The Half Sisters

Chapter One

Snape's cloak billowed through the Manor's stagnant air as he strode down marble corridors, his footsteps echoing like a steady clock's hand, counting down to disaster.

Close your mind. The mantra thrummed with every heartbeat. Don't let them know of your loyalties.

He took the stairs two at a time—fourteen, sixteen, lungs burning—before emerging into the suffocating glow of the council chamber.

The Death Eaters' table was long, flanked by familiar faces: Yaxley, the Malfoys, the Dolohovs, and even the Lestranges, with Bellatrix seated as closely at its head. There, Voldemort waited—pale as a corpse, red eyes smoldering.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, skeletal fingers beckoning. "We've saved you... a seat."

The former Potion's Master merely nodded and slid gracefully into his seat, directly on Voldemort's right.

The meeting began with a single word. "News?"

"Eleanor is exposed," Snape said, clasping his hands tightly to hide their tremor. "Away from the Weasley safe house. Her location unknown."

The silence curdled.

"And who," Voldemort breathed, "do I thank for this... oversight?"

A flick of bone-white wrist. A chair clattered near the opposite end, and a man, Dolohov, staggered to his feet. His hands clawed at the summoned rope snaking around his throat, veins bulging like worms beneath sallow skin.

"Incompetence," Voldemort spat. The rope tightened, etching a crimson scar into flesh. "You've cost me everything."

The rope dug deeper into his skin, lifting him off the ground before it suddenly fell away. Dolohov crumpled, retching. Snape schooled his face to stone. "The girl will surface. She's predictable."

"You're right," Voldemort said softly, sheathing his wand. "She will."

"You are winning, My Lord," said Snape, trying to find the right words to soothe him. "The only issue is finding out when she'll strike. And ... if you would allow me to be so bold, I believe the next move will be the Ministry, my lord."

A wave of dissent arose throughout the table. Death Eaters from either side scoffed at Snape's idea, banging their fists across the table in disagreement.

"—Potter may not gain anything from this, but this is outrageous—"

"—a suicide mission at best—"

"—I expected more than this from our Lord's right hand man—"

"Silence!" snapped Voldemort in his raspy voice. The room fell into immediate silence. "I'm sure Severus has a point he'd like to make."

"A point?" scoffed Yaxley. "I thought you were smart, Snape, not stupid. Potter's won't do that. That would be suicide."

Snape's lip twitched. Fools. All of them. "Where would you strike, Yaxley, if hope itself were your weapon?"

"What you're suggesting is absurd, it's not even worth considering."

"You didn't teach Potter for six years at Hogwarts, Yaxley. I know her in ways you don't."

Yaxley fell silent and he took this as an opportunity to press forward.

"The Order of the Phoenix is scrambling," Snape explained coolly. "Though the Wizarding World feigns compliance, they continue to resist our plans. Consider Hogwarts— despite our best efforts, pockets of resistance still persist."