"It will be an honor, master." Jess held her eyes to the floor as she spoke, knowing he preferred that.
"Very good, Precious. I trust I do not have to tell you that you had best not fail me this time?"
"Of course not, master."
"Good. That will be all." He turned back to the correspondence on his mahogany desk, summarily dismissing her.
Jess quickly departed, slipping through the empty corridors in wraith-like silence until she reached her suite. Slumping against the inside of the door, she fought to control her pounding heart. She had not expected Voldemort to order the attack for weeks; the short time between her discovery and his order robbed her of the opportunity to develop options to save herself.
Which the bastard probably knew all along, she thought angrily.
Voldemort had the frustrating ability to stay one step ahead of her at every turn. Certainly the night they first fought he had done so, and she was not fool enough to think he had taught her enough about dark magic to pose a threat to him. At least, she wasn't a threat by herself.
She sighed, the fatigue inundating her as she briefly allowed it free access to her entire body. Voldemort wanted her dead. There was no doubt of that. Her thoughts flashed back to the night she and Grey faced off in Cansbury. Did he mean what he said? Would he try and save her? Would the price be her power?
As much as she wanted to live, she dreaded the thought of abandoning the comfortable cocoon of her dark magic. She had access to powers the aurors barely dreamed existed; she would almost rather die than surrender them.
Almost.
Power did you no good if you were dead. Several ambitious Death Eaters had learned that at her hands. The memory of rib bones snapping like twigs jolted her to her feet. She had no choice, really. She would go to them, help them against Voldemort. After that, she would see about escaping with her power intact.
Voldemort and Wormtail watched stone-faced as Jess took on a look of determination in the surface of the cauldron. She moved purposefully around the room, gathering her implements of dark magic into a satchel.
"She's leaving early, Wormtail."
"As you predicted, my lord."
"Our forces?"
"Ready to follow at a moment's notice."
"We must not give them long. Only enough for her arrival to confuse them. Send word to the castle that the time has come for our surprise."
Wormtail nodded, adding a good measure of bowing and scraping before scurrying out of the room. Voldemort looked back down to the sorceress in the cauldron, his mouth turning up in a frightening grin.
"Now, Precious, I will show you a few of those things you were so desperate to learn before. Somehow, I think you will be less eager this time around."
"Dobby does not think you should be doing that, sir."
The robed figure spun around, astonished to find someone else in the kitchens. He had been certain the sleeping spell would knock out all of the pesky elves while he did his work on Dumbledore's late night snack.
"Leave, elf. This be not your problem."
"Dobby thinks Professor Dumbledore is a great man, and I knows what you is doing." Anger flashed in Dobby's enormous eyes. He knew of the poison theft; Harry Potter had explained it to all of the House Elves in case the assassin went to the kitchens. "Get away!"
"Why you talk so dumb? Me be never understanding why elves so dumb." The hood swung back and forth as the assassin shook its head. Then a robed arm came up and a burst of wind flung Dobby backwards into the wall.
The house elf hit the hard stone with a jarring thud; dazed, he quickly began incanting. The wine glass in front of the assassin flew up and smacked into the back of its head, dumping wine all over the dark robe.
"Ooh, me make you sorry for that." The assassin flipped back his hood, revealing Curly's pink skin and horns. The gigantic eyes were solidly black.
Dobby quaked with fear, the knowledge of the imp's power spinning through his mind. This one wanted to hurt Professor Dumbledore, though, and probably Harry Potter. Dobby wouldn't let that happen.
Drawers around the room flew open of their own accord. Dobby reached in with his mind, pulling out dozens of sharp knives and pointing them all at Curly.
"Leave now." Dobby's squeaky voice failed to sound menacing in the least, but Curly caught the glare in his eyes as he surveyed the flying cutlery.
When the imp raised his hand to cast, Dobby hurled the knives at him.
The storm of blades descended on Curly, slashing viciously at his robes. A mental incantation kept them from gouging his pink skin, frustrating Dobby's efforts at harm. The angry elf let the knives fall and decided to change course.
Before he could attack again, however, Curly seized the moment. With another gesture, he flipped Dobby up and banged his misshapen head against the ceiling. The woozy elf hung limply in the air, his mind refusing to focus or touch his magical powers. For all the times Dobby has banged his head, he thought fleetingly, Dobby has never felt like this.
Curly let him drop the ten feet to the hard stone floor. Breath whooshed out of him on impact. The imp twirled his fingers, invoking a strand of yarn-like light that wiggled and moved. With a slight a flick, the strand extended and wrapped around Dobby, binding him in a silent sleep spell that would last for hours. The imp smiled.
"Me be having fun now."
Dumbledore looked up as Dobby walked in with his usual tray. He knew Minerva would frown on his choice of snacks, but he had a craving for cherry pie lately that couldn't seem to be satisfied. Tonight's offering smelled no less delicious than the last few.
"Thank you for bringing it up, Dobby. I know magic is more convenient for you."
"Dobby is happy to help, sir. Dobby does not want Professor Dumbledore poisoned."
"Yes, well, I'm not fond of it very much either," the elderly wizard said with a grin. He took the tray from the elf and immediately dug in. "Oh my, as always, Winky has outdone herself. Please tell her I said so."
"Dobby will do that, sir," the elf said with a smile. He was going to enjoy this even more in a few seconds, he knew. Fortunately, the process wouldn't take long. Speaking like the elf already annoyed him to no end.
Dumbledore felt the tingle in his stomach when he finished half the pie. He had no illusion about the cause, and as the tingling spread with the poison he glared at the miniature figure in front of him.
"You, Dobby? You're the … one …" His face contorted as the pain began. His breathing faltered and he clutched his chest. Even as he did so, Curly saw a look of tranquil confidence in Dumbledore's blue eyes.
"No, Dobby not be the one, you old fool," Curly snarled, dropping the glamour that hid his form. "Me be the one. Dobby be another dumb elf."
"If … you … harmed …"
Dumbledore slumped over the desk before he could finish the threat.