The Harpsichordist

Chapter 13: To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn) There is a Season

For Ginny, November passed slowly.

After Luke's death, the singing lessons had stopped--the witch who gave them had been nervous about coming up to the castle. Ginny had felt awkward asking Wendy for further arrangements, for fear of upsetting her, but Wendy had simply smiled gently at her and said she would ask Professor Dumbledore.

That very evening, the Headmaster handed Ginny a piece of parchment with the Floo address of the new singing teacher and the password to his office, with a note to be there at seven-thirty that evening to use his fireplace, as none of the common room fireplaces allowed bodily transit.

The new voice teacher, Madam Bremer, was a large, elegant witch--though practically a Squib--who wore just slightly too much perfume and had half-a-dozen too many ornamental vases full of dried flowers scattered around her split-level living room. And the chandelier hovered a little too low. But she was a good singer, a patient teacher, and had been thrilled with Ginny's natural talent.

"The voice is the simplest of instruments," she said in a cultured voice, with a faint accent Ginny rather thought was fake, because it kept shifting between Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum. "And yet it is also the most vulnerable, the most expressive, and the hardest to refine." Her hands fluttered in what was undoubtedly supposed to be an artistic manner. "Are you taking theory classes?"

Ginny explained that there was a music teacher at Hogwarts now--she conveniently forgot to mention that it was a Muggle--who was giving them history and theory classes.

"Good, good," said Madam Bremer. "Theory filters through the conscious mind and embeds itself in the subconscience, where, with every note, our minds know its role, its function, its direction. All music originates with that knowledge. We will begin with scales--so!"

Singing lessons took place every Thursday from then on. They outlined Ginny's sense of time. She went from Thursday to Thursday, practicing, fitting in homework and Quidditch practices, and the occasional Dumbledore's Army meeting.

Harry held D.A. meetings about twice a month now. They no longer focused on specific spells, but on actual fighting, encouraged, and sometimes supervised, by Tonks. Tonks never spoke of her ordeal around Halloween, but Ginny occasionally caught her staring moodily off into space. Tonks merely told them that it was more important than ever for certain students to know how to defend themselves.

"It's almost like they're expecting some sort of attack on the school!" Ginny giggled to Harry in annoyance--Parvati Patil had hit her with a rather powerful Tickling Hex--after a particularly difficult session towards the end of November. She expected Harry to snort, or make some sort of reassuring comment.

But instead he pursed his lips thoughtfully and said, "Yeah, you're right." Then he pointed his wand at her. "Finite," he said, and her giggles stopped. "You've got to remember that one," he added. "You can fix a lot of jinxes simply by cancelling them--though it takes time."

"You, too!" she exclaimed, her face now set in a frown.

"Me what?"

"You're acting like we're preparing for battle!"

"Aren't we?" He was deadly serious. "Do you really think that Hogwarts is always going to be safe? And what about last June, at the Ministry? Wasn't that a battle?"

"Well, yes, I suppose..."

"Ginny, someone died," he said forcefully. "How can you just 'suppose' it was a battle?"

"I'm sorry!" she said quickly. "That's not what I--I know--I didn't mean--Of course, you're right, it's fighting, and we have to prepare for it... but... "

"We've got to take these things seriously. At least," he added in an undertone, "I do."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Harry sighed and looked away. "Nothing," he muttered.

"Harry," Ginny said, grabbing him by the arm, "what do you mean by that? You can't possibly think we'll let you take on You-Know-Who singlehandedly."

He didn't look at her.

"You don't have to do it alone," Ginny said.

Harry looked extremely uncomfortable. "Yeah, I do," he muttered.

"What are you talking about?" she said, releasing his arm and staring intently at him.

Harry looked up and down the corridor; there were still a handful of students hurrying up and down it. He pulled her into an empty classroom.

"I haven't told anyone this," he said. "Only Dumbledore and a few other people know, and they don't really know the whole story."

Ginny hoisted herself up onto a desk and watched him carefully. "What about Ron and Hermione?"

"They don't really know ... the whole story." He frowned, took a deep breath, then began to speak. "Voldemort went for my parents because of a prophecy Professor Trelawney made. Not her usual thing," he said, when Ginny snorted and looked incredulous. "She's made two real prophecies, as far as I know, both about Lord Voldemort. The second one she made to me during my exam in my third year, the night that we discovered Sirius' innocence--you know that story, right?"

Ginny nodded. It had been a pretty strange story that Hermione had told her one night at Grimmauld Place, about Time Turners and Animagi and secret tunnels.

"Trelawney said that the Dark Lord would return, greater and more terrible than ever before, because his servant would set out to rejoin him. And that night Wormtail escaped."

"And the first one?" Ginny asked.

Harry's eyes fixed at a spot somewhere above Ginny's left shoulder. "She made it to Dumbledore at her interview sixteen years ago. It was stored in that glass ball in the Department of Mysteries. It's the weapon that Voldemort wanted last year, it's why he lured me to the Ministry. He wanted me to retrieve it for him."

Ginny's mouth was hanging slightly open. She nodded for him to continue.

He did so, sounding very tired. "Neville smashed it during the battle, but Dumbledore had a memory of it stored in his Pensieve. I listened to it after--after we returned to school."

"What did it say?" she asked tentatively.

"I can remember every word," Harry said. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

Ginny wasn't sure what to say. "Oh," she said. "So it means that you--"

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "That I've got to kill Voldemort or else he's got to kill me. No other way."

On a sudden impulse, Ginny slid off the desk, then reached out and hugged Harry. "Don't worry," she said into his robes. "No matter what that Prophecy says, we won't let you do it alone. You may have to fight V--Voldemort, but we'll take on the rest of the Death Eaters."

Harry's body felt stiff and uncomfortable at first, but, as Ginny persisted in holding onto him, he relaxed. He was trembling, and Ginny wondered if she really had stopped having a crush on him, because all she wanted to do right now was make him feel better.

No. She was just being a good friend.

They broke apart slowly. "Thanks," Harry said, his breathing a little unsteady. "I think--I think I needed that. And--"

"I won't breathe a word," she said earnestly. "Weasley honor."

* * *

Severus worried about Draco Malfoy. He'd been missing far too many classes, lately.

Severus disliked the boy, of course, for many reasons: like his father, he was an arrogant snob; like his father, he wanted to be a Death Eater; like his father, he expected to be favored by authority figures because he had money.

And he had sent Luke Navarra to his death. That was a mixed bag, however--it had made Wendy single, and as a Slytherin, Severus would never miss an opportunity like that.

Nevertheless, the boy was too similar to Lucius, in both appearance and behavior.

But dislike aside, Severus was concerned at the amount of classes the boy was missing. Had Lucius taken the boy fully into the Inner Circle? Severus hadn't been summoned since September, which brought up another worrying thought: had the Dark Lord discovered him? Had the rumors connecting his name with Wendy's--many wondered why it had been Tonks and not Wendy who had been kidnapped--turned sour in the Dark Lord's ears?

Severus stared at Malfoy's empty seat in Potions and worried so much that Hermione Granger actually had to say his name several times before he heard her.

"What, Miss Granger?" he asked, forgetting to snap.

"Please, Professor," she said, "Terry's cauldron just melted, and it's leaking all over the place, and I know he didn't brew the potion right, so it's not simply a Cleansing Compound spreading along the floor, I think it might be toxic--"

Merlin, had he been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he'd stopped paying attention to the sixth-year N.E.W.T. class? Now that he was no longer preoccupied, he heard the cries of horror and the pandemonium that usually accompanied a potions spill, especially when the brewer wasn't the most competent.

He sprang up from his desk. "Boot!" he roared, in a convincing imitation of his usual bellow.

"I'm sorry, Professor!" Terry Boot wailed. "I don't know what happened!"

"Obviously, or it wouldn't have happened!" he snarled. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw and a detention tonight!" The potion was spreading fairly rapidly. He pointed his wand at the floor and said, "Concameratus," and the floor bent slightly upwards around the spill, effectively corralling it before it could spread further. "I want you all to take note," he hissed, "of how I clean up this spill, because next time, you will have to clean it yourself or suffer."

The Potions Master persona settled back on him easily. He proceeded to demonstrate, with snarky asides and insults tossed in Terry Boot's direction, how to clean up a spreading potion without having to touch it, and how to check that no surrounding materials had been contaminated. By the time he had used the word "incompetent" enough, the bell had rung, and the sixth-years made their escape to dinner.

"And, Mr. Boot, I want you here at seven o'clock promptly," Severus said over the noise. "There is a large stack of cauldrons to be scrubbed. You may leave your wand in your dormitory."

Terry Boot paused, opened his mouth, and received an elbow in the ribs from several Ravenclaws in the class. He closed his mouth.

Severus now had perhaps three hours in which to investigate the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

A quick walk took Severus down the grounds to the gates, now standing open again. The lawn was littered with students braving the wind to catch what was probably the last sunshine of the year. Once he'd passed the gates, he Apparated.

Malfoy Manor seemed as imposing and cold as ever. Manicured lawns sloped gently away from the white brick. Despite the cold, a few roses hung on to life in the gardens lining the large picture windows all along the front. Sweeping, classical columns framed a porch upon which sat a small wrought-iron patio set: a bench, two chairs, and a glass-topped table. It should have been impressive yet welcoming, and indeed had been when Severus first saw the Manor as a young man, but now the Grecian beauty left him unmoved. He wondered idly whether it was seeing the dungeons or getting to know Lucius Malfoy better that had changed his impression.

The house appeared unoccupied, almost deserted, but a faint outline of footprints along the gravel path leading around the side gave away the presence of at least one person.

Severus wished, not for the first time, that he could afford an invisibility cloak, but they were far out of the range of a professor's salary. He settled, instead, on pulling out his wand and Disillusioning himself. It wouldn't fool anyone looking for movement, but if someone simply glanced out the window, he wouldn't be spotted. Wand at the ready, he crept up towards the house and slid between two rosebushes to lean against the white brick of the outer wall.

The footprints had been going around to the right side, so Severus crept very slowly around, his ears pricked for voices, his mind as blank as he could make it; if the Dark Lord were inside the Manor, Severus didn't want to announce his presence by loud broadcasting. He reached the side gate, relieved not to have set off any alarms.

The side gate was probably warded, though. Severus glanced around to make sure he was alone. Not even a gnome.

"Detecto!" he whispered, moving his wand in a sequence of semicircles. Glittering silver smoke wafted out of it and drifted towards the gate and the fence. As it passed over the fence, faint blue lines were revealed, crisscrossing like spider-silk-thin bridge girders, attached to the gate, extending from the ground to several hundred feet up.

It looked like a simple Watchers' Ward, the kind any witch or wizard would put on their garden gate and connect to the kitchen or sitting room, to announce the presence of visitors. But that was far too humane for the Malfoys. No one ever came to the Manor without invitation; no one ever went around the garden gate unless directed to do so. All visitors were processed through the front door and the small army of house-elves Lucius usually possessed.

Hm. Too simple.

He waved his wand and vanished the smoke. "Indissimulo," he murmured. This time, a slight disturbance in the air, like a heat wave, pulsated towards the gate. If Lucius was as Severus remembered, he would have left a thread of a spell over the gate to, say, behead the first person through, or simply turn their body inside out. The Indissimulo charm wouldn't show seriously dark magic, but it would show any spells that weren't wards.

Ah, yes. There it was. Rather clumsily cast, too--an extremely thick rope of magic that stretched straight across the gate. Easy enough to circumvent by climbing over the fence rather than opening the gate. The Watchers' Ward was no problem, either. And the only smell of dark magic was coming from the usual spot in the basement. So Severus clambered over the fence, holding his breath and keeping his mind still, and was inside.

No krups running for him.

No dragons suddenly breathing fire, either.

Instead, a murmur of voices came from the Rear Small Drawing Room.

He hurried to the wall and crouched down below the level of the windows. It was extremely muddy; someone was doing a slipshod job of the gardening. Severus was very glad Fred and George Weasley were not there to hear the fervent thanks he sent their way as he untangled a jumble of transparent string and stuck one end of it in his ear.

The newly improved Extendable Ear slithered along the bricks of the Manor's outside wall, looking for cracks or chinks. A climber of ivy clung tenaciously to the wall; the Ear sped alongside it then paused, as if sniffing. Then it plunged into the wall and voices came into Severus' ear.

* * *

"... and yet the boy was sorted into Ravenclaw."

"Yes, Father. But from what I've heard"--Draco's voice was eager, disgustingingly sly--"he's quite the outcast. He has no friends; he always sits alone at meals, and none of the teachers seem fond of him, not even Flitwick."

"And Professor Snape?"

"The first-years say that Snape--"

"Professor Snape, Draco."

"--right, Professor Snape treats him like any other first-year."

"Unpleasantly, then."

"Yeah."

There was a pause, and a chink of glass on wood. Lucius was probably drinking. His speech was slightly careful. "You see, Draco, the boy is the one factor that could go wrong here. I don't doubt that Dumbledore will allow his parents to see him--the man's such a soft old fool--so it's only a matter of convincing him."

"Couldn't they just use the Imperius Curse?"

"Draco, Draco, you might have received your looks from me and your intelligence from your mother, but even you shouldn't forget that their wands will have been confiscated."

"Oh," said Draco in a sulky mutter.

"But the boy is only eleven--he will be easy enough to cajole," Lucius mused. There was a pause. It sounded as though Draco was fidgeting. "I confess to a certain curiosity as to how they managed to find enough energy to produce a child."

"What do you mean, Father?"

"They were locked in Azkaban when she became pregnant. The boy was born approximately three years after their imprisonment began, which means that over two years into their sentence, they mated."

Draco made a sound of disgust. "Blech."

"How did Rodolphus even get it up?" asked Lucius, apparently to himself, for Draco did not respond. "How could he retain enough energy to hold sexual excitement long enough to reach climax?"

There was a long pause, while Draco probably fidgeted some more.

Severus could easily picture them. The Rear Small Drawing Room was one of the less unfriendly and imposing rooms in the Manor--tastefully upholstered in brown leather, sumptuous Persian rugs from the fourteenth century scattered over a floor of unvarnished wood planks, bookshelves stuffed with rare vases and an assortment of actual books, rather than fake book bindings with impressive Latin titles. There was a French door, and windows, overlooking the rear gardens, and a fireplace in the very corner, set at an angle to the walls. If Severus remembered correctly, there was even a complete collection of Jane Austen writings, first printing, from one of the more eccentric Malfoy women. The whole room gave off a very different atmosphere than the rest of the Manor's glacial beauty.

Lucius would be sitting at an upright ease in the armchair between the door and the fireplace, gazing out at his gardens. Draco would probably be slouching in another chair, somewhere along the wall, kicking his feet moodily and glaring enviously at his father's glass of Old Ogden's.

"Father, why couldn't Snape--I mean, Professor Snape simply do it? Why bother with everything else? If he's already in the castle..."

Lucius sighed, rather melodramatically.

"I shall explain again. First, Severus couldn't kill Potter; that's the Dark Lord's privilege--the prophecy, you know. Secondly, Severus must appear to be loyal to Dumbledore, and cannot arouse too much suspicion. Thirdly--and, Draco, you know you are not to breathe a word of this outside the Circle--"

"Of course, Father," Draco murmured excitedly.

"--but I believe that the Dark Lord is not entirely convinced of Severus' loyalty. If indeed Severus has turned traitor, then any plan left in his hands would fail. Oh, it would appear to be an accident, to be an oversight on someone else's part, but it would fail. And if he is still loyal to our master, then, again, he must keep up appearances with Dumbledore. But I strongly suspect that he will not be part of the Circle for much longer."

* * *

Outside, crouching underneath a browning privet bush, Severus' blood had turned to ice. He was a skilled Occlumens, but lies are hard to keep up when a school full of children talks amongst themselves. And at least three of those children knew that he was... he wasn't even going to think it. Perhaps many more knew by now where his loyalties lay. Children talk; they gossip.

A soft poof announced the arrival of another visitor in the garden, one who plainly had permission to be there.

Severus gave the Ear a hearty tug and it slithered back into his hand. Then he quieted his reeling brain, breathing deeply and evenly. He thought of a cloud of white smoke, drifting lazily through his mind and stilling all the thoughts it encountered along the way. Such a quiet Apparition could only mean a powerful wizard. Either it was Dumbledore--which was extremely unlikely--or it was the Dark Lord.

Severus didn't dare move a muscle or think of anything. His mind was a solid wall, a sheet of impenetrable iron.

The newcomer sniffed the air. Severus blessed the scent of the privet bush and the mud on his robes from squeezing into his hiding place. He felt the telltale poke of a powerful Legilimens trying to find someone. I am an empty vessel. There is nothing here.

"Hm." It had to be the Dark Lord--that was his sound of doubt.

Severus tightened his sweaty fingers around his wand, preparing to fight. Then inspiration struck.

He was exceptionally glad that Minerva, after hearing of Severus' newspaper-dog fiasco at the Muggles' back in August, had insisted that he learn animal transfigurations. In two seconds there was a small, fluffy, white rabbit, of the singularis lepidus variety. It looked real--white fur, pink ears, fuzzy tail. Its nose twitched; it hopped experimentally. Severus prodded it with his wand, and it lept into the air, startled, and collided noisily with a branch.

"Who's there?" hissed the Dark Lord.

The rabbit, terrified, shot out from under the privet bush straight to the Dark Lord.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A rushing sound swept the garden. There was a flash of green light, and Severus prayed that his rabbit would stay a rabbit even when dead.

The Dark Lord's footsteps crunched away. They paused, scuffed the ground, then continued to walk further away.

After a moment, Severus heard a knock on the glass doors of the Rear Small Drawing Room, and breathed. He peeked under the privet bush and saw a dead rabbit lying in the smoothly raked shells. Thank you, Minerva, he thought fervently.

He straightened up and carefully extricated himself from the privet bush. Pointing his wand at himself, he muttered, "Scourgify." The mud and leaves disappeared. He raked his fingers through his hair and disentangled a few sticky privet flowers. When his hair was as clean as it ever got, he Un-Disilllusioned himself, retrieved the rabbit from the garden path, and strode boldly around to the back door.

He rapped on the window. "Draco!" he called. "Draco, are you in there?"

The figures inside were exactly as he would have predicted: Lucius, seated in his favorite armchair, Draco sulking by the wall, and the Dark Lord prowling in the shadows, casting the Jane Austen books disdainful glares.

All three of them looked up sharply at his voice. Lucius looked livid at first, but then composed his features; Draco simply looked sulky; and the Dark Lord looked as he always did--evil.

Lucius strode over and opened the French door. "Severus," he said. "What a pleasure."

"And you, Lucius," lied Severus. He held up the dead animal. "Your gardens must be suffering in your absence--I found this on the path."

"I killed it," said the Dark Lord. "Lucius, take care of it." Lucius took the dead rabbit and threw it onto the fire. The smell of charred meat began to fill the room.

Severus approached the skeletally thin figure of the Dark Lord. "Master," he murmured, sinking to his knees and crawling forward to kiss the hem of his robes, "master."

"You may stand, Severus." Severus did so. "What brings you here at this time?" The Dark Lord's voice was suspicious.

"I wondered where Draco was," he said simply. "He's missed many classes."

"You traveled all the way to the Manor just because of a few missed potions lessons?" guffawed Draco.

Lucius looked as though he quite wanted to hex Draco for being so childish in front of their master. "Draco!" he hissed.

"Lucius, calm down," said the Dark Lord. "He's but a child." This phrase merely made Lucius angrier.

"Not for 'a few missed potions lessons,' no," Severus sneered at Draco. "Albus is becoming suspicious," he said truthfully to the Dark Lord. "Ever since the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor returned, he has wondered how two of his professors were kidnapped from inside the castle. I, of course, know nothing," he said blandly. "However, as Albus' prodigal son, I promised I would find out what was detaining young Mr. Malfoy." He recalled up a manufactured memory of a cheerful meeting in Albus' office, and a remembered distaste for the oversweetened tea and the constant offer of lemon drops.

The Dark Lord let out a high, cold laugh. "Albus is so trusting, is he not?"

"Indeed, master," said Severus. "Trusting to a fault."

"Why didn't you ring the doorbell?" demanded Draco suddenly.

Lucius looked around from his carefully casual stance at the windows.

"I did," lied Severus. "No one answered."

"So you came around the back?" asked Lucius sharply.

"Obviously," he said.

"Why didn't the wards go off?" said Draco quickly, trying to be clever.

"Those were yours?" Severus asked, every inch surprised.

"Whose else would they be?" Draco said insolently.

"I am still your professor," Severus hissed, "whether or not we are inside the school--"

"Draco," interrupted the Dark Lord patronisingly, "did you put wards up?"

"Yes, I did," said Draco proudly. "A Watcher's Ward and that special one you showed me, Father, you know, the one that turns people inside out--"

"But why?" Lucius bit out.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Draco, this house is supposed to be unoccupied. I am locked up in prison, you are safely at school, and your mother is with relatives. Not even a house-elf remaining--no wonder he didn't answer the doorbell, Severus," Lucius said, an elegant hint of apology in his voice as he shook his head gracefully. He turned back to Draco, whose shoulders were hunched sullenly. "That was probably the most foolish thing you could have done," Lucius said coldly. "How did you get around them?" he asked Severus.

"I climbed over the gate," said Severus truthfully, with a hint of sneer. "The ... ah, special ward was pathetically easy to circumvent. There was no need to set the Watcher's Ward off--for all I knew, it was set by Aurors."

Lucius gave Draco a look that said I'll Deal With You Later, and turned to Severus. "Severus," he said, "do you need to bring him back to school this moment?"

Severus looked at his watch. It was five o'clock. "I must return by seven o'clock to supervise a detention," he said distastefully. "One of the sixth-years destroyed half the classroom during the last class of the day--"

"Was it Potter?" interrupted Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy," warned Severus, "do not interrupt me! Again, I am still your prof--"

"Yes, yes," said Lucius impatiently, waving his hands.

"I came to instruct Draco," said the Dark Lord. He had appropriated Lucius' favorite chair and was watching the rabbit burn to ash in the fire. The stench was quite appalling. "He cannot leave yet."

Which meant that Severus couldn't, either. "Yes, my Lord," he said respectfully, and withdrew. Damn. There went dinner.

"Your dinner will wait," said the Dark Lord repressively. "If I could wait thirteen years for a loyal servant, you can wait a few hours for food."

"Of course, master."

"Draco," the Dark Lord said. "I have instructions for you."

"Yes, master?" said Draco, and there was in his voice an irritating eagerness of which Colin Creevey would have been proud.

"You will not be seen talking to the boy. You will not approach the dungeons where the Death Eaters are kept. You will return to school with Severus after this meeting, spend two days in the Hospital wing with a bad bout of ... something. Something contagious. Severus will work out the details and contrive a convincing range of symptoms."

Lucius looked quickly at Severus, his eyes hinting suspicion, but Severus merely nodded at the Dark Lord and murmured something appropriate.

"When your return to classes, you will tell everyone--no exceptions--that your mother is ill, and you caught whatever-it-will-be from her."

"Yes, my Lord," said Draco. The similarity to Colin Creevey was unnerving.

"You will resume your studies and blend in with your fellow Slytherins. Keep your head down, behave as usual."

Severus allowed a snort to escape.

Both the Dark Lord and Lucius turned to him. Lucius raised one elegantly arched eyebrow--Severus knew for a fact that Lucius used at least three charms a day on his eyebrows alone--but stayed silent.

"Yes, Severus?"

"My apologies, master," said Severus at once. "Mr. Malfoy's usual behavior is not to blend in with his fellows. He is perhaps the most prominent Slytherin in the school." Careful phrasing.

Lucius looked smug, the Dark Lord thoughtful. "I see. Perhaps, Draco, you ought to gradually become less noticeable. You will have greater maneuverability that way."

"Of course, master," said Draco at once. "As you wish."

"When our plans are put into action, you are not to be suspect. You will simply be another student."

Severus desperately wished he knew what these plans were, so he could tell ... no. He wished he knew what the plans were, but of course his master would not risk letting all his servants know the details, in case a skilled Legilimens, such as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, chose to interrogate them.

The Dark Lord finished addressing Draco. "And we come to you, Severus," he said. "I must confess I did not expect to see you until the next gathering. What news do you have?"

"The Muggle woman continues teaching--she is trying to organize the students into ... ah ... ensembles." He pronounced the word with calculated distaste. "I believe there is to be a Christmas concert," he sneered. "She is quite out of her depth at the school. Only last week one of the younger Slytherins decided to test his newfound knowledge of the Leg-Locker Curse on the woman as they passed in the corridor. She had to be rescued by McGonagall." Severus vividly remembered Minerva ranting about the incident at the Heads of House meeting.

"And you still have no idea why Dumbledore is bothering to teach the students music, of all subjects?"

"No, my Lord," he said regretfully. "There are a few curious interactions, naturally. There is the Bach Effect--you are familiar with it, my Lord?" At his nod, Severus continued, "And several other composers have written complex pieces with showy effects, aligning molecules and such." He paused, contemptuously. "I believe," he said thoughtfully, "that Dumbledore is trying to encourage the students to take an interest in Muggles."

The Dark Lord crowed with laughter. "The old fool. And what of the Defense professor?"

"She recovers."

"Has she told her story to any of the staff?"

"She told us that she was tortured for several days," Severus said carelessly, "and when she had an opportunity, seized a wand from one of her guards and escaped."

"Yes, that sounds right," said the Dark Lord.

"My Lord, if I may ask," he said tentatively, "did she actually escape? I remember Nymphadora Tonks as exceptionally clumsy. I can scarcely believe that she became an Auror, let alone managed to free herself from Azkaban."

Lucius let out a hiss of recognition. "Yes?" said the Dark Lord.

"I just realized..." ventured Lucius. "Master, I thought I recognized her when we first brought her in. I saw her at the Ministry, except that her hair was purple then--she's a Metamorphmagus."

The Dark Lord nodded at Lucius. "Useful information to have. Thank you, Lucius." Lucius preened. The Dark Lord returned his attention to Severus, who met his gaze. "No, Severus, she did not escape. My Death Eaters, incompetent as they can be, are not so powerless."

And yet, according to Tonks, you were disabled by a Jelly-Legs Jinx, thought Severus, but extremely quietly.

Draco spoke up, unnecessarily. "So Bella, Rodolphus, and the rest were practically invited into the school!"

"Yes, Draco," said the Dark Lord in a long-suffering voice. Lucius shot his son a Swift Quelling Look. Severus wondered why the Dark Lord was being so patient and understanding with the boy. He was eager to serve, but appallingly bad-mannered and brash.

"What have the Slytherins been saying about me?" Draco asked Severus. The egotistical prat. "And Pansy... Professor," he added.

"Very little," said Severus. "None of them wish to attract attention to your absence. Miss Parkinson told the staff that her parents wished to meet her betrothed. She also says she doesn't know anything about why you've been missing, although--and this will mesh nicely with your plans, my Lord--she remembers you mentioning that you were worried about your mother."

Draco smirked. There was a pause.

"Shall I return Mr. Malfoy to school, my Lord, Lucius?" Severus asked smoothly.

"Not quite yet, I think," said the Dark Lord. "I have some questions for you."

Severus restrained a shudder of apprehension and mentally located his wand.

"Where were you on Halloween night? Why did Lucius' and Draco's plan go awry?"

Severus felt his stomach drop. Wendy was going to kill him.

"My apologies, Lord," he said, bowing his head. "The Amorousness Additive was very potent, and ... and it has been a long time since I have been with a woman..."

Draco snickered.

"Quiet, Draco," hissed the Dark Lord menacingly. "Or leave. I repeat, Severus, what were you doing?"

"I was in bed with her, my Lord."

"You were having sex with a Muggle, Severus?" said Lucius incredulously.

"You too, Lucius," said the Dark Lord. "This is my business. The question is a valid one, though--you were having sex with a Muggle? A common, foul Muggle woman?"

Severus wondered if he ought to fall to his knees, and decided, on balance, not to. That would indicate that he was begging for some sort of reprieve, and part of his argument here was that he had done nothing wrong. "My Lord, please understand--I was under the influence of the potion, and she did not seem ... attached to Lu--the Muggle. She was merely a toy, an object."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed, my Lord. Nothing but a ... quick tumble."

The Dark Lord laughed cruelly. "So the woman means nothing to you, Severus?" he said archly.

"No, my Lord, of course not!" exclaimed Severus with a snort. "Merely one night of pleasure--"

"Mutual?"

Severus drew a quick breath. Wendy wouldn't kill him--she was going to have him drawn and quartered. "How should I know?" he said, as though the very notion was absurd. "I fucked her, she left."

Draco sniggered again, but quietly.

"No hysterics? No 'spend your life with me'? No 'don't you love me?'"

"No," said Severus, quite truthfully. Oh, Wendy was not only going to kill him, she was going to eviscerate him personally, with a blunt knife, and have his balls as a side dish with a main course of his head for dinner. SautŽed Genitalia a la Severus.

"She was quite easy to get into my bed, and just as easy to kick out. She's just a Muggle."

Good God. Draco would spread this around the school like wildfire. Her authority would be undermined even more than it already was by her Muggleness. He thought for a moment. "I suspect the Amorousness Additive addled her brains slightly. Muggles are so susceptible to potions."

"They are, aren't they?" said the Dark Lord. "You would know, would you not?"

Yes, he thought bitterly. He knew. He knew just how susceptible Muggles were to potions.

"It was a small moment of weakness," Severus said. "Had I but known about the plan..." he trailed off, looking meaningfully at Lucius. Could he foist the blame off?

"Don't try to foist the blame off on me, Severus," said Lucius immediately. "I--"

"Ah, but Lucius," said the Dark Lord with what would have been a wide smile on a normal face, and on his face looked like a death grimace, "Severus is correct. Had he known of your plan, you could have brought me both Muggles, and the insult to our race would have been eradicated easily." He fingered his wand; Lucius tensed in anticipation.

The curse never came. "But I have punished you enough for that--both of you," the Dark Lord said, his gaze sweeping Draco, who flinched. "So we move on. The woman is no threat, merely an insult. There are bigger plans, already in motion."

"Of course, my Lord," said Severus.

"Severus, you are to continue your observations of the school, encouraging our likely candidates and informing me of the plans of the Other Side."

"Yes, master."

There was another pause.

"Well, if that's everything, master?" asked Draco, getting to his feet. "I'd rather like to get back to school and to din--"

The Dark Lord barely even looked at him. "Crucio," he said lazily.

Draco fell to the ground, screaming. Severus hoped his vindictive pleasure was buried far enough, as he watched the boy writhe and drool, gasp and gag.

Lucius' face was impassive. Every Death Eater experienced this at some point. No sympathy would ever be forthcoming from one Death Eater to another; Draco was no longer Lucius' son, Severus realized, but his fellow.

The Dark Lord lifted his wand, and Draco groaned. There were tears on his face.

"Let that be a reminder," the Dark Lord hissed, "that while I understand you are young and inexperienced, I will not tolerate disrespect or impertinence from you!"

"Yes, my Lord," gasped Draco. "I am so sorry, my Lord."

Severus looked at his watch. Quarter past six.

The Dark Lord swung his head and gazed at them all in turn. As their eyes met, Severus flooded his mind with thoughts of loyalty and eagerness, disdain for Draco, a fair amount of hunger, and a good deal of fear. The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at him. "Severus," he hissed.

"Yes, master?"

"You must work on your Occlumency."

"Master?"

"You broadcast far too much. You will be an easy target for the Old Fool."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus replied solemnly.

With a nearly inaudible poof, the Dark Lord vanished.

Lucius turned to Severus. "Take this pitiful boy back to school," he spat. "I don't want to see him until he can control himself."

"Father!"

"I have nothing to say to you, Draco."

"What? But, Father..." Draco whined.

"Come, Mr. Malfoy," Severus said, and grasped Draco by the arm, pulling him towards the door.

"What's that all about?" demanded Draco as they left the Rear Small Drawing Room and finally gained the fresh air of the garden. He shook his arm free, giving Severus a reproachful, pouty look.

Severus didn't answer. "We return to school," he said repressively. "You have your instructions, I have mine."

"But, Professor--"

"We discuss nothing, Mr. Malfoy!"

They Apparated. The sun sat behind the Forest and the grounds were empty.

"How come no one seems to like me anymore?" sulked Draco as they trudged up the path to the castle.

"Everyone loves children," Severus said. "If you wish to be treated as an adult, you must--"

"--act like an adult," intoned Draco.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "No," he said. "Don't interrupt me. If you wish to be treated as an adult, you must first understand how adults treat each other."

"And that means not liking me?" he pouted.

Severus resisted the urge to snarl at him to grow up. "It means that people won't automatically like you," he said patiently.

"You sound like Dumbledore."

"Mr. Malfoy," he said warningly.

Draco had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry, Professor."

There was silence while they walked.

"What sort of disease am I going to get?" Draco asked. "Professor."

"You will have all the symptoms of Elvish stomach flu," said Severus.

"Elvish stomach flu!"

"The virus is undetectable by most mediwitches, and Madam Pomfrey is no exception. She will only see the symptoms, and will not know that it is not the real disease. And you caught it from your mother's attendant."

"But--"

Severus raised an eyebrow, and Draco fell into a mutinous silence. Revenge is sweet.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore checked the wards around the holding cell. The prisoners inside didn't have their wands, but one could never be too careful.

He strongly disliked the thought of Hogwarts acting as a prison, but the truth was that Azkaban had become useless and the Ministry didn't have any better place. He also rather suspected Cornelius Fudge of being slightly vindictive, pushing his problems off his shoulders onto Albus' own. Said shoulders were feeling rather stooped and old, lately. He had been on the Earth for one hundred and sixty-seven years, as of today, but there would be no celebrations for him.

The wards were secure around the holding cell. The Death Eaters inside glared at him. One hissed.

"Headmaster?" Professor Flitwick had arrived as requested.

"Filius, yes. Thank you for coming," Albus said. "I'm terribly sorry about this."

"As am I, Professor," squeaked Filius. "He's just outside--shall I? If things are ready?"

"Yes, they are. You may bring him in."

Filius disappeared for a few seconds. When he returned he was accompanied by a dark-haired young boy, a first year. "Now, there's no need to be nervous," he was saying. "The Headmaster and I are here just in case--"

"Thank you, Professor," said the boy, with a maturity saddeningly beyond his years. "I appreciate it."

He stepped up to the shimmering ward and surveyed the two people behind it.

"Hello, mother, father," said Rigel Lestrange.

* * *