A/N: Thank you -- This is a piece plays completely off of my personal tastes and I'm glad that other people like it as much as they do
II. Wickedness
It is enlightening to watch him work. He is starting on Justin Finch-Fletchley this morning. Tears stain the Hufflepuff eyes and Severus wipes them away, whispering gently into the boy's ear. Meanwhile, the rain continues to pour down outside, isolating the pavilion from the rest of the castle. It creates a sense of community among our collective. If I never liked little Colin Creevey before, I find myself feeling akin to him now. The dewy atmosphere makes me feel warm and, for the first time, completely at peace. Yes, leave it to Lord Voldemort to finally introduce me to the concept of peace.
"Not bad here," Ron sighs, resting his head against a pillow. "Better than I expected."
"I think we should wait a while before we pass judgement," Seamus says, with a sagacity I never knew he possessed. "After all, it is only our first day here."
"Still, I thought we were going to be scrubbing floors or something like that," Ron laughed. "You know, down on our knees with the scouring brush."
"I can assure you that will never happen."
Aquarius stands behind us, a tray of white, cream-thick beverages in his hands.
"I thought that you might like something to refresh your spirits," he says, laying the tray of drinks down before us with a courteous bow. "And I wish to answer any questions that you may have."
"Questions! I have a ton of those," Ron scoffs. "For the first thing, what's a debutante?"
Aquarius sits down, slightly outside of our circle.
"The story of the Debutantes," Aquarius begins, "is a tragic one. It all began with the Dark Wizard Grindelwald and his initial rise to power in the year 1923 . . ."
"Oh god, it's Professor Binns' History of Magic course all over again," Ron groans.
"No, Aquarius is much more interesting than Binns," Seamus laughs, moving to punch Aquarius playfully. The young man recoils frantically. "Oh, that's right," Seamus blushes. "I'm not allowed to touch you."
"My apologies," Aquarius sighs, before continuing. "In 1923, Grindelwald fell in love with a most extraordinary young man going by the name of Alysaundre Demière."
"That's disgusting!" Ron crinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue, looking like a second-year. Aquarius ignores him.
"Alysaundre was very taken with Grindelwald and the power that he was exerting over the wizarding world. After a lengthy courtship, Alysundre agreed to bind himself to Grindelwald and become his personal servant. In 1925, Alysaundre became the first Szajha. The young boy quickly tired of his isolated life though and demanded that Grindelwald supply him with a retinue. Grindelwald complied and, in 1927, the first Debutantes were called. The Debutantes were known throughout the world for their beauty, their culture, and their virtuousness. There was one named Maxime Cordett who stood out from the rest. He was known as the 'plume of Grindelwald's Empire.' Alysaundre took a special liking to Maxime and, in 1934, he began an affair with the young Debutante."
"That was a mistake, I gather," I say, picking up one of the drinks and taking a lengthy sip. The thick froth coats the inside of my throat and makes it difficult to breathe for a moment.
"Correct," Aquarius replies. "Grindelwald remained in the dark about this liaison for years though. It wasn't until 1944 that Grindelwald finally became aware of Alysaundre's indiscretions. Some people say that, if enemies hadn't surrounded Grindelwald on all sides, he might have forgiven Alysaundre. After all, Grindelwald was very much in love with the young Szajha. Whatever the case, Grindelwald chose not to forgive and forget. Alysaundre and Maxime were both cursed. Their beauty wiped from them, they were locked into the depths of Azkaban. The two would be the precursors of the Dementors."
"You've got to be kidding!" Ron grins, his eyes flickering with a morbid fascination. "That's bloody twisted!"'
"Of course," Aquarius says matter-of-factly. "Why else do you think the Dementors use a kiss as their choice punishment? Grindelwald fell from power in 1945, defeated by Albus Dumbledore. The position of Szajha would have been abolished completely if it weren't for a boy who had been partially kept in Grindelwald's service since 1943. Upon his ascent to power, Tom Riddle became fascinated with a potions protegee at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In 1976, Severus Snape was bound to Tom Riddle at the second Szajha in history."
"And we're the second group of Debutantes," Neville mumbles -- One of the first things I've heard him say in weeks.
At this moment, Justin Finch-Fletchely stumbles over a pillow and practically falls into my lap. I help the boy into a sitting position and Seamus makes a vain attempt at comforting him while I examine the Mark engraved into his back. It's an ornate design done in crisp, black ink. Flowers cascade from his waist up to his shoulders, letters lace into the vines. Aquarius leans over to look at the Mark.
"It's a bit swollen and puffy now," he says, examining the reddish flesh. "But it will heal nicely. It's beautiful work."
"Thank you, as always, Aquarius," Severus calls from his position high atop the mountain. He looks exhausted but a satisfied smile crosses his lips. "Who will come next?"
Neville curls tightly into himself, attempting to hide from the entire world. I look over at Ron who, once again, has blanched brilliantly.
"No!" he balks, eyes wide with dread. "I will absolutely not go up there to have Professor Snape stick some letter opener into my back! Never!"
"The branding is necessary," Aquarius sniffs, seeming far too high-and-mighty for simply a servant. "This way if you are ever abducted, you will be identifiable and it will be easier for us to bring you back."
"Please Ron," I smile, grasping his hand in mine tightly. "I promise you that it's not that bad. Do Gryffindor right by this."
Ron sighs and I can see that this is a battle easily won.
"Right," he says, getting to his feet. "If that's the way it has to be . . ." He hesitantly unbuttons the robe and lets it fall off of his shoulders to a pool at his feet. "But I still don't like it."
*****
Justin Finch-Fletchley whimpers in his sleep and sprawls across my still form, looking for some comfort in a world that is spinning out of control. I begin to gently stroke his hair, muttering nonsensical words into his ear. Poor child. He must be frightened half out of his wits in these conditions. Ron smiles at me from across the way.
"Where were you last night?" he asks, somewhat puzzled. The other five Debutantes slept in this chamber, directly next to the Room of Acca Larentia. I slept in the same bed as the Szajha.
"I stayed with Severus last night," I shrug, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Ron's mouth gapes open unattractively and he looks like a fish found at the bottom of the Atlantic.
"How could you stand being in the same room as that man?" Ron exclaims. I put my finger to my lips, signaling him to lower his voice. We don't want to disturb the little ones of course. Neville Longbottom cries out in the middle of a nightmare, groping his hand along his back. He was the last one to receive the Mark. He was the only one to scream.
"He isn't that bad," I frown, gathering Justin against my chest. The whimpering stops momentarily and the boy lulls off into a peaceful abyss.
"He is too," Ron huffs, crossing his arms against his chest. "That branding bloody well hurt."
"It could have been worse," I say matter-of-factly. "Would you wake Neville up? He looks like he's having a nightmare."
Neville has begun feverishly kicking away the covers and is now crying out every few seconds, "Grandma! Grandma!" I wonder how pure Neville Longbottom's blood happens to be. It could be that his grandmother has already been executed. His parents undoubtedly have already felt the numbing death of Avada Kedavra, along with the rest of the residents at St. Mungo's. I am forced to wonder if the Longbottoms knew what was happening as they sat in front of the Death Eaters like Muggles before a firing squad.
"Neville," Ron whispers harshly, taking the boy by the shoulder and shaking him. Neville automatically bolts awake -- His face covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He lets out a yowl reminiscent of Remus Lupin during the full moon.
I practically slam my head against the concrete wall for thinking about it.
Remus Lupin and Sirius Black have probably both been captured by now. After all, who wants to take the risk of concealing two fugitives with Lord Voldemort on the throne. Remus Lupin has probably been put down by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Walden Macnair must be having the time of his life. As for Sirius Black . . . He's probably finally received the Dementor's Kiss. I let out a dry laugh at the irony. Here I'm helping to fill the gap left by the first Dementors while my godfather -- my only family -- dies at their hands.
The candles suddenly ignite and Severus stands in the doorway -- A frightened look plastered on his normally indifferent features.
"Is something the matter?" he asks. "I heard someone shout and I thought that something might be wrong."
"That was only Neville," I reply, getting to my feet. "He had a nightmare."
"Will you be alright?" Severus asks. He's trying to remain indifferent but his eyes narrow in concern.
"Fine," Neville mumbles, pulling his legs up to his chest and hiding his face between his knees. Severus doesn't push the boy any farther. He turns on the heels of his boots and is about the leave the room when I stop him.
"Severus!" I call, running to meet him in the frame of the door. "Do you know what's happened to Remus Lupin and Sirius Black?"
Severus' nose turns up slightly at the name "Sirius Black" and the distaste is evident in his features.
"I have no idea," Severus says. "Are you going to be requiring an answer now or can this wait until the morning?"
I would like to say that it can wait until the morning but this is one of those matters that will languidly gnaw at my emotions all night long.
"This can't wait until morning, Severus," I say, bowing my head towards the ground.
"If you want this matter taken care of tonight, Harry, you're going to have to seek an immediate audience with Lord Voldemort."
*****
"Don't be nervous," Severus sighs, picking through his wardrobe. "Nothing ill will befall you tonight." Severus pulls a white gown out of the armoire. A blue bodice -- fabric reminiscent of curtains that the Dursleys once owned -- accompanies it.
"Try this," Severus says wearily, handing the ensemble to me. "If you don't mind, I have to make myself presentable."
"All this just to ask how my godfather is?" I ask, my eyebrow arching slightly. "Doesn't this seem a bit . . . overdone?"
"A Debutante would never appear before anyone of importance in a state of undress," Severus declares, pulling another relatively simple gown from the closet. He disappears behind a scrim, leaving me alone. I quickly scramble out of my robe and pull the gown over my head roughly. I straighten the skirt so that the hem just grazes the floor. Picking up the bodice, I wonder how on earth I'm going to lace it up.
"Don't try doing that yourself."
Severus emerges from behind the scrim, looking all the more like "the Szajha" -- Dressed in absinthe and ebony. He steps behind me, his fingers ghosting over my shoulders momentarily before the bodice cuts off all of the circulation in my chest.
"God!" I squeal, attempting to bat Severus' hands away. "Would you mind not pulling that quite so tightly?" In response, another harsh yank is exerted on the laces. This continues until my torso is suitably cramped into the bodice. I feel like all of the air has been permanently pushed out of my lungs.
"Sit," Severus commands, motioning towards the vanity.
"I don't think I could sit if I wanted to," I say, squirming in the prison of the bodice.
"Of course you can sit," Severus scowls. "Just keep your back straight and don't even attempt to slouch."
I gingerly ease myself into the chair -- My back ramrod straight.
"This is very uncomfortable."
"That's only because you aren't used to it," Severus says, opening a drawer and pulling out a brush. "You'll adjust given time."
"That doesn't help much in the present moment," I say through gritted teeth. Examining myself in the mirror though, I am somewhat becoming. The gown is flattering enough, my figure is shapely, and my posture has improved ten-fold. It's still damned uncomfortable. Severus brushes bay-hued strands out of my eyes, trying his best to make me presentable. Every now and then he issues forth a "tut tut" of disapproval.
"We shall turn you into something worthwhile," he says, grimacing as he comes to yet another knot in my haphazard locks. "Somehow . . . We will turn you into something worthwhile."
*****
"Our Highest Lord bids you welcome. You may enter."
The servant bows curtly and stands aside, leaving us standing before the door. It's a white chiseled marble -- Too reminiscent of a tomb. My blood runs cold and light seems to be pulsating from behind my eyes. Not the pain associated with the scar, of course. That faded long ago. I know this pain well, all the same. It's the chilled pain of fear.
"Don't be nervous," Severus whispers again, ghosting his lips over my cheekbone. He allows them to linger there a tad too long and, for a moment, I'm struck with the notion that he might kiss me. He quickly pulls away though and goes to open the door.
I must have had the wrong idea.
The door is opened and I'm faced with a sitting room -- An oddly bland sitting room. The couches are ashen gray and austere. Hand embroidered blankets hang on the walls. I examine one for a few moments and see that a message is carefully cross-stitched into the fabric:
I built a tiny garden
In the corner of my heart.
I kept it just for lovely things
And bade all else depart.
And ever there was music
And flowers blossomed fair.
Yet never was it perfect
Until you entered there.
Severus, 1976
"You seek an audience with me?"
The voice shocks me back into the present moment. Severus has already left my side and is kneeling by Voldemort, resting his head on the Dark Lord's thigh. He looks oddly serene there, as though this is the one place where he belongs. Voldemort reaches a hand out and gently strokes Severus' hair.
I'm under the sudden impression that I could watch the two of them for hours.
"You won't ask your question then?" Voldemort smiles, running his thumb across the shell of Severus' ear.
"Yes, if please your Lord," I murmur, not knowing exactly how I should approach this.
"It is only the second day they have been in my care, my Lord," Severus says, quietly and with reverence. "They have all received the Mark but I have yet to teach them anything of etiquette."
"He's doing fairly well on his own," Voldemort says, beckoning me forward. I hesitantly approach until I am only a foot in front of the Dark Lord. "Do you know how to curtsey, my child?"
I'm suddenly hit with a wave of disgust -- Curtsey? That's something that little girls learn how to do in charm school. It's not for a Gryffindor, not for a war hero, and certainly not for Harry Potter. Voldemort lets out a short laugh and I realize that my nose has unconsciously wrinkled.
"It is the place of a Debutante to be the epitome of etiquette," Voldemort says, echoing some of Severus' words. "We have traditional standards. When a Debutante approaches a Death Eater or myself, he must curtsey to show his respect and admiration."
Severus smiles slightly.
It is not my place to question any longer, I remind myself, no matter how distasteful it may be. I sweep one foot behind me and dip down to the ground, trying to get as low as possible. I falter slightly on the way up but, apparently, Voldemort and Severus are both pleased. They applaud my efforts.
"He will certainly make a fine Debutante," Voldemort comments, appraising me closely with his eyes. "Your lack of animosity amazes me. My apologies, Harry, I thought that you might be more . . . hostile towards me."
"I'm too exhausted to fight," I say, trying to remain as polite and mild-mannered as possible. "My friends and I just want security at the moment and we seem to be receiving that by your hand. The battle is over. You are no longer my mortal enemy. I know when to submit."
"An exceptional Debutante. So incredibly diplomatic." Voldemort takes one last glance at me before turning his attentions to Severus. "My Szajha, would you play a piece for me?" He motions toward a flute that is propped up in the corner. Severus rises to his feet and curtsies -- A deep and graceful curtsey (Much better than mine, at least). He strides to the flute, picks it up, and positions it against his lips.
"Kneel by me, Harry," Voldemort says, motioning for me to take Severus' place at his side. I comply, not wanting to displease the man who holds my entire life in the palm of his hands. Severus begins to play Mozart's Concerto in G Major. His hands move deftly over the keys -- Each note flooding into the air surrounding us.
"I never knew that Severus could play so well," I say, resting my head against Voldemort's thigh as Severus did. Voldemort's hand plays idly with strands of my hair.
"You probably never knew Severus could play at all," he responds. We both sit in silence until Severus has finished trilling over the final notes. I applaud enthusiastically. Voldemort nods in approval.
"I hope that you aspire to be like my Szajha," Voldemort says, tipping my chin up with his index finger so that I'm looking him in the eye. "Greatness has always been within your grasp." He pauses for a moment. "Now ask your question, my child."
"My godfather, Sirius Black, and his friend, Remus Lupin -- Are they alright?" Better to know the answer, I think. Better to know the answer and better to grieve.
"Your godfather and his companion are currently in my custody," Voldemort says gravely. "They are perfectly fine."
A flood of relief washes over me and I feel myself go weak. I limply fall against Voldemort, trying to get control of my emotions.
My family is alive.
Author's Note: Next time, SLASH (And lots of it)
II. Wickedness
It is enlightening to watch him work. He is starting on Justin Finch-Fletchley this morning. Tears stain the Hufflepuff eyes and Severus wipes them away, whispering gently into the boy's ear. Meanwhile, the rain continues to pour down outside, isolating the pavilion from the rest of the castle. It creates a sense of community among our collective. If I never liked little Colin Creevey before, I find myself feeling akin to him now. The dewy atmosphere makes me feel warm and, for the first time, completely at peace. Yes, leave it to Lord Voldemort to finally introduce me to the concept of peace.
"Not bad here," Ron sighs, resting his head against a pillow. "Better than I expected."
"I think we should wait a while before we pass judgement," Seamus says, with a sagacity I never knew he possessed. "After all, it is only our first day here."
"Still, I thought we were going to be scrubbing floors or something like that," Ron laughed. "You know, down on our knees with the scouring brush."
"I can assure you that will never happen."
Aquarius stands behind us, a tray of white, cream-thick beverages in his hands.
"I thought that you might like something to refresh your spirits," he says, laying the tray of drinks down before us with a courteous bow. "And I wish to answer any questions that you may have."
"Questions! I have a ton of those," Ron scoffs. "For the first thing, what's a debutante?"
Aquarius sits down, slightly outside of our circle.
"The story of the Debutantes," Aquarius begins, "is a tragic one. It all began with the Dark Wizard Grindelwald and his initial rise to power in the year 1923 . . ."
"Oh god, it's Professor Binns' History of Magic course all over again," Ron groans.
"No, Aquarius is much more interesting than Binns," Seamus laughs, moving to punch Aquarius playfully. The young man recoils frantically. "Oh, that's right," Seamus blushes. "I'm not allowed to touch you."
"My apologies," Aquarius sighs, before continuing. "In 1923, Grindelwald fell in love with a most extraordinary young man going by the name of Alysaundre Demière."
"That's disgusting!" Ron crinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue, looking like a second-year. Aquarius ignores him.
"Alysaundre was very taken with Grindelwald and the power that he was exerting over the wizarding world. After a lengthy courtship, Alysundre agreed to bind himself to Grindelwald and become his personal servant. In 1925, Alysaundre became the first Szajha. The young boy quickly tired of his isolated life though and demanded that Grindelwald supply him with a retinue. Grindelwald complied and, in 1927, the first Debutantes were called. The Debutantes were known throughout the world for their beauty, their culture, and their virtuousness. There was one named Maxime Cordett who stood out from the rest. He was known as the 'plume of Grindelwald's Empire.' Alysaundre took a special liking to Maxime and, in 1934, he began an affair with the young Debutante."
"That was a mistake, I gather," I say, picking up one of the drinks and taking a lengthy sip. The thick froth coats the inside of my throat and makes it difficult to breathe for a moment.
"Correct," Aquarius replies. "Grindelwald remained in the dark about this liaison for years though. It wasn't until 1944 that Grindelwald finally became aware of Alysaundre's indiscretions. Some people say that, if enemies hadn't surrounded Grindelwald on all sides, he might have forgiven Alysaundre. After all, Grindelwald was very much in love with the young Szajha. Whatever the case, Grindelwald chose not to forgive and forget. Alysaundre and Maxime were both cursed. Their beauty wiped from them, they were locked into the depths of Azkaban. The two would be the precursors of the Dementors."
"You've got to be kidding!" Ron grins, his eyes flickering with a morbid fascination. "That's bloody twisted!"'
"Of course," Aquarius says matter-of-factly. "Why else do you think the Dementors use a kiss as their choice punishment? Grindelwald fell from power in 1945, defeated by Albus Dumbledore. The position of Szajha would have been abolished completely if it weren't for a boy who had been partially kept in Grindelwald's service since 1943. Upon his ascent to power, Tom Riddle became fascinated with a potions protegee at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In 1976, Severus Snape was bound to Tom Riddle at the second Szajha in history."
"And we're the second group of Debutantes," Neville mumbles -- One of the first things I've heard him say in weeks.
At this moment, Justin Finch-Fletchely stumbles over a pillow and practically falls into my lap. I help the boy into a sitting position and Seamus makes a vain attempt at comforting him while I examine the Mark engraved into his back. It's an ornate design done in crisp, black ink. Flowers cascade from his waist up to his shoulders, letters lace into the vines. Aquarius leans over to look at the Mark.
"It's a bit swollen and puffy now," he says, examining the reddish flesh. "But it will heal nicely. It's beautiful work."
"Thank you, as always, Aquarius," Severus calls from his position high atop the mountain. He looks exhausted but a satisfied smile crosses his lips. "Who will come next?"
Neville curls tightly into himself, attempting to hide from the entire world. I look over at Ron who, once again, has blanched brilliantly.
"No!" he balks, eyes wide with dread. "I will absolutely not go up there to have Professor Snape stick some letter opener into my back! Never!"
"The branding is necessary," Aquarius sniffs, seeming far too high-and-mighty for simply a servant. "This way if you are ever abducted, you will be identifiable and it will be easier for us to bring you back."
"Please Ron," I smile, grasping his hand in mine tightly. "I promise you that it's not that bad. Do Gryffindor right by this."
Ron sighs and I can see that this is a battle easily won.
"Right," he says, getting to his feet. "If that's the way it has to be . . ." He hesitantly unbuttons the robe and lets it fall off of his shoulders to a pool at his feet. "But I still don't like it."
*****
Justin Finch-Fletchley whimpers in his sleep and sprawls across my still form, looking for some comfort in a world that is spinning out of control. I begin to gently stroke his hair, muttering nonsensical words into his ear. Poor child. He must be frightened half out of his wits in these conditions. Ron smiles at me from across the way.
"Where were you last night?" he asks, somewhat puzzled. The other five Debutantes slept in this chamber, directly next to the Room of Acca Larentia. I slept in the same bed as the Szajha.
"I stayed with Severus last night," I shrug, trying not to make a big deal out of it. Ron's mouth gapes open unattractively and he looks like a fish found at the bottom of the Atlantic.
"How could you stand being in the same room as that man?" Ron exclaims. I put my finger to my lips, signaling him to lower his voice. We don't want to disturb the little ones of course. Neville Longbottom cries out in the middle of a nightmare, groping his hand along his back. He was the last one to receive the Mark. He was the only one to scream.
"He isn't that bad," I frown, gathering Justin against my chest. The whimpering stops momentarily and the boy lulls off into a peaceful abyss.
"He is too," Ron huffs, crossing his arms against his chest. "That branding bloody well hurt."
"It could have been worse," I say matter-of-factly. "Would you wake Neville up? He looks like he's having a nightmare."
Neville has begun feverishly kicking away the covers and is now crying out every few seconds, "Grandma! Grandma!" I wonder how pure Neville Longbottom's blood happens to be. It could be that his grandmother has already been executed. His parents undoubtedly have already felt the numbing death of Avada Kedavra, along with the rest of the residents at St. Mungo's. I am forced to wonder if the Longbottoms knew what was happening as they sat in front of the Death Eaters like Muggles before a firing squad.
"Neville," Ron whispers harshly, taking the boy by the shoulder and shaking him. Neville automatically bolts awake -- His face covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He lets out a yowl reminiscent of Remus Lupin during the full moon.
I practically slam my head against the concrete wall for thinking about it.
Remus Lupin and Sirius Black have probably both been captured by now. After all, who wants to take the risk of concealing two fugitives with Lord Voldemort on the throne. Remus Lupin has probably been put down by the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Walden Macnair must be having the time of his life. As for Sirius Black . . . He's probably finally received the Dementor's Kiss. I let out a dry laugh at the irony. Here I'm helping to fill the gap left by the first Dementors while my godfather -- my only family -- dies at their hands.
The candles suddenly ignite and Severus stands in the doorway -- A frightened look plastered on his normally indifferent features.
"Is something the matter?" he asks. "I heard someone shout and I thought that something might be wrong."
"That was only Neville," I reply, getting to my feet. "He had a nightmare."
"Will you be alright?" Severus asks. He's trying to remain indifferent but his eyes narrow in concern.
"Fine," Neville mumbles, pulling his legs up to his chest and hiding his face between his knees. Severus doesn't push the boy any farther. He turns on the heels of his boots and is about the leave the room when I stop him.
"Severus!" I call, running to meet him in the frame of the door. "Do you know what's happened to Remus Lupin and Sirius Black?"
Severus' nose turns up slightly at the name "Sirius Black" and the distaste is evident in his features.
"I have no idea," Severus says. "Are you going to be requiring an answer now or can this wait until the morning?"
I would like to say that it can wait until the morning but this is one of those matters that will languidly gnaw at my emotions all night long.
"This can't wait until morning, Severus," I say, bowing my head towards the ground.
"If you want this matter taken care of tonight, Harry, you're going to have to seek an immediate audience with Lord Voldemort."
*****
"Don't be nervous," Severus sighs, picking through his wardrobe. "Nothing ill will befall you tonight." Severus pulls a white gown out of the armoire. A blue bodice -- fabric reminiscent of curtains that the Dursleys once owned -- accompanies it.
"Try this," Severus says wearily, handing the ensemble to me. "If you don't mind, I have to make myself presentable."
"All this just to ask how my godfather is?" I ask, my eyebrow arching slightly. "Doesn't this seem a bit . . . overdone?"
"A Debutante would never appear before anyone of importance in a state of undress," Severus declares, pulling another relatively simple gown from the closet. He disappears behind a scrim, leaving me alone. I quickly scramble out of my robe and pull the gown over my head roughly. I straighten the skirt so that the hem just grazes the floor. Picking up the bodice, I wonder how on earth I'm going to lace it up.
"Don't try doing that yourself."
Severus emerges from behind the scrim, looking all the more like "the Szajha" -- Dressed in absinthe and ebony. He steps behind me, his fingers ghosting over my shoulders momentarily before the bodice cuts off all of the circulation in my chest.
"God!" I squeal, attempting to bat Severus' hands away. "Would you mind not pulling that quite so tightly?" In response, another harsh yank is exerted on the laces. This continues until my torso is suitably cramped into the bodice. I feel like all of the air has been permanently pushed out of my lungs.
"Sit," Severus commands, motioning towards the vanity.
"I don't think I could sit if I wanted to," I say, squirming in the prison of the bodice.
"Of course you can sit," Severus scowls. "Just keep your back straight and don't even attempt to slouch."
I gingerly ease myself into the chair -- My back ramrod straight.
"This is very uncomfortable."
"That's only because you aren't used to it," Severus says, opening a drawer and pulling out a brush. "You'll adjust given time."
"That doesn't help much in the present moment," I say through gritted teeth. Examining myself in the mirror though, I am somewhat becoming. The gown is flattering enough, my figure is shapely, and my posture has improved ten-fold. It's still damned uncomfortable. Severus brushes bay-hued strands out of my eyes, trying his best to make me presentable. Every now and then he issues forth a "tut tut" of disapproval.
"We shall turn you into something worthwhile," he says, grimacing as he comes to yet another knot in my haphazard locks. "Somehow . . . We will turn you into something worthwhile."
*****
"Our Highest Lord bids you welcome. You may enter."
The servant bows curtly and stands aside, leaving us standing before the door. It's a white chiseled marble -- Too reminiscent of a tomb. My blood runs cold and light seems to be pulsating from behind my eyes. Not the pain associated with the scar, of course. That faded long ago. I know this pain well, all the same. It's the chilled pain of fear.
"Don't be nervous," Severus whispers again, ghosting his lips over my cheekbone. He allows them to linger there a tad too long and, for a moment, I'm struck with the notion that he might kiss me. He quickly pulls away though and goes to open the door.
I must have had the wrong idea.
The door is opened and I'm faced with a sitting room -- An oddly bland sitting room. The couches are ashen gray and austere. Hand embroidered blankets hang on the walls. I examine one for a few moments and see that a message is carefully cross-stitched into the fabric:
I built a tiny garden
In the corner of my heart.
I kept it just for lovely things
And bade all else depart.
And ever there was music
And flowers blossomed fair.
Yet never was it perfect
Until you entered there.
Severus, 1976
"You seek an audience with me?"
The voice shocks me back into the present moment. Severus has already left my side and is kneeling by Voldemort, resting his head on the Dark Lord's thigh. He looks oddly serene there, as though this is the one place where he belongs. Voldemort reaches a hand out and gently strokes Severus' hair.
I'm under the sudden impression that I could watch the two of them for hours.
"You won't ask your question then?" Voldemort smiles, running his thumb across the shell of Severus' ear.
"Yes, if please your Lord," I murmur, not knowing exactly how I should approach this.
"It is only the second day they have been in my care, my Lord," Severus says, quietly and with reverence. "They have all received the Mark but I have yet to teach them anything of etiquette."
"He's doing fairly well on his own," Voldemort says, beckoning me forward. I hesitantly approach until I am only a foot in front of the Dark Lord. "Do you know how to curtsey, my child?"
I'm suddenly hit with a wave of disgust -- Curtsey? That's something that little girls learn how to do in charm school. It's not for a Gryffindor, not for a war hero, and certainly not for Harry Potter. Voldemort lets out a short laugh and I realize that my nose has unconsciously wrinkled.
"It is the place of a Debutante to be the epitome of etiquette," Voldemort says, echoing some of Severus' words. "We have traditional standards. When a Debutante approaches a Death Eater or myself, he must curtsey to show his respect and admiration."
Severus smiles slightly.
It is not my place to question any longer, I remind myself, no matter how distasteful it may be. I sweep one foot behind me and dip down to the ground, trying to get as low as possible. I falter slightly on the way up but, apparently, Voldemort and Severus are both pleased. They applaud my efforts.
"He will certainly make a fine Debutante," Voldemort comments, appraising me closely with his eyes. "Your lack of animosity amazes me. My apologies, Harry, I thought that you might be more . . . hostile towards me."
"I'm too exhausted to fight," I say, trying to remain as polite and mild-mannered as possible. "My friends and I just want security at the moment and we seem to be receiving that by your hand. The battle is over. You are no longer my mortal enemy. I know when to submit."
"An exceptional Debutante. So incredibly diplomatic." Voldemort takes one last glance at me before turning his attentions to Severus. "My Szajha, would you play a piece for me?" He motions toward a flute that is propped up in the corner. Severus rises to his feet and curtsies -- A deep and graceful curtsey (Much better than mine, at least). He strides to the flute, picks it up, and positions it against his lips.
"Kneel by me, Harry," Voldemort says, motioning for me to take Severus' place at his side. I comply, not wanting to displease the man who holds my entire life in the palm of his hands. Severus begins to play Mozart's Concerto in G Major. His hands move deftly over the keys -- Each note flooding into the air surrounding us.
"I never knew that Severus could play so well," I say, resting my head against Voldemort's thigh as Severus did. Voldemort's hand plays idly with strands of my hair.
"You probably never knew Severus could play at all," he responds. We both sit in silence until Severus has finished trilling over the final notes. I applaud enthusiastically. Voldemort nods in approval.
"I hope that you aspire to be like my Szajha," Voldemort says, tipping my chin up with his index finger so that I'm looking him in the eye. "Greatness has always been within your grasp." He pauses for a moment. "Now ask your question, my child."
"My godfather, Sirius Black, and his friend, Remus Lupin -- Are they alright?" Better to know the answer, I think. Better to know the answer and better to grieve.
"Your godfather and his companion are currently in my custody," Voldemort says gravely. "They are perfectly fine."
A flood of relief washes over me and I feel myself go weak. I limply fall against Voldemort, trying to get control of my emotions.
My family is alive.
Author's Note: Next time, SLASH (And lots of it)