"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," Hagrid said. "What's comin' will come, an we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did, Harry."
Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry.
"Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."
-- Hagrid, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
*
Author's Note: Well, here's the next chapter. Finally. I won't make much apology for its lateness, because I've been ill for a while, which isn't particularly conducive to good writing. Yes, I know, I'm pathetic. At the rate I'm writing, Book Five will come out before I'm halfway done. But I don't really care … I'm going to finish this whether OotP comes out first or not.
Disclaimer: See Chapter Ten. If you still don't believe me, see Chapter Nine.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
NO HIGHER PRAISE:
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"My Lord! I -- I have no wish to leave you, none at all --"
"Do not lie to me!" hissed the second voice. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me..."
"No! My devotion to Your Lordship --"
"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go."
~ Peter Pettigrew and Tom Riddle in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
* * * * *
"Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared ..."
"I am," said Snape. He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.
"Then good luck," said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.
~ Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
* * * * *
Peter sat motionless on a cracked wooden stool in the Dark Lord's parlor, and tried to pretend that he was not really there. The scenario was beginning to feel disturbingly familiar. There, in comfortable armchairs over by the fire, sat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Lucius Malfoy, discussing plans and Deep Matters of Grave Importance. Here, in the dark corner closest to the door (to facilitate the summoning of refreshments and newspapers), sat Wormtail, waiting with bated breath to be called on to fetch and carry.
It wasn't really what he had envisioned all those months while he tended to the Dark Lord.
However, he had no intention of calling the Dark Lord's attention to himself. Acting as if he thought he were being treated unfairly would be almost the most unwise step he could conceive – certain death lay that way. Almost certain, at least. There was little knowing what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would do these days. His behavior in the past twenty-four hours had been more than a little … erratic.
Peter cast a nervous glance at the Dark Lord's profile, still struggling to convince himself that You-Know-Who could not hear everything he thought.
But the Dark Lord seemed wholly engaged in his conversation with that accursed Malfoy. Peter strained his ears for a moment, trying to overhear their words, but gave up on the task when the snake Nagini raised her head and regarded him through glittering green eyes. Sometimes he thought the bloody snake was psychic. Cradling his chin in his real hand, he stared at a frayed thread on the silver-patterned black carpet, and lost himself in his thoughts.
He might not have been one of the most brilliant students Hogwarts had ever seen, as some people were, but he could still think when he needed to. It wasn't as if spending twelve years as a rat had permanently damaged his brain. Well, not much, anyway.
Perhaps setting his problems out in an ordered list would help put it all in perspective. Life was really getting much too complicated. In the first place, every Death Eater – including, but not limited to, Lucius Malfoy and his goons – hated him, Wormtail, with a passion. Partly because of the brief favor the Dark Lord had shown, partly because he had been a Gryffindor, and partly because … well … none of them had really wanted the Dark Lord back so very badly. He might only be a rat, but he could see well enough that they were all afraid for their lives. If there had been a safe way for them to get out of the Dark Lord's service, at least half of them would have done it instantly. Of course, those who had wanted the Dark Lord back hated Peter for being an instrument in the Dark Lord's original downfall – but, really, they were being illogical about it. Had attacking the Potter baby been Peter's idea? No. But certain people didn't seem to quite grasp that little fact.
In the second place, the Dark Lord was obviously irritated with him. Peter had little idea why – beyond the depressing realization that even the ultimate evil dark wizard found him an annoying, incompetent, less-than-bright tagalong. Silver hand or no silver hand, one of these days He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was finally going to whip out his wand and … No more Wormtail.
In the third place, Sirius Black was still on the loose and at large. And he wouldn't settle for a simple killing curse if he caught up with his old buddy Pete. Being torn limb from limb was more likely, and even that might be a mercy. It didn't help that Peter's allegiance to the Dark Lord had almost gotten Sirius's precious godson killed. That wasn't one of those things that would soften Sirius's heart toward good ol' Wormtail. Mind you, that was a trifle irrelevant anyway, since there had never been any chance in the first place that Sirius would forgive Peter for James's and Lily's deaths.
In the fourth place, the Potter boy – and, by default, Dumbledore and anyone else who mattered – knew all about Peter's animagus ability. So that line of defence was gone. No more posing as a pet rat. No more hiding in places where no ordinary wizard would ever think of looking. In short, no more easy way out.
In the fifth place, he, Peter, was not getting as much out of this Death Eater thing as he had always thought he would. Really, the Dark Lord was being positively ungrateful – and here Peter stole a hasty look at his master to assure himself that his mutinous thoughts had gone un-noticed. The Dark Lord was only alive, moderately well, and in command of his Death Eaters thanks to little Peter Pettigrew, and how had he shown his gratitude? Sure, there was the silver hand – but really that was only fair recompense for Peter's sacrifice. All those months he had spent tending his master, all those other sacrifices he had made, such as betraying his best friend to the Dark Lord … and now he was repaid by being treated like a bloody House Elf. This was not at all how he had thought it would be when he had first joined the Dark Lord's ranks … but that time was gone and past, and there was no use thinking about it.
In the sixth place, he would have to keep an eye out for Remus Lupin as well. That was a frightening thought, too, for now that Remus knew his guilt, the werewolf doubtless hated him as much as Sirius did. And he knew, from personal experience, that when Remus Lupin became really, truly angry, the results were not pretty. And Remus was even less likely to forget his grievance than Sirius was … or maybe not. It was hard to remember that Sirius was now quite different from how he had been before Azkaban. Perhaps those twelve years of torture had focused his mind enough that he really would never give up hunting for Peter until he had the rat's neck between his teeth …
That night in the Shrieking Shack was indelibly burnt onto Peter's brain. He would never forget the ravenous desire for vengeance in his former friend's crazed black eyes. Never. Nor the image of Sirius and Remus together – Remus with an absolutely horrible pleasant smile on his face – bearing down on him with their wands out, ready and eager to kill.
He knew, now, in some corner of his atrophied heart, that he had been a fool, an utter and complete fool, to join the Dark Lord. Much as he wanted to, he had not been able to expunge their words from his memory. They haunted him in his quiet moments, skittering through his brain like unsettled moths. Too quick to catch and swat, but just slow enough that they could not be ignored.
You should have realized if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would...
His own stinking skin meant more to him than your whole family…
What was there to be gained? Only innocent lives, Peter!
I never betrayed James and Lily. I would have died before I betrayed them...
You should have died, died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you…
Good-bye, Peter.
He shivered, and drew his knees up under his chin. They would have died for him, once. Back when they had been the Marauders, young and invincible. Now they'd kill him on sight. He'd thrown his friends away, thrown them away to turn himself into a … into what? Hadn't he joined the Dark Lord out of a desire for power, a longing to be more than the sidekick of brilliant Black and Potter and wonderful, studious Lupin? A desire to be more than little Peter Pettigrew, who tagged around after brighter, more powerful wizards. And what had he accomplished? He'd turned himself into something less than a sidekick – a groveling worm who could even call himself a friend of the powerful people he followed about. He might not have been one of the bright, shining stars in his Hogwarts days, but at least he wasn't crushed under their feet … at least they had liked him.
But what good would brooding on it do? He had thrown in his lot with the Dark Lord, and it had been a bad choice. But he had made it, and he could hardly change it now. He'd just have to keep his head down and weather the storm, and maybe, just maybe, things would get better.
However, the seventh item on his little list of troubles gave that hope the lie.
James Potter.
He had avoided thinking about James Potter quite successfully for thirteen years – with the small exception of that night in the Shrieking Shack when he had thrown himself upon the mercy of Harry Potter, grasping at the trailing shades of James Potter's merciful nature. And even then, he had put it out of his mind quickly. It didn't do to think too long about a friend whom one had betrayed to his death.
Or not to his death, as the case appeared to be. If only the Dark Lord would explain what had happened! The question had been gnawing at him for days. How could James be alive? How? That it really was James, he had no doubts. The Dark Lord's own actions proved that surely enough. But how could he have never died? Peter had seen the body himself, when he had snatched up the Dark Lord's fallen wand before fleeing from Godric's Hollow, fleeing into the ditches and sewers that enfolded him with life-saving darkness. James had been as dead as, in the old Muggle phraseology, a doornail. Dead as death.
And now he was back, and the Dark Lord claimed he had never killed him in the first place. It was all too much.
Why was he worrying about it? Doubtless James would loathe him with a passion as soon as Harry and the others put him straight as to who the traitor really was, and doubtless Peter shouldn't care a bit. But it had been unexpectedly disagreeable to tell James all those lies about his family and friends … and, worst of all, unexpectedly agreeable when James had made it quite clear that he was overjoyed to see Peter again. He'd been crying with joy, for God's sake, and Peter wasn't sure he had ever felt quite as much of a louse as he had in that minute. It had been a close thing, keeping himself from blurting out the truth, falling on his knees, and begging for forgiveness. Mercifully, his common sense had prevailed. And he'd gone on with the program, feeding James that tangled concoction of truths, half-truths, and utter lies.
He was pretty sure that the part where he'd told James he was sorry for "accidentally" giving the Potters away to Voldemort had been at least a half-truth. It had stung like poison when James forgave him for it.
Vaguely, he wondered how long it would take the others to persuade James that he, Peter, was a rat and a villain and a Judas and scum unworthy of even being trodden on. Most likely, as soon as someone pointed out that that little tidbit of information about the Fidelius Charm was completely untrue, James would realize he'd been lied to.
Still, it wasn't likely James was going to be his chief worry in the upcoming months. No doubt Malfoy or Sirius would snuff him out long before James came after him with a wand. In fact, from what Peter had gathered, James would be back at Hogwarts by now, most likely facing a heavy dose of suspicion.
He still didn't understand why the Dark Lord hadn't taken more precautions to keep the Potters from escaping. Wouldn't he have wanted to kill Harry once he got him in his hands? If only one could find out exactly what had happened last night. But there was an infuriating lack of information about the whole affair, and Peter had to stew in silence, envying Lucius Malfoy, who doubtless knew as much about it as the Dark Lord himself did.
A soft pop distracted Peter from his aimless brooding, and he jerked his head up. Severus Snape had just apparated into the room, and was currently engaged in directing a stare of utter loathing in Peter's general direction. Snape had never liked him at Hogwarts, and, unsurprisingly enough, had not altered that dislike in a positive direction since discovering that Peter was a Death Eater. In fact, Peter rather got the opinion that Snape felt as if having Pettigrew fighting on the same side as him was a disgrace equivalent to co-authoring a book with Gilderoy Lockhart, whose smirking face had seemed to adorn every book in that dratted Weasley family's house. Or perhaps even worse …
"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord's silky voice murmured, and Snape advanced toward the chair, dropping to one knee in a flurry of black robes. "You don't seem to have shown much haste in getting here, Professor. I would have thought that you would show a little more diligence in responding to my summons after our last … discussion."
Snape was breathing rather heavily, which seemed, Peter thought, to indicate that he had hurried. But naturally one wouldn't dream of angering the Dark Lord by defending someone as inconsequential as Severus Snape.
"I came as soon as I felt the Mark burn, my Lord," Snape said, his angular face quite expressionless. "I was … asleep … and it took me several minutes to get beyond the reaches of the anti-apparition wards. I apologize for my … tardiness … Master."
"See that you do better next time," the Dark Lord commanded, and Snape bent his head in what might be acknowledgement.
The silence stretched out, thin and taut as an elastic band. "May I inquire why I have the honor of being summoned to your presence, Master?" Snape finally asked.
"Impatient to return to your little students, are you? Very well." The Dark Lord rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his long fingers. "What is your opinion of the Minister, Severus?"
Snape blinked, surprise briefly disturbing his face. "The Minister – Cornelius Fudge?"
"Who did you think I was talking about?" snapped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
"Yes, Master," Severus muttered. "I … believe that the Minister is … not the best man for leading the nation in a crisis. He – he is unwilling to believe you have returned, and –"
"Ah, yes. You were there when Dumbledore told him the news, were you not? Describe his reaction for me, Severus."
Snape hesitated for a few moments, apparently choosing his words. Peter eyed the others anxiously, wondering at what stage of the proceedings he was to be sent out of the room. Malfoy didn't seem to have noticed his presence yet – he was watching Snape like a hawk. Or maybe like a vulture, if one dared compare such an ugly bird to a Malfoy.
"After the – the regrettable incident with your servant Bartemius Crouch and the dementer, Master," Snape finally said, "Fudge went down to the infirmary where the Potter boy was recovering. He exchanged heated words with McGonagall and the Headmaster, concerning the dementer. Dumbledore was irritated that Crouch could not give testimony, and Fudge seemed convinced that Crouch had been a raving lunatic – his exact words, I believe – and gave no credence at all to the idea that Crouch had been taking instructions from you, Master."
"The fat fool," Malfoy murmured.
"When Dumbledore stated that you had indeed returned, Fudge declared that it was preposterous. He refused to believe anyone –"
"What about Harry Potter?" the Dark Lord demanded. "Would not Fudge listen to him?"
"I believe, my Lord," Malfoy interjected smoothly, "that Fudge has been influenced by the inflammatory articles from the pen of Rita Skeeter. She has been promoting the notion that young Potter is … shall we say … mentally disturbed."
"Yes," Severus agreed. "Fudge evidently believed that nonsense." There was a sudden pause, as if Snape was wondering whether calling it "nonsense" had been the politic thing to do.
The Dark Lord chuckled rather nastily. "Go on, Severus. I am quite convinced that Harry Potter is sound of mind, and agree that it is nonsense, if convincing nonsense."
Snape bit his lip, then carried on. "He stubbornly held out, over Dumbledore's arguments, that one could not believe a word Potter said. Potter woke up," he added disdainfully, "and began … well, my Lord, in his effort to convince Fudge that you had returned, he began shouting out the names of Death Eaters."
Malfoy covered his mouth with one slender hand, and Peter wondered, in astonishment, if the man was actually smiling.
"Malfoy," Snape repeated, keeping his gaze on the Dark Lord, "MacNair, Avery, Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle."
"Is that a faint touch of accusation I hear in your voice?" the Dark Lord inquired. "Well, well, perhaps it was a trifle careless of us … but we hardly expected the boy to be alive to remember the information. Go on, Severus, and take care to tell me everything." The serpentine red eyes flashed toward Snape's face, and Peter thought he saw a shiver run through the kneeling wizard's body. "What did Fudge think of this little list?"
"He suggested that Potter had come across a list of people who were acquitted of the charge and was simply repeating that. Then he accused Dumbledore of trying to start a panic, and violently refused Dumbledore's suggestion that the dementers be removed from Azkaban. Then Dumbledore spent a long time preaching at him. Fudge ended by accusing Dumbledore of playing some sort of trick on him, gave Potter his winnings, and left in a hurry."
"A coward, then?" the Dark Lord asked.
Snape nodded slowly. "The man seemed to care more about the dignity and stability of his own office than about the chance that the wizarding world might really be in danger, Master."
Peter drew his gaze away from Snape for a moment, and found Malfoy staring at him. "My Lord," Malfoy said in his mellifluous voice, keeping his eyes on Peter, "I have no desire to question your wisdom, but discussing your plans in the presence of that … thing … makes me rather uncomfortable."
"Wormtail, leave the room," the Dark Lord said absently.
Peter slowly got up and went out.
* * *
"My opinion of Fudge," said Lucius Malfoy, "is that he is a weak, pompous, easily led and easily frightened man. A grandfatherly moron, with neither wits nor wealth to recommend him." Having thus pronounced judgment on the Minister, Lucius waited for the inevitable question as to how such a talent-less individual had been elected in the first place. To his surprise, none such was forthcoming.
"It would be simple, then, to manipulate this man?" the Dark Lord asked thoughtfully, his weird eyes traveling from Severus Snape to Lucius.
"I believe so, my Lord," Lucius drawled. "Dumbledore has been manipulating him for years – which accounts for any effectiveness of Fudge's government thus far. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"
The younger wizard shifted slightly, hesitating before answering. "For the most part, yes. But where his own personal safety or his own personal reputation is involved, I believe he can be quite stubborn."
"Of course. In that lies the root of his pliability." Lucius eyed Snape for a moment, reluctantly admiring the Potions Master's self-control in a volatile situation. Snape had to know that the Dark Lord had neither forgiven him nor taken him back into trust, yet he seemed almost calm, and was doing a much better job of hiding his fear than most of Voldemort's servants. Being summoned to a semi-private conference like this … Snape had to be wondering if, once this conversation was over, the Dark Lord would turn to questioning his loyalty, or disloyalty, as the case might be. Personally, Lucius hoped that Severus was loyal, or at least semi-loyal. The Potions Master was one of the few Death Eaters who were both intelligent and sensible. Although the "sensible" might be called into question if Snape really was a traitor. Why hadn't he come at once when the Dark Lord summoned his Death Eaters? The fool had not turned up until a good hour after the Potter boy had escaped, and Voldemort had not been particularly forgiving.
In fact, he had been distinctly unforgiving. Lucius was disposed to think that the Dark Lord had made a slight tactical error there – he had nearly put out of commission permanently a servant who might still be loyal, and who could be useful, at least, even if he was no longer to be trusted. Fortunately, Voldemort had apparently thought of a use for his erstwhile Death Eater, and had halted the … punishment … before it became irreversible. Lucius was not particularly ashamed of the relief he had felt on the occasion. After all, Draco's grades in Potions might have dropped if his favorite teacher – and the Head of Slytherin House, no less – had been committed to St. Mungo's.
And even if Snape was out of favor, one could still hold an intelligent conversation with him. Having at least one other Death Eater with a sense of tactics was a blessing that should not be underestimated.
"In that case, it should not be too difficult to … persuade him … to do my bidding," Voldemort said, and Lucius hastily turned his full attention back to the Dark Lord.
"I would not think so, my Lord."
"He has a family, I believe?"
"A wife and two daughters, Master," Snape said, quite calmly. Perhaps the rumor that he had gone all moral was simply a rumor after all. "His parents are dead, I believe."
"They are," Lucius verified. "From what I have seen, he is fond of his family." He injected just enough derision into his voice to make the Minister sound an utter fool for having such an ill-bred, juvenile emotion. "That could be one lever to use against him."
"Pray don't disappoint me by sinking to the level of pointing out the obvious, Lucius," the Dark Lord snapped, and Lucius bent his head, plastering a slightly chagrined expression over his face. Voldemort seemed to be in a touchy mood today.
A change of topic was needed. "Pardon my question, my Lord, but is it truly necessary to alert the Ministry of your presence? There is always the chance that the Minister may send the Aurors after us instead of cooperating."
"While there are many advantages to having the Ministry claim I have not returned," Voldemort murmured, "it is difficult to conquer a country that refuses to acknowledge one's existence."
"I see, my Lord," Lucius agreed smoothly. "You are right, of course."
The Dark Lord flicked a dismissive hand toward Snape, and Lucius exhaled softly, relieved that there would be no cross-examinations and bloodshed today. The Dark Lord was still angry, as his failure to even let Snape stand up showed, but at least he had other things on his mind now. "You may leave, Snape," Voldemort said sharply, then fastened a suddenly cold glare on the professor's black eyes. "Remember," he added softly, "that you are treading on very thin ice. Watch yourself, Severus."
"As you command, Master," Snape said with admirable composure, regaining his feet and bowing quickly before retreating to the door. It swung shut behind him, and Lucius turned back to the Dark Lord.
"My Lord," he said carefully, "are you still unconvinced of his loyalty?"
"Are you?" Voldemort demanded.
Curses. That was not the way the conversation was meant to go. "I would not dream of making a decision without your approval, my Lord," he replied in his best injured tone, sidestepping the question. "He is, from what I have seen, one of your most intelligent and competent servants, so I would not condemn him too hastily," he added negligently, shrugging. "But your own condemnation or forgiveness of him is all that matters."
"Of course," the Dark Lord said, a disquieting current of laughter running under his cold voice.
"I kept watch on Hogwarts, my Lord, as you commanded," Lucius said, dismissing the topic of Severus Snape with a wave of one manicured hand. "The Potters did not enter the castle grounds. However, I did observe the Potter boy enter the infirmary this morning. Unfortunately, there are no windows in the Headmaster's Office, and I had no means to track Portkeys …"
"They are both there," the Dark Lord said, finality in every word.
Lucius projected an air of polite curiosity, mingled, naturally, with admiration for the Dark Lord's omniscience. "One of the charms you placed on Potter Senior was a tracking spell, my Lord?" he asked innocently.
Voldemort's eyes sharpened suspiciously, but Lucius maintained his "blameless quest for knowledge" expression. "Ah," the Dark Lord hissed, his long fingers running up and down the polished surface of his wand. "You noticed that I cast … extra spells on him, then?"
"If you wish it, my Lord, I shall forget that I noticed."
"See that you mention it to no-one else."
"Yes, my Lord. I should never consider it."
"Of course." But the Dark Lord's eyes were not showing boundless trust, and Lucius became suddenly aware that he did not have Voldemort's complete confidence. Somehow, the Master's trust in him had been shaken.
So be it, then.
"You are curious, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, his face once again conveying only camaraderie between nearly-equals, and Lucius relaxed slightly.
"I admit, my Lord, that I do wonder."
"It is not just any tracking spell," the Dark Lord purred, looking very pleased with himself. "It is an old spell that I modified myself, years ago – not only do I know James Potter's exact whereabouts, but I can see through his very eyes if I so desire."
Lucius did not bother to hide his surprise. "That is indeed a complex charm, my Lord. So – you can see – and hear? – what Potter sees and hears?" That would indeed be useful. If Dumbledore were fool enough to discuss his plans in Potter's presence … well! The Dark Lord would not need a spy.
Ingenious. He would have to try it himself, some time.
"Will not Dumbledore attempt to remove the spell, my Lord?"
"I bound more than one spell to him," Voldemort revealed. Apparently he needed someone to compliment him on his diabolically clever plan, so Lucius assumed an expression of worshipful surprise and waited for the rest. "Among others, I cast a charm to prevent him from attempting to harm me. That should cure the rash little Auror of any propensity to try out the Unforgivables on me, at least." He smiled, a twisted, cruel smile that turned his bloodless face into a demonic mask.
Not that a Malfoy could be in any way affected by a mere frightening smile, of course.
"I cast a Shielding spell on him," the Dark Lord added gleefully. "They'll not be able to discover or remove any of the other charms I bound to him until they remove it."
While expressing appropriate awe and admiration for the Dark Lord's brilliance, Lucius turned that latest bit of information over in his mind, puzzled. The strongest kinds of shielding spells worked only if the subject implicitly trusted the caster – excepted for Blood Shields, of course, but those could only be cast on close family members. Perhaps Voldemort had twisted a shielding spell into a darker and more powerful version of itself. He had done similar deeds before. Hopefully this Shielding spell, whatever else it might be, was not an experimental version of a new charm. Lucius would never forget the supposed Invulnerability charm that the Dark Lord had developed seventeen years ago. The unlucky recipient of the "blessing" had taken hours to die.
"They may know, if they test him, that there are Dark spells on him, but that will be the furthest they can go."
Lucius smiled tightly. "Would that I could see that little Charms professor's face when he realizes he has come up against a charm he cannot defeat."
The Dark Lord chuckled. "Ravenclaws. Sparrows who would be eagles."
"Well put, my Lord," Lucius murmured.
The Dark Lord rose, and Lucius followed his example. Sitting while Voldemort stood would be a breach of manners, if not of common sense.
"It is not so very much to accomplish," the Dark Lord mused, beginning to pace before the fire. "Establish a Minister loyal to myself … eliminate Dumbledore and his lackeys … capture public favor by fear or by trickery … For Slytherin's Heir, such tasks should hardly be a challenge. If I can only get those Potters …"
Lucius bowed, murmured an unobtrusive farewell, and sidled – as much as a Malfoy could be said to sidle – toward the door. When the Dark Lord began going on about being Slytherin's Heir, a prompt retreat was necessary.
It would hardly do if Voldemort turned and asked him what had become of that diary …
The Dark Lord would not be pleased to hear that his basilisk was dead.
If he ever found out.
* * *
Severus Snape had swept out of Voldemort's room in towering bad mood only to find his path obstructed by the Dark Lord's lackey, fat, bald little Peter Pettigrew.
"Is there some particular reason why you are inflicting your presence on competent people today, Pettigrew?" he snapped, and had the satisfaction of seeing the shorter man recoil in abject fear.
"Just – just wanted to t-t-talk, Severus," Pettigrew stuttered, holding his ground again.
Severus narrowed his eyes. He really did not need this right now … and where did this Gryffindor worm get off, calling him by his first name? It was bad enough when Remus Lupin did it with a pretence at being polite. When Pettigrew did it, he was simply pretending to be Severus's equal … which was really even more insulting than the werewolf's infuriating courtesy. "Go talk to someone with your own mental capacity – or lack thereof. If you can find anyone."
"Just wondered if you'd b-been seeing many strangers up at H-Hogwarts, Severus," Pettigrew muttered, failing to take the hint that his presence was not desired. He never had been good at deciphering insults, the fool.
Wait. What did he mean?
Severus's brain slipped back into high gear, and he suddenly remembered seeing that damned Sirius Black sneaking about the halls in his animagus form. If it hadn't been for the burning of the Dark Mark, he would have stopped and evicted Black from the premises at once. What Dumbledore was thinking of, letting the murdering scum prowl about like that, was beyond the understanding of any intelligent wizard. But how would Pettigrew know Black was at Hogwarts? Did Pettigrew know Black was there? Or was he simply fishing for information?
He eyed Pettigrew sharply, but could read only nervous fear and a real desire for answers on the sweating face. Then Pettigrew's eyes flickered past Severus to the door to the Dark Lord's sanctum with real terror in them, and it was instantly plain that, whatever Pettigrew was doing, he did not want Lucius Malfoy or Voldemort to find out that he was doing it.
Therefore, it was obviously worthwhile to play along. Hopefully, Voldemort would keep Malfoy in there for a while yet.
"Why, whatever do you mean, Pettigrew?" he asked smoothly. "What interest could you have in Hogwarts visitors – unless, of course, you're simply eager for news of your dear old friends?"
Pettigrew's face paled, and the odd mixture of eagerness and fear in his eyes intensified. "O-o-old friends? I – I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you? Then why did you ask?" Patience, and all would be revealed.
Pettigrew's eyes darted from side to side. Like a rat caught in a trap, Severus thought, and laughed morbidly at the image. "Just curious, just curious. Wondered – wondered if there'd been any surprises there. Old f-friends turning up. People one didn't expect to see. You know."
"No, Pettigrew, I don't know. Enlighten me. I can hardly answer your questions without knowing what they are, can I?" The shorter wizard was wilting visibly under Severus's silkiest tone.
"J-j-just thought you might be a little more upset about it, S-Severus."
"Oh, I'm upset, all right. Deeply upset. And, do you know what, Pettigrew? You're making me even more upset. And if you don't explain what you're getting at, I just might get upset enough to remember some of the nastier curses we used to play around with back in the good old school days. Though, of course, you weren't particularly good at our games, Pettigrew."
The rat gulped, and took another step back. "Th-that Daily Prophet article," he said hoarsely. "You know. The one about – about the cemetery. I wondered, that's all."
Daily Prophet. Cemetery. Godric's Hollow. The mysterious case of the vanishing corpse. Of course. And what did this have to do with Hogwarts? Nothing. So Pettigrew knew something that he, Severus, did not. Obviously, such a state of affairs was unacceptable and would have to be remedied at once.
Severus swooped down on the shorter wizard, who seemed to have quite forgotten his silver hand and was backpedaling toward the wall as if he thought Severus capable of casting Avada Kedavra on him then and there. "Explain yourself at once, Pettigrew," he snarled. "In words of two syllables or less, if that's all your pathetic mind is capable of. What does James Potter's body have to do with visitors at Hogwarts?"
Pettigrew squeaked in dismay and scrabbled against the wall behind him. "I – I – I – I thought you knew!" he whimpered. "Didn't the Potters – didn't they – aren't they at Hogwarts yet?"
The Potters?
Severus lowered his wand slowly, his mind spinning dizzily behind a suddenly-aching forehead. "Potters, plural?" he asked softly. "As in, more than just the Potter boy?" Pettigrew did not answer, and Severus carried on, injecting more steely menace into his voice than he had ever before bothered to use on someone he despised. "I am becoming very angry, Pettigrew. Answer me at once."
Pettigrew swallowed nervously. "J-J-James P-Potter isn't d-d-dead. He's a-alive, and him and the P-P-Potter boy escaped last night – or night before last, since it's m-morning, now - and were th-thought to be heading for H-H-Hogwarts. I – I thought you knew – y-you said – I …"
For a long moment, Severus simply stood there in the dim passage, staring at Pettigrew's beady eyes.
It isn't a joke, of course. Why should it be? This is exactly the type of thing that would happen, exactly the type of luck that Potter would get. A second chance at life. Well, why shouldn't the great Potter have a second chance? Why should death be permanent for anyone as obviously marvelous and all-around sickeningly good as James Potter the Gryffindor Hero? It's only natural. In fact, I should have expected it. No sooner do I finally get rid of the debt I owe the damned bloody Gryffindor fool than he decides to resurrect himself and mess everything up again.
A fine state of affairs. I daresay Black and Lupin and the Potter brat are sitting about his bedside having a general apology-fest and weeping copious tears of joy. With hot chocolate and marshmallows.
Lovely.
Damn him. Damn him to hell. Permanently, this time.
"Alive, is he?" Severus asked mildly, fixing Pettigrew with a cold smile. Pettigrew squeaked again and made a concentrated effort to tunnel back into the wall. "Any idea how that happened?"
Pettigrew shook his head wildly. "I don't know! I – I thought you knew already, that's why I a-asked! Th-the Dark Lord says he n-never died at all –" Abruptly, Pettigrew seemed to realize he was being indiscreet. He clamped his mouth shut, face growing ashen in horror, and dived into a side passage like a … a fleeing rat. Severus glanced once over his shoulder to assure himself that the Dark Lord hadn't silently come out of his room to catch his unworthy servants conspiring against him, then apparated away.
Not back to Hogwarts, though. If Potter was alive again, it had to be looked into … and if he was back at Hogwarts, why hadn't Albus said anything? For that matter, if he was alive, and the Dark Lord knew how, why had he, Severus, been kept in the dark about it?
This did not bode well for his career as a double agent.
Severus glanced around the graveyard where he had landed. Pettigrew had mentioned that wretched article about Potter's body vanishing from Godric's Hollow Cemetery, so that had to be the key to this insupportable situation. The evidence of the graveyard had to be the key if Potter was really alive, and not just an animated corpse. Severus found himself devoutly hoping that the latter was true. If Potter was only some little trick of Voldemort's to worm his way into Hogwarts, then it would be deeply satisfying to blast Potter into small pieces and call it service to Dumbledore.
But one had to figure out the facts, first. He'd learnt that, to his cost.
The dry grass rustled under his feet softly as he moved toward the nauseatingly impressive monument in the center of the cemetery. What had the Potters ever done, to deserve such an obscenely large and expensive tomb? They had died like fools and idiots, and their precious son had lived. Hardly meritorious of a state funeral and a thousand-galleon grave.
He reached the side of the monument and wandered restlessly around it, finally coming to a halt before the gold plaque in the center of the western side. At least that was simple enough. They could have stuck flowery descriptions of the dead couple's "valor" and "sacrifice" into the epitaph, but, mercifully, they had simply put on their one real claim to fame. Parents of Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Parents Who Died.
One could probably draw some sort of deep philosophical conclusion about the world from that, if one thought about it long enough.
Severus turned his attention to the wall of the dome, circling it again as he scrutinized its marble surface. It seemed to have been mended quite well, but that article in the Prophet … what had it said? Nearly demolished, collapsed, something to that effect. He paused in his perusal to eye the official little notice pasted inconspicuously on the base of the dome.
The public may rest assured that the Ministry is doing everything in its power to recover the body of James Potter and return it to its rightful resting place. The Ministry requests that the public show a decent respect for the graveyard and the Potters' tomb to refrain from expressing their indignation over the heinous outrage in the Godric Hollow Cemetery.
Everything in their power? That was not saying much as long as the Ministry was under that incompetent oaf Fudge.
There was nothing to be learned from the tomb itself. Severus turned briskly toward the road, clambered over the spiked fence, and headed for the slightly dilapidated cottage across the way. The small building fairly screamed, "CARETAKERS' RESIDENCE RIGHT HERE!"
This, probably, would be where one could find the delinquent caretakers of the cemetery. He certainly could not remember their names, but that was not enough to trouble him.
Dedicated pounding on the cottage door ultimately brought a response. No reasonable person would care to be answering their door to a black-clad, obviously angry man at six in the morning, but Severus couldn't really bring himself to care. If the Dark Lord could summon his servants away from their sleep, then a Potions Master should certainly be allowed to summon cemetery caretakers away from their sleep.
"'Ere now, what's all this about, eh?" a belligerent voice demanded, and a beady eye showed itself around the edge of the door, accompanied by a small quantity of unshaven chin and uncombed grey hair. "What the bloody 'ell d'you want at this time o' the the mornin'?"
"A few words," Severus answered, and shoved the door open. He moderated his approach out of some lingering remnant of a childhood respect for People Who Are Obviously Very, Very Old. "I apologize for disturbing you," he added, insincerely.
The old man frowned at him disapprovingly, fingering the wand sticking out of one pocket of the moth-eaten sweater he was wearing over his night-clothes. "Well, what d'you want, then?"
A second old man, clad in hastily-donned corduroy trousers and two left boots – both very muddy – appeared around the corner and squinted at Severus over the pipe clamped between his teeth.
"What night was it that Pot – that James Potter's body was stolen?" he demanded bluntly, and frowns creased the faces of both men.
"See 'ere, mister. I don't know 'oo you are, or what you want, but you ain't got no call to go 'round badgerin' us about that bloody business, see? We done our payin' fer that. Now you just git out o' 'ere, or we'll toss you out on yer bloomin' ear."
The second man shifted his pipe to the other side of his mouth and gave a slow, decisive nod. "Aye!"
Severus decided that the polite approach was getting him nowhere, and pointed his wand at the more talkative old man's face. "What night?" he growled.
"June the twenny-fifth, that's when it were," the man answered promptly, holding his hands well away from his sides and trying to look amiable. "Or maybe the twenny-fourth. We don't know rightly when, y'see, on account of we were sleepin' an' only saw the bloody damage when we got up on the mornin' o' the twenny-fifth. Right, George?"
George had been staring at Severus's wand with an expression of extreme surprise, but, on being appealed to, he pulled the pipe out of his mouth, swallowed, and grunted, "It were the twenty-fourth. I 'eard the explosion jest a li'l while arfter puttin' out the loights. Reckon it were b'tween noine 'n ten. Didn't think much about it 'til marnin'." Looking surprised at having said so much, he rammed the pipe back into his mouth and bit down on it.
The other man looked surprised. "What 'e said, mister. Look 'ere, all I know is 'at th'mess was a'ready bloody well there at five th'next mornin'. And we don't know no more about it than that."
"Roight," George agreed, chewing on the pipe in an agitated manner.
"Thank you," Severus said, and fixed them each, in turn, with the cold glare that could make Neville Longbottom melt in his seat. "I trust you won't be mentioning my visit to anyone … gentlemen?"
"No, sir," the loquacious man hastily assured him. "Won't say a bleedin' word. Y'cin count on us – silent as th'tomb, eh?"
"Aye," George muttered, and began retreating back toward his bedroom. "I ain't the chatterin' koind."
Severus withdrew without further discussion and apparated back to the Hogwarts grounds. They were telling the truth – he was convinced of that. And whether the "explosion" George had heard was the tomb being blasted open or not, Voldemort's Death Eaters had not been responsible for the disappearance of James Potter's body. They could not very well have been out grave-robbing before Potter was portkeyed to the Riddle Manor, and afterward … well, he could personally vouch for the presence of each and every Death Eater afterward - all night and well into the morning. He was unlikely to forget anything that had occurred on that night, which certainly had ranked as one of the top seven worst experiences of his life.
Voldemort had not been particularly forgiving toward his late-returning servant. No slaying of the fattened calf there. Severus had honestly thought that he was going to die … but the Dark Lord had stayed his hand. Why? Possibly because he needed a potion maker, possibly because he realized Severus Snape was one of his few really competent servants, and possibly just because he enjoyed watching people squirm.
The last one was looking more and more likely. If James Potter was back, and he, Potter's avowed worst enemy, had been told nothing of it, then the Dark Lord had some suspicions about his Hogwarts spy's integrity. But that could be worried about another day. For now, Severus meant to find the Headmaster and get the truth out of him.
Of all the people who had died in the war, James Potter was the one whom Severus least wanted to have to see again.
How damnably typical.
END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN
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Responses to reviews:
(Author's note: I haven't responded to many of the reviews because of time constraints. It ended up being a choice between finishing the chapter or answering every review. So what answers I have made are rather short. Apologies all around.)
Alana: Thanks! Yes, Ron & Hermione will be turning up before long, though whether or not they'll find out about the new developments in Harry's life is another question …
Kitana: Sorry about the month-long delay between chapters. The muse comes as it will – and medication tends to chase away inspiration. Sadly. Ah, yes, James is real – but Dumbledore & company are not being thick-headed about it. After all, the chance that he would not be real is statistically much greater than the chance that it would really be James. Their caution is actually a good thing, as this chapter may show … Well, sorry James didn't appear, but I promise you that the next chapter will have plenty of him. And I've already started on it, so that's progress. Thanks for the compliments on my descriptive writing. :^) Unhappily, the china vase was authentic, but it was a wedding present from a disliked great-aunt, so the family was not too grieved to fine it shattered on the floor. They blamed it on the cat. :D Glad you think the fic's realistic! Potter-Riddles … hmmm …. Will everyone find out? Wait and see. As for Dumbledore's omniscience, I'm afraid my plot would be pretty thoroughly destroyed if he already knew everything. Actually, I agree with you. It does seem that hitting-first-and-asking-questions-later is a Gryffindor characteristic – Slytherins would probably want to make sure that there wasn't any chance of being hit back first.
Kaydee: Do you have ANY idea just how long it took me to read that monster of a review!? :^) Just kidding – it was great! Long reviews send me to paradise … I'm sure you have a superlative memory, anyway. :D Words are fun – I used to want to be a philologist. Sure, there are cows in France. And, hey, if you want to insult someone, you can always call them une vache. :^) I could've read the French part, but I don't know Spanish. What have you got against ferrets? I think they're rather cute – smelly, but cute. Of course, I also like snakes, so I suppose I'm a bit warped. Spiders are fine, but I really can't stand ants …
Aye, it's difficult to write quickly. I often find I spend about twice as much time on story-planning as on actual writing. And I'm sure I've reread each of the books twice in my effort to make sure I'm not contradicting the canon too badly. My chapter outlines are almost as long as the chapters themselves and I've only done them for half of the chapters … sigh … Well, it's not as bad as one of my original works, where I decided to write out a life history for each of the fifty main characters, not to mention a detailed history of the seven main countries. Yes, I'm pathetic. I know. Yeah, I've got a few semi-stories that I haven't posted because I was consciously or unconsciously copying someone else's idea. You probably know how it is – I read some story on ff.n, think, "That was a pretty cool idea, but I can think of ways it could have been neater …" and BANG, new plot bunny running rampant in my mind. As for the plausibility of parent-returning-to-life – I think the whole basic premise of NHP (James being Tom Riddle's son) is implausible, but I'm trying to make the rest of it hang together. Glad you think I'm succeeding.
I think I get what you're saying about Harry's half-awake thought process. I'm pleased you think it's good. It was fun to write. :D And rest assured that I greatly appreciate all the time you spent on the review. So James came across as cynical and pessimistic in the first chapter? Great! I was trying to convey his general depression (and resistance thereof) thanks to his recent confrontations with dear ol' Dad.
Twists … yeah. :D But James is James. That would be a bit too much of a twist – I don't really like stories that muddle everything up so badly that you can't even tell who the heroes are. Hmm. Is that hypocritical? Hopefully not. I mean, my villains may be somewhat ambiguous, but I try to keep some of the characters firmly on the side of Right. Eh, well. I can see I'll have to be careful with my details and my foreshadowing. Caller ID? Hobby … wait … that means … !
I'm flattered you think the story's humorous. This chapter was probably a tad dark – I mean, look at the title! – but hopefully there will be an upswing sometime in the future. Wait … no, there won't. I just remembered why one of the categories I labeled this with is "angst." But one can't be depressed all the time.
Yes, I rather think it's a medal, too. Like the Order of Merlin, as you said. Sounds like a neat one. I've still only seen the last half hour of the movie … the chess set scene was good.
Hm – good question. I guess Voldemort must be more powerful than Grindelwald (or Grindlewald, can't remember the spelling), the wizard Dumbledore defeated in 1945. One does wonder. Quite likely Dumbledore faced the previous Powerful Evil Overlord as well. And who knows? Maybe the previous Major Villain was a first-year seeker for Slytherin. Now that would make an interesting story.
Yep, your review was long, but that's a Good Thing. Really! I loved reading it.
As for your question about the Marauder's Map – I suppose Harry could carry on some sort of conversation with it … maybe … but I doubt the Marauders could have put all of their intelligence into it – and it would have been their fifteen-year-old selves (or however old they were when they made the map). Besides which, they probably didn't actually put a spell onto it to let it carry on conversations with people. I think the way they came up and started insulting Snape was built in as a defence mechanism of some sort … ah, blast it, I had an answer to this all planned out, and then I went and forgot it. I'll just say that Harry probably would have a lot of trouble finding a way to make whatever bits of themselves the Marauders put in talk to him. But that's a very interesting question and … drat it, you've just given me an idea for another story. But I shall have self control and resist the urge to start a forty-second one … Anyway, if Harry could figure out how to do it, he probably could talk to his dad. I mean, hey, like Jeva said, it worked for Tom Riddle's diary … bet it's a similar spell … wow. That's a deep question. Cool!
Ionuin: Thanks, and you're welcome. :D
Jeva: Ah, I can see you're looking forward to the chat betwixt Sirius and James. :^) I hope it will be forthcoming soon – it's slow going at the moment. Sirius isn't being cooperative, and James is too sleepy to make sense. Dumbledore has A clue, but it's not the right one … you'll see. Chapter Thirteen should involve explanations from the Headmaster. As for Remus … don't be so hard on the poor chap! He's had a rough life, and he knows enough about the dark arts to know how likely it is that this is some evil dastardly trick. He doesn't want to believe it's James because he thinks he'll be proved wrong if he does, and that'll just involve more heartbreak. Character torture will be coming – though all the physical torture will be in later chapters. :^) When the plot heats up. Though I won't maim anybody too badly. Except for the ones who die.
Speaking of which, I agree that character deaths keep the fic real. But I have yet to read a fic where somebody I care about dies without feeling very very grieved over it, so, when push comes to shove, I may not have guts enough to kill James – oops, you didn't hear that. :D That was the thing that grieved me most about some of my favorite ff.n stories … there was one where Draco died – he wasn't a wonderful SuperGood!Draco, just a nasty, confused teenager, but it was sad anyway… and then there was one where Dumbledore died … but I seem to be off topic. Ooooh, you're writing a LotR fic? Cool! I haven't had time to look up your story yet … sigh. Ff.n has been down almost constantly, and when it hasn't I've been busy with that accursed thing called Real Life. Been coerced into driving a younger sibling to swimming lessons every morning for four weeks, and one can hardly take a computer to the pool.
Seyerius and Reemus? Hmm. I like 'em better the other way – I mean, Sirius with a long 'i' sounds all right, but Remus sounds better as Raymus, in my humble opinion. I mean, "Romulus and Reeeemus" doesn't quite have the same poetic sound to it. That's just my ha'pence opinion, though. Thanks for the long review – but, really, I appreciate it even if it's not seven thousand word! :D No need to get apoplexy about it! Anyhow, hope you enjoyed Chapter Eleven.
And Grandaddy Voldie may be a slimy git … but he's a CLEVER slimy git. So that makes it O.K. :D I wonder if he really is slimy … ick. Bad thought.
Kaydee & Jeva: :^D In reference to your later posts … you lot are funny! The Review Wars … hilarious! Medical opinion says that laughter reduces stress, and I think you two did more to reduce my stress problem than the blasted sleep-inducing medication I was on for three weeks. :^)
Mallory 061197: Thanks! Wow … are you psychic? How did you know I was planning to … er, nevermind. :^) Sorry about the delay!
Shei: Well, I admit it's a pretty important detail. But people die in real life and I have a bad habit of striving for realism in my stories … tell you what, I won't kill … er … Professor Flitwick. There! I guarantee that he will live. I have a soft spot for Flitwick, actually. I bet he's brilliant (Ravenclaw) and actually a really powerful wizard. I mean, hey, he's the charms professor. Didn't JKR explain how it was pronounced somewhere in GoF? Where she was trying to get Krum to pronounce it right … or something … it's Herm-y-oh-nee, isn't it? Would Fawkes know … good question. Personally, I don't think he'd have any way to communicate what he thought – though Dumbledore does seem to be pretty good at understanding the phoenix. Actually, there are reasons why Fawkes wouldn't quite have known what to think either, so I'll just leave it at that. :^)
Hex: Snape is not a prat! All right, yes, he is, but he's a mysterious and … interesting … prat. Right? He was sprinting about because Voldie was summoning him – he didn't know anything about James. In the words of … somebody …
Sadistra: Aw, I'm sorry. But writing these takes a lot of time. A whole month is pretty bad, I admit. I'll try not to let it happen again.
Indigo Ziona: Thank you!
Giesbrecht: Do I enjoy torturing you with too-short chapters? Yes. Yes, I do. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-haha! Seriously, though, I think these are pretty long chapters! My own personal standard for chapter length is that anything 2000 words or more is a long chapter … but maybe I'm biased by all those little 376-word stories one sees about on ff.n. This chapter, for instance, is more than 7000 words long, not counting the disclaimer, the review responses, the quotes … ah, wait. I see what you mean. They are short, in terms of how much the plot advances, but … well, I'm not Anthony Hope. I can't really help sticking in character analysis and lengthy conversations … but I'll get better in the future – I swear it!
Lily Lupin: Aye, you're right. Harry's having a tough time, and Sirius & Remus are having just as tough a time. Even in the magical world, one's not used to having one's dead friends pop up alive and well again, so I hope you can forgive them their disbelief.
Smile7499: Thanks! Glad you like it!
Atalanta: Hey, cliffhangers rule. :^) Personally, I've always thought Sirius came across in the books as being a rather stubborn person. But observe, he does bend before Remus does. He's racing off to have a talk with James at the present moment …
Sailor Earth: Thank you! Well, Sirius thinks he's a wretched excuse for a godfather because a) he wasn't there for Harry for thirteen years; b) he hasn't done all that much good for Harry since getting out of Azkaban; c) he hasn't had any prior experience with being a parent, so he assumes he's doing a terrible job; d) from what I've read, Sirius seems like a rather mercurial person. And I think Azkaban gave him a good swing toward pessimism – he did, after all, blame himself for James' and Lily's deaths, which weren't his fault at all from any sane person's point of view. Well, maybe a little. But he seems like the type of person who'd be down on himself for nothing. Hmm. Well, I'm doing a bad job of explaining it, but I'm on a depressant myself, so … sorry.
Tarawyn: You think it's a suspense builder? Thank you! (Imagine author looking pleased and touched). It's kind of an introduction because it occurs during the summer … I'm not actually going to get to September 1st until the fifteenth chapter … Wow, you put James and Harry's position down very clearly. That's exactly their problem. Harry is swinging dangerously close to the edge of sanity, but don't worry – he's a tough young fellow. He may make some terrible decisions in the coming year, but he won't have to be sent to St. Mungo's in a strait jacket. I hope.
Dumbledore … yes, he does know a good bit more about it than Sirius and Remus. They can only guess that Harry is suppressing information that might suggest James is a foul plot of Voldemort's because he's so desperate to have his dad back, which is why they aren't pressing him about it. Dumbledore, though, is guessing at a part of the truth. Just how much he does know – and what he thinks of it – will be dealt with soon.
Well, no death, imprisonment, or torture for Snape in this chapter, I'm afraid. Perhaps I did make Voldemort too forgiving, but he can see several ways in which Snape can still be useful to him – and he really isn't sure whether Snape's a traitor or not. Remember, in GoF Voldemort said, in reference to those three empty spaces in the ranks, "One, too cowardly to return ... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever ... he will be killed, of course . . . and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service." That can be interpreted in several ways, but since Voldemort would know that Karkaroff had betrayed other Death Eaters, whereas Snape's treachery was better hidden, it can be assumed that Voldemort simply thought Snape was too afraid to return. After all, Snape had somehow gotten out of going to Azkaban thanks to Dumbledore … which doesn't exactly look like loyalty from a faithful Death Eater. So Snape's going to pay, but Karkaroff is the one who will be killed. Or so, at least, think I.
Well … Dumbledore is being rather firm, I suppose, but look at it from his point of view. Here's an emotionally-stressed barely fifteen-year-old boy who sees his parents in the Mirror of Erised and is obviously hiding something … is it really a good idea to take his word that this person who is supposedly his resurrected father is absolutely all right? Dumbledore is very worried.
Oh, no, your review's definitely not too long. It was great! Encouraging and insightful – the kind of things authors love, as you doubtless know. Thank you!
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Coming next: Chapter Twelve – Padfoot and Prongs.