Disclaimer: Own Harry Potter, I do not. To think so, foolish you be.
A/N: As always, thank you oh-so-much to everyone who spends a moment of their time to write a review.
Chapter 12: Russlefurth
Friday, June 28th 1996; 10:30 A.M.
Harry watched as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the station. Students hung out of windows waving to him as were many of the parents who stayed the night. Most of the general public left immediately, not wanting to stay any longer then necessary. Unsurprisingly, every Ministry representative was of the same mind although those on board the train would say they missed out.
Harry smiled a little. They looked sad to be leaving, a heartache he knew well once the term ended.
They had all been grateful for his and the staff's efforts following the examinations. The protection and assurances they offered convinced everyone the school was safe and solidified a respect for the newfound headmaster. Even those who secretly supported the Dark Lord had to tip their hats, albeit privately. It was the closest many of them had ever come to a large scale fight and to see Harry do what he did, then and after, left quite an impression on all sides.
His smile waned as the train pulled out of sight and he turned, proceeding back to the castle. Harry wouldn't have to worry about the Express: most of the professors went with to act as guards and some went ahead, making safe the railway and destination. What he did worry about was the future.
'We'll have to be careful from here on. We can't have that happen again'
After the magical storm subsided, Harry ventured back outside and travelled via broom to Hogsmede. The floo connections all throughout the castle were disabled, a testament to how powerful the surge of magic had been.
Harry was expecting devastation, ruined buildings and hundreds of wounded. Even as he flew with all haste to the village, he was going over evacuation plans Minerva and Filius drew up. They'd follow once he surveyed the damage and sent a signal into the air.
But he found nothing.
No buildings, no trees or grass, no people or remains of anything.
Nothing.
Only two signs indicated this was where Hogsmeade once stood: a crater the size of the village with the earth scorched black and very dense magic, far too dense even for the abnormal. Harry could feel it, crawling all over his skin like insects. Pockets of cloud were floating just feet from the ground and they radiated an energy; a warning to stay away.
He had no measuring stick for catastrophes and it troubled him to realize this could be the first mark, a point of reference for those to come.
Harry stopped about halfway up the trail to the castle and took a deep breath, 'Yesterday must be catching up with me.'
After returning from the destroyed village, the following hours of the day were lost in a haze. Everyone was huddling in the Great Hall when the ceiling went dark, turned to regular stone of an ancient castle. It certainly didn't help the growing panic which soared to a fever pitch when aftershocks tore through the area: rolling waves of magic, shaking everyone to their cores. Harry had picked up a little of Filius' excited murmurings, how such a thing was so rare and only occurring after the conclusion to great works of magic, no matter how terrible they may be.
Cries intensified when the candles floating in the Hall went out and began to fall. Hysteria was close and that was when Harry slowly dropped to one knee and touched the stone floor.
The result was a complete shift in the atmosphere of the Great Hall.
The candles stopped falling, instead floating back to their places before a small little flame lit on each one. The ceiling did not return to what it once was, nor did the aftershocks lessen in number but like the candles, hope was rekindled.
The questions started shortly after as did the sobs of thank-you's and shouts of happiness. People were starting to believe they were safe again but the relief would be bittersweet. Harry didn't want to, but knew he had to break the news about Hogsmeade. Wails of remorse for lost loved ones echoed through the castle walls and Harry could feel the castle herself mourning the loss of so many innocents.
Despite feeling the warm sun on his face Harry cringed. The memory of everyone crying for the loss of the wizarding village was still fresh in his mind and recalling it again sapped him of his energy. Instead of pushing further up the trail, he stepped onto the grass, spun around and sat down. He let himself fall back with a huff and spread out, gazing at the clear blue sky overhead.
'So different from yesterday,' he thought and was surprised when his hand fell onto something cold. He picked up one of the remaining hailstones and watched as small droplets of water fell to the ground.
Many truly believed the world was ending. The weather had been tossed on its head; going from sunny to blistering cold followed by Autumn temperatures before turning to winter and back to summer while skipping spring entirely. Hailstones the size of quaffles lie like a blanket, concentrated in spots all over while the grass was green and stone free just feet in another direction. It was truly a disturbing thing to see for those who risked a glance out the castle windows.
Adding to all this chaos, news reached them via Kingsley that Mungo's had been hit. Nowhere near the likes of Hogsmeade, but it was still a blow. Harry idly thought the new department head was making an attempt to cultivate a working relationship, what with delivering said information directly. Surely he had other important things to do then act as a messenger?
Harry rubbed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun for as long as he dared. He felt weary and worn down.
After Kingsley left, Harry made an effort to reassure as many as he could by greeting everyone in hall. He was rewarded in kind and it gave him strength to fight back the growing exhaustion slowly eating away at him. In some respects, Harry was surprised he lasted so long.
An interesting eye-opener from his efforts was an encounter with Draco. Harry knew he couldn't play favorites anymore and had to show equal treatment to all, which included the Slytherins. It was almost by accident how he came up to Draco, so busy with everyone else he didn't realize the young Malfoy was in front of him until the moment he actually stood there.
There were no taunts or looks of hatred and instead, Draco held out his hand and they shook. The Slytherin's gaze was thoughtful, pained almost but not from their moment of interaction. Draco seemed different, his eyes holding an awareness Harry hadn't seen in them before.
'I wonder what happened that would cause him to act like that?'
Harry frowned, thinking of another individual whose actions gave him pause: Hermione.
Responsibility kept him from pursuing her as he would have liked and the few times he did have a moment to try and speak with her, Harry was certain Hermione was intentionally ignoring him. Not thirty minutes ago, just before the train left was yet another example and further proof to his belief.
'Why did you leave without saying goodbye?'
His heart twisted painfully at the memory of her walking out of the castle. She had been surrounded by other students and yet she spoke to no one and only looked forward. Luna had appeared, right when he was about to go after her, "I will look for her over the summer," she had said. "Please, Harry. I'll see to it that Hermione is all right so try not to worry and do your best to recover. You've done a marvelous job of hiding it but someone will find out eventually."
He stifled a humorless laugh and held his arms up into the air, which allowed the sleeves to fall back and expose wrappings speckled with blood.
The breaking of Snape's vow removed the restrictions to his connection with the castle and the results had been profound. Without conscious effort, Harry summoned a magic he suddenly knew existed and proceeded to wipe the floor with the Death Eaters. For that incredible moment, he understood what the castle was and why it had come to be. Once the threat was eliminated however, the understanding and ability left him.
He hissed as he removed the cloth, pulling it away from dried blood, 'Better than before,' he thought and took the rest of it off.
Loss of this understanding had a peculiar sting to his emotions, similar to what he was feeling right now. The injuries proved he wasn't going to get the 'boost' he was hoping for from the connection being fully opened. He couldn't help but feel let down by that, for it would have made things easier. Worse still, Mai revealed his knowing of the Restorio spell as her idea of a prank.
Annoying though it was, he did acknowledge the brilliance of it. Fred and George would have been proud if they knew.
Mai also explained and forewarned him on using Hogwarts' power directly. The true nature of her strength would be something he'd have to work towards controlling and Harry was satisfied with that. He wanted to earn his place and in doing so, gain the experience and knowledge necessary to harness the castle's immense strength.
This did leave him with a dilemma however.
Until he possessed said knowledge and ability, using the castle's magic in great bursts or over a period of time would have consequences. Black flaky skin, with singed cuts, was not a pleasant thing to look at. What made his injuries more freakish were those cuts appeared randomly all over his arms and for no apparent reason. It was like he was being cut apart from the inside, exposing burnt and charred flesh from underneath.
Harry needed, wanted, to know exactly what his limits were so he knew how much better he'd have to become. The only real way to do so required using the castle's magic and pushing his ability to control it, which, would inevitably lead to injuries like this one or worse.
"The castle is wielding her power through you Harry. Use too much too fast and you'll be nothing more than a dried husk."
Mai had said that this morning, when he was changing the wrappings from the day before. They were on speaking terms at least, probably a little too soon for comfort but time was short.
He sighed, forcing himself back off the ground.
As he stood, the weight of reality settled back on his shoulders and unshed tears began to fall. He really was a wreck, but could he be blamed? So much had happened, so much was still happening. His steps toward the door became heavier and even though it was sunny and warm, Harry didn't feel much of it at all. Being the Headmaster was one ridiculous ordeal to begin with, but now the Prophecy, and Horcruxes? What of his duties to the school and the students?
'How am I supposed to do all this?'
He bit back the sobs but allowed the silent tears to continue. There was a bed waiting for him in a room, just off to the side of a semi-destroyed office. With the students gone for summer and the professors out the door, he'd be by himself and would mercifully not be disturbed.
A good cry was on the agenda and then sleep.
Lots of sleep.
XX
A tall, elderly looking man walked casually down a busy street in the middle of downtown London. He was drawing several curious stares as he trotted along, dressed in an assortment of old tattered robes, what one might find on a farmer from a hundred or so years ago.
It had been years since Aberforth Dumbledore walked down this road.
Many things had changed in that time, new houses were built, a park as well but despite all the changes, his destination was very much unchanged. At least he hoped that to be the case, which was more than he could say about his old home. By luck alone, a trip to Diagon was what spared his life, otherwise he'd most certainly be as dead as all the others.
Aberforth knew Hogwarts would likely take him in or Harry would at any rate however that avenue was best kept safe for the worst of days. The person he wanted to see right now was no longer present within those halls and besides, no one there was likely to have the answers he sought.
There were two wizards Aberforth knew of who could wield the kind of power that destroyed Hogsmeade. One of them was a Dark Lord and while he was the most likely culprit, the image of a phoenix spattered across the Daily Prophet was nigh-impossible to explain away. The calling card all but screamed his brother's name and this concerned him greatly. Albus was not an attention seeker, thus to unleash such devastation meant he either lost it or found himself in the worst of situations. Given the attacks on Hogwarts and St. Mungo's, the truth started to show itself and it was of the most unpleasant variety.
'Just what were you up against, Albus? No one remembers the last time Mother Nature lost herself to a wizard's folly.'
To say the destruction of Hogsmeade wasn't felt by all was a blatant lie on anyone's part. There were very few magicals who didn't feel the pulses and word traveled quickly of Mother Nature losing her bearings for a short period of time. Numerous theories sprouted up left and right but in the end it was the Prophet which deserved an honorable mention.
'Investigations are still pending for the reasons behind Hogsmeade's destruction and the resulting weather patterns. Experts are starting to believe an experiment had gone horribly wrong and initial evidence suggests the presence of a Muggle artifact. The appearance of a phoenix gives us hope that the Divine Powers were looking after us and helped to contain what would have been a horrendous disaster.'
Aberforth had been so disgusted he tore the paper up. Admittedly, they played the muggle scapegoat well as it provided an excellent means to reinforce the Statute of Secrecy, but the whole issue was still absurd no matter how you sliced it. What troubled him the most was they hadn't blamed his brother. The Order's relay system had given him the news of the botched trial and for the Ministry to not take advantage of the situation spoke volumes.
Something else was going on.
Nearing his destination, Aberforth wondered how in the world the Ministry survived the ordeal. Not only were events of this magnitude rare, their effects were often felt by the muggle populations. Clearly, the Obliterator Squads were busy.
He rounded the gate of Number 12 and paused to look at the old home.
It stood just as he remembered and invisible to any muggles around. If his memory served, he already disappeared to their eyes when he walked into the front yard: the repelling and notice me not charms were laid on rather thick here. He took the necessary steps and proceeded to knock on the door three times.
"No thank you!" shouted a voice from inside. "We don't want any more visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!"
Aberforth chuckled at the old precaution, "Bloody hell you're still using that? What about Olórin then, would you let him in?"
The door flickered and the old wizard felt the house's magic scan his signature before it shimmered and popped open. Inside stood a rugged man with his wand pointed at Aberforth's head.
"Good show, old friend," chuckled the barman, "Alastor would be proud and against my better judgment, I slipped you some firewhiskey a couple years back."
"Aberforth!" smiled Sirius, lowering his wand. "Merlin's beard, you're alive! You had a lot of us worried when you didn't respond to the Order's call."
"I left my trinket at the bar when I went to Diagon for supplies. Imagine my surprise when I couldn't apparate back into town."
Sirius shook his head, "You're a lucky goat, that's for sure. If you need a place to stay, you're welcome to set up camp here."
"Thank you, Sirius. I may take you up on that offer."
The Head of House Black lead them into the kitchens and gestured for Aberforth to take a seat while he went in search for something to drink.
"You've got to be parched, what can I get you?"
"Firewhiskey. Today calls for it I think. Where are the others? I'm surprised no one else is here."
"There's four of us for the time being, five if we include you. Remus and Tonks are taking a kip up stairs and I think Amelia might be doing the same. My dear cousin and Moony got a bit banged up yesterday and are rightly tired. Amelia too and she was devilish, giving them hell for what's happened to Alec."
"Did you find him?"
Eyes dimmed as Sirius got out two whiskey glasses and poured some of the red liquid into them while shaking his head, "Trail's gone dark."
He set the bottle down between them on the table, Sirius taking the opposite seat and they both stared solemnly at their drinks. After a moment of silence, Aberforth raised his glass, Sirius copied and they downed a swallow.
"Ahh, Blishen's."
"Best stuff around," replied the Black. "It was thanks to you I got my first lick of it and haven't had any other since."
Aberforth chuckled, "Those were some good times. Amazing how things have changed since then."
The two men sat in silence for a spell, each enjoying their drinks.
"I heard Mungo's fared well, what about Hogwarts?"
"Haven't read the Prophet today have you?"
"I have, just stopped after the part on Hogsmeade."
Sirius agreed, "We all did until Tonks forced herself through the rest of it. Glad she did because I never thought I'd hear Umbridge giving 'kind' words to our Headmaster. Bloody rag is all but feeding shite to the populous."
"Wouldn't be surprised if that bit was made up too. I take it though your godson taught those prats a lesson? Even the Prophet would suffer to not report it somewhat accurately."
Sirius offered a weak smile, "Damn right he did. Minerva stopped by a little earlier today after guard duty on the Express. Said he was downright invincible, not one life lost. Some injuries which is to be expected but otherwise, my pup knows how to handle himself."
"Why the long face then?"
He shook his head, "Minerva's developed a keen sense of how Harry's managing, which I'm grateful for. I'd wager if she were several years younger, Hermione might have a contender. It's obvious to me anyway how much those two adore him."
Aberforth snorted at the idea.
"I wanted to go and speak with him today, but she said it would be better not too, at least until tomorrow. Harry's still coming to terms with everything and is probably trying to sort things out if not resting. Can't say I blame him just wish I could be more of use. James was the same way, seeking solitude when things got rough."
Aberforth sighed, "Remarkable burdens for a remarkable young man." They downed another, "What about my brother? What did Albus have to say on the matter?"
Sirius looked down into the glass, "We don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"Haven't seen or heard from Albus at all, last was before he went to investigate Hogsmeade. You're not gonna believe what we found, Aberforth." The haunted look in Sirius' eyes set Aberforth on edge. "We all reckon Albus was the one responsible for the aftermath but he's disappeared. No one knows where he is and while I personally can't see him going ape shit on the town, it is something we considered."
That was telling. "He's been gone what, a day or so? Not a whisper or anything?"
Sirius stood up, "Bit over 24 hours and he isn't answering to Order summons."
Aberforth paled, "Is he alive?"
"We were asking ourselves the same question but yes, he is," replied the Black and he went into another room. In a moment of silence, coupled together with the sound of shifting papers, Sirius returned with a burnt piece of parchment. "Fawkes appeared earlier this morning and gave us this. We don't know what it means, but maybe you do."
Aberforth took the piece of parchment and scanned the one word written in his brother's handwriting. Without making a sound, he flicked the paper away and set it ablaze with a twist of the wrist.
Sirius frowned, watching Aberforth down another shot, "I take it you know where he is?"
"I do, but I won't lie to you Sirius: I wish I didn't."
X
Friday, June 28th 1996; 3:27 P.M.
A long winding road ran up a quiet country side hill to a small building at its crest. Fields of dull green stretched around in all directions and you wouldn't have guessed this place was just outside of a well-known town called Godric's Hollow.
Aberforth trudged up the hill, approaching the building with a sense of dread and anticipation.
Russlefurth used to be one of the Catholic churches Ariana visited during their youth. Aberforth no longer believed but if there was a God, there would certainly be an angel named Ariana by his side. The church had been abandoned shortly after her death. Corruption of its clergy and distrust of the congregation lead the humble community to ruin. Ariana had been one of the few individuals to keep it going and as Aberforth later came to learn, she was the glue to several other communities as well.
It was sad for things to end as they did.
Nearing the entrance, the old wizard could see the place was in shambles. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the stone work that was in long need of repair. Parts of the roof were exposed along the outer edges and some sections were caved in, the weight of the wooden structure and lack of care clearly taking their toll. Inside was no better, as several support beams had collapsed and the now steady rain was pouring in from everywhere. Green vines and weeds of all sorts grew up from the ground and unless he was mistaken, several kinds of flowers were also sprouting here. In the sunlight, Aberforth wondered just how beautiful this place would be.
His gaze fell to a stone altar in the front of the church. Having been shielded from the elements, it was more or less preserved since the last time it was used. Several steps away, in the front aisle, he could see the figure of man, kneeled in prayer. Aberforth grunted and slowly made his way past fallen debris, heading to the front. The odds of this being a trap were slim: few knew of this place anymore, save for himself and Albus. Still, he remained alert.
"No need for guard here, Aberforth. I have seen to that."
Albus' words were soft spoken yet even with the pounding rain and the storm brewing outside, they sounded like lightening. Never the less, Aberforth remained at the ready until he was standing outside the pew, right next to his brother. Few things surprised him anymore but if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he likely wouldn't have believed it.
"I didn't know you still believed, Albus."
He said nothing and instead, finished his prayer, made the Sign and scooted over to let Aberforth sit with him. The younger brother studied the face of the older. The last time they sat together like this led to the broken nose Albus had yet to set right. Many different questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but Aberforth settled for the most pertinent.
"Why did you come here?"
The weather took a turn for the worse and Albus erected a sound dampening sphere so they could talk easier. Aberforth did not miss the pain in his brother's eyes nor the hesitation at casting it.
"I have failed many people, Aberforth. I failed you; I failed James, Lily and Harry; Frank and Alice. Simon. Julia. Harper… Cindy. The list goes on. It took me this long to realize where it had all gone wrong and why it had gone wrong."
Albus took a deep breath, "I ignored the warnings I saw plainly in Gellert's eyes. I allowed myself to be swayed by his words; to believe he only wanted to make a difference for the greater good. I let him go about his research for the Elder Wand as I looked for the Cloak of Invisibility, afterwards we both agreed we'd set our efforts on the ring."
"The Deathly Hallows."
Albus nodded, "Yes. Blinded by ambition, it wasn't until she begged me to stop him that I was shaken from my fantasy." His eyes burned, "I could have ended it, Aberforth! There were so many times during that fight I could have just stopped it yet I refused to see reason. I thought he could be spared, the valley of our differences could be bridged! I… I was wrong."
He hesitated, glancing up to a molding wood cross hung behind the altar.
"Until recently, I never reviewed the memories of the fight. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to accept what I knew deep down was true."
Aberforth steeled his expression. This was the very reason he had punched his brother so many years ago and why now he found it difficult to feel sorry for him. Wasn't to say he didn't care, but time has a funny way of healing wounds and making calluses.
Albus lowered his head, "Gellert pushed an advantage after I let my guard down and cast a spell that to this day, I do not know what it was. By some miracle, my shield held and it was from his surprise of this which let me end it in the fashion I did. All this time, I allowed myself to believe Fate must have selected some purpose for my survival and yet, the truth was far simpler."
He paused and produced a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.
"A pensive is truly a wonderful and terrible thing: I watched her do it, Aberforth. She sacrificed herself in order to strengthen my shield, giving me an opportunity I could not ignore. History will forever remember her death as from a stray curse but in reality, it was a sacrifice that saved everything. Gellert would have destroyed it all if he succeeded, but she helped me stop him. No, she stopped him; I was but the wand in her hand."
Albus shook her head, "In this, I have come to understand my first and greatest failure lies with Ariana. That is why I am here, brother. I am seeking forgiveness, from then until now, for everything."
The brothers sat together in silence for a long time, listening to the rain pelt the old church roof. Not a word was uttered between them until Aberforth stood to leave.
"I have come to realize you already knew this," said Albus, his eyes unmoving from the altar. "That you did not kill me after all these years, speaks of one thing: you were and always shall be, the better brother."
Aberforth paused and glanced back, "What will you do now?"
There was no hesitation, "What I should have done with Gellert."
XX
The evening of July 3rd
Voices.
Thousands of voices.
All so angry.
"W-hh-y…?"
"Steady, Severus. Your wounds are great."
"M-y,y Lor?"
"Be still," muttered Voldemort and Snape barely registered his head being lifted and a liquid snaking down his throat.
He fell to darkness only to awaken some time later. The servant moaned, his world spinning with the smell of potions, magic and other dark things. Snape looked a pale green and Voldemort quickly administered another potion. He watched as his leftenant once again fell back into unconsciousness, the body jerking every now and then. The bottle Voldemort held began to admit a light colored smoke so he swished its remaining contents around, calming the reaction. He turned back to his workstation, covered in an assortment of materials and poured the remaining liquid back into the cauldron from where it came.
"I commend your will to survive, Severus," he mumbled to himself, "and of your desire to make history even if you're not aware of it."
Voldemort went back to his work and continued to think over what had transpired the last few days. Severus had just barely escaped death. The spell, whatever Potter used, was utterly devastating. He knew thousands of curses, knew how to torture and condemn a man, woman or child in any assortment of ways and never in his long list of knowledge did he see something so terrifying as this.
Severus Snape had been a non-magical for over forty-eight hours.
His life force all but left him during that time however Voldemort was able to coax it back. Sometime later, the crippled man was on par with a squib up until one hour ago, when magic started to resonate in his core again. It gave Voldemort the moment of relief he had been strenuously working towards since Severus and the many others appeared in front of him. It also meant he might save them all, for the others were in a similar state but currently in a deep stasis for preservation.
Old texts named rituals that would remove the magic from one's body, but never could he find a complete retelling of how to do so. It was a testament to Potter's new found power, even if it wasn't his own.
'No doubt the key allowed him this. Despite all our efforts, the connection came to fruition, bringing with it a power I did not expect. A pity Severus' actions did not permanently disable it. Perhaps this is the power I know not?'
One of the potions in a nearby cauldron, dark red in color, began to bubble violently. Possessing a smoothness that came only with time, he quelled the-would-be disaster by adding a dash of powder, made from the tiny hearts of pixies. Several counter-clockwise rotations later and the liquid calmed, turning a deep violet.
He frowned in thought, 'It also gives reason for why my spies are no longer active.'
One of the greatest achievements Voldemort prided himself on was not of magic or any other craft that came with the field, but of deception. As a young student, he often walked alone in the corridors of Hogwarts. While its secret passageways were of little interest to him, the portraits on the other hand were intriguing. Through a manner of wit and cunning, he had stolen one, dissected it and came to understand how the portraits at Hogwarts communicated. He was then able to plant listeners, spies within Dumbledore's own stronghold and all without any risk of being found. While the bugs were far from perfect seeing as that they didn't always relate everything, it still offered valuable intel at no cost to him or his followers.
Voldemort dismissed the issue, knowing further reflection would get him nowhere and instead focused on more interesting thoughts.
'The little venture into the mudblood's mind was most informative, not to mention my additions. I'll have to make use of her situation if things come to fruition. I wonder, how best to use her? And what of the key or Potter for that matter?'
Voldemort began stirring another potion, 'It would be foolish to attack him head on. In my current state, I couldn't hold a candle to that of Hogwarts. Severus was right: We struck too soon and lost all influence from within. The best I have now are children of Death Eaters but who knows how useful they will be.'
He added a few more ingredients, getting a strong reaction from it and he smiled.
'I can accept that however; Potter may be invincible within those walls, but he's nothing more than a child outside them. That leaves very few obstacles even with the complete loss of the Hogsmeade team.'
His smile turned sinister.
'Which leaves the old man… Tell me, Albus? How does it feel to purposely take a life, let alone hundreds?'
He laughed happily to himself. Once a ritual of such caliber was started, there was no stopping it. By rights, Albus should have been dead but Voldemort knew if given the right stimulus, you could divert the magic's original purpose.
He tapped the stirrer on the side of the cauldron and lowered the heat of the fires.
But with such powerful magics in place, all that power would demand an outlet. To be in the vicinity right before the apex would have been…
Voldemort was nearly giddy, 'I wonder what the fool experienced, before he acted. A shame I will never know.'
"Peter," he called out with a chuckle and a fat little man appeared from another room.
"Y-yes my L-Lord?"
"I have a task for you."
The rat bowed, "What is y-your command, my L-Lord?"
Voldemort grinned, "I believe Bella's vacation has gone on long enough. Tell me, what do you know of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black?"
XX