A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I was busy with my other story in LOTR fandom.

Chapter Thirteen: Punishment

Voldemort experienced a deep sense of satisfaction as the room plunged into darkness – it was done, his step towards the secrets of the Temple completed. He breathed in deeply, tasting the unmistakable flavour of potent dark magic that tingled on the skin and stimulated his sense of smell. There was an unmistakable sense of victory in the air and it pleased him immensely.

The Dark Lord could almost see how simmering anger and displeasure at the prolonged wait for the witch's submission disappeared in total darkness. She might have fought back bravely, amusing him with her disability to learn better or to use cunning, and tried to thwart his plans repeatedly without success, but she was no match to him in terms of power ad strength. He had after all returned from the dead – what could she possibly know of practical dark magic?

"Incendio!" he commanded and candles flared to life again, bathing the room in soft light which produced the most magnificent shadows.

Snape was still kneeling on the floor and holding up the pale and shivering priestess by the arms. He turned his dark gaze to the Dark Lord and nodded. Voldemort acknowledged him then turned to the wizard on his left who had rustled with his robes. He himself usually did not feel the strain of performing magic as keenly as his followers did, but now even he had to admit his powers were a bit depleted.

"You have done well," he said to the tired men, "Lord Voldemort is satisfied with the level of your strength and devotion."

The Death Eaters relaxed at the praise; a bit winded and overwhelmed they slowly sank to the floor where they tried to regain control of their limbs. Magical strain affected the entire body and they had had to give all they got to bind a strong person like the priestess sitting in the embrace of the Potions Master. The dark wizard himself appeared a bit paler than usual and a tiny drop of perspiration, which was slowly moving down near his hairline, caught the light and glistened for a second before disappearing from sight again. But there was something off with the only two people dressed in white.

Something Voldemort could not quite put his finger on had rubbed him the wrong way. He narrowed his eyes darkly, red irises glittering coldly as he looked at the pale-faced pair. Snape straightened up Jasna so that she did not lean against his hands anymore, and stood up, straightening his robes in his usual fastidious manner. No, there was nothing wrong with the Potions Master – it was the damnable priestess! That gleam in her eye – that defiant light was back in them full force.

With a fast lunge forward, which made his robes flare dramatically, the Dark Lord rushed to get inside the magical circle to grab her by her little neck in anger. Yet, before he could cross the line of the barrier, the power of the pentagram zapped him with icy-blue magic. Even as he protected himself with wandless magic from the dangerous power, low bluish flames flared to life along the lines of the ritualistic grounds and the pentagram's inner circle - a sign something was terribly wrong. Cries of dismay from his tired followers filled the room.

Snape looked incredulously at the flames, his gaze snapping to the woman at his feet. He recoiled not a second later as her body became enveloped in a spiral of bluish tendrils – foreign powers rising from the pool of ink she sat upon. He had never seen anything like that before. Not even their alliance, their union could have prepared him for the sight.

Slowly, she turned the palm of her right hand towards the sky in a graceful gesture of acceptance and plea. The breeze that had swept through the room before returned, bringing with it the fresh smell of autumn forests of the east. The ink bubbled again and liquefied. Its resin-like state morphed into a quickly flowing black ink made of the finest black powder. A low-spoken words in her language made it move up her other hand, flow over her skin in magnificent shapes of the runes they had all seen before. Not all of them manifested of course – the bonds were still broken, but it was clear she was claiming back the signs of her status.

"You!" cried Voldemort with fury at the priestess. "Severus! Stop her!" he commanded from the other side of the fires which flared in response to his rising dark magic.

Before Snape could reply, Jasna turned her cold gaze to the Dark Lord, piercing him with it easily. "He cannot follow your orders to harm me," she told him while the ink moved over her back and shoulders, staining the white garment. "You have bound us together – or have you already forgotten?"

"This is not what I had intended!" thundered back the Dark Lord, wielding his wand like a sword in a duel, rapidly firing off spells that would cross the enchanted fire and the barrier's protection. He had realised immediately that the bond between them had almost virtually turned them into one – if he were to harm her, he would harm Severus too. "What have you done this time?! HOW?!"

Her gaze moved to the ink that was seeping through the layers of white fabric. In a way, the ritualistic garb now resembled the state of her magical core, visually showed them the changes happening inside her during and after the ritual itself. "Even if a bond is broken, it does not mean it is gone," she said as she moved her gaze back up. Another female voice joined her in the middle of the quotation, echoing in the room.

The wizards recoiled at the crackle of power that made the fires reach higher up. A tall female form appeared at one point of the pentagram. Made entirely by the blue flames, she slowly grew into shape. Her clothing and insignia told them they were facing an illusion of the Highest Priestess of Perun's Temple. It was the Mother itself who had used the earth's powers to aid her priestess, aid her daughter, and now she stood before them in all her terrifying glory, called forth by the desperate plea and a dark premonition of what was to come.

"You have stolen and hurt my daughter," said the illusion in a voice which was coloured by the magic and the distance from which it came. It accused and condemned them at the same time, and even Voldemort had to admit the woman was intimidating - especially when sparks began to fly around at their silence. This was no flooing or patronus messaging, but the old way of communication with the spirits. It would have made Voldemort sacrifice one part of his soul to possess it.

"She belongs to my servant now," he replied with narrowed eyes. He was not afraid of an illusion – no, she had no power here. But when the Mother, who ran the Temple and protected its perimeters, found a way to contact her charge from the far-off Ural, then things were definitely turning from bad to worse. The small priestess was far too well-versed in appealing to higher powers, he grumbled inside his mind.

"Even if the bonds of priesthood were dissolved, she is my child first," she replied and there was a hint of anger to be noted in her voice, but for an enraged and protective mother, she showed a high level of restraint. Voldemort had to cringe internally at the news – from all the priestesses and servants of the Temple, the damned Russian had to kidnap the very daughter of the Mother?!

Jasna was looking at the fiery form with tears in her eyes. The stately woman spoke in a soft voice in their tongue to the lost daughter to encourage her. "There will always be a place for you in my heart, my dear," said the woman, before her gaze settled on the Potions Master who stood pale-faced a few steps from Jasna.

"Now, you…You may be her husband now," she said and the tone implied she was not happy with the arrangement at all, but since the bonds were cut, Jasna could not return."Bound as you are because of this Dark Lord… But heed my warning now – do not dare to lay a finger on her in a way she does not approve of."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes in anger, fury taking him over, "How dare you order my loyal servant around! He answers to me!" he thundered with an angry swing of his hand. The wand he had taken from Lucius fired off a few sparks in reaction to his fury.

"You have stolen my child, so I will take yours," was the clipped reply before the fire collapsed in a giant hush that sent bluish sparks through the room. They had to shield their eyes from the harsh wind that followed before it was over. But when they removed their hands, they saw Severus slumped over on the floor, his hands tightly held against the chest with an expression of agony on his face.

Voldemort thought for a moment the priestess had done something to finish off his servant, but then whatever she had done was over. The Potions Master was even paler than before and there was a dark red and black stain on his chest. In fact, it appeared to be a short sequence of symbols and runes Jasna had on her skin. The runes on the floor flared for the last time and the black lines sunk inside it - Severus Snape, loyal servant, was marked by the Highest Priestess of the Temple!

Voldemort thought he was going to explode in anger.

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