Refuge Has Its Price

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CHAPTER 10: THE MASTER TAKES A WIFE, Part Two;



Lord Voldemort hadn't anticipated the strange burning sensation that he suddenly felt within his chest as the first strains of simple Celtic harp music began. He hadn't paused today to have his luncheon. Perhaps it was merely a touch of indigestion that churned so fiery.

It couldn't have been caused by the young sapphire-and-silver robed vision of beauty, the girl that he was claiming as his own, approaching with those measured steps. She was just an odd little schoolgirl, powerful, yes, but still just a girl.

This was a budding woman-child who, with maturity and great dignity, gracefully approached the place where he stood waiting with Lucius Malfoy, Minister of Magic.

The Dark Lord had to swallow down a completely unexpected lump of nervousness in his throat. She was so innocent, so beautiful, and so very . . . young . . . looking! He hadn't anticipated that either.



Yes, of course he'd known that she was still a schoolgirl. But in the euphoria of his hard-won victory's afterglow, Voldemort had not exactly committed her features to memory. He'd just recognized her as being powerful, gifted, pretty in her own way, and completely accepting of him.

The simple ugly truth was that her Pureblood pedigree, as well as her father's wealth and position as owner and publisher of The Quibbler, made the girl a satisfactory pawn in completely consolidating the Dark Lord's position into mainstream Wizarding society. Her looks hadn't even been important, other than the quick skim he'd made of her being an acceptable fuck.

Voldemort had been so busy with the affairs of state, making certain that the Wizarding world continued to run smoothly for the general populace these past few days, that the young witch's looks had completely escaped him.

'Marry Consort' had simply become another article to check off his busily scheduled 'To Do List' as completed.

The reality of the girl had faded somewhat in his memory, and he'd simply carried on as he'd planned to do in taking her as his Consort. The Dark Lord had considered everything, except the actual bedding of the little witch, to be a 'done-deal'.

When Severus had placed the girl's fragile hand into his own, and gave his response about freely giving the witch to him, Voldemort suddenly realized exactly how very young, and just how tiny, the young witch was in relation to his own age and height.

Her silvery tears were, he hoped, of happiness.

'Not bloody fucking likely! No doubt, she was terrified shitless about the situation that he'd forced her into.

Would she really have come to him, had he not ordered Severus to make it so? There was no way of telling just how many, or exactly what kind of, potions she'd been fed simply to get her here.'

For the very first time in his long evil lifetime, the Dark Lord felt the weight of the world, and the responsibility for the care and custody of another living human being, descend upon his broad shoulders.

He firmly repeated the bond-vows that the girl had so clearly and firmly spoken in her softly feminine turn.

The ceremony seemed to be over almost before it had begun; tables suddenly appeared loaded with the wedding feast and his assembled guests began to take their seats.

As had become usual, Severus Snape was seated to his left side, but this time there was a chair between them.

It held the newly married former Luna Lovegood.

When she reached for her goblet, Severus placed his hand over the top of it and leaned forward to speak directly to Voldemort, "If I may, my Lord?"

At the regal inclination of the hairless, snake-like head, Severus picked up her goblet and took a long swallow.

He held the sweet wine in his mouth for a long moment, tasting the various flavors assailing his palate.

Voldemort closely observed his every reaction with an unexpected tenseness.

It had never even occurred to him to suspect the poisoning of his bride! As the Heir of Salazar Slytherin, it should have been foremost on his normally suspicious mind when he'd selected this witch as worthy to mother his seed.

It boosted the Potions Master's worth to Voldemort ten-fold that he'd been so concerned for his bride's welfare.

When Severus had finally swallowed, and nodded his dark head that it was safe, Voldemort let out a breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding. Lucius, sitting on his right, asked him a question; his attention relaxed and turned away from the Potions Master.

Severus took the few seconds of opportunity to slip a single drop of a very special potion into the girl's goblet. He'd ask her forgiveness later. Perhaps.

Luna gave him a long steady look from her knowing dove-grey eyes, and arched an inquisitive pale eyebrow at him.

'Merlin's Balls! He was SO busted; caught red-handed in the very act. Damn. Had it been so long since he'd been a spy that he'd lost his touch?

If the chit said a word about it, despite the Dark Lord owing him a life debt, he'd be likely to kill him anyway.'

Luna didn't say a word.

When Lucius raised his goblet, prepared to give his toast to the newlyweds, she simply 'accidentally' knocked her goblet over, spilling all of its contents onto the table, while reaching for it.

"Oh dear! I'm so sorry, sir," she said to Voldemort, with a faint blush tinting her pale cheeks, when his head swiveled her way to stare at her in consternation.

"No matter, my dear. Simply bridal jitters," he'd softly replied, vanishing the spilled wine with a graceful, single, gesture of his long-fingered hand.

"More wine for my bride!" he ordered with a snap of his fingers, and several house elves leapt immediately forward to do his bidding.

Voldemort, himself, tasted her wine first; it was perfect. She gently smiled at him, and quietly said, "Thank you, sir."

Luna lifted her goblet when Lucius pronounced his toast, wishing them long life, good health, and prosperity.

She drank down a long swallow of the cool sweet wine, and smiled into the monster's face that was now her husband, truly for better or worse, until death parted them.

Luna did not fail to notice that Lucius Malfoy hadn't wished them happiness.

That was perfectly all right with Luna; she hadn't expected to ever be happy anyway. Such was the curse of carrying the Eildarvitch line . . . one rarely ended up with an easy, long life, or ever had very much happiness within what life one did have.

Luna had the examples of both her mother and the Professor to draw from. She never expected her fate to be any different.

As the feast was coming to its conclusion, after cutting the cake, Luna whispered to her bridegroom, "Sir? May I ask to be taken to our chambers? I'd like to have a soak, and a bit of time to ready myself."

Voldemort was touched that his beautiful bride was shy, and wished to prepare herself for him in private. The time for shared baths and hot, impetuous, coupling would come later one day, after she'd been indoctrinated into all of the carnal delights, but this was her wedding night.

It was special. The Dark Lord silently vowed to himself to continue to make it so for his young witch.

Voldemort glanced around the room. There she was. With a single finger, he summoned Bella to their side.

"Yes, my Lord?" Bellatrix Lestrange preened as she fawned before the Master, proudly thrusting her décolleté forward as much as she dared, without appearing disrespectful. She'd already looked this weak, pale, little chit over.

'She'll never last,' Bella smugly thought to herself. 'He'll be summoning me to lie with him once again before this week's out, just as soon as the shiny wears off of his new little toy.'

"My most loyal Bella. I wish you to safely escort my bride to my chambers and provide her with whatever she desires to ready herself, then return here for the awarding ceremony. Think about what you want, Bella. You've earned something for all your years of loyal service. As long as it doesn't interfere with my own plans, it's yours," Voldemort politely said, but no one (most especially Luna) thought for a single moment that it was anything but an order to be obeyed.

The Dark Lord stood up when his new wife did. His loyal inner circle also respectfully rose to their feet and bowed to her, as the new Lady Voldemort rose to her feet. She paused for a moment, to receive their Master's chaste kiss on her forehead, then left the Great Hall with Bellatrix Lestrange.

All except Crabbe. He hadn't risen to his feet, nor did he drink to the couple's health. He'd drank too freely of the excellent wine that came straight from Albus Dumbledore's private cellar, and chewed several bites of opium-laced candy during the feast. Crabbe always kept that "special" candy on him for enticing small children into his clutches.

Voldemort did not fail to notice this slight to his new bride; to insult her was to insult him.

The Dark Lord's furious red gaze fell onto his loyal advisor, Severus Snape.

A single look of complete understanding silently passed between lord and servant. Crabbe had just signed his own death warrant, and Severus was to be allowed the privilege of being his executioner.

Severus' mouth curved up in a grim smile at his Master. This was going to be so sweet, and with the Master's permission, of all things!

Oh yes, he'd make it appear to be the freak accident that it needed to look like, in order to preserve appearances.

But he'd finally get to show Crabbe exactly what each and every one of his young victims had felt as he'd tortured and sodomized them. With his extensive knowledge of restorative and healing potions, Crabbe would feel it for a long, long, time indeed, before the dark Potions Master eventually let the other wizard die.

Severus had already decided that the very first thing that he was going to do to Crabbe would be to cut out the sadistic pedophile's tongue, so that he couldn't scream.

Next, he would tether the twisted bastard up in Crabbe's very own torture chamber, where the blood of countless innocents stained its' stinking stone floors, and see just how well he liked the touch of white-hot metal caressing his bare body.

Severus Snape was as giddy as a schoolboy, just thinking of everything he was going to finally be able do to Crabbe. Justice served up as his Master's vengeance. How ironically fitting!

If Lucius hadn't slapped him hard on his back at just that moment, he'd never have heard Voldemort ordering young Nott to fetch Hermione Granger up to the audience chamber.

Or have had the sense to quickly, and silently, scan young Nott's thoughts concerning the girl in question.

Dear gods! Hermione Granger was about to be raped, now at the final hour, after he'd so carefully machinated the Dark Lord into preventing that very fate for her.

There was no way Voldemort would allow him to leave the audience chamber, not now, not with the awarding ceremony about to begin.

What could he possibly . . . wait a minute . . . Rabastan still owed him a favor for clearing up a particularly nasty wizarding STD for him.

It had been a secret just between the two of them, man-to-man, wizard-to-wizard, as fellow Slytherins. A secret that Lord Voldemort was, as yet, still unaware of.

The Dark Lord expected all of his Death Eaters to be disease-free at all times. He, himself, often participated in their Dark Revels equally with them; sharing whores, captured Muggle girls, and eager-to-please, novice Death Eaters, young males who considered his buggering them to be an honor.

Voldemort had no desire to become infected with anything more deadly than the common cold. The punishment for Death Eaters being caught 'positive' with any form of sexually transmitted disease was to be castrated most painfully, and while fully conscious, in public.

Severus swiftly crossed over to Rabastan's side and said, "Walk with me, Rabastan."

Voldemort silently observed the two men's actions, but thought little of it, as it most likely concerned Crabbe's death sentence. He had to appear ignorant of that.

Within the next two minutes, Rabastan Lestrange had swiftly left out on some errand. Severus Snape calmly returned to resume his position of security on the dais, at his Master's trusted left-hand side.



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"Friend? FRIEND! Where are you? Please help me, friend . . . I can't do this. Friend, I NEED you!"

Harry Potter calmly stood up, and went to answer the plea for help from that fragile bit that still lingered of Voldemort's humanity. Unsure of exactly how to get there, or even where "there" was from here, he simply started moving in the direction of the child's call.

The white mists swirled around him once more, and suddenly there he was back in the dank stone chamber where the very last shred of Voldemort's humanity dwelt.

"FRIEND! There you are! Where did you go? You've been gone so long. I was afraid you wouldn't come back," the little dark-haired child snivelled. He scrubbed a scabby arm across his face, smearing the tears and snot of his panic off onto it.

Harry was taken a bit aback. The child wasn't simply a raw bloody bit of flesh any longer.

Now it was covered here and there with large patches of thick, crusty, and runny scabs; although still no skin that Harry could see or recognize as such.

It had to be in an unimaginable amount of pain. Harry wished with all his heart that he could offer it some kind of healing, some kind of solace.

"Hello, little one," Harry gently replied to the small wounded boy with a smile. "I'm always near you, even when you can't see me. All you have to do is call me, and if it's at all possible I'll come to you every time."

"Where?" it suspiciously queried. "If you're always near me, why can't I see you? Why don't you talk to me? I talk to you all of the time, but you never answer me back."

Harry suddenly felt older than his years; what to reply?

Giving the wrong answer right now might mean the difference between redemption and destruction for the last bit of humanity still residing within the Dark Lord.

Is this how Professor Dumbledore had felt every time that he'd asked his own unanswerable questions as a boy growing up?

Merlin, what a load for anyone to have to bear!

Dumbledore had always answered him so mysteriously all of the time that, as a child, Harry had thought him to be all-powerful and all-knowing; sort of like a god.

Remembering the pain and disillusionment that he'd felt himself, upon discovering the truth about that old wizard simply being a flawed human being, and not an omniscient, omnipotent, reincarnation of Merlin, Harry decided to always tell it the truth.

He amended that thought, allowing that some mystery should be okay; in a magical world, mystery was mandatory. However if he truly didn't know the answer to anything that the child asked, he'd admit to it instantly.

Harry opened his mouth to tell the child about the Station, but nothing would come out. He tried again, with the very same results.

A coolness washed over him in his epiphany. Harry understood now.

Mortals could never know definitely for sure about the survival of their soul. They would either trust in their own continuance, or not.

Just like all magic, some things are meant from the foundations of the very Universe to simply be taken on faith; because faith and love truly are mortal man's strongest magic.

Harry opened his mouth again, and this time was able to speak, "I stay in a misty place because that's where I belong right now for trying to harm you that time. I didn't know that you were here then, or I'd never have done that."

There. That sounded positively Dumbledore-ish enough to satisfy the child, and every word was the absolute truth.

The scrap of raw, scabby, humanity snivelled one last time, and Harry could see that the child was digesting what he'd just answered. The pitiable child slowly nodded, then paused to look him directly in the eye.

"Okay. But why don't you talk back to me, when I talk to you all the time?" he asked again, seeking clarification as only a child will do.

Bloody hell! Now what was he supposed to say? Why DIDN'T he hear it all of the time if they were truly soul-bound like Ron had thought?

Harry decided again to tell the truth, "I think that I must sleep sometimes. Maybe that's why I only hear you when you really, really, need me."

The child tilted its' head to the side as it thought that over; Harry smiled at the action. It rather reminded him of an ugly, inquisitive, little puppy.

"Okay, then. I guess that's all right, just as long as you do come when I really need you," he finally answered.

Harry looked somber for a long moment. He then replied, "I'll always try to come when you need me, but sometime in the future that may no longer be possible. One day, I might have to move on. But, until then, I promise to always come when you call, and even if I have to move on I'll always remain your friend. You have my word."

No one was more shocked than Harry Potter was when he felt the magical bind of a wizard's oath wash over them. He'd thought that part of his life had ended with his death, apparently not.

"What was THAT?" the little boy squeaked out in his sudden fright. "What did you DO?"

"That was a wizard's oath. I've given you my word. Now that's a promise that I'll always have to keep," Harry again chose to tell the truth.

"Forever and ever?" he suspiciously asked.

Harry nodded and said, "Yes, my little friend. Forever and ever."

The little scabby boy slowly thought about it, and inched close enough to Harry to place his tiny, oozing, hand trustingly into the older wizard's grip.

Then he confidently spoke, "My friends call me Tommy, or they used to, back when I lived in an orphanage. I'm not sure what my name really is any more, 'cause everyone calls me something different now. But you can call me Tommy . . . if you want to."

Harry smiled.

"Hi, Tommy. My name used to be Harry. People called me by many names before, too. I know exactly how it feels. You can call me Harry, or just call me friend, whichever you'd rather."

His little forehead wrinkled, cracking open two scabby welts across it, as he said, "I think I'll just call you Friend for right now. There's something about the name 'Harry' that makes me feel funny inside, but I can't remember why. Is that okay?"

Harry grinned even wider as he nodded his unruly dark head to show that he understood, and that it was all right by him.

The two of them stood together quietly for several long moments, and then Harry asked, "Why did you need me so badly this time?"

Tommy sighed, cut his dark eyes away from Harry in obvious embarrassment, and self-consciously scuffed his raw toes against the slimy stones of his secret chamber inside of the Dark Lord's mind.

"He's going to do nasty, wicked, things to the pretty girl that can see me, and I don't want him to hurt her," Tommy slowly replied in a soft, anguished, whisper, as he quietly confided the unspeakable to his only Friend.



END OF CHAPTER 10



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A/N: Well, people, sometimes the best laid plans of mice, and author's, often go awry.

Reality, and the real world, hit me with both smoking barrels. **so sad to be me sometimes, sigh**

The next chapter(s) will also be a two-parter, entitled "Luna's Wedding Night". Hard at work on it even as you're reading this. Don't get your knickers in a twist in the meanwhile! **snickers**

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