Serpent's Embrace

Serpent's Embrace

"Glance without affection

Kiss without sensitivity

Promise without comprehension

Love without hope

- I do not remember my own tale ...

betrayed by my Anger

betrayed by my Beliefs

betrayed by my Delusions

betrayed by my Lust

(I wish)

Strength - to be released from my demons

(I desire)

Wisdom - to forgive the Past

... to forgive me"

~ Apocalyptica ~

Prologue

IMAGINE YOU GET the chance to rectify that one big mistake.

That huge slip which ruined your life. You know what it is I am talking about. That one gigantic disaster that still keeps you awake, that startles you from your slumber bathed in cold sweat and with a thumping heart after the umpteenth or so maddening nightmare you've had. The one that alienates you from your friends, and makes sure you avert their gaze because in their eyes you can see that they know ....

In your mind, you travelled back about a thousand times, back to that split moment of your fatal choice. What had you needed to do, say, or just refrain from? You know every little step of your downfall better than you know the back of your hands. Your spirit cut each moment into the smallest of fractions and unravelled everything, until the tiniest nuance was examined.

A life's mistake. And the chance to make up for it.

Lady Fortuna has turned her eye on you again, and you bloody well know she has. It is all in the offing once again, instead of behind you; life is sparkling with new probabilities and hope.

This time you would swear to yourself not to mess things up again, wouldn't you? This time you'd deal with it differently. It would work out. After all, you did learn from your mistake.

Chapter One

Fate lies ahead like the sun will rise. The light has been gone far too long from your eyes but you never change, never played your part. You have erased all the fear from your heart and tried to forget the light from your eyes keeps fading out. You keep on lying but your illusions will be destroyed. You hear it calling but you turned your face, never played your part. (- The Rasmus)

THE HALL was only lighted by one torch on the far end from where I was standing, so the shadows cast over my mother's face were dark and stretched and made her look at least ten years older. Her skin seemed to have lost its stunningly white colour, and her eyes that had once been shimmering with blue brilliance had now become dull and dreary looking. The past year of our lives really had taken its toll on both of us, but especially on her. She gave me a strong hug and pecked me on the cheek while I groped for the door handle behind my back.

'Take care, love.'

Her voice was shivering as she spoke, just like her hands that were now grasping my shoulders as if for support. I managed to force a feeble, half-hearted smile to cross my lips and said, 'I will. Thank you.' And then, 'Goodbye, Mother.'

After that, I turned my back on her and opened the great, wooden doors. My lungs instantly filled themselves with cold, damp air as I tried to swallow back the feeling in my stomach. I've never been good at partings, and seriously doubted whether I ever would be.

I closed my eyes for a moment before I began walking over the slippery path towards the iron gates that had served to keep intruders out of the Manor ever since the moment it had been built several centuries ago. It looked impressive as lightning bolts split through the black, clouded sky, but nevertheless, I found myself wondering how long its ancient protection spells would last now the last legal heir had left Malfoy Manor forever.

The threatening sound of thunder could be heard booming from overhead and, slowly but surely, I could feel drops of rain falling steadily down on my hood, face, and the rest of my cloaked body. This definitely was curious weather for a summer evening, but then again, this was Britain. Ever since the Dementors were on the loose, high temperatures had been a rarity altogether.

I took out my wand, which I had stuffed into my pocket right before leaving, and croaked a spell in order to open the gates. Under normal circumstances I could have easily broken through the wards without using my voice, but right now even this apparently simple gesture felt hard to manage.

I wrapped my cloak more firmly around me as I left the estate, turning my head and casting one last glance at the Manor. I lowered my eyes. It was for the best, I thought. There was no point in staying at a place where I would never be able to repay my debt to the Dark Lord. After all, I had seriously messed things up when I had fled from Hogwarts two days ago, and now it was time to put things straight again.

The road was completely deserted, and I couldn't hear anything except for the wind and rain rushing past, but even so, I had this uncomfortable feeling I was being watched. I shrugged it off and sped up my pace. If I, indeed, want to get there on time, I mustn't stray, I told myself and; I focussed hard upon what would be my final destination for quite a long while and I Apparated away from the place I had, until now, been able to call home.

* * *

Nearly half a year had passed since that particular night in June when my life had taken a turn that had eventually proved to be for the worst. A time of almost complete solitude, a time of intense training, and a time in which armies had been forced and battles had been fought without my knowledge, was now finally over.

It was winter now, and it seemed like an eternity ago that I had given up my freedom in order to serve the Dark Lord, and thereby, damning my existence. But, well, sometimes it's a lot easier to just accept things as they are instead of trying to fight them.

Dawn was spreading its frosty colours over the city by the time I found myself a room in a cheap hotel right outside the centre of London, just like I had been told to do. I was absolutely knackered. I could hardly keep my eyes open as a grim-faced landlord gave me a key with a peeled off 15 on the wooden key fob, for a room which turned out to be situated between Room 11 and Room 17.

This was almost more than my already challenged temper could bear on a Saturday morning after having passed a nuit blanche. When I irritably asked the man why, for God's sake, Room 13 was missing, he only grunted in response. Muggles were absolutely inscrutable.

I opened the door and, when I saw the room, I once more realised that if you didn't pay much for something, it always had its reason. The walls of my room had never been painted, or at least there was no paint remaining at the moment. Instead, you could see lousy plastering on three walls (the fourth wall was hidden behind a large and hideous wardrobe), along with several brownish stains that had obviously been caused by leaking water coming from the upper floors. I suppressed the urge to ask for my money back.

Not that I had necessarily chosen this hotel for the cheapness itself. I had plenty of money (or at least, so I kept telling myself), but staying in cheap hotels like this practically always had the advantage of absolute privacy. People didn't mingle with your business as long as you left them alone as well, and that was fine with me.

I closed the door behind my back and locked the door. The wooden furniture in the room appeared to have once been decent, but right now it was completely lived through. The upper side of the mirror on my right was partially broken in the middle, as if someone had banged his head against it. I decided that the safest place to put my trunk down for now would be on the small single bed standing in the centre. Its comeback was a loud creak, and I fathomed straight away that I wouldn't be bringing any nightly visitors in.

I opened my trunk and hastily unpacked the little variety of Muggle clothing I had brought with me. At the moment, I was entirely grateful for not having a lot of things with me, but I knew that once I was properly awake again, I would regret the fact. I really had to get some shopping done if I managed to make it into the centre of London one day.

But first things first.... I lifted my trunk and put it next to the bed. After that, I kicked off my shoes, took off my cloak (which I had transfigured into a winter coat for the occasion), and opened the window.

That last action might have seemed peculiar to strangers, but I just didn't want to be awoken by a disgruntled owl in a few hours because it wanted to deliver the Daily Prophet. I took some Knuts out of the pocket of my jeans and put them on the rickety table in the corner of the room, hoping against all odds that the owl in question would get the point.

Before I would finally be able to get into bed, I took out my wand and bewitched the window frame so it wouldn't let through any wind, or rain, or snow, or a combination of the previous three. I fiercely hoped the spell would last because I didn't exactly want to freeze to death, either. I kept my clothes on as I crept under the duvet with its worn-out cover and, only instants later, fell asleep.

Unfortunately, I was still woken a couple of hours later, though not by the owl that delivered the paper or the cold coming from the open window. It was a hard, rattling sound on the door that roused me.

'Housekeeping!'

I groaned, burying my head underneath the pillow and attempting to ignore the continual knocking. Then I heard a clicking noise and a creak, after which the door opened.

'Get the fuck out of here, woman!'

Fuming, I jumped up, throwing the pillow angrily towards the source of disturbance. The door immediately slammed shut again - whether this was because the cleaning woman soon made up her mind that leaving would be the best option or because I had just taken out my wand underneath the duvet and thrown a jinx at her, I didn't know. I collapsed onto the bed, which regrettably resulted in my head hitting the wooden edge.

'Ouch!' I shouted, rubbing the sore spot on the back of my head while staring groggily at the ceiling. I sat bolt upright, grumpily getting up because I knew that however tired I might be, I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again.

The sun was fighting its way through the cloud cover, and cars were passing by at regular intervals, shaking the building I found myself in. No, I certainly would not be falling asleep again. Swearing under my breath, I closed the window and changed.

Needless to say, by the time I left the hotel, I was in a considerably bad mood. Only seconds earlier, the landlord had firmly pointed out that breakfast was only served from 7:00AM - 10:00AM, and that I, unfortunately, was too late to enjoy this service and should try to be on time tomorrow. That was the last straw.

I decided I needed coffee. I looked around the street not really knowing which way to go, but I refused to go back inside to ask directions. I wasn't exactly a frequent visitor in London (especially not this part of the city), and when I had arrived here last night - this morning, I corrected myself - everything had looked different in the dim light of the street lamps and less busy traffic.

I made my way through several small deserted streets, passing various dodgy-looking alleys with gloomy buildings and crammed dustbins, which spread a revolting smell. I was glad when I finally seemed to have reached a more civilised part of London, wondering how the hell Muggles were able to survive living in such horrifying conditions. Glancing up and down the street, I saw a number of grocery shops and a couple or so pubs. I passed some sort of café with a French-looking inscription on the front, but decided I didn't want to enter any place which I could not understand the name of.

Finally, I opted for a place called "Starbucks", which looked decent and rather popular.

The smell of coffee reached my nostrils from the moment I set foot on the threshold. I breathed it in deeply while taking in my surroundings. There appeared not to be real waiters to record orders; instead, two barmen were standing behind some bar where all sorts of spice cakes were displayed (or at least, that was what I assumed it was. I didn't actually recognise most of them, but they looked like deformed biscuits).

'How can I help you?' one of the barmen asked when a woman with auburn hair paid her bill. He smiled at me while I warily eyed the luminous surfaces behind him on the wall. I didn't know nearly anything listed, and found it all very confusing.

'Er - coffee, please,' I said, not taking my eyes off the list. I noticed the other barman giving me an odd look, and I sent a glare in his direction.

After a couple of puzzling minutes, during which I tried to figure out how the Muggle currency worked, I was finally able to sit down and take a grateful gulp from my cup of coffee. It didn't taste bad; it tasted pretty good, even. It hadn't been worth all the fuss, though.

I idly looked through the large window in front of me; I could see Muggle after Muggle pushing their way through the crowd, reading newspapers or chatting away happily with some sort of small plastic or metallic box they held against their ear. While talking they were regularly bumping into people, after which they mumbled an insincere excuse or just said nothing at all. They were such a pathetic lot.

'It always gives me much a feeling of anonymity when sitting here,' a voice said suddenly. I turned my head around. The woman with the auburn hair I had seen earlier was sitting next to me, apparently talking to me.

'Excuse me?' I took another look at her to see whether she wasn't also talking to one of those stupid boxes.

'Yes, well.' She sighed and then gave me a small smile, 'it's just one of these silly things I always think about when sitting here. All these people are passing, and not one of them spares us a glance. It makes me feel as if I were invisible.'

'Some of those people most certainly are looking at you,' I pointed out.

'Still, even if they see us, we're nothing more than nameless statues they are walking past. They don't care who we are and - are you a foreigner?' she asked suddenly.

'No,' I said curtly, taking a sip of my coffee.

'Oh, I'm sorry.' She looked at me, her dark brown eyes big and sincere. 'It's just... you were having quite some trouble with the money, and I couldn't help but notice you seemed a bit ill at ease.'

I smirked into my cup. 'No, I must say I am quite native.' Oh, why for Christ's sake am I sitting here having a pointless conversation with a filthy she-Muggle?

Suddenly, a voice rang through the window, almost immediately followed by three strangely familiar passer-bys. One of them had shocking red hair; the second bushy brown; and the third, who was walking just a little bit behind the other two, had jet black hair. The Golden Trio.

'- him breathe, Hermione. It's not like there are any Death Eaters lurking about, waiting to assault him as he turns around a corner!'

At that moment, our eyes locked for a split second and I knew he had seen me. His mouth dropped slightly open, and he momentarily stopped walking before he sped up his pace and thereby broke the eye contact, looking gob smacked. Shit. My brain immediately leapt into action.

'It's just funny to hear all these youngsters using all sorts of nonexistent words,' she said disapprovingly, though I could see she was hardly two years older than me. I thought quickly.

'Funny indeed,' I said, standing up. 'You're a writer, aren't you?' It was amazing to see how easy it was to use Legilimency on an unprotected Muggle mind like hers. 'That must be terribly interesting. Why don't we go outside and have a walk so you can tell me everything about it?'

* * *

The Dark Lord had given me an assignment, and not just any assignment. No, it was my job to finally capture Harry Potter and bring him to my master. That was the plan, anyway, and it really had all seemed so simple when the plans had been unfolded. When Snape - I had opted never to refer to him by his first name ever again, after the fiasco I had partaken in five months ago - and some other Death Eaters had given me the practical details of the mission, but now I was actually doing it for real....

I took off my shoes and plopped down on the bed in my idiotic hotel room. I stared at the ceiling again; I had found myself doing this quite often during my stay, which had now reached its fourth day in a row, and I thought. Actually, this was not the best place to do a lot of thinking, I considered. Who would expect the great plan to capture the Boy Who Fucking Stayed Alive When He Should Have Died to be designed in a place like this? Honestly.

Today, I had finally succeeded in taking care of the first part of the plan, which consisted of the capture, questioning, and hexing of who would become my carrier of inside information on both the Order of the Phoenix and the trio. Unfortunately, the spy in question had turned out not to be an Order member like I expected. But she did have quite interesting information on the topic of Harry Potter. It would have been too late to find anyone else suitable to do the job anyway. The job only worked for one person at the time and in little more than a week she would have served her purpose and could be disposed of.

I was astounded to find out that Potter had not been left unaffected by our little encounter at the end of last week. On the contrary, it seemed like he had been doing research about my whereabouts rather obsessively ever since he had discovered I was still alive. Curious. Very curious. But, nevertheless, terribly useful.

My informant had also told me about his obsessional behaviour last year, which had not passed unnoticed by those close to him. However, even I had noticed how he had shown a lot more interest in what I was doing last year than he had done over the previous years. Always popping up whenever I'd rather not see him digging around, and actually spying on me. He suspected me then, I knew, but I had had no idea how that far had gone.

The famous Harry Potter, always trying to be the interfering lionheart, who couldn't bear to see anyone suffer under the wrath of the evil Death Eaters. I snorted. That behaviour really was so characteristic for Saint Potter that it was almost funny. Almost.

Tomorrow I'd need to pay Knockturn Alley a visit. There were some potions ingredients I needed for the execution of what I had in mind and, if I was lucky, I might even run into Potter again. Yes, that would come in handy. After all, if I really wanted to rouse sympathy from his part, I would have to make sure he did not just forget me.

And with that last thought, I went to bed. 'Harry Potter,' I said to the ceiling, 'your life has become a hell of a lot more interesting all of a sudden.'

The morning and afternoon passed without very much happening. I wandered aimlessly past the tiny streets around the Thames, thinking about everything and nothing. It was already dusk by the time something remotely spectacular happened, and I Apparated to the more engaging parts of Diagon Alley. I had already gone off the plan of trying to dog Potter's footsteps after I guessed it might turn nasty when he informed the rest of the Order, so I opted to go shopping at night. Harry Potter would not be running around there after sunset.

So that was why, when I walked into Knockturn Alley, safely cloaked and hooded as a precaution, I nearly jumped when another cloaked figure passed and I recognised the shape almost right away.

Soundlessly, I followed him, staying out of reach and yet in sight at the same time. Our footsteps echoed loudly in the almost deserted alleyway, and I pulled my hood further down my face, covering it almost completely. I saw him tightening his grip around something in his pocket, which I assumed to be his wand. I slowed down, the risk of being caught too big in the approaching light of Diagon Alley. He glanced back over his shoulder, his green eyes gleaming in the glimmer of his now - lit wand. His eyes rested on me for a split second before he turned his back on me and walked away with great strides.

I was shocked. What was Potter doing in an alley full of shops with highly Dark and dangerous objects? Did he want to be killed, ambushed, mugged, or whatever? I shrugged off the thought and remembered why I had, in fact, come here in the first place. Potions ingredients.... I looked around for a moment, feeling rather uncomfortable as I entered a grubby looking shop without a signboard and extremely filthy windows. It smelled in there.

'Good evening, Sir,' I said when the shopkeeper came in through an inconspicuous door at the back of the shop. I tried not to look at the hideous scars on his neck and the left side of his face. 'I need some potions ingredients.'

The man nodded slightly, the candle light making his features look even more mutilated than they already were. He kept his pale, almost colourless eyes transfixed on my face. I knew he was trying to work out who I was. I handed him over a list with all the things I needed, but instead of looking at it, his gaze lingered on my hands. I shivered.

'Right,' I said, sounding a lot more confident and overbearing than I felt at that precise moment. 'I need alihotsy leaves, black hellebore, hornbeam, lovage, asphodel and toadsmilk.'

His gaze shot up again, piercing my eyes.

'I don't sell common things like toadsmilk,' he jeered.

'Oh really?' I asked, impatience clearly audible in my voice. I counted out several Galleons on the counter. 'I was under the impression that you did.' I decided to take the plunge, and removed my hood while sneering down at the man in front of me.

His eyes widened. My father had told me once about how he had hexed this man one time after he had refused to give him some highly illegal potions ingredients, I remembered suddenly and obviously he remembered this little occurrence as well. I smirked and lazily looked around the shop. The man had already begun to grub about in one of the drawers, and he soon handed me over a package containing my desired ingredients.

'Here you are, Sir,' he stammered, bowing just a little as he handed it over.

Now it was my turn to nod in response. I paid and left the shop, not granting him another glance as I did. It was only when I had already walked half my way through the street that I noticed a lonely figure standing on the other side of the alley. The person in question also lowered his hood, and once again I found myself standing eye to eye with none other than Harry Potter. I tried to glare at him, but couldn't, and then Disapparated with a swish of my cloak and an almost inaudible pop.