Erm…Oops…ducks MeQuote "I do not intend to be one of those annoying writers who keeps you in suspense for months at a time!!" well so much for that eh???!!! Am very sorry…will try to do better next time. Really. Hope you enjoy :)
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Crucio Butterfly - Chapter 2
Before the end of the second week Peter had managed to melt three cauldrons in Potions class, despite the fact that they had only had two lessons. Neither Sirius nor Severus could understand how it was possible to make a Happiness Potion explode. Despite his truly abysmal performance in that particular class, Peter managed not to loose Slytherin any house points, Professor Malfoy was quite understanding, telling him that "Potions is a highly refined art and takes time to develop." She then proceeded to dock Gryffindor 20 points because Potter's potion was not precisely the right shade of crimson required. Sirius and Severus avoided looking at each other for several minutes.
Defence Against the Dark Arts had almost instantly become Sirius' favourite and best subject, a matter which he was incredibly ashamed about, and kept very well hidden. He could pass off his excellence in Defence as a result of his Mother's lessons, most upper class families taught their students what was often called the dark arts from a very young age, and so defence of it should follow naturally. After a basic introduction, covering classification of the dark arts, and it's history, the first year Slytherins then began to study basic dark spells and how to counter them. Professor Weasley set the class a particularly complex essay on correct duelling conduct, and what action should be taken if your opponent disobeys these rules. Severus said he was sorely tempted to write "Cast the killing curse on them".
Post on Saturday morning brought a letter from Sirius' mother, as well as a parcel containing a book on the political origins of the classification of the unforgivable curses and why it was all pointless. Sirius stared in shock at the huge book in his hands; he had enough to be worrying about without his mother continuing with her lessons as well. Hesitantly he tore open the envelope.
Dear Son,
I am, of course, delighted that you have upheld the family honour by being sorted into Slytherin. I am also confidant that you will make connections with the right people and extend your knowledge of, what you so correctly named, the noble arts.
I am completely unsurprised that the Gryffindor students are exceedingly arrogant, they were like that in my day, and I suspect they will be like that forever.
I have enclosed some supplementary reading for you and expect your next correspondence to contain a full analysis of said reading, including your opinions on what the author has written.
Best wishes, and remember what I taught you about getting caught.
Mother.
Sirius stared at the book in utter horror, then flipped hurriedly to the back page; the little number in the corner seemed to dance before his eyes, taunting him, 3582. This would take him weeks to read, and that was without even beginning to account for the amount of homework he had.
"Just tell her you can't." Severus was leaning over his shoulder.
Sirius raised his eyebrows, "One does not tell Ivy Black that you cannot comply with her wishes."
"What can she do though? Except possibly send you a howler, which she won't do."
"You really don't know my mother do you?" answered Sirius.
"No, I don't," replied Severus thoughtfully, "but I know mine, and I was also brought up in an upper-class society. She won't send you a howler because it will reveal that she is trying to teach you, what they name the dark arts, and she won't want to be discredited in society."
Sirius suddenly felt rather stupid for not having thought this up before.
Ivy Black was sat, reading in the drawing room as the doorbell at number 12 Grimmauld Place rang loudly, echoing through the neat, dark hallways. She distantly heard one of the house elves open the door to greet the visitor, and sincerely hoped they were told, politely of course, that the lady of the house was busy. Seconds later, however there was a load crack and Mindy appeared in the drawing room.
"Mistress," she dropped a hasty curtsy, "There is man downstairs who names himself
Lord Voldemort, he is a friend of the Malfoy family."
"Lord Voldemort? I have heard nothing of any lord who carries the name Voldemort. You should have known better than to disturb my private reading time, Mindy."
Mindy looked petrified, "Forgive me, Mistress, but he requested immediate audience with the lady of the house, he awaits you in the study."
Heaving a defeated sigh, Ivy marked her place in the book she was reading and trudged down a single flight of stairs to the study.
She did not immediately see his face, for he was standing in front of a particularly vile portrait of Ivy's recently deceased mother-in-law. Ivy cleared her throat, "You requested a meeting, My Lord?" She kept her voice deliberately icy, using a tone that would have most visitors running for the door. Lord Voldemort, however merely turned to face her, raised one eyebrow slightly and took a seat on the carved mahogany desk beneath the window.
"That is correct, Ma'am, I do apologise for any intrusion." His voice had an almost silky, snake-like quality to it, but Ivy's opinion of this lord was slightly raised by the fact that he addressed her as 'Ma'am', "You do not recognise me, I expect, I believe you were a third year Slytherin when I first attended Hogwarts."
Ivy racked her brain for some distant recollection of a student by the name of Voldemort. When none was forthcoming she said, "Are you certain you have the right person, My Lord? I do not recall anyone by your name, and it is unusual enough that I would remember."
Lord Voldemort smiled, a slight, calculating smirk, "I did not carry this name through school, Ma'am, in fact my entire identity was kept hidden for fear it would attract too much attention. I went by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"The half-blood orphan boy," Ivy was filled with a sudden rush of memory, "Fifth year prefect, the year I was Head Girl. You have changed much since then."
"Indeed." He answered, a slight trace of irony in his voice. "I have come today for political reasons. From what I have heard, you are likely to be, shall we say, sympathetic, to my cause."
"Your cause?" Ivy was mildly intrigued now.
"One hundred and fifty years ago our society was ruled as it had been for centuries, the great noble houses held absolute influence over the Ministry, Family pride was everything, and the Wizarding world prospered. We developed some of the greatest architectural works the world has ever seen, arts and culture was developed and refined, we were the world, and the muggles and mudbloods knew nothing of it. Society worked then, in a way it would never work now."
"So what happened?"
"One hundred and fifty years ago, a child was born from a union of wizard and muggle. This half-blood child was named Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."
Comprehension dawned on Ivy's face. Lord Voldemort smiled slightly before continuing.
"He claimed his father, a muggle lawyer from London, was of magical origin, and that the lawyer, Brian Dumbledore, was simply his stepfather. It was this act of shocking deceit that lead to Albus Dumbledore becoming the first impure child to attend Hogwarts. I do not pretend that he was not talented, he was the most powerful wizard Hogwarts had seen since my great-grandfather Thesenius Slytherin, but when he left, he managed to worm himself onto the governors board, lying and deceiving his way through life. It was he who altered the decree which stated that no child of completely pure blood could enter Hogwarts. From that point, as the magical world became diluted, the mudbloods fought against our world, destroying it."
Ivy stared at the man before her, trying to absorb this new information, "I was always taught that his exceptional magical ability meant he was accepted into Hogwarts by the governors, and subsequently persuaded them that if he could do it then other children with muggle ancestry could also."
"History lies, my dear Ivy, nothing is ever as it seems."
"Is any of it true, about Dumbledore? Did he do any of the things he is credited for?"
"That depends on the crediting. He murdered my uncle in cold blood, and yet was hailed as a hero. My uncle was named Grindeliarnos Thanwald, they called him Grindlewald, he was murdered because he stood up for what he believed in, in our democratic society he was murdered for speaking his thoughts."
"That's awful, how can anyone do such a thing?"
"Quite easily it would seem. When he died I was no more than a child, I swore to continue what he started, I swore I would have vengeance on those who took away my last living relative."
"your last…?"
"I never lied about being an orphan, how could I pretend such a thing? I kept hidden my true identity because it linked me to closely to the great Salazar Slytherin. My mother was the last to carry his name."
"So you wish to return the world to its former glory?"
"I will give back the wizard world to those who should rightfully own it, of whom you are one. Trust in me Ivy, would you not see a world that carries wonder and beauty not seen since the days of our long-dead ancestors?"
"Of course I would, but… you really think it can be done?"
"Naturally, or I would not have come to you. For my plan to work I need others to aid me. Think on it Ivy, do not let an opportunity pass you by. Owls addressed to Tom Riddle will still find me, I do not trust many with the knowledge of my true identity."
Lord Voldemort swept out of the room leaving a confused and shaken Ivy Black in his wake.
My Lord Voldemort,
Further to your visit of three days ago, I am writing to inform you that I am most certainly interested in helping to further your campaign. I felt nothing but sympathy relating to the death of your uncle, and understand your need to fulfil your vow for vengeance. I too would so greatly like to see a world restored to full glory.
Although much of what you told me contradicted what I had been taught as a child, I am quite aware that sometimes what we are taught is not always accurate. I know I have altered events to a certain degree when educating my own children. I am quite prepared to take what you explained to me as truth, and thus am more than happy to join your cause.
I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Ivy Black.
Dearest Mother,
Please accept my deepest apologies that I may take considerable time to fulfil your requirements regarding 'Why the classification of the unforgiveables is unforgivable'. I am, naturally, required to complete a large amount of homework, and finding time to analyse such a text may prove to be detrimental to my education. If you still require my reading of this text at the present moment, I will, of course attempt to do so.
Hope you are all well.
Sirius.
Dearest Ivy,
I am delighted by your interest in my campaign and look forward to working with you.
I must stress though that entry into my service does not come lightly. Meet me in the Leaky Cauldron at 7pm on September 17th. Come well disguised, it would not do to have my best warrior caught before she is even initiated.
Lord Voldemort.
It was nearly seven when the black-clothed old witch hobbled into The Leaky Cauldron, her face was hidden by a long black veil and her dress was somewhat moth-eaten around the hem. All in all she did not give off a particularly inviting aura. This, of course, was precisely what Ivy Black meant to do, as Lord Voldemort had said, it would not do if she was caught. She glanced nervously at the clock near the bar, three minutes to seven.
"Can I help you ma'am?" The barman approached her from the other side of the room. Ivy thought it best to order a drink and sit down with it to wait so as not to draw undue attention to herself.
"Double firewhiskey please," she said, her voice hoarse, "Keep the change." She moved away into a shadowy corner to await Lord Voldemort. One minute to seven.
Fifteen minutes and four firewhiskeys later a short, stooping old man entered the bar. His hair was matted and greasy and his clothes appeared as though they had not been washed in centuries. Ivy could smell him from her dark shadowy corner. She cringed when he approached her.
"Ivy?" She nodded sharply, attempting to breath through her mouth. The man spoke again, his breath reeked of garlic, "You must come with me, now." Without another word he turned and left the bar. Ivy saw several wizards give a relieved sigh as the smell went with him, she rose from her table and followed him into the cold September air.
"Entry into my service does not come lightly once you belong to me there can be no turning back. I will ask you three times if you wish to continue, if you say no you will be released and nothing further will be said. If you say yes after the third time there can be now turning back. Do you understand me?"
Shaking slightly, Ivy nodded, "I hear you, I understand you."
"As a member of my force you will look to me as leader, you will address me as master. I make the rules by which you live, none other have any relevance to your life. Is this clear?"
Once again Ivy nodded. She could feel the cold marble of the gravestone next to her; Tom Riddle.
"Good." Lord Voldemort's voice seemed to echo in her head, cold and snake-like.
"Do you wish to enter into my service?" The first question. Although fear coursed through her veins Ivy was in no doubt of her answer.
"Yes."
"Do you wish to enter into my service?"
"Yes."
"Do you wish to enter into my service?" Her final chance, the final choice.
"Yes!"
Lord Voldemort withdrew his wand and placed it against the cool, pale skin of Ivy's left forearm. She did not later recall the exact incantation he spoke, though she knew it was long. A white hot poker seared through her whole body and she screamed.
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So once again…that is it… now you see that little button… snapesmirkThanx to all who reviewed… it really is fantastic!!! (to read the reviews I mean!)