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You Will Not Kiss Me	By : Prosperosdaughter Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Remus Views: 22836 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: JK Rowling & her associates own the Harry Potter universe and I make no money from my stories.

Chapter List
- 89
- 90
- 91
Disclaimer: All IPR owned by JKR.

Idris and Wandsong are mine.

Chapter 90: Tainted Triumph

"Now," growled Idris. "We'll be taking our dead to the mountain at twilight to say our farewell to them and light their pyres. That would be a good time for you to make your escape, Seth Moore."

"How many dead?" asked Lupin.

"Four of ours. We buried theirs in the forest."

Snape nodded.

"D'ye need anything more from me?"

"I should take the wizards with me when I escape. Did you take their wands?" Snape asked.

"Aye." Idris pulled out a handful of wands from his pocket and threw them on Alphard's desk. "I'll leave 'em here." He picked out five and gathered the rest. "I'll take those of the wolfkind."

Snape couldn't hide his amazement that Idris was able to identify which wands belonged to whom from their touch. "Will you give the werewolves theirs back, or give them to your pack?"

"These wands have used Dark magic. I'll not have any of my pack carry them. Don't like to snap wands, but ..." His face set like granite as he clearly contemplated the fate of the werewolves they held captive. "I may place 'em on the pyres of our dead. It'd be fittin'."

Snape and Lupin nodded, even as Alphard squeezed Idris's shoulder.

"Can a wand used for Dark magic influence another wizard them?" ventured Lupin.

"It taints the wand," said Idris, looking at Snape meaningfully. "And Dark magic always taints the one who uses it." Then, very slowly, Idris removed a pouch from his neck, an enchanted pouch, Snape was sure. From it, he pulled a wand, with a filigreed handle, dainty but long, slightly preposterous in his large, calloused hands.

"My Mam's wand," he said.

"I thought you were a half-blood," said Snape, and then cursed himself for such a thoughtless observation.

"That I am. My Mam was a Muggle-born witch. Caused quite a stink for Da when he married her." He placed the wand on the table, never taking his eyes from it. "I never knew her. She died in childbirth with me. But even when I was quite young, I could listen to her wand." Idris's expression became distant, lost in the memory. "It sang of her, gentle and kind, and I could bring forth her spells: charms mostly." Snape couldn't help but wonder at Idris's gift. Priori Incantatem was a difficult spell to work for an adult wizard or witch, but Idris could do it as a child. Snape suspected Idris had done it without incantation, but wordlessly with the deep magic of his ancient gift. "I carried it as my spare when I came to Hogwarts, although I rarely used it."

His dark eyes snapped back to the present. "When I was Turned and captured by Vargulf, Riddle used it to Torture me. He enjoyed defiling the pure wand. It's willow and Unicorn hair – a pretty wand for healing work," he said. "But I'll not use it. I cannot even call her spells without having to see this first." He passed his own hand over the wand and then turned away from a golden light that arced upwards and then it dropped and it formed the ghost of a boy – of Idris – silently screaming in agony, writhing and twitching on the floor. Idris cancelled the spell as Alphard hid his face in his hands.

It was like a window to the past, knowing the young man who became the Dark Lord stood behind that boy's mother's wand as he cast Crucio to get what he wanted. Always torture.

"Can it be cleansed of the Dark magic?" Snape asked. "Water it down with light magic perhaps? Disgorge the Dark and fill the wand with Light spells?"

"Dilute it?" asked Alphard, who was visibly shaken. "You mean use it for healing or other Light magic?"

"A wand takes a taint likes a man drinks water," said Idris gruffly. "The more a wand is used for murder and torture, the more it becomes a killer's tool." He looked at the wand again. "But there is something to what you say, but it can never be pure again." He placed the wand back in the pouch, then turned to Snape and Lupin once more.

"Tell me," rumbled Idris, "why Riddle seeks me once more? After all these years, why?"

"I believe it's to do with Harry Potter's wand," offered Snape.

Whatever Idris might have been expecting, it was clear that this answer was not it as his black brows shot upwards.

"Who the hell is Harry Potter?"

"Who the hell indeed ..." sighed Snape.

"Severus!" protested Lupin, weakly.

"I'm sorry, Remus. Harry Potter is a student at Hogwarts. He is 16 years old, and is the only person known to have survived the Killing Curse, cast at him by the Dark Lord when he was an infant."

"But no-one can survive the Killing Curse," interjected Idris.

"And yet he did," said Snape, turning to Alphard, "with just a scar."

"Dumbledore believes that when his mother, Lily, was killed casting herself between Harry and Voldemort," explained Lupin, breathlessly, "her sacrifice imbued her son with a protective enchantment so when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse, it rebounded on him."

Idris sat heavily in a chair and raked his hands across his facial stubble. "Old earth magic," he said.

"Yes, precisely," said Snape. "No trace was found of the Dark Lord, and it was widely assumed he had died, but Dumbledore knew he was just maimed – a shadow of himself. Dumbledore knew he would return. And he did. He used a Dark blood ritual to restore his form, trapping Harry Potter and using his blood to restore himself, hoping to take part of his mother's continuing protection into himself." He heard Alphard utter an imprecation, even as Idris stared at him, his dark eyes glittering.

"When he was restored, he made Harry duel him -" continued Lupin.

"- he duelled a child –?" interrupted Idris.

"- without compunction," continued Snape. "But when their spells met, their wands seemed to connect and neither could break the connection and the Dark Lord's wand's previous spells were disgorged, including shadows of his murder victims who covered the child's escape."

Telling this story to the man who could hear Wandsong, Snape wished Idris was a more talkative man so he could know what Idris thought at an instinctive level.

"Tell me about this boy's wand."

"Harry's wand is holly and phoenix feather," Lupin said. "Voldemort's wand contains a feather from the same bird but I don't know the wood ..."

"Yew," said Idris quietly. Snape and Lupin stared at Idris, but he waved away their interest, clearly not wanting to tell that story this day. "So the twin cores' spells met and forced priori incantatem of his last spells including his murders ... what colour was the stream?"

Lupin looked confused, but Snape quickly supplied, "Gold. Dumbledore told me it was gold."

The air in the tent was tense as three men watched the other consider what he'd been told. Finally, Idris broke the silence.

"I know now why Dumbledore came to see us. Riddle's wand cannot beat the boy's. The old protective magic he imbibed so freely means Potter's wand is stronger. The wand recognises the strength."

"He is more powerful than the Dark Lord?" asked Snape, incredulously.

"That not what I said," huffed Idris impatiently. "The wand recognises the one who has the protection. Riddle should not have taken Potter's blood."

"It isn't just the twin cores?" asked Snape, his mind now lurching back to the questions he had posed, but forgotten, back in the library of Grimmauld Place.

"That is part, but it is not all. There is much more magic at work there. Much more."

"Would you have been able to make a wand to defeat Potter's?"

"Possibly. I could listen to Riddle's wand for the song of phoenix feather and then I'd'a found a core and wood that combined could overpower it. 'Course, I heard Riddle's Wandsong decades ago. It was a Dark wand, even then." Idris shuddered at the memory. "But even if they are twins, they are not mirrors of each other. The boy's wand would have a different song, the core would resonate differently in the wood. It's a younger wand. Not been used for Dark magic. I could only have learnt so much from Riddle's wand. Potter's woulda been the wand I would need to hear. But Riddle probably doesn't understand that."

They were silent for a while then Idris added, "Dumbledore understands though. He's understood where the danger lies."

Snape and Lupin looked at each other, not comprehending Idris's enigmatic statement.

"Can you tell us?" asked Lupin.

Idris regarded the two men and then shook his head slowly.

"I don't think so. It is a terrible thing, best not known."

Idris left to discuss Snape's escape route with his sons so his escape with the wizards would look realistic, whilst Alphard asked Snape to show him the counter-curse to the Cutting Curse he had seen Bellatrix use.

"You must trace the wound," said Snape, holding his wand just so, "wand tip to one edge of the skin." Snape began the incantation which was almost like a resonant song. "You must picture the wound, from the deepest part of the cut at the dermis, visualise it knitting together upwards through the epidermis. The visualisation is key to the healing."

Alphard wrote notes. Snape smiled at his obsessive note-taking. Then he practised the chant, Snape correcting his nuances every now and then. Then Alphard wrote notes on that too. Snape saw over his shoulder that he'd written the counter-curse and wand movement for the Conjunctivitis Curse as well. As he finished, he turned to look at Snape.

"I must join the others now to set the pyres on the mountain." He exhaled roughly, then stepped forward and shook Snape's hand. "Thank you, Severus. For what you did for me - for us. I hope we will meet again. In the meantime, I will take care of Remus – please don't worry. And I will write." His grey eyes, so like those of his nephew, darkened as he frowned. "Take care," he said earnestly, "and good luck." Then he left the tent quickly.

Snape sat on the bed next to Lupin and held his hand, made thoughtful by the emotion he had seen in Alphard. Within minutes, Geraint came to them and set out for Snape the route through the camp that would be unguarded, but for a few men who had been forewarned of the escape and had agreed to be Stunned. Snape agreed to keep the wizards' wands until they were out of the wards so only he would cast the spells. Geraint bade him farewell, and left also.

They would be alone now until it was time to leave and Snape lay down next to Lupin, just so he could hold him before he presented himself to the Dark Lord. He knew what he was about to attempt was a huge gamble: if he misjudged, he doubted he would survive. He held Lupin closely who nuzzled into his neck, and savoured the feel of him in his arms. He knew Lupin would be feeling the same by his needful hold on him. This is what the lies were for, and he had to steel himself.

"I need to get my thoughts straight," he said, after some time lying silently in each other's arms.

Lupin understood, and talked Snape through his story as Snape gathered the memories he would need: Lupin's wolf tearing his stomach; isolating Stacy's transformation from the battle; the genuine memories of his terror when he was captured and his wounds being inflicted by Idris. His eyes closed, he meditated until the memories were fixed in the order he needed.

Then, with a small kiss to the end of Lupin's nose, he stood and tore his robes to match the torn shirt beneath and then sat close with Lupin again, who looked distressed at Snape's now bedraggled and bloody appearance. Lupin dropped his head on Snape's shoulder and his arms wrapped around him and he returned the embrace, one hand holding Lupin's head to his shoulder to soothe him.

"There's something else we need to do, Severus," said Lupin, taking hold of his own wand from the side table. "There are werewolves captive there too and they will know what we have done by scent."

Snape was baffled at first, but then realised Lupin needed to clean the smell of sex, whilst leaving the grime and blood from the last two days. He wrinkled his nose.

"That quite a discriminating spell," he said quietly, but knowing it had to be done, he closed his eyes and, as Lupin whispered the chant, he felt the charm work intimately and not entirely pleasantly, but he had to hand it to Lupin – he understood the level of detail this lie needed. They stayed in each other's arms then until they heard in the distance hymns carrying through the frosty air and knew the time had come. He leant in and kissed Lupin deeply, their hands caressing each other gently as Snape promised to use the mirror to call Lupin once he was safely back at Hogwarts.

"Dear Severus," Lupin whispered. "Please take care."

They held their foreheads against each other, holding the moment as long as they could, but Snape knew he could put things off no longer and, with one final kiss, set off to the tent where the others were held. He crept through the tents, as Geraint had directed him, until he saw the tent with two guards and he noisily Stunned them. Now was no time for subtlety. His witnesses were inside and they needed a show.

Throwing aside the tent flaps, he took in where the wizards were and went to Scabior first, whose eyes popped wide at the sight of Snape and began to hop in his chair. Snape released his magical bonds. The wizard was still bound to silence, but Snape did not release him from that. Instead, he held his finger to his lips and Scabior nodded. Quickly, Snape released the other four wizards and beckoned them to follow him. Stealthily, he crept through the agreed pathway, looking around each corner, holding the others back with one arm (as if he cared!) until he felt the reverberation of the ancient wards. Two werewolves patrolled and Snape quickly Stunned them. One of the wizards ran to get the fallen wands, but Snape pushed him all through the wards quickly.

"Here!" he hissed, pulling five wands from his torn robe and offered them as each plucked his own wand from Snape's hand. "You don't need theirs. We all go straight to the Dark Lord outside the Manor." As they all nodded, he released them all from the silencing spells, and Disapparated without another word to them.

As he came out of his Apparition outside the wards of Malfoy Manor, he saw only Scabior had been brave enough to join him. The others Apparated, but loitered further away. Of course, Scabior could not access the grounds as he had no Dark Mark and he waited for Snape at the wrought iron gates.

"D'you need 'elp?" offered Scabior as Snape held his arm over his midriff, his pain relieving potion having worn off completely.

"No," he snapped. He didn't need to curry favour with a wretch like this and he strode ahead, each step making the break in his cheek throb sickeningly and the burns chafe against the blood-hardened shirt shreds under the torn robe that he had wrapped around himself. He slowed as he approached the gate, raising his left arm to display the Dark Mark to the enchantment and then grasped Scabior's arm to lead him through the wards that would otherwise cut him to ribbons.

He strode through the manor to the great hall where he knew the Dark Lord would be: all he had to do was to follow the sounds of someone screaming under the Cruciatus curse. With every painful step, the dark fug of deep Occlusion took his primal fear to the back of his mind.

He let himself through the double doors, Scabior at his heels, and his eyes snapped to the figure of Greyback twisting violently in the air as the Dark Lord applied short, sharp bursts of the Torture Curse to the werewolf's already bloody and broken body. Not enough to kill him; just enough for the maximum amount of pain without permanent damage. The Dark Lord was very skilled in its application, after all. The others were dotted around the hall, all cringing from torture.

"My Lord ..." Snape ventured to catch the Dark Lord's attention. The Dark Lord's eyes widened and flashed as Greyback's now unconscious body hung limply in the air, blood dripping from his nose and mouth and, Snape thought he could discern, from his ears too. The Dark Lord allowed the werewolf's body to fall heavily and unheeded as he turned and walked silently to Snape, his wand still aloft, his body tense and his teeth still gritted in fury.

"Severus," he hissed. Snape knelt, slowly and carefully to draw attention to his injuries, and bowed his head in supplication. He heard the rustle of robes telling him that Scabior had done the same behind him.

"My Lord," Snape's voice quavered. He didn't even try to hold his composure: it wouldn't serve his purposes now.

The Dark Lord turned his head as if assessing Snape, then one long white finger lifted Snape's chin, almost a gentle touch. The crimson eyes scanned the broken cheek with its livid bruising and crusted blood.

"Do you have other injuries, Severus?" he asked, almost a gentle enquiry, but for the spark of cruelty that lay banked in his eyes.

"My Lord," gasped Snape, "yes, I ... "

His voice stopped in a gulp as the Dark Lord's wand traced Snape's Adam's apple and then touched his shirt collar and moved it to one side as he perused the bruising to his throat.

"Tell me what happened ... from the beginning, Severus."

Slowly, haltingly, Snape described the capture of the mate of Idris named Alf and the delivery of the note, on to the messenger coming to offer a meeting under cover, which Snape refused as a trap. He brought all of these memories to the forefront of his mind knowing the Dark Lord could assault his memories at any time.

"Very wise, Severus," the Dark Lord said softly.

Then, he told of their meeting in the clearing at which he was ambushed by Idris and how he was battered, punched to the throat and kicked to the stomach, and his shoulder dislocated.

"Which shoulder, Severus?"

Snape's eyes darted to his bruised right shoulder, hoping he would not be asked to remove his shirt completely, knowing the bites would be visible. But the Dark Lord just lifted his shirt collar away with his wand and regarded the violent black and purple blossom on his shoulder, his mouth curled down in a sneer.

Snape ploughed on, describing his march through the camp, and how Idris had beaten him in the tent where he had been held. He gestured to his face and then to his stomach.

The Dark Lord made a small noise, as if sympathetic, but Snape knew the Dark Lord wanted details of pain.

"The werewolf, Idris, my Lord, has shape-shifters in his pack. Partially transformed werewolves. He made one ... told one ..." He took his arm away from his stomach and then peeled open his robe so his blood-stained, shredded shirt could be seen, the slashes gaping open on the livid welts of his wounds.

"My Lord. I was attacked by a partially transformed werewolf," he said quietly, as if confessing a deep and shameful secret. He heard the Dark Lord's sharp intake of breath through his teeth and felt the air resonate with his charging magic.

"You are ... infected?" he hissed, his wand now playing with the shredded shirt.

"I am not a werewolf, my Lord," Snape said hurriedly, allowing his breath to hitch with fear at what he was about to say, and the huge gamble he was undertaking. "But I am not worthy of your Mark. My blood is ... contaminated."

Snape then prostrated himself for the blow to fall, calculating, hoping he had judged his performance. Snape knew his worth to the Dark Lord but there was always the chance that the Dark Lord had not reckoned it.

"Ach!" the Dark Lord hissed scathingly. "And Greyback allowed this to happen?"

"He was outnumbered and ... bested, my Lord. Idris has a pack of legion proportions. His wolves are trained in combat, I dare say by the blood traitor. I was betrayed by the mountain pack's lack of trust in Greyback. I failed you in not realising they would never trust him. I deserve your scorn, my Lord."

Snape felt truly sick to the pit of his stomach as he touched the hem of the Dark Lord's robe. If he had calculated wrongly, the Dark Lord would not be lenient. His life now hung in the balance and Snape knew it.

"Leave us, and take this ... beast with you!" shouted the Dark Lord to Scabior. Snape's heart lurched violently and he dared a glance upwards to see Scabior and others drag Greyback out of the room. He inhaled mightily.

And waited.

The Dark Lord circled him, his movements almost silent but for the whisper of his robe along the floor and the slither of his snake nearby.

"How did you escape?" he asked at last.

"The werewolf, Lupin, was with them, my Lord. He told Idris he had a score to settle with me, a prior claim, that Idris could have what was left."

"Look at me, Severus."

Snape returned to a kneel, his movements now genuinely laboured, as the Dark Lord turned his head towards Snape again, the reptilian movement turning Snape's stomach.

Legilimens!

It was not the violent tearing of previous incursions that the Dark Lord inflicted now, but it was still a painful intrusion in his mind, but Snape had prepared: all the images of the violent capture flowing freely, the shape-shifting of Stacy, the attack of Lupin's wolf on his stomach – all true memories, but without context. At the memory of attack of the wolf and the very real pain and terror, the Dark Lord pulled out and stared at Snape.

"Who healed you?"

"Lupin healed my shoulder and my stomach, my Lord. I don't know how. I had ... I was ... unconscious from pain. I could not have escaped had he not done so. He told me where my wand and the others were hidden and the way out. I freed your followers and lead them back here." He exhaled heavily. "I did not bring the werewolves. I do not trust them my Lord."

The Dark Lord nodded. Then his mouth curled up in a supercilious leer.

"Did he … use you, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked, his red eyes alight with malice. "Revenge himself upon you for your treatment of him when I gave him to you?"

Snape recognised this for a trap. The Dark Lord would never accept a Death Eater despoiled by a half-breed, any more than a werewolf pack would accept the reverse.

"As I ...?" Snape feigned horror. "No, my Lord. He is still convinced I helped him to escape from you. His Obliviation holds. He remains pathetically grateful. But Idris was content to injure me to make me beneath your contempt. He knew it would be punishment enough for me. Lupin could do nothing to stop his vengeance for the mate Greyback slaughtered before."

"Of course, Severus. I understand your distress. But consider this: had I not ordered you to release him, perhaps you would be dead now. You are still trusted by the Order's pet. That is good. But can I ... can you be one of mine any longer?" The question was rhetorical, but Snape would not let him come to the wrong conclusion.

"Do not drive me from your sight, my Lord. I am not yet a beast, nor will I change at the moon!" he cried.

The Dark Lord regarded him coldly and Snape knew he was considering his need for the ritual.

"I will not have your blood."

"Of course not, my Lord." Snape's eyes snapped to the floor quickly, acknowledging his inferiority.

"I will not have you near me at the full moon."

"I understand, my Lord. I wish it were different. But I hope I can ... at least ... continue work on the poison. Allow me that small mercy at least, my Lord."

The Dark Lord made a soft noise, as if recollecting the poison for the first time. Snape had to make him see his utility, if he was to survive this interview. Thereafter, come the death of Dumbledore, his value would never be questioned again, he thought with disgust.

"Yes ... yes," the Dark Lord sighed sibilantly, "We have allowed that to slip, haven't we." Then he tipped his head to regard Snape again. "Poor Severus." He patted Snape's head. "You have suffered because of Greyback's failure. He has been punished – although perhaps not enough yet."

"I wish I could have overcome the odds, my Lord."

"I need that wandmaker," the Dark Lord said, almost to himself. He rounded on Snape again. "Was there no weakness that you could see?"

"I questioned Lupin carefully as he helped me. There are old protective enchantments, centuries old, residing in druidic magic ..."

The Dark Lord sneered. He had no use for old earth magic. It didn't serve his purposes.

"... and they rarely leave them. Many packs that Greyback has failed to convince now dwell within those wards to augment Idris's numbers. I heard them talk of defeating the Dementors with powerful Patronuses. Even if we had had all your Death Eaters, my Lord, the sheer numbers and the shape shifters ..." Snape shivered. It wasn't even a pretence: he recalled Stacy transforming and it truly frightened him. Snape let the threat of further contaminations hang in the air as the red eyes glowed and the jaw tensed.

"Now is not the time, you are right, Severus. But as we grow in strength, we will return to this. I will not be denied. Not by a filthy beast. But I must continue in my quest to prevent what happened the last time Potter duelled me. Ollivander must do better."

Then the Dark Lord was silent, staring at his wand as he thought. Snape felt as if his heart beat was loud enough for the Dark Lord to hear as his blood pounded through his veins waiting for the Dark Lord's judgement on him. Even if all went according to plan, he knew he would lose the protection from the Dark Lord's correction that the blood-letting had given him, but it would be worth it for the moon. He heard the Dark Lord inhale to speak.

"Rise, Severus. You have been unstinting in your service to me, and you will continue with our project and remain my most useful spy, but you will not be able to supply my Acutor potion. I cannot have such blood in my veins, even though you were ruined in my service."

"Of course not, my Lord. The thought is too appalling to contemplate." Snape stood, but kept his head bowed.

And in the small Occluded compartment of his brain, he wanted to scream that contaminated blood had coursed in his veins for months, but Snape crushed his triumph. Had Snape ever had more difficulty in maintaining his façade than at that moment? He wanted to leap and whoop with joy.

But there would be time enough to celebrate – with Lupin – at the next full moon.

oooOOOooo

After what Snape considered to be an inordinate amount of clucking, Poppy had healed his cheek bone with a flick of her wand and sealed the broken skin the same way, then administered balm to all of his bruises and gave him internal injury potion. The application of the burn salve to his midriff had been the most welcome and, true to Alphard's word, the welts were healed immediately. By morning, the worst of the bruising would be reduced, the lesser bruising disappearing all together. His body felt almost light now it was relieved of the pain and stiffness.

Tippy brought him a change of clothes and he left the infirmary to find Dumbledore to report on his mission, but he was once again away from the school. He let Minerva know he had returned. Of course, his face still had the remnants of injury and she pulled him in to check that he was okay and pressed a glass of malt whisky on him. He accepted it gratefully, and sat with her for an hour as she told him of the goings-on at school over the weekend. She didn't ask where he had been, accepting that it must be Order-related. When finally, he excused himself, as she promised she would let him know when Dumbledore returned, she said, "Be careful, Severus," with a small touch of her hand to his. It wasn't much, but for Minerva - it was much. What would she think of him when that time came? He found he minded that she would hate him. He minded a great deal.

Once in his own chamber, he called Lupin through the mirror, whose drawn face brightened to see Snape's face healed and that he was safe in his own chambers.

"Did he punish you, Severus? Please tell me the truth."

"No, beloved. But Greyback will need a great deal of my post-Cruciatus potion." Snape chuckled unpleasantly then smiled softly at Lupin gently reproving expression. "I will be free at the moon, Remus. He accepted it all."

As Lupin's ravishing smile spread across his face, Snape heart warmed as he gazed at the face he loved so.

They talked of the immense happenings of the weekend. The Dark Lord was once again denied. The wand only Idris could make for him would never be his. Snape could only think that Ollivander would be pressed into service once more but Ollivander couldn't hear Wandsong to make a devastating weapon to defeat Potter's wand. Surely Potter had to be safe on that score. And personally, Snape had allied himself with the uncle of Sirius Black – something beyond even his own wild imaginings – to work towards keeping their loved ones healthy.

After they had said their farewells, Snape took a long bath, his first proper cleansing since Friday morning, his muscles relaxing in the heated herbs and oils. Tomorrow was Monday, and he would teach the students just as if the raging battle of the Light at the base of an ancient mountain had never happened.

He lay on his bed and looked through the enchanted window Lupin had made for him. Tomorrow he would see the dawn, but already he felt there was a new dawn for them.

He allowed his head to fall back as his body gradually released the tension of the last two days and their tumultuous events, of regaining the moon and putting aside his most desperate fear of a second mate and the rekindled hope of healing - maybe even curing - his beloved. He smiled as he fell into the oblivion of exhausted sleep.

Thank you to those who have reviewed - I love to read what you think.

How does Idris know about Voldemort's wand? How did Riddle get hold of Idris's mother's wand? Find out in my other story, "Old Friend".
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You Will Not Kiss Me