“So you are saying that you are not real Deatheaters, and this is all an elaborate plan to trap Volde—“ Harry halted at Snape’s sharp look, “I mean the Dark Lord?”

“Yes, the Dark Lord wishes to share some of his knowledge and power with the Deatheater children, in the hopes of bonding them to him and to prepare them to take the Dark Mark when they become of age.”

“What?” Harry shrieked.

“Relax Potter,” Snape said snidely, “While seeing the Boy Who Live take the Dark Mark would be an interesting occurrence, we have no intention in allowing that to happen. We plan on using the Dark Lord’s new weakness and vulnerability, to lead to his ultimate demise.”

"Oh," Harry whispered nervously, "and just how do you plan to do that exactly?"

******************************************************************************

As they were Apparated to a clearing, in the deepest recesses of the Forbidden Forest, Harry felt his scar burn. It took every ounce of willpower to keep standing. Of course, with the aid of Snape’s potion, the scar was hidden, but the pain seared his forehead nevertheless.

Masked figures kneeled before a figure that made Harry’s skin crawl.

“Bella and Severus. Do come closer,” a snake-like voice whispered.

“And who do we have here?” the Dark Lord said calculatingly.

Glittering red eyes shone with expectation, as he assessed the newcomers.

Severus firmly pushed Harry forward, while Bella did the same with Hermione.

“It took much work, but we succeeded in discovering the whereabouts of our children My Lord.”

Harry’s skin crawled as Voldemort touched his face.

“Yes, you do look your father.” Harry cringed.

“And you my dear,” he said as he brushed his long, scaly fingers against Hermione’s hair, “are as beautiful as your mother.”

“While I am sure that my paranoia is unfounded, I nevertheless need a little assurance that you are not trying to deceive me.”

Harry skin prickled with fear.

Voldemort beckoned to a dark figure behind him, and snapped his long fingers.

“Wormwood, come here.”

Harry’s blood froze. Wormwood? That little traitor that betrayed his parents and allowed his Godfather to rot in Azkaban for twelve years.

As though Snape could sense his intentions, he grasped Harry’s arm in a firm grip, and gave him a warning look.

“Yes Master.”

 “Bring the familial potion here.”