His Majesty's Secret Service

Chapter Seven: To the Manor Born

Our Story So Far: Jorian Peleranel, called Ryan Pelerand, has transferred to Hogwarts under false pretences. As a Slytherin, he befriended Draco Malfoy to help Albus Dumbledore gather information about the Death Eaters and Voldemort. Last time, Draco invited him to Malfoy Manor for the holidays. Now, Ryan must test his skills as a spy to infiltrate the ranks as Voldemort supporters arrive at the mansion, all under the supervision of Lucius Malfoy….

Not for the first time, Ryan thought, "What have I got myself into?"

It was the third day of the holidays, and one week before Christmas. Draco had given him a tour of the manor the day before, while his mother dealt with the staff regarding the upcoming party. The house-elves were hard at work, turning out guest rooms and polishing the silver. A detail of dwarves had been hired to spruce up the gardens for the occasion, and to assemble ice sculpture on the front lawns. Draco was more than willing to show off the place, especially as it kept them out of the way.

"That’s my great-grandfather, Phoebus Malfoy. And that’s my great-grandmother, Eudora."

When Ryan had first arrived at Hogwarts, so many years ago, he believed that all human paintings talked and moved about between frames. Being slightly younger than his classmates, they allowed him to labour under that misconception for a long time. Only when he travelled in the human world outside of school did he learn differently. He discovered that the paintings at Hogwarts were somewhat rare. Since his time there, a Belgian wizard named Cudaq developed the special solution that exposed photographs with the ability to move, but paintings required a much more complex effort. In order to move, a painting had to be prepared using enchanted oils. The varnish could not be too thick, or it would fix the pigments to the canvas and they would be squashed like butterflies under glass. However, other than the worth of the painter’s skills, paintings of this type were not too expensive, as the paint formulae became rather commonplace over years of design.

For a painting to speak, the picture was produced using brushes with magical cores like wands, and extra spells applied as the painting dried, in addition to the special oils. Such brushes were rather hard to find, and only the best wizard-artists could afford them. Then too, the spells were unreliable. There was no guarantee, for example, that a painting enchanted to speak would observe any resemblance to the subject’s speech. He remembered a famous case of a Venetian lady, who in life was quite demure, but her enchanted painting was downright loquacious. The artist, he recalled, reversed the spell and froze her in mid-sentence, leaving her mouth in a twisted mockery of a smile.

Far more complicated than either of these was a painting that could leave its frame for another. In fact, in all his years, Hogwarts was the only place he had visited with many portraits who could leave their frames. He suspected the spells required to allow them to maintain their form while off the canvas were too complex, rendering the costs indescribable to the average wizard. Perhaps the amount of magic at work at Hogwarts affected them all, as it prevented Muggle technology from working perfectly. In any case, there were not too many wizards around who seemed to want a painting powerful enough to leave its frame.

The Malfoy's were no exception. Most of the portraits hung along their galleries moved, but few spoke and none seemed able to interchange themselves. He was relieved to see that Jareth’s portrait could not speak, on the off chance that it might be lucid enough to identify him. As it was, it glared down with an unspeakably forbidding expression.

"He always looks like that," Draco said with a suppressed shudder. "Come on, I’ll show you the dungeons."

 

 

 

Now, with a week to go before Christmas Day and the prospect of another full week after that, in a house full of people (most of whom were Death Eaters), and under the scrutiny of Lucius Malfoy, all Ryan wished was for a simple solstice service at home. Perhaps he and Maloriel would bundle up and go for a walk through the snow, or stay inside by the fires and listen to the bards in the hall. Perhaps…. But he had to stay focused on his task. One slip at Hogwarts could mean an embarrassing explanation; one slip here could mean death. Daydreaming wouldn’t help.

It was Monday. Lucius had left early for a meeting in London. Narcissa announced to Draco and Ryan at breakfast that she would take delivery of the tree today, and that they could help decorate if they liked. Draco glanced at Ryan, deferring to his guest. Ryan just shrugged. He had decorated trees with friends on the odd Christmas, but it wasn’t something he cared about either way.

"We’ll help," Draco offered.

The tree was gigantic. Narcissa waved her wand and said, "Mobiliarbus," and the tree turned on its side and followed them through the entrance hall and into the grand ballroom on the right. This large panelled room extended all the way to the back of the house. The front right corner featured a raised area with a baby grand piano and several lyre-shaped music stands. Two large fireplaces dominated the far wall. Narcissa directed the tree into the back right corner of the room, between the fireplace and the back wall, so that one saw it as soon as one walked in. The tree hovered in place while she drew a stand underneath it, and then it jammed itself into the stand. She waved her wand again and the stand filled with water. Next, a skirt formed around it.

"There," she said with a satisfied sigh. "That’s better already." She sniffed the air deeply. "Mm. Fresh pine."

Three neatly labelled boxes of ornaments appeared next to the tree. Narcissa drew up a chair and began to sort through them as an old a-frame ladder also took shape in the room.

"Excellent," Narcissa said with a smile. "Which star, Draco?"

Draco picked out a crystal star for the top of the tree. It was multi-faceted and lacy and looked more like a snowflake than a star.

"Here, give me a hand with the ladder," he instructed Ryan.

"Why not just leviosa it up there?" Ryan asked as they positioned the old ladder by the tree.

"No magic for tree-trimming," Draco explained with an apologetic smile. "Mum’s family’s thing. It’s why Father usually finds somewhere else to be while we decorate. She thinks it’s fun; he thinks it’s a bother."

"Ah." They pushed the ladder as close to the tree as they could get it. Draco knotted his robe at the hem to get it out of his way and climbed up with the star in one hand. But the tree was so large, he couldn’t reach the top even on the last rung.

"Draco, darling, let Ryan try it—he’s taller." Narcissa said, clearly enjoying her tradition, with or without her husband.

Ryan tucked his robes up into his belt, worn on the outside today. His dagger he left hidden in his suitcase.

"Do you usually wear trousers underneath?" Narcissa asked innocently, noting the way the bloused tan fabric was tucked delicately inside the soft leather boots.

Ryan grinned. "Lucky thing, too," he said, nodding.

He and Draco switched places and Ryan climbed up easily. He stretched, but couldn’t quite reach the top of the tree. "Hang on," he said. "Draco, put your weight on the bottom rung." Draco complied. Ryan carefully shifted his weight, swinging one leg over to balance on the opposing rung of the a-frame. That didn’t work, either, so he stepped onto the top shelf of the ladder and stood slowly. It made the difference. He grasped the top sprig of pine and fitted the base of the star onto it. He let go gently so that it eased back into place instead of springing out of his grip. Then he slowly bent one knee and felt with his foot for the ladder rung below to climb down.

"Well done," Narcissa said with delight, holding out a garland of gold suns, moons, and stars. "I don’t suppose…."

Ryan grinned and took one end of the garland, climbing back up.

They trimmed the tree through morning teatime, took a break for luncheon, and finished at about two in the afternoon. Several times as he climbed up the ladder, he caught Narcissa gazing up at him a little too closely; and once when he came halfway down to accept another delicate blown glass trinket for the tree, she let her hand linger on his a little too long, releasing him with a brush of her fingers which he found uncomfortably suggestive.

"What have I got myself into?" he thought as she began asking him about his family’s Christmas traditions. They were just putting away the few leftover ornaments.

"We don’t really do much to celebrate," he said truthfully, letting down his robes again.

"No? Well, of course, lots of the wizarding families don’t. Then, too, I suppose living on the continent—Sweden, is it? —The practices are different."

Ryan shrugged. "Not too different. Nördskolr always had trees at Christmas. They use candles, though."

"But surely you at least exchange presents?" she asked. Before Ryan had to answer, Lucius strode through the doors.

"Ah, there you all are. Tree looks perfect, as usual, Narcissa," he said by way of greeting.

"You’re home already?" she asked strangely. "I thought—"

"Half the Committee wanted to leave early today to finish their shopping," Lucius said with a tone halfway between amusement and annoyance. "I can catch up on things here. Draco, I could use your assistance," he continued.

"Certainly, Father," Draco said, hurrying forward to follow the wizard upstairs.

Narcissa waited until their steps faded on the stairs before speaking. Amid the crackle of the fire, Ryan could feel a nervous energy settling in the room.

"Lucius wants Draco to learn how to manage things," she explained when they were alone, standing before the tree. "It’s very important, you understand, that Draco realise his responsibilities." She recited in a dull voice, as if quoting the sentence by rote.

"At his age?" Ryan asked, aware that the question might seem strange coming from someone ostensibly only a year older.

"Lucius started helping his father before he was fourteen," she answered, accepting Ryan’s maturity without question. "Of course, Lucius was very grown up for his age. Like you." She moved a little nearer, fixing him with a sensuous smile. "You don’t seem like you’re only sixteen. Why is that?" She pressed even closer, leaning forward almost against his chest, looking up at his eyes. "I daresay you’ve got more experience than you let on."

"Experience?" Ryan echoed, swallowing hard, feeling the familiar tug of arousal brought about by a beautiful woman, however inappropriate the advance. "What have I got myself into?" He thought again, realising unnervingly just how long he’d been away from Maloriel.

Narcissa nodded slowly. "Experience." She placed a hand on his arm. Ryan thought belatedly that he probably should have jumped or jerked away, something to belie her words. But her intent was just too obvious.

"Mrs. Malfoy—"

"Narcissa," she whispered.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he repeated pointedly, "you’re—married." "And your husband’s in the house," he thought angrily.

"So?" she countered. "I’m also old enough to be your mother. You don’t care, do you?" Her other hand brushed his robes below the waist, eliciting the inevitable, but unwanted, reaction.

"That’s—beside the point—" he managed. He told himself to remember how much younger she was than his mother, that in the scale of things, she was barely older than Emma Naigle, but it didn’t help much. She grabbed his arms and pulled them around her, pressing close to his chest. He opened his mouth to protest again, but before he knew what he was doing, at a little movement from her upturned face, he closed his lips over hers.

It didn’t last long. Ryan pulled back abruptly, clearing his throat. "Do you seduce all Draco’s school chums, or am I just lucky?"

Narcissa laughed low and sexy. "You’re no schoolboy. No child would kiss like that."

Ryan’s mouth gaped as he struggled to recover. "I—that is—I—you flatter me, Mrs. Malfoy," he said finally, stepping back to create some distance between them. "I—surely you knew a few people my age who—like you said, I have a girlfriend of my own—"

She laughed again. "You blush so nicely, Ryan. Hmm. Perhaps it is just a natural talent." She took a step forward, which he countered with a step back toward the courtyard. "Care to test the theory?" She backed him up another step toward the French doors.

"Mrs. Malfoy—I just told you, I’m barely older than Draco, I—I have a girlfriend!" he repeated, grasping for the most likely story to throw her back off his scent. He sidled around so that the chair stood between them.

"So, what if you brought home a few tricks for her?" She placed one knee on the chair and grabbed for his wrist. "If you’re worried about Lucius, don’t. He has his…affairs, and I have mine."

Ryan twisted out of her grip easily, stepping back again. "Please, Mrs. Malfoy, this is not a good idea…."

"Oh? And just what are you going to do about it? I could tell Lucius, if you like. See if he gets jealous. Is that what you want?" She batted her eyes very slowly, leaning on the chair back with a catlike expression. Ryan put his hand in his pocket, but she saw the movement and drew her own wand as quickly. "A memory charm, perhaps?" She asked him, guessing his plan. "It’s possible. You might be faster than I am. I might not be able to block it. But what then? How good are you with them? Could you successfully charm me, without blocking out something Lucius would notice? Could you keep me from shaking off the charm? Could you possibly make it strong enough not to wear off, while subtle enough to leave the rest of your visit intact? I think not."

Slowly, measuring each other, they lowered their wands. "What do you want?" he asked hoarsely.

"I should think that’s obvious," Narcissa purred. She beckoned with one manicured finger and he moved forward reluctantly. "Don’t worry," she whispered as she guided him toward her. "I can be very discreet. Just see that you are, too."

She leaned forward slowly, her hands locked around his waist, but just at that moment, the house-elves popped into the room to retrieve the ladder, apparently ordered there by one of the Malfoy men. Ryan ducked out behind them, retreating hastily to his room before anything else could happen. He could hear her laughing as he left the ballroom.

Alone, he took several deep breaths and sprinkled some cold water on his face to calm down. "Just don’t allow yourself to be alone with her," he told himself, "and you’ll be all right. At least she wasn’t serious about that age comment." He peered at himself in the mirror to check on the disguise. His ears were still rounded, his face still a younger version of his own, and his frame appeared slighter and less well defined. He looked like his half-brother, Nelian, who was only 18. He should have made himself less handsome, he thought, but it was too late now.

He kept thinking about Narcissa’s kiss, and banishing the feelings it aroused. He indulged himself instead by digging out parchment and his quill and ink to write Maloriel a long letter. He’d find some way to send it later.

 

 

 

Dinner proceeded, thankfully, without event. Lucius suggested that the boys attend to any homework they might have, since the first guests would begin arriving in the next day or two. Ryan fairly pounced on this plan and insisted that he and Draco work in the library after the meal.

The next day, he asked Draco for a tour of the grounds. They threw on their cloaks and walked around to the various outbuildings—an indoor swimming pool, a greenhouse, the Quidditch pitch, and even a stable. The latter held a number of thoroughbred horses that whickered and whinnied at the thought of getting some exercise.

"Can you ride?" Draco asked snidely, remembering Ryan’s negligible flying skills.

"Oh, yes," Ryan said, walking up to a bay gelding and greeting him. There was no disguising the joy in his declaration as he patted the horse and stroked his thick hair. "Give me anything that can think, preferably that doesn’t leave the ground, and I can ride it."

"Mother likes to ride," Draco said dismissively. "I had to learn, but really we keep the horses for her, mostly. Perhaps you should go out with her one morning."

Ryan’s grip on the horse’s mane tightened convulsively. "Perhaps," he said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. "We’ll see," he said a bit more forcefully after a moment.

"Come on, I’ll show you my old treehouse."

 

 

 

 

Crabbe and Goyle and their parents arrived the next day; the Avery family the day after that. Next the Notts and the Parkinsons arrived. By Friday, most of the active members of Operation Transfusion and their families were staying at Malfoy Manor.

The Malfoy’s dining hall could be magically stretched to accommodate up to one hundred couples. It looked like they would need it. Ryan supposed the guest wing of the house could also expand, since if every room were the size of his, there would be nowhere to put people without doubling up.

Talk around the table was candid, but gave no indication of any Death Eater activity. Lucius asked careful questions about the state of the Ministry and the wizarding world. Diplomatic, but thinly veiled answers, echoed around the table.

"And you, Mr. Pelerand?" Claudius Avery asked from across the table. They were seated on either side of Narcissa at one end. "You are here on your own, are you not?"

"Yes," Ryan said.

"Where are you parents?" Mrs. Montague asked on his left. "Surely they feel as we do?"

"They—" Ryan began to answer, but he felt a hand on his knee all of a sudden. He glanced at Narcissa, but she was taking a sip of wine and not paying the slightest bit of attention. "They know where I am," he continued slowly. "It was kind of the Malfoys to host me." The hand patted his knee and withdrew. A second later, Narcissa was cutting her meat.

"Now where exactly are you from?"

"Sweden," Ryan answered smoothly.

"Ah, the Greater Netherlands Ministry?"

"Yes."

"What division?"

Ryan swallowed. "I’m sorry, you’re mistaken. My parents don’t work for the Ministry there; it’s just where we live, currently."

"Then what do they do?"

Aware that Narcissa’s eyes were following his movements and her sharp ears were listening, he said, "My father has a court appointment. He also manages our estates and other interests, of course."

"Court?"

"Royal court," Ryan said off-handedly. "He holds a minor title. He serves as a magistrate as part of his duties." He shrugged. "I don’t really understand it all. But I know he hates having to deal with his Muggle counterparts."

"Well, who wouldn’t?" Avery contributed quickly. "Fools, the lot of them." He continued in this vein, but Ryan stopped listening when the hand returned. He pretended to adjust his napkin in order to push her hand away. Narcissa didn’t even blink. She picked at her plate with her fork, and under the table, pressed her foot against his leg.

Ryan chanced a look down the long table to where Lucius held forth among his colleagues. Draco, halfway down, smiled at something Felicia said to him. He was pretty well trapped; he couldn’t stop her without calling attention to himself somehow, and he couldn’t move his leg out of reach without starting his own game of footsie with Mrs. Montague. He did his best to ignore her and keep up the idle—though political—conversation.

Given the large number of houseguests, the ballroom had been temporarily furnished with several game tables for wizard chess, exploding snap, and other wizarding card games like gin mummy. After dinner, the party broke up into small groups, but Ryan noticed that few of the men were present.

"Draco, where’s your father?" he asked as they teamed up for a game of Trollbridge against Mrs. Warrington and Mrs. Baddock, a youngish woman with mousy hair.

"Oh, he’s probably drinking with the others. They usually go to the drawing room for that after the meal," he answered with an odd smile. He pretended to drop a card, and they both ducked down to retrieve it. "I’ll tell you later," Draco promised in a whisper.

"Everything all right here, dears?" Narcissa asked, swooping over a little later.

"Yes, Mother, we’re fine," Draco piped.

"And you, Ryan?" she asked, draping a motherly hand over his shoulder.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," he said quickly, rolling his eyes at Draco in an attempt to minimise the effort of his hostess.

"Tea and coffee will be out shortly, Mrs. Baddock," she said endearingly.

 

 

 

"Mum certainly took a shine to you," Draco said as they climbed the steps that evening.

"Why—do you say that?" Ryan said, trying not to blanch.

"The way she’s always looking after you. Next she’ll be sending you cakes all the time at school, like she did my first year. What did you say to impress her?"

Ryan shrugged. "No idea. I expect it’s just because my parents are so far away. She wants me to feel at home."

"Yeah, I suppose," Draco said, as if he didn’t like the thought of his mother transferring too much affection. "Well, goodnight," he said, turning off to the right for his own room.

"Night," Ryan said, thinking, over and over, "What have I got myself into?"

 

 

 

More guests arrived each day. Each night, most of the men—but not all—disappeared into the drawing room.

"So, what do they do there, really?" Ryan asked. They were hanging around in Draco’s room, with Crabbe, Goyle, and Malcolm Avery.

"That’s the entrance to the chamber, of course," Draco said in his most superior tone.

"What chamber?"

"His dad’s," Crabbe supplied. "The secret one, with all the dark arts things."

"Right," Draco said, amazed that Crabbe remembered after three years. "There’s an entrance under the rug. It leads to a secret chamber in the dungeons. My father keeps all his important items down there. And all our fathers use it to hold their meetings."

"That’s what this whole party’s about, though, isn’t it?" Ryan asked. "So, if they’re all of the same mind, why have the party upstairs and the secret meetings in the dungeon?"

"Because, Pelerand, they’re not all in the inner circle," Avery said with impatience. "There are people here who could be supporters, and people here whose families were supporters, but haven’t declared their loyalty yet…."

"Yeah," said Goyle, "and that room’s shielded from the Ministry, didn’t you say?"

Draco nodded. "We have to be careful. Father will sound them all out. You’ll see. This is just to attract them, to expose them to our way of thinking."

"Well, when do we get to hear the pitch?" Ryan said, feeling his own impatience.

"Probably after Christmas," Avery surmised. Draco nodded agreement.

"Everyone will be here by then. Father will figure out who stays and who goes."

 

 

 

On Christmas Day, the rest of the guests arrived. The luncheon spread provided by the Malfoys rivalled Hogwarts’ table. However, they served it as a buffet so that the guests could mingle freely, and the courtyard doors between the dining hall and the ballroom were opened, with a magical canopy to protect the walk between. They didn’t exchange any presents, since there were too many people there. As Ryan watched Lucius circulate through the rooms, he could see Draco’s assurances in action. Lucius, charming and sly, worked the party, dropping a well-placed compliment here, a choice phrase there, and watched the reactions closely.

As the light waned into evening, Ryan, holding a conversation with the Naigles, got to see his work close up.

"Brutus, Julia, so good of you to come," Lucius said as he joined them, shaking hands.

"Of course; wouldn’t turn down your invitation, Lucius," Brutus Naigle said warmly.

"Be sure to get some of the king crab: Narcissa tells me she gave the servants her family recipe for the scorpion sauce."

"I haven’t had scorpion sauce in years…"

"Well, happy to provide, Julia. You’ve met Pelerand, I see," he continued with a nod at Ryan.

"Yes, of course. Emma’s talked of almost no one else all term," Julia Naigle said glowingly, ignoring Ryan’s blush.

"I should say so," Brutus joined in with a playful finger wag at Ryan.

"Oh, from what Draco’s told me, our Mr. Pelerand has a way with ladies," Lucius said, but his words held an overtone which made Ryan pause. However, he had no time to react, for Lucius continued seamlessly, "Brutus, I wanted to talk to you about the editorials lately: what are they saying at the Prophet about the Muggle Protection Acts?"

"Well, some for, and some against, Lucius, of course."

"Yes, but surely as department manager you have some control over what makes it into print?"

"Some," Naigle said, looking uncomfortable but puffed up at the same time. "We have to be careful to remain neutral, Lucius."

"Certainly, certainly, that’s understood, but off the page, Brutus, what does the staff think?"

Ryan felt a pinch through his robes, in a very private location. He bit back a yelp, and instead made a sound like a hiccup. "Excuse me," he said quickly, looking around. Narcissa Malfoy winked back at him as she moved away to another group of guests.

"You all right?" Mr. Naigle asked. Lucius just frowned.

"Fine, thank you, excuse me," Ryan said, and made his way across the room as if looking for water.

Narcissa joined him at the table. "Sorry. Couldn’t resist."

"That’s what you call discreet?" Ryan hissed at her. "He was standing right there—"

"I find a little risk just makes it that much more fun, don’t you?" She purred, smoothing his hair back in a maternal way. "You covered yourself well. And you’ve been avoiding me, I see."

"What did you expect?"

She laughed. "You can’t hide forever, my dear. Miss Naigle, I’m sure, would be delighted to know how you observe your fidelity to your girlfriend."

"Look—"

"Ah," Lucius said brightly as he joined them at the table. "Everything all right, Ryan?"

"Yes, sir, thanks. Just a little hiccup. Must have swallowed wrong or something."

"Well, don’t overdo it, there’s plenty of food."

"Yes, sir."

Lucius slid a possessive arm around Narcissa’s waist. "Darling, be a dear and go say hello to the Boles for me; you know I can’t stand that woman," he requested silkily.

"Of course, Lucius," Narcissa said, returning his light squeeze before gliding off into the party again.

"He must have seen it," thought Ryan. "Here it comes. I’m dead."

"So," Lucius said quietly, helping himself to a canape, "has she made a pass at you yet?"

Ryan almost dropped his plate. The jealous husband, he was prepared for. A paternal warning, a territorial admonition, even out-and-out hexing, he could have expected, but Lucius seemed so calm about it all.

"I see," Lucius continued with a sigh. "I’m not that surprised, really, though given your age, I hoped…." He smiled, not unkindly. "She needs to know she’s attractive, that’s all," he explained, and now Ryan could detect the paternal, condescending tone. "It doesn’t mean anything, Ryan. I’ll talk to her later."

"You—you’re not—"

"Going to kill you?" Lucius chuckled. "Why? Should I?" He held Ryan’s eyes for a moment, as if looking for evidence of wrongdoing. "I told you, she just wants attention. You’ve kept this to yourself, which is good. Keep it that way, and there won’t be a problem." He didn’t speak any louder than necessary to be heard over the chatter, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.

Luckily, Ryan’s sputtering would have been in character at any age. Lucius chuckled again, his easy-going persona back in place, and clapped Ryan on the shoulder. "Come into the drawing room with us, later. We have much to discuss."

Then he moved into the hallway, as if aware of something Ryan couldn’t see. Ryan followed at a distance. When he reached the doorway, he could see a new arrival at the entrance to the ballroom, and a few people coming over to greet him. Lucius strode across the hall and called to him from behind. The figure turned, and there was no mistaking the hooked nose, the uneven teeth, the black hair and eyes, and the foul expression. It was Severus Snape.

"Severus!" Lucius said with sincere relief in his voice. He took the potions master’s hand and drew him aside toward the parlour door. Ryan, from his vantage point just outside the dining room, could barely make out their conversation.

"What kept you?" Lucius asked, his voice a study in suspicion.

"I had to put in an appearance at the School’s dinner," Snape said in an irritated tone himself. "There are still those who would report my absence at such a function."

"There are still those who would view your tardiness ill, as well."

"I have explained—" Snape began, his voice raising slightly, but Lucius cut him off, guiding him just inside the parlour.

"Not to my satisfaction, and not to our lord’s."

Snape growled low before answering. "If that is the case, I will answer to him, Malfoy, but not to you."

Lucius made a noise between a sigh and a growl. His next comment was too low to hear. Ryan moved a step or two down the hall, pretending to wait for the water closet. He could hear again.

"Rather ostentatious, even for you, isn’t it?" Snape commented nastily.

"All part of the picture we want to present, Severus. The guest list is long, true, but one never knows where we’ll find supporters. To anyone else, this is just a party. Speaking of which, have a drink."

"No."

"Suit yourself…."

"When is the meeting?" Snape asked testily.

"The usual time. You’ll stay the night, certainly?"

There was a pause. Then Snape said, "I had no idea you were including so many students."

"They’re impressionable. They’re also expendable." Another pause. "We’ve got hours, Severus. Go have a little fun. It won’t kill you."

"That is for me to decide." Ryan edged closer when he heard a whisper and a choked noise. Then Lucius began speaking again.

"As I said, Severus, you have much to prove to us. If your intention is sincere, then you’ll not be above a little grovelling to rejoin the ranks. And while you’re in my house, you’ll follow my orders until I am satisfied. So get out there like a good little acolyte, and be pleasant to my guests."

Ryan moved away from the door as fast as he could without making too much noise, sensing the end of the interview. Sure enough, he was barely more than halfway back to the dining hall when Snape stumbled into the hallway, Lucius right behind him. He looked outraged, but at a cold smile from Lucius, he forced his malevolent scowl into a sarcastic sneer and followed his host into the throng. But his expression faltered when he noticed Ryan, who grabbed a drink hastily and joined the nearest clump of conversation. He didn’t approach, but Ryan got the feeling that Snape had glimpsed him retreating up the hallway.

The party went on; more people arrived after their dinners. Soon the large manor was full, the party overflowing into the parlour and the library. As the hour approached nine, Ryan noticed a number of men slip out and pass through the parlour to the drawing room beyond. He was about to investigate, when Draco and the other Slytherin boys found him.

"Father says we can go in, if we want to," Draco said with unmistakable pride.

"Yeah, all right," Ryan said, feigning nonchalance. A mix of emotions conflicted within him. He was, of course, excited to be allowed in finally, to gather Albus’s precious information, and to hear how the Death Eaters characterised themselves. He was also apprehensive, worried that someone would denounce him, or that a testing of some kind would reveal his identity. If they took action…. Then, there was a very small, but insistent, part of him that dreaded what rituals might take place, while at the same time, an eerie, morbid fascination crept up on him and seized his curiosity about their dark rites. Fortunately, he suspected that most of the other boys felt the same—except for the fear of being exposed as a spy.

As it happened, there was no ritual, no invitation to the secret chamber beneath the drawing room floor, no sacrifices or dark spells. There were two spells in the room, however: one that made the room soundproof, and one that prevented anyone from Apparating into or out of the room. A bar at the far end of the salon was set up with a selection of liquors, and already several men of all ages were helping themselves. Lucius turned, saw his young charges, and beckoned invitingly. The boys looked at each other. Then Draco, with a shrug, marched over to the bar and accepted the scotch his father poured him. When they all had a drink (except Snape, Nott, and an old man Ryan hadn’t met), Ryan braced himself for someone to deliver speeches.

They didn’t come. The gentlemen were talking in smaller clumps about the same issues he had heard at the outer party, though even more frankly than in the other rooms. Lucius kept Draco near him and began introducing him more pointedly to some of the men, whom Ryan assumed to be Death Eaters. He took a sip of his single malt and wondered whether he should sit or find someone to talk to.

"You’re Pelerand," an older man with a thick black moustache said. He had a deep voice with a thick burr.

"I am," Ryan said, holding out his hand out of habit.

"Walden MacNair," the older man said. "Lucius says ye’re to stay the rest of th’oliday with them."

"Yes, that’s right."

"And what d’ye think of the developments, lad?"

"Developments?"

"Aye, the status of things. Being a foreigner, what’s ye’re position?"

"Oh, I see," Ryan said, trying to look a little overwhelmed. "Well, I think getting mixed up with Muggles is no good, clearly," he said.

"But ye’re father and his court appointment, we heard about," MacNair began.

"Well, I’m not sure we can do without them completely," Ryan said with a shrug. "I mean, they are good for some things, aren’t they? And there are a lot more of them."

"Och," MacNair scoffed with a sip of scotch. "There’s never a Muggle nor Mudblood can get the better o’me, lad." He winked and swigged again, motioning Ryan to do the same.

"So it’s true, about the court thing in Sweden?" Avery asked suddenly.

"Mm-hmm," Ryan said though his sip of liquor.

"You never told us," Crabbe said petulantly.

"I daresay everyone in this room has his secrets," Ryan said, but he was surprised to see Goyle pale more than anyone else did at his remark.

"Better ease up on the scotch, Walden," the adult Goyle said, coming over. "Just because they’re young boys, don’t think you can drink them under the table."

"Oh, but that I can, Grissom, that I can."

"Not tonight, at any rate," Lucius said, sensing a need for some damage control. "Though I’d put money on Ryan, if it came to that."

"Why not?" the elder Avery asked, with some hidden meaning. "It is Christmas, after all."

Lucius’s eyes glittered. Ryan almost thought he was trying not to laugh. "Why not, indeed?" He moved swiftly to the bar and brought out a fresh bottle of 12-year-old single malt.

"Ryan," he ordered, and the spy saw no choice but to comply. Draco and the others urged him on. He approached the bar with a resigned expression. "Think you can take him?"

Ryan regarded MacNair closely. The old man had already had a cup or two, and Ryan knew his own endurance. "Shots or sips?" he asked. Snape made a disgusted sound and left.

MacNair said "shots" even as some of the others said "sips."

"Shots," Lucius said firmly. "Last chance, Pelerand." Something hard hovered behind Malfoy’s eyes. Draco had the same look when he insisted, over Ryan’s protests, that the other play during the Quidditch trials. Ryan thought dimly that while the man professed to feel no jealously over Narcissa’s attentions, here was an excellent revenge. If Ryan was the boy he claimed to be, even as an experienced drinker, he would doubtless regret this in the morning.

He looked over at Draco, who shrugged, but looked excited. Clearly, the boy had no inkling what the drinking contest would do to his friend, only saw an opportunity to pit his young guns against his father’s old cronies.

"All right, shots," Ryan said.

"Give him a handicap, Lucius," someone said in the back as the men rearranged themselves around the bar to watch. "Walden, how much have you had tonight?"

"Three," the Scot said forcefully.

"Right," Lucius said, and poured two shot glasses. "Drink up, Ryan," he ordered, in the same patronising tone.

Ryan took a deep breath, held it, and tipped the first shot glass into his mouth. At least Lucius Malfoy had good taste in liquor, he remarked to himself as the burn travelled along the back of his throat. He exhaled slowly and repeated the process for the second shot. Clearing his throat, he nodded to Lucius. Two fresh glasses appeared on the bar and were filled.

"Place your bets," Lucius said smugly. A flurry of activity, mostly from the adults, resulted in a pool of twenty galleons on MacNair, fifteen on Ryan. Lucius shrewdly waited until they had seen Ryan tip back two shots in a row before making book. He knew they would demand different odds, assuming the young man wouldn’t last long at that rate.

They lifted their glasses, tipped, and exhaled. Walden looked glassy-eyed, but remained balanced on his barstool perch. Ryan tried not to look too unaffected. In truth, the quick succession of alcohol was making him feel a little fuzzy, but it would take a good many more before he felt like falling down. He hoped MacNair would quit before then; he never much understood the point of drinking contests.

A second, a third, a fourth shot. Lucius kept pouring, opening a second bottle, this time an Orkadian label. Ryan wished he could ask for water, but knew better. It would equal a forfeit. He also wished he had something more to eat. The alcohol would affect his judgement, and he couldn’t afford to be sloppy here. At least it kept them from asking questions.

"Where did you learn to drink like that, boy?" Gaius Bole asked. "Well," Ryan thought, "maybe not all questions."

"I didn’t get invited to leave Durmstrang for casting dark spells," Ryan quipped to the vast amusement of the crowd. Was his speech slurring? He couldn’t tell. Draco looked odd, but he didn’t think that was the effect of the scotch, either.

Another drink. Another. He felt a familiar numbness pushing the world away. He heard, as if far away, Lucius uncorking a third bottle. "Gods, let the man fall soon," Ryan prayed, and his familiar mantra, "What have you got yourself into?"

"What’s the bet?" he asked Lucius sometime later.

"About 100 galleons, altogether, on you. Going to make it?"

"Think so…."

Lucius smiled approvingly. "Good lad." Ryan felt sure if it were Draco, Lucius would never allow him to engage in such a potentially humiliating pastime. But then, Lucius wasn’t doing this because of the money, or even the glory. He was simply enjoying seeing Ryan so incapacitated. That thought alone helped Ryan sober up a bit more.

Lucius poured out the last of the third bottle and retrieved a fourth from the bar. MacNair and Ryan picked up their glasses and tipped back…and MacNair kept tipping. He fell off the stool and into the knot of men behind him. With a great cry, they caught him. Lucius smiled. "Take him up to bed," he said breezily, collecting his galleons from several wizards. "Draco," Lucius called. Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Avery all came forward.

"Ryan, you don’t look so good," Avery said.

"Yeah?" Ryan blinked at him.

"Better see him to bed too, boys," Lucius said with a sigh. "It’s getting late." He left them to help their friend, whom he judged would become very sick very soon, to his bedroom, and went to join Narcissa in saying goodnight to those who would not be staying. "Oh, and Draco—better take him straight to his bath, will you? He’s going to need it. Send one of the servants to look after him." While the semi-public humiliation was worth it, in some respects, Lucius wasn’t about to allow Ryan to defile the rugs.

Draco lost little time in ordering Crabbe and Goyle to balance Ryan between them and guide him up the stairs. Ryan muttered something unintelligible.

"What?" Draco asked.

"Water," Ryan requested.

"Yeah, all right," Avery said. "I heard that helps sometimes." He shrugged. "There’s a bath in his room, right?"

Ryan could still move under his own power, for which he was thankful. Had either Crabbe or Goyle attempted to carry him up, the bouncing would certainly have had an unpleasant effect on them all. They assisted him around the curve and up the short stairs from the landing. When they got to his room, their resourcefulness failed again.

"What now?" Crabbe asked.

"Father said let a servant take care of him," Draco said with a shrug. "Let’s go." He shooed them all out. Just before he left, he called a house-elf and instructed it to see to his guest.

 

 

 

Aside from the twinge of a slight hangover the next morning (aided tremendously by a dose of PepperUp potion), Ryan felt no ill effects from the incident. The men from the drawing room showed some respect for him and Lucius seemed vindicated somewhat. Narcissa naturally took the opportunity to show a maternal concern for him, but she couldn’t very well call too much attention to him in front of the other guests.

That day, the men stayed cloistered most of the afternoon, a few women occasionally joining them, including Narcissa, but mostly by themselves. Ryan did notice that Snape continued to stay—presumably because Lucius’s plans had been pushed back a night by the drinking contest. The young folk amused themselves playing chess, Exploding Snap, and avoiding homework. All day long, they helped themselves to Christmas cake and assorted goodies from the table. Ryan treated his stomach somewhat gingerly. It had been far too long since he’d binged so much, and he still felt a little off. Guilty over not being able to concentrate too much on the mission that day, he decided to excuse himself and make an early night of it. He climbed the stairwell to the guest wing, which was lit by only a few torches along the walls.

A few minutes after he came upstairs, there was a knock at his door. He opened it politely and was surprised when Narcissa pushed her way in and shut the door behind her.

"I told you, you can’t hide forever," she said smugly.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I’m really not feeling well—"

"I can fix that," she said, and with a wave of her wand and a muttered, "Postus Soberium," she did just that. Ryan’s head felt completely clear again, his stomach no longer lurched every few minutes, and his muscles did not ache. "There," she said, pushing him toward the bed. "All part of a mother’s touch."

Ryan groaned. "Mrs. Malfoy!" he said firmly, holding her at arm’s length. "Do you have any idea how this happened? I mean, whose idea my getting drunk was?"

"Of course," she shrugged. "Lucius can be so sweet, when he tries. I can handle him, don’t you worry."

"I’m not sure I can handle it," Ryan said, twisting her away. She overbalanced and fell on the bed, laughing sensuously.

"Ooh, going to be rough, are we?" She scrambled up and caught his robes, pulling him toward her.

Ryan caught her wrist, squeezed, and twisted. Her playful expression turned to one of pain, but she didn’t cry out. "I’m asking you politely," Ryan said through clenched teeth, "to control yourself. I’ve told you why I can’t do what you want." He flung her wrist away and she recoiled with the force of his release. For an instant, fear crossed her face and made her look vulnerable. But then steel glittered in her eyes and she set her jaw in a mocking smile.

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked, much as she had done days ago.

"This." Ryan closed in on her seductively. He moved round the side of the bed and reached toward her, caressing her cheek, then her neck, then her shoulder. He drew her toward him, and she closed her eyes languidly, holding her arms out to either side. Ryan slid his hands slowly down her arms, toward her wrists, pressing his chest against hers…. And he snatched her wand away in a swift motion, aiming it at her face. She glared at him and made as if to scratch at him with her nails.

Before either could make a sound, however, there came another knock at the door.

Narcissa hissed in fear, "Lucius!" and scrambled off the bed, adjusting her blue robes. Ryan rushed her into the bathroom, where she doused the lights and shut herself inside. The knock repeated softly. Ryan threw Narcissa’s wand on the bed and, with a deep breath, answered the door.

But it wasn’t Lucius.

"Professor Snape!" Ryan said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

Snape looked agitated. Every few seconds he looked furtively around the hallway, as if certain that someone would see him at any moment. When he spoke, it was even more strained and lower than his usual intense whisper. "I came to ask you the same question, Pelerand. Have you any idea what this is?"

"A house party?" Ryan said with the flick of an eyebrow.

Snape sighed. "Draco invited you, didn’t he?"

"As a matter of fact, he did," Ryan countered. "I had nowhere better to go, after all."

"You don’t understand what this really is," Snape began, but just then, Ryan picked up the sound of boots climbing the stairs to their wing. He grabbed Snape by the front of his robes and pulled him into the chamber.

"What—" Snape began to ask. Ryan resisted the urge to slam the potions master against the door. It would make too much noise. Instead, he covered Snape’s mouth with one squeezing hand, the other still on the wizard’s robes, and jerked Snape’s head back once to signal him to be quiet. He let go, and put out the lights with one hand, while the other clicked the door shut softly. The whole process took only a few seconds.

In the silent dark, the two men heard the clop of expensive boots pace up the hallway. Snape’s look of outrage turned to one of fear. The steps halted in front of Ryan’s door. Ryan held his breath, hoping Snape would do the same, but unable to warn him. After a moment, the steps resumed, retreating. Ryan held up his hand for a time to make sure all was clear.

"Lumos," Snape muttered, and the tip of his wand bathed the two of them in a warm glow. "Pelerand, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll make your excuses and leave before anything happens."

"Like what, exactly?" Ryan asked. The Elf curled his lip in a haughty, superior expression. He had to admire the professor risking his position, tenuous already, with the Death Eaters, in order to warn a student. It also confirmed Dumbledore’s assurances: Snape had no idea who Ryan really was, nor why he was there.

"This isn’t a social gathering, Pelerand," Snape lectured.

"Of course not; it’s a recruitment party," Ryan smirked in return, struggling to keep from laughing as the shock registered on Snape’s face. He just hoped Narcissa couldn’t hear them. "Draco told me all about it." He cocked his head at the potions master, who appeared to be sweating ever so slightly. "Now, if I didn’t know better, Professor, I’d say you didn’t approve of the Death Eaters—but of course, that can’t be, can it, seeing as you’re one of them." Ryan folded his arms over his chest and gazed at the other man, acting very pleased with his discovery.

Snape swallowed hard, but kept his voice calm and his eyes fixed on his pupil. "I don’t approve of Malfoy dragging schoolboys into this," he fairly spat. "This is business for adults, not children."

"I’m not a child," Ryan countered. "I assure you, Professor, I’m old enough to make my own decisions, and I have my reasons for being here. I wonder, does Mr. Malfoy know that you’re scaring off his recruits?" He took one step toward the door, as if to threaten to tattle, and to bar Snape from leaving.

Snape grew even colder in manner, but again, the glow from his wand betrayed a sheen of sweat. "You—" he began, but broke off, reconsidering. In an instant, his whole comportment changed. He smiled not a nice smile, but a nasty, condescending smile. "You may well be the kind of person the organisation needs," he said patronisingly.

Ryan chuckled. "Oh, so now I’m to believe this was a test?" He shook his head. "I don’t think so. I heard you, the night you arrived. Mr. Malfoy suspects you still. Is that why were you so worried he would find you here?" He allowed himself an evil smirk, still playing the troublemaker, still fighting residual excitement from his encounter with Narcissa. That gave him an idea—he moved forward with a slow smile, imitating his would-be seductress. "Unless—you’re worried he’d come to a different wrong conclusion?"

Snape’s look of disgust spoke for itself. Ryan let the unspoken innuendo hang for a moment, frankly enjoying giving the cruel professor a little of his own discomforting medicine. "I think, you owe me a favour, Professor," he offered with stress on the title. "Oh, this little tete-a-tete remains between us, never fear, but just remember: I could tell Malfoy you’re not loyal to the cause, as he suspects. Or I could tell Dumbledore when we get back, that I saw you here," Ryan said deliberately, knowing both were empty threats. He couldn’t let Snape know he knew the truth about Snape’s intention to rejoin the Death Eaters only to turn informant once more. To cloud that knowledge, he had to threaten to expose him as a real Death Eater, as well as to turn him in to Lucius as a spy. "So, do we have a deal?"

"You would blackmail—"

"I certainly would. As you say, I think I’m just what the organisation needs. Do we have a deal?"

Snape snarled and his fist clenched, but he choked out, "Yes."

"Excellent," Ryan grinned, knowing the bluff worked. Especially with Narcissa in the next room, he couldn’t afford to blow either of their covers. "Put your wand out; I’ll check the hallway." He waited until the murmur of "Nox" extinguished the glowing wand, and they were in darkness again, more complete now as someone had put out the lights while they were inside speaking. Carefully, Ryan twisted the knob and opened the door just a crack. The corridor was washed in shadows and crannies where someone could hide and stake out any door along it. But he heard nothing, not even breathing, so he craned his neck outside and looked both directions.

"It’s clear," he whispered to Snape, and swung the door further into the chamber to allow the wizard passage.

Snape brushed past him back to the corridor, but turned at the threshold. He drew breath as if to say something else, but apparently thought better of it. Then he slid away, moving through the dark with the ease and grace of a spy.

Narcissa came out of the bathroom as soon as Ryan shut the hall door. "Who was that?" she asked breathlessly, aborting her attempt to get to the wand when she saw it back in Ryan’s hand.

"Couldn’t you hear?"

She smiled. "No. These doors seal off sound remarkably well. Now I believe you were going to give me my wand?"

"Only if you agree to stop hounding me. Otherwise," he positioned the wand, "I’ll have no choice but to charm you."

Narcissa clicked her tongue. "That’s ridiculous. Why would you risk it? No one will know."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Ryan said with a sigh. "For the last time, I have a relationship."

"Then why get rid of whomever was at the door? Who was it, by the way; you never answered."

"Because, among other things, I wanted to avoid any embarrassment for you. As for risk, I can explain to Mr. Malfoy, if I have to do, that even after he spoke to you, you wouldn’t stop. I don’t think you want me to do that, do you? And it was Emma," he lied, "and I told her the same things I’m telling you. It’s not personal. It’s nothing to do with how attractive or appealing you are. I’m already in a relationship."

Her eyes narrowed. "I still have my doubts about you, you know. No boy I knew would refuse what’s offered, relationship or no relationship."

"Well, perhaps you knew the wrong boys," Ryan said with finality. "Now, what’s it going to be? Your word for your wand, or a memory charm?"

 

 

 

 

Life at the Malfoys' got easier after that night. Narcissa gave her word that it was just honest sport, and that she would find amusement elsewhere. Snape, now worried about what Ryan might tell Lucius, still avoided the students, but particularly Ryan. At Lucius’ request, he spent most of his time in the potions room off the dungeons, preparing poisons, restoratives, and other brews for the Death Eaters to have in stock.

The third night after Christmas Day, Lucius invited the young people into the drawing room again, including Emma, Felicia, and a select few other girls. By now, most of the peripheral guests had gone, and only a few who were not integral to Operation Transfusion remained. Again, they were allowed drinks from the bar, amid knowing looks at Ryan, who politely refused to the adults’ amusement. After a short amount of socialising, Lucius held up a hand for silence. He began.

"Welcome," he said. "You see before you the foundation of what we hope will be a glorious army. You are here, among us, because we see in you the potential for greatness. As of this week, I’m sure you are aware that the opportunities open to you are as favourable as never before. For you, ladies and gentlemen, fame and honour are beginning as they have not since centuries, since the time of Salazar Slytherin himself. Those of us who were part of our lord’s plans years ago, before most of you were even born, knew even then that he held the key in his hands. Our goal—our prize—was in sight, but never before realised. But now—now, he has conquered even death, and he can lead us all on the path, if we have the strength to follow."

He paused to look around the room. An older man was nodding his head appraisingly. Some of the boys blanched a bit, but none quavered visibly. Ryan saw out of the corner of his eye that Snape stood near the door with his arms crossed. Draco’s face held a proud smile.

"I speak to you tonight about a coming war. Our enemies fear us; they fear our master’s capabilities. They will attempt to stay our course. But they shall not succeed. You, you young, strong, dedicated wizards, are the assurance of that. For you understand, as you have been raised to understand, the importance of the purity of blood. You understand, as has been taught through countless generations, that tradition and blood speak more about a wizard’s quality than the core of his wand, or the function he performs. You know that it is the blood, coursing through your veins, which enables you to be men and women of destiny."

A few boys scoffed, Avery among them, but his father quelled him with a sharp look.

"Yes, you’re smiling. You’re thinking, ‘he sounds like a page from a history book.’ Gentlemen, I speak from experience. The only thing which protects us, which can preserve our culture and our way of life, is to remain separate from Muggles. Our quarrel is not with other wizards, though they will stand in ignorance. They will see, eventually, that what we do, we do to save them, as well as ourselves. We must strive to minimise the damage to our own community. To that end, be hard, be without mercy, act more quickly and brutally than the others. The citizens of the wizarding world must tremble with horror. That is the most humane way of conducting a war. For it scares the others off. If they stay out of the way, if they let us guide them into the new era, then there can be peace."

Now many of the older men were shaking their heads and agreeing with Lucius vocally. He picked up his pace a bit.

"One principle must be absolute for warlocks and witches of our calibre: we must be honest, decent, loyal, and friendly to members of our blood and to no one else. What happens to the Mudbloods, what happens to the Muggles, is a matter of utter indifference to me. Such good blood of our own kind as there may be among them we shall acquire for ourselves, if necessary by taking away the children and bringing them up among us.

"We shall never be rough or heartless where it is not necessary; that is clear. We wizards, who are the only people in the world who have a decent attitude to animals, will also adopt a decent attitude to these human animals, but it is a crime against our own blood to worry about them and to bring them ideals.

"I shall speak to you here with all frankness of a very serious subject. We shall now discuss it absolutely openly among ourselves, nevertheless we shall never speak of it in public. I mean the eradication of the Mudbloods, the return to purity of our race. Once this is complete, we can wipe clean the centuries of mingling and sullied, diluted progeny, and seclude ourselves in an ordered, logical world."

Ryan fought not to copy Snape’s body language. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Lucius, though he glimpsed a couple others, including the elder Goyle, by the look of him, drop their eyes slightly. Lucius continued quickly:

"There are those who argue that without intermarriage, we shall dwindle in numbers. But our master has the answer to this, as well. Our original goal, our ultimate victory in this battle, is not over the wizards who oppose us through ignorance and fear. It is a triumph over death itself. We need never fear age, infirmity, or the grave. We need never fear that our legacies will founder and fail. Those who support our master shall be rewarded beyond imagination."

Here he paused again among the muttered assent, regarding everyone in the room before continuing. In the disquieting interim, Ryan could tell that Lucius took careful note of who met his eye, who looked away, and who appeared at all daunted by his treatise. Ryan tapped into his reserves of willpower and met Lucius unblinking. So did Snape. Ryan watched Draco look at his father, but then drop his eye nervously. Lucius drew breath and continued paternally.

"You are of course all old enough to make your own decisions, and we would not ask you to take such a major step in the heat of passion. No. But think on our mission, and how it affects you and your families." A man or two shifted where he sat. "Think about the possibilities available to the victors, and the damnation sure to attend the inevitably defeated. Consider what we offer; what our lord and master can give you. Reflect carefully, for the choice you make—our friend or our foe—is absolute. There can be no neutrality this time." Ryan thought he looked directly at Snape as he said this. "Those of you who choose wisely shall be part of a company of wizards who shall be known for all time as the saviours of our kind. Those who choose to stand idle, or to side against the tide…." He spread his arms in an elegant shrug.

"It’s up to you—each of you. We will give you time, be assured. And though the temptation to discuss this may be great, we ask only that you do so among those who are here in this room, until we can be certain of the loyalties of those who are not. Think carefully, ladies and gentlemen. Choose wisely."

For a moment, after he finished speaking, nothing happened. Then, as if a wave had crested and broken upon the shore, the next generation of Death Eaters rushed forward to promise their service and offer fealty to Voldemort.