A/N: This chapter is a little bit longer than my other chapters, but it’s well worth the read. :-D
Voldemort’s Heir
Chapter Six
Fifteen minutes later, after quickly throwing a change of clean clothes into a duffel bag and arranging to have his next-door neighbor’s little girl take care of his birds while he was gone, Eric entered his living room to see Harry inspecting his fireplace.
He raised an eyebrow, watching the young man. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Clearing out your fireplace,” Harry responded, using the poker to shift the ashes out of the way.
Eric frowned. “I don’t think now is a good time for housekeeping.”
“He’s cleaning the fireplace so we can Floo to Hogwarts.” Ron said.
Eric blinked. “Flew?”
“Ron, he’s never heard of Floo powder before, remember?” Hermione chided, pulling a purple velvet drawstring bag from her backpack. “Fireplaces are a vast network of passages to anywhere in the world. Wizards use Floo powder to get them to their destination.”
Eric frowned. “Through a fireplace?” he said skeptically.
Hermione nodded. “You just step into the fireplace, take a big handful of Floo powder, enunciate your destination clearly and then throw the powder down to the floor of the fireplace.”
“And you go to where you need to?” Eric said.
“You did contact the Ministry and tell them to hook his fireplace up to the network, didn’t you, Hermione?” Ron asked, looking a bit worried.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course I did,” she said. “I did it when Eric was packing.”
“You were in the loo,” Harry told Ron.
“Oh, and you have to watch the grates carefully so that you don’t get off at the wrong spot,” Hermione said to Eric.
“And make sure you speak clearly,” Harry warned. “The first time I tried to Floo, I missed Diagon Alley and ended up in Knockturn Alley.”
“Knockturn Alley is not a place you want to go,” Ron said, shivering.
Seeing Eric’s confusion, Hermione added, “All the really bad wizards are seen there.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding.
“So,” Harry said. “Ready to try your hand at Flooing?”
Eric looked slightly nervous, but tried to play it off with a casual shrug. “Sure, why not?” he responded nonchalantly.
“All right then,” Hermione said, holding the velvet bag out to him.
Wetting his lips, he stuck his hand into the bag, drawing out a handful of the powder and moved over to stand in front of the fireplace.
“Our destination is Dumbledore’s office,” Harry told him.
“Right,” Eric said.
He took a deep breath and then threw his handful of powder into the fireplace, mumbling, “Dumbledore’soffice.”
Suddenly green flames roared up around him and he disappeared from view.
Harry, Hermione and Ron exchanged troubled glances.
“What did he say?” Hermione asked, wrinkling her nose.
“I dunno,” Ron said, shrugging. “He sort of mumbled it.”
“C’mon,” Harry said, grabbing a handful of Floo powder. “We can only hope he went to the right place.”
******
Eric arrived at his destination, coughing violently. He’d accidentally inhaled some ash from the fireplace. The first thing he noticed was that it was deathly cold. The second thing was that there was no sign of Harry, Hermione or Ron. Stepping out of the fireplace, he glanced back to see if they were coming through.
The minutes passed slowly with no sign of them. One minute turned into two, two slowly crawled into three. Finally, deciding that perhaps he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, he set off in search of the three wizards.
He looked around the room he was standing in, taking note of what he saw. It was dark, and there were numerous vials of potions as well as jars of ingredients, some floating in liquid, set up on shelves. A large, round worktable took up a sizable portion of the room. To the left of the desk was the fireplace through which Eric had arrived.
He couldn’t explain it, but he sensed a familiar presence in the room. He wasn’t sure whom the presence belonged to; for a moment, it had seemed the person’s name was on the tip of his tongue, then it gradually slipped away. He shrugged, filing it away for future pondering and continued to the door of the room.
Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob, it turned and the door began to open inward.
“. . .telling you, Mackenzie, I heard a noise,” he heard a man’s voice say. The low, smooth baritone, with its slightly hypnotic quality, seemed to stir something inside of Eric. He remembered that voice. . .reading fairy tales to him.
Blinking, he stepped back from the door just as it swung fully open and a tall, dark-haired man stepped into the room, followed by a breathtakingly beautiful woman.
The man immediately narrowed his eyes, glaring at Eric. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Eric Myers,” Eric responded, staring at the man and the woman. He could see that her eyes were almond-shaped, just like his. Her skin was the same color as his, and she was staring at him, a faint look of recognition in her eyes.
“Fyril?” she whispered.
“So I’m told,” he said, nodding. “I’m guessing you’re Mackenzie and he’s Severus.”
Snape’s eyes widened, a look of surprise crossing his face. “Fyril?” he said.
“Oh, my son!” Mackenzie said, stepping forward and embracing Eric.
Snape stood there for a few moments, watching his ex-wife and son, a stunned expression on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his son was standing there before him, in the flesh.
“Severus, say something,” Mackenzie implored her ex-husband, releasing Eric from her embrace just enough to turn toward Snape.
Snape worked his jaw open and closed for a few moments, trying to find words. Finally, he said, “I-I thought we were supposed to meet you in Dumbledore’s office.”
A blush crept into Eric’s cheeks. “I must’ve gotten off a grate too early.”
“Ah, you used Floo powder to get here,” Mackenzie said, smiling. “Quite a rush, isn’t it?”
He nodded. She hugged him again, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I just can’t believe it,” she whispered. “My baby. After all these years.” She pulled back to look at him, touching her hand to his cheek. “You’ve grown into a handsome man.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks.”
“Mackenzie,” Snape said gently, placing his hand on her back. “Give the poor boy some breathing room. I imagine this is quite a shock, being reunited with his parents.”
“Oh! Yes, how silly of me,” Mackenzie said, releasing Eric and stepping back. “I just, this is overwhelming. I’ve dreamed of this moment forever and now it’s happened.”
Eric’s uncomfortable squirming increased, drawing the attention of Snape, who raised an eyebrow.
“Fyril, what is the matter?” he asked.
Eric made a face. “My name’s Eric,” he said. “I know I’m your son -- Hermione showed me the family tree potion -- but I’m still Eric. And I’m only here because my wife was kidnapped.”
Mackenzie blinked, startled, and Snape frowned.
“Miss Granger used a family tree potion?” he muttered, sounding impressed. It was his turn to blink now, looking at his son. “Wife?”
“Yes,” Eric replied. “My wife Krista was kidnapped by Voldemort’s Death Eaters.”
“My father must intend to use her as a bargaining chip,” Mackenzie said. She frowned. “If your wife hadn’t been kidnapped, would you have come?”
“No,” Eric said truthfully. He flinched as a hurt expression played over his mother’s face. “I’m sorry, but my life was stable. I have a wife, I have a house, I have a good paying job. Krista and I are talking about children. And then these three kids come and tell me I’m a wizard? I don’t need any craziness.”
“And, instead, that’s exactly what you’ve got,” Mackenzie said softly. “Thank you for being honest, Fy-Eric.”
Eric smiled sadly. “You have to understand. Where I come from, wizards are in fairy tales and movies. They don’t exist,” he said.
“And you were skeptical,” Snape said, sounding calculatedly bored.
Mackenzie forced herself to smile as Snape put his arm around her shoulders. “I do hope that once we find your Krista, you’ll take time to get to know your father and me before you leave,” she said, looking at Eric.
He winced slightly. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”
“Come,” Snape said. “We’ll take you to Dumbledore.”
Eric nodded, moving toward the door. Snape started to follow, then glanced at Mackenzie, who looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
“Fy. . .Eric.” Snape corrected himself at the last moment. “Could you give us a moment?”
“Oh, sure,” Eric said, nodding as he stepped out of the office and closed the door.
Snape turned to Mackenzie just as the first tear spilled down her cheek.
“Oh Severus,” she sniffled.
He shifted uncomfortably, torn between the past and present as she began to cry.
“Mackenzie,” he mumbled as her sobs slowly turned into sniffles. He cleared his throat before continuing, his voice now more pedagogical. “You have to look at it from his point of view. Until this point, he thought wizards and magic were just products of someone’s imagination. Not to mention finding out that he’s not who he thought was; that he is the son of two people he’s never even met. It’s quite a lot to absorb in one day.”
“I know,” she said, her voice muffled against her hands. “It’s just. . .he’s our son, Severus. I can’t help wanting to know him as he is now.”
“So do I” He whispered, then steeled his voice again. “But it must be Fyril’s choice. We cannot force him into getting to know us.”
“Maybe if we gave him back his memories?” she suggested, looking up at him as she took a step toward him. “So he would remember his time with us before we sent him away?”
Snape hesitated, then took a step away from her, reasserting the polite distance between them. “I think perhaps we should ask first,” he said. “In case he doesn’t want the spell cast.”
She pouted for a moment at both the personal and ideological rejection, then nodded. She could be stubborn too.
“All right, let’s go,” she said. “Dumbledore is waiting, and the three Aurors are probably worried because their charge hasn’t shown up.”
Eric was waiting for them outside, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Snape cocked one eyebrow upward and he immediately stood still.
“Come,” Snape said, staring down the corridor. “Dumbledore’s office is this way.”
******
As Snape led him through the halls of Hogwarts, Eric couldn’t help but stop and gawk. The place was fascinating! The paintings on the wall talked, the staircases arbitrarily changed and ghosts roamed freely.
Eric jumped as a candlestick suddenly appeared in thin air a hundred feet above their heads. However, before he could so much as stammer, the candlestick had been dropped.
Snape glared up at the ceiling as the candlestick hit the ground with a loud metallic thud. “Peeves!” he growled. Under his breath, he grumbled, “I really wish Dumbledore would do something about that bloody ghost.”
“Oh darling,” Mackenzie said, smiling. “Peeves is just having a little fun.”
“Um. . .who the hell is Peeves?” Eric inquired.
“Oh, he’s just one of the ghosts that lives in Hogwarts,” Mackenzie explained. “He likes to play practical jokes on the students. The Bloody Baron’s the only one that Peeves fears.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. “The Bloody Baron?”
“That’s a long story,” Snape said as they stopped in front of an alcove that held a large statue of an extremely ugly gargoyle.
“Canary Cream,” Snape said.
Eric stared at his father, a funny expression on his face. To his surprise, the gargoyle began to slowly spin and rise, revealing a staircase.
“Come along,” Snape said, starting up the staircase.
Glancing at Mackenzie, Eric motioned for her to go ahead. She moved up the stairs and then Eric followed.
Into a large, circular room, filled with some of the most interesting items Eric had ever seen. The walls were covered with portraits of what Eric assumed were previous headmasters and headmistresses, most of whom were sleeping. There were many strange instruments on tables and an enormous desk with claw feet. Behind him, on a shelf, was an old beaten hat.
Eric blinked, staring at the hat. He could have sworn it had a face and had winked at him.
“Welcome, young Snape,” said a kind, grandfatherly voice from behind the desk.
Eric looked startled and glanced in the direction of the desk. “Um. . .hello.”
“I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said.
“Nice to meet you,” Eric said. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt nervous in the presence of Dumbledore.
The elderly man had long white hair and long white beard with rich velvet robes embroidered with numerous magical symbols. Upon his long nose over his twinkling blue eyes, he wore half moon spectacles. All in all he looked exactly like a true wizard should.
“I trust young Misters Potter and Weasley and Miss Granger have told you about your lineage,” Dumbledore said.
“Yes,” Eric said, nodding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the three standing beside Dumbledore’s desk.
“I imagine it was quite a shock.”
“That’s an understatement, sir,” Eric muttered.
Dumbledore chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he responded. “I believe your parents wish to begin your training as a wizard.”
Eric snorted. “What, no ‘I’m too old to begin training’?”
“Well, I will admit you are a bit older than our usual students, but I’m sure we could accommodate you,” Dumbledore said.
“How long is this gonna take?” Eric asked. “My wife’s been kidnapped and I’d really like to find her before something bad happens.”
“Of course, I understand,” Dumbledore answered. “The most important thing is preparing you to face your grandfather.”
“He isn’t ready,” Snape argued. “We don’t have enough time to prepare him properly.”
“We must take the chance that he will be able to handle himself, Severus,” Dumbledore said patiently.
“Voldemort is a powerful wizard,” Snape snapped. “I will not send my son up against him.”
“Hey, don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Eric said, irritated. “I can handle myself.”
“The first order of business should be finding Fy. . .Eric a wand,” Mackenzie said.
Dumbledore nodded. “Excellent point, Mackenzie,” he responded. “I believe a trip to Diagon Alley is necessary, with a stop at Ollivanders first priority.”
“Ollivanders?” Eric repeated, frowning.
“The finest wand maker,” Snape explained.
“I didn’t bring any money with me,” Eric protested.
“Oh, your Muggle money wouldn’t work anyway,” Ron piped up. “Ollivanders only accepts wizard money.”
“Oh,” Eric said blankly.
“Ron!” Hermione said, shaking her head.
“Don’t worry,” Mackenzie said, smiling. “I’ll cover the cost of any purchases.”
“Then Mackenzie shall see young Master Snape to Diagon Alley,” Dumbledore said. “Professor Snape, I believe you have a class to prepare for, while our three young Aurors have duties they must attend to as well.”
“No sir, we’d like to stay and help Eric,” Harry said.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to clear this with the Ministry of Magic,” he replied. “They might have other important tasks they wish for you to perform.”
“Nothing could be more important than stopping Voldemort,” Harry protested.
“Come on, Fy. . .Eric,” Mackenzie said, holding her arm out to Eric. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to show you Diagon Alley.”
Eric fought the urge to roll his eyes and allowed his mother to pull him toward the door. Suddenly he stopped, hearing Harry gasp in pain.
Snape raised an eyebrow, watching Harry raise a hand to his forehead, rubbing the lightening bolt-shaped scar left by Voldemort’s attack. “What is it, Potter?” the Potions master demanded.
It was Eric who answered instead. “Krista,” he said in a low whisper, a look of panic crossing his face.
Mackenzie frowned, glancing at her son, then at Harry.
“Harry?” Hermione asked, a worried expression on her face. “What is it?”
“Krista’s in terrible trouble,” Harry muttered. “We have to find her. Quick.”
******
“Let me out of here, you son of a bitch!” Krista screamed, banging her hand against the door of her prison. When no one answered, she banged her hand again, cursing in Spanish.
She didn’t even know where she was. She remembered little after coming into the kitchen to fix supper for herself and Eric. Three strange men clad in long black robes had appeared out of thin air. One of them had very menacingly told her she was to come with them.
“Over my dead body!” she’d hissed, grabbing a large butcher’s knife from a carving block that had been sitting on the counter.
One of the men had stretched their hand out toward her and the knife had leapt across the room. He’d caught it by the handle and casually brandished it.
“What the hell?” she’d muttered, her eyes widening.
The man had laughed, a cold, cruel sound. “Why don’t you try and get it?” he’d said, the haughty tone of his voice pushing her already boiling temper to its limit.
“Since you insist,” she’d growled.
She’d lashed out with a roundhouse kick, her foot colliding with the man’s hand, causing him to drop the knife. It hit the ground with a metallic clang and slid a few feet away from him. The other two men had hung back, happy to let the fight reign between Krista and her attacker.
“You little bitch,” the man had hissed.
Krista had smirked, then dived past the man. She’d hit the ground, came up in a roll, grabbing the handle of the knife. As she’d risen to her feet, she slashed the knife diagonally right to left.
Her attacker had cried out in pain, the sleeve of his robe torn, a line of red appearing across his forearm. “You’ll pay for that,” he’d hissed.
“Would you like that in cash or do you take a check?” she’d said cheekily.
The man had growled. “You certainly are a stubborn little twit.”
She’d grinned. “And don’t you forget it.”
She’d moved to stab him with the knife, but his hand had snaked out, grabbing her wrist. A cry had escaped her as he’d wrenched her wrist, causing the knife to slip from nerveless fingers.
He’d pulled her close to his hooded face with his other hand. “You’ll come with us now.”
“Like hell,” she’d snapped, spitting in his face and bringing her knee up between his legs. She’d grinned as he’d grunted in pain.
As his grip had loosened, she’d danced back out of his reach. She’d moved to snatch up the knife and had cursed as it skittered back out of her grasp as if jerked by an invisible string.
The knife had risen from the floor, floating into the man’s hand. His hood had fallen back to reveal blue eyes that smoldered with anger. Golden blond hair was swept backward to fall down his back and his lips were curled into a snarl.
“I will not say this again,” he’d snarled. “You will come with us NOW.”
“Fuck you,” she’d hissed. Suddenly she’d screamed, recoiling backwards as the man slashed her arm with the knife. She’d felt hands grip her shoulders and had started to struggle.
The blond-haired man had smirked. “And now that I’ve collected my dues. . .” He’d mumbled a few words and passed his hand over Krista’s face.
Almost immediately, darkness had overtaken her.
When she’d awoken, she had found herself in a tiny room, occupied with one small cot in a corner. There were no windows and only a small door that seemed to have no knob. Her watch had been taken from her. She hadn’t been wearing any shoes at the time of her abduction, so the stone floor was cold against her feet.
By her best estimate, she’d been banging on the door for nearly half an hour. It certainly felt like longer.
“Just wait until my husband gets a hold of you!” she shouted, not really caring if anybody was on the other side to hear her. “Heads are gonna roll!”
She suddenly gasped as the lock turned audibly and the door began to slowly swing open. Her head came up, her chin jutting out defiantly as she recognized the blond-haired man from her abduction.
“Back for more?” she said, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes widened as she saw the cut on his arm had disappeared. “How. . .”
The man smirked. “Ah, the magic of a wave of a wand.”
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“My master wishes an audience with you,” he answered.
“Tell him to forget it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
He raised an eyebrow. “That is not an option,” he said calmly. “I could cast a spell that would put you completely under my control.”
“Go for it,” she snapped, glaring at you. “I’m not afraid of you, nor am I easily controlled.”
One corner of his mouth curled upward into a cruel smile. “We shall see.”
Before she could move, he’d twisted the knob of his cane, which was shaped like a snake’s head, and pulled it away from the shaft, revealing a long brown stick. Krista gulped, sliding back a step as she guessed it was his wand.
He pointed the tip at her and said, “Imperio!”
Suddenly Krista had the undeniable urge to move forward and raised her foot, intending to take a step toward the man.
No! a voice inside of her cried, rebelling against the other voice in her head telling her to follow the man.
Feeling as though she were a drowning swimmer struggling to reach the surface, she fought against the voice insisting she obey.
“Not. . .on. . .your. . .life,” she managed to say, glaring at the man.
His eyes narrowed and the voice inside her head rose in volume, screaming at her to follow him down the corridor.
She raised her chin defiantly, somehow finding the strength to shake her head. Suddenly she cried out in pain, her hand pressing against her temple as she sank to her knees.
“Impossible,” hissed the man. “No Muggle has ever resisted the Imperius curse.”
Once the roaring pain in her head lessened, Krista raised her head to glare at him. “Guess I’m too stubborn for ya, huh?”
He growled, stalked over to her and grabbed her upper arm.
“Ow!” she cried as he roughly dragged her to her feet.
“You are coming with me,” he hissed, proceeding to yank her toward the door.
Realizing that any further resistance would be futile, Krista reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged through the corridors.
She felt icy fear overwhelm her as she was dragged down a corridor lined with statutes of snakes. She flashed back to her husband’s description of his nightmare and gulped as she saw a high-backed chair like the one he had described at the end of the corridor.
The closer they got to the chair, the more she began to struggle, trying to wrench free of her captor’s iron grip. At last, they reached the chair and Krista stood, trembling.
“My lord, the lady Snape,” Krista’s captor announced.
Krista frowned, glancing at her captor. “Dude, my last name’s not Snape. It’s Myers. Hello!”
The blond-haired man ignored her.
“Excellent, Malfoy,” a rasping voice said, sending chills down Krista’s spine. “You may leave us.”
The man called Malfoy bowed, shooting Krista a smirk before retreating back down the corridor.
She swallowed, trying to stop shaking as the chair began to slowly turn.
The being occupying the chair was even more frightful than her husband had described. The red eyes seemed to burn into hers, so that even if she closed her eyes, she could still see his. She flinched, trying to avert her eyes, but found her gaze drawn back to him in morbid fascination.
“So,” the figure said. “You are the woman who has captured the heart of my grandson.”
“What?” she said, frowning. “No way in hell you’re Eric’s grandpa.”
A low chuckle sounded from the being. “I assure you, my dear, I am. You haven’t had the chance to learn your husband’s true identity, so allow me to. . .what is the Muggle phrase? Ah yes. . .fill you in.”
She made a face, an uneasy feeling washing over her.
“I am Lord Voldemort, formerly Tom Marvolo Riddle,” the being said. “My daughter, Mackenzie, and her husband, Severus Snape, gave birth to a son, Fyril. The child was hidden away from me for many years. But recently, my Death Eaters succeeded in locating him.”
“Eric,” Krista whispered.
“Quite right, my dear,” Voldemort said, flashing an evil grin. “It would seem my grandson not only has a taste for beauty but for brains as well.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, spare me the flattery bullshit and tell me what the hell you want from me.”
Voldemort released a low chuckle. “Ah, I love directness in a woman.”
Krista tried to hide her shudder. “Just tell me what I want to know.”
The dark lord’s lips curled into a smile. “Tell me, does your husband love you?”
She snorted, rolling her eyes. “Duh. Why do you think he married me?”
“Would you say that he would die for you?”
Krista paled. “Oh no. Oh hell no,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not killing my husband!”
She cringed at his raspy chuckle. “You may put your fears aside, my dear,” he said. “Fyril would be of no use to me dead.”
Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey, would you mind calling him Eric? I mean, that is his name.”
“No! His name is Fyril! I will not refer to my grandson by some Muggle name!”
She drew back at the hoarse words. “Okay, yikes, did I hit a nerve or what?” She shivered as she watched Voldemort lovingly stroke the head of the snake in his lap.
“Now, you say your husband loves you and that he would die for you,” Voldemort said as he nudged the snake, which slithered from his lap.
Krista gave a little shriek and backpedaled as it slithered past her feet. “I was mistaken” she muttered, trying to regain her composure. “He just likes the sex. It’s purely physical.”
She could feel Voldemort’s eyes on her and swallowed nervously. “Yeah, see, I know what you’re planning,” she continued on, licking her lips. “You’re thinking that if you hold me prisoner, he’ll come and then you can get on with your evil plans. But it ain’t gonna work. See, Eric won’t come. It’s a lost cause; you might as well let me go.”
“Is that so?” Voldemort responded lazily. “My Death Eaters beg to differ. They inform me that Fyril has left America and has come to London. He’s at Hogwarts as we speak.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Hogwazzit?”
“A school for wizards and witches,” Voldemort answered.
“Okay, now see, now I know you’re lying,” she said. “Why would Eric be at a school for witches and wizards? He doesn’t have an ounce of magic in his bones. Well. . .except for some pretty amazing hotness in the bedroom, but that’s besides the point.”
“Good God, woman, do you ever shut up?!” Voldemort hissed.
Surprised, Krista immediately closed her mouth, staring at him with wide eyes.
“Look,” she said once she’d found her voice again. “Why don’t you just let me go? I’m of no use to you.”
“But you are, my dear,” he objected. “Both you and your unborn child shall serve a purpose.”
Krista blinked, stumbling back a step as she tried to absorb his words. “M-my what?”
Voldemort’s eyes flickered with something like amusement. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you not know?”
She could only gape in astonishment, her mind turning his words over and over, trying to decide if they were true.
Oh my God, she thought. A child. . .Eric and I. . .but how did he know? I didn’t even know. . .
She stared at him suspiciously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh, come, child,” he responded. “Do you think I cannot recognize the fluttering of life in your womb?”
She blinked. “Okay, you’re nuts,” she determined. “How ‘bout you call up your blond goon so he can take me back to my cell? I’m sick of looking at your freaky eyes.”
Shivers traveled down her spine at the sound of his chuckle. “Ah yes, a smart mouthed Muggle,” he said. “Very well. I grow tired of your company anyway.”
She glared at him, then suddenly gasped as Malfoy appeared behind her, grabbing her upper arm. “Jesus!” she hissed, frowning. She hadn’t heard Voldemort call for him and she hadn’t seen him ring a bell or anything. . .how had Malfoy known to come? And how had he gotten into the room without her noticing?
“Yes, Master?” Malfoy said, glancing at Voldemort.
“Escort my grandson’s wife back to her quarters,” Voldemort said. “And bring her something to eat.”
“Oh, how kind of you,” she snapped.
“Let it not be said that I am not a gracious host,” Voldemort responded. “After all, I can’t have my great-grandson malnourished.”
“Oh sure, so let’s keep her mother locked up in a tiny five-by-five room with only a cot and most likely torture her,” Krista said through clenched teeth. By God, if she really was pregnant, it was going to be a little girl.
“Malfoy, take her away,” Voldemort said. “I tire of her mouth.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Malfoy responded. “My lady. . .” He jerked Krista toward the door.
“Ow!” she cried, glaring at him. “Hey, ease the grip, dude. You’re damaging the merchandise. Just you wait until my husband gets his hands on you. Then you’ll be toast.”
Malfoy chuckled as he dragged her through the corridors. “I doubt your husband could handle me.”
“Maybe you’ll get the chance to find out,” Krista hissed as he opened the door to her cell and threw her in.
“Tell me, how does Fyril put up with your mouth?” Malfoy asked. “Does he use a spell to silence you?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Oh, I forgot. He was raised a Muggle. What is that sticky stuff Muggles use to fix everything?”
“Duct tape?” Krista grumbled.
“Ah yes, that’s it,” Malfoy said, snapping his fingers. “Does he duct tape your mouth shut before he makes love to you?”
“You son of a bitch!” Krista shouted, murder in her eyes as she hurled herself at him.
He laughed and slammed the door in her face. She hit the slab of wood with a resounding thud.
“Ow!” she hissed, feeling the impact through her whole body. She growled as she heard the retreating sound of Malfoy’s laughter. Sighing to herself, she slid down the length of the door to sit on the floor.
“Oh Eric, I hope you don’t come after me,” she muttered, hugging her knees to her chest. She was afraid of what devious plans Voldemort had in store for her love.