Serpentigena
Chapter 5: The Unexpected Heir"How did this happen?" Voldemort asked. His voice, always a thing to fear, had gone flat and cold with fury. Wearing his habitual black robes he paced his private chamber, his red eyes narrowed to slits of bloody malice.
Lucius Malfoy stood impassive. With a shuddering breath he sighed to begin a pacifying answer, but stopped himself short. He knew, after more than twenty-five years in Voldemort's service, to never answer his master's rhetorical questions. He clasped his hands tight behind his back, praying he was not to be Voldemort's chosen punching bag.
"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?" Voldemort roared. "How?"
Unsure of what he was talking about, the escape of the girl or how she came to be in the first place, Lucius said carefully "Which incident are you referring to, my Lord?"
"That girl should never have existed," he spat. "One fucking incident, and look how everything turns out." Voldemort pointed his wand at a chair that burst into a violent explosion of fiery splinters. "And it's a girl," he muttered. "My damn luck." He pointed his wand at a lamp and it, too, exploded.
"If it's a girl," Lucius ventured, "She'll be easier to kill."
Voldemort wheeled and pointed his wand at Lucius' throat. "That's not it! Women are smarter than you think, Lucius. A woman won't come out and fight, she'll poison your drink while you aren't looking." He looked away, murmuring, "And she's capable of it, too. Poisons are her art." Voldemort sighed as he looked at the rose he had placed in a vase by his favorite chair. It stayed in red perfection, an innocent but deadly beauty. "Thrice cursed."
Lucius stayed still, hoping that soon Voldemort would want to 'think alone' and send him out. With a quick blink he brought to mind his own son's wife, a shy creature that spoke no English, only French, and did exactly what she was told, when she was told to do it. What was her name again? Emilie? He didn't really remember what she looked like and had never really heard her voice. In Lucius' mind, this woman was the perfect wife. He contrasted this china doll with the girl (what was her name?) and found her overly independent and sarcastic, not to mention completely disrespectful.
No, this girl would never go along with what Voldemort wanted. Lucius grimaced. That would never work.
"Anyway, Dumbledore probably has the bitch by now," Voldemort continued, sinking moodily onto his chair. "And she be just itching to jump out and slit my throat when he gets through with her."
Lucius was quick to reassure his Lord that there was no way a teenaged girl could ever hurt him in any lasting way, and even with Dumbledore's help it was impossible.
Voldemort smiled his serpentine smile and waved Lucius away. "Go away. I'm weary of you."
Lucius beat his retreat, barely hiding his smile of relief when he exited the room. He had survived his meeting with Voldemort.
~
Severus Snape stormed around his office, whipping down seemingly random plants from their hooks and crushing them into a fine powder. Dumping the powder into a bowl, he incinerated it with a poke of his wand and inhaled the smoke that rose upwards from the bowl. Immediately his racing heart settled, his hands ceased their shaking, and he was able to sit down and process his thoughts with some degree of rationality.
Voldemort's daughter, he thought. In Hogwarts. These two thoughts were enough to make his palms sweat. He calmed himself once more. "My god," he sighed, placing his head in his hands. "All those perfect potions—they were hers."
It really isn't fair, Snape reflected, that the only child of my greatest enemy should be my equal in the thing I love above all others. He remembered Josephine's face as she bargained with him, the snapping mind and the critical blue eyes. And she's brilliant, as brilliant as Voldemort. Maybe even more so, once she gets some training.
"She's like an explosive," he murmured. "Dangerous, but properly used she could be a great weapon."
Properly used? He queried himself, why do I use that phrase? I know what it is to be used, and I hate it. I am used because of a foolish choice I made at Josephine's age. She's still on the fence, though I can't expect she'll be eager to join our forces after what that idiot Lupin did to get a hold of her. He stroked his left wrist lightly, wincing even though it didn't hurt to touch the Dark Mark. It was more of a mental fear than a physical pain.
He though again of the Josephine he had seen cowering in the corner of the Hospital Wing, like a trapped animal, all camouflage and protection stripped away. Snape drummed his fingers on his desk, recalling that he skin was paler than he had first thought, her hair darker, her eyes a more piercing blue.
"Even her father would be in shock to realize that this is the heir he's been wanting of late, and she's beyond anyone's wildest dreams," he mused. "Better than a son would have been—even he himself would be hard-pressed to father another this close to his 'perfect' image." That was mildly disturbing.
It's funny that the moment I saw her for what she was, I agreed. She's Voldemort's heir, but if she inherits his position she could change it—change his crusade against Muggles. Then he shivered, putting a hand to his forehead. Or she could fill his position entirely, perfectly, and complete the terrible thing that Salazar Slytherin started a thousand years ago.
Snape rose and pulled down a new set of herbs. Normally he was against sleeping medications, but this was no normal circumstance. He needed some help to sleep this one off.
~
Josephine sat alone in her new room. It was luxurious: the four-poster bed had a mattress nearly a foot thick, the floor was carpeted and the windows had lush, floor-length curtains. There was even a wardrobe that Josephine could have lived in quite comfortably. The only think that felt remotely homey was the chair that the firewood had been stacked on—it reminded the girl of Charcoal Sarah's chair. It was this chair she sat in with her eyes tightly closed, her hands shaking at she drew a blanket around her narrow shoulders.
It was a big change from the walk-in closet she had lived in for six years.
Her skin felt bare and pink within the new clothing the nurse had handed her. It was apparently a sort of school uniform, judging by the badge sewn onto the lapel of the black robes. She squinted down at it, wondering why they had chosen to give her the green and silver badge. The green was almost the same color as Toad's eyes. Josephine opened her eyes all the way and watched the fire, filling her mind with flames to stop the tide of tears.
There was a knock at her door some time later.
She looked up, startled, as the door swung open a bit. It was two young men, both dark-haired. One wore glasses and was darkly tanned; the other was thin and slumping. Both were looking at her with alarm.
The man with glasses lightly punched the arm of the other. "Last time I let you get directions, Neville."
Neville held up the paper. "See for yourself. I followed the directions, Dumbledore said he would meet us in the room."
"He forgot to say there was someone in it."
"It's just a student," Neville rationalized.
Josephine cleared her throat. "What are you doing in my room?" she asked.
"The Headmaster directed us to this room," the man with glasses responded. "Shouldn't you be in the Slytherin Common room or something?"
"Excuse me?" Josephine interjected. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Dumbledore chose that moment to make his entrance in a swish of blue robes and silver beard. "Hello Harry, hello Neville. Good morning Josephine." He smiled genially at the three younger faces, ignoring Josephine's glare and Harry's look of confusion. Neville, in contrast, had begun to look astonished.
"Headmaster," Neville began, his eyes rounder than normal. "Who is this?"
"This is Josephine Riddle," Dumbledore said, reaching for the girl's shoulder.
Josephine jerked away. "My name is not Riddle."
Harry's eyes widened. "Not the same as Tom Marvolo Riddle?"
"The very same." Dumbledore said, sounding pleased that the two had caught on so quickly. Josephine met Harry's gaze angrily.
"Who's Tom Marvolo Riddle?" Neville asked anxiously. Harry pulled him aside and began whispering furiously in his ear, shooting meaningful glances at Josephine. In turn, Neville replied in undertone. Josephine could only hear random phrases like "Knockturn Alley", "Professor Lupin".
Dumbledore turned to Josephine. "Do you know who Tom Marvolo Riddle is?"
Josephine shook her head, and then shrugged. "I don't really care about whatever they're on about," she said bluntly. "I want to go home."
Dumbledore gestured hopelessly. "Miss Josephine, you don't have a home." When Josephine began to protest he cut her off. "Did I tell you that there was a fire on Knockturn Alley almost directly after my man found you?"
Josephine shook her head wordlessly. She began to shiver.
"It was the Hotel Noire."
He said something more, but Josephine heard only the blood rushing in her ears. She was cold; her flesh shivered but her mind was the cold of steel. Of anger. Toad. Emily. When I kill you, father dearest, I will shove their names down your throat. She clenched her fists and pressed her lips together in an effort to stop from shaking herself to bits. Josephine inhaled and exhaled with an effort, recalling the words of the man who claimed to be her father: "I would have killed you before you first drew breath." Would he not stop at killing her?
She exhaled again. "Emily's dead," she gasped, and without her consent her body folded and she hit the ground on her knees, staring blankly at the wall opposite her.
Dumbledore reached for her shoulder. "Don't touch me!" she cried, striking his hand away. "Just leave! Leave me alone!" Harry, Neville, and Dumbledore exchanged glances, but they left. Josephine waited until their voices were far enough down the hall, and then she buried her face in a pillow and screamed her throat raw.