(19 : O SERPENT HEART. . .
HID WITH A FLOWERING FACE)

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WHEN JULIET FIRST RECEIVED A dinner invitation from one of the most feared wizards of her time, she was almost grateful for how strict Hogwarts was. Unless the circumstances were exceptional, it was next to impossible to be excused from school grounds during term time. That was why Juliet was so horrified when Dumbledore offered the use of his private Floo to her and Regulus. Whilst the man claimed he possessed no omniscient powers, Juliet thought otherwise. And if she was correct, then her headmaster was pushing a seventeen year old girl into the heart of the snake pit.

Something about the twinkle in his eyes as he requested Juliet passed on his condolences made her think he knew that the two Slytherins weren't actually attending the wake of some distant pureblood relative. If anything, the redhead felt like she was attending her own funeral.

"Ah," a high, unfeeling voice hissed when he saw who stepped out of the fireplace, "I see my most honoured guests have arrived. Regulus, we meet again." As Regulus bowed his head, the host pressed his cold lips against Juliet's knuckles, causing her to shiver. "And Juliet Fawley, I believe I have yet to make your acquaintance."

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," she paused, daring to make direct eye contact, "my lord."

Lord Voldemort's lips twisted at her bravado. "Come, follow me into the dining room as we have much to discuss."

Under the guise of indifference, the redhead trailed after the man, focusing on his black robes as they billowed behind him. It was a short walk to the dining room where there was an oak table — one that seemed impossibly long, at least ten feet — laid out with brass candelabras. A crystal chandelier hung above, providing a feeble amount of light. Upon arrival, Voldemort seated himself at the head and Regulus pulled out a chair for Juliet towards the middle, then took his own place opposite her. The sheer size of the table was a smell mercy as it meant that Juliet wasn't in close proximity with the snake-like man.

As someone who had never seen him before, Juliet was chilled to the bone by how inhuman he looked. He had chalk-white skin that was waxy and smooth, perpetually bloodshot eyes that were slitted like a serpent's and pale blue fingernails that served as claws instead of hands. It was a monstrous sight to behold and the more she stared, the more distorted he became. His nose was almost collapsing in on itself and his thin lips seemed to fade into his face.

      "Welcome, my friends," he began, watching as a rather sickly house elf served a tray of champagne. "First of all, I would like us to toast to your most beneficial union. Your performance thus far has been adequate and it is only right that I recognise such an outstanding contribution to my cause. You have both been, and will continue to be, very valuable to my vision. Very valuable, indeed."

    Once Regulus took a sip of his own drink, Juliet followed suit, trusting it was safe. It was fizzy and felt funny on her tongue, but she felt more relaxed within seconds.

     In satisfaction, Voldemort sent the pair an approving nod before clapping his hands together once, resulting in food appearing on their plates. "Your father seems to think you are but a useless child, however I see a great amount of potential in you, Juliet."

     "You are too generous, my lord," she said, violently skewering a piece of chicken with her fork. "Regulus is as talented as I, if not more so. He deserves equal praise."

     "I did not realise humility was a trait of Slytherin these days," replied Voldemort cooly. "You have both done well, but you were always my wild card. Has Regulus informed you of the importance of this marriage?"

     Juliet studied the fidgeting boy across from her. "I'm afraid not. I know we are a distraction, nothing more."

     "Your wedding has been designed to entertain the blathering fools that care about the status and not the blood of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. These leaches are easy to please and even easier to mislead," he explained in a haughty and snide manner. "By the time you are legally bonded for life, the Ministry of Magic will be under my reformed and purified reign. Your role is paramount to my plans. That sounds like a privilege most of my followers would kill for, does it not?" Voldemort's voice was sibilant, near hypnotic. "Yet, it was Regulus who chose and entrusted you in this role, so you understand my acclaim."

     Her head snapped up. After all, the younger boy had made it seem like he was as grudging as her on more than one occasion. "Regulus chose to marry me?"

     From the opposite seat, Regulus tensed. "It's not what you —"

     "But of course, I'm no tyrant," interrupted Voldemort, almost amused at his own words, like they were an inside joke of his. "That, of course, brings me onto the next matter of business. With Regulus having agreed to take the mark and your marriage finalised for next June, finding out where your loyalties lie is a pressing matter of mine. As much as I have faith in your intelligence, it would be imprudent to ignore that you are a rather divisive topic amongst my men." The wizard tilted his head, intrigued. "Are you aware that Lucius Malfoy is not your biggest fan? He was extremely vocal about how you do not have what it takes to be part of my ranks."

     Successfully provoked, Juliet spat, "Lucius Malfoy is a man with wounded pride, still bitter that a teenage girl has outwitted him on more than one occasion."

"If you are so confident, then I would be most glad to have you take the Dark Mark. Tonight, if that's convenient," he proposed in a deceptively kind tone. "There are rumours of Dumbledore — the senile fool — forming a group to rival me. An impossible feat, but one that leaves me more cautious than before. Should I mark you this evening, I must require proof of where you stand, Juliet."

"I stand with you. Indisputably and infallibly."

Underneath the table, Regulus squeezed her hand twice. Remembering that he was the one to involve her name in this mess, she yanked her hand free of his comforting hold.

Voldemort considered her blank expression for a moment and prodded, "And what of your opinion on muggles, mudbloods and traitors?"

Taking another long sip of her drink, she pressed her lips firmly together. "Scum," seethed the redhead, channeling all her aggression into the response. "To be blunt, I think they are beneath us in every way and should be punished appropriately for any dissent against the rightful pureblood hierarchy."

    As if to prove her sincerity, Juliet met Voldemort's soulless gaze. Within seconds, a familiar pain speared through her head and she fell into her memories with a sharp intake of breath. He wasn't gentle, he wanted her to know he could and would invade her mind.

     "Fuck those Death Eaters then, and fuck You-Know-Who."

     "Their blood is as pure as mine or yours."

     "I had to take Muggle Studies. Bloody agonising it was, but I must concede they're quite ahead of us in some ways."

     Regulus soon realised what was happening and, in one swift movement, knocked his drink over. The sound of glass smashing broke the tense eye contact between the duo — neither aware of how deliberate the incident had been.

     "Hand spasm," he admitted sheepishly. "I apologise for being so careless, my lord."

     Rather than letting the house elves take care of the mess, Regulus leaned over the table, ensuring his back was to Voldemort as he waved his wand over the shattered glass. Catching the trembling redhead's eyes, he mouthed, 'manipulate your memories.'

     Rolling her shoulders back, Juliet was suddenly very grateful she wasn't alone at the dinner. Taking his advice, the girl feigned ignorance and scanned the room, allowing her eyes to linger on Lord Voldemort. He took the bait — the action being casual enough that it was no doubt interpreted as an accident — and Juliet focused on all the times her blood supremacist views prevailed, feeling a second attack on her mind.

     "I'd rather snog Slughorn than support Dumbledore."

     "Don't touch me, filthy blood traitor!"

     "I actually thought you were different, but you'll be kissing the Dark Lord's robes in no time."

    Something about the memory of James felt too intimate, like Voldemort had burrowed too deep into her mind. It was out of a strange desire to protect James and not let him appear to the Dark Lord again that filled Juliet with the strength needed to thrust the alien presence out of her mind.

"It is such a pity," drawled Voldemort, "that you are so conflicted, Juliet. I can sense your indecision. Your loyalties are too fickle, too malleable, too breakable for you to ever be more than a blushing bride to me." He rose from his seat, stopping before the witch to stroke her cheek as he added, "But, I would never want to waste such beautiful blood. When the Ministry falls, how will you prove that you are more than a spineless child with a penchant for running their mouth?"

Paralysed under his touch, Juliet failed to form a coherent response.

"Juliet is skilled in the study of alchemy, my lord," offered Regulus.

Voldemort moved his skeletal finger from her cheek to her chin, drawing the girl to her knees. "Is that true?"

Numb and defeated, her hair fell in a curtain over her face. "It is," she paused, "top of my class, in fact."

"I am a fair man," he reasoned, circling the teenager like a vulture. "To earn my pardon, I will allow you to perform an essential task. It is most gracious of me, I know." When he didn't receive any thanks, he proceeded, "I want you to create an Elixir of Life. Should you prove capable, what I know of your views will be forgotten and I will directly take you under my wing as an apprentice Death Eater."

Juliet could've choked on her hatred for the man, then and there. Whilst she had always accepted there were some aspects of her life she couldn't fight — an arranged marriage, bearing children and her lack of a career being but a few — she never wanted to bow to that monster. Meeting him only solidified her stance on the war — or lack thereof. Neither in support of Voldemort and Dumbledore, she was alone in the middle of a warzone. However, she was more than capable of playing both sides.

"As I am sure you are aware, Nicholas Flamel never intended to create immortality. His creation is assuredly one of a kind," she told him matter-of-factly. "It seems like you're asking me to perform an impossible task."

A malicious grin contorted his face. "Do not hold back, Juliet. What would you really like to know?"

"What if I fail?"

     Voldemort dropped down to her level, grabbed a fistful of her hair and roughly brought her ear next to his mouth. "Death."

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A.N: This chapter has just about killed me because it was so hard to write. Voldemort is so hard to characterise correctly and I hope I did him justice. I studied his speech as best as I could (he asks a lot of tag questions, use first names a lot and uses a lot of modal verbs is what I've found out!) Anyway, the next two chapters are going to be some of my favourites and still angsty, but not as tense, thank god. I hope you've enjoyed this one. I've been so happy with how many of you are enjoying this and every comment means a lot to me.

Question, what would you patronus be? I did the Pottermore quiz and got some breed of dog, but I don't agree at all. I feel like I'd be something more independent — a cat or a dolphin is my first thought.