Author's note: Hi everyone! So, BlueNeutrino, the answer to your dinner question is here! For those of you interested, I have a one-shot in which right before Silwen returns to Malfoy Manor the second time and promises away her freedom, she meets the Doctor and his entourage of River, Amy, and Rory the Roman.
"Ah, Nagini. There you are," said Voldemort fluidly. Inspecting Silwen, he motioned wordlessly for her to take her stance behind him at the far end of the table.
Walking up to her master, she passed all of his guests. Many Death Eaters sat there, including Draco. But there weren't only Death Eaters. Spike was there, sandwitched between a beautiful brunette in a white lace, 19th century night gown and a man in a dark leather jacket with pale skin and a gorgeous face. Sitting next to him was someone who-who didn't look quite right. Short pale blond hair, brown eyes, and tense fingers tapping a beat of four on the table, dressed expertly in a suit, his eyes constantly roving around the table, never looking looking at someone for longer than five seconds. On the table's other side next to Bellatrix sat a boy who could have only been two years older than she was, with an orange, torn shirt that read, "Camp Half-blood" on it. Who were they all? Eerily, in the fireplace, a head was inside, someone was using Floo powder to be in the meeting. Taking a closer look as she passed him, Silwen recognized the matted hair, greasy and warted face of Alecto Carrow. So the new Headmaster of Hogwarts' presence was required. In a couple steps, Silwen found her place, and stood.
"Now that everyone is here, I shall make the introductions," starting with Greyback, who had somehow managed to gain enough honor to sit immediately at his right, Voldemort said the names of everyone. The boy was Luke, servant of Kronos. Many Death Eaters were mentioned, Silwen stiffening at "Draco Malfoy, our newest member", then "Drusilla, Spike, Angelus, all representing President Snow and the Master," Spike looked at Silwen, his feeling of revenge wanting to striker her. After Angelus came the name, "Master, a Time Lord", and continued with several more Death Eaters, ending with a stunningly gorgeous, auburn haired teenager and someone who looked distinctly muggle. "Mr. Edward Cullen, and my scientist, Dr. Horrible."
Dazedly, Silwen stared at Mr. Edward Cullen. How could someone be that pale yet so handsome? And those eyes...like molten gold churning, frothing, changing...Edward smirked at her and chuckled as if he had used legilimency. But with legilimency, you couldn't know exactly what a person was thinking. What then...? Suddenly, something caught her eye in the corner. Several bodies lay there. Scrutinizing them to the best of her ability, she recognized the musty cloaks, and mud-ridden boots. The Snatchers. That must have been the dinner Bellatrix mentioned earlier. Pity seeped from her as she looked at the bodies. Even if they were Snatchers, they didn't deserve to be a meal.
Breaking through her thoughts, Voldemort ordered, "Silwen! Pour my guests their drinks. Everyone, this is my indentured servant Silwen Snape. When the battle is over, I will award her to the bravest fighter if they desire." Every male eye was trained on her, evaluating. Deciding if she was worth expending so much energy over. The Time Lord stared at her smiling, faintly tracing his lips with his tounge. While pouring wine or blood in cups, she shuddered visibly under his stare. Several scoffs and chuckles sounded around the room.
"How do we know she's worth fighting for?" spat the the Master. Voldemort fixed him with his red slits on the speaker. "Because she'll do anything you tell her to."
The Master raised his eyebrows. "Why?"
Smirking, Voldemort replied, "That's confidential until you've won her. But I promise you, she's more obedient than any slave you'll ever have. Isn't that right, Silwen?"
Looking at Voldemort while pouring wine for Draco, she nodded and moved on. Blood for the next few, she thought, switching pitchers. Finishing with the smirking vampires Silwen moved on to the Death Eaters. When their wine had been served she was about to pour wine into Mr. Cullen's glass when he murmured, "Blood, please."
Silwen stood there, shocked. But he didn't look like the other vampires. None of them were so spectacularly...statuesque, nor so pale, and come to think of it, they had normal-looking eyes when they had human faces on. "I'm a different race of vampire," he said chuckling so melodiously it sounded like he was singing. ...How did he know what she was thinking? Mr. Cullen's chuckle grew louder, entrancing her.
"Herumph," coughed the man beside the vampire. "Um, could I have some...frozen yogurt instead?" he asked, his black goggles over his eyes. American. Interesting. Like Mr. Cullen, yet much less refined and much more colloquial. Genuine.
"Er, if I had a wand I could turn your wine into frozen yogurt, but I have none with me," she replied, her voice breaking at the end. Harry reappeared in her mind, almost dragging a tear out of her.
Laughing again, Mr. Edward said, "Use mine." His eyes probed, and Silwen feeling like they were inside her, reached for his wand. He handed it to her, brushing his fingers over hers. Shrinking back, Silwen shivered at his ice-cold touch. No, Spike was much warmer than that. Odd. What kind of vampire was he? "One not to be taken lightly," he murmured, his liquid eyes dancing. She shivered again, noticing the vamipre's extremely sharp canines. Did he use a knife to sharpen them? Mr. Cullen simply grinned, as if amused by something she had...said. Was it possible, this muggle's idea of "mind-reading"? Is that what he was doing? Could she block him out if it was true? His grin grew into a smirk and he shook his head. "Clever girl," he whispered.
"Eye of rabbit, harp string hum, turn this wine into...frozen yogurt," whispered Silwen, unsteady from Mr. Cullen's passing threat. Nonetheless, the red of wine turned into thick red frozen yogurt. She handed the wand back to the vampire, taking great care not to touch him again.
"Thanks," said Dr. Horrible, smiling tightly.
"Silwen, return," snapped Voldemort. He was impatient to begin the meeting. They had urgent matters to discuss.
Obnoxiously, the Master said, "I think we should be allowed to 'test' her to see if the girl is worth it. Let her give all of us a back massage for while we talk."
Incredulously, Angelus snapped, "A massage? Look, Master, this really isn't the time...or the place."
But Voldemort was considering. Silwen hated being touched. But did she like touching? Discussions. Silwen couldn't be allowed to hear them, he thought. Half an hour before, he had used legilimency to see what Silwen had meant by "helping Harry". He had also seen then, that she had written a letter to the Order. If she did that again, their planning would be worthless. Massaging might keep her mind off the meeting. It was crucial to keep her in the dark with the plans. Clicking his fingers, he spoke to her.
"Start with Greyback. Massage his back and hands for ten minutes then move on down the table. Preform your best on all my guests for ten minutes each. If I find any of them dissatisfied, I will have you give them another massage after the meeting for how long they please," he commanded, sadistically smiling at her terrified expression. "Don't listen to our plans. If you hear anything, you will keep it secret and you will not share anything you hear in any form with anyone or anything! Do you understand?" he hissed, his fingers squeezing her arm until she nervously nodded.
He released her, dark, angry bruises remaining on her arm as a reminder.
"Over here, girlie. I'm waiting," crooned Greyback, leering.
Mechanically, she went over to his back, her fingers roving over it, trying to find somewhere to start. Only, with his back she found it hard to discern between shapely muscles and ones that needed to be soothed. However, she did her best, remembering the techniques that Dumbledore had taught her.
Dumbledore was an expert masseuse, having learned from a muggle neighbor who was one for a living. Finding that she had a natural ability for massage and strong, enduring fingers, he showed her a back's physiology, and where the main stressed muscles were. taught her on makeshift dummies and dolls how to find stress knots, and how to undo them through gentle or rough routines. He showed her what her an entire hand could do, what single fingers could find and fix. Also, he taught her to learn about someone's life through what their back showed, to differentiate between stress and sadness, to heal the hurt, through massage. But she rarely had someone to practice on except for Dumbledore, and once in her life, her uncle. Never, had she mentioned her knack to Draco. Now, she wished she had. And to Lucie as well. Lucie, she thought, was the one who needed a massage after what she did every day for her and Uncle Severus. But now Silwen would never be able to. Never.
The discussion began and quickly heated up, bringing her thoughts back to the dining room. Everyone was arguing and shouting over everyone else, several Death Eaters were standing already, spitting insults across the table.
"Order!" said Voldemort suddenly, making his wand emit red sparks. Instantly, the room was silent. Silwen moved to the next back; the first ten minutes were over.
"Thank you, little one," rasped Greyback. "You have a gift."