August 25

Hi, hi! Here's what happened when last we met: Hermione feels out of place as the students return to Hogwarts for another year of academic adventure. Little does she know that others are having their own inner struggles, especially Draco Malfoy, who has been "recruited" by his father to aid in the cause of Voldemort.

THE HEIRESS 4: Castle Karkaroff

It was a stormy evening in the Balkan Mountains. The Shipka pass was filling with thick fog, much as it had over a hundred and fifty years ago, when the Turk Suleyman had earned his nickname "The Shipka Butcher" by sending thousands of his troops to their violent end against the Russian Forces stationed there.

Castle Karkaroff lay hidden off the beaten path, as it had for centuries. It looked a typical deserted ruin to the Muggles thereabouts. Its latest occupants had only taken up residence six months prior to this desolate evening. Granted, the area had always been oppressive and filled with terror, but the new inhabitants had taken this to great heights. No Muggle attempted to go near it, not even the stouthearted boys of the neighborhood.

Within the castle, Lucius Malfoy paced the hall before its cavernous Great Room. An attractive man in a rather sinister sense, he was drop-dead-gorgeous in contrast to his squat companion, who kept wringing his hands nervously. Malfoy addressed him with disgust. "Honestly, Peter. Can't you stop that wretched cringing?"

The squat little man shook his head. His neck, suspended between his slumped shoulders, gave one the impression of a vulture. "He's been in there all evening, by himself. Didn't take supper. What do you suppose is wrong?"

"Why should there be anything wrong? The Master enjoys his solitude. That is all."

"No, it's more than that, I tell you. He took a visitor over the hearth and sent me out in a trice."

This interested Malfoy. "A visitor, you say? Who was it?"

"I don't know, I don't know. I didn't have time to see their features clearly. I think it may have been a woman…"

Malfoy laughed heartily. "Well, there you have it. Poor Peter, you would not understand such things, but when witches are concerned, well. Sometimes a man wants his privacy…"

Malfoy left off teasing his dumpy companion. This new thought intrigued him. Could there be a witch in Voldemort's life? It seemed highly improbable. Voldemort's time was exclusively occupied in world domination; would he even bother with conquests of a lesser nature? Doubtful, highly doubtful.

His reverie was distracted by a loud creaking of hinges as the oaken doors to the Great Room opened. Malfoy sensed rather than heard his name called. "Come in, dear Lucius." Peter made to follow him but was rudely rebuffed. "Not you, Worm. I'll send for you when it is suitable."

Malfoy smirked slightly. He liked to be the chosen one, where Voldemort was concerned. It gave clear evidence of his stature.

The figure in front of the fireplace turned. Malfoy stiffened; it was always his first reaction before he put on his silkiest smile. "Good evening, my lord. You are well, I hope?"

Voldemort's smile, whatever it was, could not be described as silky. "Slitty," perhaps; it cut the lower half of his face in a serpentine slash. Some of the Death Eaters swore that a serpent's tongue hid behind the yellowed teeth.

"I am quite well, Lucius, I thank you. I have brought you into my presence to inquire as to your esteemed offspring's response to your message. I assume that he will offer his services?"

Malfoy inclined his head in agreement. At least, he hoped so.

"Ah. Well done. You have a son to be proud of." So saying, Voldemort took a rather stiff seat beside the cold hearth. "Throne" would be the appropriate term; the chair had once belonged to Vlad the Impaler, the first to be credited with the title "Dracula." His final heir, Igor Karkaroff, would have appalled his earliest sire. Voldemort voiced this notion. "Poor Igor. Well, he has served in the end, giving our ragtag little family a home, has he not, Lucius?"

"Indeed, sire. It was his finest gesture."

"A token, however small, is appreciated. I can conclude, then, that you have fully acquainted your son with our intentions?"

"I have, sire. Draco has been well-schooled in your arts, no matter how Hogwarts may have tainted him."

"Tut. I myself studied under Dumbledore. He is an impeccable master of magic, albeit his methods are ponderous. Draco will be well taught, no doubt. So long as he remembers his true master."

"Of course, sire. He will not forget all that I have taught him in that regard, you may be sure."

"Indeed." Voldemort's smile thinned to a pale slit across his lower visage. "He knows enough to obtain the girl, as soon as he is able, no doubt. But will he bring her to us, once his conquest is achieved?"

Malfoy flattered himself, which he was wont to do. "He will bring her, master. Despite his youth, Draco knows what to do with regards to young witches."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed to match his grim smirk. "I hope you have advised him not to be too… hasty, my friend?"
Malfoy's hands spread wide in a gesture of protest. "No, my lord, he wouldn't dare take liberties with your heir. Not unless fully sanctioned by you, of course."

"Of course." Voldemort made a tent of his fingers and stared at them as he continued. "He has no sanctions where this female is concerned. My heir must remain a virgin. Perhaps you had best send him your raven to clarify this point?"

"I shall do so at once, sire, if you wish it."

"I do."

"Very well, sire."

"Go then. And send Wormtail to me. No doubt you'll find him skulking about by the doorway."

Lucius Malfoy bowed and, on quitting the chamber, found Peter exactly as predicted. "You're wanted, Peter dear."

With a look of mingled dread and pride, Wormtail entered the musty Great Room. Malfoy watched him go and pitied him slightly, not for an instant considering that they shared the same sorry boat.

Making his way to the belfry, Malfoy was accompanied by several large bats. Bats of many sizes shared the castle with them; they had inherited each other when Voldemort's group had taken up residence. These days they were the Master's choice messengers. Malfoy could not bring himself to use them, preferring his own ravens. His family had used ravens for centuries and, so long as Voldemort had no objections, he would carry on the tradition.

He paused at a parchment-laden desk at the belfry's entrance, scrawled a hasty message to his son, then sought one of his prized ravens, to which he discharged the errand. Truth be told, he preferred the ravens to his own flesh and blood, but none need be wiser. As yet.

Upon quitting the belfry, he took a seat at the desk and brooded. Voldemort was in a foul mood this evening. Partly due to the absence of Severus Snape, no doubt. Voldemort had sent for him; surely Snape would not be fool enough to disobey his commands? Malfoy felt he did not know all of his Master's plans and this troubled him. Lately, Voldemort had taken council with Avery and Macnair. Were they growing in favor while his own waned? Certainly not. He'd not permit it. He had cast his lot with Voldemort and he'd make good or perish. As he would not allow the latter, the first wish of his heart would have to do. He rose and straightened his robes with grim determination. Peter, that old weakling, still had the mainstay of Voldemort's trust, despite Malfoy's repeated attempts to replace the little man. Well, best make use of the tools at hand. Find out what Peter had been instructed. After all, knowledge was power and Lucius Malfoy aspired to both.

Half a world away, Severus Snape stirred in his comfortable bed. The damned mark on his wrist burned into his bones. With an exasperated sigh, he kissed Minerva's sleeping brow and rose. She did not awaken. Just as well, he thought grimly. The worst part of this mess was that harm might come to her, through him. For her sake, and for the entire wizarding society, he had to keep up his ruse to perfection. He swiftly dressed and crept through the halls of the sleeping castle, wishing he had the wings of a bird to hasten his errand. More than once he regretted his inability to learn the art of the animagus. Despite his many hours of effort he was unable to do so. He was too proud to ask Minerva for assistance. She could transform herself into the most sensuous cat… He pulled his thoughts from her and hurried to the Hogsmeade road, whereupon he disapparated into a puff of angry green smoke.

More bilious still was the chamber into which he apparated. There, before him, was Voldemort. His pale yellow eyes glowed, barely visible in the firelit room of his Balkan fortress. Severus hardened himself for whatever was to come.

"Ah, Severus, my love," purred his host, a faint smirk playing about his slit of a mouth. "I fear I bring you from a comfortable couch - a shared one, I presume?"

Snape would not be ruffled, not where Minerva was concerned. "You called, my lord, and I came."

"Mm. Yesss, good of you, that. Come, have a seat and let's talk, my dear. We haven't had a chance for too long."

Resigned, Snape took a seat opposite Voldemort before the great hearth, which smoldered with pale flames.

"Now then. Far be it from me to inconvenience you, I must beg your aid on a task most pressing."

"Sire?"

"I fear I have acted most rashly, dear Severus."

"How so, sire?" Snape forced himself to meet Voldemort's foul gaze. It was a sensation mingled with revulsion and terror; he stifled it.

"I have trusted the future of my growing empire into the hands of fools, Severus. As you know, Malfoy's young brat is one of your pupils."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes, Draco. A more unsuitable name was never given. 'Dragon.' It should have been 'Rodent.'"

"Sire?"

Voldemort snorted with disgust. "I fear the young Malfoy whelp is in a position most key, and I trust not the junior or the senior. So I turn, in my need, to you, my Severus."

"Sire?"

"Damn it, Severus, pay attention! The Malfoy brat is in a position to…influence my heir. Pathetic creature that he is, she is far worse - headstrong, foolish, and completely swain to that idiot Dumbledore. Not to mention a confederate of that repulsive Potter. A sorry bunch, the lot of them. So, there it is, Severus. You must help me."

"But… how, sire?"

"You must, for my sake, assist that wretched Malfoy. He may prove to be a pliable tool, in the right hands. Teach him our ways; instruct his tenuous feet on our path, so that he may reach her. Do you see, my dear?"

Snape saw, all too well. "You wish me to instruct Draco, sire?"

Voldemort nodded. "Yes, yes of course that is what I ask, but with subtlety, Severus. I need to call upon your talents - mix the young idiot a potion. One that cannot fail."

"A potion, sire?"

"Must you be so tiresome at this hour? Of course a potion! One that will ensure his success, and therefore, ours!"

"Sire, please excuse me, but what type of potion would serve your interests? There are thousands…"

Voldemort sighed and cocked his head in irritation. "Quite simply, I need you to give Malfoy a potion that will make him irresistible to that person who is my heir."

Snape felt ill. "You mean a… a love potion of some sort?"

Voldemort's mouth turned down in what appeared to be a frown. "Please, Severus. Nothing so revolting as that. No, I mean something far more subtle, yet more effective. I wish for her to learn from young Malfoy. I wish for him to use his influence on her, to enable him to bring her into our presence. She must come with him willingly, or the result will be the same as… as the recent unpleasantness that brought us to this castle."

Snape repressed a grin. Voldemort's defeat at the hands of Dumbledore and the Elementals was never mentioned.

"I do not wish the brat to fall in love with Malfoy," continued Voldemort irritably. "It is essential that the child be a virgin, or the spell will not work properly, if at all. Only a virgin can find her way to the center of the labyrinth."

So that was it, thought Snape. Aloud, he voiced his uncertainty. "But, sire, the location of the labyrinth is a subject of great conjecture. Indeed, if it ever existed at all…"

"It existed and exists, Severus. Do you think I would waste my precious time on a mere myth?"

"Of course not, sire. You know, then, of the exact location?"

Voldemort shook his head. "Not as yet, Severus, but it is only a matter of time to narrow the possibilities. Macnair is searching for it in his travels whilst Avery combs the old parchments encased in our marvelous library. I also have many bats hard at work in the matter. We shall find it and she shall serve us in penetrating to the center and reaching the cauldron. It is that simple."

It was hardly simple, thought Snape, with some relief. If Voldemort was desperate enough to rely on ancient legends, the forces of light may be in better shape than they previously had reason to hope.

"I see, sire. Well, I shall get to work on a potion immediately."

"Do so, and do not fail me, Severus. I hate to think of the ramifications of such failure. Think how heartbreaking it would be for poor McGonagall…"

Snape stiffened, unable to hide his outrage entirely.

Voldemort merely laughed. "I care not to whom you toss your affections, dear Severus. Just be certain you do not betray our most worthy cause. Retribution will be swift. And severe."

"Sire," replied Snape, bowing to hide his grim visage. "I shall not fail."

So saying, he disapparated. He had briefly wished for enough courage to drive his hidden dagger deep into Voldemort's breast, but he knew the futile gesture would simply end his own life and break the tenuous thread Dumbledore maintained with Voldemort's foul plans. Voldemort was heavily armed with arcane and powerful magic, which protected him from bodily harm. Unfortunately.

Upon apparation at the Hogsmeade road, Snape headed directly for a conference with Dumbledore. The ancient labyrinth, indeed! Could the old legends be true? It was barely conceivable but Dumbledore must know of Voldemort's latest fancy. Forewarned was forearmed, after all, and their forces needed all the help they could get.

Next: Aurors 101