The chapter is a bit longer than usual. I hope you'll enjoy it. Happy reading.
It's the same disclaimers as usual ! (English = not my first language !)
Chapter 5
– Dray!
The young Malfoy didn't turn around. Mio, as she was the one who had called out, managed to catch up to the young man and stopped at his side. She wanted to speak to him but froze in her tracks—he was crying.
– Don't cry, Dray, everything's going to be fine. Don't worry!
– I'm not crying! he retorted.
– Do you want a handkerchief?
– I said I'm not crying! A MALFOY DOESN'T SHOW EMOTIONS! he shouted. I'm not allowed… not allowed to cry! he finished in a whisper.
Mio's heart tightened. Her cousin didn't like physical contact, but she didn't care—she pulled him into her arms. He began to cry harder.
Seconds or maybe minutes passed, Mio wasn't sure anymore. Draco was now sobbing.
– Listen, Draco, she said softly, you're going to have to be strong. Snape is going to need us! And… She hesitated a little before continuing, Harry, he's really going to need you!
At the mention of the boy with the scar, Draco froze.
– He can go to hell, Saint Potter!
– Stop it, Draco. I know he matters to you, just as I know he asked me to look after you without your knowledge. Now you know! You know how much, even during… well, even during the… arg, what I mean is, even while he was fighting, he never stopped thinking about you. So, you're going to lift that head of yours, carry yourself with the dignity of a Malfoy, and face the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters who will be celebrating Professor Dumbledore's death…
Her voice had nearly faded away at the mention of that last name.
– Pfft, you sound just like Father!
– Oh, well, let's say Uncle Lucius was very good at teaching me his "principles," she said, miming air quotes with her fingers. Come on, let's go!
– Back to the castle?
– Are you kidding? Do you want the entire Order chasing after you? Think, Dray! We're going where the Master is: to the Manor!
The young Malfoy grumbled and followed the blonde woman, Disapparating.
Two men appeared out of nowhere, a few meters apart, on the narrow moonlit path. For a moment, they stood perfectly still, each pointing their wand at the other's chest. Then, upon recognizing each other, they lowered their wands beneath their cloaks and began walking briskly in the same direction.
– Any news? asked the taller of the two.
– Excellent, replied Severus Snape.
The two men continued onward. They turned right into a wide lane that veered off from the path. The tall hedge curved alongside it, stretching far beyond the imposing wrought-iron gates that blocked their way. Neither man slowed his pace: without a word, they raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed through the gates as if the dark metal were no more than a curtain of smoke.
The rows of yew trees muffled the sound of their footsteps. There was a rustling noise somewhere to their right; Yaxley, the second man, drew his wand and pointed it over his companion's head, but the noise came from a peacock, its feathers pure white, strutting majestically atop the hedge.
– Lucius spares no extravagance, does he? Peacocks…
With a small snort of laughter, Yaxley stowed his wand back under his cloak.
At the end of the lane, an elegant manor came into view in the darkness, its windows gleaming with faint reflections of light from the ground floor. Somewhere in the shadowy grounds beyond the hedge, the sound of a fountain could be heard. Gravel crunched underfoot as Snape and Yaxley hurried toward the door, which swung inward at their approach, though no one appeared to have opened it.
The dimly lit entrance hall was vast and richly decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering much of the stone floor. Pale-faced portraits on the walls followed the two men's progress with their eyes as they strode purposefully forward. Snape and Yaxley stopped before a heavy wooden door that led to the adjacent room. They hesitated briefly before Snape turned the bronze handle.
The drawing room was filled with silent visitors seated around a long, ornate table. The usual furnishings had been shoved haphazardly against the walls. The room was illuminated by a fire burning in the hearth, beneath a splendid marble mantelpiece topped with a gilded mirror.
Snape and Yaxley lingered momentarily on the threshold. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, an unsettling sight caught their attention: a human figure, apparently unconscious, was suspended upside down above the table, slowly rotating as though hanging by invisible ropes around their ankles. Their image was reflected in the mirror and on the polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated around this peculiar scene paid it any mind, except for a pale young man sitting directly beneath the figure. He glanced upward at regular intervals. Beside him, a pale young woman sat motionless, her gaze fixed on the table as though staring at a speck of imaginary dust.
— Ah, Yaxley and Snape, said a clear, high-pitched voice coming from the far end of the table. You almost arrived very late.
The man who had spoken was sitting right in front of the fireplace, and at first, it was difficult for the two newcomers to distinguish anything other than the contours of his silhouette. But as they got closer, they saw a face glowing in the dim light, with a bald skull like a serpent's head, its two slits for nostrils, and its red, glowing eyes with vertical pupils. His complexion was so pale it seemed to shimmer with an iridescent glow.
— Severus, here, said Voldemort, indicating a seat to his right. Yaxley... next to Dolohov.
The two men sat in the seats indicated to them. Most of the gazes followed Snape, and it was to him that Voldemort first addressed:
— So? — Master, the Order of the Phoenix intends to take Harry Potter out of the hiding place where he is currently safe next Saturday, at dusk.
This statement sparked clear interest around the table: some stiffened, others fidgeted, all watching Snape and Voldemort.
— Saturday... at dusk, Voldemort repeated.
His fiery red irises fixed on Snape's black eyes with such intensity that several people turned their heads away, seemingly afraid of the burn of that fierce gaze. Snape, however, stared back at Voldemort with the utmost calm. After a while, the Dark Lord's lipless mouth stretched into a sort of smile.
— Good, very good. And this information comes from... — From the source we discussed, said Snape.
The conversation continued. Mio, her head still lowered, eyes fixed on the table, had trouble following the discussion. She was tired. Tired physically, but especially mentally. This double game she played wasn't the same without Dumbledore. The Order seemed harder to reach now that he was gone. She would have liked to share these worries with Snape, the only one who knew. But she could already imagine his reaction: to dismiss her with sarcasm.
She shifted her attention back to the conversation.
They were discussing Harry's transport, when and where he would go. She of course knew. And at those moments, she was glad to have nearly perfected Occlumency. Yaxley was proud of having completed his mission: placing a Ministry official under the Imperius Curse. The master was pleased, but that wouldn't be enough. The Ministry needed to be completely under the Death Eaters' control. And there were still some resistance among the officials.
— We have an advantage, Master, declared Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive his share of approval. We now have several people embedded in the Department of Magical Transportation. If Potter uses Apparition or the Floo Network, we will be immediately alerted.
— He will do neither, retorted Snape. The Order avoids any method of transportation controlled or organized by the Ministry. They distrust anything linked to that place.
— Good, continued Voldemort. He will have to move in the open. Much easier for us, by far.
Voldemort glanced once more at the body slowly turning above him as he continued:
— I will take care of the boy myself. Too many mistakes have been made regarding Harry Potter. I am responsible for some of them. The fact that Potter is still alive is much more due to my mistakes than to his triumphs.
Around the table, everyone watched Voldemort apprehensively, each expression betraying the fear of being blamed for Harry Potter's long life.
Voldemort, however, seemed to be talking more to himself than to any of them, his face still raised toward the unconscious body spinning above him.
— I have been negligent, and that is why chance and bad luck, which seem to destroy any poorly prepared plan, have finally thwarted me. But I have learned much now. I understand things today that I missed before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I will be.
As if to respond to the words he had just spoken, a sudden wail broke out, a terrible, prolonged cry of pain and despair. Many around the table lowered their eyes, surprised, as the sound seemed to come from beneath their feet. Draco and Mio shuddered.
— Wormtail, said Voldemort in the same calm, pensive voice, not taking his eyes off the spinning body, did I not instruct you to silence our prisoner? — Yes, M... Master, stammered a small man sitting so low that at first glance his chair seemed empty. He stood up quickly and dashed out of the room, leaving behind a strange silvery gleam.
— As I was saying, continued Voldemort, his gaze now back on his visibly tense followers, I understand things much better now. For example, I will need to borrow one of your wands to kill Potter.
A look of astonishment appeared on the faces around him. It was as if he had just announced that he wanted to borrow an arm.
— No volunteers? asked Voldemort. Let's see... Lucius, I don't see why you would still need a wand.
Lucius Malfoy looked up. By the light of the flames, his complexion seemed yellowish, waxy, his eyes sunken in their sockets, immersed in shadow. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.
— Master? — Your wand, Lucius. I demand you give me your wand. — I...
Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. Eyes fixed in front of her, she was as pale as he, her long blonde hair falling down her back, but under the table, her slender fingers briefly closed around her husband's wrist. Feeling her pressure, Malfoy slid his hand into his robes, drew out his wand, and passed it to Voldemort, who examined it closely, holding it before his red eyes.
— What is this? — Elm, Master, whispered Malfoy. — And inside? — Dragon... dragon heartstring. — Very well, said Voldemort.
He took out his own wand and compared their sizes. Lucius Malfoy made a barely perceptible movement. For a fraction of a second, he seemed to expect to receive Voldemort's wand in exchange for his own. The gesture did not escape Voldemort, whose eyes widened with a malicious expression.
— Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?
A few chuckles rose from the assembly.
— I gave you your freedom, Lucius. Isn't that enough? But I've noticed that you and your family don't seem very happy these days... Is there something you dislike about my presence in your home? — No, nothing... Nothing at all, Master! — What a lie, Lucius...
It seemed as though the sweetish voice continued to hiss after the cruel mouth had ceased all movement. One or two wizards struggled to suppress a shiver as the hissing grew louder.
Something heavy was sliding across the floor, under the table.
The enormous serpent appeared and slowly climbed onto Voldemort's chair. It rose, seemingly endless, and settled on its master's shoulders. Its neck was as thick as a human thigh, its eyes, with vertical slits for pupils, never blinked. With absent-minded air, Voldemort stroked the creature with his long, slender fingers, still staring at Lucius Malfoy.
— Why do the Malfoys seem so unhappy with their fate? My return, my rise to power, isn't that what they've claimed to desire for so many years?
Hearing the name Malfoy, Mio stiffened. Please, Merlin, don't let him focus on her or Draco. Her uncle could handle the Dark Lord; let him deal with it.
— Of course, Master, replied Lucius Malfoy.
With a trembling hand, he wiped the sweat dripping above his lip.
— We desired it... We desire it.
To the left of Malfoy, his wife nodded with a strange stiffness, not looking at Voldemort and his snake. To his right, his son Draco, who was watching the lifeless body suspended above him, threw a brief glance at Voldemort before quickly turning his head again, terrified that their gazes might meet. He felt his cousin's hand, sitting to his right, tighten around his own as if to comfort him or give herself some courage.
– Master, said a brunette woman sitting towards the middle of the table, her voice tight with emotion, it is an honor to have you here, in our family home. For us, there could be no greater pleasure.
She had seated herself next to her sister, as different from her in appearance with her brown hair and heavy eyelids as in her demeanor and behavior. While Narcissa remained rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned towards Voldemort, as words alone couldn't express her desire for closeness.
– No greater pleasure, Voldemort repeated, his head slightly tilted as he looked at her. Coming from you, it means a lot, Bellatrix.
Her face flushed, tears of joy welling up in her eyes.
– My Master knows I speak nothing but the truth! – No greater pleasure... even compared to the happy event which, I have heard, occurred this week in the family?
She stared at him, her lips parted, clearly puzzled.
– I do not know what you are referring to, Master. – I am talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours as well, Lucius and Narcissa. She just married Remus Lupin, the werewolf. You must be very proud.
A burst of sarcastic laughter erupted throughout the assembly. Some, the majority, leaned forward to exchange delighted looks, others slammed their fists on the table.
The enormous snake, disturbed by the commotion, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters didn't hear it, caught up in their joy of humiliating Bellatrix and the Malfoys. Bellatrix's face, which had expressed so much happiness moments before, was now covered in ugly red patches.
– She is not our niece, Master, she cried out amidst the laughter. Narcissa and I have not given our sister a single glance since she married the Mudblood. That filthy girl has nothing to do with us, no more than the beast she married.
– What do you say, Draco? Voldemort asked, his words, though spoken softly, clearly resonating through the jeers and mockery. Would you be willing to look after their pups?
Laughter redoubled. Draco Malfoy cast a terrified glance at his father, who was staring at his knees, then locked eyes with his mother. She gave a nearly imperceptible nod before turning her gaze back impassively to the wall in front of her. Even Mio at his side seemed petrified.
– Perhaps you have an opinion, Mio? Can you put yourself in the shoes of a rejected niece? Voldemort hissed.
Narcissa made a slight movement towards Mio. Her Uncle Lucius was still looking at his hands. Mio had turned her gaze towards Voldemort and didn't know what to do. The laughter and chuckles of the other Death Eaters echoed through the room.
– Enough, Voldemort said, caressing the snake. Enough.
And the laughter immediately faded.
– Many family trees, among those of our oldest families, are affected by disease over time, he said, still looking at Mio, while Bellatrix, panting, cast an imploring look at him. Yours, for instance, needs pruning to keep it healthy, don't you think? Cut away the branches that threaten the health of the others, he added, turning to Bellatrix.
– Yes, Master, murmured Bellatrix, her eyes again filled with tears of gratitude. At the first opportunity!
– That opportunity will be given to you, Voldemort assured. In your family, as everywhere else in the world… we will tear out the cancer that infects us until only the true blood remains… Lucius, I'll leave your niece alone. You know I consider that she can be useful despite the blood traitors she has for family, he finished with a hint of disgust in his voice.
Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, aimed it straight at the suspended figure slowly turning above the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure stirred with a moan and began to struggle against its invisible bonds.
– Do you recognize our guest, Severus? Voldemort asked.
Snape looked up at the face appearing in reverse. All the Death Eaters were now staring at the prisoner, as though permission had been given for them to show their curiosity. Turning toward the light cast by the fire in the fireplace, the woman spoke in a broken, terrified voice:
– Severus! Mio! Help me!
– Yes, I recognize her, Snape replied, and the prisoner continued to spin slowly.
– And you, Draco? Voldemort asked, caressing the snake's head with his free hand.
Draco shook his head in a jerky motion. Now that the woman had regained consciousness, he seemed incapable of looking at her again.
– You wouldn't have chosen her class, Voldemort said. For those of you who don't know, we are hosting tonight Charity Burbage, who until recently was a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mio, you must have assisted her?
Mio was making considerable efforts not to tremble with fear, rage, or disgust at all these words, this scene, and what she feared would follow.
Murmurs of agreement rose around the table. Mio then spoke up:
– Yes… Professor Burbage taught wizard and witch children all they needed to know about Muggles… explaining to them that they are not so different from us…
One of the Death Eaters spat on the ground. Charity Burbage spun once more toward Snape, then toward Mio.
– Severus… Mio… please… please.
– Silence, Voldemort interrupted.
He gave another sharp flick of Malfoy's wand, and Charity fell silent as though gagged.
– Not only did she pollute and corrupt the minds of young wizards, but Professor Burbage also published a passionate defense of Mudbloods last week in the Daily Prophet.
The wizards, she claims, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magical powers. The decrease in pureblood numbers is a trend she deems desirable… She would have us all marry Muggles… or, perhaps, werewolves.
This time, no one laughed: there was no ambiguity in the anger and contempt that Voldemort's voice conveyed. For the third time, Charity Burbage spun toward Snape and Mio. Tears were streaming from her eyes, running into her hair. Snape watched her, unmoved, as she continued to spin. He then cast a glance at young Mio Weasley. She couldn't have been paler. Her gaze seemed frozen on Charity.
– Avada Kedavra!
The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. With a resounding crash, Charity collapsed onto the table, which trembled and cracked under the shock. Several Death Eaters recoiled in their seats. Draco slid from his and fell to the floor. Mio had not moved, but her efforts were shattered: she was trembling, and a tear slid down her cheek.
– Dinner is served, Nagini, Voldemort said in a soft voice.
The large snake then rose, swaying, before sliding from its master's shoulders toward the polished wooden table.