The Seers' Truth: Beyond the Darkness

by Lady Lestrange

Sequel to The Seers' Truth: The Broken Beginning. Dark Ginny? No, she only wanted to help Tom, who talks to her in her head. Now she's at Volde's stronghold,with one unconscious friend and a bunny animagus. Oh and the Basilisk. Pureblood Snape.

22. CH 22: Riddles in the Dark

The Seers' Truth: Beyond the Darkness

By Lady Lestrange

Riddles in the Dark

Thank you to my faithful and hardworking beta, ennui deMorte

15 reviews: I really hate blackmailing you into reviewing, but hey, I'm a Slytherin. It's in my nature, so when there are 15 reviews for this chapter, the next one will magically appear. Love my readers and reviewers. Answers to the reviews follow the story.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter characters and the previous situations belong to JK Rowlings. No infringement is meant or implied. No money is made from this fanfic. Thanks JK

(A/N: I've been reading a number of fanfics in installments like this one myself, and find it is sometimes hard to remember exactly what has happened before-In a fic as complex as this one is, I thought having a reminder may be helpful for you. If you want to skip it, just page down.)

Up to this Point: Althernate 5th year book. Voldemort was uncertain which was the prophecy child, Samara or Ginny so he kidnapped them both. Beatrice made a mad dash after them in her animagus form. She has been since crucioed and rescued and returned to Hogwarts still in her bunny animagus form.

Harry, Ron and Hermione struggle to figure out how the prophecy might aid them. The trio travels to Hermione's house, Samara's house, the Riddle house and eventually the Snow Castle in search of the girls.

Ginny, who has a Dark Mark, is torn between the visions of Tom in her head and what to do to stay safe from Voldemort at the Snow Castle. Snape is an unexpected help to her.

Voldemort meanwhile has some unpleasant Christmas surprises in store for Harry and Neville. Neville's grandmother ends up in the hospital and the Dursley's are dead, leaving Snape as Harry's guardian.

Back at Hogwarts, the trio try to ascertain how they will save the girls. They enlist Draco and Lauren's help.

Voldemort has some trouble within the ranks and sends Ethan to learn with Narcissa and Gloria. Meanwhile, the trio work out some differences with Draco, and miss a chance to save the girls. Now, Snape gives some timely advice and Harry invites Neville to their little planning gatherings.

Voldemort sets his plans in motion.

For further discussion, visit: YAHOO GROUPS, TheSeersTruth

Riddles in the Dark

Life at the Snow Castle was much different than Samara would have imagined. From her Gryffindor indoctrination she would have assumed that Voldemort sat around all day thinking of evil things to do to aurors or acting on those thoughts. Instead, the Snow Castle had an atmosphere of contained caring. Samara couldn't call it love, but the ability to work together was paramount. A loose sort of discipline ruled most of the time. All were daily assigned tasks to complete, which the Adult Death Eaters who lived at the castle supervised and many of the older children took pride in helping the younger ones. Sometimes a younger one was held up as an example to emulate, and the older ones were shamed into doing better.

Evenings were spent, not planning Dumbledore's downfall, as she had supposed but in games like Quit and Apparition Tag, and about a dozen others, including mock duels and pranks. Sometimes they went outside to play in the snow with skating and skiing and mock snowball battles that usually turned into cursing duels. Voldemort said the physical activity would keep them fit, but he was not beyond putting up wards and puzzles so they had to struggle to get back inside either.

Perhaps the adults planned Dumbledore's downfall, thought Samara, but if they did, Samara heard nothing of it. However, the games had a darker side, because the consequences for losing were usually severe. Nonetheless, they were just games, and everyone played. Magic was everywhere and everyone was urged to be all they could be in a very literal sense. In magic, nothing was denied. Everything was at risk.

Lessons were hard, but no one was ever punished for accidental magic. However, they were made to control it, which sometimes was indistinguishable from punishment. They were never told things were impossible or out of reach. You were expected to rule your own destiny. Mantras that circled the Snow Castle were "wish it real" or "make it so" or "if you want it bad enough, it's yours." The only thing truly frowned upon was leaving a task unfinished, and if it was His assigned task it was punishable to fail or to abandon it. Failure was simply unacceptable. Sometimes the punishment was death. Samara shivered thinking of some of the harsher punishments meted out. That was always done in the Circle, unless Voldemort thought that the Death Eater merited the dungeon. Samara closed her eyes, and took a deep breath trying not to remember her stint to the dungeon, even though she was only a visitor and not an occupant. In any case, the humiliation and the pain was public, but then, so was the praise. Nonetheless, she hated the Circle. She hated it almost as much as the dungeon. She hated his dispensing joy, like a drug almost as much as she hated the screams of the crucioed. The joy seemed more insidious.

Ginny agreed with her, but she went to the Circle anyway.

"I can't defy him," said Ginny. She closed her eyes. "All I can think of when he calls is ending the pain of the Mark and once I'm in the Circle all I want is to avoid notice—not get crucioed." She whispered. "Sometimes I think the Hat should have put me in Hufflepuff. I don't have a shred of bravery."

"Everyone avoids pain," said Samara. "You should have left long ago—gone back to Hogwarts with the others. He would have left you go, if you had asked. You came to him willingly. You have the Mark. There's nothing to keep you here."

Ginny shook her head. "How can you say that? I can't leave you! He knows I have—reservations---about his methods and I couldn't ask him to leave. I wasn't going to leave you here alone, anyway. I would never do that."

Samara sighed. They had had this conversation before. It solved nothing. "Has he asked you about the emerald lately?"

"No," said Ginny, shaking her head worriedly. "He seems distracted. He talks a lot to the adults." She shrugged. "Sometimes it's just boring, but something is coming. He said—" Ginny paused considering.

"Well, what is it?" Samara urged.

"He said, that whether my family lives or dies lies in my hands." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He wants me to accompany them."

Samara stared at her. "You're going?"

Ginny nodded. "I told him yes. What else could I do? You know he'll kill them." She stood, pacing the room and quoting Voldemort. "He said, 'Dragons are such dangerous creatures. An accident could happen any time. Any time at all. And then he talked about the Goblins," he said, "and these days, the Goblins aren't reliable. They are really stupid creatures. Good with figures, but lousy with strategy, and innately vicious. They tore Dakon Gar to shreds, Samara. Do you remember that? It was in The Prophet."

Samara nodded.

"He—He planned that. He told me, 'Know this: Dakon Gar thought he could oppose me. Instead, his own people ripped him to shreds; their punishment for a traitor. You could oppose me, Virginia, but I don't think you would like the cost of that action. Tell me, what is your people's punishment for being a Death Eater?' Oh Samara, what else could I do? Even under veritaserium, I'd have to admit I got the Mark willingly."

"Stupidly, but willingly," Tom agreed.

"I have to go with them!" said Ginny. "I wish I could find some way to keep them safe, especially tomorrow." As she put her head in her hands, the comb that she wore in her hair came loose and clattered to the ground, leaving her hair handing in limp stands around her face.

"I have an idea," said Samara.

==

He called the Inner Circle to the Antechamber of his Great Hall once again and surveyed his finest: Carman, Narcissa, Valerianna, Severus, Lucius, Marshall. There was a space where Darneil Semenik should stand, but he would come later since he was currently masquerading as the Auror, Sturgis Podmore. The Circle continued with Eldon Nott, Eithne Edgecomb, Walden McNair, Owen Pritchard Sr., and Cornelius Fudge. He called the children: Draco, Ethan, Edward, Virginia, Alvin, Owen Pritchard, Millicent Bulstrode, Maura Rosier, Gloria Snood, and Darchelle Desideria.

Samara didn't come. Voldemort clenched his hands over his magic in anger. She thought she could defy him with impunity. She thought her status as the possible Prophecy Child would keep her from harm, but Draco was a wedge that he could use to control her. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind as he moved forward displaying the tedious plans to his Death Eaters. The event was almost upon them, one more day of patience and the world would be aware of his supremacy. This time, he wanted nothing to interfere with his plans, least of all Dumbledore, he thought, his face creasing into a smirk as he looked at Severus Snape.

Each of his Inner Circle Death Eaters had a contingent of wizards and witches to control or a job to do or both. This would not work unless the timing was perfect. It would not work if they failed to perform their assigned tasks. It would not work if they were not a fluid organism working together, and he had waited too long for anything to interfere with his plans. He dealt with any dissention immediately and ruthlessly. Any Death Eater who so much as breathed a word of question was summarily cut down. Several were in his dungeon awaiting his wrath, but he had no time to play with them now. He had to secure his basilisks.

The time had come, but Draco was in the way, and yet Draco was crucial to Samara's usefulness. A quick and neat Avada would not solve that problem. He looked at Draco who was loitering nearby. The meeting was over, and Draco could have Apparated back to Hogwarts but he didn't. He stood, exchanging pleasantries with Virginia Weasley, and would have walked from the Hall with her. Voldemort knew that he was intending to visit Samara. Not now, thought Voldemort. Not tonight. She will not come to me. You shall not go to her.

"Draco Malfoy," called Lord Voldemort and the boy froze, immediately his pulse rose. Like all the Death Eaters, he realized that being called out was not usually a good thing.

"My Lord?" replied the boy, turning and lowering his gaze.

"You remember Arvil Folant from your visit to the dungeon two days ago, do you not?"

"Yes, Master."

"Folant has his doubts about the effectiveness of children in my Circle," said Voldemort. "As one of the new inner circle children, I thought you might have something to say on the subject. Especially since you visited him with your father."

Ginny began to slip from the Hall, but Voldemort detained her with a hissed word of parseltongue, "{Stay!}"

"I have no real feeling on the subject," said Draco coolly. "But if you have an order, Master, I will fulfill it."

"I do not have an order," said Voldemort. "Only a request, for both of you."

"Yes, Master," said Draco, but Voldemort reached out to Ginny. "I have not visited with your little one in quite some time," he said, as he drew his finger along Visha's length.

Ginny said nothing, but Visha slithered under the collar of Ginny's robe. "Are you stupid, girl?" he snapped. "Remove the basilisk from your neck."

"Yes—Of course," she said, pulling Visha from her neck and hissing, "{Go with Cilicia, Zissi and Cush's Master. Stay with Bitemates.} I've just—I've never been without her since you gave her to me. I just wasn't thinking—"

"I can see you weren't thinking," said Voldemort coldly.

Draco sniggered softly, unwilling to interrupt, he stood silently watching.

"{Visha must protect Mistress,}" insisted the basilisk

"{I will be alright. It won't be long,}" Ginny reassured the basilisk, but her hand went to the bareness at her neck, as Voldemort settled Visha at his wrist.

"It might do you well to feel the emptiness at your neck," he said as he reached out a long finger, drawing it along the neck edge of her robe. "To remember your loyalties, especially now.."

"I remember my loyalties," Ginny said softly, a tremor in her voice and a glazed look in her eye.

There were times when he was convinced that the girl was half mad, but he still could not read her thoughts. He could never read her thoughts, and that made her a puzzle. He pulled her to him and pushed up the robe sleeve exposing her left forearm. She tensed.

"Do you expect pain?" he asked with a small smile. "Then perhaps you have not done what I asked of you?"

"I can't," she whispered. "The emerald is at Hogwarts. You know the emerald is somewhere at Hogwarts and it has to be given to me. I cannot find it here. Let me go back," she said impassionedly. "Let me go back and I will look for it."

"All in good time," he said. "You have a task to do for me before you can leave."

"I know," she said miserably. "How can you ask me to—"

"Do it well, and you will be rewarded."

"May I leave?"

"Do you want to?"

He passed his hand over the Mark filling it with joy and she sucked in her breath, melting against him and uttering a single word, "Tom!"

Instead of punishing her for calling him the Muggle name, he changed for her, using his transfiguration abilities to make his physical appearance as it had been when he was sixteen, and for a moment, she leaned into him. He waited for her thoughts to soften, to allow him in, but instead she placed her hands against his chest and pushed away, saying roughly. "No, Tom. Keep your appearance. I –I want to see you as you truly are—" her words were filled with tears.

"I don't believe you," he said coolly, and a flicker of fear passed over her face before it became blank again. Unfortunately, he had no idea what she was thinking.

And Tom was unaccountably silent, offering neither jeers nor scorn.

"Your assessement, Tom?" Salazar asked, but Tom seemed distracted. "Tom?"

"You expect me to help you?" asked Tom incredulous."

Frustrated, Salazar waited for her soul to come back to her eyes before he pushed his finger against her Dark Mark saying, "Virginia, you have felt the joy of doing a task well. Now feel the pain of failure. Your choice," he said. He held the pain while she struggled and Visha and the other basilisks hissed madly, arguing among themselves. Eventually Ginny passed out to escape from the pain. He dropped her on the floor and Visha attempted to crawl off of his arm. "{She said you were to stay with your bitemates,}" Voldemort reminded the basilisk, grasping it firmly behind the head.

"{You hurt Mistress,}" complained the basilisk. "(You shall not hurt Mistress.)"

"{She will be alright,}" Voldemort assured her, and Visha remembered what Mistress had said: "{It will be alright.}"

Visha hesitated, uncertain. At last, the basilisk gave in, settling on Voldemort's arm. As soon as Visha showed that she would stay with him, Voldemort was satisfied. "{Stay with your mistress,}" he said putting the basilisk back around Ginny's neck. "{Protect her until she wakes.}"

After the basilisks calmed down, Voldemort turned to Draco. "Come. I want you to perform a spell for me, if you don't find it too difficult."

Draco snorted. "Yes, Master," he said quickly.

Voldemort smiled as Draco followed him to the dungeon.

"You remember Arvil Folant," said Voldemort. "This is what happens to Death Eaters who displease me."

Draco looked at Folant. The man was shaking and he had already endured several Crucios. Although Draco had no problem using Crucio where it was useful, he felt no real animosity towards this Death Eater. Besides, he feared that his Crucio would lack power due to his lack of interest in hurting the man.

"Folant has asked to be released from his vow," said Voldemort.

He watched the boy's eyes closely as he said the words. He wanted very much to touch him, but knew from experience that doing that would bring up Draco's guard.

His eyes sparkled with something like anticipation as he frowned and whispered, "Released?" and then as cold reality was understood, hope died in them. Draco raised his inquiring gray eyes to Voldemort's red ones. "Can you—would you—do that? Release him—or do you mean kill him?"

Voldemort smiled. "There is a way he can be released," said Voldemort.

"Avada?" said Draco.

"Oh, no, no, no. Nothing so crude," said Voldemort. "I would do the spell, but I do not have the time or patience for it just now. Perhaps you do?" Voldemort gave into to the temptation and reached out, touching the boy's cheek. The thoughts were studiously mundane. What else would I have to do, but serve you? Playing Quidditch and Quit and Exploding Snap—childish thoughts that gave nothing away of his real feelings, and Voldemort pulled his hand away, disappointed. He shouldn't have that much control yet, unless he had been tutored in Occllumency or it was some kind of shield, which perhaps the Prophecy Child gave him, if it was indeed Samara and not Ginny.

Draco stood silently betraying nothing. "How can I serve you, Master?" he asked at last and Voldemort's smile widened to a smirk. He saw definite signs of Lucius self-preservation in this boy. This should be amusing. "It's a tedious task," warned Voldemort, "and one that, once begun, must be finished."

"Tell me what to do," said Draco.

Voldemort sighed. "Folant may be right. You may be too young to control this spell."

"My control is impeccable," said Draco. "According to my mother," he added as an afterthought.

"Your arm," said Voldemort to the Death Eater and, whimpering, Arvil Folant extended his left arm.

"Please," he begged incoherently. "Please Master. Punish me as you will, but I have a wife, a child—" The man was babbling.

Voldemort gave no outward sign that he heard Folant, but he did note the existence of both the wife and the child. They may be useful.

"With an artist's precision," Voldemort told Draco, "you must trace the fire elemental over his Dark Mark. If you are sloppy, he will die in the process and I will be-- displeased."

"Over his Dark Mark—that is the whole spell? That's it?"

"Yes. Over every line, every scale, every bit of bone in the skull. Nothing must be missed and once started, you cannot stop or the spell will be void. If you cast the spell completely—correctly—I will know that I choose correctly when I put you into my Inner Circle."

"Yes, Master," said Draco. "And this will—" Draco hesitated, unwilling to finish the thought.

"Free him from my service," said Voldemort enigmatically.

"Master," sobbed the man. "I do not want my freedom. I only want to serve you! Please!"

"Mutus!" spat Voldemort impatiently.

Draco nodded. "Yes, Master," he said again, meekly, but not before Voldemort caught the flash of elation: there was a way to be freed from the Dark Mark. The emotions were too great for Draco to hide them.

Voldemort caught the boy's chin in his hand. "You don't want to leave me, do you?"

"To whom would I go?" asked Draco softly.

"Good," said Voldemort, feeling Draco's sincerity even amidst his confusion. He wanted very much to know how loyal Draco really was, but knew that to probe his mind at this point would be to lose him, and Voldemort did not want to lose him, at least not until he Marked Samara. "You are a powerful wizard," Voldemort said. "I would hate to see you discontented. Are you enjoying the gift I gave you?"

Draco hesitated ever so little and Voldemort could feel his embarrassment although there was no outward sign of it.

"She is very—nice," said Draco of the Muggle girl he had been given. Unbidden, his thoughts went to the first time he had really kissed Samara: "You kiss like a Muggle," he had said. "Oh and you've kissed one of those?" she replied. "No. Yuck." He pushed the thoughts firmly to the back of his mind, determined to keep what was private, private. "Samara has been teaching her English," he said and, to cover his thoughts of disgust from Voldemort, he let thoughts of Samara fill his mind.

"I see," said Voldemort, not entirely pleased with that line of events. He continued calmly, "You know, Draco, you do not need Samara to be a great wizard."

Draco said nothing, but the words were clear in his head. Neither do you. A moment later, realizing his mistake, his mind snapped closed

"We will speak of this again," Voldemort said, releasing the mutus spell on the man and nonchalantly casting Crucio, "when you are done with your task. Let me see you begin." He gestured to the shuddering, sobbing man on the chair, whose arm was stretched out in front of Draco.

Draco gathered a strand of the Fire Elemental and held it between his fingers concentrating until the strand was fine as silk and sharp as a razor. Then he began the task of tracing the markings of the Dark Mark. Each line as he touched it turned like liquid silver and the man screamed, twitching in pain and jerking his arm.

Draco reached for his wand left handed as he honed the Fire Elemental in his right. "Adhere!" he said and the man's arm was stuck fast to the arm of the chair. Draco continued to work, the bubbling flesh causing him to have to stop several times and study the pattern while the man screamed.

"You work carefully," Voldemort observed, and Draco looked up, pausing in his work.

"Don't stop," Voldemort warned and Draco continued, the man screaming and writhing the whole time, the magic of this spell obviously not contained to the Mark itself.

"Here," Voldemort advised, "if the skin becomes too puckered to see, use Elemental Water to cool it." Voldemort sent a blast of the Elemental water through the man's arm and he fainted.

"Ennervate!" said Voldemort.

"Bastard," breathed the man. "You wretched snake bastard!" He gathered saliva in his mouth and spat it at Voldemort, but Voldemort waved the spittle away as if it was an annoying bug, and it returned to the man, dribbling it down his cheek.

"See that he stays awake for the process. I want to be sure he feels this," Voldemort said coldly. "If the screaming starts to get tiresome, you can always mute him. Of course, you may enjoy the screaming. Some people do," said Voldemort.

"I feel your power in the Mark," said Draco. "Drawing me into it."

"Yes," said Voldemort, "that is what you should feel. Your Intent should be to pull that power through you, back to me. Essentially, you are pulling the magic that is mine, through you, and giving it back to me through your own Mark. The magic wants to stay where it is and draw you to it. That's the challenge."

"I understand," said Draco.

"When you are finished," said Voldemort, "touch your wand to your Mark and let me know. I will be meeting with—another Death Eater until then."

"Yes, Master."

"Good bye, Folant," said Voldemort, cupping the man's chin in his hands and looking steadily into his eyes. Then, with a slight smile, Voldemort left the room

One hour later, Draco discovered that a very cold Water Elemental made the skin easier to work with and darkened the lines of the Dark Mark

Two hours later, Draco discovered how to continuously flood the area with ice water from his left hand while working on the Fire Elemental in his right hand. The only time he had felt them simultaneously was in the Chamber of Forever, and he had to wonder what Samara would think of working with both simultaneously.

Arvil Folant thought that it was a miracle. He had stopped screaming and began to talk to Draco about his family in Surrey. His daughter was only nine. "Blonde like you," said Arvil, "with eyes as blue as the ocean." But Draco didn't comment. The man seemed content to talk about the gardens around his home and how his parents had pushed him into being a Death Eater. How he never thought children belonged in the circle.

Draco let the Water Elemental slow to a trickle and dug for the magic in the man's Mark.

He howled with sudden pain.

"You owe a child your freedom today," said Draco, an edge to his voice.

"I will die," said the Death Eater.

Draco shook his head. "He would have killed you himself. He enjoys it too much to give it up, especially to me."

"He has a reason," said Arvil.

Draco was silent, concentrating on a particularly intricate part of the design.

"Do you want to kill?" asked the man. "You are only a child, but he has coerced so many children into his Circle. How do they know what they want?" the man mused.

"I know what I want," Draco replied coldly and the man closed his mouth.

"I've offended you," said Arvil at last.

"Not in the least," said Draco. "But not all children are as indecisive as you obviously were at fifteen. Look at the Dark Lord. At sixteen, he certainly knew what he wanted from life."

"Yes," said Arvil softly.

"And so do I."

Arvil said nothing.

"Almost done," said Draco wearily. "You're almost free: a bit more around the serpent's face and the fangs."

As Draco made the last mark, the man began to twitch and moan. At first, Draco thought it was just the end of the spell, the Dark Mark being seared off. He didn't, for a moment, suppose that the process would be painless, but when he looked at the Mark he realized it was not diminishing. It was growing. The snake in the skull was writhing and growing under the man's skin. It almost looked like a real snake, pulling the ink and the magic together under the skin.

Arvil began to scream and his screams rose to a tortured shriek and finally he found words, desperate words, repeated over and over again. "Kill me! Kill me! KILL ME!"

And Draco pulled his wand, poised to do Avada Kedavra, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the fear that Voldemort had implied that he would not use Avada on the man. Perhaps it was the fascination he had observing the process of the spell or perhaps it was just fate, but whatever it was, Draco just stood and watched the skin and muscle melt from the man's bones devoured somehow by the snake of his Mark.

At last he stopped screaming when nothing was left but a skeleton and out of the man's mouth crawled a small green snake.

Draco felt somewhat nauseous as he watched the snake inch its way out of the skeleton. He had handled Samara's basilisks so often that, without thinking at all, he reached down and picked up the snake. In his hands, it seemed to dissolve into a handful of sparkles like pixie dust and the dust settled around his own Dark Mark with a soft tickling feeling. He felt the magic of the dead man settle into his own arm, hovering around his Mark in a silent orbit. The rush of power made him suck in his breath, the nausea completely gone. It felt so good as the power passed through him to Voldemort! He wanted to shout with the glory of it. It felt like—it felt like another wizard's magic—like Aislinn. Draco swallowed hard, the bitter taste filling him as he smoothed his somewhat untidy hair.

What did I do? Draco thought worriedly. He was appalled that he took pleasure in the feeling, that he had done essentially the same thing as his parents had done with Aislinn. He took several deep breaths trying to compose himself. I have just killed a wizard. My first wizard, he thought, silently vowing there would not be another, and then, realizing what a stupid promise that was, he used a charm to settle his shaking stomach and clean his hands.

Get a hold of yourself, Draco Malfoy, he told himself, and yet he couldn't. Another thought kept running through his mind. Aislinn, a squib felt infinitely more like a wizard's life force than a muggles', and yet his parents had said she was not a wizard, but now he knew. She felt like a wizard. She couldn't use magic but she had to have it or the sacrifice would be useless. So what was Arvil Folant's sacrifice for? Draco pushed the doubts away.

Arvil Folant would have died whether you were party to it or not. At least you figured out a way to limit his suffering. It was better that you did it than Voldemort. He definitely suffered less at your hands. Oh, hell! Draco thought of his father telling him, Aislinn would not want to live that way, with no magic, so it was OK to kill her. Arvil knew that he would die before Draco came into the room. Voldemort had decided. Draco tried to convince himself that it was OK to kill him. He put his head against the wall and struggled not to be sick. Apparently his anti-nausea spell was not strong enough. He cast it again.

After a few moments of looking at the pure white skeleton that, only moments ago, was Arvil Folant, Draco had replaced his cool mask of indifference, and cleaned the sweat from his robes. He put his wand to his Mark as instructed by Voldemort.

Now that his attention was not consumed by the spell, he realized something was wrong. Samara! He felt her essence surrounded by Dark Magic, and he remembered Arvil's words. "I will die-- He has a reason—"

Well, thought Draco, Voldemort said to touch his wand to his Mark. He did not say he had to wait until Voldemort came. On shaking legs, Draco hurried out of the room toward Samara's room. He tried not to panic. Something was very wrong

(A/N: Just to let you know, I thought about cutting the chapter here, but that would have been just too evil even for me. That's why it took me an extra day to get it updated. Now, I was nice. I expect payback. Remember to REVIEW.. The next chapter has three places where I could cut it and leave you at very evil cliff-hangers. You have been warned.--LL)

Voldemort paused at Samara's door. She was the only one sleeping in this room now due to the fact that she carried seven of His basilisks which made most potential roommates nervous. He could have moved her in with Virginia, especially now that he had given Virginia a private room, but he didn't want them getting too friendly with each other. Although he wanted them both to feel special, he didn't want them depending upon each other. He wanted them depending upon him, and only upon him. They were the only two residents to have any privacy. That privacy was not for their comfort; it was so he could visit them at will, and not have to be concerned about ousting a roommate.

He had made it comfortable for Samara to have visitors, though, with a sofa and table along side the wardrobe in which hung her robes; robes which he had supplied along with food and other necessities paid for with the money embezzled from Gringotts. It wasn't the first time he had visited, but it was his first time since she had witnessed his killing Death Eaters in the Circle. She had been avoiding him, avoiding the Circle although he had asked her to come. He was done with asking. He wanted her obedience. He waited at the open door now until she noticed him. It wasn't long. His magic demanded that he be noticed.

Samara was sitting in the chair with a book in her hands, but she wasn't reading it. She was attempting to consciously change her personality at will. She knew she should be able to do it, but thus far, it eluded her. Within her was contained every house—Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, as well as the lost house of Meridius, and she wanted access to them all.

Her basilisks began hissing a warning, "{Someone comes.}" Then Salacia clarified, "{Our tsez and Sissahauss-A-Sissahausss.}"

Currently, Samara was accessing Gryffindor, and a surge of unexpected bravery reared up as she turned towards the door, thinking of the news Ginny had given her earlier. She looked up at the figure that stood in her doorway: Voldemort. So the time had come.

Tone down the anger a bit, she chided herself. You need to be a Hufflepuff with him.

"You were upset with me," Voldemort said softly. His nondescript aura was tinged with orange. He wanted something. Why did that not surprise her?

"You're damned right I was upset with you!" shouted Samara. Her basilisks hissing in acquired anger. "I'm still mad at you! You expect me to come to the Circle, but you torture people who are supposed to be loyal to you--torture and blackmail and coercion— They are only human—"

"An example was needed," said Voldemort, stepping into the room, his aura flashing red as he closed the door behind him, locking it and silencing it with a wave of his hand.

"No one invited you into my room," snapped Samara. His aura was a deep dark red, the color of dried blood, and Samara should have known better than to provoke him while his aura was that color, but her anger was hot and fierce. She simply didn't care. She couldn't manage to hold the Hufflepuff mood that she usually cultivated so carefully in his presence. She was in a fine Gryffindor mood and she didn't even try to tone it down.

"This isn't the first time I've been in your room. I didn't know I needed a special invitation," said Voldemort calmly, "and you really need to control your temper, little one. If you spoke to me such in the Circle, it would be very unpleasant."

"I'm not coming to your damned Circle!"

"I am not going to hurt you." He switched to English, everything in his aura advertising his deception to Samara.

"Ah Griffin dung!" spat Samara. "Is that the lie you told the men you killed in your Circle? You thrive on hurting people. It's your food, your pleasure. It's your bloody religion so don't lie. It's really not necessary."

"Don't swear," said Voldemort. "It's unbecoming, and how do you know I'm lying?" asked Voldemort and she froze. She had said too much. She didn't want to tell him any more.

"Go away," she spat, drawing all of the shields up around her mind that she could muster. "You're really no different than Dumbledore, a controlling bastard." The muddy mess of his aura was opaque with things hidden from her and bloody red and orange streaks marred its bleakness.

"{Be gone,}" hissed another of the basilisks, Tse, one of the ones which had spent much time with Him. It shook him that the thing would take orders from her when it should have been imprinted to Him.

"It's not your room, Samara. It's mine." Aura orange again, his eyes on the basilisk that had spoken as he hissed, "{You!}" His eyes, thoughts and magic were directed to Tse. "{Come to me.}"

The basilisk obeyed, slithering to his feet and he picked it up. He took two others, Vasuki and Zila.

"It's Maura's room," said Samara finally controlling her anger and attempting to hide her feelings from him. She took several deep breaths trying to cultivate the Hufflepuff aura that had kept her safe thus far. He was always most malleable when he was thinking of Helga. It was important that she find that part of herself. Staying in a Slytherin or Gryffindor mode was likely to get her killed or at least Crucioed.

"Who?" Voldemort paused, his aura suddenly washing to pale yellow, much like Ginny's did. She had never seen Voldemort's aura do that.

"Girl from Durmstrang," Tom supplied to Salazar, although he didn't know how he knew that. There was a moment of confusion as he saw a flash of red hair and the Durmstrang girl laughing with her, both scolding a snake for terrorizing a bunny.

Salazar did not recognize the women from Tom's brief flash of insight, and he didn't see a connection. "Bunny?" wondered Salazar. "My bunny? What do you know, Tom? How could you know anything that I don't?"

And Tom pushed away the strange memory, "The blue bunny in the orphanage," he lied. "You remember. It was the last thing that was mine. You've taken everything else from me."

"To the victor goes the spoils," Salazar thought smugly and he left it alone, returning to his conversation with Samara.

"Maura Rosier," said Samara. "It's her house."

"Oh. But she belongs to me," continued Salazar. "So everything that is hers belongs to me. You couldn't expect a woman to hold a castle like this."

"A woman," sputtered Samara. "We aren't living in the bloody middle ages!"

"Watch your mouth!" snapped Voldemort, magic crackling in his hands.

"{Hissusss!}" spoke Salacia, one of the larger and more bold of the basilisks as she felt his magic.

And Voldemort heard Tom laugh. He was, thoroughly amused that the basilisk called him Hissusss

"{Tsez}" corrected Voldemort in parseltongue.

"Bastard," muttered Samara, and then switching to parseltongue, said, "(Not my tsez, Salacia.)"

Voldemort raised his hand, suddenly filling her mouth with some vile stuff, but she fought the spell, and he couldn't keep it there. She spat it all over the floor, spraying him with minute drops of the sudsy liquid, and for a moment his eyes darkened and she was frightened.

Then, he laughed. She reminded him in that moment of Helga, all fury over a healing potion she had been brewing that he had ruined, knocking some keisel salt from the shelf into the potion. He had attempted to Accio it, but when she had tasted the potion, she did the exact same thing as Samara just did. The session had ended with them wrapped in each other on the potion room floor, the potion itself forgotten. He smiled; his anger melted.

Forgotten by you, Tom said. I doubt that Helga forgot the healing potion. She just had to brew it again.

"Pergo! Come. Let's teach the basilisks," Voldemort said, controlling his temper and concentrating on the task he came to complete. His lips creased into a semblance of a smile. "Which is your favorite?"

"My favorite?" questioned Samara, examining his aura, which was considerably calmer now, with definite shades of rose. She shivered. "I don't have a favorite. How could I, they are so unique."

"Yes, basilisks are the most unique of the magical creatures. I've decided to give you one."

"Give me one?" she repeated aghast.

The girl stared at him. He could tell this pleased her. She liked the basilisks with the same intensity as Helga loved animals. He thought of how many strange creatures he had given Helga, but never a basilisk. She had thought of every creature as sentient.

Another flash of red hair flew through his mind.

Tom? Salazar wondered, but Tom was unaccountably silent.

And he reached out to touch Samara's hair. It was dark hair—black. It didn't have a hint of red in it—red like—Helga's.

Samara stared at him for a moment, reading his aura. It was now relaxed and as comfortable as his aura got. She saw that he really didn't believe any of the basilisks were imprinted to her. He believed they just stayed with her—why? Because she was simple minded and let them run wild over her? She wondered.

"Because they like the abundance of your magic," he answered her thought, and she startled, realizing that she had to be more careful. "So do I. It's beautiful magic," Salazar said, reaching for her. She side stepped him, anticipating his act by reading his aura.

He used the Legilimency like breathing. If the thoughts were not shielded, they were his. Like the castle which he claimed belonged to him by right of occupancy, her thoughts were only hers if she guarded them.

She raised what shields she had. Things Draco had taught her in the past few days, she doubted it would be enough.

"Suddenly shy little one?" he questioned with a smirk.

And she shrugged, knowing he was talking about the shields. His aura again flashed orange, but he didn't try to breach them. She knew he could if he wanted to, probably with a minimum of effort, but at least she would be warned of what he had taken from her.

"No," he said calmly. "I'll wait for you to take them down. I'll wait for your Consent."

"You'll wait a long time," she countered.

"I'm patient. So which one?" he said again. "Which basilisk? I want to please you. It's a gift."

She shook her head, both because she wasn't going to take down the wards and because she was unable to choose. She knew that all of the basilisks had bitten her, softly as gentle kisses, and she had allowed them to bask in her magic and the bonds were complete. If he realized this—she halted that thought in progress, concentrating on something else as Draco had told her to.

She looked at the auras of the basilisks, all silent, but frightened. She wanted to communicate to them that she wouldn't let him take them. She wanted to communicate that she would protect them, but she had no protection for them. Their protection was each other. "{You will be together,}" she hissed in parseltongue. "{Together. That is your strength. I cannot be the one to separate them,}" she continued to Voldemort, also in parseltongue.

"Then I shall choose," he said, grasping the smallest of the creatures, Tisha, just behind its head. "This one. She shall bite you. Where she bites you is significant. The more vulnerable, and the more venom you take, the closer the bond. Usually it takes several bites before the bond is completed. That is because the wizard host would die with a full dose of venom. Immunity must be built. You must choose the spot and communicate it to the basilisk. Choose a spot you are comfortable allowing her free access to. If your intent is to fight her, the after effects are significantly worse. It's like shared magic. You must be open to it. That is how the imprinting is done."

"{Imprinting! Like birds!}" sneered Salacia, her aura showing her displeasure with the comparison. "{We are noble creatures.}"

"Yes, like birds," Voldemort said, understanding Salacia's words but, without seeing her aura, He missed her meaning.

"I understand," said Samara.

"So where—" Voldemort began.

"{Let the basilisk choose,}" she said immediately. "{I would do that with every one of them,}" she said in parseltongue, stroking Salacia, the basilisk hugging tight around her waist, and she looked up to find his aura a frightening rose color. She would have rather it been orange—bright orange—or blood red.

"They are not pets, Helga. You must be their leader and commander."

She took a step back from him. He had called her Helga!

"Don't be frightened, Samara. It only hurts for a moment, just the punctures. No more than a quick Sectum."

"{Do what he says, Tisha,}" ordered Samara, and the little basilisk seemed to be searching for an exact spot on the back of Samara's neck, just at her hairline. The fangs were arranged and the puncture made with absolute precision.

Samara saw sparkles of stars as pain shot up her neck and for just a moment she couldn't see at all. She gave a little startled cry in her blindness and then suddenly everything came back brighter and clearer; the wound only a burning soreness at her neck. The sight of her bitemates was overwhelming and infinitely pleasant. All of the bitemates became agitated.

"{My tsez!}" cried Samara with the same fervor that Visha exhibited every time she came to visit..

"{Be still!}" Voldemort ordered, grasping one of the larger basilisks and offering it his arm to bite. The basilisk didn't hesitate, plunging her fangs into Voldemort's wrist. Immediately he dropped the basilisk, and, hissing with pain, he brought his wrist up the back of Samara's neck, blood and venom in contact with blood and venom at the base of her skull.

She was immediately and violently ill. She tried to turn her head away from Him, but he was holding her too tightly, forcing the bloody puncture wounds at her neck against his wrist. She threw up all over him, but still he didn't release her. "Our blood shared," he said, "is the first step to our oneness. Since you share my blood, you will be able to control my basilisks should the need arise. Does this please you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, happy that he was not taking the basilisks completely from her. She didn't know what she would do, or how she would communicate with them. He released her and did a cleaning charm on them both.

"I shall leave my three with you, and take three of those who have been with you," he told her, depositing his three imprinted basilisk's on the table in her room. "You can carry them, or conjure something into a box. It doesn't matter."

The three hissed angrily, wanting to bite anything in sight, "{Kill. Tear. Sissshausss. Devour. Hissusss. Hungry. Hungry now.}" They spoke constantly, but what they were saying was nothing Samara wanted to hear. Their auras were all blood red and torn with pain. Samara wondered if he had hurt them in some way to make them so angry.

"Did you feed them?" Samara asked.

"Last week," Voldemort answered. "I thought I would leave the next feeding to you."

She got up immediately, but Voldemort stopped her. "Elf!" he called and a house elf appeared to do his bidding. "Bring food for the Basilisks," he ordered, and for the next hour Samara fed the hungry basilisks being careful that they didn't take off a finger in their exuberance. Then she fed those she had had with her since the beginning. They were much more mannerly.

"Are they ill?" Voldemort asked.

"No," she said. "Not in the least." But his question had garnered doubt in her thoughts and she reached out with her healing touching one of the basilisks that had been with her from the beginning.

"So beautiful," murmured Voldemort, touching her aura with his, which immediately filled with a deep rose color—Rose against healer green.

He aura was—wanting—almost wistful.

"I'm not Helga," said Samara nervously.

"Of course you're not," spat Voldemort. "Presumptuous child, but you are powerful. I want to touch your healing, to understand what exactly you are doing to determine their health. I won't touch your skin, only your aura."

Should she trust him, she wondered. Probably not.

He seemed to sense her hesitation. "Very well, then," he said, pulling his hand away, and crushing the magic within it.. "Dance for me." With a wave of the same hand he expanded the inside of the room to accommodate her dance. "Surely you wouldn't deny me such a simple thing, when I have just given you a pet of more power than any alive?"

She hadn't danced for so long, unless she counted what she did in the Elementals as dance. What harm could there be in a dance, she wondered. "I dance for myself," she said warily. "Not you." She so wished for the Chamber of Forever.

"Ah—you like my Chamber," he said softly. "I could probably do another enchantment, but not this far from the Rift—And I no longer have the means to control space and time. That magic is confined to the Chambers now."

"Space and time?" questioned Samara.

"Yes," he said. "Close to the Rift it is still possible to reach into the otherworld—the world we magic folk once called home, before Meridius' blunder. That is of course, why Hogwarts is so important. Let me see—" and he began pulling bits of magic from the Earth, forming them into spiders which were welcome treats for the basilisks and they slithered close, curious about his magic, as Salazar blew on each of the spiders in turn, animating them and losing them to the basilisks.

She wanted to dance. She really did. With narrowed eyes, she studied him, uncertain if he was trying to Imperio her or not.

"Would you need Imperio to dance?" he asked. "It's in your soul. You miss it. I just want to make you happy; like I have made the basilisks happy."

"Let me go home," she said abruptly.

"Home?" he asked, and she remembered that she had sent her owl to one of Draco's aging reclusive great, great aunts and, therefore, Voldemort thought she was somehow related to the long dead husband of the witch. Draco had said he would have Lauren send one of her owls there to pick up the message. He was confident his aunt wouldn't think anything except that she had forgotten the existence of yet another family member, and hopefully Samara's family was already in possession of the message. Unfortunately, she couldn't even tell Voldemort where home really was. She certainly couldn't go there.

She bit her lip and, to her absolute horror, started to cry.

"Dance," he insisted. "Dance through all the Elementals. Let the magic heal you."

She couldn't argue with that. She began to move, slowly at first, and then more quickly as the music took her. Music? She wondered where was the music coming from. No, she realized it wasn't music at all; it was the wind in the trees. Wind? She looked up and saw the billowing softness of clouds against a twilight sky. The wind was blowing as if it might rain soon. Like the Great Hall, she thought with a start. It was just like the Great Hall. She stopped dancing and stared.

"You made the ceiling in the Great Hall!" she exclaimed, pushing her wildly blowing hair out of her face.

"Not alone," he replied. "Such magics are never done alone. It was formed from my design and Helga's dance."

"Then this—" she said, looking at the stormy sky and feeling the dampness. She wasn't sure if it was his spell or Water Elemental.

"Is ours," he replied. "We are good together."

"But how?"

Your dance is the glue that brings it together."

"It's so beautiful!" she said as lightening flickered across the moist air like Northern Lights. "It encompasses them all, doesn't it? Every Elemental." She had not expected something like this from him. "Why did you do this?"

"Just because it is beautiful. Magic is beautiful. Muggles have taken that from us. Too many wizards have forgotten. They have forgotten that magic isn't a pedantic stomp from one task to another. Cleaning spells, and potions for sickness and getting from one place to another—it's life itself. We hold life and death in our hands. We are not the same as Muggles and magic is not our technology. Magic is our life. We can devour Death." Lightening crashed across the stormy sky, reflecting his mood. She watched the impassioned speech turn his aura from murky and dark to a vivid blood red with bits of rose through it and she knew he was speaking the absolute truth as he saw it. "It is our right. Our destiny."

There was something strange about his aura. She couldn't quite put her finger on why it looked like it did. It didn't move right. It looked like a dead thing, and then quite suddenly the answer came to her. He couldn't feel the magic. He was making this grand gesture, this speech full of feeling, but he couldn't feel it himself. The basilisks knew. She knew that the basilisks knew. Their name for him made sense now, Sisshausss-A-Sisshausss: Great one always hungry. A snake was not always hungry, but the basilisks were. They were always hungry for magic. The condition of his basilisks made sense now too. He hadn't abused them. He had done nothing to them that he hadn't already done to himself. Death of his feeling magic was the cost of his eternal life. Samara felt as if she had taken a physical blow.

"Give me a bit of your magic," he said, holding out his hand, but she hesitated, as his aura flashed orange. There had to be some catch. Why would he want to touch her magic if he couldn't feel it? "Oh go on, dance then," he said, closing his hand on his own magic. "I can probably weave it from the dance." Immediately his aura was back to reds and pinks.

"What did you want to do?" she asked, curious that his aura could switch so quickly. It was almost normal now.

"A surprise," he said, orange streaking his aura again. "But I don't think I can do what I want without your help—" If he really wanted her to help him to do something, his aura could streak orange. It could be coercive, or it could just be the natural reaction to wanting something badly. She could hardly take her eyes off of his constantly changing aura. It was dark and ugly and yet strangely fascinating. It drew her in the same way that the Elementals drew her.

She hesitated still. She couldn't bring herself to trust him. She started to dance again and suddenly the air around her was filled with rose petals, the smell of warm wet earth and roses intoxicating her, but it wasn't the rose petals that thrilled her; it was the magic—Earth magic, forming the petals.

He laughed at her expression. "I wanted sylphs," he said, dusting the Earth magic from his hands. "But I can't put that much life into an Air Elemental without the female aspect." She believed him. He was telling her the truth, but he was not telling her why. Nonetheless, she knew. Air Elemental was not the hardest to control, but it was the most elusive. Without feeling the magic, it would be like grasping smoke.

"What do you need?" asked Samara

"Just a bit of your magic—not much—a tiny thread—freely given," he said holding out his hand again, his aura pulled in tight, defensive and lonely. Without a second thought, she clasped his hand, releasing a bit of the magic that was overflowing through her anyway, and he brought his other hand up letting her magic flow through him, releasing dozens of butterfly-like creatures into the air. With them came the swift promise of the Air Elemental.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, entranced.

"Beautiful, aren't they," he commented. "Do you want to know how to make them live?"

"Yes," she breathed, fascinated. She realized that she should release the rest of her Elemental magic. She was hot and giddy with it, but it felt wonderful, freeing and absolutely too good to let go of. This was what he was missing. This was why he wanted to feel the Power: because he couldn't feel the pleasure.

"Trust me," he whispered and without waiting for her answer he let the tips of his cold fingers brush her aura at her face. Bits of Earth magic fell onto her cheek from his fingernails. "Release your magic," he whispered, his voice low and coaxing. "Give a bit to me and I will help you reach the heights of the ceiling and all that it entails—"

He could teach her. She knew he could teach her, but she hesitated still, afraid of the cost. Meridius had given up his senses, and his magic and finally his life. Voldemort had given up his ability to feel magic. She wondered what use eternal life would be without feeling magic.

"(Release your magic,)" he hissed in parseltongue and the basilisks gathered close anxious to touch the over flow of magic between them.. Their excitement was contagious.

She relaxed, releasing. A moment later, he leaned in, touching her aura with his tongue. The cold fire of Dark Magic stabbed through her aura in a wild flood and she felt invaded by his darkness. She backed quickly away, spewing her own magic all over him and clutching a ghost of a pain in her left arm.

"You're—you're old," she said, pulling out of his reach, suddenly seeing more than his magic, seeing everything he was, seeing Death.

"Careful," he warned, pulling his own magic close again. "Such magic is dangerous for Empaths—you know that—hold close what is yours."

But she didn't know that. Was he speaking to Helga again? Samara wondered.

"But what about the Elementals?" said Samara. "In that they are the same. Healing is more powerful than Necromancy."

"Are you so sure?" he challenged.

"I'm going to live forever," he said reasonably. "So can you. You have the power." He held out his hand tantalizingly. "We have only shared our magic and have traded a bit of what is yours for a bit of what is mine. It is a start, but a tenuous thing at best. Since our magics are polar opposites, they could encompass the whole world. Think of it, Samara. Think of the power." The soft blue and gold light of his magic was crackling around his fingertips like fiery bits of ice, and then his voice softened his aura again rose. "Think of the beauty—"

The promise hung in the air: intoxicating. His magic was dark and frightening, but beautiful nonetheless. Her time in the Elementals had given her a curiosity for Death and Death Magic. With it came power like no other. Only with it came the power to defeat Death.

"At what cost?," questioned Samara, rubbing the stinging in her left fore arm.

He smirked at her, and his aura pulled tighter against his skin. "You are mighty cautious for a Gryffindor," he commented.

She shrugged. "I have some empathy for Death, and I'm not afraid of your magic, but I'm not stupid. There is always a cost. One should ask the cost before the commitment."

Salazar smiled. "Perhaps," said Salazar. "Embracing the Death magic would erode your own powers. Empathic Healing is the polar opposite of Necromantic Magic. But I don't want so much from you now. Death Magic is best confined to the Chamber."

"The Chamber of Chains?" asked Samara.

"The Chamber of Secrets," replied Salazar. "Where I did my work while Helga lived."

Samara frowned, pulling away from him and rubbing her arms, the moment of intimacy gone. She shivered. "Why would you make such places as those?" she asked. "They are horrible."

"I made the Chamber of Secrets to insulate Helga from my work," said Salazar. "It was never meant to be horrible. Since no one spoke parseltongue it was neglected and dirty, but that has been corrected. You see, Death Magic was abhorrent to Helga's empathic soul, I made the Chambers as a gift, but I did not make the Chamber of Chains. That was Godric's creation. He called it the Chamber of Heroes. He asserted that once one conquered it, there would be nothing left to be afraid of."

Samara choked. "Godric? Did anyone conquer it?" she asked.

"Oh yes," said Salazar. "When Magic was still strong, every graduating Gryffindor for the first hundred years or so; of course, none of them were Empaths. Empathy is a unique and rare gift. The Magic was dispersed, and Godric's chamber was warded when I came from the Chamber of Secrets. I don't know what happened to it."

"It seems funny that Slytherin had these rooms and Gryffindor did too, but Ravenclaw didn't, nor did Hufflepuff."

"Of course they did," argued Salazar. "Rowena had her Library and Chapel and Helga and I built the Chamber of Forever together. You cannot tell me that you and Draco did not know it was our shared magic that created that room. It is far too complex to not hold both the male and female aspects. And of course, Helga had her Wall. Sometimes she spent more time there than in the real world," he said somewhat sadly. "She said it was soothing because there was nothing to heal there, but she loved the healing. She lived for it. Died for it." His aura was pure rose, and his eyes were soft and far away.

"She entered it!" exclaimed Samara. "She could enter the Wall?"

"Yes," Salazar agreed.

The door opened and someone called, "Samara?"

"Go away Draco," said Voldemort without taking his eyes or attention from Samara. "I'm not finished here." His aura was still rose.

"Samara," Draco said again. "Finite Incantatum!"

Everything disappeared: the sky, the clouds, the butterflies, even the stray spiders that the basilisks didn't find, and Voldemort's aura descended to a chaotic mix of reds and black and brown.

Samara stared at Voldemort. "You put a spell on me!" she shouted, betrayed.

"And you expected what?" said Voldemort. "For me to truss you up like a Muggle and carry you off, slung over my shoulder?"

"Get out!" she shouted, but her next words were smothered in his Mutus spell.

"Are you angry at me? Because you liked what I offered?" He asked with edge to his voice. "Perhaps it is yourself you should be angry with. I forced you to do nothing." Without looking at the door, he said calmly, "Draco, turn around and leave immediately and I will keep your Crucios under seven, although what you have done here today warrants death."

"Samara?" Draco said again but Samara said nothing.

Voldemort continued: "I told you long ago, Samara that I wanted you and your magic, and now, you are angry because I seek what I want? Tell me Samara, how is that different from what Draco did?"

Samara looked desperately at the silent Draco, willing him to deny it.

"You think he loves you?" spat Voldemort. "Hardly. He wanted you for your magic," said Voldemort. "Just-like-I-do—"

Samara expected Draco to say something, do something, but he was still and silent. Draco had already stepped way outside of what was acceptable behavior for a Death Eater. It was too late for him to retract his actions, but he didn't push forward either.

"NOW!" Voldemort shouted without looking at Draco, his aura now flashing orange. Draco's was a deep rich rose. "You are too late anyway, boy," Voldemort held up his bloodied hand. "Blood and magic mingled; she's mine. Just a few minor loose ends to complete: MorsMordre!" Suddenly her left arm burned with Elemental Fire. The fire traveled straight though her arm into her bones with an inexorable pain that took away her breath, but she couldn't scream through the muting spell. She crumpled miserably on the floor, curling in upon herself with the forces of the Dark Magic filling her. She felt her blood boiling and her basilisks immediately surrounded both her and Voldemort, whether because they were concerned or just because they liked the magic, she wasn't sure and at the moment didn't care. She was too immersed in the pain.

"Samara," cried Draco. "You didn't share magic with him?!"

"Of course she did, Draco. Didn't you see the sylphs before you so callously destroyed it all?" said Voldemort softly, his face breaking into a smile. "Never trust a woman, dear boy," he said as he magically pushed Draco away. "They'll betray you. Wait for me in the Antechamber where I've met the Inner Circle, and we will discuss your punishment," He said pleasantly. "And Draco, don't make me summon you."

Voldemort shoved Draco away, slammed and warded the door and removed the muting and binding charms from Samara.

"You disgust me!" she screamed at him, attempting to run after Draco.

Voldemort caught her and lifted her off of her feet. She attacked like a Muggle, attempting to kick him, struggling wildly. He was her uncle—great uncle. He was old. He was a snake. He was a liar and a cheat. He was filled with Death and Necromantic Magic. He was everything she hated and she wanted to kill him—to get as far from him as she could—she could scream and scream and— "Testudo!" she shouted, putting up the shield between them and he dropped her momentarily, but he crashed the shield down seemingly without effort, and grabbed her by the throat.

"Perhaps I should take all the basilisks," he sneered. "And send you back to Dumbledore, you ungrateful bitch."

"You could try," she countered, pulling Magic from the Air Elemental, which he immediately took from her through the newly made Mark. She cried out in pain and he hesitated as the basilisks protectively tightened their circle around her. "{Mistress?}" the one which had bitten her asked, but she did not order it.

He never knew so tight an imprint was formed with just one bite. It concerned him. He wouldn't call the feeling fear. It would be better if he imprinted them all, and trained them more firmly to himself first, he decided. There would be time. There was plenty of time now that she had the Mark.

"You should rest now, my child," he said, putting her gently on her bed.

Her thoughts rolling into his head in an uncontrolled rush as she gathered magic. I am not your child! I hate you. I wish you were dead. You are worse than Dumbledore. You tricked me. Purposefully tricked me. Liar. Cheat. "Get away from me!" she screeched, buffeting him with an uncontrolled barrage of her magic, that was barely different from a temper tantrum.

"You should get used to my touch," said Voldemort, his aura orange and triumphant. "When someone gets a Dark Mark, their body eventually shuts down to accept the foreign magic, but you are different. Your Empathic Gift will alter to accept what has been done to you." He smiled. "Because you are an Empath, you must empathize with what is given to you. Blood and magic have been mingled. You are mine."

"I will never be yours! Never. I will die first," Samara spat, in a rush of Gryffindor bravado and she didn't hesitate as the blood red of anger invaded his aura. "I am not afraid of Death," she spat holding her head high.

"Perhaps it is your friends who will die," he said, his threat very real, his fingers around her throat.

"Then I will see them again in the Spirit world," said Samara, stubbornly remembering and pulling strength from the Indian Brave of her dreams who faced the Shaman. Voldemort's aura suddenly pulled close to his body, and his grip on her loosed.

"We will discuss this when you are not overwrought," said Voldemort gently, touching her face and his aura betrayed his feelings, a rich rose and amazingly, bits of healer green. He did not want her to die. "Chances are, you won't feel very well for the next few hours," he continued, taking the basilisks he had originally chosen to take, and leaving behind his own basilisks: Cush, Cilicia and Zissi.

Voldemort stalked out of the door and closed it behind him with a soft click.

He flinched as the spell hit the closed and warded door, splintering the oak with a bright green light and blasting apart the ward before it died a breath from his body. Avada, if he was not mistaken, and rather closer than he would have liked. The spell was powerful, even though she had no one to share power with. Helga was never that powerful alone with him, yes, but not alone.

He took a deep breath. At the moment he wanted to physically beat her into submission and bend her to his will, but she was something more than just a Death Eater. She was fragile and needed to be nurtured before he could make her magic his. So be it. He was patient. He could wait.

Anyway, he had another child to subdue: Nymphadora Tonks. He smiled. Nymphadora was a witch he would like to give to Samara. Imagine her Empathy enhancing Nymphadora's gifts! He smiled. All in good time.

Ginny hesitated at the door of Samara's room. She had heard the rumors already rife, that He had given her the Dark Mark. Ethan and Edward were joking about it, but they didn't invite Ginny to join in. They seemed to realize that would be a mistake. They hurried on their way to some urgent appointment, and Ginny had come here.

"I think we should leave her alone, Ginny Love. She doesn't want company right now. Remember how you felt after getting the Mark."

"No, Tom." Ginny tapped on the door again and pushed it slightly open. "I need to be here." The door was already shattered off of the hinges from a spell—a spell from the inside. "Samara?"

"{Tsez!}" hissed Visha excitedly, reacquainting herself with her tsez by biting. Immediately the basilisk realized who was missing: Vasuki, Tse and Zila and the new basilisks with Samara: Cush, Cilicia, and Zissi.

"(Sissahausss-A-Sissahauss has the others,)" Salacia told Visha.

"Oh, it's you, Gin," came the muffled reply from Samara, and Ginny walked into the room and sat on the bed next to her. It took all of her effort to come this close to her. Ginny could feel the scalding waves of discordant magic coming off of her body. The hatred and the despair were palpable.

If she was honest with herself, Ginny was frightened. She couldn't remember ever being frightened of Samara. She knew she was a powerful witch, but she was never frightened of her, frightened for her, but not of her.

"{He hurt Mistress,}" Visha complained to Samara's basilisks as they reacquainted themselves by biting.

"{And my Mistress,}" Tisha agreed.

"{You have failed,}" Salacia admonished Visha. "{No one shall hurt my Mistress,}" she said, turning her head towards Visha, and Ginny could see the light of fiery eyes beneath the closed lids.

"{Eyes closed,}" Samara said automatically. "{Except on my order.}"

"{Yes, Mistress,}" agreed Salacia.

It's still nearly four months until they can open their eyes, thought Ginny.

"And one mistake could mean an unplanned death," Tom reminded her. "Samara is wise to start training them soon. She has too many to be careless."

"{But Sisshausss-A-Sisshausss did hurt our Mistresss,}" said Tisha. "{How could you not feel her pain, Salacia?}"

"{I feel it,}" said Salacia.

"{Mistress chose the pain,}" said Cilicia, one of Voldemort's basilisks. "{It is the pain of belonging.}"

And Cush, another of Voldemort's basilisks, agreed. "{Like a bite. Sisshausss-A-Sisshausss binds them together with his magic Mark. You have said we are stronger together, Mistress. Bond to our Tsez, Mistress has said.}"

"{I don't understand,}" said Tacita.

"{He is not MY bitemate,}" interrupted Visha, the gold of her eyes flashing beneath the closed lids. "{Mistress says}"

"{Is he a bitemate?}" Sawa asked Samara.

"{He is—a storm,}" said Samara. "{He confuses us all}"

"{Yes. Confused,}" said Tacita.

"{But Vasuki will return?}" asked Sawa piteously. "{He will bring back Vasuki!}"

"{Of course, Vasuki will return,}" said Cush. "{As will Tse and Zila and we will return to our Master, soon. Sleep now.}"

"{Why has Master abandoned us?}" asked Zissi, curling close to Salacia.

"(He will return,)" said Salacia. "(Soon.)"

"{We have each other, Mistress says. Rely upon each other,}" said Cilicia.

"{Soon?}" asked Sawa as she curled around Cilicia. "{Tell me soon? Vasuki returns?}"

"{In the space of the night,}" Cush explained. "{Sleep now. Much is to be done in the new sunlight. Much Hisssusss! Sleep.}"

"{Yes, Mistress is tired,}" agreed Salacia. "{Mistress should rest in warm magic.}"

"{It is good to rest together in warm magic,}" Visha agreed, slithering between Salacia and Zissi, and sinking her fangs into Zissi, strengthening their bond. Zissi curled around Salacia biting both Visha and Salacia in excitement.

"{Sleep,}" Cush admonished, wrapping herself around Sawa and biting.

"{Yes,}" Samara said in parseltongue. "{Speak to Tsez first.}" She indicated Ginny to the basilisks but Samara said nothing to her friend and the silence stretched as the basilisks sought their rest. Samara was so immersed in the Magic within her she could barely think.

At last, Samara said in English. "I could die," she spoke in a toneless voice. "That would be a choice, wouldn't it?"

Ginny reached out grasping her friend's hand, and then pulling away with the force of magic still flowing through her. "Oh, Samara, you feel like you might die, but you won't. It's just His magic inside of you making you sick," said Ginny.

"No. No, that's not what I mean," said Samara, her voice even and low. "I feel his magic, toxic as basilisk venom. That won't kill me, but I still might die. I could you know. I could choose death, but then, what would happen to you and Draco?" She turned her face towards Ginny and her green eyes were glowing with an unnatural light. Ginny tried to tell herself it was just tears. The room was so silent Ginny could hear the sibilant breaths of the basilisks, charged with her anger and yet impotent. "I'm so close to the Elementals now, I could just give in to them. It would be the easiest way to defeat Him, I think."

"It's Him that should die," said Ginny vehemently.

"Don't you think I know that? He used me. Tricked me, bound me" hissed Samara, shoving up her robe sleeve and revealing the Dark Mark, puckered and red like a new burn. "How am I going to get free?" she wondered in a low desperate tone. "You have to help me, Ginny."

The words brought a rush of memories to Ginny's mind. Tom, her Tom, in the Chamber saying: It's the only way—the only way you can free me—you do want to free me, don't you? You won't renege on your promise, will you?

"No Tom."

"You have to help me, Ginny Love."

"I will. I swear I will."

"I've long ago released you from that promise, Ginny Love," whispered Tom in her mind, and she was filled with sadness.

And I know you are sorry for that deception, Tom, but it doesn't change the reality, does it? wondered Ginny. She frowned and looked at the basilisks now clustered on her lap, two of his three basilisks, Celicia, and Zissi, along with her own Visha and Salacia. She let her hair fall forward over her face as she looked at them so Samara wouldn't see how her words affected her.

Samara reached out and clasped her hand. Ginny could feel the shimmering magic in her hands, like clasping a Muggle electric cord, like Tom trying to take over her body, like something foreign and frightening. It was too much. She pushed away from her friend, but Samara clasped her hand hard, refusing to let go. "What happens to you Ginny when your aura flashes yellow like that? His did that too—today. It's the first time I saw yellow in his aura."

Auras, thought Ginny, and she thought she was doing such a good job at hiding her feelings from Samara. Now there was no hope of hiding anything. "His aura looked the same?" she said excitedly grasping Samara's arm and then backing away as if burnt.

"You know what that means, Tom?"

"It means, I still have a hold on my own body," he surmised. "But it's too tenuous, Ginny. It's too late."

"You want to get away from me," said Samara as Ginny pulled away. "Go ahead. Go. A brave Gryffindor like you—it's no wonder you don't want to be friends with me. I should have been braver. I should have fought him. I'm sorry." She hung her head in silence.

"No," said Ginny. "If you had fought Him, you would be dead." She looked at her friend. No matter what she had done, Samara was her friend. Some deep-seated loyalty held her beside Samara even though she just wanted to run. She didn't know how to deal with this new problem. She longed for it to just go away, but for it to go away, Samara would have to go away and she didn't want that.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Ginny, at last reaching out to take her hand: the crackle of magic, painful against her fingers. "I'm your friend." Loyal, thought Ginny. "I won't let you down."

"Helga said that," Samara replied, and Ginny looked at her.

"Helga?" she repeated.

Samara nodded. "Helga, when I was in the Elementals. She said you were a true friend. 'Doubt not the faithfulness of the sparrow, but know this, when the final hour comes, the sparrow will not choose you.'"

Ginny frowned. She didn't understand.

"I'm sorry," said Samara. "I wish I didn't try your friendship so," she sniffed and rubbed her nose on the back of her hand. "Do you suppose it is the final hour?"

"I don't think so," said Ginny with a small smile. "I'm here, and I'm certainly no sparrow." Ginny conjured a handkerchief pulling it out of her sleeve and handing it to Samara.

"Do you remember the last time you conjured handkerchiefs like that? We were in Gryffindor Common Room. Some of the Hufflepuffs were there. Vincent Crabbe had given Sally Anne a broom."

"Vincent never gave Sally Anne that broom," said Ginny, telling Samara about Durmstrang and Maura.

The silence settled.

"Maura's lost her Koschei," said Ginny at last.

"I know," Samara replied. "Cush told me."

They talked for a while about Hufflepuff and Hogwarts and Snakes and Basilisks and totally mundane things, always skirting around the real issue of the new Dark Mark on Samara's arm. After a long while, the conversation came back to Voldemort. It was inevitable.

"Don't feel too bad," said Ginny, "like Dumbledore told me, 'He has hoodwinked older and wiser wizards and witches than us,'" said Ginny.

"Us?" said Samara.

"Yeah," agreed Ginny. "I need to tell you, something." Ginny bit her lip.

"Ginny Love," said Tom. "I think this is a mistake. She's going to think you are crazy."

"Shut up, Tom," thought Ginny, "she needs to know, especially now that Samara has seen the yellow in his aura. I know it's you, Tom."

"And you don't think Salazar realizes something new has happened?

"No," Ginny thought. "If Salazar thought anything was amiss, someone would be feeling his wrath."

"Us," surmised Tom.

"No," said Ginny. "We would be dead."

And then Ginny took a deep breath.. "I should have told you a long time ago, Samara. It's -- Ginny hesitated. "It's about first year."

As she related the story, she paused at sections she had never told anyone, things that were painful to even recall without repeating them aloud. The witches at St. Mungo's knew, of course, but that wasn't her doing. Her aura must have been doing something, because Samara was watching her, an intense look on her face. Suddenly she interrupted Ginny. "Bloody Hell—you love him," she said.

The words hit Ginny in the gut, and she had to deny them, didn't she? After all he did to her, how could she love him?

She remembered the first time he touched her, in the dark. His fingers were cold, a bush of death, gone in a moment. He was a misty wraith: a thin boy with black hair and green eyes, that looked into her soul—that were her soul. She saw him in the dark and the first time, just the first time, she had thought he was Harry, but after that, she could never mistake one for the other. Did she love him? Could she tell Samara if she did? Finally her voice cracked from her, "No—I—"

Sheer pain echoed through her, and Ginny realized that it was Tom's. "I told you this was a mistake," he said coldly, and then he was gone. Distant and all she could feel was the hollowness of betrayal. "You're really no different than the others, are you?"

Tom? Tom? It's not like you can go storming away, Tom. Talk to me. Damn you.

"Ginny," said Samara touching her arm and interrupting her thoughts. "What are you trying to do? Your aura just went from rose to bright orange."

"I'm trying to stay sane," said Ginny, fighting back tears. Ginny frowned at her friend as she thought of how Tom treated her in first year. She didn't want to think about it, so she thrust the unwelcome thoughts away from herself and concentrated on Samara.

"You don't look too well, Samara. I'll have the house elves bring you some tea. My mother always says it will help." Ginny's voice caught on a sob as she thought of her mother. She wanted to just hide in her mother's arms like a small child. She reached out and took Samara's hand in her own, ignoring the buzz of Dark Magic within her.

Samara shook her head. "I don't want any tea," she said. She took a couple of deep breaths and then continued, "I'm alright." She pulled Ginny close to hug her, unmindful of the buzzing magic, and Ginny held her for a moment, suffering it before pulling away.

"I'll stay with you for a while then," said Ginny, seating herself back on the bed and talking softly. As Samara became paler and paler, Ginny Accioed the ever clean trash can just in time and Samara began retching in the proffered trash can.

When she had finished, she wiped her mouth on one of Ginny's handkerchiefs. "Now do you want some tea?" Ginny asked.

"No," said Samara. "But would you do something for me? I thought I would be able to do it myself, but –I can't." She began to retch again and Ginny pulled the stray strands of hr hair back into her bun.

"What?" asked Ginny. "Of course I'll help you."

"Would you find Draco?"

Ginny stiffened.

"I just need to know he's alright. The Dark Lord—He was angry at Draco. He threatened to kill him. Please?"

Ginny nodded reluctantly. "Samara," she asked. "This life bond—If Draco does die, will it—it—"

"Just ask if she will die, Ginny Love."

I can't, thought Ginny, but a rush of happiness went through her. Thanks for coming back, Tom.

"Yes, well, where could I go?" he asked bitterly.

"What will happen to you, Samara?" Ginny asked. "If Draco is—hurt?"

Samara opened an eye and considered her friend.

"I don't know. All I know is that our magic is mingled and our life forces are intertwined. I don't know what that would mean if one of us were to die. I know things about Draco that he has never told me and I understand things he has never explained. He knows the same about me.

"If something were to happen to him, I would know it, but with this—Voldemort's or Salazar's—Dark Magic running through me, I don't feel much of anything but sick."

She closed her eyes again, a soft groan escaping her lips, and then she smiled tentatively at Ginny. "I shouldn't worry," she said. "After all, it's a life bond. Not a death bond."

"I'll be back as soon as I know anything," said Ginny as she untangled Visha from her tsez and laid the basilisk around her neck. She walked out of Samara's room, Reparoing the shattered door and warding it behind her.

"Thank you," Samara whispered after her, and she lay back in the bed, trying to control the nausea.

"I am glad that you are back, Tom," thought Ginny as she began to search for Draco.

Tom didn't answer.

"I'm not like them," she said, both of them realizing she was talking about those Tom had once called friend. Those who had betrayed every aspect of friendship to bring back Salazar. "They were just barmy."

Still Tom didn't answer.

"Well," muttered Ginny, "Well, I'm rather barmy too, I guess. I'm in love with a disembodied voice in my head, and now he's giving me the silent treatment, but it won't last. You were silent for too long, Tom. You hate being silent." She waiting, sending little urgent reminders that she wanted to talk to him accompanied by bits of her magic which he couldn't ignore.

At last, Tom chuckled. "I'm not disembodied," said Tom. "I have yours."

"You wish," retorted Ginny, and then she cringed as the sparkles of pain rushed through her when Tom attempted to take her over. "Owww! What was that for?"

"For being right," he said. "I was silent for too long."

ANSWERS TO REVIEWERS:

If you haven't reviewed, go and do so right now. You can also click the box that says recommend this story. Much appreciation for your faithfulness.

raptors galore:

Thank you for your review. Glad you are entertained. I hope to continue to entertain you once you are back on your feet.

SwimminChica14

I'm glad you are "so into this story" but I really appreciate the reviews. They are what keeps me going. Glad you like Harry and the new characters.

DraginLover

Harry has a plan? What plan?

Dragonheart2

I've been meaning to ask you, what does ja ne mean? I'm just an anime Japanese speaker, but I can sing all the Inuyasha songs!

xMuted-Faithx

Love your long reviews.

Yes, well that's what I thought too. Hard to be a child when Volde is around.

Oh come on, Harry wouldn't hex Draco for Malfoy teasing him that little bit. He will wait for the big guns.

I see you like Harry's "plan" to save the girls.

I'm going to kill Voldemort, and get the girls back," said Harry with a determined edge to his voice, "and Merlin help anyone who gets in my way."

The Elemental Sorceress

Great gift. another's love? In this story? Are you reading MY STORY?

akiel:

Yep. The great Gryffindor hero quest. LOL You wrote: " who was the green eyed american squib named evans?" But there was no Green eyed American squib named Evans. Maybe you should re=read because I don't know what your question is. Do you mean the aide at the Prime Minister's office? He wasn't named Evans.

WesleyPeppers If you don't start reading and reviewing at a more consistent rate, I am definitely going to kill off Garrett.

Ammarine

You wrote:"Think the dog should have a bigger part, but that's just me and my love of animals... ;)" I'll consider it.

Oh I don't think Dumbledore is really concerned about what the Ministry thinks of the muggle. I just think it is a comment on what the Ministry would think.

Glad you like the suspense. And January 17 at 5:28, You are cordially invited for tea. L. Voldemort. Hehehehe.

Harpy

Wing feather, I think. Lots of flying coming up.

Elbereth

Well I'm glad someone noticed that Snape had a first plan. LOL.

ennui deMorte Thanks for reviewing as if you didn't see all the original mistakes. Love you my beta. Thanks.

trillium

Good. Fresh air feeds the muses? No! They are air elementals and they fly away in fresh air. come back come back....

I made Harry intelligent? Oh no! I have to fix it. He's out of character.

Neville determined to prove he is a gryff? Well, re-read "Fortune Favors the Brave" in THE BROKEN BEGINNING and maybe it will make more sense. I think this has been preying on Neville's mind for quite some time.

Jager

Glad you liked draco and neville.

Kemenran Gee, you're getting wordy...Not that I mind. Thanks

Chapter 22 questions are not written, but go to TheSeersTruth Yahoo! Group anyway and ask some questions of your own. Ennui is on vacation and I miss her.

Grandma and Grandpa are moving into their own house next Wednesday, barring unforeseen circumstances, so I will be able to update on time. I'm really not late tho. There are just 15 reviews. REVIEW FASTER for faster updates.

Lady Lestrange