The Heir Of Voldemort

By Fyre

Chapter 11: The Bargaining

"It's getting worse again."

"So you've finally decided to come and see me." Standing with his back to her, Ethan didn't look around.

"Ethan, we can't go on like this." He sensed her approaching, gritting his teeth. "We have to help each other...please..." One small hand touched his back and a shiver ran through him. "Ethan..."

"Cass..." He slowly turned, looking down at her. "I'm sorry. I told you that when I left and I tell you again. I'm sorry." His hands came up to cup her face and he studied her intently. She looked far older and more tired than he had seen her.

"I know..." She bowed her head slightly, the smudges of darkness beneath her eyes deepening into dark pools of shadow. "I-I just was so afraid that something would happen to Alex..."

The wizard lifted her chin and gently kissed her forehead, then her lips. "You know I'll never let that happen, Cass."

"Yes...I know..." Her dark eyes closed briefly, then she opened them again. "Ethan, I-I don't know if you've heard about what has been happening around here..." He could see weariness and grief in her face. "Can I...could I sit down?"

Motioning her towards the bed that took much of the motel room's floor, yellowish light slanting through the blinds and casting odd shadows on her face, he remained standing by the desk.

"That vampire...the one the Slayer was seeing..."

"The one with a soul?" Cassandra nodded. "What about him?"

Her small hands squeezed between her knees, the knuckles white, she lifted haunted eyes to him. "He lost his soul." She whispered hoarsely. "One of the most notorious vampires to walk the earth..."

"Buggeration..." Ethan muttered, dragging the rickety chair over to the bed and sitting down.

"That's an understatement." The blonde witch said stiffly. "And it gets worse than that, already...Ripper's girlfriend, that pretty teacher..." Ethan's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. "She was a gypsy...descendant of the gypsies who cursed him..."

"Let me guess." The wizard's voice was hard. "Angelus found out?"

His lover nodded, a long silence between them before she got the words out. "Found out, killed her and left her body in Ripper's bed for him to find."

Ethan's head rocked back on his shoulders. "Damn..." He whispered, shaking his head wearily from side-to-side. "Poor Rupes... and I thought him having to deal with me was a bad thing." He brought his face back to hers. "At least he isn't going to bother with your boy." Cassandra's face said otherwise. "Cass?"

"Ethan, this vampire...he's been bound to his soul for a century...he wants to make up for what he's missed...make up for lost time...a hundred years of evil in one long burst..." The witch's voice was brittle. "I think he might be the one to give Voldemort enough power to tip the balance in his favour."

Green eyes widened. "No..."

"I think so." Cassandra muttered, rocking slightly on the edge of the bed, her eyes downcast. "He's strong, he's dangerous and the Slayer can't kill him, despite what he is... she loves him. That's how he lost it...his soul..."

"But maybe we..."

Cassandra shook her head in the negative. "Ethan, he's got a vampire seer. They know things before they happen. We wouldn't have a chance, even if we risked using magic. Angelus willingly works with large packs of vampires and we can't fight more than one vampire each, at a time."

"Meaning that we're up shit creek without a paddle?"

"Unless she can somehow bring herself to kill him, the...thing wearing her lover's face..." Brown eyes met green. "I doubt she can, but we can hope..."

Ethan reached down and took Cassandra's shaking hands between his. "Cass, luv, you're always going on about how tough the little bint is. If she can cope with Ripper as a watcher and your boy as a friend, she'll be fine."

"She has to be the one to destroy him." Cassandra slid forward, into Ethan's waiting arms, stinging tears spilling down her face. "Only the purity of what her love for him was can blot out whatever evil he's planning."

Ethan sighed, holding her against him. "Then we better just hope she loves the man enough to kill him before he damns himself even more."

Nodding, Cassandra just nestled closer to Ethan, letting him embrace her and shield her from the world outside, his warmth and gentle arms the one thing that meant as much to her as her son.

***

The Great Hall was ringing with chatter for once.

Christmas and winter had both come and gone and things seemed to be improving for the pupils still in the school. No pupils had disappeared in almost five months and no dark activity seemed to be happening close to them.

The Professors had discussed in depth the possibility of letting a few of the pupils - who had been starting to get snippy with being cooped up for so long - outside for a brief stroll in groups, in the Spring-awoken, under the protection of Professors Hagrid and Lupin.

It had finally been agreed upon and Harry Potter had been in one of the first groups to go out, his argument being that if Voldemort wanted to snatch anyone, it would be him, so if he came back safe, then others could go too.

The third group had just departed, while Hermione and Ron just returned, looking rosy-cheeked and laughing. There was something invigorating about being in the fresh air after so long indoors.

"It's amazing out there, isn't it?" Harry smiled as they approached the thick, squashy red chairs that stood near one of the fireplaces. Fawkes was perched on the arm of the chair, cooing contently as Harry stroked his feathers.

"Its never looked better! Everything starting to bloom again..." Hermione settled down in the chair next to him, chattering excitedly about everything she had seen, the tip of her nose crimson. "And I was just thinking about how sad it would be if the school had to close and no one ever saw how beautiful it was..."

The somber tone returned.

"There has to be something that can stop You-Know-Who." Ron murmured, looking up at the misty windows.

Hermione nodded. "If I could only go to the library and...Harry, what on earth is Fawkes doing?"

Fawkes was clicking his beak on one of Harry's buttons, tugging at the small, round object. "What is it?" Harry asked. The phoenix tapped at the button again, giving it a significant jerk. "Yes, it opens." Unfastening his shirt to reveal his T-shirt, he yelled in surprise as the Phoenix stuck his head through the gap. "Fawkes!"

Tugging his head back out, Fawkes blinked up at him, Harry's wand held securely in his beak.

"Give it back, Fawkes." In response, the Phoenix fluttered away from Harry to land on the arm of the seat next to Hermione, raising a foot to grasp the wand, so he could free his beak. "Fawkes," getting to his feet, Harry started towards Hermione's chair.

The Phoenix lifted the wand in front of his face with his foot and looked like he was studying the wood. Then, he did a surprising thing.

Opening his gleaming beak, he warbled a long, sustained, painfully beautiful note that held in the air long after his beak closed, the sound penetrating the skulls of the trio of teenage wizards.

Hermione gasped, staring at the phoenix. "Harry! Look!"

A visible aura of soft gold light had shimmered into view around the flame-coloured bird and the slim wand it was holding. Spreading from Fawkes, the light rippled outwards, until the phoenix shone blindingly.

"What's doing that?" Ron asked cautiously.

Hermione seemed dazzled. "I've read about this." Ron made a face that suggested he wasn't at all surprised. "Sometimes when a powerful mystical creature meets a wand with a core that belonged to something similar, it can create a kind of magic far more powerful than the wand alone, especially if the magical creature supports the user of the wand."

Harry was hit by a sudden revelation.

"Of course!"

"Eh?"

Hurrying across the room, Harry held out an arm, which the phoenix climbed onto with remarkable ease, considering it had one foot to support itself. "I should have remembered about this sooner. I mean, Ollivander and Dumbledore both thought it was important."

"Harry." Hermione was looking at him in confusion. "Would you mind telling us what you're talking about?"

"Fawkes! He's the phoenix that provided the core for my wand."

"So that's why he's glowing?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "I always wanted to see what the power-flow looked like. After all, the illustrations are never quite adequate."

"No, listen!" Harry interrupted. "It's more than that. Fawkes can help us to protect the school!" Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that clearly stated that neither of them was seeing the significance of what he had said. "He didn't just give the core to my wand. He gave two tail feathers. One was in my wand and the other was in You-Know-Who's!"

"EVERYONE!" Professor McGonagall's magnified voice boomed in the Great Hall before Hermione could even comment on this, all thoughts of the wands and cores rushing from their heads as the Head Mistress hurried in. "Remain where you are. Do not leave the Great Hall under any circumstances!"

"What the hell...?" Ron started to ask, but wished he hadn't when McGonagall started towards him, her mouth a straight line.

"Weasley," Her voice shook and Ron met the Head Mistress' eyes. He seemed to see something there that his friends didn't, his eyes screwing up and his mouth opening and shutting wordlessly. He shook his head mutely, his hand groping out for Harry's arms, as he crumpled to the floor. "I...I'm sorry, Weasley."

"Wh-what is it?" Hermione's voice was a feeble squeak.

McGonagall's nostrils flared as if she was trying to get enough air to speak, her lips twitching. Her eyes looked moist, hands clenched by her sides. "Death Eaters." Cut into short fragments, her sentences were spat out. "Attacked the group. Ginny and Percy were taken..."

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth, tears brimming up. "No...oh God...no... oh, Ron... " Reaching out, she locked her arms around her friend, shaking her head up at the Head Mistress.

"Lupin. He and Hagrid were with them. And the others." The Head Mistress said tersely. "They tried to fight. Outnumbered..." She released a quavering breath. "It was too quick. We couldn't have stopped them."

Harry, one arm around Ron's shoulders, stared searchingly at her. "What about Hagrid and Lupin? And the others?"

"They should be all right." She said quietly. "Ronald?"

"Not again..." Ron mumbled weakly. "Not again..." Professor McGonagall knelt and placed a shaking hand on his shoulder. She couldn't find words to say. Ron shook his head, lowering his face, still whispering like a mantra. "Not again...not again..."

***

"If it isn't the illusive Miss Weasley."

The calm, chilling voice was the first thing that pervaded Ginny's senses, her vision slowly fading back in from the black that seemed to have swallowed her, her body trembling as a face came into focus.

"No..."

Voldemort smiled down at her. "Hello, my dear."

"NO!" Jerking upright, despite the pain that burned right through her skull, Ginny scrambled backwards across the floor, away from the snake-like face of the Dark Lord, colliding with the wall on the far side of the chamber.

"Come now, Ginny, there's no need to be afraid of me." His smile was enough to say she should be screaming in terror. Ginny obliged, an ear-splitting shriek echoing off the walls and ceiling.

A simple wave of the wand muted her, leaving her pressed back against the wall, terrified eyes fixed on Voldemort.

It was at that moment that she realised that she wasn't the only one on the floor.

Percy lay like a limp rag-doll cast to one side, his glasses broken, his mouth sagging open, blood trickling from his nostrils. He looked like he had been on the receiving end of several hexes.

Before she could move to prevent them from getting him, screaming wordlessly to her brother, two Death Eaters grabbed the unconscious body of Percy and dragged him out of sight.

"I give you a choice, my dear." Voldemort turned to her. "You can resume your former position of your own accord," She shook her head frantically. "And save your brother's life in the process, or I can take you by force, or by the Imperio curse."

The words that the witch spat silently at him caused the Dark Lord to chuckle. "My, my," He murmured, approaching her. "I didn't know that your vocabulary was quite so expansive, my dear girl."

A colourful line of miming followed.

The furious hand gestures that accompanied the litany of muted bad language more than adequately detailed exactly what she thought of him, the tears streaming down her pale face.

"That's all very well, my dear, but I shall remove the silencing charm and you shall give me your answer." He motioned to the black drapes, through which Percy had been dragged. "Your body for your brother's life, or your body and his death."

Ginny gasped as the spell lifted from her. "How...how do I know you won't just kill him?" She croaked. She almost added that she knew what he had done to the mother of his Heir's family.

"When I can torture him for so much longer?"

"No!" Her voice rasping from the spell, she held up a hand. "No torture!"

"You intend to stop me?"

"Please...don't hurt him..."

"And what, pray, is to stop me?"

Tearful, but defiant, Ginny staggered to her feet. Her face had gone from white to green, her legs shaking beneath her, but she still managed to walk across the floor to stand in front of Voldemort.

Looking like she would collapse to the floor at a word, her shaking hands rose to his face, bringing his head down to her level and pressing her lips against his, the first time she done so with his own features on display.

Dropping back, she stared up at him, eyes shining with desperate hope and shame, a rather intoxicating combination in one so young.

Voldemort gazed down at her for a long moment, then made a gesture to one of the masked figures around the room. "Lock the boy up below." He said. "Keep him where we can get him easily."

Several of the Death Eaters scrambled to obey.

Turning back to the girl, he unfurled his hand. "Come." The word was softly spoken but had an underlying threat as hard as diamond.

Unresisting, Ginny Weasley shuffled her icy feet and miserably followed her new Master through the drapes to his chambers, to the one place that had haunted her nightmares since the year before.

***

The warmth of the Spring night air was almost unbearable, Cassandra tossing and turning in the bed beside her potion-dosed husband. Sheets wadded around her damp thighs and she jerked upright, gasping.

"Ginny!"

Panting, she threw aside the white sheets covering her, shaking violently. Swinging out of the bed, her feet came down on the rough carpet of the floor and she staggered towards the bathroom, her hands groping along the wall in the dark.

One hand fumbled against the bathroom wall, finding the switch in time for the witch to stumble into the room, falling to her knees as a surge of vomit erupted from her lips, splattering on the gleaming white bowl.

Sinking back on her heels, her face flushed, she peeled matted tendrils of sweat-soaked blonde hair away from her cheeks. Tears stung in her eyes, her hands pushing through her hair and twisting the wavy mass agonisingly around her fingers, as the hard, dry sobs came.

It had been so vivid...

So real...

Sinking against the cold bathtub, unfeeling of it's chill, Cassandra's nails bit into her scalp, her sobs quieting to a violent shaking that tore through her body fiercely, as she tried to muffle the horror...the awareness that Ginny was once again Voldemort's.

Her knees pulled up against her chest, she hugged them tightly, pressing her cheeks against the bony caps until she could feel the inside of her cheeks grinding against her teeth, bloody flavour filling her mouth.

Pressing her eyes tightly shut, she could still see what the dream had revealed to her, felt the touches plied to Ginny's body by those cruel, invasive hands that she had been so familiar with herself, so many years ago.

Only now...now, it didn't feel so long ago.

It felt as if she had just escaped him all over again, the feelings of shame and self-loathing burning like acid in her stomach, even though it was no longer her body that he violated.

Scrambling to her feet, shaking fitfully, she stumbled back to her room, grabbing her invisibility cloak and wand and running out, down the staircase.

Pulling the silky cloak around her, uncaring of the fact that her feet were bare and she was only clad in a nightshirt, she yanked the front door open and raced out into the California night.

The streets of Sunnydale were strangely quiet, which was never a good thing.

Cassandra ran as fast as she could, her feet beating rapidly on the pavement, the skin scraped raw by gravel and broken glass, but she didn't plan on stopping until she reached her destination.

Unfortunately, she hit a snag.

Or, in this case, a vampiress.

The raven-haired creature, garbed in dark velvets and lace, grabbed at her as she ran past a clump of trees, unseen, the vampiress senses apparently more acute than the Witch realised.

Shrieking, she was yanked backwards.

The hood covering her head was pulled back off her face, the vampiress' face close to hers, a bony arm locked around Cassandra's neck, the only thing preventing her from falling or fleeing.

Huge blue-grey eyes gleamed eerily in the haunting, alabaster face, long, silken curls of dark hair bobbing around the vampire woman's long, slim neck. Ruby lips parted in a gasp of wonder.

"One of power." The vampiress murmured, her other hand drifting over Cassandra's face, not quite touching the skin. "Your skin...it hums such happily sad songs to me... smelling of sunshine and bitter rain..." A chilly tongue ran up her cheek, catching the tears that had fallen. Cassandra shuddered. "Such bitter rain..."

"L-let me go."

Whimpering, the woman pouted at her. "But if puppy let's the kitten go, what is the puppy meant to eat up?" Snake-like, the vampire's head oscillated from side-to-side, coming closer to Cassandra's face.

The witch's hands fumbled through her robes, trying to find her wand. "I said," She gasped, the arm on her throat cutting off her breath. "Let go of me!"

Vague, strangely feline eyes finally stared straight into Cassandra's brown eyes and the vampiress released her, uttering a high-pitched shriek. "No!" Backing away, her hands raised to shield her face, the vampire whimpered pitifully. "Oh, Dark Lady... forgive me...I did not know!"

Sprawled on the grass, half-covered by her invisibility cloak, one leg, a hand and her head visible, Cassandra stared at the woman with confusion and fear. What the hell had just happened?

"What are you wailing about this time, Dru?" A tall, dark figure prowled out of the shadows nearby, his striking, angular face more than familiar to the half-visible witch, who frantically struggled to conceal herself, but it was too late.

Angelus descended on her, his hands locking onto her hidden arms and jerking her close to him, the cloak falling from her body, pressing her hard against his leather-clad chest, the smell of death and blood heavy on him.

He towered over a head taller than her, his hair alone giving him at least a couple of inches of benefit, his body feeling like solid muscle through the black silk and leather that he wore.

"You got me a pretty one this time, Dru." He leered at the terrified witch. "Small, blonde and dumb. Just the way I like 'em."

"Leave this place...we must leave...run and jump, all away!" The vampiress moaned, grabbing at his arm and pulling him back, forcing him to release one of the witch's bruising arms. "She is the Dark mother, my Angel...the mate of the snake-beast...we cannot have her...we cannot..."

"Dark lady?" His brown eyes - tinted with gold - surveyed her. "Doesn't look dark to me. Bet she'll taste delicious anyway." His forehead shifted, his eyes melding into solid yellow, his teeth lengthening into fangs. "Won't you?"

"Sss! Bad daddy! Bad!" The vampiress' claw-like nails slashed him across the cheek and - this time - he dropped Cassandra, who froze with fear at the sight of two of the Scourge of Europe fighting over her.

The night suddenly seemed so much colder that it had when she had fled the house, the moon clear above them. Her nightshirt had torn a little, slipping off her shoulder, the long fabric bunched up around her thighs.

"What the hell did you do that for?" His anger turned on his female companion.

"Fools rush, my Angel. Hoppity hop, they rush!" The woman's demon had come to the fore, her gold eyes meeting his angrily. "Touch not the dark one's lady or when the day comes, you shall receive such a beating as never there was! Smack!" She clapped her stick-like hands together for emphasis. "And fun shall there be none!"

The large male vampire growled at her. She met it with a growl of her own. "You're insane." He snapped savagely.

"With the little birdies singing la la la!" She responded, baring her fangs. "You shall not have my lady!" Much to Cassandra's fright, the vampiress glided towards her and held out a hand. "Come, sweet lamb," She said, looking hurt when the witch backed away from her. "I won't harm you, sweet lamb!"

Bending, Drusilla caught Cassandra's arms and helped her to her feet. She cocked her head, her fanged mouth opening in a smile, something as frightening as a savage snarl for the witch.

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" Cassandra shivered at the cold touch of the vampire on her skin.

"Sh...sh..." A cold fingertip touched her lips. "We prepare, dark little lady. The drum bangs louder and louder and when the trumpet calls, the doors will open!" The witch tried not to cringe when the vampiress bent close and touched the Dark Mark on her shoulder. "His hold on you is strong, lady...his mark sings of your strength...your power tingles in you..."

"V-Voldemort's mark?" Stammering the name, Cassandra saw both Drusilla and Angelus flinch at the word.

"You speak his name." Drusilla hissed, sounding almost...reverent? "By any other name as sweet, lady. A name to be feared. Call him but a rose..." Brown eyes stared at the vampire. "We ready for him, lady, we sleep and make hay and make ready..."

"You what?"

The demon woman rolled her head on her neck. "He knows, lady...when we shall knock, he shall await the opening of the door..."

"V-very good." Forcing a shaky smile, Cassandra nodded. "Now, if I may..."

"Flights of naughty angels stray onto your path, lady...we will whisk them away into the dark!" The slender vampiress clicked her fingers, loud in the silent street. "It's just like magic!" Turning, she crooked her finger at Angelus. "We shall dance and sing with our sweet lamb!"

"Meaning?" The dark vampire was studying Cassandra with suspicion.

"She is dancing to see the one who has lost his mark in times near." Drusilla sing-songed. "She cannot dance alone, my angel! We shall help her to fly to his marred arms and there, shall the sweet lamb be in the fold!"

Angelus looked like he was about to protest. He looked at Cassandra suspiciously and she hoped he wouldn't recognise her. "Tell me one thing." He said, his voice low and dangerous. "Why do you say his name so easily?"

"H-his name?"

"His."

"Vol...?" A cold fingertip silenced her again, Drusilla shaking her head, eyes wide with fear.

"We mustn't poke the snake with a stick, until we know that he won't bite us!" She exclaimed fearfully, making snapping motions with her hands. "My Angel, you are nosing into our lamb's secrets! Leave her be, or he will have you!"

Angelus seemed to accept whatever the vampiress' crazy ramble meant and nodded, still glowering at the witch. "So, where are you going, witch?" He demanded in a soft growl, that suggested he didn't intend on being as lenient with her, if he ever caught her alone.

"H-Highway Motel."

Much to her confusion and uncertain fear, the insane vampiress insisted that she and Angelus escort Cassandra all the way to the Motel, chasing off several demons who tried to approach, and waiting at the door until Ethan opened it.

He looked from one vampire to the other, then at Cassandra. "I think you have some explaining to do, luv." He remarked quietly.

"Sing happy songs, sweet lamb." Drusilla cooed, placing a kiss on Cassandra's pale cheek. "No more bitter rain shall fall now! He won't be found and you can dance and sing and be joyous!"

"Thank you for that, Drusilla." Watching as the two vampires melted away into the darkness, the woman still chanting happily to herself, Cassandra stepped across the thresh hold and shut the door firmly behind her.

"So are you going to explain what the hell that was about?" Ethan demanded, as she loosed her invisibility cloak and let it fell off her shoulders. Only then did he see her bloodied feet and dirty nightshirt. "Bloody hell, Cass! What happened?"

Before she could answer, he had her scooped her up in his arms, carried her across the dim room, placed on the bed and was treating her feet. She lay back, enjoying the care for once, her eyes closing.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened anytime this millennium?" He asked as he cleaned the open sores gently.

Cassandra opened her eyes and smiled at him, then she started to laugh. It wasn't just a regular, Cassandra-styled chuckle, but a full-blown cathartic belly laugh that shook her right down to her scratched toes.

"What?" He demanded. "You've not gone and caught froot-loops lack-of-sanity thing, have you?"

Shaking her head, her laughter gradually calming to steady giggles, she wiped her eyes with the heel of her grubby hands. "No...no...nothing like that." She giggled a little more. "I...I just realised that I was about to say I had a funny night..."

Ethan's brow rose. "A funny night?" He echoed.

Another burst of giggles erupted from her. "Oh God...I shouldn't be laughing, I really shouldn't..." She gasped, clutching her sides. "But I-I...I had an armed escort... the Scourge of Europe...baby-sitting me...calling me sweet lamb and-and-and treating me like I was priceless..."

Ethan just stared at her and said one more time. "A funny night?"

***

"Are-are you all right, Percy?"

It was a stupid question, but the girl didn't know what else to ask.

Ginny had been permitted to leave her richly-decorated 'chambers' for a brief visit to her brother's confinement cell, thick, black robes clutched around her shoulders to cover the scant nightwear that had been provided for her.

When she had entered the prison where her brother lay, huddled, on a threadbare mattress, his clothes in tatters, dirt streaking his face and body, she had wanted to weep, but she bit on the inside of her lip to try and hide her pain and grief.

She couldn't and wouldn't show she was weak, not in front of them. Not in front of him. Not in front of her elder brother. She had to be strong and make him think that things were all right…

Black stone made up three of the walls, slime and mould oozing down the square blocks of darkness. There was no real light, save for a flickering, greenish torch outside of the cell.

Hazy brown eyes looked in her direction. "G-Ginny?" Falling off the mattress, he scrabbled across the floor towards her, reaching through the narrow bars that lined the fourth wall of his cell to grab her hands. "Oh, Ginny...I'm sorry...this is my fault..."

"No, Percy, no!" Kneeling down on the black stone, she slid a hand through the bars to touch his face. Voldemort had kept his word and Percy wasn't physically marked, although he looked absolutely terrified. "It wasn't any of our faults...it was him..."

Her brother stared at her sightlessly, his hand shaking in hers, his face cold. "Why us?" He asked, his voice sinking to a breath. "What did we do to him? Why would he want to harm us?"

"Harm you?" Ginny shuddered as Voldemort's silken voice rippled around them. "I would not class your imprisonment as harm, young Weasley." The girl flinched as rough lips touched her neck. "You sister, on the other hand..."

Managing to jerk himself upright, Percy grabbed at the bars. "What have you d-d-done to her?" He demanded.

"It doesn't matter." She whispered. "It's all right, Percy."

"How very noble of you, little girl." Voldemort hissed against her neck, his fingers gripping her skin bruisingly. "Come. You have seen your brother. It is enough that he is alive." She was dragged roughly to her feet and steered towards the door.

"Ginny!"

She glanced back at her brother, his arm stretching out to her through the bars of his cage. "I'll come back and see you, Percy!" She called, trying to squirm free of the Dark Lord, who forcefully navigated her towards the door. "I promise!"

Above her, she heard Voldemort chuckle cruelly and she felt sick.

Something told her she was never going to see her brother in that cell again.

Chapter 12: The Testing

The chamber was dark and eerily quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the flaming torches along the black walls and the whispering rustle of the robes of the assembled Death Eaters.

Snape's eyes flitted around warily.

The dimly-lit anteroom was absolutely packed with Death Eaters, the stench of their barely-masked fear, unease and sweat permeating the Potions Master's nostrils, even through his mask.

Rarely did all the Death Eaters gather, unless news of a serious target had come in.

They were so tightly packed together, small knots of the corrupted families standing in huddles, that it seemed impossible for any of them to move. All eyes were on the black and silver drapes that hung along the rear wall.

It felt like an eternity before the drapes parted, allowing the Dark Lord and a small, cloaked and hooded female figure to exit, approaching the dais.

Sinking down into his throne and sprawling out with effortless ease, like a great cat surveying his prey, Voldemort's lips arched in a smirk, his eyes hooded, as the girl knelt down beside the throne, her head down, face hidden.

From what could be seen, she was small and slim. Bare feet protruded out from beneath her black robes, small, white hands folded demurely in her lap. Not many would notice that they were shaking.

Behind his mask, Snape's brows beetled. What was this? Voldemort had picked another helpless girl to serve as his play thing? How had it come to pass that he heard nothing of this, when he had come for his tasks from his Master?

Who was she?

A child of one of the Death Eaters?

Unlikely...

Then who?

He hadn't returned to Hogwarts since he had left, knowing that once he entered, he would probably be sealed in with the remaining pupils and teachers and he honestly didn't think he could cope with sharing the Great Hall's air with Remus Lupin.

Perhaps one of the pupils...

No: The school had been put off-limits for some reason, almost two months earlier.

A muggle?

Doubtful: Voldemort wouldn't want to soil himself.

So who...?

Feet shifted uncomfortably on the gleaming floor, as the Death Eaters waited for their Master to speak. He, however, appeared distracted, his hand had snaked beneath the kneeling girl's hood, his fingers probably tangled through her hair.

If there was one thing that Voldemort loved for no known reason, it was the long, rich, thick hair that witches so often seemed to possess.

When he finally deigned to turn his attention to them, a communal breath of relief combined with fear rippled around the crowded chamber, the shuffling of shoed feet silencing immediately. Scarlet eyes gleamed around at them and he smiled again.

"My Death Eaters." He said, studying each of them with his unwavering stare. "I believe it is time that we reminded this feeble world of ours who has the power and the will to use it."

Some enthusiastic cheers rose from the Death Eaters in front of him. Near the back of the assembly, Snape's shudder went unseen, but he still strained to hear every low-voiced hiss of his Master's voice.

"The guard of several of the half-blood families has been lowered, due to a lack in activity in the half-blood world of late." His smirk made him look even more sinister than usual. "Pity they did not seem to mind when the muggles were the ones to die."

The Potions Master grit his teeth.

So it was back to baiting and killing mud-blood and half-bloods now? He knew that he had a limit on the amount of time that he had to get to the Ministry, to warn them to warn the ones who may be under threat.

Pressing forward a little, his stomach felt like it was twisting into knots as he saw Voldemort handing out thin slips of parchment to groups of Death Eaters, bestowing a cruel smile and nod on each of them before they disapparated.

So he couldn't just flee to the Ministry immediately...

His nails bit into the palms of his clenched hands and he was certain that blood was being drawn, but he ignored it, watching as group after group vanished, until there were only six figures left.

"Ah, Lucius," Voldemort lazily handed the last sliver of half-curled parchment to the masked man and rolled his head back on his neck. "Take the boys and we shall join you there temporarily."

Bowing slightly, Malfoy and his two companions disapparated, leaving Voldemort, Snape and the girl in the silence of the dungeon, the expanse of stone floor spread out between them.

"Come forward, Severus..."

The girl's hooded head turned sharply toward him and Snape felt a sharp lance of horror. Surely not...

Voldemort grinned down at him, the calculating smile of a Devil. "I believe you know my young friend, do you not?" His long-fingered hand jerked back the hood, revealing the bone-white face of Ginny Weasley.

Hopeless, sorrowful brown eyes stared up at the Professor, run dry of tears. She looked utterly shattered and Snape felt his heart breaking, wondering if it would have been a mercy to let her take the poison the year before.

Once again, she was gaunt, a shell of her former self, so much so that Snape wanted to cradle her and allow her to weep as he had done so many times in the past year.

The Professor's own dark eyes flicked from her to Voldemort, who raised his brows, still smirking.

He knew...dear Merlin! He knew!

Biting on his tongue to smother a moan of despair, Snape clenched his hands into tighter fists by his side. "I recall," He said, his voice so tight he was sure that his vocal cords would snap. "She was your plaything last year."

"And an awfully charming creature, wouldn't you say?" Thrusting his hand through the girl's mass of red hair, he jerked her head back savagely, making Ginny cry out in pain. Snape flinched at the sound. "I've had her near a month and a half now and still, she surprises me."

"You are hurting her, Master."

Voldemort cast a quizzical look in the masked Wizard's direction. "I know that I am, Severus." He said quietly. "It is all part of this lesson, which you will come to understand in time."

Lesson...?

"Please!" Bent at an agonising angle, Ginny was sobbing desperately, dry, harsh sobs, tufts of her hair audibly ripping free from her scalp. "Please! Stop!" In response, Voldemort merely jerked her back harder, his gleaming eyes locked on Snape's. The girl's shrill scream of pain echoed off the walls.

"Master!" Snape started to move forwards, only for Voldemort's wand to be levelled at his chest.

"You intended to betray me to your precious Ministry, did you not, Severus?" The Dark Lord's voice was calm, steady, but that only served to signal that he was at his most dangerous. With a flick of the wand, Snape's mask spun off, landing on the floor halfway across the room. "I do not...appreciate betrayal."

"Master, I would not..."

"You lie." He barely had time to brace himself for the pain he knew would come, before Voldemort whispered. "Crucio."

Crashing to the stone floor, Snape's body jerked and spasmed agoningly. He could feel his bones twisting and undulating beneath his skin, his flesh rising and rippling to accommodate the movement, nerves screaming out in a way that he couldn't.

His throat seemed to have closed up completely, preventing him from screaming, breathing, begging, anything.

It felt like his skull was clamping in on his brain, the pain tremendous, his eyes burning, tears streaming down his face, milked from his throbbing sockets. White and scarlet flashed behind his vision, spotted with black.

A hoarse, gagging cry erupted from his throat and then...

Nothing.

Panting and shuddering, Snape managed to slump onto his side, facing his Master, his face etched with pain and tears. A quiet, frightened whimper from Ginny made his heart wrench in a way that even the Cruciatus curse couldn't manage.

"Now, Severus, I have a little task for you..."

Struggling onto his throbbing knees, Snape raised a shaking hand to smear away the trickle of blood that was oozing from the corner of his mouth, his eyes swimming with pain. Swaying unsteadily, he nodded.

"We are going on a little mission, the three of us..." Voldemort's eyes remained solely on Snape, his hand resting on Ginny's head, the girl flinching each time he stroked his fingers through her dense curls. "We have some...associates who must be taken care of...by you, Severus."

Shaking his head, Snape tried to form words. "I-I don't kill..." He stammered, his jaw still twitching from the Cruciatus curse.

Voldemort sighed, tutting. "Well, that really is an awful pity, you see, because I have no qualms about it." He turned his wand towards Ginny, who jerked back with a frightened gasp. "Would you appreciate it if I showed my prowess?"

"Don't."

"What was that, Severus?"

"Don't harm her."

Scarlet eyes studied him with something akin to amusement. "Perhaps I should just place the Cruciatus on her now, to teach you a lesson about betrayal."

Somehow, the Potions Master - despite every bone in his body feeling like it was burning - threw himself forward, between the girl and the wand of Voldemort. "Over my dead body." He croaked, shielding Ginny with his own body.

The tip of the Dark Lord's wand tapped the centre of his breastbone once, red eyes gazing at him. "That could be arranged, Severus," He murmured silkily. "But, as I have more entertaining plans for this evening, I would appreciate you being present to do your part." He glanced over Snape's shoulder at the shivering Ginny. "Behave and I may let the little vixen live."

"Why me?" Panting, Snape had to ask. "If I'm a traitor...why let me live...?"

The Dark Lord smiled slightly, showing his upper teeth. "Be assured that it is just a temporary arrangement, my dear Severus. I do so enjoy your gift with a blade...and your potions are seldom flawed." One cold, thin hand snapped out and locked around Snape's aching throat in a vice-like grip. "I still have uses for you, you see, and you best be sure that I have your full cooperation or I may let some of our compatriots share in the pleasures that Miss Weasley gives me."

Snape closed his eyes. So that was it. The only reason that the poor, innocent child had been brought back into the game was to be a pawn for Voldemort to use to trap him into an inescapable Checkmate.

A hissing chuckle from before him made him open his eyes again. "So you have worked out my little ploy, eh, Severus?" The bony hand slid from his throat. "And expect you will be frightfully noble about it all."

"No...you don't have to..." Ginny whispered hoarsely from behind him. He could hear the shaking in her voice, one of her small hands touching his throbbing back. "I-I would be all right."

The Professor ignored her. "What do you wish me to do?"

The flat, smooth face of Voldemort bent closer, inches from his, the crimson eyes flaming. "Exactly what I order." He growled.

Snape bowed his head in acquiescence.

For the life of girl who wept quietly behind him, he knew he would do anything, order or not.

***

Night had fallen on the melancholy school.

Four-poster-beds had been pulled down from the ceiling of the Great Hall and placed on either side of the hall, the boys to the right, the girls to the left. Not a sound rose from them, every pupil asleep.

Every pupil, except one.

Stirring, Harry Potter shifted uncomfortably beneath his blankets and sheets, tossing and turning. Part of him was afraid to sleep, lest dreams come, but another part of him simply wanted to collapse into the oblivion of sleep.

Flopping onto his back, he stared up at the top of his four-poster.

That was when he was hit by a rather surprising revelation.

One hand rose to his forehead and he couldn't help frowning. It didn't hurt. In the past few months, his head had constantly been throbbing, night and day, nothing any of the teachers provided helping, but now, for no reason, it didn't hurt!

There had only been a few occasions since You-Know-Who had returned when his scar hadn't hurt and most of those were when he was unconscious, or was in the protection of someone he knew and trusted.

Sitting up, Harry edged towards the crack of light between his curtains, wondering if he should inform a teacher of this.

Many of them took the case of his scar very seriously.

Peering out through a chink in the deep red drapes, he could see a solitary figure sitting in the Head Teacher's chair, at the far end of the hall, in front of the fireplace, where a merry fire crackled.

After a moment's deliberation, Harry eased out from between the drapes, pulling his dressing gown on as he went. He shivered as his feet touched the bare stone of the floor, hastily searching out his maroon slippers with the tips of his toes.

As quietly as he could, he made his way towards the fireplace, tying his gold and scarlet dressing gown cord with shivering hands. For some reason, despite the fire, the Great Hall felt strangely cold.

"Excuse me?" Nearing the back of the huge chair, he cleared his throat. "Professor?"

The voice that spoke certainly wasn't who expected. "Ah, Harry..."

The boy's brilliant green eyes shot wide open and - on legs that were quivering like jelly - he came around the chair, staring down at the inhabitant as he did so, his mouth falling open in shock.

"You know," The amused voice continued. "I had never noticed before, but from this angle, you remarkably resemble a codfish."

"P-Professor Dumbledore?"

"So you have not forgotten me, eh, Harry?" The shimmering, pearly-white figure smiled at the boy. "I must say that is rather reassuring." He shifted, his beard rustling softly as he did so.

Harry managed to blink several times. "H-how are you here?"

"Alas, that I cannot answer, Harry." The smile grew slightly melancholy. "Perhaps it is my love of the school that held me here...or perhaps I am forever condemned to search the castle for all the odd socks that went missing over the centuries."

Harry blinked at him. Did Dumbledore's ghost just make a joke about socks?

Looking at the fire, Dumbledore studied the flames for a long time. "I have seen how bad things are, Harry..." He said quietly. "I wish I had had the foresight to prevent this so many years ago."

"Um...sir?" Harry tried to find the right words to say that wouldn't offend the head master's ghost. "Do you...that is, is there some way that you know of that we could... er... defeat You-Know...Voldemort?"

Pearly-blue eyes that reminded him briefly of Ollivander stared up at Harry. "There is nothing that I have that would be of assistance, Mr Potter." He said quietly, his eyes studying Harry intently.

"Is...is there something that...I have?"

He thought he saw the flicker of a smile.

"Perhaps..."

"Are you going to tell me?"

The smile widened a little. "Perhaps." The twinkle that Harry always remembered was back in his ghostly Mentor's eye. "But then, Harry, that which we really need and look so hard to find, often transpires to be right in front of us all the time."

"Is..."

A shrill voice from further down the Hall interrupted Harry's question and he turned to see Professor McGonagall striding towards him in her notorious tartan dressing gown and nightcap. "Harry Potter! What do you think you are doing, out of bed at this time of night?" She came around the chair, still talking rapidly. "I am..."

What she was about to say never emerged, as she saw what Harry had seen.

Her mouth opened and shut several times, one thin finger rising and pointing at the figure in the chair.

"Albus..." Her voice was a faint squeak. "It's you!"

He glanced down at himself, then back at her, his eyes twinkling. "Alas, I am so transparent." He remarked with a straight face. McGonagall uttered another strange, squeak-like sound and promptly keeled over in a dead faint.

"Is...is she all right?"

Dumbledore nodded, chuckling, as he got to his feet. "She survived your father and Sirius and the Weasley twins." He answered conspiratorially. "I think she can survive fainting this once...although perhaps you ought to find Madam Pomfrey..."

"Yes, Professor." The boy started past the ghost.

"Oh, and Harry," He looked back. "Best keep this between us for now, eh?"

Again, Harry nodded. "Yes, Professor."

When he looked back again, a few seconds later, Dumbledore was gone.

***

"Wh-what are we doing here?"

Lord Voldemort ignored Ginny's quavering voice, as he swept up the front path of The Burrow, dragging the girl forcefully by her right arm, Snape reluctantly following a few paces behind them.

The door was already hanging open and Ginny whimpered in fear and panic as she was dragged past several Death Eaters, into the living room.

The moment that they entered the room, she shuddered. It was much darker than she remembered, an eerie green fire burning in the heart, frightening shadows dancing on the walls, stretching forms of the Death Eaters casting ominous silhouettes.

Everything in the room seemed much sharper, much more dangerous and unfamiliar than she remembered home being. All the softness and warmth had faded to black and icy greens and silver.

Looking around the dark, chilling room, the girl was both relieved and ashamed to be concealing herself under the hood of her cloak, when she saw just why she had been brought back to her family home.

Her parents were there, and Bill and Charlie.

Molly, white-faced, was clad in travel robes and seated on the couch, fear-filled eyes roaming the masked, hooded faces. Her husband, also in travel robes, was standing just in front of her protectively.

Bill and Charlie were standing defiantly near their parents, but Ginny could see that they were both frightened as well. Bill's cheek was twitching, his hands shaking by his sides. Charlie's face was whiter than their mother's and he looked like he was only keeping his mouth shut to stop himself being sick.

"Arthur Weasley." Voldemort murmured, releasing Ginny's wrist. She considered trying to run, but found herself blocked on all sides by Death Eaters, none of whom she believed to be Snape. "Finally, we meet."

"Leave my family out of this and I'll come with you peacefully." Her father's voice shook, but Ginny felt pride swelling in her heart. He wouldn't be a coward like the Death Eaters were.

Voldemort chuckled, a whispering, hissing sound. "You would have no choice, peaceful or otherwise, Weasley. You are unarmed. We are all armed. I do not believe you would commit noble suicide."

"What do you want with us, then?"

"We come to offer you a place among us."

Arthur spat savagely at Voldemort. "Never!"

The Dark Lord didn't seem at all surprise, raising his slim fingers to wipe the glob of mucus from his cheek, glancing at it with casual interest, before turning his attention back to Arthur, still rubbing the tips of his fingers together.

"You are foolish, Weasley."

The red-haired wizard stiffened his back. "I stand by what I believe is right."

"Bravery and folly...so often they intertwine..." Sighing, Voldemort motioned for Ginny to be brought forward and jerked the hood back from her face. "Your daughter certainly had her share of bravery."

"G-Ginny?" Bill voiced the croak, shaking his head.

Tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry..." She whispered. "They made me..."

"Oh, Ginny..." Molly started to rise from the sofa, a shaking hand held out to her only daughter, but one of the Death Eaters stepped forward, a hand on her shoulder forcing her to sit back down. "Ginny..."

A wand was placed into the girl's hand, held tightly by a Death Eater's, in the direction of her family.

Even if she tried, she wouldn't have been able to pull away.

"Now, little girl," Voldemort's voice was a hiss beside her ear. "Choose one."

"Wh-what?"

His lips skimmed the shell of her ear, making her shudder and shy away from him, but his hand locked around her arm in a vice-like grip, bruising her skin. "Who do you love best? Who do you love least? Who will you touch with the killing curse?"

"I-I can't!"

"Perhaps I shall just kill them all then?"

"D-d-don't make me...please..."

A snake's kiss was placed on her neck. "You should know, pretty one, that begging serves no purpose to me."

"Ginny," Bill stepped forwards, his expression resolved. "You...pick me if you have to pick anyone..."

"No, Bill." His father drew him back, determination on his face, a face that looked so much older and more worn than she could remember her father being. "Take care of your mother for me."

"Arthur..." Molly Weasley whispered, shaking her head.

Turning, he bent and gently kissed her and pressed his forehead against hers. "Molly, it has to be one of us." He said softly. "Don't you see that? You have to look after the boys and Ginny."

"Please, Arthur...not like this..." Her hands came up and clasped his face, pulling his lips down on hers fiercely. She was sobbing when they broke apart, trying to hold him as he pulled back, closing his eyes for a moment.

Lifting her hand in his, he pressed his tear-soaked cheek against the back of her shivering hand. "I have to, Molly." His voice was low, barely a whisper. "I love you too much to let them kill you. You and our babies."

"Dad..."

"No, Bill. You have your life ahead of you." Drawing away from Molly, he clasped Bill's shoulder. "You..." He couldn't say more, hugging his eldest son briefly, then turning towards his daughter.

"Daddy..."

His eyes met Ginny's, tears spilling uncontrollably from her lids and gathering in the hollows beneath her eyes, before splashing down her face, and he smiled at her. "I love you, Virginia Weasley."

"No, daddy...no..."

Voldemort chuckled. "This is why I love dealing with families so. They provide so much entertainment." His hand steadied Ginny's, holding the wand. "Perhaps a little of the cruciatus, first, hmm?"

"No..." Whimpering, Ginny shook her head. "No...please..." A cry of pain escaped her when Voldemort's grip tightened on her thin wrist. "No..."

"Would you prefer to be the cause of all their deaths, little girl?" His voice was a hiss in her ears.

Shaking her head, unable to speak, shuddering sobs rocking her body, she pointed the shaking wand at her father, tears burning so fiercely in her eyes that she could barely see. Her father gave her one of his calm, quiet, sad smiles and nodded his head.

"C-c-c-crucio." She sobbed, the wand jerking in her hand.

"ARTHUR!" Molly screamed, lunging forward, as her husband crashed to the floor, his own hoarse cries ripping through the silence of the house, his body twisting and writhing on the floor.

Again, a Death Eater pushed her back on the couch, but she pushed forward again.

This time, the masked figure hurled her back forcefully and followed the push with a savage back-hand that sent Ginny's mother reeling, Bill catching her, his eyes burning with hatred.

Both of them turned their eyes to Arthur, who was still arching and crying out on the ground. His eyes bulged, drool and blood bubbling from his torn lips, which he had gnashed on with his teeth.

Bloody gouges were opening in his face and neck, torn into his skin by his own blunt fingers, deep and deadly. His legs jerked and spasmed, bones audibly snapping with his impact against the floor.

His screams had trailed into bloody gurgles, his head thrashing violently from side-to-side so hard they could see the fractures forming as his skull seemed to change shape before their eyes.

Blood rippled out from bulging eye sockets, spattering the carpet. His teeth clattered together, shattering, broken pieces and shreds of tattered, torn off flesh matting the floor around him.

"St-stop it..." Ginny whispered, trying to break the wand off from the curse.

Death Eaters started laughing, drowning out Molly's despairing sobs and Ginny's desperate pleas.

"Oh, I forgot to inform you, little girl." Voldemort hissed in her ear. "This wand was specially designed for situations such as this." He bit her earlobe hard enough to draw blood, making her cry out again. "The only way you can stop it," His tongue flicked the bite on her lobe. "Is to kill him."

"Do it, Ginny!" Bill cried out desperately, trying to shield his mother's eyes, as their father ripped his own face to shreds with his bare hands.

"I-I can't..." She sobbed.

"You have to, Gin..." Charlie added, his voice trembling. "You have to..."

Shaking her head, tears still streaming down her white cheeks, she drew a shaking breath and pointed the wand. "A-A-Avada K-K-Kedavra..." Still, Arthur continued to thrash and writhe on the floor at her feet. "I-it didn't work!"

"You obviously want your father to suffer more, don't you, little girl?"

"N-no!" Pointing the wand down at her barely-recognisable father, she tried to stop her hands from shaking. Pressing her eyes shut, she cried out as loudly as she could, which was little more than a whisper. "A-Avada Kedavra!"

There was a sound like rushing wind and a flare of green light.

Silence followed.

Opening her eyes, Ginny forced herself to look down, her hands coming to her face, a wild cry of grief bubbling up from inside her, the wand dropping to the floor, as her father's mangled, lifeless features stared blindly up at her.

"Bravo, little girl." Voldemort murmured. "You murdered your own father..."

Caught in Bill's arms, Molly gave a released a terrible, haunting cry, sinking in her son's arms. He buried his face in her mass of hair, holding her tightly, his shoulder shaking with sobs.

Standing where he had been since they entered, Charlie's lips were pressed together in a thin line, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. Kneeling, he shakily closed what remained of his father's eyes and bowed his head.

"I...I didn't have a choice...I didn't...I didn't..." Whispering reassurances to herself, as well as her family, Ginny stared down at her father's body, shaking violently. "I-I didn't want to...didn't...didn't..."

Her legs felt like they were turning to water, her head swimming. Everything seemed to be fading in and out to her, but Voldemort's steel grip on her arm stopped her from sinking to the floor in a heap.

"Perhaps, my Death Eaters, we should depart." The Dark Lord smirked around at the family. "Although..." He nodded to the Death Eater who had slapped Molly down. "I think you would like to see who was the cause of your grief."

"Master?" The Death Eater's voice sounded positively gleeful.

Voldemort smiled coolly. "Yes." He nodded to the figure, then spoke again to the cowering family. "He was watching over your home, for your return." Jerking Ginny upright, he lifted her chin with the tip of one long, icy fingertip. "I believe you will want to know this, my dear little girl, as he is the one who arranged your abduction from Hogwarts...he brought you back into my hands."

Forcing her face up, glistening tears still rippling down her cheeks, Ginny stared at the figure as he raised his hands to his head, lowering his heavy cowl and reaching for his mask.

Jerking it away, he grinned devilishly down at them.

Molly uttered a gasp and shrank back against Bill, who shook his head. "No..."

Chapter 13: The Splintering

"Come."

Torches on the grim walls flared to life as people filed into the black, stone room, footsteps shuffling and clattering on the dark floor as they moved forward in a seething mass.

The Death Eaters had returned to the lair and the small figure of Virginia Weasley was dangling from Voldemort's cold hand, his fingers locked around her upper arm and holding her upright.

Snape watched from the front of the group.

She was clearly in shock.

Behind his mask, his lips thinned into a grim line. For her to be in shock was hardly surprising - she had been forced to torture and murder her own father, in front of her mother and brothers, at barely seventeen years of age.

Her cold, bare feet were stumbling on the floor and her eyes were blank as she was tossed in a tangled heap at the foot of the Dark Lord's throne, Voldemort sweeping down to sit on the elaborate piece of furniture.

"Now, my dear Ginny," He murmured, stroking her long, red hair. "Tell me. Did you enjoy our little trip outside tonight." Tear-filled brown eyes stared blankly up at him, the girl's lips white. "Come now. Tell me how you feel."

"He..." Her voice was dry, rasping, tears pooling beneath her dark-ringed eyes and rolling glassily down her cheeks, into the hollows beneath her cheekbones. Bowing her head, she started to sob softly.

Snape clenched his fists, wanting more then anything to spirit the poor child out.

Voldemort, however, merely smiled. "You are strangely quiet this evening." He noted dryly. "Perhaps you should speak to someone you trust..." He motioned Snape forwards. "After all, one you trust brought you here."

"Stop it..."

"But it is true, Ginny." Voldemort continued, smiling pleasantly. "You loved him, trusted him and what did he do? He arranged to have you brought to me. It is through him that you came to kill your own father."

"STOP IT!" The young witch screamed. "Stop it! Shut the hell up! I don't care! I DON'T CARE!"

"Don't speak to Lord Voldemort in such a way, Weasley." A snide voice said from the sidelines, easily recognisable as a Malfoy's voice. The Potions Professor almost shook his head, tutting under his breath.

It certainly wasn't a clever idea to tell a frightened, angry and betrayed witch what she should and shouldn't do.

Sobbing with grief and rage, the girl's eyes flashed fire, more energy than Snape had seen in her for the last two years. "Shut the hell up, Malfoy." She spat pithily.

"So the vixen has some spirit after all." Voldemort remarked, twisting his fist into her hair and jerking hard. Ginny yelped in pain, pulled up onto her knees. "Perhaps now that she is...a little angry...you. Step forward."

A Death Eater alongside Snape stepped forward and withdrew his mask.

Ginny's face bleached instantly, as she saw what her mother and brothers had seen, and she sagged back down, uncaring of the long crops of hair she was leaving tangled in Voldemort's hand.

"It...it couldn't be you..." She whispered. "No... it can't be..."

"Why on earth not, Ginny?" The young man pushed his hood back from his face and smiled down at her.

"Because..." She cringed against the side of the throne, Voldemort releasing his hold on her hair. "You...you're not...not Percy..."

"I beg to differ." Still smiling, he reached up and straightened his glasses.

Snape's teeth sank into his lower lip. He could see the girl was coiling herself down, like a spring about to explode outwards, her toes tensed against the stone floor, her eyes locked on the traitor's face.

"Percy isn't as stupid as you, you bastard!" She leapt at him too quick for Voldemort to grab her, even if he had tried to, her nails stretching out to gouge her traitorous brother's face.

Avery's arm caught her, mid-jump, and she was smashed down onto the floor, A cry of pain escaping her. Pushing forward, Snape grabbed her and hauled her free from Avery, his eyes flashing behind his mask.

"Let me go!" Ginny thrashed against him, lashing out with arms and legs. "I'm going to kill him!"

"You wish to kill another member of your family, dear Ginny? And here I was, believing that you actually cared for them." Voldemort's silky voice immediately ceased her struggles and the girl went limp in Snape's hold, sobs shaking her body.

"I didn't want to..." She wept, her small fists beating futilely against Professor Snape's chest. "I...I didn't..."

Voldemort was clearly amused. "Take her to my chambers, Severus." He said, with a wave of his hand. "I shall see to her later."

Scooping the girl up, unresisting, Snape carried her feather-light body through the drapes of the throne room, taking her to the broad, luxurious bedchamber she shared with Lord Voldemort, placing her on the thick blankets.

Curling up in a foetal position on her side, she continued to sob bitterly, the violence of her cries making Snape physically flinch. One bony hand came out and hesitantly touched her shaking shoulder.

"I killed him..." She whimpered, her small hands gripping the blankets. "I killed my daddy...I hurt him...and killed him..."

"But you saved the rest of your family, child." The Professor squeezed her shoulder gently, tears stinging in his eyes for the pain that she was going through, wishing he had been the one to send the killing curse.

"I...I didn't have to kill him...I didn't...but I did...killed my daddy..." She buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. Her face slowly turned to him, her hands falling away, her brown eyes enormous and terrified. "They...they'll send me to Azkaban..."

"No, child! Never!"

"B-but..."

Silencing her words with his fingertips, he shook his head. "Child, you did the best you could under such circumstances." Gently stroking her cheek, he sighed. "Had I been in your place, I would not have been nearly as brave as you have."

"I-I'm not brave." She whispered, more of those silent, tragic tears trickling down her gaunt face. "I'm not strong...or clever...or anything...I just do..." She sniffed hard, turning back onto her side. "I just do what I have to."

As exhaustion and despair caught up with her she sank into a dream-filled sleep, Snape sighed, his hand still lingering on her pale cheek. "You are brave, child, and strong, and so much more than you know."

***

"And where do you think you're going at this time of the morning?"

Alexander whipped around at his mother's voice, startled. "Mom!"

"Yes." She was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen wearing her dressing gown, her hands closed around a mug of coffee, her eyes fixed on him. "So, are you going to tell me?"

"Uh...school."

"This early?" She raised an eyebrow.

Alexander gave her his best, winning, "I'm a good boy" smile, but she could easily see that he was distracted by something and she didn't have to guess what was on his mind. "Cause I wanna up my grades?"

"Alex, you're lying. I'm your mother. I can tell."

"No fair, mom."

Cassandra smiled wearily, placing her steaming mug on the small table beside the kitchen door, crossing the floor towards him. "Alex," She stopped in front of him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You know I love you, don't you?" He nodded. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I don't, mom. Not much." Immediately, a closed expression crossed his face. "Why did you think I'd get hurt anyway?"

"This is a bad town, Alex." She murmured, her eyes fixed on his face, as if she were trying to see into his mind. "If it wasn't for your father, you know I would take you away from here because it's so dark...powerful. No one else seems to notice, but if I didn't know better, I'd say good old Sunnydale was on the edge of hell."

Alexander's face shifted through a series of expression. "What...what do you mean, mom?" He began, avoiding her eyes. "It's just a regular SoCal town. Every town has its problems."

"I guess so, although we do seem to have a lot of gangs on PCP and a helluva lot of gas leaks for such a small town." She stood on her toes to muss his hair. "You just take care, okay?"

"I always do, mom." He smiled. "After all, I have to be a knight in shining armour for Buffy, Cordy and Willow." He paused for a moment, then added. "Oh, and Giles, even if he doesn't like me."

"Giles?"

"Librarian guy - he's English and Willow-smart, only smarter." Alexander pulled a face, as if intelligence was the worst crime possible. "He's just like they are in the movies. You'd like him cause he's all...smart about things."

"Sounds wonderful." Cassandra murmured. "And you hang out at the library?"

"Cordy, Willow and Buffy study there..." He made the feeble excuse she had been waiting for.

"And they'll be there today?"

"Uh..."

"That's a yes and yes, you want to go and watch them study, isn't it?" Nodding towards the door, she chuckled as he swung his bag onto his shoulder, giving her his familiar, dopey grin that reminded her painfully of her brother.

"Love you, mom." He dropped a kiss on her cheek, before wandering out into the Californian morning.

"And he's not the only one." A voice purred in Cassandra's ear as she closed the door, invisible arms sliding around her waist.

"Ethan!" She hissed, swatting at him. Twisting in his arms, she yanked his hood down and was met by a long, lazy kiss. The invisibility cloak was rapidly discarded, along with her dressing gown and his clothing.

A short while later, Cassandra was half-seated on the couch, Ethan lazing on his back, beside her, with his head resting in her lap. Her fingers were stroking through his curly hair and he sighed.

"Luv, if I smoked, I think I'd need a whole packet after that."

"I missed you too, Ethan," She smiled down at him, her hand running down to rest on his chest. "But that doesn't explain why you decided to show up first thing in the morning and shag me against the front door."

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. "Thought I'd bring a bit of cheer before delivering the bad news."

"Bad...news?"

"Very." He started to sit, then seemed to think the better of it, opening his eyes and looking straight up at her face. "Your boy has been getting tougher and stronger. Sev hasn't been able to get in touch, but big news just broke...Arthur Weasley was killed two nights ago."

Cassandra's already pale face went chalk-white. "No..."

"It gets worse than that, luv." Reaching up his chest to clasp her hand, he squeezed her fingers. "The one who held the wand that killed him...it was his daughter, Ginny. They made her choose - kill one or watch them all die. Arthur told her to do it."

Hot tears splashed down onto his upturned face and he tilted his head, pressing his cheek against her bare belly in a gesture of wordless comfort, his hand completely enfolding hers.

"I should have done something...stopped it all..." She whispered.

"How, Cass?" The wizard demanded, his tone sharp. "What could you possibly have done to stop him from rising? How could you have done it without getting yourself killed in the process?"

She didn't reply, one shaking white hand rising to cover her face. Sitting up, Ethan gathered her in his arms and held her close, her body so much frailer and thinner than he remembered it being.

"Cass...luv, I'm sorry."

"I-I-I feel so bloody useless, Ethan." She whispered miserably, against his chest. "I want so much to help stop him and all I can do is sit here and watch while he kills and destroys families..."

"You've done one thing that no one else in this world could, Cass." He murmured, against her hot temple. "You took the one thing that could make this situation even worse, the son and heir of the Dark Lord, and made him into a young man, who would rather fight against someone like Voldemort, than fight with him."

"But will it be enough?" She asked softly, spreading her hand over his heart. "What would stop him getting another Heir?"

"Lack of willing female company?" Ethan suggested, nuzzling her thick hair.

"In case you forgot, that was me, seventeen years ago..." She pressed closer to him, shivering. "You don't have to be willing. All you have to be is female and believe that whatever he says won't be manipulated so he can lie about everything."

"Let's just hope that he doesn't find someone like that, then."

Nodding, Cassandra replied. "We can hope..."

***

"What do you want?"

Standing at the end of the bed, Percy folded his hands behind his back as he studied his young sister by the light of half a dozen torches on the walls. She was crouched in the middle of the four-poster bed, glaring at him as if he were worth less than the dirt on the floor.

Her thin body was clad in the sheerest of nightshirts which did very little to conceal her body. Her long hair was brushed, no doubt by magic, but her face was twisted in hate and disgust.

"Is it so hard to believe that I want to talk to my baby sister?"

"I'm no sister of yours." She spat at him, scrambling towards the edge of the bed, hatred and anger vying for dominance in her dark brown eyes. "You're not my brother. My brother would never side with Voldemort."

"Now, now, Ginny..."

Swinging out of the bed, the stone floor icy against her feet, she glared at him across the expanse of the mattress, as she started to make her way around the bed. "Don't you 'Now now' me, you bastard." She hissed. "Because of you, daddy is dead."

"Pardon my slip in memory, but who was it that performed the killing curse?"

Ginny flinched at his words, but still moved purposefully towards him. "If you had left me at the school, none of this would have happened!" Her voice was low, angry, her hands clenched into tight knots at her sides. "What happened?"

"When, Ginny? When you became my lord's whore?"

"When you became a fucking idiot, Percy." She spat.

He took a step towards her, his hand rising as if to strike her. Bracing herself for a blow, he eyes shut, Ginny shuddered when Percy's hand caught her chin. "I'm not an idiot, little sister." He whispered. "I just listened and he made sense."

"Sense?" She stared at him in disbelief. "He kills people for entertainment and you say he makes sense?" Laughing in disbelief, she shook her head. "You're crazier than I thought!"

Percy shoved her away, the girl colliding with the bedpost, wincing. "Laugh at me, then, Ginny." He snarled savagely, anger flaring in his eyes. "Laugh like everyone always did." Making a sweeping gesture with his hand, Percy started pacing in front of her. "Look, there's Percy Weasley. So clever, working oh so hard, but does he get anywhere? No! What's he good for? Pointing at and laughing at! He can't do anything right, can he? His boss got himself killed and Perce didn't notice, oh ha ha! What a jolly good worker!"

"That's why you listened to him?" Ginny said, her voice shaking. "Because everyone treated you like an idiot for trying too hard, you went out to prove a point by becoming a bloody Death Eater?"

"Shut up, Ginny." His voice rose to a furious shout, and he whipped around to bear down on her. "You don't know what it was like!"

"I know exactly what it was like, you prick!" She moved towards him, smacking her fists against his chest. "I'm the stupid little girl who was possessed by Riddle in first year, when I was just trying to fit in. I was the whimpering little sister who could never get anything right. I was the filthy slut who shared Voldemort's bed for four months because I was too stupid to realise that he was really Voldemort!" She smacked his chest again, her eyes flashing. "I ended up as his whore again and anyone in a mask will remind me of it! I know more about being taunted and picked on than you ever could!"

"You have no idea." He hissed, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her back against the bedpost, his grip bruising her skin. "He gave me the chance to become something, to become someone and this time, no one will laugh at me!"

"Oh yeah?" Ginny's lips rose in a manic grin. "Ha!" Percy snarled, shaking her, but that only seemed to make her worse. She started to laugh in earnest. "You think," She panted, hysterical. "That this makes you any less of an arsehole?"

"Stop it!" He shook her again, harder.

"Can't stop..." She was doubled over, laughing uncontrollably, her eyes maliciously fixed on her brother's paling face, which was contorted in a combination of rage, humiliation and shame.

"STOP IT, YOU BITCH!" He slammed her hard against the post of the bed, jolting all of the air out of her, but the vehemence in his voice only made her wild, ringing, hysterical laughter worse.

Tears of sardonic mirth rolled down her pale face, her chest heaving with the force of her laughter.

"I said stop it!" Driving his fist savagely into her belly, Percy's blow lifted her off her feet, hard against the bedpost and he stepped back, panting as she dropped like a stone, landing heavily on the floor, vomit spraying from her lips.

Gasping for breath, her nightshirt soaked with digestive fluids and sticking to her body, the sour smell permeating the whole room, Ginny doubled over, drawing a sharp breath, her eyes going wide.

Raising her tear-filmed eyes to the glowering Percy, she released a shrill, demented laugh, laced with pain. "Oh, boy, Perce." She panted, her eyes drifting in and out of focus. "You're in big trouble now."

She looked down at her legs that were bared to mid-thigh, directing his attention to them and to the deep red stain spreading and soaking through the transparent fabric of her clothing that was wadded between her thighs.

Another hysterical giggle sounded from her. "Hell...big big trouble..." She was starting to shake violently, but still managed to smile at him. "Y-you might wanna... get your boss...about now..."

Backing away, Percy was staring at the blood, which was starting to pool around Ginny's body. "Oh shit..." He whispered, shaking his head, the angry red in his face fading to grey-green.

"I'll say." Ginny slumped back against the bedpost, her eyes rolling up as her brother fled through the dark curtains and into the main area of the throne room.

***

"Mum?"

Sitting silently on the couch, staring at the spot the carpet where her husband had died, Molly didn't acknowledge the voice of her youngest son, her hands still holding one of Arthur's old robes, his scent lingering on it.

Her fingers stroked the worn material, occasionally lifting it to her face, to press against her cheek, letting her inhale his safe, familiar smell. Tears slid down her face, but still, she stared at the carpet.

Ron stood in the door between the living room and kitchen, having just arrived from the school.

Like every other member of the family, his eyes were red-rimmed, his face blotched from tears that had fallen, his clothes rumpled and several days old, but he didn't care how he looked.

"How long has she been like that?" He asked Charlie, who was sitting at the kitchen table, staring sightlessly at a cold cup of tea that was gripped between his burned, callused hands, several empty cups sitting on the tabletop nearby.

Shaking himself, Charlie looked up. "Mum? Since it happened."

Ron lowered his eyes. Part of him wanted to be the one to console his mother, but the other half was - like Bill was - screaming for vengeance on the ones who had done this to his family. "Was it him?"

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who. Did he...was it him that...you know...?"

Charlie's face contorted in shock. "They...they didn't tell you?"

"They didn't tell me what?" Turning to the table, Ron immediately sat down, facing Charlie, who shifted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me it's not your place, Charlie. What happened here?"

"You-Know-Who...he brought Ginny with him." Charlie's voice sounded like he was forcing it out of a tightly clenched throat. "He made her...dad told her to do him, to save the rest of us."

"He...he made Ginny...?" Charlie nodded, staring down at his cup of tea. "Fucking hell!" The empty cups were swept off the table, shattering on the floor and against the cupboards, as Ron surged to his feet, his face scarlet with rage.

"Ron, don't!" Charlie rose, holding out a placating hand. "It won't help."

"But he made Ginny do that! Our bloody sister!"

His brother nodded, sitting back down. He looked exhausted, his face unshaven, his eyes shadowed. "I know, Ron. We were there. Saw it. But anger won't help. Not now... we have to look after mum."

Slamming his fists against the wall, Ron pressed his forehead against his upraised forearms. "Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse..." He mumbled, voice muffled by his maroon jumper.

"So has he told you about Perce, yet?" A gruff voice snapped, both of them looking towards the hearth, where Bill had tumbled out onto his feet. Straightening up, he dusted down his full-length, dragon-hide jacket.

Ron glanced at Charlie, who was looking a little green. "What about Perce?"

"Bill..." Charlie cautioned. "He doesn't need to know this..."

"The hell I don't! What about Percy? Is he alive? Is he okay?"

"Oh, yeah. He's alive all right. Just batting for the other side." Bill answered for his younger brother. "Yeah, he became a Death Eater, took Ginny to You-Know-Who and arranged for You-Know-Who to come here and bump off dad. Nothing to worry about really."

"You're kidding..."

Bill's grim face met Ron's statement. "Do I look like I'm fucking joking, Ron?"

"But Perce...he's a good guy...he does what he's told...works hard..." Ron shook his head, making his way back to the chair on wavering legs and sinking down. "He...why would he change sides?"

"Who knows?" Bill growled, as he pulled his jacket back and started withdrawing several muggle weapons from belts and pockets. "But if that son of a bitch comes near me, brother or not, I'm going to kill him for what he did to Ginny and dad."

Ron looked from Charlie's anxious face to Bill's dangerous one. "What happened to Ginny?" He asked urgently. "Where is she now?" His brothers exchanged looks and Ron closed his eyes.

"I'm going to get her back." Bill said quietly, studying a muggle revolver. His voice was twisted with anger. "No one hurts my baby sister like that."

"Bill, please, be reasonable." Charlie said, grasping his elder brother's wrist. "You don't even know if she's still alive. Don't go and get yourself killed...I think it might kill mum if you did..."

Bill looked down at Charlie's hand on his wrist, then met Charlie's calming gaze. "I have to get her back, Charlie." He said, his voice shaking with emotion. "As long as she's alive, I have to try and get her out of there."

***

"Dead."

"Pardon?"

The statement was repeated. "She is dead."

Voldemort's hands clenched around the end of his throne. "The cause?"

"A massive internal hemorrhage due to an aborted pregnancy, which was caused by a blow to the stomach." Snape reported, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke, his eyes full of torment, his face pale and gaunt.

"Pregnancy?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, Master. She was expecting a child."

"My child." It wasn't a question. It was an ice-coated statement. His slit-like nostrils dilated, his eyes reduced to slits, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "And who was the one to deliver the blow?"

"Weasley, sir. She angered him and he struck her."

Voldemort's hairless brows rose slightly. "Ironic." He stated softly, his eyes focused on nothing. "His first capture brings me his youngest sister and his first killing is that same person." A long-fingered hand stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I'm afraid that the boy will have to be punished for this."

"Yes, Master."

Scarlet eyes moved to Snape. "There was nothing that could be done?"

"By the time I was called, she had lost too much blood, Master. I-I tried to substitute it with a sanguine potion so I could treat the injuries, but she was too weak." The distress that Voldemort recognised in the Professor's voice sounded genuine and the Dark Lord was certain that Snape was on the verge of tears behind his mask. "She died just after I reached to her."

Intriguing.

Snape truly had cared for the strange, oddly-attractive little girl who had blossomed so much under adversity.

Voldemort sighed.

He had hoped that the hate she felt for him could be redirected towards her brother, then be moulded and shaped, so she could have become a willing tool for his side: a fiery vixen, something in her that had only shown itself on a few occasions.

Alas, it was too late now.

"Dispose of the girl's body." He said quietly, leaning back against the high back of the throne, his eyes closing. "Do not damage her further. I believe she has earned that little respect."

Bowing, Snape lowered his head and departed from the throne room.

***

"Where did the little prick go?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Haven't seen 'im."

"'E ran off after 'e 'it 'is sister." Goyle added, Malfoy throwing his head back with a sigh of frustration. one day, he said to himself, he would get some help who had more than one brain cell between them.

"All right, you take this side of the ground, I'll go this way. Draco, you with me."

Crabbe and Goyle lumbered off, leaving Lucius and Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of the grassy lawn, looking around the expansive grounds. "You do realise he could have apparated out, don't you, father?"

"He won't have." Lucius Malfoy said, his voice calm. "He was under the imperio curse, which bound him to these grounds. I doubt he has the nerve to break an imperio cast by Voldemort himself."

Draco glanced sidelong at his father. "I thought he was one of us."

"As you, all the death Eaters, and his family were meant to believe, Draco." Malfoy smirked. "It appears that the deception was adequate, doesn't it? His family believed he betrayed them all. The Weasleys have been broken. Now, he's no longer useful, so our Master will kill him."

"He has been under the imperio since he was captured?"

"Before that." The smile on Malfoy's lips was chilling. "He was brought before our Master through the bi-apparation spell months ago, in secret, just after Dumbledore was destroyed. No one but our Master and I knew."

Together they started across the grounds, the son still apparently considering what he had just been told. "Father, was Weasley acting under our Master's commands when he brought his sister to him?"

"Do you think he would have brought her otherwise?"

Draco shook his head. "It...I should have realised it."

"It was a very covert use of imperio." Malfoy said airily. "It was made to look as if the fool had been won over to our Master's ethics. His mind is so simple that it was barely a challenge for our Master to control him."

"Simple?"

"He had two things he focused on - family and work, but centrally work." Malfoy continued. "Most people have many things to distract them, but this Weasley's mind... he only had the most basic of concerns."

Draco nodded, his eyes scanning around the gardens ahead of them. His eyes screwed up and he pointed. "Father, what do you think that is?"

Ahead of them, something was dangling from one of the ancient oak trees.

"Good grief." Malfoy groaned. "He better not have damaged the tree."

They approached the trees, Draco uttering a gasp.

The younger of the two staring up in shock at the body of Percy Weasley, swinging from side-to-side in the light wind, his torn robes twisted into a makeshift noose which had been looped around his neck and bound to the thick branch of the ancient oak tree.

"Suicide." Lucius remarked dryly. "Well, this is certainly different." Circling the swinging corpse, he withdrew a folded scrap of parchment, which was sticking out of the pocket of Percy's trousers. "It seems," He remarked, reading the brief note. "That Mr. Weasley did break the imperio curse, after all. He didn't want to give our Master the satisfaction of using him further."

"Won't he be just as happy that he's dead anyway?"

"That, Draco, is the amusing irony."

***

Back in the depths of his fortress, Voldemort seemed oblivious to the presence of all of his Death Eaters, his hands tightening around the arms of his throne, his slit-like nostrils dilating.

His breathing was rapid and agitated, shudders passing through his body. His thin lips parted at regular intervals to release sharp gasps, his scarlet eyes rolling upwards, his eyelids fluttering.

Looks were being passed among the Death Eaters, consternation and confusion.

Was their Lord's odd behaviour a good or a bad sign?

It seemed an eternity before he relaxed and a slow smile spread across his features, his eyes reduced to narrow crimson slits. His lips parted, his voice more rasping than it usually was.

"It is almost time." He breathed.

Those four simple words hung in the air.

Bemused looks were exchanged. It went without saying that the Death Eaters weren't exactly playing with a full deck.

Malfoy, seen as the leader of the Death Eaters, stepped forward cautiously, having just returned from searching the grounds for the missing Weasley. "Almost time for what, my Lord?"

Voldemort's smile was chilling and he looked almost like he was intoxicated on some level. "For the end of all things weak and unworthy." He answered blissfully. A sigh slithered past his lips. "When he opens the portal..." A near-orgasmic groan escaped the Dark Lord. "Yessssss...soon...very sssssoon."

Malfoy's posture suggested he wanted to ask more, to know what on earth was going on, but - wisely - he stepped back into the circle, shrugging helplessly at his fellow Death Eaters, as Voldemort's head rolled back, a maniacal smile still on his lips.

"Tell me, Lucius, did you find Weasley?"

"Yes, my Lord," He went down on one knee and handed Voldemort the piece of parchment. "He hung himself out in the glades." Voldemort smirked slightly, his hand crushing the piece of parchment.

"How very noble of him." He remarked. "And Snape is taking care of the girl's body. It appears that all my little problems are clearing themselves up, in preparation for my ascension."

"Ascension?"

"We will move out in a matter of minutes, Lucius." The Dark Lord murmured. "It is time for war."

***

"A-Alex?"

On his way out the front door, Alexander turned to his mother, his expression stony, his arm held up against his chest defensively, the other holding his rucksack on his shoulder. "I have to go out, mom." He said, his eyes red-rimmed.

"What happened?" She asked shakily, her eyes on his arm, which was in a cast.

Alexander looked down at the arm, then back at his mother's face. "A gang broke into the school when we were studying there last night." He explained grimly, his voice hoarse with tears.

"Is...are all your friends all right?"

Alexander shook his head, the grief radiating from him palpable. "Buffy's friend... she died. Giles got taken by them..." Cassandra's hand rose to her mouth. "And Willow...she got hurt real bad. Some of the stacks fell on her..." Tears blurred in his eyes. "She-she might not make it."

"Oh God...Alex..."

He lowered his head to hide the tears on his cheeks. "I-I need to go."

"Was it more of Buffy's ex-boyfriend's friends?" Cassandra asked unsteadily, halting his progress towards the door.

Her son nodded, his expression turning to one of malevolence. "Why'd he have to come along and ruin everything?" He demanded savagely. "She would have been fine if it wasn't for him!"

"Sometimes things just happen that way." Cassandra murmured, hugging herself.

"I-I need to go and help Buffy, mom. She's not doing so great..."

The witch nodded. "I know how she feels." She said quietly. "Alex?" He looked at her expectantly. "Take care of her. Do what you can." Unable to reply, Alexander merely nodded and turned and walked out the front door.

***

THE BOY WHO LIVED IS DEAD

- Reported by Wanda Wava

Rumours abound today in the wizarding world with the second fall of You-Know-Who in twenty years.

The Dark Wizard - he who must not be name (71) - lead an army of Death Eaters, his bizarrely-named collective of minions, many of whom have a knack of remaining anonymous, in an epic battle, in which many wizards and witches were killed.

The death toll is still rising by the hour (for regular updates on this and other news, tune into the WWN), many falling on both sides. Muggle casualties and fatalities are also expected.

While it is unclear what exactly it was that came to pass, it is a known fact that You-Know-Who was reduced to a shell of his former self, due to a dramatic sacrifice from the Boy Who Lived and was contained by several Aurors.

Harry Potter (18) gave his own life to save the lives of friends Ronald Weasley (18), youngest son of the late Arthur Weasley, and Hermione Granger (18), both classmates from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry.

His death, it is rumoured, served the same purpose as his mother's, when he earned his title as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' in his infancy. While these rumours are denied by some sources, several witnesses state that when You-Know-Who turned his wand on the friends of the boy who lived, the curse failed.

Eye-witness Sirius Black (39), formerly believed to be a Death Eater and the only escapee in Azkaban's History, but cleared by his activity in the battle, states "Harry knew what he was doing. He told V******** to kill him, instead of Ron and Hermione... he was a damn good kid. He didn't deserve it. His parents would have been proud of him."

While Granger and Weasley both refused to give statements, it is clear that they are both in shock over the death of their school friend. Mr. Weasley has been forced to deal with this fatal blow, following a succession of family tragedies, including the deaths of both father and a brother, Percival (22). A sister, Virginia Weasley (17), is still unaccounted for.

Meanwhile, the Ministry is in a furore about what must be done. Remus Lupin, a known werewolf and former Professor of Hogwarts, believes that Voldemort must be left alive, but imprisoned to pay for his crimes. However, many Aurors believe it is their duty to destroy him, after all he has done.

Unfortunately, he has proved to be a rather difficult enemy to defeat in the past.

What will happen to You-Know-Who and his surviving followers is undecided as yet. However, with the reinstatement of the Dementors at Azkaban, it is believed that the Prison will once again serve as a holding ground for Death Eaters and possibly even You-Know-Who himself.

For now though the wizarding world, while mourning it's losses, is celebrating the downfall of the most powerful Dark Lord that has ever lived and we hope that - this time - he will stay down.

For more on this story, see pages. 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13...etc

Chapter 14: The Losses

There were only a few of them there.

Had word spread, it would probably have been the most attended funeral in the history of the wizarding world, but word hadn't spread and only the closest of friends were in attendance.

It was a grey day, the sky overcast and dull, sunlight barely even visible as a smirr of light behind the clouds. A stiff wind occasionally hit them, but they remained where they were.

Ronald Weasley, brown eyes dry of tears simply because he had none left, stood to the right of Hermione Granger, who now bore a scar on her left temple similar to that which had made the friend they were burying so famous.

Her small hand was held in Ron's larger one, neither of them speaking, as they sadly watched the coffin disappear into the maw in the ground.

A short way away from them, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin stood, accompanied by Professor McGonagall, all of them garbed in robes of black, still bearing the looks of exhaustion and grief that marked the faces of so many wizards and witches who had been involved in the battle.

A brief, emotional eulogy was given for the Boy Who Lived by Sirius Black, as the famous Harry Potter was finally laid to rest, barely a stone's throw from the grave of his own parents.

It was short.

Not because there was a lack of things to say about Harry, but because so many had died, it caused grief to linger over every single friend and relative who had been lost in the struggle.

For his part, Ron was relieved that it was over quickly.

Just over a week previously, he, his mother and his brothers had attended the funeral of Arthur Weasley, something which had completely drained him of energy and his capacity for reason and emotion.

When word came in, from some source who had contacted Professor Flitwick about a surge in darkness, and they were told that war was coming, he truly hadn't cared.

Nothing had seemed to matter in that moment.

All he had known was that his beloved father, his daddy, had gone away forever and wasn't coming back. Now, he was lying in a box, never to be seen again, never to get a chance to play with his grandkids or see his children marry...

It had been Hermione and Harry that had brought home that reality to him.

The one who had murdered Harry's own parents, the one who had kidnapped and tormented his baby sister, the one who had been instrumental in his father's death was about to try and wipe out the wizarding world as they knew it.

Despite the numb grief he had felt, the lingering ache in his heart, he had risen to the task at hand, joining his two friends to stand with the remaining teachers and any of the witches and wizards who were brave enough to fight with them.

Then, Percy's body had been deposited on the step at the back door of The Burrow, his face bloated, eyes bulging out of the sockets, almost beyond recognition. If it hadn't been for the shock of red hair...

Bill had wanted to burn his body on a bonfire in the back garden, or pitch him off a cliff, or something, anything, that would prevent the traitor from being buried with the rest of their ancestors.

That had caused even more emotional upheaval.

With emotions running high already, Charlie's statement that - no matter what he had done - Percy was still a Weasley had earned him a punch in the face from Bill, who had immediately received a slap from their mother.

If anything, that hadn't helped.

His family, already torn apart by the deaths of several members, fighting amongst themselves had made Ron want to run back to his nice, safe four-poster and curled under the blankets until everything went away.

That's where Hermione had found him.

She had just wrapped her arms around him, her hot cheek pressed against his neck and he hadn't been able to stand it for a moment longer, his face screwing up, as he tried to hold in all the pain and misery that had been building up in him for days.

To his surprise, when he started to cry, snot, tears and everything streaming down his face and making a right mess of Hermione's blouse, she hadn't complained or got annoyed, but just rocked him and held him tight, just as he needed her to.

Afterwards, she had sat back from him, pulled a wad of tissues out of her sleeve and gently wiped his cheeks dry, giving him the little smile she always did when she half-proud of, half-exasperated with him and Harry, but this time, with so much affection, he had been stunned.

That was the minute that he knew that he loved her, something that made him both confused, scared and determined.

He hadn't said anything to Harry about this revelation, but when they were fighting, side-by-side, and Harry has seen Voldemort coming towards them, he had turned to Ron and urgently whispered. "Take care of Hermione."

That was the last thing Ron had heard him say, before Harry had broken into a run towards Voldemort's upraised wand, yelling for the Dark Lord to kill him, instead of Ron or Hermione.

Now, as they stood by the graveside, their fingers interlocked, Ron glanced at her, unsurprised to see tears trickling quietly down her pale face, her long hair pulled back in a severe bun.

"C'mon, Hermione." He murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, smiling sadly as she curled in against his chest. He could almost picture Harry rolling his eyes at them. "Let's go home."

Nodding, she let him direct her around and, arms around each other, they started to walk towards the gate of the cemetery.

***

Amber liquid glinted in a small glass.

"Here's to us! Long may we be bloody amazing!" Ethan laughed aloud as Cassandra threw her head back to down another shot of expensive whisky and fell straight off the edge of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. "Ow."

"All right, luv?" Crawling unsteadily to the edge of the bed, he offered her a hand, which it took her several attempts to actually grab.

"My arse hurts." She complained to him, climbing back onto the bed and sprawling out on the bed beside her long-term lover. "Why do I always hurt my arse when we're celebrating anything?"

"Because you're a kinky little tinker?" Lying on his back, his right hand behind his head, he raised his left hand and tapped the tip of her nose with a smile. Cassandra returned the smile, cuddling against him, folding her arms on his chest.

"He's gone..." Her chin resting on her crossed arms, her eyes closed, she released a genuine sigh of relief. "Alex is finally safe."

Ethan snickered. "You live on an active Hellmouth, where a psychotic vampire just tried to open a demon portal that would have destroyed the world and regular demon-type things happen every day of the week and you say he's safe?"

A hand swatted his chest. "Pedantic git." She mumbled, struggling to kneel back up on the blankets beside him. "Oh! And I had to tell you something about the... oh... whatsername?" Flapping her hands urgently, Cassandra looked like she was searching her slightly inebriated memory. "Little one...blonde... kills demons and...Buffy! The Slayer person!"

"What of her?" Leaning up on his arms, Ethan couldn't help smiling as she slapped her forehead, looking genuinely adorable. Without the threat of Voldemort hunting her down, she had finally managed to relax for the first time in eighteen years.

"Gone!" She threw her hands up. "Alex says she went to try and sort things out with her ex and no one has seen her since then." Leaning forward, swaying slightly, she added conspiratorially. "She's the one that killed Angelus...stopped him."

"Just in the nick of time as well." Ethan nodded. "I let Flitwick know something was up, so they knew Vollie would be trying something. I'm guessing that they managed to get to him when the portal was closed."

Cassandra's face sobered slightly. "D'you know if they found little Ginny?" Her lover's green eyes closed and he turned his face away from her. "Oh." Her lower lip trembled. "B-but that doesn't mean she's...dead, does it?"

Sitting up, Ethan grasped her shoulders, trying to start to speak several times. When the words finally came, they were shaking. "Cass, this is Voldemort. When a witch disappeared because of him, how often do you remember them coming back?"

"But Ginny..."

"Cass..."

"NO!" Her fists hit his chest. "Ethan, she can't be dead! If she was killed, why haven't they found her body? You know how much Voldemort liked to have family members find the bodies!"

"Cass..." Her fists continued to pound against his chest, the blows growing weaker as Cassandra started to sob in misery, grief and frustration. Ethan patiently waited and gathered her in his arms. "I know, luv, I know."

"I-I really hoped, Ethan..." She sobbed, her shaking fingers gripping his shirt. "I hoped she'd get out all right..." Nodding against the top of her head, he continued to silently hold her as she wept in his arms.

***

A fire was crackling in the grate, the pale yellow and orange flames spreading odd illusions of light and shadow up the bare brick walls of the basement, illuminating the single slouched figure seated in the chair in front of the hearth.

Still clad in his formal robes, Snape gazed into the flickering flames, his elbows propped on the high, padded arms of the ancient chair which were looking worn from use, his folded hands pressing against his chin.

It still struck him as strange that he was back in this hidden place, his own home.

Most people wouldn't class it as a home, but it was all he had known, all he was comfortable in.

His whole life was enclosed in two small rooms.

Where he currently sat, brooding in front of the small fire, the fireplace occupied the centre of one wall, wide enough for two people to share it's warmth, but he had never bothered to test that figure.

A blackened kettle stood on a shelf to one side of the grate, along with a couple of pans and all the dishes he possessed, seldom used. They tended to get pushed to one side, his cauldrons and bottles for potions taking more priority.

There was a rather threadbare and singed brown rug just in front of the fireplace, on the stone floor, but the rest of the floor was bare, impeccably tidy, with a few stacks of paper lined neatly up against the shelves.

Against the opposite wall, in the corner his double bed stood, his single luxury. With a dark oak bedstead and heavy, dark blankets, he knew it looked like it was taken out of a frightening Gothic children's story, if such a thing existed.

Every other area of wall space was lined with broad, deep shelves, most of which he had heaped with either books and tomes about potions, or with the substances he used to make potions that featured in said books.

Between two large bookshelves on the wall to his left, a door opened into the small, sterile white bathroom, the only other room in the basement he called home, a white bath, the deep, four-footed metal ones taking up half of the floor space.

He had not left this sanctuary of his, the one place he chose to reside, aside from Hogwarts and the one that no one but Dumbledore had known of, since the day that Voldemort had told him to take the body of Virginia Weasley to her family home.

He had, of course, done no such thing.

His black eyes focused on the dancing blue heart of the flames wavering in the grate, the crackling of the burning wood the only thing he was aware of. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the dusty clock on top of the mantle.

Shifting in his chair, his eyes growing heavy, he felt his lips rising slightly as the small clock started it's quiet chiming.

It was time.

Behind him, he heard a feeble moan and rose, hurrying across to the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

Using his wand to light the tarnished brass lantern that hung on a hook above the bed, he gazed down at the girl, hoping he hadn't overdone the dosage of the Draught of Living Death.

"Child?"

Ginny Weasley's eyes fluttered weakly for several seconds, before opening, the light making her blink, squinting up at him, her pupils huge. The corners of her lips moved in a way that suggested she was trying to smile, but lacked the strength to do so.

"Can you hear me?" Her chin dipped down a millimetre. "And see me?" Again, she nodded a little. One of his hands took hers. "Can you feel that?" Once more, her chin dipped, her eyes sinking closed. "Child, listen to me," His other hand rose, touching her cheek. "You have been lying in this state for several days..." The tip of her nose wrinkled slightly, making him chuckle. "I don't want to embarrass you, but if you want, I could bathe you."

"I..." Her shaking voice was barely a breath, her lips barely parting to let the words slip passed. "Smell..."

Snape smiled, his thumb brushing across her cheek softly. "Well, I didn't want to be the one to say anything but..." He saw the tip of her tongue trying to poke between her lips at him and knew that she was going to survive. "Wait here, child."

Rising, he went into the bathroom, turning on the lion's head-shaped taps, the deep tub filling quickly. Chewing on his lower lip, he paused before adding a spurt of bubbles from his wand into the steaming water, if only to shield the girl's modesty.

Ginny hadn't moved when he returned to the bedside, which didn't surprise him.

To convince the Death Eaters that she really was dead, which would hardly have been surprising considering the condition she was in when he had reached her, it had taken a larger dose than usual of the powerful sleeping potion and he fervently hoped that she wouldn't suffer any unpleasant side-effects.

He pulled the thick blankets back from her emaciated form, his arms sliding beneath her legs and back, easily lifting her up against his chest, her worn body as light as a feather, drowned in one of his nightshirts.

With her weary head resting against his shoulder, he made his way through to the bathroom, the warm flutters of her breath against his neck the most comforting thing he had felt in months.

Kneeling down on the white-tile floor, Snape unfastened the three buttons at the collar of the shirt, sliding it from her body and over her head. Reaching over the side of the bathtub, he checked the water wasn't too hot before removing his outer robes and lifting the girl's thin body into the bath.

Much to his surprise, he didn't feel as uncomfortable as he knew he should as he gently let the water splash over her bare skin. Nor did the girl, her tired eyes telling him that she trusted him implicitly.

Taking in her body, he wanted to weep for the condition the child was in.

Yes, he had kept her drugged for several days, to allow her body to recover from the injuries sustained without her suffering, but before that, from her time in captivity, she was barely a husk of her former self.

With every laboured breath that she took, Severus could see her ribs ridging against her pale skin, her arms and legs frighteningly thin and fragile-looking. Her small breasts had shrunk as she had starved, leaving her wasted.

Her once-pretty face told the same story.

She was whiter than usual, still recovering from the vast amount of blood she had lost only days before, her cheeks deep hollows where the weight had shrunk from her in the final days of her imprisonment, dark smudges beneath her brown eyes.

A sigh escaped Ginny's lips, as Snape gently helped her to lie back in the water, the luxuriously hot fluid rippling up to her neck, making her skin tingle in a very pleasant way, her long hair floating around her.

Picking up a rough sponge that was bobbing heavily in the water, Severus gently started to sponge the girl's thin face and neck, Ginny managing to make her lips smile up at him as he did so.

A short while later, her tangled hair washed, her body clean, Ginny was lifted out of the bath and wrapped in a coarse towel, Snape muttering apologies to her as he dried her, the fabric warming her as much as the water had.

Had she been able to, she would have told him so, but - exhausted - she simply let him dry her thin body, carrying her back to the bed, where he tenderly dressed her in a fresh nightshirt and brushed out her hair.

Placed back onto the springy mattress, against thick, soft pillows, fresh sheets tucked up to her chest and covered over with a warm blanket, Ginny tried to form words of gratitude, but her lips refused to co-operate.

"Just rest for now, child." Severus said quietly, as he helped her to drink a little cool water from a goblet. She nodded weakly, letting her head fall back against the pillow, her eyes unbearably heavy.

She felt his fingers gently brushing loose strands of hair back from her face as sleep took her.

***

The tone around the dinner table was sombre.

The normally-crowded table seemed so much emptier than usual, even though only three of their number were absent. The men at the table were trying to be civil to one another, the other three shifting uncomfortably.

At the head of the table, Molly Weasley absently pushed a piece of meat around her plate with her fork, oblivious to the tension radiating from her remaining sons. She barely ate anymore, her eyes no longer shining with the energy she always had.

Like her husband was, her eyes were dead.

"Hermione and me went back to Hogwarts the other day, mum." Ron tried to start a conversation. "They think the school'll be ready for a new bunch of kids by the time September comes, since You-Know-Who is gone again."

"Mmm."

"What about the pupils who were taken home? Will they redo years?" Charlie asked quietly.

He didn't look up as he spoke, his right eye still dark and swollen, thanks to his elder brother's fist which had bashed him for the second time in as many months, when Charlie had carefully broached the subject of telling the Ministry about Percy's change of sides.

"McGonagall thinks so." Ron nodded, poking a piece of potato. "Hermione and me have been offered a chance to do seventh year again, if we want to do it properly, but I don't think it'll be the same without..." He trailed off.

"How's Hermione coping?" Fred asked, much to Ron's surprise. The twins weren't particularly attached to the muggle-born witch, but - it seemed - that Voldemort had done something useful and brought the wizarding community closer together.

Rubbing his eyes, Ron shrugged and sighed. "It's hard to say. She doesn't like to cry and she keeps going for that stiff-upper-lip thing, then breaking down." His gaze went to his plate. "She misses him. I do too."

"Did you ever get the chance to tell Harry about you and her?" Charlie spoke up.

Once again, Ron was stunned by the astuteness of his quiet elder brother. No one else in the family had noticed that he and Hermione were seeing each other. "I-I think he knew, somehow. He told me to take care of her, just before he...you know..." He answered, his voice shaking slightly.

"What's this about you and Hermione?" Molly's voice made the five men look around in surprise.

Ron blushed to the roots of his hair. "We're...um...we've kind of become a bit of an item." He answered, scarlet, looking up at his mother. "We...I know it's quick, but we... we were thinking about getting hitched."

For the first time in weeks, Molly smiled. It wasn't much more than a tiny shift outwards of her lips, but it was more than anything they had seen, since Arthur had died. "That's wonderful news."

"I didn't want to say anything before...since it's so soon after everything..."

Molly raised a hand to silence him. "Ron," She said. "I think this is just the kind of thing we need to hear." She sighed. "After all, if something good comes out of this...I might have a daughter-in-law..."

"You haven't gone and knocked little Hermione up, have you?" George put in with a dirty leer. "That's why you're getting married so quick, isn't it?"

"George! No!" There was a pause. "Not yet." Even Bill chuckled at the embarrassed look on Ron's face, when he realised what he had said. "I think Hermione'll want to do more study first."

"Well, that's a given." Fred snickered.

"You don't mind, mum?"

Molly's smile widened a little. It did little to disguise the sorrow in her eyes, but her sons knew it was a start and that they had to take things slowly. "The sooner the better, I think, Ron." She looked down at her plate, then up at him. "And what's this about grandchildren for me?"

"Mum!"

***

Meanwhile, in Snape's hidden home, the only Weasley daughter was still sharing a sanctuary with one of the Dark lord's former unfortunate minions.

Her strength was gradually returning, thanks to potions he had brewed for her, but until she had been able to regain the energy to walk again, he had done everything for her: carrying her to and from the small bathroom, feeding her by hand when she was too weak to lift her food, soothing her when she woke in the grip of a nightmare.

Despite the dark gloom of the underground home, she somehow felt safe, knowing that Severus was there with her and that he would protect her from anything outside their hiding place.

He had started to relax around her as well, no longer wearing his stiff, formal robes, choosing to don slightly more comfortable black trousers and a black shirt that was oddly Gothic in fashion.

It looked strangely right on him, she noticed, as she looked up at him.

As they did every evening - which she could only tell because of the clock seated on the mantle - she was sitting on a cushion at his feet, in front of the fire, leaning on his thigh, as he read one of his potions books, neither of them needing to speak.

The fire was warming and comforting and cast a strangely kind glow over Snape's angular features.

Ginny looked up at him again, briefly wondering how she could ever have been truly intimidated by him. Yes, when he did display his ice-cold anger, he could prove to be spectacularly frightening.

However, now, she could see him as something else.

When he was in the security of his home, at peace, safe, he so very different.

Even the way he had cared for her as she recovered, so gentle and patient, never pushing her to do something she couldn't, never getting frustrated or angry when she had broken down, and she had found herself fascinated by it.

His silken voice, his reassuring words, when she had woken from nightmares had soothed her. He had let her cry as often as she needed to, always there at the moment she cried out in pain or fear, holding her and soothing her.

Watching him now, she took in every millimetre of his face, the flicker of the flames warming his pale skin, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his cheek resting against it as he read.

Every line of his face spoke of an intense focus and confident, calm knowledge, his passion for the things he cared about marked in his features, especially as he read of them, as he did now.

The corners of his lips were lifted slightly in a small smile, as he skimmed through the book, glancing briefly towards her, apparently surprised to find her watching him so intently.

"Child?" He laid the book down in his lap.

"Hmm?" She continued to gaze up at him, her chin resting on her folded arms, which lay on his left thigh.

"Why are you watching me?" She shrugged, sighing a little as his hand came out and gently stroked her hair. He studied her for a moment, deliberating over something, then delicately began. "Child..."

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to ask, child."

Brown eyes dipped down. "Yes, I do." She whispered. "I can't go back. Not yet."

Closing the book over, Severus placed it down on the floor, then returned his hand to her face, cradling her left cheek gently, his thumb stroking her still-pale skin. "Child, they are your family. They deserve to know."

A single, hot tear leaked from her eye and rolled down her cheek, splashing against his fingers.

"Oh, child..." He offered his hand, her smaller one slipping into it immediately, and he helped her to her feet, drawing her down to sit in his lap. With a quiet sob, Ginny curled against him, pulling her legs up, letting him enclose her in his arms.

Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly, as the raw sobs came - for the hundredth time - her face buried in his the crook of his neck, burning tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

Murmuring to her in that soothing voice she had become so familiar with - for all she knew he was be reciting potion formulas to her, his voice so low and gentle - she felt her sobs receding and sniffed hard as he continued to stroke her hair and back.

"I can't face them. N-not now." She whispered miserably, staring up at him, as he tenderly smoothed the tears from her cheeks. "L-l-look at what I did..."

"You did what anyone else in the same position would do, child." He said, nodding in affirmation, when she started to shake her head. "Believe me. I have witnessed it many times, but none were so brave."

Gulping down another sob, Ginny blinked at him. "St-stupid, you mean." Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears. "A-and I-I-I let him g-g-get me pregnant...the wizard who m-m-made me k-kill my own father..." One shaking hand spread on her concave stomach. "H-he couldn't do that by f-force...I l-let it happen."

"You had a lot on your mind, child." His hand came down to cover hers. "You can not be held responsible." Her face bowed, Ginny's silent tears splashed down onto his hand, where it covered her smaller one.

"I-I really wanted it to die..." She whispered, her voice shaking. Severus' brows wrinkled. He had not heard her speak of her pregnancy, even when she recovered. All she had asked was that it was gone. "I-I didn't hate it...but...I..." She looked up at him, shame etched on her face. "I-I remembered Cassandra...what she has had to do with h-her son...I didn't want to hide a child like that...didn't want to live in fear...in case they tried to take it away...make it like him...use it..." She drew several sharp breaths, her voice tight and trembling with emotion. "I-I...I think I would have loved it...it was mine..." Her fingers dug into her belly, through the material of the shirt she wore. "A-and now...its gone..." A soft whimper escaped her. "How can I be a decent h-human being, when I wanted rid of it? How...how can I be any kind of good person, when I-I wanted my own baby to die?"

Severus didn't know what to say, his eyes clouded with pity, his lips parting with the intention of forming words, but no sound escaped from him.

Wrapping his arms around her, her body curled so closely to his that they could barely be identified as two separate beings, he just held her and let her cry silently for the child she had lost.

***

"Where'd'you think she is?"

Sitting in the empty library, scanning through books of demons, Willow looked up at Alexander. "Huh?"

"Buffy." The dark-haired youth flopped down in a vacant seat opposite his long-time friend, glancing at the cage that held the red-head's wolfish boyfriend. "Where'd'you think she is?"

"I-I don't know." Finally out of the wheelchair that she had been left in, after the library had come under attack, Willow had run straight back into her research role as soon as she was able. Her brows wrinkled. "Do...you...you don't think she might be... you know...kinda...dead?"

"I-I..." Alexander thought about it for a few minutes, then shook his head in a negative. "No way. This is Buffy we're talking about. She's probably just taking a few days time out and she'll be back and slay-happy before you know it!"

"You think so?" Willow raised her eyebrows, sounding deeply sceptical.

"Hey, would I lie?" He gave her his most confident broad smile, raising a small smile in return from the red-haired girl. Inside, though, he knew he wasn't nearly as confident as he sounded.

When Willow bent back over the books she was reading, researching the latest Hell-critter to be loosed on the world, Alexander's mask of calm and confidence slipped, his eyes closing.

Something in his gut told him that Buffy, his friend and one of the few people that he truly cared about, was hurt, if not physically, then emotionally, and the thing that made that feeling worse was knowing he could do nothing to help.

She had fled and he could only assume that it was something to do with Willow doing the spell.

As he had dragged Giles out of the mansion, catching a glimpse of Buffy fighting against Angelus, he had wished with all his might that the spell would work, wishing for some small part of him - the magic he had always longed to have - to help Willow, even if he was utterly useless in the magic department.

At that thought, a pang of guilt struck him.

He should have told Buffy Willow was going to try the spell again, but something told him, that same little voice of intuition, that - had she known - she wouldn't have fought as hard as she did.

If she had known her hunny might be returning, she would have been careful, in case she hurt him.

Knowing she was fighting Angelus, not Angel, made her stronger and Alexander had had the uncanny feeling that Buffy's battle against Angelus was more important that just closing Acathla and preventing the suckage of the Western Seaboard into Hell.

Sometimes, he wanted to kick his crappy intuition's ass.

Thanks to it, he had made some bad decisions, like going after Buffy in the sewers to help find Jesse almost two years previously or every night when he went out on patrol with her since then, but still, they panned out in the end and things would turn out all right...usually.

Except this time.

Buffy was gone.

She might even be dead in a ditch for all he knew. Yes, his intuition - he was really beginning to hate it - told him that Buffy was alive, but it didn't exactly reassure him when she had vanished out of the wonderful world of Sunnydale.

Turning his attention back to the library and to Willow, who was thumbing through a heavy book, he forced a chipper note back into his voice. "So, what's the big bad now that the Toothy wonder is gone?"

"Xander..." Willow chastised affectionately.

"I know, I know, he was Buffy's snugglevamp, but he's gone now." He clapped his hands together in a show of mock enthusiasm. "So, c'mon, Will, hit me! What are we dealing with and how fast do I have to run to get away from it?"

"Dear Lord..." Giles groaned, from his position behind the desk.

***

"I sent your brother, Ronald, an owl." Hanging up his travelling cloak, Snape looked across the room as his companion. "I informed him of the current situation and told him that you'll see them when you feel you are ready."

Ginny made no reply, sitting in the chair in front of the fire, gazing at the flames. It didn't take a genius to work that she was crying again.

Severus Snape approached the chair, his hands coming to rest on the top of the back and he looked down at her. She didn't even seem aware of him, her hands twisting a piece of string into a knot, then undoing it again.

Almost three months had passed since Voldemort had been defeated once again and, every day since then, she had wept at least once or twice, sometimes coming to him and curling against him, sometimes just remaining alone.

"Child?" It got no response. "Miss Weasley?" Again, nothing. "Virginia." It was the first time he had used her full forename.

"Don't call me that." She said quietly.

"It is your name, child."

The girl slid out of the seat, standing and turning around to look up at him. In spite of the tears shining on her face, she looked a good deal better than she had when he had first brought her to his home.

Once more, she was wearing one of his baggy, black shirts, which was large on him and simply enormous on her fragile form. Even buttoned to the top of the high collar, the length of her throat was bared. It hung past her knees and her hands were hidden by the long sleeves.

Her body had filled out again and - while still thin - she looked so much healthier.

"It doesn't fit me." She said, her voice low.

"What?"

"That name. Virginia." She looked down at the floor, at her feet which were clad in an oversized pair of woollen socks. Edging past him, she made her way towards the bed. "I'm not one anymore. I don't want the name. I'm just Ginny."

He watched her, bemused, as she climbed onto the bed, sitting down cross-legged, in the middle of the mattress, smoothing the fabric of the large shirt she was wearing over her knees.

"Child..."

Her brown eyes looked up at him as he approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of it, as he had done so many times. "Why do you call me that?" She asked softly, as he brought a hand up to cradle her cheek.

Her words made him start.

Why DID he call her that?

And he knew he didn't even have to answer his own question.

He started to pull his hand back from her sharply, but her small hand caught it, gripping it between her two smaller ones. "Please." She said, not looking away from his black eyes. "Why?"

"Child...Miss Weasley..." Shifting, he tried to rise, but she held onto him. With a cry of anger, he pulled free and stood up, stalking across to the fireplace and spreading his hands on the mantle. "Don't ask me that."

He heard the creak of the bed, then her padded feet crossing the floor. "But I want to know." She said.

"And I said don't ask me, child!" He spun to face her, frustrated, confused and a little angry, the girl backing up at the expression on his face. The hurt and fear he saw in her eyes made his heart break and he reached out, gently laying his hands on her shoulders. "Child, I'm sorry..."

Her brown eyes moved to the hands on her shoulders, then back to his face. "I just want to know why." She said, her voice shaking.

"Because..." He looked away from her face. No. He couldn't, wouldn't, say it aloud, not to her or to anyone else. He would shame her, shatter her trust in him. He would frighten her even more. "Child...I can't..."

One of her small hands touched his cheek, making him start. Her touch was soft and she lifted his chin to make him look at her, meeting those brown eyes. "Please, tell me." She whispered.

Clenching his teeth together, he bowed his head again, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "I..." His voice sounded rougher than it usually did. "Its because I want to remind myself that you are a child, a pupil...and I am your teacher."

"Not anymore." She said sadly, her fingertips soft against his skin. "I haven't been a child since I was delivered to him." Her hand slid into his hair and she pulled him down to her, kissing him.

Snape jerked back from her, shaking his head, steering her away from him, his hands on her shoulders. "Child..." He pleaded. "Don't tempt me. You're still a pupil and I am still a teacher..."

"Not today, Severus." She easily pushed his hands from her shoulders and stepped in front of him, her hands spreading on his chest. "Today, we are only the survivors."

Rising up on her sock-clad toes, she cupped his face between her hands and touched her lips to his.

Severus' hands seemed to rise of their own accord, settling on Ginny's hips and drawing her closer. The brief brush of their lips became something more as she kissed him again, timidly.

He had to be imagining it.

He had to be.

This couldn't possibly be happening.

It had finally happened.

He had gone insane. He must have, to be imagining something as wonderfully mad as this.

The tip of a warm tongue brushed against his, making him shudder with pleasure, the warm female body that was pressed against him suggesting that he was anything but imagining this.

He felt one of Ginny's dainty hands slide over his shoulders, tangling into his hair, as she moaned against his lips. One of his own hands slid down her body, slipping beneath the shirt she was wearing, her thigh soft against his palm.

Breaking out of the kiss, he stared down at the girl in his arms, stunned. What the Hell was he doing? Did he want to damage her more than she already was? Did he want to ruin her?

Stepping back from him, Ginny - smiling shyly, her cheeks rosy - looked up at him from beneath pale brown lashes which, he had noticed several weeks earlier, flecked gingery in the right light.

"Severus," Her voice was trembling again, he noticed, jolting when her hand took his - which also happened to be trembling. How very odd - and started to lead him across the floor. "Come with me."

"Child..." He started. "You...you don't have to..."

"I know, Severus." She turned back around to face him, as they reached the bed. Her eyes met his briefly and she smiled, a little shyly, as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I...I love you."

Snape closed his eyes with a groan that was half-despair, half-relief. He shook his head. "You silly child." He whispered, slowly opening his eyes. "You should not have said that."

Her fingers hesitated. "Wh-why?"

Black eyes met brown. "Because, my dear Ginny," He said, one hand coming up behind her head, tangling through her hair, his mouth curving in a genuine smile. "I will simply have to reciprocate."

Then he kissed her, as they sank down onto the bed together.

Chapter 15: The Lost Ones

"I can't help wondering," Severus murmured to the young woman, who was curled against his side, her flame-haired head pillowed on his shoulder. "What will your mother think of this little arrangement?"

Ginny giggled, a sound that made Snape's heart swell with joy. It was a delight to hear her do something as simple as giggling, after all that she had been through. Even though she was only eighteen years of age, her haunted brown eyes often seemed so much older and sadder than her years should have allowed.

Strangely, it reminded him a good deal of himself at the same age.

"I can imagine." She answered, leaning up to look down at him. "Mum, I'm dating an ex-Death Eater, who was a spy for the Ministry and who is a better shag that You-Know-Who was."

"A shag?" One eyebrow rose.

Stroking his hair back from his eyes, Ginny smiled. "If you prefer, I could say a bonk."

Raising himself on his elbows, his face barely inches from hers, he claimed a brief kiss. "Child," She gave him a look. "Force of habit...Ginny, I would sincerely prefer to be classed as something a little more eloquent than a 'shag'."

"I'm just teasing you, Severus." Laying along his chest, she pressed her forehead to his, gazing into his eyes. There was an odd emotion in her brown eyes. "I...I didn't know if could be like that."

Aware of her waning mood, Severus lifted a hand to cup her chin. "So I was better than he was?" He cocked his brow again. "And everyone claims that once you've had a dark lord, nothing compares..."

Ginny smiled weakly. "Let's just say that You-Know-Who didn't know very much about You-Know-What." She kissed him again, still touching his face. "I wasn't lying when I said I love you, Severus. You do know that, don't you?"

"I know." His eyes glinted. "And I was certainly not joking when I did..." His other hand slid between their bodies and Ginny squealed in surprise. "That." Severus ended with a smirk.

"Severus!"

"You like saying my name, don't you?"

Ginny, wriggling away from his hand half-heartedly, ending up straddling his body, her hair tousled around her face. "It's a nice name." A brow rose. "All right, it's a very weird name, but it's your name." Leaning down, she kissed him again. "And that gives me enough reason to like it."

He gazed at her, her knees braced on either side of his ribs, as she pulled the twisted sheet up, around her shoulders and upper body. One hand lazily stroked her thigh, his eyes never leaving her face.

"What?" She finally asked, when she noticed.

"You." She made a sound of bewilderment and he smiled. "You really are a most remarkable creature."

"I...I am?"

"Well," He chuckled as she shifted herself against his body. "If you can tolerate me and my vile nature, you must be verging on the miraculous."

"You're not vile!"

"I beg to differ."

Ginny swatted him. "Severus." She warned. "If you were vile, I wouldn't be sitting on your...um..." He smirked as she blushed. "Well, I wouldn't be wrapped up in your bed sheets, not minding that you're fondling me under the blankets."

"Like I said, my dear, sweet lady," He said, sitting up to face her, his hand cradling her cheek. "Verging on the miraculous." He kissed her lightly on the mouth. "And truly remarkable."

Her gaze drifted down from his hand, cupping her cheek, to the Dark Mark, still burned into his forearm and, hesitantly, she raised her left hand, bringing it across her body to touch the mark.

"Does...does it hurt?"

He looked at it, as her fingers carefully palpated the slightly raised skin. "Not any longer." He finally answered. "But it will always remain there."

"Always?"

Her lover nodded, lifting her fingers from the mark. "Unless Voldemort succumbs to natural death, I am afraid so." Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips. "I would erase it, if I could...if only to prevent you from being touched by any filth left by him...for that reason alone..."

"Severus..." She began.

Black eyes met brown. "Don't try to make excuses for me, Ginny." He said, his voice quiet. "I was a Death Eater. I bear this mark as a reminder of the crimes I have committed. As a reminder of my folly."

Ginny, her voice shaking with emotion, brought his lined brow down to rest against hers, her hand stroking through his hair. "You...you hated yourself, for doing it, didn't you?" She said. "But you wanted to make things right..."

Snape closed his eyes, wanting to make some kind of answer, but his throat had closed up. He felt tears stinging in his eyes, felt them breaking free, for the first time in so many years, and slipping down his cheeks.

One hand stroking through his tangled hair, Ginny's other arm wrapped around his chest, her other hand spreading between his shoulder blades, their foreheads pressed together as he wept.

Part of him wished he could stop, knowing that he ought to be the comforter, but another part of him was bursting with misery and despair spanning so many years that was finally being allowed to reveal itself.

Much to his surprise, Ginny brought his head down to rest on her shoulder, holding him close to her, whispering reassurances to him, her body pressed flush against his as she continued to murmur soft words and stroke his hair.

Never, not since he had seen his sister die - a six-year-old girl who had just let go of his hand for a minute hit by a fast-moving muggle-vehicle and landing in a crumpled, bloody heap at her fifteen-year-old brother's feet - had he wept.

All of the pain, contained through so many years, seemed to be pouring out of him in one long stream, his sobs soft and harsh, making Ginny hold him all the tighter. He could feel her arms about him, holding him fast, steadfast and comforting.

Why, he wondered, had he been unable to find one like her when he truly needed someone to care for him? When he was blamed for letting his baby sister die? When he was given a chance for revenge on the muggles who had shattered his family?

Had someone held him and let him weep as she was letting him now, he knew that his guilt and anger would have at least had some kind of vent, that he wouldn't have taken up arms against muggles, under the tutelage of Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort had found him, thanks to Malfoy. He had known all about Severus' little sister. He had known all about the muggles who just walked away from the incident, scot-free. He had known the pain, anger and guilt that the fifteen-year-old felt.

Those dark emotions had been carefully moulded by the Dark Lord: seducing Snape over to the Dark Side with promises of revenge on the muggles and purgation of the guilt he was feeling, which his parents had laid on him for the death of their favoured child, the beautiful sister he had doted on.

He had believed it, believed everything he was told.

Only to find that the illusions of being at peace shattered when he stood over the mutilated bodies, the blood of the muggles cooling on his hands.

He had tried to stop, he had tried to turn back, but it was too late and he had taken a few years to build up the courage to return to the light side, to reveal his crimes to the Ministry, to be taken under the trusting wing of a former teacher, Professor Albus Dumbledore, while everyone else condemned him.

Another choked sob escaped him and he felt Ginny's own burning tears on his bare shoulder as she clung to him.

"I failed..." He finally whispered against her neck, bringing his chin up to rest on her thin shoulder, leaving her throat hot with his tears. "In spite of everything...I failed Professor Dumbledore... and I failed you..."

"No..."

"I let them take you...I should have foreseen...should have guessed...it was my fault that they had..." His words were cut off when Ginny touched her fingertips to his lips, shaking her head.

"You were the one thing that kept me sane in there." She said. "I had at least one friend that I could trust." He released a bitter laugh, looking away. "Severus." Black eyes came back to her face. "I trust you. I trusted you there too. You saved me. How can you say you failed?"

"I..."

Her fingertips smothered the protest. "Sh." She said gently, kissing the tracks of his tears on his face. "You did everything you could." Placing a kiss on his jaw, she slid her arms around him, then lightly kissed his throat. "I love you."

"You are quite insane, dear one." He said in rasping response, his throat raw from weeping so copiously, yet, he felt oddly calm after letting at least a little of his self-loathing and grief out.

"Say that again." She murmured against his throat.

"You are quite insane." A small hand slapped his back. "You meant the other part?"

"Mmm."

"Dear one." Lifting her face to him, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips, before dipping his head down and kissing her. "My dear one." She moaned against his lips as his hand carded through her hair.

The sheets slipped down from Ginny's shoulders as Snape sank back in the broad bed, taking her with him, her hands running up his chest. Exchanging gentle kisses and caresses, they made love again.

While the first time had been hesitant for both of them, slightly awkward, almost shy, this time was...something that Severus couldn't quite put his finger.

Lying together as they caught their breath, he could never recall feeling more at peace or closer to anyone as he did, wrapped in Ginny's arms, her warm body pressed intimately against his.

They lay in silence for a long time, no sound aside from the crackling of the fire on the other side of the room, but it was strangely comfortable, his hands moving in absent circles on her back, as he occasionally placed light kisses on her head.

It was her who broke the silence.

"Severus..." Pressing against his chest, she slid her arms around him, his chin resting on the top of her head. He could feel her heart fluttering and held her closer. "We...I have to go and see my family, don't I?"

"When you are ready, chi...Ginny."

She laughed, a little shakily. "That's really going to take you some getting used to, isn't it?"

"So it seems." He felt her breath escape in a sigh against his bare chest. "Ginny?"

"Would...would you come with me? When I'm ready?"

His callused hand lifted her face to his, brown eyes met by black. "You know you need not ask." He said softly, his thumb brushing along her lower lip. "I will go with you if you feel you need me to be present."

Curling against him again, she whispered. "Thank you."

***

In the small, oddly-modest house, hidden in the middle of nowhere, a young man sat in front of a fire, scanning a text about the dark arts, his wands gripped defensively in his hand.

Outside, the sun was shining, but he didn't care.

All that he knew was that he had seen his father killed, blasted down by the wand of one of the damned Aurors, in the battle which had seen the downfall of his patron, the Dark Lord.

He knew they were looking for him.

Unlike the previous fall of Voldemort, over seventeen years earlier, the Ministry of Magic was doing more than everything to capture all the Death Eaters, their offspring and anyone who might have tampered in the Dark Arts.

But they didn't know where to look.

Pale, grey eyes continued to read the text, dark spells and enchantments all in easy access of the boy, thanks to his father's careful preparation, lest anything happen to him, on his wife, Narcissa's suggestion.

She had been killed too.

Her son had been the one to find her, seconds before her last breath escaped her and he couldn't erase that final image of her from his mind.

She had been caught by falling masonry, due to a badly-aimed Hex from one of the Ministry wizards, which had shattered the wall above her, sending a cascade of white stone down onto the beautiful witch.

Neither the stone nor his mother had remained their true colours when he had found her, sprawled on her back, a slab of bloody marble the size of desk pinning her down, her face torn by slivers of stone.

He had tried to pull her free, desperately using all the spells he could remember to shift the huge pieces of rock and rubble, but he was already too late to save her. Her lower body had been crushed.

Gathering her in his arms, trying not to hurt any more than he had to, he had wiped the blood off her face, but fresh gouts trickled from her lips, her once-perfect hair matted and knotted with dirt and crimson drops.

She hadn't even been aware of his presence, as he wept, holding her close. Her grey eyes were fading, her head lolling back on her shoulders, as he continued to wipe blood from her face with his robes.

"Mother...please..." He remembered whispering, his voice raw with grief. "Please... don't leave me..." His tears had splashed onto her torn face, mingling with the red smears already there. "Please...mother..."

Her slim body had tensed in his arms and he could swear he had felt her soul depart, as she went limp in his embrace. Burying his face in her neck, he had started to sob in earnest. "Mummy...mummy, please...come back...come back..."

Pressing his lips together in a thin line, Draco blinked hard to fight down a wave of angry tears, gritting his teeth as he focused his attention on the book in his lap.

The Dark Lord, he who had claimed to be all-powerful and indestructible had failed them and betrayed them, leading them into a battle they could not win, getting both his parents killed.

Cold, white anger filled Draco Malfoy.

He hated Voldemort, hated him with so much passion it should have frightened him. Should have, but didn't. He hated him for what he had done to the Malfoy family, hated him for being so much more powerful, hated him for being in the way.

How he had longed to be the one to point the wand and shatter the Dark Lord.

Now, though, it was too late.

Lord Voldemort was currently imprisoned deep in the bowels of Azkaban, guarded by Dementors day and night, no doubt thriving on the dark emotions that the ominous guards aroused in everyone.

There was no way that he could even touch Voldemort.

Not now.

Glancing up at the wall above the mantle, his eyes burned with angry tears as he saw his father and mother's faces looking down at him, his own face - albeit younger and less twisted with malice - smiling.

His parents...

He would gain vengeance for their deaths, vengeance against the Auror, who killed them and - somehow - he would have his revenge on Lord Voldemort, the one who had lead them to their deaths.

It was a child's duty.

A child's...

Slowly, a cold smile spread on his lips.

He knew what he could do.

***

Standing in front of the front door, Ginny stared at the green-painted wood, her hand half-raised to the polished brass knocker. The hand fell, again, for what had to be the fifth time.

"Ginny...?"

"Y-you do it." She whispered hoarsely to her companion.

"I can't." Severus said gently, lifting her hand in his. "You must be ready to face this and I can't be the one to knock." He placed her hand on the knocker. "Remember that they are your family. They love you."

Nodding, her face as white as a sheet, she knocked once, barely audible, then shook her head, backing away. "I-I can't..." She half-sobbed, trying to push past him, to escape down the path.

Behind her, the door opened.

Ginny, shaking from head-to-toe, slowly turned around to come face to face with her mother, who was wiping her hands on a flowery apron. Molly Weasley's mouth fell open, tears welling in her eyes, one hand rising to touch Ginny's face, as if barely daring to believe that she was real.

"M-mummy..."

Molly released a sob. "Oh, Ginny! Ginny!" She pulled her only daughter into her arms and hugged her tightly, crying. "I-I thought I'd lost you too, Ginny...I thought I'd lost you...my baby...my little girl..."

"Mummy, I'm sorry...I..."

"Ginny, it doesn't matter...it wasn't your fault...you couldn't have been braver than you were..." Molly pressed kisses all over her daughter's pale face. "All that matters is that you're alive and you're back..."

Burying her face in her mother's mass of gingery hair, Ginny was sobbing as hard as her mother was. Just short of them, Severus Snape - his hands folded in front of him - watched, smiling slightly.

Drawing back, Molly cupped Ginny's face in her hands, staring up at her, tears still trickling down her cheeks unnoticed. "What happened to you, dear? Where did you go? Are you all right?"

Sniffing hard, Ginny nodded. "S-Severus looked after me, mum...I..." She looked down at her feet, as she spoke. "I got hurt and I...I was sick for a long time...he helped me get better..."

"Sever..." Molly suddenly seemed to notice Snape standing just beyond her child, her eyes going round. "Professor Snape?"

Ginny looked over her shoulder at him, holding out a hand. He stepped alongside her and took her small fingers in his. Molly looked down at their joined hands, then back at their faces.

"M-mum, this is S-Severus..."

Snape managed to make an utterance that sounded strangely like "Whulp!" when Molly grabbed him by the front of his robes and yanked him down to her level and hugged him as tightly as she had her daughter, pressing a kiss to each cheek.

The former Potions Master was scarlet in the face when she released him, and - for once - it wasn't because he was angry.

For the first time in many years, he actually was blushing.

"Thank you." Molly said, taking his free hand between hers, tears of gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thank you for saving my little girl." She pulled both Ginny and Severus into the hall of The Burrow, in spite of Ginny's whimper. "Come in, both of you. Ginny, your brothers will be so pleased to see you..."

"B-brothers...?" Ginny's face went white. "No...mum...not yet..."

Ginny's protest came too late, her mother shouting up the staircase at the top of her voice. "Bill! Charlie! Fred! George! Ron! Come down!"

"What's up, mum?" Bill appeared at the top of the staircase, freezing when he spotted his sister. Ginny stared back at him, backing into Severus' chest, her breathing growing panicked. "Oh my God..."

"S-Severus..." Ginny whispered, fear etched on her face.

Considering that the last time she had seen one of her brothers, he had almost killed her and, just prior to that, the others had witnessed her committing patricide, Snape could understand why she was terrified of seeing any of them, laying his hands reassuringly on her shoulders.

"Don't be afraid, Ginny." He said softly, squeezing her shoulders through the thick robes she was wearing. "He loves you. Like your mother does."

"Ginny!" Bill leapt down the long, narrow thirty-step staircase in three paces that would have been suicidal to anyone but a Weasley, his booted feet landing inches from hers. He grabbed her shoulders, looking her up and down. "God, it's good to see you!" She was pulled into his arms and he hugged her tightly, his voice soft in her ear. "I'm not letting you go again, sis."

"What's the racket about?" The other four appeared in a knot at the top of the stairs, Ginny obscured by Bill's body, Fred speaking. "It sounded like a Fairy Elephant was bouncing down the stairs..."

Turning slightly, Bill grinned up at them, his arms still around the waif-like figure who was sobbing against his chest, unable to even look at her other brothers. "We've got a little visitor here." He announced.

Somehow, all four Weasley men made it down the steps, en masse, without breaking any limbs or other body parts, congregating around Ginny in the middle of the tiny hallway, the girl laughing and crying as she was passed from hug to hug.

"What took you so long to come back?" Ron demanded, when he finally got her, giving her a shake, then a hug, then another shake. "We thought you were dead! We didn't know where you were! What had happened! Anything!"

"Well I…I'm back now…" She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him. "I-I-I'm sorry...I..." Her sobs overcame her, making her words incomprehensible, Ron hugging her protectively.

"Mrs Weasley." Standing to the side of the group, Snape turned to Molly, speaking quietly. "May I speak with you privately."

"Of...of course." Looking slightly unnerved by the sinister-looking teacher's civil tone, she looked towards Ginny, who was sitting in Bill's lap, where he was sitting on the stairs. She was crying hard and was being embraced from all sides.

Not wanting to disturb her children, she motioned for the Potions Master to follow her, leading him through to the empty kitchen and gesturing for him to sit at the scrubbed table.

Once seated, he watched for a moment as she started bustling around the kitchen, making every pretence of tidying up the already spotless room, her hands trembling as she worked.

"Mrs Weasley..."

"T-tell me." She stammered, opening cupboards and withdrawing cups and saucers from them, not looking around at him. The china rattled together as she moved. "Tell me what happened to her."

"Are you certain..."

"Just tell me." There was a core of diamond to her words.

Nodding, unseen, Snape began. "You recall what happened to her the first time he had her?" Molly nodded stiffly. "She resumed that role, her brother's life as forfeit, should she refuse."

"O-oh." The tears were audible in that single syllable.

Looking down at the surface of the pine table, Snape traced his finger around a knot in the wood. "It...it transpired, as you know, that he was the one who...he..." He could not find the words, but she nodded again that she understood. "Your daughter angered him shortly before You-Know-Who fell...before I could spirit her out of there...he struck her...she miscarried the child that she was carrying."

"Oh God..." A cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. Her other hand was resting on the worktop, as the one that had been holding the cup came up to press against her mouth, shaking violently, as she tried to smother a sob.

She jumped when thin, bony hands came to rest on her shoulders and she turned sharply to find Snape looking down at her, those foreboding eyes gleaming with pity and simple understanding.

His hands on her shoulders, he forcefully, but gently drew her to him, as he had so often with the daughter, her cheek pressing against his chest as she sobbed, his hands spreading on her back.

"My baby..." She whispered despairingly, her voice anguished. "How could he do that to my baby? My little girl..."

"Your little girl is an incredibly strong woman, Mrs Weasley." He said. "She showed more spirit and pride than any of the others who You-Know-Who held. Had you seen her, you would have been proud of her."

Molly looked up at him, tears trickling down the sides of her nose. "But she's still my baby..." She whispered, bowing her head again. "She'll always be my little one... my little girl..."

She didn't resist as he gently directed her to the table, helping her to sit. Kneeling down beside the chair, he took her hands between his.

"You're right." He said, in his softest voice. "She will always be your little girl, but now, she needs you to aid her as a woman." He raised on hand to lift her chin, making her look at him. "She lost a child and I cannot be the one to help her understand what she is feeling as a mother. I wish I could, but I do not have the experience."

Sniffing, pulling a handkerchief out of the sleeve of her cardigan, Molly gazed at him as she dabbed her face. "Why are you doing this?" She asked, her voice calmed a little. "You could have just brought her back and left her."

"No," A sad smile reached his lips. "I could never do that."

"You care for her." It was a statement, not a question.

He nodded, one side of his mouth rising a little. "After spending almost five months with her as my constant companion," He said. "She does tend to grow on you. Even when you try to remain pedantic and aggravating."

"She-she was raised with six aggravating elder brothers."

Snape chuckled, gently lifting a curl of ginger hair back from Molly's tear-stained cheek. "I suppose that did give her a little practise." He murmured, studying her thoughtfully. "And you, Mrs Weasley...how are you coping?"

"You care for me too?" She tried to laugh it off.

"What matters to Ginny matters to me." He said softly. "You matter deeply to her."

Bowing her head, Molly was unable to stop more tears. "I-I'm sorry." She whispered hoarsely. "I...I should be used to it by now...it...it's been months...I should be coping better than this..."

"No, you shouldn't, Mrs Weasley." His hands gently took hers again. "You should take time with the grieving process. If you hurry it, it will only return further down the line, so much worse."

She sniffed. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"More than you know." He answered quietly, then fell silent, comfortingly holding her shaking hands as she wept.

***

"D-d-don't make me go in there...please..."

His arms still around Ginny, Bill looked at the living room door, then down at his younger sister. "Ginny..."

"I-I can't...I can't go in there..." She was staring at the panel of wood as if it was a deadly snake, poised to bite. She looked up at him desperately. "You...please...I-I-I can't forget...I can't..."

Charlie moved around in front of his sister, gently taking her from Bill. "Ginny, you can do this." She whimpered, shaking her head violently. "You survived You-Know-Who... you were brave enough to do that...you can do this."

"But I...it was there...I did it there..." She tried to pull back as Charlie steered her towards the door. "Don't...please..." An anguished sob escaped her as Charlie started to open the door, Ron jerking his elder brother's hand back.

"Don't." He cautioned, looking down at her. "We just got her back, Charlie. You don't want to scare her off again, do you?" He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Ginny, listen, you don't have to go in there, all right?"

She nodded, shaking.

"Ginny." Bill let her lean back against his chest. "Listen. I know you're upset." One of the twins snorted at the understatement. "But you have to face what happened. You managed to face us..."

"But I killed daddy in there." She sobbed, turning to burrow into his chest.

"No, you didn't." Charlie said, his voice calm as it always was. Confused, she turned to him. "You didn't kill anyone, Ginny. You-Know-Who did, even if he made you hold the wand. No one here blames you." A sad look crossed his face. "Dad didn't blame you."

"But I-I-I did the spell...I said it...it was me..."

"To save all of us from him, Ginny." Bill whispered. "You saved us. You and dad did more than anyone I know would do for us. I couldn't have done it..."

"But you didn't!" Her voice was shrill, hysterical. "I did it! I killed him!"

"And dad was forgave you, Ginny." Charlie said softly. "Do you remember the last thing he said to you?" Her eyes pressed close, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, she nodded. "He loves you. Even when you had to do that, he still loved you."

A hiccough escaped her and she flung herself into Charlie's arms. "I miss him." She whispered hoarsely.

"We all do, Ginny." Fred murmured, a sad smile crossing his face. "I keep on ending up sitting out in the garage, rearranging his plug collection according to shape, size and colour."

"I went and alphabetised his battery pile." George ruefully admitted.

Bill laughed. "And I thought I was bad, trying to get another Anglia airborne."

"Mum'd thump you, if you managed to pull that off." Ginny muttered, scrubbing her face with the heels of her hands. She looked at the door of the living room, her lower lip trembling. "I...I have to...don't I?"

"And we're all here to back you up." Bill reassured her.

Gathered around her, they watched as she opened the door, flinching as if expecting to be struck by some unseen force. Her face white, she looked into the empty room, a muffled sob escaping her.

Slowly shuffling into the room, which looked nothing like it had that night, she felt the warm, golden sunlight washing up her legs as she stepped out of the shadows and onto the carpeted floor.

Everything seemed bright, warm and soft, the home that she remembered from what seemed like an eternity ago. She stopped and looked down at the spot on the floor, where her father's body had fallen, as she had cursed him.

"It was there..." She said shakily, pointing. "He fell down..."

Charlie reached her first, his arms around her. "We know, Ginny, we know. It's all right. You're doing great." She gripped his hand, moving forward towards the spot, kneeling down shakily.

"I-I wanted to say I was sorry..." She whispered sadly, touching the carpet, which showed no traces of the crime that had happened there so many months before. "I-I-I didn't want to do it..."

"Tell him, Ginny." Bill knelt on her other side, squeezing her knee. "Dad'll always be looking out for us, y'know...even if its just to check we aren't doing anything with his collections..."

Ginny laughed weakly. "Yeah..." She sniffed, bowing her head. Her whisper was almost unheard, but her brothers all shared the sentiments. "I'm sorry, daddy. I miss you...I love you."

Both of her eldest brothers wrapped her up in their arms, tucked snugly between them, as they all started to weep softly.

***

"I want to surrender myself." A wand was placed on the desk.

The middle-aged Ministry Wizard, Lancelot Bennett, who was sorting through a huge pile of paperwork, rolled his eyes. If it wasn't one fruitcake trying to get himself arrested, it was another.

The number of weirdoes they had had claiming to be Death Eaters was getting beyond the ridiculous. Why anyone would volunteer to be sent to Azkaban was just beyond him.

"And why would you want to do that?"

"I was a Death Eater."

Green eyes rose to the...barely more than a young boy standing on the other side of the desk, filling with scepticism. "And why would you turn yourself in, knowing that you could go to Azkaban?"

The boy looked down for a moment, then raised his grey eyes to the Bennett. "I have information about You-Know-Who."

"Don't you worry about him, son. He can't harm you anymore." The wizard gave the pale, point-faced boy a fatherly smile. "We have him in our custody."

There was a long pause.

"But you don't have his Heir."

Green eyes slowly rose to find serious grey eyes gazing down at him.

"That's nothing to joke about, son."

"Which is why I'm not joking." The boy rolled up the sleeve that covered his left arm, revealing the Dark Mark burned into his pale skin. Lancelot Bennett rose to his feet, colour bleaching from his face. "I want to...I want to be able to redeem myself for things I had to do...please..."

Nodding, unable to make his mouth form coherent words or sounds, the revelation just too much for him to grasp, Lancelot motioned for the boy to follow him towards the office of the Minister of Magic.

He didn't see the smirk that crossed the boy's face, as he fell into step behind him.

Chapter 16: The Revelation

"Um...what are you doing?"

Ron looked up from the pages of the bridal magazine he was reading, grinning at his sister, who was standing in the doorway of the living room, clad in her pyjamas and dressing gown, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"We couldn't go public with our engagement because we were waiting for you to get back, Ginny."

"Engagement?" She squinted at him, apparently barely awake. "You...? Eh?"

"Ron, she's only been home for a week, she just got up and she doesn't know I'm here yet," A female voice spoke from the kitchen, amused. "Can't you let her get her bearings before you start boring her with our news?"

Ginny's eyes bugged. "Hermione? You? And Ron?"

"That's us." Hermione nodded, smiling, as she entered the room. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and looked strangely casual compared to Ginny's memory of her as Head Girl. "How are you, Ginny?"

Ginny managed to smile. "I-I think I'm good." She said, then looked down at Ron, who was still grinning like there was no tomorrow. One finger pointed at him and she shook her head, trying to start a sentence several times. "You...You and Hermione?!?"

"Don't sound so shocked, Ginny." Ron laughed, as Hermione settled down beside him on the couch, one of his arms sliding around her shoulder. "You know we never do things normally in this family."

"I'll say." Shaking her head, Ginny shuffled towards the kitchen, where her other brothers were eating breakfast. "This is going to take some getting used to..." She was mumbling to herself, as she sat down next to Bill.

"You heard the news?" Fred tossed a piece of toast off the grill to her.

"Hermione and Ron..." She nodded.

George chuckled at the expression on her face. "Nice to see we're not the only ones who think that is just plain wrong..."

Spreading butter and jam onto her slightly-burnt toast, keeping her eyes down, Ginny tried to cover a smile, thinking of the wizard that she was in love with.

Even though she had been at The Burrow a week, remaining with her family, while Severus slipped away to see the Ministry, she still hadn't got around the mentioning it to her brothers.

Something told her that she hadn't really needed to tell her mother, even though they had discussed the matter in depth. As always, her mother seemed to know everything and more.

There was a firm rap at the door.

"I'll get it!" Their mother's voice called from the hall.

Since Ginny's return, Molly Weasley seemed to have learned something invaluable and was coping in a way that was astonishing her sons. One week earlier, they were sure that nothing could help her, but now...

"Good morning!"

"How can she sound so...awake at this time of the morning?" Bill groaned, shaking his head, already on his third cup of strong black coffee since Ginny had joined them at the table.

"Of course! Do come in! She'll be delighted to see you! And you're just in time for breakfast." The door closed down the hall and they heard their mother talking happily to whoever it was who had just arrived. "I won't take no for an answer."

Fred scratched his head. "Has someone been force-feeding mum coffee again? She sounds a bit...scary."

"Fred! That's not nice!"

"Indeed, Mister Weasley. That was rather rude." A silken voice behind Ginny spoke. Her eyes went wide and the toast fell from her hand as she spun around. "Good morning, Miss Weasley." Severus gazed down at her.

He barely had time to brace himself when a red-haired whirlwind crashed straight into his arms. All four men around the table - realising who was standing there - were staring at their former teacher.

Ron and Hermione, wondering what the fuss was about, peered in from the living room, apparently as surprised as the other four were to see Ginny wrapping herself in Snape's arms.

George was the one to comment, as Ginny snuggled against Severus' chest, her arms around his waist. "Ginny, you do realise you're hugging Snape, of your own free-will, don't you?"

Snape's lip curled. "As always, Weasley, your powers of observation astound me."

"Severus!"

"Miss Weasley?" He arched a dark brow at her ominously, which only made her giggle harder, biting her lip. "I simply stated that your brother has truly astonishing powers of observation that are second only to Professor Trelawny's psychic abilities."

"Be nice." She chastised.

"Ginny..." Fred, looking rather bemused, asked. "Did you just call him...Severus?"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but Ginny held up a hand, giving him a knowing look. "Let me guess, Severus," She cleared her throat and, in a passable imitation of his tone of voice, said. "It is clear that such witty and observant traits are hereditary."

"You have clearly spent too much time with me, my dear." Snape chuckled, raising a hand to caress her cheek, his brow brushing against hers. "You are starting to know me a little too well..." He looked around at her brothers. "And yes, your beloved sister called me by my forename."

Much to their surprise, Ginny grinned. "Severus, can I tell them why?"

"You mean..." She looked up at him angelically. "No! Child, please..."

A wicked glint sparkled in Ginny's eyes. "Oh, go on, Severus...it'll be funny." He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, quickly closing his mouth and eyes and shaking his head in despair. "That's a yes, then..." Before he could stop her, she announced. "Everyone, I'm in love with an ex-Death Eater, who was a spy for the Ministry and who is a better shag that You-Know-Who was."

You could have heard a pin drop.

Snape went beetroot.

After several minutes of prolonged silence, George spoke up, directing the question to his brothers. "She is talking about Snape, isn't she?" Several slow nods answered in the affirmative. "Oh bloody hell, Ginny!"

Burying her face in Snape's chest to muffle her giggles, Ginny's shoulders were shaking with laughter. In spite of his embarrassment, Snape couldn't help chuckling with her.

"You wicked little witch," He muttered, his head bent to bring his lips close to her ear. "You're going to pay for that."

Lifting her face to him, her lips curving in an adorable smile, her eyes danced. "I did hope so." She murmured, nudging the tip of her nose against his. "But we couldn't have Ron and Hermione outdoing us, could we?"

Snape glanced sidelong at their audience.

The four eldest Weasley sons looked utterly stunned. Molly was smiling, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Ron was shaking his head, grinning idiotically, his fiancée standing alongside him and smiling.

"I think it is probably a good thing that they are...a little surprised." He remarked in an undertone, for her ears only. "If I know how protective elder brothers are, had I been someone of your own age, who they did not know, I would be getting threats from all sides."

"But they're too scared of you to do that." Ginny replied, equally quietly.

Snape raised a brow. "Scared? Of me?" Slowly, turning to glare at them from behind his curtain of hair, he had trouble keeping his face straight when they all immediately found somewhere else to look. "I can't imagine why..."

Ginny laughed. "I have no idea, Severus, but its the first time that I've ever seen them speechless."

"If it helps," He started to speak to the four eldest brothers, but Ginny grabbed his chin, making him look at her.

"Don't you dare!"

Black eyes gazed at her blankly. "You would rather I refrained from mentioning our high standard of...bonking?" Ginny squeaked in embarrassment, swatting his chest, as he chuckled. "I never imagined you were so prudish about it. After all, you were the one who brought it up..."

Bill was looking rather green, while the twins seemed to be finding something on the wall very interesting indeed.

"Do I have to shut you up?" Ginny demanded, scowling at him.

"If you must..." Before he finished speaking, her hands had slid behind his neck and pulled his mouth down against hers. His arms wrapped around her and she was almost lifted off her feet.

Ron closed his eyes, squinting through the narrowest of slits beneath his lid. "I really didn't need to see that." He moaned, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes.

Releasing the panting and grinning Ginny, Snape smirked. "Be grateful that its only a kiss, Weasley."

After a moment of considering what was being implied by his ex-teacher, who was currently holding Ron's little sister against his body in a more than intimate fashion, a dirty smirk on his lips, Ron's face twisted in horror. "Euuuuuuuuuurgh!"

"You're terrible, Severus." Ginny snickered.

"And you are surprised?"

Kissing his lips lightly, Ginny shook her head. "Not at all."

***

Worried looks were passed around the Council of Aurors.

"Do you believe he's telling the truth?" Oliver Wood asked, leaning on the arm of his sat, his brows knotted in consternation. "After all, he is a Malfoy and they aren't exactly known for their honesty and generous gestures..."

"We tested him with veritaserum as his trial." Benjamin Stone answered grimly. He was the head of the Council, his scarred face making him look much older than his thirty-nine years. "Every word he said was true. You-Know-Who has an Heir."

There was a communal intake of breath.

They had hoped it had all been a lie, an exaggeration or something.

"What are you going to do with the boy?"

Stone rubbed his temples. "He clearly came to us to absolve the crimes that he had to commit as a Death Eater." He said. "He has given us information that would place him on the blacklists of the Death Eaters by providing the advanced notice so we can prevent the rise of another Dark Lord."

"You're saying he's risking himself?" Sirius Black, one of the more recent Auror acquisitions, along with Wood, studied Stone dubiously. "I don't know. A Malfoy always has a double-agenda."

"But the information." Ruby Wicks said, tapping the stump of her right forefinger on the tabletop. "You have to admit that he must be desperate, if he is turning over the Dark Lord's Heir to us."

"Did he tells us where this Heir is?" Wood asked.

Stone shook his head. "He doesn't know. All he knows is that the mother has been raising him in secret, teaching him the dark arts, so he would have been ready to join his father when he reached adulthood."

"Well, that really helps." Black threw his head back. "We know there's an Heir out there somewhere. We know there's a mother teaching him the dark arts. Oh, wait, we don't know where we can find them."

"We have a description of her."

"That's a big start." Black snorted derisively. "You do remember that she's a witch, don't you? That she can change her appearance by any number of spells? Hell, she could even use polyjuice..."

Stone motioned for him to be silent. "We have someone that I wish to contact." He said. "He worked for the Ministry, infiltrated You-Know-Who's ranks."

"You tell me that you're bringing Severus Snape in on this..." Black's expression grew menacing.

"He was a spy, Black. He may know about this situation."

"If he did," The former prisoner of Azkaban muttered darkly. "Why didn't he come forward before? Like he did so wonderfully when he let me get sent to Azkaban when he knew I was fucking well innocent?"

"Now, Sirius..."

Black raised his hands. "I'm just saying that he seems to be very picky with the information he gives to you."

"He's the only who might be able to shed some light on this, Black." Stone repeated, his tone stern. "We can't help it if you have a personal vendetta against him. This is the fate of the wizarding world we're talking about."

Black slouched back in his seat, saying nothing further.

"Ruby, you and Wood interview Malfoy again. Get a full description of this mother of the Heir character. As much detail as possible." Stone directed. "I'll see what I can find out from Snape."

***

"Good afternoon, Mr Stone. Professor McGonagall. Minister Hardy."

Stone's two companions had been called, as they had both been aware of Snape's double-sided mask, therefore providing some kind of support for the dark wizard and the ability to verify anything he had reported to them.

"Ah, Snape, do come in." Stone motioned to the seat opposite the desk, looking up in surprise when another figure edged around the door, brown eyes looking warily down at him. "Miss Weasley!"

She flinched back sharply, then managed to smile weakly at him. "Er...hello, Mr Stone...P-P-Professor McGonagall...S-sir..." She looked at Snape. "Severus..." Her eyes flicked to the busy waiting room, then back to him.

Snape smiled gently, unfurling a hand in her direction. She crossed the carpeted floor in a heartbeat, her hand slipping into his. "If you don't mind, Miss Weasley will remain with us."

Stone raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, shuffling some parchments. Professor McGonagall tried to smile reassuringly at the girl, but her lips thinned. Hardy looked at the girl, then Snape and shook his head.

They sat down on the opposite side of the desk.

"I assume that Miss Weasley knows about your...duties for the Ministry?" Snape looked at her, then nodded. "It is regarding situations that may have arisen while you were partaking of these duties."

"I suspected it may be."

Stone looked down at the papers on the desk for a moment, then raised his eyes. "I need to know what you can tell me about You-Know-Who's Heir." Snape's face went white, his jaw locking. Ginny gasped. "You do know something?"

"I-I...I can't say."

"Severus..." Professor McGonagall spoke. "Professor Dumbledore trusted that you would provide us with the information we need."

He nodded, one hand locking around the arm of the seat, his knuckles white. "He also trusted me to withhold that which I thought was necessary for the protection of innocents who might be involved." He said, his voice shaking.

"Snape," Hardy spoke up quietly. "We're talking about the only living Heir of the Dark Lord. He must be contained, before he gains his full powers. We can not have another Dark Lord."

"Listen to me, please," Snape's voice was shaking and he looked like he was about to be sick. "You don't want or need to bring the Heir in. It won't change anything. It won't help matters."

"Severus, tell us what you know."

"I can't."

"Can you give us good reasoning why?"

Snape looked at Ginny's white face. Tears were shining in her eyes. "Because there is an innocent involved." He answered. "I don't want another helpless innocent to suffer because they have been in contact with the Dark Lord."

"Severus, it has gone passed that." McGonagall said quietly. "We know you did all you can to help Miss Weasley, but this is the Heir of the Dark Lord. You must tell us what you know..." She paused, a stricken look crossing her face. "Or face Azkaban."

"No!" The flame-haired young woman shrieked, surging to her feet. "No! You can't! You can't take him away!"

Rising, Severus gathered Ginny to him, hushing her. Bringing her down to sit again, he looked at the trio on the other side of the table. "Minerva, if I thought that it was important, you know I would give you all that I know..."

"She is not making an empty threat, Snape." Hardy said. There was an apologetic expression in his brown eyes. "If you do not provide us with the information we need to pacify the Justice council, you will be sent to Azkaban for obstruction of justice and support of the Dark Lord."

Ginny's plaintive moans grew more audible, her fists beating feebly against his chest as she sobbed. "No...no...you can't...don't leave me...you can't go..."

His face contorting in pain, at Ginny's anguished cries, Snape nodded. "I'll tell you all that I know." He said quietly. "The mother of the Heir was a girl called Bones. I can't remember her full name. She vanished after You-Know-Who fell the first time... no one knows where she is. She went into hiding with the child."

He paused to draw breath. "Just after the Dark Lord returned, he had been searching for her. She went to him, asked for permission to raise their child to adulthood, to full power, she claimed, before bringing it to the father. He agreed."

"Yes," Stone nodded. "And we know there was a photograph sent by the mother. We have it here."

He opened a folder in front of him, withdrawing a muggle picture. A striking youth with dark hair and eyes who certainly wasn't Alexander Bones glared sinisterly out at them. Snape stared at it.

"Is this him?"

The former Potions Master nodded. "Y-yes. That's him."

"That's all you know of the Heir?"

"Yes." He lied easily. After all, he hadn't been such a successful spy just because he could look convincing in a cloak and mask. He knew he shouldn't go further, but he had to know. "What will happen to him and his mother?"

Stone sat back in his seat. "When they are found," When, not if, Snape noticed, a sick feeling spreading through him. "They will be arrested and tried. I expect the mother will be sentenced to Azkaban..."

Ginny went rigid in Snape's arms. "No..." She turned to stare at them, shaking her head. "You can't...you can't send her to Azkaban..."

"Miss Weasley." Snape hissed, hoping that she would take the not-so-subtle hint not to mention knowing the mother of the Heir and arouse more suspicions than she had to. "You came here on the condition that you remained silent."

Brown eyes stared at him, then she nodded.

Neither of them saw the speculative looks that passed between the three people on the other side of the desk.

"And you have no idea how to contact this woman?" Hardy finally asked.

"No, sir."

"We had heard," The polished wizard murmured. "That you were her contact with the Dark Lord."

Snape's lips pressed together in a thin line, briefly wondering who it was that had betrayed them. It would have to be one who had not taken the Blood Vow, probably one of the younger generation, afraid of Azkaban.

"I did not contact her. For one thing, I had no idea where to find her." He said, his voice grating. "I would receive messages anonymously through another source. I never contacted her. I couldn't."

"Very well..." Stone gestured them towards the door. "That will be all, Severus."

With a suspicious look at them, Snape - with his arm around Ginny's shaking shoulders - made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Do you think he knows more than he claimed?" McGonagall asked.

Stone shook his head. "The girl, though..."

"What of her?"

The wizard scratched his neck thoughtfully, his scarred brow wrinkling. "I'd suggest keeping an eye on her, at least. I think she might know a bit more about this situation than she let on."

"I'll arrange that." Hardy said.

"Good." Stone muttered. "The sooner we take care of this, the better."

***

"And they know about Alexander!"

Cassandra was swaying where she stood, the telephone gripped in her hand as if it was a snake. "You...you're sure, Ginny?" She asked, her voice trembling. "I mean, is there a chance..."

"Someone told them...one of the Death Eaters..." The girl's voice was ringing and hysterical on the other end of the line. "Cassandra, I don't want them to catch you, but they're looking! They know what you look like! And Alexander!"

At that, Cassandra froze. "Wh-what?"

"They had a photograph of him..."

"Oh!" Relief flooded the blonde witch. The picture of Jesse she had sent. It was a face they were guaranteed to never find. "Ginny...listen to me, okay? I need you to find out all you can. Let me know what's happening. See how far they are getting and keep me updated."

"Wh-what are you going to do?"

Cassandra sighed. "I know some glamour spells...I can't guarantee they'll hide me, but I'll try what I can. You take care, all right?"

"O-okay. Bye for now."

"Bye." Hanging up the phone, Cassandra sat down heavily on the arm of the sofa, staring ahead of her, not really seeing anything.

So they knew...

Not just the Death eaters, but the Ministry.

Looking down at her hands that were suddenly feeling very cold, she watched them shaking against her thighs. Lifting them, she pressed them against her face, which felt like it was on fire.

"Oh God..." The first sob took her by surprise with its intensity. "My baby...don't let them find my baby..."

***

"Mrs Weasley?"

"Yes?" Molly Weasley had just stopped cleaning, her hair tied up in a purple scarf, a few strands of red curling around her cheeks, as she greeted the two Ministry wizards at the front door, one dark haired, one blonde.

They were younger than most Ministry wizards used to be, a lot of them having to be replaced thanks to Voldemort, who had cut down whole swathes of Ministry Officials and workers, just because he could.

A file was held out to her. "Some information, regarding your son, Percival, has come to light. We believed you might want to know."

"In-information?"

"Regarding his stance, when You-Know-Who was at his peak."

Molly looked at the folder, feeling a little dizzy. "I-if you mean he was a Death Eater then I...I already know."

"Actually, we're afraid that it is a good deal more complicated than that." The first wizard prompted gently, proffering the brown file again. "I suggest that you read the file, before condemning him."

Taking the folder, hesitantly, Molly wet her lips that felt awfully dry all of a sudden with her tongue. "Do...do you want to come in for a cup of tea or something?" She asked in a voice that sounded nothing like her own.

"No, thank you." The dark-haired one smiled politely. "We ought to be returning to the office. It was just a matter of seeing that you received the information enclosed in that file personally."

"Thank...thank you." Smiling back uncertainly, Molly Weasley closed the door and made her way through to the living room, where her two eldest sons and youngest daughter were.

Bill was studying some of the Gringotts accounts he had been working, tidying up the numbers, piles of parchment surrounding him, while Charlie read an article about a new breed of dragon, which had appeared in the South Seas. Ginny was playing solitaire on the floor.

Sitting down in the big, empty seat beside the fireplace, Molly withdrew her wand and touched the magic seal on the folder, which melted away instantly, letting her open the brown folder.

"What's that, mum?"

Molly's brows wrinkled. "I'm...I'm not sure." She answered carefully. "The Ministry have found out something about...it's about Percy..."

Ginny's head popped up instantly, her face white. Bill's jaw tightened and Charlie said nothing, keeping his eyes on the article in front of him, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Bill's fist again.

"What...what about him?" Bill managed to grit out through clenched teeth.

Molly raised a hand to silence him, reading through the transcript of a trial, which had apparently happened a few days before. "Oh dear God..." She whispered, another wave of dizziness washing over her.

"Mum?" Ginny sat up straighter.

Molly couldn't find words to reply, her hands pressing to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. She shook her head, staring at the words blurted out by a young wizard, under the influence of Veritaserum.

"Mum?" Charlie did look up now, concern on his face.

Bill started to rise from the seat he was occupying. "Mum, what is it?"

"It's Percy..." She whispered, tears rolling down her suddenly-pale face. "He..." Her voice became angry. Clasping her hands over her face, she groaned, pushing them through her hair. "How could we have been so bloody stupid?"

"Wh-what is it?"

"He...he was under the Imperio curse, Ginny." Molly whispered, looking back down at the parchment lying in her lap. "Everything he did to a member of this family, he did because of that..."

Ginny whimpered, Charlie reaching down to touch her shoulder, his own face losing its colour.

"A-a-apparently, h-h-he wasn't killed...by them..." Molly's voice was shaking so hard that she was barely coherent. "After h-he hit Ginny, h-h-he managed to b-break the curse...he...to... to sto-stop Y-You-Know-Who using him a-against us..." A sob escaped her. "H-he killed himself...to...to stop them h-hurting us..."

"Oh my God...my God..." Bill whispered, his already-pale face going from white to grey. He had been the member of the family who had been ready to condemn Percy instantly. "Mum, I..."

"I-I-I should have known..." Molly whispered, letting the file slip from her lap, pages scattering all over the floor. "Percy would never...could never..." She buried her face in her hands. "My little boy..."

Ginny was across the room like a shot, crying too, and cuddled into her mother's arms, both of them weeping. Charlie looked like he had finally come to understand something that was troubling him and lowered his head.

Bill, though, had guilt etched on every line of his face.

"Perce..." He whispered, hoping and praying that wherever his younger brother was, he would hear. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

***

"We've got her, sir!" Stone looked up at the switchboard connection and the wizard sitting, hooked up to the wire.

In the weeks since they had started following the Weasley girl, she had regularly been caught using the muggle phone lines - most frequently, at random call-boxes - and they had finally managed to tap into the right connection at the right time.

"We have a number..."

"Which means?"

The young wizard, Paul Peregrine, looked up at him. He didn't know what it was about, but he knew it had to be serious, because of the amount of overtime everyone was pulling in on the job, many of them doing so voluntarily.

He, himself, was low in the Ministry, but he had the technological know-how that came from being a muggle-born that the Ministry wanted to use, doubling his pay and giving him his own office for the duration of the situation.

"We'll have an address soon."

A quietly triumphant look crossed Stone's tense face, which relaxed for the first time in weeks. He closed his eyes, releasing a sigh.

"Sir, if I may ask..."

"What is this about?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I trust this information will remain confidential, Peregrine."

"Of course, Sir."

Stone rubbed the bridge of his nose with a fingertip. "You, of course, know of the situation with You-Know-Who." Peregrine nodded. "Apparently, at some point during his first rise, he sired an Heir."

"Shit, sir!"

"Yes...yes...one might say that." Nodding towards the large computer and telephone networks on display in front of Peregrine, Stone gave him a weary look. "We couldn't find the mother through magical means, which is why you were called in."

Peregrine's enthusiastic expression shifted slightly. "I-I'm here to find the mother of the Heir, Sir?"

"Indeed you are."

Turning back to his terminal with renewed vigour, a look of determination on his face, Peregrine starting battering the keys on the numerous keyboards, his eyes flicking across various screens in front of him, shifting the headset.

Stone sighed.

He couldn't be prouder of all of his people.

They knew exactly what they were doing and they worked so efficiently.

The Heir would be in their hands by nightfall.

***

Cassandra was in the middle of doing the laundry when there was a knock at the front door, startling her.

A surge of bitter fear burned in her gut and, checking that her spell was still in place so she would look like an Afro-American woman to anyone who wasn't a family member, she ran up the stairs from the basement, squinting through the gauzy curtains of the living room.

A large group of figures were gathered outside.

"Oh God..."

Slipping back down the flight of stairs into the basement, she ran across the floor, reaching the back door and opening as quietly as she could, edging out into the warm Californian afternoon.

Two men in robes greeted her, unsmiling.

"Wh-who are you?" She demanded, her voice shaking.

"No questions." One of them growled, grabbing her by the arms and steering her back into the house. She could feel her skin bruising as she was dragged up the staircase, the group at front door having - apparently - let themselves in.

Thrown down, hard, in front of the leader, she landed heavily, wincing. A pair of black shoes appeared in her line of sight and, reluctantly, she raised her eyes up the body of the wizard, his scarred features horrific.

"Don't hurt me! Please!" Feigning ignorance, she started to sob, waving a hand in the direction of the money jar that sat on the fireplace. "Please! Take the money! Take anything! Just don't hurt me!"

"This act is pointless, Miss Bones." The tall, scarred man stepped forward from the group, his expression serious. "We know who you are."

"Who's Bones?" Cowering down on the floor, Cassandra was sobbing in earnest, shaking violently. "I'm Cassie Harris! Never heard of Bones...never heard of her... don't hurt me..."

"Stone, you don't think..." One of the robed witches spoke, sounding a confused.

The scarred man raised a hand for silence. "There's one way we can be sure." He said, gazing down at her emotionlessly, those dark eyes making Cassandra feel worth less than a piece of dirt.

"Sir?"

"The Mark."

Cassandra's eyes went wide. NO!

Scrambling to her feet, she made a break for one of the windows, willing to hurl herself through the pane of glass if she had to.

A hand locked onto her wrist, whipping her round savagely, her momentum sending her crashing into the wall and hard. A cry of pain escaped her as she heard her jaw crunch, blood spilling from her lips.

Two pairs of hands grabbed her, forcing her up against the wall, face-first, one hand on the back of her head crushing her face against the rough paper, her breath escaping in gurgled pants.

"NO!"

"Remove her shirt."

"Sir?"

"LET GO OF ME!"

The scarred man spoke again. "My informant stated that he heard she was marked on her back, instead of her arm." There was a moment of silence. "Take the shirt off, Wood. Now."

"NO! Please! Please...don't..." Sobbing, she cried out as one of the hands holding her crushed her face harder against the wall, the younger one - Wood apparently - grasping the thin material of her shirt.

It brought back the memories, so many memories...of Voldemort disrobing her to shame her, of her husband's friends when they had the chance to toy with her, her husband's own hands guilty of that same crime.

Sobbing and struggling against them, she felt a rush of air across her back as her shirt was ripped away and several sharp intakes of breath from the group of wizards surrounding her.

"The Dark Mark..."

Cassandra went limp with defeat, sobbing bitterly. Slumping down against the wall, she folded her arms over her bare chest, shuddering. There was nothing else to do without her wand.

She had tried to conceal the mark, but nothing would cover it and now, they knew it, knew who she was...

Jerked around by a gnarled hand, a wand was thrust under her chin, forcing her face up. "Drop this mask, Bones."

It was the scarred man who spoke. Unable to fight, the glamour melted away, leaving the pale, terrified witch sprawled on the floor at their feet, blood staining the lower half of her face.

Disgust was scored into every one of the faces looming over her and she hunched down, burying her face in her hands.

"Cassandra Bones," The voice continued, barely even reaching her awareness. "You are hereby under arrest by the authority of the Aurors council, for your allegiance to the Dark Lord."

"No...no...no..." Shaking her head, she lifted her tear-streaked, bloody face to him. "I didn't do anything..." Tears were rushing down her pale cheeks in rivers. "If I was dark... if...I would...wouldn't I have attacked you? Wouldn't I? Please..."

"Sir..." Wood was staring at her. "Are...are you sure this is the right person?"

"Don't listen to her, Wood. She's lying, no doubt." A middle-aged witch muttered to the young man. "Many Death Eaters had skills with words, to manipulate those around them into believing them."

"Please...please...please..." Sobbing, rocking back and forth, Cassandra's fingers dug into her scalp.

Stone studied her for a long moment. "Give her something to wear. Let her cover herself." He said quietly. "I want a portkey outside the front door as soon as possible. I want the muggles here to believe that she has been taken by muggle law-keepers."

Wood nodded, shrugging out of his own travel cloak and squatting to drape it around her shoulders. Cassandra stared up at him, one of the witch's hands rising to touch his face so softly that he wasn't even sure that she had made contact at all.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, tucking the robes around her, then pulling back.

Kneeling on the floor, Cassandra bowed her head, weeping quietly, pulling the black cloak tight around her shaking shoulders, wishing she had some way to contact either Ethan or her little boy.

***

Hands thrust deep in the pockets of his baggy jeans, Alexander smiled at the thought of what he had done the night before, without anyone even being aware of it.

Thanks to his knack for getting thrown around, knocked over, hit or generally being accident-prone, he had been banned from 'getting in the way' at the library when something had come about the Hellmouth opening.

Yeah, he had also had sex with Faith.

He grinned.

Sex was definitely of the good.

How things had changed with the arrival of the fiery new Slayer, Faith, only a few months earlier.

Buffy had a Slay-buddy.

He had someone new to check out, although his eyes - and heart - did keep returning to Cordelia, despite the fact she went out of her way to put him down. Hardly a big surprise, since he had sort of ended up having Willow-smoochies, when he was only meant to be getting Cordelia-smoochies.

And now, he'd had sex.

Smothering a grin, he tried to think past that for five minutes.

To think about the fact that he might have just saved the world.

Yes, his friends had been in the library, closing the Hellmouth, fighting and doing spells, but had he failed, then the school would have been blown to pieces, his friends would have been killed and the Hellmouth would be open.

When some undead ex-pupils of Sunnydale High had set a bomb up in the basement of the school, he had been the only one who knew about it, he had been the only one who could stop it.

Turned out to be a game of chicken...

When asked if he cared about dying...

"I like the quiet."

It was true, although he knew that he would have one very dirty pair of boxer shorts when he got home.

And not for the sex reason...

"Way to go, Harris." He murmured. "Meet pack of zombies, find out zombies plan to blow up the school, have sex," Again with the big grin. "Find zombies, save school, save world..."

Turning the corner into the street where he lived, he was a little surprised to see a police car parked by the sidewalk, his expression shifting to one of confusion when he realised it was right outside his home.

"What the...?"

Had mom finally been taken too far?

Had dad been caught?

Starting to run towards the house, he saw the front door open, a group of men and women in black robes emerging, two of them flanking his mother, who was also clad in a black cloak, her face bloody and tear-stained.

She raised her head, when he was still half a block away, her eyes going wide.

"ALEX!" Lunging forward with a scream, she almost broke free from the two men flanking her, one of them grabbing at her, pinning her arms to her sides. "Alex! RUN! Tell Giles! Get Ethan! Tell him to get Ethan!"

"Shut up!" The robed man holding her dragged her forward, Alexander running as fast as he could to try and reach them, to save his mother.

"TELL GILES!" His mother screamed wildly as the robed men gathered around the car, all of them laying a hand on it, one of them forcing her hand against the metal as well. "GET ETHAN! GET..."

She continued to scream, as one of the men withdrew a stick of wood from his robes and pointed it at Alexander with a cry of. "Petrificus totallus!"

Alexander didn't know what happened. One minute he was running, the next, it felt like he had been encased in concrete, his eyes wide, as he fell forwards, landing on his face on the ground.

"ALEX!"

He was aware of someone moving, hands turning him onto his back, staring at his face, and someone said in a voice that reminded him of Giles in a strange way. "Isn't him, sir."

"Alex…get up…please…get Ethan…tell Ethan…" He could still hear his mother's cries, but he couldn't manage to make himself move, his eyes staring straight up at the clear sky above them.

And suddenly, silence.

It seemed like an eternity before he could move his body again and he scrambled unsteadily onto his feet. He hadn't heard the engine of the car start so they must still be there, although it was eerily quiet.

Turning, he found the road vacant.

The spot where his mother, then men and the police car had been was bare.

On legs that suddenly felt like jello, Alexander looked around. When his voice escaped, it was in a trembling whisper. "Mom?"

Chapter 17: The Truth

"Giles! You gotta help me!"

Skidding through the swing doors of Sunnydale High School's library, Alexander crashed squarely into the desk that blocked off the librarian's office from the rest of the library.

"GILES!"

Instead of being seated at the massive tables that took up the main non-book area of the bottom floor of the library, or sorting out books up in the stacks, Rupert Giles was apparently taking a well-earned break.

"C'mon, Giles! I need help!"

"Xander?" Peering around the doorframe, seated on the wheeled seat by the desk, the Watcher came to his feet instantly, leaving his cup of tea and newspaper on the surface of the desk. "Wh-wh-what on earth is the matter?"

Panting, clutching a stitch in his side, Alexander struggled to draw breath, one hand on the counter to hold himself upright. "My mom...guys...guys in black dresses...long dress things...and magic sticks...froze me...took mom..."

Giles' brow creased in confusion. "You...you'll have to be more specific."

"Got home..." Still panting, Alexander made a frantic gesture with his hand. "They dragged mom out...she was bleeding...told me to tell you...get Ethan...one whammied me...then they were gone..."

"Get Ethan?" The librarian stiffened his back.

"She said...a few times...screaming...she was screaming..." Alexander stared up at Giles' face, anguish etched in his brown eyes. "I tried, Giles...I couldn't help her...I couldn't help her..."

His legs seemed to give way beneath him and, bonelessly, he sank to the linoleum- covered floor, leaning heavily against the side of the counter, his eyes burning with fear, anger and confusion.

Absently, he was aware of Giles tilting his face up, making sure he was aware, then getting to his feet.

In a daze, he watched as the Watcher get a large, round, brass plate - or something that looked like one - and pull out a thin stick like the one the weird guy-in-a-dress had pointed at him, pointing into a weird bowl on the floor.

A column of flame spewed from the stick, burning brightly on the plate.

The Watcher grabbed something from the counter above Alexander's head, tossing a handful of what looked like green powder into the flames, which immediately burned a poisonous green colour.

"Ethan! If you're there, answer me!"

If he hadn't been having such a surreal day, Alexander knew he would have yelled in fright as a head appeared in the middle of the flames, looking up at Giles, with the face that he recognised as Ethan.

Bending, his expression ugly with anger, Giles bent and grabbed Ethan's head, jerking him forcefully, the sorcerer's full body erupting through the flames and crashing to the floor of the library.

"Bloody hell, Ripper!" Pushing himself upright, Ethan turned, only receive an uppercut from Giles, whose face was scarlet and contorted with fury. A vein was throbbing in his temple as he grabbed Ethan's hair and jerked his head back.

"What the hell have you done?" He demanded furiously.

On his knees, bent over backwards, Ethan raised his hands. "Mate, I haven't done anything! I swear!"

"What about Mrs Harris?" Giles nodded towards Alexander. Alexander stared back dumbly. Was he meant to wave or something to let them know he was still there, or just sit, while Giles beat up his former friend.

Ethan's green eyes locked onto Alexander's face, widening. The colour seemed to wash from his face, leaving it a sickly shade of grey. Shaking his head, his mouth opened and shut, making no sound.

"Explain!" Giles snarled.

"God...no..."

"Ethan..."

Tears were gleaming in Ethan's eyes. "Let me up and I'll tell you everything." He said. His voice sounded rasping, choked, as if he were having trouble speaking. "It-its a long story..."

Giles stared at him for a moment, then released his hair. He looked as if he expected Ethan to flee immediately, clearly surprised when the sandy-haired wizard scrambled over to Alexander.

"Alex? Alexander?" Giles made a sound of surprise, apparently unaware that this Ethan guy knew his name. "Listen, listen to me. I need to tell me exactly what happened to your mum, right?"

Blinking, Alexander looked up at Giles, who nodded. "I-I was going home...usually do, y'know...got to the end of our block and saw a cop's car outside the house...I figured dad and mom were fighting again...then guys...guys in black dresses...they brought mom out of the house...she was bleeding...she saw me...yelled at me to get Giles...to tell him to get you..."

"Shit..."

"One of them had a weird stick..." Alexander's vision seemed strangely blurry, his mouth dry and fuzzy and, odd, his cheeks felt wet. "I...I was trying to help her...he pointed...it flashed and I fell...I-I don't know why...one of them said I wasn't 'him' and then it went quiet...when I got up they were gone..."

He didn't quite know how it happened.

One moment he was sure he was leaning with his back against the edge of the library counter, the next he was sobbing desperately in the arms of Giles' ex-friend, Giles staring down at them.

The wiggens didn't even have a look in today.

"What's going on Ethan? Who were they?" Giles' voice spoke from above.

Alexander was still held securely against Ethan's chest, the sorcerer's arms around him and - for once - he felt safe. He felt like he often believed he should feel, when he was in the arms of his father.

"They were from the Ministry of Magic, Ripper." Ethan's voice was hoarse, one hand spread on Alexander's sweat-dampened hair. "They've been looking for her."

"Her? Mrs Harris?"

Ethan shook his head. He seemed exhausted. "She's one of us, Ripper." He said softly, his voice shaking. "She's that skinny little Hufflepuff brat I used to pal about with..." As one both men said. "Cassandra Bones."

"But she doesn't look..."

"A concealment spell, nothing more." Ethan interrupted, still soothingly untangling locks of Alexander's hair with his right hand, the other grasped between Alexander's shaking ones.

Giles was silent for a long moment, then he asked what Alexander was wondering to himself, although he felt to secure to ask anything, in case it took this wonderful father-feeling away.

"Why was she concealing herself?"

Ethan seemed to go rigid. "She's accused of consorting with the Dark Lord prior to his first fall." He muttered, ignoring Giles' loud curse of surprise.

"But she-she-she's Xander's mother."

Alexander felt Ethan's cheek press against the top of his head. "It's time." He said, so quietly that only Alexander heard him. His head shifted slightly and he looked up at Giles. "Ripper, you're looking at the only son and Heir of You-Know-Who."

There was a heartbeat of silence, then the hollow thump of Giles' head hitting the floor, as he fainted.

***

Walking back and forth outside of Stone's office, Snape refused to sit down at the long, padded seat that stood along one wall. To be lined up among the rest of the people there made him feel like a prisoner awaiting execution.

Plus, it irritated the impatient secretary to have him pacing back and forth across the horrendously patterned red and green carpet, passing in front of her dark wooden desk with every traverse he made of the room.

Anything to distract him from the thought of what was coming.

Either they had realised that he had been lying about his knowledge of the Heir and his mother, or something more sinister was afoot and he was going to be sent in to make the inquiries.

"Once a two-sider, always a two-sider." He murmured to himself wearily, looking around as the secretary called his name. She motioned him towards the door, which opened of it's own accord.

Entering the room dimly-lit room, he found Stone gazing at him steadily from his desk, directly opposite the door. The blinds were drawn down, half-closed, moonlight slatting in from outside.

Like everyone else had, since the furore about the 'Heir' had come to light, Snape had been expected to be on constant alert, lest he be called in by Stone, as he had been tonight.

Leaving Ginny in the sanctuary that she had returned to with him - with her mother's blessing, after she had threatened Snape at wand point that he wouldn't keep her away so long the next time and he assured her that he would bring her back whenever she wanted to visit - he had apparated straight into the office.

A single desk lamp was switched on, a buttery gold nimbus spread around it, lightly illuminating the dim room. It cast odd shadows on Stone's horribly scarred face, as the Auror surveyed Snape.

"Sit." He suggested in a way that was more of an order, motioning to the hard-backed wooden chair that faced him across the desk.

Sweeping around the chair, Snape sat down, folding his hands patiently in his lap, his eyes and face revealing nothing, as Stone studied him. The Auror looked down at the papers in front of him, then back at Snape.

"We require you to testify at a trial."

The surprise Snape felt clearly showed itself on his face, his eyes widening slightly, a brow rising.

"If...if I may ask, why did you feel the need to bring me here, out of my bed, at this time of night to tell me so? Isn't it more commonplace to contact witnesses by owl, then arrange a meeting?"

Stone nodded. "Normally, that is the case, but in this scenario, we have no time for such formalities." He explained, his voice rigid and emotionless. "The trial begins tomorrow and we need you there."

Snape was genuinely puzzled, although he didn't show it. He hadn't heard of any arrests in the last few days and there certainly weren't any Death Eaters that he knew of who were awaiting trial, as far as he knew.

"Who is the accused?" He finally asked.

There was a moment of silence before the Auror looked up from the parchment he was studying. "Cassandra Bones, consort of You-Know-Who, Mother to the Heir of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Severus felt like he had received a punch to the gut, the breath rushing from his lungs, colour fleeing his face. "Y-you found her?"

"Indeed. Her disguise was effective, but she couldn't conceal the Dark Mark. She was brought in a short time ago." The look on Stone's face was one of weary triumph. Snape felt for the man, he truly did, but when he knew that the Heir was no more than a harmless little boy...

He was one of only four people in the world who knew that fact and his word was hardly reliable, considering his one-time loyalties. The other three...well, they were hardly going to prove any better.

One was the mother, who had the unfortunate background of carrying the Heir, after being manipulated into a copulation with Lord Voldemort.

Another was a demon-worshipping, dark arts-loving exile from their world, who was under threat of death in more magical places than Snape could count with all his fingers and toes.

And the third...

His lover - and if he had any say in the matter, soon-to-be wife - who was already so emotionally fragile that he would rather have returned to cutting himself on a daily basis than risk seeing her shattered by facing a trial jury.

The child didn't stand a chance.

"What do you require of me?"

Stone studied him. In the buttery light, his eyes seemed to be wreathed in flame. "I don't need to tell you that the charge of consorting with the Dark Lord is a serious one." He said. "You must give evidence against her. We need her in Azkaban as soon as possible, so the populace can feel safe."

"But if she is harmless?"

"Snape, it makes no difference what you may believe." Stone's tone grew hard. "The jury will judge her on her evidence and that provided by you and the other witness we have access to."

"And if I refuse?"

Stone's dark eyes said everything and nothing at once. "You would be concealing evidence that may prevent a rise of another Dark Lord." He said. "I would hate to see you sent to Azkaban, after you have achieved so much."

"You know I would go to Azkaban if the cause was true."

Stone gazed at him. "Yes, but how would your young lover cope?" There was an edge of darkness in Stone's voice. "After all, we need not remind you that she, too, was a consort of the Dark Lord and by her own free will, which is a crime..."

"Damn you..." Bleak black eyes glared at Stone, his voice a hoarse whisper. "You would threaten to break her, simply to put an innocent witch in Azkaban?" Stone said nothing. "So I have no choice in the matter. I assume that means I will have to partake of veritaserum for the duration of the trial?" Stone nodded the affirmative.

"We will make it as short for you as possible. After all, we still have a lot of work to get done."

The former teacher's eyes narrowed. "Did you find the Heir?" He asked carefully.

"That will be all, Snape." Stone scrawled something on a sheet of parchment, folded it and held it out to the former Death Eater. "Be at the court for ten o'clock tomorrow morning. We want this cleared up with as little fuss as possible."

Taking the parchment, Snape nodded, unable to form another word.

Stiffly walking out of the office, he disapparated immediately, apparating into his home and wearily hanging up his travel robe beside the fire place, the air warm and comforting, the scent of his lover reassuring.

Withdrawing the folded sheet of parchment from his pocket, he sat down at the chair in front of the fire quietly, unfolding the sheet and studying the dates and times assigned for the trial.

Ethan would know by now, he knew.

He couldn't quite say how he knew, but he did...

Ethan would know.

Ethan would be plotting something bold, something dramatic and something that Snape fervently hoped wasn't too stupid.

"Where did you go?"

Hastily folding the sheet of parchment, he looked up with a weary smile, as Ginny rounded the back of the chair. She looked like she had been asleep, her hair sticking out in all directions, her eyes cloudy.

"Stone wished to see me." He answered, his voice low, as she slid down into his lap and nestled against his chest, her head coming down to rest on his shoulder. "It was a matter of great importance."

"Oh?"

"Mmm."

"What?"

His arms loosely around her waist, his chin resting on the top of her head, Snape closed his eyes. "I have to be a standing witness at a trial tomorrow." He replied.

"Whose?"

"Ah...well...I don't think you would know of them..."

Her face rose and she looked at him. "Severus..."

"Dear one..." He tried to distract her and failed spectacularly.

"Severus, who is it?" Snape's eyes fell and he knew that she wouldn't take long to work it out. There was only one person that they knew who would be tried and who he would be called in as a witness for. "Oh God..."

"They captured her only a few hours ago, Ginny...I don't know how they did it...how they found out where she was..." He sounded desperately unhappy. "I...we should have... the meeting we attended... should not have happened...we could have refused... they would never have found her."

"And her son? Did they get him too?"

Severus shook his head. "No. For that we have to be grateful." He drew her to him, burying his face in her hair. His voice was barely a whisper, but she made out every word. "They want me to stand against her..."

"But..."

"Dear one, I must do it." He turned his face to hers, cradling her cheek. "My life and yours hangs by a thread. Should we refuse, Stone will find some way to cut the thread and we will fall."

"But Cassandra..." Tears were rapidly filling Ginny's eyes. "Severus...we can't let her go to Azkaban..."

"Her son will find her. Her son and her lover...they will be the ones to save her." His hand tangled through her hair, their foreheads pressing to one another's. "For now, all I'm concerned about is keeping you safe, dear one."

Her eyes pressed shut, tears trickled down her cheeks. "I love you, Severus." She whispered hoarsely. "I love you so much, it scares me...don't let them take you away from me...not now..."

"I won't leave you, dear one." He brought her brow down and touched a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you too greatly to let them tear us apart. Not after all the pain it took us to reach this place."

Letting her bury herself in his chest against, he closed his eyes and held her as she cried quietly.

***

"But I can't be."

Ethan sighed. "I'm afraid you can be and you are, Alexander." He said. He had just spent over an hour revealing the history of the youth's heritage to him. They were sitting at the large tables in the library and the sun was just starting to set outside the windows, slanting warm gold into the room. "Listen, have you ever done anything, when you were angry or afraid?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know..." The sandy-haired wizard ran his fingers through his curly matt of hair. "Maybe someone made you angry or scared and then something made them look stupid... or you wished something would happen and it did...or anything..."

Alexander, who had been staring blindly at the surface of the table, where his fingers were moving in circles, lifted his eyes, a combination of incredulity and astonishment on his face. "The curse..." He said in a hushed voice.

"Curse?" Ethan was bemused, but apparently Giles knew what the boy was talking about. "What curse?"

Lowering the ice-pack from his head, where an incredible lump was blossoming on his right temple, the Watcher-librarian looked like everything in the world had suddenly made sense. "Of course...Willow was too weak...unable to-to-to perform it herself... I-I often wondered who had provided th-th-the strength for her to complete the spell..."

"Look, mate, maybe you know what this is all about, but let's pretend that Ethan, the bearer of bad news, doesn't have a clue what the Hell is going on in your happy little world." He looked from Giles to Alexander. "What was this curse?"

"Buffy's demon boyfriend..." Alexander glanced at Giles', as if checking that he wasn't saying that he shouldn't.

"You mean the vampire...Angelus? The one who lost his soul after he got a bit of nooky off blondie?" Dark-haired boy and watcher stared at Ethan, as if he had grown a second head. "Look, I'm your Godfather, Alexander. Your mother and I knew pretty much everything there was to know about your madcap band of friends."

"Well..." Giles seemed a little surprised. "Th-that would certainly make things a lot easier. We-we-we did intend to recurse Angelus, to return his soul."

"Willow was in hospital." Alexander volunteered the information. "I went to help Buffy... when I was pulling Giles out of the mansion, I remember I didn't think Willow would be strong enough to do the whole spell thing, but I was wishing and hoping for it..."

Giles nodded. "Willow said it felt like something went through her. The two who witnessed her perform the spell st-stated that she looked like she-she-she had connected to something p-p-powerful."

"I never thought it was me." Alexander's voice lowered to a whisper. His eyes went back down to the table and he shook his head. "I-I can't be magical...I mean, I can't do anything...and even if I am...what's to say I wouldn't be like my...father?"

Ethan reached over the table and squeezed Alexander's hand. "Alexander, listen to me. We hid your powers until we knew you would need them. You didn't need them to be who you are. You're strong, you're a brave and loyal friend, you're the kind of person that Voldemort fought against. From what I've seen of you, you fight for good, which is something that Voldemort would never do. "

"So my dad's an evil psychopath?" He raised his eyes to the ceiling, blinking hard. he looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he managed to laugh. "I just thought of something...me and this Voldemort guy having a reunion...and it turns out like Dr Evil and Scott from Austin Powers..."

"If you want a pop-culture reference that you can work with, Alexander," Ethan's tone was serious. "I would say it was more like Luke finding out the Emperor, not Vader, was his father."

Brown eyes - so very like Cassandra's it felt like a skewer had been thrust through his heart - looked bleakly at him. "And I thought the guy that I called dad here was bad." He murmured. "He...he hurt her, didn't he?"

Nodding sadly, Ethan looked away. "Very much."

The teenager fell silent, returning to tracing circles on the table. The two older men exchanged looks, Giles still looking utterly stunned by the revelation, while Ethan simply felt drained.

He looked it too, haggard and drawn. His eyes were bloodshot and he kept running his hand convulsively through his hair.

"What are we going to do, Ethan? They can't take my mom away. I-I want to go and get her back. She doesn't belong in their world anymore..." Alexander finally spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan's eyes closed. "It won't be easy, Alexander. There's every chance they could send you to wizard's prison and that really isn't a place I would want to send you."

"But it's where they're gonna send my mom, isn't it?" Ethan couldn't bring himself to reply, even when Alexander's voice rose. "Isn't it? They're going to send my mom to wizard's prison, because of who I am!"

The two older wizards exchanged looks.

"Alexander," Ethan stood up. "I have an idea about what we can do. I have a friend who saw everything...I can get in touch with him and if we move fast enough, then we might just be able to get your mother out of this. Would...would you be willing to come to England with me? I mean, you could well end up in jail in her place and..."

"I'm coming."

"Xander."

"No, Giles," Alexander said determinedly. "I'm going to get my mom back."

***

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Stone stood at the door of the cell, gazing in at the now-infamous prisoner, who was crouched down against the wall in the corner. "You knew that you were a fugitive, Miss Bones," he said. "You were concealing yourself."

Bloodshot brown eyes gazed up at him. "Didn't you wonder why I hid? For all those years he was back, didn't you even think to ask why I didn't come forward and take my place at his side?" The woman's voice was hoarse and rasping.

She was clad in loose, plain black robes that hung on her thin body, making her look even smaller than she already was. Her long, gold-coloured hair was magically bound back from her white face.

"That is why you are being taken to trial, Bones."

Large tears that seemed too big for her pale, thin face, rolled silently down her cheeks. "Why won't you even listen to me?" she pleaded. "I didn't want to be the one to carry his Heir. He made me..."

"And you and I all know that no witch can be forced to carry a child unless she joins into a union of her own free will."

The witch's shaking hands clamped on her temples, her eyes fixed on her upraised knees, in front of her chest. "You're not listening to me..." she said, barely audibly, her voice shaking. "I didn't want it...he made me..."

"And you, Bones, are not listening to me. Witches can not be forcibly impregnated."

"He BOUGHT me." She cried out, showing more spirit than he had seen in her when they captured her. "I had no choice...don't you understand?" Her voice was shrill with anger and despair. "I paid with my body to save my family!"

Stone's lip curled. "Your family were killed the day you disappeared, Bones. Deny all you like, but we know that you were the cause of their deaths, either by your own hand or by those you sent."

"He told me he would spare them...he told me and I believed him...I was a fool..."

"On that we agree, Bones." Stone's voice was hard. He stepped out of the doorway and stared at her in disgust. "Your trial will begin in five hours. I suggest you get some sleep."

The huge door slammed, plunging Cassandra into darkness.

Pressing against the wall, tears silently streaming down her face, she buried her face in her knees that were hugged against her chest and wished she could see her little boy, just one more time.

"Just let him be safe," She whispered. "Let him be safe."

Chapter 18: The Trial

"What's going on?"

"Xander and I have to...we...we have to go..."

Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer, didn't seem satisfied with that answer, her hands spread on the counter as she watched Giles lock up the book cage and the office of the library.

She was sitting on the top of the book counter, between two columns of ancient tomes, as he moved around his precious library, her legs crossed at the knee, swinging one booted foot up and down impatiently as she studied him.

"Where?"

"I-I-I beg your pardon?"

"Where are you going?"

Giles looked at her in a way that suggested he was tired and frustrated and would happily smack her on the head. "Xander's m-mother is in some trouble...he has asked me to-to-to accompany him...moral support."

"Mrs Harris in trouble? What's up?"

Again, Giles paused and studied her, as if assessing whether she deserved to be told what was going on. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that badness was ensuing and she could do nothing.

"I-I-I-I'm afraid it's all up to X-Xander, if he wishes to-to-to tell you," he replied, looking to the library doors which had just swung open. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, the younger watcher stood there. "Ah, Wesley."

"Mr Giles, I have just been informed that you are temporarily leaving Sunnydale."

Buffy almost snickered at the exasperated look on Giles' face. If he could have gotten away with beating the younger Watcher up, she could see that he would have done it right at that moment.

"Y-y-yes, I have some personal m-matters to take care of," he replied. "I trust you will be able to-to-to keep moderate control in my absence."

Wesley seemed to swell up proudly. "Of course I would..."

"Yo, B!" Both men winced at the voice of the second Slayer. "Hey G, Wes! Just found us a nest. Thought Slay-gal one might be up for some hot girl-on-girl action for the take-down."

Smiling at the matching expressions on the two watchers faces, Buffy swung down off the counter and landed on her feet. "I'm in," she said, pausing to touch Giles on the arm. "You help Xander's mom, Giles."

"I intend to," he returned the smile, albeit weakly.

***

"Right...passport...oh crap! Where's the real one...?"

Ethan had managed to pile his most essential belongings into a single rucksack, his room at the motel which served as a home looking like little more than a bombsite, clothes and magical herbs scattered everywhere.

Upending his bed, he yanked the sheets and blankets off, sighing with relief when he saw his real passport slide out the end of the duvet. Bending to pick it up, he stopped short when a pair of impeccable shoes and trousers came directly in his line of sight.

"Oh...crap..."

"Now, is that any way to treat one of your loyal clientele, Rayne?" the striking Afro-American vampire chided, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "You knew I would be comin' lookin' for you sooner or later..."

"Look, mate," Straightening up and taking a careful step back, Ethan raised his hands. "This really isn't the best of times for you to come waltzing into my motel and demanding your...er...wait a mo...why are you here anyway?"

"Got a little job for you, Mr. Rayne," the vampire smiled, brushing a hand down the lapel of his dark, pinstriped suit.

The wizard was more than a little relieved that Mr Trick, the vampire in question, tended to keep his human features on display, because he really was a frightening thing to look at when his demon side was visible.

"A...job? What kind of job?"

"You'd have to ask the Mayor about that," Trick smiled and it wasn't in a pleasant way. "I'm just the delivery boy, y'see. For some reason," he remarked. "The Mayor had this sneakin' feelin' that you would avoid him...me and the boys were sent to make sure you did no such thing..."

"Er...right..."

Trick bent and picked up the passport from the floor. "And, Mr Rayne, just where might you be goin' in such a hurry?"

"Family business."

Trick raised his brows, nodding as he flicked through the passport. "And what," he asked casually, his eyes darting to Ethan's face. "Might this family business be? A sick ol' grandmamma? Mommy needin' help pickin' apples?"

"Actually," The wizard couldn't help grinning. The words truth stranger than fiction certainly applied in this case. "The mother of my God-son is on trial for being the concubine of the Dark Lord of the wizarding world, so I'm just off to save the day and bring her back."

Trick's fingers that were flipping through the passport froze. He lowered his the passport, staring at Ethan. "You ain't tellin' me that we've had the mate of the Snakeman livin' right here in good ol' Sunny-D and the Mayor didn't know?"

Ethan hoped he didn't look as stunned as he felt.

The demon world knew about Voldemort?

Okay, yes there had been that incident with Drusilla and Angelus, but they had assumed that was a one-off, because the vampiress was a seer, but for the whole demon populace...

Of course, he felt like kicking himself, there was Voldemort's pure connection to the dark side that meant that all dark forces would inevitably feel the touch of his power, even if he didn't intend it to happen.

Plus, he drew his power from them...

Only, they hadn't realised Cassandra was in their midst.

"Uh...yes?"

"You gotta be kiddin', man!"

Ethan spread his hands. "I-I knew her from Hogwarts...she's been hiding out here..."

"Hogwarts, huh?" His passport was tossed across the room to him, the vampire face shifting into a more genuine smile. "Man, have I heard about that place. What house were you in?"

"Um...Hufflepuff."

"Graduated?"

Ethan shook his head. "Expelled for experimentation with the dark arts."

"Figures," Trick chuckled. He sauntered back across the room towards the door, which was flanked by two much larger, growling vampires that Ethan hadn't noticed before. "Well, Mr Rayne, given what you're doin' for now, I'll just have to tell the Mayor that you are...ah...otherwise occupied at present."

"You will?"

"Hey, man, no disrespect to the Mayor, but the Snakeman is way up in the chart of power," the vampire said, raising his hands. "If you're gonna be the one to save his mate... well, good luck to ya buddy. Hope ya succeed."

"Uh...right...thanks."

"No problem, buddy," Trick pulled the door closed, leaving Ethan staring mutely at the panel of wood.

A few minutes later, he shook himself. "Okay," he mumbled. "What the Hell just happened here?"

***

"All rise."

Everyone in the court shuffled to their feet, although it was quite a challenge given how many people had crammed into the magically enlarged courtroom, many wanting a glimpse of the now-notorious Mother of the Heir.

Somehow, as always was the case in such an incident, the story had been leaked and everyone in the wizarding world knew about the fiendish witch, who had borne the only living Heir of Voldemort.

Rumours abounded about what had happened to the Heir, many believing him - that detail had been leaked out as well, although the source remained safely anonymous for the time being - to be either dead or vanquished.

Row upon row of witches and wizards watched as Judge Prescott, one of the high council Judges, took his place at one of the higher benches closest to the stage, which lined the side wall of the courtroom and looked directly down on the chair.

The jury of sixteen neutrally chosen - although there was some contestation about that, due to the fact that no one could truly be neutral in regard to Voldemort - were seated in the bench on the opposite wall. Every other bench alongside it and to the front of the court was packed with people.

Just beneath them, in a lower tier of bench, two men sat, pointedly ignoring one another: One was tall, dark and forbidding, with glittering black eyes, the other slim, blonde and grey-eyed.

They had been called in as witnesses, lest the Mother of the Heir was foolish enough to remain silent for the duration of her trial.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed, sallow-skinned man, the older of the two, was staring down at the centre platform of the court, a muscle in his cheek visibly twitching, his hands clenched on the arms of the seat he occupied.

His neighbour - separated from him by a magical partition to prevent fighting amongst the witnesses - looked strangely smug and a little triumphant, despite his pallor, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

He was the one who had brought the news of the Heir to the Ministry of Magic.

As soon the Judge was in place and everyone had resumed their seats, all eyes went to the platform at the front of the court, where a chair - it's arms hung with chains - stood. Not one person in the court could fail to see it.

The air in the room was already stagnant and stale from so many people breathing it, the windowless, underground courtroom beneath the Ministry dark and forbidding, but they knew that not one of them would leave before the trial was over.

It was simply too interesting...and too much of a threat for them to leave.

They wanted to know that they were safe, that there were no more Dark Lords waiting to step out of the wings and take Voldemort's place, after all they had fought for was finally coming together again.

"Bring her in," the Judge said loudly. A couple of people noticed that his voice shook a little.

Behind the chair, a door opened, the intake of breath audible.

Two Aurors - Dementors were no longer permitted in the courtroom until after the trials, due to serious reactions from the spectators - lead a slight figure around the chair, making her sit as they chained her to the monstrous chair.

A few looks were exchanged.

Surely there had to be some kind of mistake.

One of the two witnesses, the younger of the two, leaned forward in his seat, staring in shock at the woman, whom he was to blame for capture of. Lines marred his brow, his lips parting silently.

It couldn't be right...

The witch now manacled into the chair at the front of the court was small, thin and frail-looking, blonde hair drawn back from a white face and bound with magic, dark frightened eyes looking around at them.

"Stone, has the defendant been dosed with Veritaserum?"

One of the two Aurors nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied. "The maximum strength of potion was ingested by the defendant fifteen minutes ago. She will be able to give nothing but direct answers to your questions."

"Stone, you may stand down."

The Head Auror and his companions both moved back to stand behind the chair, flanking the door.

"Witch," Judge Prescott began. "What is your name and your date of birth?"

Brown eyes looked up at him. "Cassandra Morgana Bones," she replied, her voice rasping. "Twenty-fourth of November, 1960."

Behind the chair, Stone nodded in agreement.

"Did you, Cassandra Bones, consort with the Dark Lord?"

"Yes," Her dark brown eyes screamed desperately that she had more to say, but the potion had her under it's control. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, the cuffs biting into her thin wrists.

Everyone in the courtroom hissed and muttered softly.

She had admitted it.

Prescott rapped his gavel, a stiff silence falling as he posed his next question. "Did you go to his bed willingly?"

Shaking her head wildly, Cassandra's eyes stared up at him. "Y-yes," her lips said.

Again, murmurs rippled around the court, disgust crossing the faces of the observers.

Tears were gathering in the witch's eyes, spilling uncontrollably down her white face. She looked like she wanted to cry out, say something further, but they had been strict with the variety of veritaserum they had dosed her with.

"Were you conceived of a child while performing as a consort for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

The witch's mouth opened and closed, as she silently cried out words that none of them could hear, anguish on her face. Unable to say anything but the direct truth, she let her head fall.

"Yes."

There was uproar.

Several witches cried out and at least one fainted. A few voices cursed, while a couple of people tried to lunge up onto the stage to attack the chained witch, only to be forced back by the two Aurors.

Prescott had to batter his gavel furiously, before any order was restored.

"SILENCE!"

His words carried enough anger and power to convince them that sitting was probably the safest thing to do at that moment.

"Bones," his voice was low, steady, as he turned back to Bones. "Was the child that you carried the child of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Y-yes."

"How can you be sure?"

Her face crumpled in shame. "He was the only one that I had intercourse with."

The Judge leaned back against the high back of his seat, looking a little pale. Of course, the Dark Lord mentioned in the context of 'intercourse' was enough to make anyone feel a little ill.

A ripple of whispers spread through the court, subsiding when Prescott rapped the gavel twice, sitting upright.

"Does the child live?"

Frightened eyes stared at him, the witch's lower lip trembling. Tears were gathering in the dark hollows beneath her eyes, until they brimmed over and rolled down her gaunt cheeks.

"Bones, I asked you a question," he said sternly,. He leaned forward on the edge of the bench, glaring down at her. "Does the child, the Heir of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named live?"

Cassandra Bones shrank back in the enormous chair, shaking her head at the judge, her pale lips pressed so tightly together that they were little more than a thin line, her eyes huge.

"Answer the judge," Stone growled from behind her.

Bones shot a look over her shoulder at him, then shook her head again, cringing back against the chair as if expecting to be struck.

The Judge looked across to the witness stand. "Draco Malfoy, stand if present."

"Present," the blond youth rose, a proud look on his pointed face, which was not unlike his father's.

"You have ingested veritaserum?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Your full name and date of birth, boy."

His chin up, the youth answered. "Draco Lucius Malfoy. June fourteenth, 1980."

Prescott, checking the files in front of him nodded, then looked back across at the younger of the witnesses. "What do you know about the Heir of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" he asked. "Can you tell the court how you came by this knowledge?"

"I know that she," he jerked his chin in the direction of the witch chained at the fore of the court. "Is his mother. I learned of their existence when Karkaroff was brought before You-Know-Who and he tried to barter information of the Heir for his life." His lip curled. "The Dark Lord began an extensive search for his... whore, but she came to him instead and begged for permission to continue to raise the child until he was strong enough to join his father."

"Did the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named agree?"

Malfoy nodded. "He wished to regain his empire before the child returned to him."

"Do you know what the Heir looks like?"

"No, sir."

Prescott scratched at his chin thoughtfully, then asked Malfoy, "Do you know if the Heir still lives?"

The boy shook his head. "I don't know any more than I have already told you about the Heir, sir."

The Judge motioned for him to sit, which the youth did, but he looked less confident than he had before the witch had been brought into the courtroom. "Severus Snape, stand if present."

In the witness bench, the dark man rose, his expression neutral but for the twitching muscle in his cheek. "Present."

"You have been called as a witness to this trial and are known to us," Prescott said. "Have you ingested a dosage of Veritaserum?"

"I have."

"How do you know of the Heir?"

Black eyes stared straight ahead. "I was a spy for the Ministry in the ranks of the Death Eaters," he replied, his voice a monotone. "I witnessed the Dark Lord selecting Bones to be the mother and saw her when she was with child."

"Have you ever seen the Heir?"

"I have seen a photograph, but I have not seen the Heir in person," he replied, as he lowered his eyes to the chained witch. She was looking back at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Prescott nodded. "Do you know if the Heir lives?"

"I do not know if he lives," Snape's eyes came back to the judge. "After He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated, there had been no correspondence from the Mother, so I assume that he died during or after the battle."

On the chair at the front of the court, Bones lowered her head.

"Bones," Her face rose, pale. "Does Snape speak the truth?"

"Yes," she whispered, looking down at the floor. No one but Snape saw the flicker of relief in her eyes.

The questioning continued, testing every chink in Snape's armour and testing the mother of the air, in case she let something slip, but nothing more of use was found and Prescott turned the judgement over to the Jury.

It was unanimous.

Even before they voted, everyone in the room knew it would be unanimous.

The witch had admitted consorting with the Dark Lord, which - alone - was a crime worthy of Azkaban.

However, on top of it, she had also admitted to concealing herself from the Ministry, using one of the unforgivable curses on her muggle husband and bearing an Heir as she was requested by the Dark Lord.

"How do you find the defendant on the charges of consorting with the Dark Lord, conspiring to pervert the course of justice, use of the unforgivable curses on muggles and bearing an Heir to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Judge Prescott directed his question at the Jury forewoman. "Guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty of all charges."

"Is this the unanimous vote of the jury? Raise your hands if you are in agreement with this judgement."

Every hand of every member of the jury rose instantly and the spectators started to applaud and cheer, some throwing insults at the witch who was slumped in the chair at the fore of the court.

No one seemed to notice that Snape - in the witness box - had closed his eyes, as if in severe pain. Neither did they notice the red-haired witch at the back of the court, who had her face buried in her hands.

Rapping his gavel, Prescott managed to quiet the crowd. "Cassandra Bones," he said gravely. "Rise." The Aurors behind her moved in and unchained her arms, but held her by the shoulders, as she rose. "You have heard the judgement and you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban, where you shall remain until you die."

The witch nodded, looking up at him.

It was unnerving.

She appeared so utterly calm, albeit tragically sad.

Prescott couldn't help feeling that they had missed something.

The catcalls and hisses had started again from the spectators, many of the people in the court and screaming abuse at her. Slowly, the witch turned her face back to them and an eerie silence fell.

Apparently, they were as bewildered by her as the Judge was.

"Do you have anything you want to say to the court?"

Prescott didn't know why he said it, but it was traditional for a Death Eater to hurl abuse at the crowds and he had to admit a trial wasn't quite right if the accused didn't have a chance to get their say.

"Yes."

He raised a brow. "And that is?"

The witch didn't even look at him, her eyes scanned over all of the faces of the crowd in front of her, her face still streaked with tears. Turning her head, she looked up at the witness box.

"I forgive you."

It was barely a whispered breath, but in the expectant hush of the court, every ear in the room heard it.

The boy, Malfoy, went white, staring down at her. He looked like he was either going to be violently sick or faint, or perhaps both.

She gave him a strange, small smile, then bowed her head and allowed the two Aurors to lead her out through the door at the back of the platform, leaving the courtroom in a stunned and confused silence.

***

"Rayne!"

Ethan Rayne had barely set foot inside the door of the Leaky Cauldron when a dark figure swept out of the shadows, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into the shadows again.

In the deep cranny beside the fireplace, shielded from the light of the flames, Ethan was pressed between the dark brick of the wall and the tall, dark man who he could recognise by silhouette alone.

"Sev," he murmured. "You got my owl?"

"When did you land?"

"What happened at the trial?" Ethan's words overrode the former Potions Master's.

Snape's eyes looked away. "She...she was found guilty."

Ethan nodded, a hand coming to his forehead, exhausted. He had come in first to get the news, while Giles tried to wake the jet-lagged Alexander and unload the cab they had arrived in. "Let me guess," he said bleakly. "Azkaban?"

"Azkaban. They took her there first thing this morning."

"Shit..."

Snape's hand squeezed his shoulder. "It...she and I...we were under veritaserum...we fooled them...they think the child is dead."

"Y-you fooled them under truth potion?"

Smirking a little, the darker man nodded. "I took the counter-potion beforehand and told them nothing more than they already knew," he explained. "They wanted to know if the Heir lived. I told them I had received no correspondance and assumed he was dead. This gave Bones two different questions to answer and they, the fools they are, believed her when she said 'yes', when asked if I was telling the truth. I think they just wanted it over as soon as possible."

Ethan nodded with a sigh. "On the plus side, that means that our boy is safe for now, which gives us a little more leverage..."

"What do you have planned, Rayne?" Snape asked, his voice hushed.

"You trust me?"

"Not really."

"Didn't think so," Ethan smiled thinly. "Here's the thing. I've been in touch with Flitwick. He's agreed to stand with me to make a plea for the release of Cass. We... uh...kind of put you down as one of the witnesses."

Snape sighed. "And you wonder why I don't trust you," he muttered. "But you have Flitwick's support?" Ethan nodded. "What does he know?"

"I filled him in on everything except my secret weapon and he's willing to be our official sponsor and back-up when we face the Ministry."

"What secret weapon?"

Ethan's tired smile was a genuine one. "If you agree to join our little committee for the plea, tomorrow night, you'll get to meet him," he said, rubbing his eyes. "That is, if Rupert gets the kid to wake up."

"The kid...? Good God, Ethan! Surely you haven't brought..."

"Yeah, Billy the Kid," the older wizard interrupted, seeing the curious looks they were getting from a nearby table. "That's one of the reasons we have to know if you'll stand. You and he are our best bets for getting her out."

Snape's lips lifted in a tired smile. "You know you don't even have to ask. I would do it for Ginny's sake, if not Bones'," He pushed tangled strands of his hair back from his brow. "Could she...?"

"Ginny Weasley?" Ethan shrugged. "I don't see why not. I think it would do her some good to meet him."

There was a moments silence.

"Sev," Ethan's voice shook a little. "Do...do you know how they found her? Or even how they found out about her existing? I mean, none of the Death Eaters would break a blood vow..."

"Malfoy's boy."

Rayne's lips tightened in a forced smile. "You'll have to introduce us," he remarked, sounding almost casual. "I'd love the opportunity to shake his hand...before I wring the little shit's neck."

Snape almost smiled back. "It would be my pleasure."

Chapter 19: The Torment

Draco slouched into The Leaky Cauldron, feeling emotionally drained. There were only a few people seated in the booths, none of whom bothered to look around as he closed the door behind him.

It was quiet, even the murmurs hushed, which was just what he was looking for.

He'd had enough of shouting and jeers to last him a lifetime, the somnambulistic atmosphere of the small pub so much more comfortable than both the claustrophobic courtroom and his isolated home.

The trial had been one of the hardest things he had ever had to do in his life and he knew his father would probably have cursed and beaten him down for disowning Voldemort, but that was why he had done it.

His father was not there to curse him or beat him or do or say anything to him and his beautiful mother wasn't there to smooth his hair and kiss his brow and tell him everything would be all right.

Because they were dead.

Rotting.

Gone.

Still.

Nothing had changed, despite everything he had done.

They hadn't come back.

They were still dead and gone.

On top of that, even vengeance didn't have the effect he had hoped.

He had disowned the Dark Lord his father had supported so passionately, he had brought the Witch who bore his son to justice, he had done it for his parents but he kept playing back the final moments of her trial in his mind.

It was haunting him.

Her face.

She was still chained in the chair at the fore of the court, her face white, her long hair pulled back from her face. Her dark eyes had scanned the packed courtroom and, somehow, she had found his eyes, out of the hundreds in the room.

Her head tilted slightly to one side, her lips had lifted in saddest, sweetest smile he had ever seen. Nodding to him alone, she closed her eyes briefly, then looked away from him as she was lead from the room.

She didn't react like so many of the prisoners did, screaming wildly or yelling last-minute words of loyalty to the Dark Lord. As she was condemned to life in Azkaban, jeers rising from the court, she had risen to her feet with such calm and dignity that a somewhat stunned silence had fallen.

When she had spoken, he knew the words had been for him.

"I forgive you."

Somehow, the revenge for the deaths of his parents, by having Voldemort's precious 'Lady' imprisoned, had completely backfired thanks to the pride and dignity of the witch, leaving him feeling worse than he ever had, wishing he had just gone along with his brief idea of suicide.

His eyes stinging once more, Draco cleared his throat as he stumbled towards the bar, grateful for the dim light that filtered through the building. He wanted to hide in the shadows, out of the way.

Rounding the edge of the bar into the gloomiest corner, only illuminated by a candle, he sat down on one of the empty stools and folding his arms on the bar, burying his face in his arms.

"Rough day?" An oddly-accented voice spoke from beside him.

Lifting his head reluctantly, Draco looked around at his neighbour, who was mulling over a butterbeer. He half-smiled at Malfoy, but it didn't reach his eyes, which were oddly familiar and as shadowed as Malfoy was sure his own eyes were.

Malfoy had never seen him before: he was tall and fairly well-built, although not as bulky as Crabbe or Goyle had been, with a messy mass of black hair, dark eyes and ears that stuck out from his head.

"You could say that." He replied, his voice rough with tears he needed to shed but couldn't. Forcing a smile, which faltered before it even reached his lips, he sighed heavily. "Things have been a little difficult around here."

"I can tell." The young man, who looked about the same age as him, said. "Want a drink or something? You look like you could use a pick-me-up." He gave Malfoy a persuasive look. "My treat."

"That's generous of you." Sitting up, Draco leaned back against the low back of the stool, staring up at the shelves above him, trying to stop his eyes stinging.

His neighbour shrugged. "No big." He waved Tom over. "You look like you could use something and I have all this money in my pockets, so why not?" Tom, wiping out a glass, approached.

"What can I get for you?"

The dark-haired youth looked at Draco. "Anything you want?"

"Whisky." Draco said. Tom studied him for a moment, as if to verify his age, then nodded. Malfoy sighed, watching as the small glass of amber liquid was brought to him. He wasn't a drinker, but damnit! He needed something.

"That bad, huh?" His new best friend gave him a sympathetic look as he knocked back the contents of the glass in one, blinking and panting. Whatever that stuff was, it was strong.

He blew out a breath, then asked. "Have you ever done something, something that seemed like a good idea at the time, but regretted it afterwards?"

"All the time."

"Involving a life-and-death situation?" His neighbour nodded again, taking a deep drink from his tankard. "It...it isn't my life-or-death, you see, so I think that's why its so hard." He shook his head, laughing bitterly. "I don't know why I'm even talking about it. I don't want to bother you with my ramblings."

The youth beside him studied him for a moment. "How about this - you tell me what bug's bitten you and I'll tell you what's biting me." Draco wondered if he looked as confused as he felt when the boy chuckled without humour. "Oh yeah...must find some magic metaphors..."

"That was a muggle metaphor?"

The youth shrugged. "Guess so."

"You're a muggle?" Somehow, today, that didn't seem to matter as much as Draco knew it should. Even if the boy was a muggle, he still was speaking to Draco in a way he had never been spoken to before.

He was speaking to him as an equal, as just another guy at a bar, someone to booze some troubles away with.

It was an odd feeling.

Most people derided him, especially lately. Before, they had cringed and simpered in front of him, fawning over him, thanks to his father's influence. His father hadn't shown favour in any way, showing a tolerance for his son, but that was all.

The only person who had treated him even remotely like this odd person was - and he started when he realised it - his mother.

She hadn't cared about what he had done or not done as a Death Eater. She simply appreciated that he was who he was. To her, he was someone that she could happily talk to, to be concerned about, to share the day's adventures with...

To find this...muggle arousing feelings of safety and being more than willing to listen to him...

It was definitely not what he expected, when he had wandered into the gloomy pub.

The boy smiled slightly at him. "Not exactly." He replied. "My dad was a wizard, my mom was a witch, but no one told me that I had any magic in me until last week, so, kinda made with the big surprise...not only was the guy I thought was my dad just a random drunk my mom married out of desperation, turns out both my parents are magic...things."

Draco laughed without amusement. "At least you have parents."

"Not right now, I don't." He put his tankard down, turning a little on his stool to look at Draco. "Look, You have issues. I have issues. How about we share and then drink a lot to forget and get a very bad headache tomorrow?"

Malfoy found himself smiling for the first time in days. "Well, the drinking sounds like a good idea to me." He waved Tom over again, requesting a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. Tom gave the boy next to him a dubious look. "He's with me."

Still dubious, Tom shuffled off down towards the cellar.

"So...where do we start with the sharing?" His neighbour finished his butterbeer, shoving his tankard away from him.

"Who are you?"

A lop-sided grin crossed the boy's face. "Well, I guess that's as good a place to start as any." He replied. "Xander."

"Interesting name." He remarked. "I'm Draco."

Xander snorted. "And you said my name was...interesting."

"I was actually being serious." Draco looked more than a little put-out. "Most people think my name is amusing, so it is a bit of a relief to find someone with a name as unusual as mine."

The dark-haired boy flashed that infectious lop-sided grin down at him again. "My bad." He said apologetically. "I'm guessing you've been in here before. Bar-guy looks like he knows you."

"I've passed through from time to time." Draco glanced around. "Normally, I would avoid an establishment as crass as this."

"Look at Mister I'm-too-good-for-the-neat-little-pub-but-I'll-drink-their-whisky-anyway." Xander snickered, giving Tom an appreciative smile as the bottle of whisky was placed on the bar in front of them.

Draco shot a look at him. "If I wasn't feeling so bloody depressed, I would have you for that."

"Sure." Xander turned dark brown eyes - which were almost black - to him, giving him what could only be classed as a puppy-dog look. "But then, who would poor Dwaco have to get dwunk with?"

"Are you sure you're completely sane?"

Xander chuckled. "That was never part of the deal, Draco. Depressed, yes. Wanting to be very drunk, yes. Sane, never even got a mention in the small print." He accepted the first glass of whisky, swirling the fluid. "So why are you in the drowning-of-spirits-in-spirits mood? That life-or-death thing?"

"Yeah." Studying his own drink, Draco laughed tightly. "You know, a year ago, it wouldn't even have bothered me, but now..."

"So what's the what?"

"Pardon?"

"What happened?" Xander rephrased his words. "Something to do with Big Bad Snakeman that everyone is so afraid of?"

Draco nodded wearily. "Isn't everything?" He took a sip of his drink, grimacing. "It's his fault that my parents are dead."

"He killed them?" Xander looked shocked.

"Not personally, but they were killed in the battle." Sighing, Draco put the glass down on the counter, watching the candle-light reflecting of the amber fluid. "I saw it happen...my mother..." He paused, a sad smile crossing his lips. "My mother was so beautiful..." Again he paused, pinched the bridge of his nose hard and sniffed, trying to fight back tears. "I...I keep remembering the last time I saw her...alive...she died in my arms...I could barely recognise her..."

"Oh God...I'm sorry..."

"You don't need to be."

Xander's expression shifted, but Draco didn't notice. "Yes, I do." The dark-haired boy murmured.

"I-I tried to save her..." Malfoy turned his glass around, fascinated by the glimmers of light reflected onto the wooden counter. "I...she was trapped...under rubble...I-I got rid of it, but..." He shook his head, blinking hard. "She was bleeding...didn't even know that I was there...I-I..." His hands moved blindly, as he remembered lifting her against his chest. "I held her...like this..." He touched his left shoulder. "Her...her head was here...I...I asked her to stay with me..." Tears were rapidly gathering in the corners of his eyes. "I...she...she was weak...and..." His hands fell into his lap. "She just left me...didn't even...no goodbye or anything...loved her so much...didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.."

Xander made an incoherent sound of sympathy in his throat, one hand squeezing Draco's shoulder.

The young wizard bowed his head, not wanting to show his weakness by crying, the silent tears ticklishly sliding down both sides of his nose, which had suddenly become unbearably runny.

"Buddy, don't worry about me seeing you crying." Xander said gently, his hand still reassuringly resting on Draco's shoulder. "I'm not gonna run to the press about it. Its okay to cry."

Draco laughed, a strange choked sound. "My father would kill me if he saw me acting like this. Probably beat me around the head with his stick..." He managed to say, clapping his mouth shut to prevent the escape of the miserable howl of grief he could feel building.

"You've got good reason." Xander gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Me, on the other hand...I'm sure that I've walked in on the set of some weird, magic TV show and all of this is set and props...I can't believe what I'm being told."

"Why?" The feeble squeak of a word was the only thing that Draco trusted himself to say.

"My mom...she apparently did something that kinda annoyed some people over here, some spells on my muggle dad that were illegal..." He paused, before adding - a little cautiously Draco noticed. "And...other stuff. They arrested her."

The blond boy nodded. "They're arresting a lot of people these days...don't want to risk Voldemort coming back, so they're grabbing anyone who even does the simplest of dark magic." He downed his drink, reaching for the bottle. "What?"

"You..." Xander was staring at him. "You said his name? I thought no one said his name around here."

"My father..." Pausing, Draco weighed up what he should say. Yes, he had already been tried, but he didn't want to lose his new drinking partner because of his father's connections. It was...nice to have someone to talk to. A random someone, who wasn't in it for the Malfoy name, someone who just wanted to talk and listen. "My father worked for him."

"Oh."

"Feel free to flee in terror." He drawled, almost sounding like his old self, before sighing. "Everyone else usually does."

"If that's the deal here, you should be the one doing the running." Xander studied him. "You worked for him too, didn't you?"

"Not by choice." Draco admitted, the first time he had done so. Even at his mockery of a trial, he had never mentioned the fact that his father had forced him to serve the Dark Lord. Probably the warm feeling the drink was causing. "It was seen as a family business. Father-son kind of thing." Pouring himself a fresh glass, he sighed again. "I agreed with some of the principals of what he was saying, but that bastard hurt my father a lot. I hated him for it."

Xander was very quiet for several minutes. He sipped his drink, his brows beetling together, as if he was thinking long and hard about something.

"What was he like?" He finally asked. "Was he as bad as everyone said?"

"If everyone says he's a sick, malicious, twisted bastard, then yes." Draco answered bitterly. "He's as bad, if not worse than that. Even with his loyal followers...he loved to torture them for the most trivial reasons."

"Suddenly very glad that I never met him." Xander went back to studying his half-full glass. "I'm guessing you were trying to get back at him, ergo the whole life-or-death dilemma."

"Good guess."

"Did you do it?"

Draco snorted. "I tried." He scowled at his glass. "I thought it would get everything out of my system - that I would feel better once I had done something that I knew would piss Voldemort off."

With a sweep of his hand, his full glass hurtled off the bar and smashed against the wall, glass tinkling onto the stone floor. Folding his arms on the counter, he buried his face in them again.

"Didn't fucking work, did it?" His voice was muffled. "I sent a decent witch, a goddamned innocent fucking witch, to Azkaban because I thought she was like him and she forgave me and now I feel worse than ever."

Xander's voice was tight. "Wh-what did you say?"

Bitter tears staining his face, Draco looked at him. "I thought, being the fucking arse that I am, that sending Voldemort's heir and his mother to Azkaban would be revenge against them for taking my parents from me..." His face was concealed by his arms again, as he started to weep, for the first time since his mother's death. "I was at her trial... saw her...her face. She was innocent... just like my mother..."

There was a long silence, broken only by Draco's raw sobs.

Xander, though, was staring down at the blond wizard. His mouth was hanging open and he shook his head, looking away from Draco, as if trying to comprehend what he had just heard.

"You didn't send the Heir..." His voice was shaking when he spoke, breaking the silence. "You just sent his mother there...because she was the only one they caught... they didn't realise that she was yelling to the Heir to run...to get help..."

"And she was fucking innocent." Draco spat, self-disgust etched on her face. "She...I sent her to Hell..." His face lifted fully from his crossed arms, when he realised what the boy next to him had said. "You what? How could you possibly know?"

Xander gazed at him, his expression saying that he was either going to punch Draco very very hard or start to cry equally hard. "How do you think I know, Draco?" He asked, his voice quiet.

Malfoy stared at him, wondering if the boy could be implying what he thought he was implying. "You..."

The boy's brows rose. "I...?"

"No...you can't be...you don't..." Draco stood up so quickly that his heavy stool fell over, crashing down on the floor, drawing several startled looks from further around the bar. "No..."

Xander released a sigh, then looked at his drink. "Sorry, Draco, buddy, but I can be and I do be and that nice "fucking innocent" witch you sent to Azkaban for the rest of her life just happens to be my mom."

Draco's already white face went several shades whiter, with a bit of grey and green thrown in for good measure. "Xander...you...you're saying that you..." He laughed, a little shrilly, breathless and hysterically. "You're Voldemort's Heir?"

"Yeah." Gazing across the bar, not even looking back at Draco, Xander wrapped his hand around the small glass in front of him. "I'm Snake Man's only living kid. Make with Whoo and a bit of the Hoo."

The blond wizard backed away from him. "But you...your father..."

"Is a bastard who hurt my mom more than anyone." Bleak brown eyes looked back at him wearily.

"He...hurt your mother?"

"Yeah." He gave the blond a look. "And stop backing away. I'm not about to kill you for hating him... God knows I hate him." He paused. "Or for what you did to my mom. I would have done the same, if I was in your shoes...but I am still thinking about hitting you, so don't come too close."

Draco was stunned. "You...you hate him? But you're his son!"

Xander lowered his head. "Why'd'you think I've been in hiding my whole life? Do you think mom was raising me away from him for no reason? Did you believe that she was going to teach me dark magic so I could be like the wizard who had hurt her so much?"

"A-Actually, yes."

Xander shook his head. "Wizards..." He muttered under his breath, then looked up at Draco. "I don't do Dark. In fact, I've been fighting Dark stuff for the last two and a half years. And I don't know a thing about magic apart from card tricks that my buddy at school taught me. I don't want to know either."

"She never taught you anything?" Draco's guilt was getting worse by the minute. He had assumed that the heir would be as power-crazy as the father, but here he was, as powerless as a squib. Xander shook his head. "But surely you have some abilities you want to use..."

"Nope. Mom hid them from me and even though I wanted them, ever since I was a kid, its no big deal now. I have his power. I can feel it, feel everything around me, but I don't need it. I don't want it." He studied the remnants of his drink. "All I want is to get my mom back."

"I-I..."

Xander raised hand with a sigh. "Don't go there." He said quietly. "I've been talking to you, remember? I saw you making with the guilt. I know you're sorry. You don't have to say it. It's all anyone has been saying lately."

Picking up his stool, Draco hesitantly sat back down beside Xander, although a little further away than he had before. "You're really his Heir?" Xander nodded. "You... I expected you to look...different..."

"That's the only reason I'm allowed to wander around here." The dark-haired youth murmured, a tired smile on his lips. "I look nothing like him. I look like my mom's side of the family, right down to her eyes. "

"Can you...are you a parselmouth?"

Xander made a hissing sound in response. Draco stared at him. "That's 'yes, you asshole' in Snake-ish." He elaborated.

"So why are you here?"

"To undo what you just did." Looking straight at Draco, Xander gave him a small, sad smile. Those dark eyes, combined with that quiet little smile, were the ones that had haunted him from the courtroom, and he finally believed that Xander was who he claimed. "At least me being Snake-guy's son'll have some uses."

"I want to help."

"Revenge?"

Draco nodded. "For my mother."

"Sounds good, but first," Xander gave him a measured look. "We have something to finish first..."

"We-we do?"

"We did agree to getting very drunk and having headaches, didn't we?" Xander started to pour another glass full, then noticed Draco's broken one on the floor. He looked at his tankard. "It works." He said, starting to pour from the bottle into the large, glass mug.

"You really want to get rat-arsed?"

Xander drew a deep breath and blew it out. "Look, Draco, I just found out exactly how my dad got my mom pregnant. I found out what he did to her and her family and her friends. I just want to be drunk enough so I can try to forget for a little while."

"Sounds ideal."

"You use the bottle. I'll use the cup thing."

Draco looked at the whisky bottle, which had been thrust into his hands, still a third full, then at the tankard, which was filled to the brim. "You really don't do things by halves, do you?"

"Hey, the Heir of Snakeman has no limit in budget." He clinked his tankard against the bottle. "Here's to forgetting."

"Here's to booze." Draco agreed, both of them downing a mouthful and grimacing.

"And what do you gentlemen think you're doing?" A voice asked from behind them.

***

She knew she had slept.

Or...

All right, she thought she had slept.

Maybe that was just a delusion...

Or maybe she had fainted again.

Cringing against the stone wall, the dark green slime soaking through the back of the ragged robes she was wearing, Cassandra's eyes darted around her prison again, a whimper of terror escaping her.

A rash of goosebumps rose on her skin, but she couldn't be sure if it was because of the icy draughts swirling through the bars of her cell, or because of the rising fear that was making the back of her neck prickle with unease.

He was here...

She could see his burning crimson eyes gleaming at her from the corner of the room, from beneath his hood.

He was standing there, motionless, his dark robes swaying in the wind, which whistled shrilly through cracks in the walls around her, the salty tang in the air almost reminding her trips to the sea side with her family so many years before.

Only, the scent of persistent death and blood hadn't been such a big part of the Blackpool summer trips.

Or the continuous moaning and wailing.

Exhaling a panicked breath, which appeared in a white puff of condensation, her blood-shot eyes scanned around, searching desperately for some way, any way at all, that she might be able to get past him, away from him.

How he had gotten into her cell past the Dementors, she didn't know, but he was there. He moved forward and she cringed back further, raising her arms over her head and sobbing.

"Leave me alone...leave me alone..."

"Ah, Cassandra, you know you shall never be free of me." His voice was the hiss she remembered so well. "You and your little boy, your Alexander are always mine. You know it to be true."

"No...no...no..." Repeating the words like a mantra, she pressed her eyes tightly shut as he drew closer.

She tried to force herself to remember that it was all just an illusion, just drawn out of a painful memory, but the moment that the memory touched her, she felt herself starting to shake, so hard that her teeth clattered together.

"So smooth..." Her face scrunched up, she pressed her upper arms over her ears to try and ignore his words, her hands thrust through her matted hair and twisting into it, her eyes pressed so tightly shut that ever tears could barely slip free. "Soft..."

Even with her ears covered, her memories whispered the same words.

The words he had said the first night he had violated her.

Everything felt so real.

Panting and crying out, Cassandra tried to break away, scrambling across the stone floor of the cell, her knees and hands scraped raw, and slamming hard against the metal bars that made up the opposite wall.

"Don't touch me!" She shrieked.

"You think that begging will stop me, you stupid little girl?"

Lucius Malfoy moved towards her and she cowered down, trying to make herself as small as possible. His hand caught her hair, as it had so many years ago and her head snapped up as he kicked her savagely across the face.

Slumping heavily on her hands, sobbing bitterly, Cassandra turned her face towards him in time to receive the second blow that she remembered so well, before she felt his hand thrust between her thighs and cruelly squeeze her private area.

"Hot little thing, aren't you, girl?" He growled. "I wonder if the Master will let me play when he's had his fill..." He touched her in a way that made her scream in pain and shame.

Whimpering, as she crashed back against the bars, bruises blossoming on her back, she started to rock back and forth. From the cells around her, she could hear the same and wondered what torments they were going through.

"Don't you worry about them, whore."

"Oh God..." Cassandra whimpered, scooting desperately across the floor, her hands shielding her face. "No...NO!" A pair of hands grabbed on arm, another pair taking the other, two more on her legs. "Get off me!"

"Feisty." The American accent drawled.

"Do what you like with her." She recognised the drunken slur of her husband's voice and kicked out, screaming frantically, but - even if it was just an illusion - they were still more powerful than her, as they had been thirteen years before.

Writhing on the cold stone floor, her body jerking and thrashing as her nightmarish memories rose to the surface one after the other in rapid succession, her throat quickly grew hoarse from screaming.

The violence of her reactions were causing her more damage than the real scenarios had, her body smashing against stone and metal with brutal force, as she tried to escape from the memories that were tormenting her.

Blood from cuts and scrapes on her arms, legs and face stained her pale skin, bruises lining her back and limbs, her face bruised and scratched by her own hands as she struggled to block out everything.

Her already-filthy, blood-streaked robes were getting more ragged by the second, as she scrambled here and there, desperately trying to get free, muttering and whispering to herself.

On the opposite side of the long corridor of cages, all of which held inmates at various levels of sanity, a small, shadowy figure watched the blonde witch thrashing and screaming in her cell.

Maybe it was considered an amusing joke by the Ministry to place her there, within his line of sight.

She didn't know he was there, obviously.

She wasn't aware of anything, but the memories.

Shifting as much as he could, the raw red scabs of his face moving in a frown, he wondered what could be causing her to react so savagely. Of course, there was always the minor affair of her abduction so many years before...

Clearly, her life in hiding hadn't been as pleasant as she expected.

Never had anyone in Azkaban been affected as violently as she had by the looming, forbidding forms of the Dementors. He knew it well, just by watching her, able to focus all his attention on her.

The Dementors barely affected him. They never had, not since he had overcome his mother's death, with the death of his treacherous father. There was nothing he feared, nothing he dreaded, no happy emotions left to suck from him.

The only emotions he had left were hate, frustration and boredom.

Sooner or later, he would be liberated, or he would be strong enough to escape, but until then, he had to tolerate entertaining himself by watching his fellow-prisoners go gradually insane, many of them connected to him in some way.

Once again, his gleaming, red eyes wandered back to the woman writhing on the floor of the opposite cell.

Maybe, he mused, she would be worthy of being a Dark Lady to him, if she wasn't completely insane by the time they were liberated.

Shifting again, the tattered scrap of blanket that covered him, agonising against the raw shell of his skin, he continued to watch her crying, Lord Voldemort and his Lady reunited, but for the bars between them.

***

"What did we tell you?"

It was almost like being in a class with McGonagall, Draco noted, staying where he had been ordered to, his back against the wall. There was the lecturing adult, looming over the recalcitrant youth.

Xander, or Alexander as it transpired he was called, sat on the end of his bed, staring down at the floor. "I just needed to take my mind off things." He replied quietly. "I don't want to have to think of my mom being in a place that's like Hell."

"Y-y-you should have asked us and we could h-have helped!" The more serious of the two men who had dragged the dark-haired boy and Draco up the one of the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron looked angry. "Wh-what if someone had learned who-who-who you are, while you were there?"

"Ripper," The other man, this one not wearing a suit, but a maroon shirt and black trousers, with a mass of curly, sandy hair laid a hand on the other's shoulder. "Leave off. Let me talk to him."

"Ethan..."

"Rupert, please."

With a sigh, the first man removed his glasses and started to clean them, waving the other one forward. The second approached the bed where Alexander was sitting, looking utterly dejected.

"Alex." Squatting down, he looked up at the boy.

"Xander." The boy replied.

The one called Ethan nodded. "Right, Xander. Can you do me a favour and listen to me to stop Giles whining?" His hands resting on his knees, Ethan sighed. His tone was persuasive, probably what a shrink would sound like. "Look, I know this is hard for you. It's hard for me as well."

"How can it be hard for you?" Tear-filled brown eyes lifted to him and the squatting man looked away, his own face crumpled in pain. "How can you possibly know what I'm going through?"

"I...I just know." He gritted out. Draco's eyes widened, recognising the expression on the man's face. It was the expression he had only ever seen on his father's face, when his mother had entered a room.

Apparently Xander didn't recognise it though.

"How?" He demanded, glaring at the sandy-haired man. "Gimme some back up to the words here. My mom is in the wizard's prison, probably going crazy and you..."

"I love her." It was little more than a whisper.

Alexander jerked back. "Wh-what?"

Ethan laughed tightly. "I love your mother." He answered.

"You...do?"

"I have done since we were at school together." He looked down at his hands, then back at Alexander. "If she wasn't married to that American bastard you call dad, I would have married her myself."

Alexander was staring at Ethan, a look of revelation on his face. "You...you were in Sunnydale..." He said, like a child who had finally understood a joke. "Sometimes when I came home and she was happy, she said it was because she'd been thinking of you...it was because you had visited, wasn't it?"

A tired smile crossed the man's face. "Or I had got in touch with the silly tart." He nodded. "Your mother is one of the most incredible witches in the world. She might not have huge amounts of power, but she has strength by the bucketload."

"But..." Alexander seemed hesitant to ask. "But will she be strong enough to get through being in Azkaban?" He swallowed hard, before continuing, his voice shaking. "I...I usually get feelings. Y'know... intuition...especially about important things but I-I haven't had any about mom..."

"Your mother is-is-is strong, Xander."

Ethan, though, had lowered his head. "Not for Azkaban, Ripper." He replied quietly, his voice as unsteady as Xander's. His green eyes rose to Giles'. "Voldemort made her trade her body for her family...then he killed them..."

"Bloody hell..." Giles and Malfoy both uttered the words.

"And there's a whole lot more fun of the not variety." Alexander said, looking up at Giles apologetically. "Dad...I mean, the guy I called dad...he used to beat her up...I-I think he raped her as well...and some of his friends hurt her too..." He looked down, picking the knee of his jeans. "She used to lock herself in the bathroom...I think that was her safe place."

On the far side of the room, Draco sank down against the wall, his legs unable to hold him upright any longer. He had sent a woman who had lived Hell every day straight to the Dementors.

Giles' was leaning heavily against the wooden dresser, staring at Alexander in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe it had been kept from him. "W-w-why didn't you tell us, Xander?" He asked. "We-we could have helped."

Alexander shook his head. "Mom wouldn't want that." He said quietly. "I used to beg her to call the cops, but she said she could handle it." He sighed. "After my real dad, I guess she thought she could handle anything..."

"She said something about one of Voldemort's boys trying to get her before she was pregnant too and the wizard that kidnapped her..." Ethan's green eyes darted to Draco, who was looking grey. "I think it might have been someone else..."

"No..." The blond wizard whispered. "It...it was probably my father." He lowered his head. "Xander, I'm sorry...as if sending her there wasn't bad enough...I'd never have done that to my own mother..."

Alexander made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You couldn't know, Draco."

"We have to get her out of there." Giles said determinedly, replacing his spectacles.

Ethan nodded. "Our meeting with the wizarding justice board is in half an hour." He said, after glancing at his watch. "We just have to wait for our last two witnesses to show up."

"I'm coming, too."

Ethan scowled at the boy, looking very much like he would happily tear the boy's head off and use it as a bowling ball. "You're the one that put her in there, you little prick and now, you want to get her out?"

"Ethan, don't." Alexander said quietly. "We need all the back-up we can get."

An uncomfortable silence fell, several minutes passing before there was a knock at the door.

"Who's there?"

"Snape."

Crossing the floor, Ethan opened the door, motioning for the Potions Teacher and his companion to enter, neither of them noticing the blond boy sitting on the floor near the door.

"Good to see you again, Sev. And you..."

The smaller robed figure wasn't paying attention to him. Instead, she had pushed her cowl down and was staring at Alexander, who stood as tall as, if not taller than, Snape, eyes wide.

"You're him, aren't you?" She said in a tremulous voice. "You're Alex."

Alexander nodded and immediately found himself with an armful of small, red-haired witch, who reminded him a whole lot of Willow. And what made it worse was that small, red-haired Willow-like was crying.

"Hey," Awkwardly patting her back, he looked down at her. "Don't cry! I'm not that bad, am I?" Ginny just sniffed and hugged him tightly, leaving Alexander with a very confused look on his face. "Uh...Ethan? What did I do?"

Ethan smiled. "She knows your mother, Xander." He explained, the girl clinging to the young man. "Ginny became almost a surrogate daughter to her, after your father abused her."

"After my dad abused my mom?"

"No, Xander." Malfoy spoke up quietly. "After your father abused her."

Snape and Ginny both spun around at his voice, staring at Draco in horror, the girl flinching against Alexander, who was looking down at her with sympathy and pain etched in his eyes.

"What is he doing here?" Snape's voice was ugly with fury.

"I asked him here." Alexander was the one to answer Snape's question. "And he's staying, okay? We have an arrangement to keep." That said, he turned his attention to the girl in his arms. "Um...hi down there..." Ginny looked up at him, her brown eyes large. "Yeah... hi..." He tried to smile, but it faltered. "Is…is he right? Did my…my father hurt you?"

Ginny nodded, lowering her head.

"Um…" He touched her on the head gently. "Yeah…girl-down-there…" Her eyes came back to him, rimmed with tears. "I…" He sighed, shaking his head. "I just kinda wanted to say sorry for what my dad did to you...I know it won't mean much, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry..."

Severus Snape was staring at the youth incredulously. "You are truly telling me that this boy is the son of You-Know-Who?" He directed the question to Ethan, who was smiling proudly at his Godson.

"Why does everyone have so much trouble believing I'm Snakeman's son?"

"You're nice to people." Ginny whispered. "Y-you didn't hurt me..."

Giles nodded. "You're a decent human being, Xander."

"You apologise for crimes that aren't yours." Snape added.

"You bought me a drink." All eyes went to Malfoy, who grinned apologetically with a helpless shrug. "Um...that was meant to stay inside my head, but it's a valid point. You-Know-Who was a stingy git."

Alexander shook his head and started to laugh. "And this is why we keep Draco Malfoy around." He said between chuckles. "To make sure we have laughing-at-totally-the-wrong-moment since we don't have Willow-babble."

"Willow-babble?" Snape looked dubious. "Is that some kind of narcotic substance?"

Both Giles and Alexander snorted with laughter.

"And that would be a big no." Alexander replied. "Willow is a friend, who babbles and makes a lot of accidental funnies, because she's nervous, ergo Willow-babble for laughs-at-bad-times. It's usually when we're in a easily-be-killed scenario."

"Could someone please translate whatever he just said?" Malfoy inquired.

"You wanna make me go Dark-Lord on you, Malfoy?" Draco paled and Alexander looked surprised, when Ginny immediately pulled back from him and Snape's jaw tightened. "Whoa! Whoa! Kidding!"

"That is really not a good thing to joke about." Severus said grimly.

Alexander looked at the girl who had just stepped away from him and closer to the creepy-looking Snape. The panic he had seen in her eyes had apparently finally brought home to him just how feared his father was.

"Uh..." Looking around, he shrugged. "So, what's the plan? When do we go and bust mom out of Azkaban?"

Ethan glanced at his watch again. "We could go down now. The Justice people have a room downstairs, if I remember right..."

"And we do what exactly? I walk in and say 'I am Alexander, son of Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin. You jailed my mother. Prepare to die.'? Something tells me that won't go down to well with the panel of judges."

"I would suggest missing out the 'Prepare to die' train of thought." Ethan said. "But other than that, what else can we do? We need to show them that you're nothing like him, tell them what we know...it might mean all of us being under veritaserum..."

"Huh?"

"Truth potion." Snape elaborated.

Alexander shrugged. "I can do that. I don't have anything to lie about." His eyes went from face to face around the room. "What about you guys? If you wanna back out, now would be the time to do it."

No one moved.

Not even Malfoy, despite suspicious looks from Snape and Ginny.

"Okay." Clapping his hands together, Alexander started towards the door. "Let's mount up and save my mom from the overgrown zombie-monk-happy-suckage-demon-guys." As he opened the door, he glanced back at Giles. "G-Man, do you think Buffy could kill them?"

"Dementors?"

"Well, she killed Death before..."

The Watcher looked pensive. "I would have to research it."

Alexander smiled broadly. "There's the Giles we all know and fear." He looked out into the Hall. "And nerves start kicking in right about now..."

"Don't worry, Xander, they can't do anything to you."

"Seeing as how I've never been in the wizard-world before?"

Ethan shook his head. "Seeing as if they try to lay a finger on a single fibre of your body, I'll tear their god-damned arms off and shove them up their arses." He smiled a strange, determined smile. "No one is taking you away from me or your mother, Alex, even if I have to rip them limb from limb to keep you safe."

"Force..." Alexander pulled a face. "Good...great...suddenly just walking in there and telling them to prepare to die is seeming like a good idea..."

Chapter 20: The Plea

Despite the absurd hour of the evening, nine o'clock at night, after all the offices had closed, the conference room in the lower floor of The Leaky Cauldron was packed with Ministry wizards and Aurors. A couple of Hogwarts teachers were also present, Professor McGonagall among them.

Word had come in from the outside that someone wanted to make a plea for the mother of the Heir of Voldemort.

Not only was that a rarity, but the fact that it had been backed-up and substantiated by Professor Flitwick, a teacher of Hogwarts, meant that it was taken seriously. For an experienced wizard like him to stand with the ones making the plea...

Benjamin Stone was actually worried.

He didn't want to be the one to admit it, but there was something going on here that was far beyond what he had imagined, when he had heard there was an Heir of the Dark Lord.

Part of him wished that the Dementors were still allowed to ply their kisses to the guilty. It would have taken away all the trouble of this additional trial. It would have saved energy and time.

Unfortunately, after an incident some years ago, when Bartemius Crouch Junior had been given the kiss, before he had come to a trial and testified, the Dementors' power was reduced to that which they held in Azkaban.

Stone tapped the tips of his forefingers together.

It would have been so much easier...

He shook his head wearily as he thought it.

The Head Auror was seated at the end of the long, rectangular conference table that stood opposite the door, half a dozen of his people sitting at his end, including Black and Wood, although he didn't know why he had allowed the two most...

Well, he wouldn't entirely call them dubious, but Black had a violent enmity with Severus Snape, the chief witness cited in the list of those supporting the plea, and Wood had been strangely distracted since they had capture Bones.

Sighing, he glanced around the room again. While it wasn't exactly a small room, it felt strangely enclosed and claustrophobic with the number of wizards and witches huddled against the walls.

At every sound from the hall, every person in the room went rigid, the communal intake of breath seeming to suck the air from the room, all eyes flicking to the door, only for the indrawn breath to be released when silence fell again.

Stone was convinced that, if he had tried to, he could have sliced through the atmosphere with a knife.

He had known that the thought of a Heir would trigger terror, but even the sound of what might be the Heir...

Only Voldemort had ever caused such a reaction.

It would be interesting to see what would happen once the little party to give the plea arrived.

Hanging torches were suspended over the table, illuminating it, while leaving most of the sidelines of the room in darkness, which made the whispers and rustles passing among the two dozen other witches and wizards seems much eerier.

The dark wooden panels that lined the bottom half of the wall shone in the flickering flames of the torches, empty picture frames hanging on the creamy strip of the upper walls, the residents of the frames exiled for the evening.

Leaning back in his seat, Stone scratched the thick scars on his right cheek.

He knew why the frames had been emptied.

Like many of the others in the room, part of him had a deep, uneasy suspicion that the person coming to make the plea for the mother would be none other than the Heir himself, which was why there were so many people from high ranks in the ladder of importance in the magical world present.

Had the pictures been filled, the residents could reveal the news to the outside world, before the Ministry even knew all the details.

He and the half dozen Aurors were supplemented by some of the more powerful wizards and witches from the Ministry, who were making it clear that they had their wands and weren't afraid to use them.

Even the Minister of Magic had decided to make an appearance.

Halfway down the table, Cornelius Fudge was seated.

Somehow, although Stone couldn't help wondering about that, the once-stout wizard had managed to keep a grip on his role as Minister of Magic throughout the chaos of the Dark Lord's return and his second fall.

He looked awful.

The weight had dropped from his body, leaving the impression of a rapidly deflated balloon, his face sallow and gaunt, his eyes flicking this way and that suspiciously, as if he expected everyone present of treachery.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to come out of his office, from what Stone had heard.

Apparently, he had become paranoid in the wake of the discovery that dozens of his loyal workers were, in fact, drones for the Dark Lord and even with Voldemort's defeat, he was still convinced that everyone was out to get him.

The blackly amusing part of that theory was that Voldemort had never given a damn about Fudge. He had known that the Minister of Magic was a bumbling imbecile and had thought it fitting that the wizard was the one in control.

Now, the fact that someone wanted to liberate the mother of the Heir of the Dark Lord had been enough to get him out of the office, albeit nervously, to make certain that Bones remained where she was.

They were simply waiting for the group, who were coming to plead for the witch.

The far end of the table was empty except for the tiny figure of Professor Flitwick, who was perched on a large pile of cushions on the chair. Normally, he was a cheerful little wizard, but not today.

He had never looked more serious: his mouth was a thin line, his forehead marred with a frown, his small hands gripping his wand, which was laid on the table in front of him, his eyes moving around the room as if daring them to challenge him.

Stone couldn't be sure if the white-haired Professor knew what was actually going to happen, or if he knew as much as the rest of them: that a group were coming to the aid of the Mother of the Heir and he was their voice of authority.

Professor Sprout was hovering near by. She seemed torn between sitting down with him, or staying out of the way. After all, Bones had been one of her first pupils, when she had been given the exalted role of Hufflepuff House Mistress.

A rap at the door made everyone jump.

Standing up, a twisting sensation in his stomach making him feel horribly nauseous, Stone cleared his throat and barked out. "Come in."

The door seemed to open in slow-motion, every single person in the room holding their breath. Stone's heart was beating faster than he believed it possible. It felt like it was going to tear right through his sternum and his stomach was still roiling.

The first person to enter the room was one he recognised, his mouth falling open. A face from his schooldays was definitely not what he had in mind, when he had agreed to hear the plea.

Tall and lanky, his curly, sandy hair a lot greyer than Stone remembered, the exiled Wizard looked around, muttering something back over his shoulder to whoever it was that was with him.

"R-Rayne?"

The wizard's eyes came back around, looking up to the head of the table. "Well, well, if it isn't little Benji Stone..." The tone in the man's voice wasn't the jovial one that the Auror remembered either. "Been a long time, mate..."

"What are you doing here?"

"Me? I'm here for the plea," Ethan Rayne smiled, but it was lacking in humour and warmth. "I'm the Leader of the few, the faithful, the band of brothers..."

"And a sister."

The female voice came from behind him and he seemed to take that as his cue to enter the room. There had never been quite such an odd combination of people in one place as far as Stone could remember.

Rayne was at the fore, clad in black trousers and a deep red shirt. He looked more of a muggle than a wizard, except for the wand stuck in the belt of his trousers. He was followed by another muggle-dressed man, who made Stone want to whimper.

"Giles."

"Stone."

"You know them?" Sirius Black hissed.

Stone nodded slightly. "School friends," he replied, his voice choked.

It had been nearly twenty-three years since he had seen either of the elder men, who had been his inspiration, before they had been thrown out of the school, Hogwarts, for experimentation with demons.

They had, despite their rebellious streaks, been exceptional students in their fields and he really didn't want to have to go face-to-face with them.

The next figure to appear made Black start to rise, a low growl sounding in his throat. Stone's hand on his shoulder pushed him back down, the Head Auror staring at Severus Snape, clad in his regulation black.

Stone felt sweat beading on his brow.

This wasn't a good sign.

A petite, red-haired female was next.

Virginia Weasley.

"Isn't that...?"

"Ginny?"

"Weasley...isn't...can't be..."

The whispers rushed around the observers.

If she had been a shock, that was nothing compared to the tall, slim, blonde man with the pale, pointed face who stepped behind her.

"Malfoy!" Wood and Black were both on their feet. The young Malfoy boy took a startled step back and he actually did look frightened, a hand on his shoulder from behind seeming to calm him.

Ethan took a step forward, hazel-green eyes flashing dangerously.

"Sit down, Dog-boy. You too, kid," he growled low in his throat, his eyes suggesting that any move they made would be very stupid. Giles' expression screamed the same warning without words. "The boy stands with us."

Shooting a malevolent glare at the two older wizards, Black sat back down. Wood, though, looked from one face to the other, then - to the confusion of Stone - he actually smiled at them.

"I knew you wouldn't give up on her."

"Wood!" Black snapped.

Wood cast a glance across the table at Black, whose handsome face was ugly with hate and anger. "Right, Black," he murmured, sitting down, looking towards the two older wizards at the door expectantly.

The sixth and final figure to enter the room was one of the oddest that any of the witches and wizards present had seen, and that was really saying a lot. Or at least his clothes were.

They were muggle clothes, but he was wearing at least half a dozen pieces on his upper body, in different lengths and colours.

Black hair flopped in loose strands over a high, smooth forehead, emphasising the young man's striking face, good-natured brown eyes looking around the room with apparent interest.

"Oh, you can all breathe again," he said, giving them a goofy half-grin. "Can't be good for you to hold you breath for that long."

It was like he had hit a glass sheet of tension with a hammer.

The silence crumbled away, as whispers were exchanged, looks passing between people, most centrally going to the dark-haired boy, who didn't seem aware of how... relaxed he appeared compared to his companions.

"So...you're all here for the plea thing, huh?"

A Yankee Muggle.

All right, Stone noted in the back of his mind, this was beyond bizarre.

The youth was talking, ignoring the pointed looks of Rayne and Giles.

"They told me I should tag along," he grinned affectionately at them. "I think they wanted someone who made them look kinda respectable and proper and hey! You don't get much more opposite that than me..."

A few people chuckled.

The boy certainly had a gift with lightening the atmosphere.

Although he looked exhausted, pale and drawn, he seemed to like the fact that he was making those around him smile, flashing that unassuming smile in the direction of the people who had laughed.

"Aren't you the boy who was seen at the mother's arrest?"

The smile on the young man's face wavered slightly, then he nodded. "You got me, Stone-guy," He pointed at the Auror. "And I gotta say you did a pretty good job in finding her, considering how she was hiding."

"And why, pray tell, have you been included in these proceedings?"

Brown eyes met Stone's, aged beyond their years, experience and pain weighed in equal measures in them. "I fight the Dark side," he replied simply. "It hurt my mom and my friends. I'm here because of them."

"You?" Black snorted. "A muggle?"

Those same clear eyes met Black's blue ones.

"Yes, me," the boy said. There was no malice or anger in his voice. "I help the Slayer." Hisses signified that at least a dozen people had drawn in a breath through their teeth. "I fight demons," he paused, then smiled a little. "Get knocked around a lot too..."

"The Slayer...you know the Slayer?" Stone's hand spread on the surface of the table, his eyes still on this odd boy.

"Met-slash-flirted with three of them. Buffy, Kendra and Faith," he looked like he was about to smile, but it faded. "Kinda wish I could do more to help them, but hey, I'm the zeppo..."

Stone had to fight to keep himself upright.

This boy...he knew the Slayer? And her successor and the one that followed?

It was absurd.

Utterly absurd.

A muggle, helping a Slayer.

Muggles weren't meant to know of her existence.

"You really know the Slayer?" Even Malfoy looked impressed.

"On a best-buddy level."

"Xander, would you please, shut up?" Giles hissed. "We're here for a reason."

The boy, Xander, if that was his name, grinned that infectious lop-sided grin again, his dark brown eyes twinkling, although there did seem to be something shadowing them. "Sure, G-Man."

Fanning out around the head of the opposite end of the table, Ethan Rayne took a seat beside Flitwick at the very end, making certain that the dark-haired boy was seated beside him.

Snape was just around the corner of the table from the muggle with Virginia Weasley by his side, looking white and nervous. Opposite them, Giles and Malfoy sat, looking equally nervous.

Slowly, Stone sat back down, mentally counting to ten.

This was a vast amount to deal with.

Not only was the Head of his House from school standing opposite him, but two of his mentors, someone he considered an ally, someone that he viewed as an enemy and the daughter of an old friend.

And the strange muggle boy who claimed to know the Slayer(s).

He couldn't say what it was about the boy, but the youth seemed to give off a wave of friendliness, despite looking utterly absurd. He seemed like the kind of young man that you could meet in any pub and chat with without even knowing who he was.

It went without saying that his nature was infectious.

For him to be the one to break the uncomfortable silence, to get people talking and moving and...well, yes, breathing.

There was something about him that made people feel comfortable.

Stone had met very few people who could win other witches and wizards over to them so easily, but this unassuming, cheerful, rumpled muggle boy seemed to just flow with generous, good energy.

Even though he had no idea who the muggle was, he found himself liking the boy.

He also knew that if there was anyone that a Slayer would be drawn to, it would be this boy. He...felt like the embodiment of goodness, so different from anything she probably fought and she would probably find peace in him.

"We had best get started."

"Yes," Rayne was the one to stand up, his voice shaking a little. "We're here to plead for the release of Cassandra Bones."

Stone tried to keep his expression neutral. "You are aware that she was found guilty of all the crimes she was accused of, Rayne?" he said, feeling sweat gathering on the smooth surface of the table beneath his warm palm.

"She was found guilty, but she wasn't guilty of any of it."

"She was a willing consort of the Dark Lord, Rayne. She bore him a child," Sirius Black growled. "She admitted it under the influence of polyjuice potion. You know that's a crime."

"It's a crime, unless there is a reason behind it."

"And what possible reason could she have other than getting power and being his favourite whore?"

"Why you filthy son of a fuc..." Rayne looked ready to leap across the table and grab Black around the neck, to strangle him with his bare hands, his eyes flashing, his face going scarlet with outrage.

"Ethan," Again, it was the muggle boy who spoke, one hand coming up and touching the fuming wizard on the arm. "Calm down," Brown eyes looked across at Black, who seemed to shrink back in his seat. "He doesn't know. None of them do. Losing your temper won't make it any easier."

"Alex..."

"Ethan," The boy looked up at him. "Please. Killing and maiming aren't of the good, even if he did insult her. I should know. I've seen it."

By the light of torches above him, his young face looked so worn and world-weary that even Stone found himself wishing that he could give the boy some kind of help for whatever was causing him to look so emotionally drained.

"Right," Ethan's word was more of a snarl.

"G-Man, can you take over?" Brown eyes moved to the opposite side of the table, where the other older wizard sat. "Something tells me Ethan isn't about to be Captain Sensible about this."

"I-I-I'm afraid I can't, Xander. He's the one who knows what exactly happened."

The youth sighed.

"What about you, creepy-black-wearing guy?" Snape looked startled that the boy had spoken to him. "Any chance you could shine some light on just why...uh...Bones, is it? Yeah, can you give us a reason why this...Bones should be released?"

"Hold on a moment," Stone nodded towards the goblets that were sitting in front of each of them. "Before you continue, perhaps you should take some veritaserum..."

"Still don't trust me, Stone?"

"Do you blame him, Snape?" Black's voice was bitter.

The muggle looked at Black, a strange expression in his eyes. "Something tells me you don't like our creepy-black-wearing guy much," he murmured. "Kinda reminds me of me and a dislike I had for someone...neither of you is a vampire with a soul, right? If you are...God, don't even make me go there."

"Vampire with a...soul?"

More than half the bemused eyes were on the boy.

"Oh, right, you probably don't know that kinda thing. My bad...so, creepy-black-wearing guy, anything you can give me to work with?" Stone cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah, after we drink the...hey, how do we know it's not poison so you can kill us all and not bother with this whole trial thing? You don't want the mother free, so it'd be a lot easier on..."

"Xander..."

"I give you my word that it isn't poison," Stone stated. "It's a refined version of the usual truth potion. You will remain coherent throughout the questioning and in full control of all of your faculties."

The muggle studied him. "Have you taken some? I mean, if we're telling the truth, its kinda only really fair if it's potion all round. And does it taste gross? I tend to get sick from gross tasting stuff..."

Malfoy's shaking laugh made the muggle look at him. "And you said I provided babble, Xander?"

"Shut up, Draco," A finger was pointed at the blond. "I've good reason to be nervous so I can babble if I want," It was said with a small, tired smile, though. "Don't make me go primeval on your white ass."

Draco Malfoy returned the smile with one of his own, which had never been seen before. It wasn't the standard and infamous Malfoy smirk. Instead, it was a quiet, genuine little smile. "Arse-bandit."

"Butt-monkey."

"Hard to believe that they're adults, isn't it?" Giles sighed, pushing the goblet in front of the muggle towards him. "Xander, we are rather short on time, so would you please refrain from insulting our allies and drink your potion."

"Yes, daddy G-Man."

"And refrain from calling me that. Ever."

Xander merely smiled, then drank down the contents of the goblet in front him, as Snape did the same. He pulled a face. "That tastes like cat pee!"

"Xan..."

A hand was raised and pointed around at the committee. "And don't even ask how I know what cat pee tastes like. It's a long and very unpleasant story I don't want to remember right now."

Again, despite the tension in the room, several people laughed behind their hands.

"So, Snape-guy was about to spill his guts...though not literally cos ew! Gut-spillage is definitely not something I would want to do as a hobby."

"Xander, would you please shut up for one moment?" The boy nodded, licking the inside of his mouth, as if trying to get rid of the taste of the potion. "Severus, can you tell us what you know of the mother of the Heir?"

"Yes," his voice was quiet and steady, but could be heard in the tight silence that had fallen. "Cassandra Bones was kidnapped along with twenty other witches of child-bearing age. Voldemort desired an Heir. He selected her to carry it for him."

Leaning on the arm of his chair, Stone's eyes narrowed. "Did she accept this task?"

"She did."

Black muttered something about a filthy whore, Rayne on his feet again, only to be hauled back down by the boy.

"Look, buddy," Xander looked across at Black. "Do you mind? We're trying to get the truth out and not piss off my God-father so he actually rips off your arms and legs in a temper tantrum, which I'm pretty sure he could do right now. Could you maybe, I dunno, be quiet?"

Black's lips thinned, his eyes flashing. "I only say what I see, boy."

"Were you there?"

"Er...pardon?"

Xander's gaze was on him and it was unwavering. "Were you there?" he repeated in that calm voice. "Did you see what happened?"

"Well...not exactly..."

"Okay," Xander looked around the room inquiringly. "Would anyone else like to join angry-guy here in the we-didn't-see-what-happened-but-we'll-put-the-witch-in-Azkaban-anyway club?"

The silence was frightening.

It hung in the air, looks exchanged warily.

Somehow, the boy had just pointed to a damn big hole in their legal system.

It seemed like an eternity before the boy spoke again.

"Go on, creepy-black-wearing guy."

"You need to ask him a question, Xander."

"Oh! Right...okay, Snape-guy, tell me this. Did Cassandra Bones want to carry the Heir of Voldemort?" Several people flinched and Xander rolled his eyes. "You guys, it's just a name."

Snape started speaking again. "She didn't want anything to do with it. She would have preferred death. He used her surviving family against her."

"He did what?" The Head Auror sat up a little straighter.

"In order to make Bones join into a union with him, Voldemort told her he would spare her family. She agreed to the trade. He had them killed anyway. She didn't find out until the Dark Lord fell."

"Good God..." Stone's face had bleached of all colour. He was about to ask why she hadn't mentioned it at the trial, when he remembered the dosage of truth potion she had been forced to ingest. Only direct answers had been allowed. She hadn't had a chance.

"You're saying that Cassandra Bones wasn't a Dark Sider?" The question from Black was directed at Snape, but the potion seemed to be having an affect on the young muggle as well.

"Well, duh! She hid for all the time that he was back. She never returned to his side, even when he could have given her power and glory."

Stone felt a prickle of hope. A flaw in their argument. "Snape, did Bones return to her Master?"

"It appeared so, but I was later told I was mistaken."

Stone's brow wrinkled. His eyes turned to Malfoy, who sighed, then picked up the goblet in front of him and drank. A moment later, as his chin dropped to his chest, Stone directed the question at him. "Malfoy, did you see Bones?"

"She returned to him a year after he returned. She went to his bed for one night, then left to raise the Heir."

The Auror gave them a triumphant look. "I'm afraid that ruins your arguments."

"The Hell it does..." Ethan whispered. The wizard's face had gone a sickly shade of grey-green and Stone saw Snape's eyes widen, as if he knew something about why the other wizard was acting thus.

"Ethan...?" Giles was the one to begin the question, looking as confused as Ginny, Flitwick and Xander.

"What have you done, my boy?" Flitwick whispered, staring at his former pupil. His face contorted as if he understood what was causing Ethan to look so unsteady. A small hand touched the tall wizard's arm. "Good God, Rayne..."

Snape shook his head at Rayne. "Ethan, you don't have to..."

"I do, Sev. We both know it," Rayne reached for the goblet and downed the potion, grimacing. He waited for a few minutes, then looked directly at Stone, his hand locked - white-knuckled - around the goblet. If he gripped it much harder, the metal stem would splinter. "All right... hit me... same questions... whatever you like... be prepared to grab a bucket..."

"Rayne, did Cassandra Bones return to her Master at any point in his second rise?"

"No."

"Can you explain how she was seen there?"

Green eyes closed in pain. "It was me."

"Good God..." Flitwick whispered again, his hand gripping Ethan's wrist, his own eyes closing in sympathy.

"What the fu...?" Black was silenced by a wave from Stone.

"What do you mean?"

Rayne's eyes slowly opened. He seemed oblivious to the shock and horror on the faces of those at the head of the table with him. "We brewed polyjuice potion and transfigured it into pill form. I took it and took her appearance, then went to him."

"Bloody hell..." Giles whispered.

Stone leaned forward, staring at the wizard. "You mean to say that in the form of Cassandra Bones, you went to Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Rayne stared back at him, in a way that said he thought Stone was deeply stupid for asking. "Cassie was terrified of seeing Voldemort again. We knew we had to stop him looking for her and the only way she could do that was to tell him herself."

"And you went as her."

"Again, yes."

"How did you convince him?"

"I..."

"Ethan, you don't need to say it," Snape cut in, reaching passed Xander to grab the wizard's other hand. Flitwick nodded, his face white. "It...it was enough that you had to do it."

Rayne smiled a tired smile. "It'll let them see what it was really like, Sev," he said quietly. "And in answer to your question, I let him use my borrowed form for sex as a test of my loyalty to him."

Several people gasped.

Someone retched wetly in the shadows.

Even Stone looked stunned and he had seen and dealt with a lot.

A mirthless smile spread on Ethan's face as he looked at Sirius Black. "I suppose you'll want to arrest me for being a consort of the Dark Lord now, eh?" Black's face was white as a sheet and he looked nauseous.

"How...?"

"Well, he had this bit that stuck up and I had a hole I don't normally have..."

Someone else immediately vomited at that image.

Xander touched Ethan on the arm. "Did...did mom know about that?" he asked. He looked as pale as Black did, staring up at the wizard with hero-worship and awe in his brown eyes. "Did she know what you did to save her?"

"She didn't have a clue about it, Xander."

"Mom...?" Stone came to his feet and it seemed that everything in the room had slowed down. His finger rose and pointed at the boy seated at the end of the table, between Snape and Rayne. "You!"

"Shit!"

Ethan's hand went to his wand, as he moved to step in front of the dark-haired boy, but Xander shook his head.

"No, Ethan," he said firmly, standing up. "It's time they know and if they want to blast me to pieces, let them." He spread his arms out. "I never got to introduce myself. Alexander LaVelle Harris, only son of Cassandra Bones and the one son and heir of Voldemort." His goofy grin was flashed at them. "Nice to meet you."

A stunned silence fell.

While Stone - and probably quite a few of the others - had been certain they would attack the heir on sight if they saw him, everyone seemed so utterly shocked by this revelation about the boy...

The goofy, happy, smiling, normal and utterly wonderful-for-the-soul boy...

Voldemort's Heir...

"You don't look like the photograph..." Stone said lamely.

Ethan released a sigh. "Do you honestly think Bones would be stupid enough to send a picture of the real Heir? This boy is the Heir of the Dark Lord and I should know, because I delivered him myself."

Giles, Malfoy and Snape were all on their feet at the sides of the table, along with the shell-shocked Flitwick, wands gripped in their hands, but not raised, in case anyone tried anything.

"Good Lord..."

The stunned silence was back.

"Uh...is this good or bad?"

Ethan didn't reply.

He had dropped heavily down in the chair, as if stunned that he had just revealed everything. His head was buried in his folded arms on the table and his thin shoulders were shaking. He was either crying hard or he had finally cracked and was laughing like a loony.

"You...you can't be..." Black whispered, shaking his head. "You...no..."

That seemed to be the general sentiment.

"He's under the power of veritaserum," a witch whispered from further into the room. "He can't be lying."

Xander, though, was distracted by Ethan. "Ethan? C'mon...don't cry!" He bent and wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders, hugging him. "What would mom say, you big baby? You want me to give you the puppy-dog-face? You know I can do it!"

That certainly wasn't what anyone had expected of the Heir.

Snake features, yes. A desire for world domination, yes. A sunny-faced young man who could light up a room with a smile and who tried to comfort people who were upset...definitely not...

Ethan lifted his face, tears streaked on his cheeks. "You are a bloody marvel," he rasped, hugging Xander fiercely as he came to his feet. "Now, if anyone has the knobblers to take a pot-shot at my God-son..."

"How can you guarantee he won't attack us?" Stone knew, he just knew by the boy's innate...goodness, that he wouldn't attack them, but he had to ask.

"One, no wand," Xander was the one who replied, Ethan's body half-shielding his one. "Two, kinda have an aversion to the whole magic thing. Makes me nauseous, so I leave it to people who know how to do it. Three, I don't like violence. Four, the whole working-with-the-Slayer-against-darkness thing."

"You...were serious?"

"Yup," Xander nodded. "Non-magic muggle-style helper of the Slayer present and correct...kinda figures why I get beat up a lot."

Then, someone laughed.

It was Wood.

And it wasn't just a quiet chuckle.

It was real, hysterical, full-throated, body-shaking belly-laugh.

"Good grief, this is priceless!" A few looks went to him, suggesting they thought he was utterly mad. "Don't you see...the Dark lord...he has an Heir...who is a completely normal kid! A normal squib kid..." He doubled over again, clutching his gut as if he were in pain. "A normal squib kid who fights the bloody dark side! A kid who fights what his own father creates!"

Someone else tried smother a chuckle, but it came out as a snort.

That broke them.

Laughter surged around the room, the sheer tension giving way the cathartic purge as they realised that Voldemort still believed his son was an evil little fiend who would take on his legacy.

"You know," Snape murmured. "I would pay good money to see Voldemort's face, when this news was broken to him..."

"You mean...he doesn't know?"

"Never seen the kid." Rayne affirmed, still keeping Xander shielded by his body.

Xander peered over Ethan's shoulder, brown eyes anxious. "So could I go and get my mom back now, since you kinda, y'know, sent her to jail for being abused and tormented by a raving psycho?"

"Absolutely not!" Cornelius Fudge's voice shrilled out.

"Aw, shite..." Wood groaned. "I hoped he might have died of the shock."

"I doubt it would make much difference," Snape muttered, raising a snicker from Ginny, who swatted his arm.

The Minister of Magic flashed an angry look at Snape. "Shut up, you traitor!" His wand came up, shaking slightly, and pointed at Ethan. "Stand aside!"

"I'll do no such bloody thing!"

"Stand aside or I'll curse you, by thunder!"

"Cornelius..."

"Back, Stone! He's the Heir of You-Know-Who! He can't be left alive!"

Ethan's eyes were flashing with anger and his hand was close to grabbing his wand, but he didn't see a pair of hands coming at him from behind, until he was pushed to one side with enough force to knock both him and Flitwick to the floor.

Xander moved forward to where his Godfather had been standing, his hands spread - empty - by his sides. "You got me," he said, calm. "I'm Snakeman's kid. I'm the one who could bring him back. Reign of terror, blah, blah, blah..."

"I should kill you!"

"Xander!" Draco lunged towards him.

He looked like he was prepared to leap in front of the Heir to defend him - which was, in itself, a very bizarre thing for a Malfoy to do, but he owed the younger man for what he had done to his mother - but something seemed to push him back.

The blond staggered, blinking. What the...?

The dark-haired boy was standing, calm as can be.

"You know what I was doing three nights ago?" he asked, as if oblivious to the wand levelled at his chest. His voice was calm, comforting. "I was standing beside a bomb, under my school, with an undead guy who could defuse it, while my friends were trying to seal the Hellmouth."

A few puzzled looks were exchanged.

Giles was listening and looking utterly bemused by what he was hearing. He had never heard this particular little tale, but he couldn't help wondering why Xander was telling a story when the Minister of Magic was liable to blow him to pieces.

"Xander, I would suggest..."

The boy looked over in the direction of Rupert Giles. "I'm okay, G-Man."

"Don't ever call me that."

Xander smiled a little, then turned his gaze back to the jittery Fudge. "Anyway, me, bomb, basement...it was about to go off..." The boy started to move towards the Minister. Every eye in the room was on him. "We had seconds...if we had run, neither of us would have made it out." He drew closer to Fudge. "He asked me if I was willing to die." He was an arm's length from the wizard, the tip of the wand touching the middle of his chest. "And I told him something..." His empty left hand rose and touched Fudge's shaking one that was gripping the wand, closing around it to hold it steady. "I told him..." He kept the tip of the wand pressed against his breastbone. "I told him I like the quiet."

"Xander, get back," Ethan had scrambled to his feet and was rapidly rounding the table towards the boy.

His other hand rose in the direction of Ethan.

"Don't worry," the boy said quietly, not taking his deep brown eyes from Fudge's wild ones. Ethan suddenly looked as if he was having trouble moving, a puzzled expression on his face. "I know what I'm doing."

"I should kill you, boy!" The muscles in Fudge's cheeks were twitching wildly, his hand still shaking around the wand he was holding. His frantic eyes were staring at the boy and he looked like he had completely lost the plot. Strangely, though, he didn't seem able to look away from the boy's tranquil face. "Filth like you! Polluting our world!"

Stone couldn't help feel a surge of anger at the insults the Minister of Magic was hurling at little more than a helpless boy. "Minister..."

"Don't start, Stone!" Wild eyes flashed dangerously in his direction. "This scum shouldn't be allowed to live! Its my duty to do away with him!"

Xander's lips lifted in a tired smile. "Not the first time I've heard that," he said quietly. "Go ahead..."

"Alex! NO!" Ginny Weasley shrieked, trying to grab him.

Xander glanced quickly over his shoulder at her and she immediately staggered back a couple of paces, straight into Snape's arms. Like Rayne and Malfoy, she seemed a little stunned by something.

Every eye was on the pair by the table.

Fudge's hand was shaking more than ever, despite being held by Xander's around the wand, his eyes bulging. "You..." his voice was shaking with a combination of confusion and fear. "You aren't afraid."

It was a flat statement.

That tired, but genuine smile crossed the boy's face again. "Like I said to Pete," he replied. "I like the quiet." He inclined his head. "It's up to you, sir. You do what you think is right."

"Minister...look at him..." Stone whispered.

Snape added his voice. "Do you think we would speak against you, if we believed he could do us harm?"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Fudge practically sobbed, his whole body shaking with the vehemence of the words.

"Back off, guys," Xander's voice was so soft it was barely even a whisper. His gaze was holding Fudge's, the hand closed around the Minister's loose enough for the older man to shrug it off. "This is his decision."

The Minister was staring at him, pale, wild-looking and frantic. His eyes darted to his hand, which was trembling against the boy's, then back to the passive brown eyes that were focused entirely on him, concerned.

"You-" Fudge's voice shook and he sounded like he was on the verge of breaking down. "You would let me kill you, boy? You would let me?"

"If it meant you freed my mom and believe that your world will be safe again, yes."

The loose skin of Fudge's cheeks was twitching. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind. His lower lip was quivering as he stared at the youth. He looked more like a scared little boy than the Minister of Magic.

When his voice slipped out, it was a tremulous treble.

"A-A-Avada..."

***

Shuddering against the back wall of the cell, Cassandra had given up completely.

Let them violate her, mind and body.

Let them break her.

She was hurting too much to fight them anymore.

Pressing up against the cold, slime-matted stone, the texture rough against her cheek, she mumbled to herself as she scraped slime free with her nails, which was slick on the skin of her face.

Every so often, she would nudge her temple hard against the stone. It made her head hurt briefly, a dark, black bruise spreading on her brow, but the pain made her forget, just for a minute.

Had anyone looked in on her, they would never have recognised her as the dignified witch she had been at her trial.

Long blonde hair hung like dirty, blood-matted string around a face that was marked with bruises and raw cuts, from her initial reaction to the Dementors. Her eyes seemed to have doubled in size, ringed in black and exhausted beyond any level that sleep could relieve.

Her robes that had been semi-intact when she had been ushered into the cell were little more than scraps, torn by twitching fingers and ripped by the witch's savage convulsions on the floor.

Her small feet and hands were bare, bruised and covered in open grazes that were coated with the filth of the walls and floor.

Her knees were bunched up against her chest and she shuddered as a gust of icy wind screamed through the cell, her slime-covered fingers coming up and jabbing at her bloody face randomly.

"Touched me...there...there...there..." she mumbled, giggling a little.

Her near-black eyes flicked to the far side of the cell, where he was standing. He always stood there, in his flapping robes, watching her, even when the others were the ones to hurt and violate her.

"Rude to stare..."

Did she actually say the words aloud?

She couldn't be sure.

Did she even think them or was it someone else?

It might have been him, but she wasn't certain.

Or maybe it was no one...or someone who wasn't there...

She choked on a half-sob, half-giggle.

Gone...here...all the same...

A ripple of dizziness washed over her, when she the robed figure of her guard move past the opening of the cell, leaving her unguarded for a moment. Had it been even a day or two earlier...

Two days?

Was that how long she had been here?

It felt like longer.

Maybe forever, but not quite a couple of days.

Cringing back against the wall, she rubbed her cheek against the stone, her hand crossing in front of her chest and slapping at the cold, damp slabs. She slapped harder and harder.

Something cracked and she whimpered.

It hurt!

Her hand was limp at the wrist and she stared at it.

"All broke...all broke..."

A clatter from the doors of her cell distracted her from the pain of her wrists and she slammed up against the wall, staring anywhere but the door, wondering if they had come to hurt her like everyone else. If she didn't look, they wouldn't get her. If she didn't look. If she didn't look.

A gasp escaped her as warmth seemed to flood the icy cell and her body.

Only one person ever elicited that reaction in her, but he...no...

"Yessssss," Voldemort hissed from his corner of her cell. "My son has come to me!"

"No!" Thrusting her limp hands into her hair, Cassandra shuddered as pain rocketed through her. "No! You won't take him! You won't! You won't!"

"Mom?"

Terrified eyes ducked away from the figure standing at the door of the cell. "Alex... go... leave... please..." she whispered, the ridges of brick in the wall cutting against her spine. "I don't want him to...no...no..."

"Mom, it's all right."

He stepped right into the cell.

Voldemort hissed with pleasure and moved towards him.

"NO!" Lunging to her feet, Cassandra threw herself at the Dark Lord with a wild scream of fury. She seemed to pass straight though his body - how odd! - and would have crashed against the bars when a gentle pair of hands caught her.

Suddenly, Voldemort was gone.

Warm, gentle arms were holding her.

This wasn't right...

In her nightmares, he was never so warm...so soft...

He was dead.

Dead at his father's hands...

Or living and cold, laughing, her blood on his fingers...

Yes, yes...that had to be it.

Any minute now, his hand would thrust through her chest and squeeze the life from her heart...

"Mom? Can you hear me mom?"

She tried to pull away. "You're not Alex...you're not...you can't be... " Yanking away, she scrambled back into her corner, cowering down, trying to make herself as small as possible.

"Mom," his voice sounded just like him. They usually didn't sound so painfully like her boy. "Mom, look at me."

"No...no...no..."

"Mom, please?"

The quiet desperation in those two words caught her.

Despite all her mental warnings not to look, to run, to stay away, her eyes rose.

"Oh God..."

It was Alexander.

"Oh God..."

He really was here...

"Alex..."

He nodded.

"Oh God...Alex..."

One of her hands - shaking, dirty and blood-stained - rose up towards him and she managed to give him a smile, before it felt like someone pulled a curtain of black down on her world.

Chapter 21: The Heir

Warm...

Warm and light...

Her eyes still pressed tightly shut, Cassandra didn't want to risk opening them, in case it wasn't real, in case she was still there, in case the red glow she saw through her lids was blood once again.

Her hands shook by her sides, touching whatever she was lying on.

Soft...

Warm, light and soft...

It had to be a dream: a cruel, evil dream that would slip from her grasp as soon as she dared to open her tightly closed eyes.

Shivers - and not from any cold - rapidly passed through her bruised and scored body, her aches and pains returning to her full force, as she fished around for more evidence of where she was.

Inhaling a nervous breath, she gasped.

Antiseptic.

Clean air.

No blood or salt or fear...

Hesitantly, biting down on her lower lip so hard that she could taste her own blood, she started to open one eye, squinting as clear, bright light, clean light flooded into her visual senses.

A shaking breath escaped her.

This wasn't there...it definitely wasn't there...

A high roof towered above her, clean and creamy in the light flooding in the windows above her...bed? She was in a bed? Turning her head slowly, she looked down at her body.

Yes...

She was in a bed, in a nightshirt, with sheets and blankets tucked up to her chest, where her horribly bruised and cut hands lay by her sides. Tears welled in her eyes as she recognised what was resting beside her right hand.

Despite the pain lancing through her limp wrist, she moved her hand until her shaking fingertips touched her son's head, where it was resting on his folded arms, on the edge of the mattress.

"A...lex..."

Sleepy brown eyes flickered opened and, yawning like a puppy would, he lifted his head. "Whu...?"

"A...lex..." she whispered, her dry lips beading with blood, wishing she could say more than that, lift her hand, move, hug him, jump around...anything!

His eyes turned to her face, widening. "Mom!" She felt her lips painfully rise in a smile, fighting down the dizziness and awful headache that was looming in on her. "I-I thought you were...oh God...mom..."

Despite the awkwardness of her position, he managed to wrap his arms around her and she could feel his hot tears against her throat and more than anything, she wanted to be able to lift her arms and return the embrace.

She just felt so tired, so utterly exhausted.

Tears stung in her eyes and she whispered, "My baby boy..."

"Oh God, mom..." He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, leaning over her, one of her feeble little hands resting between his, tears streaking his cheeks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Couldn't...loved you...too much..." Why did she feel so tired? So drained?

"I love you too, mom and Ethan...he's here...he told me everything...we got you out... you're safe now...you're gonna come home and were gonna take care of you and everything'll be fine."

Cassandra's eyes closed, too heavy for her to keep them open any longer. "I..." she whispered softly. "Know...love...you..."

She felt her son's lips brush her cheek, as she drifted back into somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness.

***

"That can't be good for you."

Blood-shot eyes peered over folded arms, Malfoy's face buried in the thick sleeves of his robes. "You're not my bloody father," he mumbled, lowering his face until all his features except his forehead and hair were hidden from sight.

"Malfoy," Giles said. "Come on."

One hand under Draco's elbow started to bring him to his feet, but he sulkily jerked his arm free and crossed them on the bar top again, burying his face. "You can't tell me what to do," he slurred. "Sod off."

Giles' eyes narrowed and had if who knew him had been there, they would have identified the expression as that of the one known as 'Ripper' and no one, especially not a pissed-as-a-newt young wizard, told Ripper what he couldn't do.

Fortunately for the wizard, The Leaky Cauldron was almost empty, only a couple of old wizards dotted here and there in the booths or at the tables, so what happened next went unseen for the most part.

Grabbing a handful of the back of Malfoy's collar in one hand and one of the boy's arms with the other, the older wizard frog-marched the protesting youth out of the back door of the Leaky Cauldron and into the yard.

Before he could cry out, Draco's head was plunged into the rain barrel that stood beside the door, the rush of cold suddenly washing away all the blurry warmth in his mind that half a bottle of vodka had provided him with.

He struggled futilely and was jerked back, his head erupting from the water. Panting and gasping, he struck out, only for those strangely strong arms to fend of his blows and take control of him again.

Spun around, the dizzy - and slightly sick-feeling - wizard stared at Giles as he was slammed back against the wall that lead into Diagon Alley, the expression on the older man's face more frightening than anything he had ever seen on his father.

That was really saying something as well.

Yes, Draco Malfoy had idolised his father, but he had also been terrified senseless of him: of the beatings he meted out; of the insults he landed on his son's head for not being nearly good enough; of everything about him.

To see an expression more terrifying than his father when he was angry...

His lip started to tremble and he felt cold suddenly, like all the blood in his body had been replaced with ice. Water was trickling down his face, his hair hanging over his eyes and his teeth started to chatter.

"Now listen to me, you little prick," Green eyes were fixed on his dangerously. "I might not be your arsehole of a father, but I do know what I'm talking about. I'm not letting you start down that road."

"And why should you give a fucking damn?" Frightened, cold and wet, Draco's words came out harsh and loud before he could stop them. "Why do you give a fucking damn what happens to me?" He shoved Giles' hands off his shoulders, his eyes burning. His words rapidly turned from angry statements to raw sobs. "I'm scum, remember? I was a fucking Death Eater! Why the hell would you care?"

He was slammed back up against the wall again, but a little less forcefully. "I give a damn because I've been where you are now, you little git," Giles' voice had softened a little, although it was still rough. "I won't let you go that way..."

One of the hands on his upper arms loosened and rose to lift the shaking youth's face up, making Draco's grey eyes meet green. Tears were burning their way down the young wizard's face and he was choking on harsh, wracking sobs.

If he was ever asked at a later date what he happened, Malfoy would say that he had no idea whatsoever.

One minute, he had been forcibly pinned against the wall, the next, he was crying like a bloody baby in the protective arms of the older wizard with the frightening eyes and the reassuring words.

His sobs choked him so much that he doubled over, fell to his knees and vomited the meagre fluid contents of his stomach on the cobbles of the yard. Giles went on one knee beside him and supported him, an arm around Draco's shoulder.

Bile and saliva dripping from his mouth, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed rusty nails and crushed glass, Draco stared wildly at the older wizard, his tears still stinging down his cheeks.

"I hate it..." he hacked out, slamming the heels of his hands against his forehead, his voice rising in pitch and intensity. "I HATE IT! I want to fucking forget! I don't want to remember! I want to forget my mum's face when she died! I want to forget my dad thrashing me because I was never damn well good enough for his perfect world! I want to forget!" Furious, grief-filled grey eyes flashed at Giles, as the young wizard threw himself at the older wizard. "I want to get pissed! I want to get so fucking pissed that I don't even remember my own name or him or THIS!" He ripped his sleeve back, baring the dark mark. "I want to forget!"

His fists were pounding against the older wizard's chest as he let all his anger, his misery and his all out frustration escape. Giles, for his part, let the boy beat against his chest for as long as he needed to then sag against him, crying.

As Draco's hysterical cries trailed off into muted whimpers, his body still shaking violently, Giles helped him unsteadily get to his feet, supporting the boy's body with his own.

He held the blond boy as protectively as he would any of his other surrogate children in Sunnydale, leading him back into the Leaky Cauldron and to one of the booths in the darker corners.

There, he let the boy pour forth his woes, then shared with him the experiences that he had learned in his youth, after failing his father, being expelled from Hogwarts and his involvement with the blackest of the black arts.

***

"Hi, Ethan," Alexander didn't even need to look up when a pair of callused hands came to rest on his shoulders, where he sat beside his mother's bed. They squeezed his shoulders briefly.

"How is she?" The wizard looked down at the horribly frail-looking woman in the bed before them. She had always been so tiny and delicate, but now, she looked more than a hundred times worse.

Her hollow face was as white as the wax of the candles that stood in brackets on the walls. Deep, dark purple hollows ringed beneath her eyes. Her lips were swollen and scabbed, scratches and bruises covering her delicate features.

From what he had heard from the witches on duty, the rest of her body was as bad, if not worse than her face. If her appearance was anything to go by, she was more dead than alive, but the older wizard wasn't about to admit to his God-son.

"She woke up again a while ago, but she was too tired," Alexander replied quietly, one of his hands lying over his mother's. His hushed voice still echoed off the high walls and roof of the ward, no matter how quietly he spoke.

They were in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and had been for the two days since Cassandra Bones had been granted a full pardon by the Aurors committee and Ministry of Magic.

Alexander - himself - had gone to Azkaban to retrieve her, Benjamin Stone his only companion on the journey, and they had immediately had her brought to the central magical hospital, where she had remained unconscious for nearly a full day.

Stone had been horrified at the sight of Bones, when the boy had emerged, carrying the limp body of his mother, his brown eyes grim. Only two days before, when she had been placed in the prison, she had seemed so...

He couldn't say what, but to see her after the Dementors had been given her...

Her life must have been horrific for her to react to them so badly.

Alexander hadn't explained.

He hadn't said anything until his mother was safely in a bed in the hospital, being treated by the best nurses available to the wizarding world.

There was silence in the ward now, the light of the sinking sun washing in through the high windows that rose to the Gothic ceiling, which towered high above them, the gargoyles and carvings eerily shadowed by candles and disappearing sunlight.

"Ethan," Alexander looked up at him. "I...I need to ask a big favour."

"What is it?" The seriousness in the boy's voice startled him.

Alexander looked back down at his mother's face. It was contorted in pain and she was whimpering, her head twitching from side-to-side spasmodically. "I need to go and see Stone," he said quietly. "Can you stay with mom until I get back?"

"You positive you don't want me to come with you?"

"Someone needs to be here in case she wakes up again," the boy said. "Could I...I don't have any over robes and I kinda don't want to be standing out..."

Ethan looked down at the robes he was wearing again. He had forgotten just how cold it was in England, but he immediately shrugged out of them and handed them to Alexander. "You take care, all right?"

"I always do," Alexander replied, pulling the robes on. "If mom asks where I am, tell her she can have three guesses."

Ethan almost smiled, as he slipped into the seat that his Godson had just vacated. "I think I can manage that."

It was only ten minutes after Alexander had left the ward - clad in the wizard's comfortable, thick travelling robes - that Ethan realised, with chagrin, that he had left his wand in the pocket of his robes.

"Good thing the boy doesn't know how to use it," he muttered, turning his attention back to his lover and taking her small hand between his.

***

"So you're still hanging about?"

Giles raised his eyes from the young man seated beside him to the older one standing just beside the booth, gazing down at them. The small red head was at his side, her arms around him. "Snape."

"Do you mind if we join you?"

Waving towards the opposite side of the table, Giles' smile was brittle. "How are you both?"

"We're okay," the girl said. "Please, how is Cassandra? Is she all right?"

The Watcher exhaled a sigh. "I'm afraid I-I-I don't really know," he replied. "As far as I am aware, she was still drifting in and out of consciousness. Xander and Ethan are still keeping watch over her."

"And dare we ask why you still have him with you?"

Malfoy's eyes rose defiantly, but there was a worn look about his pale face. "Sod off, you obnoxious bastard," he whispered, his voice rasping, looking back down at his tankard of butterbeer.

"We h-h-have been comparing notes," Giles' green eyes flashed in warning at the former Teacher. There was something in those eyes that suggested the man was more powerful than he looked. "And we have decided that both our f-fathers were pricks."

"Ah, now there is a topic I am familiar with. The wonder of fathers."

"N-n-n-n-no..." All men looked at the girl, who was pressing against Snape's side, her face white.

A look of horrified guilt shot across Snape's face. "By Merlin..." he breathed, his fingers threading through her hair and drawing her to him, his lips pressing against the top of her head. "Forgive me. It slipped my mind, dear one..."

"If I may..."

"NO."

Malfoy touched the startled Watcher on the arm, leaning up to whisper something to him, no doubt explaining the circumstances in which Ginny had been cursed with her last encounter with her father.

"Good god..."

"Sadly, he was absent that night," Snape murmured, gathering his lover in his arms.

Malfoy, however, was staring at his former House Master. "Why are you..." A black brow rose. "Oh!" His face twisted in horror, his eyes going from the Potions Master's face to the barely visible face of the girl in his arms. "Eurgh!"

"I believe that is what her brother said," Snape's eyes were focused on Ginny's bowed head, her small hands spread on his chest. "Dear one?" Brown eyes lifted to him, blinking tears back. "Are you all right?"

One of her arms slid up and around his neck, pulling him down. Burying her face in his throat, she wrapped her other arm around him, his own arms lifting her into his lap to cradle her.

"But you...her...that's just sick! You're old enough to be her bloody father!"

"V-V-V-Voldemort was o-older," Ginny stammered.

"Treble your age, at least, dear one."

The red head sniffed softly, curling comfortably against Snape's chest. "Pervy old bastard that he was," she whispered. "I like my men older than me...but not that old... and wrinkly...yuck..."

Her lover and the watcher both had to smile at the tone in her voice.

"That reminds me," Malfoy was staring at her as if he had just realised something or earth-shattering importance. "You were dead last time I checked. Why aren't you still dead? Was it just a temporary thing? Or did Snape raise you to be his zombie-love-muppet? I would believe in that more than in you miraculously being resurrected."

Ginny actually giggled. "Malfoy!"

"What? Like he wouldn't do that, Weasley," What looked like a genuine, albeit very hesitant smile came onto his lips. "I bet that is what he did, but he just didn't bother to tell you."

"Malfoy," Snape snarled, his eyes glittering.

"Uh..." The blond man drew back in his seat warily.

"Severus," a small hand brought his face around, his expression softening as soon as he met Ginny's eyes. "You're being horrible, scaring poor Malfoy like that."

"Ah, yes, dear one, but you must recall that is because it is what I do best."

Ginny's lips rose a little. "Not quite, Severus," she muttered. "But I'm sure that the thing you do best would also scare Malfoy out of his wits, if he ever had the chance to see you doing it."

Black eyes gleamed with amusement. "You really are quite the minx, you realise, dear one?" he remarked, before weaving his hand through her hair and pulling her mouth against his.

Malfoy blinked, then stared, then blinked and stared some more.

It was like a muggle car-wreck.

He couldn't seem to look away.

That is, until he was sure he saw a flash of a tongue.

"Giles, let me out! I think I'm going to be sick!"

Ginny and Snape broke out of the kiss and smirked.

Them?

Smirking?

In unison?

At him?

And looking more evil and wicked than he ever had when he smirked?

After being befriended by the Heir of the Dark Lord, having his head dunked in a rain barrel in the back yard of The Leaky Cauldron, being practically adopted by an ex-demon-worshipper before seeing his House Master stick his tongue in the mouth of one of the Weasleys, it really was turning out to be the most surreal week of Draco Malfoy's life.

***

Alexander stood at the doorway at the head of the hall, taking a slow breath. He had never felt more nervous or frightened in his life and it wasn't just because of those looming robed guards.

Dementors.

A shiver passed down his spine.

The wash of ice, the bitter gall, the surge nausea he felt when they neared made it painfully clear why his mother had been in such a condition when he had liberated her from the prison two days earlier.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Stone asked.

Alexander nodded.

His eyes roamed the grim hallway he was about to enter. He could hear the moans and whimpers already, his hands shaking by his sides, gusts of sea-scented air tossing his hair into tangled curls.

It looked like it should be deserted.

It looked like a ruin.

Cold, grey stone was everywhere, cracked flagstones lining the floor, puddles and mould staining them. Riddled with chinks, the wind whistled shrilly through the wall, the sound making him shudder again.

The only light in the hall came from tiny windows in the cell and two large, circular windows - with magically enhanced transparent shields instead of glass - high on the gables, allowing the weak moonlight to wash everything in a pale weird blue.

On either side of the long, narrow, dark hall, box-like cells stood, enclosed by thick, rusting bars. Each one contained a prisoner in a different state of sanity: some rocking in corners; some screaming hoarsely on the floor; some limp like vegetables.

A hollow banging caught his attention and he looked in the direction of the sound, immediately regretting it.

One of the prisoners was cracking his head rhythmically against the rusted metal of the bars.

He was mumbling, blood streaming down his face, a visible dent appearing in his already misshapen forehead. He pulled his head back and made it connect with the thick bar once more, hard.

There was a crunching sound, like someone hitting an over-ripe watermelon with a sledgehammer.

The prisoner went limp and slid bonelessly down the bar, leaving a smear of blood and brain tissue all the way down the column of metal. Slumping on the floor, an ooze of grey slipped from his cracked skull.

Bracing one hand against the crumbling doorframe, Alexander fought down a wave of nausea, closing his eyes.

"Alexander?"

"Wait outside," the boy whispered. "You don't need to deal with this. It's time for me to face him."

Stone nodded, relieved to be out. He stepped back, as the young man took his first uneasy steps into the hall, the scent of blood, urine, vomit and death overhanging the whole corridor.

Alexander tried not to look at what was happening in the cells.

He tried to tell himself that the people imprisoned were there for a reason, that they deserved whatever they got, that they had committed foul crimes against humanity and should suffer.

Bile rose in his throat, as he saw one of the prisoners out of the corner of his eye.

It was a young woman, probably only a few years older than he was. She was sitting on the floor in the middle of her cell, cross-legged, rocking feverishly as she yanked clump after clump of her hair out, her scalp torn and bleeding.

Pressing his lips together, Alexander continued down the hall, his footsteps sounding deafening to him, until he reached the final grim cell, several bars of which had been magically removed to provide an entry way.

Clearly, no one expected the prisoner to get up and walk out.

Stepping into the room, Alexander's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness around him, the only light and air provided by a narrow slit in the wall that was classed as a 'window'.

It was about four inches wide and a foot long, which meant the light was hazy at best, but especially because it was night.

Squinting around, he turned towards the darkest corner of the room when he heard someone whisper.

"Who are you, boy?"

The voice was soft, sibilant, dangerous.

Alexander felt a cold sweat prickling down his back, his stomach twisting into tight and painful knots. He looked for the owner of the voice, only seeing a small lump of what looked like blankets in the corner.

"V-Voldemort..." he stammered.

Somehow, now that he was here, he could understand just why the Dark Lord was so infamous. His hissing voice was so calm, so cool, so deadly that it made him feel that the owner feared nothing.

Even the feel of the room...

The wind was still shrieking around him, the chill making his ears and nose go red, but nothing could compare to the blood-freezing feeling that he felt settle in the pit of his stomach.

He wanted to turn, to run away, to be sick...all at once.

"I know who I am, boy," the voice murmured again. "Who are you, to be granted access to me?"

Shivering, pulling the thick robes around his body, the reassuring smell of Ethan lingering on them, Alexander swallowed hard, staring down at the bundle of ragged blankets in the corner.

Focussing his mind on snakes in any way, shape or slithery form, he answered, his voice shaking with fear, "I am Alexander Bones, only son of Cassandra Bones... Heir of Slytherin..."

His words escaped as a series of hisses and spits and he swallowed hard again, his fingers biting into the material of the robes around him that were doing nothing to keep out the cold.

There was a stunned silence.

Hardly surprising, Alexander thought, swallowing hard and repeatedly - it was the only thing he could do to stop himself being sick - Voldemort would hardly expect the Ministry to allow his Heir access.

It seemed like an eternity before the heap in the corner shifted, the fabric rustling.

"My Heir."

The two simple words were stated in a respite of the wind.

Alexander slowly nodded, wondering why he had felt the urge to come anyway.

Was he trying to make himself go nuts? Did he want to have a complete nervous breakdown? Did he want to be tormented by the fact that his father was a terrifying psychopath who looked strangely like a heap of blankets?

"They granted you access to me..." There was a hissing chuckle. "Foolssss..."

Alexander's teeth were clattering together noisily. Every single part of his body felt like it was shivering on it's own. His pushed his shaking hands into the deep pockets of the robes.

"You have reached maturity."

"Y-yes."

The blankets shifted and Alexander froze. Gleaming scarlet eyes were staring up at him from the darkness of the corner. Red eyes...if that wasn't enough to make him run in terror, he knew nothing was.

Only, legs-frozen-in-fear were making it a bit of a problem.

"You resemble your mother."

Mom...

"A great deal."

Oh God...

This was what his mom had dealt with.

Frightening voice, bad BAD feeling, evil...

"Do they know who you are, my Heir?"

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Alexander nodded. "Y-yes, sir." There was a rasping chuckle at his words. "They...the Minister...he wished to kill me."

"Dear Cornelius..." Voldemort whispered to himself. "You killed the bloated fool, no doubt..."

Alexander's hands clenched into fists in his pockets, his teeth grinding together. His father, his biological father, thought he - Alexander - would have killed a wizard for being afraid of him?

His fingers brushed against wood in his left pocket, his lips parting in surprise. A wand? How had he...

Alexander's eyes widened.

Ethan's wand.

"Tell me, my boy," his father whispered. "Can you feel the power? Do you desire to use it?"

My boy...

Mom called him that, but it had never sounded so...dirty when she said it, when he was curled in her arms.

Even the sound of those words on the Dark Lord's lips made him feel like he had to run and wash himself, scrub himself clean until he didn't feel so filthy.

Robert Harris called him that, too.

It aroused almost the same feelings of fear and disgust that the words had caused him when Voldemort had spoken them. Every time he was knocked down, or struck by his stepfather's fist, that was what Harris had called him.

My boy...

Only his mother ever said it with love.

Neither of the men he could call father made it feel that way.

It was almost as if he was an animal.

Owned.

Theirs.

"P-power?"

"Yes, boy, power."

A burning, sick feeling was settling over the icy lump in his stomach. Was that all this... thing cared about? Power? What about his mom? What about everything that she had gone through?

Clearing his throat, Alexander shakily asked, "What are...we going to do?"

"With your strength, my boy, I will rise once more," there was another hissing laugh, full of ice-hard mirth. It made gooseflesh rise on Alexander's skin. "They will see the folly of imprisoning me thus."

"You'll be strong because of me?" Alexander asked. He felt dizzy.

He couldn't let it all happen again. He couldn't let anyone else go through what his mother had. What the Mini-Willow had. What Creepy-black-wearing guy had. Even what Draco had.

"Yes, my boy...together..."

"We will rule the Galaxy as Father and Son..." Alexander's eyes closed, a mirthless smile crossing his lips at the thought of Star Wars. Voldemort was the incarnation of an even more evil Vader to his Skywalker.

"Yessss..." Voldemort breathed. His eerie red eyes were glittering. "My son, my blood, my Heir..."

Opening his eyes slowly, Alexander raised his head and smiled a forced smile.

"You're wrong..." he said.

The red eyes narrowed to slits. "What causes you to say this, my boy?"

Alexander withdrew the wand from his pocket, pointing it at the heap. "You are not my father," he said in a low voice, fear matched by loathing and disgust. "You were never my father."

***

"But I thought he was a squib."

Malfoy shook his head emphatically. "Not a chance, Professor," he said, unable to shake the habit of calling Snape Professor. "The first time I met him, he admitted he had power, but he didn't want it."

"He is a remarkable young man, powerless or not," Giles said.

The odd quartet were still sitting in the quiet booth in The Leaky Cauldron, enjoying the chance to talk to people who were on the same level as they were, without being judged for it.

A lantern stood in the middle of the table, its warm glow making the group seem almost...cosy, which would have struck any observers as rather bizarre, considering the membership of the group: a spy who was a Death Eater; a son of Death Eater who was a Death Eater; a wizard who had been expelled for experimentation with the Dark Arts and a witch who had been the Dark Lord's unfortunate consort.

"Didn't you wonder why I fell back in your lap at the plea?"

Snape gave his lover a look, a small smile lifting his lips as he said, "Dear one, in case it slipped your mind, you do that on a regular basis."

"Not that time, Severus," she swatted at his chest. "When I tried to stop him, something pushed me back when he looked at me. It wasn't a hard push, but just enough to throw me off-balance."

"Same here, Weasley," Malfoy said, after swallowing a mouthful of butterbeer. "It was like a hand against my chest had stopped me moving."

"Remarkable..."

Ginny was turning a tankard on the table, staring at the reflection of the lamp on the rim. "You know," her voice was shaking as she spoke. "When Fudge started to say Avada K-K-Kedavra, I-I really thought he was going to do it."

"As did we all," Giles had removed his glasses and was polishing them on his shirt, his brown furrowing.

"It was his lack of conviction when he said the words that saved the boy," Snape said. "Had he truly wished to kill him, Alexander would be dead now, considering that he said the full incantation..."

Giles closed his eyes for a moment. "I prefer not to imagine that," he said somewhat uncomfortably. "Although, quite how Xander actually managed to-to-to convince him to do otherwise..."

"Force of personality, Giles," Malfoy said, leaning back against the high back of the booth's seat. the back of his head rocked back against the dark wood, a sigh slipping past his lips. "The bloody great prat has a gift of making you like him."

"Y-y-you really think so?"

Draco lowered his chin and gave the watcher a look. "All people here who genuinely like Xander, raise a hand now," he said dryly. Four hands rose. "You think I stayed because of his spectacular taste in clothes?"

"I suppose he-he-he does have a way with people."

"Does he have anyone who dislikes him?"

Giles, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, his glasses dangling from his other fingers, smiled a little.

"His greatest enemy is the vampire with a soul that he mentioned at the plea," he replied. "Even when Angel was souled, Xander maintained that he was evil. He was proved right in the end."

"You would think he would feel more threatened by soulless vampires," Snape remarked dryly.

"You would..."

"Shit!"

Both Snape and Malfoy had uttered the curse, voices full of pain, suddenly grasping at their left forearms, agony etched on their faces.

The colour flooded from Malfoy's face as he pulled his knees up, hunching over his wrist. His right hand was locked around his forearm, his left twisted into a rigid-looking claw, his breathing ragged.

Snape looked just as bad, his lips peeled back from his clenched teeth, his right hand savagely pinning his left arm down on his thigh. His eyes were fixed on a spot beyond the table and he was shaking, although it was barely visible.

"S-Severus?" Ginny was staring down at his robed arm in horror.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod..." Malfoy was hoarsely whispering the words like a mantra, raising his eyes to the ceiling and blinking hard, tears of pain breaking from his grey eyes.

"What is it?" Giles demanded, grasping the boy's shoulders when he began to shake.

"The Dark Mark," Ginny whispered, staring at her lover's face in panic.

Malfoy seemed to slump first, gasping. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, his face still white, voice hoarse. "It...where did the pain go...?"

"I...it was never that bad before...never..." Snape muttered. He looked like he would collapse if he even tried to stand. Shaking fingers feverishly pried at the button of his cuff, his hand quivering. "Dear one...?"

Leaning forward, Ginny twisted the button open, looking up at him with clear fear in her eyes. Reluctantly, Snape pushed his sleeve up over his wrist, apprehensive of what he would find.

"Malfoy...?" Raising his eyes, he looked across at the younger man, who had jerked his own sleeve back from his arm.

Malfoy stared back at him, looking equally stunned. "It...how?"

"What is it?" Ginny's hand caught his, drawing his left arm towards her. She turned his arm over, her mouth falling open as she touched the pale skin. "Severus..." Her voice was shaking. "Your mark, Severus...your mark..."

"It's gone..." He was staring at the spot which had been marred for so many years by the hideous effigy of the skull and snake, as if could not believe what he was seeing, the skin bare and unmarred once more.

Malfoy's voice was shaking as hard as Ginny's. "What does it mean, Professor?"

For the first time in far too many years, Snape felt a broad, genuine smile breaking onto his lips. "It means," he said, savouring every single sweet syllable. "That Lord Voldemort is dead."

***

"Oh God!"

"Cassie?" Trying to stop his lover from thrashing her way off the bed, Ethan grabbed Cassandra's thin shoulders. Kneeling over her, one of the medi-witches running down the ward, he was holding her down on the mattress, as she writhed and cried out in pain. "Cassie!"

Her eyes snapped open as she arched up on the bed, her mouth opening in a silent scream of pain, her fingers hooking into the blankets beneath her with enough force to tear through them.

"Cassie, dammit! Don't you do this!"

Beneath him, Cassandra went limp, slumping on the bed.

Ethan sat back a little. "Blimey," he muttered, startled. "It worked..."

"What happened?" the medi-witch demanded, yanking him off the bed with more force than her four-foot-eight frame should have allowed.

"I-I don't know, luv. She just started screaming and thrashing about..."

The witch huffed, checking Cassandra's vital signs. "Oh! You're awake, dear!" she gasped, when Cassandra's dark eyes opened and stared up at her wildly. "Are you feeling all right?"

Cassandra's chin dipped in a nod, then an expression crossed her face that neither Ethan nor the other witch had expected to see.

A wide, delighted smile.

"He's...gone..." she whispered, her brown eyes shimmering with joy and relief, before her head sagged back on the fluffy white pillow, as she was pulled back in the grip of unconsciousness.

Considering the violence of the attack - or whatever it was that she had just had - it wouldn't surprise him if she had undone all the work that the medi-witches had put in to fix her torn body up.

She was far too familiar with unconsciousness at present.

He didn't like it at all.

"He's gone?" the witch asked, raising her brows, looking rather bemused. "What's she talking about? Her son?"

Ethan's face drained of colour.

Surely she didn't mean...

It couldn't be possible...could it?

He looked down at Cassandra and - more particularly - at the rather manic grin that was locked on her face, even now that she was unconsciousness.

"You-Know-Who..." he whispered. "You-Know-Who is dead."

***

"Are you finished here?"

Alexander started when Stone spoke. "Wh-what?"

"Are we finished here?" the Auror asked, studying the boy.

Alexander was leaning against the posts of the front gates of the fortress that was Azkaban, his left temple resting against the crumbling grey stone. His face was white, washed with cold blue in the moonlight.

From the front, Azkaban looked like the ideal setting for a muggle horror film, as some kind of lunatics asylum: grim, high walls; few tiny windows; spiked rooftop to prevent entrance from the air.

The moon was gleaming behind it, making the silhouette look all the more ominous and terrifying.

"Never let me go in there again," the boy said, his voice shaking. "If I had eaten, I would be sick right now..." His eyes opened and he looked up at Stone. "Can we get out of here?"

The haunted expression in the young man's glassy eyes would have broken the hardest heart in the world.

Extending a leather-gloved hand to the boy, which he accepted without hesitation, Stone hauled him upright.

Supporting Alexander with one arm around his waist, Stone's other kept a grip on his hand to be sure he didn't stumble, or fall on the way to the jetty where a small boat waited to take them back to the mainland.

They were sitting in the small cabin when the Auror finally decided to ask.

"Did you see him?"

"I did."

Alexander was sitting in the low bunk, opposite the door of the cabin, his eyes fixed on the wall that his feet were resting against, his arms folded over his robed chest, his hands tucked into the crooks of his arms for warmth.

"And?"

Bleak brown eyes looked at him.

"He was never my father," he replied.

The tone in those five words told Stone that the subject was firmly closed and that if he even thought about reopening it, he was liable to find his head mysteriously missing from his body.

Nodding, sitting at the table in the middle of the cabin, Stone looked down at the book he had been pretending to read since they had left Azkaban. His eyes flicked to Alexander once more.

The boy had returned his stare to the wall in front of his face, his eyes haunted.

Stone shook his head once, looking back to the book.

Turning it the right way up, he started to read it properly.

***

"Xander..."

"Don't, Ethan."

The wizard stared at his Godson in consternation as his heavy robes were thrust back into his hands. "I was just going to tell you that your mother had been asking for you," he said carefully. "She had an attack...she's taken a turn for the worst."

"W-worst?"

"She's weak, Xander...very weak."

They were in the hall just outside the ward and Ethan had emerged for a moment of fresh air, when Alexander had re-entered the hospital, his Godfather's robes slung over his arm as he walked purposefully up the stairs.

Ethan hadn't been able to find out where the boy had gone, although he knew it was somewhere with Benjamin Stone, nor had he really tried, but he hadn't really minded, as long as the boy got back safely.

"How weak?"

Ethan looked away, unable to answer.

"Oh God..." Alexander whispered, moving past Ethan, his eyes filling with tears, hurrying towards the tall twin doors.

"Xander," The boy paused, his hand on the gleaming brass doorknob. "He's gone."

Alexander didn't look around, but he did lower his head. "I know," he said quietly, his voice shaking. There was a moment of silence. "Ethan, if you can help it, don't do that priori incantatem spell thing you told me about, okay?"

Ethan, who had been folding his robes, looked up sharply, but the door of the ward was already swinging closed.

No bloody way...

***

"Mom."

"Alex," Cassandra managed to smile at him, as he sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted her hand up to press it against her cheek. "My baby boy..."

Tear-filled eyes stared at her, anguished. "Mom, Ethan says...he says you're getting worse," he whispered. "He says...you..." Alexander shook his head. "Mom, you have to be all right...he's gone...you can come home now...we'll be great..."

"We would...have been...perfect...happy..." she breathed, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear her. Her pale lips lifted slightly. "At least...you're safe..."

"Mom..."

"Alex...I love you..."

"No, mom...you don't say that...you don't..." He sounded like he wanted to shout it at her, shake her and scream the words, but he didn't. His voice trembled, tears breaking from his eyes. "I love you means good bye...you can't say good bye...you can't... please, mom...please..."

"I have...no choice...Alex..." She felt hot warmth on her own cheeks, her throat almost closing up. "I've had you...so long...we've been blessed..."

"But things are better now!"

"Yes...you can go out...in the world...no more danger..." With the lightest of touches, she drew him down to her where she lay, his burning face burying in her thick golden hair, her arms sliding around him. "I'm clean...at last...he no longer...holds me..."

"I don't want you to go, mom...please...don't..."

"I've had you...nineteen years..." she whispered, her fingers stroking through his hair, her arms barely able to hold on to him any longer. "I've had more...love than... any mother could...deserve..."

"You're strong, mom...you'll be okay..."

"Alex, please..."

She felt him shudder with a muffled sob. "I know..." he whispered. "But I don't want it to happen..."

"I love you..."

"I love you too...but...mom, please..." His voice choked off and she felt the hot warmth of his tears on her throat, her own eyes pressing shut in despair as tears leaked down her pale cheeks.

Her words grew fainter. "Forgive me...Alex..."

"For what?"

Her hands were slipping limply down his shoulders, but he caught one, holding it to his face, her fingertips weakly stroking loose curls back from his cheeks. "For leaving you..." She drew a slow breath. "For loving you...too much...and leaving you..."

"I do, mom...I do..." He pressed his cheek against her palm, squeezing his eyes shut, his throat raw and burning. "I love you, mom...I love you..."

Her fingers slipped from his grasp, her small hand falling limply down on the bed.

"Mom?" Alexander whispered, staring at her, one trembling hand touching her shoulder. She had a small smile on her lips. "Mom?" Shaking her gently, he shook his head. "No...mom...not yet...not yet..."

Cassandra Bones continued to gaze sightlessly at him, a peaceful smile on her face.

"No..." Alexander whispered brokenly. "No...no..."

Pulling his mother's body to him, he buried his face in her shoulder, tears streaming down his face.

"Mommy..."

***

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here for a few days?"

Alexander, sitting on the end of the bed in his room in the Leaky Cauldron, looked up at the older man. There was such grief and sorrow in his blood-shot eyes that Giles flinched. "I just want to go home," he said, his voice harsh from weeping.

Giles nodded once. "I thought you might want that."

He was standing at the door of the room, less than three paces from the bed where Alexander sat, one hand on the handle, torn between going to his young charge's side or letting him grieve alone.

"Why did it happen?" the young man asked. He didn't sound bitter, but more hurt and confused by it all. "My mom never did anything to hurt anyone...why did she have to die?"

"Sometimes these things happen, Xander."

Eyes the colour of dark chocolate, filled with tears, lifted to him. "But why?" It was the plaintive question of a frightened little boy, who wanted nothing more than to be taken in his mother's arms and rocked to sleep.

"Xander..."

Giles wished he had an answer for him. He wished he could comfort the boy with meaningless words. He wished Ethan was present to help him, but his old friend had completely shattered with the news of Cassandra's death.

The funeral had happened that morning, a private, quiet affair. Only the group who had been making the plea for her release, along with Stone and Wood, had been in attendance as she was laid to rest with her family.

Unfortunately, word had leaked out once again and the press were on the alert.

A hesitant tap at the door made both men jolt, Giles opening it a fraction to look out into the hall in case yet another reporter was lurking about, trying to get an interview with the 'Heir'.

He had beaten the crap out of three already.

"M-Mr. Giles."

"Miss Weasley...what are you doing here?"

The petite red-haired girl slipped into the room. "I-I want to..." she trailed off at the sight of Alexander, sitting morosely on the bed, his eyes fixed on the floor between his feet. "Alexander..."

"Mini-Willow," he whispered, raising his eyes from the floor. A hand rose towards her and she crossed to the bed in three paces, sliding into his lap and wrapping her arms around him as he let the sobs come.

As he eased out of the door of the room, Giles felt a sad smile reach his lips at the sight of them: the grown son of the late Bones and the young woman who had almost become a daughter to her.

It was fitting that they comfort one another.

***

"It was a privilege to meet you, Harris," Stone was the Leader of the small group standing on the front step of the Leaky Cauldron. He shook the dark-haired boy's hand. "Even if it was under such tragic circumstances."

Alexander smiled, but it didn't reach his red-rimmed eyes. "Yeah," he said, his voice rasping. "At least mom...she's at peace now."

Alongside Stone, Snape stood with his arm around Ginny Weasley's shoulders, also accompanied by Draco Malfoy. Each of them had already stepped forward to say their goodbyes to the unfortunate Heir.

"Cab's here, Xander," Ethan said quietly.

He had disappeared immediately after the funeral of Cassandra, the previous day, only to be found in the darkest corner of the Leaky Cauldron, drunk out of his mind and sobbing brokenly.

Snape had taken the duty of comforting him, while Ginny had gone to Alexander.

When the boy and his Godfather had been reunited, several hours later, they hadn't needed to say any words, the older man pulling his Godson into his arms and just holding him in the way that both of them knew a father should.

They weren't certain what they were going to do when they got back to Sunnydale, especially with Ethan's connections to the Underworld and Alexander's connection with the people who fought the same underworld.

No matter what happened, they knew they could always rely on one another in a way that they had never been able to rely on anyone before. Despite the lack of blood-ties, Alexander finally felt that he truly had a father.

"Could...could I speak to Stone?" the boy asked quietly, as Ethan and Giles loaded their few bags into the taxi and climbed in, waiting for the boy.

"Take your time."

The rest of the group moved away, Alexander leaning against the cab roof, studying his hand which was clenched in a fist against the black metal. "I wanted to thank you for your help," he said, his voice low. "For taking me to Azkaban."

"I owed you," Stone replied. "I wish I could have done more."

"You did more than you know."

There was a long silence, during which the boy unclenched his fist and examined his fingertips as they pressed against the roof.

"Voldemort is dead."

Stone flinched as if he had been struck at the name. "Wh-what?"

"Voldemort is dead."

"How do you know?"

Alexander tilted his head, his eyes meeting the Auror's. "I know," he said simply.

The older man stared at him for a long moment. "Don't answer anything," he said quietly. "But you're not a squib, are you?" Brown eyes gazed at him. "And you had a wand with you?" Alexander looked down.

"Everyone said he was indestructible," the boy said, his fingertips tracing a circle on the roof of the cab.

The Auror was staring at him, stunned and delighted in equal measures. Although, it did make him wonder about Voldemort's claim of invincibility. "How do you think it happened, then, Alex?"

"He had never been hit by the curse directly. Ethan told me. Always hit him on the rebound," the reply came, quiet and shaking. "I guess...I guess he...maybe he was... hit with it directly..."

"Yes...yes, that must be it..." Stone couldn't think of anything else to say.

"If you want to arrest me now..."

"Foolish boy," the Auror growled, grabbing the youth by the shoulders and jerking him to his chest in a hard, tight embrace. Alexander returned the brief embrace. "You go home. Live a long, peaceful life."

Their eyes met and Alexander nodded.

"Thank you," he said.

"No," Stone answered, holding the boy's eyes. He had never been more sincere about anything in his life. "Thank you."

The boy climbed into the cab, sitting in the gap between the two older wizards. He glanced up at Stone once more, as the scarred Auror gave him a nod, then slammed the door of the muggle vehicle.

"Where to, mate?" the driver asked.

"Heathrow airport," Giles answered.

Alexander gazed down at his hands. His voice was quiet.

"Home."

~Fin~