One wish alone have I

Chapter 18
The betrayal

Severus left a copy of the Daily Prophet on my desk the following morning. The news about the Death Eaters’ escape from Azkaban was on the front page, of course, and confirmed that Dumbledore had been informed well. Five Death Eaters had escaped despite the Order’s efforts, but Azkaban now had fourteen prisoners securely locked in cells. All in all, we had more imprisoned Death Eaters than before the attack, but I did not know much about those who had managed to escape, so I did not know if they represented a bigger threat to us or not. When I looked at the pictures on the front page, I recognised Lucius Malfoy first, naturally. To my relief, his picture did not do the same and I was glad I had kept my mask on the previous night; it allowed me to enjoy a few additional hours of anonymity before I would have to face him again as myself that evening. Next to him, I saw the pictures of two wizards that I recognised as the acolytes he had talked about: Messrs Crabbe and Goyle. The two other Death Eaters were Bellatrix’s husband and Antonin Dolohov. To my disappointment, Macnair was not captured; it would have helped a great deal to relieve my anxiety. The risk of him being assigned to return to Russia or Hungary was still present… along with that of him receiving an owl from Marilena or Pietr, though that risk had not really been on our minds lately.

When I entered Severus’ office, he was not there. I heard his baritone voice echoing from the next room; the tension I discerned in it, thanks to my well-trained cainite senses, told me at once what group it was. I hesitated for a few minutes in front of the communicant door, wondering if my gesture would be appreciated, and then concluded that I could always step outside if my presence was not welcome. I wrapped myself tighter in Mrs Snape’s shawl, which was faithfully placed around my shoulders, and I walked in.

Severus was indeed giving a lesson to a group of Slytherin and Gryffindor sixth-year students. It was a double class and it had begun barely fifteen minutes before. He already looked like he needed a break; it was barely noticeable, but I saw it in the narrowness of his eyes. It gave his glance a sharper feel than usual. He interrupted his lesson about a group of potions designed for neurological disorders when I came in, and welcomed me by cocking an eyebrow at my face. From the way the fine lines at the corner of his eyes deepened and how the eyes themselves lit up, I deduced that he was happy to see me.

“Everything in order, Antanasia?” asked his voice kindly, in my mind.

“Yes, yes. I just thought you might need some company, especially given the group you are teaching to right now.”

“I do not mind having you here… but the lesson is everything but riveting, I warn you.”

“I do not care… I felt like being with you… as well,” I replied, returning the same twinkle in my eyes.

The students were curious about my unexpected arrival and even more about the way their teacher suddenly stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and looked at me for several seconds before going back to his notes and resuming the lesson right where it had been interrupted. Severus’ hawk-like glance killed the curious ones on sight, and the scratching sounds of quills against parchments filled the room again at once. I simply sat at the front of the classroom and helped him with the technical aspects of his presentation, which meant changing the slides or the notes on the blackboard with a snap of my fingers. It was not much, but I felt better at his side, where I could give him the comfort of my presence and get his in return, instead of marking parchments or preparing lessons alone in his office.

I noticed how Ron and Harry muttered to each other, following a few other students’ example, and I got curious at what could make them react that way. A quick probe through the students told me at once that something was wrong. There was a lot of frustration and anger among them, and they were somewhat tense. Harry seemed to be particularly upset for some reason. Looking at him more attentively, I noticed that he was not paying attention to the lesson at all. He scribbled on his parchment indeed, but his quill barely made random circles and shapes on the same area in front of him. Unfortunately for him, Severus followed my attentive glance and made his own deductions.

“Mister Potter, could you summarise the major points of what I just said about potions that can be used in the treatment of epilepsy?” he asked, after he finished his lecture.

Harry slowly lifted his head and tore his glance away from his scribbling with what looked like a mix of boredom and stubborn reluctance on his face. He bravely stared back at his teacher but did not open his mouth.

“Well? I am waiting, Mister Potter,” he insisted, in a smooth voice that still had the sharpness of a knife.

“I cannot summarise them, sir,” he finally answered, as Hermione’s fingers wiggled frantically in the air behind him.

“Because you do not know them? Because you cannot summarise the most important points or simply because you were not paying attention?” he replied, walking slowly towards Harry’s table.

“I guess my attention flinched for a minute, Professor,” he replied, with a certain defiant tension in his voice.

“Mister Potter, you are in your sixth year at Hogwarts now. Nobody forced you to take lessons with me again, and I will certainly not be the one holding you back should you decide to stop showing up in my classroom each week. On the contrary, I strongly suggest you do stop showing up if your limited intellectual capacities prevent you from getting the point of my teaching,” he retorted, in such a low tone that his voice was barely audible and his lips hardly moved.

Yet everybody in the room was holding their breath, and each word sounded as smooth and pleasant as a Banshee’s scream.

“Five points from Gryffindor for not paying attention to my lesson,” he continued with a sneer.

“But Sir,” began Hermione.

“Do not give me a reason, Miss Granger… this will be my last warning,” he interrupted.

“Professor Snape…” she quietly began, apparently wanting to inform him of something that was impossible to state out loud.

Severus merely turned his back to her and walked away. Ron’s eyes were sending furious sparkles at him, just like Hermione’s, but Harry’s merely looked down to his piece of parchment. The rest of the class whispered and murmured as Severus went back to the front of the classroom. The quiet chattering sounded clearly reproachful on the Gryffindor side; it was definitely approving on the Slytherin side. Seeing that Hermione and Ron were genuinely upset about something, I waited for Severus to display the instructions for the class’ potion on the blackboard and I went to their table.

“Is there a problem?” I simply asked, when I reached their level.

“Yes,” whispered Hermione eagerly, as soon as I stopped speaking. “Well, there was. Harry had a very disturbed sleep last night; he woke up in the middle of the night and he was sick. It… it was not the first time it’s happened.”

“Why were you sick, Harry?” I asked, turning a worried glance on him.

“Sometimes… he shares a Legilimency link with… You-Know-Who…” Ron replied, very quietly.

“And he was not happy last night,” Harry commented. “Not happy at all.”

“We told Professor Dumbledore about it, of course,” said Hermione, “and he did not look surprised. On the other hand, Harry always suffers from terrible headaches afterwards, but Professor Snape is apparently unaware of all that.”

“You mean he acts just like usual?” retorted Ron darkly. “Making things worse, like the greasy g--”

“Ron! Shhhh!” hissed Hermione, throwing me a quick and worried side-glance.

“I am sorry to learn that Harry was indisposed last night,” I murmured, trying to convey soft empathy in my tone despite the sudden irritability I felt, “and is still indisposed now; I can understand that his mind is not into potions much. As for the reason why this incident happened last night, I do not have to explain; I guess that you have read the Daily Prophet like I did. Therefore, all of you should consider that his mind might not be into it much either… and show a little understanding, too.”

“I will only if he does,” mumbled Harry, scratching his parchment with renewed energy.

“That will not improve the matter much, Harry,” I whispered. “I think you should do your best not to provoke him… try to listen a bit, at least.”

“What, you’re on his side, too?” Ron blurted out before Hermione could stop him, looking at me with a horrified expression. “I guess that’s not surprising, given…”

The rest of his sentence was knocked shut by a sharp blow of Hermione’s elbow right against his side.

“I am on nobody’s side here,” I answered, as calmly as I could.

None of the adolescents in front of me bought my argument… I do not think I did either.

“I will inform Professor Snape of the situation,” I continued, in the same calm voice. “In the meantime, you should not judge him too fast… or too harshly. He showed up here to do his job and he does it the best he can; as a student, you should do the same. That would help all of us a great deal.”

I turned back and was walking to the front of the classroom when I heard Ron and Harry’s discreet snorts. I even caught a few words of the comments Ron made, which unmistakably sounded like “See? I told you that she was biased…” My irritability became worse. It was they who had no idea of what had really happened the night before. They were the ones who did not know what Severus had been forced to endure or what he was probably dreading in anticipation of the Death Eaters’ meeting that was to take place later in the evening. I could not help but think that, when he was fighting at my side on Azkaban grounds, they were peacefully (or relatively peacefully) sleeping in the comfort of their beds, in the secure haven that Hogwarts could offer them, given their Headmaster’s power and care. Later that evening, they would probably study in their comfortable common room or chat animatedly about what was going on in their lives at the moment, while Severus would be tortured or at least go through great intensities of stress at the meeting. And yet all they could take into consideration was their Potions Master’s irritability and ill temper that afternoon, because he did not show them enough consideration! To be honest, I found it horribly rude.

Nevertheless, those thoughts made me admit that Ron was right; I was taking sides. I was asking them to show more wisdom and parsimony than adolescents of that age, full of ephemeral passions that rise and die in the blink of an eye, could display. And I was thinking more of the afflictions Severus had to go through than the worries Harry had at the back of his mind (and they were by no means small ones).

When I walked through the classroom and disappeared by the door that connected with Severus’ office, my anger had turned to coldness. I remember that the movements of my robes were even quite billowing-like as I walked. I retrieved a pain-control potion from Severus’ cupboard and poured an appropriate dose into a small goblet. I went back into the classroom the same way I had walked out and put the goblet in front of Harry without a word. He looked at me with a questioning glance, but I only asked him to drink with an encouraging wave of my chin. To my satisfaction, he did as I requested and I took back the goblet he handed me.

“It will help you with the headache, at least,” I whispered. “Take it as an example of how being on one side does not prevent from giving a helping hand to the other. Or an understanding ear, should it be needed at some point. Even if gratitude is not easily given in return.”

Harry simply crossed his arms over his chest, nodded, and mumbled something that was probably meant as “thank you”. Ron merely looked at his cutting board and kept chopping whatever he was chopping at the moment (it began to look rather powdered, at that point). Severus was walking towards us with a severe expression on his face when I stepped between the rows of tables; he stopped in front of me when he reached my level.

“Harry has a bad headache; I think it is his scar,” I explained, answering the question I saw in his dark eyes.

“I know. Dumbledore told me he felt something about last night while he was asleep,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“I did not know he shared a Legilimency link with the Dark Lord…. How come he was not taught some Occlumency skills to protect himself?”

“I tried to teach him last year, when those accidental links began to occur. The lessons stopped after a while; he had some potential, but he did not develop it well at all. He… ruined his chances on his own initiative, in a manner of speaking.”

“Do you think we should help him develop those skills again?”

“No,” he replied, rather bluntly. “The situation is taken care of. Do not worry about this.”

His eyes were glimmering malevolently with what I guessed were sombre thoughts when he said that, so I did not insist. I relied on Dumbledore’s good judgment to sort this out and find a way to help Harry with those unwanted connections with the Dark Lord. When we finally walked past each other, I let my arm brush innocently (but as tenderly as I could) against his side and my fingertips even brushed against his cold hand for a split second. Though it did not vanish the ominous thoughts that were whirling in his mind at the moment, it brought him some comfort and his shoulders were noticeably less tense afterwards.

We met in the Great Hall after I finished a remedial Potions lesson. Severus did not eat much at dinner, but he greatly impressed me when he gathered enough strength of mind to concentrate on work and mark a dozen parchments before we left for Hogsmeade. I tried to do the same, but did not go beyond five rolls. Nevertheless, the calm, controlled energy that emanated from him while we sat on each side of his desk, as usual on evenings during the week, brought a brief moment of peacefulness to my worried soul.

“It is time,” said his deep voice, when the clock indicated thirty minutes past seven.

“It might not be that bad, after all,” I tentatively said, while he helped me put on my cloak. “We did the best we could, given the circumstances. In any case, the only thing we can do is go there together and face the music, I guess.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and made me turn back. He looked at me for several seconds, and finally caressed one side of my face with a full hand, burying his fingers in my hair when his palm stopped above my jaw. His kiss was unhurried, almost religiously so. I remember that his lips took never-ending pauses against mine, moving only to press them a little differently, to touch a part of them that had not yet been touched…. His eyes stayed plunged in mine and he looked at me intensely, until he finally gave me a last kiss, more passionate than the others… and he savoured it with his eyes closed.

I think “thank you” had never been expressed to me so deeply before.

We made our way to Hogsmeade in silence, wrapped in our black cloaks. We met Dumbledore and Minerva on the way, behind the Three Broomsticks. To my joy, Dumbledore informed us that Remus had survived the night and his state, though still critical, was gradually stabilizing. He said that the Healers at St Mungo’s expected him to take a few months instead of the average six weeks to fully recover from the spell, given his lycanthropy, but they were confident that he would successfully regain all of his mobility after a while. My heart was considerably lighter when we Apparated in front of the Leaky Cauldron, after agreeing with Dumbledore that we would meet them at Grimmauld Place after the meeting if it did not take too long.

The back store room was practically filled with new followers when we walked in and, though it did not give us any privacy, the atmosphere gave us a peculiar intimacy given the way we felt estranged from all the others. His hand escaped the touch of mine, though, the moment we went through the doorframe.

One by one, we Apparated into the corridor that led to the meeting room. I noticed that most of the people in the room Disapparated by themselves and I came to the sad conclusion that many new followers had received the Dark Mark recently. My left arm still remaining untouched by Voldemort, I still had to Disapparate my way there in Severus’ arms, not that I minded much.

The sight that unravelled before my eyes when we entered the room was very atypical. Standing at the back of the room was the Dark Lord, half of his ugly face covered with the hood of his ample dark robes. Nine chairs were placed next to him, and I recognised the people who were sitting on them at once; they were the oldest Death Eaters. Mister Malfoy was there. He was chatting with the Lestranges; his two counterparts were sitting next to him. He offered a striking contrast with the others, given the way his hair, clean and well groomed, cascaded in silky locks over the shoulders of his black robes. Sitting on Voldemort\'s left was Pettigrew, whose mouth seemed torn between an ecstatic smile and a nervous twitch; I could not decide if his hands were jerkily rubbing against each other in joy or in anguish. Macnair was next; he surveyed the people entering the room and did not speak to his neighbour, who I guessed was Dolohov. The empty chair on the right was reserved for Severus, and he walked straight to it after we came in and straightened up from our ceremonial bow. I sat on a bench in a middle row, as close to him as I could.

The sounds that echoed in the room were similar to the expressions on Pettigrew’s face. Some new followers were chatting animatedly, looking and even pointing at the escaped prisoners; others simply sat in silence and preferred to look at their knees. Severus’ face, like mine, was set and neutral; both our glances were lost among the vague area in the space between us.

At eight o’clock precisely, the Dark Lord turned to Pettigrew, who jumped on his feet precipitately, as if he had been hit by a jinx. He raised one hand and motioned the crowd to pay attention.

“Be silent! Our Master wishes to speak!” he exclaimed, his voice vibrating with more than the usual self-importance he gave himself in those brief moments.

“As you can see, five of our brothers have escaped from Azkaban and joined us tonight!” he declared, before the group broke into applause and cheered. “As they came in here and stood before me, I have seen in their souls, in their hearts, how their loyalty to me never grew feeble during their imprisonment. For this, they have been rewarded with freedom! Nevertheless,” he continued, after the applause subsided, “they are not the only ones who deserve to be rewarded. Bella, come to me.”

Bellatrix left her husband’s side at once, walked to the front of the assembly and bowed to the Dark Lord.

“I have been told by many witnesses that you were the first one to rush forward into battle and help your brothers and sisters here in their fight against the Order and Ministry forces. I appreciate how your devotion has served me; your skills in battle have allowed Dolohov and your husband to make their way safely with Hanes and Smith to the Anti-Disapparating zone and escape by broom. For this, I am ready to be very generous. A flat has been prepared for you and your husband for you to live in; I believe you will find your new quarters more than comfortable.”

“Thank you, Master!” she exclaimed, kneeling in front of him and kissing the hem of his robes feverishly.

“Walden… your skills have also been noticed during the battle,” he said, once the wizard bravely stood in front of him. “I have been told that you forced many Order members to remain in periphery of the battlefield during nearly an hour, which greatly helped Crabbe and Goyle’s escape. I know what kind of reward would please you; it will be waiting for you in your flat when you come back home later tonight.”

“Thank you, Master,” he murmured, his voice ringing with a definite and peculiar hunger.

“Antanasia…”

His voice was as high-pitched as ever and fell on my nerves at once… or rather triggered them uncomfortably. I did not like to be pointed out and become the centre of attention during meetings; I particularly dreaded how it would happen during this one. I gathered all my composure, got up and took my place in front of Voldemort to make a respectful bow and hear what he wanted to tell me. I did not look at Severus when I passed near him, for fear it would weaken my mental barriers, but I did feel the warmth of his glance all over me as I walked.

“From what I have heard from the Azkaban guards who joined us for the first time tonight,” he began, acknowledging those guards’ presence in the room with a quick and cold glance, “you fulfilled your duty very well and got rid of a very annoying Auror for us. In addition, I heard that you helped manage the dementors’ behaviour and fought at your brothers and sisters’ side afterwards, covering a few escape attempts. I am grateful for this. I am grateful for your loyalty and what happened yesterday confirms me that the alliance between me and your Clan will be a highly profitable one.”

The crowd broke into applause again. I looked down, apparently in respectful humility, but more because supporting his glance was beginning to be trying. I certainly did not want Lord Voldemort’s gratitude! Besides, I could very well imagine what that gratitude would become once someone reported Tonks’ “resurrection” one of these nights….

“As a token of appreciation for our alliance, Antanasia of Zaharia, accept this vessel,” he said, before turning to his left and putting a heavy and commanding hand on Pettigrew’s shoulder.

The vessel in question did not look like he had been warned of his “function” at all. He startled at the Dark Lord’s touch (who would not?) and his eyes widened in surprise when he understood what was expected of him. His eyes worrisomely went from my face to his master’s when the latter spoke again.

“I guess you still have not fed at this time of the evening… and I also guess that Blood potion, no matter how skilfully prepared, will never replace the taste of fresh blood. Drink as much as you want; he is all yours.”

Pettigrew whimpered when he heard those last words and looked at me with a totally repulsive imploring expression in his watery eyes. Imploring… it looked like he had mastered the technique, as if he had been practising it all his life. I knew his story from what Remus had told me about him, of course, and my repulsion reached even higher levels when I remembered how he had betrayed his closest friends on several occasions.

Curiously, those feelings helped me a great deal in putting up a suitable expression on my face as Voldemort presented me with his “gift”. I saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his red eyes when he noticed a trace of condescendence in the way I looked at the cowardly wizard. In answer, he pushed him towards me, and Pettigrew stumbled down the two steps that led to the front stage where the Dark Lord and his older Death Eaters were sitting.

I looked around me while the small wizard stood, trembling, next to me. There was no chair I could use; the closest places to sit on were benches, and they were already filled with people.

“Great… I will have to do this while standing in front of the lot, in addition,” I thought.

I cannot say that what created this thought was shame. I was not ashamed of who I was or of the way I fed. It had been my feeding mean since 1739 and it had become completely natural for me. The problem was that I was not hungry at all, in the first place. My hunger always vanishes when I am nervous, and nervous I was! The sight of that cowering wizard was certainly not improving the matter much. The plump curves of his silhouette might have given him a cuddly side, but the nasty glimmer in his small eyes suggested to me at once that Remus had told me the truth; this man’s soul was a feeble one. His face was not particularly ugly, except for his front teeth that were a bit too long, compared to the rest. Understandably, I usually fancied that particularity… elsewhere in somebody’s mouth.

I made a step towards him; he meant to step back, in fear and repulsion, but his master’s presence next to him made him stop dead in his tracks and stay right where he was. I almost gave in to my natural instincts that told me to reassure him that he would not be hurt. Fortunately, I stopped myself before I spoke; the Dark Lord might not have appreciated that display of softness.

“Come closer and undo your collar,” I ordered, in the coldest tone I could find.

Gulping hard, he stepped forward, pulled on the string around his collar with shaky hands and undid the knot that held it closed. I reached for the fabric and opened his collar a bit wider. I could barely stop a wince before it twisted my mouth; the strong smell of cheap cologne brutally invaded my nostrils and attacked my senses. In addition to that disgusting smell, I could also pick the distinct smell of fear; it crawled everywhere on his skin in the fine layer of sweat that oozed out of his pores. It was barely distinguishable to the human nose, but to mine… it was almost unbearably intense. I might have found enough animal instincts to appreciate it if I had been hunting Pettigrew, but it was really not the case and the absence of any thrill of the kind only made that smell unpleasant to my senses.

“I bet his red cells are swimming in cholesterol, in addition,” I thought.

And his neck… it was the worst of all! The neck I found there was completely devoid of any form of aestheticism. Its thickness was inelegant, its strength lacked flexibility, it was far too short from the way the wizard constantly lowered his head between his shoulders instead of wearing it proudly up, and its skin! Merlin! Not only did it lack firmness and hung loosely over his muscles, it was also covered with stubble that looked as rough as sandpaper!

It could not possible compare to Severus’ neck…

Severus’ neck… Severus’ throat… with their sensually feline lines and their wonderfully pale skin! With the virility in the way his Adam’s apple forms that delicious little bulge under his skin, barely noticeable, only for the trained eye… the softness of that skin, its enticing smell… its intoxicating taste, sensitivity, and responsiveness! The way it just knows how to react to all my caresses, from the feathery touch of my fingertips to the bolder contact of my hot and lustful tongue…. Oh, I had already spent unforgettable hours exploring the wonders he chastely concealed under his high collar and silk necktie… and yet he never failed to get me all excited and eager to explore them again the moment he teasingly stood next to me with those hidden treasures being only a few layers of fabric away from my fingers… my lips… my tongue….

I was definitely getting hungry… and quite aroused, in addition. With relief, I felt my senses sharpen at last and started searching for the target of my craving. Obviously, the target I was given did not match Severus’ elegance at all… and I quickly brought myself to more down-to-earth thoughts in fear that the Dark Lord would feel something in all the images that had flashed in my mind during the few seconds I looked at Pettigrew’s neck. I had to stop thinking about my lover… and yet could not resign myself to Kiss such a pitiable creature. Someone shifted his weight on his chair. I heard the subtle sound of fabrics sliding against each other at once; my instincts were set for the hunt. I discreetly looked on my left and saw a pair of eyes that was coloured like the bluest sea… and nestled the freezing chillness of its deepest parts.

Lucius Malfoy… I half wished that he were given to me as a vessel instead of Pettigrew. The Kiss would have been far more enjoyable that way… especially with intentionally lower magical control over his pain receptors. A small smile twitched the corner of his lips when he noticed I was looking at him and he saluted me with a small nod, which I politely returned. He was giving me a splendid opportunity.

I memorised his features the best I could and finally turned to Pettigrew. I murmured some old incantations in Romanian that made him whimper and tremble even more, but my strategy worked. Instead of charming his senses and making him expect sensual pleasure from my mouth and teeth, I charmed my own senses instead and tricked them into believing that they were, in fact, feeling Mister Malfoy’s presence next to me. Pettigrew’s features gradually transformed into Malfoy’s, in my mind, and I took a certain pleasure into looking at Malfoy’s face, completely distorted with fear and anxiety, turning imploring eyes at me. Given what he had done to Arnaud, it was only a small revenge, but gave me enough thrill to perform what was expected of me with genuineness.

When my fingers tightened their grip on Pettigrew’s collar, which they had not left once during the few seconds my train of thought took to come back to him, he gasped in terror and no sound came out of his open mouth.

“There, there, little human…” I softly said, inches from his face, “calm down! I do not like my food to be spoiled by so foolish emotions. We do not want your taste to be altered by too much adrenaline, do we?”

He did not answer, but nervously shook his head.

“Good. Now I want you to relax…” I said, establishing a hypnotic link with his mind, which did not struggle much before it gave me more control. “I want you to abandon yourself to me…”

“Just don’t kill me,” he implored, his throat so tight that it reduced his voice to a strangled whisper.

“Oh, but I would not deprive his Lordship of a loyal servant… unless he ordered me to, which is not the case tonight, lucky you,” I purred, giving him my most charming smile so he could see my canines growing and my eyes turning to a fiery red. “Trust me… It does not have to hurt, you know… not if you surrender yourself.”

“R… really?” he stammered, as I reassuringly stroked what I saw and felt as Malfoy’s cheek and walked behind him.

“I said it does not have to… I made no promise of the kind,” I harshly replied, intertwining my fingers with what I saw as long straight locks of blond hair and forcing him to tilt his head to the side, while I tugged his collar away with my other hand.

His blood started pulsing frantically in the veins of his neck and I found an appropriate place to plunge my fangs in. Pettigrew was torn between pleasure and pain when my canines pierced the rough skin of his throat… and so was I, but only one of us let out a strangled yelp. His blood was as deprived of refinement as the rest of him, but I concentrated on the amount I was taking, ignoring its awful taste the best I could. His hands scratched my arm and my side, in turn, trying to make me let go of him, but I kept on drinking, resolute to give Voldemort the impression that I was enjoying his gift. It had its advantages… like feeling Mister Malfoy’s trembling flesh transmitting to me a complete shock, and hearing his voice in the imploring whispers that came out of the wizard’s mouth.

Within seconds, his legs were no longer able to support him and he collapsed against me; I barely had the time to wrap my arm around his thick waist before he made us both fall onto the floor. After drinking approximately two litres of the warm fluid that flushed my mouth, I knelt and left him lying on the floor. I closed the bite wound with one hasty lick and lifted the charm that bewitched my senses. When I got to my feet, my body came close to something that had a very, very ominous vibe.

“Keep serving me the way you do and I will make sure you get… nobler blood to feed on, next time…” whispered Voldemort’s thin and dry mouth, next to my ear, making the duvet behind my neck erect with horror.

“Thank you, my Lord,” I replied, turning back and bowing as low as I could.

I retrieved a handkerchief from a pocket in my robes and patted my lips with detachment, ignoring the intensely curious glances that were turned towards me, and watching Pettigrew out of the corner of my eye as he was crawling his way back to the pedestal and climbed clumsily in his chair without anybody doing anything to help him.

“Severus,” said the Dark Lord, turning to him as he calmly rose from his seat and walked to him. “I have received mitigated comments about your behaviour, during yesterday’s escape. I cannot fix my mind on what to think about what I heard; maybe you can help me figure it out.”

“I will do my best, my Lord,” he replied, supporting his probing glance with the composed attitude I knew he could display, while I tried to undo the dozen of knots that were slowly forming in my stomach.

“I have been told that you successfully handled the counter-spells and freed your brothers as planned, which is good,” he continued. “However, Walden told me that you were the last Death Eater to join the battle, and only did so to take Antanasia away and escape with her. Now, what should I think of that?”

“The plan did not involve me fighting on the battlefield because you did not want to risk my identity being revealed, my Lord,” he respectfully explained.

“I was under the impression that you were wearing a mask and a dementor’s cloak for that very reason, Severus,” retorted the insufferable high-pitched voice.

“You are right, my Lord,” he only replied, still courageously keeping his head up.

“Then why did you not fight?”

“I thought I was following your orders, Master, by staying behind as planned.”

“And indeed I expect you to follow my orders, Severus… but that does not mean you should let them become an excuse for not showing any sense of initiative. Crucio!”

The jet of green light hit Severus right in the chest. He did nothing to protect himself and took the blow standing on his two feet and looking at the Dark Lord in the eye. I was amazed and deeply pained to see him resisting to the cruel curse with all his will, mental and physical, until his body just gave up and betrayed him. He collapsed onto the floor and started screaming, his eyes desperately trying to remain open and his fists clenching powerfully against the sides of his robes. His screams were coming in jerky sounds, each time his clenched jaws could keep them inside no more. Watching him was a real torture and I was tempted countless times to either reach for him and help him, to look elsewhere or simply shut my eyes tight. But instead, I kept looking at his face. It was all distorted by pain, but sometimes it let his glance pierce through his half-open eyelids long enough for him to see my face, meet my eyes and find, maybe, something to hold on to in his agony.

“What in the name of Merlin were you thinking, Severus, if in fact you were thinking at all?” bellowed the Dark Lord’s suddenly powerful voice, echoing in the room and, as I thought, deep in Severus’ mind. “I believed in your intelligence, Severus, but that belief was seriously shaken last night! It is time you stop thinking about your own interests and start thinking about the cause we believe in! Death Eaters who serve me well rush to each other’s rescue in times like this! Death Eaters who serve me well do not miss a good occasion to get rid of some of our enemies! Death Eaters who serve me well do not stay behind and hide inside like worthless cowards! Now, I ask you: do you want to serve me well, Severus?”

A long, very tense and muffled moan was Severus’ only answer.

“Maybe you did not hear me? I said do you want to claim your allegiance to me and end this, Severus?”

“Y… yes… Yes, Master!” he finally blurted out, his voice shaking with pain.

“Good. I had a strange feeling that this would be your answer,” he sneered, with his normal voice. “Finite Incantatum.”

The infernal curse released its grip on Severus’ body at last and he lay on the floor, panting raucously. His hands, legs, head and even his lips were violently shaking from the aftershock of the curse and his face was covered in sweat, but reason still forbid me to help him. He stayed on the floor, lying on his side with his head resting on his arm, and started taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself, force his body into stillness and regain some composure. The Dark Lord startled me when he spoke again.

“May what has just happened serve you as a warning, my Death Eaters, and all the others in the room. This is what happens when you do not meet my standards in battle… or anywhere else. Serve me well, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do it to your full potential and you will suffer for it, maybe more than you think. Severus, I held back some of the power I could have put in that curse and believe me, it did not last as long as it could have. As I said a few minutes ago, I was satisfied by the way you handled the counter-spells and I do take into consideration that you helped Lucius escape. Therefore, consider what has just happened as… only a strong suggestion for improvement.”

“Understood, my Lord,” replied Severus in a croakier version of his natural voice as he only managed to get on his knees and bow respectfully.

We were forced to stand in front of the Dark Lord for several more minutes, during which he thanked or punished new followers for their behaviour during the mission. I felt terribly guilty about my own actions. I would have stayed behind, too, if Mister Malfoy had not been there. And yet it was Severus who was punished, very unfairly, for following orders. I also felt guilty because not once had it crossed my mind that I could have intervened and praised Severus’ skills for the way he helped me handle the two Azkaban guards who fought against me just before we left the battlefield. Severus told me later that it would have been very foolish to argue with Voldemort and it would have made me receive a severe punishment while keeping his fate the very same… but it did not ease my guilt completely.

Fortunately for us, however, Severus and I were not suspected of being traitors or disloyal to the Dark Lord. Nevertheless, the latter was still very angry for the rest of the meeting. Everything had to be done all over again. The counter-spell lists had to be stolen once more and obviously, the challenge would be greater because the Ministry would intensify the protective measures around the lists and the prisoners themselves. As the older followers were still in disgrace and had to remain hidden from the public eye, the Dark Lord had to begin relying on new Death Eaters. Several of them were working for the Ministry and they gladly accepted their new and more important role. The Dark Lord’s first priority was to have them discover where the lists were hidden and what kind of new security measures were taken. Some of them had to get information from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement about some weapons that interested Voldemort. It did not sound good at all.

I was asked if my Clan’s assistance would be given in the eventuality of a second attack in Azkaban and I reassured the Dark Lord about our still effective alliance, feeling secretly happy that our recent failure meant that this new attack would possibly not take place before the end of the year, at least. Lucius Malfoy and his two acolytes were assigned to lead the team that intervened on the Muggle side. Their activities went from recruitment to torture. I learned from the comments I overheard that the latter was Mister Malfoy’s speciality. My lack of surprise strangely rang with a tad twining of pain when I heard that.

“One of the major issues we have not addressed yet tonight is money,” declared the Dark Lord. “We are beginning to be in need of funding, especially since we bought and prepared the different flats that are now used as hiding places. I received interesting suggestions during the last meetings. One of them mentioned taking control of the Illegal potions market and I like the idea. For this, we need makers and sellers. Antanasia…”

“Yes, your Lordship,” I said, rising to my feet.

“You have the skills to prepare those kinds of potions, I presume?”

“Absolutely, my Lord. I neither have the formulas nor the ingredients, however. Some of them cannot be found in nature.”

“Severus will provide you with the formulas, it is not the first time he has brewed those kinds of potions. In fact, I expect you two to work together on this. Hogwarts is a big castle; I am sure you can find a place to hide and store the supplies and potions. As for buying the first supplies, I am sure it will only represent a small monetary sacrifice for you. You will be allowed to use a part of the profits we will make to refill the stocks when needed, afterwards.”

“What kind of potions do you want us to make, my Lord?” asked Severus, in a steady and silky voice that was marvellously relieving to hear again.

“Everything from hallucinogens to stimulants… narcotics… try to pick the ones that will give us a maximum profit, regardless of the dangerousness of the substances. If the old rule is still true, the more harmful it will be, the better it will sell. It is all that matters to us.”

“We will do as you request, my Lord,” replied Severus.

A small group of new followers were designated for the selling part of the illicit potions production; the Lestranges were added to the group, too. We fixed the details of the operations and Lord Voldemort declared the meeting over, for most of us. All the older Death Eaters, some new ones and I were asked to stay behind.

“About the boy,” began Voldemort darkly, “any news?”

“I was told by Dumbledore that he experienced a Legilimency link with you once more, yesterday night,” said Severus.

“I can confirm this; I heard the same thing from the boy himself,” I replied to the Dark Lord’s questioning glance.

“Has he seen anything?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” answered Severus. “He only felt a vague but powerful emotional connection with you, which he identified as intense anger.”

“Well, this time it was not a hallucination, it seems,” sneered the Dark Lord, making Crabbe and Goyle snigger stupidly for a reason Severus explained later to me.

“She could attract him out of Hogwarts, you know, if she has contact with him. Dumbledore might not suspect her as much as he could suspect Severus,” suggested Bellatrix with a frown.

“Let’s suppose she does; where would we bring him anyway?” retorted Macnair. “The last thing we want is the Order or Ministry looking for that kid in our hiding places.”

“Kidnapping him is out of the question; it was last year and it still is now. I cannot afford another defeat against that little brat. I will not tempt anything until I can properly figure out what happened in 1981. Must I mention that none of you have been of any help in that matter so far?” he bitterly criticised.

“I found nothing at the Ministry… and I have been looking around for years, my Lord,” said Macnair.

“So did I,” purred Malfoy’s voice, “and I obtained the same results.”

“In my opinion,” intervened Severus with assurance, “neither the Ministry nor Dumbledore himself really understand what happened that night. It is a mystery that still eludes us all.”

An uneasy silence floated between us before the high-pitched voice I hated resounded again.

“I will think the matter over again. Bella, I might require some documents from the London Wizarding Library at some point; be prepared to get some for me eventually.”

“Of course, Master.”

“In the meantime, none of you must make any attempt concerning that boy. He is mine and anybody who should disobey me on that will know a very painful and awfully long death. That will be all for tonight,” he concluded, making sure his threateningly piercing glance met everybody’s eyes before we got up.

All of us were quite relieved, apparently, to Disapparate to the back store after the meeting. Pettigrew was the last one to Apparate there and he was out of breath and barely able to walk. He clumsily leaned on the wall and each shoulder or arm he could grab next to him.

“For Merlin’s sake, get some Blood-replenishing potion, Pettigrew,” growled Macnair, pushing the small wizard away from him rudely.

“You will find some on Beech Alley; the potions store will still be open at this time of the evening,” I whispered, before Severus took my arm and pulled me outside.

It was five minutes past ten when we stepped outside in the seedy street; we walked there quickly after a short goodbye to the others. I was about to turn my back to them when Mister Malfoy grabbed my hand and held me behind. He then took my hand in his very delicately, seizing my fingers between his and sliding the back of his hand under my palm before his thumb and index caressed their way around my fingertips, bending them gently to offer his lips a plane surface to land on, which he refrained from doing nevertheless. I recognized at once that he had been taught the oldest polite gestures that are in use among so-called pureblood families, but I was rather on my guard than charmed by his noble manners.

“My dear Lady, I am afraid that we have not been properly introduced,” he purred, his blue eyes shining through a small ray of light coming from a window nearby, just like the sun sometimes hits an icicle during winter. “My name is Lucius Malfoy and I believe we had the delightful pleasure to meet, yesterday night.”

“Indeed. I am Antanasia of Zaharia,” I replied, as neutrally as I could.

“Charmed… totally charmed,” he murmured, before bringing my hand to his lips, which offered me a silky touch that disgusted me all the same. “You are Romanian, I hear?”

“I lived in a castle hidden in the Carpathian Mountains, before I came here as my Lady’s emissary.”

“Malfoy, we do not have all night,” interrupted Severus rather harshly. “We cannot be absent for too long.”

“Then I will be eagerly waiting the next turn of fate that makes us meet again, my dearest Mademoiselle,” he softly said, squeezing my fingers in his and stroking my knuckles very slightly with his thumb, making me shudder in horror.

It took all my self-control not to clutch at once to Severus’ arm and let him take me away from that awful serpent. I calmly walked at his side and said nothing until we reached Diagon Alley, far away from any Death Eater or new follower.

“What has just happened there?” I asked, still horrified but puzzled by Mister Malfoy’s attitude.

“Lucius Malfoy just hit on you, I think that was pretty obvious,” he darkly retorted. “He does it on almost each and every pretty witch who crosses his path. I would not take it too seriously or derive any pride from it if I were you.”

“I had no intention to, of course, Severus…” I thoughtfully replied. “But still, that would not have happened if you had… marked your territory better, so to speak!”

“Antanasia,” he said, stopping walking and turning to me, “you know we cannot possibly let them know about… us. That will never happen, you can count on me. If I am asked about it, I will deny it!”

“I know, I know,” I said, feeling irrationally disappointed. “I was just teasing you…”

“And speaking of this…” he continued, as if he had not grasped the fact that I was just kidding, “I would prefer us to be more discreet in front of Order members as well. Last time… you tried touching my hand countless times…”

“Under the table, Severus!” I defensively interrupted, feeling unfairly criticised.

“Still! You must know that I am by no means a cuddly person. Especially not in public. I have always been that way and I do not want to change.”

“Fine… that is just fine,” I lazily replied, knowing that it was best not to argue.

“I know that Lupin and Dumbledore know about this, and that is already too many people. What happens in my quarters when the door is closed is my business and mine alone. Can you understand that?”

“Of course, Severus. There is no need for us to spread the word anyway.”

I knew that the whole Order probably suspected that something was going on. They had all witnessed the duel… and its ending… and the complete and sudden peace that had followed it. Anybody with a hint of intelligence or interpersonal instinct had guessed the cause of this abrupt change. But I preferred to let Severus keep the beliefs that reassured him the most and made him feel at ease. At the time, I concluded that it had little to do with me in particular, and much to do with this natural tendency to keep everything intimate secret, shielded against other people’s glances and opinion. I did not argue further and was rewarded with a quick squeeze of his long hand around mine before we Disapparated to the Headquarters.

We said nothing more before we walked through the old house’s front door. Severus seemed satisfyingly recovered from the punishment he had received, and we still had a chance to catch the other Order members before they left the Headquarters. The meeting was not finished yet when we entered the room. Dumbledore’s kind eyes betrayed his relief when he attentively probed Severus’ face to see if he was in any pain; it warmed my heart at once. It was good to see him with the others.

During Severus’ report, Moody made all of us jump when he brutally banged his fist on the table with a rather hoarse exclamation of what sounded like joy. He was delighted to learn that the Lestranges would be taking charge of the illegal potions market; he knew a few Aurors at the Ministry who were still working in that department and he was already stamping his feet (his foot, mind you) at the thought of throwing both of them back in jail by catching them selling potions illegally. Severus and I somewhat brought his hopes down when we told him we did not expect the Lestranges to be sent out into the streets for small sales, given their rather high status in the Dark Lord’s esteem… and on the Aurors’ “most wanted” list. He grumpily retorted that he would manage to find a way sooner or later. We did not argue.

Shacklebolt, who had a nasty wound on his cheek, expressed his worries about Mister Malfoy being on the loose again. He was apparently very skilled at recruitment, given his sociable appearance and manners. We expected many more followers to join the Death Eaters during the following months, and it was not a good sign. We had been outnumbered during the last battle and the Ministry’s help was still as unreliable as before. Remus, a valuable member of the Order force, would be unable to fight or take guard shifts for months, and it would undoubtedly show.

His absence around the table and everywhere in the house was painful to feel that night. I promised myself that I would visit him the following night, no matter if he was out of the coma or not... or if it was advisable to risk being seen at his bedside or not.

Later that evening, Severus accepted my offer to sleep with him, in his chambers. I was exhausted and I did not mind going to sleep earlier in the night. If at first I was slightly pained to feel his lips linger against mine shorter than I wanted before we got undressed, I was quickly reassured when he pulled me to him under the sheets and pressed my body to his, against his chest. He did not say good night when he nudged his nose against the back of my neck, but the sigh he let out at that moment had the unmistakable ring of satisfaction and fulfillment; my heart returned it at once and it guided me easily to the blissfulness of sleep.

~*~

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Comments and reviews are always appreciated and needed! I am incredibly relieved that I could find a quiet hour and find time to post this chapter during my hectic but nice vacation! The second part will be posted next week at the latest and I am currently working on chapter 19. Thanks, so much, for your patience! :o)