Irreversible Destiny

A/N: I probably would have gotten this finished sooner if Smut!Muse hadn’t gone AWOL half way though the NC-17 scene. So my apologies for the tardiness of this update, I’m really cutting it close to my once a month promise aren’t I? 26 ¾ pages all for you to enjoy!

There is a pic of the Summoning Circle’s current layout in the ID file on my Yahoo Group (link is on my author’s bio). Might clear things up if you’re confused but I did the best I could with the explanations.

Thanks go to Lady Megsie who Beta’ed this chappie on short notice, she completely saved this chappie from my horrible grammar.

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

Chapter XIX
Facts

Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.
-Mark Twain, US humorist, novelist, short story author, & wit (1835 - 1910)

---

South Hub
Vitium Court, Unplottable Unknown
Wednesday the 17th of September 1997
8:56 PM

“You are thoroughly exasperating.” Voldemort commented from his position on the ground. Cyriacus sprawled on top of him, having fallen upon his lover using him as a cushion.

Cyriacus grinned delightedly. “You know that’s part of my charm.”

“So it is. Now do get off me Cyriacus, this is a little too familiar a position for a respectable gentleman such as myself to be caught in on the first date.” Voldemort said raising an eyebrow, adopting his guise as Marcellus Arvell.

Cyriacus rolled off Marcellus and got to his feet, cleaning the dust from his clothes with an idle charm. He then offered Marcellus a hand up and with a smile cast a few Cleaning and Neatening charms on his disgruntled date. It was fortunate so very few people used the South Hub or their arrival would have made a mockery of the game Marcellus was obviously intent on playing for the benefit of the rest of the Wizarding World. Marcellus gazed at him with amused tolerance before offering Cyriacus his left arm which Cyriacus accepted with a smirk and then Marcellus was leading them down to the Court.

Vitium Court was a large shopping and entertainment district that catered to the needs and wants of the wealthy, middle class and the less than scrupulous. The Court itself was divided up into three quarters: the pristine, lavishly designed Blanc Havre (White Haven) which catered only to the most elite of the wealthy or famous. Flanking it on both sides was the honest, homey atmosphere of Hearth Haven. Then there was Luscinia, (Nightingale) the decadent, alluring center of pleasure, vice and Dark Artifacts and Books.

Marcellus led them from the South Hub into the streets of the Hearth Haven, which was not as deserted as one might think. There were a few witches and wizards strolling along the streets window shopping, some were reading books while drinking tea or other beverages and a large number were having dinner at the Cockerel. Quite a few people looked up at them in surprise and Cyriacus spotted an undercover reporter following them discreetly. Leaving behind Hearth Haven, they entered Blanc Havre where the few witches and wizards walking about noticed them. An older wizard in his late fifties intercepted them.

“By Merlin is that you, Arvell?” The wizard asked surprised with a thick Scottish accent.

“Hello Graeme, it has been some odd ten years or more since we last spoke hasn’t it? How are Elvira and Jamison?” Marcellus greeted with a smile.

Graeme shook his head and chuckled. “Elvira’s eldest has just begun his first year at Hogwarts and Jamison is still mad about Quidditch, he got work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports five years back and has been as happy as can be imagined.” Graeme glanced at Cyriacus. “And who is this lad?”

Cyriacus bristled but inclined his head. “Cyriacus Snape, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Potter’s lover? Isn’t he a mite bit young for you Marcellus?” Graeme asked bluntly.

Marcellus frowned at his old friend. “I hardly think it your business who I spend my time with, Graeme. Cyriacus, this is Graeme Maitland and old acquaintance of mine.”

“Charmed, I’m sure. Are we not going to be late to dinner?”

“I shall speak with you again soon, Graeme. You’ll forgive us, I hope? We have a reservation at Olympus.”

Graeme waved them on. “Of course, enjoy your dinner Marcellus. Mr. Snape, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mr. Maitland.”

Marcellus led them on down towards the silver gates that led into Luscinia. Olympus was a huge restaurant made of shining white marble. The façade looked like the Pantheon and as they were led inside, Cyriacus noted that it was decorated in the Greek motif. Cretan mosaics of Greek heroes decorated the walls with a few marble statues here and there. The waiting room looked full so it was wise of Marcellus to make a reservation ahead of time. As they approached the podium where the Host waited, Cyriacus could already hear the speculation. Many people had recognized him but no one had as yet recognized Marcellus which wasn’t that surprising considering he was known to be a recluse.

“Good evening and welcome to Olympus, do you have a reservation?” the Host asked formally.

Marcellus smiled politely. “I have a reservation for two under the name Marcellus Arvell.”

The Host’s eyes widened marginally. “Of course Mr. Arvell, your table in the Calypso Room is prepared. Allow me to show you to your table.”

As they left the waiting room, Cyriacus could already hear the rumors spreading about his dining companion. The newspapers tomorrow would no doubt be interesting.

---

After a delicious meal under the prying eyes of scandalized witches and wizards along with a gleeful number of undercover reporters, Cyriacus and Marcellus left Olympus. They backtracked to the junction of Hearth Haven and Blanc Havre and took a small side street which led to a sprawling park which was closed off for the first time Cyriacus had ever seen. After a brief conversation with a Watch Wizard, they let them through and Marcellus led the way into the park.

“What have you done?” Cyriacus asked amused.

Marcellus smirked. “I rented the park for the evening.”

Cyriacus blinked. “You can do that?”

“For the right price yes,” Marcellus answered with a grin. “Tomorrow when everyone is talking about us, I want them all to know without a doubt that Marcellus Arvell is courting Cyriacus Snape.”

Cyriacus looked at him curiously. “Is there a plan behind this or is this just an extension of our agreement?”

“It’s a bit of both really,” Marcellus replied as they came across a small clearing in the center of the park. Floating candles were arranged around the clearing and a plush flying carpet awaited them, hovering a foot off the ground. The moment the two had climbed up onto the carpet, a house elf appeared with a bucket of champagne in ice and two crystal wine flutes. Voldemort filled their glasses with the bubbly liquid and handed Cyriacus a glass. Cyriacus looked bemused as he took a seat and nearly fell off the carpet as what sounded like an orchestra began playing. Peering behind them, Cyriacus gaped when he saw exactly that hidden in copse of trees, several feet away.

“You rented out the park at Vitium Court for an evening and paid a Wizarding Orchestra to play as well?” Cyriacus asked completely surprised.

Marcellus grinned charmingly, sprawled on his side on the carpet, head propped up on his elbow. “The Parisian Wizarding Orchestra to be precise and that’s not the only surprise tonight, lie back.”

Cyriacus sprawled next to him and waited his flute of champagne in one hand. Marcellus gave some sort of signal to someone and a few minutes later a Fireworks display began. It really was too much; Cyriacus decided bursting into hysterical laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” Marcellus asked puzzled.

Cyriacus sat up and drained his glass of champagne before leaning closer to Marcellus so that their conversation would be private. Not that anyone could have heard anything over the orchestra which was playing loudly and the fireworks which added more background noise. “If this wasn’t partly for a larger plan, I’d think you were trying too hard but as it does have two purposes, I suppose I should be amused by your closet romantic. Who would think a ruthless Dark Lord could think of something so elaborately correct, let alone very romantic, to display for the eyes of the Wizarding Public?”

Marcellus smiled with pleasure. “Do you like it then?”

“The effort alone would have probably earned you a few…liberties but we already are lovers, you know.” Cyriacus whispered before kissing his lover. Setting their flute glasses aside, they ignored whatever audience they might have and enjoyed an hour of kissing and caressing under the light of rainbow hued fireworks. It was pleasant to just relax out in public without worrying about anyone discovering their relationship. They both craved a little something stronger and more passionate but for the sake of their game, played the role of new lovers exchanging tender kisses and hesitant caresses. This was merely the prelude to their evening together and they would make it last, fanning their desire and teasing each other in the process.

An hour later, they were just snuggled close together sipping champagne and pointing at the fireworks and laughing softly. As the show came to an end, Marcellus and Cyriacus exchanged their pleasantries with the Orchestra conductor who was very enthusiastic about having played for two of the most well known Wizards in Great Britain. The Fireworks team was also pleased by their praise, knowing that the media attention from tonight’s romancing would only increase their business. After they finished speaking with everyone of importance, they returned back to the South Hub and Flooed to Marcellus’s Welsh estate from which they Flooed back to Voldemort’s rooms at Riddle Mansion.

Once in the privacy of Voldemort’s rooms, they kissed urgently, bodies writhing with need. It had been too long since they’d last shared a bed and Cyriacus’s Incubus nature was demanding to be fed and now! Jerking at each others clothes they stumbled backwards through the main room and to Voldemort’s bed.

Cyriacus fell onto the bed and determinedly began to unbuckle his belt, one handed as his left arm was still covered in the dragonhide gauntlet and rather useless. Glaring as his belt got stuck; he muttered a charm which jerked off his trousers, boxers and socks, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor beside the bed. Voldemort watched him in a mix of amusement at his impatience and possessiveness as he stared at the golden perfection that was his. Shedding the rest of his clothes and removing the elaborate Glamour, he climbed onto his bed and straddled his lover. Cyriacus tugged Voldemort down onto him, latching his mouth on the side of Voldemort’s throat, eliciting an appreciative gasp. Voldemort meanwhile was reaching underneath the pillows for the vial of lubricant he kept when he knew to expect Cyriacus. Normally they would have teased each other a bit longer but Voldemort was beginning to understand his lover’s Incubus needs. Their first coupling was usually one filled with passion and a desperate neediness that sated Cyriacus’s Incubus nature while the second coupling was much slower with prolonged pleasure.

Once Voldemort had the vial in hand, he quickly coated his cock first and then nudged Cyriacus’s legs apart. Spreading his legs wider, Cyriacus moaned appreciatively when he felt two fingers sinking into his opening and stretching him. Had he not been half blinded with need, he might have wondered when Voldemort had begun reading him so well. Voldemort made quick work preparing his younger lover, knowing just how impatient the quarter Incubus got if he had to wait too long. Once he was certain his lover was ready and more than willing, he gently took hold of his hips and slid in with one smooth thrust, filling Cyriacus completely. With a groan of sheer pleasure, Cyriacus pushed back against him drawing Voldemort in as deep as he could and Voldemort, taking that as a sign to continue, pulled out and thrust back in hard.

Soon the only sounds in the room were Cyriacus’s moans mixed in with demands of “Harder” or “Faster”. Voldemort obliged, loosing himself in their mutual pleasure until they both climaxed with a shout. They collapsed onto the bed in a sweaty pile (Voldemort careful not to land on Cy’s injured arm), drawing in ragged breaths. Voldemort pulled out of Cyriacus and was about to cast a Cleaning spell when Cyriacus stopped him.

“You have a perfectly large enough whirlpool bath; let’s get cleaned off in there.” Cyriacus suggested face flushed.

Grabbing his wand, Voldemort lazily waved his arm in the direction of the bathroom and the taps turned on. He moved off of Cyriacus who had turned over to rest on his back, watching him with a strange look on his face.

“Is something wrong?” Voldemort asked after a few minutes of silence as they waited for the bath to fill.

“No, just thinking.” Cyriacus said with a frown before changing the subject. “So how are the plans for the Dark Congress going?”

Voldemort sighed and lazily traced patterns on Cyriacus’s bare leg. “Everything seems to be in order and I have not found any loopholes, which makes me feel a little more at ease. My spies still report that the meeting place is both Manticore and Nundu free which is also relieving.”

“I’m sure.” Cyriacus agreed, sitting up. “Do you think the tub’s full yet?”

“Perhaps, why don’t we go look?” Voldemort suggested.

Cyriacus chuckled as he led the way; giving Voldemort a fine view and making the older wizard look forward to the second round of sex. The tub was full so Cyriacus turned off the taps and slid into the hot water, sighing with pleasure. Voldemort looked amused as he stepped into the tub and automatically reached for a sponge and soap. Cyriacus ducked his head into the water and rubbed at his sticky stomach before joining his lover.

“So who’s invited to the Dark Congress?” Cyriacus asked, allowing Voldemort to wash him as he relaxed. Strange as it may seem, he was only ever truly himself with Voldemort.

Voldemort smiled, pleased that Cyriacus would allow him this intimacy and scrubbed at Cyriacus’s chest and stomach before twisting him around so he could scrub at his back and neck. “The Vampire High Council will of course be there, along with the fifteen Werewolf Chiefs. I believe that the Centaurs have deigned to come but I am not certain how many representatives they will send. The Merpeople will send along their twelve Nereid Queens and the Dementor Lords will of course come, though as you know, the Lord within Great Britain is already aligned with me. The Banshees will send along their Screech and the Sirens their Temptress. I do not know if the neutral parties will attend, namely the Veela, Dwarves, Fae or Goblins.”

“Hmm, odds are that anyone invited will arrive namely because the Light’s hope, Harry Potter has died at your hand. If they do not join you they will be sure to state their position as Neutrals for fear of incurring your wrath otherwise.” Cyriacus added thoughtfully, taking the sponge from Voldemort and absently washing his lover. “From what I recall of my history, the Dark Congress has existed since 1499 BC and meets anywhere between once to eight times a century. It was not originally known as the Dark Congress but since the year 804 AD has been primarily used by Dark Wizards to make alliances with supposed ‘Dark’ Creatures and thus got it’s more modern appellation. From what I recall, the Incubi/Succubi lost interest in human affairs sometime after 202 AD and the Fae simply retreated Underhill about a hundred years after that. Are there even any Giants left?”

“They had a Civil War in the fall of 1995. I believe that is how Hagrid died; he was caught in the crossfire and the Headmistress of Beauxbaton barely escaped with her life. As I recall they were on a mission from Dumbledore or so Severus told me.”

Cyriacus looked pensive. “Dumbledore did not tell me the details only that Hagrid had died on a mission. Oh well, I doubt he would have been of use to us and he would not have taken my ‘betrayal’ very well I imagine.”

They were quiet for a few minutes before Voldemort spoke. “Do you believe you are betraying them?”

“In the beginning I had no true options and now, it is not so much that I betray them but that I am bound to the fate that was Prophesized for me. To attempt to run from one’s destiny once you have set foot on the path is to cause it to bind your life more tightly to the path for which your actions were Foreseen. I may be hopelessly stubborn but even I am not that much of a fool.” Cyriacus said softly.

Voldemort frowned slightly. “This Prophecy, will you not explain it to me?”

Cyriacus sighed, feeling very weary all of the sudden. “It is a complicated thing but I will explain on Sunday, all of it.”

“Very well,” Voldemort said, not wanting to spoil the rest of their evening by asking questions Cyriacus obviously did not want to answer. He would learn it all soon enough. After all, it was only a matter of being patient.

---

Cyriacus woke rather suddenly, his internal clock telling him that he had gotten all the sleep he needed this night. He was lying on his right side, using Voldemort’s left arm as a pillow to rest his head. Casting a Wordless spell, silvery mist formed the time: 3:55 AM. He would have to leave soon, but there was still enough time to give his lover and himself a pleasant memory. Carefully shifting off his lover and onto his stomach, Cyriacus grinned as he manipulated his Transformation, allowing only his wings to emerge. He had only discovered his ability to manipulate his Transformations earlier in the week after a very frustrating day of classes. Suffice to say, he was in a better mood about his Transformations, now having a little more control over them. Using a spell to contain the blood that would have splattered all over Voldemort and the bed, Cyriacus stretched his wings and then carefully straddled his sleeping lover. Spreading his left wing out across the bed and bracing himself with his right arm, he dropped feather light kisses across Voldemort’s neck and chest.

Voldemort shifted slightly, mumbling something under his breath but didn’t wake. Cy only smiled as he continued exploring his lover. Normally, Cyriacus was content to have Voldemort do as he pleased with his body, the sex was after all, very good. This morning however, he was suddenly seized by an urge to do more than exchange kisses and brief nips at his lover’s body. Voldemort was pleasantly built, a few inches taller than himself but more broad in the shoulders. His muscles were defined but not nearly to the extent of Cyriacus, though part of it was really the result of what was necessary for a less painful Transformation. Wisely he had used a Glamour to steadily show the ‘change’ in his build, letting everyone draw the conclusion that it was a bizarre result of Harry discharging his Oaths. It wasn’t too unbelievable after all; most Wizards and Witches had rapid physical growth in the months before and after reaching their Majority.

Latching onto a brown nipple, he gently teased it with his teeth while soothing it with his tongue. Voldemort’s crimson eyes opened slowly and Cyriacus stared into his eyes as he nipped a little harder at the nub between his teeth. Voldemort hissed and unconsciously arched up into Cyriacus’s ministrations. Cyriacus grinned and released the nipple.

“And here I thought I’d worn you out.” Cyriacus teased, licking a trail down between Voldemort’s pectoral muscles and to his navel.

“A dead man could not sleep through that.” Voldemort commented drawing Cyriacus up for a kiss, pausing to cast a Freshening Charm on both their mouths first. Cyriacus obligingly opened his mouth, letting Voldemort deepen the kiss as his tongue snaked inside. Drawing back after a minute, Cyriacus grinned before going back to his explorations while Voldemort watched, amused by Cyriacus’s uncharacteristic morning cheer. After dropping a few kisses and a few licks along Voldemort’s abdomen and around his navel, Cyriacus shifted his attention lower. While staring at Voldemort, Cy mouthed the head of his lover’s cock, flicking his tongue against the underside and tip. Voldemort let out a groan and Cyriacus felt his cock twitch in response. He teased his lover a few minutes more in this fashion before pulling back and gently blowing on his cock, causing Voldemort to squirm.

Remembering a conversation he’d had with Anthony a year or more ago, he took Voldemort’s cock into his mouth and slowly moved his head in a circular motion, smiling at the moans that came from Voldemort’s mouth as his cock slid around his mouth. Cyriacus was cautious; using his tongue to buffer his lover’s cock if it came too close to his teeth but slowly shifted his head counterclockwise. After several rotations in both directions, Cyriacus noted his lover was close to climaxing and abruptly removed his mouth. Voldemort opened his eyes at the loss of contact and saw what Cyriacus was planning. He spread his legs a bit more and settled his right hand on Cyriacus’s hip, helping steady his lover while using the other to guide his cock into the younger Wizard, who slowly sank down onto his hard, dripping cock. When Cyriacus was seated, Voldemort brought his other hand to rest on Cy’s hip. The quarter-Incubus grinned at his lover before slowly lifting himself up and then plunged down, flexing his muscles and causing Voldemort to groan, tightening his grip on Cy’s hips.

They picked up a rhythm that suited them both, Voldemort thrusting up to meet Cyriacus’s plunge down. Voldemort was practically mindless at this point and Cyriacus was breathing harshly, cheeks flushed and moving up and down with wild abandon. Feeling his climax approach, Voldemort reached for Cyriacus’s dripping cock. Wrapping his hand around its length, he gently stroked it in up and down motions. Cyriacus shouted his name as he came and Voldemort managed a final thrust and a last thought before his thinking functions shut down, as he came he hoped Cyriacus would wake this cheerful more often.

Cyriacus slumped forward, but opened his wings to keep himself upright. Voldemort tried to sit up but only managed to lean up on both elbows. Cyriacus understood the reason behind his motion and leaned forward, their lips meeting for a slow kiss.

“That was a very pleasant way to greet the morning.” Voldemort commented when they pulled away.

Cyriacus smiled as he lifted himself off of Voldemort and spelled them both clean. “You’re welcome, though I can’t say it was purely altruistic of me. I, too, wanted something to remember before going back to Hogwarts.”

“Well I can only hope we have as much fun next time.” Voldemort replied with a very satisfied smirk. “Were you pleased with your prize then?”

“Very.” Cyriacus agreed before his wings retracted back into his body and he rolled off the older Wizard. He crawled to the edge of the bed pleasantly sore and still strangely cheerful. Voldemort watched silently, knowing that Cyriacus would have to leave soon but still unhappy about it.

“What time is it?”

Cyriacus raised an eyebrow and cast the same spell again for the second time that night. The time now read 4:45 AM.

“I have to get going, I need to be back at Hogwarts before 5 or there’s going to be hell to pay. I’m going to take a quick shower first though.” Cyriacus said stretching before heading into the bathroom. He stepped out ten minutes later, to see Voldemort sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a black and silver trimmed night robe, Cyriacus’s clothes from the other night all folded neatly next to him. Cyriacus pulled on his clothes from the night before and allowed Voldemort a very nice, lingering kiss. Reluctantly he released the younger man and Cyriacus gave him another quick peck and a wink.

“I’ll see you again on Sunday, don’t sulk too much.” That said he walked into a shadow and vanished.

---

It was almost five when Cyriacus arrived at the Apparation point, just outside of Hogwarts. Quietly he made his way to the school and to his surprise, found no one waiting for him in the Entrance Hall. Taking that as a good sign, he increased his pace and headed down into the dungeons and the Slytherin Dormitories. Pausing to give the password (Tragedy) he entered the Common Room and was once again surprised to see only Nusayr in his ocelot form ‘Shadow’ waiting up for him. Cyriacus shook his head and headed down the stairs to his room, Nusayr following him. The moment the door closed and the Privacy Wards activated, he turned to find Nusayr in his human form, leaning against one of the posters of his bed.

“You have slept with him. I almost do not understand why you both sneak around like you do.” Nusayr commented, waiting to see what Cyriacus’s reaction was going to be.

Cyriacus blinked and then raised an eyebrow. “How long have you known?”

“I had suspicions that you were involved for several weeks, but I did not know for certain until last weekend.” Nusayr said with a slight smile. “You came back to your room on Saturday morning covered in his scent and he gave himself away later that day when I was examining you and found the Chylla’s Mark.”

“Well then I suppose we’ll have to be more careful from now on. It’s not that I fear the reaction of his servants, but I do not want to deal with the speculation and I will not risk my…involvement with him being leaked to my enemies.” Cyriacus said warningly.

Nusayr shrugged. “I do not care whom you share your bed with but your mortal father may not react like me.”

“I can handle him when the time comes.” Cy replied taking off his robe and shirt before beginning his morning exercise. Nusayr didn’t comment but thought about the possible repercussions when that relationship was revealed.

---

At a quarter to 7, he headed down to the Common Room, joining the Slytherins in his Year. The rest of the House had treated him with mixed reactions based on their alignment in the War. Those allied with Voldemort treated him with cautious respect, always polite and courteous while those allied with the Light treated him with a mixture of pity and depending on how many rumors had reached them about his involvement with Voldemort, disgust. The neutrals were polite but distant, content to observe his interactions with both sides. Few people knew of his supposed alliances but the majority of the Slytherins had heard of his allegiances and most didn’t quite know what to think, he was an exemplary actor after all and a powerful Wizard to boot.

Draco glanced up as he approached. “When did you come in last night, or rather this morning? We waited up for you until just a little after midnight.”

Cyriacus shrugged slightly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Pansy looked him over critically. “Well you don’t look short on sleep so I suppose it couldn’t have been that late.”

“Breakfast then?” suggested Greg.

Blaise snickered. “You and Vince always think about food. Let’s go then.”

They made their way up to the main floor and to the Great Hall. Cyriacus noted the lingering looks Dumbledore and his father graced him with but otherwise ignored them as he took a seat at the Slytherin table. He would have perhaps half an hour before the post was delivered and then everyone would have a fair guess how he had spent his evening last night. He knew Dumbledore would not wait very long before asking questions, but he at least would wait until they were out of earshot of the students and he wasn’t very sure about his father’s reaction.

Thus far they had tolerated each other’s presence and got along when they needed to. There was not very much affection or familial devotion between them, though his father had taken the role of being the protector of the Snape Bloodline very seriously. Cyriacus had known that most of the Inner Circle and the Elite had been confused by his father’s sudden nurturing and protective actions towards him but Cyriacus had a good guess that his father’s actions were purely motivated by self-interest. Severus Snape was very much a loner and though he had been blindsided upon learning he had a son, it had saved him a great deal of trouble. His father would not have to marry unless he chose to and best of all, go through the hassle of having children and raising them. Thus it was very much in his father’s interests to keep him alive and whole to continue the bloodline.

Cyriacus was slightly on edge when the post owls arrived and he accepted his copy of the Daily Prophet and the International Zephyr with some trepidation. He opened the former and to his relief found that he was not on the front page and glancing through the rest, noted nothing of interest save a brief note saying he was spotted at Olympus having dinner with an unknown Wizard. The Zephyr, on the other hand, had much better sources and apparently, photographers to boot. For there on the front page was a picture of Cyriacus with Marcellus sprawled on top of him on the flying carpet, kissing under the multicolor light of the fireworks. It was a highly compromising picture to be sure. Based on the old Wizarding Courting rules, they weren’t supposed to have that kind of intimate contact unless it was very likely they were going to get engaged or married within the year. Around him he could already hear the whispers and he noticed the surprised glances thrown his way.

An Unexpected Romance
By: Eloise Winston
International Zephyr

Last evening, Vitium Court was host to the surprising Courtship of the newly crowned Lord of Gryffindor Cyriacus Snape, by the reclusive Welsh Warlock Marcellus Arvell. Undercover reporters with the Zephyr reported that the two dined at Olympus, the most luxurious restaurant in the high class district of Blanc Havre. After dinner, the two enjoyed a bottle of champagne, while watching a private fireworks display accompanied by music from the Parisian Wizarding Orchestra. Upon the completion of the evening’s entertainment they were both witnessed leaving Vitium Court together, destination unknown.

This romance was shocking to most, as earlier in the month Mr. Snape’s Blood Bonded lover, Harry Potter was mercilessly tortured and killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Mr. Arvell is known to be a very reclusive Warlock and his sudden interest in the sixteen year old Lord of Gryffindor is questionable. Without a doubt, Cyriacus Snape and Marcellus Arvell rank in the top five of Great Britain’s Most Powerful Wizards. The possibility of a marriage between these two powerful Wizards may turn the tide in the War, the question of course, being what side they would serve during the War.

After Voldemort’s first downfall, Severus Snape (the father of Cyriacus Snape) was brought before the Wizengamot as a suspected Death Eater but his claim of having turned spy for the Light was vouched for by Albus Dumbledore. The taint of his involvement with the Dark Lord however has lingered and many have speculated upon the wisdom of allowing a possible Death Eater to teach Wizarding children. The Arvells have been staunch neutrals for the last three hundred years, though the family prior to that had a reputation for specializing in Dark Arts and having a very extensive and old Library dedicated to the subject.

This romance as surprising as it is, is also cause for some scandal both in regards to the blatant unconventional Courting (as seen in the picture) and in regards to the two Wizards themselves. Mr. Snape is not yet out of mourning for his Blood Bonded lover Harry Potter and is also still under the age of consent. Mr. Arvell is nearly nineteen years senior to Mr. Snape and many speculate that the reasons behind his sudden interest maybe be less than honorable and suggest the possibility he is taking advantage of the grief struck teen. Regardless of the social or political repercussions, this romance will be observed closely and commented upon by all.

Cyriacus just finished reading through the article when a hand seized the back collar of his robes and dragged him to his feet. Looking over his shoulder in slight shock, he spotted his enraged father scowling darkly at him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Severus shouted, so angry he seemed to have forgotten that they were arguing in front of the majority of the school.

Cyriacus stepped away from his father, frowning. “I had dinner with him, that’s all really.”

Severus glared at him. “You left Hogwarts at eight o’clock last night and I checked the Ward Register this morning, you did not arrive back until almost five o’clock this morning! Where were you?”

“I really don’t think we should be having this conversation right here.” Cyriacus hissed, glancing at the silent enraptured audience.

“We will have this conversation wherever I deem it, I am your father! Now answer my question!”

Cyriacus scowled at him. “This is really not the place for this discussion and you are being highly irrational about my personal life!”

“My sixteen year old son is being courted by a man old enough to be his father and you wonder why I’m being irrational?!” Severus exclaimed angrily.

“I don’t need your protection; you didn’t even know I existed until July! I may have accepted you as my father but I’m not going to let you dictate how I should live my life!” Cyriacus shouted.

Dumbledore had joined them and attempted to intervene. “Gentlemen-“

“You are my Heir and I will not have your social faux pas flaunted in my face by a newspaper! You should not have met with Mr. Arvell without my express permission and you certainly should not have allowed him such liberties, in public or private! As the Snape Heir, you are to make an advantageous alliance and though the Arvells are well connected, I would rather you marry someone your own age!”

“What is the likelihood that either of us would be pleased with each other’s selection of my spouse? I don’t find people my age attractive, I never have and I probably never will! I’m not some innocent child and I’m more than capable of finding a suitable prospective spouse on my own! It’s not like you’d know anything about it, you never did get married after all and I’m a legitimized bastard for all intents and purposes.”

“Misters Sna-“

Crack!

Everyone stared in shock and the Elite shifted nervously in their seats. Cyriacus turned his face so he could look at his father fully, his left cheek smarting and his golden skin turning red from the slap. The look in his eye caused both Severus and Dumbledore to take a cautious, instinctive step back and away from him. The air filled with power which poured off Cyriacus, filling the room as his dark green eyes brightened to an unholy green glow.

“You should not have done that.” Cyriacus snarled softly, his body rigid. “I have never taken any sort of physical attack without exacting due retribution from my attacker. You are my father and I will certainly not take any sort of physical punishment from you, despite what you think I may have deserved.”

The anger drained from Severus’s face and when he spoke his voice was devoid of emotion. “I apologize. I let my emotions get the best of me.”

Cyriacus scowled. “See to it that you don’t let your emotions get the best of you like that again. Next time, I won’t restrain myself from attacking you if you strike me.” Turning slowly he stalked from the room, closing the doors of the Great Hall behind him with a soft snick. Barely a heartbeat after the doors closed every plate, bowl and platter along with every glass cup or goblet shattered in the wake of his exit as his power discharged with a loud boom! The students shrieked and scrambled away from the spray of glass and ceramic, the teachers yelped from surprise and Dumbledore had eyes only for the door Cyriacus had vanished through.

---

The Study, Voldemort’s Suite
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Thursday the 18th of September 1997
7:35 AM

Voldemort sat behind his desk, eating breakfast and reading over some reports in the privacy of his room. He had slept after Cyriacus left, waking up at six thirty to take a shower and go over the morning reports. Usually he took his meals in the Dining Hall with his Death Eaters but today he felt the need for privacy and had sent a house elf to bring him breakfast in his rooms. Fortunately, Nagini had taken her brood out to familiarize them with the forest, so he was alone in his suite. He glanced up when he felt an all too familiar shiver from the special Wards around his room and barely a minute later-; Cyriacus strode into his study looking irked.

“What are you doing here?” Voldemort asked surprised but still pleased to see his lover.

Cyriacus growled as he walked over to Voldemort. “My father threw the biggest tantrum in the Great Hall of all places! It was either get out or level Hogwarts around his thick head!”

Voldemort let out an oomph of surprise as Cyriacus dropped onto his lap and latched his mouth onto the side of his neck. He ran his left hand through Cy’s hair while wrapping his right arm around Cy’s back, drawing him closer. “Not that I’m complaining mind you, but won’t your absence cause some…concern?”

“I Apparated to Cannaid Clegr(1) before I came here and left Dumbledore’s Tracking Charm on a House elf. Let them talk, I don’t give a damn.” Cyriacus muttered before kissing Voldemort on the lips.

Salazar walked back into his portrait and gaped in surprise at the couple. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat. The two wizards broke apart, Cyriacus nearly tumbling out of the chair.

“Ahem, if you two are going to carry on in that manner, please spare me and go to Marvolo’s bedroom. Despite what some historians may have to say about me, I am not a voyeur.” Salazar said dryly.

Cyriacus carefully got to his feet and taking Voldemort’s hand dragged the older wizard from the room, muttering about portraits. Voldemort only snickered and activated another Ward to keep anyone or anything from entering his rooms.

---

A few minutes after dinner, Cyriacus calmly walked into the Great Hall, ignoring the sudden hush in the room as heads turned in his direction. Draco didn’t comment as Cyriacus took his seat next to the blond and absently filled his plate using Wandless magic, eyes distant. He had just taken a bite of his Beef Wellington when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Dabbing his lips with his napkin, Cyriacus turned and was unsurprised to see the Headmaster standing behind him.

“Mr. Snape, if you will join me in my office after dinner?”

“Of course,” Cyriacus agreed easily and watched as Dumbledore walked back to the Head table.

Draco glanced at him. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell us where you’ve been all day?”

“Seeing my lover and making some…arrangements.” Cyriacus replied smoothly, turning back to his meal.

“That’d be Arvell?” Theo asked nonchalantly.

Cy shrugged, “Perhaps.”

Just as dinner ended he saw his father speaking to a Third Year before storming from the room. A few minutes later the Third Year girl came up to him.

“Your father wants to talk to you in his office after you finish meeting with Professor Dumbledore.”

Cy sneered, “Is he too important to ask me himself? I’ve half a mind to leave him waiting.”

The girl hesitated for a moment but steeling herself continued. “You weren’t here all day at school and your father’s been in a horrible mood, even with us Slytherins. I don’t know where you went or why but everyone’s been on edge since you left this morning.”

Cy rested his right hand on his hip. “What are you trying to say?”

“Just see what he has to say, I don’t want to have classes with him if he’s like this and the rest of us shouldn’t suffer just because the two of you had a nasty argument.”

“I’ll do as I please.” Cyriacus growled before smoothly gliding around the Third Year and out of the Great Hall. He scowled at everyone he crossed paths with and everyone scurried out of his way, looking away from him. Eventually he made it to the stone Gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office and glared at it. Cyriacus felt a draft behind him and saw Dumbledore step out of a passage a few feet away from him.

“Earwax,” The old wizard smiled slightly as the Gargoyle moved aside and gestured for Cyriacus to precede him. Grudgingly, Cyriacus stepped up onto the moving staircase, resisting the urge to turn around so his back wouldn’t be left defenseless. Reaching the landing, he stepped off and moved towards the office door, turning so that he was facing Dumbledore.

The Headmaster didn’t comment about his behavior and instead opened the door and held it open as Cyriacus entered. Following the other wizard inside, he pretended to study the layout of the room and the objects contained within. He spent a few minutes glancing at the portraits of the Headmasters before turning his attention to studying the various instruments scattered around the room. The books were of little interest to him, he’d seen a better collection at Arcanum after all and the perch near the windows was unoccupied. During his examination of the room, Dumbledore had taken his seat behind his desk and waited patiently until Cyriacus finished his inspection before gesturing the younger Wizard to have a seat.

“I would offer you refreshments but as we just came from dinner, no doubt you would prefer I get to the point?” Dumbledore said rather bluntly.

Cyriacus smiled slightly. “I’m not the mood for games today, no.”

“Very well then, I have heard rumors of course that Marcellus Arvell was the one sending you those bouquets of exquisite roses every morning since the beginning of school. My only question is why you are involved with him.”

“I don’t really have a choice. When Voldemort heard of Arvell’s sudden interest he commanded that I convince Arvell to join his side in the War, using whatever means necessary, even if it meant that I would have to marry the man. He is not bad company, is rather pleasing to look upon and has an extraordinarily brilliant mind but I cannot infer as to whether he would be willing to side with Voldemort.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a few minutes before speaking. “Did he say specifically why he wanted Arvell?”

“No.”

“This is troublesome news indeed. I hesitate to ask but I must know, did you spend the rest of the evening with Mr. Arvell?”

Cyriacus shrugged. “I spent a portion of my evening with him, but it was not as scandalous as the papers may have made it sound. We spent a great deal of time playing chess and discussing mutual points of interest. I Flooed to a discreet brothel in Paris and had my needs seen to once I had taken my leave of Marcellus.”

“Cyriacus, I apologize most profusely for having put you in this position, if I had known-“

Cyriacus interrupted, “All that matters now is acting above question and becoming Voldemort’s right hand. Any unpleasant tasks along the way will be dealt with but the only thing that matters is the ultimate goal: destroying Voldemort utterly. Harry’s sacrifice will not be in vain, I refuse it.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore agreed, inwardly frowning at the lengths the younger Wizard was willing to go.

“If that is all?”

Dumbledore held up his hand. “A final question before you go, where did you go today?”

Cyriacus crossed his arms and met Dumbledore’s eyes. “I know you have a Tracking Charm on me so you know very well where I went for the majority of the day. At the time, my only options were to level the building around my father or work off the excess energy and I figured I might as well kill two birds with one stone. Arvell, fortunately, is not as much of a Traditionalist as I had first thought and he was more than willing to take what I was offering. I believe it has considerably improved my odds of completing my first assigned task before the end of this year.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and paused, deciding there was no use discouraging the younger Wizard from doing what he thought was necessary. He shook his head and forged on, “And what did you do at the Ministry?”

“I filed my papers to declare emancipation. Harry pointed out in his papers that the Heir Apparent to the title of Lord of Gryffindor, if there is no living Lord of Gryffindor, may apply for emancipation if they have reached the age of fourteen and have proven themselves capable of all the responsibilities that come with it. There is little doubt that I will be granted emancipation as I am already highly qualified and merely a year away from reaching my majority anyway.”

Dumbledore frowned, pondering the repercussions. “Is that wise?”

“It does not matter if it is or not, there is no way to avoid receiving the Mark and Voldemort has been most eager to see what artifacts and secrets the Gryffindor properties may hold. We all have our roles to play in this War and I will do whatever is necessary to reach my goals.”

“I see,” Dumbledore sighed. “You may go now, unless there is something else I may help you with?”

“No thank you, will it be suitable if I submit my report to you on Tuesday?”

“That will be fine.”

Cyriacus got to his feet gracefully. “Farewell then, Headmaster.”

“Good evening, Mr. Snape.”

Ten minutes later, Cyriacus knocked at his father’s office door and then entered. He took a seat in front of his father’s desk and waited.

“I overreacted this morning and I have already apologized for my actions. I do not suppose you’d like to tell me what actually occurred?” Severus said with a frown as he warded the room.

Cyriacus glanced up at his father. “We want Arvell and so I am doing what I can to ensure that we have him, if that means sharing his bed so be it. If it means an engagement or marriage, I will do what I can to delay either but neither position is irreversible. Your actions earlier forced me to play the role of the ‘misunderstood, angsty teenager’ which led to me having to spend several more hours with Marcellus.”

“Dare I ask how far you went to win his…affections?”

“I do what is necessary though I would appreciate it if you would tone down your reactions to my plans so I need not be pushed to do anything prematurely.” Cyriacus snapped out darkly before leaving the room, evading answering the question.

---

Dumbledore’s Office
Hogwarts, Scotland UK
Saturday the 20th of September 1997
9:08 PM

Dumbledore waited for his fourteen guests to arrive, his office having been re-arranged to situate a table that sat sixteen. The House Elves had kindly provided sandwiches and soup along with tea and various drinks. Most of his guests would be in their twenties though there were three in their thirties. Dumbledore could only hope that his selection would be varied enough. They trickled in over the next half hour, some looking harried having come straight from work and others looked relaxed if uneasy. His suggestion tonight and their reaction would show how his interactions with the Order would go from this point forward.

Oliver Wood, Viktor Krum and Karl Broadmoor were clustered at one end of the table talking and gesturing wildly about Quidditch strategies and latest opponents. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks and Amelia Chambers sat at the other end of the table talking about the on-goings in the Ministry. Raphael King, Natalie Hooper, Tyler Edgecome and Hestia Jones were talking about how things were going at St. Mungo’s. Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour were talking about Gringotts while Charlie and Karen Mourning were exchanging stories about the animals they worked with. Dumbledore smiled as Severus joined them, scowling no doubt from his night of grading papers.

“Please, have a seat Severus and then we will begin.” Dumbledore said jovially.

Snape sat and glared. “Can you be quick about this? Why are we all here?”

“We are here to talk about your son and Voldemort.”

Shacklebolt and Chambers sat up at the mention of the terrorizing Dark Lord.

The intensity of Severus’s glare increased and he waited a few moments to ensure he had complete control of his emotions before speaking. “What of them?”

“I imagine that your son has mentioned his new task?”

“He has spoken of it.”

Bill glanced at the seething Potions Master and then the solemn Headmaster. “Sir, what has Cyriacus been assigned to do for the Dark Lord?”

Dumbledore sighed. “He has been instructed to insure Marcellus Arvell’s loyalty to Voldemort by any means necessary.”

“Whoring my son or selling him in marriage if needed.” Severus growled very unhappy.

Several guests gaped at the information while Shacklebolt frowned. “Why would they want Arvell? He’s powerful certainly but nothing spectacular.”

“That would be the question that we can’t answer and I’m most curious to know if Cyriacus’s mission is general knowledge to the rest of the Death Eaters?”

“I have not heard so much as a whisper about Cyriacus’s task within the fortress so I believe that this mission is strictly on a need to know basis.”

Raphael King cleared his throat and everyone looked to him expectantly. “Why are we gathered here? I imagine that there is a reason for telling such a select number of us about the situation and I imagine that you have planned a course of action requiring our abilities.”

“You would be correct. We need a delaying tactic should Voldemort press Cyriacus into an engagement or marriage to Arvell. What I require of one of you is simply this: to act out a Courtship adhering strictly to the traditional rules. As Cyriacus is pretending to be a double agent, Voldemort cannot allow Cyriacus to act in any way that may cause suspicion.”

Silence.

Karen Mourning was the first to speak, her violet eyes wide with surprise. “Albus, I’m nearly forty years old! Why would he be attracted to someone my age as opposed to Tonks or Hestia?”

Severus closed his eyes and made a sound like a choked laugh. “You didn’t actually believe him did you? Potter was only a year older than him and he is most definitely not allowing Arvell Courtship because of the Welsh Warlock’s age! You’ve seen his reactions to the offers he has been receiving, why would you think he would accept one of them?”

“Because he must, that is why.” Dumbledore turned to look at the others. “It is much to ask of you I know, but this is a very urgent matter. We will allow Cyriacus his choice among you if you are willing to do this much for the Order.”

Shacklebolt shook his head. “I don’t think it would be wise for him to be seen being Courted by anyone who works within the Ministry, especially as Voldemort is likely to see this for what it is, a delaying tactic.”

“I can’t do it, I’ll be in San Francisco by November and you’ll want someone to be seen Courting him longer than that.” Broadmoor commented with some relief.

Hestia shook her head. “I can’t do it, I’d never manage it. Not after that time we walked in on them at Rapture.”

Viktor frowned. “How are we to compete with Arvell? None of us have the funds for such a grand Courting.”

“Sometimes, it is the little things that matter the most.” Dumbledore said with a smile. “While Arvell will make grand gestures, whomever Cyriacus chooses will play the opposite, keeping things simple and comfortable. It will be a good contrast but most importantly it leaves more room for a long Courtship. Arvell will eventually stumble as he attempts to outdo each of his outings. I take it the nine of you have no objections to this?”

Reluctantly they had no more objections to voice and Dumbledore beamed, “Excellent! Now I will expect the nine of you here in my office next Tuesday evening at eight. I will be informing Cyriacus of our plans then.”

Dismissed, the guests took their leave, talking softly leaving only Severus and Dumbledore.

“I do not think he will take this well.” Severus commented.

“He may not but it is necessary and he will see it as such, eventually.” Dumbledore replied, thinking ahead and planning. Fortunately the more stubborn minded had been weeded out, leaving those more likely to fall prey to the younger Wizard’s charm and power. If he was careful orchestrating things, he could easily turn the fake Courtship into a real one, provided he could find a way to lower Cyriacus’s defenses.

Severus bid the older man a good night and quickly left the room, not the least bit happy with the situation but especially wary as he had seen that oh so familiar plotting light come into Dumbledore’s gaze. He would have to warn both the Dark Lord and his son what Dumbledore was planning.

---

The Summoning Circle
Riddle Mansion Grounds, Little Hangleton, UK
Sunday the 21st of September 1997
8:15 PM

Voldemort watched silently as Cyriacus cast a series of complex spells which literally re-melted the surface of the Summoning Circle and altered it to specifically suit this evening’s Summoning. His Inner Circle surrounded the Summoning Circle, observing the proceedings as they talked softly amongst their companions. Cyriacus was bare-chested only wearing flimsy silver gauze trousers, which Voldemort found highly distracting as he had trouble focusing his attention on anything but the revealing material. Voldemort took a deep breath inhaling the earthy yet citrus perfumed air. Glaring at the huge silver torches burning a mixture of Cypress, Hyssop and Bergamot oil, Voldemort resisted the urge to cancel the Summoning and drag his lover off to his bedroom.

Sprawled across the warm obsidian steps, Nusayr alertly watched the proceedings and scanned the surrounding territory for signs of danger. Since the afternoon his charge was abducted by the Chylla, he had practically become Cyriacus’s shadow (earning the name for his feline form) rarely leaving him to wander about alone. Normally Cyriacus might have chafed under such keen observation but as he had no recollections of what exactly had occurred while he was with the Chylla, he kept silent and bore with Nusayr’s guarding.

Twenty minutes later, Cyriacus had finished magically carving the last of the Summoning Runes onto the surface of the obsidian Summoning Circle. He stalked around, double checking the spacing and carving of the runes before giving a satisfied nod and walking towards the southernmost side of the octagon. Asaph, a black haired Revenant with skin the color of dark honey, handed him a small knapsack. Cyriacus accepted the bag and moved back to the Summoning Circle. Opening the bag, he took out a black pouch and cast the counter spell for a Shrinking Charm before upending the bag, spilling out fine white rock salt. A wave of his hand sent the rock salt spreading around the middle of the outermost circle, creating the first magical barrier needed to pierce the veil between the Mortal Realm and the Celestial Plane. As normal, he walked around the salt circle, checking for consistency and evenness before moving towards the center.

Unlike the prior surface of the Summoning Circle, this particular variation had four circles, not including the center circle which the Necromancer usually stood within. The circles each contained a particular number of Protection Circles where recipients of Summoned Beings or Creatures, stood to receive their gifts or protection. The outermost circle contained thirteen Protection Circles, with the other circles containing nine, five and three respectively. The North, West and Eastern sides of the Summoning Circle had triangles of power, each triangle surrounding three Protection circles, two from the outermost at the bottom of the triangle and one from the second outermost circle at the tip of the triangle. Instead of a triangle, the Southern side had a pentagon of power, with three Protection Circles at the bottom of the pentagon, one each on both sides of the pentagon and one at the tip. The remaining Protection Circles were laid out in straight lines between the Triangles and Pentagon of power, focusing the channeled energy directly to the very center of the Summoning Circle. This particular layout of the Summoning Circle was primarily used as a channeling device to boost the longevity of the Summoned Spirits, allowing them to remain within the Mortal Realm for as long as needed.

Cyriacus took his place within the innermost circle which was a Protection Circle in and of itself while also being the focal point for channeling and harnessing power. In every circumstance the center Protection Circle was the safest to be in, as it was both the last and center Circle of whatever number of Summoning Circles were used and it was doubly warded as the Necromancer always drew a Circle of Warding around him or herself before beginning a Summoning. Drawing out the next items from the knapsack, he levitated three small crystals the size of a chess piece to the Protection Circles along the second circle (counting from the center out). Once they were settled, he cast the counter spell and they reverted to their normal size becoming six foot tall crystals nearly two feet wide at the base. All of the crystals were already engraved with Necromantic Runes though one of them was completely covered in runes as compared to the other two. Removing a stick of white chalk, he drew a circle around where he was standing and then put it away, banishing the knapsack. Turning to face the northernmost point on the octagon, he levitated a pail of blood and shifted his right hand, inking his claws with the blood and drawing on his abdomen. As soon as everyone present had been given a Blood rune which would allow them to speak with the Summoned Spirits, Cyriacus spoke for the first time since they had entered the wards surrounding the Summoning Circle.

“It is time; you may approach the edge of the upraised Circle. Those with pails of blood may stand at the edge of the Salt Circle but do not cross or damage it.”

Everyone moved closer, ascending the three steps leading up to the Summoning Circle. Voldemort easily stepped up onto the actual Summoning Circle, careful to stay a good distance away from the Salt Circle, setting the pail of blood at his feet. Taking a quick look around Voldemort noted that Cyriacus had only entrusted the pails of blood to the Revenants, Nusayr and himself. During the time while everyone had been moving into place around or on the Summoning Circle, Cyriacus had filled three goblets with his blood and levitated them over to the sides of each crystal. Taking a final glance around the Circle he nodded to himself and gave the first order.

“Pour the blood on my side of the Salt Circle without disrupting it and then take a step away from the Salt Circle.” Cyriacus instructed.

Voldemort and the others did as they were told and once they had stepped back, Cyriacus began speaking in the Necromancer’s Cant, waving his one good hand around in slow methodical motions. The blood began moving, filling up the engraved runes with blood. Watching closely, Cyriacus observed making sure every rune was filled with blood before beginning the Summoning and drawing the necessary runes in the air as he uttered the Summoning prose.

“I Summon Spirits of the Celestial Plain by the Offering of my Blood, I Summon the Spirits by the crystal spire! By the Blood of the Illusionist, I Summon!”

Like the last time, the crystals flared with light and ghostly shapes stepped out of them. Two of them were very familiar, the blond Merlin and the raven haired Blaze but the dark haired woman with blue almond shaped eyes, dressed in elaborate green and gold robes confused almost everyone. Cyriacus however had a steely look in his dark green gaze and immediately stepped out of his Protection Circle.

“Who wove the Mind Web?” Cyriacus demanded glaring. “I know it wasn’t Morgan, she’s a good Healer but she never mastered Mind Magicks.”

Some of the Wizards gaped but Voldemort didn’t bat an eye, he had recognized her.

Morgan nearly grinned and spoke, her voice laced with a slight French accent. “I am quite surprised at your audacity, you will make a lovely change in this world I can feel it!”

“You’ve said that about nearly every Dark Lord or Lady that’s risen since Merlin’s passing, you fickle woman.” Blaze retorted, rolling his eyes.

Cyriacus growled. “Answer my damned question already before I go over to Arcanum and drag you out of your bloody tower you meddling witch!”

“Fantastique, un cracheur de feu!” Morgan replied laughing merrily.

Merlin interrupted before Cy could loose his temper too badly. “Do not mind her. She has been overjoyed at the prospect of leaving the school in your capable hands. Even she has tired of living in isolation at Arcanum all these years.”

Lucius glanced at them skeptically. “Are you saying that Morgan Le Fey is the mysterious person who has been directing the actions of the Arcanum Alumni for over a thousand years?”

“Yes.” Cyriacus growled. “Someone wove a very complex Mind Web on me of all people, hiding all sorts of information and knowledge someone obviously didn’t want me to remember until the time was right! Now I want some bloody explanations.”

“Mais oui,” Morgan agreed eyes dancing merrily. “I will be only too pleased to answer any questions you may have about Arcanum. You must forgive my giddiness, I have been searching for le successeur for so long and then I find the perfect candidat! I am very happy. As for who wove that complex Mind Web on you darling, that was me. You see, when I left the Wizarding World I was only a Healer but I’ve picked up quite a few new talents along the way.”

Cyriacus frowned. “I see.”

Blaze picked up his goblet of blood. “I imagine if you’ve Summoned the three of us, you have learned of your Ancestor’s Prophecy and no doubt want our interpretation of it?”

“Yes.”

Merlin leaned casually against his crystal. “It was my last Prophecy, given a few months before I passed on and it was the most troublesome of the thirty odd Prophecies I’d given in my lifespan. At the time, I never imagined that a descendant of mine would be the one I had spoken of, the Prince of Dragons that is. I recall gaping in astonishment when I realized what had happened. Tryphena was the brightest and kindest of my four daughters and though she was a squib she was content with her life, marrying the son of one of Arthur’s knights. Had you been of Meredith’s line, I may not have been as surprised, though she had magic, she abjured it for love of her swain a quiet older man by the name of Cuthbert.”

Cyriacus cleared his throat and Merlin smiled sheepishly.

“You’ll have to forgive my ramblings. Vivian did say I was fond of pondering aloud the twists of Fate. In any case, the Prophecy, yes I remember it as clearly now as when I first gave it.” Merlin straightened up and repeated it for the benefit of those who had not read it.

“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.” Merlin paused. “This has already come true; it was after Arthur’s death when the first persecution of our kind began. The preservation of our kind though, came in the form of the Anti-Muggle Charms.”

“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. Blaze and I had an inkling it might be you when Lily decided to fulfill the Debt between our families but I was not completely certain until you finished your Necromancy training.”

Blaze grinned. “In record time too, it took me three and a half years to become a Master Necromancer. You took to it quite well.”

Merlin cleared his throat and Blaze quieted, allowing his former student to continue. “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.”

There was a moment of silence as the Inner Circle, the Primordial Beings and Voldemort mulled over the Prophecy. Cyriacus glared at Merlin for drawing out the situation longer than necessary but allowed him to have his moment. Cyriacus snorted when he heard a relieved, “Picked the right side!” mumbled from someone in the back of the crowd. Voldemort was practically grinning; he was assured a victory as Cyriacus was on his side! Nusayr meanwhile exchanged dark, frustrated looks with the Revenants; this didn’t bode well at all for their Brethren.

---

*ducks flying objects* Sorry to end it there but this chapter is getting ridiculously long and well, there’s quite a bit of debate for them still and grumbling so I’ll stop here and you’ll see the rest of it next chapter. Expect the next chapter probably around uh, late August probably.

Notes: I used a bit of French at the end there, translations below.

(1) Cannaid Clegr - Welsh for ‘white rock’ that’s the name of the Arvell Castle. If I ordered the words wrong, my apologies, I do not speak Welsh and used an online dictionary.

“Fantastique, un cracheur de feu!” = ‘Wonderful, a fire eater!’ Morgan says this in reference to his personality.

Mais oui = ‘But yes’

Le successeur = ‘the Successor’ She means it like she says it. She’s been looking not for just a successor but the successor, the one she believes will run Arcanum to the best of their ability and along her guidelines.

Candidat = Candidate

Review? Please? If only to yell at me for ending things like this and the long, horrible wait ahead of you until next chapter.

-SheWolfe7 (7/30/05) edited (8/6/05)