Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)
Responses to Reviewers: tkmoore, (abases self before you and builds a small tkmoore shrine in honor of your fantabulous reviews) LadyDesdemona, thanks! I'm really glad you've enjoyed it so far!! sillysun, oooh, oooh, I like that word! (grins cheekily) love ya! morphed, hmm, well, it wasn't supposed to seem like that, since everyone knows that Blaise is the shit too. I'll have to go re-read and see where it went wrong, I suppose. And thanks for reviewing, as always! MeghanBlack, THANKS! I'm supremely glad that you liked it so much, and hope that you continue to do so! Sunday-Morning, (fulfilling addiction as ordered) and yes, dear, it has green bits in it just for you, lol. Haunted-Shadows, LOL, it's been a few days. Hope you liked it, though! otaku sae, thanks!!!! you're the best, you know that? love ya! AnitaBlake/BuffyFan, thanks! I was hoping someone would make that connection, lol! Pia O'Leary, yes! another recruit for the Potter-haters! whoo-hoo!!!!!!! j/k…thanks for reviewing! atomic sushi, thanks you so much, and yes, I know. I just like the other better, is all. lol sarah, hmm…yes, well…hmm. it is wrong, isn't it? (cackles) :P Artemisgodess, thanks so much! and the craziest fic, eh? (grins smugly at competition) bigreader, thank you, and I hope this was soon enough, even though it was slightly late! Tytianne, thanks a million! hope this meets expectations, lol! Aleurier, (shudders) don't worry, I flinch and gag at all things D/Hr as well. just…ewwwwwwww! gin rose raposo1, as always, thankyouthankyouthankyou for reviewing! Golden Rose Storm, you'll see, lol. well, I guess you have seen Blaise's by now, huh? oh well…love ya! Flower4444, interesting good, or interesting bad? hopefully the former, lol! and thanks for reviewing!
Author's Note: I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?
Other Author's Note: Again, yes, I have heard that Ginny's real cannon name is Ginevra or what-the-fuck-ever. And while I have no problem with that, I myself have always prefered Virginia, which simply sounds more…elegant, in my humble opinion. If you disagree, well…pretend, lol.
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"What's this, Draco?" A heavenly voice interceded from above him, and Blaise snickered as Virginia dropped onto the banister with Draco. "Quality time with Corpus? Surely you get enough of that."
Blaise snickered again.
"And you," she glared down at him, "why wouldn't you know where Cruoris sleeps?"
He grew quiet.
"You two are up to something." She said after a moment, and Blaise decided that this would be a fabulous time to give into the Pool's hold. Then, with an uncoiling smirk, he remembered that for once, he hadn't done anything. He also remembered Draco's smug grin as he'd pushed him in the Pool.
"No, but he was." He replied, resisting the urge to cackle. "He was most certainly up to something, I can assure you."
"Do I even want to know?" Virginia asked with a long-suffering sigh.
"That Corpus finally succeeded in catching him off-guard enough to seduce him without having to use intoxicants?" He questioned flippantly, idly splashing his fingers in the dark water and fighting the Pool's cajoling pull. "Perhaps."
Virginia blinked. "Oh."
"What?" Draco exclaimed, his silver eyes wide as he stared down at Blaise. "Are you implying that she had that planned? And that she was going to drug me otherwise?"
He'd been wrong; now was the perfect time to sink into memories.
Begin Flashback:
The Dementors opened Azkaban's wards to them as the horizon turned a bloody red with the setting sun, and they flew inside, four hundred Death Eaters flanking them, more than enough to take care of the limited human guards inside the dank fortress. Still slightly buzzed from the exchange of power, he thoroughly enjoyed the faces of the lookouts as they appeared from nowhere, surrounded by the Dementors who were supposed to keep them out. The others of the creatures inside joined them, and the pure guards were given a choice to serve, those that refused dying quite nastily, vials of their blood all that was kept.
The impure prisoners died as well, while they freed those that had been waiting for such an occurrence. Others freed the lower-ranking captives, while he, Draco, their fathers and their Lord went to the solitary cells, those that held the most dangerous criminals the Ministry had been able to trap. Family members or family friends every one, they greeted them with shock and glee, ecstatic as they were given back their wands for the first time in ages, wands that Fudge had most eagerly supplied him, Draco and their fathers with. But the last row of cells, those buried deep underground, those that contained the truly mad ones, the truly powerful ones…
They were not filled with such joyous reunions.
No, the prisoners held there had been treated much worse than the others had been, for they were the ones that frightened the guards even without their wands, and they were mere shells of themselves. Bella was among them, in a cell scant feet from her beloved Rodolphus, but it might as well have been a league for all of the difference it made. Silencing charms surrounded each barren room, none of which had more than a concrete slab, a ratty blanket, leftover gruel and a small drain in the floor. They left the others to their fathers and their Lord, breaking into Bella's easily and sliding inside the cramped, dark hole.
She was curled up on the slab in the corner, gray rags barely covering her sallow, sunken skin, and blood covered the walls, long, dried streaks of it that formed runes and symbols of power and protection. Cuts lined her arms and legs, some scabbed and some freshly bleeding, and scars covered the rest of her from old wounds that curved and coiled. Bruises had turned her once-fair skin into a map of black, purple, green and yellow, and those were not self-inflicted like the cuts. No, those came from the guards' fright and their need to prove themselves stronger than the battered witch that they held prisoner, which is something that they never could have been.
She looked up at them as they entered, and she would have risen to greet them as she had during visits, but her legs were broken and starting to heal crookedly, and she simply couldn't. But they saw the long-awaited satisfaction in her black eyes, because even though her body was broken, her spirit was not. It was scarred, twisted and abused, but not broken, never that. They broke the binding keeping her from her veela ancestry, and healed her with soft caresses and quiet, calming words, pouring power into both until they had smoothed away the last scar and wiped away the last bruised blemish, and they slowly helped her stand.
"I knew you would come." She said, her voice rough due to the rarity with which she used it, and they pressed her angico wand into her left hand, watching her eyes glaze slightly as she wrapped her fingers around the red and black wood.
"We would never have left you here." They agreed, because they had always seen the beautiful purity in Bellatrix Black, even as they'd watched her wither over the years in forced isolation and entrapment.
A ghost of a smile turned the corner of her lips up, and Draco laid a hand on her shoulder, the rags falling away, replaced with silk robes. She sighed as the material slid over her healed skin and they left, going back out into the shadowed hallway. Her husband had been freed, and she ran to him while they broke open the next cell, which held one of Silana's sisters, Calanthe, who was in much the same state. Healing and clothing her, they moved to the next, Theodore's uncle unresponsive as they worked quickly, and he finally rose after a whispered "Imperio," following them out. Next was Rodolphus's brother, Rabastan, who smiled and moved like a zombie.
Rookwood and Dolohov stood just outside when they went back out that time, three Warringtons, a Rosier and a male Delacour beside them, and Blaise saw Voldemort leading Bryce Baddock from another cell, while his father helped Severus's brother, Sethos, and Lucius led Anton's aunt to where her son leaned against one grimy wall. Blaise and Draco split up, opening the last of the cells and freeing the last of the condemned. Pansy's older brother and two of her cousins soon joined the others, as did Alcaeus Black, Mitchell Arcdine, Marilyn Montague, Orpheus and Prometheus Malfoy and both of Blaise's uncles, his father's younger brothers.
They grew stronger when they were given their returned wands, but all remained much more sluggish than the other prisoners once released, and they trailed after them and down to the main lobby where the others waited without even really registering the walk. They were ghostly, haunting, but they still radiated the power that they'd been so feared over, and the others showed them due respect when they entered that crowded room. Portkeys had been arranged earlier, as many were still too weak to Apparate and would be for weeks, some even months, and they disappeared, the Dementors following, reappearing in the vast front lawn of Malfoy Manor.
The various families and many more besides had been waiting for them, and instant, gleeful reunions took place all over the starlit yard, while Draco and Blaise left with the Dementors into the surrounding forest after dismissing themselves, which no one objected to as they saw the small army of black-cloaked beings spread out behind them. Slipping into the trees soundlessly, they led the creatures deep into the old, gnarled growth that had stood long before Hogwarts and would continue to do so when the school was nothing but dusty remnants of stone and ash that lay forgotten for ages. Reaching a small clearing, they turned and regarded the two leading Dementors.
'Azkaban lays wasted.' They commented idly, which would be true by then. The set of timed explosions had gone off shortly after they'd left, and the isle once more rested underneath the glacial waves. 'But we would give you a home.'
'We will go wherever thee wissshesss.' The pair of Dementors replied in unison, creeping closer almost unconsciously.
'Then call your brethren to you, tell them to abandon the small outposts where they scavenge for yearly meals that are more than half the time denied them. We will feed you and keep you strong, and war beckons ever nearer. Soon, you and yours shall feast more grandly than you have since the Dark Ages.'
'A new Dark Age, then?' They sounded amused and slightly excited, if beings such as they could even experience excitement. 'It ssshall be asss thee sssaysss. They will come, and come within the week.'
'Good. You can have your pick of our estates to stay at, but divide it up as equally as you can, except for here and at Morte Nera. Touch none that are pure, but any others that you sense within the borders or without are yours for the taking, unless the purebloods are still playing with them. Understood?'
'Oh, we underssstand freedom when it'sss offered, young lordsss. Jussst becaussse it hasss not been in centuriesss doesss not mean that we have forgotten it. We know much that many think usss blind about. Why doesss thee think the centaursss hate usss ssso?'
They left shortly afterwards, fanning out through the woods, and Draco and Blaise shared a mutual glance as they started back for the Manor. Getting to know and understand those strange creatures would be an interesting experience, indeed. They reeked of evil, they were practically embodiments for it, but they were not mindless. Heartless? Yes. Compassionless? Yes. Utterly devoid of anything resembling a conscience? Yes. But mindless? Evidently not. And why should they be? Demons weren't, they knew that personally, so why should the Dementors have been? It just appeared no one knew, because no one had been able to truly communicate with them.
Until now, that is.
They went to check on Lucius's cousins and Blaise's uncles first, and then his aunt, who was being severely pampered by his doting mother. All had already started the difficult, tedious process of magically reverting into what they had once been; healthy, active witches and wizards, not these skeletal, stringy things before them, things with too-wide eyes and deflated cheeks, with paper-thin gray skin and limp, tangled hair. It reminded them of Sirius every time they looked at any of them until they went into Bella's room and saw him sitting beside her bed. He was no longer wasted away, and hadn't been for years. But Bella was, and it stung to see it.
It almost seemed worse now that she was propped up in a bed piled with silk and velvet, her ebony hair brushed out painstakingly by Narcissa, who couldn't seem to stop silently crying, the tears running down her porcelain cheeks like tiny diamonds until they splattered on the silver furs. They were suddenly glad that they had healed the worst of it, for Narcissa might have gone quite mad had she seen the complete destruction of Bella's body as they had. No, now she just looked like a waking corpse with her once-muscled arms the same size as her wrists, her wrinkled cheekbones protruding sharply, and dark smudges encircling darker eyes.
Furs had been piled on top of her along with warming charms, but still she shivered, as if no warmth could ever touch her skin again. Sirius was curled up next to her, his constantly heated body mostly draped over hers as he tried to share his spiked temperature with her, and though she looked comforted by his presence, they knew that his almost burning-hot skin didn't even faze her own. Narcissa was wrapped around her other side, until she and Sirius formed their own blanket made of flesh and adoration, and Bella periodically wiped the tears from her sister's cheeks with one bony hand, the nails of which had been ripped out before they'd healed them.
'How do you think Fudge should die?' Draco asked as he watched those still-graceful fingers flutter over his mother's face.
Blaise knew why he asked, since Fudge had sworn their families were being treated decently. He'd obviously been lying, and he'd obviously been having them healed before visits, so that their families wouldn't suspect foul play. That bastard would scream and scream for this betrayal, because not a one of those that had returned had been spared similar treatment. The fool should have known better than to fuck with them, and now they knew why he'd looked so shocked and scared when they'd shown up in his office mere hours ago, demanding wands that had been locked away, wands that had been lying in Ministry vaults for months, years, many for over a decade.
'I'm sure we'll think of something…fitting.' He replied, and they made their way to the bed slowly, Sirius following their approach through strands of Narcissa's snowy-blond hair. Bella looked up at them when they crawled on the bed, her eyes appraising as she watched them move.
"We all knew it, you know." She said, and her voice, at least, sounded much better.
"Knew what, Auntie?" Draco asked, and she smirked.
"How beautiful the both of you would be." She replied after a thoughtful moment, and motioned them closer. They slid farther up the bed until Blaise was half in between her and Narcissa, Draco half in between her and Sirius. She wrapped a ravished hand in both ebony and mercury, their hair as soft and fine as the silk surrounding her, and the smirk melted into a soft smile.
"You did say that often, didn't you?" Narcissa murmured, burying her face in her sister's own flowing hair, which spread over the pillows and under the blankets, but that had lost its shine, its vibrancy.
"Of course I did. Everyone did. What else could we have expected? We all knew when the four of you paired off and married that your children couldn't be anything but stunning. And we were right. Malfoy and Black, Zabini and Delacour, they are mixes of our oldest, most glorious and most gorgeous lines. I have never seen males so…pretty."
Draco and Blaise looked at one another again, silently trying to decide if they liked being called 'pretty'. From anyone else, no. From Bella…well.
"Pretty, and yet so fierce, so very masculine, that the word almost seems wrong." She continued, her hands slowly unwinding themselves from their hair. "What else to call it then? Simple, extraordinary perfection? Ethereal beauty? Perhaps that, yes, for you are ethereal, if anything. What do you suppose you will be in a few years then, if you are so much already, and barely sixteen?"
"More ethereal?" They quipped, and she rolled her eyes. "For I doubt we could get any more perfect."
"Ah, and forever arrogant to boot." She sighed, falling back against the pillows and smirking again. "I remember what it is like to be the most comely of our kind. Do not take your glory for granted, and pray that it is never stolen from you as mine was from me."
"Stolen it might have been, Auntie," Draco whispered as her eyes fell closed, exhaustion overcoming her. "But it will be returned to you, I can promise you that."
And it was, they saw to it personally, staying with her during the long days of recovery that were anything but painless. They checked on the others as well, but they stayed with her most often and their fathers stayed with them. The summer was to be spent with them, after all, and if that meant it was to be mostly spent inside a sickroom, then so be it. The transformation took many aching, tormented days to complete, as the potion worked through the prisoners' veins, eating away the foulness that place had left in their blood, eating away the aging beyond their years and the rampant infections that had polluted their bodies and thoughts.
They shed the layers of it like reptiles, except it was one after the other, and the skin had to be ripped free. Those closest to the prisoners preformed that task, carving the flesh of their loved ones away and ignoring their screams and pleas for it to stop once the pain had fogged their reason and determination. But Bella never screamed, though she writhed and tore at the sheets in constant agony. Time after time, they repeated the process, until they knew that the walls and floors of the Manor would never be free of all the blood, until they knew that they would be finding dried bits of flesh for ages. And with each layer removed, it got worse.
Those that had been inside Azkaban longer took the longest, and had the most…sheddings to undergo. The first weren't so bad, just regular skin except for the washed-out coloring. The next few were worse, though, the skin becoming hard and yellowish-brown, and they had to practically hack at it to get it to come loose. The next sets following those were even more bad-off, the skin softening again but turning green and moldy, as if they were long-dead. Many of the prisoners stopped there, except for those that had been in the deepest, darkest reaches of Azkaban, those in that cursed, forgotten wing. No, they still had more to endure.
They had a last set of layers to be removed, the green becoming darker and almost black, run-through with pus and fouler things, and it was practically dripping off on its own continuously, having turned into something liquidly gelatinous. All that was recognizable about Bella at that point was her eyes, the only things that had stayed unaffected throughout, and it was probably a blessing that on that thirteenth day, Narcissa had succumbed to fatigue and fallen asleep in an armchair by the fire, her son's silencing spells surrounding her. Because that's when Bella suddenly shot up, globs of…well, of herself falling around her like hellish rain, and then she fell back and…died.
Narcissa would have had a bloody heart attack.
But Bella didn't stay lifeless for long as she started convulsing, sending veritable missiles of the shit everywhere, before it all just melted completely, and all that was left were those eyes floating in a pool of the goo that she'd been reduced to. Then she screamed, screamed and screamed and screamed, even though she had no mouth anywhere to be seen, and other screams, matching screams, could be heard echoing all throughout the Manor like a tortured, off-key symphony. It lasted for hours, a never-ending chorus of pain and, oddly, release. They'd seen the same with Sirius once before, so it wasn't wholly unexpected.
Neither was that gel suddenly beginning to solidify once more, taking shape as it fell back in on itself, bubbling and hissing and popping. Sirius stared with wide eyes throughout, not remembering much of the process himself, while they perched on the footboard, watching and waiting as they'd been doing for days. Legs slowly formed, brownish-black and still watery, then hips and a waist, breasts and shoulders, arms and a neck. It was not a quick rebuilding, and her head took the longest, boiling and roiling like heated tar as she continued screaming. Then her voice abruptly died off, and they moved forward, ignoring Sirius's startled expression.
Each took one of her hands, hands that dyed their skin black and oozed between their fingers, as they waited for the last layer to fall away. Several minutes later, it did just that. The sludge sloughed off, and what rose underneath it was firm but giving, old but new. Flashes of white were the first differences to be seen, and then more and more as fresh, healthy skin finally fought its way free. The faintest pink tinge highlighted it, and cleansing spells murmured softly had the last of the…mess disappearing, though the mattresses and sheets would have to be burned. The shit had eaten through them to the floor.
They simply looked at her for quite some time, admiring the grace with which she'd been made, and they finally saw what so many others had before her imprisonment. Nigh incomparable beauty. She was over forty, but mages don't age nearly as quickly as muggles, and she was part veela besides. She would have been nearly as vibrant had she not been locked away, but for all of the potion's pain, it had restored her completely, and she appeared no older than twenty-four or twenty-five. Every inch of her was trim and toned, just as she had been before her imprisonment, and her hair barely brushed the tops of her knees, making her look as if she wore a dress of black fur.
The pink tinge faded, the screaming had stopped, and her eyes slowly opened their new lids, her gaze locking onto the stars above her that were spread across the enchanted ceiling. Her lips parted slowly, wine-red and full, and she drew in a long breath, her teeth once more a pearly white and whole, rather than rotting. Then she turned her head slowly, meeting first Draco's eyes and then his own, and they could see the smallest glimmer of panic within them, as if she wasn't quite sure whether she was still trapped within a body like she had been for the last two weeks. So Blaise did the only thing he knew to do to help her, and called in a mirror.
It had worked for Sirius, after all.
She flinched when it first appeared floating in the air before her, but then those colorless eyes grew large and she grabbed it, sitting up quickly and looking in it frantically. She ran fingers over the glass as if it would shatter before moving them to those scarlet lips, and a strange fire alit within her, furious and ecstatic and burning. Tossing the mirror aside and rising to her knees, she looked over her body slowly, inspecting every inch before she started laughing. It was rich and wondrous, velvet honey, and she spun, pulling Blaise to her by his hair. He didn't fight the movement, though he could have avoided it long before she'd reached him.
No, he let her drag him forward, let her cover his lips with her own, and he responded, because he knew what she was after. She could see that she was back, feel it, but the proof of it to her, the one thing that could make it undeniable, was his desire. She had once been used to being the most desirable creature to walk upon Terra, and it had been one of her greatest joys as well as one of her greatest weapons. Yes, he knew exactly how effective such beauty could be, as he and Draco had used their own countless times before. So he kissed her, kissed her madly and viciously, slamming her back and into the massive headboard.
She moaned into his mouth, her hand tightening in his hair as she tried to pull him even closer, and he realized, with something like rage and something like horror, that she had been denied even so simple a thing for over fifteen years. He would have sneered and cursed had his lips not been much too occupied, so instead, he poured dark magic into that kiss and through his fingers into her hips, twisting the shadowed strands of it into devious delight that thrummed every nerve within her and that would have had her screaming had his lips not still been devouring her own. Nicking his tongue with suddenly sharp teeth, he freely gave what others killed for.
His blood.
Her whole body jerked, her eyes shot open, and that time her screams were stopped by the crimson elixir that she couldn't get enough of and that made their kiss turn even hungrier as she grew as crazed as they all did when tasting of himself or his love, whom he knew was standing mere feet away, his eyes averted from his wanton aunt. Sensing her losing control, sensing the wave of black passion that he'd risen within her about to break, Blaise pulled her hips forward harshly, his nails drawing blood as she wrapped her legs around him automatically, and he gave her what she wanted. Sending a last spear of darkness lancing through her, he ground into her and let her feel how hard she'd made him.
That time she did scream, throwing her head back and howling in triumph and ecstasy.
End Flashback
Bella, Bella, lovely Bella, he thought absently, his eyes glued to the stars shining brightly above him, their silver light turning the diamond into something that looked alive and shimmering. Aunt and sister, friend and lover, always loyal. A slight huffing noise caught his attention, and he slowly turned his head to see who desired his attention, the sparkling diamond seeming to stretch and spin like slowly moving fireworks. He then wished he hadn't, for his daughter was pinning him with quite the pestilent glare. She sat upon the water's surface, her arms crossed and her legs tucked underneath her, hair the color of old, rich wine floating around her.
"I. Cannot. Believe. That. You. Bloody. Well. Told. Him!" She spat out through gritted teeth, and he would have sneered and said something like, 'Well, you bloody well fucked him,' but since he couldn't, he just glared right back. "That was positively wrong, papa! Do you know what he did? Do you?"
At least he could still smirk.
"He confronted me about it! In front of Cruoris! Came stalking in with narrowed eyes as if I'd been conspiring to fucking kill him instead of shag him, and confiscated all of my liquor and spice! I'll never live this down, not ever, and it's all your fault!"
He just seriously wished that he could laugh, as well.
But someone else seemed to feel the urge to do it for him, and he knew that laugh, as did Corpus. Both looked up to where Bella and Sirius stood on the first landing, grinning like banshees, and Corpus groaned. "I hate you, papa, I really do." She said morosely, falling back onto the water with a wet 'plop'.
Of course you do, love, he thought to himself, since the Pool blocked even telepathic conversations from making any sense once it had a hold of you. Bella called out to Corpus as his mind started sinking back into memories of dead years, and she splashed him irritably before joining the older woman, though they could have been sisters if you went by how youthful each would always be. Sirius gave him a small wave, his cherished Corpus gave him another glare, and Bella blew him a kiss from blood-red lips that were slightly curved in a small smile. Then she took Corpus's hand and said something that almost — almost, mind you — made the younger woman blush.
After that, he knew nothing but what he had once known long ago.
Begin Flashback:
Bella was back, and the rest of that summer was anything but dull. The remaining weeks were spent with her, Sirius and their fathers, and whole villages disappeared night by night, wiped out or recruited, while the Ministry continued turning a blind eye, Fudge more terrified of them than ever before. They'd gone to see him a week after Bella's recovery, the five of them sneaking in through his flimsy wards and waiting for him in his living room, and he'd nearly died of shock when he'd flooed in. Bella had not been kind, to say the least, many remembered taunts ringing in her ears, and she'd showed him exactly what happens when one scorns a Black.
So he kept a lid on their activities, and both Draco and Blaise knew that he would suffer much more at their hands when his usefulness was used up, which wouldn't be too far off in the future. So they busied themselves with hunts and war conferences, with parties and appearances, the latter of which got quite tiring, since all anyone wished to do when they made said appearances was gawk and whisper about wanting to fuck them. As if any of the cretins stood a fucking chance at receiving an invitation to their bed. It was already full of the most beautiful and powerful of their kind, so why would they even think of looking elsewhere?
Had the fools not seen Anton and Pansy? Melody and Theodore? Daphne and Sebastian? Parvati and Padma? All shone more darkly brilliant than the slobbering idiots could ever dream of, and those nights typically ended in someone being ripped apart and left on the floor to cool in pieces, as Blaise had no patience for wandering hands and eyes when it came to Draco, and Draco had the same problem when it came to Blaise. Such events soon stopped, however, when a very drunk, very stupid wizard stumbled up to Blaise one night while he was leaning against a marble pillar next to the dance floor at one of his distant cousin's estates.
"Hey!" The wizard called to get his attention, and he drug his eyes away from where they'd been watching Draco spin a laughing Bella around him, looking at the older man that stood to his left with crooked robes and cheeks red from drinking. Anton, who was standing beside Blaise with one arm around his waist, arched an eyebrow and silently asked, 'Who the fuck is that?', which said better than anything that the man before them was nobody.
"Yes?" Blaise asked semi-politely, since he was in quite a good mood and had consumed enough spice to kill a goblin.
"Fifty galleons!" The man said excitedly, realizing that he had Blaise's attention and sidling closer. Anton's eyes narrowed, watching his slightest movement as he scooted even nearer, and Blaise wondered if the man would do something foolish and get himself killed. Probably.
But he had no idea just how stupid.
"Excuse me?"
"Fifty galleons!" The man repeated, rubbing his hands together eagerly. "You look so much like him, so very much like him, and I would do anything…"
"What the fuck are you babbling about?" Anton snapped, but the wizard didn't even glance over, as if he could see nothing but whatever strange fantasy played within his mind. Blaise would have looked closer, but he was pretty sure that he didn't want to know.
"Please." The man begged, his voice barely carrying over the loud music as he swayed from side to side, nearly falling over several times while just standing in place. "Never have I seen one that so resembled the Zabini heir, and I'll pay you up front, right now if you wish it. Please."
Bloody fucking hell.
"He is the Zabini heir, you brainless swine." Anton hissed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he started to move forward, his wand dropping from his sleeve and into his free hand.
"Sure, sure, whatever you say. You his pimp or something?" The wizard asked, nodding at Blaise, who simply stared. Anton snarled and sprung, Blaise barely restraining him in time and pulling him back against his side. This was much too amusing to end so quickly.
"Yes, he's my…what did you call it? My pimp?" Blaise tried desperately not to snicker. He really had had too much spice. "I assume that means that he sells me to any willing bidder, since I am apparently no more than a worthless whore to be used by any who wish it, hmm?"
Anton turned to gape at him in stunned disbelief, denial and horror. Amusing, indeed.
"Exactly, love." The man tried to say seductively, but it just sounded hoarse and sloppy. Anton's eyes fogged over with fury, snapping back to the man and practically sparking, but he kept talking. "You're the whore and I'm the bidder. Fifty galleons is probably more gold then you've ever seen, but it's yours if you come with me."
That was almost too ridiculous to be humorous.
"F-Fifty…fifty galleons…you…you fucking dare…" Anton was so infuriated at that point that he was trembling and struggling against Blaise's hold on him, unable to form even the smallest sentence past the need to shove a blade down the man's throat. Or into any part of him, really.
"Hey, you don't have to thank me." The wizard said, shaking his head and crashing into the next pillar over, obviously misunderstanding the situation entirely. Anton's rage had already drawn Pansy's attention, and she and Lucius were making their way towards them through the mostly-oblivious crowd. "I have plenty, a whole vault full. Maybe I could show you sometime."
"Really?" Blaise purred, and Anton froze at hearing that familiar tone, his mouth dropping almost imperceptibly and his fingers digging into Blaise's side. "And does a whole vault hold a lot of gold?" The purr took on a sultry edge, and Anton was as tense as a bowstring beside him, not quite believing what he was hearing.
"Oh yeah, yeah it does." The wizard smiled a toothy, lop-sided smile, pushing back up the wall to stand as straight as he could again. "I'm a rich, rich man."
Blaise resisted the urge to scoff.
"And you…you're this rich man's entertainment." He continued, unaware of the death that crept up on him from several sides, since Narcissa and Calanthe were also heading towards them now, as were Theodore and Sirius. Pity, the game was almost over.
"Am I?"
"You're not worth anything else, no matter how much you look like him." The wizard was suddenly scowling and leering at the same time, and the situation lost a bit of its amusement. "And you, the pretty little look-alike whore, will remember it when I'm fucking you into the floor and bruising that delicate skin."
Anton very nearly got away that time. And…Draco was coming, faster than the others.
"I really am the Zabini heir, you know." Blaise remarked casually, and the man laughed, leaned in, and tried to yank him forward by the front of his robes. Blaise moved not so much as an indrawn breath would have caused, shoved Anton away before he could rip the wizard's throat out, and heard the song drawing to an end.
"Sure."
"I am. Now, what did you want? Exactly."
"You. Fifty galleons to fuck you like the filth you are."
"I can't hear you, what was that?" Blaise asked, gesturing vaguely towards the bandstand.
"Fifty galleons to fuck you like the filth you are!"
How sad for him that the music stopped just as he screamed that lovely sentiment.
"What the fuck did you just say?"
If dark, utterly obliterating hell could be contained in a voice as cold as arctic ice, then it most certainly was right then, spilling from Draco in a venomous hiss that seemed to creep into the now-gawking people's bones, infusing them with a primal form of terror. He appeared in a swirl of silver robes the same color as his hair, metallic and gorgeous, and he was as mad as any had ever seen him, his eyes glowing bright enough to cast shadows before him. The wizard stopped breathing as Draco lashed out and destroyed the wasted haze clouding his mind, and his eyes widened impossibly as they cleared of the alcohol's drugging effects and truly focused on Blaise.
"Tsk, tsk." Blaise crooned, inching forward and whispering in the shocked man's ear. "Looks like you fucked up royally, doesn't it? And honestly, fifty galleons? Is that all I'm worth?"
"I-I didn't k-know, my l-lord…"
"Oh, so you would pay even more for the real thing? Sadly enough for you, however, I have more than enough gold of my own to melt down and fucking bathe in every day for the rest of my life, should I choose to do so. Ah, and my love comes now, quite displeased with your treatment of his whore. You have heard of him, I'm sure? Draco Malfoy is hard to forget."
The man paled, trembled and shook and pleaded, but Blaise was now bored.
"I tire of you, and wish to be amused once more. And you…you're this rich man's entertainment."
He didn't like that mocking purr nearly as much as he'd liked the teasing one, and a split second later, he found himself ripped away and flying into a pillar several yards from where he'd stood. Anton, free to act since Draco had, leapt forward and grabbed him, sending him hurtling into yet another pillar, and Draco stood over him a moment after he crumpled to the floor again. Seething, claws sprung from his fingers, which he used to hook under the flesh of the wizard's back, dragging him to his knees before placing his other hand on the man's chest and spitting out a viperous, "Crucio." He made quite a show of that one, and no others dared to so much as glance at Blaise overly long for months afterwards.
Trust Draco to make it gruesome enough to cause even a room full of Death Eaters to grow queasy.
So no, the summer wasn't dull, and they found that Bella was even better company than imagined, since she stayed with them almost always, Rodolphus having been sent away to the States right after he'd healed. They also discovered that they no longer minded their fathers' company, and even enjoyed it as they once had, though the blind adoration had long since vanished. Calanthe also joined them often, their mothers less so, and Blaise wondered if he imagined the slight resentment in Narcissa's eyes when Bella would dash off on some hunt with them, cheeks flushed and eyes wild with excitement, instead of staying behind to brew potions for the coming war.
Not all of the witches did so, of course. In fact, most were like Bella, especially the younger ones. But Narcissa and Silana, while perfectly capable fighters and as deadly as any, preferred to stay behind and make healing tonics. While they would kill if they needed to, they preferred not to get 'all gory and disgusting', and their noses would crinkle whenever their sons and husbands and sisters would come home, soaked in blood and laughing madly, the rush they always got just seeming to agitate the two women. Although, strangely, the rules seemed to change when it was them with their veela sisters, when it was them coming home bloody and sated.
So maybe he didn't imagine it, but he didn't want to see any more of their mothers' minds than what he had to in order to make sure that they stayed true. And as for his own mother…well, Silana was just Silana, and whether she resented the time that Calanthe spent with them was questionable. And again, he just didn't care enough to look. He was much too busy with everything else to deal with childish impulses, especially from his parental figures, and he was sure of their love and loyalty, which was all that mattered.
Slytherin Quidditch try-outs took place a week before school was to begin anew, since Bole and Derrick had failed a year and had stayed on the team until they'd quit both after the last match, and their positions were only then available. Blaise easily snagged his desired occupation as a Beater, and the other was filled by a seventh year named Brendan who worked well enough with him. Draco was pleased, as he claimed to love watching Blaise fly, and Blaise haughtily told him that was fine as long as he didn't become so overwhelmed with his beauty that he forgot about the Snitch. Soon enough, school was starting again, and they went eagerly, for they knew what that year would bring.
Four years of planning and plotting and waiting, all toward one goal.
And she did not disappoint, gliding onto the train with all the grace of her fallen bloodline, her ruby hair longer and her charcoal eyes darker. Virginia was as ready as she would ever be, but they did not push it. No, they let her ghost around the castle with her twin brothers and their dread-locked friend, they did and said nothing until they were patrolling the dungeon corridors one night and felt the rings on their fingers tingle and whisper in their ears with the voice of their cherished night. They watched her short fight with two of the best that their ranks had to offer, and the fact that she was able to so much as faze either one was something resembling a miracle.
They interceded when they saw Pansy ready a killing strike with one of her lethal little knives, and Blaise caught Anton when Virginia lashed out again, since it was their fault Anton had let his guard down for that single second that had allowed her to take him by surprise in the first place. Pansy looked furious, but she stayed where she was as commanded while Draco and Blaise sealed a deal long in the making. Flesh, the key was flesh on flesh, and though they dampened the new bond so as not to frighten their vicious little vixen, it was there all the same, strong and sure and unbreakable. Their fate was warped that night, warped in and around her eternally.
She was purity perfected, and they worshiped her.
Had she not passed out from the overload of pleasure that she had not been prepared for in the least, she could have asked them for anything in those moments, anything at all, and right then, they more than likely would have given it to her without a second thought. She could have asked them to abandon it all, to give up their fortunes and status and darkness, but she never would have done so, which only made them adore her even more. How can you describe what it's like to feel the ice around your heart crack and shatter, the jagged edges of your defenses ripping through you and making you bleed, bleed until you wanted it, craved it, until you would debase yourself on hands and knees for the barest hint of it?
They were broken before her and remade because of her.
And Pansy, surprisingly, was the one who told them, albeit gently, to fuck off. Apparently, the binding had their eyes melting to those of cats, their teeth sharpening into fangs reminiscent of vampires, and their nails lengthening into claws that would do any werewolf proud. Not to mention the maelstrom of black energy that they were shakily leashing in and that was beginning to leak from them into the walls, and through those into Dumbledore's wards. It was certainly time to get back within their own, which weren't too far off. Telling Pansy to guard her as she would them, they kissed her swollen lips once more before bolting.
They'd barely made it within their wards when their control snapped and that power spilled out, calling the other Slytherins like an irresistible beacon, and they swarmed out of the common room and down the dark corridors toward them, surrounding them and marveling at the outpouring. They reached for the wavering darkness hovering in the air all around them, reached for it and tried to soak it in through their skin, looking quite awed. And it would have been quite gratifying had he and Draco not been fighting desperately to stop from leveling the fucking castle to the ground. They'd called up such power a few rare times before, but this was different, even stronger.
They'd always known she was worth it.
"Draco! Blaise!" That was Theodore speaking to them, no? But where was he? All they could see were stars and constellations, novas and nebulae, and they weren't entirely sure that they wanted to see anything else. Ever.
"What has happened to them?" And that was Daphne, her voice as soft as her silky skin.
"I don't know. Where the fuck is Anton?" Theodore again, and someone was touching his shoulder, causing Blaise to jerk away as the infinite cosmic dance that he watched with such wonder began fading. Several of his Housemates gasped, and startled exclamations had the vision clearing from his sight even more.
"Their eyes!"
"What magic is this!?"
"'They're spies'? What lies do you spread now, MorAdden?"
"No, their eyes, you fool, their eyes hold galaxies! Look!"
"Have they been bewitched?"
"Cursed?"
"No, not cursed." And there was Severus, calm and cold as always. Blaise could almost make out his outline, the black, color-strewn heavens stretching ever farther from his grasp.
"Then what? What is wrong with them!?"
"Nothing." Severus replied, and Blaise stayed still as he vaguely watched Severus kneel next to them, worldly colors beginning to come back. Draco's hand was gripped tightly in his own, and he had no intention of letting it go, as he halfway felt as though he might be blown away should he lose that anchor to reality. "Does it feel wrong to any of you?"
"No…"
"It feels…"
"Yes?"
"It feels…different. Dark, but oddly so." Theodore finished for the others, and Blaise wanted to laugh. They had no fucking idea.
"And what did you expect their love to feel like?" Severus asked sarcastically. "Sunlit summer meadows and bloody daffodils?"
Anton snorted and moved up from behind them, startling more than a few people. "Oh yes, Severus, that's exactly what I thought. Because they're just so the type that would woo their conquests with all of that romantic drivel. Picnics in the graveyard, boxes of blood-flavored candy…I'm swooning, I tell you, positively swooning."
"If I recall correctly," Severus said slowly, and Blaise was finally able to focus on his face, "that's exactly how they wooed you, you hypocritical prat."
Anton steadfastly refused to look at him, still smirking.
"Where in the bloody hell were you, Anton?" Theodore snapped, and Anton's smirk grew.
"Watching you give quite the uncharacteristic show of panic." He replied, and Theodore snarled. "Touchy, touchy. What have we told you about that attitude, dear Teddy?"
Theodore pounced, knocking them both to the floor.
"I swear, they act like sodding children." Severus sighed, shaking his head as Anton flipped Theodore and pinned him to the ground, his dark hair framing sharp cheekbones and hypnotizing hazel eyes, while Theodore's sandy blond and aquamarine were a complimenting contrast.
"They are." Draco said quietly, and Severus looked a bit taken aback, both at him speaking and at what he spoke.
It was obvious that Severus hadn't thought of them as such in quite some time. Blaise supposed that when you were used to dismembering bodies and stealing souls with those 'children', then you had to think of them as young adults at the least, or even someone as dark as Severus might question what he was doing in letting them play, in helping them stain their hands an even darker, damning red. But to them, it was good to be damned, because what fun could they have in Elysium? Tartarus was sure to prove more interesting, and Hades waited for them there, that dark, fierce King on his throne of bone. Severus remembered that then, and the momentary guilt sifted away.
They went back to their rooms after assuring their Housemates that they were fine, and Melody, Sebastian and Daphne came with them, Anton and Theodore following later once they were able to disentangle themselves from one another, their ire having turned to more carnal pursuits than killing each other, though it was no less vicious. Pansy returned hours later, snickering madly to herself and mumbling something along the lines of, 'The Fat Bitch remembers me, and is still quite sore about her kidnapping, though really, stealing her should surely count as three or four kids, yes?' And Virginia, she said, looked quite up to accepting whatever they wanted.
So why, then, did they feel her dying less than an hour later?
The night stayed silent on that matter as it did on few others, however, and thoroughly trashed on spice by then, they forgot to so much as warn the others before they just disappeared, barely taking the time to grab their cloaks before they were gone and out the portrait. Daphne and Sebastian had wandered into the common room at some point, and clipped orders to stay there were all they heard before Draco and Blaise had vanished again. At full speed, they could cover a league in less than a minute, which was a feat even the werewolves couldn't best, and the air parted before them, offering no resistance whatsoever.
They were out of the castle in no time, the twisting corridors not a problem with their reflexes, but scaling the wall would take longer, and did, though that wasn't entirely their fault. Because every heartbeat seemed to make them slower, every breath seemed to make them weaker, as they felt her blood pouring from her in crimson waves. But they were still quicker than any others could hope to be, and they made it to the top of the bell tower before she bled herself dry, though she wasn't far off, and she was fucking laughing. Suddenly quite infuriated, as her life was anything but a goddamn joke to them, they wondered if Pansy's first suspicions had been correct.
But that couldn't be, because they could see inside her, and she surprised them yet again once she was healed. She already had a fascination with blood, which boded well for their plans, and she was more than willing to fuck in it, which was even better. She was like a pale dream in the moonlight, like some goddess come to earth with her luminescent eyes and her lilting laugh, with her fiery hair and her silky heat. Barriers fell around two and reformed around three, and the night screamed and roared and rejoiced, cloaking their sight with the same celestial haze that it had before as it bound them, strengthening the loose ties formed in that dank corridor.
It was then they swore their oath to her, the same oath Blaise had given Draco over a year before, and she replied and then returned it, her voice husky and strained and positively eminent. Any and all doubts crumbled into nothing, and they knew that she was most certainly ready, and that she could handle whatever they threw at her. So from that night forward, they held back nothing, something that they had only ever done with one another. She was like them, the only other of their kind, and she could survive what even their beloved Anton and Pansy could not, her tolerance for darkness deeper than any but for theirs.
So they drug her with them into a sweet, black hell.
The other Slytherins adjusted quickly to her presence, just as they adjusted to her twin brothers and their friend, the Jordan heir. They watched with blank eyes as she spun a web of sticky seduction and completion around their leaders, just as surely as Draco and Blaise spun their own around her. But the latter two could easily see behind their friends' courtly masks, and knew that they were more than a bit amazed. Because in less than two days, they'd seen the impossible more than once since the incident in the corridor, and now, almost a week later, they were actually starting to like Weasleys. It certainly didn't take the three long to endear themselves.
The twins were devious and cunning enough that it was easy to forget they were Gryffindors, and Virginia…well, Virginia was special. The Slytherins and the other dark purebloods had always seen her spark and recognized it as being the same sort that they saw in Draco and Blaise, and when they saw how well those three sparks melded together, suspicions were fully confirmed and they silently celebrated. She had already started sharing in Draco and Blaise's connection to Anton and Pansy, a connection forged of timeless silvery blood and old, dark magic, and she was beginning to feel the others as well, those with Theodore, Melody, Daphne and Sebastian.
And she did, followed days later by her waking early one morning and saying that Jeran had been wounded, which Draco and Blaise had only sensed seconds before. It wasn't fatal, but it was bad enough, and when they left that evening as they always did to meet their Lord, they went to check on him. Giants were always risky creatures to mess with, especially during an internal struggle. He was lucky that all he'd received were a few crushed vertebrae, since it could just as easily have been his skull. Honestly, who tries to kill a giant with their bare hands and a single dagger? They asked him as much, to which he sneered and replied, 'You.'
But that was beside the point. They weren't talking about them.
They shared that opinion as well, and were then reminded that they were the sons, not the fathers, and that if Jeran wished to climb a giant like a tree, kill it for almost killing Lucius, and break his neck in the process, then he could damn well do so. They agreed wholeheartedly much to his surprise, before sweeping from the room and saying that they would be more than happy to inform Silana of such. The brief glance they then had of his look of dawning dread was quite satisfying. They didn't really tell Silana, of course, since she truly would have come unglued, but they did tell Virginia, who was quite curious about her earlier experience.
Strange how she could sense their families better than most of her own.
Or not so strange, considering that all but two of the other Weasleys were weak, useless and light, whereas she was strong, capable and dark. It was only right that she share stronger ties with those most like herself. She asked about Bella a few times, and they only avoided the truth when she asked how it had been for her after she'd first been set free from Azkaban. They didn't like speaking of those weeks, didn't even much like thinking of them, and there was no reason for her to know what had been done to a woman that she'd heard only glamorous, deadly things about. No reason for her to know how that beauty had been ruined and marred, or how Bella had screamed in the end.
"She…her mind stayed whole. They could not break her." They finally responded, and Virginia cocked her head to the side.
"But wasn't it dreadful?" She asked, and they became still, saved from lying to their love by Anton, who understood all to well their hesitation. He'd stayed with his cousin and aunt during that process of healing, after all, though he loved them not like they loved Bella, as he himself loved Bella.
"She needed rest, rest and good food." He murmured, falling onto the couch beside them gracefully. It wasn't really a lie, since she had needed those things. She just hadn't gotten them at first, since rest was moot during that agonizing trial, and so was food of any kind.
Virginia nodded and dropped it, and they decided that she should get to meet Bella soon, since they knew the two would adore one another. Bella's approval or disapproval would also mean a lot to the first and second circles, though the Slytherins had long decided to accept her, the last piece falling into place for them early that winter when a third year was telling a group of her classmates about her older sister, who'd gotten hurt during one of the latest raids. Apparently, she'd been in Korea, harvesting muggles for their Lord, and one had managed to get a broken scythe between her ribs, puncturing her left lung and grazing her aorta.
"Yes, they're feeding her Blood-Replenishing potions constantly, because some local bacteria on the blade is stopping magic from working to heal it," the girl was saying, and Blaise felt his heart slow, a slight, familiar buzzing starting in his ears, and his head shot up, as did Draco's. "And the bacteria infected her blood, so they have to use Mother's. At this rate, she won't have any of Father's left!" She joked, but a shot of pure energy traveled down Blaise's spine, the first flames of true hope catching and starting to burn.
"Acacia." He spoke before thinking, and the girl froze mid-sentence, turning to stare at him with wide eyes. Her friends also shot him nervous glances, as each year, the younger students seemed more and more paranoid around them. It made one wonder exactly what sort of tales were spreading through the purebred circles.
Probably ones about fifty galleons, mistaken whores, and fingers later found in the punch bowl.
"L-Lord Zabini?"
"Say what you just said again." She was told, but it wasn't Blaise or even Draco that demanded it. It was Virginia, and Pansy nearly fell out of her chair when she saw the same devout, obsessed gleam that Blaise and Draco possessed mirrored in those ash-gray eyes. The girl looked confused and scared, but she did as she was ordered, while the older Slytherins watched Virginia carefully, fully aware of what they were witnessing. She was like her lovers, indeed.
"She won't have any of Father's left? Because of the potion?" Acacia sounded as if she suddenly wasn't sure, obviously thinking she was being tested, but it was not so simple as all that.
No, it had given them an idea, a wonderful, brilliant idea, and they set to work on it immediately. It would take years, if it could be done at all, but if they could take the base of that mentioned potion and change it, twist it a bit…then perhaps they could get rid of the muggle taint in mage blood. Maybe, just maybe, they could take the thousands that were tarnished by such and fix them, correct the fatal error that had begun centuries ago. A pure world…it was almost too much to ask for. Almost. And there would still be slaves, of course, since they would most assuredly have wrested control of Terra by the time it was ready, if it ever was.
And she shared that inspiration because she was one of them, not just because she'd already consumed so much of their blood. And she had most certainly done that, from that first night on, and she'd taken more than anyone else ever had in feedings so close together and lived to tell about it, while it strengthened her and pulled her own blood from its hibernating sleep, rousing it and making it remember what it was, what she was. She aided them in their spells and potions and curses from then on, and they had never worked so well with any others, never needing to speak so much as a word, every movement and decision instantly understood.
The only thing that put their work to a halt was his and Draco's birthday a month later in the dead of winter, and every pureblood with ties to the darkness felt their full awakening that day. Within twenty-four hours, they went from being promising wizards who were already feared and genuinely respected at so young an age, to the two most powerful beings to walk the planet but for their Lord. Some even questioned that, thinking them even stronger than he was, but never aloud and never in Voldemort's presence. They were summoned that night, and they rose once more within the ranks, stepping even above the first circle and their fathers.
They became his executioners and his heirs.
With a promise to bring Virginia to him at the end of the year, he sent them off with a final reward. The removal of the last ban. Quidditch was theirs again to play as they wished, and Draco very nearly floated out of the Dark Lord's fortress on a cloud of sheer glee. He'd been waiting years to snatch the Snitch from underneath Potter's nose, and the next game against Gryffindor promised to be vindictively interesting. Which it was. They held nothing back and fucking slaughtered them, and Draco did indeed catch the little golden ball, stunning Potter and winning Slytherin the Cup for the first time in six years.
Severus was beside himself, prancing around like he owned the place and sneering at McGonagall every time he saw her, throwing some lovely, biting remark in her face with ecstatic abandon. And Potter…oh, he tormented Potter until Potions wasn't just insufferable for him; it was pure, humiliating hell. Draco and Blaise were more than happy to assist in heightening his embarrassment, and Potter still wasn't quite used to Draco having intelligent people at his back, so Blaise and Anton's rather wide variety of colorful remarks often left him gaping and spluttering as the Slytherins snickered madly, utterly adoring his discomfort and shame.
He would pay very dearly one day.
The end of the year approached quickly, and Bella came a week before they were to go home, stepping out of the fireplace like some fire-born, dark Aphrodite. Both she and Virginia were enraptured at the very sight of each other, just as he and Draco had known they would be. Emptying the common room of everyone but their six closest friends with barely more than a nod and a potent stare, they watched the two females bond over hours of wine and small, flavored cigars that cost more by the package than most people's brooms. And Bella confirmed what they already knew; under no circumstances was Virginia going to be forced to stay at that…place.
They'd already purchased the twins a home in Southampton, as they liked the both of them much more than they'd originally thought they would, as well as two shops, their dreamed-of joke shop in Diagon Alley and another, much darker shop in Knockturn Alley. They also set them up with open accounts at Gringotts, which drew off the Malfoy and Zabini vaults located there, and the twins didn't feel guilty about using their money after they paid for the privilege with blood oaths and soul vows. So they would be out of the…what did they call it? The Hovel, the Den? Some such pitiful nonsense like that, but regardless, the twins were leaving it.
And neither they, nor Draco and Blaise, would abandon Virginia there.
End Flashback
"Shadow! Your Highness, can you hear me?"
Who the fuck was bothering him now?
"We had to come to you, your Highness, for he has broken the law, and only you may judge him for this crime." That was the youngest Rookwood, if he wasn't mistaken, which he never was.
Opening his eyes slowly and gazing up, he saw that it was indeed Emeric, a youth of nineteen with brown hair and pink eyes, a result of his father mating with one of the noble dryads. He was flanked by two more palace guards, and the four Dark Knights standing watch over Blaise had shifted from their hidden nooks, making themselves very visible. It was a move that clearly proclaimed one very important thing: Blaise might be incapacitated due to the divine water, but he was in no way vulnerable because of it, for they were the deadliest warriors Terra had to offer besides the High Royals themselves. Only a fool would try their luck with a Dark Knight.
"You have his attention." Pansy's voice slithered from her deep hood, and Emeric nodded, pulling someone up by their hair. They were wrapped in magical restraints, and he saw that the man was Mandel Mulciber, a member of the third circle, though his face was blue and black and swollen almost beyond recognition.
"All know that Mandel was wed to Adalia Wilbridge seven years past." Emeric noted, and Pansy nodded, watching Blaise's face for her cues. She could read him as well as any when he wished for her to, and she put that knowledge to good use at times like these. Emeric knew better than to question her methods.
"Yes, to Daphne's younger sister." Pansy agreed neutrally. "Which is why you'd better start fucking explaining why he's in that condition."
It would have been much easier had Blaise not been in the Pool. A short glance would have told him all that he needed to know.
"He's in this condition, my lady," Emeric continued, a shade of rage passing over his features, "because he was caught in bed with a muggle slave."
Silence. Suffocating, terrifying silence.
Pansy's eyes bored into Blaise's before she finally spoke again. "Send for Daphne." One of the guards left immediately, and minutes later, Daphne appeared on the second level, leaping nimbly to the first and cocking her head at Pansy questioningly when she saw her battered brother-in-law. The situation was quickly explained, and Daphne's rage was a tangible thing, alive and necrotic.
"Bloody bastard—"
"Wait." Pansy said when she started to move for him, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. "Shadow must pass judgment." Daphne instantly stilled, though her eyes still swam with fury.
Blaise didn't hesitate, and let his wrath fill his own eyes until they shone like cerulean stars. Daphne cackled and jumped onto the banister, leaping the width of the Pool as if it were no more than a small stream and not almost thirty yards across at its slimmest. That was a dangerous stunt even for a Dark Knight, for they would die as quickly as any should they make a wrong move and hit the diamond floor or the ebony water, immortal or no. She had him in hand and had him screaming a second later, and Blaise closed his eyes once more, not caring the slightest as she drug him off to the Menagerie. He was one of the five High Royals, and they controlled the lives and deaths of every person living upon Terra.
They were gods, creation and destruction obeying their every whim, and they and their people both knew it.
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(snickers)…Anyway, review or I shall wither and die!