Irreversible Destiny

A/N: It’s been a long while, I’m sorry about that but at this point it’s out of my control. From now until Mid-October updates will be very slow likely once a month, do to all the work I’ll be doing on the farm. Sorry. I hope this chapter will be worth the wait. This is Un-Betaed since I felt so awful it’s been over a month since the last update. 27 pages though so it’s not like I was holding back.

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

Chapter XVIII
Gossip

No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues.
-Bertrand Russell, English author, mathematician, & philosopher (1872 - 1970)

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The Atrium
British Ministry of Magic, London UK
Saturday the 13th of September 1997
11:29 AM

Cyriacus bit back the urge to sneer when he saw Percy Weasley waiting for him in front of the golden gates that led to the Ministry elevators. Waving his hand in front of his body, all the soot vanished and his robes straightened. He was dressed in dove gray slacks and a white silk button up shirt. Over that he wore forest green robes trimmed in gold with a shiny blue-green Sea Serpent hide cloak over his robes. Ignoring the stares and whispers coming from the line of witches and wizards Flooing out of the building for lunch, he walked towards Percy who, he assumed, was his guide to wherever he was to meet with the others.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Snape and welcome to the British Ministry of Magic,” Percy greeted holding his hand out for a handshake. “I am Percival Weasley, Junior Assistant of Minister Fudge.”

Cyriacus gave the other man a curt nod in greeting, ignoring Percy’s attempt to suck up to him. “Mr. Weasley, shall we be on our way?”

“Of course,” Percy said slightly disappointed by Cyriacus’s curt greeting. “You will need to register your wand with Mr. Munch.”

Cy nodded as he followed Percy over to the stand where a bored looking man set down his copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Your wa- Blimey! You’re Cyriacus Snape!” Munch exclaimed.

Cy flashed the man a cold smile. “I assure you, I know exactly who I am Mr. Munch, now if you’re done gawking at me?”

Munch flushed. “Of course your wand please, Mr. Snape?”

Withdrawing a wand from a pocket in his robe, Cyriacus gave it to the Watchwizard who took it and placed it on a brass Artifact which ‘read’ the wand. The other man passed Cyriacus back his wand, curious why the younger Wizard was wearing gloves but he shook off his curiosity and read the slip of paper aloud.

“Hazel wood, 12 inches with Chimera feather and hair?” Munch read off, slightly incredulous at the core.

“Yes.” Cyriacus agreed with a nod. “Shall we be on our way, Mr. Weasley?”

Percy blinked and then flushed. “Of course, right this way.”

Cyriacus followed Percy past the golden gates and onto an elevator, which took them directly to level one, which housed the Minister’s Office and his staff. They stepped out of the elevator into a plain white stone hallway, filled with pictures of former Ministers of Magic. They walked directly ahead down a short hallway, passing by four offices which read:

P. Weasley, Junior Assistant
D. Umbridge, Assistant
L. Abernathy, Head Internal Affairs Advisor
K. Orville, Head Media Advisor

At the end of the hallway were grand oak double doors with gold filigree designs and a plaque over the door read:

Office of the Minister of Magic:
Cornelius Fudge

Percy rapped hard on the door twice and threw the doors open in a grandiose, well practiced movement.

“Mr. Cyriacus Snape, at your request Minister Fudge,” Percy announced grandly.

Cy, once again, stifled the desire to sneer at the pompous red-haired wizard. “Minister Fudge, I have arrived as instructed. Where are the others? I have exactly,” Cyriacus took out a silver pocket watch from his robe pocket and checked the time. “An hour and twenty minutes until I need to return home to have my wound cleaned and re-bandaged.”

Fudge rose from behind his desk. “We’ll be meeting in Conference Room One. I took the liberty of arranging for a short luncheon to be served, I hope that will not inconvenience you?”

“My time is short and I’ve already eaten, I suggest that we take care of matters as quickly as possible. It took a considerable amount of…persuasion to convince the Healers to discharge me from the hospital after my relapse. I have no desire to be laid up back at St. Mungo’s simply because I was late in taking my Potions and caring for my injury as I was instructed.” Cyriacus said sharply as Fudge joined them by the door.

Fudge smiled weakly. “Er, of course, let’s be on our way then. Weasley, you can return to your other duties, you won’t be needed for this private conference.”

“Of course,” Percy said still slightly shocked at the way Cyriacus had spoken to the Minister.

Cyriacus allowed Fudge to lead him back down towards the main elevator he had just arrived from and down the hallway to the left. They passed by a large room which was labeled as a Men’s restroom before turning left up another hallway. As they walked, Fudge chattering on about inconsequential things Cyriacus paid close attention to the names and numbers on the doors. They had just passed by the Internal Affairs Archive when Fudge opened a door on the right and waved Cyriacus to go in before him.

Stepping into the room, he glanced around at the plain room. A large mahogany table stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by comfortable peacock blue chairs. There were no windows; the lighting consisted of four silver chandeliers hung over the table and silver torch scones along the sides of the room. A few potted plants were strewn about the room along the walls, adding a bit of color to an otherwise drab room. At the far end of the table sat Kenneth Davidson and Dumbledore, who rose when they spotted their arrival.

“Mr. Snape, it’s good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?” Davidson asked holding out his hand.

Cyriacus shook the older man’s hand and yet again, ignored the slight curious look he received for wearing a glove while the weather was still so warm. “I’m doing as well as can be expected, Mr. Davidson. I trust you are doing well?”

“I’m quite well thank you. Please have a seat; we wouldn’t want to overtire you.” Davidson said waving to a seat at his right.

Cyriacus withdrew his wand and with an idle wave banished his cloak before sitting down. All three eyed his left arm which had been tucked into a nondescript black sling.

“I’m pleased you could join us on such short notice,” Dumbledore said in way of greeting from across the table.

“It’s fortunate that my…lessons are being cancelled until I am better or this would not have been possible.” Cyriacus said somewhat coolly.

Fudge joined them, sitting next to Dumbledore. “Very fortunate indeed, my boy. How were your lessons going?”

Cyriacus raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle underneath the table. “They were going quite well, Voldemort was quite pleased with my progress. Not that it matters, I’m more than well versed in the majority of the spells I was taught.”

Davidson looked slightly alarmed. “He’s training you in Dark Arts then?”

“I imagine that the majority of the spells would classify as such.” Cyriacus agreed smoothly.

Before anyone else could ask another question, Juliana Ramsey entered the room from the closest door behind Cyriacus. All four rose from their seats as was proper and Juliana walked directly to Cyriacus.

“Mr. Snape, I hope that you recover quickly. Gentlemen, I apologize for my tardiness but I was delayed as I received reports from the missing Defense League spies.” Juliana said to the others after patting Cyriacus’s shoulder.

“Why did they not report with the rest of the spies?” Davidson asked sharply.

Juliana sat next to Cyriacus who had gentlemanly pulled out a chair for her. “Their squad had been ordered to scout out a mountain fortress in the mountains in Transylvania and they could not get a message to us at the time.”

“What could Voldemort possibly want a fortress in Transylvania for?” Fudge asked incredulous.

Cyriacus idly drummed his fingers on the table. “After the attack in Wisbech, he has more of an interest in scattering his forces more…thoroughly. That at least, is what I have heard.”

The four leaders of the Light exchanged looks, they hadn’t been aware of any scattering of Voldemort’s forces.

“Does the Dark Lord confide more in you than say, his Inner Circle?” Dumbledore asked seriously.

Cyriacus pondered his words and carefully answered. “I wouldn’t say that but it’s hardly difficult to deduct the reasoning behind his actions.”

“But why would he be scouting for a fortress in Transylvania? Wouldn’t it make more sense if he chose another fortress in or closer to the United Kingdom?” Ramsey asked shaking her head.

“You all seem to have forgotten that Voldemort has a Necromancer, a highly skilled one based on the destruction and general mayhem I saw at the Summit. A skilled Necromancer could easily create temporary Gateways until a Necromancer’s Spire could be completed. That would, of course, allow Voldemort’s forces an instantaneous method of travel. From what little I know distance or wards do not hinder Gateways, unlike Floo or Portkey travel. In addition, they are almost always highly guarded and invisible to detection by most witches and wizards.” Cyriacus explained simply. “For all we know, the Necromancer could be commanding a Spire to arise out of Hyde Park.”

Davidson frowned. “Is there any way to detect a Spire? And what exactly is a Necromancer’s Spire?”

“A Necromancer’s Spire is usually a tower anywhere between 3 to 8 levels tall, used as focus for a Summoning Ritual and to house the Summoned creatures until such a time as their Summoning expires. They are usually created from granite or, if the Necromancer is especially powerful, obsidian. As for detection, the only times in recorded history someone was alerted of the existence of a Spire was generally before an attack.”

“That is troubling news.” Dumbledore commented absently.

Cyriacus shrugged. “It is what it is. Minister, did you not say that you had ordered a light luncheon?”

Fudge looked embarrassed. “Of course, how silly of me. Tizzy!”

An old female house-elf appeared, wearing a pillowcase with the Ministry Seal. “Yes, Master?”

“Please have the luncheon I asked to be brought here.”

The house-elf bowed and vanished, re-appearing with a dozen house elves carrying silver lidded dishes, silverware and steaming pots of tea and other beverages. They quickly set a cover on the table and set out the food, three house elves converging on Cyriacus asking what they could do for him as it was apparent he would be slightly hindered as he only had one useable arm.

“I have already eaten but I would not be amiss to a cup of tea.” Cyriacus said several times before the house elves reluctantly fetched him a glass of tea. The older wizards and witch had begun filling their plates, chatting about idle things. With a muttered word, the glove on his hand vanished and he began drumming his fingers on the tabletop as he told the house elves how he liked his tea.

Tap…Tap…Tap…Tap.

Fudge turned to speak to the younger wizard but froze, staring at the other’s hand. Glowing subtly on his right hand were eight Family signet rings; Snape, Levesque, Potter, McKnight, Argyle, Ciodné, Merryck and…Gryffindor. The slight glow around the latter six was a bit more intense, no doubt because the young wizard was the undisputed Patriarch of those Families. Dumbledore nearly choked from the amount of unconscious power young Cyriacus was displaying, there was now little question why the younger man had deigned to wear a glove. Davidson and Ramsey had quieted and were exchanging wary glances as tension filled the air.

Ignoring them, Cyriacus calmly accepted the offered cup of tea with a quiet thanks before taking a cautious sip. He had learned to resist Truth Potions the first month after his arrival at Arcanum but he would be careful, there was no telling just how desperate the supposed Leaders of the Light might be to get information. Swirling the tea around his tongue, he found nothing wrong with it and swallowed. Dumbledore frowned; did Cyriacus really think they would put Veritaserum in his tea?

“You are very…cautious.” Davidson commented warily.

Cyriacus only raised an eyebrow, “Better to be cautious now than dead later. Now, if we’re done with the pleasantries, shall we get on with this discussion? I’ve already told the good Minister that I must be on my way well before two o’clock and I cannot be delayed. I am sure that we are all capable of speaking bluntly and we are short of time today so let us be quick about it.”

They exchanged looks before Juliana decided to push forth the first issue they wanted to discuss.

“From what the other spies have reported, it is quite the…honor to be given private lessons by Voldemort. We are, understandably, curious and anxious to know if Voldemort is perhaps, training you to be his Heir?” Juliana asked carefully.

Cy snorted, if only they knew! “I can honestly say that he is not training me to become his Heir. I believe it is simply a matter of ensuring that I am kept someplace where I may be watched and suitably trained to best serve his cause.”

A few moments passed, as they ate and mulled over how to best approach the other topics they wished to discuss.

“The other spies have reported that you have been received with mixed feelings by Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Have they treated you any differently since the recent articles by the media?” Dumbledore asked, looking grave.

“I haven’t yet had any interaction with the common Death Eaters; I have only encountered the Inner Circle, their offspring and Voldemort himself. They have all treated me no differently; I made a great deal of talk about betraying Harry and now they simply believe I desired his Gifts which I have received in full.” Cyriacus answered, eyes darkening.

“You have been able to keep your true feelings in check around them?” Davidson pried.

Cy’s eyes darkened, shining with a strange light and he snapped back, “Of course! As much as I love Harry, I have no intention of joining him in the afterlife until I mete out the proper retribution on his behalf! It will take some time but I have patience, when I’m through with Voldemort, no one will forget Harry’s sacrifice.”

The rest of the meeting went by quickly and the moment Cyriacus had departed the room and his footsteps had faded, the others let out relieved breaths.

Fudge drummed his fingers on the table in thought. For several minutes the younger wizard had looked furious and…slightly crazed. Potter had been a threat but had not been nearly as formidable as his lover was proving to be. It may prove harder to remove or permanently disable him but Fudge couldn’t just leave a threat like Cyriacus Snape alive after the War. Fortunately, there should be plenty of time to figure out how exactly to deal with the wizard…

Davidson and Ramsey exchanged a look, silently cautioning each other to proceed cautiously with this obviously powerful wizard. Harry Potter had been a force to reckon with and Cyriacus Snape had been Potter’s equal and currently he was wielding the additional strength and Gifts of his lover alongside his own. Yes, it would be best to proceed with caution.

Closing his eyes, Dumbledore wished that things had not fallen out as they had. Harry had been their only hope for defeating Voldemort for so long and though he had been cold and apathetic at best towards them, he had had a clear mind about confronting Voldemort on the battlefield. Cyriacus, though doubly powerful, was a hazard. He was blinded by his emotions and his desire to avenge his lover’s death. Though he was now the Light’s last hope, he would also be its possible destroyer. Dumbledore had seen many Wizarding children grow into adults and though he may seem blind to the darker aspects of human nature, even he could see the fanatical, vengeful light that burned in Cyriacus Snape’s eyes. Cyriacus was willing to pay any price, do the unspeakable and unfathomable to reach his goal and nothing would stop him. It could take mere hours or years but Voldemort’s reign of chaos would come to an end. The question though was what would replace it.

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The Gardens
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Saturday the 13th of September 1997
2:35 PM

Cyriacus was pacing idly in the extensive gardens behind Riddle Mansion, evaluating his performance a few hours ago. He had been calm and collected, matter of fact when it was necessary and most of all, he had made sure to wield his magic sloppily, letting the spillover caution them. Fortunately, it had been easy to pretend to have such a poor grasp on his magic, as he had quickly learned; it was a bit…difficult and slightly dangerous having one useable limb to channel his magic through. He often accidentally overcharged some of his spells but was quickly learning to adapt.

A change in the wind alerted him to the soft hisses in the bush a few feet away from him. Continuing his pacing, he focused and caught the conversation.

Why does mother wish us to spy on the hatchling?

Mother said that she was worried this one was not being truthful to her Wizard. Another voice confided.

There was a puzzled silence. But...the two are mated, are they not?

I told Mother as much but still she says this one must be watched.

Cyriacus rolled his eyes and still pacing hissed back to them. You would call me a hatchling? You make enough noise to alert a predator of your presence. I think perhaps, that you are the hatchlings, little serpents.

You speak!

Cyriacus laughed. Your mother is well aware I speak; there have been many rumors of such. Did she perchance tell you to be very stealthy?

Sssssss… One of the three snakes commented, dismayed.

I thought as much. Cyriacus said genuinely amused. You may tell your mother that if she is that concerned for her Wizard’s sake, she may question me herself. Though I can assure you, I am no threat to her Wizard so long as he follows our terms of…treaty.

A slender head poked out of the bushes. We will tell her you said as much.

Please do. Cyriacus commented as he turned, heading towards the secret gate that led to the woods. A tall wall protected the Mansion, specifically constructed to obscure the view from those standing on the other side. Walking to a spot covered in ivy, he put his hand on the wall and felt for the imprint of a snake. He felt a sting as the snake bit him.

Password?

Vigilance. The wall shimmered for a moment and Cyriacus quickly walked through it and once on the other side, headed directly for the Summoning Circle. Just as he neared the edge of the wards hiding the Summoning Circle, the hair on the back of his neck began to rise and he became aware of a presence observing him. Turning slowly, he scanned the area, his right hand next to his side and ready to rise and begin casting spells. It was just as he turned his back fully to the wards when something leapt out from behind him and just as his body hit the ground he felt blackness pulling him down.

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A Clearing
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Saturday the 13th of September 1997
3:02 PM

Kohinoor watched as her Sisters prepared a small area for the Blood Ritual. Nanaea had prepared the forest floor where the kyndrak would be laid upon his arrival. She constructed a soft bed of leaves, moss and sage in the center of the clearing, weaving her own power into it. Fayruz had lit large torches containing fragrant oil along the edge of the clearing, casting a soft glowing light in the heavily shadowed forest. A few Sisters stood observing the preparations for the Blood Ritual and scanning the forest for signs of danger. Though all the Chylla were gifted with some ability at Divination, whether they were Seers, Astrologists, or Prophets, not all of them were equal in power.

The Chylla were the youngest of the five Primordial beings from oldest to youngest were: Wraith, Revenant, Deviant, Savage and Chylla. From the very beginning of humanity, they had existed growing as the humans grew becoming more powerful and dangerous with each passing season. Unlike humans though, they were created and for a long, long time had no way of reproducing. The eldest three Primordial beings were all male, the Savages were a mixture of both male and female and the Chylla were all female. Powerful, intelligent and organized the humans had found them fascinating and god-like.

Stealthy and poisonous Wraiths had eyes of violet or gold, Firstborn of all the Primordial beings and wisest. The second-born Revenants were resilient and cunning, with eyes of turquoise or green, they were the true survivors. Deviants, with their red or orange eyes, were known to be charming and graceful, spending their days plotting. Primal and ferocious were the Savages, with black or silver eyes, well known for being shape shifters and the greatest hunters or huntresses. Finally there were the Chylla, delicate looking females who, instead of sharing similar eye colors, had hair as pure as moonbeams or hair as fair as morning sunshine. Youngest but given the most powerful gift of all, the ability to see and manipulate the future itself.

“Eldest, the others approach with the kyndrak.” A Sister called out from the trees.

Kohinoor nodded as she quickly examined the area where the Blood Ritual would take place. It would do. Turning she gestured for Nanaea and Fayruz to join her as they waited. A few minutes later six Sisters arrived, bearing the kyndrak on a stretcher.

“Lay him there.” Kohinoor pointed to the bed of leaves, moss and sage.

Once he had been arranged to her satisfaction, she removed two vials from her white robes and helped him drink them. The first vial had a slightly gold tint and would disable all his senses but taste, sound and touch. The second vial would disorient him, make him pliant and lower his mental defenses enough for her to share memories with. Kneeling next to him with Fayruz to her left and Nanaea to her right, Kohinoor gave the rest of the sisters a signal and they began to chant. Kohinoor watched him alertly, waiting for a sign that he was waking. A few minutes later and he began to stir and with another signal the chant became softer.

“Are you awake, kyndrak?”

“Yes.”

Kohinoor nodded as she reached over and began to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Cy asked slurred.

“I will begin to wake your true powers, kyndrak. There will be some pain but the change will occur gradually.”

Once she had his shirt open, Kohinoor ran her hands along his torso, searching for what she knew was already there. Shirin would have been the first to reach out to him and ensure he took the necessary path. Yes, there! The first was located just under his sternum, with the other two just above each of his hipbones.

“Kyndrak, what is the password to the Orbs of Stability?” Kohinoor asked fingers circling the skin beneath his sternum.

“Aeternus procella.” (Eternal storm)

Kohinoor repeated the words three times as she traced a circular path with her below his sternum. A prickle of energy was her only warning as the first glowing Orb of Stability emerged from his body. The power it harnessed intrigued her but did not surprise her. Lifting the glowing orb, she began chanting softly as she poured her own power into it, adding the gift of the Chylla to it before gently forcing it back down into his body. Repeating the password for the other two Orbs, she nicked her finger with a knife and let three drops of blood fall on each Orb before gently forcing it back into his body.

She watched his reaction for a few minutes, he was drawing rapid breaths but other than that the conversion had occurred without issue. Accepting the knife from Nanaea, she slit her wrist and fed him the blood while joining minds with him and giving him memories that would slowly be revealed over the next month. After she finished feeding him blood, she stepped away from him so Nanaea and Fayruz could also feed him their blood. The Sisters watching chanted throughout, their power feeding the Blood Ritual. Kohinoor waited as the power built, Nanaea and Fayruz standing next to her. When the kyndrak began to glow with their power, Kohinoor gestured for her Sisters to slow the chant again and they pooled the power once more. Searching the crowd, she spotted Roshni and gestured her forward, it was time.

Fayruz handed her a sharp curved scimitar before standing next to Roshni, holding her still with Nanaea on her other side. Roshni calmly knelt next to the rasping body of the kyndrak, looking up at Kohinoor who stood on the other side of the kyndrak. Time seemed to still as they all waited for the right moment and then Kohinoor struck, slicing the scimitar across Roshni’s throat, the blood pouring over the chest of the kyndrak. The chant rose in pitch, as words of power spilled from their lips, binding the blood to the Ritual. The body which had lain so still was now arching upward and a scream ripped out of his throat. The Sisters increased their volume, trying to drown out the scream from the kyndrak as Kohinoor tossed the scimitar aside and using her fingers began to draw runes on his chest with the blood. Finished she joined the Sisters in the chant and drew it to a close the power they had been raising channeled into the kyndrak forcing a silent scream before he abruptly stopped breathing.

The Sisters shuffled in place, waiting to see what would happen but Kohinoor only rose to her feet and collected her sacred weapons. Nanaea and Fayruz meanwhile, stood over the body of Roshni and together chanted a short phrase. Blinding light suffused Roshni’s body and when it faded in her place was a white and silver barred Peregrine Falcon. Kohinoor had rinsed her hands clean and as they prepared to leave, spoke briefly with the falcon.

“Your life’s blood was given to assure his destiny and it was he who spared you true death as we had first expected. You will serve him now, your spirit is bound to him and I leave you to guard him. We have worked too long for this day Sister, and to loose him now would be to doom not only us but our brethren too. Be alert.”

The falcon shrieked once in agreement and Kohinoor led the rest of her sisters away, trusting in their Ritual and the kyndrak’s power to ensure their plans fell out accordingly.

---

The Elite’s Common Room
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Saturday the 13th of September 1997
4:52 PM

Constance Fawcett walked into the Elite’s Common room, carrying her large black medical bag. It was time of course for Cyriacus to have his arm cleaned and re-bandaged. A few teens lingered in the Common Room, the rest either downstairs for their training session in the Dueling Hall or out and about making an ‘appearance’ at the Triad Alleys. Unsurprisingly she noticed her own daughter sitting at a desk in the corner going over her summer homework and revising for her NEWTS. Walking over to Cyriacus’s door, she knocked and waited. A moment later a sleepy looking Nusayr opened the door.

“I’m here to change Cyriacus’s bandage.” Constance said simply.

Nusayr yawned. “The Necromancer said he was going for a walk when I saw him last, I must have dozed off.”

Constance was about to speak again when the hallway door opened again and Draco Malfoy walked in with Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.

“…startled the Hell out of me! I almost hexed it but we all know how fond of snakes the Dark Lord is.” Draco grumbled.

Blaise laughed. “That’s what happens when you don’t pay attention to where you’re walking, Draco.”

“Did you come from the Gardens? I’m looking for Cyriacus.” Constance asked turning to face the older boys.

Vincent shrugged, “Didn’t see him in the gardens.”

Nusayr frowned. “It is not like the Necromancer to be late. He may not admit it but he is usually in some pain by the time his arm needs re-bandaging.”

“I will ask Severus and the Dark Lord if they have seen him, will you go and see if you can catch his scent in the gardens?”

Nusayr nodded as he quickly clasped the rune covered cloak around him, turning into an ocelot and quickly vanishing through a shadow. Constance herded the remaining Elite and asked them to look around the main floor and basement of the Mansion, becoming more and more worried. She had a very bad feeling about all of this.

---

The Gardens
Caprice Hall, First Sphere, the Demon Realm

Taranis rolled his eyes as he found his twin brother lounging on his favorite bench in the gardens. Ever since Cyriacus had visited yesterday, his brother had been in high spirits and even he had to admit he was highly amused by his grandnephew. It had been quite amusing to see Timeaus and Cyriacus verbally sparring with each other yesterday. Of course the highlight of the visit was the fact that Cyriacus had arrived escorted by a sullen looking Prince Aristides. They made no attempts to hide their amusement when Cyriacus calmly dismissed the Demon Prince upon arriving to his destination and they had all settled into a shady corner of the gardens to talk.

“You seem to be inordinately pleased today, brother.” Taranis commented as he sat on the edge of the bench by Timaeus’s feet.

Timeaus smiled. “I am simply amused by my grandson’s antics. I wonder how the Court reacted upon learning of his ancestry?”

“I imagine they are shocked and I’m fairly certain that the King and Queen are just pleased that they didn’t Bond the Prince to Cyriacus. Though from the looks the sullen Prince was sending Cyriacus, it makes one wonder how exactly Cyriacus managed to ‘buy’ the Royal Incubi.” Taranis pondered.

“Ah yes, that’s right you were absent weren’t you when the King and Queen went to visit the lesser Spheres?”

“What of it?”

Timeaus sat up and faced his twin. “I am not entirely certain but I’ve heard rumors of a slight…incident occurring while the King and Queen were away. About two revolutions after they departed they returned in a rush and the following day a Royal edict was declared, stating that Cyriacus was off limits and not to be bothered by any Incubi or Succubi. I have not tried to Scry the past but I imagine that whatever happened was most likely unpleasant.”

Taranis made a thoughtful noise. “Hmm, that begs looking into.”

“Indeed it does,” Timaeus agreed, smiling coolly. “We cannot after all, allow anyone to slight the Heir of House Ars…”

“Yes brother, I believe it’s time we had a little conversation with the Royals, especially the Prince.” Taranis replied, eyes narrowed.

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The Woods
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Saturday the 13th of September 1997
6:37 PM

Nusayr was snarling and cursing his stupidity, they had been searching the forest for nearly two hours now with no signs of the Necromancer. It was clear that he had gone to the Summoning Circle and to perform some sort of ritual and had been just outside the wards when something attacked him. However his scent simply…vanished a few feet later, making tracking him difficult. Once again he was traveling with the Dark Lord, Severus and Lucius, leading the way through the woods all senses stretched looking for clues. They had taken the trail that lead into the heart of the woods as they collectively were the most likely to be able to handle any dangers they might happen across. Where they were traveling the trees seemed to grow taller and closer together, blocking out nearly all the sunlight. Shadows blanketed the ground and danger could be lurking in bushes or behind trees for all they knew. It made all the men edgy.

Stepping over a fallen, rotting log Nusayr happened to glance to the side where he noticed a grove of strange silver barked trees and spotted Cyriacus’s cloak snagged on a thorny bush. Turning to look at the others he gestured towards the grove and cautiously led the way over to the grove of trees. As they neared, Lucius and Severus moved a little closer to him, wands out while Voldemort continually glanced behind them looking for movement. Heart beating wildly, Nusayr edged around the thorny bush and spotted Cyriacus sprawled on a bed of leaves, smeared with blood and dirt, shirt unbuttoned. Peering around alertly, he sensed no danger and quickly rushed forward to check on the Necromancer for wounds. An avian scream had him ducking as a huge white and silver barred Peregrine Falcon dived out of the tree cover above them, circling around Cyriacus’s body in a protective fashion.

“Could all this blood have been to summon a Familiar?” Lucius asked as the Falcon continued to circle above Cyriacus, keeping them at bay.

Voldemort frowned, “Possibly but why would he have come out here to the very heart of the woods?”

“Forget about the Familiar, we must return back to the Mansion!” Severus urged. “If we delay any longer, his arm may become worse.”

Nusayr nodded as he carefully approached the Falcon which, strangely enough let him come closer. He picked up the Necromancer. “Can you…Apparate back?”

Voldemort nodded. “Get him to safety first and we’ll Apparate to the Mansion after alerting the others that he’s been found. Constance is waiting in his room.”

Without a word, Nusayr stepped into the shadow of a tree and vanished with his burden. Voldemort hesitated before offering his arm to the Falcon who swooped down and landed on his arm. Turning to signal the others they Apparated in unison reappearing by the Summoning Circle. Lucius calmly lifted his sleeve and held out his arm, waiting as Voldemort reached for the Mark and sent the signal to the others that Cyriacus had been found. Once they finished alerting the others, they Apparated into the Mansion where the Falcon left them and Flooed to Voldemort’s suite and made their way down a flight of stairs to the Elite’s Wing.

Stumbling into the bedroom they saw that Constance was tending to Cyriacus’s arm while Nusayr stripped the younger wizard of his clothes but his black silk boxers and checked him over for injuries.

“How is he?” Severus asked, joining Constance.

Constance looked incredulous. “His arm…”

“What of it?” Severus demanded before looking down. His son’s injury, which he had tended to some odd five or so hours ago, looked remarkably improved! How could it have happened though?

Nusayr kept running his fingers along the skin on Cyriacus’s abdomen and hips, frowning intensely while Voldemort watched with barely masked jealousy. Licking his finger tip, Nusayr dabbed at the blood smeared on Cyriacus’s chest and cautiously inserted the digit into his mouth. He looked thoughtful as he savored the blood but then gaped, shocked.

Voldemort had been watching him closely. “What is it Wraith?”

“The Chylla did…something to him.” Nusayr answered looking puzzled as he ran his fingers around Cyriacus’s navel, lower abdomen and then along his hips muttering in that odd language the Revenants and he often spoke in. There was a sudden flash of light and then a small tattoo of a silver-white furred fox was revealed along his hipbone. “It is as I thought; they have placed their Mark on him.”

Lucius glanced towards the seething Dark Lord before turning his attention back to the Wraith. “Why would the Chylla put their Mark on Cyriacus?”

“It is not my place to say but,” Nusayr glanced at Voldemort. “It is not a Mark of possession; they merely placed their Mark on him so that the others of my kind will know that he has their…sanction. They must have fed him some of their blood as well, if his arm is as greatly improved as you have said. I should speak with the Revenants, if the Chylla have safely fed him their blood; it appears that we might safely feed him our blood as well.”

Severus looked thoughtful. “Then they have used Blood Healing on him?”

“It would appear so and if the Revenants and I both feed him blood, he may recover sooner than you had expected.”

Voldemort nodded and gestured for him to leave as he calmly took a seat in a chair on the other side of the bed. Frowning he wished the next two and a half weeks would pass by swiftly, he wanted answers and the Wraith Nusayr refused to speak of what was happening. The only one who could give him answers was Asadyl and he could not be summoned until October 1st.

---

King’s Cross Station
Sunday the 14th of September 1997
10:20 AM

The train station was of course, bustling with people rushing about. Cyriacus ignored the interested looks he received as he walked alongside Draco and Blaise towards Platform 9 ¾’s. After he had woken, confused and disorientated around 7pm yesterday night, his father had checked him over, berating his vigilance and then left for Hogwarts as the Professors would be having a meeting prior to the arrival of the students. So Cyriacus had joined Draco, Blaise and several other 7th Year Slytherins in one of the Malfoy’s limousines. Behind them Greg and Vince walked with Pansy and Theo with a few other Slytherin Elites trailing behind them. Blaise, who normally didn’t like to draw attention to himself found he was fascinated with the powerful wizard and Cyriacus found Blaise’s sarcasm amusing.

As they neared the Platform entrance, Cyriacus discreetly flicked his fingers and cast several spells: a Muggle repelling Charm and an Obscurity Charm. Pausing by the entrance, Cyriacus waved the others to go ahead of him. After six house elves passed through with the trolleys containing their trunks and cages, Cyriacus stepped through the entrance and dismantled the spells behind him. The others waited for him off to the right as they took their trunks and familiar’s cages or baskets off the trolleys. Cyriacus cast a Levitation charm on his trunk, Nusayr’s kennel and Atlanta’s cage. The wraith looked at him balefully from his kennel, none too pleased with just how far he had to go to keep up the image of normality in his animal guise. Atlanta, his white and silver Peregrine Falcon, was a Spirit Familiar and was still slightly miffed that Taranis had stalled her and taken her place in the guise of ‘Sverre’. Though they couldn’t speak telepathically, as was the norm for Spirit Familiars and their Bonded, they could share images and often communicated that way.

As they headed onto the train, Cyriacus caught snippets of conversation mostly about him.

“…see him with those Slytherins? I’ll bet he’ll be a Slytherin too, his father is Head of Slytherin after all.”

“He’s gorgeous; I can certainly see what Harry Potter saw in him.”

“…says he’s worth a fortune now since Potter left his entire fortune to him.”

“I wonder how he’s feeling; his arm is still in that sling see?”

With a sneer, Cyriacus entered the train and followed the others to an empty compartment near the back of the train. Once they were all seated, Cyriacus waved his hand towards the door and cast a variety of Privacy charms as he set Atlanta’s cage above and behind him while opening Nusayr’s kennel. Nusayr immediately shot out and jumped up onto the seat next to him, growling softly.

Blaise looked amused. “You’re still the main topic of conversation.”

“Why am I not impressed?” Cyriacus replied shortly. “The Wizarding public has the most annoying habit of latching onto me, in any shape and form and never letting go. Though I sometimes wonder who has the more tragic figure, orphaned Harry Potter or the heartbroken Cyriacus Snape.”

Pansy laughed. “I think it’s a draw.”

“With my luck it probably is, though ‘Harry’ is dead so he doesn’t have to deal with all the lingering media attention.” Cyriacus answered gesturing irritably.

Draco only shrugged. “It will all blow over soon enough, something will come along that’ll be more shocking or scandalous.”

“Maybe but who knows for certain?” Cy commented darkly.

---

It was storming heavily when they arrived at Hogsmeade Station. However he had come prepared and after placing a Miniaturizing Spell on Shadow, Cyriacus picked him up and placed him in an inner pocket of his Sea Serpent Cloak. Pulling up the hood, he cast an Impervious on his clothes and the other’s to keep them dry before braving the storm. They piled into the nearest empty carriage and upon arriving at the school, rushed inside away from the downpour. It seemed as if only the 7th Years had managed to stay dry, the other students looked drenched. Spotting him the crowd, his father gestured for him to follow as they stood off to the side to await the drenched 1st Years. Cyriacus was quite pleased to have been deemed old enough to take the carriages to Hogwarts; it probably would not have been very pleasant on the boats. Professor McGonagall joined them a few moments later and his father excused himself to head inside.

“Good evening Mr. Snape, I see you survived the downpour.” McGonagall greeted.

“Professor,” Cyriacus greeted with a polite nod. “It was raining quite heavily, hopefully the First Years made it alright, Draco told me of the tradition of crossing the lake on boats.”

A squirming and muffled mew reminded him of poor Shadow who was still in his cloak pocket. Reaching inside, Cyriacus picked Shadow up by the nape and set him gently on the floor before returning him to his normal size with a tap of his wand. With a disdainful look at the Entrance doors, Shadow curled into a ball by his feet.

“You have an…ocelot as a familiar?” McGonagall asked surprised.

“I actually have two, Shadow here was a belated birthday gift from Harry and Atlanta is a Peregrine Falcon but I imagine the house elves have brought her to the Owlry.”

McGonagall frowned. “But I thought the Headmaster said that your Familiar was a wolf?”

Cyriacus smiled sadly before looking away. “Sverre was a combined Familiar, a representation of the Bond between Harry and I. After Harry passed on, Sverre simply…vanished which I imagine is why Harry chose Shadow here.”

“Then how did you get a Peregrine Falcon?”

“I simply woke up one morning and there she was. I imagine she’s of a Magical descent as she’s pure white with silver markings.”

McGonagall nodded slowly. “I see.”

A few minute later Professor Vector arrived with the First Years in tow, all of them looked miserable. Drawing their wands the two Professors cast Drying Charms on their clothes while the First Years watched with awe. Once that was done McGonagall introduced herself and began her usual speech about the Sorting and the Houses. After she finished the students lined up, with Cyriacus at the end and they entered the Great Hall.

The First Years looked around with awe, some pointing up at the ceiling and Cyriacus shook his head, feeling very old. Some of the students pointed in confusion at Shadow who padded along behind him and sat obediently at his feet once they came to a halt in the front of the room. As was normal, gossip washed over him.

“…Familiar? I’ve never seen that type of animal before.”

“What would it have been like if Potter hadn’t died I wonder? They swore an old Blood Bond, my father told me that made them practically married.”

“Five Galleons says he’ll be put in Slytherin!”

“…Stupid?! Of course he’ll be put in Slytherin! He’s a Snape!”

Unfurling a roll of parchment, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and the room quieted. The Sorting Hat sung a new song about unity and hope and everyone clapped and exchanged odd looks. McGonagall began reading off names and Cyriacus amused himself by looking around the Great Hall. It hadn’t changed at all it seemed and yet…there was something about being here again that made him feel a little like having come home. Before he knew it, McGonagall had called his name.

“Snape, Cyriacus!”

Moving forward, Cyriacus sat on the stool, feeling like he might fall off and cautiously put the Sorting Hat on his head. Barely an instant passed by before he had yanked it off and jumped to his feet, voicing his displeasure loudly.

“You were made with a Legilimency Spell woven through your every fiber and thread! If you think I’m going to let you poke around in my head, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Mr. Snape-“ McGonagall began.

Cyriacus twisted around, still holding the Sorting Hat away from him. “Oh no! Don’t give me any lectures about how it’s tradition and necessary! I’ve had it with everyone questioning me about Harry and I’d rather face a Chimera than let anyone or thing walk around in my head! My memories and experiences are private.”

“Cyriacus, please calm down.” Dumbledore pleaded. “The Sorting Hat cannot tell any of your secrets to anyone.”

“Right and how do you suppose you found out about Harry stocking up on supplies so he could leave the Dursleys the summer before Third Year? Harry didn’t tell anyone what he was planning and he’d worked it out not even two days before he went into the Chamber of Secrets. If you think I’m going to let this…thing look at all the memories in my head just so it can tell me what House I belong in, you’ve finally cracked.” Cyriacus burst out so angry that the dishes and silverware on the tables began to tremble.

McGonagall saw the guilty look in Dumbledore’s eyes before he quickly masked his expression. Severus sighed as he rose out of his chair and walked over.

“If I might make a suggestion? If Cyriacus is so adamant about not sharing all of his memories, then I would suggest that he surface whatever memories he feels are of little hazard above his Occulmency shields and keep the rest beneath them.” Severus suggested, glancing at his son.

Cyriacus grumbled but took a seat and sat for a few minutes as he manufactured enough false memories about his childhood and then placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

Such a stubborn person you are but you are entitled to your privacy, I suppose. Let us see… The Sorting Hat commented thinking over the memories. You’re definitely very clever, Ravenclaw would suit you quite well but I see that is not where you want to go nor would it be wise of you to be placed there. Slytherin suits you best I would say, if only from what you aren’t willing to show me. Such cunning snakes those Slytherins, Salazar would have liked you, I’m sure you’ll be quite happy in...

“SLYTHERIN!”

The moment the Hat announced his House, Cyriacus jerked it off and handed it to Professor McGonagall as he walked over and joined his house. The applause was stilted and only the Slytherins seemed to be clapping but Cyriacus paid it no attention as he sat in the seat at the very end of the table to the left of Draco.

“Some temper you have there,” Draco whispered with a smirk.

Cyriacus only smiled. “It got me out of having to show the Hat all my memories now didn’t it?”

“Clever.” Blaise commented from across the table.

As the feast appeared on the table, Cyriacus snagged a Butterbeer and toasted his companions. “To Slytherin cunning, my friends.”

---

The next morning at breakfast, everyone was treated to a special unexpected spectacle as the morning Post arrived. A multitude of owls, hawks, eagles, phoenixes, a few Occamy and other various winged birds flew into the room, delivering letters and brightly wrapped packages to a cranky looking Cyriacus Snape. Once all the letters and packages had been delivered he calmly rose from his seat and ignoring the eyes observing him calmly spoke.

“Incendio love letters!” Half the letters burst into flame. “Incendio love tokens!” All the packages but three burst into flame. “Incendio marriage and betrothal proposals!” Now all the letters had burnt to ash save two, a plain looking letter and…a Howler.

Everyone looked on curiously as Cyriacus banished the ash with a wave of his wand and then picked up the plain letter first, retaking his seat.

You are to take leave Wednesday and Sunday evening. Apparate to the designated location and meet me in my rooms at 8 pm.

-M.A.

Cyriacus frowned at the odd letter, making a mental note to inquire about the way Voldemort signed his letters. Shaking his head he Transfigured the letter into a piece of chocolate and popped it into his mouth and swallowed. Some may have called him paranoid but he preferred to think of himself as simply being cautious. Turning his attention to the smoking, shaking Howler, he rolled his eyes as he opened it.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU SLEPT WITH MY FIANCEE!!! YOU VILE, ARROGANT…”

Everyone was murmuring curiously and some of the teachers looked aghast at the foul language spouting from the Howler but Cyriacus looked completely apathetic. Once the Howler had ended with a final, “…SUPERCILIOUS CATAMITE!” Cyriacus drew his wand and summoned a piece of parchment and a dicto-quill from his schoolbag.

“One has to wonder just how much of an idiot you are,” Cyriacus dictated as he got up to pace. “Perchance if you were an actual man with balls and a libido, also assuming you don’t look like a gorilla; your slut of a fiancée wouldn’t have begged me to give her the most memorable fuck of her life. Now if you actually want to insult someone, I would suggest that you at least insult them properly. I’m presuming however that you are such a dimwit that you can’t put two and two together to get four. Now if you wanted to insult me properly you should have called me ‘a vile arrogant bastard’ because that, at least, is the truth. Though none of your remarks insulted me in the least, what actually insulted me was your sheer stupidity. I don’t think ‘supercilious’ describes me at all, now if you had called me ‘promiscuous’, ‘debauched’ or even ‘dissolute’ I could hardly dispute that. Normally I wouldn’t even dignify such an imbecile as you a response but even I can’t stand listening to the droning of a boorish gorilla that apparently, has yet to learn how to please a woman in the bedroom. What should have actually insulted you was that I, a man who everyone in the bloody Wizarding World knows was rather intimately involved with another man, managed to give your fiancée a night she won’t be forgetting anytime soon. Write me again and you’ll regret it.”

Finished, Cyriacus waved his wand towards the piece of parchment which folded itself and turned into a Snubby, which was like a Howler only without the shouting and a fair amount of sarcasm and derision. Another flick of his wand and the Snubby floated out of the room heading towards the Owlery and Atlanta who would deliver the green Snubby. Looking crankier he resumed his seat and cautiously opened the first package which he found was an order of books he’d made nearly two weeks ago. The second package was an order of Family robes from Sartorial Splendor which he banished to his room unopened. Cautiously opening the last package he was amazed to see several bouquets of roses in black, dark crimson and white. Who would send him roses? Better yet, who would send him sympathy roses for Harry’s death and a tentative declaration of Courtship intentions? He searched for a card and after reading it looked amused.

My condolences on your loss,
My deepest affections.

-Marcellus Arvell

Hmm, so that was what M.A. stood for? Cyriacus smiled slightly as he examined the flowers before scooping up the box and walking out of the room. The moment the doors closed behind him, everyone began speaking.

“Just like his father…”

“…wonder who the fiancée was? I mean, he’s shagged a lot of witches after all.”

“Merlin did you hear him? Talk about a cutting tongue.”

“…rather have his tongue doing other things, if you ask me.”

“I’ve read that only four Florists in the entire world stock black roses and the nearest one is in Athens! Whoever sent him those roses must have paid a fortune!”

“He’s the Lord of Gryffindor and probably the most eligible bachelor in Europe if not the whole Wizarding World! Anyone who wants to court him would have to have a lot of money and come from a good family.”

At the Head Table Dumbledore was shaking his head at the wild rumors and gossip being exchanged. Raising his wand, he shot gold and silver sparks into the air. The room quieted.

“I do believe it’s time to get to your classes, students. That will be twenty points from Slytherin for Mr. Snape’s language.”

The Slytherins looked irritated but didn’t comment no doubt from the look on their Head of House’s face, the other Houses would be sure to loose more points than that today. Malfoy smirked towards the Gryffindor Table, the Seventh Years had Potions first and as the class had become Mandatory due to the War, it was bound to be an entertaining morning.

---

The Seventh Year Potions class waited in the hallway for Professor Snape who had stormed from the Great Hall to speak with Dumbledore. Potions was now a mandatory course due to the war and now there were two sets of classes, those for students who were going to take a NEWTS in Potions and those for the students who weren’t. The Slytherins were all present except for Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode who had not earned an E or higher which was a perquisite for being in the NEWTS class. Almost all the Ravenclaws were present with four Hufflepuffs: Abbott, Bones, Finch-Fletchley and Macmillian and three Gryffindors: Granger, Finnigan and Thomas. Cyriacus was leaning against the wall, looking perfectly bored when Hannah Abbott curiously asked him who sent the roses.

“Marcellus Arvell.” Cyriacus answered smoothly, waiting for a reaction.

Susan Bones gaped at him, dumbstruck. “Marcellus Arvell?! The Welsh Warlock of the Isle of Anglesey? He sent you roses?”

Cyriacus eyes darkened. “Are you saying that I’m below him or something?”

“No! It’s just,” Susan said fearfully. “He’s a very well known Warlock; he’s very powerful and from an old Pureblood family. He’s rather…reclusive so I was just surprised he sent you roses.”

Cyriacus looked thoughtful. “Hmm.”

Before anyone else could speak, Professor Snape exited from his office looking very unhappy and after swinging the door open, stormed into the classroom. All the students except the Slytherins nervously entered the room behind him, taking seats away from the front of the room. Draco and Blaise sat together at one desk in the front of the room and Theo and Pansy took the desk behind them. Cyriacus shrugged as he dropped into a seat at the front desk across the aisle from Blaise and Draco. Lisa Turpin was going to sit with him but Severus shook his head, explaining.

“Sit with Mr. Macmillian, Ms. Turpin. My son will be doing Post-NEWTS potions work in class as Arcanum has a more advanced curriculum compared to what is taught here at Hogwarts.”

Hermione, unsurprisingly, looked intrigued. “How could their curriculum be more advanced Professor Snape?”

Cyriacus smoothly joined the conversation. “I was brewing Polyjuice Potion in my Third Year, Veritaserum in my Fourth, Wolfsbane in my Fifth and Draught of Living Death in my Sixth Year at Arcanum.”

“What were you going to brew in your last Year then?” Morag asked incredulous.

“Professor Dumont said we were to brew Manipulation and Enhancement Potions like Affaire de coeur, Coup de foudre and Savoir-vivre, and we were supposed to learn how to make Philosopher Stones.” Cyriacus answered looking sullen.

Everyone, his father included, gaped at him. “Philosopher Stones?!”

Cyriacus shrugged. “They aren’t hard to make but it’s nearly impossible to make them flawless like Mr. Flamel’s. Professor Dumont came close once but there was a hairline crack and it wouldn’t make any functional Elixir of Life but it still did turn objects to gold.”

Silence.

Severus shook his head and wished the school day was already over. “Turn in your summer assignments on my desk, then turn to page 245 you will be learning how to brew the Anti-Veela Attraction Draft. Cyriacus, you may start on the Wolfsbane Potion.”

---

Cyriacus joined Draco and Blaise in the back of the DADA room. This class unlike the elective courses and like Potions was mandatory for all students, so there were also two Seventh Year classes just like Potions. Remus and Sirius would switch classes every other day (as DADA met four days out of the week) and during the day before, on and after the Full Moon, Sirius would oversee Duels. As this was the first day though, both classes were combined.

“Good afternoon, students! We’ll be doing a quick review so leave your bags here; we’ll be going to the Dueling Room across the Hall. Professor Black will be assigning groups as you enter the room so pay attention!” Remus instructed.

Everyone got up and formed a line as they waited to enter the room. Sirius broke them up into twelve groups of 4 and Cyriacus found himself grouped with Morag MacDougal, Terry Boot and Hannah Abbott. Across the room he noticed a seething Draco had ended up with Neville, Justin Finch-Fletchley and the quiet Ravenclaw Eileen Crawford.

“Now that everyone’s been grouped, we’ll explain today’s review. Basically each group will duel until all members are incapacitated. Once a group loses, another group will begin dueling the survivors of the last round. Whatever group or member manages to remain unscathed will earn fifty points for their House. No Dark Curses, no Unforgivables and you are only allowed to counter the curses cast upon yourself, not your group members. Our first groups will be group one and group twelve.” Sirius explained cheerfully.

With a small smile, Cyriacus moved to the center of the room with his group and heard the murmurs of interest and slight nerves. He had trained to stand with Harry Potter during the War as even Harry himself had admitted in one of the thirteen articles posted to the International Zephyr two weeks ago. This was going to be no challenge, even if he did have to pretend clumsiness performing magic with his ‘non-dominant’ hand. Drawing his wand, he smirked in such a way that everyone shuddered, especially the few Elite present who knew about his Dueling skill.

“Begin!” Remus shouted.

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!”

“Lumnos Solem!”

“Incarcerous! Stupefy!” Cyriacus drawled, having closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found the other group all bound and unconscious. Unfortunately, Boot had gotten in his way and was bound and unconscious as well.

“Er, Professors?” Hannah asked, gesturing at Terry.

“Leave him, group two is next.” Remus said looking amused as Sirius cast a spell, moving Terry out of the marked Dueling floor.

The next group didn’t wait for a signal; they began sending curses and spells immediately as they stepped up into the Dueling area. Neither Remus nor Sirius called foul removing Morag and Hannah who had been stupefied and petrified, respectively. Fortunately, or so everyone else was thinking, that only left Cyriacus.

“Serpensortia!” A very stupid Ravenclaw called out.

Cyriacus looked incredulous before he started laughing and with a wave of his wand cast a complex Transfiguration Spell which made the single python divide into four separate, larger, poisonous snakes. With a grin, he commanded them to bite the foolish group members before casting an Invisibility Spell on them. Panicked, the other group shot the counter-curse around on the ground in front and around them. Cyriacus, having added a Wordless Levitation spell on them, just conjured a chair and had a seat. After the first fell, the Ravenclaw, Sirius looked amused.

“A Sleeping Draught?”

“Yes.” Cyriacus answered with a nod.

The next group came and left, followed by the next, and the next. The Elite, who actually knew what he was capable of, lasted a bit longer than the others who watched with awe and slight fear at the complex and simple way in which he defeated them. Cyriacus had just finished with the last group when Sirius and Remus both leaped onto the Dueling floor and began sending curses at him. Dodging the sparks of light, Cyriacus shouted one word and the room flashed with a light so bright that Madam Rosmerta who was walking along the main street in Hogsmeade, saw the light and immediately returned to the Three Broomsticks and Flooed Dumbledore about it.

A half hour later, Dumbledore and half the Professors were attempting to open the Dueling Room door, with no luck. Finally another hour later when Bill Weasley had been called from Gringotts, the door swung open revealing a tired, pained looking Cyriacus.

“Er, I guess I put a little more power into the spell than I thought. Heh…um, I think everyone’s temporarily blind.” Cyriacus said tired. “I don’t suppose Madam Pomfrey is here? My arm feels terrible.”

Dumbledore glanced into the room and everyone who was conscious had eyes that had been bleached white. “What spell did you use?”

“I cast the…Fainting Spell actually.”

“And you got results like that?!” Flitwick exclaimed.

Cyriacus smiled sheepishly. “I…uh, I’m left handed. It’s a little…difficult trying to channel magic with my right hand. I’ve overdone a couple of easy spells since I was released from St. Mungo’s.”

Just then, his father came billowing around the corner. “Cyriacus! Come, it’s well overdue time you had your arm tended to.”

“I’m coming, father.” Cyriacus called out. “If you’ll excuse me Headmaster, Professors?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course, we’ll tend to the others.”

---

Voldemort’s Suite
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Wednesday the 17th of September 1997
7:54 PM

I do not understand why you are doing this, my wizard. Nagini commented from her position, coiled on a plush rug in the main room.

Voldemort, who was standing in front of a mirror examining his appearance, just sighed. It is important for me to be able to leave the Mansion and the Citadel without causing a ruckus. Even I need more than this room as a sanctuary and I tire of hiding my relationship with the other Speaker.

Why must you hide? The hatchlings are convinced you are life-mates and no one would dare to comment who you share your nest with. Nagini pointed out.

It is not I who wishes to hide the sharing of my nest. Voldemort replied with a slight frown.

Both of them turned when they heard soft footsteps behind them. Cyriacus, who was dressed in simple black slacks and a silver shirt paused and stared. Voldemort in his persona of Marcellus Arvell had long caramel colored hair, lightly golden skin and dark violet eyes. Blinking, Cyriacus walked around his lover, taking in the slightly lankier appearance and different facial structure. Voldemort was dressed in dark grey slacks and a long sleeved honey-gold silk shirt.

“My, my a very fine look indeed,” Cyriacus purred. “Not that I mind your original look, but this is good too.”

Voldemort looked amused. “I’m happy you approve, shall we be going?”

“And where are we going?” Cyriacus asked curiously.

Voldemort smiled as he leaned down to steal a kiss, when he finally pulled away a moment later he smirked. “Vitium Court of course, where else?”

Cyriacus grinned slowly. “You want us to go together or will we ‘accidentally’ meet someplace?”

“We’ll go together. No one will question it after all; I’ve sent you roses every morning.” Voldemort commented amused.

“No I suppose they won’t question it, they will however gossip about us. There is a considerable age difference between us after all. Twenty years or so?”

“Eighteen in this guise, I’m thirty four well, almost thirty five actually. My ‘birthday’ is in October.” Voldemort retorted with a smile.

Cyriacus grinned. “Dare I guess it’s on the 31st?”

“You would be right.” Voldemort agreed taking Cyriacus’s hand and leading the way to the Floo Room.

“Do I get a prize?” Cyriacus crooned eyes half-lidded.

Voldemort laughed. “Oh, you’ll get a prize but only if you’re very good.”

Cyriacus looked skeptical. “Only if I’m good? I’m far too corrupted for that.”

“I’ll take you as you are then.” Voldemort answered with a sly smile. “Now let’s go and enjoy ourselves first, then we’ll come back where we have a little more privacy and you can have your prize.”

“I’ll take that as a promise then.” Cyriacus murmured.

Voldemort just smiled as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder. “Vitium Court, South Entrance.”

Cyriacus flashed a wicked smile and wrapping his arms around Voldemort, shoved them both into the fireplace, ignoring Voldemort’s exclamation of surprise.

TBC…

---

Okay, well hopefully that was worth the long, long wait. I’ll do my best to update once a month or more if I can manage it. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, I am very amazed by how many of you read this story.

Notes:

Affaire de Coeur- French term for love affair or romantic attachment, Coup de foudre- French term for love at first sight, Savoir-vivre- French term for worldliness, confidence and refinement.

Kyndrak- Old Demonic term for ‘Dark One’, the Primordial Beings will refer to Cy with this term.

-SheWolfe7 (6/24/05) edited (8/6/05)