HP7:

A Septology Finale

Diclaimer: JKR, not me

A/N: Reviews & criticism welcome ...

― CHAPTER ONE ―

A Dark Meeting

Somewhere in the middle of the North Sea, invisible to the ordinary human eye, which would see only churning pitch-black waves and perhaps an odd concentration of shrouding mists, was a small island. The summer night air surrounding it was deathly cold, and despite the gusts of winds that blew from all directions against it, strangely silent. Except for one sound: a low, rasping chorus of breathing, issuing from tall hooded silhouettes that, like an impenetrable black circle, ringed the massive grey stone walls of that which rose looming upon the island: the Fortress of Azkaban.

A faint crimson glow emanated from the fortress' topmost tower, cast by blood-coloured flames dancing on torches in the chamber within. However, this light was confined to either side of a raised platform at the head of the room –the rest of the vast vaulted space vanished into shadows, creating the sense of a void; thus making the illuminated throne atop the platform all the more prominent: carved out of solid obsidian and crowned with an enormous serpent head whose eyes were set with glittering rubies. The figure sitting in the throne was almost indistinguishable from it: draped in dark robes, he had a snakelike face and eyes like slits that gleamed red. At his feet a live snake lay asleep, its long thick body wound in ebony coils, completing the third serpentine image like some unholy trinity.

"Master, they are arrived," said a voice from the empty darkness of the room, in a slightly whiny tone, addressing the enthroned figure.

A cold, high voice spoke. "Have my Dementors bid them entrance. Escort them here –wandless."

"Yes, Master," answered the whiner, bowing low and immediately scurrying towards the door. Once outside, his expression of fear changed to relief as he scampered down the spiral tower staircase and across the paved courtyard to the heavy iron front gates, beyond which a row of Azkaban's faceless guards floated eerily. He undid the enchantment binding the gates, and the Dementors, drawing icy rattling breaths, parted to let three cloaked men pass through. After casting a relocking spell, the escort jerked his head at each of the visitors in greeting as they followed him back into the building that was formerly an infamous prison, but now served as the 'unplottable' headquarters of The Dark Order.

"Wands, please, gentlemen," the short ratlike man simpered, stretching out a tarnished silver hand that blended seamlessly with his arm.

All three glared contemptuously at him from under their masks, but nonetheless complied. One of the wizards, who had almost colorless eyes, remarked with a sneer, "Quite the steward, aren't you, Wormtail? Would you like to check in our cloaks as well?"

"If you find the Dark Lord's orders questionable, you can tell him in person, Malfoy!" Wormtail retorted, twitching. He pointed at the arch leading to the tower. "Don't keep Him waiting."

The ice-pale eyes narrowed, but the man whirled abruptly around and began ascending the steep stone steps, followed by his two companions. Presently they reached the door at the top and knocked; after a moment it dissolved and the men crossed into the dark chamber. When they neared the pool of light at the end of the room, all three immediately sank to their knees, masked heads bowed, murmuring: "My Lord."

The black snake, Nagini, sensing their presence, had awakened and was now gliding around her commander's throne.

"Come forth, Lucius," said Lord Voldemort.

Lucius Malfoy rose swiftly, and lowering his hood while keeping his gaze cast down, stepped into view. The torchlight glimmered on his long platinum hair as he waited in deference.

"Though you twice failed me –" Voldemort put a dangerous emphasis on the next word "–grievously" (an imperceptible shudder ran through Lucius' tall frame as he recalled the atonement for his failures), "and your resulting imprisonment incurred a year-long lapse in my service … "

Lucius winced at yet other memories; Voldemort, smiling unpleasantly, continued, "… you have since redeemed the Malfoy name with your inspired breakout and subsequent storming and seizing of this fortress, whose ancient and powerful defenses will serve us well in wartime." Voldemort's high voice grew colder. "Therefore, take your reward: my full pardon, for the debt you owe of thirteen years of faithlessness during my exile."

Lucius bowed deeply. "I am beholden to your mercy, my Lord. You have my eternal loyalty."

Having received a long-fingered wave of dismissal, Lucius resumed his place as the next summons echoed through the room: "Send the boy."

A slimmer figure now approached the platform, unhooded to reveal the same sleek blond head and downcast grey eyes as the previous man, but a pale face much more youthful.

"Draco," said Voldemort slowly, as if savoring the taste of the word. "My youngest Death Eater … ah, yet still uninitiated in the fearless acts of Deatheating?"

Trembling slightly, Draco Malfoy whispered, "F-forgive me, Dark Lord!"

"I am pleased that you made it possible for the Dark Mark to blaze over the corpse of your late Headmaster, even if he did not die at your hand … as was my express wish."

There was a heavy silence. Draco was having difficulty breathing.

"You must prove yourself, Draco," said the icy voice quietly.

"Command me," said the boy, white-faced. "I –I am stronger now."

Voldemort laughed chillingly. "For your mother's sake, I hope you will not disappoint me this time."

Draco grew even paler, but steeled himself to reply in a reverent tone, "What is my task, my Lord?"

"You will return to Hogwarts this fall, under the pretext of repentance, and pleading trauma at having witnessed your mother's murder by your father. You will play the part of disillusioned, remorseful, hunted runaway, and thus reinstate yourself in the good graces of the staff and students."

Draco breathed more easily. This didn't sound as bad as he'd feared.

"Your object is to learn the whereabouts of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters."

Draco's head snapped up in surprise but he instantly dropped his eyes again away from the sight of that grotesque masklike face.

"The fall of the Order's leader has necessitated a new Secret Keeper; my sources tell me it is the Potter brat's mudblood friend. You must grow intimate with her, gain her confidence, and thereby elicit the information. Then you will bring the girl to me as hostage."

"Intimate, my Lord?" Draco's pale eyes widened. "With Granger?"

"The Fidelity Charm cannot be penetrated using the Imperious Curse nor by any other means of coercion," said Voldemort impatiently. "The secret can only be divulged willingly."

"But –she'll never –I can't –"

"Cease that sputtering at once!" His voice slashed the air like a knife. "You have until the end of winter to comply. Your mother will be removed from Malfoy Manor and concealed here should the Ministry decide to investigate your tale of conversion, and," he added with a sinister note, "to ensure that you will exert your utmost will in succeeding."

"Y-yes, my Lord," gulped Draco, stumbling back with a half-bow to stand beside his father. Lucius threw him a reproachful frown.

"She is merely a schoolgirl," he drawled, glaring at Draco. "I am certain my son will press his every advantage to fulfill his master's orders."

Draco nodded stiffly.

There was another silence as Nagini slithered up to the third man, and began circling him.

"Leave us," commanded Voldemort.

The Malfoys made their final obeisances and duly exited the chamber. Tossing back his hood, the last cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, stony-faced and silent.

"Look at me, my assassin." The words were spoken in a soft hiss.

The black eyes of Severus Snape slowly turned up to lock on Voldemort's scarlet gaze. An eternity seemed to pass before the latter finally pronounced, "You feel … gratified at the demise of our enemy."

"The Dark Lord's mindpower is, as ever," Snape inclined his head. "Infallible."

"In ascertaining raw emotions, yes … but I require you to elaborate." The cold voice took on a taunting edge. "Tell me, Severus, how did it feel to look into the eyes of that old fool, who trusted you wholeheartedly, and commit the ultimate betrayal by uttering the fatal curse?"

"I felt hatred," said Snape. "And revulsion."

"For whom?" asked Voldemort shrewdly. "Dumbledore … or yourself?"

"For he who dared challenge my master's supremacy," replied Snape evenly. "In claiming to be 'The Only One He Ever Feared,' and who championed" –here Snape's lips curled into a sneer –"my master's nemesis, designating him with the even more delusional title of 'The Chosen One' prophesized to be the downfall –"

"Enough!" snarled Voldemort. "These epithets are anathema to me!"

Snape's features remained stoic.

"Very well, your noble allegiance merits tribute above my entire army." With a lazy wave of Voldemort's long black wand, a luminous silver serpent-shaped crest emblazoned itself over the Dark Mark on Snape's left forearm. "You are my second-in-command, faithful Death Eater."

"Your Lordship honors me far too greatly," murmured Snape, sweeping down to brush his lips against the hem of the seated wizard's robes.

"As such," said Voldemort in a spine-chilling whisper. "I entrust you with the most privileged of missions."

Snape waited, head bowed, black hair falling into his face.

"You will deliver Potter to me."

Severus Snape raised his eyes once more to stare into the blood-red pupils that burned with a maniacal glint. A slow smile spread over his face.

"With pleasure, my Lord."