"Alas, Severus," Voldemort said, pulling the dagger away, as if reluctant to give it up. "This is not that sort of Horcrux. With this relic, I am thinking only of future generations. Never let it be said that your Lord is not gracious, for this Horcrux is not to be used for myself. As I have already told you, this Horcrux is special. The part of my soul that it contains is shut off from me forever. I cannot reclaim it. Thus, if, in the remarkable and unimaginable event that every Horcrux but this were destroyed, this dagger would not assure my survival."
Bellatrix gasped, but her eyes were huge and avid as she watched Voldemort. Her gaze never left the dagger as it flitted and glinted in his pale hand.
"The part of my soul locked within this dagger is a gift, my friends. It is meant to be passed on. Lucius, my loyal servant, I have asked you to remain because I know your desperate—and justifiable—desire to prove yourself to me. It shall be your duty and honor to bestow the gift of the dagger should that day ever come."
For the first time, Lucius Malfoy's face flickered with life. He blinked at Voldemort, and then stumbled forward, not quite daring to touch his master.
"Thank you, my Lord! It is my honor! I will not fail you!"
"I am certain of that, Lucius," Voldemort said smoothly, almost kindly. "For if, for some reason, you fail the dagger, it will find you. I have bound it to you, and your family. In the event that something unfortunate befalls Headmaster Snape, you must retrieve the dagger from him. It will be waiting for you. And in the event that the time passes for its use and you have not fulfilled your role, it will seek you with its own intent. It will come for you, and your family. I do trust that you understand."
"I do, my Lord," Lucius rasped, nodding. "I will perform whatever duty you entrust to me. I vow my oath, Master!"
Voldemort nodded slowly. "Then your work begins this day, Lucius. Find for me a worthy vessel. Find a family whose blood is pure but whose loyalties will never be suspect. When the time comes, go to the woman in that family who is with child. She must take the dagger unto herself, and by her own hand, use the dagger to trace my symbol—the first initial of my name—upon the swell of her unborn son, drawing it in her own blood. Let her willingness infuse the life of the dagger into that mother's blood, taking it to the child. Thus, this relic of my soul will be passed on. The boy will carry my essence, made anew, ready to serve yet another generation. This is your duty and your oath to me, Lucius. Swear it."
"I swear, my Lord!" Lucius rasped, falling to one knee.
"My Lord!" Bellatrix cried breathlessly, crawling to her knees and imploring with one hand. "Choose me! Let me be the vessel of your gift to future generations! I will raise the boy to be your perfect image! I am willing! I am eager!"
"Yes, loyal Bellatrix," Voldemort said softly, not turning to her. Bits of the floating crystal chandelier revolved in the air between them. "But your loyalties are your most damning quality for this task. No one must guess in whose womb my soul is to be reborn. Despite your greatest wish, this duty cannot fall to you."
Bellatrix sobbed. "Then why have you kept me here, my Lord?" she wailed desperately. "Why have you retained me only to see my greatest desire plucked from my grasp?"
Voldemort sighed indulgently. "Your very question contains the answer, dear Bellatrix. But do try to look on the bright side: I had considered simply killing you for allowing Harry Potter to slip through your grasp this night. Instead, I have merely killed your greatest dream."
"Nooooo!" Bellatrix shrieked, crumpling, and James' hair stood up. He'd never heard a more despairing, hopeless cry.
Voldemort strode forward, smiling as if Bellatrix's wail of agony was the sweetest music. He held the dagger out to Snape. As Snape took the dagger, the suspended chandelier fell again. It crashed noisily to the floor behind Voldemort, shattering like a bomb and drowning out the pitiful wail of Bellatrix Lestrange.
The memory shattered as well.
There was a flash of swirling smoke, and then one more scene materialized, swimming out of the mists like a fever dream. In this memory, James saw Severus Snape again. He was pacing in the Headmaster's office, which was his own office by this time.
"You seem to misunderstand, Albus," Snape said, speaking apparently to the portrait of Dumbledore on the office wall. "It will not be a request. Slughorn is the man responsible for the Dark Lord's ability to create Horcruxes in the first place. He understands them better than I do. He owes his service to the world to render this one useless."
"If only that were possible, Severus," the portrait of Dumbledore replied. "But it is not. You may destroy the Horcrux, yes, but no one can simply render it ineffective. Besides, I seem to recall that my instruction was to simply poison the instrument, assuring it would kill both the mother and the son it was meant to infiltrate."
"I cannot destroy the dagger while the Dark Lord still lives," Snape replied. "He has bound it to Lucius Malfoy; he will know if it is compromised, and my loyalties will be revealed."
"Then do as I instructed," Dumbledore insisted ardently. "Poison the blade. It is within your abilities. There are any number of undetectable poisons in this very room. Let the same instrument that carries that dark soul also carry its doom."
"You might have been able to oversee the murder of the woman and her child 'for the greater good', Albus, but I'm afraid that that ability has fled me."
The portrait replied sadly. "Then you are a fool, Severus. The fruit of this Horcrux will be on your head, not Horace Slughorn's."
Snape exhaled slowly, thinking. Finally, he glanced up. "Perhaps not," he said, as if to himself. "Perhaps there is another way."
"You are mistaken, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "My way is the only responsible method. Otherwise, the boy will be born with the thread of Voldemort himself beating in his veins."
Snape smiled slowly, coldly. "Perhaps not…," he said again.
"Surely you do not doubt that the dagger Horcrux will transmit the remnant of Voldemort's soul?"
"I do not," Snape said, narrowing his eyes. "But perhaps it will not be transmitted into a boy…"
Dumbledore sighed patiently. "This is not the time for conspiracies, Severus."
"Indulge me," Snape replied slowly. "I am merely speculating. The Dark Lord believes his soul will pass into a boy child. He is, in his heart, that most arrogant of men, the sort that believes unquestioningly in the superiority of his own gender. But what if Lucius' judgment were to become impaired? What if his divinations were clouded? And as a result, what if the final Horcrux were transmitted to a girl child?"
"That is not evidence that his soul would not dominate the child's personality. She would still be influenced by his living essence."