Hey guys, long time no see! I know there was a huge gap since my last post but I'm right in the middle of exams at the mo so I'm pretty busy at the moment (and will be for another few weeks). Anyway, there's some slash in this scene and just like last time the link is on my profile if your interested in reading it. If you aren't, there's nothing important you'll be missing out on. Enjoy!

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Chapter 20

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{Enochian Prophecies}

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[Three months later]

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Voldemort had never been a gentle master. He was cruel and ruthless, heartless and sadistic, terrifying to his minions and horrifying to everyone else. He was more than a man, more than a Dark Lord sitting on a throne. He was a snake; as deadly as a basilisk in a school full of children. No one would doubt his claim of Slytherin ancestry; no one could deny the likeness between him and the original Slytherin Salazar himself. Even then, everyone agreed Voldemort was his own monster, far greater and more terrible than Slytherin could ever have been.

Lord Voldemort was deeper into the dark arts than anyone had been for decades. Not since Grindlewald had anyone delved so far into their depths and it many would debate if even he had managed to match the current dark lord's achievements. The Dark clung to him like stale air on some days and on others it pulsed outwards in waves, presenting an ominous air to those unfortunate enough to be around him. To his followers it made him intimidating, to his victims it made him terrifying.

In recent months, however, Voldemort's campaign had taken a whole new level of ruthlessness. Left, right and centre, muggles and mudbloods had been targeted, kidnapped, tortured, killed and left in public places to remind people of that wrath that was Lord Voldemort. Attacks, merciless and savage had been instigated all over the country. There seemed to be no plan, no motive behind his maddened actions, which made it all the more terrifying; no one felt safe, nowhere was secure.

The Dark Lord had never been a gentle master, but now, in recent months, he was tyrannous.

No one knew what had triggered such a change in the Dark Lord. No one, except a select few of his closest followers, but everyone feared the results. He was impossible to please; if a plan went even slightly wrong—Crucio. If someone shuffled too loudly within the ranks—Crucio. If a mission was failed by someone... Avada Kedavra.

Why was this happening? Death Eater, Order member or just plain citizen, the question remained the same. Why, after all this time, had the state of the war changed? There had been no public scene of announcing a new order, no great battles of grand overtaking, just senseless violence and targeting innocent people. Why was this happening? What had changed?

Only one man truly knew the answer. Sasha was missing. He had been gone for seven months and Voldemort knew he must be dead. The boy would have contacted him otherwise. There was no possibility that he might be alive, Voldemort knew this to be true.

He had spent weeks searching for Sasha—and the dark haired stranger who had taken him, but to no avail. There was no sign, no trace of either of them and all his attempts were futile. He had mourned for his servant privately, but in public he had turned into something much darker and maniacal.

The boy and he had been connected—in some strange way that Voldemort couldn't understand—but connected nonetheless. Voldemort did not know how one would describe the bond between himself and Sasha, only that it was deep, burrowed in so far even he could not rip it out. He had wanted to be violent about it and sever any connections he might have, he had wanted nothing to do with the boy, only to understand him and then use him and then throw him away.

Easier said than done.

Perhaps it was a weakness on his part? Perhaps, when each time he decided to finally be done with the boy, his reasons for having Sasha around were just constructed by his own desires. When Sasha was younger, when he couldn't perform magic and he was still too young to be any physical use, Voldemort had plenty of opportunities—and reasons—to get rid of him. The Dark Lord still didn't know why he hadn't. The boy had no use back then; he did not effect the war and he could not possible defend himself let alone anyone else should there have been an attack.

Sometimes Voldemort thought it had been an indulgence to keep the boy; a guilty pleasure in knowing he could shape another sentient creature to be exactly what he desired. But then, Sasha had started to become useful; at fourteen, he learned magic and from that point onwards, he excelled.

In the months after Sasha's disappearance, Voldemort had reflected upon their situation. It had been more than just business, more than just an agreement of servitude and leadership. There was affection and companionship. There was a certain warmth that Voldemort felt which he could not describe as having ever felt before and he could not identify it.

Sasha had been a constant; they had spent five years living practically in each other's pockets. Voldemort had watched him grow, watched him become strong and powerful and worth the attention he received. Voldemort had watched as his student turned into what he wanted—and continued to watch as he changed and became something better than he could have envisioned.

Through it all, Sasha had been loyal. No matter how hard the training, how brutal the punishments, Sasha had stayed—even when nothing was stopping him from leaving. At some point during those five years, the intrigue Voldemort had always had for Sasha turned into something else.

He wouldn't trust most of his Death Eaters with even the simplest of tasks. There were some, like Bellatrix and Barty that Voldemort knew where completely loyal. Obsessively loyal. But that kind of devotion was dangerous in its own right. It had to be controlled, maintained.

Most of his followers were like Lucius; loyal only provided he stayed strong and powerful. If for a moment he faltered, where would they be? Where had they been when he was turned into a disembodied spirit? They thought him dead. Not because they truly believed it, but because they found it convenient.

Sasha was not like that. Voldemort knew, without any doubt, that Sasha would not leave, he would not stray. His loyalties lay with the Dark Lord. Or at least they had, before Sasha had been taken from him.

The thought of it left him cold.

Voldemort felt a consuming hollowness in his soul. Again, this was something he had not ever experienced before. It was, perhaps, something akin to the sensation of having a Horcrux. He did not immediately attribute it to Sasha's absence either. Later, when he had given himself enough time to admit that he was not unaffected by the loss, Voldemort realised what he was feeling was just that; loss.

He never thought that such a sensation would affect him. He never thought that he would be bound to someone as he was bound to Sasha. From the moment they had met in the streets all those years ago, they had been marked. Voldemort still didn't know what it meant or how it affected him but he had not been able to shake off the thought of the boy since.

With his melancholy thoughts to keep him distracted, Voldemort had not yet acknowledged his minions.

His Death Eaters had gathered in the great hall, presenting themselves at his feet. He sat quietly on his throne, his eyes gliding darkly over the statuesque forms of his followers. They were idiots, all of them. Unable to complete the simple tasks he set out for them. They had all been given tasks, raids and kidnaps and the like. Not all his orders had been carried out as successfully as Voldemort desired. It was well within his rights to have them all killed.

Even in his rage, however, Voldemort appreciated that murdering his followers would be counterproductive. Instead, he calmed himself enough to stop from doing anything regretful. He was about to dismiss them when the heavy wooden doors at the bottom of the room slowly creaked opened and then closed with a 'thud'. Because of the many followers lined before him, Voldemort could not see exactly who had the stupidity to arrive late for one of his meetings.

He narrowed his eyes in fury, his fingers twitched in anticipation of casting a killing curse on the idiot. No, not a killing curse. Slow. It would be slow. And painful. Voldemort wanted the fool to scream and beg for death. He wanted to inflict as much pain as was humanly possible before the idiot died.

His Death Eaters understood the gravity of a late arrival and turned to see the latecomer. They exchanged looks and glances and slowly parted to make way as the unknown person moved through the ranks, closer to Voldemort.

Voldemort's breath caught in his throat as saw who it was.

Sasha strode forward stiffly, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's as he advanced towards him. Had he been looking around, Sasha would have seen the nervous look in Lucius' eyes, or the delighted relief in Bellatrix's. He might have even seen the surprise in Snape's as he recognised Sasha's face from his time spent in Hogwarts, yet he was not looking anywhere but at his master and Sasha missed all of those things.

Many of the Death Eaters in the room did not know who he was; they exchanged confused looks between each other and wondered who he might be. Sasha's face was maskless. The Death Eaters would not recognise him. They would never have assumed that the face behind the mask was as young as it was.

It would take some time for them to put two and two together.

Sasha arrived in front of Voldemort and swiftly dropped to his knees, head bent low, neck bared vulnerably. Sasha never knelt in front of him—never. It had never been required of him before. But now, after seven months utter silence, Sasha knew it would be a bad idea to come back in like nothing happened. He had hoped to get Voldemort while the man was alone, but he was short on time and didn't have the luxury of choice.

For a long time, Sasha remained on his knees. Red eyes bore down on him without reprieve.

"Leave. All of you."

The command was as sharp and unforgiving as any Voldemort had given over the last few weeks. It was quickly obeyed. Sasha heard the rustling sounds of robes as hundreds of Death Eaters filed out of the room. As the last one left, shutting the door behind them, the hall fell into a thickened silence.

Despite being uncomfortable with his position, Sasha stayed where he was. His breathing was even; his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of it and was almost comforting. He was tired; travelling there took its toll on him and left him feeling ragged. He hadn't felt this tired since before his awakening. Sasha really wasn't in the mood for the difficult conversation he was sure he'd have to endure.

More time ticked by before Voldemort stood up from his throne and stepped forward so that he was positioned right in front of Sasha, his legs inches from his face. Towering over his servant, the Dark Lord leered down.

"Seven months." Voldemort hissed darkly, fury lacing itself like poison over what could have been a forked tongue. "You disappear for seven months. No word, no warning. Did you want me to appear a fool in front of my own followers? Did you revel in humiliating me; a Dark Lord who can't control one worthless servant?"

Sasha clenched his jaw and kept his silence. There were no words that could make this better. Not yet. Best to let Voldemort show his displeasure first. Sasha knew their reunion would not be pleasant; but it had to be done. His absence had lasted too long.

Voldemort sneered and swooped down, grabbing Sasha by the scruff of his neck and pulling him up. Face to face, foreheads touching at intimidating intimacy, Sasha grit his teeth. He had become unused to Voldemort's touch after all those months.

For too long he had been allowed the comfortable respectable distance that anyone who wasn't a possessive Dark Lord could provide. Now the hand on his neck felt constricting. His heart beat quickened along with his blood pressure and breathing. A hand shot up to Voldemort's chest in an attempt to create a little distance between them. He needed to breathe.

Voldemort was not affected by Sasha's movements. "Seven months, Sasha!" He continued, sneering, "I waited for your return. I searched for you. I thought you to be dead. Seven months and you waltz back in like your absence was nothing!"

Sasha, irritated and uncomfortable by the iron grasp on his neck pushed again at Voldemort and, when that failed, he snarled, "What would you have me do?" He asked, "Appear to you in a dream? Write a postcard? Hire a procession of trumpet players?"

"Do not test my patience, boy, or I swear to Merlin I will cut that smart tongue of yours right out of your head."

"You're mistaking frustration for cheek. I'm not playing coy, I'm not being smart; I came to you as I could, that's all; quietly and stealthily, because any other way would bring you danger. If there was another way to announce my presence I would have done so, but my time is limited and I need you to understand everything quickly."

Voldemort took reign of his anger. "What is happening?" He asked, his free hand trailed up Sasha's chest and splayed across his heart. "Your heart is racing." He said.

Sasha tried to push away again and was surprised to find that Voldemort let him go. He took a step back and regained his composure. "I'm scared, if you must know." He admitted, "There's more going on than you know. I've risked the lives of an awful lot of people just by returning to you."

Voldemort scowled again as his curiosity was sated and his anger rose. "Where have you been these past seven months?" He demanded once more.

Closing his eyes, Sasha briefly thought how nice it would be to slip into his bed. He was so tired. "Can we go somewhere else? There's a lot you need to know and I don't think I have the energy to stay standing for much longer."

"I demand answers now, Sasha!" Voldemort hissed.

"And I will willingly give them to you, but not here. I can't. Just let me sit down at least. I'm shaking here."

The Dark Lord straightened so that he could look down his nose at Sasha. It was a tactic that Voldemort had employed countless times over the past five years. Once, it had been effective. It didn't work so well anymore; Sasha had grown over the past few months and was now almost at eye level with his master. "What is wrong with you?"

Sasha closed his eyes, for longer this time. "It wasn't painless returning to you. I didn't just decide to come here today; I've been planning this for weeks and the kind of travel I had to employ was not easily done." He let out a shaky breath. "Please, I can't fight with you right now."

Voldemort stayed still for a moment, regarding Sasha stonily as if to verify what he was saying. He turned on his heel and left the room, robes trailing after him. Sasha gave a thankful sigh, following his master into his personal chambers.

The journey there seemed like eternity. Each step Sasha took was a struggle; every time he moved his body it groaned and screeched like demon being purged from a possession. Had he any less will, Sasha would have sat down on the ground half way through and refused to move. He certainly wanted to. He really wanted to.

Eventually, they arrived at Voldemort's personal chambers.

There was a fire in the corner and plush chairs situated around it where Sasha found Voldemort in the process of sitting down on one. He followed suit and collapsed into the chair across from his master.

"Explain. Everything. Now." Voldemort ordered sharply, the rage and confusion came through his voice in the form of a hiss. Even though Sasha had heard it before, he still found it difficult not to jump at the sound; his whole being rebelled at the notion of having displeased his master. Now more than ever, Sasha knew why this was; his imprinting onto Voldemort had him eager to serve, but biological or not, he hated his master's disapproval. Sasha rubbed his brow, taking a moment to get his thoughts into order.

With a long, weary sigh, he spoke.

Starting from when they last saw each other, he told Voldemort everything. He spoke of how it was Paveh, his father, who had come and taken him seven months ago. He told him how he would have died had he not been rescued and that even away from this plane; he had spent four months sleeping off his awakening. Sasha spoke about Rogues and servants of Nature, about the rituals and then the training he had gone through once he found that he had been able serve the goddess. Sasha left nothing out.

Discussing it brought memories of the training back to Sasha. It had been hard—completely metaphysical, but difficult nonetheless. Navaa had told him it was necessary so that he could accept a master without them taking his identity. Sometimes, he became so engrossed in it that he went days without leaving his room, without realising he had an identity, a name, a body.

But he couldn't do much; where the Shira lived, he was separated from Nature. She could barely reach him. It meant that he was spared too much of her influence but it didn't exactly promote his compatibility with her. It didn't help that they still did not know how exactly he was going to become a servant of Nature. Navaa thought it might be similar to how Shira prepare to accept Balance as their master, but so far, none of their attempts had worked.

Frustrated at their lack of progress, Sasha had come up with the crazy idea of returning to Voldemort. They didn't know what to do anyway, so why should Sasha waste time sitting around? Risking the Shira's wrath was something he was willing to do, just this once. Sasha told this to Voldemort also.

"I shouldn't be here." He finished by saying, "I snuck out. When they discover I'm gone, Paveh will probably come back for me... But that would be the best possible scenario."

"The others? These... Shira, they will come for you."

"Yeah." Sasha nodded, "And they'll kill me. I can't stay here."

Voldemort scowled. "You are not leaving. You are my servant—not theirs. You will leave when I say you can. No sooner."

That couldn't happen.

Sasha sat quietly, considering his next words carefully. "These people... they aren't human; their power isn't human. They are immortal, they are ancient. You cannot afford to draw their attention to you—especially not now, not with the war. You can't win against them."

"You do not have faith in me? You forget, I too, am immortal." Voldemort challenged.

Sasha shook his head. How could he explain the limitations of immortality?

"As am I." Sasha said, "But...when two immortals fight, it creates a stalemate; both equally as strong as the other, each using their power to win. They do not destroy each other, but as their battle continues, it becomes chaotic. Chaos thrives on immortal struggles. To protect against this, Balance created a rule, where when two immortals battle, each is as likely to become mortal so the other can win and the battle can end—you see? One must die. And there are ways; there are always ways to kill someone; immortal or not."

Sasha looked down at his hands, "I need more time. Just a little longer. Once I become a legitimate servant of Nature; we won't be in danger. I won't need to run. I'm asking for time, nothing more than that."

Voldemort stared at Sasha, musing on the situation. "No." He said finally.

"No?" Sasha stood up wearily, "I don't think you understand the gravity of this situation."

Rising to his feet also, Voldemort approached Sasha. "I understand it." He said, "But you are not leaving here today. I insist you spend the night; you are in no state to travel as it is. You will rest here. Tomorrow we will discuss this."

"I can't just—"

"You can and you will. I am not accepting any discussion on the matter." It was said in a voice that meant his word was final. If Sasha wasn't careful and he made to leave, he would probably find a Stupefy in his back. Voldemort was not the sort to take 'no' for an answer.

Running a hand through his hair, Sasha finally gave a reluctant, but agreeing nod. "Alright." He conceded.

Voldemort smirked as he stepped in close to Sasha, fingers lightly placed under his chin to tilt his face up. Lips met lips in a surprisingly gentle claiming. Sasha almost backed out of the intimate gesture in shock. He hadn't expected Voldemort to be so gentle. If anything, he was expecting an aggressive, possessive action to remind Sasha of his place and re-stake his claim.

Oh, it still was a claiming, a marking. But it was strangely pleasant.

There was none of their usual passionate urgency this time, merely a soft kneading of lips, slow and all the more sensual because of it. Sasha's exhausted mind appreciated easiness. He responded with the same lazy pace.

Voldemort's hands went exploring, moving up and down Sasha's body, not lightly but with a pressure that left marks on his skin. "You've grown." He murmured against Sasha's lips appreciatively.

It was true. Sasha had turned eighteen during his absence. He had gained more than a few inches in height and that wasn't the sum total of his change; the muscles had become more pronounced on his arms and his chest had filled out. His face had lost most of whatever child-like quality it had retained and he was now an exotic looking creature indeed. There was a wildness to him now that had been present since the first day Voldemort had met him, but it was even more relevant than ever before. The Dark Lord's heart beat excitedly, thinking that he had such a creature under his control. Under him.

Without breaking their long, easy kiss, Voldemort guided both of them over to the bed, the pace gaining a tiny bit more urgency. The mattress hit the back of Sasha's legs and they fell gracefully onto the cool sheets.

Sasha arched under Voldemort as he moved from his lips and went down to his clavicle, nipping, kissing and licking. All the while his hands travelled lower, over his ribs, past his waist and stroking Sasha's flanks soothingly.

Breath quickening with the promise of what was going to happen, Sasha gave a needy groan when Voldemort moved from his side to his hips and then brushing tauntingly over his crotch. Those damn hands moved cruelly away and slid under his shirt. Sasha's stomach quivered against the cold hands, goose bumps trailed after the long, spidery fingers. Then, they were gone again and they were working at removing Sasha's clothing.

Sasha lay back and let it happen, submissive in his position of patient waiting. He heard the shuffling of clothing as Voldemort undressed quickly. Closing his eyes, Sasha relished in the quiet of the room.

Upon returning to this plane, having successfully completed his sly plan of escape, Sasha had been bombarded with the voice of Nature once more. It was nonsensical to him, but commanding and unsettling and undeniably present. Around it, he felt compelled to act, to obey. It was frightening to be so susceptible to something he had no understanding of. Being near Voldemort though, the voice had quietened and left him with a blissful sense of peace.

His lips were taken again as Voldemort came back and melded up against him, fingers trailing downwards teasingly.

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[missing scene on livejournal]

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"I'm glad you convinced me to stay." Sasha gasped, catching back his breath.

A breathy chuckle. Voldemort rolled off of him, lying on his back. "It didn't take much convincing." He replied.

Feeling all warm and fuzzy with tiredness, Sasha closed his eyes and gave a catlike yawn, stretching languidly from his place on the bed. This was what Sasha enjoyed most about these encounters; the feeling of lingering warmth on his skin, as if he was lying under the sun and a cloud had just passed over head.

He could happily stay there forever. He wasn't sure if Voldemort would let him or not though; the man wasn't predictable in that way. Sometimes he would immediately dress; ready to continue on with his day, other times he would lie back and enjoy the peace while he could. Voldemort seemed to be in no rush to leave and that suited Sasha fine.

It was an easy sort of relationship between them, Sasha supposed. It could have been full of suspicion and a struggle for power, but it had not been. Sasha's motives for following Voldemort had always been clear and single minded. He was happy in his role and content to have the Dark Lord as his master. He didn't want to compete with him or attempt to surpass him. He had no interest in leading people or attaining power, unlike the Death Eaters, who all had their own reasons for joining and wanting to be near such a dark power.

Sasha now realised that it was because of his 'imprinting' with Voldemort that he could have that sort of relationship. It didn't change anything though. It still meant that Sasha was loyal to him and it just proved how faithful he really was. Voldemort could trust Sasha unconditionally. He had nothing to gain from the Dark Lord's downfall, nothing to lose from giving up his life to the man. He was bound by his own biology.

"You can hear Nature speaking?" Voldemort asked suddenly, thinking more about what Sasha had told him.

Sasha cracked open an eye and yawned again. "All the time." He said.

"What does it sound like?"

He answered, "It's like different voices—lots of them—but speaking as one, as Nature. I don't understand what she says, but I know what she means; I can tell if she's angry or sad or happy or...whatever. It's loud though, and its constant and it takes up most of the space in my head..." Sasha paused, looking up to the ceiling, "It's quiet when I'm around you though." He added softly.

"It clearly knows when it is bested by your true master." Voldemort said.

Sasha grinned softly. "I suppose she must." He agreed, closing his eyes again.

Voldemort didn't speak again and Sasha fell asleep soon after. He awoke in the middle of the night to find his master's arm draped across his side. He drifted back into unconsciousness.

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{Enochian Prophecies}

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Sasha's eyes snapped open.

He didn't know why but he was suddenly wide awake, his heart beating quickly and the voices in his head whispering at him urgently. He sat up, looking around for signs of disturbance. Everything was in place in the room; there was nothing amiss, no sounds outside and no signs of anything suspicious. It didn't settle his thoughts, however and in fact made him even more anxious.

Untangling himself from the sheets, he spared a glance over to Voldemort. The man was in a deep sleep. Sasha wouldn't wake him; whatever it was, he could handle it himself. He gathered up his clothes and dressed quickly, taking his wand out of his pocket and holding it tightly in his hand. Creeping out of the room his senses were on high alert. Something was wrong.

Nature's voice sung in shrill shrieks of disharmony.

As he travelled down the corridor and further away from Voldemort, her voice grew louder. It had Sasha grimacing in discomfort and the attempt to block out the cacophony in his head. Why was he so worried? He was panting terribly; his heart was going faster than a rabbit's.

His instincts told him to run, go the other way. But he ignored them and travelled to the grand hall, pushing the heavy doors open with his shoulder. He froze when he saw what his instincts were warning him against. He raised his wand and pointed at the small group of people, his eyes going between each of them.

"Come in, Sasha Kamenev and close the door."

Sasha stepped further into the room but left the door slightly ajar. He wasn't going to waste time opening it if he had to escape quickly. Not that he was going anywhere, not with who was standing in front of him.

"Diana." He breathed.

They were holding her captive. She looked terrified; pale and vulnerable. "Sasha?" She cried out pathetically.

They were Shira, with a cold gut, Sasha knew they were Shira and they were clearly there for him. This was what Paveh had warned him about. He shouldn't have stayed. Oh god, they had Diana... How? How did they even know about her?

"Let her go." He said, an odd pleading tone in his voice.

There were two Shira. Both of them men and staring at him darkly. "The human does not need to be harmed—" The first one said.

"—Provided you come with us." The second one finished.

The first Shira that had spoken was tall and blond-haired. The second was brunet.

They were nothing but lackeys. Sasha instinctively knew this. They were minions sent on a mission by another Shira far older and stronger than themselves. That didn't mean they weren't worthy opponents, of course. From the little Sasha learned about his people, he knew that one could be stuck in the same job description for a very long time.

"Fine," He said, lowering his wand, "That's fine. Just let her go. I'll come with you."

"No, Sasha, don't!" Diana cried, struggling helplessly in her living bonds.

Sasha gave her a guilty look, "I'm sorry I put you in this position, Diana. I had no idea they knew about you."

"Don't you dare, Sasha!" Diana warned him, "I'll never forgive you if you do this."

Ignoring her harsh words, Sasha took a few more steady steps towards his opponents. "Let her go." He said.

"Throw your weapon over here." Ordered the second Shira, the brown-haired man.

Nodding, Sasha bent slightly in the middle and tossed his Japanese Maple wand onto the ground. It clattered and rolled onto the foot of the brunet Shira. Sasha raised his hands slowly, letting them know he was unarmed and not going to try anything stupid.

"Take her home." He said softly, motioning with a nod to Diana. "She doesn't need to be a part of this."

The brunet picked up Sasha's wand and pocketed it. "Our orders said nothing about returning her." He informed Sasha.

Sasha sneered, "She'll die if she's left here; you can't leave her."

"Not our problem. We told you we'd release her and we will." The blond said, removing the knife and pushing Diana away. She stumbled forwards and into Sasha's grasp.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Diana nodded bravely, "What's going on, Sasha? What did they do? Did they drug me? This is..."

She trailed off as Sasha shook his head. "I'll tell you when I get back." He said, though both of them knew there were no plans for him to return. This was, as far as either of them was concerned, a one-way trip. Diana didn't know the circumstances but she did know that when people kidnapped loved ones it wasn't just for a friendly chat. She knew they were making Sasha choose between her and himself.

She wished he hadn't chosen her.

Sasha's mind was racing; Diana was a muggle in a household full of dark wizards that were constantly thirsty for bloodshed. If he left with those two now, she would be dead. She would be found and brutally tortured, killed and who knew what else. He knew he had to save her from that, but what could he do? They had his wand. They were older and stronger than him. He couldn't fight. He didn't have a chance at overpowering them.

Just then, the door burst open and Voldemort appeared like a gilded edged hero. He saw a saviour in the man, not a Dark Lord. Sasha wanted to be relieved by his appearance, but he couldn't help but fear for his master's safety. He didn't think even Voldemort could fight against the Shira and win. Sasha couldn't afford to risk it.

His eyes met his master's.

Sasha would have to do this. He would have to stop this from escalating.

"No." Voldemort commanded in sudden understanding.

Sasha grabbed Diana by the arm and pushed her away from him. She stumbled a little distance away. He hoped he hadn't hurt her but he needed to put some distance between them in case Diana tried to stop him from what he was about to do. "Don't hurt her," He pleaded to Voldemort, "She's important to me."

With two quick steps backwards, Sasha arrived in the grasp of the blond haired Shira. He just about caught a glance of a furious Dark Lord firing a forbidden curse when his vision went black with the Shiran equivalent to apparition. Sasha had successfully preformed one inter-dimensional journey; it was how he got back to Voldemort, but it had ruined him, left him weakened and exhausted.

He wondered if the same would happen to these two.

Sasha sincerely doubted it. He wondered when he had started believing in miracles.