Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Thirty - Five
The Phoenix has Gone

Stroking a finger up her belly, he commanded in the language of Isis-Renenutet and Thermouthis, “Yaret, my most beautiful one.”

Her back bending as she rose, accepting the caress, demanding more, and sliding her belly over his, she whispered her devotion.

He was her mate, she was his salvation. He understood her demands, her requests, her pleas and he always appeased her desires. She demanded, he gave. He demanded and she was far too enchanted to refuse anything he wanted. She would give him her life, should he ask it. All it would take would be one of his intoxicating kisses. She dreamed of freedom – but a freedom bound in him.

She sang her love and warm days in the grass, when she was named after her sister-goddess Manasa. That was before she was called Nagini, before she was his. It was before he had ever placed his lips on her head and spread the folds of her hood to caress the tender skin there. As Manasa, she was a child, young, with a small mouth and smaller fangs. As she grew into his Nagini, during that time in the cold mountains, her body grew; she became thick and strong and longer than all of her siblings combined. And he praised the gleam of her scales and her prowess in the hunt. He stroked her spine and told her of far away lands and magic that was nothing like the enchantment of a flute player under the hot sun. And because she loved, she followed, she protected, and she killed.

Wrapping around his body, she delighted in his warmth. As she moved, she treasured the feeling of his smooth skin – so different than it had been before. He was stronger now and she could lie in his lap without fear of harming him. No longer was he fragile like an infant. No longer was he just a smoky dream with a voice and fingers that touched only her mind. Now he was real and strong and he touched her with an exquisite, gentle insistence that made her shiver in her skin.


Jealousy vied with lust as she watched from the corner of the room. The lust was stronger because she knew exactly what the other was thinking and feeling. She could feel his hands on her skin, as surely as the other felt his hands on green and brown scaled. The woman didn’t speak the language that he and the other shared, but she knew what they were saying, every word and every whisper. She also knew that she was dreaming with her eyes wide open and her hand between her legs.

At that moment, she didn’t care that it wasn’t her body that he was touching. She didn’t care that the whispers of adoration weren’t meant for her ears. She heard them, and in her twisted mind, she owned the words and the emotions in them. In her mind, she was his Brigid, his Cihuacoatl, his Nü-Kua. She was every goddess that he called out to when he made love. She was his everything – and he was hers.

After her orgasm, she slept, tucked in the bed she hadn’t left, and dreamt of her husband and her master and green scales covering her body where luxurious black hair had once been, words of love in a language she only understood in her dream and afternoons sleeping on a warm rock in the desert in her lover’s arms.


“Why, again, is this potion more appropriate than the one I requested?”

“The potion you requested is very hard on the body – excuse the pun,” Snape dared to look up from his kneeling position, hoping for some kind of smile from the Dark Lord. When he did not receive one, he continued, “Without something to get the body used to the changes, the Beloved’s Bloodlust potion would be dangerous.”

“How?”

“This potion forces the body into false puberty by stimulating the brain to send hormone signals to rest of body. The other would bombard your system with chemical signals that the immature body wouldn’t know what to do with. It takes time for the human body to get used to the hormones, before anything can really happen. I can’t force super-adult functioning from a body that is still hasn’t gone through puberty.”

“Are you saying…?”

Snape hurried to explain, “When Pettigrew failed to create your new body properly, you were left with the inability to…”

“Yes,” Voldemort interrupted. “I know. You’re wasting my time, Severus.” His voice was high and cold; his eyes flashed crimson.

‘What else would you be doing, – reading a magazine or cutting your toenails?’ Snape clamped down on the sarcastic comment that sprang to life in his head. He sank into extreme deference to combat the nasty thought. “My lord, your body must be prepared for the potion that you want. This potion will force your body to produce the hormones and chemicals that it is supposed to – that it would be doing already had Pettigrew not botched your resurrection.”

Voldemort demanded from his velvet upholstered throne, “Why wasn’t this done with the last potion you tried?”

“The other was a more simple one, my lord. It was designed to affect the symptom, not the problem itself. The reaction…”

“Yes, the reaction. Show me the ingredient’s list,” commanded Voldemort and held out his hand.

Snape delivered the paper and sat back on his haunches, opening his mind to the making of the potion and the conversation he’d had before he started making it. He allowed the staged conversation he’d had with Dumbledore to creep into his open thoughts – they’d discussed how the potion would affect the Dark Lord, with Snape saying that the virility potions were just an experiment for the Death Eaters. Dumbledore had nodded sagely and said something about a new influx of students in the coming years that they’d have to keep an eye on. After that, chopping, grinding and stirring filled his thoughts until he felt the fingers of Voldemort retreating from probable boredom.

“And when I drink this?”

“You should expect hair growth and deepening of voice, possibly. Also expect testicular growth, and some function – but not much. The centaur testicle and testosterone will give you the testosterone needed, but it can only be in such minute amounts, due to safety concerns. Every week, I’ll add more to the potion and you’ll go through a rather fast puberty.”

“Excellent,” Voldemort said with a terrifying smile that was probably meant to be paternal. “How long will it take?”

“Approximately one month of weekly treatments,” Snape answered promptly. Had the potion been made to specifications, it should have only been daily doses for a week, but the Order needed time.

“One month then you’ll deliver the potion I requested?” Voldemort inquired almost too pleasantly.

Expecting the question and prepared to prevaricate, Snape said smoothly, “No, my lord.”

The only response was a drumming of Voldemort’s fingernails on the arm of his chair.

Snape studied the floor and continued, “During the last week of the administration of this potion, I will provide a vitamin supplement to help increase your overall health. At the end of the week, then I shall draw a small amount of your blood to use in the Beloved’s Bloodlust potion.”

“You want the potion and the woman’s body,” he couldn’t think of Jasmine as a person right now. She had to be ‘the woman’ until this was all over, “to be keyed to you alone. Your blood will be combined in the potion to do just that.”

“How long, Severus?” The question was an irritated caress.

“Six months, twelve days.”

Voldemort sat for a moment, an odd, twisted smile on his odd, twisted face before he said, “A belated birthday present then.”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“Excellent. Now tell me, how is Lucius adjusting to life out of prison?”

Used to the abrupt subject changes, Snape wasn’t surprised. Instead, he said, “I believe he is doing well and awaiting your orders, as the others are. He did ask me to deliver this,” Snape tugged a pouch from his cloak pocket and handed it to Voldemort.

“Just tell him and the others to be as discreet as they can in the coming weeks. I don’t want any more attention drawn to them. I am only waiting for the Lestranges and Dolohov to get out of Azkaban – again?” He asked while opening the pouch.

“Rookwood and Mulciber, too, my lord.”

“Those two are useless. I ought to leave them to rot,” Voldemort grumbled while he lifted several smaller bags from the pouch. It sounded strange with his high voice, but Snape would never have said so.

“As you say,’ he supplied instead, with a wry half smile.

Chuckling at his own humor, Voldemort asked, “Isn’t it always ‘how I say’?”

Snape snickered and returned the volley, “Isn’t that the point?”

“Well, yes,” Voldemort allowed, raising his hands into a why-not gesture.

Voldemort looked almost paternal when he waved the small bags from Malfoy, leaned over and said, “You know I won’t leave them there, don’t you?”

“I did not think that you would abandon your followers.”

“Oh? What would you do?”

Severus paused and wondered if he should tell the truth or work on his appeasement skills. Trying a combination, he said, “They did get caught.”

“That they did,” Voldemort said, looking irritated once again and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingertip.

“If one is stupid enough to get caught, one should either be man enough to take the punishment or clever enough to get out of it.” It seemed like a simple enough philosophy to Severus.

“True. You are correct, however, I am sorely lacking in loyal followers at the moment.”

“Getting them out of Azkaban a second time would certainly earn you a great deal of gratitude.”

“That is my thought on the matter, Severus. Who do you think should go and fetch them?”

Dreading what was coming next, he said, “As Bellatrix knows Azkaban so … intimately, she would be a good choice.”

Tracing one long fingernail over the armrest of the chair, Voldemort said, “I would hate for her to go alone.”

Feeling as though he was throwing himself on his spear, Severus paused, trying to think of someone – anyone else who could try to break five convicted felons out of Azkaban – no one came to mind. “The old man will spit doxies.”

“A chance to infuriate Dumbledore. What a lovely idea,” Voldemort cackled, rubbing his scaly hands together in mocking glee.

“He’ll probably want to alert the guards.”

“No, no, he can’t do that. This is a test of your loyalty,” Voldemort said with absolutely no malice at all. He sounded almost bored when he said, “As you and Bella will be the only ones that know, should there be any wind of it, I’ll know it was you, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Voldemort closed his eyes and said clearly, “Bellatrix.”

Moments later, she entered the room looking tousled and sleepy. Immediately kneeling in the same position Snape had, she hid a yawn . Bella, however, inched to Voldemort and reached out a single finger to stroke the hem of his heavy robes. “My master, you called me and I came.”

Snape wanted to thank her for stating the obvious, but no sign of the thought crossed his face.

“I did and you are so delightfully obedient, my dearest Bella; so lovely and so worthy of your place by my side,” Voldemort said in what Snape could only describe as an affectionate tone.

“My beloved Bella, I must ask you to do something which I fear you will hate me for,” Voldemort began.

When the now-clichéd protestations of devotion slowed down under the gentle stroking of Voldemort’s boney hand through Bella’s hair, he continued, “I want you to be a hero for our cause. I need you to effect the escape of those in our band still trapped in that hell of Azkaban.”

Thinking now that the dementors were no longer confined to Azkaban Island, it was probably a much nicer place to visit, Snape discreetly moved one of his knees into a more comfortable position. He vowed to wear kneepads next time he was called. Of course, he’d vowed to wear kneepads for some twenty years and never had.

Looking at Bella’s frozen face, he wondered, not for the first time, if she’d ever be beautiful again. Once upon a time, Bellatrix Black had been one of the most beautiful women in the world. Azkaban had done terrible things to her once lush body and rather gifted mind. Now she was gaunt, wasted and her mind was filled with … Snape couldn’t imagine what went on in Bella’s mind. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to. He watched as she sank into the floor, tears leaking from her eyes and chanting something unintelligible.

Slowly her chant became clearer. “Please don’t make me go back. Please don’t make me go back. Master, kill me first. Please don’t make me go back.”

With a flick of his hand, Voldemort levitated Bellatrix into the air and settled her on his lap, cradling her like a hurt toddler. Throwing her arms around his neck and shoulders, Bella bawled. Her cries, screeches and moans of abject terror echoed through the room. Snape was reminded of the many times that he and Arielle had sat that way – and how old it became when it was clear that the tears were just an excuse for attention. The Dark Lord, however, looked like a benevolent, though rather terrifying, grandfather gently patting Bella on the back and murmuring nonsense words of comfort and encouragement.

“My Bella, nothing can happen. Severus has made a nice Polyjuice Potion and you’re going to go in there looking like the Minister of Magic himself. Now tell me, would you like to look like Fudge?”

Snape thought his stomach might turn from the cooing and clucking sounds the Dark Lord made.

Bella hiccoughed and nodded. Snape was surprised she didn’t wipe her dripping nose on her sleeve.

“You know that you’re the most wonderful girl. I couldn’t manage without you, now could I? ”

Again Bella nodded, looking slightly mutinous.

Voldemort lifted Bella’s chin with one long, bone-white finger. “You are a treasure, dearest Bella. So loyal and intelligent and more cunning than Salazar Slytherin himself. I could not be the man I am without you; I could not have achieved anything without you by my side. You are my best, my most loyal servant.”

Bellatrix’s only response was a sniffle of fear.

“My Bella, you have given so much to this cause, so much of your life has been spent on this one push toward greatness, toward the raising up of our world to the status that it should hold – so much. Your blood, your tears – even your freedom have been sacrificed for our cause – your cause. Is this not a small thing? Of all that we have been through, is this not a small sacrifice for the greater good?” Voldemort’s high voice was warm and comforting.

Nodding like a frightened child, Bellatrix sniffled more.

Voldemort coaxed, “Think of the rewards… think of being reunited with you husband. Think of Rodolphus.”

Bellatrix shrugged, her pointed face pinching into a moue of disgust.

Stroking her shoulders and back, Voldemort tucked his face closer into Bella’s neck and murmured just loud enough for Snape to hear, “I know you want your husband back, my Bella. I know you miss him.”

Raising her head to look at her master, Bellatrix croaked, “But he was caught - again. He did not serve you well. He was stupid and you can not tolerate such things, my lord.”

“No, but I need you to be happy. I know that with Rodolphus, you can be happy.” He stroked a finger down her chest, between her pitifully wasted breasts. “He is here, in your heart. Don’t you love your husband?”

Her nod was broken and her only sound was a hiccough and sigh.

“Then get him. Do it for your love and for your reward for such excellent service to me.”

Her face twisted into a question.

“I want you to be happy, Bella. Remember how happy you were in your husband’s arms?” Voldemort snugged his arms tighter around her. She pressed her body into his chest.

Voldemort massaged her neck and said in a low voice, “I know you miss his arms around you at night and I know you yearn for his kisses to wake you the morning. I see it every time I look into your eyes. Your passion is the stuff of legends, Bella.” Voldemort leaned in closer, his mouth just behind Bellatrix’s ear. She shuddered in delight when he continued. “Remember the night you both blew up that bridge in Surry? It was Christmas. You spent the rest of the night celebrating your victory with Rodolphus.” He skimmed a long fingernail down the back of her neck. “Do you remember that night?”

Obviously aroused, Bellatrix whispered, “Yes.”

Smiling, though keeping his snakelike fangs covered, Voldemort whispered back, “I remember that night. I could hear your pleasure three rooms away. I could feel the energy of your passion from this very room - this very chair. I could smell the scent of your sex that night. Do you know that?” He looked into her heavy lidded eyes.

Shaking her head, she looked embarrassed and titillated.

“I was jealous of Rodolphus that night.” Voldemort murmured into Bellatrix’s ear before he leaned back, waiting for her reaction.

Snape was surprised at the Dark Lord’s admission. Revelation or lie? Severus was unsure and silently continued to observe, wondering why he was allowed to witness such an intimate scene.

She gasped and wiggled closer. “Master…”

“You are everything a man could want in a mate, lovely Bella. Beautiful and intelligent and,” Voldemort took a deep breath near her neck once again, his mouth open and tongue flicking the air just over her skin, “very, very desirable.”

Moaning in delight, Bellatrix moved to kiss him.

Pushing her back by the shoulders then lifting a single warning finger, Voldemort said in a slightly harsh tone, “No! Do not!” Crimson eyes narrowed in warning and he continued, “Do not say another word. Bella, your vows are both sacred and Unbreakable. Your life will not be forfeit for the dissolution of your marriage and there will be no dissention in my ranks because of petty lusts and or love scorned.”

“But I love you!” Bella proclaimed.

“And I love you, too, but not in the way that you need and want to be loved. ‘Tis not me that you want. Your husband is everything that you need, not a twisted old man that is more of a father than lover to you.”

“But…”

“And you know that I am to have another – not for love, but for power. You know that I must always concentrate on our cause. You know, my most beautiful girl, that even I must sacrifice for the greater good anything less would prove me half a man and none the leader that you need.”

Snape silently wondered if Voldemort did it on purpose – keeping Bellatrix in line by keeping her confused and on the knife-edge of lustful insanity. Advance and reject was a cruel but apparently effective game to be played with Bellatrix Lestrange. Rather disgusted by the assertion of desire from the Dark Lord, Snape shifted slightly and filed the memory away under “Minion Control” for Dumbledore’s viewing later.

Disappointment written all over her face and the tensing of her fingers as she clutched Voldemort ’s robes, Bellatrix nodded and made to slither off of his lap.

Cupping her cheek, he stopped her. “Go to Azkaban and then come home to me.”

“For you, I will.” It was only a slight pout, but it was there. She did not relax, but seemed to be tensing more.

“You are a good girl, Bella.”

“A Mud… er… Muggleborn wouldn’t think so,” she said, her entire body stiff.

Snape held his breath. Bellatrix was treading on dangerous ground with a lead-off like that.

Voldemort considered her words. His long fingers caressed her cheek but all in the room knew that he could break her jaw or even her neck on a whim. She sat ramrod straight on his knees.

Conversationally, he asked, “Did you know that Severus is a half-blood?”

She nodded silently. It looked grudging.

“Do you think less of him for that?”

Thinking for a moment, and then taking a deep breath, she nodded again. It was a hesitant and small movement, but it was there.

Snape clenched his teeth but kept his face carefully neutral. He knew that she – that they all thought that they were better than he. Never had it been said directly in front of him, though. Fingers curling into a fist hidden in the folds of his robes, Snape resisted the urge to attack as fury and shame rushed through him.

“Even though he is my favorite?”

Protesting, she almost yelled, “But…!”

Calmly, Voldemort spoke again, “We share a great deal, Severus and I.”

Instantly pleased, the wave of shame and fury disappeared, only to be replaced by pride and a certain childish feeling of smug vindication.

“Mothers from the most noble lineage and fathers – alas, fathers who did not deserve to anywhere near even the shadow of a pureblood witch.”

Long ago, the Dark Lord had told Snape the pitiful tale of the stupid woman, Merope Gaunt, who had fallen in love with a Muggle and had born a son who was cast off into a Muggle orphanage. Snape had told Voldemort of spoiled, wealthy Eileen Prince who had caused a minor scandal in falling in lust with her gardener’s son, ran away to marry and was summarily struck from the family tree. Both of them had known that the tales were told to inspire empathy and loyalty. Snape could never help but feeling a kinship toward the Dark Lord – a kinship that could never be shared by the other Death Eaters.

“Every contact that I have had with Muggles, since I was but a child has shown me that they are evil, dangerous and stupid. Long ago, I disowned any association to them but taking what I pleased – what would suit me.”

“I don’t understand,” said Bellatrix.

Impatiently, Voldemort said, “Bella, look around you! This house, the food that you eat, even the pretty dresses that I bought for you when you left prison – all came from the Muggles, either from the beloved family that I killed or from the money that Malfoy makes for me in their financial markets. They are mules. They are animals to be just subjugated to the will of those that are superior to them – those with wizard’s blood. They are fine for labor but they need not be protected like infants – they should be made servants. Even the lowly house elf is superior because it is a magical creature. Muggles look like us, breeds like us, they provide a stepping stone for us – but they are as they always have been less than we are. It is our duty to free our brothers - your husband – fellow wizards to continue the fight against those that would stop wizards from ruling in their rightful place over all creatures! It is a duty for only my best and brightest! Do you count yourself among those?”

Bella muttered her assent.

“Are you my best, Bellatrix?”

“Yes!”

“Then show me. Prove to me that you’re the best.”

Snape quirked his eyebrow at Bella and offered the obligatory smug smile when she looked at him with challenge and derision.

Looking to Voldemort again, she knelt and said in a clear tone that belied her subservient position, “I would do anything.”

“Go and get my Death Eaters. Bring them all back.”

Marshalling herself to her cause and her lord, Bellatrix looked up, saying, “I’ll go. I’ll not disappoint you again, master.”

“Good girl!” Voldemort said heartily. “Do it tomorrow in the early morning, just before the guards the Ministry hired to replace the dementors, change shifts for the day. They’ll be tired and easily confused then. For now, I want you to go rest, my Bella.”

After she kissed the hem of his robes, stood and strode out, Voldemort looked back to Snape. “You’re thinking deep thoughts.”

Snape nodded, allowing an expression of curious belligerence. He asked, “Are we all so easily manipulated?”

Contemplating the answer – or killing time – Voldemort was silent for a moment. A wry smile parted his lips, showing a single, snakelike fang. “Each and every one of my Death Eaters entered into my service for a reason. Every reason is different, just as every reason is valid. I am not above reminding you all of those reasons as we journey to the fulfillment of all of our goals.”

Taking the non-answer for what it was meant to be, Snape allowed himself to be excused. As he bowed out, he saw Voldemort looking into the mirror on the far wall – the mirror that showed Jasmine sitting inside of the Three Flowers, with Arielle in her lap.


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