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A Familiar Bond: Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2024-10-14 16:30:02 +0000 UTCThe Great Hall buzzed with excitement, the air thick with the scent of evergreen and spiced pumpkin. Every corner of the vast room gleamed under the enchanted icicles and the flickering warmth of floating candles, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Laughter echoed in waves across the hall as couples danced to the tunes reverberating around them, and a symphony of delighted chatter filled the air. Yet, at the exclusive table, Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as his father, sat rigidly, his thoughts far away from the festivities.
His gaze, though masked by the stern, weathered features of his father, drifted repeatedly towards the champions. They had joined the higher-ups for the celebratory dinner before taking their leave to continue with the dances. Valerie Swann, her rose gown glimmering under the enchanted lights, danced with the French champion, much to the fascination and shock of many, with a smile on her face as she gazed at her partner.
Barty’s fingers twitched as he watched her. He had not paid any attention to the mudblood so far, but now that he looked at her, there was something about the way she carried herself that stood out to him. It was an unspoken confidence that reminded him of someone – someone he had both admired and feared.
His jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, the image of Bellatrix Lestrange flashed across his mind – her youthful, wild beauty and the same glint of defiance in her eyes.
‘Impossible,’ Barty thought, clenching his fists under the table. ‘It can’t be. Bellatrix never had a daughter.’
Yet, the resemblance was uncanny, and the more he watched her, the more his suspicions grew. Those high cheekbones, the way she carried herself – proud, almost defiant. The feeling gnawed at him and he studied her every movement, every subtle gesture, that small smile on her face as she glanced around or the look in her eyes as she gazed at her dance partner, completely unaware of the storm brewing in the mind of the man subtly watching her. She had no idea who he truly was or that his gaze had lingered on her throughout the night.
The conversation at the table briefly cut through his reverie.
"I must say, Barty, ‘Ogwarts looks particularly grand zis evening. Ze decorations are simply splendid," Madame Maxime commented, her voice booming even in the din of the hall. "Ze floating icicle… ‘ow do you say, quite magnifique, no?"
Barty startled slightly, forcing himself to turn away from the champions and casting his cold eyes on the half-giantess. "Yes, quite," he replied curtly, his tone clipped and his mind elsewhere. "Flitwick’s work, mostly. He always outdoes himself."
Professor Flitwick, who had been quietly enjoying his drink nearby, overheard the comment and beamed with pride. "Oh, it's nothing really. Just a bit of fancy wandwork. Though I must admit, the color-changing snow was particularly tricky, but I do love myself a challenge."
Barty barely acknowledged the Charms professor who launched into a detailed explanation of his charmwork. His attention had already drifted back to the dance floor with the Champions, where he saw Harry lean over while he danced with Daphne to say something to Fleur and Valerie who both let out laughs.
Barty’s chest tightened as an uncomfortable feeling settled over him. The similarities were uncanny, but it was impossible. He was confident that Bellatrix didn’t have a daughter. His lord had made sure of that. Yet, a memory stirred in his psyche—unbidden and unwelcome.
Bellatrix had not gotten married to Rudolphus back then, but the talks were on. He remembered her twirling in emerald robes at the Black family gala. Her dark hair looked very similar to how it did right now, and her eyes were alight with the same mischief. He could easily spot the act she was putting up when he saw the way she laughed, head thrown back, as Rudolphus whispered something in her ear, but he had seen her true laugh, and the similarity he spotted now jolted him where he sat.
He blinked hard, and the image of the young Bellatrix in his mind melted into Valerie's features. He reaffirmed his observations to himself. The same high cheekbones, the curve of her jaw, even the way she held herself—proud and defiant.
‘It's impossible,’ Barty thought, his heart racing. ‘And yet... there’s something more to this.’ His suspicion deepened as he gazed at her, his eyes calculating. ‘What are you hiding, girl?’
He saw Dumbledore approaching with McGonagall out of the corner of his eyes and schooled his features, acting like his usual aloof self. The old wizard took his seat near him.
"Young love is a beautiful thing, wouldn’t you agree, Barty?" Dumbledore’s voice suddenly cut in, his eyes twinkling as he observed the champions with his usual serene expression.
Barty’s lips pursed at the question, his breathing even as he remained perfectly calm. “Love,” he said, keeping his voice steady as usual, “is often… distracting.”
Dumbledore did not respond as Madame Maxime quickly engaged him and McGonagall in some idle chatter.
Barty’s eyes briefly flickered over to the Champions, and Valerie in particular. Bellatrix’s daughter, the thought persisted, buzzing at the edges of his mind, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise. He did not truly know everything. He needed to know. He needed proof. He knew he would not be able to rest calmly otherwise.
Before he could lose himself to speculation once again, an oily, familiar voice slithered into his ear.
“Ah, Barty. It’s been too long since we talked, hasn’t it?”
Barty cast a sneer at the man who approached him. Igor Karkaroff’s steps immediately faltered, a pale and nervous look overtaking him, but he still tried to feign charm. Barty’s lips quirked slightly in disgust when the man leaned closer, his breath reeking of sour wine.
The man kept his voice low, making sure no one else could hear him. “Tell me,” he began, his eyes darting around, “what do you think of the tasks so far? Surely you have some insight into what comes next?”
Barty slowly turned to him, his expression icy. Beneath the mask of his father’s features, a flood of loathing churned within him, urging him to cast caution to the wind and curse the abhorrent man in front of him.
Igor Karkaroff. Barty had been holding himself back ever since he had set his sights on the man who had betrayed him in front of the Wizengamot. The coward who had named names to save his own skin. Barty’s insides coiled with hatred and disgust as he laid eyes upon him.
He forced himself to remain calm as he gazed at the man. “Now, now, Igor,” he said smoothly, although the sheer venom in his voice was barely concealed. “You know I cannot divulge such information. The tournament must remain fair, after all.”
His words were laced with sarcasm, and his hateful eyes bored into Karkaroff’s with an intensity that made the Durmstrang headmaster shift uncomfortably. He eyed Dumbledore and Madame Maxime both glancing toward them and expertly ignored them.
Karkaroff forced out a chuckle, although it came out very weak and brittle. “Ah, of course, of course,” he muttered, wiping his brow with the inside of his sleeve. “But you know, Barty, for old times’ sake… a little hint is nothing, yes?”
Barty sneered at the man whose eyes shone with a hint of desperation, and he wondered whether he truly had so little faith in his Champion that he was begging him like this. The man’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for a goblet. The sight filled Barty with disgust.
“Old times?” Barty’s voice dipped dangerously low, though his gaze never left Karkaroff’s face. “The way I remember it, Igor, you weren’t on the right side in the old times. And not one for loyalty either. Or am I mistaken?”
He let the question hang in the air, and the threat beneath his words was unmistakable.
Karkaroff paled visibly at the reminder, his faux smirk fading completely into something more akin to fear. “I─well… that was all a long time ago, Barty. Water under the bridge, surely?” His voice wavered, and he took a hurried sip of his wine to cover his discomfort.
Barty was enjoying Karkaroff’s discomfort, especially considering multiple people were paying attention to them, even though they could not hear what was being discussed. He let the silence stretch, and only when he saw Karkaroff getting visibly uncomfortable that he leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper.
“I happen to question your sanity if you came to me with these questions,” he said calmly. “I suggest you focus on your own champion, Karkaroff, and stop fishing for answers you’ll never get. This conversation is over. And I don’t want you ever approaching me for anything, you hear me? I feel disgusted enough talking to one of your kind already.”
Karkaroff flinched, his face draining of all color as he muttered something incoherent and quickly retreated, disappearing into the crowd of students and staff. Barty watched him leave with a barely hidden sneer, his entire being filled with disgust. Coward. Traitor. You’ve no idea what’s coming. You have no fucking clue how limited your time truly is.
Satisfied that he had put Karkaroff in his place, Barty returned his attention to the dance floor. Valerie was now in the arms of Harry Potter while the other two girls danced together, and he could see the attention of most of the people was on the quartet who were quite evidently involved with each other.
Barty’s eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at the brunette who twirled in Harry’s arms, her rose gown glowing under the light and sparkling, her face bright and set in a grin. She looked effortlessly at ease, so unaware of the eyes on her. She had no idea that her every move was being scrutinized, no idea that someone was piecing together the fragments of her identity.
‘I need to look into this myself,’ Barty thought to himself furiously. ‘A discreet investigation into her affairs… he identity, and her past. Surely there’s some connection to Bellatrix. There has to be. My gut has never been wrong.’
The students kept dancing, and conversation kept flowing around him. However, his attention was firmly on the girl dancing with Harry Potter. He made sure no one discovered him staring at her. The more he watched, the more he began to be sure that he was on to something here.
If he was right – if she was truly Bellatrix’s daughter – then he knew the Dark Lord would be immensely pleased. He would want her, undoubtedly. And he, Barty Crouch Jr., will rise even higher in the ranks. He would be rewarded for this discovery.
"Are you quite alright, Barty?" Pomona Sprout asked, concern evident in her voice. "You look a bit peaky."
Barty straightened as he glanced at her, adopting his father's stern demeanor. "Merely ensuring everything runs smoothly, Pomona. Can't have any mishaps at an event like this, can we?"
He nodded at her reassuringly and ran his eyes across the hall as Sprout turned back to McGonagall and resumed her conversation with her colleague.
As the conversation around him turned to inter-school relations and the upcoming tasks, Barty's mind whirred with possibilities. He needed to investigate, to confirm his suspicions. It seemed impossible, but he could not leave it without getting to the crux of the matter. His mind worked on logic, and logic said he was thinking rubbish, but his gut was arguing otherwise.
Even if he was wrong, he had to pursue this. However, he could not take any risks. If she truly was Bellatrix’s daughter and was raised as a mudblood, then there was only one man who had the power to ensure something like that happened with no one being the wiser.
He glanced at Dumbledore who was engaged in a conversation with Madame Maxime and his lips set in a thin line. If he was right, then the old coot had pulled off one of the greatest heists ever. Even the Dark Lord had no idea that Bellatrix had a daughter, forget Rudolphus or any other Death Eater. What about Bellatrix, though? The last he had heard, she had scared her husband so much that he did not even try to get close to her. That begged another question – who was the father of Bellatrix’s daughter, assuming Valerie Swann was hers?
Barty cleared his head of all the questions that kept emerging in his mind. He needed to take this one step at a time. He first needed to ensure she was truly Bellatrix’s daughter, and that would require caution on his part. It was paramount that Dumbledore or anyone else for that matter remained oblivious to his investigations. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything.
XXXXX
In a dimly lit corridor near the outer hall of the Great Hall, Luna Lovegood strolled alone, her silver gown swishing lightly around her ankles as she admired the enchanted snowflakes still floating in the air. She hummed softly to herself, her dreamy eyes lost in thought.
Her date had left her during the Yule Ball and the last she had seen him, he had been fighting with the Granger girl who always had a lot of wrackspurts around her head. She had not been surprised. She had known Ginny and her family her entire life, and she had expected Ronald to be so prickly. It made sense to take her leave. The decorations looked more interesting anyway.
So lost in her thoughts she was that she did not notice the shadows moving behind her. It was only when she heard the approaching footsteps that she paused and turned around.
“Well, look who we have here,” Roger Davies drawled as he stepped in front of Luna. His formal attire was rumpled and his face was twisted in bitterness as he sneered down at her. A few of his lackeys flanked him – both boys and girls – and each wore the same look of smug superiority.
The group had been watching Luna for a while now, waiting for the perfect moment. Davies had still not forgotten his humiliation at the little girl’s hands during the duel and he had been plotting for a way to get back at her.
“All alone, Loony? Shouldn’t you be with your disgusting Nargles?” Marietta Edgecombe sneered, her voice dripping with malice.
She had been one of the girls who had been docked points because little Loony had tattled to her protectors. Well, those protectors were not here right now.
Luna blinked, her wide eyes settling on her with her usual serene expression. "Oh, I don’t mind nargles. They can be quite helpful, you know. They tend to keep away unwanted company."
Davies’ smirk faltered, but another of his female companions, a tall witch with dark hair, stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "You think you're clever, don’t you? Beating Roger in that duel was a fluke. Everyone knows you’re just a silly little girl."
Davies’ sneer deepened at the reminder, but another of his lackeys jumped in before he could get a word in.
“Yeah, surprised you didn’t trip over your own feet, Lovegood.”
Luna tilted her head slightly, her gaze floating somewhere beyond them as if she didn’t quite care. "It wasn’t a fluke. You see, I’ve been practicing quite a bit. But it’s alright if you want to believe that."
Davies scowled, his face flushing with anger. "You think you’re so above us now, don’t you? Walking around like you’re untouchable because you’ve got Potter and his little harem watching your back." He stepped closer, his face inches from hers, and his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But they’re not here now, are they?”
Instead of flinching, Luna remained perfectly calm, and her demeanor only aggravated her bullies further. "Harry and his wives are very kind," she said softly. "But you should probably go back to your common room. The wrackspurts are getting restless."
“Wives?” Edgecombe asked dumbly. “They aren’t married, you idiot.”
“Oh they’re bonded. You didn’t know?” Luna cocked her head in genuine puzzlement, prompting the others to exchange surprised looks with each other.
The same dark-haired girl next to Roger snorted as Edgecombe reached out to grab Luna’s arm, yanking her forward slightly. "Oh, that’s news. We’ll be sure to make it known to everyone. Potter’s depravity needs to be public knowledge. But you… Listen here, Loony. No one cares about your nonsense. And frankly, we’ve seen how you’ve been walking around the castle, acting all smug. Maybe a little lesson in humility is in order."
“Let her go.”
The sharp voice cut through the air like a blade, and they all whirled around with wide eyes. Valerie emerged from the shadows, her wand already in her hand, her eyes cold and dangerous. Daphne and Fleur were right behind her, each wearing expressions that promised trouble for the group in front of them.
The girl’s hand dropped Luna’s immediately and Davies stepped forward with the sneer remaining on his face. He straightened up, trying to look defiant as he glared at them, although the combined glares the three girls leveled at him made him gulp slightly.
“Oh look, the cavalry’s here. Took you long enough. What, did Potter send his dear wivesto do his dirty work for him again?”
Their expressions shifted; they had not expected the news to be out yet and they wondered just how Davies knew about it. They did not ponder on it any further though.
Valerie’s wand twitched in her grasp as the air crackled with tension. “You still don’t learn, do you, Davies? You’ve been docked points, given detentions, had your privileges revoked, and even publicly humiliated multiple times, and you still come for more. Maybe Harry was right. You do have a kink.”
“Shut your trap, bitch!” Edgecombe snarled as she stepped forward. “We’ve all had enough of you lot’s strutting around the castle, thinking you’re so above everyone else.”
“Excuse me, who are you again?” Daphne interjected, furthering the girl’s ire. She waved her hand dismissively, not allowing her to get a word in. “Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter.” She eyed the group at large and brandishing her wand, stepped beside Valerie. “Listen, fuckwits. You’ll get one warning. Scram, or you won’t be leaving this corridor on your two feet.”
The cold tone made a couple of them shiver as Fleur stepped forward, and immediately, their eyes glazed up, lust taking over. The veela gazed at the pathetic witches and wizards with unconcealed disdain.
“I already knew how pathetic you were, but you turned out to be an even bigger piece of shit. Bullying a young girl you found alone? That’s shameful, even for someone like you,” she spat.
Davies’ eyes were glazed up but it seemed his rage was even more potent. His face twisted in an ugly mix of lust and anger, but before he could speak, Fleur cut him off.
“You’re not doing anyone any favor sticking to this, Davies,” she interjected swiftly. “You’ve lost your prestige already. Accept it with whatever dignity you have left, or is that too much for you?”
The dark-haired girl beside Davies bristled in anger as she glared at Fleur. “Shut your dumb mouth, Veela,” she spat as she brandished her wand as well. “What? You’re feeling threatened because there are more of us now and there’s no one around to suck up to you, huh? That’s why all those big words? Or is it because you’re all in too much hurry to crawl back to Potter on your knees and show the true place of your kind─”
The girl was suddenly cut off as she stiffened and fell over backward. Luna quickly skipped to the side and the frozen girl slammed on the floor, her eyes wide.
Shook, the bullies slowly turned to Fleur, their hearts racing. She slowly lowered her wand and gazed back evenly. None of them had even seen her brandishing her wand or casting the spell, and Davies’ lackeys took a step back, their eyes wide in fear.
“R-Roger, they’re right,” one of the girls whispered shakingly.
“Y-Yeah, man. Let’s fuck off. We─”
“Shut it,” Davies hissed. Glaring at the trio, he snarled, “You think you’re all so powerful, huh? Think no one can do anything to you because you’ve got Potter? He might have Dumbledore’s favor but that’s all there is to it. And you lot? You’re nothing without him.”
“Funny, Davies,” a cool yet amused voice came from behind them and the girls smirked as Harry walked over, utterly relaxed. “I’m pretty sure they don’t need me to handle you. They never really did.”
Davies’ eyes widened slightly as Harry approached. However, Harry’s eyes immediately fell on Luna.
“Hey, Luna. Someone’s been looking for you.”
Ginny Weasley emerged from behind Harry and glanced at him. Harry gave her a firm nod, and the redhead bit her lower lip gently before slowly making her way over to her best friend.
“I shouldn’t have made you go with my prat of a brother,” she muttered.
“Ronald has a very big problem of wrackspurt infestation, just like Granger. I was not surprised.”
Ginny shook her head as she grabbed Luna’s hand and Davies could only stand there, watching, as she led her away. It was almost as if he was frozen in place, unable to move.
As the two girls left, Harry turned back to Davies and cast a disgusted glance at him and his lackeys.
“Now then, where were we? Ah yes, they don’t need me to take care of a vermin like you. We all have been patient with you so far, thinking you’d see some sense. But it seems like no matter how much you are smacked around, you like to keep coming for more. You’re like a mad dog in that sense, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” Davies growled low in his throat.
“Oh, the mad dog also growls like one,” Daphne mocked. “Is that because of how you were conceived, I wonder…”
Fleur and Valerie snorted; however, Harry grimaced.
“Great. Now I have that image in my mind. Thanks, love.”
Daphne merely smirked.
Turning back to Davies, Harry took a deep breath. “You keep testing our patience, Davies. Just walk away, before this gets worse. I’m sure none of you want that.”
His lackeys shook their heads firmly, knowing how deep shit they were in, but Davies and Edgecombe kept glaring at them. The other girl remained petrified in place.
“Think of your father, Davies,” Daphne said warningly. “Think of him.”
Davies’ hands clenched on his wand, and with a snarl of frustration, he turned on his heel and marched away. Valerie swiftly flicked her wand, reversing the petrification, and the rest of his lackeys quickly grabbed her before they too scrambled away, shooting fearful glances over their shoulders. The girl and Edgecombe glared hatefully at them, but all they did was stare back calmly.
Only when they all left did Valerie sheathe her wand once again.
“He won’t learn,” she muttered.
“Agreed. And he went after Luna this time, knowing he doesn’t have a chance against us,” Daphne replied. “He’s getting bolder, and although not to us, he is becoming dangerous.”
“Something permanent needs to be done about him,” Fleur stated finally. “And I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about.”
As one, they all turned to Valerie who let out a small smirk and nodded.
“I guess I can do a repeat performance. But if even that doesn’t bring him in line?”
Daphne chuckled as she wrapped an arm around Valerie’s waist, kissing her softly. “You put the fear of the devil in Malfoy, Val. The crown prince of bellend, if there ever was one. Davies is small fry compared to that.”
Harry shook his head in amusement.
“He will learn this time, Val,” he replied before his face darkened. “And it should be a good lesson indeed. He tried to go after Luna, after all.”
“Don’t you worry,” Valerie smirked. “I plan to.”
“Good,” Daphne clapped her hands once and quickly threaded her arm through Harry’s. “Now, I know about you all too, so let’s get back to our room, shall we? I’m sure this one here has been waiting eagerly to unwrap his lovely presents, so to speak…”
Smirking, Valerie and Fleur both stepped closer as they all walked away toward the Grand Staircase for their private little afterparty.
None noticed the man in dark robes standing hidden in the shadows behind an alcove, his eyes trained on the only dark-haired witch in the midst.
‘Soon enough, girl,’ he thought, eyeing her. ‘Soon enough, I’ll know everything.’
XXXXX
A few hours had passed and the quiet of the castle at night was a stark contrast to the liveliness that had filled the Great Hall as the Yule Ball remained underway. The corridors of Hogwarts were now silent, save for the occasional flicker of a torch or the distant echo of a suit of armor shifting in the shadows.
The cold winter wind howled softly against the high windows as Severus Snape marched with his head held high and his black robes billowing behind him. His face was set in its usual stoicism and his black eyes darted around, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
A sound from the nearby closet made the wrinkles around his eyes tighten and he hauled the door open, startling the pair of sixth-year Ravenclaws inside.
“Formby, Burrow, fifty points from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw for being out of bounds after curfew,” he drawled. “Now leave before I hand out detentions as well.”
The pair hastily fixed their clothes as Snape averted his eyes, stepping aside to allow them to pass. He shut the closet door once they dashed by him and resumed his walk toward the Grand Staircase.
He caught and docked points from four more couples as he ascended, passing Filch by on his way up. His destination was the seventh floor where the Headmaster awaited him.
Inside his office, the warmth of the hearth kept the chill at bay. Albus Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair behind the ornate desk, his fingers lightly steepled and his eyes thoughtful beneath the half-moon spectacles perched on his long nose. Fawkes, his loyal phoenix, slept soundly on his perch, his brilliant plumage dimmed in the low light of the office.
He glanced up when he sensed the approach, and the door to his office opened at his command, admitting his guest for the evening.
Snape arrived quietly, as he always did, and assumed his place by the window, standing and gazing at the outline of the Forbidden Forest.
“Headmaster,” he began, his voice as calm as ever. “Karkaroff approached me tonight. He’s frightened.”
“He must have observed what you have, I presume?”
Wordlessly, Snape slid the sleeve of his left arm up, exposing the abhorrent mark he had been branded with. The Dark Mark – a serpent slithering out of a skull – seemed much darker than it did six months ago as the snake slithered about, coiling.
“He is not as dumb as many think he is,” Snape continued. “At least not dumb enough to not know what this means. He said he intends to run – to hide before it happens.”
“A hope in futility, I fear.”
“As I told him,” Snape replied. “He even urged me to follow suit. To run before the Dark Lord truly returned.”
“And what did you say to him?”
Snape turned around, eyeing Dumbledore with the same stoic face. “I told him,” he said, his voice as cold as the icy wind blowing outside, “that I have nothing to fear.”
“A bold statement to make, Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly. “You have been unwavering in your loyalty ever since Tom’s downfall, but we both know the precarious balance you have been maintaining. It is a tightrope you have been walking on between the remnants of Tom’s former followers and your duty as you have chosen it.”
“Karkaroff is right to be afraid,” Snape opted to say, refusing to address Dumbledore’s words. “The Dark Lord’s return is no longer an eventual possibility. It is a question of how soon it is going to happen. The Dark Mark has been deepening for months now, and that is not considering the Azkaban breakout. No one has heard of an attack so far. It does not take a genius to understand where they are, and with whom.”
It was indeed concerning. The highest-ranked and the most dangerous of Tom’s followers had broken out of Azkaban, and Dumbledore knew firsthand how vicious they were. For them to remain quiet since then did not bode well for anyone, much less this illusion of peace. He believed it would shatter sooner than he had expected, and he could not stop himself from sighing as he thought about it.
He rose from his chair slowly and crossed the room to stand by the large window that overlooked the snow-covered castle grounds. His breath frosted the glass as he gazed into the darkness of the night.
“The signs have been growing stronger for months. Tom’s return is not a matter of if, but when, and we need to start preparing for the eventuality.”
“What about the boy?” Snape asked quietly, and Dumbledore’s mind drifted to Harry.
“He has grown into a remarkable wizard, perhaps even better than me when I was his age,” Dumbledore admitted softly. “I am not exaggerating when I say that Harry would perhaps emerge on top if he engaged in a fight with an entire squadron of combat-ready aurors. He has the power, the knowledge, and the skill to triumph.”
Snape remained quiet, allowing Dumbledore to continue.
“Yet, so much remains to be done, so much left to discover and prepare for. And time does not seem to be on our side.”
“You are talking about those abominations,” Snape observed, and Dumbledore sighed, nodding.
“We’ve made significant progress in our hunt for Tom’s horcruxes, but until we destroy all of them, we might as well have done nothing.”
“We do know how many are left,” Snape remarked. “Do you have any idea where they might be?”
“A part of me firmly believes Tom gave it to one of his staunch followers to safeguard,” Dumbledore replied. “Lucius’ father was given the diary. I believe the cup of Helga Hufflepuff might be with someone else as well.”
“And the ring?” Snape asked quietly.
“I am still working on it, although the shack seems the most likely location. It could be in that cave as well,” Dumbledore mused.
“And the fact that you have not yet made a move tells me you have something else on your mind,” Snape remarked.
“You always were observant, Severus,” Dumbledore smiled.
Snape frowned when Dumbledore remained quiet, and he wondered just why the man was not moving for the two locations that could possibly hold the Horcrux. He did not dwell further on it though, knowing the old wizard would divulge his secrets when he believed the time was right.
“I want you to do something for me, Severus,” Dumbledore said suddenly, pulling Snape out of his thoughts. As he gazed at the man, Snape could not help but feel a foreboding feeling wash over him.
His skepticism was awarded with vindication when Dumbledore said what he wanted Snape to do for him. A small breath forced its way out of him as he stared at the old wizard stoically, although the slight tightening of his jaw gave away his nervousness.
“You are certain of this?” Snape asked quietly.
“I am,” Dumbledore nodded. “Tom needs to trust you, Severus, and there are only a few ways that would ensure he does. The time is perfect. The mark is dark and alive enough for you to initiate contact, and Tom would not find anything remiss in your explanation either.”
Snape remained quiet for a long moment, and Dumbledore felt that the man was internally preparing himself for what had been asked of him.
“This is a risk we have to take, Severus,” he said softly. “We cannot have a war of attrition with Tom. It will only be a repeat of history if we do. We must discover his secrets, and we do not know how long it would take. It is the prudent step at this hour.”
The office remained silent as a graveyard in the aftermath of Dumbledore’s declaration, and the old wizard gave an imperceptible smile through his thick beard when Snape straightened his back and nodded curtly.
“By your leave, then,” he said firmly. Dumbledore nodded and watched as Snape turned around and briskly walked out of his office.
To be continued…
Comments
TheWateringWizard
There’s something seriously wrong with Davies… Fleur is probably right, he loves to be beaten and humiliated…
