A lesson in the clemency of Lord Voldemort.
I.
With a heavy groan, from a mouth smelling of strawberries, a young man collapsed against his sheets. Sweat dotted his forehead and collected in pools between his shoulder blades and he gazed, sideways, out of a steam covered window, into the cool October night. All to be seen was the warm glow that emanated off a nearby street lamp, blurred from the condensation of the now stifling room he occupied. He ran a finger across the smooth skin of the woman next to him. It was moist, like a cold egg left in the heat.
"This shall be our last night, for a spell," he said against a bony shoulder, trailing his lips, feather light, over the milky skin.
"A spell?" His companion replied indignantly, readjusting in the large bed she lay against, "You will be gone for a month."
His strong, familiar arms wound their way over her slim waist, pale as the winter moon, and, though the body with which he clung to did not flinch, it did not welcome the embrace either.
"You know I have no other choice," he told her calmly, "You know of my position, of what our... communion has brought on."
She threw heavy, midnight blue covers from her body, pushing away from olive skin and sat up straight, wrapping a silk dressing gown across her naked frame.
"Yes, of course, how could I not! I am reminded of it every day!" She said, as her feet made soft thuds against old, wooden floor boards. She busied herself in front of a large vanity, brushing through waves of dark hair.
The man rolled over, so that his head was at the foot of the bed, chin rested against his forearms with a cheeky smile on his lips and asked, "Do you regret it, then? Our marriage?"
She turned to him sharply, piercing his gaze with deep blue eyes and thick lashes. "Don't be a fool," she reprimanded, the edge of her mouth pinching in.
"Then you understand why I must go," he said, sitting up and pulling a hairy leg toward his pelvis.
"I am not so naive as to think -" She stopped, catching her scrunched face in her hands, just before tears began to sprinkle out of her eyes.
The man was beside her in an instant, pulling her close to his chest, stroking through her hair gently and speaking softly. "My sweet, please understand; I would not go if I were given any other choice. My father..."
"Your father is imprudent!" she gasped through her tears, "He doesn't understand, times have changed. If he would only find new company, the families he associates with... his priorities are out of place!"
"Our loyalties are the same," he said softly, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her head.
She pushed his hand away, roughly, slamming the paddle of her brush against the wooden dressing table and stood up, crossing the room in a few long strides. Turning back to him she cried, "It may be where your loyalties lie, but not my own! Mine are to my family!"
He hushed her quickly, but did not meet her face, "You will frighten Thomas."
"He is asleep and well! Not a care in his small mind – other than when his father will be free to give him flying lessons, as he was promised!"
He swiveled slowly on his heel, still kneeling against the floor, resting his palm against the table. "Isabel... please. I could not bear to leave knowing I've upset you so."
She fell against the bed, slamming her thin hands to the mattress and then tensing to keep them from rebounding. "Then I should be happy to continue arguing!" she cried, "If it will keep you safe!"
He laughed – and sounded as though he meant it. Standing up, he reached down to the floor for his discarded pants, which he climbed into with minimal effort and then settled next to Isabel, propped up against his elbow.
"This last assignment and I will be done. I promise you. We have been granted safe passage, from the Dark Lord himself." He cupped her face in his hand. Fresh tears began to swell once again. "We will go to Germany. I promise you this."
She turned her head, so that her cheek rubbed against his thumb and said softly, "I don't believe it."
"I made a commitment to you, on the day we married. I would leave this life behind... and I intend to do so," he beseeched, "But it is more complicated that you can know. Our family line runs deep and the Makellos are too proud a house to bend to time's will. The connections that we have garnered through the years..." he gazed down, releasing Isabel's face and began to pick at a torn callous on his hand, "they would not be pleased to find my views have changed. Even still... he has promised... if I am satisfactory in my efforts -"
"You will die..." Isabel lamented, drawing her face back into her hands, "You will die and I will be widowed before I am twenty-two. Thomas will forget every moment you've spent with him and I shall be left with only memories of your service to a megalomaniacal lord!" She finished in a shout.
His eyes darkened, as if a shadow had sunk into his heart. "Think true thoughts, my love, but do not speak of the Dark Lord in such a way. Not while he still reigns supreme. You cannot always be so certain of your company as you are with mine."
"I. Do not. Care." She seethed through gritted teeth, turning her face away.
Bowing his head, he stayed quiet for a while, grasping the sleek fabric of his wife's robe between his fingers. And it was almost silent, save for the small choking breaths that would escape from behind Isabel's alabaster hands.
"I do care," he spoke at last, "I care so much, that I would give my life a thousand times over, in a thousand different ways to keep you and Thomas safe."
Shaking her head, disbelief etched across her young features, she whispered, "Kayleb has said before – when we were young. The Dark Lord, he does not so readily forgive! He will not let you go freely!" Terror had constricted her face, so that her eyes remained large, like two rounded and glittering sapphires, but the surrounding tissue was unmoved.
"You mustn't believe the words of your raconteur brother. He knows too well how to distress you. This last assignment. I promise. "
And then, she seemed to come alive and she spoke quickly, sitting up to meet her husband, in a frenzy. "We can run! Tonight. He wouldn't find us... if we took the proper precautions –"
"He would," he said with a shake of his head, "He would find us and we would all be dead before we left the country. And I would not leave my family – or yours to the mercy of him then."
She brushed away his comment, pulling his body into hers, "Minions! Slaves to a tyrant! You would wish to protect them? But still, it wouldn't have to be so. They can be swayed... just as you have been!"
Touching his forehead to her own, he let his eyes close gently and stroked a smooth, rosy cheek. "But as you have already come to understand, love, my family's loyalty is to the Dark Lord, as is mine, for the time being. If I am successful, we will be granted amnesty. It has been arranged, you must trust me."
She did not respond at first, but pulled back from him, her expression wrought in defeat and anger.
"You would not even try?" She pressed.
"No," he said with a raise of his eyebrows and shake of his head.
She turned from him again, dragging the cover down from the bed, and, laying back, she pulled the dark material up to her neck.
"Then go and die."
