A Merciless Affection

Chapter 34: This Ordeal By Fire

When the wrenching sensation ended, Sarah expected to find herself before the Dark Lord. Instead, she was in the entrance hall of a great house. No, of course, he wouldn't take the risk of the Portkey being misused--by misfortune or intention--to bring his enemies directly into his presence. But as Sarah looked around, she realized that she knew this house. All too well.

Her eyes flicked down to the spoon; the pattern of the handle was still hidden under her husband's fingers. As she pulled it out of his puzzled but unresisting grip, she gasped low. Sweet Merlin!

Abruptly Severus's other hand closed around her arm, tightly enough to make her look up at him. There was a flash of alarm deep in his eyes, terror that she was about to reveal herself.

"This is Darkglass Hall," she whispered.

His eyes widened for an instant, then hardened into cold, black stones. "Control yourself," he snapped, under his breath. He snatched the spoon from her and replaced it in his pocket.

"Our Master wants you now," said a squeaky, simpering voice. Sarah turned to see the man the Dark Lord called Wormtail. He was scarcely taller than herself, with balding, colorless hair, small eyes in a pinched face, and that strange silver hand, the stillness of which emphasized the twitchiness of the rest of him.

"Do you enjoy being our Master's butler, Pettigrew?" Severus sneered. "Although that's probably all you were ever suited for, isn't it?"

Pettigrew hissed, as if threatening to return the insult, but quailed before doing so, probably from the expression on Severus' face. The little man turned on his heel and slunk away, clearly expecting them to follow. The sound of footsteps above them made Sarah look up. Lucius Malfoy, and the Lestranges (all three of them) had been standing on the upper landing of the staircase, wands at the ready, doubtlessly waiting to see if they would get an excuse to attack.

Sarah forced her attention back to Pettigrew's retreating figure, forced herself to follow him through rooms that made her heart ache with longing, forced herself to try to turn this unexpected blow to her advantage, instead of allowing it to crumple her resolve, as it was threatening to do.

Uncle Franklin had given over the house--her house--to the use of the Dark Lord!

As my father might well have done, if he had lived.

The curtains in the drawing room (although it was still too dark, when she entered, to see the color properly) were a deep green. Or at least the ones that belonged there had been. Others must have been brought in, so as to shroud the whole chamber in velvet darkness. All the furniture she remembered from her childhood had been moved out to create this 'throne room.' No wonder she hadn't recognized it.

She did, however, recognize the men gathered inside it. Franklin Nott smiled at her with forced fondness, as if that would make her believe he was welcoming her home. From his place in the semicircle, Mortimer Mulciber nodded to her with a sly look. Only Antonin Dolohov, whom she did not know except through the Pensieve, regarded her with cool disinterest.

None of these--nor the footsteps of the Death Eaters who were filing in behind her--were as important as the frightening man sitting on the dais.

Don't think. Just act.

Bending low, in a terrified awe that she did not have to pretend, she fell on her knees before the throne and brought the hem of the Dark Lord's robe to her lips.

It's just a piece of cloth. A dusty piece of cloth.

"So," the high, horrible voice said, "this is Malcolm's daughter. You may rise, Sarah."

She did, although she was not sure how she managed to do so. She kept her head down, trying to delay the moment when he could use Legilimency on her. No matter how carefully she had ordered her thoughts, she was still afraid. It was a fear, she understood suddenly, that everyone in this room must understand--the fear of somehow being found wanting, regardless of her best efforts.

"Look at me," he demanded.

Sarah raised her eyes. Red, slit-pupiled orbs were waiting for her. She could feel him sifting her mind. Awe. Fear. Her love of her father. Her anger at her mother. Her admiration of Severus Snape. She offered them all as proof of who she was.

"You acknowledge me as your Master, Sarah?"

"I do." As her father's daughter, she could have no other.

"You have been long kept from your true loyalties, I see."

"I have, Master." Deep down, where she could not even afford to acknowledge it, she felt sick at what she was saying.

"Your mother, I have been told, betrayed your father."

How could you do that, Mother, even for me?

"Yes, Master. But he died rather than renounce you."

"But you remained with her, did you not?"

Was I thinking of running away, that day when Michael found me?

"My Lord, I had no choice. I was only a child. I didn't want to go, but she took me away with her. She used magic to keep my father from finding me. And when he was dead...there was nothing I could do." It was all true--most of all, that miserable longing for home, for her father. Her eyes burned, and she felt a tear jump from her eyelashes onto her cheek. She had not intended to show so much emotion. Would he despise her for it?

The horrible voice grew curiously gentle, a sound it was impossible not to mistrust, a sound that dried her tears instantly. "Yet now you have returned. For I believe this was your childhood home, was it not?" He made an expansive gesture with one pale, long-fingered hand.

"Yes, My Lord. I only wish that I could have offered it to you myself." She flicked a glance in the direction of Franklin Nott, feeling resentment boil up in her, letting it do so, to hide more dangerous feelings. "Alas, it is no longer mine to give."

"Indeed? Your generous impulse is well-taken, nonetheless," he answered. "But now, Sarah, I wish to know how and why you have sought to enter my service in your father's place. You see, I have heard much of you, from various sources, all of whom seem convinced they are telling the truth. And yet the picture remains confused. You know, of course, that you must not lie to me."

Sarah felt her knees, which had been unsteady ever since she had stood up at his command, finally give way again. She found herself bending low, almost groveling. It was difficult, she realized, to do otherwise. "No, Master," she said, hating the hint of a whimper in her voice. "You will judge the truth."

"Begin, then," he ordered.

She had practiced the story, over and over, until she half-believed it was true herself. Far too much of it was.

"My Lord, I had resigned myself to living with my mother's family, when I was not at Hogwarts. I knew that my father had believed you were not dead, though he did not know where to seek for you. But everyone else seemed convinced that you would never come back, and so I had to accept what I was told.

"Then, last spring, there were rumors that you had returned. The Ministry denied them, but I remembered my father's words, and I resolved.... I wished to be ready to serve you."

"A commendable desire," the high voice said. "Go on."

"My father had begun to teach me the Dark Arts, but all that ended when my mother took me away. I had no books. I assume that my father's library was confiscated by the Ministry, but even if it had not been, this house was no longer mine. My mother sold it the Notts for a pittance," Sarah spat out, full of real venom at the thought.

"I see. Continue."

"When I returned to Hogwarts for my final year last fall, I was determined to do what I could to prepare myself. I had been sorted into Gryffindor--the Sorting Hat offered to put me in Slytherin, but I knew I would have no peace with my mother's family if I accepted a place in that House. But because of that, none of the Slytherins would have anything to do with me. I hoped to find some books in the library, but what I really needed was a teacher. And I knew of only one who might help me."

"Ah yes, Professor Snape. But you must have had some reason to suppose that he would help you? Were you aware that he was my servant?"

"Oh, no, Master!" She shook her lowered head. "There have always been rumors, of course, that he supported you in his youth. But there was never any way to know if those rumors were true or not. But everyone knows that Professor Snape is interested in the Dark Arts--that he's been trying to get that teaching position for years. And so I went to him."

"And he did not rebuff you?" The Dark Lord sounded skeptical.

"He did, at first. I had to risk...well...hinting more than was truly safe about my allegiance. I told him the truth--that my father had been a Death Eater."

"And this convinced him?"

"He gave me suggestions of books to read, at first. I went to him with questions and...things began to change." There was no hiding from him that she had a relationship with her teacher. It was better that it be told on their own terms.

"To...change, you say?" the Dark Lord asked, his obvious interest tightening his voice.

"He began to teach me...a great many things," Sarah said.

"He had no business meddling with her!" Franklin Nott burst out. From the tone of the whispers rising behind her, he was not the only one who thought so. "Why would she not come to us--her family?"

"Family?" Sarah snapped. She dared not turn her back on the Dark Lord, but she looked as well as she could toward her Uncle Franklin. "You--who let my father die, without raising a finger to help him?" She didn't know if that was true, but she suspected it; it did no harm to herself to make the accusation. "You--who took away my inheritance? You--who never even attempted to reclaim me after my mother died? You--who forgot I even existed? I should have gone to you?"

"Now, now," the Dark Lord silenced them all. "Nott, she speaks the truth, does she not?"

"My Lord," Franklin stammered, "I confess that I believed my niece beyond reclaiming. I had no reason to think otherwise, when she never attempted to contact us in any way. My youngest son, her cousin, is still at school. She might have--"

"Yet she did not," the high voice interrupted coldly. "Clearly she did not trust you."

Sarah wondered what implication was behind those words. Should she have trusted her uncle, in the Dark Lord's opinion? Or did the Dark Lord not trust her uncle either? Severus had told her that her uncle was not among his favorites, the ones whom he called by their first names. This, apparently, in spite of his donation of Darkglass Hall to the cause.

"Master," spoke up Malfoy, "if I may speak?"

"What have you to add, Lucius?" The voice was deadly; Sarah wondered how Malfoy even dared to breathe too loudly.

"Her father had many friends. Even if she felt that the Notts had done badly by her, why could she not come to one of us?"

Before Sarah could think of a suitable retort, Severus suddenly spoke from behind her. "Somebody of her own class, is that what you mean, Lucius?"

"Yes, that is what I mean," Malfoy shot back. "My Lord, surely you see that--"

"I see what?" The huge snake, which had been sleeping by the fire, seemed to have roused at its master's anger. It hissed, then oozed across the floor to the dais.

Sarah shook where she kneeled. Snakes had never frightened her, but the deadly giant cobra, passing so close to her that she could have touched it without fully extending her arm, was a far different order of magnitude from snakes in the garden and Slytherin decorations.

The Dark Lord turned his attention for a moment to fondling the snake, whispering, "Ah, Nagini." When he spoke again to his Death Eaters, he sounded a fraction calmer. "I see only that none of Malcolm's friends could bring themselves to make an effort to approach his daughter. You, Lucius, who brought this matter to my attention--you did not even attempt to speak with her before carrying tales to me. You wish me to reward sloth and inaction? You wish me to despise faithful efforts made in my service? You wish me to bestow honors upon my servants with consideration only for those who were born with wealth and power? If Severus has done what no other was willing to do, should I deny him whatever natural reward he might obtain?"

"But the danger, My Lord...." Lucius pleaded.

"Ah, yes." The Dark Lord turned back to Sarah. "Has Professor Snape explained to you his unique position at Hogwarts? When did he reveal himself to you?"

"After Halloween," Sarah confessed. "He had tried to keep it hidden from me, My Lord, but...I discovered the Dark Mark, and I knew what it meant. It was then that I begged him to help me prepare for...he promised me I would be presented to you when I was ready."

The Dark Lord's eyes went past her. "And you do not consider her 'ready,' Severus?"

"No, My Lord."

The long, pale fingers stroked Nagini for several long moments. "You are aware, Sarah, are you not, that if Professor Snape is discovered...teaching you, he will lose both his position and much of his value to me?"

"Yes, My Lord." She lowered her head, trembling.

"Is it possible that anyone is aware of your activities?" There was a quiet tension in the words. Sarah realized that her answers now, no matter how careful, would be fraught with hazards she could not predict or control.

"No, Master. Professor Snape has taught me sufficient of the Dark Arts to conceal our meetings."

"And yet Draco Malfoy suspected you." It was as if a cat had been waiting to spring on its prey. Did I pass the first test, only to fail at another?

Sarah summoned up anger to hide her dangerous fears. "Draco Malfoy is jealous of Professor Snape's attention. He has seen nothing he should not, Master, but he has interrupted legitimate meetings concerning my N.E.W.T. Potions project. On several occasions he has taunted me with crude implications, and finally...I said more to him than I should."

"About Professor Snape?"

Oh, dear, now this is truly going someplace I wanted to avoid. "No, Master, about my...ambitions."

"Ah, yes...that. You suggested to him that you were on the verge of becoming a member of my Inner Circle...."

Her heart was pounding madly. "Forgive me, Master. I was angry at him. I was trying to threaten him, so he would leave me alone."

"I see. Such foolish, childish competition," the Dark Lord said mockingly.

"I'm sorry, Master." Sarah bent further yet, the terror of having displeased him almost overwhelming her. Not because she cared what he thought of her (although she kept that fact very carefully to herself), but because to do so meant death...or a punishment that might mean death for her child.

"I have been assured that Draco will no longer trouble you," the horrible voice went on, a little less mocking, allowing her to breathe. "However, should your...extra tuition with Professor Snape be discovered, you will pay the most extreme penalties. Do not disappoint me, Sarah."

"No, Master." Was it possible to go mad from terror?

"Now," the Dark Lord continued, in a lighter tone. "What of these ambitions of yours, which you hinted to Draco? Do you truly desire to become one of my Death Eaters, Sarah?"

He had not forgotten or become distracted. What can I say that will not lead me to taking the Dark Mark?

"I...I misspoke, My Lord. I grew up among those who do not accept the old ways, who encouraged me to...to think beyond a woman's proper station."

Behind her, she heard Bellatrix Lestrange laugh, almost languidly; perhaps, as one of the Dark Lord's favorites, she could dare to do so. As the laugh ended, Bellatrix spoke, "My Lord, I beg you, give her to me for training. I can fit her to take her father's place in the Inner Circle, if that is your desire for her." There was a hint of mockery in the voice, not aimed at her Master, but at Severus, as if she were implying that she could manage what he had not. Sarah had no doubt that the woman was capable of exactly what she claimed; she did not fancy the idea of falling into the female Death Eater's hands.

Seeming to ignore Bellatrix, the Dark Lord said, "Severus, enlighten me concerning her training. What strengths have you discovered? And what weaknesses?"

"As you already know, My Lord, her Apparition skills are poor. That alone, I believe, disqualifies her from the Inner Circle. If she is unable come when she is called, she has no place among those of us who bear the Dark Mark. I have not yet progressed to teaching her the Unforgivables, but although she may be able to learn them, she is...rather delicate for the strain of such severe spells, I would say. Her true talent lies in Potions. She has learned, as very few can, to brew the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Indeed?" The Dark Lord sounded surprised. "When the time comes for the werewolves at my command to begin their attacks, an additional potion-maker capable of brewing the Wolfsbane may prove very useful."

Oh....

"So I believed, My Lord, when I encouraged her to attempt it. If you approve, I feel certain that I can obtain an apprenticeship for her at Hogwarts, so that I can personally supervise her instruction."

"We all know what you want to supervise, Snape," said Franklin Nott sarcastically.

"Truly, My Lord," put in Lucius Malfoy. "Is it wise to permit further risk of this nature? And if she is already so skilled that she can make Wolfsbane, perhaps an apprenticeship is unnecessary."

"And you would suggest...what?" asked the Dark Lord.

"Perhaps...marriage, My Lord. She is the last of the Darkglass line; her blood should not be permitted to fail."

"My sons carry that bloodline as well, Malfoy," Franklin Nott objected. "But I do think the suggestion is wise, Master. Within a pureblood household, her irregular upbringing can be corrected." The way he said this last word sent an involuntary shiver through Sarah.

"You already have a match in mind for her, Lucius?"

"Master, if it please you, I suggest my son Draco."

Sarah spoke up before she could think. "That little snot?"

Bellatrix laughed again. "You are too lenient with him, Lucius."

"He is scarcely two years younger than Sarah," Lucius plowed forward, ignoring both their comments. "And our two families have intermarried very seldom in the last several hundred years."

It was, in the terms used by pureblood families, a perfect match. Sarah felt a sudden twinge of fear that Malfoy's suggestion might really be taken seriously. And if it were, she and Severus would have no choice but to reveal their marriage. And hope that the Dark Lord did not summarily declare it null and void.

"The boy is still in school," Severus pointed out.

"The marriage can wait," said Franklin Nott. "But meanwhile, Sarah can take her proper place as a member of my household."

"If the marriage is solemnized over the summer, there would be no need to wait," said Malfoy. "Narcissa would welcome a daughter-in-law, and could prepare Sarah for her duties while Draco finishes at Hogwarts."

It would be almost funny--listening to them jockeying with one another for the right to control such a prize as Malcolm Darkglass's daughter--if the matter did not impact all her future hopes for happiness.

"Please, My Lord," she interjected, pleading. "I do not wish to marry Draco Malfoy."

"Enough!" The sharp word silenced them all. "Sarah, you will do as I command you. I owe your father no less for his service than to act as guardian to his daughter. Surely you see that I know what is best for you?"

"Yes, My Lord," she said, overcome with despair. And he knew it. She could hear it in his voice, how he enjoyed making her feel helpless.

"For now," he said slowly, "Sarah must return to Hogwarts and complete her studies--including her lessons in the Dark Arts, so long Severus is able to assure me they can be kept secret. But when the time comes for further assessment of her future, Lord Voldemort will reveal his decision.

"You may take her back, Severus. Lucius, Bella, I have particulars to discuss with you. The rest of you are dismissed."

Sarah remained bowed over her knees until her husband came to help her to her feet. Another kiss of that dusty hem, and then she was leaving that terrible presence. In the dining room, Severus paused at the sideboard to replace the spoon. To her surprise, he took another. In the entrance hall, he murmured over it, "Portus."

Franklin Nott caught up with them.

"Sarah, I want you to know that I could not have prevented your father's death. I would have helped him, had he asked for help. Fiona would never have forgiven me had I done otherwise."

Sarah watched at his uneasy expression dispassionately, watched how his eyes hardened when they flicked to Severus.

"My dear niece, surely you would rather be treated as you deserve? I'm certain that if you express a desire to return to your only remaining family, the Dark Lord will take that into consideration when he decides your future. I can protect you from Malfoy, if you place yourself in my care. I hope you understand that we would welcome you with greater affection than anyone else possibly could."

"I understand you, Uncle Franklin," she answered. Only if he were a great fool would he fail to understand by her tone that she had no intention of acceding to his request.

"Then I hope you also understand what you can expect from him," Franklin snapped, indicating Severus with a sharp jerk of his head. "Perhaps you're too young and foolish to realize that he's merely using you."

"How curious," Severus remarked snidely. "I had the impression that all of you were attempting to use her. Fortunately, Sarah seems very well aware of that fact."

"Don't cross us any further, Snape!" Franklin said. "You may be getting what you want for now. But don't plan on any future advantage from it. She's so far above you, you don't even deserve to kiss her feet. She'll come to realize that in time. Then perhaps she'll feel properly ashamed of herself. Certainly she'll come to hate you for abusing her youth."

"Severus, I want to go home," Sarah broke in, finding that her voice was trembling.

"Ho, Severus, is it?" Franklin said. "Not Professor Snape?"

"Take hold," Severus said.

Sarah grasped the bowl of a silver spoon that ought, by right, to be hers.

"Your father would never countenance this, and you know it, Sarah."

"Hogwarts," Severus intoned, and Sarah felt the sharp jerk of the Portkey magic.

"You're going to regret--" Thankfully, it cut off the rest.