon as I can."

"It would be an honor." Wilhelm's expression was so sincere that McGonagall patted his shoulder before making her way to the door.

"That's my boy!" Avery crowed. He began poking the other Death Eaters until all were awake to enjoy the show with him.

McGonagall shimmered as she crossed the threshold, leaving Wilhelm on his own.

Voldemort leaned forward "Now we shall see," Despite his conviviality with his one-time favorite Potions master, the Dark Lord evidently considered Wilhelm's verification of Dumbledore's death to be Snape's final test.

Harry hoped against hope that his uncle would fail it.

Despite his earlier bravado, Wilhelm approached the body cautiously. Standing over the bier, he examined Dumbledore's still face. He turned away to wiggle, then tug, the cork on Voldemort's vial. When the stopper finally popped, the Identity potion fizzed.

Wilhelm better have a good explanation when Dumbledore catches him trying to pour that down his throat, Harry told himself.

Wilhelm touched Dumbledore's lower lip. No response. He tapped the cheek. After a deep breath, he stuck his fingers into the mouth and pried open the jaw. Quickly, he upended the bottle and emptied it. The body remained motionless.

Without wasting a moment, Wilhelm worked a scrap of parchment between the stiff hands folded solemnly across Dumbledore's chest. Immediately, the sound of a quill on paper told them that the Headmaster's lineage was being revealed. When the scratching stopped, Wilhelm retrieved the parchment. He read it silently, his lips moving. He looked up with a grin. "It's Dumbledore, all right," he announced to his unseen Death Eater audience.

As Wilhelm read off Dumbledore's wizard pedigree through seven generations to the applauding Death Eaters, Harry chanted silently to himself, Anyone can play dead. Anyone can play dead.

Then Wilhelm reached into his student's robes and pulled out a long, carving knife. The steel blade glinted in the candlelight.

Harry gritted his teeth as his nails cut into his palms.

Wilhelm pulled back the ceremonial robes, revealing a wrinkled, ashy gray chest. The Headmaster didn't move. He thumped the old flesh once, just above the heart.

"Here goes," Wilhelm said. Then he thrust.

When the blade pierced through, Ariel Daine cried out. At the sound, Snape bit his lower lip and looked aside. As Harry stared at the knife, now plunged to the handle through the once noble heart, all hope drained away. His uncle's shamed response provided the only confirmation Harry needed: the figure they were viewing was Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was dead.

How soon before he and the Muggle girl now staring at the Djinn ball with terror-stricken eyes would join him?

In the midst of toasting with the champagne the Dark Lord had conjured for their pleasure, Avery ventured, "My son has redeemed himself, hasn't he?"

"Yes, yes, quite," Voldemort replied, not bothering to face his flunky. "He's proven himself useful after all. One day when we have an opening . . . ."

The doting father opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. When Snape allowed him a brief supercilious smile, Avery swallowed and said, "Yes, my lord."

"Let's drink to our Potions master. Brother Severus may have needed some coaxing, but he has come back to us. He was lost, but now he is found. May he never stray from us again."

The Death Eaters clinked their crystal champagne glasses together.

"In spirit, he will remain with us always. But now, regretfully, it's time to bid him adieu and return him in the flesh to Hogwarts with his lady love." Voldemort winked.

At his words, Ariel Daine sprang up from the red velvet loveseat and pressed her face against her bubble. Furiously, she pounded on its unseen side. "I'll never be yours, Severus Snape. Never in a billion, trillion years. You're horrid, despicable, treacherous, and no sort of gentleman."

Snape's posture remained rigid, but his face twitched with each of her words.

Voldemort chuckled. "Mist of Delusion will take care of that nicely. A little memory rearrangement, and she'll be purring in your hands in no time."

"Never!" Ariel shouted, but Harry saw apprehension on her face.

Voldemort pointed his wand, and blue vapor began to fill Professor Daine's bubble. Through the mists, Harry could see her eyelids drooping and her head nodding. She swooned back on the loveseat.

"And the brat as well," Snape murmured.

"Him?" Voldemort sounded surprised. "Surely, you can leave him to me."

Snape's black-eyed gaze slid over to Harry. "Nothing would please me more than to be rid of him. Potter has been a thorn in my heel since the day he walked into my classroom. But if your plan is to set me up at Hogwarts as your instrument, I'm afraid I must bring him back, too."

Voldemort's jolly Oxford don face looked annoyed. "You've brightened my day considerably by getting rid of Dumbledore, but getting rid of Harry Potter is a long anticipated treat as well. Surely, you won't deny me?"

Snape's gaze lingered on Harry as if he were imagining the slow tortures by which he'd enjoy seeing him die. Then he sighed. "Everyone knows how much I despise the brat. If he is murdered, I would be the first suspect. If I come back without him, you might as well send me to Azkaban yourself. Much good I'll do you there."

"Azkaban? You'd never even be charged. Fudge is a simpleton. He'll swallow any story that will allow him to think I'm still defeated. And we have allies in the Ministry. Many allies. They'd quash any accusation."

A slow smile spread across Snape's face. "Tempting. Very tempting. But . . . the brat has friends. You would never convince them. If I'm at all associated with the loss of their precious Harry Potter, they'll blame me entirely. My every move would be scrutinized. I'd be useless to you. Whereas if I rescue him, my position as the wizard to trust would be secured—once and for all. I'd be the one celebrated. Even Gryffindor would hail me as their hero. The universal approbation might even bring about your dream of installing a Death Eater as Headmaster of Hogwarts. Think how useful I would be to you then."

Voldemort sighed. "All right. Your call. Take Potter."

"And," Snape added, "the Muggle."

"Oh, surely there's no need for that. Allow us some sport."

Snape inclined his head. "I regret to say it's necessary. The Ceremony of the Dark Mark was initiated. Wilhelm circled the girl the full three times. The spells were cast. If the Muggle were to die by a Death Eater's hand now, Wilhelm would become your coven's newest member. If it is your desire to replace me, then go ahead. If not, she must leave here unharmed."

Voldemort rubbed his thumbnail across his upper lip. "Logical. Perfectly logical. I'd almost forgotten why you're so valuable to our little circle. All right, the Muggle too—though the creature will require full amnesia."

"As you wish," Snape said, pointing his wand at the girl. Her bubble clouded over with a pinkish mist.

Then Voldemort aimed his wand at Harry, and a sickly, sweetish smell filled his nose. A blue fog blocked out everything. I won't forget, he vowed. Just as he felt himself slipping out of consciousness, the Dark Lord invaded his head. And his form was hideous: a jackal with octopus tentacles for arms, a skull for a head and a snake for a tongue. With a gasp, Harry scooped up all his memories of the last two days and hightailed it down one of the corridors of his mind.


10 hours to write, 10 seconds to leave a comment