Sybill trembled, keeping her eyes downcast. Her thick glasses were askew, one side caught in her tangled hair. Her knees, bloody and bruised by this point, ached from kneeling on the cold marble floor. But she didn't dare get up. No, she didn't dare get up.
The wretched woman behind her yanked on Sybill's hair, forcing her head up. She ran her wand along Sybill's throat, causing her to whimper.
"Now, now, Sybill dear," she crooned into her ear. "We must sit up straight for the Dark Lord's arrival. He's been so anxious to meet you." Bellatrix laughed then, the sound high and cold. Sybill closed her eyes, seeking the wisdom of her Inner Eye. How could she not have seen this coming? A gifted seer she might be, but she had never imagined these... these ruffians, these scoundrels... would want anything to do with her. Despite her talent for seeing misfortune around every corner, Sybill enjoyed a quiet life. Tea and crumpets by the fire, that was a good evening as far as she was concerned. Not that there had been much tea or crumpets since she had been unceremoniously ousted from her position at Hogwarts. No, it was all Muggle fairs and dodgy sideshows after that. Albus had begged her to return, said that Hogwarts wasn't the same without her, but Sybill knew where she was not wanted - her position had already been filled by a centaur of all things. Her pride could barely handle the thought of returning to the castle, a disgraced formal faculty living on Albus Dumbledore's charity. People already didn't take her fortunes seriously enough, but to be upstaged by a glorified horse? No, she simply couldn't bear it.
The sound of a door opening to her left made Sybill open her eyes just a crack. Without her glasses it was difficult to make out more than rough shapes, but her blood ran cold at the swirling dark energy that surrounded the man who swept to the front of the room. She had never seen an energy field so corrupted. Thick, oily patches blocked the flow of the man's aura - there had to be at least six, no, seven.
"Sybill Trelawney," the man said. "How kind of you to join us." Other shapes in the room laughed and Sybill squeezed her eyes shut. She knew without a doubt now that she was before the Dark Lord, her worst nightmares realized. A wisp of magic shot to her face and her glasses righted themselves; when she opened her eyes again, the room was in sharper focus. She was in a manor house, surrounded by Death Eaters.
At her silence, Bellatrix yanked on Sybill's hair again and hissed, "Greet the Dark Lord properly, you insolent-"
"Now, Bella," Voldemort said with a wave of his hand as he sat in a chair near the front of the room. "Sybill is our honored guest. We must forgive her if she forgets some social niceties." He twirled his wand between his fingers, feigning boredom. A roaring fire sparked in the fireplace behind him, causing him to cast a long shadow across the room.
"My sources tell me you are a gifted seer," he continued. "Is that so?"
At a sharp jab to her back from Bellatrix, Sybill responded, "I - yes, I come from a long line of-"
Voldemort held up his hand. "It is not your ancestors' abilities I am concerned with, but yours. Dumbledore has kept you squirreled away all these years, hiding you from the world. Why do you think that might be, Sybill?"
She lifted her chin a bit, insulted at the implication. "Albus regards me very highly and entrusted the education of his students-"
"Ah, but there are a good many seers in the world, many of whom would love to teach at Hogwarts. Many of whom who come rather - er, more highly recommended than you, who, as I understand it, received rather poor marks from your students. Although I suppose the old man finally saw the error of his ways - you're no longer employed at Hogwarts, correct?"
"Albus never fired me, it was that dreadful Ministry woman!" Sybill exclaimed, forgetting for a moment exactly where she was and who she was talking to. "He's asked me back multiple times, each more insistent than the last, but I - I declined." The Death Eaters laughed at this, making Sybill wonder what joke she was missing.
Voldemort kept his eyes on his wand. "Yes, I'm sure Albus was most insistent that you return. For one prophecy you've told, at least, is of particular interest to me. He likely assumed I would try to find you." Sybill paled at this.
"What - what prophecy is this? I have told a great many in my time-"
It was Voldemort's turn to laugh.
"Don't play dumb with me, woman," he said, standing and moving towards her. "You can't deceive me. It's all here, in your mind. Legilimens!"
It was like entering a long tunnel, filled with rushing wind. Images flew through Sybill's mind faster than she could make sense of. She whipped from memory to memory, falling backwards through time, the Dark Lord's oily energy swirling all around her. There was Minerva McGonagall, pleading with her to reconsider leaving Hogwarts. There was darling Lavender and dear Parvati, telling their futures in their tea leaves, and that silly Granger girl in the back, her nose in the air. There was Albus at the beginning of term feast, welcoming in a new batch of first years. And then they seemed to land in a memory, one Sybill had nearly forgotten about.
She frowned, trying to place why the Dark Lord would choose this memory over any other. She saw herself, her younger self, in the Hog's Head, wrapped in her favorite shawl and warming her hands by the paltry fire. She had traveled all the way from Kent in order to interview for the post of Divination professor. She had been out of work for nearly ninth months at that point, so the drafty Hog's Head had been the best she could afford. Sybill shivered even now to remember the way the wind had whistled through her poorly sealed window.
The Dark Lord's consciousness watched the scene with interest. Sybill stayed silent, not daring to say anything. She wasn't sure what the Dark Lord hoped to find with this memory, but surely a job interview wasn't it... He was going to be sorely disappointed, and Sybill could only pray he would show mercy when he inevitably realized that whatever he was looking for wasn't here.
There was a knock at the door and Albus Dumbledore entered. They watched the interview proceed just as she remembered it, with Albus laughing genially at her jokes and offering little "mm"s of encouragement as she recounted the various predictions she had made over the years. He turned to leave, and then the most unusual thing happened. Younger Sybill sat bolt upright in her chair as though she had been struck by lightning. Then, in a raspy voice that Sybill didn't recognize at all, her younger self recounted:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
As suddenly as they had arrived, they vanished - the memory whipped away from Sybill's consciousness before she could make sense of it, and she was rushing back almost painfully fast to the present. Her consciousness slammed back into her body and she gasped as the Dark Lord released his hold on her mind. He was laughing as he spun away from her to face the fire.
"Albus never told you that you were the one to predict my connection to Harry Potter?" he said, and the Death Eaters started laughing with him. "No wonder he kept you locked up in that castle - you couldn't be trusted with the truth."
Sybill's face was white, her breathing shallow. This couldn't be. A false memory - it had to be. There was no way Albus wouldn't have told her something this important... But her mind flashed on Albus's most recent letters, the insistence that she return to Hogwarts even if not to teach... how he had always discouraged her from going to visit her sister in France... It couldn't be true, but the sinking feeling in Sybill's stomach said otherwise.
The Dark Lord's laughter had stopped. He was staring at the fire, his hands folded behind his back. In a soft voice, he said, "Dumbledore may not trust you, Sybill, but I do. Tell me what I must do to defeat Harry Potter."
"De-defeat Harry Potter?" Sybill sputtered. "I haven't the faintest idea-"
"You must. You said so yourself, fifteen years ago. 'He will have the power the Dark Lord knows not.' So you must tell me - what must I do to defeat this unknown power?"
"The Inner Eye doesn't work that way," Sybill said, shaking her head. "I can't just summon it on command. Inspiration strikes when it will! It is not some party trick-"
Voldemort turned around then, his face twisted in anger. "Then I suppose you'll have to hope you're feeling inspired very soon." He strode toward her, wand drawn. Sybill braced herself. "Perhaps a touch of the Cruciatus will loosen your Inner Eye-"
"That is unlikely to be successful, my lord."
Voldemort stopped in his tracks and turned to look at someone behind Sybill. Hardly daring to move, Sybill started to turn her neck, but she needn't have bothered. Bellatrix roughly spun her around so that she was facing the room filled with Death Eaters standing in two straight lines against either side wall.
"Severus. You have my leave to speak."
Cold horror filled Sybill as one of the masked figures stepped forward. It couldn't be. Albus trusted Severus. He couldn't be a Death Eater. Perhaps he was here to rescue her instead. Yes, that must be it.
Appearing to notice the look on her face, Voldemort laughed again. "Yes, one must question if Albus is losing his touch. He places his trust in one of my most loyal servants and not in you, who, despite the threat to your life, show no signs of betraying him. Severus, what do you suggest we do about this uncooperative house guest?"
Severus did not turn to look at them as he spoke. He stayed at attention, the perfect soldier. "It is my estimation that Sybill Trelawney, despite her previous success, is something of a fraud. As you pointed out earlier, my lord, the students despise her - except for that fateful night in Hogsmeade, she is no more than a charlatan, unable to predict so much as the weather. It would be best just to kill her now."
Sybill's knees gave way at these words and she let out a little sob. This couldn't be happening. Bellatrix growled a little and yanked her up again.
"Are you quite sure, Severus?" she asked, running her wand against Sybill's neck again. "If the Cruciatus won't do, you're telling me that our esteemed potions master doesn't have any tricks up his sleeve, none at all?" Her voice had taken on an exaggerated pout.
Severus said nothing at first, apparently waiting for Voldemort to respond. When he did not, he said slowly, "It is possible that a mixture of Veritaserum and a dissociative potion could induce a trance state. But it is highly experimental, and will be taxing on her body. You would get two, maybe three uses at max before she died, and it's uncertain that she would be able to divine anything at all, let alone anything useful."
Voldemort placed his hand on Sybill's shoulder. "Well that's a risk we'll just have to take, won't we?"
Draco sat on his hands to stop them from shaking. A thick layer of mist lay upon the manor grounds, the dawn barely peaking through. He was sitting on a cold stone bench at the edge of the gardens and had been there for some time already, as he was unable to sleep. The memories of last night threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed them away, instead bringing his awareness to the way the cold stone leached through his robes. His father's ring poked at him uncomfortably, causing him to withdraw his right hand after only a moment.
He lifted his hand and turned it a bit, observing how the emerald stone glinted in the early morning sunlight. The Malfoy family crest was engraved on its face, and on the inside of the band the words Sanctimonia Vincet Semper were carved in an elegant script. The ring was a bit too large for him - he had to wear it on his middle finger, and even then it was loose - but he hadn't shrunk it down yet. He couldn't bear to. Altering the ring in any way seemed too final. Despite what it looked like, he was only borrowing it. His father would be wearing it again very soon.
He took a shuddering breath and returned his gaze to the horizon, watching the sun creep up over the hedges. He had been home for just over a month now, but it didn't feel like home. In truth, he hardly recognized the place. The Dark Lord's presence had cast a persistent chill over the manor; everything was oddly quiet, oddly still. It was as if the manor itself hoped that it could evade the Dark Lord's notice.
Draco was not so lucky. He had returned from his fifth year, eager to hear about his father's daring escape from the Ministry. He had had to piece together what happened from the Daily Prophet, as his mother didn't trust owl correspondence for any sensitive information. The way Draco had reasoned it, his father must have outsmarted the Ministry aurors and even Dumbledore himself in order to evade being sent to Azkaban. Only the Dark Lord, his father, and his aunt Bellatrix had managed it, which, Draco assumed, was proof of their superior skill and intellect. He was wrong.
He had been disabused of this notion almost immediately upon returning home. Rather than a triumphant leader, his father had seemed a shell of himself. He had dark shadows under his eyes, the faintest hint of stubble on his jawline, and Draco thought he looked a bit thinner. Draco had been ushered in through the front doors of the manor and right into the presence of the Dark Lord.
His blood chilled at the memory. Whatever Draco had imagined the Dark Lord to be like, the truth of his presence was worse. The inhumanness of his red eyes, his cold humor, and that great disgusting snake he kept in his presence all made Draco's skin crawl. His father had urged him to kneel and the Dark Lord had placed his cold hands on Draco's shoulders, offering a blessing of sorts.
They had gone to the drawing room after that and things had just gotten worse from there. His father hadn't succeeded at all - in fact, he was lucky to still be among the living. In a farce of a ceremony that was humiliating for all parties, the Dark Lord had instructed Lucius to name Draco as head of the Malfoy household, passing the family's signet ring to him - something that should only have happened on his deathbed. Lucius Malfoy was the walking dead, the Dark Lord had stated, unless and until Draco could redeem the family name. How that was to be done, the Dark Lord had not declared just then, merely asserting that Draco would serve in his father's stead until the debt was repaid. Then he had had Draco roll up his left sleeve and branded him with the Dark Mark.
They had had a sort of strange party after that, celebrating Draco's "coming of age." His aunt had hung streamers all over the dining room and had been practically jumping with glee when she saw the Mark. Draco remembered trying to force his grimace into a smile and failing utterly at it. Lucius, true to the Dark Lord's new moniker for him, had remained silent and stone faced throughout the whole evening. His mother had alternated between trying for a brave face and struggling not to cry.
A month had passed since then and no requests from the Dark Lord had been issued, until last night. The Dark Lord had been hosting all of his closest Death Eaters at the manor that evening - at least, those who weren't cooped up in Azkaban. Early conversations had been focused on how best to free their brethren, conversations in which Draco had been content to be a fly on the wall. He had no brilliant ideas for breaching Azkaban, after all.
Then Amycus Carrow had burst into the room, exclaiming, "She's got her! She's coming, she's coming." As one, all of the Death Eaters had assembled in lines against either side wall, leaving Draco scrambling and feeling out of place. Lucius silently guided him to a spot near the front of the right hand line, a space that Draco realized should have been Lucius'. Lucius himself stood at the far end of the line, looking for all the world like he was a new recruit lucky to be invited to this gathering. They had slid their masks on and stood at attention as the doors opened. Bellatrix waltzed in like a cat with a canary, dragging a sobbing Professor Trelawney by the hair to the front of the room.
Draco's heart had dropped upon seeing her. What could she possibly be doing here? He couldn't ask his father, and he didn't dare ask either of the men at his sides, thus revealing himself as being out of the loop. So he had stood there and waited with the rest of them for what felt like hours. He was still getting used to his mask - the metal felt oppressive against his face and he didn't like how narrow the eye holes were. He had focused on trying to modulate his breathing, ignoring the sobs of the woman on the floor and his aunt's cackles.
Finally, after an age, the door had opened and the Dark Lord had swept in. Draco could do nothing but watch as Trelawney was interrogated and then condemned to all but certain death through magical experimentation. The Dark Lord had commended Severus Snape for his "brilliant theories" on how to induce a seer's trance, pronouncing him the perfect man for the job. After Trelawney had been dragged away to the Malfoy dungeons, the Dark Lord had called Snape forward, explaining that the time was soon approaching when the Death Eaters would no longer have to hide in the shadows. Once they had Trelawney's insights, nothing would stand in their way from defeating Harry Potter and then toppling the Ministry.
The Death Eaters had cheered raucously at that, with one of them calling out, "Not even Dumbledore!" The crowd had quieted a bit at that, with the Dark Lord looking pensive.
"Yes," he had said slowly, not needing to raise his voice to draw the Death Eaters' attention. "There is the problem of Dumbledore. But this too is a problem that I think you can solve, Severus."
"I don't understand, my lord," Snape had replied, causing the Dark Lord to smile. Then, the worst thing happened - the Dark Lord had called Draco's name. Caught off guard, he had stumbled to the front and knelt, his heart in his throat.
That was when he was given his impossible task. Snape would be the one to kill Dumbledore, but the takeover had to be complete - this was to be the first true battle of what would hopefully be a short war. Draco was to find a way to allow the Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts undetected. He was to "cut the wings off the sleeping dragon while Severus chopped off its head," a phrase that the Dark Lord had found darkly amusing. He was to be given until the end of the next school year to accomplish it - trying to access Trelawney's seer powers would take time, Severus insisted, let alone acting on whatever she revealed.
Draco knew even as the Dark Lord spoke that it was impossible. Hogwarts was among the most well-protected places in the world. If the Dark Lord himself had never been able to infiltrate Hogwarts, how could Draco expect to do it? He was certain he wouldn't be allowed to ask his father for help.
He had warred with himself for the rest of the evening. It was impossible. It was impossible but it must be done. It was impossible but his family's fate rested on his shoulders. His family's fate rested on doing the impossible.
He hadn't slept at all that night, tossing and turning in bed, imagining that he could hear Trelawney's screams from several floors below. Finally, a little after four in the morning, he had crawled from bed and headed to the garden. No one else was awake yet, which gave Draco time to be alone with his thoughts.
His mind flashed on the Dark Lord's parting words to him the night before: "Don't get too comfortable, Draco. This alone will not repay your father's debt. I will tell you when the debt has been paid."
He let out a humorless laugh. Comfortable. If there was anything he wasn't feeling, it was comfortable. Even if he managed to get around all the various enchantments and protections at Hogwarts to allow a whole crowd of Death Eaters to enter right under Albus Dumbledore's nose, it still wasn't going to be enough. Part of him wondered if this was all just designed to be further humiliation for the Malfoy family - if he wasn't meant to succeed at all. A smaller, younger part of him harbored a growing resentment for his father. Lucius had always come through - why did he have to fail this time out of all times?
Footsteps crunching on the gravel to his left drew Draco's attention. Sitting up straighter, he squinted to make out the shadowy figure walking towards him in the mist. After a moment, Snape's bat-like figure came into view. Draco said nothing, his mouth growing thin as he turned to look straight ahead. Snape chose not to say anything either. He approached the younger man and turned to sit next to him on the bench. Draco stiffened.
"What do you want?" he said, not bothering to be polite. He might have treaded a little more carefully with any other Death Eater, but he had known Snape since he was eleven.
"Your mother asked me to speak with you." Draco rolled his eyes and started to stand up, but Snape's hand shot towards him and grasped his robe sleeve before Draco could fully turn away.
"You will want to hear what I have to say."
"If this is about protecting me-" Draco started with a sneer, but Snape interrupted.
"It is about making sure you meet your goal, and that you don't get your family tortured and murdered along the way."
Reluctantly, Draco sat. Snape released his hold on Draco's sleeve. The two men sat silently for a moment, both looking straight ahead. A passerby might have mistaken them for strangers, enjoying a misty morning in a rather ornate park. Finally, Snape spoke.
"You must learn to quiet your mind. Master your senses," he continued firmly at the sign that Draco was going to interrupt. "You wear your emotions on your face and that will get you or someone else killed, it's only a matter of time."
Draco was silent for a moment. Then, in an embarrassingly small voice, he said, "I'm trying."
"You must try better, and soon. I assume you are familiar with the concept of Occlumency?"
Draco nodded.
"I will be able to teach you. We needn't hide anything - your father is an accomplished Legilimens and it would not be suspect for you to learn given that you are his replacement, temporary or otherwise."
Draco was silent for a long moment, his jaw tight. Temporary or otherwise. "When do we begin?"