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I, Too, Shall Follow by notwolf [Reviews - 0]

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Tonia hadn’t been present at the staking of Porfirio, but she’d heard about it soon enough. For miles around it encompassed the talk of the night. Mateo had been the one to do it, they said—on Buitrago’s orders…and then he’d left. No one knew where. She felt a rush of sickness through her stomach, a sensation foreign to her for many years. Standing outside the leader’s quarters, another wave of this nausea lapped over her.

“Yes, Tonia, what is it?” Yadiro glanced up from an ancient book he’d been studying by candlelight.

“You told him to do it,” she said in a low tone, approaching him slowly.

“Could you be more precise?”

“Mateo! You made him stake Porfirio. Why would you do that? You know how he is!” Tonia uttered in a choked voice, tears moistening the corners of her eyes.

Buitrago closed the book, pushed back his chair, and turned in her direction. “Yes, I do—softhearted, prone to acting out like a child.”

“He doesn’t like to kill—that’s not a bad thing!”

The leader cast a gaze on her that she couldn’t discern as either pitying or disapproving, though she was certain it was one or the other. Firmly he said, “Our ordinances aren’t arbitrary, they’re to make our lives better. Rules mean nothing if we don’t follow them. They must be upheld to keep chaos at bay, or our cult will be no better than the one you came from. You remember it, I’m sure.”

Tonia hesitated at the mention of her old community, one so like most cults that existed. It was quite small, on the southern coast of Spain, and run by a tyrant who abused his charges, especially the females, as he pleased. His rules were transient, nonsensical, often made up on the spot; he’d murdered followers for petty reasons. It was a typical, quarrelsome cult, oftentimes frightening, and she’d been grateful to leave and be accepted here.

Yadiro, while often necessarily harsh, was kind in comparison; he protected those in his charge from outsiders and internal feuds alike. She’d never have dared speak to the tyrant as she was speaking to Yadiro, who seemed wholly unprovoked by her hostile attitude. Even if she didn’t agree with everything he did, she realized it was indeed for the good of their community. His concern for his sangristas was palpable.

“I understand our laws are for everyone’s benefit,” Tonia conceded. “But you’re our leader. You should’ve been the one to carry out the sentence. Mateo must be terribly upset; he may never come back!” Another bout of annoying tears shot to her eyes, and she wiped them roughly away.

“Don’t get hysterical, Tonia. He’ll be back when he gets over his tantrum.”

“Stop saying that! He has every right to be angry,” she growled.

“Perhaps,” said Yadiro, shrugging and turning back to open his book. His seeming indifference infuriated the woman.

“You don’t even care!” she spat. “Well, I do. I’m going to find him.” She wheeled to flounce out.

“You’re free to do as you please,” he responded stoically, head bent over his studies. “But if you think I don’t care about Mateo, you’re wrong. The fact that I love him as a brother doesn’t allow me to make exceptions for him. I would’ve treated any of you the same.”

He didn’t even look up when she left.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The first night after fleeing from what he’d been forced to do, Mateo had wandered around aimlessly in the Spanish countryside. He wasn’t merely upset and sickened by being the instrument of Porfirio’s death, deserved as it was; he was outraged, incensed that Yadiro would pull rank on him that way. Diro had, for all intents and purposes, said to do things his way or get out! They were friends—he thought! What kind of friendship gives one member such clout over the other? Yes, as the leader Yadiro commanded respect on that point alone, but if brotherhood meant nothing, what good was it?

He’d spent the following day hiding in a ramshackle stone cottage in the middle of nowhere, where at least he’d be safe from discovery by humans. By nightfall, he’d worked himself into quite a state. So Diro wanted him to abide by the rules, did he? Screw the rules! He’d been an obedient lackey long enough, and all it got him was a burning chest full of rage.

Midnight found him in a club at the nearest town, guided by the music he heard from a kilometer away. He wasn’t in the mood to dance, he was out for blood…forbidden blood, the best kind. Sangristas of his cult were permitted access to the servants and to those who willingly gave themselves. It made sense to observe this simple dictate. Well, not tonight, Mateo sneered. Although he required only an insignificant amount to keep him alive, he wasn’t worried about survival tonight. He planned to gorge himself on as many as he could, out of sheer spite. Yadiro would have a conniption if he knew! The very notion made him smile.

Inside the club, he sauntered along the fringe of the dance floor, eyeing women as he passed. He could choose a man, of course, their blood was every bit as delicious, only he found it easier to lure a woman with his charms. And he just preferred them. Deliberately pushing the intrusive thoughts of Tonia away, he smiled and winked at a pretty brunette sitting with a hulking man. She smiled back subtly, angling her face away from her escort. With his blue eyes boring into hers, Mateo gestured with the minutest tilt of his head toward the door. Her smile widened and she leaned over to shout something in the man’s ear.

He’d already glided through the throng and stood waiting outside the club when the young woman burst out, her head swiveling as she searched for him. Spying the cute blond, she pursed her lips into a sexy pout and strode over, swaying her hips in an exaggerated motion.

“I told my boyfriend I was going to the toilet,” she said, wondering why on Earth she was saying this to a man she hadn’t even met yet. But he was so sensual. There was something magnetic about him, something irresistible.

“Come,” was all he said, taking her hand, leading her down an alley and around the back of the club beside an overflowing garbage can.

“What’s your name?” she asked, tripping along on her high heels. “I’m Adela.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, gripping her around the waist with one arm, the other hand secured at the back of her head, twisting in her long hair.

He pulled her close and she parted her lips slightly, lifting her chin, expecting to be kissed. When his mouth went to her neck, she giggled at first, then moaned at his touch. Suddenly she let out a sharp cry at the pain of his fangs thrust into her flesh.

“What are you doing?” she screamed, struggling futilely in his iron grip.

Mateo didn’t bother to answer. She tasted good, very good…she tasted forbidden, naughty. He grinned as he continued to drink and she wailed, pounding at him, pleading with him. The euphoria only human blood could provide filled his mind and senses. Presently his ears detected the sound of feet padding behind him and he whirled, flinging the girl backward; she stumbled against the wall and scrambled behind her boyfriend.

“He’s crazy, Omar! He tricked me out here and then he bit me!” Her hand drew away from the wound, which leaked a small amount of blood down her neck.

Omar lunged at him, swinging, but he wasn’t there. He’d slipped around back and nailed the big bruiser in the head with a punch that would’ve knocked out a less sturdy man. Adela shrieked and ran off up the alley. Smiling maliciously, his eyes reflecting a glint of moon, Mateo grasped the dazed man by the shoulders and lashed at him with his fangs, slicing him across one side of his throat, then yanked him in close and proceeded to lap at the blood dribbling from the shallow gash. He wasn’t nearly as delectable as his girlfriend, too much salty sweat. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Mateo easily tossed Omar backward with one hand. He tottered and fell, clutching his neck and staring with terrified eyes.

“You’ll live,” Mateo said coolly. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d both be dead already.”

At the sound of more humans approaching, he ran along the length of the club, rounded the corner, then jumped into the air. It seemed a nice night for a flight to Britain. It had been a good, long while since he’d enjoyed English blood.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

He’d had no idea pregnant women were so fickle. As Severus strode along the supermarket aisle, he automatically paused and reached for the Oreos, then stopped. Narcissa had decided she didn’t like ‘those vulgar cookies’ anymore, now she wanted potato chips. Severus had made the mistake of bringing some over for her to taste after he’d foolishly mentioned them in passing, and she’d gobbled them up—to his fascinated horror—like a vacuum cleaner. Very unladylike.

Ah, well, did it really matter? She was in her eighth month. If her cravings changed from week to week, it still wasn’t too long before his godchild would be born. Godchild. Godson. Goddaughter. He liked the sound of it. He wondered idly if they’d chosen a name yet.

“Severus?”

He whirled around right into Lily Evans…er, Lily Potter. That alone was enough to startle him; seeing the bulge of her abdomen proclaiming a child nearly bowled him over. She looked to be almost as far along as Narcissa!

“Lily. Hi.” At last he tore his eyes from her stomach, feeling slightly sick in his own stomach. How revolting! He knew she was married to James, but the thought of them…eww!

“How have you been?” she asked.

“Fine, thank you. I see you’re with child.” He couldn’t bring himself to congratulate her on bringing Potter’s demon spawn into the world.

She didn’t seem to notice as she looked down smiling, massaging and patting the bump. “Yes, I’m due around the end of July. I can’t wait to get this kid out.”

Can’t blame you there, Severus thought snidely. “It’s only a few more months.” Before he could stop himself he blurted, “How’s Potter taking it?”

As if slapped in the face, Lily drew back and let out a tiny gasp. “He’s very happy, of course. Why?”

Severus gave a shrug. “He’s such an arse, I assumed he’d be jealous of the child.”

Lily bit her lip, then said, “Severus, can we go outside and talk?”

He was tempted to brush her off, yet the pleading expression of her eyes captivated him. He shrugged again and set down the bags of potato chips. “Alright.” He followed her out onto the sidewalk, then down a piece to a bench.

Lily sat down and he sat beside her. “Severus, ever since that day I went to see you at the shop where you work, I’ve not been able to get you out of my mind.”

The young man’s heart leaped, though for the life of him he didn’t know why. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“All these months, I’ve had a lot of time to think, especially since pregnancy cuts down on your activities. I’ve been evaluating my life.” She smiled in a sad, desolate way. “You made, and continue to make, that potion for Remus even though I suppose you hate him as much as you do James.”

“No, Potter is in a category all his own,” Severus replied dryly. “Although Black is a close second.”

She continued, picking up speed, almost babbling in her hurry to get out the words bottled for so long. “The fact is you’re doing a very generous thing for someone you don’t even like. You probably do all sorts of kind things that no one knows about.”

I do? he reflected to himself. Not intentionally.

“From the moment you called me that name in fifth year, I closed my heart to you. I refused to listen to your side of it. I let myself be influenced by James and Sirius, who insist you’re evil. I never thought you were evil, I—”

“Lily, we’ve been through this before,” Severus interrupted, feeling the old wave of despair rushing over him. “Why are you bringing it all up again?”

“Because I want to apologize.”

Severus froze. He hadn’t heard that right, he couldn’t have. For four years Lily had treated him like a leper at worst, a pathetic creature at best. Obviously he was losing his hearing, or she’d taken to mumbling. “What?”

“I was wrong, Severus,” she squeaked, dropping her head as the tears started from her eyes. “You are a good person. I should’ve forgiven you. I should’ve stood up for you instead of turning a blind eye when they picked on you. But I wanted James to like me!” By now her voice was practically a wail.

He’d heard of backhanded compliments. What does one call it when one is kicked in the gut while being complimented? His suspicions were confirmed. All along, Lily’d had a ‘thing’ for Potter while denying it, claiming she hated him, and she’d thrown their friendship under the bus to further her aims with that filthy, wretched, despicable Potter! If he had an ounce of self-respect, he’d get up and walk away. But he couldn’t; he was glued to the spot.

“How exactly am I supposed to answer that, Lily? You cast me aside so you could make it with the biggest jerk Hogwarts has ever seen. Words fail me.”

“I’m sorry!” she sobbed.

“So was I, four years ago, but it didn’t matter, did it?” he asked coldly.

“Severus, if I could change the past, I would.” Getting a grip on herself, she went on, “James isn’t a jerk, not to me. He’s attentive when Sirius—” Here she halted abruptly.

“When Black what?” he demanded.

“When Sirius isn’t dragging him out drinking or partying,” she admitted, wiping her eyes and nose with a tissue she’d pulled out of her sleeve. “He’s matured a lot since school, only Sirius hasn’t.”

Severus grimaced. Apparently time hadn’t knocked Saint Potter off his pedestal. She wanted to wipe the slate clean by apologizing, that was all. Yet she genuinely did seem repentant for her actions, and as an apology was more than he’d ever anticipated, he ought to be glad of that, he surmised. Nevertheless, a nagging voice told him to proceed with caution whenever Potter was involved in any way, shape, or form.

“You’re telling me you regret our friendship being destroyed,” said Severus slowly. “So do I. I’ve said I’m sorry, you’ve said you’re sorry. If that’s all, I’ll let you get back to your shopping.”

“I miss you, Severus.” Again he felt his body go rigid. “And the truth is, I love James, but he simply isn’t the conversationalist you are. He’s so into Quidditch and junk, he’s never been interested in intellectual pursuits. If it isn’t too late, I wish we could start over.”

Don’t be fooled—don’t be a fool! Would you put yourself in that position again? he warned himself. “What would your husband have to say about it?”

“I don’t care what he says. I have a right to my friends the same as he has a right to his,” Lily sniffled.

She looked up at him with those damnable green eyes that had woven a spell on him so many years ago. What the hell was it about her, about those eyes that made him feel this obsessive need to protect her? He didn’t love her, not like he loved Glenna, of that he was certain. That juvenile possessive quality he couldn’t put a handle on kicked in every time he was near her, almost like a drug…or a potion gone wrong. Regardless of how much he hated to admit it, he missed Lily, too. She’d been his first real friend; he’d felt lost and betrayed when she was gone. But was it worth the imminent clashes with Potter and his cohorts to strike up a renewed relationship? One he couldn’t be sure was truly sincere?

“If you’re doing this to piss off Potter, as much as that would please me, I’d rather stay out of it,” Severus responded.

“I don’t want trouble between you, either,” Lily said. “Can’t we just be friends like we used to, talk like we used to? When James isn’t around, I mean…or we could meet at my parents’ house, or at the park.”

She’s begging, Severus thought, completely astonished. Lily Evans is actually begging me to be her friend…which means I’m probably dreaming. Yes, that was it, he was dreaming! In that case, why not agree? “Alright, Lily, I guess we can try. Remember that my friends haven’t changed since school, and I still have an affinity for the Dark Arts, so if that bothers you, you’re free to change your mind now.”

“We don’t have to discuss those things,” she answered, brightening. “Maybe we can meet in the park next Saturday, just hang out?”

Severus nodded. Clandestine, albeit public meetings were likely the best he could hope for, he mused. Although he doubted they’d ever be as close as they once were, he held out the tiniest bit of hope that they’d be at least friends. For some unfathomable reason, he desired that very much.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“Lucius!” a shrill woman’s voice called out.

He halted in the middle of the hallway, glancing up at a row of portraits. Silvanus smiled warmly at him, which was a first—or perhaps not. He didn’t ordinarily look at the portraits anymore, they were simply part of the landscape. As a child he’d often felt as if he were walking the gauntlet with all of those ancient relatives staring at him. Adjacent to Silvanus was his wife Pearl, whose flaring nostrils gave him to understand this was the one speaking to him.

“Yes, Pearl?”

“You ought to address me properly, young man,” she chided.

“Knowing how women like to shield their age, would it not be disrespectful of me to insert all the ‘greats’ that would come in front of grandmother?” asked Lucius innocently. Seriously, the woman had lived hundreds of years ago. The number of ‘greats’ was bound to be substantial!

She sniffed. “Lucius, some time back Silvanus’ portrait disappeared, and ever since he’s been smug and happy, but he won’t say why. Can you tell me why?”

Lucius hesitated. Having spoken to the strident shrew on more than one occasion, he fully understood why Silvanus’ portrait used to look stern and sad all the time. A life with Pearl couldn’t have been a joyous one. “I should think you’d be glad he’s happy.”

“Why should I?”

“Husbands and wives are supposed to rejoice with each other. You were his wife from the time you were…seventeen, was it?”

“Sixteen,” she corrected imperiously. “And only because I was the oldest pureblood girl eligible to marry when Silvanus came slinking back from Spain and his parents announced he was to wed immediately.” She fanned herself with what appeared to be a fan made of peacock feathers. “Everyone knew that meant he’d done something shameful to displease his parents, and I got stuck with him and all the gossip and sidelong looks from society.”

How did she manage to remain bitter over an arranged marriage after all these years? “Surely you grew to love each other.”

A sharp guffaw from Silvanus’ portrait prompted Pearl to fling her fan in his direction; Lucius saw it thunk against the man’s skull. Silvanus picked it up and handed it back with a mocking bow.

“I did my duty. I bore him an heir and two others besides,” Pearl stated, wrinkling her nose at her husband. “You young people today think only of yourselves, marrying for ‘love’.” She rolled her powder blue eyes. “Why, Abraxas had the audacity to break his betrothal to marry on his own whim! And you, cavorting obscenely with Narcissa! Spoiled—”

“Well, I must be going,” Lucius interrupted, edging away. “My minx of a wife is waiting for me downstairs.”

“Come back here, Lucius!” ordered Pearl. “You haven’t told me why Silvanus is acting giddy like a teenager again.”

Lucius smiled evilly. “Do you really, honestly want to know?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

He looked over at Silvanus. “Do you mind if I tell her?”

“By all means, please do,” Silvanus replied, smirking in the unmistakably Malfoy fashion.

Lucius directed his gaze back at Pearl. “He’s happy because he got to meet his son, the bastard he begot in Spain before marrying you.” He heard Pearl’s gasp of horror as he started to walk off, then he turned back as if he’d forgotten something. “Oh, and his illegitimate son—he’s a vampire.” He hummed to himself as he walked away.

“There you are, my love,” he cooed to Narcissa upon reaching the bottom of the stairs. “Are you sure you want to put yourself through this in your condition?”

Narcissa eyed him irritably. “My condition? I’m eight months pregnant, I’m not drunk!”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Can we go now? We’ll be late. Malfoys aren’t late.” Pouting, she slipped a velvety thin shawl around her shoulders, then made for the door.

He hurried after her, took her by the arm, and turned her round to face him. “Narcissa, if I did something to anger you, I’m very sorry. I want you to have a good time. I’m only concerned because we haven’t been to any functions since you got pregnant. I don’t want to wear you out.”

Relenting, she relaxed into him, placing her cheek on the front of his dress robes as he engulfed her in his arms. “I’m not fragile, honey, and I’m so bored with nothing to do here. Let’s go to the party; if I get tired, we’ll come home.”

“As you wish, my princess,” he whispered, to be rewarded with an extra-hard hug. “Once our beautiful baby is born, you’ll get to hold all the soirees you want.”

Narcissa laughed against him. “From what my mother said, I won’t have the time or energy to do anything except take care of the baby.”

“That’s what house-elves are for,” he reminded her.

“I don’t want house-elves raising my child,” she answered. “Except for maybe the nasty, dirty parts.”

Lucius grinned. His sister had said that very thing before unloading Niki on him to babysit. He tried not to think beyond those happy times…

“Shall we go then?” He bowed, took her elbow, and led her to the carriage they used in lieu of Floo’ing or Apparating, both of which were hard on women with child. “Malfoys mustn’t be late.”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

A Muggle flat in London, 2:00 a.m.

Four cloaked figures Apparated outside the door of a second floor apartment, hideous masks covering their faces. They didn’t worry that any Muggles might see them at this hour, and if they were spotted, a few more casualties meant nothing to them.

Rodolphus pointed his wand as he chanted every spell the Master had taught him against wards. Only one fell with an audible sigh as it shimmered upward and vanished. He next performed an Alohomora on the door, grinning to himself.

“This is too easy. One ward!” Quietly he slinked inside with the other three on his heels. Immediately Bellatrix threw up a Silencing Charm around the flat. He motioned for Rabastan and Travers to go left, as he and Bella veered right.

No more than half a minute later, two green flashes lit up one of the bedrooms, and Rabastan and Travers came trooping into the living room, smiling like Cheshire cats. The others joined them momentarily.

“There’s nobody in there. It’s a guest room,” Bella complained.

Rabastan took off his mask, waving animatedly. “They were sleeping, it was a cinch. We ought to attack at night more often—less chance of one of us getting hurt from a fight.”

No one had noticed Rodolphus heading into the deceased people’s bedroom until he came back and growled, “It’s not him!”

Everyone became silent.

“That bastard escaped his fate again?” screeched Bella. “That’s three times! It’s intolerable!”

“Rodolphus is the one who got the information that the Potters live here,” Travers accused, unconcerned. The Master wouldn’t care about these deaths.

“Apparently it was faulty information,” Rodolphus retorted. “But it was right, in a way. I saw a photo on the nightstand of James Potter. These must be his parents.”

Bellatrix perked up. “The Dark Lord will be pleased to be rid of two more blood traitors! And there’s bound to be something around here to point us where that Potter puke and his Mudblood live.”

Wand tips alight, the four of them ransacked the place, to no avail. Despite numerous photos, not a scrap of parchment or letter address existed here to divulge the location of James Potter. Their quest unfulfilled, the four prepared to return to Lord Voldemort to report on the night’s activity.

As they exited, Rabastan aimed his wand to put the Dark Mark into the sky, but Rodolphus slapped his hand down. “No. This way they can’t prove it was Death Eaters. If we place the Mark, it’ll warn Potter to go deeper into hiding. That little prick has eluded us long enough.”









I, Too, Shall Follow by notwolf [Reviews - 0]

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