'A thousand times we die in one life. We crumble, break, and tear apart until the layers of illusion are burned away, and all that is left, is the truth of who and what we really are.'
Teal Scott
Disclaimer
The beginning of this chapter was adapted from the snippets of what Harry sees of Voldemort at the beginning of 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Chapter Twenty-Three; Malfoy Manor'.
Just for a more accurate time reference in all honesty.
Eleven Years Later...
Location:
Universe: M-583
Plane of Mortal Men: the Milky Way Galaxy
Class-One Restricted Planet: C-53/SR/O3-O2
Austrian Alps: Nurmengard Castle
Date:
Circa: beginning of the year 1998
In a darkened keep under a burnt orange sky;
And inside an obsidian tower does Absolute Power reside.
But beware the beast that does hide within.
For to claim this power and make it thy own,
One mustn't copy th-
A twisted smile, a smirk that was as chilling as it was utterly victorious did pull at pale, thin lips as crimson eyes re-read the missive that had been hastily scribbled onto the scrap of parchment held between long, thin, almost claw-like fingers.
The pad of a thumb, smooth and surprisingly unblemished of the ridges and valleys that could give away its owner identity, did move over the piece, trying to remove the small red stain that had blotted the yellowed paper and reveal the last words of the last line. Although the thumbs' owner found that it had already set in, smudging the ink and making those last few words all but impossible to read.
However, the one who had come to call himself Lord Voldemort cared little for the warning that lay at the end of the note he had... procured.
In fact, the moment the current and most ruthless Dark Lord realised that the blood stain wasn't about to be rubbed out any time soon, he scrunched up the scrap of parchment into a ball before setting it alight and returned his gaze back to the grim fortress of black stone in the distance; the castle looking far more like that of a towering dark figure silhouetted against the burnt-orange sky as the sun continued its descent beyond the horizon.
It was a picture of natural, haunting beauty that any photographer - Magical or Muggle - would have given up their shooting hand for just the chance to immortalise forever with some ink, parchment, and possibly a little sprinkle of magick. But to the Dark Lord Voldemort, the scenery was nothing more than that; his destination no more than an end of one journey and hopefully the beginning of his next.
And as the Wizard continued to glide effortlessly through the air, and much like the very Dementors he had gathered to his side as his dark robes fluttered in the fading light, a calm sense of euphoric purpose suddenly filled him; Voldemort coming to the realisation that not only was he now one step closer to getting his hand on the one thing that would finally help him end this stupid war, but that he was also one step closer to his ultimate goal of world domination.
So close...
His crimson eyes, the usual amber-brown having changed with his 'rebirth', did disappeared behind pale, almost translucent lids for the briefest of moments as he allowed himself to succumb to the absolute gaiety that was bubbling away within him. It was a peculiar feeling; he did have to admit - and even then only ever to himself. But knowing just how close he truly was at obtaining what had originally brought him to this desolate rock; to not only winning the Wizarding War but the very planet that 'she' had loved oh so very much as well...
Oh, so very, very close.
By the time bare feet had touched down upon the soft earth surrounding Nurmengard Castle, Voldemort had his bleached-white, almost bone-like wand held within his hand, eyes scanning his surroundings in case there were anyone else present.
It would do little good to be spotted before he could even reach his target, and a silent sigh of relief was the only sign the Dark Lord gave when he found himself to be alone.
With his gaze then returning to the towering stone walls of what really should have been considered more of a fortress than castle - let alone a bloody prison! - Lord Voldemort waited until the sun had finally disappeared from the sky and night had replaced its light with a blanket of star-speckled darkness. A feeling of satisfaction, that he had not only had gotten the timing right, but the location as well, did suddenly bubble up within him; and in turn the Wizard lifted his gaze up, up, up, and to the top of the tallest tower.
The moment he had however, a small frown caused the corners of his pale lips to turn downwards; a flash of irritation filling him at finding whatever it was he'd been expecting turned out to be nothing of the reality he discovered. And he stood there, staring at the small - notch? - that really couldn't be a window any more than Voldemort was a Muggle circus performer.
Though as soon as it had appeared, the Dark Lord's frown disappeared, rationalising that if it was that simple to get into the place wherein 'Absolute Power' was rumoured to lay, it probably wasn't going to be worth his time and effort in obtaining to begin with.
And if it truly was who he thought to be held within Nurmengard's most tallest tower... well, all the more reason for Voldemort to take that power from them.
Time to fly...
With but the barest of thoughts, feet once more left the ground; crimson-red eyes never leaving their target as magick took their host directly towards his goal.
A scowl did twist at pale lips; full of contempt and disgust at the scene that lay before their owners' red eyes.
He had been right.
The window was nothing more than that of the merest of slits carved through the obsidian rock - and nothing close to being wide enough for someone of his stature to pass through.
However, it was not the window that had the Dark Lord's usually indifferent countenance contorting in such an offended manner.
No.
And besides, all thoughts that he had entertained - even for the briefest of moments towards the so-called 'window' had disappeared the moment they had crossed his mind.
What did have the Dark Lord's once-handsome features, ones that now resembled nothing more than a twisted blend between man and snake, warping with utter revulsion was the skeletal figure that he could just make out in the small room beyond the window; nothing but a pile of skin, bones, and rags laying in a heap upon the filthy ground like some animal huddling under an even filthier, thinner blanket.
Oh, Father... How the mighty have surely fallen.
The sudden idea that the whole reason he had come to the Austrian Alps could have been nothing more than a waste of his time did cut its way through Voldemort's mind; quite like a slicing hex cutting through soft tissue. And the Wizard found that he couldn't drag his eyes away from the still form laying upon the ground, wondering if the man he'd come to... question had unfortunately expired before he'd even had the chance to speak to them.
But when a shiver rocked through the emaciated form; an aged, shaky, and weathered hand clumsily grasping at the thin material that was their blanket in an effort to draw it closer to their obviously freezing body - a silent sigh of relief did escape the most current Dark Lord's lips.
And as that old saying probably wasn't supposed to mean - 'mind over matter' - Voldemort's form did contort and shrink as he broke down the walls of what should have been possible and what shouldn't have; all but forcing his shifting and shrinking form through the slit of a window much like the reptile he currently resembled.
It was but a scant second later did his bare feet touch down silently onto the floor inside the dirty cell and his nose immediately wrinkling with disgust as the stench within the four walls had him wanting to retreat.
Once-vibrant and different coloured eyes; now nothing more than dull, unseeing orbs did blink ever so slowly; hiding themselves away momentarily behind their lids as the sound of shifting wind and creaking bones, swiftly followed by the sound of barely-silent footfalls and rustling of cloth caught the undivided attention of their shivering owner.
Though the only notion that the figure huddling upon the ground made of realising that someone other than themselves were now present within their small four-walled, eschewed cell was the slow, but undeniably deliberate act of inhaling a breath through barely-parted lips; their nostrils flaring in a way one would do to savour a scent - or to figure out of whom one did belong to. And as a familiar, though slightly altered scent did roll around the back of a parched throat, a small, exceedingly rare smile begun to turn to corner of aged, cracked lips upwards.
Rolling over and towards the only source of light he'd had access to for far longer that he would have preferred, Gellert Grindelwald did not look at all surprised to find the usual stream blocked by a towering dark figure.
"So, you've finally come to visit," the aged Wizard croaked out of a dry throat and mouth, completely ignorant of when it was he'd last had something to quench his thirst. However, and as his different coloured eyes did meet the crimson red of the most current Dark Lord's, water was the last thing on the Wizard's mind, something of which he let be known. "I knew you would... one day," he added, the smile twisting his dry lips only growing wider.
Lord Voldemort did not say anything in regards to the clear taunts.
And nor did he say a word about the ever-growing smirk that was on the other man's lips.
The most current Dark Lord instead stood frozen, silent and utterly unmoving as power did wash over him; the widening of his eyes being the only thing to betray the surprise he was currently feeling the instant he realised just whom that power did belong to.
"But your journey was pointless," Nurmengard's one and only prisoner continued, unperturbed by the younger Wizard's silence as his now sharp and focused eyes - one that had just been the most brilliant of gold while the other a vibrant sea blue - all but dance within the non-existent lighting that bathed his cell, a crimson amber-gold not too dissimilar to Voldemort's own stealing its way across the older Wizard's eyes and causing them to glow like smouldering coals in the dark of the night. "It's not here..."
Location:
Universe: M-583
Plane of Mortal Men: the Milky Way Galaxy
Class-One Restricted Planet: C-53/SR/O3-O2
Scottish Highlands: Outskirts of Hogsmeade
Date:
2nd of May 1998
Before the Battle of Hogwarts...
That feeling was back.
The sensation of something both familiar and forgotten skittering its way across a barely held-together consciousness - and sadly always staying just out of reach.
Time had passed, although how much was unknown.
Well...
There were actually many things that were currently unknown.
Like what that ever-gnawing feeling was that never left, and at times did cause a feeling of light-headedness and queasiness to occur. And why watching the animals and creatures that did catch the attention of piercing crimson-amber eyes suddenly brought upon the urge to give them chase.
Or even why that intangible, however delightfully delectable scent continued to assault a highly-sensitive nose - and did absolutely nothing to help with that gut-twisting sensation that always did linger.
All that he did know - or recall at least - from before the restlessness had set him out on this journey, to discover what this ever-itching, niggling - thing? - currently scratching its way at the back of his head was nothing more than that of a scattered mind and instincts; the need to find this something but not knowing what it was.
Even now, as he continued to follow that sweet scent upon the wind; feeling it all but call out to him like it were but a siren's song upon the breeze, he knew not what it was he sought. He didn't even know who he was to be completely honest; only that he was clearly someone or something who did possess a consciousness that was quite capable of thought - and one of which did continue to drive him towards that unknown, though highly important destination.
It was the only thing that seemed to matter; the days - months of wandering and searching with no success having done little to ease the drive within him to find whatever it was this something, well, was; always feeling as though he was getting closer to his goal but finding that it was never within sig-
"Anatol...?"
A word - a name - one said with such a twisted blend of awe and disgust did suddenly flicker somewhere across his scattered grey-matter; and once again was long gone before he had a chance to even grasp what it had been and decipher its meaning however.
Though it did leave him with a new sensation, a sudden knowledge and feeling of déjà vu; that even though he may not know what the name was or what it was supposed to mean, sometime in the past he had been in this state of being before - whenever that was supposed to have been.
However, and much like that ever-present niggle that was leading him forever onwards, this new sensation of knowing the unknown seemed to be nothing more than instinctual; like that of a feeling one got within the stomach, however incomprehensible it was for his current state of mind to completely recognise.
"You think I do not know what it is you seek?"
His head jerked to the right at the same time dagger-like claws suddenly dug into the hard, compacted earth underfoot; a voice, one that was nothing more than a whispered murmur upon the wind catching his attention and causing that ever-present niggle within his mind to grow into that of a more incessant tugging or dull roar.
"You're a fool, Aridre," a wrinkled old man did sneer as he threw the thin, dirty blanket from his even thinner and filthier form.
Head snapping to the left, a sound; something that was so very low and deep did suddenly reverberated through his entire being as the words - the vision continued its assault upon his mind and caused amber eyes to cloud over.
But it had been the name spoken - and he hadn't the foggiest idea as to why - that had caused both hackles and his ever-present ire to take a sudden spike; eyes all but glowing like liquid fire in the dark of the night as every single-minded thought he possessed burned and screamed for him to hunt this 'Aridre' down and tear them limb-from-limb.
"You lie!"
Does he?
Cocking his head to the side in a sudden bout of confusion, even as twin orbs of crimson red continued to burn within his mind's eye like dwarf stars, Anatol couldn't help but wonder if he had lied.
And if so... when?
"Do I?" the first voice - the frail old man questioned mockingly as he pushed himself surprisingly easily up off the ground and onto his feet; his aged and anaemic form deceptive of the strength he seemed to possess.
The question, one that was surprising accurate and so startling similar to his very own did cause Anatol to fall back onto his rump, bewilderment and disorientation causing his vision to swim and that gnawing sensation somewhere south of his mind to return with a vengeance.
Idly however, he scratched the back of an ear with a hind leg as he wondered if he had lied.
He didn't think that he had. However, he also couldn't really recall much of anything at the moment. Thoughts - memories? - well, what he did perceive to be memories would often scurry across the deepest recesses of his mind; so close, so near, but always just so far out of reach.
But none had ever given him the sense that he had lied to someone before.
"You're dea-" Confusion warped the younger Wizard's features momentarily. Though it was barely a second that had passed when it suddenly disappeared, a smile returning to his lips at the same time clarity returned to his crimson gaze. "You're a test - Finite Incantatem!"
It was sudden, and done with no warning. But the young man suddenly raised his arm as the words - the spell left his lips. And a beam of white light left the tip of the stick within his grasp, striking the older man directly into the chest as he straightened and caused him to go flying backwards.
Though even as he went crashing into the stone wall behind him, landing on the ground in a heap not too dissimilar to how he'd been before his visitor had arrived, a dark chuckle was all that passed the man's aged lips.
"You tr-truly are your fa-ther's son," he coughed, barely managing to raise a shaking hand to wipe the back of it against his mouth.
"Browl?"
Paw falling away from his ear, amber-red eyes blinked.
Nothing at all was currently making sense and Anatol shook his head to try and clear it of the confusing and strange vision he was seeing - to no effect.
"Te-tell m-" the old man broke off with hacking, wheezing cough, the back of his hand coming away wet as he wiped his mouth. "Tell me, Aridre," he tried again as he lifted his head. And running his hand through his hair to remove it from his vision, leaving a dark streak through the once-platinum locks, his eyes - twin orbs that were nothing more than liquid fire met the crimson-red of Lord Voldemort's.
A smirk suddenly twisted bloody lips upwards as he had the pleasure of watching the younger man stiffen in surprise the moment he realised his spell had not done what he had intended it to, the wand and hand it was in falling back to Aridre's side in disbelief.
"Impossible!" the most current Dark Lord hissed, his shock quickly being replaced by a fury he had only felt for two people in his entire life; the expression twisting his snake-like features unattractively as he continued to meet the gaze of who he'd believed to be the previous Dark Lord. "You're dead!"
His grip on his wand suddenly tightened, rage so fierce and strong coursing its way through both his body and mind. And he went to raise the weapon again, intent on using it once more.
However he was stopped when a sudden and blinding blue light suddenly filled the room.
"Tell me, Aridre; son of my son. What is said to happen to a Warlock who dares break a Blood-Oath?" was all but whispered upon the air as the light continued to grow. And Lord Voldemort - Aridre didn't wait for the light to fade, to see what else was changing about the older Wizard. The question Anatol had asked already seemed to hang heavy within the silence that had followed it and Voldemort raised his wand in the direction he knew his opponent still lay.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Without warning, Anatol was on his back, blinking away the sudden flashes of reds, blues, and silvers mixed with green that filled his mind's eye. And he just laid there for a moment, scattered thoughts and feelings trying to thread together some sort of sense or reasoning or understanding as to what it was the vision could mean.
"What the hell is that?!"
Hmm. Good question, he mused in reply to another's unexpected voice, unaware that this one did not originate from within his mind.
Though as he rolled over onto his side, turning his crimson gaze away from the dark, star-speckled sky above him and towards his surroundings, it was only then did Anatol realise he was actually somewhere other than where he had thought he was.
And that there was someone staring at him.
"Browl?"
They didn't look to be anyone he recognised - or at least thought that he should. And they certainly weren't one of the two males he'd just seen, much to his disappointment. The urge to claw out that Aridre's heart and eat it was not fading, even if the memory of his face was already beginning to.
The eyes were too different, too plain and - scared?
Rising back to his feet, blinking rather dumbly when he actually realised that he had feet. Okay, well paws and talons and claws, he corrected as he took in the four, furry, feathered limbs currently holding him up. But movement had his gaze and head jerking up and away from his newest discovery and back to his first; the man who had been watching him. A growl stole its way through his throat at the stick said man was now holding.
Anatol now knew what a wand was, and had also come to understand from the vision that had gifted him the knowledge that the fragile-looking thing was deceptively dangerous.
"Marcus? What the hell are you doing?!" another voice called at the same time its owner rounded the corner - only to come to a dead stop at the sight they had stumbled upon. "Is that a fucking werewolf?! Is the Headmaster allowing that bloody half-cast to crossbreed?!" she - and by any and all things alive, somehow Anatol just knew it was a she - suddenly cried out, following her companion's actions and drawing a wand of her own.
Although she, much like her friend Marcus, did make the mistake of pointing the stick towards a beast that hadn't even know it was a beast until just a few seconds ago. But even if he hadn't been, the creature that looked to be some hybrid wolf that Hagrid would or could have adopted, bred, or even worse wasn't about to allow the new-found weapons of his own to go unused.
And even more so when spells did begin to fly.
Location:
Universe: M-583
Plane of Mortal Men: the Milky Way Galaxy
Class-One Restricted Planet: C-53/SR/O3-O2
Scottish Highlands: the Hogs Head Inn
Date:
2nd of May 1998
Before the Battle of Hogwarts...
"GRRRROOOOAAAARRRR!"
Scarred, calloused hands tightened around a porcelain cup at the same time eyes darted to the window as a beastly roar did suddenly cut through the silence of the night.
However, and instead of looking startled or scared, brown eyes narrowed as a thoughtful expression contorted youthful features; gaze returning to the cup held within a loosening grip and watching as the sludgy concoction bubbled away. And a smile, one that was as victorious as it was smug, did suddenly pull at pale lips.
"So... you have finally realised the truth of who you are," the owner of those brown eyes muttered to no-one, idly tilting the cup in their hands side-to-side and watching as another bubble popped upon reaching the contents' surface - at the same time a blackness begun to steal its way across their gaze.
The voice had been that of a low rumble within the quiet room, and a stark contrast to the face the young man did wear. But it had been one filled with a dark mirth, a chuckle passing his lips - before he suddenly tipped back his head and downed the contents of the cup.
Eyes suddenly snapped shut, features contorting as the taste of the potion had him wanting to throw it straight back up. And the mug was lucky to not have shattered as it was slammed back down onto the table, a coughing splutter escaping the pale-haired man as he forced himself to keep the sludgy concoction down.
"Te-tell the Headmas-Headmaster that it's done," he did manage to gasp out, his voice cracking as he looked away from the now empty mug and towards the painting hanging on the wall. "Ar-Aridre has been deal- He knows a-and he's here."
It was only the small tilt of a head, along with the small upwards curve of painted lips that told the young man that he'd been heard - right before the dark-haired woman within the portrait vanished through the painted door behind her in order to pass the message on to the most current Headmaster of Hogwarts; one former Potion's Master, Professor, and Lord Voldemort's most current right-hand man: Severus Snape.
But the blond took no notice, his eyes clenched shut once more as he continued to fight against upchucking the Polyjuice Potion he'd just consumed, his stomach churning even as his body begun to shift and change in a way that was far more than unnatural for the Auvrean shapeshifter to experience; pale locks becoming longer and turning a white-silver even as features did age and turn weathered without the need for time's passing to occur first.
Location:
Universe: M-583
Plane of Mortal Men: the Milky Way Galaxy
Class-One Restricted Planet: C-53/SR/O3-O2
Scottish Highlands: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Office of Headmaster Severus Snape
Date:
2nd of May 1998
Before the Battle of Hogwarts...
"...thank you, Auv'raheil. Please let Sokvagu know that I wish him the best. Along with that he should be expecting visitors very shortly. The Seventh Floor will remain vacant for the next two hours, then rounds will need to be taken."
"I really don't think this is wise."
Ignoring the voice that was beginning to feel like a nagging presence in the back of his mind, Headmaster Severus Snape turned away from the portrait he'd been speaking with in order to pace the small length of his office, a look of severe contemplation stealing its way across his usually emotionless features.
"My boy. You really need to reconsider this plan of yours. The risks alon-"
"Boy?" the Wizard snorted humourlessly as he finally rounded to face the painting that hung in the middle of the wall behind his desk. "You've got some nerve, old man!" he hissed; brown, almost black eyes burning with a sudden fury that hadn't died an inch since the night he'd been forced to curse the blasted man printed upon the canvas from the top of the Astronomy Tower. "It's your bloody fault that we're in this mess to begin with. If you hadn't decided to stick your nose where it wasn't needed, He wouldn't be out there right now trying to bring about a third world war!"
"Do you really thing that what he has done is my fault? Severus, surely you know that what my so-"
"Albus," the Headmaster suddenly interjected with a low growl, one he normally reserved for troublesome students and first years. "As the most current Headmaster of this school, I am ordering you from my sight."
It could have barely been considered a battle of wills as the former Headmaster of Hogwarts stared down at its most current before giving a huff and leaving his frame as ordered, and Severus just rolled his eyes at the departing portraits' antics.
"You do know, Headmaster..." another voice slowly cut through the silence that had befallen the room and caused the Wizard to turn his gaze up further upon the wall and to the speaker.
"What is it, Headmaster Black?" was questioned somewhat tersely, Severus having enough of portraits and their incessant need to stick their nose into his business. And a raven brow was soon lifting upon his forehead when Phineas Black forewent speaking for a moment longer than necessary.
"I, um, I was just going to say; and do forgive me if I am overstepping my boundaries and speaking out of turn," the painting finally begun to ramble somewhat nervously - if a painted Wizard could get nervous, that was. "But would it not be more amendable to use lions' mane with the flux-weed base instead of Nundu? Given that you do intend to include a part of your own hair into the finished potion," the former Headmaster finished hastily as Severus' second eyebrow joined his first upon his forehead, both almost disappearing into his hair.
"Are you trying to tell me how to create my own potion, Headmaster?" he questioned oh so slowly, his chin lifting with the slightest of gestures - but enough that even a painted Wizard couldn't miss.
"O-of course not, Master Snape," the portrait begun to splutter much to Severus' hidden amusement. "It's just... with your magica-"
The former Headmaster of Hogwarts was cut off by a glare that could have cut glass - or caused paint to peel.
"You best be careful of what it is you speak of, Phineas," Severus hissed through gritted teeth even as his hand slashed through the air at his side. And magick came to his call, surrounding both his person and his office and effectively sealing him within. "You never know who could be listening," he finished with a far more calmer voice the moment he felt his wards slam into place.
Though Severus' implementation of the wards also seemed to mark the end of the conversation he was having with the former Headmaster of Hogwarts as the Wizard turned his back to the wall of portraits and called out a name.
"Sarkey!"
There was a sudden pop! as a House Elf apparated into his office. Though Sarkey's usually cheery countenance was replaced with something far more sombre, of which showed as she addressed her Master.
"Yes, Master, sir. What can Sarkey gets for yous?"
"My bag, please Sarkey," Severus told the Elf, ignoring the way the creature wilted even further upon his request as he returned to his seat. "The one I asked you to hide in the place where no-one could find. Not even Little Wolf."
"Sarkey won't!"
Silence descended within the Headmaster's office and Severus found himself freezing halfway into his chair the moment the Elf had dared to deny him his request.
"What... did you just say?" he questioned oh so softly, obsidian eyes rising from his desk to pin the errant Elf with a look that would have sent even the best of Aurors running for their lives even as he finally settled himself into his seat.
But Sarkey was no Auror.
She wasn't even a student at Hogwarts he could take points from!
Sarkey was a House Elf bound to Severus' own family and she stood her ground, returning her Master's glare with one of her very own.
"Sarkey won't," she repeated defiantly. "Master said for Sarkey to watch over his Little Wolf, and Sarkey can't do that if you send Little Wolf aways!"
Severus fought against the urge to sigh at the Elf's stubbornness, deigning instead to pinch the urge of his nose. "Sarkey... we've been over this before. It has to happen. I told you since the beginning that Little Wolf wasn't going to be staying. It was only ever going to be temporary-"
"But Sarkey loves her Masters' Little Wolf!" the Elf cut in with a cry, grasping at its ears and giving them a yank that even had Severus wanting to flinch at the pain it surely caused. "You cannots be sending her aways. Not agains!"
"Sarkey!" the Headmaster barked as he fought the urge to turn and make certain a particular portrait was still abiding by his wishes. His outburst did succeed in getting his House Elf to finally stop hers, however. Though it did little for the self-inflicting torture that the creature was inflicting upon itself, the House Elf yanking on her ears until Severus was almost forced to stop her less she rip them off.
"You know that Little Wolf will return again," he tried to soothe, all the while wondering why it was him that had to deal with what was really beginning to feel like the end of the world. "And you know that she will be just as excited to see you as you will her."
"Sar-Sarkey will miss Little Wolf," the Elf ultimately relented with a sniffle, finally releasing the torturous hold she had on her ears - much to her Master's relief.
"And I know that she will miss you just as much, Sarkey," Severus agreed with an uncharacteristic softness.
"Sarkey will do this for her Master," the House Elf muttered with a nod, wiping her nose with the 'collar' of her pillowcase. "But Master must promise Sarkey that no harm will come to hers Wolf. Otherwise Sar-I," Sarkey's spine straightened so she reached all her three-foot two. And her change in pronoun was not lost to anyone listening. "I's will hide Master's bag and never tells him where I's put it."
A sigh did pass Severus' lips then. Though he waved a hand in the direction of the House Elf. "Yes, yes, Sarkey. You already know I've sworn that no harm would come to your Little Wolf," he stated in mock exasperation, already fully aware as to how protective the House Elf was when it came to one Rieka Lestari; aka, his Little Wolf.
The expression that appeared on Sarkey's face was victorious by the end of her Master's statement, and she popped out of the office without waiting to hear another word.
"Best be careful, Headmaster... Someone may actually come to find that you do possess a heart."
"Oh, do shut it, Phineas," Severus snapped as he pushed himself out of his seat, heading towards the door that lead to his private quarters.
Though the Wizard came to a stop at the opened doorway, glancing towards the wall of surprisingly empty portraits before raising his gaze to the only one that remained occupied as he added, "And you know that this conversation best stay between us, yes...? I do recall coming across some muggle turpentine stashed somewhere in Viktor's old things," before finally leaving the room.
He never saw the way Phineas Black's painted eyes rolled as the door closed behind him. And nor did he see the way the former Slytherin's lips quirk at his clear protectiveness of not only his 'Little Wolf', but of the House Elves under his care.
"Of course, Headmaster," Phineas muttered to the now-empty office with a surprisingly respectful bow of his head. However there was a glimmer of mischief shinning within his eyes as his head rose, a spark of something that could have been considered emotion - if paintings could actually feel such things - as he added, "Salazar forbid that we be able to show our hearts," before he too left his frame.