Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was dreaming. Like all his dreams since Voldemort gained power, this was a nightmare. Unlike most, this seemed more like a true vision than like a sleep-created scene. In it he saw:
The Dark Lord himself was sitting on a throne carved from the living rock in an enormous stone cavern. A woman wearing heavily decorated, dark purple robes knelt before him. She would have been beautiful had cruelty not etched deep lines in her face. Her eyes were pure emerald; her lips, slightly thin, were a natural vibrant red. Her raven hair fell to her waist in braids. Her voice, deceptively sweet, spoke.
"Master, it is as you have wished. Malfoy and Parkinson have taken their score of Death Eaters to Godric's Hollow. They have already reached its fringes."
"Very well," Voldemort replied in a sinister tone, "How long until they reach the Potters' house?"
"Within a week, my lord. Now that the Potters' Secret Keeper is under your control, all that remains is to surround them and that brat of a boy. It was so cunning of you, Master, tricking James into choosing Pettigrew! Fools! We'll show those mudblood-loving--"
"Enough, Aysmarena" Voldemort cut in mildly, "I know you are looking forward to this conquest, but you must keep a level head, if only to compensate for that bumbling husband of yours."
The pale man stood. Even in the dream, Dumbledore could feel the Dark Lord's depression in his every move, in every swirl of his long black robes. Voldemort continued, "Speaking of whom, he has some explaining to do about that incident with Mad-Eye. When he returns to your manor tell him that I need to give him a lesson in the value of secrecy-- How old is your daughter?" Voldemort switched subjects in his coldly abrupt way.
"I, erm..." Aysmarena was taken aback, startled. Why would Master care about Sabbrielle?
"I must be the first to know when she begins to talk. It is never too early to begin training." he said with a scowl, as he sat back down on his marble throne, then adjusted the line of his robes.
"My lord, She is but two and a half months old!" Voldemort snapped his head around to stare into Aysmarena's eyes. Imperceptibly, she shivered. Even though she had been in Voldemort's inner circle for nearly seventeen years, and thus had suffered his glare many times, it amazed her that it still frightened her. She struggled to regain her composure, to return his stare calmly and evenly. A proper Slytherin, a proper Death Eater, maintained eye contact in the face of danger--in this instance, maintained eye contact with the Face of Danger! even so, she knew she would come to regret her words.
Peering through slitted eyes that practically glowed red from a lifetime of hatred, Voldemort replied with a contemptuous gesture, "How dare you question my judgment?! The sooner she begins her training, the better; or do you not want your delicate child working towards our common goal. Are you rethinking your legacy as a Death Eater? Is this from whence this insubordination comes, or has that fool spouse of yours softened your head and dulled your ambition?!" Aysmarena quailed as Voldemort spat out this last note.
"No, my lord, never! My family and I are ever in your service!" In a fit of anxiety she kicked herself mentally, for a second later she added, "It's only that Sabbrielle needs a little time, time to be educated at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?!! Waste a pureblood from perfect Death Eater stock-- well, near perfect--" Voldemort snickered at his own joke, "on that idiot Dumbledore?! Are you out of your mind? It is bad enough that Lucius insists on sending that valuable boy of his to that mudblood-infested warren! It is completely different from the school I knew only forty years ago. Only Slytherin remains a haven for purebloods; but even there, the headmaster's influence is as strong as ever, and Severus is the only professor not completely corrupted by Dumbledore's soft heart."
If only he knew the truth about Severus, Albus thought, and if his minion only knew how panicky it makes Voldemort to know that I am tracking him.
"You will never--and I mean never-- send your daughter to Hogwarts until the school is mine and we have rid it of the dolts that currently occupy its halls. You very well know what I do to those that disobey my wishes, and you are smart enough not to wish that punishment upon yourself. Begone!" thundered Voldemort, "and don't forget to send your fool husband in here." Aysmarena stood and bowed with stony countenance. She paused, debating whether to say anything more, but then hurried out before the Dark Lord could notice her hesitation.
When Dumbledore awoke, he remembered nothing.
The Dark Lord himself was sitting on a throne carved from the living rock in an enormous stone cavern. A woman wearing heavily decorated, dark purple robes knelt before him. She would have been beautiful had cruelty not etched deep lines in her face. Her eyes were pure emerald; her lips, slightly thin, were a natural vibrant red. Her raven hair fell to her waist in braids. Her voice, deceptively sweet, spoke.
"Master, it is as you have wished. Malfoy and Parkinson have taken their score of Death Eaters to Godric's Hollow. They have already reached its fringes."
"Very well," Voldemort replied in a sinister tone, "How long until they reach the Potters' house?"
"Within a week, my lord. Now that the Potters' Secret Keeper is under your control, all that remains is to surround them and that brat of a boy. It was so cunning of you, Master, tricking James into choosing Pettigrew! Fools! We'll show those mudblood-loving--"
"Enough, Aysmarena" Voldemort cut in mildly, "I know you are looking forward to this conquest, but you must keep a level head, if only to compensate for that bumbling husband of yours."
The pale man stood. Even in the dream, Dumbledore could feel the Dark Lord's depression in his every move, in every swirl of his long black robes. Voldemort continued, "Speaking of whom, he has some explaining to do about that incident with Mad-Eye. When he returns to your manor tell him that I need to give him a lesson in the value of secrecy-- How old is your daughter?" Voldemort switched subjects in his coldly abrupt way.
"I, erm..." Aysmarena was taken aback, startled. Why would Master care about Sabbrielle?
"I must be the first to know when she begins to talk. It is never too early to begin training." he said with a scowl, as he sat back down on his marble throne, then adjusted the line of his robes.
"My lord, She is but two and a half months old!" Voldemort snapped his head around to stare into Aysmarena's eyes. Imperceptibly, she shivered. Even though she had been in Voldemort's inner circle for nearly seventeen years, and thus had suffered his glare many times, it amazed her that it still frightened her. She struggled to regain her composure, to return his stare calmly and evenly. A proper Slytherin, a proper Death Eater, maintained eye contact in the face of danger--in this instance, maintained eye contact with the Face of Danger! even so, she knew she would come to regret her words.
Peering through slitted eyes that practically glowed red from a lifetime of hatred, Voldemort replied with a contemptuous gesture, "How dare you question my judgment?! The sooner she begins her training, the better; or do you not want your delicate child working towards our common goal. Are you rethinking your legacy as a Death Eater? Is this from whence this insubordination comes, or has that fool spouse of yours softened your head and dulled your ambition?!" Aysmarena quailed as Voldemort spat out this last note.
"No, my lord, never! My family and I are ever in your service!" In a fit of anxiety she kicked herself mentally, for a second later she added, "It's only that Sabbrielle needs a little time, time to be educated at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?!! Waste a pureblood from perfect Death Eater stock-- well, near perfect--" Voldemort snickered at his own joke, "on that idiot Dumbledore?! Are you out of your mind? It is bad enough that Lucius insists on sending that valuable boy of his to that mudblood-infested warren! It is completely different from the school I knew only forty years ago. Only Slytherin remains a haven for purebloods; but even there, the headmaster's influence is as strong as ever, and Severus is the only professor not completely corrupted by Dumbledore's soft heart."
If only he knew the truth about Severus, Albus thought, and if his minion only knew how panicky it makes Voldemort to know that I am tracking him.
"You will never--and I mean never-- send your daughter to Hogwarts until the school is mine and we have rid it of the dolts that currently occupy its halls. You very well know what I do to those that disobey my wishes, and you are smart enough not to wish that punishment upon yourself. Begone!" thundered Voldemort, "and don't forget to send your fool husband in here." Aysmarena stood and bowed with stony countenance. She paused, debating whether to say anything more, but then hurried out before the Dark Lord could notice her hesitation.
When Dumbledore awoke, he remembered nothing.