Searching For Love: Chapter Five
(I don't own any copyrights to the Harry Potter series or anything to do with it).
9:00 PM, before the attack on the Weasley's House:
Jane paced anxiously around the small office, twirling a strand of black hair around her index finger, and biting her lower lip in thought. It wasn't the coming attack that was bothering her, it was her dreams. Often lately, she dreamed of a coppery-headed woman, standing in a field of flowers; the woman seemed to be looking for someone, but she didn't seem to be getting anywhere, she just seemed to be walking in circles. Nothing was ever said in these dreams, except for the name 'Ginny', always whispered just before she woke up, as though the woman could see her and was trying to tell her something.
The doors burst open, and Voldemort swept into the room; Jane let the thoughts slide from her mind as she rushed to embrace the master. Affectionately, he patted her on the back and grinned at her.
"My dear servant," he hissed, "I could sense your trouble from outside the room. It smells to me of confusion and fear. What is troubling you?"
"Master," Jane looked into his eyes with glowing devotion, "I have strange dreams—"
"Say no more," Voldemort replied, "for I have the answer to those dreams."
From his robes, Voldemort produced a bottle containing a substance of a very nasty color. Jane wrinkled her nose in distaste, but took the bottle from him and studied it.
"What is it?" She asked uncertainly.
"Only something to help with the dreams," Voldemort told her, "do you not trust your master?"
Jane looked up, fear in her eyes.
"Oh no Master," she said quickly, "I am your devoted follower, ever and always, but, I suppose I can't help but be curious—"She stopped suddenly, a tiny whisper in the back of her mind warning her of the dangerous ground she was stepping on.
"Well, drink up," Voldemort urged her, a nasty grin appearing on his face.
Jane drank the potion, and for a few seconds, nothing seemed to happen, except that she felt extremely sick to her stomach; suddenly, she felt the world tilt around her. Her dreams fell away and she knew who she was; she was Jane, loyal servant to the Master Voldemort, the hound that hunted his prey and the one who destroyed the disloyal and the disbelieving for him.
Voldemort watched as Jane's eyes grew dim, and she seemed to be frozen in place before him. He stepped forward, the grin gone from his face, replaced by an evil light. He tilted her chin upwards and looked directly into her eyes, muttering a spell under his breath.
"You are Jane," he whispered, "You have never been anyone but Jane, and you never will be again. As long as you remain under the Polyjuice Potion and this spell, nothing can awaken you, and nothing can turn you away from your true mission."
He let her chin drop, and she swayed on her feet.
"As long as the three of you are broken," he laughed to himself, "the prophecy cannot come to pass, and the 'great Harry Potter', can never truly defeat me, but I must be sure, and to that end, I will have you kill his daughter, your daughter! I want Harry Potter to suffer before he dies, to loose his love, and his child, and to never know what could have really defeated me." He stepped away from her and let her eyes clear; her balance slowly returned to her.
"Now my servant," he hissed, "tell me about your dreams?"
"That's strange," Jane replied, rubbing her forehead, "I must have imagined them, because I can't remember any specific 'dreams'. I can't remember much of anything lately—"
There came a knock on the door, and someone stepped in to tell the Master that everything was ready to go.
Jane looked at the master, carefully keeping her love from burning to deeply in her eyes, but she knew that the Master felt it, and she knew he returned it, although he would never comment on it.
Voldemort stepped close to her, and gripped her arm like a vice; he leaned his face close to hers, and barely brushed her lips with a kiss. She didn't lean closer for more, knowing that he commanded their love, just as surely as he commanded her soul.
"Go, my beloved servant," he whispered, almost tenderly, "and do not fail me, but remember one thing: return to me. I would not wish for something, undue, to happen to you. "
"I will return to you, my Master," she closed her eyes slightly, savoring the moment, "I will return—for you!"
She sauntered out the door, believing with all her heart that the master and she—but she never noticed the evil light playing in Voldemort's eyes; an evil light, of deception.
