Chapter 3

Lestrange seemed unsurprised that Snape had made no progress on gathering information of Bellatrix's whereabouts.

"The whole family's a bunch of nutters," he said. They were back in Malfoy's wingback chairs, waiting for the Dark Lord to finish torturing whoever was currently holding his attentions before the summons truly began. "Hiding their houses from everyone, always running hot and cold, shouting at you one moment and embracing you the next... there's nothing to be done for it. I suppose," Rodolphus inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself, "that I shall have to ask her myself."

"And risk life and limb?" Snape asked incredulously. His booted foot tapped nervously against the floor; waiting for the Dark Lord to grace them with his presence was more terrifying than actually standing before the Dark Lord, but only until one stood in front of the Dark Lord and realized how terrifying that was too. "I never took you for an idiot, Rodolphus."

"She's my wife," Lestrange said firmly, clearly making a decision. "And even if she is a crazy bitch, I shall not allow her to dictate my life any longer. It's not proper for a woman to rule over a man, you know."

Snape kept silent. To warn Rodolphus against such a stupid move would surely just encourage him, and congratulating his display of confidence would likely do the same. Either way, Lestrange would not come out of this unscathed.

Lucius Malfoy walked past them, his hounds tight to his heels, the tip of his serpent-headed cane striking the floor at regular intervals. The men in the chairs fell silent for a moment, neither willing to let Malfoy overhear a conversation that involved his sister-in-law, which he would invariably relay to Narcissa, who would become a bothersome pest about the whole situation.

"I've never even been to her family's house unless she's directed me there herself," Rodolphus continued, once Malfoy was on the other side of the room. "They say it's so no one who is not family can come in. Like I'm not family! Her husband!" Rodolphus humphed to himself. "Those Blacks, I swear they're all as paranoid as the next."

The only exception Snape could think of was possibly Andromeda Black, whose sense of self-preservation had outranked her familial pride, causing her to abandon ship at the earliest opportunity. Of course, she'd then gone on to marry a Muggle-born knowing full-well her family's inclinations towards people of such background, so who was Snape to say that she wasn't as crazy as the rest? Besides, bringing up Andromeda in this circle could only bring up old bitter memories. Not half the men currently in the room had once lusted after Andromeda Black, and she had offended them all by marrying a Muggle-born straight out of Hogwarts before birthing an odd little Metamorphmagus.

But that was hardly the point.

"But what bothers me most of all?" Rodolphus was getting into his rant, his eyes narrowing and his fingers clutching tightly at the arms of his chair. "That the elves can hop back and forth however they please, and I am the one who cannot enter of my own free will! I tell you, that is no way for a wife to treat her husband, I daresay-"

"Your elves can find the Black residence?" Snape snapped back to attention.

"They transmit letters between Bellatrix and her mother. They don't trust owls to deliver them properly. And Bellatrix hates when the owls get feathers in her morning porridge."

Rodolphus grimaced at that. Snape would bet all his Galleons that Bellatrix had blasted an owl who had dared to fly too close to her plate once or twice before the elves had taken over the mail delivery services.

"Might I enquire as to why you didn't see fit to inform me of this before?"

Rodolphus blinked. "Well, one never really thinks of the elves until they're being a nuisance."

Somehow, this was not a surprising answer.

Snape was halfway through formulating a way to convince an elf to give him the location of the Black residence when Pettigrew scurried into the room. If he had any less self-control, Snape's lip would have curled at the sight of him. Bad enough that the wizard was a rat in Animagus form, but worse that he exhibited rat-like tendencies while still a man.

"The Dark Lord expects you all immediately." Pettigrew held out a silver hand to beckon them forward.

The men in the room walked together through the doorway and into the dining room, where the Dark Lord sat at the head of the table. Each Death Eater moved to a specific seat; everyone knew where they stood in the hierarchy of command, and sat accordingly. Snape lowered himself into a seat two down from the Dark Lord's left, folding his hands upon the glossy wood of the table. It was a mark of restraint, of trust, of submission, that he was placing his hands away from his wand. If the Dark Lord, or another Death Eater, attempted to harm him, he would be at the distinct disadvantage of being unable to quickly reach his only means of defense.

The red eyes quickly fastened themselves onto Lucius Malfoy, whose back stiffened noticeably in response. "Lucius," the Dark Lord crooned. "Have you had word from your son on his progress with the task I have set him?"

"Yes, my lord," Malfoy answered, with only a tiny stammer. "Draco continues to repair the Vanishing Cabinet."

"It is not yet finished?" The Dark Lord's voice was quiet but deadly. "And what is the reason for his delay?"

A dozen sets of eyes flickered between Malfoy and the Dark Lord, every body set on edge even as they tried desperately to remain casual in their seats. A sheen of sweat appeared on Malfoy's forehead, but he made no attempt to wipe it away.

"He must not arouse suspicion of his activities, my lord. If he is caught, he will be of no use to you. He goes as often as is feasible to work on the Cabinet, I assure you."

"He is of no use to me now, if he cannot repair something as simple as a Vanishing Cabinet!" the Dark Lord snarled, his red eyes narrowing menacingly at Malfoy. He steepled his fingers before him, his wand dangling lightly where it was caught between his thumb and forefinger. "Remind your son of the price his family must pay if he cannot complete this task for me."

Malfoy nodded briskly, once, but the sheen grew more pronounced.

"My lord," Bellatrix piped up from beside Lucius. The Dark Lord inclined his head at her. "I'd like to volunteer myself to enter Hogwarts for you." She gazed at him with such affection in her wide eyes that Snape would have sworn she'd have rather married Voldemort than Rodolphus.

"When the time comes, if the time comes, you shall go to Hogwarts in my stead," the Dark Lord promised. Malfoy paled slightly at the implication of his words. "Snape, of course, will already be there. He will act alongside you." Bellatrix's nose wrinkled, as if Snape were trying to infringe on her moment of glory.

Rest assured, he wished to tell her, I have no desire to be present when you infiltrate Hogwarts.

Of course, his desires had no input on the situation. He would be there. Hopefully he would have discovered just what the Dark Lord had instructed Draco to do by that point.

They were dismissed soon thereafter, Malfoy still a bit pale in the face. Snape strode purposefully towards Bellatrix, directing his steps behind her. Never stopping, his hand brushed against her robes lightly, the fingers curling as he came across a brass button. He mouthed a Slicing Charm, severing the button from her robes and clutching it in his fist as he continued towards the toilet. When he left it several minutes later, Bellatrix was gone. Snape stopped beside Rodolphus.

"She's not at our house, if that's what you're going to ask," Lestrange said shortly.

"Summon your house-elf, Rodolphus. I have something that Bellatrix has unfortunately left behind."

"Oh?" Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. "Well, we can't have her going without..." He trailed off as Snape opened his fist. "Her button?" He shook his head as if to clear it. "Brouny!"

A house-elf with pale blue eyes popped into existence before them. "Yes, Master Lestrange, sir?" it simpered, crushing the edges of its worn pillowcase in its wrinkled hands.

Rodolphus plucked the button from Snape's grasp, and handed it to the elf. "Your Mistress has forgotten this. Please take it to her immediately."

Brouny took the button and held it close to his chest. "Yes, Master Lestrange, sir! Brouny will take the button right now!"

Snape had barely a moment to whip his wand out of his robe pocket before the elf was gone. He quickly flicked it at the creature just as it popped away again, hoping that the modified Tracking Charm he'd chosen for this purpose would work on a non-wizard. Then, with a prayer that he wouldn't end up Splinched at the end of this ordeal, he cleared his mind and simply Apparated on Brouny's coattails.

The squeeze was familiar yet different. He had no idea where he was going, just that he was. If nothing else, he'd learned a valuable lesson from this situation; house-elves were entirely capable of Apparating in and out of the Dark Lord's wards with a wizard. Very few magical folk relied on their servants for transportation, choosing to ignore that the so-called lesser creatures were capable of side-stepping magic that wizards could not. Yes, a valuable piece of knowledge indeed.

The squeeze abruptly lessened, but the feeling was replaced by the highly uncomfortable sensation of slamming against a brick wall. Snape bounced backwards, finding himself sprawled across a stretch of pavement, looking up at a row of townhouses that looked like miniature versions of 18th century manors all stuck together. There were cars parked out front and streetlights over his head.

A Muggle city.

Snape got to his feet and brushed off his robes. There was a sign at the end of the street, and he peered at it in the dim light.

Kingham Close.

A silly and pretentious name for Muggles to call a street. Possibly worse than Grimmauld Place. He paused, then turned back to look at the townhouses again. Could it be?

Yes, there. The numbers jumped from 47 to 49 with nothing in-between. Snape stared at the place where the two met, willing number 48 into existence. The only result was the slight beginning of a tension headache in the bridge of his nose.

Unlike Grimmauld Place, there was not a park across the street where he could hide himself among the trees. There was only pavement and parked cars and spotlights that shone down on him, making him as conspicuous as humanly possible, especially considering that he was dressed in his full robes. He turned away from the Fideliused house, intent on finding out exactly in which city he was, when the quiet sound of shuffling feet could be heard.

He stepped backwards, casting a Notice-Me-Not spell over himself. A girl came into view, her head down and her feet scuffling at the sidewalk. Snape couldn't see past her hair, as the dark length of it had fallen forward and was hiding her face, and could only guess at her age. Thirteen? Twenty-three? She wore Muggle clothes, but there was something unusual about how she held herself in them, as if she was not quite comfortable living in them.

The girl walked past number 50, then number 49. And suddenly, she turned towards the buildings and vanished.

Snape's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. He'd been right, there was something there! And a young witch who lived in a house under the Fidelius Charm. But this was where the elf had thought Bellatrix to be. So who was the young witch?

He waited for thirty long minutes, hoping for the girl to reappear so that he might get a better look at her, but no one appeared from the space between 47 and 49. Snape slowly turned away and then Apparated; he'd learned something tonight, but he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.