12th September 07:02

Michael Berrick gave the usual groan as he bent over to lift the bucket, feeling the old familiar twinge in his lower back. A lasting grumble from an old injury he earned back in his quidditch days, back before he had ever come across the Lestranges. He didn't have the gold at the time to pay a healer to fix his back properly, so it healed awkwardly. Now whenever he bent down, it would give him a little reminder.

He followed Sabor out the quarters, glancing down the hallway to where the morning patrol idly paced. He could hear their low voices, trying to disguise their shared complaints. As Sabor emerged, the voices faded. The headguard gave them a surly look, hand fiddling with the bundle of keys on his belt.

There was a general level of unease. Ever since the cells were cleared, occupants sent to Azkaban, the guards were listless, annoyed that they had been reduced to such tedious work. Usually, they were escorting terrified people back and forth, delivering them to the dementors before returning, issuing threats and sometimes carrying them out. Now they were just idle, pacing down a hallway, guarding a single prisoner who was chained to a wall. Hardly a danger worth five guards.

The scoffing grumbles about why they were needed had changed in tone significantly, especially when the kid got loose the day before and got hold of a wand. The two men that he managed to burst free from had unsurprisingly disappeared. Where they were, Berrick had some idea, as did the other guards who he passed, seeing them looking pointedly away. He shuffled with his bucket, the ladle banging against the metal.

They approached the last door at the far end of the hallway. Sabor took the keys from his belt, searching for the right one for the door.

"Let's make this quick. Just give him his water, clean up any mess and leave. If he tries to speak, you silence him and that's that," Sabor's voice was unusually subdued. Berrick frowned at him. He knew the routine and didn't require a reminder. Then he saw the tension in the man's face, the quick darting of his eyes as he looked from the keys to the door. He was nervous.

"Scared he'll say something dangerous?" Berrick said under his breath. "Like ask for the time?" Sabor's face twitched.

"Careful, Berrick," he warned, but said nothing else. Normally insubordination like that earned a lot more of a lashing. Berrick hid his surprise. Sabor was clearly on edge. He picked out the right key for the cell and thrust the key into the door, deactivating the silencing charms and wards that had been interlaced into the wood and metal.

He gestured for Berrick to go in first, then he rested his back against the wall, staring into the hallway. Berrick clenched his jaw. The man was such a coward. He gave a sigh and entered the cell, looking up to see the boy's feet scramble on the floor as he shifted his weight. He heard his chain clattering at the movement.

He raised his head and his jaw dropped in shock. The boy's silencer was loose around his neck. He was staring at Berrick, expression guilty and fearful. He opened his mouth to say something, eyes darting from Berrick to Sabor, who hadn't noticed.

Berrick made a decision there and then. He hurried over, careful to not spill any water.

"Don't speak… you know what they will do to you," he said under his breath as he approached. The boy's eyes were wide with surprise and his mouth went slack. His face was pinched with fear and pain.

Berrick shot a meaningful look up to his hand, the one that wasn't horrendously swollen and purple with bruising, then he pulled the loosened muzzle back up to the boy's mouth.

"Play along," he muttered to him. The boy's eyes were still wide, but he saw the understanding there. A flash of bewilderment, but he got it. Berrick quickly pulled the straps back around and fastened them as best he could with one hand, then he put the bucket down on the ground with a loud thunk.

Sabor peered through the door at the sound. He quickly scanned the room, seeing the boy at the back, silenced, and Berrick fussing with the water bucket. He looked away.

"I don't know what possessed you to do that. I don't want to know," Berrick said as quietly as he could. "I won't cover for you again, understand?"

He saw a barely perceptible nod. He slowly looked up to meet the boy's eyes, seeing the line in his brow at his confusion, then drew out his wand. The boy flinched at the sight of it.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," Berrick said to him, as quietly as he could. He moved away, looking for the pot. He found it against the wall, used. He removed the contents, distancing himself for the indignity of the situation. He'd long since got used to the jeers and jibes from the guards about his job, Berrick the prison nanny. He would rather the prisoners be spared the humiliation of being cleaned up, but it was all part of the systematic unravelling of the Ministry's enemies. Not the Ministry, he corrected himself, you-know-who.

As he returned to the boy, he found his gaze going up to his forehead as it had before. He recalled how the boy noticed his stare. He imagined that he was used to the way people stared at it and had felt embarrassed to be caught in the act.

"Stop gawking at him, Berrick," Sabor said, looking in to see why he didn't hear the water cup being filled.

Berrick drew in a deep breath, dropping his gaze from the scar, and looked to the muzzle. He removed it, letting it settle around his neck. He shook his head a little, glancing up at the boy's arms, still very much suspended above him. How did he even manage to remove it? It must have taken some effort.

He couldn't imagine why he'd done it. Was it some final act of defiance? He hadn't bothered to conceal it or hide, knowing full well what would happen to him. Did he not care?

He saw the boy's lips form a word, mouthing it, not daring to say it with Sabor so close. Just one word.

Why?

Berrick turned away, stooping to the bucket. He had no answer. He just acted. He knew that Sabor hadn't noticed and that he could spare the boy the punishment. It didn't matter that the boy was Harry Potter. He just didn't want him to suffer.

He moved back to the boy, carefully holding the ladle that he had filled, not wanting to spill it. He wouldn't be allowed to give him anymore. He kept his eyes trained on the boy's mouth, not wanting to meet his eyes again. But the boy didn't open his sore lips. He glanced up, seeing that question lingering in those green eyes. The confusion, suspicion, fear… all zipping around as his eyes danced, flicking intently between Berrick's own eyes.

Berrick met his stare firmly, as if to say just accept it. It seemed to work and the boy opened his lips to accept the water. As he did, a drop of moisture curled down his face. Berrick noticed it. Most of the time, his prisoners cried when he gave them their water. Usually, it was from their shame at being reduced to such a state, feeling their humanity stripped away from them. He knew that the tear that snaked down the boy's face was different. It was gratitude and relief.

It was a silent thank you.

Berrick carefully tipped the water into the boy's mouth, moving slowly to let him gulp and not choke. He'd done this many times and had the knack for it. When he'd drained the last drop, he dropped the ladle into the bucket with a splash. Sabor heard the sound, his footsteps entering the room.

"Finish up, will you?" He said. Berrick felt a twist in his stomach as he had to lift the muzzle back up over the boy's face. As he reached behind, the boy bowed his head towards him, willingly.

"Obedience? Really? Rookwood really must have let you have it last night."

The boy stiffened. Berrick saw his nostrils flare in anger at the remark. His gaze lingered on the hideous bruise that darkened his right eye, seeing the dried blood on his face. He noticed how bloodshot his eyes were. There was one patch on his right eye that was entirely pinkish red. He knew the hallmarks of cruciatus damage. He knew what Rookwood had done while alone in the room with the boy.

If he was enduring that much pain, why did he risk taking off his silencer? Berrick was at a loss to work out his motives. He tightened up the straps then drew away, nearly tripping on the bucket. His foot kicked it, spilling a little water.

"Get a hold of yourself, man," Sabor hissed at him. "Just… get out of there already."

Sabor let him move past him and he approached the boy, now confident that the threat had passed. He tapped his bludgeon as he did. Berrick froze as he saw him cradling the handle of the instrument he so loved wielding.

"The cracks are finally starting to show…" Sabor said as he neared the boy, strut back in place. "You're lucky you don't get your own personal dementor." Berrick felt a lurch of disgust at the taunt, glancing over to see the reaction. The boy just stared at him, that fire suddenly back, that rage.

Sabor gave a low chuckle at the reaction. "Yes… we know… they are quite uncontrollable near you. There are orders to keep them away. Don't want you to lose your soul too soon. Though… they'll get it in the end, won't they?"

No response, just staring. Sabor advanced a little closer, confident that he was in control. Berrick saw the way the boy watched him, as if he was waiting.

"It was in the paper today, hot off the press… the ex-." Whatever taunt he had planned was cut short when the boy suddenly drove his leg up. He aimed a very direct blow between the headguard's legs.

Sabor let loose a yelp of pain and he staggered back, clutching at the area. He turned his reddened, pained face on Berrick, fury mingling with the pain. Berrick's jaw dropped.

"You… you little shit!" Sabor panted through the pain, steadying himself and wrenching free the bludgeon. The boy levelled him a look, eyes no longer possessing that fear that Berrick had seen. His fight had renewed and he even gave a laugh, though the sound was strangled against the silencer.

Sabor raised the bludgeon, going to strike, but he stopped himself. His gaze travelled up to the boy's injured hand and a twisted expression morphed his enraged face. He jabbed the end of his bludgeon into the hand, hard. A screech of pain blared out the boy and his legs jerked under him. Berrick felt sick at the pained cry.

"You think you know how to inflict pain?" Sabor asked him, growling into the boy's smothered face. He released his ruined hand. The boy sagged with relief, but he raised his head, eyes enraged and defiant. He wiggled his left hand, getting Sabor's attention, then put up his middle finger.

He struck him then.

The atmosphere in the atrium was tense. Pius Thicknesse just concluded his statement before the reporters, not staying to take any questions. Not that any would be asked. A line of Enforcers stood guard before his podium, wands out, threats plain to see. The only sounds were the scratchings of quills, the odd clearing of throats, panicked breathing. No one dared speak, not after what was just announced in the monotone drawl of the Minister for Magic who read out his statement from two sheaths of parchment, reading out handwriting that wasn't his.

Yaxley remained behind the scattering of reporters, the few that remained trustworthy to print exactly what he wanted them to. Their scared glances and tense necks told much about how they felt about the news they were being made to note down, ready for the next day's front page. They'd followed his orders last night to the word, announcing Harry Potter's crimes and arrest, including his sentence for murder - the dementor's kiss. Now they heard from the Minister himself about the details. He could see the nearest reporter's notes.

Harry Potter found guilty of two counts of murder - one for the murder of Albus Dumbledore and the other for Dolores Umbridge, two counts of assault against Ministry personel, two counts of illegal practice of the Dark Arts. Sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss on 16th September at 10am. To be carried out at the Ministry - private audience only. Public confession scheduled 14th.

Yaxley felt a smirk on his face at the first names. He knew it might be a bit too much - no one will believe it - but that didn't matter. He knew what the boy would think and how much it would hurt him and his followers. He knew from Rookwood that the boy had already seen his formal sentence, including the date of his execution. He knew exactly how much longer he had left at the Row before he was claimed by the Dark Lord.

It pleased him to know the suffering that the knowledge would be causing him, but whenever he thought about the boy's pain, he found his own wrapped inside it. The words that the half-blood had spewed at him twisted in him like vipers. He despised how he'd managed to get into his head, plucking at his strings. First the rage took over him at the taunt, at being ridiculed by Harry Potter of all people. Then as it faded, as he watched them chain his unconscious form back on the wall, he started to feel fear. How did the boy know about his meeting with the Dark Lord?

Much was said about the danger the boy posed to the Dark Lord personally, it was why he'd employed every measure possible to keep the boy under lock and key. The Dark Lord mobilised every Death Eater at his disposal when the boy had been vulnerable to attack at his home, desperate to end the very real threat. Now Yaxley was starting to see why the boy was a risk. He was dangerous and not just magically. He undermined the Dark Lord's authority in every way and would use what little life he had left to destabilise his grasp. Yaxley terminated Umbridge for her involvement in the Dark Lord's affairs, but what would happen to him when he revealed that he, too, knew about this precious heirloom? Would the Dark Lord trust him enough with it?

Even now, as he watched his ministrations unfold exactly as he wanted them to, with the destruction of the boy's reputation, he felt worried. He had received several reports on his desk early in the morning from the contacts he had watching known Order locations and affiliated members. Several had vanished, including the entire Weasley family, which irritated him to no end. He knew of the boy's association with the blood traitors and had planned to hold them over him if he tried anything like he did yesterday again. Arthur Weasley had failed to present himself for work and when his agents went to the family home, it had been deserted. Not a red-head in sight.

He knew that when this news reached his master, he would be furious. The Order had completely gone dark - which meant only one thing. They knew that they were compromised and word had reached them. He imagined that Potter's accomplices had managed to spread the news. When he questioned the boy on their location, he said that he knew where they would have been when he was arrested but that by now, they would have moved to somewhere he didn't know. Even when pressured on the point, he'd repeated the answer. He said that they knew that he'd be interrogated. You'll never find them through me, he had said, and it had been the truth.

Yaxley recognised the tactics that the boy employed against him, dropping generalisations and vague answers to avoid the purges that would have him confessing. Eventually he got what he wanted - a word. A strange word that filled him with immense foreboding. Horcrux. Potter seemed terrified when he heard himself say it. It demoralised him completely and he fell apart. He gave in to more and more purges, admitting that he'd been given the mission from Dumbledore himself and that, with the old man gone, he was left to continue the task.

Yaxley knew that this was the information that his master wanted him to retrieve. The motives for Potter's actions, and yet… there was more information stored in the boy's head. Secrets about the Order of the Phoenix, the remaining wizards and witches that yet posed a threat… perhaps even the secret of why he himself was such a threat to the Dark Lord.

He turned from the reporters, the sound of his retreat making them jump. Three of his Enforcers followed him, waiting for orders. He found many eager recruits for his ranks in Azkaban, accepting his invitation of service in exchange for an early release. Most were petty criminals, incarcerated for attacking muggles or assaulting the Ministry's authority. They were mostly young, not old enough to have fought in the first war, like Yaxley himself. He didn't believe many had what it took to take the mark and serve directly under the Dark Lord - most were half-bloods or purebloods with tainted bloodlines. Not from an ancestral house like himself.

"A memo arrived from the Row," a low voice reached his ear as he strode towards the elevators, "the… prisoner had to be disciplined."

Yaxley glanced at the man who whispered in his ear, seeing the scarred visage of one of his more promising Enforcers, a man called Gerren who had been in Azkaban for murdering three muggle girls.

"I see… any details?"

"It just said that the prisoner had used violence."

"What? What violence?" He asked, frowning. Gerren just shrugged.

"Sir, will you be enroute to the Row now?" Another voice, moving to his left.

"Yes, it appears I have to tend to our guest." He gave his following Enforcers long, lingering looks. "The Minister can handle himself from here on. I gave him his instructions this morning. Triple the presence here and in the courtrooms. I expect we will see a few tensions. Any hint of sedition, you deal with it, understand? Fast."

"Yes, sir," three voices replied.

"We have a high risk of infiltration from the Order. No one makes it to the Row who you don't question and search. We know their methods. They won't use the Imperius Curse, but they may use Confundus and Obliviate. We also know that they have Polyjuice Potion."

"Yes, sir."

"Pot… the prisoner's invisibility cloak is also still in play. He was not in possession of it. Ensure all security checkpoints remain warded at all times."

Yaxley stopped at the elevators. The thin crowd that formed parted before him at once and he strode into the first one. He gave his men firm looks.

"The only people who are permitted to interrupt me today are restricted to you three and anyone bearing the mark… understood?"

"Sir! Administrator Yaxley!" A shout demanded his attention and he looked around. Few people would have the gall to call out to him so he knew that it was important. He saw one of his secretaries rushing towards him, desperately. He paused, letting the man catch up.

"What is it, Hewitt, and it better be urgent?"

"Severus Snape is here," the man murmured under his breath, glancing around to make sure no one overheard him.

"What?" Yaxley stared at him. "And you're telling me this now?"

"The Minister's statement was-." He started to gabble, terrified.

"Nevermind," Yaxley interrupted, realising that he didn't want to hear the excuses, "where is he?"

"He said he'd wait in your office until you were done. He seemed sure that you'd see him…"

"Of course he did," he said darkly. He sighed, pinching his nose in frustration. He should have anticipated that some Death Eaters would react to the news as well as the Order. He had hoped to not be disturbed. Yet Snape's presence worried him. He was the Dark Lord's right-hand man. If he was here, then the Dark Lord was keeping a closer eye on him than he thought. The unease twisted around in him again.

"Very well. I will meet with him. Inform Rookwood about Snape's arrival and tell him I wish the prisoner to be ready for questioning. The prisoner needs constant watching when out his restraints, especially after yesterday. I intend to continue with my interrogations after I'm done with Snape," he said, looking to his three enforcers.

They nodded and peeled off to carry out his orders. Yaxley frowned, intensely irritated that he was being diverted in his task, but he had the Headmaster of Hogwarts to entertain first.

The door to the Minister's office blasted open with a furious crash. It was very nearly ripped from the hinges, yet thanks to a cushioning charm placed into the door a few terms ago, it survived the onslaught. That door was one of the most punished doors in Wizarding Britain due to a large number of arguments that took place in that office.

As he entered the office that he unofficially owned, Yaxley felt a chill. He recognised the reaction. The wizard's sense, some call it, that uncanny feeling of dread when the magic responds to a threat unseen. The same sense that triggered visions, if they were to be believed. The cause of his chill came from the man that waited in the office, standing at the windows that watched the atrium.

"Since I've been waiting," a low drawl sounded from the presence lurking at the window, "I've witnessed three arrests, two of which resulted in a noticeable disruption. Straight to Azkaban, I suppose. I hear the Row is off-limits."

Yaxley swallowed his fury and turned, closing the door behind him. As he did, the magical wards sealed the room from any interruptions. He steadied himself, glaring at the man who had just helped himself into the office without a care.

"There better be a good reason for this visit, Severus," he said in his most controlled voice. He contained his frustration at being delayed, not wishing to aggravate the Dark Lord's favourite Death Eater.

"I do not leave my post at Hogwarts lightly, Corban," the Potion's Master said in his low drawling voice, his tone calm. Yet there was a clear threat in the way he stood, emanating an aura of danger. "However, circumstances have made it unavoidable. Your careless handling of Potter's downfall has made matters very precarious."

"Careless?" Yaxley bristled. "The boy is very much secured in the Row. He will not escape."

"I'm pleased to hear that you have found a way to contain a seventeen-year-old," Snape said sourly, his ink-black eyes peering at him from across the room. "What you do not know how to contain is an uprising."

"Please, Severus, you're overreacting," Yaxley said with a laugh, "our numbers far surpass the Order and what's left of Dumbledore's lackeys."

"And where are they?" Snape asked. "The Order?"

Yaxley's furious look said a lot.

"I worked in the Order of the Phoenix as a spy for many years… I lingered in Albus Dumbledore's shadow. I listened, watched and even made some manipulations of my own. Their numbers may be few, but I'll tell you this. Do not underestimate them. I know your spies have lost sight of them. If they have vanished, it means that they are mobilising. You found the one thing that would have made them risk an offensive attack - Harry Potter. Congratulations."

"The Dark Lord gave me his consent to manage the boy," Yaxley spat out, "Undermining me undermines his decision to give me this mission."

"I thought your mission was to interrogate the boy, not use his arrest and subsequent downfall as a political move to break morale. The only thing you've done is set him up as a martyr. Really, Yaxley… pinning the murder of Dumbledore on the boy? No rational-minded person would believe that. At least Umbridge's manipulations in the press had some truth to it."

"There were too many witnesses to his arrest. The rumours were getting out of control-."

"Witnesses can be silenced. Rumours disputed," Snape gave a shake of his head, "you played this right into their hands. Now the people have a cause to rally behind and you best hope the information you extract from the boy is worth the cost in magical blood. There will be blood, Yaxley. The type of bloodshed that the Dark Lord explicitly wished to avoid."

The two men glared at each other. Yaxley's face was burning with anger, hand twitching for his wand, but then he looked at Snape's eyes, seeing the threat in those dark pools. He couldn't outduel this man, and attacking the Dark Lord's favourite would not go down well, especially when he had a point. The failure of the missing Order, as well as the rising tensions brewing in the Ministry, did concern him. He had been warned that this would happen.

"I take it that your reason for dragging yourself away from your cauldron wasn't just to berate me like one of your students," Yaxley said.

Snape swept over to the desk. He placed three vials of a clear potion on the desk.

"I am not without… sympathy. I have three doses of veritaserum. If you find yourself struggling to get any sense out of Potter, I suggest you use them."

"I do not need or want your assistance, Snape," Yaxley growled, "the Veritas Quaesitor has already made him talk."

Snape's hand lingered on the last bottle, a hint of surprise. Yaxley's lip curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Didn't expect that, did you? Yes, I know why the brat was in the Ministry, and I know what he was after. A powerful artifact that he'd been hunting down found itself in Umbridge's clutches and he had come to retrieve it."

Snape lifted his hand from the glass, turning fully to face Yaxley. His dark eyes had lost that intense anger and were now calculating, pensive. He approached, his long robes swishing around him as he crossed his arms, looking intently at him.

"I take it you took this artifact and delivered it to the Dark Lord."

"He doesn't have it. The Mudblood Granger does."

"He told you this?" Snape sounded curious and his voice had dropped the usual venom it had whenever he spoke about the boy. Yaxley knew he was being pushed for information.

"He had no choice. The Quaesitor ripped it out of him. And don't think I don't know what you're doing. I will be the one delivering his reasons to the Dark Lord. Not you. Not Rookwood. This task is mine."

"I care little about why the boy was stupid enough to get himself caught," Snape spat, the venom returning, "what I care about is why you didn't think to deliver this news to the Dark Lord? Are you deliberately keeping him in the dark?"

Yaxley felt a twist of fear in his stomach. "I will inform the Dark Lord about Potter's motives when I'm expected to."

"This thing that he was after is out there with Granger and you think that's not important knowledge to share with the Dark Lord? With anyone?"

"Wasting the Dark Lord's time with a mudblood? I think not. My agents have searched known locations, ones that I got out the boy, and others. She has eluded our efforts."

Snape stared at him. "You fear what the Dark Lord will do when he learns that you not only don't possess this artifact but have no idea where it is."

"Potter is hardly in a position to use the horcrux now. She is not the priority. Potter is."

"What did you say?" Snape's eyes widened at the word. Yaxley saw the shock on his face, pleased to see that he had managed to cause the man to drop his composure. Blood drained from Snape's sallow face and he moved closer to Yaxley, his intense stare shifting from irritation to shock.

"It's what Potter calls this locket that he stole, a horcrux. He told me that Dumbledore instructed him to hunt them down and that he'll be able to defeat the Dark Lord with them. This particular one belongs to the Dark Lord himself," Yaxley said smugly as he saw the absolute shock in Snape's eyes.

"Belongs to the Dark Lord?" Snape repeated, then recovered his shock. He narrowed his eyes at Yaxley, "then it is imperative that it is discovered and returned to him."

"You're welcome to try to find it, Severus. You clearly have enough free time in your life to pay me unexpected visits, but I am hardly able to run around, hunting little mudbloods with lockets."

"I'm sure the Dark Lord will appreciate being told this."

"I have delivered him Potter and his wand," Yaxley snapped, "and after a few more days with the Quaesitor, I'll also be able to deliver classified secrets about the Order right from the Boy-Who-Lived himself. The Dark Lord will be most satisfied, I think, to learn that the boy will die with the knowledge that he betrayed his own mission and doomed it to fail."

"You overstep at your own peril, Yaxley. Do you not think the Dark Lord is perfectly capable of extracting that information from the boy himself?"

A tendril of uncertainty twisted through him at the question. He felt again the unease in the pit of his stomach. Snape was hinting that Potter had dangerous knowledge of the Dark Lord's own secrets. What sort of knowledge did the boy really possess that the Dark Lord would kill to protect? That he knew about Voldemort's heritage startled him and when he mentioned the Dark Lord's own mother, he'd been very surprised. Few knew about Voldemort's origins, Death Eater or otherwise.

"I… do not doubt the Dark Lord's abilities, Severus," Yaxley said carefully. "I merely wish to be as instrumental as possible."

Snape regarded him carefully, perhaps sensing his inner conflict with his fear, then he moved away from him. He returned to the desk, taking the veritaserum.

"As it appears you've found a successful way to interrogate Potter, you won't be needing these, however I would exercise caution, if I were you. There is a reason why certain things about him have been kept from you, things that were entrusted to a few within the inner circle only. Learn too much about Potter and you may learn too much about the Dark Lord. He is not a trusting master, Yaxley. I myself have been tried many times over," Snape said.

"It would be best to call the Dark Lord now and deliver what you know, then at least he can be dealt with. Each moment Potter languishes in your custody is a moment where his supporters can rally a cry. I tell you this, Yaxley, if an attempt is made to free the boy and it even comes close, he will make you pay for it.

"No one has ever escaped the Row, Severus."

"I'm not talking about escape," he said firmly, "it will never get that far. I'm talking about people being inspired to risk their lives for him and rise up against you. It's already happening under your nose. Either control your Ministry better or deliver your failure to the Dark Lord. Whatever you do, do it fast. For both our sakes."

"I… will take measures to control the crowd. A demonstration of what will happen to those who dissent."

"Angering a mob is no way to control it." Snape said sourly.

"Fear is a strong motivator."

"Indeed. Then use it," he said, then turned away from him. "As for the boy, I take it that you are taking measures to ensure he is of suitable health when he arrives at Malfoy Manor for his 'ceremony'."

"It is being taken care of," Yaxley said coldly, "though you are more than welcome to see for yourself. Put your mind at rest. I expect that part of your reasoning for coming here was not just to see me."

Snape watched him carefully, employing some very quick thinking. "My presence may create quite a… reaction."

"Oh I know. I'm counting on it."

Hi! I'm partway through writing the next chapter and will try to get it finished within the week. Time for Harry and Snape's reunion :)