My thanks to for their support and their stories  - The Stars Hold Nine Serpents (A Dark Herbal) and Arachne's Child (Domina Rising) since I believe they have inspired me to do this chapter with their writing. (But don't blame them for it!).  And of course all my wonderful reviewers who help to keep me at the sweating computer. Thank you for your encouragement.

General Warning: From hereon in, there is a veering away from Canon, although we don't know what will be at the end of Book V11, we can guess.

Chapter 28

Her eyelids were pulling themselves down. She wanted to gaze at him as he hovered there like a black angel as his silky curtain of hair flopped down with eyes shadowed by the dim light, but she was fighting a losing battle.

'I'm so sorry,' she whispered up at him, 'I'm so sorry. Please forgive me for cutting you off.'

'I am not in the business of forgiving.'

'You won't forgive me?' she breathed, distraught, holding herself like a rock.

'There is nothing to forgive,' he whispered back, his voice hoarse.

Chapter 29


If you're blue and you don't know where to go to
why don't you go where fashion sits,

Puttin' on the Ritz.
Different types who wear a day
coat pants with stripes and cutaway
coat perfect fits
Puttin' on the Ritz.
Dressed up like a million-dollar trooper
Tryin' hard to look like Gary Cooper (super duper)
Come let's mix where Rockefellers
walk with sticks or um-ber-ellas
in their mitts.

Have you seen the well-to-do

Up and down Park Avenue

On that famous thoroughfare

With their noses in the air

High hats, and arrow collars

White spats, and lots of dollars

Spending every dime

For a wonderful time.
If you're blue and you don't know where to go to
why don't you go where fashion sits, 
Puttin' on the Ritz.
Puttin' on the Ritz.
Puttin' on the Ritz.

(Irving Berlin)

                                                                                   Putting on the Ritz

And so it was for days. Every night he hovered above her so that she could sleep in safety despite the fact that he looked worn and ragged round the edges with bruises under the eyes. She so longed to hold him but swiftly realized that it was not helping him, so she held herself tightly in check. Having him there was both a blessing and a curse. What he was doing with the potion was there daily in his eyes, and she did not know whether to fight him or support him. Eventually, her own feelings for him took precedence and she tried to remember that he had so much more experience in dealing with the machinations of this potential Dark Emperor. Racking her brains as she sat around for days, which stretched into weeks for some solution, she came to no conclusion at all. If she used her vibration, she did not know if Voldemort had the power to crush her, and Severus too. It was not something that she could experiment with. 

Perhaps she could try a little – just enough to give him and his cronies a headache. Sweat broke out in her at the thought. Even the slightest hint of her freedom would reveal Severus to be a fraud. One thing was clear, they had to stop him using the potion somehow, even if they did not break his regime entirely. It would send him back to square one and make him madder than a snake and she smiled to herself at the thought. Another worry was this new ability to fiddle with the natural earth laws. She couldn't even imagine how they could have done that and worried about the condition of the castle.

Would it be in ruins? If it was, there was no home for her to go back to. No roots. No real family where integrity and respect and love of being alive reigned.

But what was worse than her own personal happiness was the idea that one of the main blocks to Voldemort's reign had been damaged or destroyed and with it, the hope of the future for everyone except the corrupt and the insatiable. Beyond the school was the Ministry, though she didn't hold out an amazing amount of hope of success there. Though the Aurors were able, she understood, their track record had been merely keeping him at bay. She wondered why Dumbledore just did not kill him. He had the power. Would that make it wrong if they annihilated him? They pinned an awful lot of hope on Harry, particularly Dumbledore, and although she knew that the young man was capable, they could not wait passively for him to do the heroic deed while Voldemort trampled over people's lives. That was for storybooks. A frisson of fear shot through her as she realized what she had thought and thrust it away. That way lay madness.

Her thoughts skittered round and round with questions and no answers until the next meal, the next darkening to night and the day after that, though the difference between sundown and sunup was not distinguishable except by the meals and her lover's nightly appearance. She could at least talk to him, though she did not bother him during the day since he would be busy and they said little to each other at night, just absorbing the strength and tenderness of each other's presence. Until the day when he announced that he had finished.

Are  you going to delay it further?

I could, except that He is getting very impatient. He expects things done overnight. Time is running out. Lucius is pushing him.

Ah.

I go to Him tomorrow.

Silence.

I may see you soon…

Silence.

He will want to celebrate. You can bet on it.

Celebrate. The idea made her feel ill.

Elrin?

Silence.

Yes Severus?

Do you want to see me?

How could I not want to see you?

Because of…my actions.

I know that your heart wishes otherwise. You are being forced into it.

That is logic. What I am doing is against everything I have lived for, at least these past twelve years.

I know. Come to me, as soon as you can.

I know that I asked you into my life, but I will never cease to wonder at how that happened.

And I never cease to be glad of it.

Even with me doing what I am doing now?

Though I hate it, yes, I do.

Even being trapped here as the wife of a Death Eater?

I am the wife of Severus Snape. No one else.

Even as a prisoner?

Even as a prisoner.

Silence.

Severus?

Yes.

Hurry.

I will.

It was seven o'clock one evening some days later when he arrived. He could be heard ordering the guards to open the doors and she heard the rattle in the keyhole. It was louder than a dungeon lock. Blowing in as if he had come from a long distance he halted before her as she stood waiting for him, breathing steadily. The auric pull was shuddering strongly at his proximity. To experience him after an absence was like discovering a new continent. She wanted to explore all his fiords, his mountaintops and his jungles, to be swept along his rivers and be lost in him and never found again.  As his monumental presence filled the room, he was a surprise and a newness to her senses as if she were seeing him for the first time. He required a response, but all she could do was stare in awe at this hurricane of desire and doubt; she was a sightseer, a pinprick of humanity besides a roaring Niagara, a gentle bird atop an alligator's jaws, a star within a galaxy. And this force of nature, this soldier of battle, blood-pain in his eyes, was standing in need before her. He had come to her for succour, for strength, for wisdom because he had none left, only a marching forward with heavy steps towards a dubious future. It looked like he thought she might shiver into hallucination and be plummeted back into his inner prison if he reached out to her. Feeling his nervousness, she tentatively put a hand to his face and then crept it around to the smooth intimacy at the back of his neck, their eyes meeting. She was going to pull him to her, but instead he jerked out of his dream, took her hand and bent low to kiss it.

'I have no idea why I did not do this the very first minute I ever saw you.'

'You were a little preoccupied if I remember, with thinking that I was an infiltrator.'

'But you knew that we – would be like this didn't you?'

'Because Fawkes told me, within minutes of meeting him.'

'Did he, the rascal? But you knew anyway, didn't you?'

'Yes.'

'I could see in on your face, and I admit I was annoyed at the time, but not blind.'

'Annoyed it putting it mildly,' she smiled. 'You were like something familiar I had never known before.'

'You are beginning to sound like Fawkes.'

'Good.'

'Bad.'

Taking her slowly by the shoulders, he pulled her to him and she could feel the command of his restraint and then the soft gift of his kiss from his lush lips as if he would give her the world had he held it in his grasp and would fight his way through a thousand Dementors to protect her from the creeping evil that surrounded them. As his aroma surrounded her, she was lost to him altogether, their arms crushing one another, measuring how much they cared for one another in that pressure. After absorbing each other's essences for some endless minutes and verifying their physicality to one another, he sighed and said, 'There is a celebration tonight.'

'No! Not tonight…we….'

'I know. We have to get ready now. There is no time.'

'That's so quick. He always has us on the hop.'

'He is as thrilled as a boy with a new wand,' he snarled bitterly. 'He has been waiting to do this for some time. All the preparations are completed.'

'Do we have to go?'

He tilted his head at her in pity.

'All right,' she said, crushed.

At least he would be with her.

He was standing there and she was suddenly aware that he was uncomfortable.

'What is it?'

'It is a full celebration. A ceremony.'

'Yes.' she stated cautiously.

'A Death Eaters celebration.'

The intake of her breath and the look in her eyes made him look away. The implications of this were not slow in her brain.

'You…will…be in full…attire?'

'Yes,' he said, sitting on the bed, holding her hand as if he did not want to let it go.

'That means…'

'Yes it does.'

'Oh.' She looked distraught. As well she might. He clutched her hand and pulled her.

'Look at me. You must not touch it remember. At no time. And…do not…'

'What?' He was finding it difficult to come out with it.

'Do not…cross me. I ask of you. It's extremely dangerous. You've seen what it does. I can hold onto myself only so far and I have never been around you with it on, except in the hospital wing. I was weakened with Crucio then, but it's still a delicate balance. I am aware that it is difficult for you to play the part of …my partner in this. I will not be able to link with you either.'

'I - will do everything you say.'

'Thank you,' he said and kissed her again, wanting to linger, but tearing himself away. 'It's late. We have to get ready, now.'

'Oh. I don't have anything to wear for something special. What am I going to do?'

'I have already arranged it. We will have a bath first and then I will show you. We have only a short time…we must hurry.'

After they had dried themselves from the quick bath, he manifested their clothes and she watched them shimmer through the empty air from wherever they had been. Her gown was of a dark crimson texture - a congealed blood colour, gleaming dully with black rubies and had an enormously wide ballroom style with a tiny bodice, which did not appear to leave much room for her breasts. It was a dress out of another century, so full that the laced petticoats underneath threatened to suffocate her in them as she tried it on. After she had adjusting her breasts so that they would not actually fall out, he stepped closer to run a finger over her collarbone and her neck and she was aware of burning to press herself to him. Tracing his finger down the outside of her right breast where the skin was delicate, it was as if she was something from one of his precious jars and he was scrutinizing her for use in one of his potions. She watched his mouth curl as if he wanted to press it to her skin, but instead took out of his pocket a necklace of jet stones that matched his hair and his eyes and carefully placed it round her and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck as she lifted her hair for him to clasp it tight.

'Are you putting your hair up?'

'Yes.'

He nodded and paused as he watched her indulgently. He himself had not yet dressed and was still in his underwear and white shirt. Her hands wanted to wander in amongst that material into the warmth within but knew that she could not. He looked so desirable standing there, so inviting and his male scent was intoxicating.

'There is something else which the occasion demands and which will assist me while I am – changed.' Before she had time to ask, he had presented her with a delicate tiara, nestling like a small bird in his hands and which looked as if it had seen several medieval wars. Like the circlet for her veil, it was thin and unassuming as well as slightly bent but beautiful in its' simplicity She took it gently, afraid to break it.

'It's perfectly strong.'

'Another one of your mother's?' she asked with a certain twist of anxiety.

'No' he half smiled. 'My grandmother's. My mother refused to wear it. I believe she said that it was archaic.'

'It is, but it is adorable.'

'Is wearing a tiara not a little over the top?'

'Not tonight,' he sneered. 'It has a protection in it, but it has never been tested in these circumstances, so do not rely on it. Like your ring, it links you with generations of strong Snape women, and will afford you help when under stress.'

A drop of sweat trickled down his forehead and she saw it fall down the side of his face. She moved to wipe it, but he gripped her arm hard.

'No.'

She recovered her arm.

'I have your ring as well.'

'That,' he said, 'may be under pressure and – may – cause problems. If in doubt cling to the matriarchal.'

'You're making me very nervous.'

'I am arming you, making you ready.'

Another trickle fell down and he wiped it away absently.

'Are you….?'

'Yes. I am.'

'Kiss me before you - change.'

'No. It would be foolish and dangerous at this point of the transformation.'

When one is suddenly deprived of something so easily available it becomes the most precious thing in the world and the most desirable. Seeing her face, he pulled abruptly away from her. 'Finish your hair,' he snapped, heading to put on his own attire.

When she turned around complete in her dress with long gloves and shoes, she saw him in his usual style of frockcoat and trousers, though this one appeared to be made of a opulent material but what was unusual was the wide heavy silk sash of resplendent green wound around his waist. They both gaped at one another and then she noticed that his face was different and changing even as she gazed on it. It had a predatory aspect, the look of the big cat as it stalks the bush, frozen, focussed in its' desire for the prey.  She found it difficult to breath. Almost automatically, she clutched her betrothal ring. He nodded silently.

'Are you still there?' she whispered.

'Yes, I am still here. I will always be here,' he said hoarsely, his voice altering pitch and there was a malicious impatience in his voice now. It was then that she could see the strange glitter around his eyes in the light. Reaching down for his cloak, he shifted it on his shoulders and the magnificence of it took her breath away. Deepest black, it fell about him like a shadow: a black to drown you in, a black to take you to the end of the Universe in, a black to die in. It made her think of the Dementors and their Death Kiss. She wondered what it would be like with him and shook herself out of it, pressing her ring so that it hurt. The mask was almost complete on him. His eyes blazed out from behind it, searing all before him – as if they could shrivel her hopes, her dreams, her very soul. They also had an effect on her body, which shamed her.

'You are looking like the Queen you are,' he said, his silky growl slithering round her heart and then in the silence that followed, offered his arm to her. She placed her gloved hand on it carefully and they made their way to the festivities together.

On the way down the massive staircase where what seemed a life time ago, they had parted below in the antechamber, he to his task, she to her isolation, they met Malfoy with his wife and she gripped Severus' arm. He did not alter his step. Behind Lucius' mask and its' dangerous glitter his eyes had the look of the deranged, but his deportment and voice was still that of the blasé fop. It did not fool her for the auric tension between them turned her stomach; what Malfoy was emitting was shaking her foundations. Did the Death Eater attire alter them or empower them with something added or did it enhance what was there already? She would have to ask later. Not that it mattered which way it was. The air fairly crackled. Severus did not appear to notice that this fellow Death Eater had recently tried to rape her nor that there was anything wrong. However she could feel the safety of Severus' arm and she leaned closer into his orbit.

'Well, well,' drawled the school governor, lifting himself onto the same level with them on the staircase, 'How are you Severus?'

'Fine Lucius,' replied Severus dispassionately, not appearing to be particularly interested in anything within range.

'Elrin,' enunciated Lucius in his customary manner, ' I do not believe you have met my wife Narcissa?'

Don't call me Elrin you low life.

Narcissa swam more into her view, having been eclipsed by Lucius. Woman to woman she was surprised somehow. As tall as Lucius, as blonde as he was, but of a softer, more honey colour. She had a sophisticated look with a red gashed mouth and high cheekbones and although she had heard that she was disdainful, found it not to be true. Admittedly she had a high nose and a proud air, but did not appear to have a superior attitude. Elrin's careful eyes noticed a nasty bruise half hidden by the top of her dress and then another just visible above her long gloves which she kept pulling at discreetly. She had that look that Elrin admired for she had that sleekness that Vogue models had in the 1940's. No ball gown for her: of thin skeleton and virtually no fat, she oozed elegance in her long silk dress, which clung to her as if she had been born to model it. Her hair was swept into perfect neatness into the nape of her neck and diamonds glittered around her throat. Her model eyebrows raised as she held out a thin limp arm. Elrin hated limp handshakes from man or women at the best of times but she could find little in Narcissa to hate. She was stunningly beautiful and she had the misfortune to be Malfoy's wife. She wouldn't have been in her Manolo Blahnik's for anything.  Both women sized each other up and then relaxed. Elrin wanted to extend sympathy, but simply greeted her with a friendly eye. Her husband was watching them both closely, a twitch in one of his eyes. 

'How do you do.' There was no superiority in her voice, simply the flow of social grace. Elrin sensed that there was something broken in this splendid vision of a woman and hated Malfoy even more. She wondered if she was a cut above him in station so that like a frustrated inferior, he constantly peddled to be better than she.

After that, they entered another huge set of doors, this time gold panelled and moulded and patterned with more signs and symbols. As they stood waiting in line to enter the room, she could see a stiff figure announcing the guests as they became framed in the doors. Just as Malfoy and his wife were just about to step forward she suddenly remarked casually, 'Oh, by the way Lucius, before I forget, Xiomara was crushed to death. I thought you'd like to know.' And she watched in delight as he almost missed his footstep.

'Lord and Lady Malfoy,' cried the figure.

'Lord and Lady Snape.'

And since when had she become a Lady? She must have missed it in her sleep.

Faced with the sight before her, she nearly stumbled into the dazed Malfoy. What she thought had been a throne room had been a cupboard. This hall could probably have fitted the Forbidden Forest within its borders. Perhaps that was a slight exaggeration on her part, but it was as immense as a cathedral, the high ceiling swallowing the thick marble columns that stretched up forever into the dimness above. Below on the ground lay a dais with wide steps leading up to a dramatically lit throne, huge and grandiose that squatted like some kind of brooding presence in this enormous chamber. As if it had been there for thousands of years, this centre of organic malevolence was waiting patiently for its' time. Somewhat fearful of this malignancy within it, the hall's architecture, solid and plain in its' construction, stood dignified and silent as if by pretending that it did not exist, it did not exist. 

Gathered on the endless floor that shone with polish were celebrators festively dressed. Men and women wandered around, greeting each other in a subdued and tense manner. The women's ball gowns, mostly much larger than her own, took up most of the room and many she thought were wildly overdressed, as if they were compensating against the largeness of the hall, hair piled high with assortments of flowers and fruit and bat's wings and colours to make the eyes water. Silks and satins puffed up and tweaked, taffeta pinched and tucked, squeezed and rousched with oceans of chiffon and tulle topped often with the fur of strange creatures. Hands waved beribboned fans signalled their naked jewels.

'Dear Merlin,' she inhaled.       

He gave her a warning glance and they strolled within the room. She was surprised at the amount of people there. She thought Voldemort's followers were meagre. This gave the lie to it, though there were still relatively few Death Eaters around judging by their stark black cloaks: the badge of the purist and the powerful. As they walked into the company, people around them moved aside quickly, melting at their approach. Lucius and Severus nodded disdainfully at one or two people here and there and did what most people termed mingling. It felt more like a duty and the dry conversations were charged with competitive tension. It could hardly be called socializing. She clung to him still and was fearful of him leaving her amongst these shadows of people with their glinting, shifting eyes. They reminded her of some of the people that she knew from long ago: greedy and cowardly people, with only their eyes on the main chance. Since she had been at the school, she now realized that she had got used to clear eyes with warmth in them; open eyes that had the potentiality of giving and receiving, not grasping and keeping. Her hand hurt from clutching at him and she told herself to relax as much as she could. He meanwhile, avoided looking at her and did not even seem to realize that she existed, except for the arm out for her and she was so glad of it. Then she would not have to look into his eyes. He was talking to several men, and apart from introducing her to them as if she were something that happened to be attached to him, ignored her so she did not have to make conversation. As long as he kept her close, she felt she could face anything.

His arm must ache.                          

This was clearly a man's world: a nasty mix of politics and crime and the women were generally, with a few exceptions, decorative and although not necessarily subdued, deferred to their partners, kept a modest and apolitical profile and did not argue or contradict what their men said. There were exceptions and they were women on their own, powerful witches in their own right and often flashy with it. It hurt that some women were cowed outright and she noticed one young woman, delicate in stature shivering next to her rather voluble man. She looked lost and as their eyes met for a flash, understanding passed between them. When she saw the black cloak of her husbands', she nearly passed out. She did not look at Elrin in the eyes again. Then they moved on as their respective partners drifted away. There was also the haughty baby-faced young black woman with her golden brown skin and tossed curls who did not look more than sixteen. She didn't know whether to feel more sorry for someone who clearly thought she was being cool, or for the other woman.

'Would you like a drink my dear?' purred Severus,  suddenly making her jump while she absently slid her hand over the necklace. His mask oozed menace and she could not look straight into his eyes or she would have fallen into a ravine so deep she would not have emerged alive, so she kept her eyes on the buttons of his frockcoat.

'Oh, yes. I'd like a sherry.'

'I think - a claret,' he said indifferently. The men and women around them were watching her like greedy ferrets. She opened her mouth to argue and then stopped, and breathed deeply before answering. 'Yes, thank you my Lord.'

'Good,' he smirked approvingly as his eyes appraised the mounds of her exposed breasts that nested below the black jewellery. His sneer crawled round her stomach, round her legs and into her groin.

She aught not to be turned on with him like this.

He apparated a glass for them both and they drank and talked until there was a sudden change in the atmosphere and she knew what was coming. That same sinking, stomach clenching, mind clawing atmosphere snaked its' way through her. Movement at one end of the vast room had them turning to see the gathering parting to allow a single figure to slowly move through. Severus immediately disapparated the glasses and took her hand tightly as everyone fell before this figure like a tidal wave along a shore. There was the sound of whispering rustles as the women kneeled right down on the floor, their skirts shimmering around them like gigantic poisonous flowers, their heads bowed and the men went down on one knee, their heads low. There was, despite the subjugation, or perhaps because of it, a definite uplift in the air, a manic gaiety and it came not from the assembled congregation, but from the new presence in the room. She caught only a glimpse of the figure as she scrambled to the floor, yanked down by her husband, perhaps because he did not trust her to do it herself but the air was so charged that she would not have done otherwise. There was an imperative in the air. What she had seen of the monstrous head and the weirdly white hands would not have been particularly notable, but the vestments and the mantle that enveloped him and which fell to the floor to trail a very long way behind him was spectacular: a deep imperial purple trimmed with white ermine. His slippered feet sounded quiet on the floor as he moved along, surveying his devotees, and then she saw no more as she glued her eyes to the floor. Severus still held her hand.

Whether he held it because he feared that she would not do the right thing or whether to comfort her there was no way for her to know.

She heard the feet pause somewhere in front of them but did not move or make a sound as a venomous wave passed over her which held just a hint of respect in it and was surprised. That approval flooded her mind like poison because something in her involuntarily lifted to it and then she cursed herself inwardly for her weakness. She heard a quiet chuckle that had the sound of ripping steel within it and she closed her eyes and prayed to all the stars in the firmament.

'Arise,' he murmured to Severus and she felt him get up off his knees and loose her hand and she made a movement that was instinctive and flicked her eyes upward.

Was she supposed to rise too?                            

And saw Voldemort freeze.

'Rebuke your responsibilites my Lord Snape,' he hissed. Severus wheeled his head round at her, his hair snapping round his face of cold ferocity.

'Lady - mind your place,' he commanded with a deadliness that plunged hard into her heart and vibrated there. She could not help but blush with fury as well as embarrassment as she held her head back down, suddenly aware of her exposed neck.

Let him feel my anger.

'Your anger is appropriate, Lady Snape, but not your manners,' said the contemptuous serpentine voice. There was a momentary silence as she felt they were both scrutinizing her, then he spoke to her husband in a low tone and she could not hear what was being said and then Severus knelt down again without taking her hand. Voldemort moved on slowly, presumably relishing, counting and measuring the bowed heads. It was only after he had passed, that she realized she had also been holding her breath.  And she was not the only one because there were soft exhalations around her, except from Severus or Malfoy kneeling on her other side.

After what seemed like eternity and her knees were aching, Voldemort spoke in a hiss, 'Rise my beautiful children.' There was a bustling to get themselves up and when they did so, looked up to where he stood high in front of the huge throne, the light licking round his repellent form and his magnificent robes, the train of his mantle lying in front of him down the steps like a blazing purple carpet. He slowly scrutinized the assembly; his satisfied slit of a mouth stretched wide and the silence grew, as did her nausea. The room fairly thrummed with Dark Magic. It was loud in her ears, it beat against her conscience, it summoned up the savage blood that seethed through her veins.

'Today,' he said slowly, savouring each word, 'is an important day. On this day, many things coalesce in the advancement of Our Reign. This is a great day of celebration. We have worked hard and each of Our sacrifices along the way now comes to its' fruitful triumph. The time will soon to be when We will subjugate our enemies and have Our Just Retribution. Then we can cleanse the world of its' foolishness.' There was a soft sigh of happiness in the room as he spoke while raising his arms high in the air: 'We are – Exalted.'

Had not she felt the presence of her lover beside her even though she did not dare look at him and she did not have physical contact, this might have sent her into unreality land. Of all the terrors in the world, she was standing in amongst it, almost alone. As she watched the curl of smoke from one of the scones shudder behind the throne and the light die, she hoped it was an omen.

'Come my faithful servants,' crawled the voice his arms inviting. A dreadful desire to head to the nearest exit made her actually calculate in her mind where it was.

'You know who you are.'

As Severus moved from her side, she froze as she realized that he was no longer going to stay with her. She would be adrift in a choppy sea without him.

How could she be strong enough in this insanity by herself? This wasn't turning out to be what she thought it would be.

Slowly, black-cloaked figures made their way up the steps and one by one prostrated themselves on the steps before their Lord while he muttered over them and put his hand on their shoulders as they rose to stand around him. Their replies could not be heard properly because it was supposed to be an intimate procedure but she assumed it was some sort of reaffirmation of their oaths of loyalty.

How could he do it?

Then she shut her mind off from thinking about it. Voldemort might be able to hear, although he seemed preoccupied in his ecstasy, fingering his Death Eaters, spindly white fingers on black. As they faced the company lined up with their Lord in the middle, she shivered at the Severus' lethal demeanour. He stared over the crowd and certainly did not look in her direction, which she was glad of, but ached for him.

Was this the man who bent his head to her and loved her? Had she imagined him?

Or was he…?

This hardly formed thought plummeting her over a cliff of doubt about him and it opened a terror so vast, she shut it off completely. Her wedding ring was pressing on her, hot and burning and she wanted to tear it off.

'Part of this night,' began Voldemort again, 'belongs to a special person, and you are lucky to be a witness to this,' and he indicated with his head above the heads of the crowds to someone at the back of the audience. People parted to reveal a young man chained in between two guards, dressed minimally in a white shirt open at the neck and black trousers, almost Muggle dressed. He reminded her of Draco, though he was dark, not blonde. He had a mixed look of excitement and determination on his soft carved features, not fear.

Taken to below the steps they unchained him and flung him down and he remained motionless.

'And who are you?' asked Voldemort in a hard voice but with a glitter in his red eyes.

'One who craves to be Your Servant, My Lord,' he spoke to the floor.

'Do you now?'

'Yes My Lord.'

'And what makes you think you are worthy?'

'Nothing my Lord. I am unworthy.'

Voldemort smelled the air and what he smelled pleased him.

'Have you completed your tests?'

'Yes my Lord, except - the last one.' The voice was deliberately steady which indicated some fear to her.

'And are you ready for it?'

When he replied they could hardly hear him, it was spoken so softly.

'Yes my Lord.'

'Very well. Arise.'

And to her surprise and shock as he stood, Voldemort handed him, handle forward, a decorated weapon whose blade glinted in the light. She understood from her studies that in the magical world, a dagger was an archaic weapon and since the advent of the wand, was rarely seen, let alone used.

'Then continue. Turn to the audience and show them.'

With incantations and mutterings, he wielded the dagger in front and with only a short hesitation, plunged it into his body and fell on his knees before them. A muffled breath came from the crowd rather than a cry. It was too soft to call it a cry. She was fairly close and she could see the blood pouring out from him onto the floor. The dagger had been forced in up to the hilt. Slowly, slowly Voldemort descended the steps and stood by the figure now lying awkwardly before him.

'Do you, before you die, adhere to me?'

Gasping shallowly, the young man could hardly get it out, but he did. 'Yes. You are - My Lord.'

Then he sank, white and shaking and fell unconscious.

Looking casually round at the audience the Dark Lord smiled. 'Now isn't this a delight to behold? In this day and age, we have perfection here. I will have nothing said about the youth of our age. Unless they are deliberately foolish,' and then he bent down and with loving care thrust his wide fingers out and blue bolts came thrusting out and slammed into the body of the youngster which juddered with the force. While they all waited, slowly the young man sat up and blinked, blood still covering him.

'My Lord?'

'Welcome my friend. Your oath of allegiance is accepted. Receive your honour.'

Indicating to one of the Death Eaters who apparated clothes, Voldemort presented him with his cloak. The blood circulated in his face now and with a blissful and calm demeanour, knelt while Voldemort arranged it round him, taking care to adjust it carefully. A mother could not have been more tender. The twist of it all made her breathing shallow and her stomach want to revolt again. She felt Narcissa glance at her sideways but did not and most certainly could not say anything. While they were all standing there, and making room for the new member, she could see the mask beginning to appear on his face, and to be seen on one so young, was terrible to behold.

'My children, I present to you my Lord Woolacott.'

And everyone clapped. It was difficult to detect, but she thought she saw Severus' eyes move in her direction.

Checking no doubt.

'And now –'

Groaning inside, she fiddled with her gloves. 

How long would this go on for?

'A presentation of Our weapons of defence and liberation,' and with a nod, a small bespectacled man immediately appeared in their midst from out of the assembly. 'Mr. Urano,' would you present yourself to my guests?' Mr. Urano was shivering in his boots, but he nodded on his thin neck and bowed.

'I am a geologist and I have –' he gulped looking towards someone for support, 'found a way to alter the dimensions of ….'

'Just give us the gist Mr – Urano,' sneered the reptile.

'I am responsible for breaking the ground underneath a certain school of our acquaintance, so that it is in danger of collapsing…' he laughed nervously. 'It was never bound by the protection that was in force on the surface.'

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Narcissa twitch. The Malfoys had another child, a daughter as well as Draco.

'And what damage has there been so far?'

'A chasm of unknown depth in the Great Hall, several major corridors and offices destroyed, and one whole turret down. This is just the beginning of course. The building is in danger and has been evacuated.'

Voldemort bowed his head in appreciation. 'You will receive your reward Mr. Urano. That is number one. Number two. Lady Snape.'

She nearly sank to the floor, her legs shaking and her throat tightened. Her eyes went to Severus and he had her eyes full on her. She could feel his intensity from there; she found she couldn't move.

Voldemort lazily looked over at him and said slowly, 'my Lord Snape, send her to me. She seems to have lost the use of her legs.'

'My lady, go to My Lord – now,' he said in his most hostile tone. Breathing fast now, she hesitated. The silence in the hall screamed. She struggled and moved forwards uncomfortably. Voldemort smirked. Walking to the bottom of the stairs she halted, head up as if she were going to her death.

What was she supposed to do?

'Make her turn to my guests,' murmured the voice.

'Turn,' her lover snapped.

She turned to see the upturned faces and they were a mass of people, not individuals. She could smell and feel the personality of the congregation. It was afraid and greedy and those two things motivated them more than anything else, and she realized sharply that she was seeing them from more or less Voldemort's point of view and shuddered. They were more like sheep than wolves. The wolves were right behind her.

'This woman, the Lady Snape, has a special ability to disarm and possibly kill through Sorcery.

The crowd in front of her inhaled sharply. She is not a friend to us. She hates us. Amazing isn't it? I will never understand these people.  But fortunately Lord Snape may enforce his law upon her at any time and order her to do that which she most hates. My Lord Snape?'

There was hardly a hesitation. There had obviously been a prearrangement. So that was what he had spoken to him about.

'My dear,' said the potions master, his voice penetrating the distance between them and vibrating through the air into her nerves and her blood, 'turn around and make obeisance to The Dark Lord.'

Make obeisance? What the hell was that?

It made her quiver almost uncontrollably. Obedience was never one of her strong points.           

Whatever it was, she couldn't do it. Not even for him.

'I am waiting my lady. I am not in the habit of doing so.'

She fought the urge to stay where she was, but she knew that in the end she would have to turn and with difficulty she faced Voldemort, who was now sitting on his throne, engulfed in its magnificent and frightening maw, which was now fairly cracking and snapping loudly with scarlet bolts of Dark Magic. Voldemort was still.  She was still shaking and as she clutched her betrothal ring hard, she could feel the slime of blood from it on her fingers. The thought slipped through her mind that at least it could not be seen on her dress. The other ring was making her hand throb with pain, but in some ways it helped her. It gave her something else to focus on besides what was happening. The full power of this despot radiated malevolence the closer one got and so facing him with his power turned fully on, she buckled inside. She could be brave down there. Up where she was, was different. She was also petrified that she might start vibrating, or refuse him altogether and give everything away. Turning to face Severus, she pleaded with him, knowing before she spoke that it was useless.

'My Lord, release me from this I beg you.'       

There was no answer to this, his face unresponsive and with his eyes deep within the mask watching. After a moment he continued to snarl with all the warmth of black ice, 'Approach and prostrate yourself to the Dark Lord.' It both steadied and angered her.

Juddering, she moved forward and sank, praying to something, to anything. She hoped she would not lose her soul for this. And she began to lie on the steps avoiding the purple train as if it were unclean and adjusted her dress so that the audience would not have a complete view of her underwear. It was difficult and she cursed the dress, her petticoats a riot of cotton material that plumped up her dress so that it stuck up behind her. In the end she told herself the hell with it; she had done it before in the throne room after all.

Although that was voluntary. Well, actually, Lucius had forced her down there.

'Hands on the Dark Lords' feet.'

A jolt passed through her as she touched the silken slippers and she wanted to cry out in pain.  She saw the heart of cultures sapped by scorn, he saw the half dead of the imprisoned in a myriad of countries their lives stripped down to bone, she saw bodies falling into craters pushed by those with weapons of annihilation, she saw the meagre existence of a people trapped in a nonexistent life and she felt the stony despair of those who had given up on hope of life. It took every atom in her not to vibrate, and saw nothing but her lovers' face before her as she lay there breathing the faint dust on the steps.

Severus…

'I see you decided to extend the courtesy of obeying me,' the potions master purred malevolently.

After long minutes had passed he spoke again to tell her to kiss the hem of his robes. She flashed a maddened look in his direction, which made Voldemort chortle quietly.

Wasn't that enough?

Struggling to move forward, she did so, taking the furthest part of his robe that she could hold, observing the Dark Mark embroidered all over it. As the aura around him screamed sadism and the pain of the world and she realised that he fed on it as whatever gripped him fed on him. Again she almost retched. Swallowing it down hastily, she lifted the heavy cloth smelling of reptile to her mouth and brushed it with her lips.

Would she ever be clean again?

'There, that was not so difficult was it my dear?' cooed Voldemort indulgently. She shrank away, disgusted by his faux kindness. He would have her head off in a second if she truly displeased him. For the moment however, she was perceived to be useful. There was the strange sound of clapping and then Voldemort waved his hand at her to dismiss her and she fled in her mind, but walked with whatever dignity she had left back to her place. There was none left. She did not want to look at Severus at all though he felt his eyes burning her.

'And the third,' said Voldemort signalling to a guard who marched out in front of them gripping a goblet as if it were an unexploded bomb, his hand holding the stem with one and a cover on the top with the other. 'A product of my Lord Snape's. A poison to rival all poisons. A king amongst poisons.' There was again the enthusiastic clapping that went on for some time. 'It is time to test it don't you think my Lord?' Severus hesitated a fraction before bowing.

'Who shall we have?' and his eyes circuited the company. A quiver went through them and she could smell the fear. And then Voldemort did what she did not expect, nor in fact did anyone else. 'Malfoy perhaps?' All eyes went to him in shock, not least Malfoy's. By her side Narcissa did not flinch.

Lucius stuttered, 'm-m-my Lord?'

'I am sure you must be thirsty, take a sip my Lord Malfoy.'

'I – I – have always been your faithful servant.'

'So be the perfect servant and drink.'

Lucius couldn't keep his teeth from chattering and he had not even moved from where he was standing. His face was red.

What was this about?

Enraged, teeth bared, he suddenly pointed to Severus who was two Death Eaters from him and burst out. 'He is the one who should drink…the traitor!'

Severus' eyebrow went up – she could see it rise above his mask and he stood there, coolly and calmly and said nothing. She herself was frozen, not daring to think, hardly daring to blink.

'I know he's a betrayer.'

'Come here my Lord.' Malfoy stumbled over to grovel at his feet, glaring at the lip curled potions master as he knelt.

'What do you know?'

'He is a spy my Lord.'

'I am aware of that. He is my spy.'

'No, no. A spy for Them.'

'I know that too. How else is he going to be on the inside?'

'But you don't know which side he is really on.'

'Are you suggesting that I cannot tell?' 

'Well – err – my Lord…'

'How do you know?'

'I – I – just know my Lord.'

'You have no proof? No indication?'

Malfoy ground his teeth.

'No my Lord. But him and his woman – she - she's the problem.'

'Indeed, we know all about her.'

'But he loves her.'

'And I expect my Death Eaters to enjoy themselves. It is only fitting,' and he grinned unpleasantly at the audience. 'I am not a prude, though I have no need of it myself.'

'My Lord Snape, do you have anything to say to this accusation?' as he focussed his slitted pupils in his direction. Her heart, she was sure, had ceased to beat.

'Only that My Lord Malfoy seems to have had too much claret,' he drawled silkily in his best cool manner. He seemed to ignore the whole thing, lazily standing there as if a fruit fly had deigned to brush him with its' wings. 'He wishes to – love my wife too.' Many people tittered.

'Is this true?'         

'Well, I – well - in a manner of speaking, that is so my Lord.'

'Is it worth accusing a brother Death Eater without foundation over a woman do you think?'

'No my Lord, I take it back,' he said gratefully, hoping, assuming, praying that he was not going to die.

'My Lord Malfoy,' breathed Voldemort close to him, 'do you really think I would ask you to drink from that cup?' Lucius could not believe his ears.

'Err…no my Lord.'

'Quite right. I cannot afford to lose one of my right hand men. Eh my Lord Malfoy? It was a joke. A little joke of mine.' Lucius' face was a picture.

'Thank you, thank you, my true Lord, ' dribbled the Death Eater, his face now huddled in the hem of Voldemort's robes.

'Now get up,' he snapped, bonhomie gone and menace back in place. 'Return to where you belong.' Lucius rushed back to his place rearranging himself to restore some of his fallen dignity.

Elrin briefly closed her eyes in relief. Her relief did not last long as some poor soul was dragged into the front and made to drink the poison.

Was he an Auror? Was he an innocent of some kind? Was he one of their own who transgressed, who blinked at the wrong moment?

There was no way of knowing, and in fact it didn't matter. He was a dead man walking. He looked almost too dazed to be frightened. He didn't even cry out as he sipped from the goblet held out to him but slumped immediately to the floor.

'A little disappointing don't you think my Lord Severus? Not wildly entertaining. A bit of an anti-climax?'

'Yes my Lord,' murmured the Death Eater, 'but effective and useful in all sorts of situations. And there is no antidote. The only one that I am aware of without one. Not that there would be time to administer one, as you see.' Then in a pause, the potions master turned to the guards who brought the man there, 'Clear this out from here.'

'Well done my Lord Snape,' and Voldemort stood up and faced the upturned pale faces, 'and now I would like you all to enjoy yourself. Enjoy the bounty that I have given you and anticipate the greater bounty that is coming in the glorious future – very, very soon.'

Then, almost as one, they sank to the floor as he exited, his feet soft on the floor and as the doors closed behind him, she could feel the tension drop, the corsets let out, the handkerchiefs sliding on sweating brows. She turned to Narcissa and said quietly by her ear. 'As far as I know most if not all of the students are safe, including Draco.' The prominent nose swayed her way and her big eyes settled on her. 'Thank you,' she whispered and strode away, her tall carriage sweeping through the guests.

What dignity. She wished that she had half of it.

Severus was suddenly at her elbow, 'You did well my Lady,' he murmured quietly and again, with his presence so strong and so close she wanted to look into his eyes, but did not risk it. Someone magicked up some waltz music, apparated wine and food in abundance. People began to dance and to chat, louder and more extravagantly than before because of the release of tension and the delight at being alive and not being on the wrong end of the Dark Lord's wrath.

Elrin didn't know what to say to him. She was still reeling from the toxic experience of it all.  

He took her by the hand over to the drinks. 'Would you like a drink?'

She didn't know what to say. 'Whatever my Lord wishes.'

His sneer nearly split his face. 'A sherry then.'