Heir Of Voldemort

One Year Later - "The Goblet of Fire"

Standing at the front door of the Harris household, the delivery man rocked on the balls of his feet, glancing at his watch. Sighing, he knocked on the door again, a little harder this time.

"Just a minute! I'll be right there!" a voice called from inside, the door opening a moment later to reveal a petite, dusty, blonde-haired woman in loose dungarees with paint striped across her face. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she smiled at him. "Can I help you?"

"I have a parcel for you. I need a signature here," He proffered a clipboard for her to sign. "And here..." She took the pen and started scribbling her name, unaware of the man's dark eyes staring at her longingly.

"So what do you have for me?"

Starting in surprise, the man blinked. "Uh...what?"

"What do you have for me?"

"Uh..." He held out a rectangular box that was about the same shape and size as a medium-sized shoe box, but felt like it was empty, or at least had something very soft and light inside of it.

The woman took the box, frowning slightly as she gave it a shake. "Do you know where it came from?" she asked carefully.

"Sorry, lady, I only deliver them," he answered with an apologetic shrug. "I guess you weren't expecting anything?"

"No...not really..."

A beefy hand came out and squeezed her slender shoulder. "Don't worry, luv," he said to the distracted woman. "Not many people are used to it when it starts...raining weird boxes."

The woman forced a smile up at him. "Thank you..."

She disappeared back into the house - still staring pensively at the package in her hands - and closed the door, leaving the delivery man standing at the door, a tired look on his face.

It seemed to take him a minute to realise that he didn't have to be there and he reluctantly returned to his van, at the roadside.

Driving away from the quiet Harris house, he directed the van to the outskirts of Sunnydale, where the roads started to clear. Skidding to a halt and knocking a cactus flying in the process, he brought the van to a halt and stepped out.

He casually noticed that he would have to practise his parking, before climbing into the back of the vehicle, where the real delivery man was propped up between two large sacks of parcels.

His large figure was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts, his large, round paunch almost resting on his large thighs. His jowls shook with every wheezing snore he made, his nostrils quivering.

Squatting down, the man disguised as the hapless muggle cocked his head to regard the unconscious human. "You know, mate," he remarked. "I really appreciate you letting me use your body and everything..." He winced, craning his neck.

A strange sound seemed to emanate from his body, his hair rustling as it seemed to sprout out from his scalp and change from black curls to greying sandy-brown.

The dark skin suddenly looked like it was being bleached and the generous build seemed to be melting away with a strange sucking sound, like dregs of the contents of a sink swirling down the plughole.

Simultaneously, the short, squat body started to stretch out as the girth shrunk inwards and the man in the process of changing groaned as his vertebrae shifted back into their natural positions.

Finally straightening up, Ethan Rayne cricked his neck from side to side, the grimace not leaving his face. "Bloody hell, Cass," he muttered under his breath. "I hope you appreciate the things I do for you."

He looked down at the clothing he was wearing with a chuckle. The delivery man was at least a foot and a half shorter than Ethan was and about two feet wider around the waist, which meant the shirt was like a tent and the trousers - had they still been around his lean waist - would have barely covered his calves.

While it seemed rather pointless to disguise himself to deliver a parcel to her - the mail service could have done it - he just wanted a chance to see her face again. It had been far too long.

How long, he wondered, would she take to work out just who her delivery man was?

Disrobing, he dropped the clothing down beside the rightful owner, reclaiming his own, familiar maroon shirt and dark cords. His hand closed over his wand and he studied the unfortunate delivery man.

Placing the tip of his wand against the man's brow, he intoned, "Enervate."

Brown eyes blinked open and the plump man immediately slammed back against the wall with clang, staring at Ethan in panic. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his hands scrabbling around for a weapon. "Whatcha want wit' me?"

"Obliviate."

Leaving the puzzled-looking and half-naked delivery man sitting among his sacks of post, Ethan smirked as he stepped out of the van and into the afternoon sunlight, stretching his freshly-returned body.

"God, I love magic," he remarked, a heartbeat before disapparating with a pop.

***

Meanwhile, back at the Harris' house, Cassie couldn't help being relieved that Xander was out with Jesse and Willow. She had hurried to her study with the package, closing the lid of the trunk over her hidden room.

The box lay in front of her on her desk and she was sitting, staring at it warily.

What if it was something...anything that could harm her boy?

After all, there was no forwarding address, lest they had the delivery wrong.

A frown wrinkled her brow and one hand rose to touch her shoulder, where the delivery man had touched her. Her brown eyes widened in realisation and she looked down at the box. "Ethan?"

Ripping off the thick tape along the top of the box, she quickly pulled the lid open to reveal a parchment envelope on top of what appeared to be a single folded sheet of dirty, yellowed paper.

Confused, Cassie opened the envelope, expecting an explanation. However, only six words were cryptically scrawled on the sheet of parchment, which made her brow wrinkle even more.

"Not everything is what it seems," she read, picking up the scrap of paper from the box and opening it out. There was nothing written on it either. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? What's this paper meant to...oh!"

Feeling somewhat stupid, Cassie hastily lifted her wand, touching it to the sheet, and muttered an incantation over the paper, which immediately thickened and changed into a glossy newspaper.

"The Daily Prophet?"

Uneasily opening out the Wizarding newspaper, her hand came to her mouth in shock at the headline and picture on the first page - Scenes of terror at the Quidditch World Cup.

The picture though...

The Dark Mark...

"No..." Shaking her head, she stared at it. "No...its not possible..."

However, a chilling voice at the back of her mind whispered darkly. "Ah, but how can you be so sure of that? You of all people should know how powerful he was. You know he couldn't be killed so easily."

Reaching over her shoulder with a shaking hand, she flinched as she felt the slightly raised swell on her left shoulder, where the father of her only and precious son, had left his mark on her.

The same mark that was sparkling in the picture in the Wizarding newspaper.

Yes, her mark had been stinging occasionally of late, but she had been hoping - and praying, she would freely admit if anyone asked - that it was just because it was inflicted by dark magics and that would cause it to be a bit...uncomfortable.

"Don't let him come back...don't let him find my little boy..." she whispered hopelessly to anyone who might be listening. "Anything but that..."

***

"Mom, I'm home!"

"Alex!"

Alexander was startled to be grabbed in a hug the moment he crossed the threshhold of the house, his mother's arms so tight around him that he had to swat at her to make her loosen her grip. "Mom! What's the deal? Its not like I've been gone long."

"It's getting dark already, Alex. You know I like you back before nightfall," Cassie chastised, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I was worried."

He studied her for a moment, brown eyes so like her staring back at her. "No, you weren't," he said with certainty. "You don't worry about me when I'm out. It was something else..."

Of course, he was right.

What he didn't know, though, was that his mother had placed a protection spell on him, to defend him from the natural dangers of the Hellmouth, meaning he appeared repulsive in any way necessary to the demons and vampires that roamed their streets. It explained why he was one of the few people in his school who had been unharmed by supernatural forces.

Willow and Jesse, when in his company, were under the same condition.

"What's wrong, mom?" He prompted.

"Does a mother need a reason to want to make sure her son is safe?" Cupping his face between her small hands, she tried to smile, but he could see the tears welling up in her dark brown eyes.

He considered the options he had.

He could press for an answer, which he had done to Willow, which usually broke her resolve face and made her confess to anything that was upsetting her. Or, he could ignore it and let her tell him when she was ready, like he usually did with Jesse.

His mother certainly wasn't as easily broken as Willow, he knew, which meant that he had to resort to the Jesse offensive and distract her.

"Mom," he began. "Could we go to a movie?"

Cassie looked at him, surprised. Then, realising what he was trying to do, she smiled and nodded. "I think we could manage that," she agreed. "We could probably make the last showing of that new Disney cartoon..."

"Mom!"

Flashing a smile at him, she corrected herself. "I mean, we could probably find some action film that you'd like more than that really bad Disney film...we all know how much you hate Disney."

Alexander grinned. "Yeah. Hate it."

"If I buy you a Kingsize bucket of popcorn, will you let your old mum take you to see it?"

Heaving a huge sigh, Alexander pretended to reluctantly acquiesce. "I guess it won't be so bad if I have enough popcorn for the whole thing..." He gave her an impulsive hug. "Thanks, mom."

As he ran to take his bag up to his room, she called after him. "I love you, Alex."

Flashing a smile at her, he nodded. "Love you too, mom."

***

Staring into the fire beneath his cauldron, Severus Snape was seated in the darkness of the dungeon, and pensively tapped the tips of his forefingers together, his hands folded together just beneath his chin.

So...

They had all their champions for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Or should it be called the Quad-Wizard Tournament now?

His long, angular fingertips resting against his pointed chin, he gazed into the cold, flickering, silver-blue flames he regularly employed to keep the dungeon looking as cold as he desired.

How?

That was the question he found himself repeating as he stared into the hearth.

It was an obvious question as well, and while he had cheerfully accused Potter of rigging the Goblet, he knew it was impossible for the boy to have manipulated such a powerful magical artefact.

"And, as usual, he's lurking away, like a rat in his hole."

Snape started at the amused voice from his door of the dungeon, rising out of his high-backed seat. Silhouetted against the flickering flames, his robes unfurled around him in a way that made him look intimidating and formidable to anyone who dared to invade his privacy.

However, it didn't seem to have an affect on the figure framed in the doorway.

"Sev, mate, I taught you that trick."

Shaken, Snape stared at the man. "Ethan?" he croaked. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm an expert at sneaking," Starting across the floor towards the Potions Master, Ethan smirked. "I thought you would have caught onto that."

"That doesn't answer how you got in here unnoticed?"

"My short, white-haired connection was kind enough to turn me into a book to bring me down here. Not the best way to travel, I admit, but it worked," Quickly conjuring up another seat next to the fire, Ethan glanced towards the door. "Got anything that might make this place a bit safer to talk in?"

With a flick of Snape's wand, the door slammed and a gauzy screen of sparkling purple light shimmered in front of it.

"All right, we're enclosed," Returning to the two seats by the fire, where Ethan had comfortably settled himself in the larger, squashy chair, his feet propped on the grate, flames licking the soles of his bare feet, Snape remained standing. His thin hands spread along the top of his jet-black chair. "Do you plan on telling me why you're here?"

"No real reason," Propping his hands behind his head, Ethan leaned back into his chair, eyes closed lightly. "Although, I am wondering how little Pothead got into this little competition that's going on here."

"You heard about that already?" Rounding his chair, his cloak flaring again, Snape swept into his solid, wooden seat. He never resorted to comfortable furnishing. It was an unnecessary luxury.

One of Ethan's eyes opened. "You really like that flaring-cape thing, don't you?" he remarked, lowering his feet to rest on the cold stone of the floor as he sat up. "And yes, Sev, I know about it. It was kind of hard to ignore hundreds of yelling brats going on about when they headed to bed."

Running the fingertips of his right hand over the spiked end of the arm of his chair, Snape looked back into the flames. "I feel ridiculous saying this," he admitted. "But I do believe the boy when he says he didn't do it."

"That, mate, is obvious," His hands interwoven behind his head, he regarded Snape through half-closed eyes. "It just makes you wonder who did it and why they'd have it in for the little ponce."

"You mean, apart from us and our reasons?"

Ethan's lips rose slightly. "Well, I wish I'd had the brains and bollocks to do it, but I can't claim this one as mine," He glanced down at the fire, then back at Severus' gaunt face. "Is there anyone here...?"

Snape sighed. "I would say Karkaroff, but his surprise...his rage when Potter's name emerged...it could not have been acted. He may be a Dark Wizard, but even he was never that good an actor."

"And yet, old Dumbledore went and got Mad-Eye Moody out of retirement," A tight look crossed Snape's face, his black eyes flicking down to his left forearm. "He still doesn't trust you?"

"He doesn't trust anyone, especially anyone with one of these damned marks," His fingers shaking, he undid the button of his cuff and pushed the sleeve up, allowing Ethan to see the mark on the inside of his forearm. "If I had the ability to get rid of this... thing, I would have erased it years ago."

"Does it do anything now that You-Know-Who is gone?" Ethan was studying the faint reddish outline curiously. No reply came and he looked up at Snape's strained face illuminated by the flickering blue. Snape was staring at the fire, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "Sev?"

"He's not gone," His voice was a rasp.

Ethan paled, sitting bolt upright. "You what?"

Glittering black eyes stared into Ethan's green ones. "Did you ever truly believe that he was gone forever, Ethan?" his voice shook as he continued. "The mark...it's been getting clearer for months." He paused, studying the mark. "And I think I'm the only one who was told by Dumbledore, but Potter's scar...he's been having the kind of pains that people like me, people with a dark mark, have."

"It...it hurts you?"

"It never did a thing for years, but recently..." Snape exhaled a breath. "It stings from time to time. It isn't painful, persay, but its simply irritating and the twinges remind you that it is there...that, perhaps is the worst part."

"Christ..." Ethan rubbed his brow. "Sev, if You-Know-Who does come back, will it get worse?"

Severus gave him a look that suggested the Potions Master thought he was deeply stupid. "It's how he summons all of...us, the Death Eaters," Snape rasped, touching the mark stiffly. "When he wants us...there, he touches the mark on any Death Eater who is near him and the mark burns black on anyone who has one, letting us know that we're wanted."

"Oh God...and if you don't go to him, will he know where you are?"

Snape shook his head. "It is a powerful hex he uses, but no matter how powerful he is, he can't locate every single one of his people. He can identify a vague area, but the further they are away, the less chance there is of them being found."

Ethan seemed to sag into his seat. "Thank God for that," he muttered.

"What is it?"

"Little Bones...he marked her."

Snape's face seemed to crumble. A silent curse slipped past his lips. "I had hoped... believed he might have left her unsullied..." he spoke, more to himself. "But he liked everyone to know what was his..."

"As long as she keeps it covered, no one should know, right?"

Snape's eyes remained closed. "But if she is caught, she has the Dark Mark and she'll go straight to Azkaban with things the way they are now. Its only Dumbledore who has prevented me from being dragged back there."

Ethan sat up a little straighter, his mouth a thin, determined line. "Then we'll just have to make sure that she isn't caught."

"We might have a difficulty there." Snape remarked quietly, scratching his cheek. "I believe Karkaroff knows something of the `heir' and if he mentions it to anyone...its only the thought of being safe from the mother's vengeance that keeps him quiet."

"He thinks little Bones would kill him?"

Snape chuckled hoarsely. "He was absent when Bones was chosen. He believes she was chosen because she was powerful and that she was one of You-Know-Who's followers, which is why she was given the..." He laughed bitterly. "The privilege of bearing his Heir. He may be Head of Durmstrang, but he could hold the title of the stupidest Death Eater."

"Maybe," A wicked smile crossed Ethan's face. "You could arrange a meeting with this chap for me, if he gets close to spilling the beans..."

"What would you want to do that for?"

Straightening his back, Ethan gave Snape a dignified look. "As representative of the mother of the `Heir', I would simply remind Karkaroff that if he mentions so much what she looks like, I'll turn his head inside out."

"And we all know that you have such a way with people," the Potions Master commented dryly.

A weary smile reached Ethan's green eyes and Snape noticed for the first time how exhausted he looked. "I'm just protective of the few friends that I have left in this miserable world," He stood abruptly. "But, for now, I need to dash."

"More chaos to cause?"

"Actually," Ethan looked slightly embarrassed by the mundanity of it. "Its because I have a part-time job to pay my way until I get some dark magic sorted. I'm due to start in ten minutes and I have to get across several continents."

Rising, Snape offered a hand to Ethan, who shook it. "I'll try to keep you informed, Rayne," he said softly. "If anything comes up..."

"You do that." Looking towards the door, he sighed. "And now, I have to commence the demon-worshipper-in-the-place-he-was-expelled-and-exiled-on-pain-of-death race to try and avoid that bloody cat and any teachers who might know who I am."

"Or I could just transfigure you and carry you to the nearest exit," Snape suggested with a small smile.

"Oh yeah," Ethan grinned. "Didn't think of that," He held up a finger in front of Severus' face. "I'm trusting you not to hurl me into the lake or anything, mind you. I want to get out safely."

Snape simply gave him a thin-lipped smile, which did nothing to reassure the wizard, as he changed him back into a large book. As he picked the hefty tome off the floor, Snape was convinced the book glared at him.

***

Regular letters had been arriving in Sunnydale, California, after the incident at the Quidditch World Cup, sometimes simply as letters, sometimes as disguised packages and - on one rather surreal occasion - as a strip-o-gram.

The Daily Prophet was regularly enclosed in the delivery and Cassandra had been following the developing story with increasing worry.

As it was to anyone who recalled Voldemort's prior reign of terror, she could see the signs of his impending return. Apparently Professor Dumbledore did as well, judging by the extremes he was going to, having ex-Aurors on the staff.

Apparently someone, a witch, had gone missing and that wasn't something that happened on a regular basis in the Wizarding world. Usually, there was nothing out there that could defeat a Witch or Wizard, so for Bertha Jorkins to be missing for as long as she had been...

The thought made Cassandra shiver.

There was no doubt in her mind that the hapless woman was dead.

And then, there was the latest incident with young Potter. Cassie studied the open newspaper, reading the article about the boy's scar hurting him so much that he ended up on the floor screaming, the day before.

She mentally thanked Ethan for keeping her so up to date with the situation - as soon as the paper was in print, he managed to get a copy to her, although she wasn't quite sure how he did it.

If she remembered right, glancing at her watch, it would soon be over and the whole mess of the Tri-Wizard tournament would be behind them. On the other side of the World, at Hogwarts, the sun would be setting soon and the third and final task of the competition would begin.

A twinge of pain lanced from her shoulder and she grimaced. Even the best potions Ethan had managed to send to her did nothing to ease the pain. She had never seen him on the deliveries, which only made the pain worse in some ways. He claimed it was too dangerous and that he had demons on his tail, but she just wanted to see him.

Pushing up from the seat in her study, she tiredly ascended the ladder and climbed out of her trunk, closing it and locking it securely, transfiguring the keys into an old, dirty baseball cap, which she hung on the back of the bedroom door.

The summer vacation was due to start in a few days. It seemed like an eternity since the last vacation had finished and - while many parents wished their children could stay at school permanently - the vacation didn't come soon enough for Cassandra.

She wanted to have her little boy away from the school, which she knew covered the most powerful Hellmouth on that side of the equator. All she wanted was to be able to spirit him away on a holiday, somewhere different, somewhere where they could just enjoy themselves.

That wasn't going to happen though.

Not that Cassandra knew it, as she started to tidy up the impeccable house for the tenth time that day.

"Hi Mom! Jesse and me are gonna play with my race track," Time seemed to have flown from the moment she had received her letter to the second her son charged through the door and up the stairs.

"Alex! Its a nice day! You should be playing outside!" she called up after them, smiling indulgently.

Alexander called something back down to her that sounded like some excuse about being allergic to the sunlight and thinking that the only cure would be playing with his race track.

Shaking her head, Cassandra moved off into the kitchen to start making the early dinner. She didn't bother asking why school was out early. Probably some demon invasion that would be explained as another gas leak.

All that mattered was that Alex was home and safe.

Looking through the cupboards, she decided that it was time to experiment with a meatloaf again, something she had tried unsuccessfully once before. Now, though, she had been living as a muggle for thirteen years...

Something which proved useless.

Using the tip of a wooden spoon, she turned the blackened blob of...something over, looking for some sign of the juicy, brownish oblong block of mushed meat beneath the shrivelled black crust that covered her attempt.

Glancing towards the stairs to make sure Alex wasn't in sight, she quickly withdrew her wand and tapped the incinerated object, sighing with relief as it swelled out and fleshified under her gaze.

Shooting a blast from her wand at the table, she carried the resurrected loaf through and watched the cutlery laying itself. Placing her vain attempt at a `muggle' meal in the middle of the table, she added some salad, just in case the two teenage boys had miraculously changed their eating habits.

"Boys, are you hungry?"

The sound of thundering feet on the stairs suggested that she had asked a stupid question and Alexander, closely followed by Jesse, skidded into the room, staring at the table greedily.

"Isn't it a little early for dinner, Mrs Harris?"

Reaching out to pick the plate of meatloaf up, she shrugged. "If you don't want it..."

"No!" Both boys quickly sat down. "Of course we want it, mom!"

"Yeah, Mrs Harris! It looks great!"

She watched them hacking chunks off the loaf, as she made her way towards the kitchen. "Is lemonade all right for you boys?" She called through the door, gathering up three glasses and a bottle.

She never heard their reply.

An agonising pain more intense than anything she had ever felt in her life slammed into her back with the force of a ten-ton truck, her vision going rapidly from white to red, then black.

"Mom! Wake up!" She could hear Alexander shouting frantically, but he sounded more like an echo, his voice so distant. Pain tore through her body as she clawed her way towards the fuzzy light ahead, her son's frightened voice growing clearer as the light grew brighter. "Mom!"

With a gasp, her eyes - nearly solid black with the agony - snapped open and she arched off the floor in pain. Her left shoulder felt like it was on fire, convulsions ripping through her body.

She didn't even notice that her hands and wrists were bleeding from numerous cuts, her eyes rolling back in her head. The glasses she had been carrying had shattered on the floor, slivers imbedded in her bare hands and arms from her impact when she had collapsed on them.

Gradually, the shudders eased and she stared up at Alexander, panting, tears spilling down her cheeks. His face was white and he looked terrified.

"M-mom?" He was cradling her and her hands spread on his chest as if to check he was still there and was real. "Mom, what happened?" He didn't even seem aware of the tears breaking from his eyes. "Are...are you all right?"

"All right..." she croaked hoarsely, still shaking. "Y-yes...yes...I..." Pain burned out from her shoulder again and a cry escaped her, partly because of the pain, partly because she knew, already, what it meant.

"What happened, Mrs Harris?" Jesse, as white as Alexander, was staring at her over her son's shoulder.

Swallowing hard, a tremor running through her, Cassandra forced herself to sit upright. "I-I...I just fainted boys," She forced a laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth when the laughter threatened to turn into a sob. Only then, did she see the blood on her fingers, raising a trembling hand in front of her eyes.

"You're hurt, mom!" Motioning for Jesse to hand him a clean dishcloth from the pile on the workbench, Alexander hastily wrapped it around his mother's bloody hands. "We need to get you to a hospital."

Unable to find the strength to reply, Cassandra stared down at her crudely bound hands as her blood started to seep through the cloths, while Alexander rushed to the phone and dialled for an ambulance.

***

Getting unsteadily out of the cab, Alexander hastily slipping an arm around her waist, Cassandra allowed her son to pay the driver with money from her pocket, then helped her up the path to the front door.

She hadn't said a word as she was treated, the medical personnel asking Alexander if she had hit her head. She simply sat and stared at her hands as her fingers and wrists were stitched up.

White bandages were neatly bound around her arms from fingers to halfway up her forearm, her hands held defensively in front of her chest, her eyes red-rimmed from silently crying.

Alexander didn't know what to do. He had only seen her expression like that twice before and he knew it didn't bode well. Unlocking the front door, he hurried her into the house and locked up behind them.

"Are you okay, mom?"

Nodding, she lifted her eyes to his face, one bandaged hand coming out and gently stroking the loose curls back from his forehead. "You go to bed," she said quietly. "I just need to...to tidy up..."

"Not tonight, mom." He steered her - unprotesting - towards the stairs. "You need to lie down. The doctor said to get some rest in case it happens again."

It will, she finished dully at the back of her mind. Much much more often.

She shook herself when she realised that she was somehow already at the top of the stairs, the bathroom door open, Alexander looking from her to it expectantly. "Do you wanna go in, mom? I could fill the bath..."

"Yes...I'll...I'll think a while in there..." Absently kissing his tangled hair, she walked into the white room and shut the door behind her, leaving Alexander to shake his head sadly and hurry to his bedroom, hoping his mother would be all right.

Moving with slow, shuffling steps, Cassie felt as stiff as an old woman, as she approached the mirror, her shaking hands undoing the buttons of her shirt and letting it slip down her body.

Turning her back on the mirror, she drew a long, slow breath as she tilted her head to look at the reflection of her slender back in the mirror.

A sob escaped her and she sank onto her knees.

Even after an hour had passed since it flared to life, she could see the throbbing red-black outline of the Dark Mark burning on her shoulder, saying more clearly than anything that Lord Voldemort was back and he was as bad as ever.

***

Standing back in the inner circle of Death Eaters, his robes scale-like and flickering in the flaming torchlight of Lucius Malfoy's dungeon, Snape gazed out stonily from behind his mask at the scene playing out before him.

It had taken a great deal of grovelling to be accepted once again, his Master plying him with the cruciatus curse several times to ensure that he would not do something as stupid as betraying nearly Voldemort again.

Part of him wished he had refused Dumbledore and stayed in the temporary sanctuary that he knew Hogwarts was. If he had, he knew, he wouldn't be witnessing what he was forced to see now.

However, he owed Dumbledore too much.

So, he was here.

The Inner Circle of Death Eaters was once again complete, but for those killed in the months and years previously.

Including Karkaroff.

All eyes, however, were not on the bloodied, cowering figure at the centre of the circle, but at the forbidding, ominous figure seated on a veritable throne at the head of the circle.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes were focused on Karkaroff. His lips were a thin line, his long-fingered, white hands rhythmically curling and uncurling around the decorative ends of the arms of his elaborate chair.

The former Death Eater had been in hiding in the Black Forest, desperately trying to learn how to become an animagi, to disguise himself from the vengeance of the dark wizard who had been his Master.

It had taken less than two weeks since Voldemort's return for the unfortunate man to be captured by the Dark Lord's loyal followers.

Soundly beaten, he had been brought to Voldemort's hidden `home', which moved around with the Dark Lord, leaving him untraceable and impossible to track. Any Death Eaters who even considered revealing his whereabouts would find that - shortly before they were killed - the lair would move as soon as they had departed.

It never remained in one place, something Snape did admire about the Dark Lord. If there was one thing that Voldemort excelled at, it was keeping his location, identity and followers a secret, unless, of course, they were idiots like the Malfoys.

"Dear Karkaroff," All eyes turned to the unfortunate man, as Voldemort rose from his throne and glided down towards him. The pitiful bundle of rags and bones uttered a terrified whimper, but no other sound. "I hear you have been saying some...rather offensive things about these brothers of yours, in my absence."

"Please, my Lord..." The former teacher's shaking hands scrabbled for Voldemort's robes, panic-filled, bruised eyes rising to the Dark Lord, who stared down at him coldly. "I-I had to tell them something! I had to!"

Crabbe stepped forward and - with a savage blow of his fist - knocked the sobbing man to the ground. Cowering down, Karkaroff buried his head in his hands, rocking, blood streaming between his fingers.

At the side of the circle, Snape flinched. He remembered too well when that fist had meted out the same punishment on him, years before, when he was still a scrawny, insolent Slytherin.

"Oh, do tell me why you felt thus," Voldemort's tone was quiet, but even a fool like Karkaroff knew it was madness to answer. There was a silence only broken by the gurgling wheeze of Karkaroff's breath and the rustling of cloaks. Finally, Voldemort spoke again. "The Lestranges said nothing, as my most loyal servants did, and they will be rewarded."

"I-I..."

"You were a fool, Karkaroff," Voldemort whispered, flitting around the man. "You betrayed my servants...betrayed me."

"No, my Lord! Please!" His face masked with blood, Karkaroff raised his hands in supplication. He was barely recognisable as the arrogant wizard who had been present during the tri-Wizard tournament.

His expensive clothes were reduced to filthy rags, raw cuts and bruises from the savage beating he had received on his arrival at Voldemort's lair leaving him barely able to move.

Gouts of scarlet trickled from the corners of his mouth and from his nose with every breath, his previously well-groomed hair and beard matted with crusts of blackening dried blood and dirt.

Halting in front of the man, Voldemort seemed to consider him for a long moment, then smiled his terrifying smile. "Perhaps, Karkaroff," he murmured. "You could tell me why I should spare you."

"I-I-I..." A gleam of hope shone in the Bulgarian teacher's eyes and Snape felt sick with the thought of what was coming, the foolish man truly believing that he could be saved by bartering information. "I did not tell them of your secret, my Lord!"

"My...secret?" Voldemort had returned to his throne and casually sat down. He motioned with a spider-like hand. "Do elaborate."

Gaining in confidence, Karkaroff painfully knelt up. "Your Heir, my Lord," A rush of whispers passed among the Death Eaters and Snape noticed the tiniest narrowing in Voldemort's red eyes.

"What of my Heir?" Leaning forward, folding his hands together, Voldemort's eyes locked on Karkaroff's bloody face.

Snape saw the calculating glint in the former teacher's eyes and silently prayed that the man wouldn't be stupid enough to try and use his knowledge as leverage against the most unforgiving of Dark Wizards.

"I will tell you..."

Don't say `if', don't say `if', don't say `if'...

Snape's hands had balled in fists and he felt like he had been punched in the gut when Karkaroff defiantly lifted his chin and said. "If you spare me."

Voldemort looked at the kneeling man for a long moment, then smiled. His hand slowly rose from his side, holding his slim wand, and almost boredly, he directed it at Karkaroff and murmured, "Crucio."

"No! No, my Lord!" Screaming, Karkaroff thrashed back onto the floor, his body contorting agonisingly. His hands grabbed at his head, chunks of skin and hair tearing away, his fingers bloodied further by his attempts to tear the pain from his body.

Snape looked away behind his mask, sickened, as Karkaroff's fingers gouged at his own flesh, his desperate screams gargled and agonised, ringing off the stone walls of the chamber.

Raising his wand, Voldemort let the teacher slump onto the floor.

Reluctantly, the Potions Master opened his eyes, drawing an involuntary breath at the pathetic figure on the floor in front of him. He certainly wasn't the only one to inhale a sharp breath.

While some of them had been practising their torture, no one had seen anything like this in almost thirteen years.

If Karkaroff's face had been unrecognisable before, it was certainly little more than a bloody mess now, the ragged cuts opened by his blunt fingers deep and wide, baring muscle and bone.

Sobbing and shaking, Karkaroff lifted his head, bloody drool streaming down his chin, his lower lip torn open by his gnashing teeth. Eyeballs stared out from shredded lids, stained pink.

"Master..." his words were slurred with pain, splattering more dark blood on the floor around him. With incredible effort, he dragged himself forward on his stomach towards Voldemort. "Master... please..."

"Tell me what you know of my Heir, you weak fool," Voldemort's voice was diamond-hard.

"Hidden, Master...hidden..." Snape listened intently. He knew that Ethan - disguised with Polyjuice Potion - had `had a nice, friendly little chat' with Karkaroff shortly before he fled Hogwarts, but he didn't know how much Ethan had said to the former Death Eater. All he did know was that there was no possible way for them to find Cassandra Bones, or the child without Ethan Rayne. "Promised her...would not...reveal...secret...safe..." The man shuddered violently, an eruption of bloody vomit spewing from his mouth.

"Promised who?" Karkaroff choked feebly on his own vomit and Voldemort raised his wand. "Cru..."

"Her!" the bloodied man gasped, his hand raised desperately to his Dark Lord. "She is...living...Lady...Lady Voldemort..."

Snape could see the...could it be relief? spreading across the Dark Lord's face, as he leaned back in his high-backed throne. His eyes flicked to Malfoy. "So she is still living, in spite of your wonderfully foolish idea to let her leave your protection."

Lucius went rigid and Snape had the absurd urge to giggle.

Malfoy had been at the receiving end of the cruciatus curse when Voldemort had discovered that his `mate' and the child she was carrying, had been evicted from Malfoy's protection, lest she bear a child that looked like the Dark Lord.

It was obvious, Voldemort had said, extending the curse, as he watched Malfoy writhe and scream, that the Malfoy family would be disgraced and probably sent to Azkhaban, should they be found to be concealing the Heir of the Dark Lord.

Such cowardice, Voldemort had noted, was disappointing.

Disappointing enough to leave Malfoy unconscious for almost three days.

Snape had found it amusing.

"Where did you see her?" Voldemort turned back to the shivering form of Karkaroff.

"O-outside Hogsmeade...she...arranged meeting...came to me..." the man gargled, blood bubbling from his lips. "Told me...hidden..."

"And did she inform you of how to contact her again?" Snape felt relief swell in him. So he hadn't been able to locate her yet? This was exactly what he and Ethan had hoped for.

"No...said...said if I told Ministry...she...kill me..."

Voldemort nodded with sage patience. "A wise young woman," he observed, before raising his wand and pointing it carelessly at Karkaroff.

"No...please, Lord...please..."

"I hear that so often, Igor," Voldemort sighed, fingering his wand. "It does get rather monotonous. Avada Kedavra."

There was a flash of blinding green light that made every Death Eater throw up an arm to shield their eyes.

Snape was the first to lower his arm and, despite the number of times he had seen the Dark Lord kill, he felt his bile rise as he looked at the fallen form of Karkaroff, his last, pleading expression frozen on his mangled face.

Voldemort laid down his wand and closed his eyes lightly, his hands folded in his lap. "Get rid of this piece of rubbish," he suggested quietly. "Leave it somewhere that the Ministry will find it...a gift."

As Crabbe and Goyle manhandled the body out of sight, the red eyes slowly opened again. "My loyal Death Eaters, I believe that you are now aware of the task that lies ahead of you," The scarlet slits scanned around. "You will seek out my Heir and his mother. You will bring them to me."

"Yes, my Lord," all of the voices hummed in unison, before they disapparated.