Chapter 2

Shadows smeared into one another, sliding fuzzy lines over the warm grey room. The walls were lined with rows of books, their backs turned into the milky shafts of dim morning light falling through the white framed glass roof above a lone desk. Burgundy curtains hung above the dusky wooden floor, sheltering the airy study from the autumn panorama south of Perthshire. He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed through the roof, studying the heavy black clouds swallowing any thought of a sun rising in the bowels of a storm that's been lingering for most of the week.

The Dark Lord paused for a moment before he turned into the high-backed chair behind his desk and absentmindedly ran his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.

What had just happened?

He needed to think.

There was an exhausted female sleeping in his bed, one he'd met a reptile while waiting for the dust to settle on the Hephzibah Smith issue. He'd been surprised, honestly, but logic sang a sweet flawless answer for once; the situation was perfect and he'd have a more private servant without any objectionable consequence he could fathom. He had grown quite fond of her after all, in his own way, especially after the rather unexpected physical consummation of the bond they shared.

Lord Voldemort decided that he was feeling pleasant and allowed a moment of reflection, finding himself smirking at the fresh memory of Nagini's indecency earlier. But he did not linger long before sliding a Sumerian text on ancient spell weaving closer and sinking back into the leather behind him while hunting for page 890.

Bookmarks had never occurred to him, he was interested enough in the subjects he chose to explore to at least remember where he'd been reading last. Yet another wedge driven between him and humanity, most of them proved so... unfocused.

He tried to keep his growing ranks focused, it usually meant using fear as instrument, and he did even reward them when he saw it fit. A fragment of strategic mercy helps inspire loyalty after all, to his own defence.

The ancient clock hanging in the corridor leading to the study counted an hour with its spindly arms. The Dark Lord continued his thorough translation of the ancient language – he had a semi-confirmed theory that it could be used to weave stronger dark spells than the Latin tongue.

But he would wait until he was better acquainted with the matter before pushing into the experimenting stage.

He'd learned patience with knowledge.

Hollow thunder crackled overhead and the Dark Lord leaned back to stretch his stiff muscles. He noticed the forlorn humanoid shape standing shy of the doorframe and rose without a sound, stepping around his desk.

"I -"

A bell rang from the depths of the small manor, curtly hacking off the future conversation.

"Lucius." He stated flatly, his dark brows drawing slightly at the thought of company but his eyes fixed on the large serpent now coiled up in her stead. Voldemort strode over the lush carpet and into the dark corridor, passing the loose outline of his pet and raising his wand deftly in front of him to summon the blind elf skulking somewhere in the pantry.

It was his fault that X'al had lost the gift of sight, but the Dark Lord hated even potential loose ends.

He did however, in time, establish that the foreign creature did not really need to see in order to serve his Master sufficiently. He adapted, as was the nature of everything.

And he didn't even spill tea anymore.

The elf fumbled around for the doorknob and pulled it open with immense concentration.

Lord Voldemort stepped further into the foyer and acknowledged the presence of his Deatheater with a nod. Lucius bowed and straightened, twisting his gloves in uncertainty.

"Well?" He asked impatiently.

Lucius cleared his throat and slid his wand from his cane before swiping it through the air, exposing a rather large shivering bundle of fabric cowering into itself.

"He's still conscious, my Lord. Should I-"

"No." Voldemort cut him off. "You are dismissed, Lucius."

Her Master levitated the man behind him while making his way down the stairs leading to the basement deep underground. She slivered down with him, dodging an angry stain in the wood. She knew him to brew potions down here, he had brought the servant named Severus down here once too, her Master had requested of him to make a vial of Sinta-iian – a brew that originated from Africa, used to enhance the sleeper's dreams. He was experimenting with different manners of meditations but the teacher had more ingredients to his disposal than her Lord did at present – Obviously.

Darkness swallowed the world around them as they carried on downwards with the flight of stairs flaring into a wide spiral and turning stone.

On arrival Nagini swiftly found her usual spot underneath a massive unused cauldron, balancing miraculously on only two stubby iron legs and pulled herself into a tight ball to keep the precious heat from escaping her cold length. Usually, she would watch him from this safe distance while he nurtured his various concoctions with utmost care.

But as soon as the muggle's head hit the floor with a dull thud, her Master turned to her.

"Assist me, Nagini." He commanded in parselmouth.

She felt a jolt shooting down her spine and slithered out of her crack, transforming into her human form until she was strolling to the opposite side of the table.

A ball of magical light hung above their heads, bathing the cramped room in a soft white light and sending their tapering shadows sprawling over the damp walls. Her long hair hung gently over her full breasts and she met his hooded gaze with steady sapphires, savouring the look in his eyes and the rush pulsing through their connection.

He was annoyed at her nudity.

Warmth crept up her neck and spread over her flushed cheeks as he summoned a robe from thin air. It was dark, the material feeling almost liquid shifting against her skin as she moved, reaching for her wand in the space above her left shoulder where she kept it hidden with a crafty spell she learned from her late step-grandfather.

"What would you like me to do, my Lord?" Nagini whispered, her mouth suddenly dry.

"I wish to create another Horcrux. My dairy will hold the portion that we will-"he paused, his eyes burning past hers and she saw him remember the severe pain of the process. "Extract now." He stated, his emotion squared off perfectly.

She knew he'd made three Horcruxes already and that his torn soul made him sick at times although it was always worst the first few days when his body sought desperately to adapt to the abrupt change.

His control was admirable.

Voldemort smiled handsomely at her unprocessed observation and his ancient eyes flashed softer before he pointed his knotted wand at the open floor, muttering a charm under his breath. A full circle of intricate bone white symbols appeared in the shadow of the high table.

Nagini watched him step into the ring and drop to his heels as he placed his old dairy in the centre. The book's yellowed pages yawned slightly within the discoloured leather cover. He stood up and stepped back, standing outside the rune. He slit the blade unsympathetically through his clenched hand and she heard him inhale sharply.

He held the hilt of the darkened blade out to her, the crudely sharpened edge resting carelessly inside his bloody palm. Without a word, Nagini took the sacrificial dagger and gripped his icy right hand firmly, following his unspoken orders as she cut another wide gash into the soft flesh of his other hand too. Their eyes met and she relished the lewd image he failed to hide slip into their connection, but as suddenly as it came, it was gone again – overrode by his determination to finish the affair. He turned back and rested his weight on his heels again as he stretched his hands out in front of him, dark blood spluttering deliberately over a curved symbol near the dairy.

The Dark Lord dragged the muggle into the mysterious circle with an invisible force, the man laid on his stomach, face down near the book on the opposite side of her Master. The wizard suddenly leant over and pushed the unconscious man's forehead back to expose his throat; she dropped to his level and returned the dagger to him. It hung loosely in his hand and he yanked the blade from the muggle's one ear to the other, reinforcing the killing stroke with a small charm. She felt his wounded hands burn but refrained from action, blood spurt onto the floor from the man's grinning neck.

Her Master's head snapped back and she felt dark energy ebb from the ring, his next words caught on his tongue and his eyes turned white before he groaned and fell over. Nagini felt the all consuming pain he experienced and cradled head in her lap while checking his pulse – just to be safe. She sensed a dim vibration from his mind but nothing more and rather brushed a curl from his damp forehead, caressing his face absentmindedly. At least he was alive. She was convinced that he had never looked as peaceful as he did right now.

The fifth Horcrux had taken it's toll.

His damp skin burned under her gentle touch, he had been caught in a deep slumber for almost two days by now. They had been filled with worry for Nagini as she lingered near her Lord's side, carefully evaluating a persistent fever. It seemed to chill him to the bone at times and at other times he'd burn up again. She had pulled a few thick quilts over him after she moved him back up into the manor above.

His mind was still silent; she could only find pain and an intense sense of loss residing there.

The rich blue curtains of his bedchamber cut a cobalt tint over the glistering contours of his deathly pale features. His hair was plastered with sweat and a frown had torn an elegant gorge of unease down his brow as his chest rose and fell shallowly.

A large portrait loomed over the delicately carved ironwood furniture standing strictly around the room. The brushstrokes were rough and the frame was still free of the elderly Russian warlord that usually shuffled in again at the early hours of the morning.

She'd moved numerous books from the small table at his bedside to one of his various desks in order to clear space for a large pewter basin containing a weak solution of apple cider vinegar and linen strips. A cup of yarrow and belladonna tea waited on the desk next to a jug of icy water and the two newest Daily Prophets.

She feared meddling too much magically since she was unsure of the root of his illness and resorted to only treating the fever and wrapping his cuts. He could have told me something of use, anything would help now.

His eyes roved underneath his lids and snapped open at last. He brought a neatly bandaged hand to his chest and drew a ragged breath before he doubled over, coughing urgently.

His immune system must have been influenced by the newest division of his soul.

She sensed faint thoughts and weak emotions from him.

Nagini offered the cup to him after he relaxed back into the pillows, the corners of her lips lifted in relief as her Lord allowed the remedy she offered him. Trust. His glazed eyes never left hers as he drank the bitter liquid, his mouth twitching slightly at the taste.

She wrung a strip of cloth over the basin and ran the cool material over his forehead and temple, down the side of his face and neck before dipping it back into the water. His eyes was shut when she shifted her attention away, Nagini rose from her seat and summoned logs for the hearth, her wand brushing her side lightly as she lifted her arm.

The wood flew through the open door and landed in the round stone fireplace built near the foot of the large bed. Sparks sprayed into the air as they made contact with the soot stained earth.

She watched the tangled arms of timber start to smoulder and crack, the growing flames dancing lightly over the rough husks and licking up into the charred cylinder stretching from the ceiling.

Nagini dropped to her haunches, stirring the fire by lowering her wand with a quick arch and steadying it into a slow spiral.

She had always been responsible for others while growing up - among five other siblings. She was accustomed to mothering the three younger brothers that looked to her when her mother was preoccupied, and for caring for two older brothers.

It was not that her mother had been incapable of nurturing her own young, but she assisted her husband as the informal wand distributor in their village, and it proved to be time consuming.

Nagini was used to the belly of the pig that was muggle and wizard society alike. Two of her father's predecessors had married muggles in the past and bound themselves to the poor existence they came to know like the calloused creases wiring their worn palms.

She had been taught in a Catholic muggle missionary school before Mjaftime took her in as apprentice. The old Shtriga or traditional witch lived here and there, isolated in the mountainous country near the Southern Adriatic coast and taught Nagini most of what she knew about the art of magic in the three years they travelled together. The rest of the knowledge she possessed about the art her family had shared among their own kin.

Mjaftime had been as barren as a tree in winter, she never bore any one of her forgotten husbands a child but Nagini never saw any emotion touching her eyes as she recited tales of her past, her pale green eyes staring at something no one else but she noticed.

The young witch smiled at the fire. She had several fond memories of her late mentor, her loose guidance proved suitable as Nagini excelled in divination and the limitless field of potions. Although she found her Master's brewing methods to be far different from her own, more traditional approach.

The first, possibly because of the Seer's gift rooted in her ancestry, her mother had spawned a great deal of panic in the small settlement with her untimely prophecies though.

Nagini rarely had such random or resolute visions as her mother did; she had a few vivid dreams but most of the time her sleep would be pure void carrying no meaning.

Her thoughts circled back to Mjaftime, swiftly unfolding into the months after her death.

Nagini had left their haven and took to roaming into the forests as a serpent, a form she was most comfortable with.

She was searching for something she now knew was the quicksilver spirit of pure abyss and ice she fell in love with so severely.

She glanced over her shoulder at the four-poster bed with the lush navy curtains drawn away into plaited silk ropes, her Lord still laid motionless.

Persuasion was an art she was practicing to perfect her entire life. She generally got her way, wriggling into people's favour and at times, leaving squalid marks of distrust in her wake – she sometimes felt a lot like an embodied life-lesson for the weak.

Although with Him, her intentions were as pure as the first snows; she loved basking in his divine dark presence and found her place beneath him incredibly comfortable.

He woke her on the inside, carrying an excited flurry of nostalgia that made her wonder about past-lives and Fate.

It had felt too good when he accepted her; it seemed the ideal way to break her innocence even though she'd never imagine it that way as a young girl daydreaming.

They were growing ever closer, bound in an unusual relationship that went an unusual course.

She was not concerned about the health of it.

At all.

Wary not to repeat her previous blunder, she had transformed the fluid dark robe into a simple dress with a long skirt brushing her calves and folding neatly over her chest like his conjured robe had before, flowing into loose-fitting sleeves ending above her elbows. She had tied her hair back with a ribbon of similar colour; the loops of black material hidden amid her curls.

She returned to the bed, leaning against the knotted pole for a moment like a hummingbird stalling for nectar before leaving the room and wandering down the staircase leading to the kitchen area.

The rest of the house was lit with feeble daylight escaping through different shutters; she could hear the X'al-creature bustling around inside the cupboard underneath the ancient sink.

She ignored the elf and continued into the pantry, gathering the ingredients she needed to prepare soup.

The bathroom door stood open and the bed abandoned, the sheets bundled to the side.

Nagini set the hot bowl down carefully on the side table.

The room was illuminated by a single candle standing on a shelf to the side. She relished in the potent presence of his mind as her eyes adjusted to the low light while she stood in the doorframe.

He had a mind like steel, when he was conscious his mind dominated their connection and the very air, she saw the difference clearly now because of the absence.

She found him in the bathroom leading from his rooms.

He was sitting on the steps on the far side of the bathtub that was sunken into the glass tiles of the floor.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Nauseous," He snapped, knowing she already knew of his fatigue and aching muscles too. "Bring me my diary."

She disappeared in search for the Horcrux.

She had put the book in the large cabinet in the drawing room. The pleasant smell of dust and old wood greeted her as she unlocked the door and took the book out, clutching it tightly against her heart. The burgundy walls brought back the memories of their consummation, and the cold, thick air hanging in the room did not stifle the fleeting butterflies beating their giddy wings inside her belly.

She returned to the bathroom, the book still folded against her chest, she knew the ritual had been successful; she could feel his dark energy radiating deliciously from it.

He was relieved that it'd worked; his loss had been worth it at least.

Nagini sat down on the edge of the tiles with her legs crossed, absently twirling through the blank pages before glancing up, immediately finding his pale face and chest in the darkness. He watched her with an unreadable expression, his mind closed somewhat.

She knew there were things that he didn't allow her to know.

"Come here." He commanded.

She stood up and circled the square tub in the floor, resuming her cross-legged position behind his back and whisking her hand over his skin - it was cooler than it'd been before.

She smirked as he lifted a sponge from the shadowy water, waiting for her to take it. She took it and started a soapy trail as she slid it over his back. She washed attentively before reaching around to his chest.

His scent overwhelmed her senses and she leaned her head against his, breathing him in. She heard him give a gasp of a laugh, but it was not unkind. He cupped her free cheek with wet fingers, his nails hard against the soft skin of her face; she sighed and ran the sponge over the front of his shoulder. The soft object annoyed her; it was a barrier between them now.

Nagini let her hair down with her free hand, the tresses tumbled over his bare shoulder before she sat back, she couldn't resist touching him any longer -

So she placed her hands on his shoulder blades and began to rub his muscles in slow, deliberate circles. Her fingers moved up into his hair at the nape of his neck, one hand pulling up to the right while her other hand continued to gently push in opposition to the left.

"Relax." Nagini admonished with a gentle hiss. Her fingers dug firmly and strategically into his shoulder, expanding the radius of the circles. His muscles strained underneath her touch, she worked up the crowns of his shoulders and returned to his neck before dipping down to his waist, not missing an inch of skin and muscle.

Voldemort inhaled deeply.

"Is this helping?" Nagini enquired, her voice soft.

"Yes." His low, velvety voice met her ears.

She pressed harder against the knotted muscles, using her index fingers to spread a knot, loosening it gradually.

Her Lord exhaled audibly, almost in a groan.

Nagini smiled to herself as she sensed his stiff muscles easing out pleasantly. She did not fail to notice a shiver that ran down her spine at the intimate sound echoing against the shadowy walls of the dimly lit room.

She increased the pressure she applied to his shoulder again, but carefully so; she felt each ridge of muscle, slowly lessening the tension. The warm skin of his shoulder blades burned beneath her palms and she caved, leaning forward again, pushing her face into the crook of his neck. She heard his heart beat steadily and his answering chuckle was warm and husky, she could feel the vibrations against her ear.

She giggled girlishly and ran her fingers through his thick hair.

"I'm relieved." she murmured against his neck.

"Why?" he asked bluntly, almost leaning against her.

"I was concerned." She replied simply.

He said nothing; she placed a lingering kiss underneath his ear, savouring the taste.

He had closed his eyes.

"I'm full of holes, yet I'm full of water. What am I?"

"A sponge." He answered without hesitation.

"Can I have it back?" Nagini asked, the sound of a smile lingering in her voice.

He laughed then, the dark, charming sound ricocheting thorough the womb-like chamber. She understood why it was so easy for him to sway mortals to his will; he made you want please him. She snatched the sponge back as he lifted it from the water, smoothing it over his collarbone.

"Have you ever seen a boggart, Nagini?"

She knew what he was asking.

"It's the same as yours, my Lord." She whispered to him.

"And before me?" He insisted.

"A shark."

"You're joking."

She slipped her left foot into the cold water of the pool; webs of eerie white scars marked the pale flesh underneath her ankle. He took hold of her foot and examined the old wound.

"It's how I first discovered my magical talent." She continued, and the vivid image of muddy red water and fiery pain and panic swam through her memory and their link.

"You have such elegant feet…" He hissed as he brushed his thumb over the old damage, paying no attention to the foggy recollection she had of the attack.

"Hmmm," she purred, enjoying the attention.

"Ask X'al to bring me a healing potion, he knows where they're kept, and go and get some rest, you're exhausted." Her Lord commanded as he abruptly left her embrace.

Her demeanour fell as she obeyed.