Chapter Thirty-Two
THE DAILY PROPHET
Shipping Magnate Nigel Davis Pleads for Daughter's surrender
Tuesday July 1, 1997 – Bathsheba Malone
The father of Accused Accessory to Murder, Tracey Davis made a desperate plea for his daughter's surrender.
"Please, Tracey, come home," a distraught Nigel Davis implored during this exclusive interview brought to you by The Daily Prophet. "I know that we didn't part well, but your stepmother and I would like you to come home and surrender yourself to the proper authorities."
Aurors remain baffled as to the exact nature of the involvement of both Tracey Davis, and her fiance Draco Malfoy in the events leading to Dumbledore's death. What is certain is that the couple were indeed there when the beloved Headmaster met his untimely end. More than one thousand tips have poured into the ministry from all over the world with claims of sightings of the runaway couple.
"At present no charges have been filed against either Mr. Malfoy or Miss Davis," said Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office. "We would like them to come in for questioning."
0o0
"Magic, for Wizarding kind, is an ability. A talent; one that can be enhanced with tools, practice, and study. Although there have been, and will continue to be, powerful witches and wizards born into this world; they will never be as powerful as you and I. Our power is as natural as breathing, laced into our very blood," Kieve said, his footfalls quiet against the paved drive.
Draco ignored the sound of the car idling behind them, his attention riveted to the massive entrance standing in front of him. The wrought iron gates were comprised of a pair of large main carriage gates flanked by pedestrian gates, each surmounted with its own monumental crown. The carriage gates were at least twenty feet tall, crafted with scrolling curlicues upon which creeping ivy grew lushly, obscuring the view of the grounds beyond. Smooth light colored stone of a like height made up the walls that surrounded the estate, stretching on for miles in the densely wooded area.
"The wards I layered around this estate are both apotropaic and defensive. Unfriendly spells are rebounded upon the caster. Incantations meant to force entry are rendered null, dissipated, and the power used to implement them is recycled and grounded into the stone, strengthening the wards once more. My blood and my will assure it. Since my blood was used in its creation, a blood sacrifice is needed to loosen the ward," Kieve said, his lips quirking at Draco's sharp look. "Oh, nothing as dreadful as what you must be imagining. I don't intend to sacrifice any poor woodland creatures. My own blood, and yours if you will allow it, should suffice."
"Why do you need my blood?" Draco asked.
Kieve pulled small leather sheath from his coat, from which he drew an equally small silver athame. "Your blood will ensure that the wards will recognize you in the future. You will, of course, need to learn the spell I used in conjunction to the blood magic. It is actually a simple phrase spoken in Ta'ghauos, the language of our father's kind. Knowledge of Ta'ghauos is but one of the gifts that you will receive after you have been granted your birthright. It is one of our most powerful gifts; words that contain much more power than the bastardized Latin that forms much of the incantations that wizards and witches use."
Kieve swiped the sharp blade across his palm, cupping his hand and allowing the blood to pool there. "Here," he said, handing the blade to Draco.
Draco quickly ran the edge of the sharp blade across his palm, pushing back a grimace at the sharp pain.
"Now, place your hand against the gate," Kieve said. He gripped part of the iron gate with his bloodied palm, watching as Draco followed suit.
As soon as his hand closed around the iron, Draco felt the metal begin to vibrate as strongly as a tuning fork. A sound like sizzling sounded as his blood literally sank into the twisted metal.
"Arro rla' soagh, noam rloa rra'ra'é o ro na'aurra'am. lio o r'a'mca'o à auo noamao," Kieve chanted softly.
The language was melodic, almost musical, and registered with Draco. He didn't know exactly what his brother was saying, but it was strange. Almost as if he'd heard the language before and forgotten it.
"Let me heal your hand." Kieve's voice broke Draco's silent musings, pulling him back to the present.
Draco rested his hand in his brother's, jumping a little when his hand began to tingle. He watched as the skin of his hand knitted neatly back together without pain. "Neat trick," he said.
"One of the benefits," was all Kieve said in reply.
The gate parted silently, revealing a long, tree lined graveled path leading to the house.
0o0
Shui, obviously proud of her home, explained the history behind its conception on the drive up the the gigantic stone home.
The design of the main house, which was called Caerfyrddin, was an Italian Renaissance plan influenced by a patrician villa called Villa Foscari located in Mira, a municipality in the province of Venice, Veneto, Italy. The structure of the house was steel-reinforced masonry faced with the finest Croatian limestone. The facade boasted many decorative arches, balconies and terraces. The main door was located between two arched open spaces with large inset windows to the side. Small angelic sculptures decorate the arches.
The grounds were formally landscaped with exotic plant and tree specimens and patterned gardens. A stable and carriage house were built separately a mile away from the main house. The sun glinted brightly across a greenhouse set off in the distance.
The estate design consisted of a roofed central courtyard with the first and second floors opening into the central space. There were four floors in all, not including the basement. The fourth four containined rooms for the house elves. Taryn's mouth dropped open when she was told that the house added up for a total of sixty rooms. She knew it wasn't as large as say, Hogwarts, but it was massive for a private home.
There was a two-story kitchen was in a separate wing on the first floor enclosed behind sealed doors so that no fire could escape into the house. Just beyond that was a butler's pantry containing a twelve foot vault for silver and china storage.
Upon entering the house, Taryn noticed are two receiving rooms on either side of the hallway. A throwback, Shui explained, from when it was popular and proper to separate visitors of the opposite sex.
The fifty foot high great hall showcased a curving grand staircase. Alternating engaged and freestanding columns surrounded the room. Gold leaf decorative molding gilded the ceiling with a sotto in su painting in the center.
"I wish you both were here under better circumstances," Shui said to Taryn. "I would have loved to give you a tour, we haven't been here in a few years, and its really one of my favorite of our homes."
"Its very nice here when the house is filled with family," Ava said with a smile. "I always liked it when Mom, Dad, and I would visit. Grammy is right, you're missing out on the full effect. There's a maze, and even a lake for swimming and boating right here on the grounds."
"There will be other times for more pleasant visits," Kieve promised.
A house elf suddenly popped in existence in front of the small group. "Ah, sir, Alair did not know that you would be arriving today."
Taryn looked over the house elf, smiling a bit in satisfaction at the smart waistcoat the elf wore, though she did wonder how Kieve had gotten his elves to accept clothes.
"I didn't have the time to sent word," said Kieve, "We had originally planned to visit much later. Events have pushed the schedule ahead somewhat. Don't trouble yourself, or get the other elves into a tizzy. We can show ourselves to our rooms and we won't require a large supper tonight. Something simple would be nice."
"Of course sir," Alair said, bowing before silently popping away once more.
"Tonight I plan to tell you everything about what you are and where we are going," Kieve said as they walked up the stairs.
"When will we be leaving for Selsenle?" Draco asked.
"As soon as possible," Kieve said, looking over his shoulder as they strode down the lush runner that ran the length of the marble hallway. "The best time to travel between realms is at sunrise. We will use tonight and tomorrow to prepare."
0o0
The bedroom that Draco and Taryn were were shown to was bright and airy, with white and muted gold wallpaper and a white bedroom furniture in the Louis XV style. An adjacent walk in closet matched the décor of the bedroom. The bedroom also had its own adjoining bathroom with a large marble bathtub and a separate, beautifully tiled shower.
"All of this is rather overwhelming," Taryn said, sitting on the edge of the bed once the were finally alone. She studied Draco's face. "How are you doing with all of this?"
Draco ran his hand through his hair, leaving furrows in the bright strands. "As well as can be expected I guess. I just hoped that I would have more time to wrap my head all around this. I don't feel good about leaving now. Especially when I don't know where mum is."
Taryn reached out to catch Draco's hand, pulling him down to sit next to her. "I know what you think about Dumbledore, but I don't think...I hope that he did right by your mother. You know that I'll help you find her, but first we have to make sure you'll be healthy enough to do that. I didn't get to know your mother very well, but I'm sure that she would want you to take care of yourself before you even attempted to find her."
Draco frowned. "About Dumbledore...I'm sorry that I had to put you through that. I didn't like the man, but I know that he was special to you."
"I'm just so confused about his motives," Taryn said. "I don't know what I think about him anymore. I feel sort of bad saying it, but I just don't want to think about him at all right now. I know that we will have to deal with it after we get back from..Selsenle, but for right now I just want to concentrate on being ready for tomorrow evening." She hadn't spent as much time with Dumbledore as well as Harry had, but she thought she'd known what sort of person he was. Now, with everything that had happened, she had been forced to recognize that she had barely known him at all.
0o0
The most dramatic room by far was the dining room. It looked at least is two stories high, and Taryn couldn't image how many feet. Twelve blue and rose alabaster columns supported gilded carved cornices. Small masks on the ormolu capitols and life-size figures are set against murals of classical scenery around the room. Gold leaf ornament was used all through the room. Two Baccarat crystal chandeliers, made of thousands of crystal balls, were hung from the ceiling's steel understructure. Twelve matching crystal wall sconces with dancing fairy lights provided warmth to the room, with their gleaming light. The dining table was massive, composed of carved oak, with matching chairs made specifically for the room and covered with blue damask.
Taryn had been glad when they had merely walked through this room, turning into a much smaller, but just as sumptuously decorated dining room.
"The other dining room is more for parties and formal gatherings," said Shui. "We usually eat in this smaller room, because its far more comfortable and closer to the kitchens."
Supper was simple as Kieve had asked. A chicken stew, served with warm bread and a fresh salad. For desert there was a simple chocolate cake.
It was during desert that Kieve finally began to speak on the topic that Draco and Taryn were so interested in hearing.
"I was eleven when I began to search for my father," Kieve began, "with me I took one of my mother's most trusted servants, a man called Padrig. I didn't have much to go on, only legends and rumors. It was difficult to separate the truth from lies. Many a wife that had found themselves bellyful of a child not of their husband's seed had claimed the child to be fathered by 'the old god' or 'the nameless one' as he was called. He was thought to be a demon, an incubus, which is probably where that theory of my birth originates." Kieve paused to take a sip of his wine.
"How do we differ from other wizards?" Draco asked.
"We are much more powerful, just by right of our birth. After receiving our birthright we rarely have a need for wand or spells, and can simply will things into being. There isn't much we can't do, though each nephilim has his or her own particular talents. We are generally very intelligent and learn quickly, often mastering skills in our youth far faster than a normal wizard or witch would. We are all physically attractive. I've never met a nephilim that wasn't. We all have Allure, which can be a bloody nuisance when you don't know how to control it, or the best thing ever when used correctly. We heal rapidly, even before we turn, and are rarely sick. There are many, many benefits to being a nephilim, which I guess is why so many of us die of the fever. It's almost as if nature, or God rather, demanded that there would be a balance," Kieve said, reaching over to take a sip of his wine.
"You said that each nephilim has a talent," Taryn asked. "What is yours if you don't mind me asking?"
"I can draw energy from the elements and shape it to whatever use I need. Its how I was able to build the wards surrounding this house. It was one of my more ingenious creations."
"How did you find your way to Selsenle?" Taryn asked, changing the topic.
Kieve laughed. "I would never have been able to find my own way there, or to any of the other realms ruled by Watchers. Thankfully, during my years of fruitless searching, I had made a name for myself. Well, enough of a name to pique the interest of another child of a Watcher. His name was Seth, and he was from Egypt originally. He was, of course, a wizard as well. He taught me everything I know about what it means to be what we are. He's never given me a clear story about how he discovered his origins, and the stories that he does tell contradict each other depending on his mood. I've never pressed him about it. He's proved himself as a trustworthy friend time and again, and if he would rather keep the circumstances of his birth private, well its his right. I can never repay him for showing me how to pass through realms. You'll meet him tomorrow."
"How are we going to do that" Draco asked, " pass through realms, I mean?"
"We'll Apparate there," Kieve said, laughing at Draco's disappointed look. "Well, its a little more than your standard Apparition. Blood, as with any big work that involves a nephilim is required, as well as a spoken spell in Ta'ghauos."
"That's it? Apparition and a spell?" Draco asked with a frown. "I was thinking...well that it would require a bit more than that."
"Hey," said Kieve, "You don't know how easy you've got it. It took me two days of chanting that spell, which I had to learn by listening to Seth. You don't realize how hard it was. One misspoken syllable and you're knocked out if you're lucky, and a pile of charred bones if you aren't. You get to benefit from my adjustments to the former ritual."
0o0
The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.
"News?" asked the taller of the two.
"The best," replied Severus.
The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The men's long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched.
"Thought I might be late," said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that your reception will be good?"
Severus nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the men's way. Neither of them broke step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal were smoke.
The yew hedges muffled the sound of the men's footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again, pointing it over his companion's head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.
"He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks..." Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort. "Got knocked down a few pegs after the Dumbledore mishap. Son on the run...absent wife...poor Lucius," he said, a smirk playing across his mouth. The smirk was wiped clean after he received a dark look from the shorter man.
A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.
The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze handle.
The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious naked female figure was hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. Her long brown hair hung limply in the air, dull and matted. Thin black chains were wrapped around her body artistically, and could almost be called beautiful if one ignored the fact that the metal seemed to be sinking into her flesh, burning and charring the skin where it touched. Curiously, there was no smell to accompany the macabre decoration that was obviously burning the woman's skin. None of the people seated underneath this singular sight was looking at it. It was as if the woman wasn't there at all.
"Yaxley. Sssnape," said a high, hissing voice from the head of the table. "You are very nearly late."
The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.
"Ssseverus, here," said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. "Yaxley — beside Dolohov."
The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.
"So?"
"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall."
The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.
"Sssaturday...at nightfall," repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape's black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort's face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.
"Good. Very good. And this information comes —"
"— from the source we discussed," said Snape.
"M'lord."
Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him.
"M'lord, I have heard differently."
Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, "Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."
Snape was smiling.
"My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."
"I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain," said Yaxley.
"If he has been Confunded, naturally he is certain," said Snape. "I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."
"The Order's got one thing right, then, eh?" said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.
Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.
"M'lord," Yaxley went on, "Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy —"
Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.
"Where are they going to hide the boy next?"
"At the home of one of the Order," said Snape. "The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest."
"Well, Yaxley?" Voldemort called down the table, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. "Will the Ministry have fallen by next Sssaturday?"
Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders. "M'lord, I have good news on that score. I have — with difficulty, and after great effort — succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse."
Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.
"It is a ssstart," said Voldemort. "But Thicknesse is only one man. Ssscrimgeour must be sssurrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will ssset me back a long way."
"Yes — my Lord, that is true — but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down."
"As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest," said Voldemort. "At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Sssaturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels."
"We are at an advantage there, my Lord," said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. "We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately."
"He will not do either," said Snape. "The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place."
"All the better," said Voldemort. "He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far."
Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, "I ssshall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Sssome of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."
The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter's continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.
"I have been careless, and ssso have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I ssshall be."
At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled, for the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.
"Wormtail," said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, "have I not ssspoken to you about keeping my pet quiet?"
"Yes, m-my Lord," gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it had appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a curious gleam of silver.
"As I was sssaying," continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his followers, "I understand better now. I ssshall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."
The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms.
"No volunteers?" said Voldemort. "Let's see . . . Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."
Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
"My Lord?"
"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand."
"I..."
Malfoy glanced around the table, taking in the lowered eyes of the other guests. When it became apparent that no help would come from them, he put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.
"What is it?"
"Elm, my Lord," whispered Malfoy.
"And the core?"
"Dragon — dragon heartstring."
"Good," said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and compared the lengths. Lucius made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Voldemort's wand in exchange for his own.
The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously.
"Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?"
Some of the throng sniggered.
"I have given you your liberty, Lucius. I haven't killed you despite your son's failure and disappearance. Your wife has also left for parts unknown and I have not punished you for this. Is that not enough for you? I trust it isn't my presence in your home that displeases you..."
"No — of course not my Lord!"
"Sssuch lies, Lucius..."
The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.
The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort's shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius.
"Why do you look so unhappy with your lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing you professed to desire for so many years?"
"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. "I did desire it — I do."
"My Lord," said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, "it is an honor to have you here, in our family's house. Despite my sister and nephew's absence, I want to assure you that we believe that there is be higher pleasure." Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.
"No higher pleasure," repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you."
Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight. "My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!"
"No higher pleasure...even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?"
She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently confused. "I don't know what you mean, my Lord."
"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud."
There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Lucius' humiliation.
Bellatrix's face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red. "She is no niece of mine, my Lord," she cried over the outpouring of mirth. "I haven't set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with me, nor does any beast she marries."
"What say you, Lucius?" asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. "Will you babysit the cubs?"
The hilarity mounted; Lucius' face flushing darkly in humiliation at the insult.
"Enough," said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. "Enough."
And the laughter died at once.
"Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time," he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring.
"You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest."
"Yes, my Lord," whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. "At the first chance!"
"You shall have it," said Voldemort. "And in your family, so in the world . . . we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain..."
Voldemort raised Lucius' wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against the thin black chains.
"Do you recognize our guest, Ssseverus?" asked Voldemort.
Snape raised his eyes to the upside-down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity.
As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!"
"Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.
"For those of you who do not know, " said Voldemort. "We are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.
"Yes...Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles...how they are not so different from us..."
One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again. "Severus...please …please..."
"Sssilence," said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoy's wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, ssshe says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, sssays Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance...She would have us all mate with Muggles...or, no doubt, werewolves..."
Nobody laughed this time: There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.
"Avada Kedavra."
The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs.
"Dinner, Nagini," said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood.
Translations for the curious:
Arro rla' soagh, noam rloa rra'ra'é o ro na'aurra'am. lio o r'a'mca'o à auo noamao – With my blood, and by my will and power. I command you to open.