The Heir Of Voldemort

By Fyre

Summary: Voldemort chooses a witch to carry his Heir, then 'dies'. The witch is left with his child - Alexander - and a friend, Ethan Rayne, to help her get through it.

Notes: I thought I better add notes in here to inform any unsuspecting readers that this is a quazi-crossover, but more HP-centric and fairly dark. It begins shortly before Harry Potter is born and continues right through until a year after book seven is set to finish - 1980-1999, so whatever spoilers they are, they are all seven books and first three seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, by implication.

Chapter 1: The Need

"That one."

Lucius Malfoy followed the long, thin white finger of his powerful Master with his pale, grey eyes, mentally raising an eyebrow. Although he knew he would regret the words, he said them nonetheless. "Master, she is...unsuitable."

"And your reason for saying this?"

"She does not support our causes."

Voldemort's gleaming eyes turned to his masked aide with enough disapproval to make the pale-faced man flinch back. "Still, she will suffice." He looked back to the groups of prisoners huddled together, halfway up the dungeon.

He and his Death Eaters were gathered in the dungeons of Malfoy's manor, the walls dark and dry stone, stained with generations worth of muggle blood. Flickering torches balanced in brackets along the walls, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the walls.

And across the young witches who were being held, unarmed and bound, before him.

Most of them were sobbing, some sinking to their knees, unable to hold themselves upright any longer. All of them were in the age range between eighteen and thirty, he noted with quiet approval, perfect breeding age.

The one he would have selected, one he had often spotted in Dumbledore's protection, was notably absent and apparently married, carrying her first brat. True, she had been a muggle-born, but such power and beauty in one form.

A sneer curved his lip upwards.

It made no difference now.

He would take the consort and she would provide him with an heir strong enough to resurrect him, should anything happen to him, or even take his place, lest he - he laughed as he thought it - be defeated.

His scarlet eyes fixed on the young Witch he had singled out.

She was the only one of the group who was not weeping. Considering she had been captured by Death Eaters and knew her fate was liable to be one of torment and death, she seemed to be taking it remarkably well.

Petite in height, probably around five feet tall, she was slender, but not too thin, with enough gentle curves to make it clear that she was all woman.

Dark gold hair hung lankly around her face, slightly wavy. Her features, though streaked with dirt and bruised from the struggle she had no doubt put up, were striking, dark brown eyes visible, staring straight ahead of her.

With high cheekbones, a straight nose and full lips, her face was one of those unforgettable ones. She held her head up proudly, determined not to show her fear, despite the fact that her slim hands were shaking furiously.

"Bring her forward." Voldemort's voice was quiet, but it was still audible over the frantic wailing of the other young witches. A terrified silence fell as Lucius moved forward, his oily-looking black cloak rippling around him, a grim-looking black mask obscuring his face.

Grabbing the young witch's upper arm, he felt her wince and grinned cruelly, yanking her towards his Master. She had been the main trouble- maker of all the group that had been captured, fighting bare-handed, when her wand had been snatched.

Her robes torn, flashes of creamy, blood-streaked skin exposed between the rips, she was savagely thrown to her knees in front of the Dark Lord who sat proudly on his elaborately, snake-engraved throne.

"She is a pretty one, wouldn't you say, Lucius?" Voldemort murmured, regarding her.

The witch's eyes darted sideways to the masked man at her side, then away quickly, but Voldemort did not miss the small motion. So she was trying to learn who his Death Eaters were, hmm? Intriguing.

"Good looks don't mean she'll provide you with an heir, Master."

Voldemort smiled slightly. A ripple of unease went around the room. "And yet, look at the one you coupled with, my dear Lucius." He said quietly. "Beauty is there, but it is only skin deep when it comes to power. Look at me, for example." Malfoy swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at the snake-like face of Voldemort. "Would you think I was powerless, because I am not...physically attractive? Remember, if you will, that I know when power is present and will choose accordingly."

"I understand your point, Master." Malfoy hurriedly acquiesced. Murmurs of agreement came from the other Death Eaters lining the dungeon-like room. "But this one... she caused trouble when we captured her."

"Indeed."

Malfoy tried to find some other reasoning, but his Master had risen to his feet, stepping down from the small dais, upon which, his throne sat. The young witch went rigid, her hands balling in fists as Voldemort circled her.

Withdrawing his wand from his swirling black robes, the dark wizard touched it to the witch's tattered garb and muttered a spell. The seams split and the fabric slithered down her body to puddle on the stone floor, a rush of cold air on her bare skin making her gasp.

Several of the Death Eaters laughed aloud as the young witch crouched down, trying to conceal her nakedness from them with scraps of material, shivering from the cold of the dark walls and cells around them.

"Silence." Voldemort breathed, turning his fierce eyes upon them. "Leave us."

Hurriedly gathering up the remainder of the now-hysterical young witches, the Death Eaters dragged them kicking and screaming frantically out of the dungeon, to a fate that could only be as bad as, if not worse than that of the golden haired young woman who had captured the Dark Lord's interest.

Huddled on her knees among the fragments of her robes like a wild animal in it's nest, the witch raised dark eyes to him, her arms folded over her chest and pressing against her knees, her long hair shadowing her features.

"What do you want with me?" She rasped, her throat dry from thirst and fear.

"Want, my dear?" He came closer to her, squatting to look her in the eyes. "I want you."

She stared at him. "Kill me." Her voice was low, no fear there.

"I beg your pardon." He seemed amused.

"Kill me. Have done with it." She spat in his face. "I won't be yours."

Voldemort's brow rose. "Spirited, yet suicidal." A thin fingertip wiped the saliva from his cheek carelessly. "An interesting combination, pretty one." He examined the substance on his fingertip with casual interest. "You have yet to hear my terms."

"Terms?"

"Yes," He stood up, offering her a hand. She stared bitterly at it and he shrugged, returning to sit on his throne. "This is the rather fascinating and irritating fact about witches, you see. A witch cannot conceive a child, unless she joins in a union of her own will. A witch can not be forcibly impregnated."

"In that case," Her voice was raw with anger. "You're out of luck. I'm not letting you touch me."

The flickering flames caused dark silhouettes to flit across the Dark Lord's emotionless, stoic face. Slowly, his lips started to rise and the witch recoiled, his visage looking positively demonic in origin. "I think you might, pretty one." He whispered, barely audible over the crackle of the torches.

"Even if you cast the imperio curse on me..." Her voice was shaking as much as her body was, her face white. "That wouldn't be free will."

"As I said, pretty one, there are terms."

"Nothing could make me take you to my bed."

"Not even the lives of your family?" There was a cruel edge of amusement in his voice.

If it were possible, the witch's already white face paled even more, a shaking hand coming to her mouth. "Oh God..." Tears had filled the dark brown eyes, but it had no effect on the Dark Lord, who merely shrugged.

"It is up to you, entirely, pretty one." His voice was low, persuasive. "You could be selfish and let yourself be raped and killed by my Death Eaters, before I wipe out your family." Leaning forward, he lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. "Or you could guarantee their safety, by joining into a union with me. It is your choice."

"That's no choice." Her voice was choked, tears running down her cheeks as she stared at him, eyes full of loathing.

A small smile raised his lips. "I know, pretty one." He said quietly. "But, at the moment, its the only one you have."

"I hate you."

"I did not choose you to love me." He said quietly. "I chose you to be the mother of my Heir, nothing more."

"You will spare my family?"

He smiled again, revealing his teeth this time. "I have no interest in them, pretty one." He said, making a gesture with her wand. Immediately, the young witch was forced to her feet. "I am interested in only you." He unfurled his other hand and beckoned her, drawing on invisible cords his spell had bound her with.

The look of self-loathing on her face was impressive, he noted absently, as she neared him and stood before him. "What do I do?" She asked sullenly.

Voldemort stood, reminding her that he was taller and more powerful than she, looming over her. "You will be my consort." He whispered, his voice more like a hiss than a human voice. He raised a hand, brushing her hair back over her right shoulder, his fingers skimming her neck. A shudder passed through her and the hand locked about her throat. "You will be my consort," He repeated in a low, cautioning tone. "And you will enjoy it."

The witch nodded, staring at him fearfully, forcing back a wave of revulsion at his serpentine features. One hairless brow rose and she hastily raised a false, painful smile. Voldemort nodded, his grip on her throat loosened and his hand lingering on her shoulder.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He lifted her chin, smiling. Her eyes widened in horror when a forked tongue emerged between his teeth, flickering briefly over his white lips. "Now," He said, fully aware of her increasing terror and shock. "You will fulfil your duties."

Trying not to look like she wanted to vomit, the shivering witch let him draw her pale face close and trembled as his mouth met hers. Like a poisonous snake's, his skin was dry, cool, smooth and felt horrible against her skin.

But she didn't fight.

There was too much at stake.

As one long-fingered, spider-like hand touched her bare skin, she felt like weeping.

As his hand circled her wrist and led her towards an antechamber, she forced herself to think of the family she was saving.

As his mouth and body savaged hers in the deceptively beautiful surroundings of his chambers, she stored all the hate for him and all the love she had ever retained for her family at the back of her heart and mind.

In the quiet darkness of the room, she pulled the rich, soft and warm blankets - so unlike the Dark Lord - around her abused body, weeping with shame as he withdrew from her now-prison and left her curled in the luxurious surroundings, alone.

***

"But that's impossible!"

Voices outside of the beautiful room that had become her shelter and cell stirred the blonde-haired witch.

For nearly a year and a half, Cassandra Bones had been given the... affectionate nickname of Voldemort's whore, something that had come into full fruition seven months previously when she discovered - to her horror - that she was carrying the Heir of Slytherin and Lord Voldemort.

That, though, had brought a small mercy. No longer was she leered at or taunted by Death Eaters in the Dark Lord's absence. There was even talk that Voldemort intended to wed her, to make the child legitimate.

Not the it would make much difference.

As a sign of his protection and ownership, though, the Dark Mark had been placed on her left shoulder by her Dark Master as she had slept. The agony of it had woken her and left her weeping for hours from the pain.

Sitting up amid the blankets, she laid a protective hand over her swollen belly, listening for the voices that seemed to be strangely frenzied. The dungeon outside of the room seemed to be bustling with activity.

"Went to the Potters..."

"Pettigrew said..."

Voices faded in and out of range.

Sliding out of the bed and pulling a robe down from hooks on the bedposts, she wrapped it around her body and made her way to the doorway, looking out into the dungeon. The Death Eaters looked like they were in a state of panic.

"What's going on?" She demanded, immediately getting the attention of everyone in the room.

"My Lady," Hearing Malfoy calling her that almost made her want to laugh out loud, before kicking him in the teeth. "The Dark Lord went to find the Potters..." She remembered the Potters, tried to conceal her panic. They had been the likable and friendly Head Boy and Head Girl in the same year as her, at Hogwarts. "Pettigrew provided information, but...something happened there...our Master is gone."

"Gone?" She took an unsteady step back. "What do you mean gone?"

"The Potters are dead, but their son...the curse...it didn't work..." Malfoy looked around frantically. "My Lady, I would suggest that you depart as soon as you can. Find somewhere safe, somewhere to raise out Master's Heir. When he's ready..."

Cassandra nodded grimly. It was clear that Lord Voldemort had not told them of the 'terms' upon which he had been able to utilise her body. Apparently they assumed that it had been a mutual joining, with the promises of power that he gave to all his followers.

"I have friends who are students of the dark arts." She replied. "I will find sanctuary with one of them until the time is right."

Yes, she had been raised to know that lying was bad, but she had also been raised to know that handing over the darkest Wizard's son to his murderous supporters would never be a good thing for her or the baby.

Her family would know what to do.

"Malfoy," Forcing that note of imperial arrogance that her abuser had used so well into her voice, she met his cold grey eyes. "You will have to provide me with funding to utilise muggle transport. It will look less suspicious."

"Of course, my Lady."

Honestly, Cassandra thought with disgust, he would bend down and lick my shoes if I said the word. What a change it was from the first day, when he had dragged her in and thrown her to the floor.

Returning to her chambers, she knelt down and pulled a trunk from under the bed, loosening the catch with her shaking fingers. It sprang open, revealing a collection of robes and a few pieces of muggle clothing that had belonged the the Dark Lord.

She plunged her hands into the trunk, searching out something she could wear as she made her escape. A loose pair of dark trousers were the first thing she found, rapidly followed by a luxurious black silk shirt.

While Voldemort's clothing all had that same serpentine feel to it, she didn't truly care, as long as she got away and back to her family safely. Discarding her robes, she pulled the trousers on over her legs, the fabric rippling sickeningly against her skin.

They were far too long for her, Voldemort a good head taller than she was and - despite his snake-like features - larger in build. He had been powerfully built, with a violent strength that had terrified her.

Tying the cord from one of the bathrobes around her waist, she pulled it tight against her belly and felt the baby within her kick with protest. A weak laugh escaped her as she loosened it, then sat to roll the hems of the trouser legs up enough to let her walk freely.

Pushing her hair back, she retrieved the black shirt and pulled it over her head, letting it slither down her body. The material was cool against her skin and she hastily fastened the buttons with quaking fingers.

"My Lady?" Whipping around, her flaxen hair fell across her pale face and she quickly raised a hand to brush it back.

"Malfoy?"

He nodded. "I got some muggle money for you, my Lady." He bowed, as she made her way around the room to find a pair of shoes that she could wear. "Also," She cast a curious look in his direction. "We found your wand."

"Oh?" A surge of hope ran through her. If she had her wand, it would make her escape so much easier. The masked Malfoy approached, going on one knee. Opening his hands, she recognised the long, slim wand that lay there. "Thank you, Malfoy." She murmured, taking it from his gloved hands.

With a gesture, she conjured a pair of shoes, to test that she could - still - use the thing. It would have been entirely useless if she had found that, in the year of her imprisonment, her magical abilities had parted from her.

"Will you be all right on your own, my Lady?" Malfoy eyed her dubiously. "If you wish, we could provide you with an escort..."

"And don't you think that would look rather suspicious to other Wizards who are looking for Death Eaters, Malfoy?" She remarked quietly, as she pulled her shoes on and laced them up quickly. "A whole group of Wizards surrounding a lone witch?"

He nodded quickly. "I see your point, my Lady." He proffered a small, red velvet purse trimmed with gold to her. "Here's some muggle money. It should take you to safety."

"Very good." She murmured, taking the purse and snatching one of Voldemort's black cloaks from the hooks. "Perhaps you could call me one of those ridiculous Muggle methods of transportation...a...a tuxi? I will need one so I can go to the station."

"Yes, my Lady." Bowing deeply, Malfoy cast one last look at the swell of her belly. "Thank you, my Lady."

He departed and Cassandra sank wearily down on the end of her bed. It was over. Soon, she would be out of here and she would be safe. Her family would take care of her and the baby keep them safe.

***

Descending from the train, the young Witch made her way towards the taxi rank, tired from the long journey and looking forward to seeing her parents and little brother again. Rain was pelting down from the gravel-grey sky, a light wind tossing her hair around her face.

A row of gleaming black cabs awaited her and she selected the foremost one, sliding exhaustedly into the back seat. Giving him directions, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

The...farewell from the Death Eaters had been a horrible experience to go through and she wished she could purge it from her mind. The sight of them opening deep wounds in their hands and laying the bloodied palms against her belly...

A wave of nausea passed over her against the memory.

A Death Eater's blood vow of loyalty had been cast on her and the child she carried. It meant that, no matter what happened, no Death Eater could lay a finger on her or the child, which she was grateful for.

Even if the child turned out to be a powerless squib - which she knew was unlikely - they could not harm it, because the blood vow was the only statement of honour that the Death Eaters acknowledged.

She had forced herself to sit through the ritual as bloody hand after bloody hand touched her, reverently, awe-filled eyes glittering at her behind the masks. Now, she knew, they respected her and feared her as much as the Dark Lord.

Only one had seemed dubious about bestowing his loyalty to the child. Most of them had whispered a vow to her, as they touched her, but this one merely stared at her for a long moment, black eyes gleaming behind the mask.

She had met those dark, mysterious eyes as his thin hand had brushed over her belly. Part of her wanted to demand to know who he was, the expression in those eyes familiar, the chill of skin equally so.

Then, to her astonishment, he leaned forward as the others had and breathed - a silky rasp - in her ear. "Keep him safe. Hide. Do not let yourself be found."

The jolt of the cab stirred her from her reverie and she looked around, spotting the familiar house that they had halted outside of. A broad smile crossed her face and she quickly handed the driver some money, before scrambling out of the cab and running towards the front door.

Touching the lock with the tip of her wind, she whispered, "Alohomora." The door clicked open, but she had to shoulder it to open it widely enough to get in. "Mum! Dad!" Looking around the Hall, everything was exactly how she remembered it. "I'm home!"

No reply came.

Cassandra frowned slightly.

Maybe they were on holiday or something. Celebrating the downfall of Voldemort no doubt.

Squeezing around the jammed door, she looked down to see what had blocked it and was confused by the heap of muggle mail lying there. True, her father had liked to keep up with muggle news, but surely they didn't deliver twenty every week.

Kneeling as quickly as she could, she examined the dates of those newspapers in the piles that was already reaching halfway up the door. One - yellowed with age - from the bottom of the pile was from the previous year.

A surge of horror rippled through her.

"No..."

Grabbing another, then another, the dates all told her the same thing. No one had checked the mail for over a year and a half, when these letters had been delivered.

Tears of confusion and fury were pouring down her face when a headline leapt out at her from one of the rolled up papers.

"Tragic family killed in gas-leak"

Her hands shaking, she opened out the paper, smoothing it out on the floor. A motionless muggle picture of her parents and brother smiled up at her from the yellowed page directly beneath the grim headline.

Forcing her tears back, she started to read, her anger and despair rising with every word.

Barely days after her capture, apparently - according to the muggles - a gas leak had killed her whole family, some kind of strange, green emissions lingering over their house for several hours after they had died.

On the third page of the paper, there was a picture of the cloud of green and a comment from a member of the public, who had seen it, and remarked that it looked strangely like a skull with a snake protruding from the mouth.

The Dark Mark.

How could she mistake it for anything else, after what she had been forced to live through?

Struggling through the large piles of newspapers, she realised that they must have kept sending the newspapers until the paid subscriptions for them had run out, the most recent paper a year old. Trust daddy to pay for a year in advance.

She found the past editions of The Daily Prophet from the same date, not wanting to believe it was true. The headline was nearly identical to the muggle paper, the picture of her smiling, happy family visible there.

"While Donald and Helen Bones and their young son, Patrick (10), were all found at the home they shared, its is believed that the missing daughter, Cassandra Bones (19) - formerly of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - may have turned to the dark side, joining Lord Voldemort." She read aloud, her voice breaking. "She has not been seen for several months and rumours surrounding her disappearance all suggest that she would have been more than capable of joining the dark side."

The article went on to describe her fiery temper and her tendencies to strike out at anyone who did not do exactly as she wanted. She saw Rita Skeeter's name at the top of the column, letting the paper slip from her fingers.

Her family were dead.

He had killed them, despite all he had said.

He had murdered them all, barely days after he had promised her their lives.

"You bastard..." She whispered, burying her face in her hands. "You lying bastard..."

***

The windows and mirror of the bathroom were covered with steamy condensation as the young witch climbed out of the pale blue bath. She had lain there in the warm water for hours, her hair drifting around her like pond weed.

The first half an hour had been spent scrubbing at her body, trying to remove every visible and invisible stain that lingered there. Especially on the rounded swell of her belly, the blood-stains still lingering from the Death Eaters pact.

Her skin raw and crimson, she had given up on the permanent stains, lying back in the bubble-infested water and wondering if it would be easier just to sink beneath the surface and let death take her, to join her family.

She had decided against it, though.

For one, she still had someone she had to see. He could help.

The young witch wrapped a towel around her body and approached the mirror over the sink, reaching up to smear away the condensation with a wrinkled palm.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Cassandra barely recognised her own features. She had lost weight since she had been captured, her face gaunt and pale. Her eyes were haunted and bloodshot, dark circles ringing them.

Her flaxen hair was damp around her shoulders, longer than it had been for a long time.

The Dark Lord had liked it that way, often forcing her to kneel at his throne so he could pet her like some kind of dumb animal. She shuddered, recalling the sensation of his spidery fingers weaving through her hair.

A large, gleaming pair of scissors lay on the ledge beneath the mirror and she hesitantly picked them up. One shaking hand lifted a long strand of her hair, drawing it between the blades of the scissors.

Snip.

Six inches of golden hair dropped to the tiled floor silently.

Snip.

Another handful of her thick, beautiful hair fell.

Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled her mother brushing and braiding her hair, when she was younger. Her hands were shaking as she continued to hack long strands off, violent sobs racking her body as the damp curls fluttered down her body.

Finally, the scissors clattered into the sink and she stared at her reflection again. Cropped close to her skull, what remained of her once- glorious hair stood in little tufts, messy and ugly to look at.

Exactly how she felt.

Brushing her fingers through her short mane, loose tufts fell around her, scattering on the floor at her feet.

Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she turned away from the mirror and made her way out of the bathroom, to her old familiar bedroom, where she could find sanctuary, at least for a little while.

***

"I wondered when you would show up here."

Sitting on her bed against the wall, wearing her old T-shirt and navy tracksuit bottoms, her favourite old teddy bear hugged against her chest, Cassandra's crimson-rimmed brown eyes rose to the figure standing at her bedroom door.

A hysterical sob of relief escaped her and she flew across the room to him, grabbing the wizard in a tight hug.

"Hey now," Almost knocked off his feet, he held her gently. "Easy, Cass."

"They're dead, Ethan. They're all dead." She whispered tearfully, clinging to him tightly. "He-he-he promised he wouldn't kill them...he promised..." She felt a rough hand stroke her hair. "A-and they're blaming m-me...they think I-I killed them..."

The sandy-haired, twenty-three year old Wizard gently scooped her up and carried her across the room to sit down on her dusty bed, not relinquishing his hold on her. "Are you going to tell me what happen, then, Cassie?" He asked carefully.

"Death Eaters..." She whispered brokenly, staring up at him. He nodded grimly. "They t-t-took me to him...h-he wanted an heir, Ethan...gave me a-a- a choice...h-him and my f-family's lives... o-or death..."

"Oh God..."

She took his hand shakily and lowered it onto her belly. "He m-made me, Ethan...I didn't have a choice..." The pity and anger in her long-time friend's face made her lower her head, shame filling her. "He m-made me his whore..."

"No, Cass. You were brave. incredibly brave. You did something even I wouldn't have been able to do." He gathered her against his chest, hugging her tightly. "You did what you thought would save your family."

"I was stupid...s-so stupid."

"But you're free now, eh?"

"I-I'll never be free, Ethan." She bowed her head and pushed her shirt down her shoulder, revealing the Dark Mark on her pale skin. She heard her friend's hiss of anger and blinked fiercely, tears stinging in her eyes. "I belong to him now."

She was quickly drawn back into a tender, comforting embrace, her friend rocking her as she wept and murmuring reassuringly to her.

Ethan Rayne had been four years above her at Hogwarts and he had been the trouble-maker who had taken her under his wing, when one-too-many Slytherins decided she was fair game to pick on, because so was small and delicate looking.

Both in Hufflepuff, he had helped her with her spells, teaching her charms and tricks none of the teachers had, to help her defend herself against the bullies of Slytherin, who were getting too big for their boots.

A strange friendship had grown between the pair and even when he had been exiled from the main part of the Wizarding world for playing with dark powers, she had remained in contact with him, frequently sending him owls to tell him to behave himself.

He had replied just as frequently, saying that he was simply having far too much fun to listen to a single word she was saying. He had never messed with dark powers like true Dark wizards, but toyed with the underworld just enough to get him expelled from their world.

Even so, he had always turned up when he needed her. Somehow, he knew where she would be, when something happened, although she could understand why he couldn't find her during her imprisonment.

"Is it definitely his?" He finally asked, his voice strained.

"No one else w-was allowed to touch me." She nodded miserably. "Th-that's why he marked me...they're loyal t-to me now." She lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the lingering marks of bloody handprints that hadn't washed off, no matter how hard she scrubbed at them.

Ethan stared at the stains in horror. "The blood vow?" He asked, his voice shaking with anger.

"All of them did it." She replied softly. "One of them...he told me I had to get away... to hide...I-I think he th-thinks the dark Lord...Voldemort...he'll come back..." She touched her stomach hesitantly. "I-I don't want him taking this child."

The Wizard nodded. "You could go to the Ministry..."

"No!" Both of them started at the vehemence in her voice. "I can't...you know what they're like. I-I would be seen as the whore of the Dark Lord...they would throw me in Azkhaban without even giving me a trial, because they all know that no witch can be forced to fall pregnant." A shudder ran through her. "I had to join with him of my own choice...I did...they won't believe anything I say...especially with the rumours...and the mark."

Ethan nodded slowly, scratching his head. "I think there is a way we can hide you, Cass." He said quietly. "But it would mean that you would have to trust me with your life and the life of the squirt you're carrying."

"You know I do, Ethan."

A small smile crossed his face. "In that case..." He looked around, making sure there was no one anywhere near them, which was rather pointless really. "Have you ever heard of the Fidelius charm?"

"I-I think so."

"Its a very difficult and complex spell to do..." He murmured, continuing to gently stroke the short tufts of her hair as he spoke, her head resting against his chest. "It involves the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul." He turned her face to hers. "I would do that spell for you, if you trusted me. No one would ever find you."

She stared at him, her fingers rising to touch the mark on her slim shoulder. "But the dark mark, Ethan..." She shook her head. "Nothing can prevent Voldemort from knowing where his marked ones are."

"There is somewhere you could go..." Rising, Ethan crossed the room to her bookshelf and searched out a large Magical Dictionary. Sitting back down beside her, he opened the dusty volume and flicked through the pages. "Here."

"A Hellmouth?" She raised a brow at him. "Is that as bad as it sounds?"

"More than likely." He grinned faintly. "The thing is, its a centre of mystical convergence. Its a source of huge and uncontrollable power, so even if you felt your dark mark, there would be so much power near and around you that he couldn't pinpoint you and with the Fidelius charm, he wouldn't even recognise you if you passed him in the street."

"Are you sure it would work?"

The Wizard nodded. "It'll be a challenge for me and a lot of work for both of us," He said, a grim look on his face. "But I think we could pull it off and - if the worst comes to the worst - we could always resort to Polyjuice potion."

"Goodie."

Ethan flashed her a broad smile. "I thought you'd say that."

"When would we do it?"

"As soon as you drop the sprog, I think it would be a good time to start." She nodded in agreement, letting her friend hold her and rock her gently. For the first time since her escape, she found herself relaxing enough to fall asleep in Ethan's protective arms.

Touching his cheek shakily, she weakly whispered. "You wont leave me?"

"No chance, Shrimpy." He murmured, kissing the top of her head. She smiled tiredly at the childhood nickname, closing her eyes as he drew the dusty blanket around both of them. "You just rest, okay?"

"Mmm...hmm..."

***

"Why can't we..."

Ethan stifled her words with his fingertips, shaking his head. "Luv, we can't risk it. You can use the muggle devices as much as you like, but the fire, owls, anything like that... it could be tracked and I don't want to lose you."

"I want to keep in touch with you, Ethan." Looking up at the tall Wizard who had helped her through the last two months of Hell, tears filled Cassandra's eyes. "What will I do if I need help? If they find me?" She looked down at the baby cradled in her arms. "If they find us?"

Smiling wearily, Ethan gently stroked her cheek. "You'll be fine, Cass." He promised. Brown eyes gazed up at him warily. "I'll drop out and visit you when I can, but there's no guarantee that it'll be very often."

"Just as long as you let me know you're alive." She wagged a finger up at them. "If you get yourself killed, I'm going to be very cross."

"Nothing to worry about there, luv." He said, lowering his hand to touch the baby's face. "Old Voldie is gone and you have nothing to worry about." His smile was genuine. "I intend to keep it that way."

"But what if...?" A muffled sob escaped her and she embraced him with her free arm. "Ethan, I already lost my whole family and I'm the mother of Voldemort's only child... I don't want to get you killed as well."

Ethan sighed, his breath ruffling her cropped, dyed brown hair. "Cass, I'm big and ugly enough to look after myself, you know." He kissed her gently on the forehead. "He's never going to learn anything from me, because he's never even going to know I exist. The Fidelius malarky is only the icing on the very big and attractive cake." His smile reassured her somewhat. "I have enough keeping me safe as it is."

"You and your dark protectors?" She tried to laugh, but it trailed off, tears trickling down the hollows of her pale cheeks. "Just don't do anything stupid, please, Ethan." She reached up to touch his face. "Who would I have to left to love if you were gone?"

His eyes met hers, then he looked down at the baby. "You always have Alexander."

She nodded, looking down at the child that he had helped her to deliver. To their astonishment, he had been a perfectly normal baby, born with a thicket of nearly black hair and ears that stuck out just like Cassandra's father's had.

Alexander LaVelle - Cassandra already regretted letting Ethan name him - looked nothing like his evil father, no traces of any of the hideous, snake- like features that had made Voldemort so physically repulsive.

Now, he was fast asleep in the blankets in his diminutive mother's arms. He slept a lot, which was a small blessing, only waking to eat, have his nappy changed and then going back to sleep almost instantly.

A voice rang out over the speakers. "Passengers for flight 362 to Los Angeles via New York, make your way to gate 21 for boarding."

"That's us." Cassandra reluctantly noted, looking up at the speaker, as if it had betrayed her in some way. "Walk with me?"

"Of course."

His arm around her shoulder protectively, he wished he didn't have to send her so far away, wishing he could keep her closer, in his care, but with the eternal threat of the Death Eaters in Britain, he knew he had to get her as far away as possible.

There seemed to be a veritable flood of people boarding the flight, so Ethan held Cassandra back briefly, to prevent her being crushed in the rush to get into the plane.

She stood by his side, looking more like a lost little girl than ever. Wearing some of her equally small mother's clothing, she had taken anything she could find of comfort and stuffed it into a case for travelling.

Ethan had acquired false paperwork, including a realistic looking passport that stated that she was Cassie LaVelle, a twenty-two year old, which was only a two years of exaggeration. She had also been provided with a green card, no doubt as legal as the passport was.

"You'll take care?" She looked up at him again.

"Don't I always?"

She embraced him once more, tears spilling hotly down her face. "That didn't answer the question, Ethan." She whispered raspingly, staring him in the eyes. "I still love you... never forget that."

Pulling him down to her level, she kissed him on both cheeks then his lips gently, before turning and running through the gate, leaving him staring after her in confusion.

At the end of the boarding tunnel, Cassandra glanced back, wishing she could stay. The hostess lead her to her seat, offering her a special strap for her sleeping infant, which Cassandra reluctantly accepted.

Seated by a window, she looked out at the terminus, where she could see the lanky form of Ethan standing by the immense windows, staring at the plane. Touching her fingertips to her lips, she touched the kiss to the glass.

"Goodbye for now, Ethan." She whispered. "We'll see you in Sunnydale."

Chapter 2: The Pain

"Hey mom!"

"Hi Xander's mom!"

"Hi, Mrs. Harris."

Cassandra looked up from the dishes she was washing and smiled at the three youngsters who had just entered the kitchen. "What have you three been up to, today?" She looked from the timid red head girl, to her son and his tawny-haired friend.

"Will just came over to do my homework for me." Alexander grinned broadly from her to his fire-haired friend. "Didn't you, Will?"

"Help you with your homework!" Willow protested weakly.

Alexander turned large, puppy-dog eyes to her. "Aww, c'mon, Will." He whined.

"Yeah, Willow." Jesse added his pout to the combination. "After all, you're so good at it and we're so...well, not."

"Mrs. Harris," Willow turned hopefully to the only sane person in the house with a pleading look, begging her to intercede. Cassandra raised a golden eyebrow in expectation. "Will you tell them to do their own homework?"

"You could always let them copy yours." The golden-haired woman suggested with a small mischievous smile.

Alexander's wide, bright smile lit up the room, so like her brother's had been, and Cassandra hurriedly stifled the urge to grab him and hug him. Already as tall as she was, he was going to be as tall and broad as...his father.

"Thanks mom!" He laughed triumphantly.

"But don't make it look like you actually copied it, boys. I want to see at least one or two mistakes of your own." She gave them both a stern look, that barely hid a smile. "Am I making myself absolutely clear?"

"In other words, don't let 'em see how smart we really are." Alexander nodded furtively. "After all, one of the main weapons of a Spanish Inquisition is surprise, cos nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition..."

"Don't even think about starting that, my boy." His mother cautioned, looking around sharply as she heard something crash into their rubbish bins at the front gate. "Your father's home early." She gasped. "Quick," Motioning them to the stairs, she peered out of the window. "Get upstairs and don't make too much noise."

The trio nodded, Jesse and Willow racing up the stairs. "Will you be okay, mom?" As always, her son's first priority was for her.

"I'll be fine." Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she forced a smile. "Just go."

With a reluctant nod, Alexander squeezed her hand then followed his friends up the stairs to his room. They had learned the hard way not to get in the way of Robert Harris when he got home from work.

Cassandra had ended up married to the thuggish and much older man when she had been in America less than a year, living in a cheap hotel on the edge of Sunnydale, the Hellmouth Ethan had found for her, far enough away to prevent any Death Eaters finding her easily.

She had needed some kind of stability and someone who would be willing to support her and her infant son and when Robert Harris suggest that she marry him, she had not stopped to think of the consequences.

However, after less than six months, his treatment of her made her wish that she was back in Voldemort's grasp. At least there, the Death Eaters had known to keep their hands to themselves, but because she already had a child, Harris' friends considered her 'easy'.

When - four years into their marriage - a few of his high school buddies decided to take advantage of the pretty, petite blonde woman, Robert had been drunk out of his mind and given his permission for his friends to 'have some fun with the slut'.

Unfortunately, said friends had been on the High School Football team with him and there were four of them and only one tiny, terrified and defenseless Witch against them. She had spent hours the next day crying in the bathroom.

From that day, she maintained a constant repulsion charm on herself, so any male that looked at her apart from Harris, thought she was unattractive, overweight and generally worth avoiding.

Only Harris saw her as the small, lithe nymph he had married.

There had been no more trouble since then, although little Alexander had often seen 'daddy' striking mom in a fit of temper. He was as scared of his adoptive father as she was and avoided him when possible.

Recently, the rough American had taken to drinking on the way back from work as well, which usually meant he was roaring drunk by the time he got home. If anything was even a little wrong when that happened, she would know about it.

She would have left him long ago, but he did take care of Alexander, which was more than she expected from any other man. He had accepted him as a son and treated him with care and affection, or as much of either emotion as he was capable of, considering his very nature and demeanour.

Returning to the dishes, she could feel her hands shaking beneath the water and she kept her eyes down as the door opened beside her. "Hi, honey." She mumbled, rinsing the bubbles off a white plate.

Her husband cast his eyes over her briefly, before stomping through to the living room with a growl. "Bring me a beer."

Drying her hands on her jeans, Cassandra hurried to the refrigerator and pulled a can free from the pack there. A chilled glass waited in the freezer and she quickly poured the foaming liquid into it.

Carrying it through, she gave Robert a smile. "Here you are."

"Sit down, Cassie." He patted his lap and Cassandra reluctantly sat herself on his broad thighs. While he was no longer a sporty man, he still carried the bulky weight of a footballer, with the added appeal of a pot belly.

"How was work?"

"Usual."

Picking at the nail of her little finger, she chewed on her lip, wondering what he would want this time. He was apparently in a decent mood, which was a good sign, and he wasn't too drunk, which was something.

She found out soon enough when he pulled her mouth down on his. The scent of stale beer made her gag and she felt the cool beer spilling from his glass onto her bare forearm that was holding her upright against the arm of the chair.

"Take your pants off." He muttered, fumbling with his belt.

Ah yes, this was why she disliked it when he was semi-sober.

"But honey, the kids are..."

Dark eyes narrowed. "I said," He repeated in a low, dangerous voice. "Take off your pants."

Standing, Cassandra looked down at him uncertainly. "But Jesse and Willow..."

"Damn it, you ungrateful little bitch!" His voice rose to a bellow and was on his feet, towering above her. Large hands gripped her upper arms, shaking her violently. "You're my damn wife and I can do whatever the Hell I like to you in our home, kids or no kids!"

"Robert!" She cried out as he back-handed her.

"Shut up!"

"Y-you're hurting me." Tears of pain sprang to Cassandra's dark eyes. She could feel her skin bruising under his callous fingers.

He smashed his mouth bruisingly down on hers, crushing her lips in a savage kiss. "Then do what you're damn well told next time." He snarled, his own hand undoing the button and zipper of her jeans.

Forced down onto her back on the couch, Cassandra could feel tears streaming down her face as her husband violated her body in ways more painful and humiliating than anything Voldemort had ever done to her.

As he finished with her, his huge body sagging on hers, he stroked her cheek, not even noticing that she flinched from his touch. "You had to learn who was in charge, Cass." He muttered. "Next time, do what I tell you first time."

"Y-yes, Robert." She whispered, almost sobbing in relief as he rolled off her and stumbled to his feet.

"I'm going to meet the boys. I'll be back late."

"Yes, Robert." She repeated mechanically.

She distantly registered the front door slamming closed and the sound of the car tyres screaming on the road as her husband reversed out and sped off to join his friends at some pub or other.

Curling up in a ball on the couch, she hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing softly.

She didn't hear the sound of her son ushering his friends quickly out of the back door, or his whispered apologies, or even when he finally came around the couch until he knelt down beside her and touched her shoulder.

"Mom?" She started in fright. "Mom, its me..."

"A-Alex?" Struggling to sit, she gasped in pain, but still forced herself to sit upright and embrace her son, his arms going around him as tears continued to pour from her eyes. "I-I'm sorry if I-I scared you...your friends...they must have been shocked..."

Hugging her tightly, the ten year old shook his head. "Its okay, mom." He whispered. "I was worried about you." Drawing back, his expression older than his years, he gently took her hand in his. "Are you okay?"

"Just a little sore." She lied. Her husband had pulled her pants up before he left her, but she could feel sticky blood on the inside of her thighs and the pain was throbbing in her lower body as if she were on fire.

"You're lying, mom." His gentle fingers touched her cheek. "You wanna go to the bathroom?"

How well he knew her.

When 'daddy's friends' had been allowed to play, he had found her in the bathroom and, even at the age of five, knew something wrong had been going on. He had also worked out that the bathroom was her one sanctuary.

Nodding weakly, she let him help her up and both of them made the slow journey up the staircase to the big bathroom. Letting her stop by the mirror, he crossed the floor and turned the hot water on to fill the bath for her.

Cassandra stared mutely at her beaten reflection. She had to admit that Robert had done a quality piece of work on her with one blow. A large bruise spread from her cheekbone to jawline, dark and black.

"Do you need any help, mom?"

Still fingering the bruise, she started to shake her head, but didn't manage to form any words, before the choking sob escaped her. She sank to her knees on the bathroom floor and Alexander was beside her in a second, gathering her up in a hug, crying with her.

"I...I think you'll have to help me undress, Alex..." She whispered shakily, lowering her eyes. Her lower body was burning agonisingly, while her upper body was aching unbearably. "I don't want you to be embarrassed, though..."

He shook his head. "I won't be, mom...I want to help."

Forcing a smile, she motioned to her T-shirt. "Can you..." He quickly helped her peel it off, the bruises on her upper arms more extensive than she expected. The skin was dark black from just below her shoulder to just above her elbow.

"Mom, you can't let him do this to you anymore." Alexander said, staring at the ugly bruises.

"I know, Alex." She said quietly. It was times like this that she wished she had been able to stay with Ethan; black-magic-loving, insane, exiled, demon-worshipping, safe Ethan. The paradox of her best and closest friend made her laugh softly.

"Mom? What is it?"

She raised her eyes to her son. "I was just thinking about your God- father." She said softly. "I think he would probably kill me himself rather than see me living like this, you know." A sad smile crossed her face. "I miss him sometimes, Alex."

"I know, mom."

Drawing him into her bruised arms, Cassandra sighed. She had never been able to tell her son about his heritage, lest there be anyone of that persuasion at his school, who would reveal his whereabouts to Death Eaters.

In addition to that, the Fidelius charm had been placed to keep Alexander's magical abilities as the secret, so he would not develop them unless Ethan revealed the secret to him, when the time was right. If she said anything about them, she could ruin all that her friend had done to save her and her only remaining pure family member.

More than anything, she simply wished she could go home, back to her family home and find them all alive and everyone happy.

"Mom, what's that?"

Tilting her head to look at him, she asked. "What's what, honey?"

"This." He tapped a spot on her left shoulder and her eyes widened in shock. In the reflection on the side of the ceramic bathtub, he had seen the outline of the Dark Mark that his father had left on her shoulder.

Turning her body slightly to look over at it, she still shuddered when she actually saw it. "That was a little gift from my first...boyfriend." She gave Alexander a weak smile. "You can tell I don't have much luck with men, can't you?"

"What was he like? Did he hit you?"

Cassandra bit her lip. She could tell him that. It wouldn't ruin the Fidelius charms protection... would it? "He didn't hit me, Alex." She replied quietly. "He did kill my family, though." She gave her son a bleak smile. "I've got great taste, haven't I?"

"Its not your fault, mom." Alexander cuddled close to her, his arms going around her waist. "Y'know what I sometimes wish?"

"What's that?" She asked, her lips pressed against his brow.

"Sometimes, I wish I could magic dad away...just wave my hand and poof!" He made a gesture with his hand. "He'd be gone." He looked up at her. "Not dead, though. Just gone away. Not here anymore."

Cassandra laughed softly. "I know the feeling." She murmured. "Now, you go and find your friends and do your homework, okay?" She managed to stand up. "I'll have a bath and I'll clean myself up."

"Will you be okay, mom?"

A small, wicked smile crept onto her swollen lips as a thoroughly naughty and illegal idea came to her. "You know, Alex," She said, dropping a light kiss on his head. "I think we're going to be fine."

Hugging her once more, Alexander darted off out of the bathroom and down the stairs. His mother closed the door behind him and locked it, pushing her pants down her body and stepping out of them.

As expected, there were dried blood stains on her thighs and on her jeans.

Looking around at the bath, she was relieved to see it was nearly full. Stripping off the remainder of her clothing and dropping it to the floor, she stepped into the hot water and submerged herself up to her neck.

Closing her sore eyes, she thought of the wand she had hidden in the base of her case. A memory reached her of the unforgivable curses and the lectures that her teachers had given her at Hogwarts.

None of them said if it was actually illegal to use such a curse on your husband after he had raped you.

She would have smiled if the situation hadn't been so serious. Her husband was upsetting her son. Her son was the one she loved and the one she protected. If she had to stop her husband doing something by illegal means, she would.

And she was a witch, after all.

***

"Is your mom okay, Xander?" Willow was sitting at the bench in the park, doing Jesse's homework for him, while he lay on the ground turning ants into mini-flaming-infernos with help from the sun and a magnifying glass.

Alexander nodded grimly. "Dad hurt her real bad." He replied. "She had bruises on her arms and face and she was crying again." He was sitting on the bench next to Willow, shredding a twig to nothing with a pen knife.

"She in the bathroom?"

"Yup."

"What about your dad?"

"Went out with friends, I guess."

Willow cast a sidelong look at her friend. "Are you okay?"

"I dunno, Will..." He blew out a huge breath. "Why can't my family be more like yours?"

"What? Never here?"

"At least your dad doesn't hurt your mom." Alexander said bitterly.

Reaching over, Willow patted his hand. "I wish I could help." She murmured.

"Me too."

"Wouldn't it be cool," Jesse looked up. "If you turned out to be some kind of weird superhero guy and then you could," He made a wild punching gesture that succeeding in bruising the air very badly. "Kick your dad's ass!"

Alexander grinned weakly. "I wish." He said.

***

The front door crashed shut.

It was a sound assurance - literally - that Robert Harris was home and drunk.

Thumping steps sounded on the stairs.

Sitting calmly on the covers of their bed, wearing an oversized T-shirt and reading a cheesy Mills and Boon romance, Cassandra looked up as her husband stumbled into their bedroom, already reaching for his belt.

"Good evening, Robert."

That made him pause.

She never called him by his name.

"Get on your back." He grunted, fumbling with his zipper.

"No."

That also made him stop, staring across at her fuzzily. "Didn't you learn something from this afternoon, you stupid whore?" He growled. "I'm your husband and I can have sex with you any damn time I want."

"Not anymore." She said. Her voice was cold, crisp, frighteningly calm. "Now, I get to do the choosing. No more of your friends sneaking in to rut with me in the middle of the night. No more beating me up. No more scaring my son."

Robert laughed, a harsh, booming sound. "You think you can stop me?" He took a step towards her threateningly. "I have every right to do whatever the hell I want to you and that bastard brat of yours."

"I don't think so."

Her calmness was unnerving.

Normally, she would be pleading and whimpering, but not this time.

Reaching behind her as he took another step towards her, she withdrew a long, slender wand of mahogany. "I wouldn't come any closer, Robert." She said quietly, her eyes cold. "You've hurt me enough."

"What are you gonna do?" He sneered. "A spell?" He stumbled forward, reaching for her.

"Actually, yes." She smiled, then said. "Petrificus totallus." Robert Harris froze, going as stiff as a board. Only his eyes could still move as he plummeted forward and landed flat on his face on the floor.

Crawling to the end of the bed, Cassandra leaned down and rolled him onto his back, giving him a broad smile.

"How do you like being the helpless one, Robert? Not so nice, is it?" She asked. "In case you're wondering how I managed to do that, I should probably tell you that you're married to a fully graduated Witch."

A gurgling sound escaped his throat.

"Why am I doing this to you?" She tilted her head, as if deep in thought. "Well, lets see... one, you beat me up weekly. Two, you let your friends gang bang me. Three, you rape me." Her eyes were darker, more dangerous than he could remember. "Four, you rape me when there are three scared children in the house. Five, you treat me like I'm an animal instead of your wife. Six, you act like I'm nothing more than a shag pillow." She paused to take a breath. "And seven, most importantly, you scare my son, which isn't a good thing to do, since his father was the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world and would kill you for even looking at his Heir's mother the wrong way." She paused for a moment, then added. "Actually, he would just kill you cos he could. He's like that."

Another sound escaped him.

"What? You don't believe that his father's a powerful Wizard? That's your loss." She gave her husband an angelic smile. "All that matters at the moment is that I'm a very good witch and in five minutes time, you're not going to remember a second of this conversation."

He snorted at her.

"Why?" She cheerfully interpreted his noises, much as she had when he was talking to her normally. "Because, my dear husband, you are going to literally be under my spell." She leaned down and dropped a kiss on his nose. "Perhaps I should explain... Witches have power. I have power. I neglected it, because I thought you might change from being an arrogant, self-righteous son of a bitch. You scared and upset my son. The balance changed. Now, I'm the one wearing the pants in this relationship."

Before he could make another futile sound of protest, she casually waved her wand and murmured. "Imperio."

***

In the wake of the casting of Cassandra's imperio spell, life in the Harris household was somewhat more peaceful. Robert was allowed to be as loud and foul-mouthed as he liked, but he couldn't touch her.

Even if he tried to tell someone else what she had done to him, the words would never make it passed his lips.

Alexander didn't seem to have noticed that his adoptive father was suddenly much gentler, but that was only because he still avoided Robert as much as he could without incurring his fury.

Standing at the kitchen door one afternoon, nearly a fortnight after the spell had been cast, she watched her husband sprawling on the sun chair on the veranda, snoring loudly, his mouth open.

She couldn't recall ever seeing him look quite so repulsive.

Wearing plaid shorts and a beer-stained yellow vest, his beer-belly was peeking out from between the two items of clothing, the sun glinting off his sweat-sheened, his receding hairline more prominent than ever.

The trill of the telephone ringing caught her attention and she sighed, turning away from the grotesque lump of muggleness that was her husband.

Making her way back into the cool, dark house, she picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Shrimpy."

"Ethan!" Sinking down on the arm of the chair beside her, she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, its me." Something in his voice was unnerving. "Cass, things are going on. I need to see you."

"Where?"

"Your old motel room." His voice was terse. "Come in disguise. If anyone asks, you're visiting Elenor Brody."

"When?"

"As soon as you can."

"And Alex?"

"No. See you there."

The phone went dead and Cassandra shakily placed the receiver down. She knew exactly what he had meant when he said to go in disguise and immediately ran for the stairs, heading to her bedroom.

Alexander was already safe, out with his friends at the park or somewhere. It was summer vacation, which meant he was out of the house a lot more than he usually would be.

Pulling her trunk out from the wardrobe, she found her keys and undid the third lock, revealing a pile of bottles and potions. Reaching down, she found the bottle of Polyjuice Potion that she had stored in case of emergencies.

Shaking, she lifted the bottle out, unscrewing the cap.

Several weeks before, she had managed to get the hairs of one of the neighbours, when their washing machine had 'accidentally' broken and Cassandra had offered to let them use hers.

Their clothing had been delivered and she had managed to snag a stray hair from the pillowcases before they had been washed, adding it to the potion when her husband was under a magic sleeping spell.

Trying not to inhale the bitter fumes of the potion, she quickly swallowed several quick mouthfuls of it and screw the lid back on, before it started to take hold, closing her trunk and locking it.

As soon as the pain hit, she grimaced and waited for the change

***

A short, plump, purple-haired old lady stepped quickly out of the cab, hurrying across the open car park of the motel that had been her home for nearly a year of her life in America.

Reaching the right door, she knocked quickly.

"Who are you hear to see?" A male voice asked.

"Elenor Brody."

The mould-spotted door opened wide enough for her to edge in. Sidling in, she heard the snib lock in place and she looked around in time to see her best friend descended on her, gathering her in his arms.

"Cass..." He whispered, hugging her tightly. "Christ, I missed you."

The voice that came from the wrinkled lips was laced with emotion. "You could have come and visited me sooner, you git." A gasp escaped her and she gripped his upper arms, her vision blurring as she shrank back into her own slender form. "God, I hate polyjuice."

"Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" Ethan had already scooped her up and carried her over to the bed to sit her down on the mattress. Kneeling at her feet, he squeezed her knees. "How's life been for you, Cass?"

"Don't ask..." Lifting her face to his, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. "I don't want to talk about that now. Just shut up and keep me safe, okay?"

The Wizard nodded, stroking her back gently. "That bad, eh?"

It was several minutes before she could form the words to reply to him. "I'd rather be Voldemort's again, Ethan..." Her tears were scalding against his neck. "At least it was only him there..."

"Christ..." She didn't even have to say anything more than that to him, knowing that he understood. "Do you want me to kill him, Cass? I'm an exile. They don't even keep tags on me anymore, so I could do it."

Cassandra laughed faintly. "No, Ethan..." She drew back from him, cupping his face in her small, shaking hands. "I don't want you in any more trouble than you already are." Pressing her brow to his, she forced a smile. "I have it under control now."

"Cass...what have you done?"

She lowered her eyes, then looked back up at him awkwardly. "Just a little imperio... nothing big..."

"Just as long as you don't get hurt, Cass." He cradled her head gently in his large hands. "Promise me you won't let yourself get hurt..."

"I promise, Ethan." She pulled him to her in another hug, his broad arms sliding around her, the first genuine embrace in months that didn't make her want to flee or burst into tears.

"You know I'm here on business, don't you, luv?" He murmured against her temple.

"Just tell me."

Ethan nodded grimly. "He's coming back." Cassandra went rigid in his arms. "They had the Philosopher's Stone at the school...Old Dumbledore was meant to be able to protect it..."

"Please tell me he didn't get to it..."

"No...the Potter boy...James and Lily's son...he stopped him." Cassandra shivered against his chest. "The stone was destroyed, but if Voldemort was strong enough to get into the school..."

"Oh God..." A shuddering sob escaped her. "I had hoped...wished...maybe he would be gone forever..."

Ethan hugged her tighter. "You're safe here, Cass." He whispered, rocking her tenderly as he had when she was a child at Hogwarts. "The Fidelius charm...they'll never find you..."

"I don't care if they find me, Ethan...its Alex I'm worried about."

"He's safe to, luv. As long as the charms in place, you're both safe. I promise and this is one good thing I'm not going to ignore, even if Chaos doesn't approve." He sank back on his heels. "How is the little bugger anyway?"

Cassandra smiled weakly. "As good as he can be in a place like this." She reached down into her pocket and withdrew a packet of photographs. "I thought you might want to see..."

"This kid with the big ears is him, right?"

"Ethan!"

"I was joking, Cass." He laughed, taking the photographs with a smile and looking through them. "He's got your eyes..." He continued through the pile and finally said softly. "He's a beautiful kid."

She nodded with a weak smile. "I know."

Ethan looked up at her. "I won't let anything happen to him, Cassie." He took one of her hand, bringing it down to kiss her palm. "I swear on everything I believe in that I'll give my life for this kid."

"I know you will." Cassandra said softly, leaning forward and putting her arms around his neck. "But, just now, I want your attention, just for a little while..." That said, she tentatively kissed him.

Ethan's hazel eyes widened marginally, before he gathered her to his chest again and returned the kiss. "I loved you when I left, Ethan." She whispered against his cheek, weeping softly once more. "I didn't want to leave you and I...I still love you now..."

Lifting her chin with his hand, Ethan nodded. "I know, luv." He said softly, before kissing her again and letting things follow their true order and the way he wished they had gone since his little lover had become a woman.

***

By mid-afternoon, they shared one last kiss, then he was gone and she had to go home to her beloved son and loathed husband, but with the words of love and strength to continue now.

Chapter Three: The Fear

One Year Later - Chamber of Secrets Time

"But Albus...surely...who?" Leaning against the wall in the hallway outside of the hospital wing, Severus Snape exhaled a shaking breath.

The petrified form of Colin Creevey, the young Gryffindor first year, had just been found, lying in the darkened halls of the castle by the Head Master, another victim of the creature of the Heir of Slytherin.

The Potions teacher heard Dumbledore's quiet reply. "The questions is not who...the question is how."

"No, Headmaster..." the former Death Eater breathed, straightening up and hastily walking away, his robes flaring about him in the darkness. "It could be who..." He fell silent as he hurried down the long flights of twisting stairways towards the dungeons.

For eleven years, since the fall of the Dark Lord, he had been trying, unsuccessfully, to convince himself to inform someone, anyone, about the fact that Voldemort did - indeed - have an Heir somewhere.

His footsteps sounded deafening in the silent dungeons, as he walked swiftly onwards. His classroom and office awaited him, his sanctuary and hiding place.

When he entered the small, dark room that served as his office, he pushed the door shut, sliding the bolts at the top and bottom of the door into place, adding a sealing charm for security, before sinking down wearily at his desk.

His elbows propped on the lined surface of the desk, he buried his head in his hands, closing his eyes. Once again, he was forced to resort to mental debates, in a vain attempt to keep himself sane.

If Voldemort's Heir was attending Hogwarts, they would only be in their first year now. They would probably have been in Slytherin, but none of the new arrivals there had the potential for the dark arts that would befit a true Heir of the Dark Lord.

If he or she was not in that house, there was always the chance that it would be in Hufflepuff, following the legacy of it's mother, but - as usual - the Hufflepuff first years were hardly anything to brag about.

Running his hands through his hair, Snape sat back with a heavy sigh, the back of his head coming to rest against the high back of his chair. He steepled his fingers together in front of him, tapping his chin with the tip of his forefingers.

There was always the chance that the heir had ended up attending another Wizarding academy, but - somehow - Snape suspected that Slytherin's latest heir was unlikely to go anywhere but the school that Slytherin himself had built.

Again, it came down to the self-recriminations.

He should have informed the Ministry of the situation regarding Cassandra Bones. He should have explained all that had occured in Malfoy's dungeons. He should have helped the poor child in some way.

Child.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

She was barely younger than he was when she was brought before them and their Master, barely graduated from wizarding school, and yet, she - like he - had been cursed with belonging to the dark Lord.

Maybe she had heeded his words, as he had placed the blood vow on her. If she had retained any sense of self and pride in her life, she would have and escaped, taking the poor mite of a child with her.

Merlin only knew that the poor child would be a cursed one in the Wizarding World, thanks to the Legacy of the father.

Even if the little one proved to be a good and true Hufflepuff in breeding, loyal, patient and hard-working, it's father's mark would be as visible on the child as the dark mark was on his Death Eaters.

However, some of the situations that had been occuring of late in the castle had raised his guard. If the Chamber of Secrets truly had been opened once again, who could it be but an Heir of Slytherin himself?

No one, as far as he knew, was a Parselmouth.

No one had been, since Tom Riddle...Voldemort.

Rumours that he had heard in the circle of Death Eaters suggested that - to open the chamber of secrets - meant that you had to have the ability to speak Parseltongue, which only raised more questions.

Sighing, he shook his head. Puzzling over it would not help. No Hufflepuff would willingly have her child turned into a Dark Wizard and she had never been seen since the day Voldemort had vanished, not even among the remaining Death Eaters.

If the worst came to the worst, he knew he could inform Dumbledore, but until the child actually appeared and implied that he intended to destroy the known wizarding and muggle world, there was little Snape could do.

Without the proof - in other words, the child - there was nothing he could do at all.
It was just a matter of waiting.

***

"Alex, hurry up!"

There was the sound of her eleven year old son clattering down the stairs. She looked around as he hopped into the kitchen, still trying to tug his sneaker onto his left foot, the laces of the one on his right foot flapping on the floor.

"Do you want any breakfast?"

"Do I have time, mom?"

Cassandra glanced at the clock. "Maybe a pop tart," she suggested with a grin, one of the aforementioned breakfast foods popping up out of the toaster. Snatching it, she tossed it from hand to hand, then to Alex. "Everything you need is in your rucksack."

"Thanks mom!" Pecking her quickly on the cheek, the dark-haired boy turned and ran straight back through the living room to the front door, his voice carrying back to her before the door closed. "Love you, mom!"

Chuckling, Cassandra turned back to the kitchen, which she was in the middle of tidying. As usual, Alex had slept in, despite numerous alarm clocks positioned around his room and her calls up to him.

Despite insisting his new years resolution was that he was going to get up early for school every day, he hadn't managed it in the three weeks since term had restarted after the Christmas vacation.

Today was a particularly bad day.

It was only when she had put the video of one of his favourite movies in the player and turned up the volume that he had actually got up, then realised the time and started panicking about being late.

Not that he cared about school.

Alex, being Alex, only went because he could hang out with Willow and Jesse. No doubt, poor Willow would be sitting between them for their test this afternoon and they would come out with decent grades as well.

The two boys had developed a code over the years of their friendship and could take it in turns to spy on their red-haired friend's papers, then tell each other the answers through hand gestures and small actions, like yawns and sneezes.

Beyond the dark-green kitchen door, the living room door clicked shut and Cassandra hummed to herself as she washed the dishes from the previous evening, bubbles and warm water up to her elbows.

"Cass."

A shriek of fright escaped her, a plate slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor as she whipped around. "Who is it?"

"Just me," Ethan's head appeared, bobbing in mid-air. Before he could get the rest of the invisibility cloak off, Cassandra had thrown herself into his arms and was scattering kisses all over his face, her bubble-covered arms around him.

"You bloody git!" she cried, half-laughing, half-sobbing, claiming a brief, hard kiss. "What are you doing here? You scared me half to death!" The look on her lover's face made her pause, though. "Ethan?"

"Something's up, Cass," he replied tersely, looking around. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Upstairs - the attic is safe." She replied, quickly, towelling her hands and motioning for him to follow her.

They ran up the stairs and she pulled the attic ladder down, both of the scrambling up and coming to rest in the stuffy room, the dim light filtering through a dirty window. Sitting down on one of the crates, she motioned for him to do the same, as he shrugged the cloak off.

"What is it?"

"The Chamber of Secrets," he replied quietly, his face tight with anxiety.

"What about it?"

The wizard looked down at his folded hands, then back at her. "Its open, Cass."

"But...but it can't be, can it?" She gave him a puzzled look. "That's impossible...You Know Who is gone...I would know if he was back...he's Slytherin's Heir..." A determined look crossed her face. "He can't be back."

"I know, Cass, but all the same, its been opened," Ethan replied, staring straight at her. He looked a lot older and tireder than she remembered. "I've been over it in my head a dozen times and I can't work out what or who is doing it."

The blonde witch ran her hands through her hair. "I...he can't be back, Ethan...he just can't be... and no one else could open it... he told me...only Parselmouths... they're the only ones who can open it... he..."

"What did you say?" Ethan started.

"He can't be back."

"No...about parselmouths."

Cassandra shrugged. "They're the only ones who could open it. He was a parselmouth and he kept whispering to me in that language...thought it was...sexy...he told me those were the words to open the chamber..words only a parsel...Ethan?"

"There is another one..."

"Parselmouth?" The witch paled. "You...you think he had another Heir?"

Ethan's laugh was strained. "Here's the irony," he said. "The Parselmouth at Hogwarts...its none other than Harry Potter." Cassandra stared at him in confusion. "Something tells me that he wouldn't be the one setting the Monster of Slytherin on people." "But how...?"

The wizard shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Cass," he replied wearily. "The boy is in Gryffindor, but it keeps everyone off our trail for a while." Cassandra jolted at his words. "And yes, that's why I'm here."

"How do you know all this is happening, Ethan?"

Ethan gave her a watery grin that she remembered very well. "I have a spy at Hogwarts...a very reliable spy, who knows I'm protecting something, but doesn't know what." She gave him a suspicious look. "Flitwick. I never lost touch with the old fellow."

"And he told you all this?"

"He's been keeping me up to date on everything that has been happening." The wizard ran his fingers through his unruly brown curls. "They've had some people petrified, but no fatalities so far. Potter transpired to be a Parselmouth, so he became the prime suspect, but I don't believe that anymore than I believe that McGonogall would go to a Disco."

Cassandra couldn't help grinning at that image, but it faded quickly. "What about the Death Eaters? Have you heard anything about any of them?"

"Actually, yes," He glanced around, as if checking for spies. "Apparently Dumbledore has a former Death Eater on the staff at the..."

"WHAT?!?" Cassandra was on her feet in a heartbeat. "Bloody hell, Ethan! They have a Death Eater actually working at Hogwarts and you're wondering who would be able to open the Chamber of Secrets..."

"A former Death Eater, Cass," He rose, laying his hands on her shoulders and gently forcing her to sit again. "Old Flitwick trusted me not to say anything to anyone else, but I have to tell you. He was a spy for the Ministry until the fall. You Know Who didn't even know."

Huge brown eyes stared up at him fearfully. "I'm not liking the sound of this..." she whispered hoarsely. "Who was it?"

"I-I shouldn't say."

"Ethan."

He looked away. "Severus Snape."

"Snape...oh God...no...no, he can't be...he would have told them about me by now..." She stared at him frantically. "It was him! I knew I recognised his voice! I knew it...I didn't put two and two together..."

"What are you babbling about?" Ethan face was etched with concern.

"The blood vow," A shaking hand ran over her face and she shook her head. "Ethan, he was there..." Her voice was shaking so badly he could barely understand her. "He knows who I am and what Alex is...a spy...a spy for the light side...they know Voldemort has an Heir...he knows who I am..."

The older Wizard's face seemed to drain of blood, his throat dry and clicking as he tried to swallow. "Shit..."

"Bloody understatement of the year...oh God...what if they try and take Alex?" Tears spilled down her pale face. "What if they find us? If he's told the Ministry, they'll be after us...and the Fidelius thing can't fool all of them..."

Her best friend and lover gathered her quickly in his arms, hugging her tightly. "That'll never happen, Cass," he whispered, kissing her brow. "Flitwick didn't say anything about them knowing about an Heir. If they find out, I'll be the first to know outside of the school and I'll let you know before they can even think about starting to look for you."

"But if things get too bad, Ethan..." She pulled back, staring wildly up at him. "If he comes back, he's not going to let his Heir go undiscovered and by then, the light siders would be looking for us too."

"Only if Snape cracks."

"And do you think he will?"

The wizard sighed, sitting down and lifting her into his lap as he had so many times before. "If I remember Snape right, the only person he would tell anything like this to is Dumbledore. He hated the Ministry as much as we do."

"But what if he does, Ethan?" She was shivering painfully. "The Ministry is powerful...they could put out a Muggle alert for me and - even if the Fidelius spell affects Wizards - it won't affect muggles...they could find us that way..."

"Don't be so negative, Cass," he said quietly. "If the worst comes to the worst, I could always contact Severus."

"Y-you knew him?"

Ethan smirked. "Where do you think I got my supplies for my naughty potions?" he inquired, his eyes dancing. "He had a veritible black market of illegal supplies running during his time at Hogwarts for those who knew where and when to get to it."

"But he...I thought he was Slytherin..."

"Not all Slytherins were bad, Cass," His hand was moving softly on her tangled blonde hair as he spoke, his voice quiet. "I actually got on reasonably well with him, when he wasn't putting together dark potions."

"This coming from a demon-worshipper?" She tried to make it sound glib, but failed.

"Trust me on this, Cass. Some of the things he could produce even went beyond my code of loose ethics," he sighed. "Poor Severus. He got roped into the Death Eater Squad by those Slytherins who picked on you so much."

"Do...do you think you could ask him not to tell anyone, Ethan? Please?"

A grin crossed Ethan's face. "I'm sure I could," he replied, still holding her close to his broad chest. "Its been a while since I paid dear old Sevvie a visit and I do actually need a new stock of tail of roachworms."

"You and your weird ingredients," Cassandra muttered.

"Of course."

"How will you contact him?"

The wizard sighed, rocking her gently. "I'll apparate across to Salt Lake City," he replied.
"I'm sure I'll find some fireplace I can use to contact him there."

"Salt Lake City?" she echoed skeptically. "Are you sure that's the right kind of place?"

Ethan's grin was contagious. "Luv, I don't know what tourist books you've been reading, but every single person in that city is a witch or wizard. Its the American version of Hogsmeade and its only weird because of that, which is why muggles find it so amusing. They think it's for other reasons."

"A confundus charm on the whole city, eh?"

"How did you guess?"

She reached up to kiss him on the cheek. "Let's just say that I'm picking up some sneaky habits and things from you, Ethan," Her fingers loosened the buttons of his shirt, as their lips met briefly and she stroked her other hand through his curly hair.

"Luv, we shouldn't..." he protested feebly as his shirt slid off his shoulders and he let it fall to the floor. "What about your husband?"

Brown eyes met green. "I don't give a damn about him, Ethan," she replied softly, pausing only to peel off her T-shirt, his hands going behind her and flicking the hooks of her bra free in a matter of seconds.

Straddling his lap, she claimed his mouth in a fierce kiss, her bare breasts pressing hard against his chest. His hands spread on her smooth back, holding her firmly to him as he started to kiss his way down her neck.

Somehow, the Wizard managed to stand, his hands hooked under her jean-clad buttocks and lift her, her legs and arms around him, then climb down the ladder from the attic and walk the length of the hall to the bedroom.

Placing her on the bed, he had gazed down at her for several long moments, until she raised her hands to him in invitation and he joined her, their lips meeting again, as she whispered. "I love you."

In the soft warmth of the South California winter morning, the couple made love together for the first time in over a year. Followed by the second, third and fourth time, both weeping for the need and relief of being together once more.

In the warm security of her lover's arms, as afternoon approached, Cassandra fell asleep, murmuring happily.

Rising as she slept and kissing her closed eyes tenderly, Ethan whispered a soft "I love you" before dressing and disapparating.

***

"Mom, I'm home!"

The house was silent, which struck Alexander as very strange. He looked around the living room and kitchen, but there was no sign of his dad anywhere. Everything was neat, orderly and...silent.

Normally, mom would be waiting for him.

"Mom?"

Tossing his rucksack on the couch, he ran up the stairs, getting more worried when no reply came. She was usually so obsessive about making sure he got home okay that it was weird not to find her watching for him from the window.

Even napping on the couch.

She had never not been there before.

"Mom?"

The bathroom was empty with no sign that anyone had been in there since he had left for school that morning. Scratching his head, his hair more mussed than usual, he made his way towards his parents' bedroom.

Normally, he avoided it, in case dad was about, but if mom was in trouble...

Nervously, he pushed the door open and peered around, a sigh of relief escaping him.

His mother was in the large bed, curled up under a sheet, one arm bent up under her head and she looked more peaceful than she had in a long time. Her golden hair was spread around her like a cloud and she was smiling in her sleep.

He started to close the door, but a squeak from the hinge made her stir and she opened her eyes, squinting at him sleepily. "Alex?"

"Mom? Are you okay?"

A broad, lazy smile spread across her face and she sat up, holding the sheet against her upper body. "I'm great, honey," she replied, extending her right arm and laughing as he ran to her and hugged her. "I was just a little tired."

"You look real happy," he noted, sitting down on the mattress beside her.

"I guess I just needed to get some rest, or something, sweetie," she smiled fondly at him, mussing his hair with her fingers. He swatted at her hand, grinning back at her. "So, how did the test go?"

"Willow aced it, which means I didn't do too bad," he replied, an impish look on his face. "If I do bad, its only cos Jesse can't remember the difference between the codes for the multiple choice papers."

"And you didn't make it too obvious?"

"Mom!" He looked almost offended that she would imply such a thing. "I'm a professional!"

"So how many did you not copy?"

"Enough so I can pass, but get away with it without looking like I was copying from Will," He looked around when the doorbell rang. "I guess that's Jesse and Willow..." He looked at his mother with concern. "You going to be okay, mom?"

"I'll be fine, sweetie. You go and have fun with your friends."

He nodded and darted out of the room, pulling the door closed as he went. Cassandra smiled fondly as he thundered down the long flight of stairs and she heard the front door crash shut behind him.

Lying back on the bed, she arched her slim body sleekly, the white sheet silky and cool against the contours of her body. She felt satisfied, content and pleased with herself for the first time in months.

"Love you, Ethan," she murmured to the air, before drowsily letting herself fall asleep again.

***

"Good evening."

Snape almost yelled in fright, whirling around, papers scattering from his desk with the draught from his cape. A muffled obscenity slipped passed his lips and he stared down at the fire in sheer astonishment. "Ethan Rayne?"

"One in the same, Sev," The face in the flames flashed a familiar smirk at him. "Got time to have a visitor?"

"Here?"

"In Hogwarts?" Snape nodded. "No. Not secure," The face looked around furtively. "Do you remember the old farmhouse where we used to meet, just outside Hogsmeade?" Snape nodded an affirmative at the code. "There in no less than five-sixteenths by the second highest twenty-fourth nine."

There was a popping sound and Ethan's head vanished from the flames, but Snape was still staring at the flames in shock.

Ethan Rayne.

It had been a dog's age since they had seen each other.

Since he had gone to the dark side and Ethan had gone demon-follower.

Recalling what the wizard had said, he groaned.

Trust Ethan to give him less than ten minutes to get from Hogwarts to the hidden and little-known back room of Honeydukes, where he used to sell his rare - and occasionally extremely illegal - ingredients for potions.

Leaving papers scattered across the floor, he swung his travel cloak off a hook, pulling it on as he ran into the darkened hallways, his footsteps sounding deafening to him as he hurried towards the main doors.

The moonlight was slanting in through high windows that lined the walls, gleaming on the checked floor of the hall and he pulled the huge, heavy main door open, slipping out of the gap into the grounds.

His feet flew as he ran across the open ground, aware that he had probably been spotted by at least Filch, and - if not him - Professor Dumbledore. It was certainly going to take some explaining when he returned.

Sneaking out at midnight, running around like a lunatic...

He could always claim it was part of a new fitness regime.

Or that he had lost the plot.

Why was he even bothering with Ethan Rayne and his call?

Because they were old school 'chums'? No. They had never been that friendly. Because it would be a chance to reminisce about the good, old days? Emphatically not. For one thing, there had been no good old days to reminisce about. Because of what then?

He couldn't say.

Panting, he realised he had reached the edge of the grounds of the school and - with great relief - disapparated.

He apparated straight to the hidden room of the closed sweet shop, the basement in pitch darkness. Reaching for his wand, he felt a hand grab at his shoulder and tried not to jump with the surprise. "Ethan?"

"Sev."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was shopping?" Snape snorted. "That would be a no, then."

"Can't we have some light, Ethan? I know you, you know me - do we need the darkness?"

He heard a chuckle. "Still scared of the dark, eh, Sev?" Fabric rustled behind him and he heard a whisper of a spell. The tip of a wand lit up near his face and he turned, squinting at the Wizard behind him.

The crates, boxes and dusty shelves of the sweet shop above them were put on display by the soft, fuzzy, white light glowing at the tip of the taller wizard's wand, a mouse or two scuttling away into the shadows.

"Better?"

"A little," Snape muttered, trying not to show his relief. As Ethan had noted, the greasy-haired wizard was afraid of the dark, especially when he was uncertain of his surroundings and the threat they posed.

Hardly surprising, considering his previous career choice.

"What are you doing here, Ethan?"

The sandy-haired Wizard moved around to sit on a crate opposite the Potions Master. "A friend asked me to come and have a word with you," he replied quietly. His expression was grave. "You know something that could put all of us in serious danger."

"Us? A friend? Who?"

Ethan held up a hand. "You were a Death Eater, Sev," he said quietly. Snape shook his head, his mouth suddenly dry. Only a couple of the other teaching staff were meant to know that. It was a closely guarded secret. "I know you were."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ethan."

"Don't waste both our times by lying, Sev. I have it on good authority that you were," There was no judgement in Ethan's green eyes. "The fact is that I know you spied for the ministry as well." Snape swallowed hard. "You didn't tell them everything you know, did you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Ethan did not reply, withdrawing a small blade from his pocket and piercing his left palm with it. A horrified look crossed the Potions Master's face, recognising what his former associate was doing, his face paling.

"Stop."

Turning his hand over, Ethan watched a drop of scarlet trickle down his palm and drip onto a small goblet in his hand. "Hmm?"

"Ethan, stop it."

Green eyes rose. "Do you remember what this is, Sev?" He murmured.

"N-no."

"Don't lie, Sev. I'm only making sure of something, before I blab my secrets to you."

Snape lowered his head, his hands shaking. He turned his own left hand over and stared at the faded scar on the centre of his palm. "The opening phase of making the Death Eaters Blood Vow," he muttered.

"So it was you!" Relief flooded Ethan's taut face. Snape looked up, confused. "Listen, Sev, this is very important. You remember little Cassie Bones, the blonde runt I looked after when I was at school?"

"How could I forget?" A look of distaste curled his lip. "She was the one that all the Slytherins were told to pick on."

"And..."

"You already know, so why do I need to tell you?"

"Know what?" Snape groaned, realising that it wasn't about to be made easy for him.

"That she went to You Know Who," Ethan raised a brow and the Potions Master quailed under the cool expression. "All right, she was taken to You Know Who. I still don't see why I should care about this."

"Because you made a blood vow, whether you wanted to or not," Ethan said quietly, his eyes fixed on Snape's face which had gone rigid. "You vowed to protect her and the child Voldemort left her with."

Snape's mouth was bone dry. "I-I...how could you know?"

"Because she told me, Sev," Ethan's voice was low and quiet. "She put a name to a voice and she asked me to come and see you."

"She's alive? And safe?"

The hopeful look in Snape's eyes drew a small smile from Ethan. "She's fine, Sev," he replied softly. "She and her son are living in secret, but I've been keeping her informed of what has been going on in our world," Green eyes met black. "She wants you to know that she took your advice and she wants you to pretend to know nothing about Alex. She wants him to be raised as a normal little boy."

"Normal? The son of You Know Who?"

"Lets say that the poor kid is definitely blessed with his mother's looks," Ethan chuckled. "He's harmless and would never dream of using magic. All Cass wants to know is that the Ministry won't show up one day and throw him into Azkaban."

Snape nodded. "I don't blame her for wishing it to be so," he remarked. "That's why I hadn't told anyone before. I hoped she would have taken my advice...its a relief to know she is safe, after all."

"So no one knows about her?"

"Only the other surviving Death Eaters," Snape replied, rubbing his cool hands together. "I don't think they would be too keen to run around telling everyone, until they knew they had either the father or the son to lead them."

Ethan's relief was palpable. "Alex would never do that, so unless old You-Know-Who manages to come back, you're safe," Snape nodded. "Do you think he will?"

"You do know what happened here last year, don't you?"

"The incident with the Philosopher's Stone?"

Snape's expression tightened. "Dumbledore didn't let too many details out beyond the staff, but its impossible not to say that Voldemort must be regaining strength, if he was able to possess young Quirrel's body."

"And what on earth is going on with young Potter?"

The Potions Master's lip curled. "He's far too similar to his father, that boy. He's broken almost every school rule in the last year and a half and its just like James and that bloody werewolf. Dumbledore thinks he's marvellous and when Dumbledore thinks that, nothing anyone can say will change his mind," Ethan nodded sympathetically.

Potter and his little group - while younger than Ethan - had been the bane of any normal pupil's existance. They were popular, witty, good-looking - in other words, the very kind of people who annoyed the ones who were either too tall or too greasy or too interested in demon-worship.

It was only made worse because the quartet could get away with anything, anything at all.

"Is it true that he's a Parselmouth?"

"Indeed," Snape's thin lips curled in a cold grin. "That was a bit of a nasty surprise for old Dumbledore. He had to have a chat with the Sorting Hat, who admitted it only didn't put Potter in Slytherin because Potter asked to be put somewhere else."

"That's odd..."

"That's Potter," Snape's voice was bitter. "I can't help hoping that the Monster of Slytherin will catch up with him next."

"But that would be far too obvious a target, unless it is You Know Who controlling it," Ethan leaned on his knees thoughtfully. "You know, you're going to have to keep me updated with everything that's going on here...especially dark rumours."

"So you can protect Bones and her baby?"

"Not so much a baby now, but yes," Ethan smiled faintly.

Snape fingered his dark, dusty robes for a few moments, a brief silence descending. "May I ask you something, Ethan?" The older wizard nodded, motioning for him to do so. "What is he like? The boy?"

"I've only seen him in passing. He's a strong, resilient little sod," He groped in his capricious pockets for his wallet, withdrawing a picture that he had absconded with from Cassandra's dressing table. In it, Cassandra had her dark-haired son wrapped up in a hug and they were both laughing. "He's almost twelve already..."

Snape took the picture, illuminating his own wand and staring at the motionless picture in astonishment. "This is him?" he asked, shaking his head. The boy looked frighteningly normal, with unruly black hair, sparkling brown eyes and a broad grin. "This is You Know Who's son?"

"Surprising, isn't it?" Ethan murmured. "I thought you might want to see it so you know what and who you'll be protecting, before I have to destroy it. I can't risk any dark siders getting a hold of it or finding them."

"And he doesn't do any magic?"

"None."

Snape nodded, then handed the photograph back. "Good," He said firmly. "You tell her I won't reveal her secret as long as she keeps herself concealed. The child deserves to be free from the curse of his father."

"And if You Know Who returns?"

"I know nothing. I saw nothing. I haven't seen her since she fled."

"Thank you," Ethan offered a hand, which Snape shook. "I don't care what anyone else says about you, Sev, you're a good man."

"And you're a complete lunatic," Snape replied with a faint smile.

"Nice to know that I haven't been forgotten," Ethan chuckled. "Now, though, we both better go. Dumbledore'll be waiting for you, no doubt and I need to get out of the country again. It'll be safer for me to get gone while I still can."

Snape nodded, rising and smoothing his dust-streaked robes down. "Good luck to you, Ethan. I can't help thinking you'll need it."

"Likewise, Sev," They clasped hands once more. "Keep safe and don't do anything stupid."

"Like poisoning Potter?"

"Exactly," They exchanged wry smiles, then - in a heartbeat - the basement of the small shop was empty.

Chapter Four - The Prisoner

Set One Year Later - "The Prisoner of Azkaban"

"Sirius Black has escaped."

The silence that followed the announcement by Professor Dumbledore in the staff room was one of stunned horror. The full staff of Hogwarts had been called back urgently that morning and all of them were curious why.

"Fudge is about to inform the press and contact the correct Muggle sources," the old Wizard continued heavily, looking more exhausted than he had for a long time. "but I thought it best that I should inform you, particularly considering who we have studying here."

Each member of staff reacted differently, most shocked and some looking scared. The Headmaster didn't miss the range of emotions passing over each face, but his attention was centrally on the Potions Master.

Snape's thin lips were pressed together in a narrow line, his black eyes revealing nothing, his sallow-skinned hands gripping the arms of the chair he was sitting on until it looked like the knuckles were going to thrust through his flesh.

"How?" McGonogall was the first to speak, her voice hoarse. "No one has ever escaped from Azkaban before, Albus...how is it possible?"

"I wish I knew, Minerva...perhaps dark magic...maybe he had aid..." Dumbledore laid his hands in his lap and sighed. "Alas, all we can do now is wait until he is either recaptured and returned to his prison or..." His eyes were on Snape's face. "Executed."

The Potions Master stared neutrally back at him, but - inside - his stomach was churning and his heart doing flips. He couldn't say if he was pleased about it or guilty about letting the man he knew was innocent go to his death.

Discussions sprang up around the room, most being spoken in hushed voices, as if afraid that Black would overhear them. The genuine fear permeating the room was making the dark-haired, pale-faced teacher feel physically ill.

He said nothing. Did less.

He could feel his nails scraping painfully into the solid wood of the arms of his chairs, his teeth grinding together. Dumbledore was watching him, he knew. He could feel the usually calm, twinkling blue eyes fixed on his averted face.

The Head Master knew something was amiss.

He could not prove it or say for certain what it was, but he knew that something about Sirius Black was amiss. Snape kept his eyes turned away, knowing that if he met that tranquil, searching gaze, he would reveal the truth and he did not wish to do so.

After all, it was his vengeance.

After what seemed like an uncomfortable eternity, the aged Headmaster slowly got to his feet and looked around at the assembled staff.

"Perhaps," he murmured quietly, but was still heard by everyone. "We should continue these debates by the light of day. We may be able to see clearer and I know my head has a peculiar longing for a pillow now."

Nods went around the silent room and Severus reluctantly acknowledged the casual look in his direction, meeting Dumbledore's blue eyes for as short a moment as was possible without looking more suspicious than he already did.

The staff started dispersing from the room, no doubt on their way to their various chambers in their respective towers and cellars, still talking in low voices to one another as they moved off in groups or pairs.

Snape was halfway out of the door, when a voice called.

"Severus."

Pausing, his hand on the doorframe, splinters cutting into his skin, the Potions Master glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, Headmaster?" He was impressed by how calm and steady his voice seemed to sound.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Damn him.

How could he always tell?

"N-no. Nothing I can think of, Headmaster."

The Headmaster took a slow step towards him and nodded, age-spotted hands folded in front of his body. "Very well, Severus," His voice suggested that he knew there was something, but he was not going to push for it. "Perhaps I could talk with you tomorrow?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look, then nodded once. "Very well," he said quietly. "Good night, Severus."

Stepping out of the room, Snape heaved a sigh of relief as he started down the long halls towards his office and sleeping quarters.

Concealed by the lengthening shadows from the high windows, his hurried footsteps on the stone floors were the only things that even suggested he was there, his robes pulled close around him, swishing softly.

Reaching one of the passages that opened into a short cut to his office, he ran a hand over the head of a statue of a small Satyr. It hopped to one side and the wall behind it opened into the dimly lit passage.

Illuminating his wand, he stepped into the passage and hurried onwards, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking. All he wanted was to be as far from Dumbledore's questioning gaze as he possibly could.

Within minutes, he had reached the other end of the passage and slid down the small chute and through a portrait hole that had opened up, landing in the corridor just outside of his silent and familiar office.

Entering and reinforcing the combination of muggle and magical locks, he leaned back against the door with a low groan, sinking down the thick wooden panels to the floor, the back of his head resting against the wood.

He could and should have told them that Black wasn't a Death Eater and never had been. He had known them all, by name, by face and by voice, in spite of the masks and various disguises that they donned.

However, while he knew that Black innocent of most of the crimes he had been jailed for, he also knew there were crimes that no one knew of, crimes that validated his silence regarding the now-free prisoner.

Undoing the cuffs of his dress robes, he reluctantly pushed them up, over his bone-thin wrists, a look of distaste crossing his features as he tilted them into the light of the single candle that burned in the wall above his head.

They would never fade, he knew.

The scars.

His right fingers brushed over the thin stripes on his left wrist, marks he had inflicted upon himself daily, every single year that he had attended Hogwarts, after suffering Black's... humourous torment.

That was the fact that was ignored about Black.

He was a bully.

A cruel, vindictive bully.

Snape sighed, closing his eyes. He had been one of Black's favourite victims, because he was smaller than average and - despite knowing a vast array of curses and potions - was simply not strong enough to outdo the larger youth.

He had started cutting himself in the middle of their first year, as a pressure vent. His parents would have literally cursed him senseless if he had been expelled, so he had found a kind of relief in harming himself instead of harming Black.

Not that anyone in Slytherin House had noticed.

Of course, it was the only way any of the non-Death-Eaters and goodie-goodies could fight with and torment the Junior league of Death Eaters, without Voldemort cheerfully walking in and wiping them all out.

Stirring himself, Snape slowly levered himself to his feet and approached his desk, sitting down in the hard-backed seat. His hands came to rest on the desk, his memory drifting back to his final years at the school.

He wasn't any more popular than he had been in first year. He wasn't the only one being picked on by Black or other Witches and Wizards from the other three houses. He wasn't the only one that had resorted to self-harm as a way of escaping it.

He was, however, the one who found Lazing.

The young Slytherin Witch had been another potions adept and one of the few people who had spoken to him willingly, often asking for aid from him with her potions, not ashamed to admit mistakes and learn from her betters.

Here was another of Black's favourite toys.

She hadn't said anything about it to anyone. No one ever did, for fear of it getting worse.
Sixteen-year-old Severus had entered the common room one winter morning, on his way to the potions lab to begin work early, only to find her slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace, her eyes glazed, her body limp.

The young Witch, a barely fourteen-year-old little girl, had been driven to taking poison to escape the torment of the older Gryffindors.

Snape had gone into shock. The only person he could truly regard as a friend had killed herself and he had been too blind to even notice that she had been going through the same thing as he had.

That seemed to be when Dumbledore had realised that - perhaps - he was being too liberal with his house and the bullying was cut down dramatically, but it was too late to bring little Catrina Lazing back.

That was also when Snape realised that he hated - really, truly and from the bottom of his heart and soul, despised - Sirius Black.

When Black had been arrested, he cheered along with the rest of the Slytherins who had been tormented by the handsome Gryffindor.

Many older Witches and Wizards wondered what could have changed the charming youth, but none of the people of his own age group and none of his teachers doubted that he wouldn't have been capable of killing so many muggles.

Now, though, he was loose.

No doubt he would find some way to prove his innocence.

He always had an irritating ability to dodge the blame and it was only blind luck and - Snape had to grudgingly admit - Peter Pettigrew's imagination that got him caught. The fact that Pettigrew had died was rather unfortunate, though.

Snape would have liked to have shaken his hand.

Shaking his head, Snape got to his feet again and wandered across the silent to lean on the mantelpiece. It had always been his favourite spot for thinking and, glancing down at the ashes, a thought came to him.

Ethan.

What if he heard the news and relayed it onto young Bones?

She would know for a fact that Black was not one of her captors. In fact, she - along with him - was probably one of the only people who knew every Death Eater's name. She had been a smart one, little Bones.

That raised the question, though, what would she do?

She might tell Ethan the truth - that Black had gone to Azkaban for twelve years for a crime he did not commit. It wouldn't make much difference though. If Ethan emerged, claiming Black was innocent, no one would believe him, a demon worshipper.

The Potions Master let a wry grin cross his face.

Unless by some miracle, Pettigrew was alive and could come forward and admit he had framed Black, not even the word of Cassandra Bones, mother of Voldemort's Heir, would convince anyone.

He glanced at the mantel clock. It was passed midnight already. His gaze drifted to his desk, where sheets of parchment and his quills lay. Perhaps he would have time to contact Ethan and let him know what was happening.

Or, perhaps, he should wait he had spoken to Dumbledore the next morning.

Maybe that way he could provide some more information for the illusive demon-worshipper and Lady Voldemort.

***

"Oh and me and Jesse are in the 'I hate Cordelia' club. Willow's going to be the secretary! She doesn't know yet, though," speaking enthusiastically around a mouthful of waffles, Alexander grinned up at his mother.

Cassandra raised a brow. "Cordelia? Who is she?"

"Cordelia Chase," he elaborated, pulling a face. "Her dad's that real rich guy and they live in the big house just outta town."

"Ah, the wonderful Miss Chase," the blonde Witch murmured. "I remember you mentioning her...oh...about twenty times in the last hour and a half." She gave her son a knowing smile. "Is she pretty?"

"Ew! No! Anyway, girls have cooties!"

Cassandra reached over and mussed his hair. "I thought you might say that," she replied, getting to her feet and carrying the late-breakfast dishes to the sink. "What are you going to do today? Anything interesting?"

"Me and Jesse are going to try and get Willow to come to the water park with us cos Jesse's dad said he'd take us," He looked disgusted. "She says she's got work to do for school! We don't even go back until tomorrow and she's already doing work."

"At least she's organised," Cassandra laughed at her son's expression.

"Yeah, but its only school!"

"Quit shoutin'," a deep voice grumbled from the door, both Alexander and Cassandra whipping around to see Robert Harris standing there, scowling darkly at both of them. "Alex, get your ass outside and mow the lawn."

"But, dad..." Alexander fell silent as his step-father shot a warning look at him.

"Robert, he's going out with Jesse today to the water park. I can mow the lawn," Cassandra hurried around the counter and stepped in front of her son. Her husband stared down at her, eyes bulging with anger.

"He's my son as well, Cassie," he snarled, his eyes suggesting that she try and argue with that point and - inadvertedly - reveal the truth to her son. "I'll damn well tell him what to do, if I want to."

"Robert, its the last day of his vacation!"

"And he should spend it doing something useful to earn his keep around this house. All he does round here is eat and take up too much space," Dark, piggy eyes stared bitterly at the dark-haired boy. "We should have had him adopted."

"Don't you EVER say that!" Cassandra hissed, her eyes blazing.

Alexander touched her shoulder. "Mom, its okay."

"No, its not, Alex," Cassandra looked up at her husband. "You go and I'll do the lawn, okay?"

"You step out of that door and you'll regret it, my boy!"

"Go, Alex!"

"Mom..."

"I said GO!"

The young boy sprinted for the door, leaving his mother to face off against his massive and furious father. He heard his father yell a string of obscenities as the door crashed shut behind him and his mother's voice screaming back just as loudly.

Tears were stinging in his eyes as he reached the main path and started running. He told himself it was because he was running so fast and because the wind was hurting his eyes, but he knew that was a lie.

More than anything, he wished he could walk back into the house and magically make his father disappear and then he and his mom would be fine. There wouldn't be anymore fighting or bruises or crying.

All he needed was a little bit of magic and everything would be all right.

***

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Cassandra winced, fingering the latest bruise that had swollen her right eye so much that she could barely open it.

Yes, she had her husband constantly under a controlling imperio spell, but occasionally, just occasionally, he could break through, especially when he was as furiously angry as he had been this morning.

Fortunately, though, he was so stupid he never realised that he had done so.

Lifting a cool, damp cloth from the sink, she pressed it against her eye, hissing through her teeth at the sensation. Part of her wished she had the physical strength to return the blow, but she knew that would never happen.

It was times like that that she was tempted to use another of the unforgivable curses.

Especially when her foolish lout of a husband threatened her precious son.

He could scream at her as often as he liked, hit her on occasion, abuse her once in a blue moon, but he could not - he simply could NOT - be allowed to harm or even threaten her beautiful, darling boy.

Cassandra's gaze drifted down to the mahogany wand that was resting beside the basin. It stayed with her at all times for the sole reason that she did not trust her husband as far as she could throw him.

Picking it up, she bent, quickly rolling the right leg of her jeans up to her knee. Twin straps were fastened around her calf and she carefully slotted the wand into them and secured it there, to prevent it from being found.

With it concealed, she smoothed her jeans down, checked her eye once more, then exited the silent bathroom, making her way back down the long flight of stairs towards the living room.

If she had been asked later what made her look out of the window next to the door, she couldn't have said. All she knew was that she happened to look out the window and noticed that the flag on the mailbox was up.

Frowning slightly, she opened the front door and wandered down to the box opening it. A single envelope lay inside and she pulled it out, her frown deepening when she realised that there was nothing written on it, except her name.

Turning, she returned into the coolness of the air-conditioned house, absently closing the door behind her as she tore the envelope open. A couple of sheets of parchment lay inside and she felt her heart leap.

Only one person she knew would use parchment.

Sinking down on the sofa, she quickly unfolded the crisp letter, recognising the familiar, ungainly scrawl that seemed to take up far too much paper, black ink smudged here and there, where he had forgotten to blot it.

***

Dear Skeleton, (She chuckled at the other childhood nickname)

Sorry I couldn't drop in and see you myself, but I'm on the run from a bit of a nasty customer, who wasn't too pleased about a little...job I did for him. I had time to drop this off and I'll be in to see you as soon as I can.

I had to write, though, cos I've just got some more news from a few sources at the pig-house. Poison and Charmer ("Snape and Flitwick,")are both keeping me up to date with whatever is happening in Wiz-world and you know how crazy that place can be.

Both of them told me the same thing: Dogboy ("Dogboy?" She frowned.), friend of Pothead, Loopy and Petti ("Oh! Sirius Black...right. The Constellation...") has managed to escape from the pound and is running wild. ("Eh?")

In case I forgot to tell you, Dogboy was locked up for helping Snakebreath bump off Pothead and Red. (Cassandra shook her head. "That can't be right.") He would have got away with it, except Petti apparently tracked him down and Dogboy blew him to pieces. He's spent the last twelve years in Wiz pris and they think he's after Pothead Junior.

Funny old world, ain't it? Pothead Junior could probably have a run of books written about him, just because he had a thick skull that no bullet could penetrate, but no one cares about old Snakebreath's squirt. ("Not that I mind." She murmured.)

Anyway, back to Dogboy and his escape from the wonderful Wizard of Az. Poison said he can guarantee Dogboy wasn't one of Snakebreath's crew and he said you would know if it was true or not.

What I want to know is, if Dogboy wasn't a bad guy and the one that let Pothead's whereabouts slip, who was it? And fair enough, there was a hell of a lot of evidence against Dogboy in the almost non-existent trial, but I'm still confused by it all.

Either way, if he's just after Pothead Junior, I don't think we've got anything to worry about, but if he did follow Snakebreath, then he might try and bring him back and you know how much that'll mess up our schedules for the next...well, eternity.

Anyway, I have to run for now. I'll drop you another line as soon as I can. Keep the brat and yourself safe. I'd hate to have to yell at you again!

Shags and kisses,
Drizzle.

***

Re-reading the letter several times, Cassandra bit her lower lip. Folding up the letter, questions filled her head. Could she have been wrong about Black? Had he been a Death Eater that she didn't know about?

Snape said no and Snape had been there longer than she had, so that was a plus for her.

But what if he was and he tried to bring...

No.

It wouldn't help to think like that. She *knew* for certain that Black wasn't a Death Eater and because of that, he did not affect her. As long as he didn't come near her, he could be the Queen Mother for all she cared.

If it had been Pettigrew, however, she knew she would have been in trouble, but little Peter had died, according to Ethan. Blown to pieces. A messy, but very quick way to go. And it served him right for what he had done.

Getting to her feet, she ran up the stairs to her bedroom and dug out the keys for her large chest, opening the seventh lock as quickly as she could, revealing her hidden room that was, once she descended the ladder into it, almost as large as her bedroom.

It was a small study, complete with a desk and chair, bookshelves packed with an assortment of magic books and magical supplies. This, aside from the bathroom, was her refuge as long as her husband wasn't around.

Opening her desk, she carefully placed the letter in with the small collection she had gathered over the last twelve years, all of them from Ethan and her only way to get through her life with her sanity intact.

Pushing the drawer shut, she glanced at the shelf above the desk. A huge, leather-bound journal sat there and she tiredly reached up to pull it down. It was the place she could muse over revelations from her friend, sorting through coincidences and puzzles.

The dust made her sneeze as she cracked it open, the pages yellowed and etched here and there with black ink, doodles trailing across the pages when she had lost focus and mentally wandered off on some strange path.

Taking her quill from it's holder, she turned to the first blank page she could find and, leaning on her left hand, started to write about her worries, concerns and fears for her son and musings over where Black featured in the whole messy picture of her life.

***

"You okay, Xander?"

"Hmm?"

The red head's brow wrinkled in concern. Alexander was sitting at one of the picnic tables, his chin resting on his crossed arms, a distracted look in his eyes, his damp hair slicked against his forehead. "Xander?"

"What?"

Jesse glanced between the pair. "Xan, we're just wondering what's up with you. You're, like, spaced out man!"

"Just worried about my mom," the dark-haired boy replied, grateful that Jesse's father was away from the table, apparently going to buy them drinks. "Dad didn't want me to come today and mom said I could. They were fighting when I left."

His friends exchanged glances, then looked back at him sympathetically. "She'll be okay, Xander," Willow touched his arm comfortingly, receiving a small, tired smile of gratitude. "Your mom is really strong."

"Yeah," Jesse agreed. "Your dad is just too dumb to notice."

"Like father like son," an intrusive voice put it. The trio turned, each groaning inwardly. "Well, if it isn't Geeks on Parade," Cordelia sneered, her hands on her hips, her flock of minions gathered behind her.

As usual, she was clad in the most expensive bikini of the small group, her hair, make-up and tan perfect.

Alexander raised his eyes to her. "I don't suppose there's a chance you're here to swim instead of to make our lives hell?"

The brunette pulled a face at him. "Ew! Like, as if!" She shot a disgusted look in the direction of the overcrowded pool. "If you want to be gross and swim in other peoples' pee, you can. I'm sure you'll feel right at home."

"And you still come over here and hang around near us," Willow put in.

Cordelia gave her a withering look. "Who gave you permission to exist?" She tossed her head arrogantly. "I just like to watch losers like you squirming together."

"Your way of saying you're checking out the hotness of us?" Jesse smirked.

Cordelia raised a brow, eyeing his neon shorts. "And when the circus leaves town, are you going with it?" Her little flock tittered gleefully as Jesse glowered at her. "We'll leave you geeks to do... whatever it is geeks do." With an imperious wave of her hand, she led her group off.

Turning to glare after her, Jesse already muttering words that would probably make his mother yell at him, Xander found himself wishing with all his heart that he could do something to embarrass her.

Walking along the poolside, derisively commenting on everyone they passed, the gang of girls following her, a miracle seemed to happen before their eyes.

No one could say what happened, but she seemed to stumble, as if someone had pushed her, with a yell of "Hey!" a second before she plummeted over the lip of the pool and plunged straight into the water.

"Cordy!" her brood squealed.

Flapping her arms uselessly up and down, the brunette spluttered and shrieked with outrage and panic, her perfect hair ruined. All along the pool sides, people were laughing and pointing as the bedraggled girl was hauled out of the water by one of the lifeguards.

"Whoever pushed me is SO dead!" she squawked furiously.

The threat might have been taken seriously by some, if her bikini top hadn't decided to spring free at that moment, another ear-splitting shriek escaping the girl as she clasped her hands to her chest.

Her friends dived as one to try and retrieve their leader's top, four of them crashing together and losing their balance, one landing at Cordelia's feet, falling against the brunette's legs so hard that she immediately pitched Cordelia - screaming - back into the pool.

Alexander couldn't help grinning as the scene played out. Jesse was leaning heavily against his shoulder, roaring with laughter and clapping his hands enthusiastically. On his other side, Willow had a hand pressed to her mouth, but he could tell she was laughing as well.

"Okay," Jesse managed to say eventually, wiping his eyes and still chuckling. "It was worth coming to the park just to see that."

"Uh-huh," Alexander snickered, trying not to grin to widely. "The downfall of Cordelia Chase and her bikini top," Another howl of laughter escaped Jesse. "This'll have to be the main topic of the next 'We hate Cordelia' meeting."

"If only we had taken a picture..." Willow added, her eyes dancing. "Just for the expression on her face."

"This is truly a moment to treasure," Jesse nodded towards the pool side, where Cordelia was wailing miserably, wrapped in a large, dark brown and horribly unfashionable towel that had belonged to a sympathetic passer-by.

Alexander had to bite on his knuckles to hold in a shout of laughter. Part of him wished he could claim responsibility for the whole thing, but now...now, he was just happy to point and laugh at her.

***

Walking past the looming Dementor guards at the gates of Hogwarts as fast as he could, Severus Snape shivered as he felt their attention scan over him briefly. It wasn't a pleasant sensation by any means.

He barely noticed his surroundings once he had passed through the gates, his thoughts full of turmoil and confusion.

Was Dumbledore trying to torture him into giving something spectacular away? Was that why he had made some of the decisions that he had this year? What was he trying to do, if not unnerve Snape?

He had been wondering that very thing from the moment he had learned that Professor Remus Lupin, a close friend of Black and Potter Senior, had been appointed as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Of all of the little group, he mused, Lupin had actually been the only one he could stand during their schooldays. Studious and fairly quiet, he had been strangely likeable, when he was separated from his irritating friends.

Why, though, had he been brought back to the school in the wake of Black's escape? Surely that was a damn fool idea.

If Black ever needed inside help, he could turn to Lupin for it...although, like many others, Snape assumed that Lupin believed Black was guilty of the betrayal of the Potters and the murder of Pettigrew.

His mental meanderings were broken off when he heard a voice hailing him and looked around to see Professor Flitwick jogging towards him, his face flushed with exertion beneath his shock of a white mane.

"Thank goodness!" he squeaked, stopping at Snape's feet, panting. "I was hoping I could have a word with you Professor Snape."

"About something in particular?"

Flitwick glanced around suspiciously. "Shall we walk?" he suggested, his voice low. Snape mentally raised a brow, but nodded. They had been walking towards Hogsmeade for nearly ten minutes before Flitwick spoke again. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."

He received no response and it was clear he hadn't really expected one anyway.

He paused as Hogsmeade came into view on the curve of the road and looked up at the Potions Master. "He told me to inform you that the correct people have been received the necessary information and he'll contact you as soon as he needs to stock up on supplies."

"Very well," Snape murmured, then added for Flitwick's benefit. "He always did seem to regard me as something of a supplier."

"Only legal, I hope," Flitwick's eyes twinkled.

Snape's thin lips rose in a slight smile. "Of course, Professor. Only ever legal."

Chapter 5: The Return

Set One Year Later - "The Goblet of Fire"

 

Standing at the front door of the Harris household, the delivery man rocked on the balls of his feet, glancing at his watch. Sighing, he knocked on the door again, a little harder this time.

"Just a minute! I'll be right there!" A voice called from inside, the door opening a moment later to reveal a petite, dusty, blonde-haired woman in loose dungarees with paint striped across her face. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she smiled at him. "Can I help you?"

"I have a parcel for you. I need a signature here." He proffered a clipboard for her to sign. "And here..." She took the pen and started scribbling her name, unaware of the man's dark eyes staring at her longingly.

"So what do you have for me?"

Starting in surprise, the man blinked. "Uh...what?"

"What do you have for me?"

"Uh..." He held out a rectangular box that was about the same shape and size as a medium-sized shoe box, but felt like it was empty, or at least had something very soft and light inside of it.

The woman took the box, frowning slightly as she gave it a shake. "Do you know where it came from?" She asked carefully.

"Sorry, lady, I only deliver them." He answered with an apologetic shrug. "I guess you weren't expecting anything?"

"No...not really..."

A beefy hand came out and squeezed her slender shoulder. "Don't worry, luv." He said to the distracted woman. "Not many people are used to it when it starts...raining weird boxes."

The woman forced a smile up at him. "Thank you..."

She disappeared back into the house - still staring pensively at the package in her hands - and closed the door, leaving the delivery man standing at the door, a tired look on his face.

It seemed to take him a minute to realise that he didn't have to be there and he reluctantly returned to his van, at the roadside.

Driving away from the quiet Harris house, he directed the van to the outskirts of Sunnydale, where the roads started to clear. Skidding to a halt and knocking a cactus flying in the process, he brought the van to a halt and stepped out.

He casually noticed that he would have to practise his parking, before climbing into the back of the vehicle, where the real delivery man was propped up between two large sacks of parcels.

His large figure was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts, his large, round paunch almost resting on his large thighs. His jowls shook with every wheezing snore he made, his nostrils quivering.

Squatting down, the man disguised as the hapless muggle cocked his head to regard the unconscious human. "You know, mate," He remarked. "I really appreciate you letting me use your body and everything..." He winced, craning his neck.

A strange sound seemed to emanate from his body, his hair rustling as it seemed to sprout out from his scalp and change from black curls to greying sandy-brown.

The dark skin suddenly looked like it was being bleached and the generous build seemed to be melting away with a strange sucking sound, like dregs of the contents of a sink swirling down the plughole.

Simultaneously, the short, squat body started to stretch out as the girth shrunk inwards and the man in the process of changing groaned as his vertebrae shifted back into their natural positions.

Finally straightening up, Ethan Rayne cricked his neck from side to side, the grimace not leaving his face. "Bloody hell, Cass." He muttered under his breath. "I hope you appreciate the things I do for you."

He looked down at the clothing he was wearing with a chuckle. The delivery man was at least a foot and a half shorter than Ethan was and about two feet wider around the waist, which meant the shirt was like a tent and the trousers - had they still been around his lean waist - would have barely covered his calves.

While it seemed rather pointless to disguise himself to deliver a parcel to her - the mail service could have done it - he just wanted a chance to see her face again. It had been far too long.

How long, he wondered, would she take to work out just who her delivery man was?

Disrobing, he dropped the clothing down beside the rightful owner, reclaiming his own, familiar maroon shirt and dark cords. His hand closed over his wand and he studied the unfortunate delivery man.

Placing the tip of his wand against the man's brow, he intoned. "Enervate."

Brown eyes blinked open and the plump man immediately slammed back against the wall with clang, staring at Ethan in panic. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his hands scrabbling around for a weapon. "Whatcha want wit' me?"

"Obliviate."

Leaving the puzzled-looking and half-naked delivery man sitting among his sacks of post, Ethan smirked as he stepped out of the van and into the afternoon sunlight, stretching his freshly-returned body.

"God, I love magic." He remarked, a heartbeat before disapparating with a pop.

***

Meanwhile, back at the Harris' house, Cassie couldn't help being relieved that Xander was out with Jesse and Willow. She had hurried to her study with the package, closing the lid of the trunk over her hidden room.

The box lay in front of her on her desk and she was sitting, staring at it warily.

What if it was something...anything that could harm her boy?

After all, there was no forwarding address, lest they had the delivery wrong.

A frown wrinkled her brow and one hand rose to touch her shoulder, where the delivery man had touched her. Her brown eyes widened in realisation and she looked down at the box. "Ethan?"

Ripping off the thick tape along the top of the box, she quickly pulled the lid open to reveal a parchment envelope on top of what appeared to be a single folded sheet of dirty, yellowed paper.

Confused, Cassie opened the envelope, expecting an explanation. However, only six words were cryptically scrawled on the sheet of parchment, which made her brow wrinkle even more.

"Not everything is what it seems." She read, picking up the scrap of paper from the box and opening it out. There was nothing written on it either. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? What's this paper meant to...oh!"

Feeling somewhat stupid, Cassie hastily lifted her wand, touching it to the sheet, and muttered an incantation over the paper, which immediately thickened and changed into a glossy newspaper.

"The Daily Prophet?"

Uneasily opening out the Wizarding newspaper, her hand came to her mouth in shock at the headline and picture on the first page - Scenes of terror at the Quidditch World Cup.

The picture though...

The Dark Mark...

"No..." Shaking her head, she stared at it. "No...its not possible..."

However, a chilling voice at the back of her mind whispered darkly. "Ah, but how can you be so sure of that? You of all people should know how powerful he was. You know he couldn't be killed so easily."

Reaching over her shoulder with a shaking hand, she flinched as she felt the slightly raised swell on her left shoulder, where the father of her only and precious son, had left his mark on her.

The same mark that was sparkling in the picture in the Wizarding newspaper.

Yes, her mark had been stinging occasionally of late, but she had been hoping - and praying, she would freely admit if anyone asked - that it was just because it was inflicted by dark magics and that would cause it to be a bit...uncomfortable.

"Don't let him come back...don't let him find my little boy..." She whispered hopelessly to anyone who might be listening. "Anything but that..."

***

"Mom, I'm home!"

"Alex!"

Alexander was startled to be grabbed in a hug the moment he crossed the threshhold of the house, his mother's arms so tight around him that he had to swat at her to make her loosen her grip. "Mom! What's the deal? Its not like I've been gone long."

"It's getting dark already, Alex. You know I like you back before nightfall. " Cassie chastised, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I was worried."

He studied her for a moment, brown eyes so like her staring back at her. "No, you weren't." He said with certainty. "You don't worry about me when I'm out. It was something else..."

Of course, he was right.

What he didn't know, though, was that his mother had placed a protection spell on him, to defend him from the natural dangers of the Hellmouth, meaning he appeared repulsive in any way necessary to the demons and vampires that roamed their streets. It explained why he was one of the few people in his school who had been unharmed by supernatural forces.

Willow and Jesse, when in his company, were under the same condition.

"What's wrong, mom?" He prompted.

"Does a mother need a reason to want to make sure her son is safe?" Cupping his face between her small hands, she tried to smile, but he could see the tears welling up in her dark brown eyes.

He considered the options he had.

He could press for an answer, which he had done to Willow, which usually broke her resolve face and made her confess to anything that was upsetting her. Or, he could ignore it and let her tell him when she was ready, like he usually did with Jesse.

His mother certainly wasn't as easily broken as Willow, he knew, which meant that he had to resort to the Jesse offensive and distract her.

"Mom," He began. "Could we go to a movie?"

Cassie looked at him, surprised. Then, realising what he was trying to do, she smiled and nodded. "I think we could manage that." She agreed. "We could probably make the last showing of that new Disney cartoon..."

"Mom!"

Flashing a smile at him, she corrected herself. "I mean, we could probably find some action film that you'd like more than that really bad Disney film...we all know how much you hate Disney."

Alexander grinned. "Yeah. Hate it."

"If I buy you a Kingsize bucket of popcorn, will you let your old mum take you to see it?"

Heaving a huge sigh, Alexander pretended to reluctantly acquiesce. "I guess it won't be so bad if I have enough popcorn for the whole thing..." He gave her an impulsive hug. "Thanks, mom."

As he ran to take his bag up to his room, she called after him. "I love you, Alex."

Flashing a smile at her, he nodded. "Love you too, mom."

***

Staring into the fire beneath his cauldron, Severus Snape was seated in the darkness of the dungeon, and pensively tapped the tips of his forefingers together, his hands folded together just beneath his chin.

So...

They had all their champions for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Or should it be called the Quad-Wizard Tournament now?

His long, angular fingertips resting against his pointed chin, he gazed into the cold, flickering, silver-blue flames he regularly employed to keep the dungeon looking as cold as he desired.

How?

That was the question he found himself repeating as he stared into the hearth.

It was an obvious question as well, and while he had cheerfully accused Potter of rigging the Goblet, he knew it was impossible for the boy to have manipulated such a powerful magical artefact.

"And, as usual, he's lurking away, like a rat in his hole."

Snape started at the amused voice from his door of the dungeon, rising out of his high-backed seat. Silhouetted against the flickering flames, his robes unfurled around him in a way that made him look intimidating and formidable to anyone who dared to invade his privacy.

However, it didn't seem to have an affect on the figure framed in the doorway.

"Sev, mate, I taught you that trick."

Shaken, Snape stared at the man. "Ethan?" He croaked. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm an expert at sneaking." Starting across the floor towards the Potions Master, Ethan smirked. "I thought you would have caught onto that."

"That doesn't answer how you got in here unnoticed?"

"My short, white-haired connection was kind enough to turn me into a book to bring me down here. Not the best way to travel, I admit, but it worked." Quickly conjuring up another seat next to the fire, Ethan glanced towards the door. "Got anything that might make this place a bit safer to talk in?"

With a flick of Snape's wand, the door slammed and a gauzy screen of sparkling purple light shimmered in front of it.

"All right, we're enclosed." Returning to the two seats by the fire, where Ethan had comfortably settled himself in the larger, squashy chair, his feet propped on the grate, flames licking the soles of his bare feet, Snape remained standing. His thin hands spread along the top of his jet-black chair. "Do you plan on telling me why you're here?"

"No real reason." Propping his hands behind his head, Ethan leaned back into his chair, eyes closed lightly. "Although, I am wondering how little Pothead got into this little competition that's going on here."

"You heard about that already?" Rounding his chair, his cloak flaring again, Snape swept into his solid, wooden seat. He never resorted to comfortable furnishing. It was an unnecessary luxury.

One of Ethan's eyes opened. "You really like that flaring-cape thing, don't you?" He remarked, lowering his feet to rest on the cold stone of the floor as he sat up. "And yes, Sev, I know about it. It was kind of hard to ignore hundreds of yelling brats going on about when they headed to bed."

Running the fingertips of his right hand over the spiked end of the arm of his chair, Snape looked back into the flames. "I feel ridiculous saying this," He admitted. "But I do believe the boy when he says he didn't do it."

"That, mate, is obvious." His hands interwoven behind his head, he regarded Snape through half-closed eyes. "It just makes you wonder who did it and why they'd have it in for the little ponce."

"You mean, apart from us and our reasons?"

Ethan's lips rose slightly. "Well, I wish I'd had the brains and bollocks to do it, but I can't claim this one as mine." He glanced down at the fire, then back at Severus' gaunt face. "Is there anyone here...?"

Snape sighed. "I would say Karkaroff, but his surprise...his rage when Potter's name emerged...it could not have been acted. He may be a Dark Wizard, but even he was never that good an actor."

"And yet, old Dumbledore went and got Mad-Eye Moody out of retirement." A tight look crossed Snape's face, his black eyes flicking down to his left forearm. "He still doesn't trust you?"

"He doesn't trust anyone, especially anyone with one of these damned marks." His fingers shaking, he undid the button of his cuff and pushed the sleeve up, allowing Ethan to see the mark on the inside of his forearm. "If I had the ability to get rid of this... thing, I would have erased it years ago."

"Does it do anything now that You-Know-Who is gone?" Ethan was studying the faint reddish outline curiously. No reply came and he looked up at Snape's strained face illuminated by the flickering blue. Snape was staring at the fire, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "Sev?"

"He's not gone." His voice was a rasp.

Ethan paled, sitting bolt upright. "You what?"

Glittering black eyes stared into Ethan's green ones. "Did you ever truly believe that he was gone forever, Ethan?" His voice shook as he continued. "The mark...it's been getting clearer for months." He paused, studying the mark. "And I think I'm the only one who was told by Dumbledore, but Potter's scar...he's been having the kind of pains that people like me, people with a dark mark, have."

"It...it hurts you?"

"It never did a thing for years, but recently..." Snape exhaled a breath. "It stings from time to time. It isn't painful, persay, but its simply irritating and the twinges remind you that it is there...that, perhaps is the worst part."

"Christ..." Ethan rubbed his brow. "Sev, if You-Know-Who does come back, will it get worse?"

Severus gave him a look that suggested the Potions Master thought he was deeply stupid. "It's how he summons all of...us, the Death Eaters." Snape rasped, touching the mark stiffly. "When he wants us...there, he touches the mark on any Death Eater who is near him and the mark burns black on anyone who has one, letting us know that we're wanted."

"Oh God...and if you don't go to him, will he know where you are?"

Snape shook his head. "It is a powerful hex he uses, but no matter how powerful he is, he can't locate every single one of his people. He can identify a vague area, but the further they are away, the less chance there is of them being found."

Ethan seemed to sag into his seat. "Thank God for that." He muttered.

"What is it?"

"Little Bones...he marked her."

Snape's face seemed to crumble. A silent curse slipped past his lips. "I had hoped... believed he might have left her unsullied..." He spoke, more to himself. "But he liked everyone to know what was his..."

"As long as she keeps it covered, no one should know, right?"

Snape's eyes remained closed. "But if she is caught, she has the Dark Mark and she'll go straight to Azkhaban with things the way they are now. Its only Dumbledore who has prevented me from being dragged back there."

Ethan sat up a little straighter, his mouth a thin, determined line. "Then we'll just have to make sure that she isn't caught."

"We might have a difficulty there." Snape remarked quietly, scratching his cheek. "I believe Karkaroff knows something of the 'heir' and if he mentions it to anyone...its only the thought of being safe from the mother's vengeance that keeps him quiet."

"He thinks little Bones would kill him?"

Snape chuckled hoarsely. "He was absent when Bones was chosen. He believes she was chosen because she was powerful and that she was one of You-Know-Who's followers, which is why she was given the..." He laughed bitterly. "The privilege of bearing his Heir. He may be Head of Durmstrang, but he could hold the title of the stupidest Death Eater."

"Maybe," A wicked smile crossed Ethan's face. "You could arrange a meeting with this chap for me, if he gets close to spilling the beans..."

"What would you want to do that for?"

Straightening his back, Ethan gave Snape a dignified look. "As representative of the mother of the 'Heir', I would simply remind Karkaroff that if he mentions so much what she looks like, I'll turn his head inside out."

"And we all know that you have such a way with people." The Potions Master commented dryly.

A weary smile reached Ethan's green eyes and Snape noticed for the first time how exhausted he looked. "I'm just protective of the few friends that I have left in this miserable world." He stood abruptly. "But, for now, I need to dash."

"More chaos to cause?"

"Actually," Ethan looked slightly embarrassed by the mundanity of it. "Its because I have a part-time job to pay my way until I get some dark magic sorted. I'm due to start in ten minutes and I have to get across several continents."

Rising, Snape offered a hand to Ethan, who shook it. "I'll try to keep you informed, Rayne." He said softly. "If anything comes up..."

"You do that." Looking towards the door, he sighed. "And now, I have to commence the demon-worshipper-in-the-place-he-was-expelled-and-exiled-on-pain-of-death race to try and avoid that bloody cat and any teachers who might know who I am."

"Or I could just transfigure you and carry you to the nearest exit." Snape suggested with a small smile.

"Oh yeah," Ethan grinned. "Didn't think of that." He held up a finger in front of Severus' face. "I'm trusting you not to hurl me into the lake or anything, mind you. I want to get out safely."

Snape simply gave him a thin-lipped smile, which did nothing to reassure the wizard, as he changed him back into a large book. As he picked the hefty tome off the floor, Snape was convinced the book glared at him.

***

Regular letters had been arriving in Sunnydale, California, after the incident at the Quidditch World Cup, sometimes simply as letters, sometimes as disguised packages and - on one rather surreal occasion - as a strip-o-gram.

The Daily Prophet was regularly enclosed in the delivery and Cassandra had been following the developing story with increasing worry.

As it was to anyone who recalled Voldemort's prior reign of terror, she could see the signs of his impending return. Apparently Professor Dumbledore did as well, judging by the extremes he was going to, having ex-Aurors on the staff.

Apparently someone, a witch, had gone missing and that wasn't something that happened on a regular basis in the Wizarding world. Usually, there was nothing out there that could defeat a Witch or Wizard, so for Bertha Jorkins to be missing for as long as she had been...

The thought made Cassandra shiver.

There was no doubt in her mind that the hapless woman was dead.

And then, there was the latest incident with young Potter. Cassie studied the open newspaper, reading the article about the boy's scar hurting him so much that he ended up on the floor screaming, the day before.

She mentally thanked Ethan for keeping her so up to date with the situation - as soon as the paper was in print, he managed to get a copy to her, although she wasn't quite sure how he did it.

If she remembered right, glancing at her watch, it would soon be over and the whole mess of the Tri-Wizard tournament would be behind them. On the other side of the World, at Hogwarts, the sun would be setting soon and the third and final task of the competition would begin.

A twinge of pain lanced from her shoulder and she grimaced. Even the best potions Ethan had managed to send to her did nothing to ease the pain. She had never seen him on the deliveries, which only made the pain worse in some ways. He claimed it was too dangerous and that he had demons on his tail, but she just wanted to see him.

Pushing up from the seat in her study, she tiredly ascended the ladder and climbed out of her trunk, closing it and locking it securely, transfiguring the keys into an old, dirty baseball cap, which she hung on the back of the bedroom door.

The summer vacation was due to start in a few days. It seemed like an eternity since the last vacation had finished and - while many parents wished their children could stay at school permanently - the vacation didn't come soon enough for Cassandra.

She wanted to have her little boy away from the school, which she knew covered the most powerful Hellmouth on that side of the equator. All she wanted was to be able to spirit him away on a holiday, somewhere different, somewhere where they could just enjoy themselves.

That wasn't going to happen though.

Not that Cassandra knew it, as she started to tidy up the impeccable house for the tenth time that day.

"Hi Mom! Jesse and me are gonna play with my race track." Time seemed to have flown from the moment she had received her letter to the second her son charged through the door and up the stairs.

"Alex! Its a nice day! You should be playing outside!" She called up after them, smiling indulgently.

Alexander called something back down to her that sounded like some excuse about being allergic to the sunlight and thinking that the only cure would be playing with his race track.

Shaking her head, Cassandra moved off into the kitchen to start making the early dinner. She didn't bother asking why school was out early. Probably some demon invasion that would be explained as another gas leak.

All that mattered was that Alex was home and safe.

Looking through the cupboards, she decided that it was time to experiment with a meatloaf again, something she had tried unsuccessfully once before. Now, though, she had been living as a muggle for thirteen years...

Something which proved useless.

Using the tip of a wooden spoon, she turned the blackened blob of...something over, looking for some sign of the juicy, brownish oblong block of mushed meat beneath the shrivelled black crust that covered her attempt.

Glancing towards the stairs to make sure Alex wasn't in sight, she quickly withdrew her wand and tapped the incinerated object, sighing with relief as it swelled out and fleshified under her gaze.

Shooting a blast from her wand at the table, she carried the resurrected loaf through and watched the cutlery laying itself. Placing her vain attempt at a 'muggle' meal in the middle of the table, she added some salad, just in case the two teenage boys had miraculously changed their eating habits.

"Boys, are you hungry?"

The sound of thundering feet on the stairs suggested that she had asked a stupid question and Alexander, closely followed by Jesse, skidded into the room, staring at the table greedily.

"Isn't it a little early for dinner, Mrs Harris?"

Reaching out to pick the plate of meatloaf up, she shrugged. "If you don't want it..."

"No!" Both boys quickly sat down. "Of course we want it, mom!"

"Yeah, Mrs Harris! It looks great!"

She watched them hacking chunks off the loaf, as she made her way towards the kitchen. "Is lemonade all right for you boys?" She called through the door, gathering up three glasses and a bottle.

She never heard their reply.

An agonising pain more intense than anything she had ever felt in her life slammed into her back with the force of a ten-ton truck, her vision going rapidly from white to red, then black.

"Mom! Wake up!" She could hear Alexander shouting frantically, but he sounded more like an echo, his voice so distant. Pain tore through her body as she clawed her way towards the fuzzy light ahead, her son's frightened voice growing clearer as the light grew brighter. "Mom!"

With a gasp, her eyes - nearly solid black with the agony - snapped open and she arched off the floor in pain. Her left shoulder felt like it was on fire, convulsions ripping through her body.

She didn't even notice that her hands and wrists were bleeding from numerous cuts, her eyes rolling back in her head. The glasses she had been carrying had shattered on the floor, slivers imbedded in her bare hands and arms from her impact when she had collapsed on them.

Gradually, the shudders eased and she stared up at Alexander, panting, tears spilling down her cheeks. His face was white and he looked terrified.

"M-mom?" He was cradling her and her hands spread on his chest as if to check he was still there and was real. "Mom, what happened?" He didn't even seem aware of the tears breaking from his eyes. "Are...are you all right?"

"All right..." She croaked hoarsely, still shaking. "Y-yes...yes...I..." Pain burned out from her shoulder again and a cry escaped her, partly because of the pain, partly because she knew, already, what it meant.

"What happened, Mrs Harris?" Jesse, as white as Alexander, was staring at her over her son's shoulder.

Swallowing hard, a tremor running through her, Cassandra forced herself to sit upright. "I-I...I just fainted boys." She forced a laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth when the laughter threatened to turn into a sob. Only then, did she see the blood on her fingers, raising a trembling hand in front of her eyes.

"You're hurt, mom!" Motioning for Jesse to hand him a clean dishcloth from the pile on the workbench, Alexander hastily wrapped it around his mother's bloody hands. "We need to get you to a hospital."

Unable to find the strength to reply, Cassandra stared down at her crudely bound hands as her blood started to seep through the cloths, while Alexander rushed to the phone and dialled for an ambulance.

***

Getting unsteadily out of the cab, Alexander hastily slipping an arm around her waist, Cassandra allowed her son to pay the driver with money from her pocket, then helped her up the path to the front door.

She hadn't said a word as she was treated, the medical personnel asking Alexander if she had hit her head. She simply sat and stared at her hands as her fingers and wrists were stitched up.

White bandages were neatly bound around her arms from fingers to halfway up her forearm, her hands held defensively in front of her chest, her eyes red-rimmed from silently crying.

Alexander didn't know what to do. He had only seen her expression like that twice before and he knew it didn't bode well. Unlocking the front door, he hurried her into the house and locked up behind them.

"Are you okay, mom?"

Nodding, she lifted her eyes to his face, one bandaged hand coming out and gently stroking the loose curls back from his forehead. "You go to bed." She said quietly. "I just need to...to tidy up..."

"Not tonight, mom." He steered her - unprotesting - towards the stairs. "You need to lie down. The doctor said to get some rest in case it happens again."

It will, she finished dully at the back of her mind. Much much more often.

She shook herself when she realised that she was somehow already at the top of the stairs, the bathroom door open, Alexander looking from her to it expectantly. "Do you wanna go in, mom? I could fill the bath..."

"Yes...I'll...I'll think a while in there..." Absently kissing his tangled hair, she walked into the white room and shut the door behind her, leaving Alexander to shake his head sadly and hurry to his bedroom, hoping his mother would be all right.

Moving with slow, shuffling steps, Cassie felt as stiff as an old woman, as she approached the mirror, her shaking hands undoing the buttons of her shirt and letting it slip down her body.

Turning her back on the mirror, she drew a long, slow breath as she tilted her head to look at the reflection of her slender back in the mirror.

A sob escaped her and she sank onto her knees.

Even after an hour had passed since it flared to life, she could see the throbbing red-black outline of the Dark Mark burning on her shoulder, saying more clearly than anything that Lord Voldemort was back and he was as bad as ever.

***

Standing back in the inner circle of Death Eaters, his robes scale-like and flickering in the flaming torchlight of Lucius Malfoy's dungeon, Snape gazed out stonily from behind his mask at the scene playing out before him.

It had taken a great deal of grovelling to be accepted once again, his Master plying him with the cruciatus curse several times to ensure that he would not do something as stupid as betraying nearly Voldemort again.

Part of him wished he had refused Dumbledore and stayed in the temporary sanctuary that he knew Hogwarts was. If he had, he knew, he wouldn't be witnessing what he was forced to see now.

However, he owed Dumbledore too much.

So, he was here.

The Inner Circle of Death Eaters was once again complete, but for those killed in the months and years previously.

Including Karkaroff.

All eyes, however, were not on the bloodied, cowering figure at the centre of the circle, but at the forbidding, ominous figure seated on a veritable throne at the head of the circle.

Voldemort's scarlet eyes were focused on Karkaroff. His lips were a thin line, his long-fingered, white hands rhythmically curling and uncurling around the decorative ends of the arms of his elaborate chair.

The former Death Eater had been in hiding in the Black Forest, desperately trying to learn how to become an animagi, to disguise himself from the vengeance of the dark wizard who had been his Master.

It had taken less than two weeks since Voldemort's return for the unfortunate man to be captured by the Dark Lord's loyal followers.

Soundly beaten, he had been brought to Voldemort's hidden 'home', which moved around with the Dark Lord, leaving him untraceable and impossible to track. Any Death Eaters who even considered revealing his whereabouts would find that - shortly before they were killed - the lair would move as soon as they had departed.

It never remained in one place, something Snape did admire about the Dark Lord. If there was one thing that Voldemort excelled at, it was keeping his location, identity and followers a secret, unless, of course, they were idiots like the Malfoys.

"Dear Karkaroff," All eyes turned to the unfortunate man, as Voldemort rose from his throne and glided down towards him. The pitiful bundle of rags and bones uttered a terrified whimper, but no other sound. "I hear you have been saying some...rather offensive things about these brothers of yours, in my absence."

"Please, my Lord..." The former teacher's shaking hands scrabbled for Voldemort's robes, panic-filled, bruised eyes rising to the Dark Lord, who stared down at him coldly. "I-I had to tell them something! I had to!"

Crabbe stepped forward and - with a savage blow of his fist - knocked the sobbing man to the ground. Cowering down, Karkaroff buried his head in his hands, rocking, blood streaming between his fingers.

At the side of the circle, Snape flinched. He remembered too well when that fist had meted out the same punishment on him, years before, when he was still a scrawny, insolent Slytherin.

"Oh, do tell me why you felt thus." Voldemort's tone was quiet, but even a fool like Karkaroff knew it was madness to answer. There was a silence only broken by the gurgling wheeze of Karkaroff's breath and the rustling of cloaks. Finally, Voldemort spoke again. "The Lestranges said nothing, as my most loyal servants did, and they will be rewarded."

"I-I..."

"You were a fool, Karkaroff." Voldemort whispered, flitting around the man. "You betrayed my servants...betrayed me."

"No, my Lord! Please!" His face masked with blood, Karkaroff raised his hands in supplication. He was barely recognisable as the arrogant wizard who had been present during the tri-Wizard tournament.

His expensive clothes were reduced to filthy rags, raw cuts and bruises from the savage beating he had received on his arrival at Voldemort's lair leaving him barely able to move.

Gouts of scarlet trickled from the corners of his mouth and from his nose with every breath, his previously well-groomed hair and beard matted with crusts of blackening dried blood and dirt.

Halting in front of the man, Voldemort seemed to consider him for a long moment, then smiled his terrifying smile. "Perhaps, Karkaroff," He murmured. "You could tell me why I should spare you."

"I-I-I..." A gleam of hope shone in the Bulgarian teacher's eyes and Snape felt sick with the thought of what was coming, the foolish man truly believing that he could be saved by bartering information. "I did not tell them of your secret, my Lord!"

"My...secret?" Voldemort had returned to his throne and casually sat down. He motioned with a spider-like hand. "Do elaborate."

Gaining in confidence, Karkaroff painfully knelt up. "Your Heir, my Lord." A rush of whispers passed among the Death Eaters and Snape noticed the tiniest narrowing in Voldemort's red eyes.

"What of my Heir?" Leaning forward, folding his hands together, Voldemort's eyes locked on Karkaroff's bloody face.

Snape saw the calculating glint in the former teacher's eyes and silently prayed that the man wouldn't be stupid enough to try and use his knowledge as leverage against the most unforgiving of Dark Wizards.

"I will tell you..."

Don't say 'if', don't say 'if', don't say 'if'...

Snape's hands had balled in fists and he felt like he had been punched in the gut when Karkaroff defiantly lifted his chin and said. "If you spare me."

Voldemort looked at the kneeling man for a long moment, then smiled. His hand slowly rose from his side, holding his slim wand, and almost boredly, he directed it at Karkaroff and murmured. "Crucio."

"No! No, my Lord!" Screaming, Karkaroff thrashed back onto the floor, his body contorting agonisingly. His hands grabbed at his head, chunks of skin and hair tearing away, his fingers bloodied further by his attempts to tear the pain from his body.

Snape looked away behind his mask, sickened, as Karkaroff's fingers gouged at his own flesh, his desperate screams gargled and agonised, ringing off the stone walls of the chamber.

Raising his wand, Voldemort let the teacher slump onto the floor.

Reluctantly, the Potions Master opened his eyes, drawing an involuntary breath at the pathetic figure on the floor in front of him. He certainly wasn't the only one to inhale a sharp breath.

While some of them had been practising their torture, no one had seen anything like this in almost thirteen years.

If Karkaroff's face had been unrecognisable before, it was certainly little more than a bloody mess now, the ragged cuts opened by his blunt fingers deep and wide, baring muscle and bone.

Sobbing and shaking, Karkaroff lifted his head, bloody drool streaming down his chin, his lower lip torn open by his gnashing teeth. Eyeballs stared out from shredded lids, stained pink.

"Master..." His words were slurred with pain, splattering more dark blood on the floor around him. With incredible effort, he dragged himself forward on his stomach towards Voldemort. "Master... please..."

"Tell me what you know of my Heir, you weak fool." Voldemort's voice was diamond-hard.

"Hidden, Master...hidden..." Snape listened intently. He knew that Ethan - disguised with Polyjuice Potion - had 'had a nice, friendly little chat' with Karkaroff shortly before he fled Hogwarts, but he didn't know how much Ethan had said to the former Death Eater. All he did know was that there was no possible way for them to find Cassandra Bones, or the child without Ethan Rayne. "Promised her...would not...reveal...secret...safe..." The man shuddered violently, an eruption of bloody vomit spewing from his mouth.

"Promised who?" Karkaroff choked feebly on his own vomit and Voldemort raised his wand. "Cru..."

"Her!" The bloodied man gasped, his hand raised desperately to his Dark Lord. "She is...living...Lady...Lady Voldemort..."

Snape could see the...could it be relief? spreading across the Dark Lord's face, as he leaned back in his high-backed throne. His eyes flicked to Malfoy. "So she is still living, in spite of your wonderfully foolish idea to let her leave your protection."

Lucius went rigid and Snape had the absurd urge to giggle.

Malfoy had been at the receiving end of the cruciatus curse when Voldemort had discovered that his 'mate' and the child she was carrying, had been evicted from Malfoy's protection, lest she bear a child that looked like the Dark Lord.

It was obvious, Voldemort had said, extending the curse, as he watched Malfoy writhe and scream, that the Malfoy family would be disgraced and probably sent to Azkhaban, should they be found to be concealing the Heir of the Dark Lord.

Such cowardice, Voldemort had noted, was disappointing.

Disappointing enough to leave Malfoy unconscious for almost three days.

Snape had found it amusing.

"Where did you see her?" Voldemort turned back to the shivering form of Karkaroff.

"O-outside Hogsmeade...she...arranged meeting...came to me..." The man gargled, blood bubbling from his lips. "Told me...hidden..."

"And did she inform you of how to contact her again?" Snape felt relief swell in him. So he hadn't been able to locate her yet? This was exactly what he and Ethan had hoped for.

"No...said...said if I told Ministry...she...kill me..."

Voldemort nodded with sage patience. "A wise young woman." He observed, before raising his wand and pointing it carelessly at Karkaroff.

"No...please, Lord...please..."

"I hear that so often, Igor." Voldemort sighed, fingering his wand. "It does get rather monotonous. Avada Kedavra."

There was a flash of blinding green light that made every Death Eater throw up an arm to shield their eyes.

Snape was the first to lower his arm and, despite the number of times he had seen the Dark Lord kill, he felt his bile rise as he looked at the fallen form of Karkaroff, his last, pleading expression frozen on his mangled face.

Voldemort laid down his wand and closed his eyes lightly, his hands folded in his lap. "Get rid of this piece of rubbish." He suggested quietly. "Leave it somewhere that the Ministry will find it...a gift."

As Crabbe and Goyle manhandled the body out of sight, the red eyes slowly opened again. "My loyal Death Eaters, I believe that you are now aware of the task that lies ahead of you." The scarlet slits scanned around. "You will seek out my Heir and his mother. You will bring them to me."

"Yes, my Lord." All of the voices hummed in unison, before they disapparated.

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