Author's Notes: This story is a little diddy that's been floating through my mind for a while. I'm writing this for my enjoyment and for the enjoyment of others. I have no aspirations to become a professional writer and view scathing, sarcastic commentary as a sign of mental illness. (In other words, criticism is welcome if it is constructive. If you don't know how to do this, then learn the art as it is perhaps the most lucrative job and social skill one can hone.)
I normally don't say much about comments – other than I appreciate them greatly. Sometimes it is very difficult to respond without giving away part of the plot, but there's a few that I can make some comments.
AmZ – I see you have this love/hate thing going on here. :) Trust me, I can write without being too contrived, but at the same time name me one interesting story that doesn't have some odd series of events occur that help smooth things over. Severus and Ruedella do have a bit more than a few gropes in the bushes, as their history at Hogwarts shows. After the next chapter, they will, unfortunately, have even more in common.
Louise – Rudy (or Della as she was actually called by her brother Rabastan), is getting a little sick and tired of Severus's rather disagreeable exterior. It will get worse before it gets better.
Someone asked what the Weasleys are known for (skills from that Genealogy book) – I can only pose the question back – when was the book written? Remember how Malfoy's are supposedly known for Rune Divination... then how can the Great-Grandmother (who supposedly married into the clan) have the talent? (More about this in this chapter.) It is a very, very old book and some things might not be completely accurate or have now manifested themselves in other families through inter-marriage.
Xikum – Harry's self-centeredness is a force of habit, as everyone else thinks that things are about Harry too. I wouldn't blame the kid too much, as he is still hurting about Sirius. He'll come to terms with everything soon enough.
Mystical Witch – Although I do enjoy the 'passionate Severus' stories, somehow, I just don't think they're very canon. The man was a greasy oddball as a boy and is a greasy git now; he doesn't get a lot of action to hone those skills. First step is to keep Della from walking out the room or turning him into something.
Oh, for those comments about Crookshanks and the spell. It couldn't be that obvious since (at least in this story), Crookshanks is not a forced animagi.
Chapter 12 – A Slytherin's ReturnOne Month Later – October 25th 1996
"The exercise, due next Friday, will be on Clarification," Lestrange paced the room. "I will give a demonstration of the spell and technique used for this type of divination, but you will be graded on your own interpretations of your own divination for assignment." She paused to address a student, "Yes, Miss Granger?"
"What if we do not have specific divination talents?" the girl inquired, "would that impact our grade? This is a Runes class, not Divinations..."
"I see that again today, Miss Granger, that you have a firm grasp on the obvious," Ruedella said, slightly annoyed. "Simply focus on a person, anyone you know or do not—it does not matter—and then cast the runes. Your grade will depend on how you interpret the runes given the configuration you have copied onto your paper. I do not expect most of you to be right, or even close, to gaining insight into the people you are casting about, but there are limited interpretations of your runes. Where they fall, their placement makes an important impact on their interpretation." She looked over to her young cousin who was watching her passively, "A bit more interesting than a simple textbook assignment, would you not agree Mister Malfoy?"
"Yes, ma'am," the young wizard said and then glared at Hermione when Ruedella turned her back.
The witch walked purposefully up to the podium. Next to it was a clean white table with narrow boards surrounding the edge. Several feet above it a large white board levitated in the air. It took Ruedella several days, plus consultation with Professor Flitwick, to devise this set up. Whenever runes where thrown on the table (with the boards helping to keep the runes on the top and not tumble over the edge), a quick spell would projected the runes onto the board above so the students could see the configuration from any vantage point.
"If you do not have your divination runes now, I suggest you purchase them in Hogsmeade this weekend," Ruedella warned, "Wood is acceptable although anyone with natural talent," she looked at Draco and nodded, "should invest in silver or gold. Yes, Malfoy?" She called on Draco who had his hand in the air.
"I understand that different types of rune divination require different materials," Draco said with a lazy drawl, "Silver is suitable for clarifications and can be used for predictive purposes, but to do any appreciable predicative work one needs a more...shall we say...obscure...material."
"And that is why, Mister Malfoy, rune divination for future events is all but forbidden. Unlike reading the stars or having a precognition, a witch or wizard with this talent can ask specific questions; as such the future, in some cases, can be anticipated and possibly altered. Also," she added, "such divination requires runes made from human bone. Obviously this brings up more than a few issues."
"Is it true that Great-Grandmother Machivellia had such runes?" Draco asked again. "I wonder what happened to them?"
"For clarification," Ruedella said, her grey eyes lock on her cousin's, "the runes you speak of were made in the late ninth century, long before the ban on their creation. As for their whereabouts, I suggest you ask your mother, as your father, I understand, did have a small talent in this area." Ruedella turned for a moment to collect herself and to grab a black suede bag that sat on the table. When she turned back to the class she saw another student's hand in the air, "Yes, Mister Macmillan?"
"Aside from disturbing the dead, which is of course never a good idea," Macmillan asked, "why was there a ban on the creation?"
Seeing Draco hold back a snicker, she nodded towards the boy, "For ten points, Mister Malfoy, could you enlighten your classmate as to why these runes were banned?"
Draco stood up, smoothing his robes. "The runes were made from human bone, harvested while the wizard or witch was still alive. The younger the donor it is said the more powerful the runes. It was common to use Mud—err—Muggle-borns for this task, as, well..." he looked at Hermione, an evil grin on his face, "it did find a decent use for them. " He smirked as Macmillan fell back in his seat and Granger looked green in her face. He added, "If Granger would like to help, I can demonstrate to the class what parts of the body the different runes come from. A pity that she did something to fix her teeth as they were large enough at one time to make most satisfactory Gebos..."
"I think that is enough, Mister Malfoy," Ruedella motioned for him to sit down. She held up the Rune bag. "I need someone to concentrate hard on a person—anyone, a friend, acquaintance, teacher, I do not really care—and write down their name. Fold the paper so I cannot see it and hand it to me." She saw Hermione, who sat up front, hunch over and scribble a name and hand her a parchment. "Thank you, one point," Ruedella said.
She palmed the paper and poured the small runes from the bag into her hand. They were fine silver runes with gold inlays; quite an expensive set which Rabastan purchased for her – a compensation for her assistance with his betting pool. Setting down the bag, she fished out her wand and waved it several times over her hand making the runes glow with the magic she imparted. With a sudden movement that made many of the students jump, she slammed the runes into the table-box and quickly retrieved the still folded paper and gave it back to Hermione, not reading the name. With another wave and another series of chants, the runes shuffled on the table into their final resting places.
"Please copy the technique and the spells off the chalkboard," Ruedella instructed as she studied the arrangement. Taking a few notes, she sighed and turned to the class. Once she was satisfied they were done writing, she asked, "Miss Bones, can you tell me what you see?"
"Err..." Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff stood up, timidly. "I am not really sure..."
"On come on," Ruedella barked, "I only use Unforgivables around third-years!" She tried to smile, but her intended joke did not come across given she was tired, had a headache, and overall would have preferred to stay in her rooms today with some tea and a pile of old novels. She looked back at the Runes, "I do admit that they are a mess, obviously I am not on par given what you see, but it is good practice."
"Err... the person Hermione wrote down has a father who comes from an old family. The person's mother is a bit obscure, either the mother's family was Muggle-born or an old family that has fell out of favor... if I read it correctly."
"You are correct," Ruedella nodded in encouragement.
"The person, I think it is male..." Susan looked at the instructor who nodded the affirmative again, "escaped death twice. Once when very young...an infant...another when he was a boy." She cocked her head to the side, "I do not understand what the Eoh next to Feoh flanked..."
"That is the difficult part," Ruedella interrupted, anticipating the question. "Literally, it means that he did not escape twice, but actually died. There was some intervention to save him. Not reincarnation..." she tapped her finger against her mouth as she studied it. "Good job, two points," she said as she walked over to the table and began pointing with her wand. "See here, in the center, this person because of the first attack, which they survived, is cursed. Some sort of mark..." She pointed to another set, "their childhood was quite unhappy, quite a bit of bullying and want for basic things... Now over here," she pointed again, circling a few more runes with a highlighting spell, "He has a sense of loss...guilt. He has lost someone he cared about a great deal because of his actions and has buried that loss inside of him. I see a veil or a hint of darkness surrounding this person. He could become a dark wizard and certainly a little slip one way or the other could do that. As far as what is keeping him from this edge is love...I see a mother's love that saved him once, but I do not know when or how. But there is another love that he denies..."
Ruedella threw her hands up in the air. "Obviously if any of you throw something like this, then I assure you I will be lenient on my grading." She copied the pattern on a paper and then made multiples, passing them around to the students. "Extra credit for those who can solve the lower left quadrant which I did not cover. To get you started, although I caution that my initial interpretation may be completely wrong, it appears that this person should not be alive. Their very existence has thrown off a timeline and what should have been never occurred. Chaos. Complete chaos. I might be owling this to Professor Enigmus myself..." She turned to Hermione whose face looked quite ashen, "Care to tell us who it is?"
"Err..." Hermione stammered, "Someone we all know."
"From the look on your face, it appears to be accurate given what you know about them," Ruedella probed.
"I think..." Hermione said and then bit her lip. She looked over to Draco who was studying her carefully. His eyes lit up in an apparent epiphany and he gave Lestrange a calculated look. "From what I do know, there might be some things that lined up," she said, clutching the paper. She stared at her instructor for a few moments, not wishing to answer the question and when the bell rang, she sprang from her seat, collected her items and nearly sprinted from the room.
As the students were leaving, Ruedella retreated back to the table to clean up the runes. She carefully cinched the sack and tied a bow, answering when she heard someone behind her clear his throat.
"Yes, Draco," Lestrange said without turning.
"I believe, Cousin Ruedella, that you have a gift. You did realize that your reading was about Potter?"
"I believe Mister Malfoy that you are to address me properly," Ruedella replied. She was ambivalent towards the boy, although he did favor his father a great deal. When his parents were held for trial she spent a considerable amount of time with him at her Uncle's mansion. She doubted, however, that Draco would remember any of that. Over the years she did attend the obligatory Malfoy functions and was a continual fixture until her mother's unfortunate death. The Yule gatherings in particular were rather festive, with plenty of food, drink and general camaraderie as well as the occasional drunken duel. Year after year she remembered Draco squealing in delight as Narcissa buried the boy neck deep in a variety of gifts. She remembered his first broom, a gift her uncle, his grandfather, gave him when he was four and the resulting disruption as the boy flew around the enormous mansion, whacking the house elves with a Quidditch beater club as Lucius and Rodolphus egged him on and Narcissa fretted that the boy would get hurt. During those type of occasions Bellatrix would sit in the corner, generally after a few drinks, and grouse how Draco would turn out to be a soft witch's boy with little to offer than a temper and a flair for spending money. If Bellatrix were anything, Ruedella mentally noted as she sized up the boy, it was astute.
"Well it is outside of class and we are family," Draco added.
"Then test your newfound protocols on 'Cousin Severus' and see how far you get," Ruedella replied. "When you are asking me to pass the whipped potatoes at Grandfather Thuban's dinner table can you then address me so informally."
"You are not going to return to Black Mansion?" Draco inquired. "Mother owled me and said that Professor Snape was planning a rather fashionable gala."
"Really?" Ruedella said, "I did not know."
"So you two did fall out of favor?" Draco probed. "Although I heard from a source that Fudge claims you two are engaged."
"Fudge is an idiot," Ruedella said. "With enough Galleons he would claim Muggles flew on brooms. You, of all people, Draco, know that."
"I suppose," Draco said with an agreeing shrug. "But back to the subject. Mother would be quite keen, as would a few others in her...circle... in consulting with you."
"What insights could I lend about the present she does not know?" Ruedella asked.
"She feels that you are the one with Great-Grandmother's runes. I had heard that you used them when you were a student..." Draco leaned forward whispering. "And she was told that Machiavellia taught you many things when you were a girl. Machiavellia, Mother says, was not one to waste time on those without talent."
"I used the runes to predict Quidditch matches," Ruedella said in a hush. "Nothing of consequence. A true divinator is very rare and I daresay other than a few parlor tricks, I do not have anything to offer."
"Maybe I do then," Draco said. "Teach me."
"I am on thin ice with Dumbledore," Ruedella shook her head. "Over break we can talk, but not here."
"Hogsmeade then," Draco pursued. "I can rent a room at Hog's Head as I am allowed to go to Hogsmeade every weekend now. We will meet for an hour or two every Sunday." Seeing that Ruedella was about to protest, he added, in a low whisper, making sure the nearby portraits could not overhear, "If you do not have the talents, then it is best to teach others in the bloodline who might. The Dark Lord would only be pleased if..."
"Fine," Ruedella shook her head and waved her hand, shooing him away. "You make the arrangements and set the time..."
Draco nodded and then strutted purposefully out of the room. Not having a class soon, he headed to the Slytherin Common Room where he placed his satchel on an empty wooden study table. Taking out his class notes, he magically made a copy and then sealed it. Ruedella, he determined, has far more talent than she let on and a false sense of modesty (obviously a Lestrange trait, he believed) kept her from reaching her true potential. Perhaps, he considered, this was why Snape had pursued her so but, Draco rationalized, the wizard had kept his distance from the witch for the past month. The boy considered it for a moment and then decided it was time to send an owl to his Mother before his next class.
~***~
Snape walked through the castle towards the main faculty living quarters clutching a scroll in his hand. "Stupid!" he thought, "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He knew that he should have taken care of this weeks ago, but he had forgotten. He stormed down the corridor as he berated himself for missing this detail; such forgetfulness was a luxury he could not afford. Finally reaching his destination, he stood in front of the door and knocked forcibly. He could hear movement on the other side; exhaling, he was grateful that he did not have to return.
"We need to talk," he said to Ruedella as she opened the door. He jammed his boot in the crack, keeping her from shutting it on him.
"Couldn't this be done by floo?" Ruedella said as she tried to step on his toes to rid his encroaching foot.
"It could, but you have charmed your fireplace not to accept floos from me," Severus said.
"I must talk to Flitwick about this door then," Ruedella said, opening the door wider. Severus nodded, thinking that she was about to let him in but quickly discovered as she slammed the door on his foot, that she had opened the door to harness more momentum.
"The boots are steel lined," Severus said, trying to hold back a grimace. "Just let me talk to you."
"Are you going to apologize?"
"Is it necessary?"
Ruedella nodded, a scowl covered her face.
"Fine," Severus said, "I will...inside."
The witch opened the door and let him in. She proceeded to a large purple sofa and sat, motioning with her hand to a large wooden chair by the fire. "I would conjure up some tea, but you will not be staying long."
"I need you to sit by me at next week's Quidditch match," Severus said.
"I need you to be sucked by a Dementor," Ruedella said, "But it seems that the Fates are not granting our wishes."
"The comments I made," Severus began, his face pained, "were unfortunate and uncalled for. Understand that I cannot afford to have the Dark Lord or anyone in the circle believe that I care for you. If they come to the conclusion that I am not what I seem, they will injure you in order to get to me."
"Fine," Ruedella said, not entirely convinced. "Are you going to apologize for accusing me of making you look like a fool? I was not the cause of those various misfortunes and poor timing..."
"Yes!" Severus said, looking at the mantle before facing her, "One was a unfortunate miscalculation on my part, the second was something neither could anticipate."
"I assume then," Ruedella asked, "that the contract has been cancelled? That I am free to leave here?"
"I cannot protect you if you do," Severus said.
"I lived eighteen years without you, Severus," Ruedella said, "Besides, I find it tiresome to be in your debt. I would rather be dead than your slave, wondering if I am worthy of your attention and when I do get close, you end up hurting me. First, it was your comments to Evan Rosier, then a month ago your hurtful words. I cannot live like that and I know that you are incapable of ever expressing yourself to me. I had requested to Dumbledore that he find a replacement so that I can return to Gringotts after Yule break. I understand he is interviewing several qualified candidates and Gringotts has lined up for me to go to Brazil."
"Brazil?" Severus asked, "But I though you would stay the year?"
"Wait..." Ruedella said, holding up her hand, realizing something, "Did you just say earlier that you cared for me?"
"I said that I could not afford to have anyone perceive that I care for you," Severus clarified.
"DAMN IT!" Ruedella leapt to her feet and stamped her foot. "We are in my quarters, the door is closed and Dumbledore could give a Centaur's arse! If you can not admit that, without prying eyes and to me only, then there is no hope." She walked over to Severus, grabbed his sleeve, and forced him up. "I can understand your predicament, but last month, when you held me...you have no idea what that meant—then you tore me down. You have my life in my hands, with a few choice words you can make me hunted, or have me rot in Azkaban. I would like to think that you are not exercising those choices because you do not wish to. Not because of my family, but even if I had 'neer a knut to offer..."
"It does not matter!" Severus turned quickly on heel and headed for the door, "You have decided to go to Brazil..." He reached for the handle, recoiled as the knob was white-hot. "What mischief is this, witch?" He barked.
"Answer me!" Ruedella shouted. She made her way over to Severus and grabbed his left arm, quickly pulling back his sleeve. "I accept this," she pointed at the brand on his forearm. She pointed at his hair, "I accept this, I accept your intellect, I accept most of you...but what I cannot accept," she pointed to his mouth, "is the disconnect." She closed her eyes and sighed, "This does matter and that is why we are talking! Damn! I knew I should have never accepted this fool's offer..." She looked back at Severus, directly in his eyes. "Do you want me to stay?"
"It does not matter," Severus said and turned again.
"Do you not want to know my secrets?" Ruedella said, "I will drop all defenses and you can see everything you want. In exchange, I ask the same of you. If you do that, then I will stay. You have enough on me that you can be assured that I will not divulge your secrets. Really, Severus, I would have told the Dark Lord about you if I had the inclination or dropped a hint at Draco that you were playing both sides. I want to see us out of this alive, but I cannot have you turn on me the minute I get close." She paused, "I promised Dumbledore that I could never tell you something, but I cannot risk...no...never mind..."
"An ultimatum," Severus said scowling.
"Yes," Ruedella said, "but no more games."
"I thought you consulted the runes," Severus said. "You should know what I feel."
"Then you will do it?" Ruedella said. "It is more than a fair cop, as my skills in Legilumancy are poor, but if you trust me and drop your defenses entirely, then I will know..." She took out her wand and set it one the table. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and then slowly opened them, staring into Severus' black. "You go first."
Severus stared at her for a moment, wary. "Very well," he said, his voice dry. He began his silent spell, easily penetrating into Ruedella's mind. He saw her as a young girl, staring around her father's leg when they met the very first time as children. He saw a Christmas party years later when she was about eight or nine and the sight of blood and screaming as her brother Rodolphus and cousin Lucius got into a fight and dueled in the Malfoy main parlor. Then he saw the inside of her mother's chambers; judging from the state, the witch had just given birth that summer evening. He saw Ruedella and Rabastan look on as Rodolphus, who was about sixteen, take a crying infant roughly in his arms with instruction from their father to drown the newborn squib. The scenes streamed into her mind; images, sounds, smells...and emotions. Halloween at Hogwarts when he gave her his candied apple and many nights studying when she asked him questions; he could feel the burn on her cheeks and the rise in hormones when his youthful self sat next to her. Her and Almorrnea Nott sneeking in the boy's dorms and watching he, her brother, and the others shower. He grimaced at the sight of his former self-- nude, scrawny and by every accounts a late bloomer compared to the other boys. Another scene flashed to that of in his office—it was Karkaroff's then—she and Rabastan being upbraided for something; the betting pool he presumed. The scene melted and then showed the inside the cavern leading up to the shrieking shack and her running as a large deer, its antlers prone, kept back a werewolf as she ran. The cavern was splattered with blood and Ruedella clutched a piece of black, blood soaked cloth in her hands.
The scene then changed to Dumbledore's office, the wizard looking older than Severus had ever seen, even when the Potters were killed. She stood by his desk, crying, as she laid her wand on the Headmaster's desk. The images changed to the requisition room and his own illicit, secret Dark Arts training, he standing behind her, helping her form a proper deuling posture and later smiling on as she plowed Avery into the back wall with a single spell.
Another image, of her sitting out in the back parlor of a fine estate, one of her Grandfather's, he presumed, where she talked with an aged witch as she threw brilliant white runes against a black table. Ruedella smiled as the witch tutted over her approvingly. Then the scene in the bushes during the Christmas party, her humiliation of Rosier's taunts, and more images of her later through the years pleasuring herself as she moaned his own name. The scenes continued, various Gringotts duties and a few run-ins with exotic creatures, a few near-death mishaps.
He stopped the charm as Ruedella fell forward. Catching her in mid-fall, he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom and carefully laid her on the bed. The event had been too much and with her defenses down, coupled with his skill, had caused her to black out. He carefully removed her boots, set them to the side, and then pulled up a crochet blanked up over her. He held his hand above her forehead, hesitating and then laying it gently on her as he stroked her hair. His mind sifted through the images, his mind riveting to those where she was pleasuring herself. He closed his eyes, seeing her nude body and her small breasts heaving as she climaxed, shouting his name into the empty bedroom. He lifted his hand from her forehead as the last of her memories moaned his name. He could feel it again, like last month, and he downed his defenses once again, smelling her scent—vanilla and strawberry shampoo he concluded—on his hand as the lingering warmth fled his fingers.
~***~
Two Days Later...
Karkaroff could tell he was in some sort of decaying building as the musty, pungent smell of mold and rot permeated the sack that had been placed over his head. He let out a muffled growl as the Death Eater leading him failed to mention they were going up a set of stairs and his toe jammed painfully into the edge. "It would go easier for you, Dolohov, if you bothered to lead me instead of pushing me," Karkaroff snarled and was rewarded with a quick kick in the shin. At last reaching a landing, he felt Dolohov tighten his grip and then heard the footsteps of another approaching. He held back a growl when the other grabbed him roughly by his other arm. The three wizards walked in lock step until they reached the end of the hall. One let go and, from the sound, opened the door. Karkaroff could hear the man's voice—Malfoy-- he recognized the suave polished upper crust accent of his former student. A sharp jolt to his ribs made him stumble forward where another Death Eater, Malfoy perhaps, he could not be sure, grabbed him and dragged him across the room, depositing him near a hot fireplace. With a quick tug, he felt the sack come off his head and as his eyes adjusted to the sudden, albeit dim, light, he saw a figure sitting in a rotting armchair in front of him.
"So the one I felt who was gone forever has returned...voluntarily," Voldemort's voice said smoothly, as if he were bored. Karkaroff said nothing and watched as the large serpent, Nagini slithered around its master. "Well..."
"I was a coward, my Lord," Karkaroff began, "I ran when you needed me. But there is much work yet to do and I can make myself useful."
"Unless you can restore a destroyed prophesy, then I cannot see much use for you. You have abandoned your post at Durmstrang where I had hoped, like you had done in times past, to recruit new members. You are more or less identified as my follower, so your use as an infiltrator is minimal. And," Voldemort stood up and walked over to Karkaroff, and began tracing his yew wand down the side of his captive's face, "There is the little incident of you turning testimony. I think that Rookwood would want a few moments with you when we are done." The room erupted in laughter. "A good thing that Snape managed to get into Dumbledore's good graces otherwise I would not have a set of eyes and ears at Hogwarts."
"Snape has turned, I assure you," Karkaroff said, pleading. "He is playing you for a fool my Lord. He is gathering information as we speak and knows your every move..."
Voldemort laughed, "During your trial you say he is a Death Eater now you say he is a traitor. I daresay that our poor friend is confused." The Dark Lord flicked his wand at Karkaroff, smiling at the pained screams. "Do make up your mind, Igor."
Karkaroff gasped as the curse wore off, he helped himself back up to his knees. "You mention a prophesy my Lord, what is it?"
Voldemort turned on heel, "If I knew what it was, I would not covet it! It is about the Potter boy. According to Snape, the witch who made the prediction cannot recall what she said under the trance and because of Malfoy's bungling, not only was the prophecy smashed, but also no one heard it. The only living person who knows it is Dumbledore and I cannot very easily just owl him and ask. Which does remind me..." Voldemort flicked his wand at Malfoy and the tall blonde double over in pain, his screams filling the room as the other Death Eaters murmured. "Do be more careful Lucius."
"Have you looked to other seerer?" Karkaroff asked. "Other diviners?"
"True diviners are rare and the only one I know of with an appreciable talent is Malfoy's grandmother. Unfortunately, age and the lack of her heirloom divination runes have diminished her abilities." Voldemort confided.
Karkaroff sat for a second, and then turned to the various masked figured, "Lestrange! Which one of you is Rabastan?" He looked as a figure nodded. "Your sister has a gift, you had a Quidditch betting pool... Your mother was a Malfoy, correct?"
Voldemort turned on heel towards Rabastan, "Speak, you fool!"
"Ruedella does have some abilities...but we were just children and the divination was of nothing critical," Rabastan began to explain.
"Her accuracy was so high that with a ten Galleon start, you made nearly five thousand Galleons in one season!" Karkaroff spat back. He added, "There was another incident, only Dumbledore knows but had not shared with me, I believe she foretold a death. I could tell something unnerved him appreciably..."
"No one died that year!" Rabastan protested. "My Lord," he addressed Voldemort, "this is a desperate wizard who I feel will lead us down a futile path!"
"I do not think it so futile," Malfoy's voice rang through the air. "My wife sent this, it was from my son. During a class demonstration she prepared a rather disturbing reading about Harry Potter." He levitated the papers over to Voldemort for his perusal. "It appears that something is indeed wrong, my Lord, as the curse you used on the boy was supposed to kill him, not bounce back on you." Malfoy took off his mask, "which means, my Lord, that all we need to do is 'set' everything right again. In addition, she has agreed to privately teach my son her methods. Whether he has the talent has yet to be seen. But, I do know that my Grandmother did take time to teach her many things over the summers and the witch is not one to waste her time. I know, as she refused to teach me."
"And why was this not mentioned before?" Voldemort spat. "What exactly is Snape doing with her at Hogwarts?" He glared at Bellatrix who began to giggle. "Does he know about this?"
"I do not believe so," Rabastan said, "I kept this under wraps until, somehow, Dumbledore found out and made Karkaroff intervene."
Voldemort studied the drawings and the notes. "Arrange to bring her here for a little test. If she does have the talent you claim, Karkaroff, then I will let you live. If she does not," he pointed to Nagini, "my pet is due for a feeding."
~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~