Blaise Zabini had just exited the school's main grounds, and, a few glances passed to each side, nothing and no one to witness him but the grandeur of the stone bridge atop which he stood, he pulled of his back pocket, a cellular phone. Merlin himself could not have convinced him it wasn't more practical than an owl, especially, and what a predicament this was, if one had a muggle girlfriend. He shuddered unwillingly, inwardly at the thought, his hand shaking timidly as he punched in the number. Muggles had words like bisexuality, cell phone, even, heretical as it sounded, child abuse (it had taken him a while to comprehend this one).

Purebloods, on the other hand, never needed these words. They had tradition. He had tried, though not often for he had soon seen it was a smarter decision to simply spare himself the effort, to try and make others see that. His best friend Draco Malfoy was a lost cause on this from the beginning, and yet, Blaise tried to make him comprehend that, perhaps, being raised to become ones father was simply not all it was cracked up to be. It was as if he was talking to stone. That, and, as if the Dark Lord's rules had existed centuries earlier, and perhaps they had, talking about it, simply talking about all the facts and facets on which ones own world was built, talking about it meant doubt. And, if one doubted, one obviously was not raised properly. He had found one muggle equivalent to this-the pureblood families bared a sticking resemblance to what they called the 'mafia'. However, there were no laws, and those that existed, as in the case of the aforementioned idea, were simply not bright enough to stop what was the base and moral background of the wizarding elite, those that had to fight with all their might to still be thought of as such in these times of peril. With each time he punched in his girlfriends number he risked not only what was his name, inheritance, the people that called themselves loving parents, oh no, not only this. Blaise Zabini risked his very life each time he called to ask how she was. And he knew it. He wouldn't have admitted it, but this very reason for his ongoing bursts of adrenaline was half the thrill.

As funny as it might seem, contradictory to the point of lunacy, right now, he felt strangely elated because of it, joyous enough not to notice that, at the end of the corridor, a black shape was appearing. He hadn't heard the footsteps for his conversation was making him careless, carefree with little or no reason to be so, and, when he finally turned his glance away from the view that was spiraling down from his eyes, the majestic site of nature enveloping an ancient castle, making it seem as the brim of impossible fantasy personified, he saw that, twenty feet down, none other than Lucius Malfoy himself was approaching him. Giving it no thought, Blaise cut his girlfriend midsentnce as he turned of the phone, chokingly placing it in his back pocket, as he watched, the ongoing rhythm of his approach sending a threatening echo trough the hall, as if in slow motion, as he watched what was perhaps the second worse person (next to his own father) that could have caught him in the act of such a monstrosity, coming his way. Blaise could feel his own thoughts fade, he could hear only the sole thought that he couldn't think at all find its way into his mind. He was dead, and this, like other things, was a fact Blaise could feel himself becoming more and more aware of by the moment. Dead. He could just imagine, or perhaps he couldn't even imagine it, the tone of voice in which Lucius fucking Malfoy would tell of the sight he was unfortunate enough to be witness too, a ghastly apparition of such lack of respect that he felt like reprimanding the child right there himself, and we all know what that would have meant. Dead. This was a burst of adrenaline Blaise didn't particularly like. Imagine his surprise then when Lucius Malfoy passed right by him, barely answering to the obviously breathless greeting the young Zabini had given him.

Somehow, he found the energy to absently nod at the child. Even in situations like this, with such breeding, your manners never left you. Nor, ironically enough, your commonsense. Lucius had had enough of both to owl Dumbledore that he had urgent business with the Potions Master, something to do with an investment that concerned not only the professor but the school as such as it would determine the funding of the upcoming… He had lied trough his teeth, and badly as that because it held no relevance whatsoever. The Headmaster would assume it was Voldermort's business and allowed it because it was Snape's job to play spy. It was too conspicuous, so much so that the wizard was a step away from not allowing the visit at all because he thought it could pose a threat to the school, but caved in on the invitation when he decided that it might mean some sort of inner strife in the Dark Lords circles, and thus, something of grave importance not only for the Order, but the wizading world as such. Lucius knew all this. He knew his visit would be under close watch, he knew Snape would be interrogated on its subject matter seconds latter. He didn't care. He couldn't even bring himself to spare a thought. He walked down the corridor, oblivious to the students he passed. He had barely made himself seem composed enough to great the teachers that noticed him when he entered, sensing their fear that something would happen to Hogwarts. His presence seemed to bring that out in them. Usually, Lucius would be glad. This time, he wanted to stay unmonitored until he reached the person he was looking for. He was visibly sickened by the fact that he knew his rage was evident. He didn't look like himself, he didn't look like the Malfoy family heir. He looked like a Death Eater.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks when he saw him approach. He gripped Hermione's arm so fiercely that it hurt, bringing her out of a conversation she seemed to be having with Ron. As soon as she looked up his reason became evident for her. Instantly, he gripped his wand inside his coat. He hadn't expected it. He looked Lucius straight into his eyes, trying to show him he wasn't afraid, trying to show himself. He noticed something strange then, something that seemed to make the moment less clear to him. His eyes seemed somehow...blurred.

He saw then that Lucius hadn't even been looking at him, not even for a moment. He hadn't been looking at anyone. As the dark figure passed by them, they looked at each other, visibly shaken and confused.

«Where is he going?», Harry asked.

«Hopefully to see Malfoy.», Ron answered with a smirk. "I certainly would want to be around if he's that angry him."

"How do you know?", Hermione asked, slowly shaking off the chills that went trough her. This was Hogwarts. This was a place that might not be that safe, but at least protected them from people like him. It seemed somehow...invaded by his verry presence.

"Well, who else would he be visiting?"

&&&&&&&&&&&

In the days of Lord Voldemort, no one, not one single Death eater, could have counted the numbers. Blood spilled in the night, black under the moonlight, covering the tortured faces of those that fought against them, those foolish enough to dare to resist. In one brilliant flash of green light, life evaporated only to mix with the screams of the rest, their desperation colliding with black power, making it stronger with every crimson gash, every worthless cry that escaped their victim's lips. They could do nothing but feed upon it.

Lucius and Severus, unlike many other followers and more than the others that truly worshipped, never felt the decaying taste of fear before a battle. Instead, expectation overcame them, until destruction, a marvelous child of pain and violent ecstasy came upon the night. It had been a beauty only few truly understood, one only the chosen really felt, but one with such overpowering strength that they could feel it inside, a clarity more exquisite, more consuming than anything they had ever experienced. There were nights when, in the dust covered stillness of one room, the terror filled moans of only one victim faced with the Crucio spell would break the silence. There had been nights where all noise would cease in a family's house, the horror on a mother's face still visible as on her dead body, the corpse of a child left bloodstains- There had been night as where unsuspecting muggles would stumble upon a fight and they would decide the Obliviate spell wasn't quite interesting enough. Often, insanity came before the body was weak enough to cease, the mind escaping before life had, unable to face being drained and taken, explored and raped by men whose eyes shone furious pleasure. Tonight, the word closest to describing it was slaughter.

Many of them fought bravely, holding their positions to the last. Few, on the other hand, hadn't let panic overcome them in those moments when they came face to face with the true Death Eaters, horrified by the sight of their eyes in the light of spells and curses, nothing more apparent there than sickening desire for what was to come. As he dealt the death blow to a seemingly fearless member of Dumbledore's filthy order, striking the torture curse harder than before, a smile spread on Lucius' lips as a deafening scream filled the air, ending as the twisted body finally stilled. Severus saw the white hair that covered his dark cape and watched him crouch down over the victim, a tall Ravenclaw they had gone to school with. He remembered him vaguely, repeatedly fascinated by how the faces of those that died from your hands, their bodies relieved of breath, their eyes nothing more than glass, threatened to become eternal memories, engraved pictures in your mind, while faces of those you know seem to leave you unnoticed. He walked closer in silence, leaving the body of a woman to lay spread out on the dirt, her past discarded by him who ended it, the sight of her corpse forever embedded in him, silent, horrific glory covering it.

He was breathing hard, not from tiredness but excitement and as he saw Lucius turn abruptly, facing him, deep breaths gracing his marvelous form, his heart pounding inside him, he smiled to the Death eater. Lucius smiled back, his reddened lips twisting into a lascivious grin and he walked quickly towards him, twisting something in his fingers. Without a word, he grabbed Severus' hand, taking the middle finger so he could slide something down it. Traces of blood covered his skin as the silver ring was put on, an onyx stone gracing the middle and then twisting into silver.

"You like it?" , Lucius asked, his voice deep as he continued to breathe heavily, pleased by the sight of his lover wearing his victim's ring. Severus looked at it, then at Lucius, gripping his wrist tight under his fingers. It truly was a striking thing. As he left red marks on Lucius' pale skin, Severus' eyes betrayed nothing but lust.

It had fast become a blur. They entered the Riddle house, welcomed by noise and cheering, laughter and moans, all covered by the taste of death and alcohol, magic intoxicated. They drained bottles, sharp liquid curing their thirst as they talked a bit with others, never leaving each other's sight.

As they finally left the crowd to disappear trough an empty hallway, they entered a secluded room, off limits to most of the guests. There was no light inside but candles laid out, somehow making it more glorious than the lustrous rest of the house. The light fell upon an exquisite face, the beauty of it more overwhelming than any other, revealing nothing, almost carved in marble, if it wasn't for consuming eyes, staring at them as they knelt on the floor.

"My children, rise.", said Lord Voldemort, a satisfied smile now directed towards them.

Both of them rose, looking back at him, their pleasure at his praise self evident, amongst other things. Figures in dark apparels surrounded him, their faces hidden in faint light and covered by marks of skeleton skin, all but them unknown. Unlike the others, all except Bellatrix, they took their dark hoods down, their identities revealed to all that didn't understand the sacred act of plainly revealing your worship. There was a certain fearless power their naked faces exuded, their obvious delight in their position outweighing the dedication that had with it both submission and shame. Years later, Lucius would win his life back by revealing his face again under the petrified eyes of all that, like him, had fallen out of favor, taking his Lord's love yet again by a gesture so obvious, so profane and yet so telling, as simple as reminding one with your eyes in the darkness of all he had been for you and all he had continued to personify. It was a reminder of what had once been, a burning that Lucius could once display openly and one that never left him, becoming his cage until he once again looked upon the face of his savior, a deity more benevolent than others could even begin to comprehend, bringing out in him all that he was and making it holly, making it shine emerald under his presence and unmatched force, under the stillness of moonlight to which they sacrificed their talents, their uncontrolled surrender. He had always been perfectly aware that lord Voldemort knew all this, that it had been ever-present when they would come face to face with the Dark Lord. It had been that night, that brilliant night, when he had let them see it.

Bellatrix looked bitterly at the two favorites. The only others ready to do the same as she, understanding instantly that they had defied the so close to solitary pleasure that she had felt with being the only, sharing something with him others could not. She had knelt at his feet, one arm grazing the detailed engravery on the wooden chair, feeling like a mistress to the throne, a lover to the ruler that refused to have a queen.

She gave herself to no one but him, her marriage in truth standing as nothing but a shadow compared for what they shared. The same reason made her cringe at the entrance of the two, drunk from the bloodbath, their state being vulgarly obvious to anyone, much less the Dark Lord, who, to her horror, appeared to condone such behavior. More than simply condone, it had turned out as she watched him get up, unable to do anything but look blankly on, his long, intricate dark robes surrounding his impenetrable form, walking slowly towards the vicious couple. She could no longer look at him and remember his glorious presence in the night, whipping down those that tried to stop him, leading all of them on farther, no longer keep feeling an almost self-satisfied bliss at simply being so close to him but, in the twist of a moment, suddenly saw nothing more than the sight in front of her, nothing more than the, if she dared say it, insolent smile on his lips as he chose to turn and show it to others, giving it to them as he did. That certainly would have been enough. Had he done nothing more but walked close only to leave mere seconds later, Bellatrix would have been more than reminded that her position wasn't, would never be, singular. Had his eyes not turned to the hand of Severus Snape, dried blood still seeming to linger there, as he was careless enough not to wash it (though Bellatrix knew, understood deep inside, that that hadn't been the case), and, taking it in his own hands, his skin paler even than that of the Death Eater, his glance traveling from it to Severus and Lucius and then back again.

«You've got a new ring, Severus.», he said, his voice somehow not sounding like the sentence itself, a rather trivial and uncharacteristically thing to say, something one wouldn't have paid attention to if it hadn't been said in that voice. His deep, silky voice filled was no louder than ever, maybe even a bit softer, displaying such significance and meaning, that, as soon as he had uttered them, Bellatrix was instantly deadly worried. It was certainly easier than accepting that his voice sounded pleased. Or maybe it was both.

Severus knew better than to answer anything, aware, just as Lucius was that Lord Voldemort knew exactly how he had gotten it. Neither did nothing but looked back to the smiling face, knowing that, although no one else could possibly comprehend the conversation, nothing else was important.

Lord Voldemort's long fingers entangled themselves with his own, his palm now on the front of Lord Voldemort's hand, only one jewel there. The gem of Salazar Slytherin. He looked at Lucius over Snape's shoulder, pulling his hand now in front of him, his other hand silently stroking the long ivory hair. With no more than a moment that consisted of nothing more than a look at the two dark faces, a look that met two pairs of brilliant dark eyes, Lucius pressed his lips against the onyx and the silver, against the gift he had taken in startling and overpowering brutality so the one he thought worthy of it could have it. He felt the slight taste of blood as he did so, only serving to excite him farther. His blue eyes looked up again, as did Severus', both facing their Lord, an intoxicated plea obvious in them. Voldemort did nothing but raise his hand, never tearing his eyes away from them, and said in voice perfectly clear and firm, yet just as cold;

"Leave us now, all of you."

The Death Eaters, more perplexed at the whole scene and being sent away than angered (though rare ones actually allowed themselves anger against him, certainly none showing it) complied with no words at all, one by one, hooded figures leaving the room.

«You too, Bella. », Lord Voldemort added, the raven haired woman having stayed fixed in her place. He hadn't even looked at her, he had simply known. Without passing them a single glance, Bellatrix left the room furious.

With a slight movement of his wand, the door was locked. They turned to him, his face marble white, immaculate in the soft light. Lord Voldemort stepped back, spreading his hands as if to cover the room. As his outstretched fingers moved trough the air, the circle of candles all burned down to their ends, the was now covered in scarlet fire. The bloody light surrounded them, the two Death eaters now inside a circle that, to an onlooker would have seemed almost sacramental. It was.

They were in a ring of flames, its energy surrounding them. It was an ancient ritual, a sort of binding spell, used to make loyalty, love, devotion and marriage sacred. It could be used for each of those purposes and brought forth a connection in those in it, eternal, unbreakable after it was conceived. But it was meant to be such, either by blood or the body. Lucius' face flushed from the intensity of what was happening, the heat rising inside his body from the force of the spell, all of it somehow transfigured in the Dark Lord, fixed in the dark eyes of the man who was once Tom Riddle and then rose to be a god. It soared trough him, obliterating any nervousness he might have felt, taking him into it, the weight of wild bells he heard in the flames pressing on, almost too much to bear. He would either succumb to the clarity it held or die there, possibly breaking afterwards, slipping onto the floor as nothing but a body inspired by the lunacy of devoted surrender. He felt that close to losing himself, that ready for its perfection. His eyes searched for Severus as he felt his hands turning his face towards him. Not for a moment did he think on what they were doing, consider the possibility that it might be wrong. The taste of skin had never been that piercing. Both aware of themselves in a way that seemed almost inexplicable, their minds empty of thoughts, they felt each other's lips in a kiss that was desperately violent, a closeness that went beyond words, all of it covered with sounds so deafening, reverberating around them so strong it was almost silence. They undressed each other never breaking the kiss and sank to the floor, wrapped around each other, Severus' fingers digging into his skin as they did, their knees hitting the floor. It seemed that the pounding in their chests was reflected around them, the shattering force coming down on them. Lucius bit into his skin, almost tasting blood, their closeness his only link to reality that seemed to be crashing all around and inside him, deepening in them, the intensity of it making him shiver as he was pushed onto the floor. His moan seemed to break trough the air as he felt the raven haired man inside himself, almost bringing tears into his eyes. His legs circled him, their bodies glistening on the floor. Severus felt as if he would shatter into peaces, die inside his body, all the while never breaking away from the glistening darkened blue eyes that never left him as he thrust inside, his lips twisting as he did, moans escaping them. They surrender to all of it, taking it in with every inch of their body, desperate for each touch that seemed to ravage them whole.

When it ended, Severus' head buried in his neck, Lucius looked around, the room spinning in front of him. He could feel himself falling on, sliding down somewhere, slowly drowning into a blackness that he could not discern. He could do nothing but watch it fill his sight, letting himself enter it. Later, he wouldn't be able to distinguish weather he had fainted there, still hanging on to the feeling of having his lover's weight on himself, or weather that had simply been sleep that came. He didn't remember the darkness, neither of them did, only their lack of resistance to it, the way it seemed to come naturally to them as if it was something they understood. Lord Voldemort had been there to watch them finally too exhausted to bare it any longer, slipping to sleep after what had happened. He watched the two bodies, bare and entangled, his by their own choice, his by their love. His children had given everything, their flesh and their souls. He let them sleep, slowly extinguishing the flames, leaving them there in silence like a true father would, his right to them undeniable and now, unbreakable.

Hours later, a woman entered the room, careful not to make a sound. This had been the only order Lord Voldemort had ever given that she had disobeyed. He had told them that no one was to enter the chamber, finding it unnecessary to protect it with anything more than his words. For anyone else, that had been enough. She, on the other hand, needed more this time. She needed to know. She needed to understand.

As soon as she entered, bringing light into the quiet room with her wand, she understood all too well. From that moment on, Bellatrix regretted ever going against his wishes.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Severus had been summoned, somewhere between first and second period, to Dumbledore's office. He had been briefed, he had been informed. He had been told that Lucius Malfoy was waiting in his rooms, asking his urgent attendance. Severus knew, had it been business, the Mark would have ached. The Dark Lord would have called. He would not, under any circumstances, send him. Severus had known, this was not the way you conducted things. Even the Dark Lord, even now, was more discreet.

Which meant…well, he knew exactly what it meant. And he could not, funny as it may sound, suppress excitement. Pleasure. The feeling of wonderful and dangerous the inevitable that you had so long awaited. He couldn't, not even to himself, have been able to explain just why and specifically how this made him feel as it did, ecstatic to the point of his face barely suppressing a smile, but he felt the very same sort of ecstasy invade his veins as he had that immortal, hell-sent night when Lucius had pushed that silver down his finger, the blood painting itself around the edges of the ring, beneath it and onto his skin, he felt in himself, the same sort of darkening furry he had those nights, he felt…As if reality had gained color yet again, and this color had meant death, had meant its clarity, its inevitable truth. Its coming. May the Dark Lord take him, Severus Snape had not felt so young in years.

Death. Their treasure, their paradise. Perfection. Power yet again at wtholding it in yourself. Whose death, this he didn't know. But it would come. In one form or another, if not both.

As he turned the key slowly, the stillness of the moment when he did betraying itself in no more than a muffled, barely noticeable sound, he closed his eyes for a second before entering.

"Crucio!", was all he heard before falling to his knees.

TBC….

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