"Hello" -Normal speech.

'Hello' -Thoughts

"Hello" -Parseltongue.

An Ambrosia So Alluring

Ever since my untimely death, and consequently meeting Death and then being reborn, there is a single highlight that keeps me from utter despair. Having the poster woman for 'Crazy Bitch' as a mother, and being the daughter of the Final Boss who is somehow even more twisted and psychotic can really mess with someone's nerves.

And that's not even mentioning the constant underling anxiety of 'Oh God, what if he minds my mind, it'll be too easy for him and there's literally nothing I can do to stop him-' (Really, I reckon that the only thing that's stopping this terrible nightmare from becoming reality is the fact that Voldemort is much too busy fighting a war, and 'genius baby' or not, dipping into the mind of an almost one year old is the furthest thing from fun in his opinion. Still, the dread sinks it's greedy claws into me, threatening to pull me under and drown me.)

I constantly feel as if I'm balancing on a tight rope. A thousand eyes are weighing and burning holes into me, just waiting for me stumble and fall, all so that they can devour me whole. One wrong move, one odd word and the current pedestal I've been placed on will crumble (-for as much as they're glorified, pedestals are such delicate, tight areas with zero room for mistakes or error-) and Voldemort will decide that I'm more trouble than I'm worth, and then I will be discarded and killed.

(I do not make the mistake of believing, even for one second, that Bella's love is unconditional. She adores me because I am physical proof of the link between her and her beloved, a tool to manipulate and get closer to him with. My value is only due to my usefulness, and my usefulness is only decided depending on Voldemort's opinion of me.)

Anyways, ignoring all that angst, the point is that the life of Hecate Druella Black is not easy, and if it were not for the fact that Narcissa harps on Bella and the other adults to keep all alcoholic drinks out of reach and under lock and key, I probably would have drank myself into a coma by now.

That one highlight, however? The single thing that shins any light in my dark and suffocating days? To which acts as the lifeguard to my fragile spirits, keeping my head just above the water? That would be magic.

Magic is a wondrous, brilliant thing. To be able to shape and bend physics and reality to your whim is a heady, addictive thing. The feel of pure, unadulterated power running through your veins is like electricity. It's, it's -well, magic.

Or at least it would be if I could perform the damn thing!

I glare at the dumb, useless stuffed bear across my bed. Its prompt up to face me, and I swear it's beady little black eyes are mocking me!

I've been trying to accio it for the past five days now, and not once has it budged. Not. Once!

I burn with the injustice of it all.

I decide to try my luck with those adult drinks instead.

It's easy enough to slip out of my bed, the floor freezing against my bare feet and my pastel pink nightdress causing a slight breeze up my legs. The tricky part is remaining undetected all the way to the wine cellar, and then back again to my bedroom. It's not just wandering Death Eaters I have to worry about either, but also the numerous House Elves that won't hesitate to snitch on me.

My bedroom is right next to Bella's and her husband. Rabastan is further down the hallway, and Voldemort has an entire wing to himself, the lucky bastard. While these three are the only 'official' residents, other Death Eaters may crash for a night or two in-between war meetings and raids.

Through my (supervised) exploration of the Lestrange Mansion, I know that the wine cellar is past the kitchens, which is located in the east wing. I am in the west wing.

'This sure would be a good time to own an invisibility cloak,' I think to myself bitterly.

I peek into the dimly lit hallway as I try to strain my hearing for anyone nearby. When the coast remains clear after a couple moments, I cautiously wedge my way out and gently shut the door. Curling my chubby arms around myself, I stick to the walls as I quietly begin walking.

I make sure to take the long way around, in order to avoid the usual populated areas such as sitting rooms (both formal and informal), formal dinning room, the game room, and the room that's been redecorated as the Strategic Room where most of the World Domination discussions take place as much as humanly possible.

I can't succeed with all of the above, obviously, but I make sure to listen in before I turn the corner which leads to any of those room. You know, to make sure that it's unoccupied. And when they are, I slowly, so, so slowly, tip toe closer before dashing to safety.

At one point I have to hide under a cushioned chair as to not be spotted by a passing House Elf, but thankfully they don't notice me.

It pays to be so small sometimes.

And then appears my next biggest hurtle; the kitchens and House Elves' sleeping space.

While thay always try to do their cleaning when people aren't around, and try to remain out of sight, out of mind unless directly summoned, if there's one place you can count on to find a House Elf, it's here.

And I have to pass it if I want to descend into the cellar. No way, no how around it.

Crouching down and hiding behind a corner, I worry my bottom lip as I consider my options. I can always try to sneak past and hope they don't notice me like I did the other open rooms, but something in my gut tells me that it's not exactly going to fly this time around. I can crawl out of one of the windows and see if I can re-enter through another one further down, past the kitchen, but the creak of the window plains might alert them. And there isn't any promise that I'll be able to open the second one from the outside.

What else can I do?

'If only I was able to tree-walk my way onto the ceiling, Naruto style!' Oh, what I wouldn't give to be able to do that!

In the end, I suppose I'll just have to risk it the old fashioned way. Worse comes to worse, I'll say I'm either lost or hungry. Maybe even both.

'Please no one come out, please no one come out, please no one come out-'

Perhaps some Higher Being is feeling merciful. Perhaps they're finally giving me a well-deserved break, because as I dart past the open door no House Elves catch me or decide to leave the kitchen.

Hallelujah!

Grinning so wide that my cheeks are beginning to ache, and my heart beating a mile a mintue against my chest, I smother the urge do a little victory dance on the other side of the kitchen. (Now is not the time. I'm not in the cellar yet, there is stil a chance of being caught-)

And then I hear a cold, unimpressed voice ask "What, are you doing?" and for said heart to drop to the floor, along with my stomach. Slowly, robotically, I turn on my heel to face my audience.

Seemingly just exiting one of the rooms -a storage space, by the looks of it, with the candles' light- stands a tall, greasy black haired man with a hooked nose.

Frowning heavily as he cradles a few small bags of potion ingredients in his arms, is Severus Snape.

'Aw, crap.'

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