Prologue

Severus Snape stood motionless before the headmaster’s desk, hands folded beneath his travelling cloak. The perfect silence that followed his tale was broken only by the tranquil ticking of a Grandfather clock in the corner and the gentle humming and whirring of the numerous silver instruments which occupied the shelves of the circular office. By the total lack of outward reaction from the headmaster, an observer might have thought he hadn’t listened to a word of Severus’ story: he had sat with his chin resting on the tips of his fingers throughout, his eyes downcast, and hadn’t moved or spoken in the several moments since Severus concluded his account of the week’s revelations.

Finally he raised his head and gazed out of the window at the evening sky.

‘Extraordinary,’ he said softly. ‘Even by Voldemort’s standards.’

‘Is it?’ Severus returned. ‘The Dark Lord is boundless in his ambitions and merciless in achieving them. We have always known this.’

‘Merciless, cruel, ruthless. Still. You say the child was made to suffer for sixty hours?’

‘More or less.’

Dumbledore gave a sort of shudder and, with a sudden movement, pushed back his chair and strode over to stand by the window, his back turned to his companion. On his desk lay a piece of thick parchment inscribed with a swirling calligraphic script in rich rose-coloured ink:

 

You are cordially invited to join us
As we attempt to drink our collective bodyweight in Champagne
In celebration of the birthday of the esteemed
Mr Ormond Blackthorn
As he becomes Really Quite Old.
July 12^th, 1pm ‘til we drop or run out of booze (whichever comes first)
The Briar House, Hexworthy, Devonshire

 

‘I should have guessed.’

‘You couldn’t possibly have. Even you, the omniscient headmaster, cannot be expected to foresee everything.’

‘Perhaps. But this scheme unites all the hallmarks of Voldemort’s obsessions: ancestry; ancient magical rites; Hogwarts school, and particularly its founders… We could have saved the Meles child if only I’d suspected.’

‘I no more suspected than you.’

‘Nonetheless.’

Another short silence followed as the two men stood, Dumbledore gazing out of the window with his hands clasped behind his back, and Snape watching him from his position by the fireplace. The sun was beginning to set, casting a red and gold halo about the headmaster’s silhouette.

‘Well,’ Dumbledore continued at last, ‘what’s done is done, and now we must focus on the Blackthorns.’

Now he turned to face Snape.

‘You’re absolutely sure Voldemort doesn’t know?’

‘He referred repeatedly to one child, and she an infant.’

‘And it couldn’t have been a bluff? A test of loyalty?’

‘Of course it could. I don’t believe it was: that’s the best I can say.’

‘Are you the only one that knows of the plan?’

‘No. Lestrange, Dolohov and I were all made to assist in the… ritual.’

‘Presumably he will use more than the three of you to effect the ambush tomorrow evening though?’

‘I would imagine so. Although of course, he won’t explain his orders.’

‘Good. That will allow you to remove the girl without your absence being noted.’

Severus nodded briefly at this.

‘Will you tell Ormond?’ he asked.

Dumbledore sighed heavily and turned back to the window.

‘No. It would only drive him mad, and possibly to reckless and dangerous measures.’

Snape walked over to join the headmaster.

‘It was a terrible death,’ he said after a few moments. ‘I have not been so truly disturbed in some time.’

‘Then I trust you will employ every ounce of your considerable skill to spare the Blackthorn girl a similar fate.’

Severus’ acquiescence was implicit in the silence that hung between the two men who stood, each lost within their own thoughts, watching an astonishing sunset pool atop the mountains.