A/N: Thank you for the reviews!
In other news, I finished the book! Editing and formatting is done for the ebook, and I'm waiting on a cover only. It should be published within a week or two - if you're interested, then please go to my profile, where you'll find links to my website, facebook, blog and twitter. Any updates re the book will come be on there. If you want more info, just PM me and I'll answer any questions you might have!
As far as PBI goes - I know Snape is more skilled than that to just be pushed away from someone's memories without that person being an Occlumens, but that's 15 years after this. Let's assume he's not quite there yet ;)
Enjoy the chapter - I'll confess, I'm not entirely happy with it, so I might take it down and do some tweaking later on. Let me know in a review what you think.
Chapter Thirty One
Why did I leave my wand upstairs…?
Attempting to look completely composed, and not at all like she was bricking it, Helena resorted to her fiercest glare and folded her arms. "What the hell do you want?"
"I thought it was time for a school reunion," he sneered. "What do you think? He sent me."
"He who?"
"The part of the ingenue does not suit you. Stop being coy and come with me. I don't have time to waste in muggle London."
"Let me think about that—no."
"It wasn't a request."
"I wasn't aware you were my master."
"The orders come from your master."
"He's not my master either, he's my father, and all other summons have come by owl, not by slimy Slytherin."
"Evidently not this one."
To give herself more thinking time—she wasn't convinced—Helena asked, "How did you even find me? I've never told him where I live."
"You surely don't believe he needs to be told to know? Besides, your house is the only one in this neighbourhood pumping out magic with absolutely no attempt at any kind of defence. Of course, I expected little better."
"Go away, Snape. It's two a.m., Sirius is asleep upstairs-"
"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten about Black. Well, in that case no wonder you you've no protection. Obviously he thinks he's invincible enough for both of you."
"Sod off."
"Very eloquent."
"How about 'fuck off', does that work better for you?"
"Do you really want the Dark Lord to come himself? You might be his daughter but I doubt sentimentality will stop him from expressing his…paternal disappointment."
"I'm not afraid of pain."
"And how about death? If not for yourself then for others?"
She would really have loved to hit him then, but something told her it was a bad idea. He probably was here from Voldemort. "Fine," she said shortly. "Stay here, I'll be back in a moment."
"We need to go now."
"In my dressing gown? Pretty sure he won't mind me putting some clothes on first, Snape. Stay here, don't move and don't put your greasy little fingers on anything, understand?"
She dashed upstairs without waiting for him to answer, praying that Sirius hadn't woken up wanting a glass of water or something. She might be able to control herself where Snape was concerned, but if Sirius saw him there would definitely be bloodshed. Thankfully, he was still in bed, and still fast asleep. Thank Heavens, she thought, closing her eyes briefly. Moving quietly, she picked up her wand from the bedside table.
"Solemnio." Once she was sure that he wouldn't wake up, she moved over to him and kissed him. "Forgive me, Padfoot. Again."
She dressed quickly and ran her fingers through her hair, to get out the worst of the knots, then went downstairs again. She must have been moving more quietly than she thought, since Snape didn't look up immediately when she entered the kitchen. He was not where she'd left him, instead standing in the middle of the kitchen. His profile was to her—complete with hooked nose, which she'd somehow forgotten was that big—and his head was bowed. In his hands was a photoframe. Helena recognised it as the one she kept on the kitchen windowsill. The picture it contained was one of her favourites, taken at Lily and James' wedding. The two of them were in the centre, with best man and bridesmaid flanking them. She loved it because they all looked so genuinely happy. They had been genuinely happy. It was before everything got so complicated.
Why Snape held it she had no idea. As she opened her mouth to demand that he put it back, she noticed his expression. It was…sad. He looked genuinely sad, looking at the photograph—sad, and angry, and a little bit disgusted.
"What did I say about greasy fingers?" she demanded imperiously.
He jumped, the photoframe slipping out of his grasp and falling to the floor. Helena had her wand out and caught it just in time, floating it to her hand. Snape, when she looked up, was even more sallow than usual. The phrase caught red-handed came into her head. But just what he'd been caught red-handed doing, she wasn't sure. Had he been so focused on the photo that he hadn't even seen her? It was unnerving…she'd sort've gotten used to Snape being a giant bat. The idea of him having feelings wasn't one which made her comfortable.
"What's so interesting about this?" she asked.
"Absolutely nothing."
"You were studying it pretty intently for it to be nothing."
"The simple appeal of grinning baboons," he said swiftly. "Now are you coming or not?"
"After you," she sneered.
When they reappeared, the noises of their apparition echoed loudly for a long time. They had come to a vast, empty building, which was full of the sounds of dankness; dripping water and scuttling movements coming from every direction. There was orange light streaming through broken and smashed windows, high above their heads. There was absolutely no sign of any other human beings, Death Eater or not.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"North."
"Helpful."
"Sheffield."
"Better," she nodded. "Now where is he?"
"Coming."
There was another noise then, first below and then above the scuttling. A dry sound, despite the wetness of the building. Slithering. When there was suddenly a high-pitched squealing, and then a kind of snapping noise, Helena knew what it was. To confirm her guess, not thirty seconds later, Nagini appeared, winding her way out of the darkness. Helena shuddered.
Catching the movement, Snape's mouth curled in a smirk. "You don't like snakes?"
"I don't like that snake," she spat. "That one, I would gladly wear as a pair of boots with a matching handbag."
"I would suggest you revise that opinion, Helena," a cold voice said from behind them. "For Nagini is far dearer to me than any other is."
She and Snape turned to see Voldemort, standing behind them as though he had been there the whole time. He probably had. She inclined her head. "Then I will do so. I apologise, Nagini."
No one—including the snake—missed the contempt, clear in her voice, but Voldemort let it slide. He turned to lead them to the far end of the floor, where a fire burned in an old oil drum. There were three chairs, and- What looked like a- It was. There was a corpse, just lying on the floor as though it were the most normal thing in the world. He looked like a vagrant; his clothes were very old, patchy, dirty, and the smell definitely indicated 'tramp'. His eyes were wide open, his expression frozen in surprise.
Snape gave the dead man no more than a single glance before he sat down, and Voldemort's eyes were on her, gauging her reaction. When she looked away, she made sure to look composed. And she didn't flinch when he said, "Dinner, Nagini."
Helena was very thankful that her chair faced away from the snake and her meal. It was bad enough to listen to.
"Do you know where you are, Helena?"
She nodded to Snape. "Sheffield, apparently."
"Specifically."
She looked around again, noticing the chains hanging from the ceiling, things that looked like iron smelting apparatus. "A muggle factory of some kind."
"Precisely so. Do you know why it has closed down?"
She shrugged. "The same old reason I suppose—no money to keep it going."
"Good. And can you guess why we are here?"
"No. You will have to enlighten me."
"We are going to replicate it. In every factory in Britain. We are going to close them all down, drive the muggles out of their jobs and make them desperate."
"Why? Sport?"
"Yes, but more than that. I intend to tear the nation apart, piece by piece. Not merely the wizarding world, though that is the primary target—the entire country. Like the dogs they are, I will make it so that the muggles are baying for blood. For a sacrifice."
"And for a saviour, my lord?" Snape asked quietly.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed. "Indeed, Severus. The wolves gathering at the door will soon be invited in to sit at the firesides." Helena sat back in her seat, eyebrows raised. Seeing the movement, her father's eyes turned to her. "What do you think, Helena?"
"I think…it's a daring plan. Brilliant."
"I am pleased that you like it." He looked at Snape. "Severus, as we discussed."
"Yes, my lord."
He stood, bowed, and then disapparated. Helena looked curiously at Voldemort, but there was no explanation offered. Evidently Snape was a favourite, and enjoyed preferment from Voldemort. Helena hid a smile at what Bellatrix might say about the idea of anyone but herself being Voldemort's favourite.
"Where do we start?" Helena asked. "The Queen?"
"With the Prime Minister. Elizabeth Windsor is merely a figurehead."
Helena raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought she was the head of state."
"In title only. The royal family were foolish enough to allow lesser men to take power from them some centuries ago, and they've been too weak to get it back. The Queen is symbolic, and as with all symbols, she must be torn down—but later. For now she is unimportant. I will kill her when the time comes."
He stood, offering her a hand in a gesture which made her blink, then stare. "Shall we?"
Sharply reminded of her dream, Helena spent a moment simply looking between him and his hand in not a little suspicion. Was there a way he could be reading her mind? Or seeing her dreams, perhaps? Luckily, Voldemort seemed to take her trepidation as impatience.
"This is the last test," he assured her. "Then you will have everything."
She placed her fingers into his cold ones. "I will hold you to that."
It had been a long time since she'd done Side-Along Apparition, and she only barely managed to hide her revulsion at the prolonged touch of his skin. They apparated into the shadows of an otherwise well-lit street. At either end, there were tall, wrought iron gates, apparently manned by po- po- by muggle law enforcement officers. Helena couldn't remember their name. There was also a p-something-man stationed by the front door of one of the houses. Quite honestly Helena didn't know how they hadn't already been spotted, unless perhaps Voldemort could cast Disillusionment Charms in mid-apparition. Why hadn't they just apparated straight into the Prime Minister's bedroom?
"How do we go about this?"
"Mirage Charms—the police-" Police, that was it. "-will only see what they expect to. Disable the one outside number 10," he ordered her. "Then cast a Mirage Charm the other end."
She nodded, then stepped out of the shadows. The policeman, she simply appeared. It was no wonder he jumped. Before he could make any sound, she'd cast a Silencing Charm. The policeman tried and failed to make a noise, then stared at Helena again, his eyes bulging. A cruel smirk spread over her face before she flourished her wand again—a jet of red light hit him square in the chest, throwing him into a wall. She left him in a crumpled heap at the bottom of it, running to the opposite end of the street, glad she'd chosen not to wear heels. The Mirage Charm was a spell she'd only used at Hogwarts a few times, and never had occasion to since. But she knew she could do it, and do it flawlessly. Her father was behind her, after all, and she could always execute perfect magic around him. The idea made her shudder, but it was true. The Mirage Charm blossomed from her wand with ease.
She joined Voldemort by the black front door of number 10. "I'm guessing we don't just bash down the door."
He made no reply, only spent the next five or ten minutes casting counter-jinxes and various disarming spells on the house. Helena assumed that he was removing security and intruder alert spells. They had probably been installed after she'd told Dumbledore about the planned attack on the Prime Minister. Obviously they were still not strong enough to stop Voldemort though. Since she couldn't tell what exactly he was doing, she kept herself occupied looking around and keeping watch. Not that she'd have any idea what to do if they were attacked. She could more than hold her own in a fight. But exactly whose side she'd be fighting on was a mystery even to her.
Finally, Voldemort turned away from the house to speak to her again. "Once we are inside, Stun anyone you see. We will modify their memories later."
"I understand."
He tapped the door handle with the tip of his wand, and it swung soundlessly open. They met no one as they moved through the house, and made no noise. Voldemort looked like a shade, and Helena certainly felt like one. She didn't really exist, not at the moment. It helped with the surreality of it all. The house was like hers in style, though bigger. The master bedroom seemed to be in roughly the same place too. The door made not a sound as they entered.
"Cast the Imperius Curse on her."
She stared. "I've never cast an Unforgiveable before. I'm not sure I know how to."
He made a soft noise of impatience and incredulity, as if it hadn't occurred to him that anyone who followed him could not be well-versed in dark magic. He was about to answer when one of the bed's occupants stirred, sitting up. Voldemort pointed his wand casually, "Obliviate," before turning back to Helena. "Want the spell. You must feel the desire to suppress her will, to control her mind and force her to submit entirely to you. Assume the role of puppet master."
She raised her wand and moved around the bed to stand over the Prime Minister. Force her to submit entirely? Suppress her will? It would be too easy to think she had to do it. She could escape—somehow—and flee to Dumbledore, get him to hide her. There were ways of ensuring even Voldemort could never find her. But now she was here… And it was the least unforgivable of the Unforgivables, wasn't it? It wasn't as though she was about to torture someone, or kill them, a voice in her head pointed out. It would be a novelty, to feel it just once. To know what it was like to hold the balance of someone else's will in the palm of her hand…
"Do it now," Voldemort whispered.
A shiver raced through her. "Imperio."
The sensation was like nothing else she had ever experienced. It was very mild, almost nothing at all. It was a tickling, an itching at the back of her mind. She pursued it, delving through the connection to discover another thing entirely. It was another sense—she had taste, sight, hearing, scent, touch, and another. A sixth one she had no name for.
"A good casting."
"I can't see into her mind, or hear her thoughts, as I thought I would be able to."
"The link will grow stronger the more you use it," Voldemort told her softly. "Do not be too specific with your commands, or she will attract attention to herself and be discovered to be under a spell, or the muggles will remove her from office."
"How do I use to to best effect?"
"Set the goal and leave the method to her. She knows and will use the process of democracy to do your bidding, use it to destroy itself."
"So what should I have her do?" Helena asked, struck with the desire to see Thatcher pick her nose or do somersaults. Just for shits and giggles.
"Something simple, for now."
Something simple—then she wanted Thatcher to get out of bed, without waking up, and walk around the room for a moment. No sooner had the thought been formed in her mind, before it was even a command, the Prime Minster was doing so. Delighted, Helena beamed. Pretty soon, the muggle woman in charge of the entire nation was bending over to touch her toes, doing star jumps, press-ups, and all manner of other acrobatics.
"Enough."
She stopped immediately, directing Thatcher to go back to bed. "It's very subtle, the amount of exertion needed. I got carried away."
"Power is intoxicating," he replied lazily. "Now come. Back to the factory. You have earned your reward."
Snape was waiting for them when they arrived, coiled in one chair while Nagini was coiled in another. Helena had the impression that snake and man were giving each other a healthy berth, despite what she'd been told earlier.
"Severus."
He stood and bowed. "My lord."
"All well?"
"Yes. Whitelaw is under the Imperius Curse."
Voldemort cast a pleased glance at Helena. "As is Thatcher."
Snape's black eyes flicked to her face. "Then you wish me to-?"
The Dark Lord nodded once, then spoke to Helena. "I have been schooling Severus in Legilimency. He is already a skilled Occlumens."
"Well, he had to have some natural talents, I suppose," she said archly, lip curling as she looked at Snape. His expression remained neutral, and he made no reply.
"And he is going to demonstrate his new skill for me."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "There's no one else in the room."
"Very observant."
She drew in air through her teeth. It made a soft hissing noise. "You said the tests were over."
"And so they are. Did you expect that you would not need to follow my orders afterward?"
"I'm happy to follow your orders," she said softly, "as long as I see the sense in them. There is no point in allowing Snape to invade my mind. You know I don't lie to you."
Voldemort moved closer, until he was inches away from her. She felt his breath on her face—was surprise to find he had breath. "I do not explain myself," he said silkily, "to anyone. Nor will I begin to now. You will submit to Snape's examination. Or I will kill you."
Perfectly calm, yet knowing rage seeped out her every pore and that Voldemort could sense it, she nodded once. "Fine."
"Sit down."
She did so, and Snape pulled his chair to face hers, and locked eyes with her. "Do not struggle," he warned. "Doing so could break the link with the Prime Minister."
"I won't," she said, her mind racing wildly. There was no way she could hide anything from this magic, and it was all going to come out—that fact that she had no intention of sticking with Voldemort forever, that she was passing everything she could on to Dumbledore-
"Legilimens!"
Suddenly it seemed like her entire life and everything in it was marching past her eyes. Hogwarts, her home, her mother, childhood, the breeze on her face, the feel of grass against her fingers—then Sirius and every maddening, angry, tender, loving, stormy feeling he had ever whipped up in her. Every time they'd come together, she didn't care anyone looking at that, up to a point. The first time they had ever made love, she suddenly felt an appalling disgust that Snape might see it-
No. Get out of there, you're not seeing it, get out, leave, GET OUT!
She wasn't sure if she pushed hard enough or if Snape had no desire to see it anyway, but his attention shifted onto other people she loved: James, Lily and their wedding, the look on Lily's face when she'd discovered her pregnancy-
In an instant, everything in her head froze, and there was a deep silence. It was like a film had got stuck on one frame—all she could look at now was Lily. And then it all made sense.
Snape pulled out of her mind a few seconds later, but he knew, as she did, that it was too late. He might have had her over a barrel, but she'd found one to lay him over too. The link between black eyes and blue remained unbroken for a moment, as they silently compromised. He wouldn't give her away, and she would hold her tongue.
"Well?" Voldemort asked impatiently.
"Her first loyalty is not to you, my lord."
"And who is it to?"
"Her lover." It might have seemed like a betrayal, but Helena knew it was a reprieve. This, she could talk her way out of.
Red eyes assessed her with what was almost disappointment. "Black."
"Yes."
"Are you in love with him?" he asked her.
"Yes. But I don't see that it's a problem."
"You would place someone else above me and think it is not a problem?"
"Do you really believe that all your followers have no idea what love is? Do you think Narcissa doesn't love my darling brother? Or that Snape here has never felt true desire for anyone? That all their children are the result of wanting to maintain bloodlines only?" She smirked. "If you only took those who care for you above all, you and Bellatrix would be entirely alone." Not that that would be a problem for her…
"I could order you to kill him-"
"And I would refuse."
"Apart from Black?" he asked Snape.
"Nothing. She has revealed everything else to you."
She had to hand it to him. He was a good liar. But then he had to be.
"Good," Voldemort decided. "Then give me your arm, Severus."
He did so, and winced only a little when Voldemort lowered his index finger to it. That done, Voldemort smiled at Helena, who shivered. "We have the guest of honour already. When the others arrive, the party can begin." He ran his fingertips across her cheeks in a gesture which could have been affectionate except for the fact that it terrified her. "I hope you like your present."
A/N: Review please!