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A/N: i'm not. 'nuff said about that. CAUTION: This chapter is definitely rated "M" kiddies. You were warned. --snickers--
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Chapter Twelve
or The Night Continues:
"Shall we retire, my dear?"
Luna's face went even whiter than her negligee, but she set down her wine glass and accepted Voldemort's hand without flinching and allowed him to lead her into their bedchamber.
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Voldemort's garnet gaze shifted around his bedchamber. Things were now different here and there.
Obviously his new bride had wasted no time in putting her own 'little touches' on it; claiming it as her abode as well. Ah well, at least his young witch had excellent taste.
He'd earlier noticed one or two new articles in the sitting area outside as well, but had made no comment as they'd been so very minor.
A few books, her crystal ball, and the odd picture or two.
In here real improvements had been made. Primarily the improvements were to his massive, canopied, four-posted bed.
It was time to show his appreciation.
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Luna had earlier made another request of Bellatrix; to be granted access to her personal house elf, Scratch, and thereby access to her dowry chest.
Bella had finally agreed to it, after much conversation, ending with Bella's swearing both witch and house elf to a wizarding oath to not attempt escape or harming the Master or the girl herself.
Bellatrix LeStrange had her own cause to commiserate with the new bride on this one point, witch-to-witch, and had felt truly justified in allowing the Dark Lady to have it.
Bella knew how important her own chest was to her, and to all witches in general. It'd be worth enduring a 'Crucio' or two, to maintain 'witch's honor' with the Dark Lady.
Luna's mother had started her chest when she'd been born; it was witch's tradition.
The wizarding world followed a strictly patriarchal bent. Witches were still legally considered chattel; a wizard's property, only a notch or two above slaves and house elves.
As such, all witches were under their father's control from birth until they'd turned fifty, or given into their husband's control upon their marriage until death claimed one or the other.
Widowhood was the only legal way for a witch to gain her freedom. The threat of being publicly flayed alive ensured that few witches ever took it upon themselves to hasten their husband's departure from the mortal coil.
Although, within the last hundred years or so, the lay-rules of what was socially acceptable and considered to be proper etiquette had changed somewhat.
The lay-rules had relaxed enough so that women could now live on their own without stigma, have their own careers (with their male guardian's permission), own personal property, and handle their own money; however the old laws were still active, still on the books, and were occasionally still acted upon.
Witches still did not have the right to vote for anything; much less the repeal of out-moded laws.
Their patriarchal guardian could quite legally take their wand, banish, or disinherit them, all on his whim.
The witches fought back the only way that they could; through the dowry chest that every female child received at her birth.
They were used to hold maternal family china and crystal, silver, linens, inherited or girlhood gifts of jewelry, and the money-gifts that no man could ever take away; money-gifts magically tied to the chest itself when it was created.
Dowry chests were individually goblin-made of impenetrable ironwood; as strong as Gringotts' vaults.
Ordinary wizarding magicks couldn't open or destroy them; they only obeyed their witch's touch.
The dowry chest meant financial independence, of a sorts, for those unlucky witches whose husbands refused to provide for their wives or any daughters they might have.
That was still legal also; to provide well for the sons of their marriage but, other than basic board and keep, give nothing except an education or an arranged marriage to their daughters.
Under Bellatrix' watchful eye, Luna had had Scratch fetch her dowry chest from her girlhood home. She'd then had him to completely redecorate the bedchamber from it's contents.
It had been comparatively easy using the exquisite velvets, brocades, laces, and silks that first her mother, then later her father, had tucked away for her just for a purpose like this during their frequent trips to Egypt, Morroco, Kyrgyzstan, India, and other beautiful far-away lands.
The fabrics were expensively soft, luscious to the hand, some sheer to the eye, and tastefully (if rather exotically) colored.
They were now luxuriously and evenly dispersed throughout the room; some as curtains here, some as pillows there, with several thick antique oriental carpets warmly and carelessly scattered across the cold stone floors.
The most impressive change had been to the massive fourposter carved-ebony bed that dominated the room.
Luna had rebelled at having to lose her virginity on the same sheets in which Voldemort had last bedded Bellatrix LeStrange.
Now spider-web delicate silver silken bedcurtains shielded, but revealed, the rich willow-green velvet coverlet spread across the massive bed. It was covered with intrically embrodiered and bejeweled silver serpents twisting in the eternal figure-eights representing infinity.
It had belonged to her mother.
Luna thought that she felt the nearness of her mother's spirit with her while using her mother's things.
She pulled her mother's strength into herself just like a little girl wanting her mum's comforting in the middle of a nightmare, and tried to keep herself calm.
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Luna stepped from her bath, leaving all of her little girl's tears and idle frightened thoughts to drain away with the used water. She toweled off, brushed her long pale smoke-coloured hair out to shiny perfection, and applied a dab of her mother's still sweet-smelling perfume behind her ears and on her wrists.
She slipped the gossamer silk and lace white confection of a nightgown over her pale head and smoothed it down in place over her petite, girlish, little frame. She added the matching negligee over it and stared at someone she didn't recognize.
Luna grimaced and poked out her tongue at her reflection, and softly sighed as she looked herself over in the huge mirror hanging in the bathroom.
She knew that she wasn't beautiful and had never aroused any male interest; no boy had ever asked her out.
Now Luna felt like an ignorant little girl playing 'dress-up' in her mum's things.
It would have to do. She was now a grown-up; a married woman. She only hoped that she didn't look as young and helpless as she felt.
Luna was resigned to her fate; she'd always known that her destiny lay with the Dark Lord, even if she had tried desperately to fight against it.
She wistfully sighed.
Her mother had been a Slytherin; her father a Ravenclaw.
They'd eventually managed to have an emotionally satisfying life together, despite it's having been an arranged marriage, prior to her mum's unfortunate demise in that potion's accident when she'd been a little girl of nine.
Perhaps someday in the distant future she too would know, if not ever love, then at least a comfortable companionship with her own Slytherin husband.
Even if he was Lord Voldemort.
She still allowed herself to hope. How odd.
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"Is everything to your satisfaction, milord?" Luna shyly whispered up at the horror who was now her husband.
Voldemort's gaze left the decor and focused more intently on his bride. As he stared at her, Luna shifted uncomfortably from foot-to-foot, averting her gaze in her nervousness.
He carefully replied in a falsely pleasant tone, "Lovely my dear; but might I ask how you've accomplished so much so quickly without a wand?"
Luna stared into his red eyes and answered him in simple honesty, "You ordered Bellatrix to see to anything I needed, milord. I wanted my personal house elf and my dowry chest. The rest is as you see it."
She ingenuously smiled back up at him, hoping that he approved of her changes in his private chambers.
He did; but he'd been speaking of the girl, not the room.
"Strange that given the chance you did not choose to escape," Voldemort suspiciously said, and he idly wondered whether 'Crucio' could possibly be considered foreplay.
Luna's eyebrow quizzically lifted as she timidly replied, "But why should I want to escape, milord? Where would I go? I am where I belong; beside you."
Voldemort eyes widened in his obvious disbelief. The chit had the audacity to lie to his face!
His hands slowly rose up to unlocked the silver serpent clasp that held his robes fastened at mid-chest; they slid sinuously down to become a puddle of black velvet around his ankles. He stepped out of them, closer to the girl before him.
"Do you still feel that you belong beside me?" Voldemort harshly asked her with a frown and a wave of one long-fingered hand indicating his nude hairless body.
It was the first time that Luna had ever seen a naked man.
She'd accidently stumbled across Harry and Ron skinny-dipping in the Black Lake once when she'd been hiding with the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest.
That brief preview of what male frontal nudity was from peeping through the undergrowth at a couple of Third Year boys certainly hadn't prepared her for this reality.
Now Luna understood exactly why Severus had been so worried about the internal injuries and pain he expected her to have tomorrow; the reason why his bridal gift of pain potions and healing unguents to her were currently secreted away in the bathroom.
A naked Lord Voldemort was impressive indeed. It was a shame that he had to cover his body in robes while in public; nude, he'd have been far more intimidating.
There wasn't a spare gram of fat anywhere on his physique. Instead, he was leanly covered in pure sinewy muscles; an Olympic runner's body. Except for his manhood.
When Luna had glanced at it, she'd been frightened out of her wits. Her husband was hung like a hippogriff!
She'd slammed her eyelids shut, swallowed hard, and re-opened them only to stare at it in horrified amazement; flaccid, it hung well-past the top of his thigh. If it only doubled in size when erect, it would hang mid-thigh on the man!
In her peripheral vision she saw two pale long-fingered hands reaching towards her like a Nosferatu.
Luna's shocked grey eyes jerked up to lock onto Voldemort's eyes; a paralyzed rabbit caught in a deadly serpent's mesmerizing red stare.
"It'll never fit," she whispered as her heart pounded painfully inside of her chest; virginal panic apparent in every syllable.
The corners of Voldemort's thin-lipped mouth curved lecherously up as he'd silently observed where her gaze had been fixated.
His long arms suddenly scooped Luna up, bridal-style, and he strode over to his bed to lay her down; his own body sensuously following it, covering her tiny frame with his lean, hard, weight.
"It'll fit. I'll make it," Voldemort answered her in a truthful growl, just before his lips crashed down, capturing her own innocent mouth.
He determinedly began to lay seige to his bride.
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Harry left the sleeping scabby little scrap that was Voldemort's humanity lying peacefully wrapped in his own jumper in it's usual corner.
He went to look out through Voldemort's red eyes at what was happening now.
Tommy had been right; things moved confusingly and differently in here. He couldn't have been more than several minutes, half-hour at the absolute most, comforting and coaxing the child into taking the potion.
It seemed that hours must have passed for the Dark Lord. There now appeared to be some kind of judgement going on for people that Harry knew to be Muggleborn.
A Fifth Year Gryffindor boy named Terry Gilliam was given to Rudolphus LeStrange, with no heed being paid at all to the boy's terrified screams until he was knocked unconscious.
Justin Finch-Fletchly was given to his gloatingly insane wife, Bellatrix.
Harry shuddered; remembering exactly what Hermione's treatment had been under that mad witch's hands. Others came and went and were parcelled out according to Voldemort's whim.
Harry's blood froze in his veins when he saw Rabastan LeStrange shove Hermione down onto her knees before the Dark Lord.
His fear was unrelieved when Voldemort gave her to Severus Snape to do with as he wished; she was to be the dark Potions Master's personal slave.
He hadn't been able to observe Snape long enough to figure out if he could be trusted to protect Hermione or not.
Harry would simply have to continue to believe that the Potions Master was still loyal to the Light, and was only pretending to serve Voldemort.
What else could he do in his current position?
That was the grand finale of Voldemort's awarding ceremony; the dispensation of the final member of Dumbledore's so-called 'Golden Trio'.
The Dark Lord dismissed his Inner Circle, and left to go claim his husbandly rights of his new bride as the Death Eaters all dispersed to enjoy their ill-gotten human toys.
Harry watched every action from his vantage point; he tried to remain calm, forcing himself to slowly breathe in and out in even, measured, centering breaths.
He was doing alright; maintaining his self-control quite well until Voldemort had dropped his robes and then carried Luna to his bed, kissing her deeply.
She'd been truly as light as a feather, her tiny bones feeling extremely fragile under his large hands, her mouth tasting faintly of honey-sweet wine.
Harry hadn't been prepared for actually feeling the sensations that Voldemort was experiencing. He'd only been gearing up for having to mentally deal with what was to come.
Now his hands tingled as imaginary flesh-warmed silk slid across his palms and fingers, the give of soft feminine curves against him as his hard-muscled body rested on top of her.
Harry's lips had swollen and now burned with the passionate kisses that Voldemort ravaged from Luna.
And dear gods, NO! His cock throbbed painfully in time with Voldemort's own twitching arousal; obviously he was to experience the whole thing 'first-hand'.
Harry groaned and dropped to his knees. They'd given out on him in his instant arousal.
He painfully crawled over towards little Tommy's opposite corner and curled himself into his very own fetal ball of degradation.
Harry was torn. It all felt so very good to him physically that he almost longed for what was to come. But to have to happen with Luna, the most innocent girl that Harry had ever known!
Well, he had volunteered to take Tommy's place; what else had he expected? Playing crosses and naughts all night with his old friend? Not bloody well likely.
Burning with sudden shame at his uncontrollable physical reactions, and totally helpless to prevent this travesty, Harry Potter finally surrendered to the inevitable.
He slowly stretched out to lie on his back in his corner, and simply allowed the gloriously erotic sensations to wash over his own virgin body as Voldemort carried him along for the ride.
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Voldemort's long-fingered hand eased open the ties of the sheer negligee, slipping it and the thin straps holding up the girl's gown down over her thin shoulders, as he deepened their kiss.
He'd done it so gently, with such experienced finesse, that Luna hadn't even realized that her breasts were now exposed to him until she felt the cool night air waft across her nipples when he'd paused their kissing for a moment to allow them both to regain their breath.
"Raise up, wife," silkily crooned Voldemort. Luna's hips obediently rose to allow him to slip her nightwear off.
She immediately covered her small breasts with her tiny hands and tightly closed her legs in an attempt to cover her sudden nudity.
Her too-white cheeks flamed alive with maidenly embarrassment, and she couldn't for the very life of her look her husband in the eye.
"I'm afraid," she whispered.
"I know," Voldemort softly responded, just before he used his left knee to force her legs apart and settled himself inbetween her lily-white thighs.
His own large hand covered, then replaced her own with a firm push, only to begin to gently massage her untried breasts as his mouth once more assaulted her own.
He had to keep reminding himself to go slowly; that taking patience and care with the girl now would ensure him years of conjugal bliss to come, instead of leaving her a traumatized and frigid wife who would eventually bore him to death.
Rather her own death; but why quibble the issue, when so much enjoyable virgin pussy would soon enough be breeched.
She seemed to enjoy the feel of his tongue inside of her mouth; kissing her insensate appeared to be the way to loosen his bride up.
Perhaps she might be ready for the plying of his tongue elsewhere. He suckled her throat, then her breasts; first one, then the other, before slowly allowing his hot tongue to trace a path back up to her lips.
When Luna moaned her newly discovered pleasure into his mouth, Voldemort felt an unexpected thrill tingle all the way down his spine. It caused his cock to painfully harden even more and to twitch in weeping anticipation against the apex of her milky thighs.
Circe! Voldemort was amazed at the new sensations he was currently experiencing with his little witch.
It was as if her first time was also his first time; his first time as it should have been, not the violent reality that it actually had been under the influence of lust potion with that old crone of a witch when he'd been a handsome schoolboy of sixteen.
Severus had been absolutely right about this; there was power in being his witch's first lover.
Voldemort reluctantly released the girl's lips; amazingly, her thin arms swiftly encircled his neck, her tiny hands gliding tenderly over his smooth, hairless, head as her mouth re-sought his own.
It was Voldemort's turn to groan into his witch's mouth as he plunged his tongue once more into the heat of it, his tongue duelling against her own in surprised pleasure.
His right hand drifted over her young curves, sliding it's way slowly down to barely brush the pale fur of her womanhood.
Luna suddenly pulled her lips away from their kiss in a shocked gasp at the feel of a man's touch where no hand but her own had ever been before.
"Sshhh. It's alright," Voldemort whispered against her ear as his mouth nuzzled her neck and shoulder again, then sucked down hard on her throat, marking her as his own.
His long fingers eased her nether-lips apart and he felt the beginnings of moisture within her awakening femininity against his gently plumbing digits.
With fingers and lips cajoling and priming her, Voldemort teased and eased his bride's infant arousal into a full-blown fire. Her previously chaste pussy responded to his refined finger's caressing with it's very first gush of the sweet wetness of a mini-orgasm.
Luna trembled and mewled her pleasure against his throat, her own lips now seeking and suckling; Voldemort's carefully maintained control was broken.
She was his wife.
Fuck it! He was taking her, and he was taking her now.
His huge cock suddenly pushed forward, replacing his long fingers, and ripping her hymen asunder with it's turgid thick length. In one fierce firm push, he was buried to the hilt.
Luna screamed so loudly that in it's raw power the very stones of Hogwarts shook and reverberated with it's shrill echo before Voldemort's firm lips smothered it into silence.
Amidst the precipitously released primeval and wild magicks flashing and flowing through and all around them both, Voldemort began the ages old rhythm of the stroking to fulfillment inside of the tight passageway of his bride who was a virgin no more.
End of Chapter 12
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A/A/N: I hope it was worth the wait; I had a lot of trouble attempting to capture the moment for Luna. We'll come back later (perhaps in the form of a nightmare/flashback/girl-talk?) for a truly X-rated version--if it'll pass this site's strictures.
Right now, as it has been repeatedly pointed out to me, we need to get back to our main pairing; SS/HG.
So does that drop the sickle about what's coming up next? --snickers--
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