Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

365 Days (1 year)	By : wherdatcomfrom Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 17501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
Chapter Seven: One Day at a Time
Once Viktor had explained what had happened to Narcissa, the elves packed up their things and he took her and the baby on the cart for the arduous journey to Viktor's home. They avoided Veliko, and the main roads, so it was slow going most of the way. When they reached their destination, Viktor introduced his mother to his lover's and told them both his news.
Hester Krum was old fashioned, but even without a proper bonding, Viktor's unborn child announced the connection with the Malfoys, claiming them as family, so she welcomed the two females and sent her husband and other son to find out what was happening to the Malfoy men.
Draco sighed when he saw Viktor moving through the crowd. He and his father were doomed, but his mother and baby Constellation would be safe and that was a relief. The spell that had stunned them wore off and they were dropped into a public building where an emergency international floo was set up. Here they were transported out of the country with little interference.
Less than a day later, they were about to be presented to the Dark Lord.
“So, Mr. Flint. Welcome to my court. Tell me what you've brought me.” Voldemort's voice was sickly sweet and Minerva felt her skin crawl. Marcus stood behind his father, his shields up and his back stiff.
“My Lord, we found this dear little one hiding in a castle in Ireland.” he pushed the half-blood forward and she fell to the Dark Lord's feet, her long curly hair falling to obscure her face.
“Well, well. And what is your name, my pretty little one?” when she looked up, Marcus could see the fear that was petrifying her.
“Her name is Penelope Clearwater, Ravenclaw.” he said and Minerva smiled his way.
Marcus had been schooled in such skills as flying, hexes and occlumency from childhood, mainly because his father thought him weak, and he never expected that a look of pure thankfulness would affect him like this did. He threw more bracers to his shields and nodded minutely to her before he looked back toward his father and the Dark Lord.
“Thank you, Young Mr. Flint. Now, keep silent while I speak with Miss Clearwater.” the Dark Lord snarled his way, hissing out the sibilant parts of his speech. “Now, Miss Clearwater, tell me what you were doing in that castle.”
“I . . . I was h-hiding. I d-didn't want t-to be k-killed.” she stumbled out.
“What made you think that you would die, my sweet?” Voldemort said.
“I'm not a pure-blood.” she whispered.
“Are you a mudblood?” he ventured and the echo of a gasp came from several places in the room. The Dark Lord turned and regarded his wife, his slaves and one particular Death Eater. “Do I offend you all?”
No one answered, but Penelope shook her head. When the snake-faced wizard looked down at her she mumbled out, “half-blood, I'm a half.”
“Ah, you see. You had nothing to fear. Take her to one of the open rooms, let her bathe and feed her. She'll meet her future soon enough. And Flint, teach your son to keep his silence.” With that the group was dismissed. Marcus followed his father out and watched as Penelope was dragged off in another direction.
“What will they do to her?” he asked and his father hissed at him, dragging him by an arm toward a secluded office.
“None of your business, boy. You are to keep your council and avoid punishment. That is the only business we have.”
“But, I'm the one who found her. I feel responsible.”
“How were you ever sorted into Slytherin?” his father snarled and Marcus chose now to take the man's advice. He would never tell the man the truth about his sorting, and it would go with him to his grave. “She will likely become a breeder, so rest your mind. She'll live, so long as she can bear young whose blood is less tainted than her own.”
“And if she had been a muggleborn?”
“Then her future would be bleaker. The muggleborns have been distributed as slaves and workers. No one is allowed to breed one, and they are forced to do labor without magic. It is not a good life, even for a mudblood.”
“And what about us?” Marcus was more afraid of this answer than any before it.
“We will do whatever the Dark Lord wants. Likely it will be only breeding, but if he needs torture done, then we will do it. Now, come along. Our rooms are this way.”
“Why does he stay here, within the Ministry?”

“As a statement to those who still think there is hope. He is the government. Also, he plans to move on, but has yet to choose a suitable location.”
“Oh.” Marcus was led to the suite of rooms his father kept, where his mother waited with his little brother, Lawrence. The boy, barely ten years old, rushed to embrace his older brother and took him to the room where he was to stay.
While Marcus was settling into his new home, Lucius and Draco were arriving at the entrance to the Ministry, being dragged along by the Punishers who had escorted them this far. They landed on the floor of the throne room in front of the Dark Lord and Lucius was the only one to look up. Draco held his mind shut, clamping down harder than he had ever had to before.
“So, you thought you would be safe from my vengeance?”
“Tom, please.” McGonagall whispered behind him.
“Shut up, Woman. Lucius, things have changed since you left for your vacation. I believe you know my wife?”
Lucius was stunned as Voldemort stepped aside and allowed them a view of the woman in her tartan dress. Draco was faster, climbing to his feet and reaching a hand. “You look wonderful, Mrs. . . .”
“Riddle, Draco. Mrs. Riddle. You're looking very healthy, as well.” she returned.
“Enough!” The Dark Lord shouted and Draco scurried back to his father. “I don't care for the changes in you, Lucius. Or in your son. What spell have you used on your hair?”
“N-no spell, m-my Lord” Lucius mumbled.
“What's that?”
“It's not a spell. M-muggle hair dye and a pair of shears. N-no spell.”
“Well, then a spell is in order. Revertus Foliculus.”
Now, both Malfoy's stood before the assembly with their familiar white/blond tresses. The elder blond's hair hung past his shoulders in sleek waves and Draco's was just past his ears, as he had worn it before the final battle.
“Thank you, My Lord.” the younger man said and Lucius turned a scathing look his way.
“Yes, young Draco. You may have been coerced to run from me, but I have ways to determine that. Legilimens.”
Draco had only seconds to throw up the shields he had learned from his aunt and Snape, but he made sure to leak out snippets of information, just enough to convince the Dark Lord that he was not responsible for their exodus, nor was his mother.
Lucius had drilled him for months on this, in order to prepare for this inevitability. The older man was willing to be sacrificed, if needed, to save his family, and if the ploy worked, at least Draco and the female members of the family would be safe.
It seemed to take hours, his feet and legs ached, but Draco stood steady. His eyes were dry and itchy by the time the Dark Lord released the spell and turned to his father.
“So, you run from me and take my loyal followers with you? Unforgivable, but I may allow you to redeem yourself.” The snake-faced man waved to the room. “Leave us, I want only the Malfoys and my wife here. Go!”
When the room was cleared, Draco felt the woman take his arm as he watched his Lord punish his father with various curses and hexes. Lucius writhed on the floor and each time he would have gone to his father, Minerva held him back, her face like stone and her hold just as firm.
“Shhh. He won't kill him.” she whispered and Draco turned to see if her expression had changed.
The curses ended just as abruptly as they had begun, leaving the blond aristocrat panting on his hands and knees. There were rips and bleeding cuts on his chest, arms and legs, but his face was spared any damage. He crawled over to kiss the base of Voldemort's robes and did not look up.
“Speak, Lucius.”
“Forgive me, My Lord. I was foolish and weak. I thought only of myself.”
“Yes, you did. I will allow you to win my forgiveness, by letting you participate in the rebuilding of the pure-blood population.”
“Thank you, My Lord.” Lucius said, but Minerva hissed a breath. Voldemort gave her a measured stare, then smirked.
“You will have a part in it, too, Young Malfoy.” When Draco looked confused he smiled and waved a wand. The doors opened for Mulciber and Rosier.
“Yes, My Lord?”
“Bring the astronomy and flight witches.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Now, here is how you can gain my approval. The two ladies are still at a prime age, but have never married. One is pure-blood, one half. So you need only impregnate them, and I will be pleased.”
“Impregnate, My Lord?”
“It is not a difficult concept, Lucius. I want more pure children. You will make them. No one will be allowed to rest with one heir and allow the mudbloods to overcome us in the future. We've suffered losses, but we will rise again.”
Lucius slowly raised a hand, “But, my wife . .”
“When she is brought back home, I will explain to her. She will understand, as have others in my court. Your peers have already begun to populate, and you, as well as your son, will join them.”
Draco had been watching his father, but when the Dark Lord mentioned him, his attention was jerked away from the other blond. Before he could speak, a squeeze of his arm, from his ex-transfiguration professor, held his tongue.
“Now, Lucius. Are you prepared to cooperate?”
Lucius nodded slowly, a stunned look on his face. The doors opened and Mulciber entered with two women, held by their arms.
Madame Hooch was on his right, her torn robes hanging off of her shoulders, but her chin up and her back straight. Aurora Sinistra huddled behind her, face haunted and eyes unfocussed. Off to the side, Rosier glared at her and she whimpered.
“Choose your first mate, Lucius. The other you can take with to your new quarters and bed her there.”

“My Lord, . . . do you mean for me to . . . .here?”
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean. We'll keep it to just the six of us, but you will be expected to complete the act, one time, for us.”
When Lucius hesitated again, Voldemort raised his wand. Draco gasped and Lucius gave him a warning look. “I choose the one on the left. She seems stronger.”

“A good chose. Mulciber, take the other to the red room. Stay outside and guard the door. I'm afraid you'll have to miss the show.”
The man bowed and Rolanda pulled free. He hauled Aurora out of the room and closed the door behind them. Voldemort turned to the other death eater. “Rosier! Set up the bed for the happy couple.”
It didn't take long enough and Lucius was trying to stall when the area around the bed was cleared of debris and people. Voldemort would not accept it, and insisted they begin. Rolanda huffed and stormed over to the blond.
“Come on then, Mr. Malfoy. And I hope you make a better showing for yourself than these others.” She said, stripping off the tattered robes and hopping onto the bed.
Rosier gave Lucius a push and he staggered across the room. Draco watched, mesmerized and in shock, as his father stripped and climbed over his flying instructor. Only the periodic tensing of McGonagall's fingers on his elbow kept him grounded in the here and now.
When it was over, Lucius held himself stiffly over the woman, his body, his shoulders, jerking spasmodically. Rolanda waited silently, until he crawled away and wiped his face on the sheets.
“Not bad, Mr. Malfoy. Better than that lot.” She said, angling her head at Rosier. This brought a bark of laughter from Voldemort, which was echoed by Minerva's chuckles.
“Tom, don't you think the Malfoy's should be allowed to clean up, before dinner?” The woman asked and Voldemort turned her way. Draco was shocked at his appearance. Gone was the snake-faced evil villain, replaced by a handsome man of around twenty.
“Why, yes, my Love. Rosier, get Yaxley and Nott. Have them take our guests to their rooms and then go and fetch some of their things from the manor.”
The Dark Lord reached for his wife and she finally released Draco's arm. He was surprised he could hold himself up as they walked through the door. When they were gone, leaving the two blonds alone with Hooch, Draco dropped to his knees and wretched on the floor.
Ginny was shopping for some of the supplies she would need during the month that Carrow was gone, when she found a familiar head behind a muggle dumpster.
“Luna? Is that you?” she cried as she rushed forward and embraced her year-mate. “Come with me. You’re freezing.”
When they reached Grimmauld, Luna pulled a bag from pocket and put it onto the table in Lance's room. They baby slept soundly, just as he had when Ginny had left, forced to go out without him when supplies ran low. He was guarded by her wards, and they would warn her if he woke, or needed her for any reason, so she had felt secure enough. Now, as he slept, she watched Luna pull item after item from the tiny beaded bag and display them for her.
“Hermione gave this to me, and I hid it just before the battle. I went and got it when they let me go. I thought we could use it.” She spread out the haul, a bezoar, a snatcher's wand, a small stone, a stack of books and some clothes. These were mostly muggle wear, but some would be warm and some were men's clothing. There was a beautiful red dress that Ginny remembered from Bill and Fleur's wedding.
“What are these?” she asked pointing to the stone and a small dagger. Luna shrugged and continued to empty the bag.
“They called to me. The stone was in the forest near the school and the dagger was in the ruins. I don't know what they are.”
“This is Harry's cloak. How did you get it?”
“It was in the bag. Hermione got it. I'm just holding it for them. How old is the baby?”

Ginny was aware that she was being put off, but talking about Lance was something she had never been allowed to indulge in. “He's two months. He looks like Bill, doesn't he?”
“I thought he was more like Charlie. Or maybe Ron.”
“No, not my Lancelot. He's a knight among men. Just like Bill. His hair isn't as red as most of my sibs, but it may change as he grows. I keep him secret, because Carrow still comes here. I could use help for that. Sometimes, when he's here, Lance cries and I'm afraid he'll hear.”
“I'll watch him for you. I like babies.” Luna said and at that moment Lance woke and cooed at her voice. “He likes me.” she cried and Ginny smiled.
Ginny fed her son, while Luna took the stolen wand and prepared lunch for them. It was companionable and quiet, something that felt good after the tension and stress she had been under. Lance fell asleep in Luna's arm, and let himself be tucked into his crib, then the two girls sat with cups of tea and talked about their ordeals.
Luna had spent the last few months hiding and pilfering enough food to get by on, without magic or money, until she had managed to get to Hogwarts, or what remained of it, and find the bag. There had been some money, just a few galleons and a couple of knuts, and she had used it to buy food to keep going. She had heard the muggle shopkeeper talk about a red-haired girl who came in, dressed oddly, buying large amounts of food and disappearing for months at a time. So, she had deduced it to be Ginny, that Grimmauld was nearby, and that she would wait and find her old school mate and friend.
Now, as they talked, Ginny admitted that she had used a bit of Carrow's money to buy information, asking about her siblings and a certain Gryffindor boy, but had only found out the barest of details. Luna filled in what she could, telling her about her mother's whereabouts, that Ron had been injured and that Bill was often kept in the Dark Lord's own chambers.
When asked, neither girl could answer to the question of the location of the half-veela sister-in-law, and they feared the worst. Veela were not known to do well in captivity.
That night, they fell asleep sated, like no other meal than knowledge and comradeship could fill. They slept soundly, not hearing the door open early the next morning.
Bill screamed as the next curse hit him and his intestines lurched and twisted. This particular curse, after a modification by the Dark Lord, could redirect internal organs in such a way that the victim would not be able to process food and eventually be poisoned by their own wastes. Bill was one of the lucky ones not to be subjected to its full force.
Voldemort cut the curse and watched him curl up, trying to keep from adding strain to his abused insides. The laughter of the snake-faced wizard mocked him and made his skin crawl.
“I'm waiting,” the Dark Lord said and Bill tried to remember what he was expected to do. It came to him, just in time, that he had to say how the spell had made him feel. It's effects.
“A-all of m-my g-guts feel t-tight.”
“Tight? Describe it.”
“Y-yeah. L-like they've shrunken.”
“Anything else?”
“I th-think I'm gonna hurl.”
“Really? Hmmm. Go on, then.”
Bill crawled to the edge of the bed, sure that Voldemort would not appreciate his vomit on the sheets, and threw up on the floor. A quick wave of the elder wand and the puke was gone, smell, mess and all. He looked up through glazed eyes to see the man watching him.
“And, now?”
“My belly feels like a rock. Solid and hard.” Bill admitted, feeling weak and submissive. The other wizard smiled.
“That's interesting. On your knees. I want to feel this.”
Bill crawled to all-fours, waiting as the man rubbed a hand over his stomach, tutting and tsking all the while. Without warning, Voldemort put out his hand and a potion bottle flew toward him. He shoved in roughly into Bill's hole and wedged it into place. As it emptied, Bill felt his insides fill, the potion expanding within him. He was soon filled to bursting, unable to relieve the feeling by the bottle in his sphincter. He moaned with the strain and felt the hand run lower, rubbing his entire abdomen.
“This is something fun. Look at yourself.” he ordered and Bill focused on his body, seeing himself bloated and swelling from the potion's effects. He looked bloody pregnant.
“I'm . . .”
“Quiet. I'll tell you when I want to hear from you.” Voldemort snapped, pushing Bill's head to the bed, his arms bending from the force and his chest inches from the sheets. The distended bit of himself was now pressed within the space available, a strange feeling that he wasn't comfortable with. “Like a pretty girl, filled with my gift. I think I'll like playing with you, Billy-girl.”
“What is that?”
“Just a little expanding potion. It won't damage you, at all.”
“It feels . . . strange. Is this what a woman feels?”
“How would I know that, Billy-girl?”
“I thought . . . . haven't you . . . don't you . . .”
“My experiences with women are not your business, my pretty one. Now, roll over. I want to play with you on your back.”
Bill rolled and the Dark Lord stretched him out, forcing those tight insides to elongate, and the belly to rise to its full height in front of him. “Oh, Merlin!”
Laughter met his shock and fear, the desire to run at war with his knowledge that danger would follow him in that case. He lay there, wide-eyed, staring at the huge expanse of his belly, pumped so full of Voldemort's potion that anyone seeing it might think he was carrying twins, or worse.
“Now, I can activate the next part of the potion with an incantation, and then we can play. Petrificus Rectum Impregnus.” Now the Dark Lord pulled the bottle free, tossing it aside and pushing the wand into the available space. “Evictus Phallus.” Another spell and the wand was shifted and Bill's anus felt empty. “And lastly, Lubicattum. Now you are ready for me.”
The Dark Lord entered him with a swift thrust, shoving in so hard that the heavy potion pushed against his hard stomach, causing the belly bump to shift and roll, rocking with the movements and restricting his breathing, causing pains that were so odd he wasn't sure how to react. “Oh, Merlin. Oh, Gods, help me.” he whispered, the pain being increased when Voldemort pushed his knees up, to the sides of the mutation on his body. The Dark Lord leaned forward, pressing the belly down and groaning at Bill.
“Tell me how it feels. I can feel it nudging me.”

“It's pushing down on my bladder.” Bill admitted, a bit afraid that he would lose control.
“Oh, I see. Accio Wand.” a vaguely familiar wand flew across the room, landing in the Dark Lord's hand. Voldemort shoved it, pointed end first, into the slit of his penis, making Bill scream again with pain and discomfort. “Incarcerous.” The wizard added, shooting small ropes out of his own wand that bound Bill's cock and balls, keeping the wand in place as well as separating and detaining his two sacks. When Voldemort dropped back, Bill knew that no pee would escape, and he could feel the body above him crushing his groin onto the false belly, wand, ropes and all.
After a grueling long time, the Dark Lord stiffened and blessed Bill with more of his gifts, adding his seed to the hardened potion inside of the redhead. Then, to make things even weirder, Voldemort chanted, Mobilus Rectum Impregnus, and the lump in his belly began to move, jabbing out and shifting around inside of him. Bill passed out, the shock of the experience too much for his abused body.

“Follow me, Harry.” Helga turned into a room where there was a desk, a chair and a soft leather couch. It looked like his uncle's den on Privet Drive. “Have a seat.”
“Is this your office?” he asked as he settled onto the comfortable cushions.
“Oh, goodness no. This is Salazar's place when he comes here.” She tittered.
“Salazar . . . Slytherin?” Harry looked up sharply.
“When he chooses. Harry, Salazar has been watching you. He is very impressed, but I should warn you. He has a bit of a temper. You have strained his patience in the past.”
“I'm sorry.” Harry didn't know what else to say.
“Oh, pish posh. For now, let us talk about your trip back to England.”
“I still can't believe that it's possible. Death is permanent.” Helga gave him a look and he blushed scarlet. “Okay, so I've been killed twice, but most of the time . . .”
“You are the one we are sending back to the living. You will lead the main group of exceptions back through the veil. The other brigade must be returned to their sleeping bodies.”
“How will I know the way?”
“The same way that you knew how to get here.”
“It took so long to make that trip.”
“Ah, but the return will be much faster.”
“Helga, I think you're mistaken about me.”
“Do you? Well, I could ask Salazar. He chose you. Wait here.” She exited before he could stop her and his anxiety doubled by the time she returned. “Here he is. He has expressed disbelief in his abilities.”
“Yes, he has that problem.” The voice that followed her was so familiar that Harry flew to his feet. “Harry, I'm so pleased to see you.”
“You! You're the . . the . . the Hat!”
“Yes, one of my roles includes sorting the students into their houses. You gave me some difficulty, and I was tempted to place you against your wishes. Things would have been much easier for many of your fellow students, if you had only cooperated.”
“But, how could I have helped by being in Slytherin house?”

The man waved his hand and smirked. “Water under the bridge. Now, we have a great deal to discuss. Have you seen the windows?”
“Oh, was he supposed to go there first?” Helga gasped.
“Not precisely. I will show them to you, later.”

“You said that the hat is one of your roles. What other roles do you have?”
Salazar leaned back, rubbing the dark goatee on his chin. “I suppose I could tell you. You may need to know.”
Harry waited as he considered, looking back at Helga near the door. She smiled at him and winked, slyly.
“My first visit to Earth, was before what you know as written history. I was called Ra by the people and my magic was previously unseen. They called me God. Others called me Zeus and Herod. I've been Yahweh and Jehovah.”
“You were all of those?”
“I have been many others, too. Helga, Godric, Rowena and I have lived many times on your world. Each time we come, we leave behind magic and it filters to other humans.”
“So, the magic is from you?”
“Yes. In your country, it started when Poseidon fell in love and took the body of a mortal named Merlin. We came to retrieve him, but the damage was done. Merlin, Morgana, Arthur, Guinevere and Kay. All had magic when we left. All did selfish, foolish things. Only one man, a mortal without powers could save the world.”
“Who?” Harry huffed out.
“A man named Alan. He was a minstrel, and he wove quite a tale about the deeds done by magic folk.”
“Alan A'dale?” Harry bent down, rubbing his temples as he remembered the old stories that his primary school teacher had told. “That was Robin Hood, not King Arthur.”
“Yes, Robin was the lad that Poseidon took. He is famous still, then? Since that, we have been more careful. If we take a host, we stay until that body is dead, or arrange for teaching of the new wizard.”
“But, what about the person whose life you interrupted?” Harry said.
“We are careful now, to only choose those whom we know to be a hindrance to the smooth flow of life around them. Barring that, we have found ways to negate our visit's harmful effects.” Salazar leaned back and let one hand rest on the desk, tapping lightly with two fingers.
“Voldemort? Was he one of your victims?”
“No. Tom Riddle is the result of lost contact between those who have magic and those who pass it along. There is too much inbreeding among the houses in Britain and those they call Squibs are merely one of the results. These non-magic relations are sent off to live as muggles and their magic resurfaces in the form of muggleborns, generations later. The Riddles were descended from squibs and their line was one of mine. They crossed it with the Gaunt blood and the child was so suffused that his mind was damaged. There is no hope for Voldemort, as he calls himself. Oh, and he was not my heir, that would be You.”
“What?”
“I chose my heir, not by blood, though you would find you have that, through your mother, but by blessing. You speak to snakes and heard Tom's thoughts, because I passed on those blessings upon your birth. Tom could not hear your thoughts.”
“So, I didn't need occlumency?”
“No. That would have been helpful. We will make sure you learn it, before we go, but it was not what kept Tom from your mind.”

“We?”
“Oh, we shall all be there, when you face off this time. I have already chosen my vehicle. He is in position, and ready to give me his body.”
“Give?”.
“Yes, didn't I mention that? We only take willing hosts. When you go back, I'll be there, to greet you, as will the others. You'll know us, immediately.” Salazar stood and walked toward the door. “Oh, and it is not your job to kill Tom, just so you know it. That duty falls to another. You have done your part in the prophecy. Now, you must be part of the troops that back the man who will rid the world of the Dark Lord.”
“I'm not . . . .”
“Come, I promised to show you the windows.”
The Dark Lord and McGonagull stood in the entry to the manor and he glared at the big Death Eater. “So, Dolohov, you know what I require. Take That away and give us a tour of your facilities.”
“Yes, My Lord.” the man said, dragging Bellatrix along and shoving her toward the stairs. He pushed her into a room, cast a few quick spells to keep her occupied, and then led the way down the halls. He stopped and opened doors, showing the playrooms, the bedrooms and the nursery.
Molly nearly dropped the baby in her arms as the door flew open and the Dark Lord sauntered in. She put the child into a crib and dropped to her knees, not wanting a repeat of the last time that Voldemort had come to the Manor.
That time had been shortly after her own arrival, she was taken to this room, where only two small children were placed into cribs and their deliverers stepped away and proceeded to ignore them. Molly was restrained by Dolohov, and the Dark Lord entered.
“You have two choices, Molly Prewett. You will remain here, under the control of my Death Eater, and care for these little ones, or you will be taken to my cells, for the use of those who have not pleased me as much. Will you care for these orphans, or leave them to the mercies of those who don't care about them?”
“I c-can't . . . I'm n-not . . .”
“I will not listen to excuses. What is your answer?” he snapped and the babies began to cry louder.
“I'll care for them.” she rushed out and ran to collect the closest baby. The Dark Lord smiled and nodded to her.
“Good, now you should thank me.” he said. She noted is stance, his head high and one foot slightly before the other. She tucked the baby under her arm, cradling it carefully, and shifted closer. “On your knees, I think.” he added and she quickly lowered and wrapped the baby tighter in her arm. She crawled on one arm and two knees, stopping just shy of his robes. “Now, thank me and show deference to your master. Your Lord.”
Molly was quick to understand, even as she did now. She had lifted the hem of his robes, placed it to her lips and whispered as she kissed the fabric. “Thank you, Lord Voldemort for giving me this duty to perform for you.”
The man was surprised, that was obvious from his expression and the bark of laughter that followed, but he had not punished her for her audacity and she counted it as a blessing.
This trip had another purpose. The Dark Lord still required her deference, her homage, but with it was a more casual visit. The ease that he walked around the room and the woman who accompanied him made Molly more wary of him.
“My wife wanted to visit with our grandchildren, to see how they, and their mothers, were doing. I've seen some of the rooms, but where are my daughters?” Voldemort hissed and Molly jumped.
“The mothers . . . are at craft lessons. Amelia is teaching them how to make things for the babies.”
“Amelia? Oh, Amelia Bones? The brightest witch of her time?” Molly didn't miss the way that Minerva tensed when he asked that.
“Amelia was on the Wizengamut.”

“Ssssh. No, we don't speak of that group. She's here and I wish to see her . . . and my girls. Take us there. You, go and fetch another witch to mind these.”

When Dolohov had fetched one of his drudges, the group made their way to the grand dining hall, where Amelia had set up a sewing and knitting class and the five mothers in residence were currently making sweaters and booties for their youngsters. Molly led them inside, opening the door and gesturing them forward. “Amelia, our Lord is come to see the girls doing their crafts. He's keen to meet you, as well.” Molly called in just as Voldemort swept past.
The room was like a carnival fun house, lined with mirrors, some of which were distorted and they reached all the way to the ceiling. The differences between these mirrors and the ones muggles used, is that these didn't reflect the person looking into them, or even what was showing in the other surfaces.
Harry shuffled from one to another, boggled by what he was seeing. He turned back to Salazar when he found a glass that showed his friend Ron, sitting in a filthy cell with one of his brothers, weaving together the straw from the floor to make a patch for his pants. “Is this what is happening? Now?”
“Each of these is a viewport to life. It shows the current condition of each person who is important to you."

AN: So, that was long. Hope it makes up for the long delay. Now, Harry isn't ready to return, just yet. And yes, thing'll be getting less hopeful, before they can get better. Sorry, it's a dark fic. As far as some of them are concerned, they might have preferred to die, about now. So, let's just see where I'm going next, shall we?
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365 Days (1 year)