Chapter 43: Blood
Ariadne took a deep breath and looked down at her hands for what seemed like the hundredth time. Well, "her" hands. Her hands for the next five to six hours, perhaps, or as long as she could get away with it. She couldn't help glancing at them, trying to get comfortable with a body that looked and felt so strange to her. The hands that belonged to the body she now occupied were delicate, with long, thin fingers. They were also very fair, not at all like Ariadne's golden-brown skin.
Nevertheless, transforming into Clarice's body wasn't as unsettling or strange as it could have been. Since they were blood relations, Clarice's body had a few physical similarities to Ariadne's—her hair was just a shade or two lighter, but with that same thick, silky texture; and they were roughly the same height, which thankfully mean that Ariadne did not have to get accustomed to ducking under the tapestries or low doorways that the old medieval castle was full of. Ariadne had changed into Clarice's uniform, robes and shoes, of course, but they were basically the same size as her own, so she did not inhabit Clarice's frame and gait too awkwardly. For now, Ariadne was focusing on finding her way to the punishment dungeons where the secret meeting would be held, following instructions that Sirius had whispered in her ear.
Down the staircase at the base of the West Tower…right…down again…left through the doorway with the wrought iron gate…Ariadne was in a very ancient and rarely used part of the castle. Since Hogwarts had discontinued corporal punishment for students (at the rather late date of 1947, Ariadne had read in more recent histories of Hogwarts) the punishment dungeons were mostly used by Filch as a storage area, or perhaps where he came to reminisce about the good old days. Other students and staff rarely had reason to venture here.
Ariadne stopped in front of what should be, if Sirius had given her the correct directions, the dungeon room that Yaxley had chosen for the meeting. There was a small, barred window cut into the door, and through this opening, she could see that the interior of the room appeared to be quite dark and empty.
Ariadne did some quick thinking, the kind of deduction combined with expansive knowledge of magic that she was so good at. Of course, Yaxley wouldn't want his top-secret meeting to be easily discovered by just any student who happened to be wandering around the dungeons at night. This was some kind of disillusioning enchantment, similar to the Muggle-repelling charms often used to conceal magical buildings like Hogwarts itself. And it could be jinxed. She had to tread carefully so as not to spring the trap.
"Incantatem revelio," she whispered. To her surprise, the enchantment did not reveal itself, but instead, what looked like several dark stains, which had previously blended into the dark wood of the door, suddenly glowed a dull green. Bloodstains, she thought. Of course. It was a hint for the password.
"Imperium sanguinem," said Ariadne quietly.
The creaked and opened inward, seemingly of its own accord. Ariadne took another deep breath and entered.
She was in a dim, windowless, stone-walled room, like all the other dungeons, lit by flaming torches in brackets on the wall. A roughly-hewn, rectangular wooden table took up most of the space, with about a dozen people seated along it. They were all wearing half-masks in the shape of a skull. "Welcome, Darkclaw," said a voice near the end of the room.
Ariadne tried not to register her surprise at being addressed by something other than "Clarice." Codenames must be another measure Yaxley and his followers had taken to ensure secrecy. James and Remus must not have picked this up during their reconnaissance— if they had, she was sure James would have made a point to let them know, thought Ariadne, rolling her eyes internally.
Nevertheless, she hoped there weren't too many more surprises of this kind in store.
"Darkclaw, you don't have your mask," murmured one of the people, standing up hurriedly. Ariadne just recognized the sleek voice of Florian Clarke.
Ariadne immediately conjured a mask that looked identical to theirs and placed it over her eyes. "My apologies. I was in a rush and neglected to bring it." Ariadne, or as she was starting to think of herself, Clarice alias Darkclaw, quickly seated herself at the table.
"Always handy with the right spell, you Ravenclaws," said the masked man seated closest to her with a slightly admiring grin.
"There are no 'houses' under the reign of the Dark Lord," snapped a masked figure at the head of the table. With his large, muscular frame and dark hair, there was no mistaking him, despite the mask. It was Yaxley. "Only wizards of pure blood."
"That is…one interpretation of our Dark Lord's missive," said a witch with a soft, delicate voice.
"Is it, now?" said Yaxley quietly. Ariadne already sensed danger in his voice, though she was not sure how perceptible it was to the other witches and wizards gathered at the table. "Would you like to explain, Serpent-tongue, what you believe the Dark Lord has instructed us to do?"
"Well, we all know that certain Hogwarts houses are more…selective in the quality of the wizards they admit under their auspices," said the woman, her words almost dripping with disdain that Ariadne could tell was subtly directed toward her and Clarke. "I feel that the Dark Lord would simply want those standards to be applied across the board. So rather than no houses, one united house…united not under some silly animal or crest, but the banner of pure blood."
"And that house would be Slytherin, obviously," replied a male wizard roughly.
"Slytherin is the house that aligns most directly with these values, yes," responded the witch in her haughty, airy voice.
At that moment, Yaxley brought his heavy fist down on the wooden table with a bang that startled nearly everyone. The room was silent for several tense seconds.
"There are no interpretations amongst the followers of the Dark Lord," he said, voice seething with suppressed anger. "Our Lord has clearly expressed his will to us, and it will be carried out. Precisely. As. He. Has. Dictated."
"Precisely as you have decided it will be dictated," muttered the wizard who had complimented Ariadne's spellcasting earlier.
Another BANG, this time produced by Yaxley's wand, obliterated the wizard's chair into splinters. He landed ungracefully on the stone floor, wincing.
Yaxley kept his wand pointed at the wizard for a moment, breathing heavily and looking no less than unhinged. Finally, he turned to the rest of the group and ripped the sleeve of his robe up his arm past his elbow. "Need I remind you—ALL of you—that I, and I alone, have been chosen by our Dark Lord to lead our mission at Hogwarts."
Ariadne stared at Yaxley's forearm, as did the rest of the occupants of the room. Seemingly carved into his skin with black ink, slightly raised like healed scar tissue, was a grotesque skull with a snake protruding from its open mouth like a tongue. Ariadne had no idea what this meant, but the sight sent a wave of terror through her body.
Clarke cleared his throat. "Ahem, if I may speak—" he glanced warily up at Yaxley, who did not move or respond—"let us also not forget our revered guest, gracing us with her presence from outside the castle." He titled his head deferentially toward a witch seated at Yaxley's right-hand side.
"Make your point, Swiftwing," growled Yaxley, pulling his sleeve down.
"I only meant that—with utmost respect and awe for the trust our Dark Lord has placed in you, Poisontail—we also have been sent by him personally, a loyal follower from his inner circle, well-versed in the dark arts, to guide our actions here at Hogwarts," said Clarke hurriedly, barely concealing his fear at possibly provoking Yaxley's rage yet again. He almost bowed to them both, at least as much as was possible while remaining seated in his chair.
The masked witch inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Swiftwing. Indeed, the Dark Lord has deemed his operations at Hogwarts to be so…key that he sent me here to…assist you all," she said. Ariadne sensed that she was choosing her words very carefully so as not to publicly overstep Yaxley, regardless of what she truly believed her role to be.
Yaxley still seemed enraged, but dared not disrespect this person of obvious high stature within Voldemort's movement. "Of course. We are...greatly appreciative of the support we have received from Skullfeather."
"Without her assistance, our operation at the Halloween masquerade would not have been so successful," chimed in another wizard from the table hopefully.
"Yes." Yaxley seemed to be coming down from his explosive episode. "We spread the word of the Dark Lord to these innocent teenagers, who still believe their schooling here is of any importance. Soon, they will realize that their Charms classes are useless in the face of the coming darkness. They will have no choice but to join us." If the others, like Ariadne, were thinking that Yaxley himself was but a teenaged Hogwarts student, no one dared verbalize it out loud.
"And those interfering Gryffindor children proved to be no obstacle at all," the witch with the musical voice practically purred.
"Black, Potter and their other minions are no longer of any concern to us," added Clarke with a mixture of haste and haughtiness in his voice.
"Good. I have your assurance that they will not be a problem during our next operation, Swiftwing?"
"Absolutely." Clarke glanced over at Ariadne/Clarice as if to share his confidence. "We will take care of it."
"Excellent. Then we can move on to more important matters." Yaxley finally seated himself again. "In fact, Skullfeather, could you please inform us of the status of your work toward our next plan."
The witch named Skullfeather straightened in her seat, with something like a playful expression around her lips. "The basic arrangements are in place. Despite the…limitations placed on us by express order of the Dark Lord, who does not wish any student to be harmed (yet), I feel confident that this display of his power will win many over to our cause."
Yaxley leaned in closer. "And the…creature? It is being well-kept, and safe, and hidden?"
"Of course, Poisontail. Remember, the dark forest no longer frightens me. It has been several years since I was brainwashed by the old tales Dumbledore will tell to scare you." Skullfeather tinkled out a little laugh. Ariadne noticed Clarke shifting somewhat uncomfortably in his chair.
"Nightscale, Serpent-tongue, your charge is ensure that the creature enters the castle and that Skullfeather's presence is never revealed." He looked at them both intently. "Seek your reflection in the perfect square when the first snow falls." These encoded instructions appeared to make sense to the wizard and the witch with the soft voice, because they both simply nodded.
"Darkclaw, Swiftwing, you know what you need to do," Yaxley said, turning to Clarke and Ariadne. Ariadne nodded as if she perfectly understood his words. She sensed that this was Clarice's second chance to prove herself, but felt it safer not to say anything and risk revealing herself. "I don't particularly care how you do it, but remember, they must not be harmed. Only scared."
"We will not disappoint you, Poisontail," answered Clarke fervently.
"Good. Unless there is further news, we will now conclude with our blood oath."
Ariadne attempted to glance around discreetly so she could follow their lead. All twelve witches and wizards were pulling out their wands, or in some cases, small silver knives. Ariadne glanced down at her own fair hands, which she had not even allowed to touch the wooden table at this point. She looked up and was caught by the direct gaze of Skullfeather boring into her eyes.
"What's the matter?" said Skullfeather to her in her lightly teasing voice. "Afraid of a little pain…half-blood?" Her voice shifted from playful to lethal on the last two syllables. Ariadne realized that the game was up.
A/N: We're baaaaaaack :D