Mateo lifted a hand to his smarting cheek, the smugness wiped away in the time it took Yadiro Buitrago to raise his hand again, fist clenched. The younger vampire could have fought, both were strong men, but he recognized the fury simmering in Yadiro’s eyes. No one he knew could withstand an actual fight with this sangrista and live long enough to tell of it.

“How dare you humiliate me that way!” Buitrago hissed, reverting to his native Spanish, leaning in close. With nowhere to go, Mateo crushed himself against the back of the chair, swallowing hard. “You have the gall to affront the most powerful dark wizard in the world, and I must pretend you have permission to do so in order to avoid looking weak!”

Mateo felt like the impetuous younger brother again, the way he had centuries ago when Yadiro had befriended him, when he had no one. “I’m sorry, Diro,” he gulped. A punch landed on the side of his head in answer to his apology, bouncing his skull off the back of the wooden chair.

“Sorry isn’t good enough! I will not have my reputation sullied by anyone, including you!”

Struggling to squirm around Buitrago, Mateo retorted, “You said we all have the right to our opinions.”

Another backhand pinned him back in the chair. His face felt hot from the blows, yet he knew there would be no telltale bruises. Dead flesh doesn’t bruise. It hurt, though.

“You have the right to voice your opinion in the meetings of our brethren, not to outsiders, not to humans, not to wizards.” Buitrago’s face was so close he could have kissed Mateo; instead he jerked him up by the front of his shirt, lifting him completely off the ground, and threw him viciously across the room.

Mateo hit the far wall and crumpled to the floor, then slowly got up onto his knees. If he stood up, he would be sending the message that he’d not learned his lesson, that he defied the leader. He’d seen firsthand what Yadiro was capable of, the monstrous beatings he’d administered to others, the deaths…

“Diro, please. I didn’t mean it as disrespect toward you. I was angry at you because you wouldn’t listen to my advice,” he pleaded. “I was wrong to provoke the wizard. I regret my rebellion.”

Buitrago strode over and Mateo braced himself for another blow, or perhaps a kick. He’d rarely been the recipient of his friend’s wrath, and he decidedly did not like it, which didn’t mean he didn’t deserve it. With full knowledge of what he was doing, he’d baited the dark wizard while Yadiro had to sit there like a fool. Of course Yadiro was angry, he had every right to be.

Yadiro extended a hand; Mateo looked at it warily, wondering if it was going to strike, then reached out and clasped it. Yadiro pulled him to his feet, the ire faded from his countenance.

“You have a point. I didn’t listen to your counsel before agreeing to meet Lord Voldemort. You’re my best friend, and I owe you that much.” With that, he returned to the sitting area and lowered himself into one of the chairs, indicating the chair opposite him.

Mateo sat. His face hurt, his body hurt, but more than that his mind was troubled by the unrest between them. Yadiro had been there for him when he was wholly alone, when Mateo’s wife had taken their son and unborn child and disappeared because she feared the creature her husband had become through none of his own doing. Yadiro had given him a place to live, had commiserated with him in his misery. Yadiro had helped him track down the sangrista responsible for creating him, only to discover he was the same vampire who’d brought Yadiro unwillingly into the fold a few years earlier. Together they’d slaughtered him like the animal he was…

“Forgive me, my friend,” Mateo began. “I do respect your authority, and I believe you desire only the best for us. But I’ve spent a good part of the last hundred years in Britain, I’ve spent a lot of time with witches and wizards there; you have not. I hear what they say about this Voldemort.”

“What do they say, Mateo?”

“Nothing good. He’s evil, they say.”

Buitrago couldn’t contain a wry smile. “Do they not say the same of us?”

“He’s only out for himself. He even treats his own followers as badly as he treats his enemies,” Mateo continued, growing more spirited. “I don’t trust him. He’s not trying to help vampires, he wants to use us. When he achieves his end with our aid, what will become of us?”

There was a long period of silence while Buitrago mulled over the words. When he at last spoke, it was slow, thoughtful, devoid of malice yet tinged with misgiving. “I see most of what goes on here, and I hear what goes on in the outlying reaches of our cult. It’s no secret to me that there are sangristas who prefer your style of leadership to mine, who would support you in a coup. Tell me, Mateo, if I decide to join forces with Voldemort, will you incite my own against me?”

“Never!” exclaimed the other immediately, wounded to be even asked such a question. “You were like a father to me when I needed you…now you’re my brother. If you force my hand, I must do what’s best for us, to rally our people against Voldemort himself.”

“You would disobey me and thwart me, cause our people to despise me?” asked Buitrago in astonishment.

“No, Diro,” said Mateo softly. “Our people would despise you for leading us into a war that doesn’t concern us. The wizarding world is in turmoil, there’s murder and torture on a scale I’ve never witnessed. I can’t foresee the human population welcoming us with open arms for helping a monster into power over them. They would hunt us down as they used to do long ago.” He dropped his eyes, saddened at the very thought.

A light hand brushed his leg as Yadiro patted him affectionately. “I thought you opposed joining forces because of jealousy that you’re no longer a wizard. I apologize for my rash judgment. I tend to forget you’re three hundred twenty-five, not still twenty-five.”

Mateo grinned at him. “I like to think I’ve matured somewhat.”

Yadiro sighed. This situation was much more complicated than he’d been led to believe. Mateo wouldn’t lie to him. If he said he observed things in the wizarding world, it was so. Mateo put forth a logical assertion; he had yet to hear the Dark Lord’s full position and promises. But human promises were fleeting, weren’t they?

“Here is what I must do: hear out Lord Voldemort, then send the wizards home and hold a council meeting of all our cult. I will present both sides of the argument, let them voice what they wish to do. When we have a consensus, I’ll contact Lord Voldemort with the verdict.”

He flashed a fond smile at his friend. Mateo could be a pain at times; nevertheless, he was a good, dear friend. He hoped the events to come wouldn’t alter that.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Mateo hadn’t wanted to go to the meeting with Yadiro, but the leader had prevailed upon him, insisted he do so in order to show his support for his leader, to show their unity. After the stunt he’d pulled the previous day, he thought it wise to do as he was instructed. And so he sat almost meekly in the circle, speaking only when addressed, letting Yadiro do the talking, proud to watch el jefe as he took charge with the dignity of a true sangrista.

Lord Voldemort’s promises of freedom for all vampires rang hollow to Mateo’s ears, as he was sure they must for Yadiro. People’s attitudes do not change because their ruler does. For vampires to declare themselves to the world would be tantamount to suicide no matter what the evil wizard spouted. His declaration that sangristas would be permitted access to as much human blood as they desired was, admittedly, tempting. Mateo disliked rodent blood, he tolerated cattle blood, but nothing compared to the real thing. Even so, after Lord Voldemort’s enemies had been sucked dry, would they be given sanction to start in on anyone they pleased? How long would this go on until the people refused access, perhaps even revolted? No, things worked fine the way they were. Yadiro had to see that.

When the meeting ended, Yadiro thanked the wizards for coming, and assured them that as soon as he’d spoken with the cult, he’d get back to them. Rather than spend the night, they’d opted to Apparate away. Mateo missed that. Sure, he could fly now, yet at times he dearly missed his powers.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It was well into the evening when Lucius arrived onto his front porch, exhausted but very glad to be home. The moment Sisidy saw him, she squealed for joy and ran to him. “Master Lucius comes back! We was all so worried for Master Lucius.”

He smiled as he stroked her bald pate. “You don’t need to worry every time I leave the house.”

“When Master is with wicked wizard, Sisidy worries,” she said plainly.

“You mustn’t call him that, Sisidy, ever. No one can have cause to believe there exists any disloyalty in my home. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Master Lucius,” she nodded. “Sisidy must lie.”

He snorted, unable to suppress a chuckle. He didn’t need to occupy his mind over Sisidy, she would do anything for the Malfoys. It was that damnable Dobby he needed to keep an eye on. Speak of the devil! Seconds later, Dobby Apparated into the foyer with Abraxas in tow; evidently he’d been lurking about and had brought the man when he noticed Lucius had arrived. Whether this was upon order was debatable.

“Hello, Father.”

“Son.” Abraxas’ eyes ran up and down the young man, determining if he were injured. Satisfied that he appeared well, he said, “I don’t suppose I may ask where you’ve been for two days?”

Lucius hesitated, then said, “Spain.”

“Spain?” echoed his father. “What on Earth for?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Of course not,” muttered Abraxas. “You need to go see your wife, Lucius. She hasn’t been well, and your little jaunt didn’t help matters.”

The blood drained from Lucius’ face. “What’s wrong with her? It isn’t serious, is it?”

Very solemnly, Abraxas answered, “It’s very serious. She made me promise not to tell you.”

Alarmed to a degree he didn’t even realize was possible, Lucius gripped his father’s arm. “Father, please! Can’t you help her?”

In answer, Abraxas gave him a shove toward the stairway. “Go to her!”

Trembling so hard he feared his legs might collapse under him, Lucius ran up the stairs, only to discover Narcissa wasn’t in their room. She’s sick and I wasn’t here! Worrying over me has made it worse! He resisted the urge to scream her name at the top of his lungs. She didn’t need that, he was sure. He found her in her study, seated on the windowseat, window open, gazing into the moonlit night.

Upon hearing him come in, she turned her head. Recognition struck instantly and she burst into tears as she raced to him. “Lucius, you’re home!”

Lucius clasped his arms around her, rocking her, kissing her over and over on the lips, cheeks, forehead. “I’ve only been gone for two days, my love.” The knot in his stomach twisted painfully. He had to ask, he had to know, but in the worst way he didn’t want to know anything was wrong with his beloved wife. “Narcissa, Father told me you’re ill, but he…” A hard lump rose in his throat and he forced himself to swallow it. His voice caught as he said, “Please say you’re alright.”

Narcissa pulled back a little to look into his eyes, feeling a rush of pity for the terror etched in those beautiful grey orbs. “Everything’s perfect, Lucius. I’m pregnant.”

The anticipated joyous response didn’t come. Lucius gaped stupidly at her, trying to process the words in light of the ‘illness’ he’d expected. All at once it hit him. “Pregnant? For real?”

“Yes. Your father performed the test last night—twice.” The smile seemed permanently ingrained on her face.

Lucius lurched forward to snatch her in his arms for a tremendous kiss, then whirled her around the room, her feet never touching the floor. He set her down to kiss her again and again. “I love you! IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!” Bending down to pat her flat abdomen, stroking it tenderly, he kissed it. “I love you, too.”

Laughing, Narcissa cooed, “So…are you happy?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m ecstatic!”

“We should celebrate!” she said suddenly. “Let’s invite Severus over. If it weren’t for him—”

“That’s true, very true,” Lucius interrupted. “But there’s another celebration I’d like to hold first.” He easily swooped her up in his arms and rushed out the doorway, practically running to their bedroom. Dropping her lightly on the bed, he straddled her thighs, continuing to plant smooches up and down her arms, chest, and face. Unexpectedly a thought came to mind. “It won’t hurt the baby, will it? We can make love, right?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh.” He slid off to lie beside her, still holding her tight. “That’s okay.”

“I mean, no it won’t hurt the baby,” she giggled.

“Oh!” Lucius exclaimed with renewed excitement. “In that case…”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“Severus, how come you look like that?” asked Julius, indicating the blondish hair and hazel eyes as he, Justina, and Severus, who was holding Jacinta, walked toward the park.

“Stupid! He told us before,” Justina answered.

“Tina, quit,” said Severus. “I agreed with Glenna that when I take Jacinta in public, I have to be in disguise. That’s why you’re supposed to call me ‘Zeb’ if anybody’s around.”

“But why?” Julius pressed.

Why. That was the question that brought fear to his heart. “You’ve heard of Lord Voldemort,” he began.

“You-Know-Who,” Tina interjected knowingly.

“He has a lot of bad people working for him. If they knew I was her father, she would be in danger.”

Julius wrinkled his brow, not convinced. “Why should he care about you or Jacinta? Do you know him or something? Did you do something to him?”

Severus continued walking, oblivious to the snarls Jacinta was busy weaving in his hair with her fingers. The twins were only children, he couldn’t burden them with the truth, especially as it might mean compromising their safety. They couldn’t possibly understand all the implications, ramifications, justifications of this whole sticky situation. Even so, they were involved through his fault. Utilizing Occlumency, he managed to keep most thoughts of them hidden, and while the Dark Lord had seen their existence during the first Legilimency session, he hoped to diminish any thought that they were important to him, that they could be used against him. He had never allowed Jacinta to be seen at all.

He stopped before he got to the playground, gathering the twins close, and knelt down beside them. In his most serious tone he said, “I know him. I can’t tell you any more than that because—well, I just can’t. I need you to help me make sure Jacinta is safe. The way to do that is to pretend Jack is her father, and I’m Glenna’s cousin—which makes you both her cousins, too, I guess. Can you do that?”

Both black heads bobbed up and down soberly. He gave a small grin and stood up. “Go on and play.” They raced ahead as he watched them. They’d be eleven in less than a month, too late for this year at Hogwarts. Next year they’d be gone away to school and he’d be alone with Mum. It felt strange to think of it.

He carried his daughter over to the baby swings, virtual plastic half-bubbles with holes for the feet to stick out. Lowering her carefully, he tried to seat her. The child had other ideas. She stiffened her legs, screaming piteously when he attempted to pry them apart to slide her legs into the openings. After several unsuccessful tries, he yanked her up onto his shoulder where she promptly calmed down.

“Why are you being so uncooperative?” he growled. Spying the sandbox, he lugged her over and plunked her down, sitting behind her so she wouldn’t tip over. He lifted a handful of sand and let it flow out the bottom of his fist, then repeated the action. The girl watched in wonder at the grains falling as the dust blew off in the gentle wind. She squealed and snatched up a handful, then tossed it in the air; it landed for the most part on top of her head, except the bits that flew back into Severus’ face and hair.

“Jacinta!” he scolded, which she took as encouragement. Another fistful smacked him full in the face. “Stop it,” he hissed, groping for his wand to clear the burning grit from his eyes.

When he could see clearly once more, he groaned. Jacinta had stuffed some of the sand in her mouth and was busy pushing it back out with her tongue, her saliva running in rivulets down her front along with chunks of slobbery sand.

“You are a gross child, you know that?” he said, turning her around so he could help scoop the sand from her mouth with his finger. Having been on the receiving end of a Scourgify to the mouth, he refused to use such an awful spell on his daughter.

All at once his left forearm began to throb and burn; his heart skipped a beat. Not now! It was the middle of the day, for crying out loud! “Julius, Justina, come on, we have to go!”

He picked up the baby and started off at a fast walk. The twins trotted over, looking puzzled.

“We just got here,” said Tina, skipping to keep up with his huge strides.

“Did she poop?” asked Julius. “I’m not changing her.”

“I have to go somewhere,” Severus said curtly, picking up the pace even more. He’d be late, that was a given, but the later he was, the worse the punishment was likely to be. Damn it all, and to think he’d actually considered himself capable of caring for Jacinta full time! What a joke. The moment the Master called, his parenting was put on hold.

They burst into the house, to Eileen’s surprise. “Severus, what—”

“Mum, I have to leave. I’ve no idea when I’ll be back. If the time comes for Jacinta to go and I’m not home, send for Glenna to come get her.” He thrust the baby into her arms.

“Where are you going? What’s going on?” she demanded.

“I can’t say,” he responded, kissing the baby, then his mother. He ran out onto the back patio, where he Disapparated.

A circle of hooded, masked figures stood around Lord Voldemort; one spot remained open. Severus Apparated silently and made to hurry toward them just as the realization hit: he’d not only been in such a rush he forgot his robes and mask, he was still in disguise! Son of a bitch! He uncharmed his appearance a mere second before they began to turn to glance his way. It was too late to go back; he’d have to approach the Master as he was.

Head down, biting his lip, he got on his knees and crawled the rest of the way. “My Lord,” he murmured, kissing the hem of Voldemort’s garment.

“You’re late, Snape,” came the dreaded hiss. Nothing more. Waiting.

The truth? No. Half-truth? “Master, I was in a public Muggle area. I couldn’t Apparate away. The moment I could, I answered your summons.” Severus kept his head down, wishing desperately he’d remembered his mask to hide any inkling of subterfuge.

“You couldn’t be bothered to dress for the occasion?” asked Voldemort sarcastically.

A chuckle somewhere in the circle was cut short by the Dark Lord’s glare.

“Forgive me, Master. I was in such a hurry to come, so focused on obeying your call…I forgot.”

“Let me help you to remember your place in the future.”

Voldemort took out his wand. Severus squeezed his eyes shut and awaited the excruciating pain when he heard the word Crucio. Instead, he heard another man howl in agony. He jerked his head around to see one of the Death Eaters kicking and flailing on the ground, crying and screaming. He thought it might be the one who’d laughed, though he couldn’t be sure.

“Master!” Severus pleaded. “I’ll remember!”

The Dark Lord lifted his wand. As if lecturing a wayward child, he said in a feigned regretful tone, “We are a team, Severus. When one person neglects his duty, other members inevitably suffer as well.” This time the Crucio landed on another Death Eater.

“My Lord,” Severus croaked, unable to take his eyes off the tortured man. It might have been less painful to endure it himself rather than watch others punished in his stead.

Voldemort aimed at another Death Eater seemingly at random and he, too, fell under the Cruciatus. The wizard’s eyes gleamed more from the pleasure he attained than from any supposed righteous anger. A glance at Severus’ anguished form caused him to smile wickedly. “Have you learned your lesson, Snape?”

“Yes, Master,” he answered miserably.

Voldemort raised the wand. “What have you learned?”

“To wear the robes you’ve ordered us to wear,” Severus murmured, aware of all eyes scorching him from every side. “We are a united team. We depend on each other; we must never forget it.”

Once more a Death Eater crashed screaming to the ground under the Cruciatus while everyone stared in dismay. This time they didn’t understand the motivation for the attack. After a bit Voldemort relented, then addressed Snape again. “What else have you learned, Severus,” he cooed, drawing out the ‘s’.

“To come immediately—but Master, it wasn’t possible—”

Screeches emanated from directly behind him as the Crucio streamed past his cheek to strike yet another. By now all were concerned, wary of who the next victim might be, and blaming Snape rather than the wand-wielding maniac who laughed at the suffering as he drank in the agony.

Severus would have begged him to stop if he believed it would work. He didn’t believe it. The bastard thrived on pleading, on pain, on weakness. If anything, he’d only make it worse. As it was, everyone here either despised him or would soon despise him if the Master didn’t see fit to put an end to the torture. Then again, that was likely his objective—to see how long Severus could listen to this before he broke; then, when he’d been broken, he’d be tortured himself for breaking. No, he wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t play into his hands. He knelt there stoically, trying not to hear the screams.

Two more Death Eaters suffered the Cruciatus. Severus felt the scathing hatred of the entire circle of bodies pressing on him. What was he supposed to do? The Dark Lord was NOT merciful, no matter how many times he told his followers he was. There was no reasoning with the psychopath, there was only waiting.

Silence, save the whimpering and sniffling of the tortured. He felt the eyes of the Dark Lord on him and he looked up. Voldemort was smiling in his gruesome, thin-lipped way. “Well done, Snape. I thought you’d try some heroics to persuade me to clemency, but you’re smarter than that. Now tell me what you’ve learned.”

“You’re the Master. I follow and obey without question or excuse.”

“Much better.” He addressed the full circle. “Now we can get on to what I’ve called you here for. If all goes well, soon we’ll have the opportunity to wipe out those damned Aurors and the rest of my enemies in one fell swoop.” No one dared ask what he meant, and he didn’t bother to explain about the hoped-for vampire alliance. When it came to fruition, they’d be informed. Right now all he cared about was making sure they had the tools to destroy the enemy. “I’m going to teach you more Dark Arts. Those who are already proficient will practice with the newer Death Eaters…”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus got home half an hour before he needed to take Jacinta home, time enough for the pain of the Cruciatus and a multitude of other curses Bellatrix had hurled at him to diminish. Aside from her innate hatred of him, presumably for not being pureblood, the day’s demonstration on his account had caused her to be particularly thorough in her hexing. Had he not blocked most of the hexes, he’d be unable to walk or move at all. Truth be told, he thought he’d actually fared better than Regulus, whose skill didn’t come close to rivaling his own. While Lucius had tried to go easy on him, the poor kid had taken quite a beating. Severus shook his head as he flopped on the couch to rest for a few minutes.

When he arrived at Glenna’s, he found her waiting impatiently, Jack pacing beside her, looking angry and upset. “Severus, where have you been?” she demanded, taking the sleeping baby from him and cuddling her close.

“What? I’m three minutes late!” he retorted.

“You mean an hour and three minutes,” Jack corrected him. He gazed at Jacinta, who still had sand clinging to her scalp and in patches on her blouse. It had merely been smudged in a halfhearted attempt to remove it. “What were you doing, feeding her sand?”

“Yes, I fed her sand, you f-king idiot!” Severus snapped, in no mood for an interrogation. By the looks of the grandfather clock in the hall, he really was late. He knew he’d fallen asleep, but he thought it had been for only a minute.

“Don’t use that language in front of her,” Glenna warned.

“She’s sleeping.” And he is an idiot. “I’ll be on time next time.”

Glenna nodded. “Alright.” She handed Jacinta to Jack, who carried her out of the room. “You don’t look well. Are you okay?”

I just got tortured by a world-class nutjob, of course I look like hell! “I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”

Glenna smiled as she touched his arm lightly. “I’ll see you.”

Severus backed into the fireplace. “Yeah. I’ll see you.”