Chapter Nine
They find themselves in front of the entrance to a grand, though gloomy, mansion. Sasha is breathing harshly, "What just happened? Where are we?"
He doesn't reply, but tries to find the wounds he saw inflicted on her only moments ago. "How is this possible…" He wonders, not expecting an answer from the battered woman in his arms.
"What you saw was an illusion. You saw what I felt, but the curse didn't inflict actual damage on my body, besides severely draining my power. She wants me to suffer before I die."
He still wonders about the extent of her powers, but knows this isn't the place, nor the time to ask about it.
"We're at the Dark Lord's headquarters: Malfoy Mansion."
"But," she still struggles to gain back her breath, "isn't that in England?"
"Indeed. The Dark Mark allows us to travel much farther than apparition does, which is how Igor came to meetings when he was called while in Durmstrang."
Once she has recovered enough to be able to walk, though with difficulty, he leads the way to the front door which opens on its own. They mount stairs and arrive in the room Sasha was in once before.
"Ah, Severus, Sasha. Welcome," the high voice greets them. "Severus, please, sit."
Severus sits down in his designated place while Sasha remains standing, waiting for the man's next command. She and Severus have decided it will be best for her to play along with the Dark Lord, in order to persuade him of her allegiance to the Dark side.
"Sasha," he addresses her, "You will show us some of your powers tonight, so I can determine your worth."
She hates the way he talks down to her, as if she's nothing, but wisely maintains her silence.
"Yes, My Lord," she answers, "though I might not be at full capacity tonight," she truthfully admits.
Her fight with her grandmother, barely a few minutes ago, tired her out. Not only that, but she has to consciously repress her most recent memories to contain her emotions about her parents' grave. Now the woman has found it, she hasn't got anything of them left.
"Is that so?" He is obviously suspicious.
"Yes, My Lord. You see, I was fighting an enemy of mine, not long ago, and have yet to fully recover. As you must know, my powers, depending on their strength, can be very draining."
His expression tells her he isn't happy with this news.
"So what do you suggest, Sasha, to be able to show the extent of your powers to me, as you will be fighting for me in this war?"
The threat in his tone is clear. If she doesn't follow his earlier command, she will somehow pay. And though she knows she's quite strong, Severus' warning from the night they met still rings in her ears.
"You may be able to deflect his curse, but, I assure you, blocking ten or twenty of those will not be as easy."
She is torn. She knows of a way to get her strength back, but that's quite dark magic, which she once vowed never to delve in again, after she left—No, she tells herself, I will not think of him now.
Well, she'll have to prove herself to the Dark Lord, which will most certainly include dark magic. She doesn't have much of a choice. This is all supposed to be for the greater good, she convinces herself, and after years of abstaining from dark magic, surely she will be able to control it, this time.
"I can draw power from another, My Lord."
"Which will restore you to your stronger self?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"Good," he seems interested in this new information. Apparently their kind of magic doesn't allow for such a thing.
"Who may I draw from, then, Sir?"
He contemplates her question for a bit, observing his followers. All of whom look like they want to crawl away from his red stare. Then, his eyes find the dark-haired man to his left, "Severus, why don't you be of service to your new colleague?"
"Yes, My Lord." He stands up once again and moves to Sasha.
She was hoping for someone else, but she can't help the Lord's choice.
"This will probably hurt," she warns him, softly, before raising her hands, putting them on the sides of his face and closing her eyes.
"Ga gu ene emuku. Zi sa kalag." Her voice is soft yet steady. She needs to speak the words for this to work; partly because it's a complex spell, but mainly because she is so drained. It takes a single second before she hears the man before her groaning. She follows him as he falls to his knees. She feels her hands warming and knows they must be glowing a dark purple.
"Ga Maharu."
While he groans louder, obviously trying not to scream, she feels the warmth travelling up her arms, filling her torso and the rest of her body. The power covers her entire being, seeps into her every pore. As the spell finishes and she lets go of her power-source, she slowly raises, eyes still closed. She feels the raw power coursing through her, the dark enveloping her, it's almost like the black energy welcomes her home, after all these years. She breathes deeply, enjoying the sensations, no longer thinking, never mind caring, about what's good and what's right, overcome by the sheer feeling of powerful energy. Her senses feel so much sharper. This is the strongest thing she has felt in a very long time.
She opens her eyes. The first thing she notices is the Dark Lord's mesmerized look, undoubtedly envious of the powerful experience she is going through. Then she looks down to a ruffled Severus. His obsidian eyes watch her with suspicion and the slightest bit of amazement. She extends her hand, but he ignores her, getting up and unsteadily returning to his place on his own.
"My dear," the Dark Lord drawls, "you have fulfilled and perhaps even exceeded my expectations, so far. As soon as you change your clothing," she is wearing muggle clothes, due to her recent travels, which he obviously doesn't appreciate, "You will show me your powers of torture on a deserving victim. He didn't do as told, and so he must be punished. You will be allowed to kill him afterwards." He then looks to the curly-haired woman, seated at the table, "Bella, give her something suitable to wear."
"Of course, My Lord," she breathily whispers. The woman gets off her chair and directs Sasha to another door in the room. They mount stairs and enter a bedroom. It's too dark to see anything but the outline of a bed's posts, a desk and a tall closet. Bellatrix pulls out flowing robes from the closet and puts them on the bed. She then leaves the room without a word.
Sasha feels as though she's in a daze as she manually changes her clothes. Her thoughts are still clouded by the amazing feeling of power she experienced. She decides to not put much thought into that and handle the Dark Lord's orders. She'll be able to think about what is happening to her afterwards.
She steps forth from the shadows. Only her looks seem like the Sasha he knows, to Severus. She is no longer the same woman. Her eyes, as dark as ever, are cold as stone. Remorseless, unpitying, relentless, grim. Her demeanour is confident, no longer is she the unnoticeable woman he has come to know in these last few weeks. Her chin high, her long blonde hair floating behind her, her body wrapped in layers upon layers of black fabric – no doubt straight from Bellatrix's closet. She is powerful. Seductive.
He watches the Dark Lords reaction to her; he seems pleased. Bellatrix obviously sees an ally in her, judging by the glint in her wide, mad eyes. Lucius' proud countenance sits next to his wife, a somewhat sadistic smile on his face. They must all feel the power she exudes, the dark aura, floating off her in waves.
She closes in on the Dark Lord, seemingly challenging him with her bottomless eyes. A thin, pale hand gestures to his left, indicating the victim to her. Her eerie smile, positively evil, takes over her emotionless face. She turns away from the Lord and observes the man lying on the cold, grey floor. He fearfully looks up at her, whimpering.
"Get up," the flat sounding words barely resemble her usual speech.
The man is trembling, shivering. He is barely able to get up on his own. "I—I—," the man tries.
"Silence!" Many cringe at the sudden loudness of her voice, the severity of her tone.
"I failed. I'm sorry, but—"
"Spare me. So you admit it. You deserve to be punished," now her voice is lowered to a deceiving whisper.
"Y—Yes!" His breathing is heavy, laboured, fearing what is to come next.
"Let's start you off easy, shall we?" She sweetly smiles, as though this quivering man isn't about to be attacked, tortured, ripped apart, slaughtered – by her.
She envisions his skeleton in her mind, before envisioning the cracking and breaking of every single bone, one by one. He trashes on the floor, crying out in agony. Both the Dark Lord and Bellatrix have a manic smile on their faces. Among others, Fenrir, Dolohov and Rabastan appear to be enjoying the show as well. Severus attempts to not show his disgust – which, despite many years of hiding his emotions, is fairly difficult. She has morphed into a dark creature, she obviously enjoys the evil power flowing through her veins. At the very least she doesn't laugh, nor smile as she attacks, unlike Bellatrix. Thankfully. He knows darkness was— no, is lurking within her, he has seen it with his very own eyes in her memories. He did not know it was this bad, this awful, this – dare he think it? – magnificent. Her power is glorious, unlike anything he has ever seen, despite its darkness.
When she lifts the dark curse, she doesn't leave much time to recover.
She sticks out her hand, palm up, and mentally rips out his tongue, remembering to stem the blood so he won't choke on it. Soon the, now useless, muscle lays in her palm. Immediately the man opens his eyes wide. His hands want to lift to his mouth, but his broken bones don't allow him to. His throat is obviously working, his Adam's apple hastily bobbing up and down. An unarticulated cry emanates from his tortured throat. As he tries to speak, no coherent sound comes out. Before his widened eyes, she blows on the tongue in her hand, which turns into a thin pinkish smoke and floats away into nothingness.
She casts again, this time envisioning his arteries and his pores, she forms passageways between them. It doesn't take long for his blood to pour out from everywhere, all over his body pores exude the warm, red liquid of life, as he emits a last, long, unidentifiable cry.
Soon he lays lifeless on the floor, bathing in his own blood.
[To be continued]