Of Power & Prestige – Part the Eleventh

Part the Eleventh

Haesel smiled up at her mother as they exited the third drawing room in Riddle Manor. They had been touring and making notes for the past hour and a half, and she couldn’t help but wonder how Marvolo was entertaining her father and brother. As long as her father didn’t start a fight—he was still annoyed that she had been around Marvolo in a nightgown—she assumed they would all still be alive by the time she and her mother returned to the first floor parlor for tea.

“It’s lovely architecture,” said Isadore. “Lord Slytherin was right; the rooms need work. But I think you’ll be happy here.” She clasped Haesel’s empty hand and grinned.

Haesel squeezed her mother’s hand in response. “I agree. There’s a lot of potential. I think his grandmother was just overly fond of excessiveness and horribly gaudy displays of wealth.” The sitting room that was nothing but endless shades of gold had hurt her eyes.

“Like the Malfoys,” Isadore whispered, as if sharing a secret. “Narcissa has a sitting room that’s full of mirrors, so she can see herself from every angle.”

Laughing, Haesel swung her mother’s hand. While she liked Lady Malfoy, she didn’t doubt it in the least. Lady Malfoy was generally nice, but she was also quite vain. “Don’t let Grandmama hear you say that. Blacks have every right to be vain,” Haesel replied.

Isadore mimed locking her lips and throwing away the key. “What room is next?” she asked the house-elf who was silently leading them.

“The Lord’s and Lady’s chambers,” the house-elf responded.

Haesel stared at the bound parchment book she had been writing her notes in. Other than two of the parlors, the main library, the entrance hall, and a few other rooms, the manor desperately needed redecorating. She could easily understand why Marvolo wanted her to make a list of changes as soon as possible—otherwise the manor wouldn’t be ready by the time they bonded. Well, it might not be quite that much work, but it was close.

“All right, let’s start with the Lady’s chambers,” she said as she reread the list.

The house-elf turned around and wrung one of its ears. “My lady be misunderstanding.”

“How so?” Isadore asked, brow furrowed.

“There’s being none of those, excepting the sitting room and library we maked for my lady yesterday,” said the house-elf.

“And you did a wonderful job on those,” Haesel quickly assured the creature. The furniture had been elegant and antique, built to last and built for style—unlike the horrendous pieces that had become popular in the last decade.  Though it was somewhat disloyal to her heritage, she adored Baroque furniture. However, her favorite styles were Elizabethan and Medieval—never let it be said that she couldn’t appreciate one of the areas Muggles excelled in.

Isadore gazed at the house-elf, head tilted, and then nodded. “You meant chambers that the Lord and Lady of the House will share.”

The house-elf nodded enthusiastically, its ears slapping against its face. “Yes! My lord is being most insistent that my lady is not being in chambers way away from him. My lord is saying a lady is belonging with her lord always. My lord is being most very determined.” He stared up with teary eyes, as if they would punish him for his words.

“Please show us,” Haesel whispered. Her thoughts were on her future as Lady Slytherin, and Marvolo’s desire that she share his chambers. She knew of several pureblood witches who had their own bedroom, separate from their husbands. She also knew her grandparents cohabitated, as did her parents. Haesel had always sought that for herself: a man who would want her with him always. Being relegated to another bedchamber, only to be visited when he sought his marital rights, would be insulting in the extreme.

“This is being the way, my lady,” the house-elf said. It started back down the corridor, and they followed it.

“Are you okay, darling? Your face is red,” Isadore said, with both a hint of worry and teasing in her tone.

“I’m fine, Mum. I just . . .”

“Just what, darling?” queried Isadore, more worry in her voice. She released Haesel’s hand and gave her a one-armed hug.

Haesel sighed and leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Mum, would you let me—can I—will you—?”

Isadore stopped walking and locked gazes with Haesel. Their eyes were mirror reflections of ice, and only two inches separated their height. Anyone who didn’t know them might assume they were sisters, perhaps even twins, if Isadore had also possessed ebony hair, instead of her golden locks. “What is it?”

“May I enter the chambers alone?” inquired Haesel. It wouldn’t be at all proper, but the closer she got to their destination, the more uncomfortable she felt with letting her mother enter the rooms Marvolo slept in. A Lord and Lady’s bedchamber was for them alone: intimate and sacred. She had never even entered her parents’ bedroom. She had seen all the other rooms attached to their suite, but not that one.

The smile on Isadore’s face was bittersweet as she traced her fingers down Haesel’s face. “It seems like just yesterday that I held you in my arms for the first time. And now you’re all grown up.” Her voice was husky and gentle.

“Mum . . .”

“Of course you may, darling. I understand. I’ll wait outside for you.”

“My lady? We are being here,” the house-elf said. It pointed at a door just feet from where they stood.

“Thank you,” Haesel said absently. She stepped toward it, and then turned around and engulfed her mother in a hug. “I love you, Mum.”

“And I you, my darling girl,” Isadore whispered. She hugged her tightly, and then kissed her brow. “Now go see your future, darling. But never forget your past.”

“I won’t,” Haesel promised as she pulled away. She inhaled shakily and blinked back the tears that wanted to fall. She could only hope that, someday in the future, she would be half the mother her own was.

Haesel walked around the house-elf and into the room, before closing the door behind her. The room was elegant, with dark, antique furniture. Sofas and settees were placed near the massive fireplace that was over six feet tall. Its mantle was yew, and the hearth was free of soot. She walked toward it and ran her hand along the mantle, pausing just long enough to set down the book she had carried in with her, before turning her eyes to the floor. Haesel could easily imagine winter nights spent cuddled before a roaring fire, Marvolo’s arms holding her close to his side. She would tilt her head back and offer her lips, and he would claim them until she could no longer think.

Her fingers trailed along the back of the nearest settee. Haesel would lie here in her nightgown, waiting for Marvolo to return from advising the Minister for Magic, because she would be unable to sleep without him beside her—his breath on her neck, his arm about her waist, and his magic blanketing her.

She stood before an ornate mirror, non-magical and somehow all the more intriguing because of it. Haesel would stand right here before they left for balls, having to fix her hair because he inevitably messed it up when he couldn’t help but kiss her, for her gown was just a little too low-cut. Marvolo’s magic would lash out with jealousy, and his eyes might turn that mesmerizing color of fresh blood. He would demand she change, but Haesel would ignore him, because he had been spending too much time at the clubs, and she missed him.

Haesel opened the nearest door and walked into a dressing room of immense proportions. There were empty racks and drawers, each waiting for her clothing, shoes, and accessories. The lack of items called to her, as if Marvolo constantly stood in this dressing room and bemoaned her absence, eagerly awaiting the day she would fill it.

One of the drawers in the jewelry armoire was open, and Haesel was unable to look away. Marvolo wasn’t careless; he had left it open on purpose, to garner her attention. She padded over and picked up the large, velvet box. Haesel lifted the lid and then gasped in awe.

“Do you like it?”

Haesel spun around to see Marvolo was leaning against the doorframe of another door, one that likely led into the bedchamber. His hair was somewhat unruly, as if he had just run his fingers through it several times.

“What are you doing here?” asked Haesel. He was supposed to be off with her father and brother. Her mother never would have allowed her in here alone if she knew Marvolo would be present.

“I felt you enter our rooms. I couldn’t keep away,” he confessed. “Do you want me to leave, my lady? I would not want my presence to make you uncomfortable.” Marvolo straightened as he waited for her answer.

Even though she knew she should send him away, she didn’t. She couldn’t. This felt so real, so right. They belonged here—together. “Please stay,” whispered Haesel.

Marvolo’s shoulders relaxed as he strode toward her. His eyes sparkled with delight, and he stared hungrily at her. “Do you like it?” he repeated as he touched the velvet box, his fingers brushing along hers.

Haesel tore her gaze away from his enticing smile and looked at the necklace once more. A serpent, of what she believed to be mithril, held the most elaborate and unique pendant she had ever seen. The serpent was perfect in detail, each individual scale visible, and held a blue diamond the size of a Galleon in its mouth. She usually hated shiny things, but . . . “It’s stunning,” she breathed.

Smirking, Marvolo petted the mithril snake. “Salazar crafted it for his wife. He personally imbued the diamond with protection charms and rituals, including blood magic. It’s able to stop the Killing Curse. The serpent, Jörmungandr, was thus named because Salazar believed if the serpent ever let go of the protection stone, Salazar’s world would end.” Marvolo cupped Haesel’s cheek. “I cannot fault him for that.”

My world would end if anything happened to you, his magic whispered to her. Haesel had never heard him so clearly before.

As would mine, she replied.

“Two days before Salazar finished it, his wife was murdered by a riot of Muggles. They burned her at the stake.” Marvolo’s eyes flashed crimson. “I will not chance losing you, my lady. Promise me that you’ll always wear it,” he demanded.

Muggles had burned Salazar Slytherin’s wife at the stake? That explained his hatred of all things Muggle, and why he didn’t want Muggle-borns to attend Hogwarts. History had done the man a great injustice. How would her ancestor, Godric Gryffindor, have felt if Muggles had murdered his wife? Godric was infamous for loving battle and duels; he wouldn’t have tolerated such treachery either.

Haesel turned her head and kissed Marvolo’s palm as his magic urged her to give her word. Even if his magic had been silent, she still would have complied. The desperation in his eyes was unnerving, bordering on insanity, and she didn’t want to know what phantoms of the mind taunted him. She would do everything in her power—which wasn’t insignificant—to ensure that nothing stole her away from him and tipped the balance.

“I swear to you, Lord Slytherin, that I will never remove the pendant once it’s mine,” said Haesel. A tendril of her magic burrowed into his magical core and twined around it. They both shivered.

Marvolo nodded, eyes conveying his gratitude as he removed the necklace from the box. Instead of moving behind her, Marvolo leaned forward. His chest brushed her breasts and his breath skittered along her neck as he hissed instructions to the serpent. Its tail unwound, and then slithered across her skin until her neck was completely encircled. Haesel felt Marvolo’s magic seal it, the metal heating, and knew instantly that only he would ever be able to remove it. Haesel also knew he never would, and she could find no fault in that. She only wished she had something similar to give him; the thought of life without him made her magic roil with horror. They were too deeply entwined to ever separate and maintain their sanity.

When his lips pressed to her neck, kissing beside the length of the serpent, she dropped the box. The final kiss was light, almost not-there, and against the swell of her breasts, where the diamond lay. Haesel’s hands trembled as her stomach fluttered wildly. “M-Marvolo.”

Marvolo groaned against her skin, and then leaned back. He rose to his full height. His eyes burned down at her like molten lava, and Haesel wanted to let it consume her. “I love it when you say my name,” Marvolo said, fingers gripping hers possessively. “You never speak my name when you know others are around, only when we’re in private. It’s so—intimate.” She shuddered at the husky sound of his voice. “Come, Haesel,” he purred.

Haesel understood what he meant. The few times he had addressed her by her name alone were precious. Her name sounded different on his lips than on anyone else’s. It sounded . . . treasured, perhaps?

When Marvolo started walking toward the door he had entered the dressing room through, Haesel’s breathing sped up. He was leading her into their future bedchamber, and no one was around to chaperone them. Her stomach knotted with emotions, unease and curiosity chief among them. Before she could offer a token protest, they crossed the threshold.

The room could have been covered in cobwebs and dust. It could have had marble flooring, or stone, or hardwood. The walls could have been blank, or lined with priceless works of art. Haesel paid no attention to her surrounding, because her gaze had locked onto the enormous bed the moment she passed over the threshold.

Its four posts were magnificently carved, and the bedstead itself was definitely from the Medieval era. She wondered if it had been in Slytherin’s vault. Morgana knew the Potters possessed vaults full of nothing but furniture that wasn’t being used. In fact, she planned to use several of the pieces to refurnish Riddle Manor.

Marvolo led her to the bed, and then halted. She felt his gaze on her as she reached forward and touched the nearest post. It radiated warmth beneath her fingers, just as her wand did. “Holly.”

“Yes.”

“For protection from illnesses, fire, and evil witchcraft,” she said, memories surfacing. She had researched holly thoroughly after she got her wand, desiring to know all of its properties.

“Yes.”

“Dark twin of the oak, and king of the forests for six months of the year. Always strong, always in bloom, refusing to succumb to the harsh frigidity of winter. Always living and thriving—unconquerable,” she whispered. “Ever triumphant.”

“As our bonding will be,” purred Marvolo.

“Yes,” she agreed. Haesel swallowed as she remembered the last important quality. Taking into account all she knew of it, it was no wonder Marvolo had insisted their bed be created from holly wood. “Holly,” Haesel breathed, “for life and . . . fertility.”

Marvolo hissed something in that seductive, indecipherable language, eyes blazing, and then grasped her waist. He spun her around until her back was to the post, and then he carefully pushed her against it. Another unintelligible hiss escaped him, and then his mouth was on hers. Marvolo devoured her, sending her thoughts into a tailspin. All thought of propriety—or lack thereof—vanished as she yielded her mouth to him. Haesel reached up and thrust her hands into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands.

When he pressed fully against her, caging her safely in his arms, their magic went wild. It flared around them, traveling out from their bodies. Their magic melded, and then slithered into the floor, ceiling, and walls. Haesel felt the manor come alive for them as they imbued it with their combined magic. The blankness she had felt upon entering a manor with no ancestral magic began to fade.

Haesel’s tongue battled with Marvolo’s as he moaned into her mouth, sending her senses into a frenzy. She had never felt like this before. It was, she nearly snorted at the thought, magical. Just as Marvolo’s hands slipped downward the barest bit, she felt the last of the manor come to life.

Gasping, Marvolo leapt away from her. He buried his head in his hands as she desperately tried to inhale enough oxygen to satisfy her lungs. The loose corset felt unbearably restraining. “Forgive me, my lady,” Marvolo groaned.

“For what?” asked Haesel. Surely there was nothing to forgive.

His hands dropped then, and she almost choked when she saw the expression in his eyes. It was uncontrolled, wild, and wanton. The scent of hemlock flooded the air as he carefully took one step backward. Marvolo’s magic writhed at the additional distance, and tasted primal—dangerous.

“For losing control,” he gritted out as he retreated another step. “I’m a danger to you.”

Haesel’s heart ached with each word he spoke. He might fear for her safety in his presence, but she never would—not even if he went completely feral. She caressed her new pendant and then closed the distance between them, hating each step he took away from her. Marvolo’s back met a wall, and Haesel paused before him, concern and trust overwhelming her. She kissed his chest, right over his heart, as his whole body sought to both greet her and lurch away.

After glancing up at him through her eyelashes, Haesel stated, “Though I have no intention of doing so, Marvolo, you are the only man I would ever trust to honor me in the Ancient Ways, under the Olde Magick.” His chest stilled beneath her hands as he stopped breathing. “If I know nothing else in this world, I know that my virtue is safe with you.”

Haesel stood on tiptoe, kissed Marvolo’s unmoving lips, and then left the room. She knew her family would notice the difference in the manor, and hoped they would assume a ward had blocked them from sensing the manor’s magic before now. A few, quick spells smoothed out her robes and hair and reduced the swelling of her lips. She couldn’t do anything about the twinkle in her eyes; her mother would spot a glamour charm the moment she stepped back into the corridor. It could be explained away as joy, of course. That would do.

What Haesel did know, without a doubt, was that she needed to invent an excuse for why she was suddenly in possession of a priceless diamond necklace.

* * *

Tonight.  It would be tonight.

Marvolo breathed in deeply and felt the family magic of his home—the magic of his love mingled with the intoxicating scent of his beloved’s unbridled power.  For a home it now was.  It might have been once—in his father’s lifetime—but that had been decades ago when it had been infected by the Muggle scum from which he was bred.

And his darling didn’t care.  Haesel didn’t mind that he was a half-blood; she only kissed him deeper and brushed away the first tear he had cried since he was a child.

“Your father was horrible,” she had murmured against his lips when they had been able to steal a moment away from their chaperones earlier that week at Malfoy Manor.  “But he gave me you.”

Marvolo could not fault this logic.  As vexatious and childish as he found Heir Potter, the man had created Haesel.  In the dark of the night, as the magic of Riddle Manor washed over him, and he had already sent out his magic to his darling fiancée, he would sometimes wonder what would have happened if James Potter had been successful with that Muggle-born of his.  Haesel had told him of the “Potter Pact” as she and her brother jokingly called it.  If that Mudblood wench hadn’t been so dishonorable as to suggest that she wouldn’t marry Heir Potter if he were the last wizard living, so much could have been different.

Would Heir Potter have brought her around before he reached his seventeenth year?

Marvolo was now privy to Potter family history, and had become aware of a stray fond comment from Lady Isadore that the Mudblood had dared to declare her love Potter’s final year at Hogwarts. . . .

Heir Potter had already, fortunately, fallen for Lady Isadore, but what if he had run back to that Mudblood?

What would his Haesel be like?  Would she have been born, but different?  Would magic have created someone so powerful?  Would Heir Potter even have had a daughter; would her magic have called to him? With the taste of a Muggle taint, would he have answered despite the fact that Marvolo was nearly completely certain he had been entranced—if not in love—with her essence since that second tide?

What would the future have held?

It was torture.

Two days ago, when he knew that Haesel was at a friend’s private birthday celebration—Lady Rose Zeller, he believed—Marvolo’s curiosity had been peaked and he decided not to control the impulse.

And now, sitting here, he saw it—almost as if it were a vision.  Heir James marrying this filth before him.  A son with messy black hair and her green eyes.  He was there, pale, snake-like. . . . Something must have changed earlier.  He was Lord Voldemort, not Lord Slytherin—but how?  It didn’t matter, for then there was a green flash, a cry of a baby, a lightning bolt scar, and he was gone and yet not.  He struggled again and again to come back to come back, until he did, and then—and then—a battle and his final death—and no beautiful, intelligent, cheeky Haesel in his arms.  Never.  This woman could have taken that away from him.  Could have taken Haesel before she had even been conceived and, for a brief moment, he despised this Mudblood so much that he wouldn’t be surprised if his eyes had flashed red.

He sent out his magic, quiet, a whisper, so that his beloved would not be disturbed and because he needed her in that moment.  Marvolo knew she found Lady Rose to be sweet and genteel, and the last thing Haesel needed was to worry about him potentially meeting her father’s youthful infatuation.

The woman had married a half-blood.  Her husband’s father was Muggle; his mother had been stripped of her title, and so she was simply Professor Lily Snape.  If she hadn’t such a position, she would just be Lily Snape—the lowest of the low.  Marrying a half-blood was certainly a tour-de-force, though not an entirely uncommon one, but she could have been “Mrs. Potter” if she had married Heir Potter. And if certain rituals had been performed, her children could have been “Master Henry” and “Miss Haesel,” assuming she liked those names.

Marvolo knew that Heir Potter liked the letter “H” for whatever reason.  The wizard jokingly said he had gotten a good feeling with it, but Marvolo’s beloved had been named by her mother.  Hazel trees gave wisdom and inspiration, traits she hoped her eldest would possess.  Lady Isadore was a student of Druidic lore, of which Marvolo heartily approved.

Marvolo had felt Lily Snape’s presence in Muggle London and had been surprised.  He had ordered his house-elf to find something suitable for a well-dressed Muggle gentleman that was casual but smart.  An hour later, he had a white button down shirt and charcoal trousers.  He rolled up his sleeves and, hiding his wand in a holster on his leg, Apparated to London.

Lily Snape was sitting alone in a crowded café, a notebook and Muggle pen in her hand, a newspaper that appeared Muggle discarded on the seat beside her.  Marvolo entered and ordered Earl Grey before approaching the table.  “Is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice like silk.  “There are no free tables.”

Lily looked up, her eyes blurred with her thoughts, before a forced smile appeared on her face.  “Of course.”  She hastily removed the paper from the chair.  “I’ve given up on my husband getting away from his work.”  Her voice was tired and wary, as if she hadn’t expected Severus Snape to appear at all.

“That’s too bad,” Marvolo commented, accepting the paper she offered.  Her hair was almost lovely, a lackluster auburn.  Her almond eyes shone an emerald green, but something had extinguished their natural life.  “What does he do, if I may ask?”

Lily sighed, closing her book.  “He’s a chemistry professor at a public school.”

Marvolo nodded in acknowledgment.  “Married to his work?” he guessed.  Something was making this woman unhappy.

“In a way,” Lily evaded before turning her sharp eyes on him.  “What brings you here on such a nice day?”

“My fiancée is at a friend’s birthday party,” he answered truthfully, the Muggle vernacular flowing through his lips like the venom of a snake.

Lily looked at him appraisingly.  “My congratulations.”  It was said as if by rote.  “Don’t marry her if you don’t love her,” she advised.  Lily flipped a piece of hair behind her ear and Marvolo noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the lines marring her face, as if she were a Muggle and not a witch.  “Even if she loves you, it’s not worth it.  Take it from someone who knows.”  She mumbled the last bit.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he responded coldly.

A laugh, like bells turned sour, escaped her lips as Marvolo was served his tea.  “Forgive me.  You are young yet.  You hear words of love or speak them because it is what’s done.  You are infatuated, or perhaps she is an old friend and you think ‘I love her,’ but you’re not in love with her.”  She turned her head to look at the passersby.  “Perhaps you think you’ll fall in love, because you have once before.  It’s hopeless, though.”

Marvolo took a sip of his tea.  For a Muggle concoction, it wasn’t horrendous.

Lily turned back to him again.  “Forgive me.  The musings of a woman who has been married for nearly two decades.  I shouldn’t burden you with such.”

“Not at all,” Marvolo responded politely.  Lily might have been glorious once, but marriage had not suited her.  She was still in love with his future father-in-law, it would seem.  Marvolo doubted that James had held a single tender thought for her in the past twenty years.

“Tell me about her,” Lily said suddenly.  “This love of your life.”

“She’s beautiful, strong, her heart beats with honor and a sense of decency.  If she’s angry then she lets me know it.”  Marvolo couldn’t help but smile.

“How lovely.”

“I believe you are acquainted with her, Professor Snape.”  He let his eyes flash red ever-so-slightly to show his displeasure.

Lily breathed in deeply.  “Who are you?”

“Lord Slytherin,” he answered.  “I was curious about you,” Marvolo said honestly to the shock written over her face.  “I realize that you and your husband may perhaps not have reason to like Master Potter or Lady Haesel, but I would consider it a due owed for at least my rank—if not theirs—if the rest of their years were free of harassment because of a mistake that you, madam, made many years ago.”

“How dare you—?” she breathed indignantly, no longer quite a shadow of the woman she might once have been.

“How dare you?” Marvolo answered carefully.  “Do not make me spell it out to you, or give your husband a visit at Hogwarts, where I presume he is.”

Lily’s jaw clenched in anger.

“Till later, Professor Snape,” he said haughtily, before getting up and just leaving.

That had been days ago, and now—tonight—was the night of his engagement ball.  If only it were his bonding.  Marvolo was dressed impeccably in the green and silver robes of Slytherin House. His hair shone slightly dark red in the candlelight, his eyes bright with repressed excitement.  Soon he would hold his beloved in his arms—and then, then he had but to wait, and she would be his for all of eternity.  He would never let her go, and he would never die, and nor would she.  He would find a way.

He still had hours left, and he leaned against the mantle in the main receiving room.  The perfectly engraved invitation to tonight was placed beside a moving picture of the two of them, taken by Henry, the cheeky brat.  Heir Malfoy and Lady Rana had already taken flight on their Abraxans.  Marvolo’s hands were around his lady’s waist, but before he could lift her, she had leaned up and kissed him: softly, sweetly.  The moment was private, but something predatory in Marvolo was glad he had this reminder of the love that flowed between the two of them.  He would be sure, when Lady Iolanthe was older, that he repaid the favor.

Marvolo heard the Floo activate and slipped the invitation in front of the moving photograph.  A more suitable one of Lady Haesel wearing robes of Potter gold and smiling at him over her shoulder, as he escorted her to an afternoon soiree, was on display. 

He felt her immediately and, before he could make it to the door, Haesel burst forward, wearing nothing but a sweeping silk dressing gown that was as blue as her beautiful eyes.

Within less than a moment she was in his arms, kissing him deeply.  Marvolo could barely restrain himself as his hand fisted in her loose curls and he bore her toward the sofa that had been reupholstered to her specific tastes.  “Shouldn’t you—?” he began to ask, but she kissed him as if her life depended on it. And who was he to deny his lady?

Finally, she began to quiet beneath him. Marvolo breathed in her breath, glorying in the feel of her lying beneath her.  “Haesel?” he questioned, his voice hoarse with repressed urges.  He would like nothing more than to bear her to their room and bond with her in the Ancient Ways that very moment.  His fingers danced across the Slytherin pendant that was about her neck, and a shaky smile quivered on her lips.

“I—” she tried to explain, before looking away.  “Why must we wait?”

He sighed and leaned his forehead against her temple.  “Custom demands it.  You shouldn’t be alone with me in my home, my darling.”

“I know, and yet I can’t bring myself to care—”

“True,” Marvolo murmured.

“Then,” Haesel hesitated, biting on her lower lip before looking directly into his eyes.  He saw her passion, her certainty, and her uncompromising idea of what was right.  “Run away with me.”

Marvolo pulled away, shocked.  She wanted to—?

“You know you’ve thought of it,” she murmured, leaning upward and kissing his unresponsive lips.  “Why not tonight?”

“But you deserve—”

“To sleep with your arms wrapped around me, as well as your magic,” Haesel whispered.  “The thought of spending months alone at Hogwarts makes me ill.” She shivered and pulled him flush against her. “Can you get a Druidic Priest?  No one would dare defy Lord Slytherin.  My family will be angry at first, but I know they’ll forgive us. It’s what I want.”

“Are you certain, my darling?” Marvolo asked, stroking her hair away from her temple.  She was so beautiful in her disarray.  “You’ve had little time to consider an engagement, let alone had its full time to consider if I’m who you truly want.” But we both know you do, he thought. Still, he could not bear for her to change her mind. Marvolo never wanted to see her bright eyes dull, face lined with bitterness, as Lily Snape’s had been.

Haesel smiled sweetly.  Leaning up and whispering, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear and making him close his eyes in bliss, she said simply, “Remember, Marvolo, my love.  I called you.”