Irreversible Destiny

A/N: Okay, it’s done. I didn’t quite cover everything that I wanted but I never manage to anyways these days. /sigh/ I hope you like it.

Parseltongue, foreign words, letters/articles etc.
Emphasized words, headings,
Telepathy (last time for this story probably)

Chapter XVI
Confessions

It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.
-Oscar Wilde, Irish dramatist, novelist, & poet (1854 - 1900)

---

Wizengamot Courtroom Ten
British Ministry of Magic, London UK
Saturday the 6th of September 1997
9:30 AM

The room was full near to bursting with foreign delegates and diplomats from several dozen Ministries from around the world. Mixed in with those delegates were the various representatives from the Defense League and a large number of members of the Order of the Phoenix. The room had been filling for nearly a half hour, Aurors patrolling the hallways and outside the building itself to prevent any kind of interference by the Dark Lord. When the room was filled, five representatives of the forces of the Light entered through a side door and took their seats at the front of the room. Madame Bones, Juliana Ramsey, Kenneth Davidson, Alastor Moody, representative of the Order of the Phoenix and Lionel Abernathy, the temporary British Minister of Magic organized their papers of questions and then began.

“We are gathered here today to question one, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, British Minister of Magic and one, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They are brought before us respectively on possible charges of aiding and abetting of a known criminal and deliberate misinformation and manipulation of a minor. Auror Shacklebolt, bring in the defendants for questioning.” Kenneth Davidson stated calmly.

Both men were led in, Fudge directly to a chair in the center of the room while Dumbledore waited his turn near the back of the room. An Unspeakable came forward and gave an indignant Fudge a dose of Veritaserum.

Madam Bones was charged with beginning the questioning and began with the necessary preliminary questions. “State your full name, your work title, your age and your living address.”

“I am Cornelius Oswald Fudge, British Minister of Magic, age 45. I live at Fudge Manor located in Norfolk County, Great Britain.”

Kenneth glanced at his sheet of paper. “What is your opinion of Harry Potter?”

“He was a powerful wizard with the potential to become quite the force at the Ministry of Magic.”

“Were you jealous of his power?”

“Yes but I would not trade his life for my own.”

“Did you in any way tamper with the wards placed on Fudge Manor the day or night of the Summit?” Juliana Ramsey asked.

“No, I did not. The wards were as much for my protection as it was for the protection of the guests and dignitaries present.”

Madam Bones nodded before moving on. “Did you have any plans to harm Harry Potter had he lived and defeated Voldemort?”

“I thought perhaps, to offer him a position as a diplomat to another Ministry so that he would not usurp my place as Minister of Magic. I had no intentions of harming him.”

Moody frowned. “Do you know why Harry may have suggested that you would harm him?”

“I do not know, I have never threatened him.”

After another fifteen minutes of pointless questioning Madam Bones gestured for the Unspeakable to give the Minister the antidote. “We are finished with the questioning and have found Cornelius Fudge innocent of any wrongdoing, please give him the antidote.”

The annoyed Minister then took his place with the rest of the leaders of the Light, displacing Abernathy. Dumbledore took his seat and the second round of questioning began.

“State your full name, your work title, your age and your living address.”

“I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, I am currently the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, age 153. I reside at Dumbledore Manse in the county of Hertfordshire.”

“In November of 1981, you requested to oversee the mail sent to Harry Potter is this correct?”

“Yes.”

Davidson searched his papers. “In February of 1989, did Harry Potter receive a School Letter from the Arcanum Institute of Magic?”

“Yes.”

Shocked murmurs spread throughout the room, Harry Potter had not been lying! The revelation brought with it another wave of conversation about just how powerful he may have truly been if he had been prepared to have his magic properly trained at the age of eight and a half.

Fudge was able to finally gain order after nearly eight minutes of speculation. “Did you burn the School Letter and in the name of Harry Potter’s guardians, send a negative response?”

“Yes.”

Juliana Ramsey shook her head, how long had this man been manipulating people? “What were your reasons for sending a negative response in the name of Mr. Potter’s guardians?”

“At the time I believed that Voldemort would return someday and found it would be safer if Harry were to remain here where he could easily be collected and moved into a safe house if it had become necessary.”

“You had no other intentions behind your actions other than Mr. Potter’s safety?” Madam Bones asked.

“No.”

Another round of questions were asked regarding his manipulation of Harry Potter and though he admitted to turning a blind eye to some of Harry’s activities (namely his adventures First and Second Year) and in some cases, carefully helping behind the scenes. Though he claimed to not being aware of the events that led to Harry’s other adventures the following two years. Dumbledore also pleaded innocence of any knowledge of abuse Harry may have received while living with his relatives, claiming that the Ministry had been charged with monitoring his Non-Magical threat Wards. Dumbledore they found out had been charged with monitoring Dark Magic Wards and keeping track of any Magical beings and persons who may have wandered too close to Mr. Potter’s location intentionally or by accident.

Davidson sighed, relieved by how the interrogation had turned out. For several minutes the leaders of the Light spoke and conversed, figuring out what punishment was due. Harry was dead and they could not afford to do anything that may inhibit Dumbledore’s magic or time. After a time, Madame Bones pronounced the sentence.

“Give Mr. Dumbledore the antidote. We find him guilty of deliberate misinformation of a minor, which we will fine him 3000 Galleons. We also find him guilty of manipulation of a minor and fine him 5000 Galleons. As Mr. Potter is deceased that money will go to his…Heir, Mr. Cyriacus Snape and the crimes will be listed on Mr. Dumbledore’s record. This Court is now adjourned.”

---

The Kitchen
Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London UK
Saturday the 6th of September 1997
8:00 PM

It was the first time the Order been called formally to meet since the meeting called earlier in the week and the room was filled with tension. The séance had not gone as expected and the scathing reprisals from various Ministries and the Defense league regarding Dumbledore’s interference with Harry Potter’s Arcanum Letter had rattled the group. Adding to the shaky nerves of the group was the uproar caused when several foreign Ministries and the Defense League had called for both the Minister and Dumbledore to be tested under Veritaserum earlier that day.

The fact that Dumbledore had admitted to having manipulated and misled Harry Potter, was causing a large amount of words to be exchanged among the Order. The most vocal were the Weasleys, Sirius and Remus and several others who had not been pleased to find that Dumbledore had blindly allowed Harry to go off on the first two of his four adventures. Though most understood his reasoning behind the burning of Harry’s Arcanum Letter, they were all slightly wary of the older wizard. Severus watched with hidden amusement at the discord his son’s words had brought about.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and everyone quieted although quite a few gave the older wizard dark looks. “It has been a stressful week, one filled with unexpected revelations and accusations. At this time I know that most if not all of you are unsure what to think of my actions so I will be brief. Some of the things I did were inexcusable and were I to do it again; I would probably carry on the same way. It was most important that Harry be allowed to grow properly and hone his skills in preparation for his meeting with Voldemort. Despite the danger, I assure you I was quite aware of what was going on and interfered when necessary. This however is all in the past and we do not have the time to debate about what actions should have been taken, we are engaged in a War with a most dangerous foe. Voldemort currently has the upper hand and despite any misgivings or feelings you may have, we will not be able to stand against him if we do not pool our resources and work towards a common goal.”

Several people nodded and the tension eased as the meeting began, with various members giving reports. When Bill Weasley had finished explaining about what he knew of the number of withdrawals or visits to Vaults made by Dark and potentially Dark families, Severus reported Voldemort’s current plans and training.

“How is your son doing, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, looking thoughtful.

Severus glared. “He is doing well enough now, the Healers and I have managed to not only stabilize his condition but his arm is beginning to Heal rapidly. It is unfortunate though that his left arm is damaged.”

Remus frowned in confusion. “Why is that?”

“It is his wand arm. At the moment, the Healers believe he will be completely Healed of his injury by late September or early October. With his Blood Brother’s death, he’s far more powerful now than before and he has not had enough time to master the additional magic before he was injured. The next month or so will be most…difficult for him.”

Pomfrey blinked. “How badly damaged was his arm? With Potions normally he would be Healed at the latest in a week.”

“The injury however was caused by a magical flame and one that was never intended to be used on a living specimen. As for the damage, his muscles were almost completely burned down to the ulna bone in his arm. The Flexor carpi ulnaris, the Extensor carpi ulnaris, the Flexor carpi radialus and the Entensor carpi radialus longus muscles will need to be completely re-grown and re-attached to the ulna, humerus and radius bones. The Radial and Median nerves, along with the veins and arteries that were destroyed will need to be re-grown where necessary and connected to the other undamaged nerves, veins and arteries in his upper arm. It is not exactly the most pleasant sight to see but it was very fortunate the Prelate cast the Flame Freezing charm when he did another instant longer and Cyriacus would no longer have a forearm or elbow.” Severus listed.

Sirius winced. “You’re saying the flame melted and burned away his muscles?”

“Yes. I’m told they had practically all the Healers on the Spell Damage floor trying to stabilize his condition when he arrived as he was going into shock. It was fortunate that all three of the Burn Healers were present at the time.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes. “Are they allowing him visitors yet?”

“No and they have no intentions to. My son’s status as the lover of Harry Potter has resulted in a large amount of unpleasant attention and it would be rather redundant in any case. Cyriacus spends most of his days asleep or drugged and barely coherent at most times. I have not heard him say more than three words and those consist of, ‘hurts’, ‘ow’ and ‘stop’.” Severus said with a dark look at Dumbledore.

Mrs. Weasley looked concerned. “Do they know when he will be released?”

“The Healers will be discharging him from the hospital on Monday. It was at my son’s request to be released as soon as possible, which is why he spends his days asleep or drugged, as the Healers are currently putting him through an exhausting amount of Advanced Healing. He has been responding well to the Healing though and they have already begun to lower the potency and dosages of his Potions. By Monday his injuries should be half Healed or more.”

Dumbledore looked relieved. “That is excellent news, Severus. What was the Dark Lord’s reaction to your son’s injury?”

“He was livid though he hid it well and has been quite ill-tempered of late. Normally his servants would bear the brunt of his temper but that has fortunately not been the case at this time. It is fortunate that no raids have been conducted; his ill humor has been confined only to furniture and house-elves at the moment.”

Moody frowned. “When was the last time your son wrote a report?”

“The last was before the Summit.”

Madam Bones drummed her fingers on the table. “Do you know what exactly Voldemort is training your son in?”

“I have not asked and will not ask. It is considered the highest honor for the Dark Lord to be willing to personally teach any Death Eater Trainees. I have played my role well enough.” Severus answered shaking his head.

“See if you can find out but be discreet.” Dumbledore advised before turning to question Shacklebolt about the inquiry taking place at Fudge Manor.

---

A Private Room in the Potion-based Spell Damage Ward
Fourth Floor, St. Mungo’s Hospital, London, UK
Thursday the 11th of September 1997
11:45 AM

Cyriacus nodded as his Healer Caligula Stoke, gave him clipped instructions for the proper care of his injured arm. Standing by the hallway door, his father looked as menacing as ever in his bat-like black robes, scheduling weekly appointments for Cyriacus on every Saturday for the next month and half. Originally, the Healers had believed that his arm would be healed by late September or early October, but on Monday a rather unexpected side effect had reared its head.

A young Healer trainee had been left to un-bandage, clean and treat his arm on Monday when he had first been scheduled to be released from the Hospital. After un-bandaging his arm, the trainee had cast a normally non-painful, non-reactive Cleaning spell on his arm. However, his arm had not taken to the spell very well. One moment Cyriacus had been calmly waiting to have his injury cleaned and re-bandaged but the next, he had pulled the injured limb close to his body had had been howling loud enough for the visitors and patients waiting to be checked in to hear him. It had taken two hospital orderlies to restrain him long enough for the Healers to be able to figure out what had occurred. By the time they had found a way to stop the effects of the spell, any progress he had made in the five days he’d been in the hospital had vanished and his wound was as raw and unpleasant looking as when he had just arrived, freshly burned from the Isle of Lore.

Once they had stabilized his condition and someone had informed his father of the situation, the Healers and his father had spent four hours closeted away attempting to find a solution. Two days of a more potent Potion regime consisting of Healing Potions and Revival Potions, combined with three different kinds of burn pastes being applied to his arm in rotations every three hours had restored his arm enough for it to be conceivable for him to be discharged. As the Hogwarts term was slated to begin on the following Monday and the train ride to the school on Sunday, the Healers had little choice but to discharge him if his condition was stable. After a few careful tests yesterday, they had found that as along as no magic was directly applied to the injured area, his injuries were not effected.

So now he was waiting as Healer Stoke finished carefully layering a thick creamy puce colored paste on his arm, before wrapping it in what seemed like an endless amount of ultra soft gauze. Once that was done and secured to his satisfaction, the gray haired Healer cast a Cushioning Charm so that bumps would not hurt his bandaged arm and with a flick of his wand, secured a shining black dragonhide gauntlet on his arm. His father had arrived yesterday afternoon with the Hungarian Horntail gauntlet, which had been soaked in special Potions and reinforced to reflect any and all forms of magic that came into contact with it. Cyriacus had been quietly amused as the dragonhide was very similar to his own skin when he was Transformed. The Healers had approved of the gauntlet and so now he was stuck wearing a stylish, if rather snug shoulder length gauntlet for the next month and a half.

“Almost done, one more spell,” The Healer replied as he waved his wand and cast a variation of the Body Binding spell on his arm, immobilizing it so that he couldn’t accidentally agitate his healing injury and also to prevent him from being in more pain than he already was. Once the Healers had gotten a hold of his medical records, they were more than pleased to induce his Numbing condition to lessen the amount of pain he was aware of. So while his arm throbbed and pulsed with pain, he was barely aware of it but what he was aware of was bearable.

The Healer patted him on the arm, smiling. “There all done young man! Now you know which order to use the pastes in and when to change the bandages and your father has already assured me that he will see to it that you get your Potions when you need them. I have already written Madame Pomfrey, the Hogwarts School Nurse, to let her know when to expect you and what order the pastes are to be applied. I’m told your friend Ms. Suzuki or Healer Fawcett will be tending to your arm until you leave for school?”

“Yes Healer Stoke,” Cyriacus said flatly, nodding.

“Very well then and if neither of them are free, I’m sure your father can manage as well. He’s had some basic Mediwizardry courses as well. Take care; I shall see you again on Saturday.”

Cyriacus gave the Healer a half bow. “My thanks for your expertise, I shall be careful. Until we meet again.”

Joining his father, the two black clad men descended down to the main floor where they could access the Private Floo room. Cyriacus had, originally, desired to Apparate but that would have meant leaving the hospital and he knew that a crowd of reporters would be waiting outside. Since the International Zephyr released the short autobiographical documents they received from Harry Potter himself, the Hospital security had had to be tightened to prevent the reporters from sneaking past the security and into his rooms. Headmaster Randolph had visited him that past Sunday and read choice snippets of the more intriguing documents.


Of the thirteen documents, the most widely read and quoted were from four. “As I Lived it” detailed all the hardships, joys and downfalls throughout the life of Harry Potter. “Between Hammer and Anvil”, was a commentary about Harry’s thoughts on the War, the rather illogical classification of ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ Magic and how Dark did not equal Evil. The most widely read document though was, “Conventional Love” which explained to the masses why Harry’s love of Cyriacus Snape was not ‘perverted’ or ‘immoral’ as most had assumed upon learning of the relationship between the Blood Brothers. And the second most read document was a short article stating the division of his property and assets, a large portion of which described just what exactly Cyriacus had inherited in greater detail.

Besides the massive fortune and colossal estates and properties scattered throughout the world, he had inherited three British Wizengamot Seats, one Seat on the International Wizengamot, one Seat on the Board of Hogwarts’ Governors and the esteemed and shocking title of Lord of Gryffindor. The first three had startled all but the last had completely flummoxed the masses though by tea time, he had received mountains of invitations to gatherings, a few political overtures and even two betrothal proposals. If Cyriacus hadn’t been so tired from his injuries, he might have found it amusing. Especially the following day, when a reporter from the Daily Prophet had managed to get their hands on his birth certificate and publicly announced to all and sundry, that he was the Heir of the famous Levesque Family. Though his ‘mother’ truly had existed, the gullible fools in the Wizarding World could not know that he did not have any of the famed Seer abilities which all the members of the Levesque Family had been born or cursed with, depending on how you looked at it.

Severus gestured for Cyriacus to go first when they reached the Floo and Cyriacus Flooed directly to Snape Manor. Once his father had safely arrived, the Floo was shut and the two continued to an interior Apparition room, as they were expected at Riddle Mansion. They arrived at the Floo/Apparition room and ignoring the Death Eaters they passed, headed directly to the Throne Room where they were expected. Striding into the cavernous room, Cyriacus was steered directly to the front of the room and prodded into a plush chair. The moment he was seated, Nusayr and the Revenants converged upon him, all of them eager to have a look at the injury and his condition in general so they could make the appropriate changes to their experimental Blood potion. Scowling, Severus pushed through the gathering crowd and expertly removed the gauntlet and began to manually un-bandage the dressing covering his arm.

Cyriacus happened to be looking around at the concerned crowd when his father had revealed his rather ugly, scarred and raw looking arm to the entire room. Some made grimaces and others just stared in shock.

“And it’s better?” Mr. Parkinson asked rather stupidly.

“It’s healing quite slowly and if I hadn’t had that setback earlier this week, it would look much better I’m sure.” Cyriacus swatted one of the Revenants who had attempted to prod his arm. “Don’t even try to do that! You can’t believe how sensitive it is, just having my arm exposed to air for a prolonged period of time is indescribably painful.”

Severus shooed back the crowd a little. “Magic cannot come into contact with the wounds without causing massive amounts of damage. Every time that it needs cleaning before another paste is applied, I have to give Cyriacus a triple strength Pain Potion along with a Numb Discharger and give him a dose of Sedatives powerful enough to make a raging Hippogriff sluggish.”

“And the marvelous thing about this is that I have to deal with this for a month and a half.” Cyriacus growled darkly. “A month and a half of having one useable arm, it’s…infuriating. It’s fortunate that the Incubi aren’t still trying to kidnap me or they’d snap me up faster than a Common Welsh Green making off with some poor Muggle’s sheep. Now if you’re all quite finished gawking at my arm?”

Severus nearly smiled as he re-bandaged his son’s arm, we are rather ‘similar’. Cyriacus gritted his teeth and glared murderously at a point beyond his father’s shoulder. Once his gauntlet had been placed back on and his arm immobilized, Cyriacus declared that he was tired, sick of their gawking and icily told them that anyone who dared to disturb his rest was going to die a most unpleasant death before storming out of the room. Blinking, the others watched him leave, some bemused and the Elite slightly wary, they after all, had to share a Common room with him.

---

When the Elite bravely tiptoed into their Common Room, two and a half hours later, they were surprised to hear crashing and vicious cursing coming from Cy’s room. Draco, Valerius and the Lestrange twins, pushed to the front and ignoring all previous threats from Cy, burst into the room fearing for their leader’s safety and/or life. What they saw froze them in place, the room looked as if a tornado had been through it and then a pack of wild animals had been through it after that. The numerous tables, chairs and bookshelves had been overturned and or destroyed. Curtains and rugs had been shredded or burned and pillows ripped open with feathers covering the floor.

Standing in the center of the room was a seething Cyriacus whose Aura flowed around his Transformed body like a glowing shield. He looked no different except for his wings which had grown taller and wider, the golden Living Metal gleaming brightly against the black wings with the Alexandrite shining a dark blood-red. The four men in the doorway shuddered as Cyriacus turned his head, looking at them from over his shoulder, which was more reptilian looking than human as it was heavily covered with thick dragonhide scales. Burning green eyes focused on them freezing them on the spot.

“You’re terrified,” Cyriacus said softly, sounding vaguely amused. “However, I would tend to think that anyone who isn’t afraid of me is a fool and you are anything but…or so you’d like to believe.”

The four older boys stood still, their instinct warring with their intellect. Intellect told them to run away from the dangerously angry and powerful Hybrid while Instinct screamed at them to stay still and if need be, show submission to their leader to avoid being lashed at. Cyriacus approached them; almost seeming to glide forward and the cluster of Elite peeking from behind the four older boys quailed when those burning eyes passed over them. As Cyriacus unfolded his wings from his body, they saw his left arm which had been left completely unaffected by the Transformation.

“How did you do stop from completely transforming?” Ryan Summers asked softly.

Cyriacus focused his gaze on the younger male. “We may not be wholly human but neither are we completely beasts. Any kind of magic would only worsen the wounds and the amount of magic necessary for a Transformation would have been devastating to my injuries. Had the Transformation attempted to change my arm, I would have lost the limb or died.”

Altair swallowed nervously but asked, “Why did you destroy your room?”

“Would you rather I take out my pent up emotions against a living being instead? I no longer allow my emotions to control me but I find that if channeled properly, they can add an extra edge to an attack.” Cyriacus inhaled deeply. “I can smell that I am not the only one finding outlets for their pent up emotions.”

Some of the Elite blushed while others looked sheepish, unaware of just how keen a nose their leader had. Cyriacus slowly calmed down, his Aura fading away with his temper.

“Not that I blame any of you, if I weren’t injured I think I would have drunk myself into oblivion or lost myself in my lover for a few nights. Unfortunately, I cannot indulge in any alcohol or cigarettes under orders from my Healers, and sex is not enjoyable while this Numb. So this,” Cyriacus gestured behind him with his right hand, “Is my outlet.”

The Elite shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to take his words.

“What…do you think of all of this?” Draco finally asked after a few minutes.

Cyriacus gestured for them to move out of his way as he walked into the Common Room, his door enlarging to accommodate his wings. “What do I think of this? I still hold the same amount of contempt and anger as I did when I found out about the mess that is my parentage. It is one thing to find out that you are an experiment created by your nemesis, sworn to serve him by bonds unbreakable by all but death and it is another to find that not only are you so cursed but your descendants as well.”

“It sucks.” Anthony Goldstein commented.

Blaise shot the Ravenclaw a dark look. “That doesn’t even begin to describe it and the thing that makes me angriest is that our parents are the ones that chose this for us, even if it was unwittingly.”

“From the very beginning they’ve made all the decisions.” Marcus added with a dark look. “It’s not like I wanted to work at the Ministry.”

“Well at least you don’t directly serve in the esteemed Minister’s department.” Chris Warrington retorted sharply.

Cyriacus chuckled darkly. “At least you weren’t molded and crafted to be a weapon from the very beginning. That was the sole purpose of my existence to the Wizarding World as Harry Potter; I was both Sword and Shield when it suited them and nothing worth acknowledging the other times. Your parents may have dictated your life but they at least looked out for your well being, I was alone with no protectors to speak of.”

“You had a choice once, before you found out about your father.” Sally-Anne Perks pointed out.

“And it was twice as painful to find that underneath it all, I was the one with no choices. You may complain about never having had a choice but I assure you, what you are feeling is not even comparable to what I felt when I realized that I had no choices at all. Before, Voldemort’s death was to be my freedom from all the expectations but now, Voldemort’s death is the death toll before my execution.” Cyriacus explained before looking over at the Lestrange twins. “I told your mother the situation as it stands, Voldemort’s success and failure is my own and in your case it is the combination of how well Voldemort and I work together that will determine how your lives fall out. All our lives depend on succeeding, failure equals death and none of us will settle for that.”

Morag nodded slowly. “So it is. How did you come to accept that?”

“When I realized that I wanted to do more than survive, I want to thrive. Though I don’t agree with all of Voldemort’s ideas and most are now invalid, we have the best chance at changing the world to better suit everyone.” Cyriacus smiled bitterly. “And when I realized that I really don’t have much of a choice about it…no one can escape their destiny when it has been Prophesized.”

Theo blinked. “Does that have to do with Merlin’s Prophecy?”

“It has everything to do with Merlin’s Prophecy,” Cy hissed out, eyes narrowed. “My displeasure at the world will not change the facts however, as much as I may wish it would. The moment I am well enough, I will be having some words with my ancestor.”

Before anyone else could ask him to clarify what he did know about the Prophecy, Constance Fawcett entered the room carrying a large medical bag. Cyriacus glanced at a clock and grimaced as he realized it was time to have his bandage changed.

“Think hard on my words, we may have not had the best…interactions in the past but our future depends on all of us learning to work together.” Cyriacus warned before he rose and led the Mediwitch into his room.

---

The Woods
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, UK
Thursday the 11th of September 1997
10:47 PM

Cyriacus was walking through the woods around Riddle Mansion, pondering what exactly his purpose in life was. Everything had changed so much in the recent months where the only thing he could trust in was himself. Even then at the rate his body was changing he never knew what exactly to expect next. All recent quandaries aside, he had to decide what exactly he would do now. A true Prophecy now hung around his neck, one that had been made well over a millennia ago.

With a growl, Cy kicked a rotting log from sheer frustration. Why oh why, did everything have to happen to him? Just as he turned around to head back to Riddle Mansion, a blur of movement to his right made him instinctually drop to the ground. His attacker flew over him as he rolled to his feet and kicking out, he caught the second attacker in the knee, sending the other sprawling. Sniffing the air, he smelled three attackers near him and understood why they had pounced on him. They were Vampires.

“I would stop if I were you,” Cy warned. “I’m not exactly as weak as I may appear and Voldemort would not be pleased if I came to harm.”

The third Vampire stepped out of the shadows behind and to his right. “You do not reek of the taint of Dark Magic.”

“This one is not human,” the Vampire who’d dived over him warned the others, having gotten a better whiff of that oh so tantalizing smell that had first attracted them.

Cy graced the Vampires with a cold smile, showing off his sharp teeth. “Can’t say I am but if you wish to fight, I won’t say no, Masters Rouge.”

The one who attempted to tackle him dusted dirt and brush off his clothes. “How did you know we were Rouges?”

“Because the Clan Elders haven’t decided whether they will ally themselves with the so called ‘Light’ or the Dark, which would make you all Rouges. No one crosses a Clan Elder and lives to boast of it.”

The leader, who hadn’t attacked him, narrowed his eyes. “You are well informed.”

“No one’s ever called me uninformed and I make a habit of knowing things I shouldn’t.” Cy replied with a smirk of amusement.

The Vampire he’d kicked looked petulant. “Well it was worth a shot, you can’t believe how lovely you smell.”

“I still think we could have had him.” The other Vampire muttered, looking hopefully at his leader.

The leader only frowned. “Perhaps but it’s quite possible we might not have survived the encounter.” Peering closely at Cy his eyes widened a little. “Ah, you’re Snape’s son and the lover of the famed Harry Potter.”

“Voldemort’s protégé?” The other two Vampires gasped.

Cyriacus only looked amused. “And you were Sired by a Kaspir, the one who missed tackling me by a Lylyth and the one I kicked by a Sariyah.”

The Kaspir descended Vampire snarled and would have thrown Cyriacus up against a tree if not for Nusayr appearing in his leopard form in between them. “How can you know that?!”

“I’ve studied Vampires very thoroughly and I had the honor of being taught by Stephen Dumont, the half-blooded son of the Clan Elder of Rakyn.”

“Dumont is dead!” The Sariyah shouted.

Cyriacus raised an eyebrow. “Dead to his father’s ways perhaps but not dead at all, he still walks amongst the living.”

The Lylyth bristled, blue eyes turning crimson. “What fool would reject being Heir of the most powerful Vampire Clan on this paltry mortal infested planet?”

“500 years of listening and doing everything your father tells you must be grating on the nerves I imagine.” Cyriacus snorted. “I know I would not have been pleased to grow up in my father’s strict household as a child.”

Nusayr growled as he nudged Cy back in the direction of the house. Cyriacus snarled at him and the leopard slowly backed away to a safe distance.

“I do not need to be watched over like a child, Nusayr. I deliberately went to all the effort of sneaking out of the Mansion so I could get a bit of peace from all the hovering. I’m injured but I’m not going to die of it.” Cyriacus said sharply before storming off into the woods.

Bitterness and a slow burning rage burned through him, each crunch of soil and twigs beneath his feet aggravating him further. The Transformation was gradual as his mind began to blank with fury, his shirt shredding without him noticing and his scaly dragonhide keeping his body warm in the cool autumn air. He wasn’t sure how long he walked but he finally stopped by a small pond and picking up stones began to furiously throw them at the still water. Had everything been fated all because of a stupid Prophecy one of his ancestors had given years upon years ago?

Peace shall be broken with the death of the King/strife and death shall sweep the land. Refuge in the spell’s mirror/blinds eyes of foe and allies make hidden. Forgotten to all but few/danger looms on distant horizon.

To arms shall brothers slay brothers/to bed shall daughter and son lay. Ally and foe both blind/the sands of time shall wear/thin shall mirror’s spell become. Salvation only in rebirth/hope lies in one who Death calls Ruin. Son of three, Heir of four/betrayed and betrayer/love and beloved of his foe.

Destruction to those who oppose him, mercy given to none/save those named friend and ally. Black spires will climb spearing the heavens/darkness shall pass into darkness and blood will pave the streets/long may he reign, the Prince of Dragons.

Cyriacus snarled as he recalled the prophecy, had he been born to be the pawn of Fate itself?

---

The Parlor
Fudge Mansion, Pennine Hills, Durham UK
Friday the 12th of September 1997
6:17 AM

Iphigenia hummed softly under her breath as she read and re-read through the mountain of newspapers and magazine articles all dated from the 28th of August up to today’s date. All of them were about either Harry Potter or Cyriacus Snape. The morning following the disastrous Summit, Iphigenia had sent off subscriptions to nearly all the most important Wizarding newspapers and magazines from around the world. Each day she delved through the stacks of magazines, looking specifically for information regarding Harry Potter and Cyriacus Snape. Suffice to say after last Sunday’s issue of the International Zephyr she now had more than enough truthful material about the two mysterious men.

“…dual attack. Numerous lives were lost in the attack on Inverness and Hogsmeade. Though only one life was lost, the attendees of the Summit were subjected to an even more horrifying sight, the torture of the Boy-Who-Lived, by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It is not yet clear how You-Know-Who was able to penetrate the extensive multi-layered wards at Fudge Manor…”
“Dark Lord Attacks…” Endiburgh Post. 28th August 1997.

“The grieving Cyriacus Snape was finally spotted at Vitium Court last evening, in the popular nightclub Corruption. Noticeably thinner, the handsome youth spent the evening indulging in large amounts of alcohol and cigarettes before retiring to the luxury hotel Paradise, accompanied by the vivacious Melissa Bancroft. Neither was seen again until midday the next morning…”
“Solace in Vice?” Witch Weekly. 31st August 1997.

“The Scholars of Mors are incensed after Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, interrupted the burial of Harry Potter, immobilized the crowd and then casting a séance around the dead hero’s body. After a drawn out questioning, resulting in the Boy-Who-Lived claiming manipulation and misinformation by the Headmaster, his Blood brother Cyriacus Snape was badly burned attempting to stop strange ghostly beings from stealing away the hero’s soul. Prelate-Scholar Ambrosius LeCoeur, banished and revoked any rights of burial for Headmaster Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, Minerva McGonagall, Bill Weasley and Charlie Weasley, a shocking turn of events as many had expected the revered Headmaster to earn a place at the highly vaunted Helios plot…”
“Banishment from Isle of Lore!” Atlantic Arrow. 3rd September 1997.

“The Purification Flame, was originally created to be used upon diseased bodies or bodies severely saturated in the darkest of Dark Magic. In both cases, however, it was only ever supposed to be applied to the deceased. The fact that Mr. Snape has survived the encounter without the need for amputation speaks highly of the Healers treating him and Mr. Snape’s own magic. It is widely believed that of the amount of power capable of being used and focused, a large portion will always be unusable, due to the body keeping it in reserve for emergency Healing purposes.”
“Breakthrough in Burn Treatment.” Mediwizardry News. 5th September 1997.

“…disturbance at the Potter burial. The esteemed Albus Dumbledore and members of his Order of the Phoenix cast a séance around the body of Harry Potter. The spirit was unsurprised at the identity of the castor and hurled several accusations to his former mentor. The Wizengamot as well as several foreign Ministries have caused an uproar, demanding that both Dumbledore and Minister Fudge be questioned under Veritaserum. Though the media were not allowed attendance to the ceremony, records indicate that the Minister was deemed innocent of charges of possible aiding and abetting a criminal, whereas the Headmaster was charged with both deliberate misinformation of a minor and manipulation of a minor. The fines leveled will be paid to Mr. Potter’s successor, Mr. Cyriacus Snape…”
“Corrupted Authority?” Wizarding Times. 6th September 1997.

“It was…unbelievable when we first met. I was never one to believe in ‘love at first sight’ but after we got together, I would swear that I knew it was Cyriacus all along…” “Conventional Love.” The International Zephyr. 7 September 1997.

“…in shock. It would haunt my nightmares for months, watching Cedric Diggory’s body hitting the ground, motionless. It’s why I poured all my power and focus into my studies at Arcanum. I may have had an unconventional education but I can’t say that it wasn’t worth it at times…”
“As I Lived it.” The International Zephyr. 7 September 1997.

“According to records stored at the Ministry of Magic, Cyriacus Snape is the son of Severus Snape and Genevieve Levesque, Heir of both families and now, the current Head of the Potter Family and Lord of Gryffindor. Born on the 22nd of August 1981, to Genevieve Levesque at the Arcanum Institute of Magic, he was raised at the school where his mother taught Divination. It wasn’t until his mother’s death on the 17th of May 1997 that he learned who his father was. Ministry records indicate that his father, Professor Severus Snape, filed the appropriate papers on the 15th of August, legitimizing his son and making him Heir to the Snape property and fortune.”
“The Return of the Lord of Gryffindor: A look at the life of Cyriacus Snape.” The Daily Prophet. 8 September 1997.

“Cyriacus Snape, the lover of the Boy-Who-Lived, was finally released from St. Mungo’s yesterday. Originally he was scheduled for release on Monday the 8th. Earlier in the week a spokesperson for St. Mungo’s gave a statement that Mr. Snape suffered a relapse and would not be released until later in the week or possibly early next week. The staff at St. Mungo’s is still tight-lipped about what caused the relapse, though they have stated that it will be a month or longer before the wound heals completely. Attempts to contact the Snapes have been unsuccessful…”
“Released at Last!” Parisian News. 12th September 1997.

Iphigenia smiled, she now had enough information, truth or rumor, to begin the tedious process of attempting to find the truth. Taking out a Dicto-quill and some parchment she began making out a list of clues and theories.

---

The Strategy Room
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, UK
Friday the 12th of September 1997
6:55 AM

Cyriacus yawned, lazily stretching on his chaise, tuning out the ranting and raving of the Inner Circle, Elite and Voldemort. Apparently, upon discovering him missing at eleven o’clock last night, they had thrown together a search party and gone looking for him. The Elite had divided up into two groups searching the Triad Alleys and Vitium Court while the rest searched Snape Manor, Riddle Mansion and the grounds. Nusayr had been unable to find him after Cyriacus masked his scent and Aura and Voldemort hadn’t been able to find him as he had blocked their connection and refused to answer his Call. By a stroke of luck Nusayr, Voldemort, Severus and Lucius had stumbled upon the small pond Cyriacus had been reclining next to.

---

Flashback

---

It was nearly dawn when they stumbled upon him. Nusayr led the way followed by Voldemort, Severus and Lucius. Cy was sprawled on his left side over a boulder dozing, his Aura flared around his Transformed body pulsing with his heartbeat. Nusayr froze, disbelieving at the sight and motioned for the others not to go any closer.

“What in the world is wrong with him now?” Severus demanded slightly shocked to see his son glowing like that.

Nusayr shook his head. “He looks as if he is in khanel but most don’t go into khanel until they are at least fifty years old.”

“Khanel?” Lucius questioned, unable to tear his eyes away from the glowing younger man.

“It is a period of time when one grows into their powers, normally it spans half a year or a year. Upon completion of khanel the being normally goes into their first kyvaren, or breeding cycle. From the way he smells he’s long past his first kyvaren, though it’s normally good to note which season that falls into, as everyone has a different season that they’re most fertile.” Nusayr explained sounding very puzzled.

Voldemort frowned. “Are there any other things we should be aware of while he is in khanel?”

“Most beings tend to be extremely temperamental so it’s best not to incite them.” Nusayr cautioned. “And should you accidentally stumble upon them in a bad mood or even worse, cause it, be very calm and passive. They will otherwise attack anyone they think is being deliberately antagonistic towards them. Observe.”

Nusayr cautiously crept closer taking slow steps hands in front of him. “My Lord, I beg your forgiveness for disturbing your rest, but it is time for you to withdraw to the Mansion and rest properly. Is there aught I can get for you?”

One sleepy eye opened. “Help me up and have a pot of tea prepared. Tell the house elves to make it from my personal stores; I desire to have some white tea.”

“Of course,” Nusayr said agreeably as he helped the other up and departed to arrange the tea.

---

End of Flashback

---

Cyriacus idly drank his tea, slightly irritated with the noise but still very calm as they didn’t dare to yell at him. Grumble certainly but not raise their voices to him. Once he finished his tea, he set his cup down on the small table Nusayr had set before him and turned to tell everyone to shut up. Just as he was about to speak, he noticed Sverre standing in the shadows towards the back of the room. As he stood up, the others noticed and fell silent.

“Sverre?” Cyriacus called out surprised to see his Familiar, who had told him nearly a month ago that he would be gone for a few months.

Cyriacus, may I have a word with you in private?

“Of course I don’t see why-“ Cyriacus froze, eyes narrowing as he smelled that oh so familiar scent. Before the jackal could move, Cyriacus had moved into an offensive stance. “I suppose I should have wondered why you knew so much about them but I never asked, as you were supposed to have been a Spirit Familiar!”

Nusayr was at his side and immediately understood the jackal was not a jackal. It was an Incubus.

“Well done, I told Taranis that you would be able to sense the difference now.” A new voice said before another man stepped out of the shadows. The stranger had auburn hair and familiar emerald green eyes.

Cyriacus growled softly, watching as Sverre turned into a graceful black haired, silver eyed man. The two Incubi stood next to each other, waiting as he examined them both. The two shared several common features, the shape of their face, the long graceful frame, only the silver haired man was slightly broader in the shoulders and an inch or two shorter than the other man.

“I’m going to assume you are the man who sired my mother.” Cyriacus finally commented eyes narrowed at Timaeus.

The Incubus who had been Sverre cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should properly introduce ourselves? I am Taranis Ars, First Lord of House Ars and this is my twin brother, Timaeus Ars, also the First Lord of House Ars. As you have already guessed, my brother is your grandfather and that makes me your granduncle.”

“Charmed.” Cyriacus drawled coldly. “Dare I even ask why you are here now of all times?”

Timaeus looked amused. “Taranis was right, I would not have had a chance attempting to control you. It is just as well that I saw sense and decided not to try. Why have we decided to finally step forward? I’m sure Taranis was tired of pretending to be your Familiar for one thing, and me, I Saw that it was time for you to know us as we truly are and for us to know you as you are. I admit I had not expected you to look like a hybrid Dragon/human.”

“I think we are all rather…surprised about that.” Cyriacus said faintly amused, relaxing slightly. “So you are also cursed with the Sight as well? Mother had it too, I suppose then it was not all from Merlin.”

“No, it certainly wasn’t. I am gifted with the Sight and Taranis here, is a Shapeshifter. Together, we’re quite a terror in the Demon Realm.”

Cyriacus snorted. “I would imagine so you are the Demon Twins of Ars, bringer of blight upon your own House or so they say.”

Taranis stiffened. “How do you know that? I never told you.”

“I own the Royal Incubi basically and I have a copy of every book in their library, I did do some reading while I was recovering from my injury. It’s fascinating actually, there’s a lingering taint in your magic but nothing I recognize from my studies.” Cyriacus commented.

Timaeus was startled. “You can sense that? How?”

Nusayr smoothly joined the conversation. “He is not as mortal as you may have previously believed and I am beginning to realize that he’s not only manifesting Incubus heritage but a combination of others as well. How many I cannot be certain at this time, with the alteration of his blood due to that potion it will be difficult to discover.”

“Who are-“

“I am among the Forgotten Ones, we who were the first born and as for your curse; you may blame your ancestor Imryn for starting the whole mess. I cannot explain more, it is Asadyl’s tale and he will be the one to tell it.” Nusayr said sharply. “I am charged to see to the welfare of your descendant so fear for nothing.”

Before anyone else could speak, a house elf appeared bawling that Dumbledore was at Snape Manor and wished to see Cyriacus if it was possible. Severus started cursing and Cyriacus growled as he slowly shifted back to his human form.

“I haven’t the time to finish this conversation. I will visit House Ars after I finish this other business.” Cyriacus said before Shadow Stalking away.

---

Voldemort’s Suite
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Saturday the 13th of September 1997
1:07 AM

“I didn’t expect to find you awake.” Cyriacus commented as he leaned against the doorway of the study.

Voldemort looked up from the parchment scroll he was reading. “The Dark Congress will meet during the first weekend of October, I am double checking the terms of the meeting. I should not like to learn later that there are unexpected loopholes.”

“I see.” Cyriacus commented.

“Will it be possible to arrange your absence during that time? I believe your presence would keep the others in line.”

Cyriacus smiled. “I will see if I can’t arrange to ‘agitate’ my injury that week. I’m sure that no one will question it if a few of the Arcanum Healers had me moved to the Asclepius Sanatorium for a short time. I am certain I will have no challenge at Hogwarts.”

Voldemort nodded slowly and studied him. “You are as well as can be expected, I hope?”

“As much as the Healers can hope for,” Cyriacus agreed glancing towards the empty portrait which had Salazar Slytherin inscribed underneath.

They both fell silent for a few minutes before Voldemort decided to take the initiative. “Has anything changed since the last time you were in my rooms?”

Cyriacus raised an eyebrow. “No.”

“Then why are you treating me like a pariah?”

“What makes you think I’m treating you like a pariah?”

Voldemort got out from behind his desk and walked over to him. “You have been avoiding me, you don’t talk to me without someone else in the same room and the way you look at me makes me wonder if you have changed your mind. If you have already decided this is not worth something to you.”

“I’ve had a lot to think about,” Cyriacus commented as Voldemort stopped in front of him, resting a hand on his cheek. “It’s not every day that you discover you aren’t who or what you think you are. When I learned to deal with that I ran into another obstacle. I’m drugged completely to be Numb right now. It’s hard to want to have sex if you can’t enjoy it, I don’t feel much right now and the Healers have said that I need to be kept like this for another week. If I didn’t know the way you think, I might have thought that you’re feeling insecure but that’s ridiculous isn’t it? For now, this works and perhaps someday it will be something else, but I have this feeling that we’re bound together in more ways then we know.”

Voldemort sighed. “Of course, something always happens to you. I begin to see how irritating it is.”

Cyriacus only smiled and leaned forward, brushing their lips together. Vaguely as the kiss intensified, he became aware of a vague sense of pleasure, a mere miniscule of what it was like without being Numb.

Voldemort pulled away, looking thoughtfully at him. “Where do we stand right now?”

“What do you mean?” Cyriacus asked, his right hand idly toying with the silver necklace around his lover’s neck.

Voldemort caught his hand and held if flat against his chest. “How do we stand on the War? We are lovers yes, but where do you stand amongst my followers and where do I stand in your eyes?”

Cyriacus considered his words. “Have you found a copy of Merlin’s Prophecy?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I will be brief. To the best of my knowledge, we will stand together, side by side during this War. If this is the path I was born for, then I wish to have some part in making the plans for raids and such but I suppose, the final choice of what actions need to be taken will be yours. You already have my loyalty by means of Blood magic and you may order me around only as your Prime, I am my own person when it comes to Necromancy. That is not an Art you know of and only I can determine what I am capable of doing.”

Voldemort nodded agreeably. “And our goals now?”

“There is much we do not know and still this feeling persists…something is coming that no one will have Foreseen.” Cyriacus commented gaze becoming unnaturally fey. “Something looms on the horizon and I have a very strong feeling that I will be the Catalyst of it. I am troubled…”

“We will meet it when it comes…” Voldemort said before kissing the Necromancer tenderly, bringing him out of the strange trance he’d fallen into.

Just as they had both begun tugging on each others clothes they heard the door in the main room open. They broke away as a chorus of conversation and voices poured into the room.

Mother I’m hungry!

Where is the forest?

I want to eat a mouse, a nice plump mouse.

How do wizards live like this? It is so cold and hard.

You are sure the owls, hawks and falcons will not eat us mother?

I do not like stairs…

What is that strange smell?

Mother…I’m tired.

Finally there was an irritated hiss, nearly a shout. Be quiet before you wake up my Wizard!

Voldemort looked amused. It is a good thing that I am not asleep then, is it not?

Nagini looked up from the small swarm of snakes entering the room. You are awake; it is good to see you again! It has been nearly five months since I saw you last.

You are looking very well, how big was your brood?

62 total, 38 came back with me.

Voldemort smiled. That is excellent news. I look forward to meeting all of them. Shall I have the house elves bring some prey or will you introduce them to the forest?

Nagini glanced at her brood. Tomorrow is soon enough I think.

Very well, I will send for-

Cyriacus interrupted, straightening his robes. I will see to it before I return to my chambers to sleep. I will see you tomorrow.

As you will it. Voldemort commented before kissing him quickly. Sleep well.

Cyriacus smiled. And you. Then he walked into the shadows and vanished.

Who was that? Nagini questioned after Cyraicus left.

Voldemort chuckled. My dear that is a long story…

TBC…

---

I glossed over some stuff yes, hopefully I will be able to catch up to it in the next chapter though. I’m almost certain that next chapter will be the long awaited return trip to Hogwarts.

A few quick notes:

Pronunciation: Khanel (Khan-el) Kyvaren (Kyvar-een)

Asclepius Sanatorium: Asclepius is the Greek God of Healing. A sanatorium is a long term medical facility for long term illnesses and recovery.

Nagini: I based Nagini on a Fer-de-Lance snake. They are highly venomous snakes found in Central and South America. They have heat sensory organs and their tongues are chemically sensitive. They can grow up to 6 feet in length and have around 70 offspring which are born live from the female.

Well, that’s it until the next chapter. Speaking of which…

NEXT CHAPTER: Cy’s new familiar, flashbacks for the Dumbledore visit and maybe the visit to House Ars, the Hogwarts express, the Sorting and maybe a few classes.

COUNTDOWN TO THE ASADYL CONVERSATION: 2 chapters away!

-SheWolfe7 (5-21-05)