Author's Notes: Thank you to my reviewers, Barranca, GoodQueenA, selenoliber, wildandclear, LemoN-X-DroP, TheAngelOfSilence, Witch of Darkness, Squiggles.Candi, and Lrnd.

I have an idea in my head about the look of the Riddle House, based loosely on Haddon Hall, Derbyshire… interestingly, the hall was built by someone called Peverel, just like the coat of arms on Voldemort's Horcrux ring. Google it to see pictures. For future reference, I've put Riddle's house in Derbyshire as well, because it's in accordance with canon (approx. 200 miles from Little Whinging, near London). It's pronounced 'DAR-bee-shur' for any non-British folk. :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made off this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.


Recap from Chapter 10:

'Now you say an oath to me,' he said.

Luna choked. She sat on her right hand, the one still clean, and out of Voldemort's sight she crossed her fingers. It would be her sole rebellion.

'I, Luna Lovegood, do swear loyalty to my Lord Voldemort.'


Chapter Eleven

The Other Woman

After the Mark was taken and loyalty sworn, Luna found herself with privileges and honors, tasteless in her mouth. She was no longer confined to her room with its rose window. She got to walk about the house and grounds with relative freedom and discovered that it was a chill, misty December in the outside world. Copies of the Daily Prophet were provided her, though she still could not get her hands on a copy of her father's beloved Quibbler.

'Falmouth Falcons player dead after training accident,' said the headlines one morning.

'Order of the Phoenix: helping or hurting?' said the headlines another morning.

'Weird Sisters break up!'

'Disappearances down in December,' and Luna laughed.

'Chinese Ministry supports Potter,' read another story.

In all, the Daily Prophet did not seem to be screaming in the terrified tones it had once adopted concerning Voldemort. In fact, the ongoing conflict was usually displaced by other news. Luna could not help wondering if someone was paying the Prophet hush money; her father had always suspected as much.

Every material thing was provided for her at the Death Eater headquarters, but Luna never thought to ask for anything. Her walks in the garden took her other places, where the plants were soft and glowing in moonlight, where Neville Longbottom told her about talking flowers and she felt the brush of a Thestral's mane through her fingers. She followed the tendrils of fog, out beyond where the Dementors were breeding, and into the broad expanse of sky that was, after all, the true nature of mind.

Her feet were always numb after these excursions into the cold. Birdy the elf fussed over her and drew hot baths and laid some furs out on her bed. All things in Luna's life seemed colder these days, but it might have been external too: the weather held a chill, a knife's edge to it. It was as though the island of Britain had floated northward into the far reaches of the Arctic when no one was looking. The rational part of Luna decided it was all the Dark magic conducted lately. It sucked the warmth out of the air, out of life itself. Lord Voldemort was remaking the world in his image.

Luna's nightly duties took on an added burden of performance. Nothing changed in the way Voldemort used her body; he was almost human. He had the needs of a man. At odd moments, Luna got the impression he was annoyed by this, but it might have been the inadvertent cause of his humanity that angered him most, rather than the appetite itself. Luna did not know what was causing the transformation of Voldemort into more of a man, but she gathered that he had no control over it.

Once she asked him 'What are you doing to yourself?' and was rewarded with a magical blow that threw her across the room and against the wall. Voldemort never hit her physically but used his wandless magic instead to contort her around as though she were a rag doll.

Yet, she shared the Dark Lord's bed every night he was in residence. She was forced to keep a journal of her dreams and was allowed space and time to meditate. Voldemort wanted her close by him in case she woke up suddenly and had a vision to impart. The trust involved with her position was not lost on Luna. She was catapulted into power over the Dark Lord all because of simple dream. No longer did Luna wonder if Voldemort would take her and use her and then kill her in the morning. She was more than entertainment now.

Voldemort made her wear thin dresses in the house so that her Dark Mark was visible to those who were looking for it. When she ran into Snape on the way to Voldemort's throne room, and Snape saw what was emblazoned on her forearm, he went a shade paler than his usual. Luna had to shake her head and send him a glance that said, 'I couldn't help it.' Snape of all people should understand. Judgment, however, was in his glance and Luna sighed and turned away just as she'd always done with people who were a step behind.

There was no winning in her situation. Either Luna was the worthless whore of the Dark Lord, his nightly 'entertainment', or she was condemned for trying to better her position in his ranks.

From Snape, however, she did learn the outcome of that mysterious battle between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. It was fought over one of those special artefacts everyone seemed to be on the lookout for. In addition to the loss of Ron Weasley, the dead had included Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody, and then Remus Lupin had gone missing. No one had seen the werewolf since. The world went a tinge darker at the news; it was so close to black now. So few lights still burned, dim and fierce. Luna felt she was one of them.


December, the Cold Moon

As proof of her place within the inner circle, Luna was to dine with the Death Eaters, seated on Voldemort's left side in the big dungeon room that housed their weekly audience with the Dark Lord and their indoor torture revels. The gathering of the army would find Luna sitting, kneeling rather, to the left of Voldemort's throne. On his right side would sit Bellatrix Lestrange. It was to be a feast in honour of the victories won against the Order of the Phoenix.

In retrospect on that night Luna always remembered what she wore, because it was ripped to shreds at the end of the evening. It was a dark purple dress, corseted tightly, with sheer black sleeves of chiffon that draped off her shoulders like an afterthought. The Dark Mark showed through the sleeves; Luna could not keep her eyes off it. Around her neck was a triple thick chain of shining silver, a reminder that she was bound and paid for.

The underground room had a groin vault ceiling with gleaming bands of onyx on the joints, and green and yellow witchlights hovered and danced in the space above a sea of black hooded heads. It made the crowd seethe like a living organism. Voldemort entered and a hush fell over the Death Eaters; they all went down on their knees and bowed to him as though he was royalty. He was followed in by a mask-less Bellatrix Lestrange on the arm of her husband, Rodolphus; Luna remembered the couple from that long-ago showdown in the Department of Mysteries. Next came Snape, in his place of earned honour, and Fenrir Greyback. The werewolf made little slobbering noises that made Luna think he was hungry; it nauseated her.

She, Luna Lovegood, was next in the procession, walking alone. A few low murmurs accompanied her entrance to the hall. She could not tell if the whispers were aloud or if they were just the silent, curious eyes behind skull masks that followed her progress. It would not have been the first time Luna heard voices in her head. As she walked, her hands extended out from her as though she clung onto an invisible railing to hold her up. Dainty hands they were, thin as she was, the nails buffed by Birdy into little shining half-moons of white. Luna needed the support of her invisible handrail. The energy in the Death Eaters' lair was dense and fearful and anticipatory. It was like being amongst a pack of hungry, threatened animals.

Voldemort sat down first, his black robes flayed in dark splendor about him, his hands dangling off the armrests in an attitude of relaxation. He made a tiny motion with his right hand and the Death Eaters (Luna estimated at least two hundred of them) rose from their bowed postures.

It was when Luna turned to kneel on the cushion provided for her that she caught gazes with the woman on Voldemort's other side. Bellatrix Lestrange shot her a glare full of madness and some other black emotion that Luna did not catch. The famous woman Death Eater was beautiful and spare with straggling dark hair that caught and tangled down her back. Her eyes were dark, too, filled with fanatical fire, simmering in the white ravaged complexion of her face.

When Voldemort leaned over and whispered something in Bellatrix's ear, the woman threw Luna a look of possessive triumph and then sat down. Luna knew just what to do. She ignored Bellatrix and smiled a dreamy smile because the witchlights looked like Glowing Globber-flies. She almost enjoyed the shadows they threw over the people beneath them. The stolen stares of the Death Eaters crawled over her skin but it was a minor irritation, not enough to make her self-conscious.

Voldemort began to speak. His voice was compelling enough to yank Luna out of her reverie and into the present moment. It floated over the company, melodious notes with a shimmer of power in them, a symphony of control.

'My Death Eaters. My soldiers, my family, my loyal ones. I congratulate you. The enemy, the Order of the Phoenix, has suffered grievous losses at your well-trained hands. Their new boy leader, Potter, has lost his best friend. The recent attack on Hogsmeade was executed with perfection. There are three hundred fewer mudbloods, Muggle-lovers, and blood traitors in our midst, because of you.'

Many of the Death Eaters were nodding their heads in pride, angling their masks and preening, standing up straighter before their Lord.

'The war continues,' said Voldemort. 'Our tasks are numerous and our enemies still think they can win. We must do more than kill them one by one. We must bring the Ministry to its knees, we must take away their hope. The wizarding world will be brought to see that there is one true master amongst them, and his agents, all of you, will not be denied. Your recent actions on my command have proved your worth. And yet…'

The crowd in their soldierly darkness shuddered at this last word, a little ripple of fear that took on tangibility.

'…Yet some of you have made mistakes. Costly mistakes.'

Luna felt sure this was in regard to the magical process that was altering his appearance. However, Voldemort did not elaborate on it; he must not want his Death Eaters to perceive him weak or out of control. Better to make them think his new 'human' look was deliberate. Luna felt like she was in on a secret.

'Something important was lost to me recently,' Voldemort said. The casual, matter-of-fact tone that he took was most terrifying yet. 'I'm rather upset about it. However, those of you culpable in this loss are identified to me.'

The Death Eaters shifted and swayed like a crowd ready to run in the panic of a fire. The scent of fear hung sharp on the air.

'Goyle Senior. Yaxley. Harper. Moreane. Munchener.'

The ones guilty of their names shuffled forward, heads bowed and hands twisting. One of the Death Eaters had to be shoved by the masks behind him. An audible collective sigh of relief went up from the rest of the company that their names were not marked for punishment. The doomed five stepped up and stood in a broad line before Voldemort's throne. They kneeled and kept their heads bowed, like prisoners in some Eastern country about to have their heads chopped off. Luna was curious what was going to happen to these failed Death Eaters. She did not have to wait long.

Voldemort spoke and he was a new creature from his former politeness. 'You have failed me,' he hissed, black rage suffusing his countenance, eyes gleaming so bright that they made the air in front of his face a little bit redder. 'You were given a simple task of defending a building. Yet you were so worthless as wizards, as magicians, as men that you let the Order of the Phoenix rout you! You did not stand and fight. You did not follow my orders. You are shamed, each one of you. Now learn the consequences of disappointing the Dark Lord.' His words then degenerated into an incoherent hiss. Luna imagined that Nagini was the only one who could really understand at that point.

The fated followers bowed as low as they could go, quivering in fear of their imminent punishment. The other Death Eaters watched, still and silent, their interest in the proceedings permeating the room with an air of callousness.

The Dark Lord's hands were no longer idle and casual on his throne's armrests. The deadly white wand of yew was brandished. He was active, kinetic, full of hate and calculation. Green-tinged light spewed from the tip of his wand and Luna barely flinched as she heard the sentence of death once upon a time pronounced for her.

One, two, three, four they fell, lifeless sacks of bone and flesh on the floor before the throne of their destroyer god. The fifth was hit with a curse, too, not the Avada Kedavra but the Cruciatus. He writhed and screamed, high-pitched like a girl; Luna noticed that his bowels had evacuated and his nails broke on the stone floor as he scrabbled in search of something to grip onto, something to make the pain stop.

A part of Luna that she did not like casually and silently observed that Voldemort was clever to leave one alive. The spared Death Eater would increase his loyalty and serve as a walking, talking example to those who dared fail their Lord and master.

As the unfortunate survivor went from screams into moans, his vocal cords exhausted with the effort, Luna threw a glance to Bellatrix Lestrange on Voldemort's other side. The woman had twin spots of high fever on her cheekbones, red and garish against her pale skin. She twisted in her seat as though restless. Her face was suffused with joy, the look of the throes of ecstasy. Luna decided that Bellatrix must get off by the 'torture' thing and wondered idly what life must be like for her husband. She also wondered if Voldemort had ever partaken in Bellatrix's odd tastes.

He certainly had with Luna, though he was always the dominant one.

The rest of the feast followed the display of torture. The food was good, if a bit too carnivorous for Luna's tastes. At least she knew the meat was not of the human variety; it had been one of the first things she asked Birdy when her status was elevated to 'prophetess'. Birdy had tittered and said, 'no, good miss, no humans is ever eaten here. Just meatses.' What a relief that had been.

She picked at her leg of mutton with a sharp silver fork. Voldemort likewise did not eat much, though his appetite was greater than it had been the first time Luna dined with him. Now she had eaten across the table with him enough times that he was a familiar dinner companion, an actual source of strength and surety in the midst of this teeming crowd of Dark wizards. Luna mirrored his movements, drank when he drank, brought food to her mouth when he did. So did Bellatrix on the other side. Voldemort had that kind of power over them.

Luna was allowed to watch with some interest the initiation of new Death Eaters. Her curiosity was not aroused by the process itself, for she'd already gone through the oath and the branding of the Mark. Rather, Luna wanted to see who Voldemort was enticing to his side these days. Many of the Slytherins from Luna's year at Hogwarts were now Death Eaters, like their parents. The ones who weren't may have been quiet supporters, not directly involved in the violence, again like their parents. It was a parents' world, Luna thought. She remembered Crabbe, the bulky-as-ever dungeon guard, and Goyle too. It was a minor marvel that their bullying leader, Draco Malfoy, had done what he did and sought refuge with the Order. The last Luna had ever heard of Malfoy, he was living with his mother in anonymity in France. She hoped that Voldemort never found them.

There were a few surprises that night of Luna's debut. A group of people came forward before Voldemort, about a dozen in total, each wearing identical expressions. Fear, hope, and anxiety held equal sway over their features. Luna thought the mouths were anxious, twisting and loose; the left eyes held hope; the right eyes fear. The eyebrows she could not decide on.

There were familiar faces amongst these new recruits, including several Slytherins who'd been in Luna's year at Hogwarts: little Johnny Avery, slight and slim but mean, whose grandfather had been one of the original Death Eaters. Pretty, bitchy Diana Calliope, never good with the curses but vicious with her gossip. Luna made a note to tell Voldemort to use her in his public relations department. Diana could make any lie, any rumour, sound plausible.

Then there was one that made Luna raise her own undecided eyebrows. A fellow Ravenclaw who'd been two years above her, a former fellow of Dumbledore's Army: Marietta Edgecomb, who still had the word 'sneak' faint and dotty across her forehead. Marietta's eyes were hollow with a deep sparkle of fever within them; fear swallowing hope, of course.

None of these greenly-glowing faces could know what awaited them. Some of them would not live through their loyalty, through fear or incompetence or sheer bad luck. Luna felt bad for the new Death Eaters in spite of their choice; they had no experience with it. She had practise surviving with her cold, insane, high-pitched master in his hysterical ambition. She'd carved a place for her own little self. A permanent little eddy of lightness that swirled in his wake.

None of her former classmates looked at Luna as Voldemort summoned them forward one at a time. It was like the Sorting Ceremony at Hogwarts, except you didn't get a house and a meal at the end of it. You got the burden of evil seared into your skin and the promise to follow its every bidding.

Luna counted the tines on her fork and noticed there were five. Odd. But they were extra sharp and thin. That's why five could fit, instead of the usual four. Knowing Voldemort, there was some numerological, magical reason behind it; his obsessions extended even to cutlery.

The rest of the evening was filled the usual Death Eater activities. Voldemort made another speech for the morale of the troops. He was a master at the manipulation of a crowd and by the end of it, the Death Eaters were hailing him, prostrating themselves before him, jumping with excitement and anticipation. Even Luna was not immune to the floating sweet deception of Voldemort; the sound of him made her want to dance a ballroom waltz, for some reason. He had a waltzing voice.

Voldemort stood up. He beckoned for his best followers to accompany him in the same order of procession out of the room. The hierarchy of the Death Eaters was a way to keep control of their ambitions: always trying to outdo each other, always climbing. Those at the bottom wanted to get to the top. Those at the top wanted to stay there. And Luna floated along where she was. She did not think of herself as a Death Eater, despite the incriminating mark that twisted on her skin, ever moving and ever a reminder that she had a job to do for her Lord. A dreaming, making-things-up, seeing-the-future job.

It was in the procession out that Luna realized she would have trouble. Nagini, who'd occupied the place of true honour draped around Voldemort's shoulders during the feast, slithered off her spot on the throne and wrapped around Luna's leg with a placating glance at Luna's unfinished piece of cherry pie. Luna, being able to read the moods of creatures and knowing that Nagas loved a fruit pie as much as the next person, fed the pie to Nagini with a gentle caress on the scaly serpent's head.

Bellatrix let out a guttural murmur and glared at Luna before heading down the parted sea of the Death Eaters to follow Voldemort's footsteps out of the hall. Bellatrix whispered something first to her husband, nudging him and glaring at Luna and Nagini again. Then she gestured to Fenrir Greyback, who leered in the general vicinity of Luna's breasts. Or perhaps it was her strong beating heart that the werewolf was after?

Voldemort abandoned them in the upstairs hallway with a curt word. Luna could tell he wanted to be alone and could almost hear the pacing of his footsteps in his empty second-floor 'throne room,' bare and stark and empty of all. The functional room of Voldemort's mind. With all his wild imaginings and torments and plans, he needed an ascetic background to reflect it all back to him with faded woods and bare windows.

Luna was about to go back to her own room when she felt a hand snatch her elbow: it was Bellatrix, her face contorted with rage and jealousy. The woman yanked Luna into a room off the main corridor of the house. To Nagini's credit, the snake followed Luna.

It had once been a morning room, judging from the pale green brocade curtains that hung dusty on tall windows. It must now be a conference room of some kind, because there were stacks of parchment on the mother-of-pearl table and two chairs that faced one another. Interrogations, perhaps? Luna endured a silent interrogation then with Bellatrix's black flashing eyes as they searched the face of the Dark Lord's new pet prophetess.

'Who do you think you are?' Bellatrix finally hissed, unsatisfied with staring.

'Luna Lovegood. And I know you, too. You're Bellatrix Lestrange.'

'Don't tell me my own name, girl. And don't address me with that impudent tone, either!'

'I speak the truth,' Luna said. Her thoughts were dead and inane now, opinions about dinner, ideas about how the top hall in the house needed new carpet runners, proposals to make a hedgerow maze in the garden. Thoughts floating like bloated corpses in a swollen river. She did it for Bellatrix's sake, for the woman kept attempting Legilimency, though with a fraction the skill of Voldemort. The invasions were sharp and wild and unfocused.

'You're not one of us,' Bellatrix said. It sounded like the worst thing to be accused of. 'You're a little pretender and I don't trust you.' She laughed as an expert at mania. 'But I know something you don't know. Something about our Dark Lord. He would never confide in you, but I – I am his most loyal. His pet. He has trusted me with much, and while you may think you have a place, you're nothing but filler. He'll kill you in a moment. You're dispensable.'

Luna said nothing because she was afraid it might be true. Voldemort might be playing a game with her or using her as a tool, nothing more. Bellatrix said it with such fervour that it had to be true. The lines on her face were hard and cunning like an animal's, lacking the kind of cool deception that Voldemort regularly engaged in. Yes, Bella was a brilliant witch, but her emotions got the better of her. Even if Luna was indispensable to Voldemort, Bellatrix believed otherwise, and such was the strength of her conviction that Luna wavered in her own self-faith.

Bellatrix jumped a little, hovering on the balls of her feet. Her wand was out, a long wand made of what looked like ebony, a dark and deep and heavy wood for a person of similar character.

'What are you doing?' Luna asked, more out of curiosity than fear.

'Teaching you a lesson about the way things work around here,' said Bellatrix. Her eyes flashed in anticipation.

On the floor, Nagini hissed and wrapped around Luna's feet. Whether this was to protect Luna or to help Bellatrix, Luna never knew. What she did know was that Bellatrix could be very creative, even with the Cruciatus Curse. Luna had had no idea that torture could be modified to certain kinds of pain, but as Bellatrix said the incantation, she found out.

It was as though lead hammers pounded into her flesh at strategic spots: her hips, abdomen, her inner thighs (which were bruised already), her cheekbones and shoulders and knees. Soft places where the flesh was sensitive, hard places where the bone was too close to the skin to offer much cushioning against the invisible onslaught. Luna did not breathe, for she did not want attention drawn to her lungs. She did as she'd done these past months in pain: she gritted her teeth and bore it and tried to think of a happier place.

For some reason she thought of Voldemort's chamber and hung out there for awhile.

She could not fight back; she still had no wand. Perhaps this would convince Voldemort that she was unsafe in his headquarters, and a delicious little thrill counteracted the pain when Luna thought about what the Dark Lord might do to Bellatrix when he saw the bruises on his precious prophetess. It made Luna almost want the pain to continue.

It stopped.

A nasty cutting charm came next, a hissed word from behind Bella's red-bitten lips, a new curse that Luna hadn't yet experienced. She didn't want it repeated in the future, she decided, as whip-like ropes of white heat swirled around her and lacerated her skin in a million little papercuts. The fine silk of her corset was snagged and ruined. One sleeve fell off entirely. Tears came up to her eyes as the stinging pain went on and on. 'Stop it,' Luna whispered. 'Just stop.'

Bellatrix laughed. 'Beg me,' she said.

'Don't you know what I am to him?' Luna loathed the tone of self-importance in her own voice but could not help the sentiment behind it. 'He's going to do something to you if you don't – please – stop, no I mean it!' Of their own volition her face muscles screwed up against the tiny devil's cuts down her exposed skin. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides and her shoulders held straight in an attitude of endurance. She turned her head away from the mad, beautiful Bellatrix dancing in curses before her.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door of the once-upon-a-time morning room. Bellatrix swore in a low voice that sounded more man than woman. Luna was released from the woven light web of cutting charms that tormented her, but Bellatrix put her under a Silencing charm.

Smiley and Yorkie were at the door, bulky and bobbing their usual. Both went into head-bows of respect when they saw Bellatrix Lestrange. 'Madam,' said Yorkie.

'What do you want?' Bellatrix asked. The rapid turnaround in tone from her feverish administrations was astonishing: her voice sounded commanding, raspy, normal.

'The Dark Lord has requested the presence of – ' Yorkie stopped as he beheld Luna's appearance. 'Umm…'

'She'll be along shortly,' Bellatrix said. 'We were just having a talk. Woman to woman. I'll escort her to our Lord myself. Go.'

There was such authority in the last word that Yorkie and Smiley bowed again and left. Luna moved her mouth and pulled a face of desperation, but they did not see it. She was left with Bellatrix.

'Finite,' said Bella, releasing the Silencing charm. 'The Dark Lord wants you, does he? I'd better fix you up.'

The tears came in earnest when Bellatrix cast a quick series of healing charms back over Luna's wounded and bruised skin. Her ripped and tattered dress was left as it was. And how would Voldemort believe her when she told him how the dress was ruined? It would be her word against Bellatrix's, and Luna had no vote of confidence that the snake would vouch for her. The only thing Luna wanted was truth.

'Why did you do this?' Luna asked. She was curious, even as the tears of pain and frustration coursed down her face in salty tracks. 'You're his, I'm his.'

'Oh-ho!' Bellatrix said. 'Yes, yes, I suppose that makes us sisters, doesn't it? Little Loony, my sister in evil.' She laughed again. 'I think not. And since when does his familiar become your new friend?'

Nagini, on the floor at Luna's feet, had not moved throughout the onslaught of restrained torturous intent from Bellatrix. Now the great snake hissed and rested her big triangle head on Luna's shoe.

'She's a Naga,' Luna said. 'Her loyalties are to the Dark Lord.'

'I know that, you stupid child. So why is the Naga here, and not with our Lord?' Bellatrix addressed the question almost to Nagini herself.

'Don't know,' said Luna. 'Perhaps Voldemort told her to protect me.'

'You dare speak his name!' Bellatrix screeched. 'You dare! Show some respect! Stupefy!'

Luna flew across the small room and was flung into a small table that shattered on her impact. She gasped and retched with the force of it. Nagini watched from the floor as Luna's legs were ripped from the slithering snake's grasp. With a cough and several deep breaths, Luna helped herself back up and tried to stand tall as she said, 'I've earned the right to say Voldemort's name.'

Nagini hissed, whether in agreement or amusement or disapproval, neither woman could tell.

'I don't trust you, you little whore, and he shouldn't, either. Come on.' Bellatrix gripped Luna's arm and the iron talon-like grip cut off the circulation beneath Luna's white skin. They darted out of the room and made fast progress down the dimly lit hall toward Voldemort's throne room.

'My Dark Mark is humming,' Luna said lightly. She said it because it was true, and she said it to remind Bellatrix that she was initiated into the Death Eaters.

'Shut up,' said Bellatrix.

The two women stood side-by-side. Both knocked on the door at the same time. They waited for their master to settle the question of loyalty once and for all.