The broth bubbled in the copper pot, and Dumbledore's hands never stopped moving.
Douglas set down his cola, the glass bottle landing on the stone table with a crisp clink.
He tilted his head, a casual air in his eyes.
"So, Professor, who do you plan to leave your estate to?"
With no preamble and no transition, he simply came right out with it.
It made Voldemort freeze just as he was about to help himself to a piece of dragon meat.
He had thought the crisis was over and had intended to enjoy this mundane bit of leisure.
But that question snapped every bit of his ease.
His estate?
Why bring up his estate?
Countless thoughts raced through Voldemort's mind in an instant.
He darkly speculated about Douglas's purpose.
Was Holmes planning to make a move against Snape?
Or did Holmes think Snape did not have long to live?
Did he think the great Dark Lord would execute him?
Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly.
His black eyes were hollow and lifeless.
He had never considered killing Snape.
Even on this occasion, when he had assumed his identity to infiltrate Hogwarts.
He had made meticulous arrangements in advance.
Snape had been placed in that laboratory of his.
He was continuing to advance the research into combining Muggle science with Dark Magic for him.
After all, he was one of the few genuinely capable researchers under his command.
Kill him?
That would be an utterly senseless waste.
Voldemort frantically worked through the implications of Douglas's words.
But from every angle, Douglas's words were steeped in strangeness. Surely he had not simply said it offhand?
Dumbledore's hand paused around his silver chopsticks, and a sly gleam suddenly flashed through his blue eyes.
"Ah, young man."
Dumbledore dropped a cooked piece of dragon