Amortentia Dolorosa

Voldemort had long regarded all things that he owned as reflections of himself, and his house elves were no exception. Each was dressed in what could be best described as liveried tea cosies, and they served exceptionally well, whether it was in the kitchen, guest hall, or stable. Tonight, he had given directions for a finer supper than he could usually be bothered to eat, subsisting largely on roast beef sandwiches and orange juice, as he did. But, ones guests must be kept in awe, so pheasant it would be.

He dressed himself regally, as he did for these public occasions, in a deep green robe with silver serpent trim. As always, the sleeves were held by three buttons at the cuffs. There was no sense in wearing cuffs that required prolonged attention -- they diverted the attention from more important things.

Still pondering some notes Rodolphus had sent him on the tactics involved in the Wizarding War, and Grindelwald's mistakes, therein, he retired to the study, sinking into a remarkably cosy purple velvet chair, with a glass of brandy. He'd always liked these chairs, he reflected, they were so very comfortable, and purple was a colour meant for kings. And king, he would be.

Lucky arrived at Lord Voldemort's residence, not a hair out of place. He was wearing a set of pewter toned formal robes with deep green trim. His long blond hair was tied back in an immaculate queue with a green velvet ribbon in exactly the shade of the trim on his robes. When one of the house elves answered the door he followed it to the room in which his master waited.

"My Lord," he said, respectfully inclining his head and waiting for acknowledgement.

"Ah, Lucius! So good of you to come!" Voldemort rose from his chair and held out his left hand, which bore his father's ring. "Do you know if Rabastan will be joining us, this evening? I had honestly expected him before you."

Lucky bowed his head and kissed the proffered ring. "I have no reason to believe that he should not be arriving shortly, My Lord," he said as he returned to a more upright position. "It was good of you to invite us both," he said with a smile.

Rabastan strode in on the heels of another house elf, hood still up, as usual. "Good evening, my Lord." He bowed low and gracefully, a skill learned in his Auntie's chambers, the hood settling onto his shoulders as he straightened back up. "I hope I'm not too late. After all, it seems Lucius has gotten in before me, he has."

He, too, kissed the ring, before offering a handshake to Lucius.

"Excellent to see you both, gentlemen!" Voldemort stepped forth, leading his guests toward the dining room. "I am most eager to hear your thoughts with regard to our ... disposal of Mr. Bishop."

"Gawain! Owain! Our guests have arrived!" He never ordered the house elves to serve -- merely indicated the appropriate time to do so. Almost soundlessly, the cloth at the centre of the table unfolded itself into a lush green and violet runner, spawning place settings and serving platters as it went.

"It's good to see you, Rabastan," he said, shaking the other man's hand before following Lord Voldemort. When they reached the dining room, he spoke while still standing and waiting for his place to be indicated. "I'm sure that Rabastan has more information than I, My Lord. After all, you had him conduct the screening interview."

Voldemort stepped to the head of the table, spreading his hands to indicate the chairs to his left and right, as he sat.

"Come, have some wine. No man can speak long with a dry mouth." He was having a relatively good day, and it showed in his manner. With no further hints, the wine made a short circuit, filling three glasses, and following it closely, the platters opened, to reveal not only the pheasant, but a varied assortment of side dishes to accompany it.

"I have noticed that you both came to similar conclusions about Mr Bishop," he commented, helping himself to some of the food on the table. "Rabastan, would you pass the sweet potatoes, please?"

"Yes, my Lord." Babs passed the heaping plate to the Dark Lord, with one hand, keeping his glass in the other. If these glasses were going to fill themselves, he needed to keep an eye on it.

"I am hesitant to even intimate to Mr. Bishop that a better position than front-line shock troops might be available. I don't believe he has the mental or emotional capacity to handle much more than that, without bragging about it to every Tom, Dick, and Regulus in the Wizarding world." He thought the pheasant far too well cooked, but he'd consume it just the same, along with a heaping share of slightly less-violated vegetables. "My thoughts on testing him are that we should do one of: sending him on an actual hunt, having him track a decoy, or having him track one of our better vanishing acts, like Rookwood."

After taking a small sip from his wine glass, Lucky spoke. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Rabastan. Mr. Bishop does not seem to possess the discretion necessary to be an asset as much more than a part of the front lines. Since when I spoke with him, he was not even aware of his own location, I'm hesitant to believe in his tracking abilities, although I suppose he might concievably perform better on an actual hunt."

Lucky took a careful bite of the pheasant. When he had finished, he spoke again. "He certainly showed no ability to speak carefully, nor awareness of his situation in my encounters with him."

"But, sure he was drunk when you were speaking to him, Lucius." Despite his firm desire not to drink wine, Babs found he really needed it to wash down the pheasant. He wasn't used to eating cooked meats. "And if I know a man, he was hung over when I saw him. All the same it does indicate a qu-- a significant lack of discipline."

"So, you gentlemen propose we should test the skills he claims to have, and ensure he can even function in the simplest way, for us." The pheasant really had come out well, tonight. Voldemort felt a smug warmth at having the best in house elves. "I can agree to that. I have heard three methods of testing so far, so let us hear the benefits and drawbacks of each, starting with sending him on an actual hunt."

He sipped his wine, delicately. "The most important two points I see are that, if he succeeds, we are down one hunting trip, and if he fails, we will likely have an extraordinary cleanup on our hands."

"If he is set to lead a hunt composed of more experienced observers, then the cleanup can be managed at the time, if necessary," Lucky said thoughtfully. "That might mitigate some of the risks inherent in that choice."

"A decoy hunt, while it might be safer in the immediate, is likely to run against his inborn arrogance. Whilst this is not entirely a bad thing, I am not certain that it would not forment a spark of resentment, which we can ill afford." He sipped carefully at his glass of wine, before returning his attention momentarily to his plate.

"Lucius does bring an very good point. If we fake him out, we may run the risk of alienating him completely. Sure, he would doubtless be a quick target to remove, but why make more work than is necessary?" Babs nibbled half-heartedly at some green vegetable that he couldn't quite identify. "We can start him on a hunt for one of our third-mark targets -- neither too hard, nor too easy, and push some of the more experienced among us into the party -- perhaps Master Yaxley or Master Avery. I've come to know them both as having an excellent hand with unfortunate incidents."

Voldemort nodded, liking the turn these suggestions had taken. "And, perhaps, to be certain of his skill, we should set him against a fourth-mark target, as well. I wouldn't go as far as fifth-mark, though. Those are for you and Madame Yaxley, Rabastan. They are too dangerous to allow even a team such as you have suggested."

Quietly, he ate potatoes for a few moments. "Who do we put on the team? I can agree with Cygnus Avery, but I am uncertain about putting Rebecca's husband to such use. I think we should have three on the team, in addition to Mr Bishop, but the question is who to assign."

Lucky thought for a moment before speaking. "I suppose that depends upon the nature of the target, and the kind of message you intend be sent. I wouldn't venture an opinion on Mr. Bishop's working with those older than himself, but he seems to have a natural disregard for the abilities of those he sees as his junior, and that might also affect your choices of compatriots."

Lucky ate a few bites of mushroom, before speaking again. "We also do not yet know if Mr. Bishop has what it takes to kill, or in what fashion he is likely to do so. I suggest that Mr. Avery, if he is to head the team, attempts to clarify this before the team departs."

"Rabastan's report indicates to me that Mr Bishop is quite eager to kill, but one never knows when that virtue will fade," Voldemort offered, nodding. "I will likely have Cygnus lead this test, since he has proven himself sensible in such matters, in the past, and you are definitely correct that he should be warned to keep a close eye on Mr Bishop's methods, if nothing else."

He stilled, gazing at the ceiling on the far side of the room, as he thought, wasting not a motion. "I think the first target should be easily frightened, and likely to bolt, since it is his ability to track that we are testing. If he finds it too easy, the next one will have already run from us, and be hiding in some theoretically safe location before we begin. I know there are a few of those on the list."

"I know Evan Rosier is a fair choice for hunting, age aside. He's younger than I am, sure, but he's one of the better trackers we've picked up, if we need someone to clean up after Mr. Bishop." Babs took another sip of the wine, trying to clear that filthy overcooked taste from his mouth. "If Mr. Rosier is too young, then I am certain Mr. Rookwood would suffice, being a hair older than I am, and looking half again as old, from his scars. And, even if I don't like the man much, Macnair is probably a decent choice for muscle."

There is neither 'Mr.' nor 'Master' to precede Macnair's name, and it isn't until after the words are out of his mouth, that he realises that subtle indicator of his opinion of the man.

"As regards targets, how about that librarian you had me look up, last month? Judith --" He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. "Grasswell! The one who's been just a little faster than the teams, so far."

"If you send him after the librarian, however, I recommend ensuring that someone have regard for any books or papers he may have with him," Lucky said pensively. "After all, it was her refusal to hand over Malecun's treatise on spell-borne diseases that made a target of her in the first place."

He sipped at his wine. "And sending him after a female target would be a good test of nerve, as well. Some men seem to have more trouble when targeting the fairer sex."

"A test of nerve." Voldemort spoke as if rolling the words across his tongue to taste them. "I think you may be correct, Lucius. And, as always, you are correct about the potential for hidden documents. I shall ensure that the team knows to look for them, and avoids any fire or water spells."

He nodded over a bit more pheasant. "I think that I will ask Augustus and Fenrir to assist Cygnus, in this matter. You are correct that we need both another tracker and potentially some physical strength if things go poorly. I would almost prefer to send one of the curse team, but I believe that between Cygnus and Augustus, there should be sufficient distance-covering curses to even things out. A display of raw power may be what we need to keep this young man in his role."

"Thank you, My Lord," he said graciously. "While we are on the subject of young men, I wonder if I might have your ear as regards another one of my acquaintance." Lucky watched Lord Voldemort carefully for any sign of displeasure at his suggestion.

"You do meet some interesting people, Lucius. Enlighten me." It was almost a smile, that graced his face. Almost. Voldemort carefully carved the remaining meat from the pheasant before him, without once taking his eyes from Lucius's face.

Lucky smiled wryly as he chuckled. "Indeed, My Lord. I have a protege of sorts, a lad of 15. He expressed, in a much more suitable fashion, a desire to serve the cause. "

He sipped at his wine for a moment. "The boy looks fair to beat me at potions, by the time he's of age. Even now, he's brewing NEWT standards work. I did tell him that you were unlikely to take him on formally until he's of age, but I could see him being of use until then, even so."

"NEWT level work at fifteen? A fortunate find! Bring me some of his work with your next batch, and I will compare the two." Voldemort cocked his glass a bit when it was almost to his lip, before drinking. It could have been an acknowledgement of sorts, but one could never be certain. "It isn't that I don't trust your judgement, of course, but I prefer to verify such claims, myself."

"Have you met the boy, Rabastan?"

"No, my lord, I have not. I'm told he's in with my brother, though." Rabastan continued to struggle through the salad on his plate. "Loath though I am to suggest consulting my brother's opinions on matters of character, you may wish to consult him for a second opinion on this lad, if he's the one I think Lucius is speaking of."

Lucky nodded. "One Severus Snape, by name, My Lord," he said. "And Rodolphus does know him as well."

"I'll have him brew some of whichever thing you order next, as well as brewing it myself, My Lord, if that's acceptable. If you wish a sample sooner, I have some of his work in my labs. He's from a rather destitute line, and seeing his skills in his first year, I took it upon myself to provide him with what he needed for his skills to continue improving. Frankly, My Lord, he's the passion for potions that I lack, and I think, in the end, that that passion will make all the difference. I know I, for one, am unlikely to ever end up a Potions Master due simply to lack of interest." Lucky shrugged lazily. "I'm afraid that I'm far more interested in spellcraft in the end, and my potions work sometimes suffers for it."

"I am pleased that your potions work has not suffered during any projects for my use." Voldemort's eyes sparkled unpleasantly.

"Snape, you say? I do not recall having encountered that name, in my studies. Who are his parents, a branch family, perhaps? Americans?" he stared into the corner of the room, as if trying to remember something. Surely, if there was a Snape family, he would have come across it, at some point.

Lucky nodded. "I simply meant that my skills had not grown as they might otherwise have, My Lord," he said politely. "Not that I do not give an individual potion the necessary attention while working on it."

Lucky cleared his throat in a slightly nervous fashion, sipping at his wine again. "He is a halfblood, My Lord. His mother is one Eileen Snape, nee Prince. Her family disowned her for the marriage, leaving them destitute. The lad is most vocal in his opinions of Muggles, including his own father."

"And, yet, you see fit to bring him to my attention. Your selections have been quite daring, as of late, Lucius." Voldemort leaned back in his chair, taking the glass of wine with him. "But, if he is the last living Prince heir, he may prove worthwhile in more ways than one. Even if he cannot inherit his family's physical possessions, I must wonder if he has inherited their talents..."

He sipped at the wine, staring at Lucius in amused fascination. "Yes, I think I will enjoy testing your prodigy, Lucius. Perhaps, even in person, once he proves himself at least your equal."

"Yes, My Lord. Although I will say, if Bishop hadn't felt the need to be loudmouthed in public, I wouldn't have brought him to your attention at all. Severus on the other hand, has talent and skill, as well as the drive to excel. I would have been remiss, in his case, not to bring him to your attention. Especially as even before I took him on, he was doing his best to overcome his background."

Lucky smiled. "Thank you, My Lord. I imagine he shall reach that level by the time he is of age, if his progress continues unhindered. It would ultimately be pleasant to have more time to dedicate to my research, if time allows."

"Well, gentlemen, it has been a most fruitful evening." Voldemort glanced around the table at the mostly empty plates. "I thank you both for coming, but I have some research I must return to. Feel free to finish your wine, my house elves can lead you out. I merely find myself growing tired, and I wish to finish this article, before I retire."

Voldemort rose, offering one hand to each of the seated young men.