Harry Potter and the Headsman's Hostage

Prologue:
Conspiration

The masked wizard knelt on the cold flagstone floor, eyes downcast, avoiding the penetrating stare of the reptilian red eyes that gazed out from beneath his Master's hood. At last, his Master spoke.

"It is a fine plan, my friend," he said softly. His cold, sibilant voice resembled a serpent's hiss.

"Thank you, my Lord," the man murmured, relieved.

"It is not subtle, perhaps, but it is quite pleasingly cruel - no less than I would have expected of you. You are certain that he has feelings for this girl?"

"I believe my source to be reliable, my Lord."

"Yes, I see that you do. That is well. The boy should suffer greatly even if he refuses the bait - and I do not think he will. His fondness for playing the hero makes him quite predictable. The plan does carry risks, of course, but I believe they are acceptable, as only you and those you have recruited will bear them. You may proceed."

"At once, my Lord." The man bowed low, then turned to leave.

"One more thing," his Master said.

"My Lord?" the man asked, turning back.

"You and your servants will drink this." His Master's pale, long fingered hand emerged from an inner pocket of his robes, holding four little stone phials sealed with wax. "It is a potion of my own devising. It is quite inert by itself, but if it mixes with Veritaserum in the blood, it forms a fatal poison. If you should fall into the hands of my enemies, you will not be forced to betray me as young Crouch was. Such a pity... never have I had a better and more faithful servant.... Well. Succeed in this, my friend, and you will find yourself elevated to the place at my side which he would have held, had he escaped capture."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"The potion remains in the blood for a week and a day - more than enough time to bring your plan to fruition and return to me. I would advise you not to be captured alive; the death this poison brings is quite, quite painful."

"I understand, my Lord," the man said. He placed three of the phials in a pocket of his robes, then flicked the wax seal off the fourth with his thumbnail and lifted it to his mouth. Raising the potion to his lips, he downed it without a trace of hesitation, grimacing at the bitter taste, then bowed once more, turned, and swept out of the room.