Caution should be used when reading the following chapter. Contained within said chapter are ideas, thoughts, and creations both original to the author of said chapter as well as ideas, thoughts, and creations from the mind(s) of various other authors. I have not sought permission to use the elements that are not of my own invention; I also make no money from the use of said non-me originating material(s.)
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This chapter is dedicated to Frogfoot. You wanted the chapter NOW! SO here it is. You can all thank her for the cliffie ending :-D
Chapter 48:
Standing at attention in a great semicircle the Chimera's silently faced four cloaked and masked men of unusually strong power; the four Fates. The Fates were arranged so that two stood on either side of the simple but imposing throne upon which sat the Dark Lord himself. When he was ready, Voldemort rose to his feet and stepped forward to address his followers.
"Throughout history, great men have been brought down by their desire for power." Crimson eyes glittering from under the hood of his cloak, Voldemort addressed the assembled Chimeras. "They persecuted, and sought to rule, others because of territorial boundaries, the color of skin, even a preference of religion. No man has the right to tell another what he is to think or feel."
The power of his voice, insidious yet ingenuous, and the simple fact that his words made sense, drove his message into the hearts of his followers. Every word he spoke carried a raw intensity, as though the ideas had been written on his very soul in letters of flame. He was seeking to share those flames of thought with the few who were fortunate enough to have been worthy of hearing. The sickle shaped line of Chimeras was immobile and soundless. They all realized the honour conveyed by this mass audience.
"No one, not Albus Dumbledore, not Rutger VonDrehl, nor Enrique Montoya, nor any other world leader has the right to force you to bend knee to those that threaten your families and your nations. The Americans went to war last year and removed a dictator from power because they had the right to defend themselves from an imminent threat."
Not a single head nodded visibly, but he could feel their agreement through the Mark that connected him to each of the minds that hung on his every word. Using that connection, he poured ardent fervor and righteous fury into the minds of the masked Wizards and Witches before him.
"We face an imminent threat, one that we are being told to ignore, one more insidious than any single great man who has been consumed by his desire for power. The threat we face is to our way of life, it is a threat to our common heritage. The threat we face is extinction through the corruption of our very blood. The most basic inheritance any of us can pass to our children is being stolen from us by our elected leaders and their policies of so called inclusion."
Sparks were catching in the hearts of his followers; fires of indignation were springing to life. The Dark Mark, that every Wizard and Witch present carried with pride, transmitted their growing excitement to him. Voldemort kept his voice low, forcing every ear to strain to hear him, forcing every mind to focus at grasping each syllable he uttered.
"One of our number, who felt that his son deserved the heritage and community that he himself had grown up benefiting from, was cut down only a few weeks ago. Why was he willing to die? Because he believed that, no Muggle had the right to commit a slow and insidious genocide. Because he realized that, the ancient gift of Magic, passed to us from our Atlantian ancestors, was something worth preserving. He was willing to die because he remembered that our Magic was nearly robbed from us once before. Robbed from us by the few, who suddenly decided that they could sacrifice yet another Race to their appetite for power."
He nearly smiled. Several pairs of eyes jerked back to attention, they had been so caught up that many had looked to see who from their line was missing. Not from shock at the news, but from the realization that their leader knew who this soldier had been, knew that he had a son, and that logically he knew each of them as well. They were, each of them, personally important to the Dark Lord!
He was aware that midnight would force his pet; the masked and silk enshrouded Fate to his right, to move. Voldemort concluded his speech. "Another has been chosen, not to take his place, but to continue his work." To signify the beginning of the ceremony he resumed his seat on the ancient throne. With a slow, imperious, motion of one hand, he bid a silent figure to step forward.
Severa Moody was the newest member of the cell she had been assigned to. When Lucius died there were several in his four cells who were Miss Moody's senior, by decades, and the position of Chimera should have been one of theirs. But, Magic counted a great deal when it came to promotion, and if her wearing of a flowing silk cloak were more than a suicidal boast, then she was qualified in that respect.
As the ceremony began, the Chimeras raised their left fists into the air and bared the black brand in their forearms. Severa performed the same salute from her place two steps away from the Dark Lord. At another silent command, she dropped to her knees at his feet and held out to him her hands, palms together as though in supplication.
Voldemort could feel the two struggling inside of the young woman. Each desperate for control, the one with the intent of escape, the other focused on continued survival. Voldemort knew how powerful the drive to live could be, how much it could make the impossible, possible. He knew she would not win, unless he could get her to see it as a matter of her own survival. The two needed to fight on level ground, for the Human to have a chance of victory. Before she began her vows of fealty and service, Voldemort removed her mask and looked into her eyes, the jet blackness of them reminded him of her near mirror image…Snape.
The slightest shushing of silk moving on silk gave him pause as Voldemort placed his hands on either side of those offered to him. The tiny motion from Snape was only the smallest echo of the battle for control going on silently within him. It had gained enough control to force Snape to sway, even a minute amount. If It broke free, no one would be able to move fast enough to prevent It from venting Its rage however It saw fit, which was a disturbing thought. Closing his hands on Severa's Voldemort felt the thing within her withdraw, and at Its withdrawal the conflict within Snape ended as well. The male seemed to have sensed the female's retreat, which also was a disturbing thought.
"I, Severa, Kindred of the Clan of Moody, Ward of Alastor of the Clan of Moody, do hereby solemnly swear my everlasting loyalty to you my Lord Voldemort and my abiding friendship and goodwill towards the Brotherhood of the Order of the Eaters of Death. I shall be faithful and true unto you, my Lord, and offer for the benefit of my new sworn kindred the lands, monies, objects of value, and all knowledge or skill that I may possess. I will to my utmost power, with life and earthly goods seek to benefit the cause of preserving the purity and integrity of the race of Wizard kind."
He could feel the reaction of his followers to the hated name of Alastor Moody, 'They will most likely attempt some rash action against her, I pity any who are foolish enough to molest Severus' sister. He will be sure to protect her, rather enthusiastically I should imagine if his reaction to my merely touching her hands is any indication.'
Severa continued to speak the words of the oath. "I acknowledge my brethren as being deserving of my respect and trust, and I hereby swear to ever aid and succour them as they shall aid and succour me in turn."
He studied her hands, which he held with only a whisper of touch. He examined her skin, the color, the texture, even the temperature, comparing her against Severus. 'The only real differences between their hands,' he mused, 'are that Severus' are little larger and stronger. Such delicate hands, long artistic fingers, fine wrists.'
Keeping her voice just loud enough to be heard by all present, Severa continued. "The friends of the Brotherhood of the Eaters of Death are my friends, and I shall ever aid them as they aid me. The enemies of the Brotherhood of the Eaters of Death are my enemies, and I shall ever spurn their company and seek their downfall. The allies of the Brotherhood of the Eaters of Death are my allies, and I shall ever work with them in mutual strength and trust."
He listened, not to her words, which he had heard countless times before, but to the timbre of her voice. He could distinguish only a more feminine edge to the rough velvet he was used to. 'I suppose Moody must have spent a great deal of time with her, for her to learn an English accent while at Durmstrang…'
"I swear to abide by the rulings of yourself, my Dark Lord, as well as the rulings, orders, and judgments of any member of the order of The Fates in all things. Holding the orders of my own Fate Master above the others only in matters where they conflict both you and he."
She looked up through her long black lashes at him. 'The same way Severus does. Such fascinating eyes…and like Severus her gaze conveys none of the shyness another's would while half meeting my eyes. Bold, yet respectful.'
"I shall not, through action or inaction, do aught to harm or endanger or deprive you my Dark Lord, the Brotherhood of the Eaters of Death or our cause. Should I ever forswear this Oath in any way, I shall surrender myself to your rightful judgment and I shall gladly accept and submit to whatever punishment you deem fitting for my crime."
Through the low hum of emotions and vague quasi formed ideas that Voldemort heard through the Dark Mark on Severa Moody's arm, came the distinct and clear image of a single solid thought. 'She does not fear me, not even if she were caught in betrayal does she feel that true harm would come to her?! But how could—' The image had been too clear, too solid, the only way that a thought that sharp and focused could be transmitted to another mind would be if it were sent, on purpose. Following the thought trail through the Dark Mark, like a hound on a scent, he caught just the traces of Its presence. For an instant, It had surfaced, to challenge him, and then had retreated again.
"This solemn Oath I hereby swear from this day and on until the day I shall draw my last breath. May I be granted the strength to venture any risk or sacrifice to uphold and protect it. Woe to they who try to tempt me to break this Oath, and woe to me if I should succumb to the temptation."
After the formality of medieval oaths of loyalty and life long service, Voldemort released her hands and drew his wand. Miss Moody offered her outstretched arm to him and he pressed the tip of his wand to the already present Dark Mark. The pain was intense but she did not cry out, as most Chimeras did. Instead of marring her flesh, the spell he spoke opened her Mark so that she could communicate with and monitor the members of her four cell groups.
As a sign of fidelity and a seal to the pledge of service, he touched his lips to hers, not really a kiss, but more than a meaningless touch. The shock of violently suppressed rage that he felt coming in torrents through his link with Snape, was enough to cause him to sit back rather a bit quicker than normal.
The final step in the ceremony was assigning her to the direct control of one of the Fates. Voldemort motioned Snape forward with a slight lifting of one hand. There would be discussion on the rationality of placing the two strong-blooded Potions Masters together, but he would never be bothered with the rumors, no one would be foolish enough to question him.
With eyes as hard and red as Garnets Voldemort watched as Snape removed his own mask. A pause in the man's usually decisive motions was the only outward sign of the internal war going on. It was fighting back with a strength that he had seen only once before. Long ago, when Snape had been a, newly advanced, Chimera. It had fought back and won, on the night of the first attack on Ruth Longbottom. That had also been the night Ruth Longbottom was galvanized into a steely threat to his organization. After giving birth almost a year later, she had immediately begun training as an Auror. For a few seconds he considered the value of the memory as a sort of premonition, but pushed the thought aside.
Voldemort decided that the image of Snape and his twin sister closing their exchanged pledges with mouth-to-mouth contact was…worth remembering.
@---'---,----------------
"He's feeding on raw meat and cow's blood," Starch hissed. "I'll take you myself if I have to, and that won't be pretty or gentle." Raking a hand through his hair, he made another pass by the window before glaring at the two Wizards sitting at the table in the middle of the room.
Alastor Moody's temper had shutdown as he moved into that detached objectiveness he had learned as an Auror. Calmly he pointed out, "They are capable of drawing nourishment from many sources, not just Human blood."
"If I knew as little as you seem to about this— fiasco, I wouldn't be here!" Starch resumed pacing around the room. Suddenly he laughed, "You really didn't know what the programme involved did you?! Just blindly went along with it, to save the world!" He had managed to pace his way around the room again, and started fidgeting, picking up things from the shelves and putting them back, exactly as he had found them.
"What do you know?" Albus asked, using his most calming tone.
Starch responded with a condescending tone that only an immortal can manage. "Bet it hurt, when you found out what was going on. Pretty little illusions shattering in the dark… Children, not animals, being made in tanks—did you see the tanks? Did you ever see the facility—I have, in phantom memories… Or was the first time you saw them after they had been conditioned, so that they would appear to be the animals you had been told they were? Why did you decide to save them?" The last was asked with a depth of heartache that pierced through Moody's psychological and emotional buffers.
The retired Auror gave a slight nod. He had not taken much time to consider things, but he was certain it was the right decision; the eccentric Exotic was on their side. "I had higher clearance but I wasn't allowed to see her until she had been fully conditioned. They worried about contamination of reflexive action response. I'm not as poetic as Albus, so I haven't got the right words to tell you what I thought or felt when I first saw her. They said she was one of the few designated for the next cycle of training, better than average results in most areas of testing and what they didn't want to call a temper. At Albus' request I was able to access more information on the boy, he was going to the next level in training also, and had a rebellious nature. My words, not theirs."
Albus had closed his eyes during Alastor's recital of the facts from so long ago. When the silence stretched, he realized that he needed to say something as well. "When I looked into his eyes, I knew he was more than I had been told he was, I could tell he was not just a tool, he had an independent will. I was not allowed to see her, ever, but they, 'Allowed me see what I had contributed toward.' Propaganda I suppose, to keep me involved with the programme."
Starch was looking at a moon catcher, but his whole focus was on the scents and heartbeats of the men behind him. They were both wary of his intentions toward the Garoms, and themselves. If he so chose, all it would take would be one tele orb directed to the proper official and all of their effort to hide the Garoms would be undone. Only the fact that the Ministry couldn't prove they had taken the Garoms, had kept them from receiving the Dementor's Kiss for breaking national security.
Coolly Starch offered some of the information he had acquired, pieced together, or unscrambled, over the years. "Yes, the Garoms will be able to survive just fine on cow swill, or meat, or even vegetables for that matter," he gave a slight shudder at the idea of eating leafy greens. "Their ability to survive on blood though, was held back so that they would be able to feed on it only after they completed the blood exchange like a Human would need before becoming a Fledgling. A safety precaution I think, since they will in essence actually become Fledglings at that point. I can't believe you lot did this!" Drawing his hands through his hair again he fought for control over his own temper.
It occurred to him that if he had had normal hair, it would have resembled the classic Potter mess by now, but because it was more like fur, his spiked, dapple grey, locks just sprung back into place.
"Of course," Alastor absently tapped the tabletop. "You do realize that Voldemort knows only what he was able to gain from the technician, and what the Snapes and the Garoms are aware of."
Starch's grey eyes flashed like quicksilver and utter astonishment was expressed with his entire body. "Of bloody course," he whispered hoarsely. "It's probably the only reason they're still alive." He now appeared to be attempting to smooth his hair down, it made no more difference then trying to muss it up had. Dazedly he spoke not realizing it was aloud. "What my enemies meant for evil, You have used for good…"
~
The ceremony having been completed Voldemort retired to his private chambers and waited several minutes before summoning his pet. After dismissing the, more or less unbalanced, but very loyal, Pettigrew, he placed his hand on the bowed head of the man kneeling at his feet.
"Risse, Sseveruss. Remove your massk." He had been right; the black eyes before him were exhausted. "You have been fighting It, you are in need of ressst." Casually he motioned toward the large four-poster bed at the back of the room. "I believe It iss finding a way to interfere with your sssleep. Here I can watch over you and keep you sssafe, for a few hoursss."
Snape made a great effort and dragged his feet over the thick carpet, across the floor, to the bed. Mutely he stripped down to his black, silk, boxers.
Voldemort watched with silted eyes. The discarding of each item of clothing revealed more clearly the form beneath, which the layers were meant to conceal. The lean, young, body was not as emaciated as it had been. Apparently, the nausea had been only a stage, marking the degrading of the fusion. Unless, It had started eating, to supplement the food that Snape hadn't been able to hold down lately.
"My interessst in your sssisster iss sssolely motivated by my interesst in you," Voldemort murmured. The eyes that met his clouded over with a foreign aspect, but returned to normal a moment later. He had felt the struggle though; It had nearly gained control again. Only the fact that, though physically exhausted, Snape was psychologically stronger, had kept It caged. This time.
Hesitantly, Snape raised his eyes to Voldemort's again. "Thank you, for giving her…to my charge…" Even his voice was sluggish with lost sleep.
"Lay down, now." Voldemort said, making a calming motion with one claw like hand. "You may thank me later, when you are resssted."
He waited, half in curiosity half in anticipation. Sometimes, the Garom remained quite while Snape slept, other times It would lay still on his bed and blink Its achingly blue eyes at him. Rarely, It would move, shifting one pale and perfect limb, then another, slowly curling in tighter around Itself. It had not spoken to him since the night he had allowed the Chimeras to torture It for the attack that left Dumbledore's half-Giant dead and the Were Wolf badly injured.
Snape settled his head on one pillow and curled around a second, a habit that Voldemort found almost endearing, he relaxed under his master's gaze and succumbed to sleep.
At two minutes to midnight Voldemort froze, one hand a few bare centimeters from brushing the greasy black hair away from the closed eyes. One eye had slid open enough to glare blue light onto the pillows and sheets. In a delicate economy of movement, It bared one saliva wetted eyetooth in a silent snarl of warning.