13. Straightening Out
He felt rage flare up at the mere memory of Bellatrix daring to defy his direct order. Burning like fire in his veins he struggled to regain his control. The audacity of hers was bordering on insubordination. It didn't mean anything that he knew that – in her obsessive need to please him – she felt she had to protect him from the young woman who she considered to be a fraud. Had he been a nicer, a better man, her act would have warmed his heart. But he wasn't and so it didn't.
He had hoped that Bellatrix would fare better with his announcement and introduction of Saphira as his heiress, even though he had known how improbable that would be. Bellatrix was fiercely protective and loyal to a fault. It was her biggest strength as well as her biggest weakness. She saw him as her god, her lonesome, dark, powerful leader who inspired awe and admiration in her and whom she would follow blindly, even into death.
There was no place for anyone next to him except for herself, no space for a partner, a wife, no space for an heir or an heiress, and even much less space for someone to be called and considered his equal. Saphira was a thorn, a virus she needed to destroy before Saphira could take over and change everything that Bellatrix held dear.
Lord Voldemort barely stifled a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Everything could have been so easy if just his minions would do what he expected of them. It had been easier back then during the first war. His Death Eaters had been eager and full of desire to please him. Their thirst for bloodshed had spurred them as had the fantasy of a future in which purebloods had the influence, power and respect they so rightly deserved.
But things had changed. He had been defeated once, by a baby none-the-less, and his Death Eaters had had too much time on their own. They had married, started families and established themselves in their work. They weren't as reckless as they had been, the need to keep their families safe conflicting with their need to please their Lord and Master and see this vision of a perfect future come to live. He might have tolerated their shift of priorities – keeping the lines pure and prospering was as honourable task and inherent duty of all purebloods – but his followers failed even at that.
It was dismaying to regard their current numbers. From the twenty-eight families regarded as perfectly pure and sacred only nineteen were still in existence and only seventeen remained pure. It was a shame that eleven once proud and sacred families had been become extinct, but it was a trend that continued. Most of the current pure and sacred families only had one heir or heiress and with the custom of keeping the blood pure and sacred even more family names were about to cease to exist in the near future. It was a disaster, but in his current position there was nothing he could do against this.
Britain had to be his, completely under the dark's control and influence before he could proceed with the calamity of their dwindling numbers.
It wasn't only his followers' lack of foresight regarding future generations and the danger of their dwindling number that caused Lord Voldemort a headache that could rival those he had caused his arch-nemesis when he had tried to possess the boy. There were also his idiotic followers who had become blinded by their rank of inner circle members.
Narcissa Malfoy was playing a dangerous game, a game with rules he hadn't figured out so far. If he didn't knew the Lady better and if he hadn't been forced to work with her husband, he might have been inclined to believe that Narcissa Malfoy was merely motivated. Her expectancies and educational objectives for his daughter were demanding and a lot more ambitious than his had been. One might assume that Narcissa had chosen to aim high with Saphira to please her father.
But Lord Voldemort knew better. There had never once been a Malfoy who had done something for anyone out of the goodness of his or her heart. It went against everything the Malfoy family name stood for. There was no power, influence or prestige in doing anything for charitable purposes. And if there was neither power to be accumulated nor debts to be collected then a Malfoy wasn't interested. Narcissa wasn't born a Malfoy but she had been married to one for twenty years and therefore knew of the golden rule – never do anything for free.
Narcissa might try and come to collect her debt once her job was done but Lord Voldemort would just refuse her. He hadn't tasked her with going beyond his expectations; he would certainly not pay her for doing something he hadn't demanded of her.
Her attempts to teach his daughter irked him more than he would like to admit. He shouldn't be a hypocrite, he had demanded that his daughter be taught how to act properly in high-society gathering and how to fulfil her role as his heiress. That included knowing how to dress, walk, talk and dance.
Narcissa, however, chose to interpret his demand in a different way. From the reports he had been receiving Narcissa chose to focus on aspects such as having tea ceremonies, book clubs, small talk and playing an instrument among other activities as well. Lord Voldemort knew that those activities were considered acceptable and respectable for pureblood women. But this had never been what he had expected for his daughter. He didn't need an heiress who knew how to play the harp but couldn't defend herself. His daughter had to be able to find her way around pureblood high-society, nothing more nothing less.
He had planned to teach her how to fly without a broom once Narcissa was done with her training. Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange would be tasked with refining her duelling skills. Once Bellatrix managed to control herself around his daughter she would asked to instruct her in the fine arts of the Dark Arts. And Severus would teach her everything she needed to know about potions and useful poisons.
His daughter was supposed to be a strong woman. As Sharina had been. Sharina would have gutted him for trying to form their daughter into a puppet, beautiful to look at, something to parade around in public but to disregard when he didn't feel like spending time with her. She would have killed him for suggesting a woman's place was at home with the children. It was the traditional view of a woman's role, but both Sharina and he had disapproved of it. Nothing had felt better than knowing his wife next to him. The knowledge that she would support him in any way possible had been more powerful and enriching than any puppet could ever be. Saleena wasn't supposed to grow up as a decorative item and neither was Saphira.
It pleased him immensely that according to the reports Narcissa was failing spectacularly in her attempts. Saphira was fighting Narcissa on every step she took. The Lady had complained several times already that his daughter's discipline was lacking and that she had no regard for superiors. Lord Voldemort chose to differ. Saphira didn't lack motivation nor discipline, as she had learned in a handful of months what took others years and she knew her superiors – Narcissa wasn't one. Saphira only had to answer to him and she knew that he would intervene should he feel things might get out of control.
For the time being he would let Narcissa be. He didn't know what she expected from benefitting from shaping his daughter the way she did but Lord Voldemort was certain that she would not reach her goal. He would have to keep an eye on her, however. Should he feel that her methods and expectations would lead his daughter astray, the good lady would find out sooner rather than later that there were several other pureblood ladies allied to the dark who were just as proficient in teaching his daughter as Narcissa was.
However, not only Narcissa Malfoy was causing him constant trouble. With a last dark scowl at Narcissa's useless weekly report of Saphira's progress and development or lack thereof, Lord Voldemort glared murderously at the parchment lying next to it.
Rabastan Lestrange had reported that Malfoy Junior spent an indecent amount of time with the Dark Lord's heiress. It would have been acceptable if the Malfoy offspring had confined himself to being around her as soon as she left her quarters – this was, after all, what the Malfoy heir had been ordered to do. But the Malfoy brat had the impudence to not only follow Saphira around, but the boy intruded into her quarters as well and would only leave when Saphira chose to prepare for bed. It was an utter scandal and most unbecoming of a pureblood heir, even though Lord Voldemort suspected that the Malfoy spawn himself wasn't solely to fault for those unbecoming actions. Such a ploy sounded much more like something that Lucius Malfoy would do. The current Lord Malfoy was ambitious at best and was blood-elitist enough to consider committing murder acceptable if it meant that he would be able to call the Dark Lord's daughter the next Malfoy Mistress and his daughter-in-law.
It was thoroughly exhausting. As if there weren't more pressing matters to keep in mind – defeat of the light, conquering magical Britain and establishing a pureblood orientated society to name but a few. Their immanent goals seemed to fade in importance when his daughter's future husband was regarded. The thought almost caused him to snort. As if he would approve of Malfoy Junior just because Lucius told the boy to force himself on his daughter. Hell might sooner freeze over. Draco Malfoy wasn't the worst choice of a husband should Saphira be unfortunate enough to fall for the brainless scheme, but he wasn't the best either.
However, it seemed as if Lucius Malfoy wasn't the only ambitious one. Next to Malfoy Junior, Blaise Zabini was following Saphira around like a love-sick puppy. Rabastan reported that he suspected an ill-suited attempt to win Saphira over. The Zabini boy seemed rather straight forward, even though he respected the privacy of her personal quarters at any rate. At least, the boy had done so far.
With a deadly scowl at the pile of useless reports Lord Voldemort realized that he had been degraded to something similar to a bloody kindergarten teacher.
A curse escaped his lips and he set Narcissa Malfoy's report of fire. With the fire reducing the meaningless report to a cluster of ash, Lord Voldemort felt a little better. Something had to change or else he would be in need of quite a number of new minions in the near future. And he would have to build a bigger cemetery.
Lord Voldemort thoughtfully clasped his hands and leaned back further into his wooden chair. There was much to do and even more to prepare. The Lady Malfoy had to be set straight in regards to what her role in Saphira's life and education was. If he needed to, he would have to revoke the Lady's privilege of instructing and educating his daughter. There were enough pureblood women of noble status who could instruct his daughter just as well. Narcissa Malfoy wasn't someone special, she had been chosen out of convenience. It would be better for her and her family if she understood that.
Lucius had to be informed about his actual standing in the Dark Lord's favour. The Lord seemed to be misled by the notion that he was occupying a special position within the ranks of the Death Eaters and had to be corrected in regards to the misapprehension. Whereas it was true that Lord Malfoy had the political and social connections, money and influence that suited Lord Voldemort rather well, Lord Malfoy wasn't important enough by far to act as if he was the one in charge of the Dark Lord's followers. There were other Death Eaters and supporters, though less connected and influential who could take over Lucius' position. Lucius needed to be properly straightened out. Perhaps he should organise a little duel between Lucius and the Lestrange brothers. Rabastan and Rudolphus would surely be pleased to be allowed to torture the husband of their sister-in-law; they would do everything to remind Lucius of his place. As far as Lord Voldemort was informed, there wasn't much love lost between them.
The younger generation would have to be reminded that whereas they might have grown up as pampered and spoiled little princes that they weren't worth the dirt under Saphira's shoes. As the Dark Lord's daughter Saphira would be his next in line and the one to continue their precious family name. Those boys should know better than to expect Lord Voldemort to merely lean back, close his eyes and tolerate that some insignificant and brainless brats tried to pressure his daughter into spending time with them. They needed to be punished and straightened out. Perhaps he should have Fenrir 'play' a little with them. He was vicious at best when he felt a pup wasn't treated properly.
But first of all, he had to speak with Bellatrix.
Bellatrix wasn't frail or weak by any means, but nonetheless she needed special and careful handling. Her obsession with him was something that Lord Voldemort had tolerated so far. Sometimes he had used her fanatical obsession with him when he needed a volunteer for a dangerous or probably lethal mission. During those moments her fascination had been of use to him and a great advantage to his goals. She was his most dedicated and loyal follower and he valued her more than any of his other Death Eaters. But he could not have her disregard his orders. His words were law and if Bellatrix, the one who would do anything he asked her to do, was going against them, then she was not only setting a bad example but undermining his power and influence as well.
He would be unmistakably straight forward with her. This was her onetime chance, her first and only chance for redemption that he would grant her. Should she disappoint him again, he would dispose of her as he would of every other of his minions. It would be unfortunate, but his words were law and he couldn't have anyone going against them, not even Bellatrix.
Perhaps it might never come to that. Lord Voldemort had prepared his words and actions with utmost care. However, before he would take care of Bellatrix, he needed to let off steam. It would be unwise to face Bellatrix in his current state of barely controlled rage and fury.
All of a sudden a face came appeared in his mind, a timid and dirty little face of a waste of space. A dangerous smirk edged over his lips and an icy cold glint appeared in his purple eyes.
Perfect.
After two gratifying hours Lord Voldemort had reduced Wormtail to a whimpering and crying mess writhing and convulsing on the hard, cold stone floor in one of his personal duelling rooms. It was a wonder what soothing effects a lovely round of torturing could have on one's state of mind. Lord Voldemort felt much calmer than he had before. When he returned to his personal study, he vanished his crumpled dark robes with a sweep of his wand and dressed into crisp fresh black ones. He was pleased to notice when he had entered his personal office that the house elves had started the fire.
Opting against his desk Lord Voldemort took a seat on one of his couches. They were of the darkest, finest wood the magical world had to offer and covered with fine, blood red leather. The walls, floor and ceiling were covered with dark wood and several floating candleholders, heavy and silver, the candles thick and blood red, created a dark but comfortable atmosphere.
Lord Voldemort leaned back against the couch and waited relatively patiently for Bellatrix to arrive. On the dot, there sounded a soft but strong knocking from the dark wooden door. With a flick of his hand the door swung open. Bellatrix entered without hesitation and approached him with a sweeping pace. When she reached the sitting area she stopped and bowed deeply, all but falling to her knees.
"My Lord" She mumbled lowly with her hooded gaze focused on her feet. "You asked for me."
Lord Voldemort waited immovably and let some tense and strained moments pass. "I did." He confirmed, his voice cold and uncaring. "Rise, Bellatrix, and take a seat."
Bellatrix hastened to comply with his request and as she took her seat, Lord Voldemort couldn't help but ponder her appearance. Years ago Bellatrix had been different. She had always been firmly inclined to the dark and dangerous but back then when he had started his quest for power and immortality, she had been different. She had been beautiful with her long, glossy, night-black hair that had cascaded down her back in strong waves, her big, deep blue eyes that were as cold as her non-existent soul and her classical beautiful features created through generations of pureblood ancestry and inbreeding on the Black family line.
Askaban had changed her. She could still be considered intelligent and witty but her mind had been broken beyond repair and were once had been a cunning and manipulating character streak, there was now bottomless insanity and the mindless need to please him. Her black hair was dull and lifeless and her blue eyes blank and vacant. He had to admit, however, that she looked much better than she had when she had been rescued from Askaban. He wondered whether he should feel regret for her decay, seeing as he was partly responsible for it, but he didn't.
After Sharina's death, he had pushed her away. Looking at Bellatrix who had resembled his deceased wife so much in her appearance had hurt too much. The dark hair, the blue eyes, the classical beautiful, pureblood features, her sacred ancestry and the wit and cunning; it had been too much.
Now he couldn't help but feel thankful that his most loyal and dedicated female follower resembled his dear and beloved wife so much. Some might accuse him of replacing Saleena, but Lord Voldemort would kill whoever dared to accuse him of such slander. There was no way on earth that he could replace his dear daughter Saleena just as there was no way that he could ever replace his beloved wife Sharina. Both were unique too him and harboured special and fiercely protected places in his cold heart.
He would never try to replace them, but that didn't mean that he wasn't allowed to fantasize how life could have been had they survived. It was easier now with Saphira by his side. Her hair was darker than Saleena's, her blue eyes of brighter blue, more ice-blue than dark blue, her lips fuller and her nose shorter. Even though there were small differences, there were still enough similarities that Lord Voldemort couldn't help but notice how merely looking at Saphira caused him to feel more at ease.
It would be so easy to rebuild what he had with Bellatrix and Saphira. Bellatrix would be willing and dedicated. She wouldn't think twice should he order her to act as if she was his wife. And even though he had no problems with developing fatherly feelings towards Saphira, feelings that had been reserved for Saleena so far, he drew a line at taking Bellatrix as his next wife. He had only taken one woman to bed. Sharina Salwick had been his and there was no way on earth that he would give up some of that special place she had in his heart to share it with another woman.
Bellatrix would have to live with the knowledge that while she was important enough to him to become his daughter's mother through her genes in a blood-adoption potion, that she wasn't important enough to become his wife. Lord Voldemort had a feeling that Saphira wouldn't mind that Bellatrix wasn't about to become her mother through marriage as well. Not that it would be possible. Bellatrix was married to one of his most dedicated followers and whereas she was childless and the marriage seemed to exist more on the paper than in reality, Lord Voldemort wouldn't pillory his daughter. It had been a risk to choose a married woman as his daughter's mother, but Lord Voldemort felt it was worth it. No one would ever find out, after all.
Saphira would have to live with the knowledge that her mother was alive and married to another. However, Lord Voldemort had the premonition that his daughter would have no problems with Bellatrix staying out of her life for eternity. There seemed to have been rather bad blood between Bellatrix and Harry Potter, after all.
Forcing his mind to return to the problem at hand Lord Voldemort stared at Bellatrix coldly. She was sitting with her back ramrod straight, her hands clasped firmly in her lap and her crazy, blue eyes trained on his face. Like a dog, mindless and so eager to please.
"Do you know why I asked for you, Bellatrix?" He asked. It wasn't as if he truly cared whether she might know, but he had found out early in his rise to power that it was elementary that his followers knew when they had done something that displeased him and that they learned how to anticipate their failures. It made controlling them so much easier.
Bellatrix's face grew pale, a sure sign that she knew what she had done something wrong and was embarrassed about it, and she lowered her eyes in shame. "I do." She whispered, her words barely audible. "I acted against your words. I failed you, my Lord."
"That you did." He commented uncaring. Bellatrix gulped heavily, but Lord Voldemort didn't care for her discomfort or emotional pain. "I have a feeling that I know why you acted against my direct order. And even though I know and understand your reasons, I do not care for your reasoning." He lowered his voice and glared at Bellatrix's trembling form. "My word is law." He hissed.
Bellatrix nodded frantically, her eyes gaze never once straying from her shaking fingers in her lap.
"I know, my Lord." She whispered brokenly and licked her dry lips. "It won't happen again. I will swear upon it on my magic."
Lord Voldemort dismissed her reassurance with a sharp movement of his hand. "See that you do. You wouldn't appreciate the consequences if you didn't." He threatened darkly.
Pleased with her reaction to his promise, Lord Voldemort leaned back and regarded her with dark, thoughtful eyes. He had to tread carefully. He needed to balance praise, information, threats and displeasure in a reasonable way.
"As my most loyal follower, I feel that you should receive further pieces of information." Ignoring her pleased blush on her pale, sunken in cheeks, Lord Voldemort clasped his hands in his lap.
The Dark Lord paused and debated on how to proceed from there on. It was a rather personal topic and he didn't discuss personal matters with anyone, much less his followers, on principle. Suppressing the urge to sigh, Lord Voldemort decided to go for plain and simple.
"Saphira is my daughter, as improbable and impossible as it may sound." He stated neutrally and chose to ignore how Bellatrix's eyes widened in incredulity and disbelief. "She didn't pressure me to take her in and announce her as my heiress, she didn't use forged paperwork or documents to win my trust and she didn't use any kind of spell, charm or potion to play with my mind." Those were the easiest and most probable ways to fake a blood-relation where there was none. Not that he would have fallen for any of those ploys altogether.
"I know for sure that Saphira is my daughter, as I adopted her." A fierce glare and a sharp movement of his hand silenced Bellatrix's protest before she could voice it. "She is my daughter through a blood-adoption. My blood." His glare intensified. It was crucial that Bellatrix understood this part. "I may not have sired her in the traditional way, but she is my blood nonetheless. Mine and yours."
Bellatrix sucked in a sharp breath and her blue eyes widened visibly. He had debated for hours whether he should tell her about Saphira's complete parentage. In the end, usefulness conquered simplicity. Bellatrix would give her life for his daughter if there was need to; but she would actively try to keep Saphira safe and out of harm's reach if she knew that she was her daughter as well.
"I used your genes to create her." It was a crude way to describe what he had done to get Saphira, but a fitting way nonetheless. "It is irrelevant and of no importance to you who Saphira had been before I adopted her. All you need to know is that Saphira is mine, created through my genes and yours."
Lord Voldemort didn't need to have a functioning human heart to suspect that Bellatrix was on the brick of suffering a nervous breakdown. Having a child of her own, an heir or heiress, had never been on Bellatrix's agenda. She may have married Lord Rodolphus Lestrange on her parents' insistence but there was no love lost between them. Their marriage was for convenience's sake, nothing more nothing less. And even though he knew that neither Rodolphus nor Bellatrix had wanted to have a child with their partner, he had been informed on good authority that she wouldn't be averse to have a child with him.
So deep and misplaced was her dedication to him.
"You are my most valued and trusted follower." Lord Voldemort praised, voicing for the first time how truly important she was to him. Bellatrix sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes grew wide and misty. "Thank you, my Lord." She whispered reverently and her lips wobbled dangerously. Her blue eyes filled to the brim with tears.
Lord Voldemort, however, wasn't moved by her display of gratitude. "You may be my most valued follower," He conceded neutrally. "But should you ever raise your wand against my daughter again, then I will dispose of you in the most painful and degrading way possible." He hissed and his unnatural purple eyes flashed dangerously. "Are we in accord, Bellatrix?" He asked her sharply, even though it wasn't necessary.
Bellatrix nodded frantically and a deranged smile disfigured her once beautiful features. "I swear to you, my Lord, I won't harm our daughter in any way." She gushed worshipfully.
Lord Voldemort nodded curtly and barely refrained from torturing her for calling Saphira their daughter. Saphira was his, his alone, no matter whose genes he had needed to create her. Bellatrix may try to find a semblance of motherly affection in the dark abyss that was her heart and soul, but Lord Voldemort knew that Saphira would only ever be his.
"See that you do." The dangerous glint in his purple eyes promised the most horrific and painful torture should she fail to do so.
"And a word of advice, Bellatrix." Lord Voldemort remarked coldly, fetched his wand idly and twirled it between his long fingers. "No word, not a single word, to anyone about what you heard this day. Saphira's true heritage is to be kept a secret."
Stalking through the dimly light halls with his customary black robes billowing behind him Severus Snape made his way to the personal quarters of his pupil Lady Saphira Slytherin and her father. He knew that he looked like a bat of hell as those brainless idiots who called themselves his students would say, but Severus didn't care. He had had a hellish week, preceded by horrific months and he just didn't care anymore.
When he rounded a corner Severus felt thee frown marring his features deepen as he remembered the reason for this late detour. Ever since that fateful afternoon when he had been sitting in the Malfoy Manor visitor lounge – the smaller, private one for well-known guests and family members – things had deteriorated at Slytherin Manor. Severus had known that as soon as the words 'marriage contract' had left his lips that Lucius would change and not for the better. However, Severus had been unprepared for the extent of the Malfoy Patriarch's changes in character.
Severus scowled fiercely and felt his need to punch Lucius into the face, directly into his obnoxious and unbearable smug face, increase exponentially. Lucius would have deserved anything he got.
They had been friends for decades and good friends as such. Both knew the other's weaknesses and failings and whereas Severus tended to be overly abrasive and hurtful, Lucius tended to let things get to his head.
Severus rolled his dark eyes and barely refrained from snorting derisively. Letting things get to his head was a gross understatement. The way Lucius had acted as of lately, one might think he had been promoted to the Dark Lord's right hand man and his personal successor. It was a wonder that Lucius hadn't ticked off anyone enough to be cursed into the next week. If he kept his crazy ideas up, Severus was sure that some of the other Death Eaters would be at the end of their tether. Not that Severus could fault them.
Thankfully, Lucius had refrained from acting overly demanding and controlling when the Dark Lord was around. For their Lord would kill Lucius on the spot should he ever receive word about Lucius' escapades, Lucius' influence and connections be damned.
But whereas Lucius was showing at least some restraint, Narcissa was clearly out of control.
Narcissa had never been one of Severus' dearest friends. She was Lucius' wife and the mother of his godson and as such connected with him through affiliation and blood on Draco's side. Severus had never known what Lucius saw in her as she was vain and superficial – as were most of the pureblood heiresses, to be honest – but he wasn't married to her and as such he didn't care.
However, that didn't mean that her current behavior wasn't causing his blood to boil.
Whereas Narcissa had been barely tolerable before, her latest moods were unbearable. Pot meet kettle, Severus had thought darkly, for Narcissa was as prone to letting things get to her head as her husband was.
It wasn't as if Narcissa was the only who was allowed to spend time with their Master's daughter and try and teach her during their lessons. No, it was far from it. At the moment Narcissa may be granted the privilege to know her lessons were the most important ones for the time being. But this would change with time when their Master felt that his daughter knew enough about the ways of pureblood society and how to act and behave in public without shaming her and her father's name. And then Narcissa wouldn't be needed anymore and her treasured influence would be restricted.
She would have to accept that there would be others to teach their Master's daughter. Severus knew that their Master planned for him to teach Saphira the art of potions brewing and the basic of healings. Lucius was considered for subjects such as politics, history and economy, whereas the Lestrange brothers were taken into consideration to teach the young Lady the art of duelling as well as Dark Arts and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Even Fenrir would be involved and not for Saphira's protection but to teach her about magical creatures, their lives and customs and the laws concerning them.
Narcissa's lessons were important, that was undeniable. But whereas it was certainly true that instructing Saphira about the customs of pureblood society was important, Narcissa took more liberties than she was entitled to.
She was trying to mould Saphira into something she wasn't and that she shouldn't have to be. The young woman hadn't been able to act as she had wanted when she had still been Harry Potter, but that didn't warrant that Narcissa correct and influence every single aspect of her current character. Saphira was a person and a human being and as impossible as Severus had thought it to be she had a decent personality, not at all how Potter had been. There was no need to change those aspects of her as well.
Severus cursed Narcissa in his mind and continued his way. He knew what this was about and he cursed his own stupidity for not having considered this before. The marriage contract, this thrice damned contract, was threatening to ruin it all. He had made a promise to Lily to keep her child safe and out of harm's reach and whereas it hadn't been an unbreakable vow, it had been a promise that had come straight from his heart. It pained him immensely but the way the Malfoys were acting he had to intervene for he couldn't consider Saphira safe anymore.
This night while he had been about to fall asleep a though had crossed his mind and even though sudden and unexpected as it had been, Severus had leaped from his bed, snatched his robes and stormed out of his personal quarter at Slytherin Manor. He had to check something – it was only a random thought, a memory of sorts, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He had to verify his thought as the mere possibility that it could be true would alleviate most of Severus' concerns.
When he rounded another corner Severus suddenly encountered Blaise Zabini. The Zabini heir was leaning laid-back against the stone wall and was partly hidden through the dark shadows created through the handful of candles floating through the air. Severus felt rage build up in his chest and a red haze clouded his vision.
First Lucius and Narcissa and now Blaise Zabini. Was everyone out to get on his nerves and sent him to an early grave these days?
Severus quickened his pace, fetched his wand from his pocket and sent the most vicious stinging hex he could muster. Caught off guard, the red flash caught Zabini straight into the chest causing the young man to yelp in pain and jump. Stalking towards the lowly cursing man Severus felt his scowl intensify.
Just as Zabini was looking up with one hand still rubbing the painfully smarting area on his chest, Severus grabbed the obtuse brat by the collar of his robes and threw him against the wall.
Dark eyes widened in surprise and something awfully similar to fear flashed through them when Zabini recognised his attacker as his former Potions Professor. Unmoved by the display of emotions Severus hoisted the young man by the collar of his robes. Invading the brat's personal space Severus stared angrily into wide open, dark brown eyes as the Zabini Heir tried to keep his balance while standing on his tiptoes.
Their noses were all but touching and Severus took sick please in the way Zabini gulped nervously. "Leave now, Zabini, you have no business loitering near the Dark Lord's personal quarters." Severus hissed dangerously low, his voice full of anger and venom. Zabini gulped and tried to grin cockily and retort something witty but the tip of Severus' wand right in front of his eyes caused him to blanch.
With a hasty nod Zabini tried to shrink back out of his former Potions Professor's reach. "Good. And don't come back." Severus released the brat causing him to stumble to his feat ungracefully. "If you do, the Dark Lord will be the least of your problems." With that last threat Severus sent his student running.
When the noise of Zabini's footfall thundering along the corridors ceased Severus took a deep, relaxing breath and continued his quest. He wasn't concerned with Zabini. The brat wouldn't squeal as he would only embarrass himself in the process and even if he did, Severus was sure that he had the Dark Lord's blessing for his actions.
Two corners further Severus finally reached the corridor leading to the Dark Lord's and his daughter's quarters. It was peacefully quite. A handful of candles were floating softly in the air and created a dim light in the corridor. A painting was hanging between the doors leading to the Dark Lord's and Saphira's chambers but it was empty. Normally a snake was lingering on a thick tree-branch but at the moment it was missing, most probably to keep an eye on Saphira in her quarter.
Severus slowed his pace and was about to turn right towards the Dark Lord's personal quarter when the soft rustling of clothes alerted him to the presence of someone else nearby. He scanned the dimly light corridor and his gaze found Draco. The young man was leaning against the cold stone wall, his head had lolled to the side causing his silvery blond hair to fall into his face and his eyes were closed.
With a low sigh and a shaking of his head Severus directed his steps towards his godson. When he had all but reached him, something alerted the young man and he startled awake with a gasp. Draco blinked tiredly, but relaxed immediately when he noticed Severus standing in front of him.
"Draco, go home." Severus' voice was soft but stern as he addressed his godson in lieu of greeting. Draco blinked slowly at him still fighting against his fatigue. Slowly he rolled his shoulders and his joints cracking audibly as he smiled weakly at his godfather. "I can't. I am here on-"
"Your father's orders." Severus interrupted him strictly though not harshly. Draco blushed but returned his gaze. "Don't pretend that it is any different. The Dark Lord was clear in his order. I should know, as I have been present when he delivered them. He hasn't sanctioned what you have been doing lately."
The way Draco flinched and averted his gaze, the reprimand stung and Severus knew this. But he couldn't help it. Not if he wanted to keep Draco out of harm's reach as well. How come he was the one who had to keep those brats safe all of a sudden?
Draco looked sheepishly and barely seemed to refrain from wringing his hands in discomfort. Severus suppressed the urge to sigh. Lucius surely knew how to have his son under his thumb.
"But my father-" Draco began halting only to be interrupted by Severus again. "Is skating on thin ice." Severus finished. "The Dark Lord isn't pleased with him and if you don't take care, you will be caught in the cross-fire."
Draco gulped fearfully and looked as scared as one should when the Dark Lord and punishment was mentioned. Still, he didn't back down and stood his ground. Severus didn't know whether he should congratulate Lucius for having a son who obeyed his orders so dedicatedly or if he should curse the man for thoughtlessly risking his son's life. He might do both.
Deciding on what might convince his godson to give up his pointless and dangerous quest Severus tried it with honesty. "I know what your father is planning, Draco. It is dangerous and in the last resort might get your father killed. No one knows with the Dark Lord."
Severus levelled a stern glare at the young man and tried his best to convey how utterly serious he was about the matter. "Go home and go to bed." He advised not unkindly. "Tomorrow, you will wait in front of Saphira's quarter. You will wait there and you will only enter if she invites you. Is that clear?"
Draco still didn't look completely convinced but a after a painfully long moment he finally acquiesced with a reluctant nod. Severus didn't breathe a sigh of relief, he didn't. "Good; you might survive, after all." Severus mumbled low enough that Draco couldn't hear him.
Brats, they were going to be the reason for his premature death.
Shaking his head Severus addressed his godson. "Good night, Draco." Draco mumbled a farewell of his own and slowly made his way towards fireplace that would send him back to Malfoy Manor on unsteady and scuffling feet.
Severus waited until he couldn't hear the shuffling anymore and then turned around. When he reached the Dark Lord's door he hesitated for a long, painful moment.
It was late and the Dark Lord was volatile at the best of times. Did he truly dare to disturb him in the middle of the night over something that might turn out to be completely trivial?
Plucking up courage Severus knocked before his mind could tell him how stupid and suicidal he was being.
Moments passed and Severus felt his panic reach unknown and unwelcome dimensions when finally the door flew open and he came face to face with his enraged Lord. Before he could he tortured for disturbing him Severus fell to his knees and bowed his head.
"I am sorry to disturb you, my Lord." His words were mumbled in his black robes as his dark eyes stared wide and unblinking at the grey stones under his shoes. "But it is of utmost importance; it concerns your daughter."
When nothing happened for several moments, when he wasn't cursed or tortured or maimed and he wasn't suffering immense and unbearable pain Severus slowly dared to breathe a sigh of relief. He might survive this night, after all.
"Speak up, Severus." The Dark Lord's voice hissed dangerously low.
Severus took a deep breath, closed his eyes and awaited his immediate and painful death. "I need to take a look at the marriage contract drawn up between you and Malfoy family, my Lord."