A/N: This will be my last post for a while, folks. PAR is going on vacation. My first in absolutely years that didn't involve surgery. So, I'm giving you an extra long chapter today. I'll see you back when my plane lands three Sunday's from now. In the days inbetween I hope to be rolling in the clover in Ireland.

And as always,

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Go back and read the one before the one before the one before the one before this one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: PLACES INBETWEEN

Voldemort sat once more in his rooms at the castle, tapping his foot absently on the floor as he thought over the situation.

So, Black had managed to pull an ace out of his hat. The question was, was the man insane enough to use it?

The werewolf had seemed to think so, urging him over and over to take his advice and learn to work with Black rather than locking him away.

And what was so wrong with that anyway? What was it Black was complaining about exactly? It wasn't as though he was anywhere unpleasant. He was in his own little area of his mind. He could sit there and play cricket all day for all Voldemort cared. Just as long as he stayed out of his way and out of his thoughts.

A pain shooting up his leg distracted him from his thoughts and he grimaced against it, quickly reaching down to rub the ensuing cramp out of the muscles.

The leg was getting to be a serious problem. Four and five times a day he would have to stop what he was doing and tend to it. How did Black put up with it? And why hadn't he done something about it before now?

Sighing to himself, Voldemort got to his feet as he reached for the cane next to his chair. A constant companion these days. He decided the best thing for it was a walk. That usually relaxed the muscles for several hours and gave him a little bit of relief.

He was nearly to the lake when he looked up and noticed the figure standing by the shore, gazing out over the water.

Arabella.

He watched her for several minutes. She never moved. Only stood there, with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at some point beyond as the wind gently lifted her hair and blew it around her shoulders.

Considering his options, which narrowed down to either retreat or go forward, he slowly plodded onward, leaning against the head of his cane for support.

Reaching the shoreline, he took up a post next to her, but still a respectable distance from her.

For several minutes neither of them spoke a word until Arabella finally turned to him, her arms remaining defiantly crossed in front of her.

"So what are you going to do?" she ask in a none-to-friendly tone.

Voldemort never shifted his attention from whatever he had chosen to focus on out in the water. "About what?"

"Don't play games with me, Voldemort." She stated fiercely. "I'm not in the mood."

Voldemort turned t look at her. "You mean about Black?"

"Yes. Sirius. What are you going to do?"

Voldemort turned his attention back to the lake. "I haven't decided yet. But according to the old werewolf, my options are somewhat limited."

Arabella sighed inwardly with a small touch of relief. She knew what Lupin had told Voldemort about the situation and what his recommendation was. Voldemort had to loosen his hold on Sirius more. Allow him more freedom. And maybe as result of that she would see even more of him in the person she currently faced. "Why did you even choose him?" She finally stated, none of the anger going out of her tone. "Why even do any of this?"

"What did you want me to do, Arabella?" He ask, turning back to her. "I needed a body and I needed one fast. The one I had was failing, I wasn't sure why, and I couldn't stop it. All I had to work with was an obscure spell and a lot of luck and bloody little time. I was lucky to even find the spell, much less make it work the way I needed it to. Black fit all the criteria for the spell's parameters. And it wasn't as though I can go to another body. I'm as much a prisoner right now as he is."

Arabella brushed a few wayward strands of hair out of her face. "What about your oh-so-loyal Deatheaters? Surely one of them would have considered it an honor to give up their body to you."

Voldemort found himself momentarily distracted by her action. But he quickly shook it off. He had to stay focused. This was the one person he absolutely needed to trust him. "They didn't even know me. I would more then likely have been killed on sight. Is that what you would have wanted to have had happened to your loving fiance?"

"They didn't know you then." Arabella corrected. "What about now? Or before all of this even started. When you were still in your old body? Why didn't you go to one of them then and allow them this wonderful honor?"

Voldemort sighed to himself. "I told you. I needed a body and I needed one fast. But there were...parameters that needed to be met. And I didn't have unlimited time. I needed to act quickly, and the only person I could think of who fit the criteria closely enough was Black."

Arabella stared at the man, then sighed softly as she turned and started to walk away.

"You don't believe me." He stated, catching up to her.

"What I believe is irrelevant, Voldemort."

"Not to me." He replied, taking her arm and gently turning her back to him. But he quickly dropped his hold when she shook him off. "I value your opinion. And the others listen to you. They look to you for guidance and as a type of barometer on the level of truth in what I tell them. If you don't trust me, no one is likely to either."

Arabella stopped and turned back to him. She simply wasn't in the mood for his vacillating temperament today. "All right." She stated. You want to know what I think? I think you have had all this planned from the start, Voldemort. Every little thing, down to the minutest detail I think you have orchestrated."

The man in front of her smiled. "Really?" He inquired, folding his arms across his chest to meet her stance. "Then let me ask you something. If I was planning all along to take over Black's body, why did I allow Snape to kill him?"

"But you didn't." Arabella snapped back past a narrowed stare.

"I didn't know that Snape had lied about killing him. I didn't find out until days later that Black was still alive. So how could I have been planning this 'from the start' as you say, if I thought my ultimate target was dead?"

Arabella decided quite quickly she hated that smile. There wasn't one ounce of warmth in it. It was far to smug and self-satisfied for her liking.

"Well?"

Arabella turned and started off across the lawn again without answering him.

"Ah! I see." Voldemort stated, again catching up to her despite her faster than average steps. "I have to answer your questions, but you don't have to answer mine, is that it?"

"That's it." Arabella confirmed.

"Hardly fair."

"Life isn't, I'm told." She replied. But stopping suddenly, she turned sharply back to him. "But I will tell you one thing I don't believe, Voldemort."

The man had to stop abruptly to keep from running into her. "And that is?"

"I don't believe that getting Sirius' body was your 'ultimate goal'. Nor do I think is finding this wizard. I know you. That's all just too simple for you. You have something grander in mind here."

The smile quickly came back. "For instance?"

Arabella raised her chin. She didn't want to admit she wasn't sure exactly what his final plans were. "You tell me." She stated instead.

Voldemort gave her a small laugh. "You have quite an imagination, Ms. Figg."

"Then prove me wrong." Arabella stated, leaning a bit closer so she was staring up into his face. "I dare you."

Voldemort smiled again as he watched her go. Magic, but this woman struck a cord in him like no one else.

"I would be careful about making bets with me, Arabella." He said softly. "Your track record isn't currently very good in that area."

Arabella cursed softly as she heard his steps coming up behind her. Why couldn't the man go on his way and let her go on her's?

"So," she began as he came up beside her again, feeling she might as well make good use of the time and see what information she could get, "While your off looking for this wizard, what will the Deatheaters be doing?"

"If they're smart, they'll be behaving themselves."

"And if they don't?"

A small smile crept across his face. "Well, then I guess I'll have to punish those who don't behave."

"'Torture' you mean."

"I suppose that's a matter of your point of view." he replied mildly.

"Point of view?"

"Yes. I'm sure a five year old child considers a spanking torture. Or being sent to bed without supper. Or being deprived of a favorite toy."

Arabella stopped and faced him. "You can't be seriously trying to compare the two?" she ask incredulously.

"In perspective, yes. They're adults, Arabella. And strong willed ones at that. Any other kind are practically useless to me. My followers have to believe in me and in what they are doing. But they have to be above all, loyal. If they fail in that, they'll fail in every other area as well. Therefore, if I find disloyalty in one of them, I tend to like to 'nip it in the bud', as they say. Disloyalty is the start of greater problems, you see? And it is the worst crime against me. So the punishment has to fit that crime. If a muggle robbed a store, he isn't treated as though he were caught jaywalking."

Arabella could think of no answer to that that wouldn't precipitate an even longer argument. So she decided to explore a different avenue instead. But before she could get out her next question, her foot slipped out from under her on a patch of wet, semi-frozen ground. With a slight cry of alarm, she tried to regain her balance, but prepared herself for the fall.

But it never came.

Two strong arms caught her and held onto her until she regained her footing.

Turning briefly to the man next to her, who still kept a tight grip around her waist, she gave him a small, embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry. I wasn't watching where I was stepping."

One arm remained firmly about her waist as Voldemort directed her on. "There are many such patches of frost still on the ground in the early morning. You have to be careful. You could have been seriously injured."

Acutely aware that he never removed his arm from around her waist, she tried to step out of his embrace, but he moved in perfect sync with her, keeping his arm where it was.

"I don't think I'm in any further danger of falling." She replied.

"There are several patches frozen patches between here and the castle. I want to make sure you make it safely through them. Four legs are more stable than two."

Arabella tried to think of some other argument to get him to remove his arm, but none came to her. Sighing in resolve, she decided on another topic.

"Voldemort, why did you even create the Deatheaters? It seems to me you could have accomplished a great deal more without them." she ask as he directed her back across the field.

Voldemort kept perfect pace with her. "Because I was threatened." He replied in a conversational tone. "Because the Ministry didn't like what I represented, which was something that opposed their narrow little view of things. And so they pushed, and I pushed back. And like any good school yard fight, soon we had a war." He turned that same smile to her. "And what's a war without soldiers?"

"And it doesn't hurt one little bit to have them around, does it?"

The smile faded a bit. "Meaning?"

"You don't fight your own battles, Voldemort. You have others do it for you. It may be a war to you, but your hardly on the front lines. That's where your 'soldiers' are. You seem better staying in the background shouting orders at everyone."

The smile returned. "Really? As I recall, one of the places we met, Ms. Figg, was on the battlefield."

"I remember." She replied, a sad look appearing in her eyes. "And as I recall, you offered to cut out my heart."

Voldemort felt something tighten inside of him. For some odd reason he found he didn't like that look in her eyes. And he desperately sought a way to replace it with something else. "But I didn't." He reminded her.

To his dismay, the look not only didn't disappear, but became all the more evident in her eyes.

"But you did." She replied softly, then turned and, stepping free of his arm, started back towards the castle alone.

Standing at one of the tower windows, Harry watched the scene below him unfold with increasing interest.

Surely Voldemort had not put his arm around her waist.

And just as surely she had not allowed him to keep it there!

OK. She had slipped. Harry had seen that. But she hardly shook off his hold once she regained her balance. But from what Harry had last seen as they walked out of his view, his arm was still plastered exactly where it had no business being. Around his godmother.

Heaven only knew what they were doing once they got out of his view!

Harry tried to lean a little further out the window, trying to follow them as far as he could, but eventually it was no good. they were simply to far along for him to see them anymore.

He thought about hurrying down to the main hallway and 'accidentally' meeting them as they came in.

No. That was too obvious.

He could ask Arabella what Voldemort thought he was doing with his arm around her waist.

Right. That didn't sound like he was spying on them.

He could put a nice curse on the man. That held a certain amount of appeal.

No. That might hurt Sirius as well.

A brief thought suddenly brightened his view of the recent scene. Maybe that had been Sirius. Lupin had warned Voldemort to let his godfather out more. Maybe this was one of those times! He could ask Arabella about that.

Wait. He was back at the spying thing again. That wouldn't work.

Harry sighed as he leaned against the ledge. There had to be someone he could ask a few questions of who might be able to enlighten him as to what was going on between Voldemort and his godmother. But it had to be someone who knew and who had contact with them both. But Voldemort kept pretty much to himself. And anybody he ask about Arabella may say something to her about him asking questions.

He pondered the situation some more as he stared out over the field. Who would know if something was going on between the two of them, but wouldn't repeat any of his questions to either of them?

After several more minutes, his expression finally brightened. The answer, suddenly, seemed very obvious. He just had to figure out how to contact the person who he felt held the answers to all his questions where Voldemort and his godmother were concerned.

Back in his rooms, Voldemort rubbed his leg again. The walk hadn't helped at all. If anything, It had only served to irritate the muscles further.

Apparently the temporary measures he was taking for relief from the pain were no longer working as well as they had. It appeared more permanent solutions needed to be looked at now.

Pulling out his wand, he directed at the fire in his room.

"Katlin." He stated.

Griss had been at the castle for several days, tending to the Auror Black.

The request had originally come directly from Dumbledore, which Voldemort had found a bit odd at first. But Katlin had belied his concern by reminding him that Dumbledore also saw her relationship with the Auror as she presented it to everyone else. As two people very much in love. Therefore it was only natural that with the Auror ill, Dumbledore would call on her and her abilities as a natural healer to help in his recovery.

Though he still hadn't liked the idea, Voldemort had agreed to allow her to continue working with the school's head nurse to help in the Auror's recovery. It also availed him to having her close at hand should he need her. If she were outside of the castle, any time he needed her he would have had to have ask the old wizard to allow her admittance. Which didn't serve his purposes at all. Whether she was aware of it or not, currently she held far more sway with the Deatheaters than he did. Although they obeyed his orders, they 'listened' to her. And so most of his orders were relayed to them through Katlin. And for the time being, it suited his purposes to leave things as they were.

Almost instantly the fire flared up and within seconds Katlin emerged out of it, dressed in her usual garb these days of a simple, pull-over shirt and pair of long pants.

"Yes, my lord?" she ask dutifully.

"How is your work with the Auror Black coming?"

"He is responding well to the medicine. But he still suffers from the seizures. The head nurse feels it will be a permanent condition for him."

"And those responsible?"

"Are in Azkaban or dead, my lord, as they deserve for having taken such action without your sanctioning it."

Voldemort nodded. At least that plan had worked out to a satisfactory conclusion. "Good. Now I have need of your healing skills."

Katlin's face lit with concern. "You are ill?"

Voldemort sat and, pulling up the loose material of one pants leg, exposed the injured limb. It didn't take any great medical knowledge to recognize the injury, nor to assess the degree of it. The lower leg was little more than a twisted mass of flesh, scarred and barely recognizable.

Katlin gave no sign of surprise or shock at the sight. She had seen Sirius' leg in the early days of the injury and had offered time and again to try to recover more of it's mobility for him. But each time he had refused, little to her surprise.

Despite her assurances that her healing ability was innate for her, Sirius saw it as dark magic, which he wanted no part of. For his brother's sake he had accepted their marriage, but he was still an Auror, and she was still an Elite Deatheater, and some walls just didn't come down so easily.

"As you can see, Black's leg is injured, and it is a severe hindrance for me. I needed it tended to."

Katlin immediately knelt by his leg, running her hands over the injured flesh as though she sought out how deep the injury went.

"This is an old injury." She informed him, trying her best to make it sound as though she had never seen the leg before or knew anything of the injury. So she stuck to what her natural skills would tell her. "The bones have set and the muscles and flesh have long repaired themselves as best they could." She turned to look at the man in the chair. "I will do what I can, of course. But you have to understand that there is only so much I can do. It will take time, it will not be comfortable, and when I am done I can not say there will be that much improvement."

"As long as there is some. Even the potions to arrest the pain are not helping much anymore."

Katlin sighed as she ran her hands over the leg once more. "The day may come when the leg will need to be amputated. There is just too much damage and only so much I can do."

It was an old argument for her. She had made the suggestion to Sirius before. And he had always bulked at it, protesting that the problems the leg gave him weren't that bad. Voldemort was showing her what an adept liar her brother-in-law was when he wanted to be.

Long hours later, Katlin finally straighten up from her position on one of the ottoman's, carefully easing the leg back to the floor as she stood.

"That is all I can do for now." She informed Voldemort. It should ease some of the pain and give a small amount of better mobility for you with the leg. But there will still be the possibility that the leg will give out on you from time to time. Cause you to stumble, or not move in a way you want it to. Don't press things, is my advice."

Voldemort acknowledged her advice with a slight nod. "You did well, Katlin. You may return now to your other duties."

Katlin paused, staring down at the man in the chair before her. It wasn't often that she refused a direct dismissal, but she needed information now.

Voldemort turned his attention back to her. "Yes?"

Katlin gathered herself for whatever response her question got. These days she was no more sure of his reaction to anything as anyone else was. "What are your plans now, my lord?" she ask hesitantly. "Those in the lair have heard very little from you regarding them, and they are growing restless. They are becoming worried things might...change."

Voldemort turned his attention to the fire before him. "Nothing has changed." he responded coldly. "If any of them question you on my plans again, or are insubordinate to you, kill them. I have no tolerance for such petty acts among my followers. Make sure they understand that."

Katlin gave a slight bow. "Yes, my lord." And without further questions, she disappeared back into the fire.

Q&A

Family Life

knightsbridge:

Do we ever get to find out who Snapes "date" was that gave Harry that awful box?
Ops, that was a question, not a review. One review coming right up: A tight, well written, well thought out and great story line. Almosr wants to make me rush through to get to "Family Relations" and the rest of your stories.
One comment: You DO have a thing for poisoning your characters, yes?

As you went on in this story, you did find out more about Analisa, although you still don't have the whole story on her. You will find out more about her in Family Life's sequel, Family Relations.

I have nothing against questions, Dear. Most of my reviews are questions. And as long as they don't give too much away, I have no issues in answering them.

I do seem to like poisoning people, yes. Not sure why though.

Family Relations

Silverfox:
prods cautiously Come on! That review alert said there was another chapter after this. firmly denies ever seeing any such chapter or sending any review alerts Oh well, at least I finally managed to get this one on screen. Guess I'll have to get used to always being a chapter behind from now on.
Loved to see how Bo can pluck even Voldemort from wherever he happened to be and place him where Bo pleases. ... Are you sure he's really so powerful that he can hear whenever someone says his name? Nope, I don't think he's as powerful as some people believe.
goes to prod some more

Always mean to (and then forget) to ask, 'How's the tail these days, Dear?'. You were always so proud of it.

I have absolutely no idea what happened to my first posting of the last chapter. It is out there somewhere. But if you notice, my story chapters listed in the main story drop down menu are also missing a chapter. No idea.

As I have often said, Bo is sort of an enigma. How powerful is he? That's hard to say. He is almost (and I emphasize that word) an unlimited potential of magical power. The limits to hat he can do is almost the user's imagination. But Bo does have certain...parameters.

He won't kill. Never has. Likely never will.

He only obeys one person. His host. By the parameters of the original spell, he has no choice in the matter. He can argue his point of refusal, but in the end, he has to do what his host orders.

He interacts with Orion of his own free will. He has the right to refuse any request Orion makes of him. Even when they are 'joined', Bo can refuse to allow Orion to tap off of his power.

What makes him such a powerful force is that Bo does not need something to start with to create something. This is a point that is explained further in Meeting The Parents (not yet posted). But when you think about it, most wizards and witches need something to start with. They transform things. Bo doesn't need anything to start with. But there he has a limit. The one thing Bo absolutely can not create is life.

So, yes, Bo is that powerful. And he just loves to please Orion. So he generally does whatever Orion asks as well and as fast as he can. Sort of showing off, really.

Some people have ask if Voldemort is aware of the Black family's 'pet'. Yes, he is. But, just like everyone else, he isn't fully aware of just how powerful Bo is, or even what he is. He suspects the boggart is more than just a wizarding family's quirky pet, but he has no clear evidence of that. But he'll be working on that throughout this story.

The question, Dear, isn't can Bo hear every time someone says his name. It's does he pay attention every time someone says his name. The answer is 'no'. He only has to respond to a summons from his host. Everyone else only if he feels like it.

MasterLupin:

Time will tell if Voldermort has made a mistake with Sirius.

Very much so, Dear. But at least Sirius is more 'in the game' now. How that will pay off and for whom remains to be seen.

CelticheiressFiona:

Another great chapter. Hey, we might only be following most of the time, but we get sometimes. Who might we get now? Beatrice, I believe. Oh, well, what are you gonna do? Keep up the awesome work!

Thank you, Dear.

I'm not sure if you mean my story or Rowling's original plot. But I have no plans to have Beatrice show up in my story. Didn't care much for her in the original to tell the truth. Definitely was a few ants shy of a whole picnic.

Delilah Evans:

Who the hell is Orion Black? Sirius' dad? Brother? Who!

I am sorry for missing you, Dear. I don't often check the review board on the original posting for this story. There's so rarely anything to check. So again, I apologize.

You have likely answered your own question by now. But if you haven't, Orion is Sirius' OC older brother in the world according to PAR.

As far as the original version goes, I feel Rowling didn't even try to get on the boat when it sailed as far as Sirius' family went. She had a great deal of potential there. What she gave us was just about the last thing I expected. How can you have one family member with so much ability and intelligence, and have the rest be basically a pack of idiots?

All reviews are as of 09162006.

And remember;

I would like to wish my very best friend in the world and my sister in my heart, Cindy, a happy, glorious, wish-filled Birthday today. I love you, girl, and you know how much I miss you. Be safe, be happy, be healthy, and know you are loved.