A/N: Very reticent today.

All I'd like to say is that you'll understand the title to this chapter in about another chapter or so. Just remember, I never rename my chapters. They stay with what I first call them.

And as always,

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: All characters of the Harry Potter series (hereafter known as 'legal property') are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling (hereafter known as 'owner of said legal property'). No infringement on any copyright of owner of said legal property of the legal property is knowing intended. Published by author (hereafter known as 'other') for entertainment purposes only. No monetary or personal gain was knowingly made by other with the publication of this story, which was based on ideas and characters created by owner of said legal property as they pertain to legal property. No plagiarism of legal property or of any ideas of the owner of said legal property was knowingly intended by other. This statement is fully transferable and is legally held binding for all chapters of the story Family Relations as they are presented under different chapter headings and titles for individual chapters.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: BEFORE 'THE BARGAIN'

Voldemort sat in his apartment at the castle listening to the sounds around him. Surely something should have happened by now.

He congratulated himself for a last minute bit of foresight before Brimms left the lair to amend his orders. Rather than kill Black outright, Voldemort had handed Brimms a knife and told him all he had to do was cut the man with it. He was not, in fact, to do anything more than that. If he harmed the Unspeakable past a cut only deep enough to draw blood, Voldemort promised the man he would not like the way he would die.

With that problem solved, Voldemort had sent Brimms and his group of followers off, allowing his second problem to solve itself with their departure.

What to do with a pack of disloyal Deatheaters.

Voldemort had little doubt the Ministry Unspeakables would make short work of them. Magic! He would wager Black himself could have dealt with all eight of them alone. And as such, they were no great lost to him. Let the Ministry have them. They wouldn't learn much from them.

Voldemort settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him as he continued to listen. A faint sound reached his ears.

And so it started.

Voldemort got slowly to his feet, grabbing the cane next to the chair as he made his way to the front of the castle. He stopped at a banner rail several flights above the main hall. A spot which allowed for an excellent view of the entire entryway.

The front doors of the castle opened with a loud crash, followed almost immediately by a rush of voices as several people entered the foyer, escorting a stretcher with them as they went. The first person he recognized was Orin Bale, head of the Ministry Unspeakables. There was a man Voldemort would sorely love to see laying dead before him. How many of his Deatheaters had Bale sent to Azkaban? One hundred? Two? Three? The man was a positive menace. And now he was barging into the front doors of the castle, shouting ordered at everyone. Didn't the man understand that true power was not having to yell at someone to get their attention?

Next Voldemort saw Arabella as she hovered alongside the stretcher.

Ah, now there was an interesting woman. She could be as comforting as a spring morning, or as deadly as a female bear protecting her cubs. And in either instance the woman intrigued him as no one else. She had extended a certain amount of courtesy and kindness to him, but Voldemort suspected that was more out of concern for Black than her displaying her true feelings where he was concerned.

Voldemort quickly turned his attention to the form on the stretcher.

Black.

Good. Brimms managed to at least get the job done before getting himself captured or killed. Voldemort didn't much care which was the man's fate.

Everything would now fall neatly into place with Black's life hanging in the balance. Only two thing could still upset his plans.

One was Dumbledore's potions master. Snape was no fool. Voldemort knew that much. As did he know Snape might well be able to decipher the poison in a few hours. But he would not be able to unravel it all in time to save the man's life. Of that Voldemort had made sure.

The second possibility entered the foyer behind the others in a flurry of green robes.

Dumbledore.

Voldemort wasn't such a fool as to underestimate this man either. Many of those in the castle and in the Ministry might view the man as a doddering old oddball. But Voldemort had crossed swords with the old man too many times to let his guard down around him.

Voldemort watched as the old wizard suddenly pulled up to a stop as the others continued on across the foyer and cast a speculative stare up at where the dark lord stood. Voldemort returned the old man's gaze with as much indifference as he could. And equally did he try to appear to disregard the whole scene as he turned and went back to his rooms. But another set of eyes on him stopped him in his tracks.

Down below in the foyer, almost hidden among the others, the light from the foyer torches reflected off a pair of glasses.

Harry.

Voldemort frowned slightly. What was the boy doing amidst all this?

Figg probably brought the boy with her. He was seriously starting to wonder if the boy could even use the loo without his over-protective Godmother following him in.

The boy's stare found his for a fraction of a second before he turned his head and hurried after the group. But that was all it took for Voldemort to read the suspicion in the young wizard's face.

Maybe Dumbledore wasn't the one he needed to watch out for the most.

Not quite an hour later Voldemort got the summons to the Headmaster's office. He arrived to find most of the group already present. Snape, Arabella, Harry, and Dumbledore, seated as always behind his desk.

"I would assume this has to do with Mr. Black?" Voldemort volunteered as he took the seat left for him next to Arabella.

"Mr. Black was attacked this evening..."

"...by Deatheaters!" Arabella supplied with enough fire to light a torch as she stared at the man next to her.

Voldemort returned her stare with little concern. "Was he?" he asked blandly, before turning his attention back to the old wizard. "And we know this for certain?"

"Orin Bale confirmed that he and Orion were ambushed at the lake. The Ministry captured several of the ones responsible. All Deatheaters."

"I see." was all Voldemort offered as an answer.

"You see!" Arabella all but came out of her chair. "You see! That's all you have to say about this?"

"What would you like me to say? I'm sorry?" Voldemort scoffed at her. "I doubt I could do that with a straight face."

"Deatheaters did this, Voldemort!" Arabella continued. "Your Deatheaters!"

"Ah!" Voldemort feigned understanding. "Now I see. Deatheaters are involved so I must be too?"

Arabella stared back at him, daring the man to deny it.

"For what reason?" he ask, just as unconcerned. "Or better, how? What do you think I did? Walked into the lair in Black's body and ordered a room full of Deatheaters to, in effect, kill my brother?" Voldemort turned his attention back to the man before him. "Oh yes, I can see that happening."

"Deny you ordered him killed." she dared him. "Deny it to my face."

"Despite the fact I have just told you how impossible that would be," Voldemort replied in an exacerbated sigh, "I will not deny it. Because," he added quickly, cutting off Arabella's next statement, "There have been standing orders to kill Orion Black for years. It's hardly news. And if anything, that should prove my innocence in this. I have no use for the man dead right now. If I had any control over the Deatheaters, I would have rescinded that order. But deny that I have ordered him killed recently. Yes, I deny it."

Arabella simply stared back at the man, unsure of what to say at that point.

"Now," Voldemort stated, turning back to Dumbledore, "have you discovered anything about the poison as yet? If it was Deatheaters that attacked Black I might know something of the poison they used."

"I am hoping that you might." Dumbledore replied, folding his hands on his desk. "As yet, we know only that he was poisoned. And that it was administered through the cut to his arm. We found traces of the poison on his robe sleeve. Unfortunately, a great many poisons are administered that way. So we haven't narrowed it down much."

"Is he awake?"

"Not since we brought him to the castle."

Voldemort feigned a frown. "That is unfortunate. A great deal can be learned talking to the victim of such things. I suppose this will now be turned over to your potions master?"

"Severus has already been working on the poison. I am hoping you might assist him in discovering its origin."

"Assist you?" Voldemort asked, his brow creasing in another frown. "Why would I do that?"

Arabella turned back to him. "Why wouldn't you?"

Voldemort turned to her. "My dear woman, you have just sat there and accused me of doing everything to contribute to Mr. Black's condition except administering the poison myself. And given a few moments I am sure you could work that into the story somehow. Past that," he added, turning back to Dumbledore, "I came to this castle in good faith. I brought you information you did not have and have openly shared it with you. All I asked in return was cooperation. Working together towards a goal that would serve us all. True, I have had to take some unorthodoxed means to get to this point, but I have harmed no one in the process. You might even recall I saved Ms. Figg and Potter's lives at great risk to my own. Fighting against these Deatheaters I supposedly have so much control over. And yet here I sit, still under suspicion, still having my motives questioned, still receiving no cooperation on the part of any of you." he added, turning back to Arabella. "You'll forgive me if I am not feeling exactly charitable right now. So, left with no other means at my disposal, allow me to give you exactly what you seem to expect of me, which always seems to be the worst. You want my help? Very well, I will give it. But it comes at a price. Should I assist Snape in unraveling this poison's secrets, you will give me the help I need to find this wizard. Help which includes the use of his secretkeeper." Voldemort got to his feet with the help of the cane. "Do let me know what you decide." he added, before leaving them all in stunned silence.

Harry sat through the rest of the meeting but could recall little of what was said. In the end Dumbledore stated they would wait to see what Snape could find out about the poison. There was no point in accepting or refusing Voldemort's offer until they knew better what they were dealing with.

Leaving the Headmaster's office, Harry wandered about the corridor's of the castle for several hours, trying to sort out what to do. But he always came back to the same conclusion. Sirius had told him not to help Voldemort. Not for anything. And as that he probably knew things about Voldemort's plans that they didn't, he had to have his reasons for that order.

His wandering eventually brought him to the owlery, where he situated himself at one of the windows, staring out over the hills around the castle grounds.

"Great magic!" A voice stated behind him, "Can it actually be that the boy is allowed out on his own?"

Harry spun about to see Voldemort standing behind him.

"I was actually musing on that very point today." The dark lord went on. "Wondering if your overly protective godmother ever let you go anywhere on your own."

"What are you doing here?" Harry ask suspiciously. "One hardly expects to find someone up in this tower."

"One could ask, then, what you are doing here?"

"Thinking. Your turn."

"I'm here to see Repferd."

"Repferd?"

Voldemort extended his arm and immediately a large black owl flew from up in the rafters and alighted on his outstretched arm. "My owl." Voldemort explained casually.

Harry stared at the man now playing with the imposingly large bird as though it were a harmless pet, but said nothing. It still un-nerved him a bit to have to look at his godfather's face and remind himself that this was not Sirius.

"That's all you have to say to me, Harry? I'm impressed, if not surprised."

Harry turned back to the window for a moment. Oh, he had plenty to say to Voldemort. "You planned this, didn't you?" He stated. "All of it. Just so I would be forced to help you."

Voldemort looked completely unimpressed with the accusation.

"So you would be forced to help me? No, Harry. That isn't my intention at all. And as for Orion Black, he has been on my 'to do' list for a very long time, in case you didn't hear. The fact that my Deatheaters were able to successfully complete the task now was purely coincidence, I assure you."

"But they didn't." Harry stated defiantly. "They didn't kill him. He's still alive."

"More's the pity. Anything else you want to get off your chest?"

"To tell you you haven't won. You can't force me to help you. Sirius told me not to. Not for anything in this world."

"I already told you, I am not trying to 'force you' to help me. And maybe your godfather simply is taking advantage of a most fortunate situation."

Harry frowned up at the man. "What do you mean?"

"It's no news to anyone, Potter, that there is a considerable amount of bad blood between your godfather and his older brother. Maybe he's simply found a way to solve his problem."

Harry was almost ready to give Voldemort his exact opinion of his conclusion when a thought struck him. With a satisfied smile he turned back to Voldemort.

"I hardly think that's possible." He replied. "Orion got hurt after Sirius told me not to help you."

"Well then," Voldemort answered, "perhaps we should check what his opinion of the situation is now? But tell me, what do you think his answer would be now? Help me..., or let his brother die?"

"Let me talk to him and we'll find out. And I swear I'll do whatever Sirius says."

Voldemort seemed to give the offer a good deal of thought before he turned back to Harry with a small smile.

"I think not." He replied.

"Why?"

"Because I think it's time you started making decisions for yourself, Potter. Not running to your godfather to let him wipe your nose for you whenever you need it. I mean, is it really such a hard choice, boy?"

"You're refusing because you know what Sirius will say. He still won't want me to help you."

"You're so sure of that are you?" Voldemort replied with the same small smile. "Then go to the infirmary with the others, Potter. Go back and watch your uncle die. The poison is very interesting to watch do its work. I think even your Potions Master will agree to that. And you tell him to enjoy his search. But he won't find the answer in time."

Harry stood with Arabella next to Orion's bed as Snape worked several spells. Throughout the entire process, Orion never moved once. His body simply lay in the bed covered in a deep sweat.

"Well?" Arabella finally asked. "Can't you tell us anything yet?"

Snape put down the vial he was currently holding and turned to her.

"I can tell you several things, Ms. Figg." He stated quietly. "Where exactly would you like for me to begin?"

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's been poisoned."

"We KNOW that, you pompous PRAT!" Arabella yelled at him. "What poison? You're suppose to be a Potions Master! Surely you can tell us that!"

Snape looked as though he wasn't quite sure what to say in response. But he quickly wrapped his dignity back around him and assumed a pose of someone giving a lecture to a room full of students.

"Black has been infected with a poison known as Nisarium. It is a particularly nasty little poison, since it not only kills its victim, but it does it in very slow, painful stages. The victim can quite literally last for months, wracked by seizures while he is subjected to constant pain. Eventually the poison will render them into a type of catatonic state, where they can't do anything to help themselves. But they can still feel. They can still think. They still know what the end will be. And even that isn't the least bit pleasant. The victim usually dies in agony. Locked within their body, convulsed in pain, and unable to so much as whimper. It is not a particularly pleasant way to go."

"Voldemort said you would find it interesting to watch." Harry put in flatly.

Snape turned his stare to the boy standing with his godmother on the other side of the bed.

"He was very much mistaken." Snape stated. "I find very little about this 'interesting'."

"There's a cure for this." Arabella said hopefully.

"Currently, I'm not sure." Snape informed them. "I'll have to look through some old texts in the library."

"Voldemort said you won't find the answer in time." Harry stated abruptly in the same flat tone.

Snape turned back to him with a very interested stare. "Really? Did he say why as well?"

Harry shook his head. "He only said you wouldn't"

Snape sneered at the comment. "I have months to look. And I can think of no one in this whole castle more qualified than I am to find this cure."

As if in answer to his comments, the body on the bed suddenly went into a seizure, shaking violently as the mouth froze open in a silent scream.

Snape quickly pulled his wand back out and worked several spells in quick succession. Slowly the body began to relax and finally collapsed back on the bed. Snape continued to work several more spells before stepping back a few feet from the bed as he rested his chin on his hand, staring at the body before him.

"Well," he said in a slow draw, "that explains why Voldemort said I wouldn't find the cure in time as well as why he thought I would find it interesting to watch."

Arabella turned to him.

"What?"

"Voldemort apparently has modified the poison. Altered it's properties so that the effects on the victim are faster."

Arabella paled slightly. "What does that mean for Orion?"

"It means that Black isn't going to have to suffer months before he dies. At the rate he is deteriorating, he likely won't last out the week."

"And why did Voldemort think you would find this interesting to watch?" She asked in a low, careful tone.

Snape stood for a few moments staring at the man in the bed.

"When I was with the Deatheaters," he replied finally, "this is one of the things I was charged with working on. Altering the properties of certain poisons. To make them faster and deadlier. I thought it a harmless pursuit since we were never very successful. Changing any poisons ingredients even by a fraction usually rendered them ineffective. But quite by accident one of the men I was working with stumbled on Narsarium. A little known and rarely used poison due to it's difficulty to brew correctly. He discovered that by slowly and carefully altering the ingredients, the poison maintained it's effectiveness while becoming the poison Voldemort wanted. He told me about his discovery before going to Voldemort. This was shortly before I left the Deatheaters. When I left, I took his notes and destroyed them, so that no one else would know what the fool had discovered."

"But he apparently told Voldemort just the same."

Snape turned a cold, black stare to Arabella. "Voldemort didn't learn of this poison from that fool."

"Why not?"

"Because I made sure no one would."

Arabella fell abruptly silent, paling slightly as Snape's meaning settled on her.

Snape gave her a small smile without a hint of warmth in it. "Some people really are too clever for they're own good, I've found. But," he added, "apparently the idiot either had other notes he left somewhere that Voldemort found, or some other fool fell on the same idea."

"But surely there's a way to stop it." Arabella nearly pleaded.

Snape turned back to her with the same cold, dark stare.

"That remains to be seen. But at the very least I know where to start looking."

"Where?"

Snape gave her a pointed stare. "The poison is a creation of the dark arts. It is likely going to take very powerful dark magic to cure it."

Arabella barely stifled a small gasp as she turned back to Orion. "Merlin's Beard!" She exclaimed softly.

But Snape only gave her a small smile. "I doubt it's anything new to Black." He said shortly.

Harry turned a questioning look to his godmother.

"What's wrong with the cure being dark magic?" He asked.

Arabella turned to him with a concerned stare. "Once a person is touched by dark magic, it stays with them, Harry. You can't ever get rid of it."

"What does it do?"

"It depends a great deal on the person. Some it never effects at all. But they are always aware of it inside of them. For others, it eats away at them, eventually destroying them. Most Deatheaters, at some point in their lives, were touched by dark magic. Some fight it, but aren't strong enough to defeat it. Some eventually go insane, unable to accept that it has become a part of them. I've never met anyone who was able to completely drive it out."

Harry turned slowly back to the figure on the bed. "But Orion's an Auror. An Unspeakable. Surely if anyone was strong enough to defeat it..."

"And as I said," Snape stated, turning to Harry, "knowing him as I do, I doubt it would be anything new to Black."

Harry only stared back at his Potions teacher as Arabella quickly directed him out of the infirmary, saying something about it being time for lunch. But Harry didn't miss the look she gave Snape as she directed Harry away from him.

It was one of pure anger.

Q&A

CelticHeiressFiona:

Thank you, Dear. I'll try.

Skahducky:

Wow, that's a short chapter! I guess that cut Orion got was deeper/more serious than he thought.

I'll have to think more about who attached Hershel before I can come to a conclusive guess. My random guesses are Bo and Talon just because they're two characters whose presence I didn't give much thought to.

Anyway, this is a great chapter. Please update soon!

The cut Orion received was indeed very serious. Enough so to kill him. And time is not working for him.

Well, you're on the right track.

Oh, and by the way, I inadvertantly sid last time in your Q&A that this story ended all nice and neat? That should have read 'doesn't'. Sorry.

Sweets:

Hi yea, Sweets. Wondered where you were.

Well, you are certainly busy. Ah yes, finals. I remember them with a shudder of fear.

I'm glad I could lend a hand in easing your tension a bit.

A lot of people had doubts about how this story was going to work out based on the teasers. I hope they are enjoying it as well and to some degree believe now that I really do know what I am doing.

All reviews are as of 04/23/2006.

And remember;

A blond calls the fire department and states her house is on fire.

The fire man asks, "Well, ma'am, how do we get to your house?"

"Well, duh!" replies the blond. "In the big red truck!"

(Apologies going out to my blond readers.)