Redemption of a Snake

Author’s note: For commodity, during the scenes in which all the characters understand the language, demonic is written in English. For example, when two demonists speak together, it is written in English. When the main character of a passage can’t understand, I will write it in demonic (well… in that thing I call demonic…). But so that you can follow, demonic is in italic.

o-

Redemption of a Snake

Chapter 9: First battle. Losses.

Azkaban was a dark place. Conveniently isolated from the rest of the United Kingdom by sea, it was situated on a small island, circled by more wards than any locality had ever been protected with. These formed a perfect ring around the unappealing site, from soil to the top of the roof and, apart from last year and the exception of Sirius Black, evasion had always been unheard of. It would be more inconvenient for its reputation if it would happen again. But aurors were confident that their new protection organisation would prevent any prisoner to break free… and live.

A group of officials apparated at the prison’s double gate and were soon granted entrance. The atmosphere of decrepitude, the show of human’s decay or the smell of death didn’t make them flinch. They had been long hardened against every trick of this unnatural scene. How many people had already died in here? How many corpses were already filling the common grave and how many would join them again?

During the last twenty months, thirty-two death-eaters had been shut away within these walls. Fourteen had escaped, nearly half. The rest were dead. That led to the question: how many were outside? What development had reached the dark lord’s army? But this wasn’t their current preoccupation. They had another war to take care of. That You-Know-Who was keeping low at the moment was just a risky guess, for he was probably watching them, waiting for the instant their attention was drawn elsewhere to attack.

But Azkaban’s history wasn’t resumed to the existence of the prison, just as the flow of deceases hadn’t begun with its construction. When the wizarding world had decreed it needed a place to keep its enemies at bay, the island hadn’t been chosen at random. For one and a half centuries, the Veil in the Ministry - previously called House of Wizards, or shortly, the Centre - had been used to get rid of the demonists, but the population was afraid of it, of its secret. Where did it come from and who had constructed it? They had no idea, just as no one knew what happened to the ones that went inside. Only one person had ever come out: it was Sirius Black; but the man had no memory of his rescue, except that Draco Malfoy had led the team.

At the time of Azkaban’s construction, a council of high lords directed the world. In order to tranquillise the wizards, they had ordered a search for a spot to build their prison. For long years, they had sought the best area, till a fisherman had proposed a location. An island. Its name had been forgotten in the limbo of time, after all its inhabitants had mysteriously disappeared and all life been slaughtered, some dozen of years before.

What had occurred there? What horror could have taken place, that no living being had been spared? Humans had vanished, animals had fallen, and nature had been burnt to the core. Nothing had resisted. Around the island, the sea had started growling and the wind roaring. Elements had attempted to protect the human race. But humanoids have always been reckless.

From Great Britain, fishermen eyed the island, scanning the horizon with fright. When representatives of the official council had asked them to point at it so that they could locate it through the fogs in order to apparate, the fishers had refused and indicated the island with their eyes. If they showed the Devil’s lair, he would come slaying their families. “Point the finger at the Devil, and he will gnaw your hand away.” This notice was still displayed, almost two hundred years later, in the fisher town’s pub.

A squad had finally been decided on and entrusted with visiting the island then coming back with the explanation for the dozens of animal skeletons lying rotten on the floor. The squad had been composed of friends, all members of the militia. Traversing the nearest town of the mainland for a last reconnaissance, the group had been tightly united and determined to destroy the Devil’s residence. They had an aura of power, an emanation of certitude that they would vanquish the Evil and that the Good would conquer. They became the first aurors.

When they had laid step on the defeated land, they had been shocked and disgusted by the odour of corroding stones, of mouldering trees, of putrefying corpses, but they had gone on marching nonetheless. The more they had advanced inside the island, the lower their spirits had got. The dreariness of the abused landscape, the lugubrious atmosphere of the abandoned town and its faded inhabitants, the funeral cry of the mourning Wind for his protégés, everything in this place had got at their nerves. It had been reminding them of the dead ones of their families, these bereavements which they had thought to have come out of.

Their feet had led them toward the centre of the town. They had frozen at the sight. There, carved on the stony ground, was an elaborately engraved pentacle. They had walked to it and observed at greater length the convoluted and perplexing labyrinth. The art of magical invocation had never been part of the wizards’ abilities and none of the aurors had been able to decipher the point of the strange engraving. What they had felt, though, was that the bad atmosphere of the place emerged essentially from the inscription.

From that moment, it hadn’t taken them long to discover the reason of the ‘disappearances’. Slowly, silently, unnoticed, they had been encircled by creatures that would later take the name of dementors. Two of the aurors had fallen that day, and the others had been constrained into beating a retreat. The wizards had needed five more years to discover a way of fighting the creatures. They had been forced into submission then, after the prison’s construction, used as guardians. But the wizards never discovered how humans could have been morphed into such foul creatures. This remained a mystery for centuries to come…

Two weeks after Draco’s sudden disappearance, aurors went up the dim stairs of Azkaban, walked the length of a corridor, and stopped in front of a door. It was made of thick, dark wood, the kind that let no light pass. Despite the heavy door that separated them from their prisoner, the aurors felt the remnants of past glory emitting from the cell.

A sign from Dars’ head and the door was opened. Sitting at the far end of his cage, the man seemed to be sleeping, head bent over his chest in a position that could only be uncomfortable for his old bones. But the aurors knew better than to concede weaknesses to this wizard. Dars cleared his throat, stirring the man from his half-sleep.

The man blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to the bright light of the corridor, which he had been deprived of for days, and looked at them. Still, he was aware that the most part of his blurry vision was caused by the virus whose effects he was beginning to feel. He wondered if these walls were the last thing that Lucius Malfoy had seen before falling to darkness, or if he had possessed sanity and consciousness one more second, just the time to witness his son breaking through the door and rescuing him. Probably Lucius had already been too far gone into blackness for the latter to happen.

Was that what would befall him? Would he be left in here till Death decided to come for him? On the other side, could he risk escaping from this place and endangering the Order? He had very few ideas of what had occurred on the outside, for the aurors had let nothing transpire inside the prison, but he suspected the consequences of his arrest had been hectic and stormy. Hogwarts ought to be under control, the Order’s known members constantly watched. And what about Harry? He desperately hoped the boy was fine and wouldn’t attempt a folly. Having observed the young man for a while now, he was well aware of his wish being ridiculous. The Gryffindor had surely already begun preparing a plan, having forgotten that the spy still was free and could be observing their every move.

The man had suspicions on the traitor’s identity. It was even possible that the spy had decided to disclose himself after the aurors’ offensive action. But that wasn’t the man’s current problem. Why was Dars suddenly deciding to pay him a visit? He plunged his eyes deep in the now Minister of the Wizarding Forces’ and saw nothing. Dars smirked.

“I suggest you don’t try to aggravate your case or I could decide to let you rot in here.”

The man resisted the urge to knit his brows. Hadn’t it been the plan? To let him die here from the virus? To definitely get rid of him? What could have taken place, that the aurors would have modified their schemes? Dars twitched his head with what looked like a contemptuous smile but, as another auror broke the seal of a parchment, the man noticed the slight tic that agitated Dars’ lips, betraying the stress that had invaded the Minister’s life these past days. He couldn’t reflect on it, though, as his attention was drawn back to the young auror that initiated his read.

“As decision of the Wizarding Law Parliament, after hearing the testimony of sir Severus Snape, arrested on the 25th of November, and his revelations on sir Draco Malfoy’s death on the 24th of November as well as on the role sir Severus Snape played in sir Albus Dumbledore’s manipulation to plot against the government, it was judged and approved that sir Albus Dumbledore was but a tool to be used by the Death-eaters. In conclusion, Sir Albus Dumbledore is cleared from all charges that had been held against him.” The auror lifted his head from his parchment and folded it back. “You are free, sir.”

o-

Two weeks sooner. Wednesday, November the 25th.

Remus paced the Infirmary corridor in nervous steps. He had tried sitting on the floor but the inactivity of his legs soon had begun weighting him down and he had been forced to get up and resume his turning in circles. Still, despite his moving, he felt his mind slowly going past the barriers of sanity. He wanted to know what was going on inside! Was that too much to ask?!

He was afraid for Draco, and afraid for Severus. But the first had disappeared away and the second was lying unconscious on an Infirmary bed. Remus stopped abruptly as his spirit went fraught and his body shook all over with fright at what was befalling his lover and his friend. He suddenly launched at the door and attempted to twist the handle nervously. But the door didn’t move. Frustrated by his lack of success, he grounded his teeth, clenched his fists and kicked the door then went back to facing it with hatred, as if his ire would be enough to pierce a hole through it.

At the violence shown by his best friend, Sirius got up from his corner and reached Remus, laying a gentle and caring hand on the werewolf’s shoulder. As soon as the fingers touched him, Remus shuddered in a spasm and swirled, wrenching his arm away, both hatred and wildness in his gold-glittering eyes. Frightened out of his wits, Sirius blasted his hand away in a dash as if he’d been burnt, staring at his friend in utter shock. The animagus retreated silently in his corner, daring not to make a second move.

Moony observed Padfoot for a second, regretted his outburst that wasn’t aimed at the man, and forced his tired mind to calm down before slumping down next to his friend and hiding his face in his folded arms. “I’m sorry,” Sirius heard from behind the layers of cloth. “I didn’t want to startle you; it’s just that I…” The werewolf hadn’t the strength to finish his sentence as he raised his head to rest it against the cold bricks of the corridor and massaged his temples.

Black needn’t him to finish and laid once more a comprehensive hand on his best friend’s arm. “I know,” he murmured, “You don’t have to excuse.”

Despite his obvious Gryffindorish temerity, Sirius remained a Slytherin in blood. He knew to be tactful when it became essential. While the werewolf was trying to show out a strong face, Sirius knew that the Marauder was reaching the limit of his endurance. He had witnessed Remus breaking down one time, when the young man had been scared to death that Snape would reveal what he had discovered because of Sirius’ foolishness, and the animagus didn’t want it to happen again; Moony was a benevolent soul that didn’t deserve it.

Remus’ eyes were red from his lack of sleep, his hands were shaking with uncertainty and his face drained from all colour out of fear. Sirius wished he had never assumed that Malfoy was going to be there with the werewolf and that he could have seen some scenes one shouldn’t peek at; he wished he had gone nonetheless at the Shrieking Shack, waiting not for dawn to check on his friend. But it was too late. Malfoy had disappeared and Snape was in a disastrous state.

When his eyes had fixed on the unmoving body on the ground, Sirius hadn’t at first believed what his sight had disclosed. Yes, he admitted being hard on the Potions Master, and punching him sometimes a little too much than he should have when they were younger, but never had he wanted such harm to come to the man. It had taken this view to make Sirius realise that petty hatreds weren’t war matters and that a proper death was nothing compared to the agonising pain of this torture.

What could have damaged him so? Lupin and Black had barely taken a stating look at Snape’s injuries in order to give Poppy pieces of information at what was needed, but even then, they had fathomed the gravity of some gashes. His chest had been scrupulously burned, engraving dark rays of charred flesh on the pale tone of skin, forming a tortuous and commanding drawing. Above this enigmatic maze had still been pouring rivulets of blood whose pearls showed the remnants of another labyrinth. The whole of it looked like the rest of a ritual’s victim and Sirius would have thought Snape dead hadn’t it been for the man’s face clutching in pain.

Remus sighed inwardly. Why couldn’t he be let inside? He was the best placed to understand what had happened! But apart from Poppy, Dumbledore and the official whose presence he had been forced to accept, no one had been accepted in. Due to the breakfast hour, the news of Snape’s attack had quickly spread among the students which had all been sent back to their common rooms. Two killing attempts in so little time had prevented Dumbledore from refusing access to the investigating aurors. Remus was resisting with difficulty the eating urge to destroy the door, to launch at the Potions Master and shake him awake, despite the wounds that marked the man’s body. Feeling the worry gush once more in his chess, he lifted his hand to his mouth and bit his wrist, pulling out a surprised and horrified shout out of Sirius.

“Hey! Don’t mutilate yourself over Snape!” Black cried out, grasping Remus’ arm brusquely, preventing more harm to come to it, “He’s not worth it…” he added without much conviction, careful of the reaction that his stressed friend may have.

But Remus was exhausted. He needed a way to vent his tension or he would truly become destructive, and that, after a full moon and what with all the problems they already had, was the worse thing that could occur to them. His mind got blurry with tiredness and he inwardly wondered if Dumbledore had been truthful when he had asserted destroying the Time-Turner. Moony admitted that using the thing could reveal very dangerous, yet the idea of relying on this piece of metal to avoid this Hell he was getting through seemed just like the right thing to do at this moment. He sighed at the knowledge of his own wrong. He had no idea of the place Draco could be, and if the wizarding laws of Time applied there. To misuse the Time-Turner could get them into an even tighter situation, and they needn’t that on top of all the rest. Remus blasted up and resumed his marching in the corridor. “Everything was too perfect!” he snarled with fury at the ceiling, “I was too happy for it to last!” He stopped suddenly, remembering there were people with them in the corridor. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy particularly.

The couple had arrived little time after they had come back from the forest and Dumbledore had closed up inside the Infirmary. Lucius had looked even more murderous than Lupin and all had drawn aside to let him pass. Once more, Narcissa had been needed to calm her husband. They were sitting with McGonagall and the high lord was forced to watch the two women discussing the events when he would have preferred taking action. Sirius pondered if they shouldn’t allow him to do so: they all would gain answers but only Malfoy would have problems… and he’d be rejoicing in his corner… Because, for all redeemed Malfoy appeared to be, helping them with the war and all, that didn’t excuse the share of horrors he had committed.

Remus’ thoughts were disturbed as the Infirmary door opened and Dars came out. ‘Dars? What is he doing here? He wasn’t there when they closed the door!’ If the Mediwizard auror had called for reinforcement, it was worse than they all had thought. His heart clutched tight and he instinctively reached the soul bag through his clothes. The throbbing had stopped but Remus could still feel faint warmth coming out, and that was enough to maintain his hope that Draco was alive. The boy just couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t.

Dars locked eyes with him and Remus shivered at the cryptic satisfaction there was in the black pupils. But his attention was drawn elsewhere when he caught sight of Dumbledore exiting the place, followed by an auror.

Minerva approached the headmaster, not necessitating words to formulate her question. She had lived long enough with Albus that they were starting to initiate a spirit bonding out of sheer friendship. None of them minded. Since Albus’ wife had died a century ago, letting him young widow and with no heir, and since Minerva’s committing to this school and its students, they had felt no need of indulging in romance with another. They thus had no family or mate ties and both of them were aware that they had keen to no chance at ever finding someone else to love; they were happy with their friendship and the way it was developing. And were they to know, their connections would certainly show no reluctance at letting Nature make her work.

When the Headmaster had pleasant news to announce, he usually smiled and tutted; and when the information was neutral, he generally waited for silence. Dumbledore cleared his throat and instantly, the present people knew that was bad. “They found two different bloods on Severus. One is his, and the other appears to be Draco’s.”

Remus’ lips opened in a silent and horrified surprise and Albus went on.

“His chest was marked with a scorched demonic pentacle which we weren’t able to decipher. Mediwizard Jackleccy and Poppy are still working on it but all they know yet is that it steals Severus’ life. The second pentacle was made of blood and they have no idea of its use.”

After a moment of silent, Dars intervened. “You forgot to report that my field team found the remnants of a charred corpse next to him, and two buttons of a Hogwarts student’s uniform.”

Narcissa gasped and her face tightened in sadness, tears forming at the corner of her eyes. “You… You are meaning that…”

“That your son is dead, Mrs Malfoy. I am sorry.” And the worlds and almost gentle tone of voice sounded strange and out of place coming from Dars’ mouth. The very little they all had seen of this man had shown only his anger and hatred.

Narcissa erupted in tears and Sirius peered at her with stupefaction and some hesitation. He had known her cousin to be a resistant mind, made from the very core of Slytherin, but he had also been aware that her son had been everything to her; and strangely, he felt sorry for this woman. Despite their resent for each other, she had gone past her grudge and given him back his liberty and innocence. He walked to her and framed his shoulders with an arm. Surprised by the action, she cried all the more and hid her face in his chest.

Lucius was white with anger and hurt as he tore his sight away from his broken wife and looked at Dars, forcing his mind to forget about his painful heart. “Surely you won’t let this crime go unpunished?” By Merlin, he was ready to kill Snape himself given the chance!

But Dars’ pupils turned deadly dangerous when they fell back on the high lord. “You are in no place to ask for revenge, Malfoy. For the sake of justice and those dear to your son, though, we will take measures. Severus Snape is under arrest. In some minutes, he will be taken to Saint-Mungo and placed in watched treatment.”

“What?” Remus exclaimed abruptly. “But you can’t! He is wounded!”

“He is guilty of murder!” Dars hissed Dars.

“Whose?” Lupin retorted intensely, “He couldn’t have killed Draco! He loved him!”

Unexpectedly, Dars smirked and Moony immediately regretted his words, realising straightaway the impact they could have if taken wrongly. “Then we now have the motive…,” Dars drawled, “Thank you Lupin.”

Remus was blank from his error. He glanced inside the Infirmary and caught a glimpse of Snape, lying on the sheets, totally unaware of the battle that was going on next to him. “You can’t arrest him,” he almost pleaded, “He’s innocent.”

Dars’ pupils turned dark once more and he took his wand out only to point it at Lupin. “He is guilty and he will be taken to Saint-Mungo then Azkaban, whether you accept it or not. Don’t try to stop us, Remus, or I may decide to arrest you too. I have a very good reason to do so, and you know it.”

All eyes jumped at the use of Lupin’s first name. What did that mean? Did they know each other?

Remus flinched at the feeling of a wand against his throat but maintained their eyes locked. “Then go on with it,” he whispered. He had already condemned Severus to Azkaban, it would only be fair that he accompanied. Accounting that the aurors knew about Moony’s relationship with Draco, the fact that Severus had loved the boy provided them with the perfect motive: jealousy. To try explaining that Draco was the son that the Potions Master never had didn’t change Remus’ last revelation: the aurors simply would affirm that Severus’ feelings had evolved. He had attacked Draco about it, the boy had fought back, and had died in the process. Even if that seemed incredibly dense a thing to accuse Severus of from Remus’ point of view: Snape would rather have killed his colleague and consoled Draco in his mourning than ever trying to talk to the boy about it…

Dars clenched his teeth at Remus’ answer and his knuckles went white from the added pressure of his hand. At length, the contortions of his face uncreased. He sighed, took the wand away and pocketed it back. “Stop your nonsense. One less professor is already too much to this school.”

Remus stared wide-eyed at him. Already too much? ‘Then you know he is innocent from this murder… You know it wasn’t Severus that hurt Draco… Because Draco is alive, I know it. I would have felt it if he was dead. Yet if I say something more, you will arrest me along for having a relation with an under-aged student… And how do you know all of that, I have no idea…’

Remus lowered his sight. “Yes, I’m sorry.” His heart clutched at the thought that he was abandoning Severus. What would Draco think of him if he knew? He would probably be disgusted by such behaviour. No, his mind suddenly brightened, no, Draco wouldn’t think that. He would tell that he was better off free, trying to help from the outside. And Moony would do just that: he would work to get Severus out and wouldn’t stop till he had succeeded.

“I prefer that. We will be going now.” Dars penetrated back in the Infirmary and asked for a Portkey.

Changing his mind, Remus suddenly ran after him. “Wait! What will you do with his things?”

Dars turned to him anew. “His things?” he repeated incredulously. “They will be catalogued and stored, why?”

Remus sighed in relief. “He has something that was very de…” His voice got stuck in his throat as his sight had surreptitiously moved toward Severus. The man was breathing slowly, his chest protected by bandages. But around his neck, there was nothing. ‘Where is Draco’s soul? Hadn’t Severus keep it here? He should have had it: the bulge underneath his shirt could only be that!’ “Nothing,” he stuttered. “I just wondered.” Had the aurors taken it away? Did they realise what this stone really is? If Remus asked for it so obviously, he risked drawing the aurors’ attention toward it and destroy Severus’ only link to Draco. And that, Remus couldn’t do.

Dars had a suspicious look for Remus, but the presence of so many people prevented him from investigating further. This could wait when they would be alone. Under his supervision, Snape was levitated and keyported away and all that remained of him was a shape on the mattress and a mould in the pillow.

Moony eyed sadly Dars as the man grasped a handful of Flow Powder and cast it in the fireplace. Surprised, Remus stared wide-eyed when the man tersely backed and another auror stepped in the Infirmary. From the frown that hooked Dars’ eyebrows, Remus fathomed he hadn’t been waiting for the official either. The newcomer stood to attention faultlessly then handed over a rolled and sealed parchment. From just the sight of this paper, from only seeing it here, in this place, in this already tense moment, Remus knew it brought bad news, and another disaster.

The surprised look in Dars’ eyes as the man skimmed through it was more than revealing. It was frightening. This man had come to conduct an arrest. Who could step in now, when it was done, and what order could have been given that even Jonathan Dars, auror captain, would be stunned? Dars cringed surreptitiously and coughed softly to affirm his voice before actually tearing out his eyes from the parchment and facing the auror. “This was given to you in person?”

The auror nodded, “Yes, sir. Not two minutes ago.”

Dars hesitated a heartbeat before turning round. He flinched when noticing Remus had been looking at him all along and simply hadn’t gone, then his expression was dark and closed again and his eyes stopped disclosing any of his feelings. Dars passed Remus and went back in the corridor, ordering the young official to follow him. There, all had been waiting for Moony to go out, whether because they hadn’t dared enter the room, or had wanted to allow their friend the privacy of his conversation.

Narcissa was weeping at her husband’s side, just as he was raising a sumptuously embroidered silken handkerchief to her face and skimming it under her watery eyes in a tender gesture. The high lord looked tired as shadows and wrinkles had aged him ten years in a few minutes. Some meters away, Sirius was giving them stealthy glances from time to time and Remus’ still sharp wolf senses detected a tinge of rancour and envy in Padfoot’s look. Moony was hurt at that. No wonder Sirius craved for some company after all his years of loneliness. And the man certainly deserved it.

Remus let his ideas flow away and observed the scene before him. Time seemed to have lost all power on the two men as they faced each other. The old man and the auror had their respective eyes plunged in each other’s and were remaining silent, as if sharing a mental conversation. And Moony couldn’t understand why but he was terrorised by that stillness. He was all the more thankful to Mrs McGonagall when she broke the raging calm.

“Albus,” she called hesitantly, not knowing what to ask.

Dumbledore and Dars both glimpsed at her before their eyes locked again. They sighed in unison and that sound only was enough to make the Malfoys and Sirius turn toward them.

“Malfoy, Madam,” Dars addressed Narcissa and her husband, “You should go back home and take some rest. I will inform you of the inquest’s progress personally. Mr Black,” he swirled to Sirius, “Since you have no role in the school, I am in the obligation to ask you to leave Hogwarts’ grounds.”

With obvious reluctance, mostly from Sirius, and Dumbledore’s insistence that they all collaborate, the three of them departed for Malfoy Manor.

“Madam McGonagall, from now on and till other measures have been taken, you will take the place of headmistress. I’ll make sure you’re sent Transfiguration’s and Potions’ supply teachers by tomorrow morning.”

A look of incomprehension crossed her face and Remus bent his face. Deep inside of him, he had known where they were heading from the moment the missive had arrived. He had been aware that the aurors wouldn’t stop with Severus’ arrest, that they would want more than an ex-death-eater. Lucius was very lucky that he had been allowed his freedom for some more time, but not many days would pass that he’d surely receive a disagreeable visit and a one-way ticket to Azkaban. War had begun.

“You… You can’t be…” Minerva stuttered, unsure of her words, her hands raising to cover her mouth in abashment.

But Dars cut her and gripped Dumbledore’s arm. “Let’s go.” Albus nodded. “I’ll sent an auror squad to take watches on the school’s ground. Curfew is at nine. No one is to go out without authorisation from me. I trust you to take care these rules are followed. Else, I will have to use less pleasant procedures.”

It was in complete shock that Minerva observed the two men portkeying away. When she remained alone with Moony, her voice broke. “Remus, could you go and inform the staff that we have a reunion in my classroom, please? After that, I would like us to talk.”

o-

Narcissa stood firmly in the major living-room of Malfoy Manor, her eyes cold and set. Warily, she took out her wand and cast privacy spells around the three of them. Lucius was blanch and shuffled along to an armchair, staring with an interested eye at the dresser in a corner then settling his sight on the chimney, deciding he hadn’t the strength to move and get a tonic drink. Besides, mirroring Sirius who had helped himself to another of the stuffed chairs and was now watching his cousin, he was pretty interested in his wife.

The woman, born Black, married Malfoy, certainly had proven worth of both family names over the years. To witness her breaking down so in the school had been surprising to the least, heart-clenching to the worst. Lucius wasn’t used to such fragility coming from her. And now, no sooner were they back, that she reversed to her old-self. He was disconcerted. He scanned the living-room and, as in a reflex, his sight fell over the grandfather clock and he froze. His hair bristled on his skull and little tingling warned him hackles were rising on his forearms. To hear the fact at the school had been painful, but the hard reality of it being plainly exposed for him to see was simply unbearable.

In front of him, Draco’s hand had gone past ‘mortal peril’. He raised his arm and clutched tight at his shirt, just above his heart. His eyes were deadly set on the unmoving hand but his sight was slowly vanishing, dark spots hampering his vision. Dolour climbed up in his bones and he shook, his mouth slightly opened to let out throbbing pants of breath escape. Vaguely, he heard someone calling his name in the blur of his mind, before he fainted.

o-

The young man couldn’t find the strength to open his eyes so much the sun was bright above him, its rays of light piercing through his eyelids, hurting his pupils. He was lying on his back, the full of his damaged front exposed to the scorching sun. At length, he felt warm, so warm in this strange world of heat; and somehow, the insistent pulses of hotness let him unsatisfied, needing for more than a lingering and heady touch. His body was bursting with the residual magic of his fight, aching to flow out.

Faintly, he moved his right hand and groped the ground under him. His fingers easily grasped a handful of the soil and his body jumped, his breath got struck in his throat as a gush of energy darted his senses. The thin grains of sand were softly raping his sensitive skin, awakening each of his nerves. This feeling, he couldn’t describe it so intense were the sensations coursing his veins in sizzles. A thousand sparks of energy suddenly went flying inside of him, as thunder cracking through him and he moaned.

As if prompted by desire more intense than he had ever felt, he plunged his left hand in the sand and anchored himself profoundly. His back arched up and he cried out, heat raising to his low belly. His eyes opened wild and stared right at the sun, defying its superiority, daring him to destroy his sight. His mind was clouded by lust and his breath harsh. He grounded his back against the soil and kicked his shoes away, feeling the burning sand through his socks, willing and ordering the flames to consume his clothes.

Passion exploded in him and he slithered in the sand, his hands and feet deeply fastened in the ground. He was moaning and groaning and offering his naked body to the gods, to whoever would want of it. His arousal was erected toward the skies, glittering with pearls of life. And suddenly, he felt it: the surge of power crushing him into the soil, enveloping his member, stealing it of its virginal liquid and condition; the sharp and powerful movements of air around him, erupting from the deity, moving the dunes.

He cried out and a bright fire ignited behind his eyes, brighter than that of the sun. His head was tossed back, his hair loosely dunking in the sand; his slithering body was writhing with consuming pleasure as orgasm ripped through him in waves. Then the ground stopped moving and the presence disappeared, letting him alone. It took a moment for his head to stop spinning. His breath came out in hoarse and raged muffled sounds and he at length allowed his back to recede to the soil and his heartbeat to calm down.

His muscles relaxed and his fingers disentangled from earth. His members lied apart and he should have felt vulnerable but his mind and body were at ease. For the first time in his life, he experienced the sensation of regular ripples streaming in his nerves, of contentment pouring through him. He was conscious of his own abilities, of the extent of his powers and their limits. His need for release had been fulfilled.

He was man.

o-

Theodore felt the iron bracelets closing tightly on his wrists, pressing hard in his flesh and bones. He needn’t look at them to know that they would leave a mark. Refusing to lower his gaze, which stubbornly reposed on the wall in front of him, he felt the same treatment being inflicted on his ankles as bangles locked them in a deathly grip, restraining his legs from taking any long step.

His heart was beating strongly and quickly in his chest and his only relief was that no one had appeared to notice yet. Fear constricted his mind but he would be dead before accepting to show only the tenth of it. It wouldn’t be said a Nott had showed weakness in front of aurors. Around him, other Slytherin children were suffering the same, some carrying their head high, some whose eyes were moistening.

If someone had told Theodore a week ago that he would come to regret Dumbledore, he would have laughed at their face. But he did now. The old senile had refused to hear about their right ideals on purebloods and muggle-borns, but he wouldn’t have allowed a student to be sent to Azkaban. Hell, Theodore didn’t even know what to think anymore. Dumbledore was wrong, that was for certain: to mix wizards with muggles had brought nothing good yet and it would never. But did the man being wrong made his enemies being right?

This was the question that had been haunting his mind since the appearance of Riddle at Draco’s side. Who was right?!! What side would create the better world? Who could he trust?… Theodore was a death-eater, but recent developments had proved that even that wasn’t definitive after all. Draco had made sure of creating a way out. Nobody that he knew had heard the truth on that incredible potion, but all were aware of its existence, and the repercussions it could have. They wanted to ask about it, but were afraid that word would get to the dark lord.

He regretted now. He should have talked to Draco and inquired about what interested him. Why had the Malfoy heir defied Voldemort’s supremacy? Had he joined the Order? What did he think of muggles and of wizard’s survival? Why had he saved the death-eaters from Azkaban? So many questions that would remain unanswered.

He had never liked Draco much, but the news of his death at the Potions Master’s hand was shaking. Hadn’t Malfoy been Snape’s favourite? Hadn’t his demonist powers been duelling match to the dark arts’ user? This was too strange to be left unexplored, but Theodore suspected that he wouldn’t discover much while locked in a damp cell of the prison.

He scanned the common room. Slytherin children were packed in a corner and called in alphabetical order, one after the other. It was the young Vozel’s turn. The third year took some steps forward and, aurors’ wands pointed at her head, she raised her sleeves with shaking hands. Her arms were clean. Theodore observed her being sent back to her dormitory. The poor girl was trembling with residual fear at the feeling of these wands on her. How could people that represented justice be so sick that they would treat innocents like animals?

A sparkle glinted in his eyes and his breath remained jammed in his throat at the memory. He remembered his fourth year, after the Triwizard Tournament, when Potter reappeared, a corpse next to him. No… Theodore shook his head violently, liberating it from his doubts. Diggory had surely defied the dark lord! That’s why he’d been killed! The dark lord was right and the death-eaters were purifying the wizarding blood.

Noise caught his attention before his thoughts could go further into places he’d preferably avoid. Focusing his sight on the sound’s origin, he stared wide-eyed at the scene. No… What was that crap now? Theodore was certain he had known every death-eater in Hogwarts. They had all been arrested. There had been none left. But then…

Theodore looked hard at this arm that displayed the dark mark while aurors took care of the student’s wrists and ankles. Zabini glanced at Nott and, as much as his bounds authorised, an amused gleam in the eye, displayed playfully the dark mark to Theodore, causing Nott to gape. Blaise smirked at his roommate’s astonishment. Angry to have been one down to Zabini, Theodore glared at the other Slytherin.

So Blaise had been a death-eater from the beginning… How had that bastard dared come unto him and pump for information on Snape’s poisoning from the death-eater clan when he had been one of them?! When had he been initiated? And Theodore was beginning to grasp the truth… Zabini had been here on the dark lord’s order, spying on Draco, making a friend of the Malfoy heir, coming into his favour by acting anti-death-eater and pro-Snape! He had watched his fellows to make sure that none of the dark lord’s minions would take a step away!

For all loyal Theodore was to Voldemort, he couldn’t help feeling betrayed by such an attitude. Didn’t his master have faith in them? Apparently not.

Surrounded by aurors, the death-eaters were taken out of their common room. Using their rounding up again, Theodore managed to come shoulder to shoulder with Zabini and went on shooting sideways glances at the spy. Blaise remained stoic and didn’t do so little as to acknowledge the look. Nott clenched his teeth.

‘Fine! You want it this way, Zabini? I’ll wait till we get to Azkaban then. We’ll have plenty of time to talk there. And I’ll get my answers even if I have to punch them out of you!’ he thought with rancour.

They arrived in the Great Hall where students from the three other houses had been grouped, a thin lane separating them in two packs, letting place for the procession to reach the professor table. As they passed among the package of students, Theodore shivered at the looks they were getting, full of hatred and disgust. He was stranger to such displays and couldn’t help trembling at the thought of what they would do to him if he was left alone with them. Next to him, Blaise was marching, unaware of the stares, or uncaring. Murmurs grew in the crowd.

“It’s their fault that Dumbledore was arrested,” a voice said.

“Yeah, I hope they rot in Azkaban!” another outbade.

“These bastards, they thought they could get away after what they did,” a third hissed from another part of the Great Hall.

Zabini was still unmoved by their contained outbursts and unconsciously, Theodore took a step toward him, searching for the solace of this strength of will. For the first time, Blaise’s gaze darted to him and, unseen by Nott, his lips quirked upwards in a soft smile and his head tilted just enough to form a nod. In front of them, the professors were gathered, speaking among themselves, alarmed by what was going on. There had been seven death-eaters roaming the school without their knowledge! When had that happened?

Professors McGonagall and Lupin were keeping unusually quiet. The cause had to be Dars which stood next to them, Theodore thought. The staff sounded like they were split in two camps: those who had judged unacceptable the ex-headmaster’s looseness and his acceptation of death-eater children in the school, and those who probably hadn’t appreciated Dumbledore’s arrest and its reasons as well as the others… But what attracted Nott’s sight was the DADA teacher. Lupin was bearing this inherent look of compassion and patience that made him so appreciated, even by the Slytherins. Except that no Slytherin would ever be caught admitting it and all would prefer treating him like a nobody rather than openly accept or recognise his gentleness. It was these eyes that had charmed Draco, that had brought to him verity and redemption…

Professor Lupin was watching attentively Blaise’s arm on which Theodore knew lied the dark mark, hidden by two layers of clothes. The teacher’s thoughts were safely kept secret but when the man raised his sight and exchanged a simple and knowing look with Zabini, Nott immediately fathomed that there was more spirit to the werewolf than kindness.

Theodore’s mind was swinging back and forth. There was something in this look that convinced his Slytherin education of a plot. But what should he do of this information? He could sell it to the aurors… He could… He had been certain he could till he felt the pressure of Blaise’s shoulder onto his own. It contained and transmitted warmth through his body, offering him soul support as the heat slithered his nerves, bringing peace to his mind.

How could he have missed noticing Zabini’s strength? Had Theodore been so occupied spying on Malfoy that he had neglected to watch his back and his other roommate? But here the feeling of superiority was and it refused to be denied. Blaise was strong. And now Nott suspected it hadn’t been on friendship only that Draco had accepted each one of Zabini’s duels. Maybe Draco had detected that lingering nobleness in his comrade.

While his thoughts had drifted away from the range of living and reality, the aurors had been circling the death-eaters with large-range keyports. The devices would allow them to take all the prisoners away in a single trip. Before he knew it, the scenery fogged and, too late to stop it, he felt a sigh of relief escape his throat. Till it stopped, he had been unaware of the stress the constant murmurs of aversion and loathing looks had put on his nerves.

Dars divided their group up and spread them in the numerous cells of the prison’s political enemies division. A couple of death-eaters for a cell. But even as Theodore was being pushed in alongside with his cellmate, he realised they were being granted preferential treatment, probably because they weren’t even of age. Had they been a little older, he would have found himself alone in this dark hole. Maybe the auror captain had a heart somewhere underneath his hatred and vengeance.

He could see next to nothing of what would be his new room for the times to come, till someone saw fit to come for them and take them out. Some raising moon and star light was traversing a thin slit in the thick wall and stroking the closed door, as in a silent mocking, to show only the closed exit, the one part of the cell that would remain inaccessible.

Once the commotion of his arrest ceased and he was free of the adrenaline, his body painfully realised the cold and the dampness around him. They were in November, in the middle of a raging sea, and the weather made its authority felt. Theodore shivered and rubbed his already cooling forearms. From the faint sound of breathing, he could tell his cellmate had chosen the middle of the place to sit in. Nott choked back a sigh and settled in a corner.

He got back up in a dash, freezing water dripping from the back of his robes. Extending a hand, he hesitantly skimmed a wall. Damp was dripping off it.

“The cold is bearable,” a voice raised in the dark, “But you won’t last if you get soaked.”

His tongue was heavy with the hissed comment that he was no child, that he already knew it; but the show of two hands glowering under the moonlight, offering shelter, was enough to make him bit the retort away. There was no mistaking the voice, but that only display of protection would have been enough for Theodore to recognise his cellmate.

He wavered but a second, the call of cosiness was too tempting. The hands caught him firmly but not painfully at the waist and pulled him on the other child’s lap. His head was being lowered to the other one’s neck and arms closed around him in a silent order to try sleeping. In any other situation, had they been outside, had the light been brighter, Theodore would have fought the hug and comfort; but they weren’t outside and the cell was darkening as clouds hid the moon.

His eyes started to close and his mind to drift away. And Theodore’s brain denied him any rational explanation, but he felt safer chained, locked and prisoner at Zabini’s side than he had ever experienced at the outside of this frozen hole.

o-

The young man’s breath had slowed down. He had no idea at how much time had passed since he first awoke in this desert, but he felt like it was time to move. A sense he had never known he possessed was telling him people were moving in his direction. They might not like discovering a completely naked wizarding-born demonist on their lands. Straining his relaxed muscles, he got up. Sand had mixed with his sweat and dried blood and stuck at him like a second skin, and it felt just better than would have the finest cloth. Through half-lidded eyes, he observed the world around him.

There was no much in sight but the vast expanses of desert. The sky was of a darkening blue, still lightened at the West by the setting sun, which sent crimson rays throughout the earth’s ceiling. Draco breathed in the delicate perfume of the upcoming night, taking the time to appraise the slightly colder flickers of the air among the hot streams, the smell of beasts running wild and free, the scent of untamed territories.

It felt like it was what he had needed and wanted and had been bloody calling for for all his life. This warmth around him, the flagrance of sand in his nostrils and sounds that he couldn’t remember having ever heard but that seemed so right to his ears. The quiet whistle of the wind, the slow moving of the dunes, the faraway growls of the dragons, all of it was melody to his mind.

Stretching his legs, he at length took the first step in his new world. Sand massaged the sole of his feet at the motion and he sighed in contented pleasure.

He was home.

o-

Remus laid a foot carefully on the floor, taking care to lower it slowly so that the noise of crushing leaves wouldn’t be loud enough to activate the detection spells. To his own enhanced werewolf senses, it sounded like a mahogany wooden door was being reduced to shreds by a powerful force; still, he was confident that the spells’ range wouldn’t spot it.

His head was spinning back and forth from the lack of sleep. Moreover, he had taken no potion to ease the residual ache of the transformation and, due to the events of the day, no one had noticed. He had thought he could go without but the effects were beginning to painfully make themselves felt. His body screamed his need to lie down and rest, but his stubborn mind refused to stand aside. He wanted answers, and he had to have them quickly!

In the afternoon, he had met with Minerva in her office. Despite her new function, she had declined the offer of using the headmaster’s, claiming the bad memories the room generated. Deep down, Remus knew she just wanted to keep her faith intact that Dumbledore would come and take his place back. Remus agreed with her, they had to find a way. But as he scanned all the possibilities in his head, the sole that presented a semblance of possibility of success was talking to Dars and convincing the man. That wouldn’t be easy.

Minerva had asked him about Dars’ slip of the tongue in the Infirmary corridor, when the auror captain had called the professor by his birth name. As Moony had explained, that had been no mistake on the auror’s part. Once had been a time when they had called each other so casually.

After the first war against Voldemort, Remus had gone away, unable to face the reality of what was befalling him, the condolences in the eyes of those he knew. But finding work when you were a werewolf isn’t easy. He couldn’t stay in a place for more than three or four months before people started noticing his absences and putting the facts together.

A man hadn’t been stopped by Remus’ nature when he had hired him. Jonathan Dars had been a young auror whose morning habit had been taking care of his six years old daughter, dropping her at primary school then having a coffee and a couple of croissants in the imposing café in front of the auror department. Where Remus had happened to work as part-time waiter.

Their relation would have stayed there, at the ‘What may I get you, sir?’, the ‘A coffee and two croissants please’, then, with time passing, the ‘The usual, please’, the ‘I’ll get it now, sir’, the casual conversation with no real aim or emotion; if there hadn’t been that particular day when Fate had decided they needed a change. That sort of big change that completely turn over your life with no chance of ever going back.

Dars had a daughter. Remus knew that much for the school was only one street away from the Auror station and simply everybody knew about her, never missing an occasion to ask news of the girl. But the asking came in low tones, small inquiries, anxious words and that bothered Remus. Why being so secret about a young child? Moony hadn’t wanted to appear curious and hadn’t inquired about it, but watching the girl’s father leaving work and going to pick her up from school each evening provided him with his answer. Who needed more than such a fact that the mother had never appeared or ever been mentioned? That Jonathan bore no alliance but that Remus, in his near full moon days, could hear the tingling of rings under the man’s shirt?

It was in one of these afternoon that a young girl stopped by the café. She looked around for a time, taking in the surroundings and, apparently finding not what she had been seeking, sat wordlessly at a table, tugging her school bag between her legs. Remus observed the two other waiters staring silently at the girl, as they would have if propped by the curiosity to go and talk to her. He smiled at their shyness of a child and opened his mouth to ask if one of them wanted to take the order should there be one. But his words never formed as he noticed the furrow on their foreheads, the crooked setting of their lips, the recalcitrance in their movements. They weren’t curious. They were disgusted.

Time stopped for a moment as the much too familiar hurtful feeling of dread filled his chest. His breath stuck in his throat as blood drained from his face and he gripped tight at the back of a chair to prevent collapsing. His chest was heavy with hidden shame at what he was, and the realisation and remembering that these looks would one day be turned toward him. When one of the waiters, the oldest of the two, looked askance at Remus, the werewolf quickly regained his breath and equilibrium and headed for the girl. He knew his time at the café would soon be over. They were growing suspicious of him. And in this still time of post-war, to be in receipt of suspicion was dangerous.

After the war, groups of anti-death-eater terrorists had formed. The fear of the population that Voldemort could have survived, that his servants could bring him back, made the wizards accept politics and actions that bordered on madness. And if they had paused to think, they would have realised that they were acting no better than the muggles at Salem. But they didn’t pause, and they didn’t think. Families were denounced, wizards were tracked. And in the middle of that, there were some men and women to defend the truth. Among them, a young auror, promised to a great future, despite the spiteful and malicious gossip that some were having on behalf on the man’s daughter.

Remus straightened the white cloth hanging from his arm and walked to the young girl. Thoughts safely tucked inside his mind, he admired the girl’s strength, her impassive pose under the waiters’ scrutiny. But as he took the last step, she turned toward him and smiled.

“Good evening, sir,” she said. Somehow, Remus instantly knew the girl seldom smiled at anyone, and the simple fact that she currently did lightened a little flame in his heart.

“Good evening, miss,” he replied, an infectious grin marking his lips. “May I get you something?”

She laid her elbows on the imitation marble of the table, and her chin on her palms, looking at him while considering the request. “There aren’t a lot of customers today, is it?” she asked at last.

“Excuse me?” He blinked at the strange question then swiftly turned his head, scanning the tables, in case something was happening that he wouldn’t have seen. But no, the café was calm. There still was an hour before the flow of regulars would begin flocking in, and it was his evening out tonight. “No,” he answered, “But it is normal, given the early hour.” He wanted to ask the reason behind the question, but the rules of the house dictated that he isn’t curious about the customers’ affairs.

Her eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Oh? Then would you have the time to join me? I am in need of company.”

‘That’s impossible!’ Remus’ mind screamed. ‘This isn’t the sort of conversation a six-years-old could have!’ “I… I can’t, I have…”

“Tell your manager you are taking care of me till my father arrive,” she cut him before he could refuse.

He looked attentively at her for hesitation, lie, whatever that would tell he shouldn’t follow the almost order. But there were only certitude in the young eyes, knowledge and power that a child this age shouldn’t possess. As controlled by the wise pupils, he did as he had been told and, to his surprise, his boss didn’t object.

“You should quit while it is still time,” she said as he sat in front of her, bringing back with him a cup of hot chocolate with wiped cream for the girl, and one of tea for himself. “Next month, they will understand and it will be too late.”

He should have been frightened by the extent of the implication in her words, but numbness seemed to have taken its toll on him. He could have been announced anything at that time, he would have accepted it.

They drank in silence, and Remus relished in the peaceful moment, blissfully unaware of the stares and some glares they were both receiving, forgetting for a moment the plague that had been his recent life. Whoever this girl was, and whatever mysterious power she had, she was no enemy. When they were finished, a glance at the grandfather clock told him his shift would end in some minutes.

The café had been that sort of place created by and for the upper part of the population. Mirrors and burgundy tapestries recovered the walls, falling over pans of richly crafted mahogany wood. Chairs and armchairs were covered with layers of dark red velvet. The place was so designed that sounds from all over the room travelled well, as Remus had learnt after his first nights there. He wasn’t certain whether the customers weren’t aware that their conversation were being listened to, or if they didn’t care. As he had noticed, some rich and pompous people liked being eavesdropped, starting that way many rumours that couldn’t led back to them. That, or they just enjoyed looking at the face of the person they were insulting when the poor bloke heard of the opinion his peers had on him. Whatever it was, he didn’t care… They were part of a world he would never understand… Or have any will to…

“I believe you are released from your obligations here for the evening,” the girl interrupted his thoughts. “Would you accompany me back home then?”

Amazement and fear toward the situation had left Remus, leaving only his mind with a faint sense of strangeness at the whole thing, a sentiment he couldn’t quite define but that he recognised like the wolf’s assessment of his new acquaintance. The animal was subdued, and his calm soothed Remus into a silent compliance. What power possessed the girl, that a werewolf would feel safe at her side?

“Of course,” he answered obediently.

In the forest, Remus shook his head against the memories. There was no time for painful thoughts. He had arrived at destination, the glade were Draco had died. Or was said to have died… Under the layer of his ragged shirt, Remus still felt the vague pounding of a heart beat and the soft warmth coming from Draco’s stoned soul. Draco, his Draco was alive…

On the soil of the ground, a pull of blood had dried, tainting the herbs. Some feet away, there was a vague grey powder, probably what Dars had announced to be… the rest of a body…

Wizards had always been a little afraid of fire, element that essentially represented demonists and their devastating powers, and even during the darkest of the times, never had they turned toward it as a way of war or condemnation. To think that this pile of dust had once been a human… Remus’ stomach clenched viciously at the thought.

Then he remembered Severus. The man had been marked by two distinct pentacles of wounds and blood. Despite the very little that he knew about demonic magic, Remus had learnt through Draco’s training that it virtually obeyed the same general laws than wizarding magic. That’s to say, two uses of the same magical house can only fight one another. A wizard would never use two spells, or two incantations at the same time for their intent would come in contradiction.

Muggle physicians would say that the manifestation of magic utilises different types of energy given the use you make of it. A spell would call for a sort, an incantation for another. Pentacles were all part of the same magical house, or so Remus suspected. Why would Draco have used two on Severus then? Besides, the boy would never have hurt his mentor. That left only one possibility: another had been present in the clearing that night.

While in the Shrieking House, Remus had resented Draco’s pain owing to his stone soul. Possessing one, Snape ought to have experienced the same, and since he had been, contrarily to Remus, free of movement, the Potions Master had probably rushed up to help Draco through whatever had been befalling him. And when he had finally joined the young man, he had been caught by it. The enemy. The one who had attacked Draco and marked Snape with a life-stealing pentacle.

Someone or something powerful enough that he had been able to come so close to Hogwarts’ lands without being detected by Dumbledore’s protections. Someone that had reduced Severus’ training of thirty years as dark wizard to nothing. Someone that used fire engraving. A demonist.

During the fight, Draco’s anger and hatred had surged like deadly weapons. Abhorrence that has resulted in this heap of scorched flesh. Remus walked the last steps and kneeled, digging the tip of his fingers in the black and white particles. Overcoming his disgust, he raised his hand to his face and sniffed it. A flash of relief washed over him at his inability to identify the scent. Not Draco, and maybe not even human for that was no human smell. Rather that of a wild animal, but what animal held the capacity to draw pentagrams?

He sniffed around for some more time, hoping he could find a clue that the aurors would deliberately have missed… or attempt destroying… But apart from signs of struggle and battle, there was no indication that one of the fighters had come out of the glade. So where had Draco disappeared? Could he somehow have discovered a flying ability? Even then, would the boy have willingly abandoned Severus when his mentor was so badly wounded? No, if Draco wasn’t there, the cause had to be that he had been forced away. Where to? And by what?

Remus grasped a handful of the ashes and shoved it in his pocket. Who knew what use it could have in the future, and what with the new politic of the aurors, it was very probable that such evidence wouldn’t remain long at his disposition. He’d better secure it away while he had the time.

o-

Draco walked in the desert, insensible to the cold that had crept up with the dying of the sun. He felt good, he felt so good. What had he been doing all these years? He had been outside his world, lost somewhere he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to remember. But here he was. At last, he had come home.

He paused, his feet deeply rooted in the sand. Icy wind was blowing on his naked skin but his body remained warm, fed by the earth’s energy, lightened by the two moons. As he observed the silent moving of the silver orbs, a smile twisted his lips and illuminated his face. His muscles contracted as he raised his arms to the sky and screamed, a guttural cry that resounded darkly in the void. He went on and on, never stopping for breath, his scream yelling to the world that he was back where he belonged, ready to take his place and to fight for it. He stopped and listened to his own voice, deepened by the echo. Somewhere in the mountains above, dragons moved and answered. Draco gave a shout of laughter. He knew where he was going.

The dark mass was blocking light from the stars, looking demoniac in the light night. He walked and walked throughout the night, till under him, the thin sand became harsher, rougher, and finally rock. The sun was perking at the horizon and it wouldn’t be long before the whole desert had awakened. Despite all his good will, his feet remained human and were bleeding from cuts and opened blisters. His breath had become shallower and his eyes red with exhaustion. He needed to sleep if he wanted to last.

Searching the mountain, he found an excavation, just enough for him to enter and not be seen from the outside. Sighing in relief, he kneeled and penetrated the hole, then lowered his body to the ground and closed his eyes. He had been reckless. In such a world, where relations where based on power, he couldn’t afford to be surprised so devoid of energy. He would rest and then only, take measures.

Miles away, at the nearest oasis of this desert, under one of the tents that composed the common housing for the tribes of rural demonists, two youth were filling a canvas bag with millet pancakes, dried cheese and scorpion meat. They went outside and saddled two horses, tying their provisions on their back. Three men joined them and one added two flasks of water on the animals’ backs. The young man went back inside and came out again, fixing two short sabres on his large cloth belt, then handed to the young woman a long carved staff that she fastened on her back. Finally, they protected their faces with a long band of fabric that they winded around their head like a turban.

One of the men laid his hands on the youths’ shoulders. “Be prudent,” he said, “I don’t want sentinels reporting tomorrow that they found your bodies.”

“And they won’t, father. We know what we’re up against. Besides, this is only reconnaissance. We have no intention of engaging an outsider in a fight when he is so near the devils’ lands,” answered the young woman.

“At least till we don’t know for sure that they won’t back him,” added the young man with a smirk.

The man scowled at him. “Don’t tempt my anger, son, for anything shall befall your sister that I would hold you responsible.”

The young man bowed with respect before mounting his horse bareback. “I know, father. But I believe she is quite capable of defending herself, particularly against an intruder.”

“Kaalan, when you have lived as long as I do, you will learn that the only persons travelling alone in the desert are the fool and the gods’ chosen. Don’t make the mistake of judging the intruder wrongly, for he won’t let you the chance of a second opinion.”

“I won’t father. We will be back as soon as we have information regarding his intentions.”

“May Death and Sand protect you.” The man looked at his children riding away in the dying night. They were strong, but so impetuous, and for all their knowledge, they had no true idea of what they could encounter. In the last century and a half, Zargül’s corridor had remained closed, but the past day, a human had passed through the worlds’ barrier. Was it a coincidence, an error of Nature, or the deliberated act of an outside demonist?

“Irs’shaf,” murmured the oasis’ lord, knowing the sentinel was hidden in the shadows, listening to his lord’s orders, “Follow them at good distance and don’t let them approach him if you feel danger.”

o-

Thursday, November the 26th

When Lucius awoke, early daylight was flowing through the room, enhancing the bright and peaceful colour of the walls. Scanning his surroundings, he noticed no tiny thing whatsoever that could indicate the location of this strange place. All he knew was that they never had any lace bed hangings at the Manor. Narcissa was sleeping soundly in a chair next to the mattress he was resting on and, at the sight of his wife, remembrance of the last events came rushing in his mind, plaguing it with their very existence. He felt himself suddenly wishing he had never awakened.

What could have happened? For all his hatred of Snape, he knew of the man’s hidden weakness for his son and if this proximity bothered him, he had never prevented it for it meant extra protection for Draco. Lucius deeply believed Snape wouldn’t have attacked Draco, or Draco Severus, without a very good reason. But all these speculations didn’t change the fact that his son, his baby boy was dead. That he would never see his too rare smile again, or hear the results of his too many experiments in this bloody lab…

How many of these discoveries would now remain unknown, collecting dust in the closed crypt? Draco had been a boy with many secrets. He had clung to them with more passion than he would have to life. And most of them, he had taken away with him. How had he entered Azkaban? What was the composition of his duplicating potion? What had he discovered in the forest during the week he had been away? How had he managed to decipher his passed great-grandfather’s ramblings on demonology? To rescue Black from the Veil? To…

By the way, what had happened to Riddle? Draco had been the only one to see him, maybe the spirit knew something… Maybe did he have an idea of what had occurred? But just as suddenly, Lucius was aware that his mind was only trying to provide distraction, to keep his thoughts away from what would plague his dreams for the rest of his life. Did he want that? Maybe… Maybe he wanted to forget about the last days’ events… Or maybe he just wished to drown in his own despair… That made a lot of maybes…

His being completely unaware of the evolving of the world around him, Narcissa had awoken and was looking at him. She coughed slightly and he stood up like a too set spring, his mind frenzied at having been caught daydreaming, unsure of what emotions could have surfaced on his face while he was unguarded. But the room was empty, except for his wife.

“How do you feel?” she asked in a soft and loving tone that she reserved only for her husband and son.

“Truly?” he asked back, his voice slightly raspy from dryness. “I don’t know…”

“Lucius,” murmured Narcissa, carrying a glass of water and helping the man get up to drink. “I think you need to know...”

“What…” His heart jumped at her weeping tone. He suddenly didn’t want to think anymore. What other horror could now befall his family? How many other blows would he have to endure? Wasn’t the disappearance of his son, of his pride and joy... enough? He closed his eyes at the burst of feeling in his chest, threatening to take over his breath, and hesitated in giving in to his own angel of death. But the doubt, this horrifying uncertainty clawed its nails in his mind and the dolour became unbearable. Even in departing would he have to accept the distressing fact: Draco had forever been taken from him. For his child had been pure of blood, while his own hands were tainted with it, condemning him to an eternity of expiation. An everafter, a perpetuity, a timelessness of solitude, missing the most important figure of his miserable existence. And in his despondency, a gloom descended on him, despair recalling him that in the seventeen years that his angel had been offered to him, never had he found the time, or courage, to tell his son that he loved him.

Lucius choked on unshed tears. How? How could that tragedy have occured?! Wasn’t Hogwarts supposed to be protected? Wasn’t Severus supposed to love Draco? Why had Snape attacked his student? What had transpired to transform a lifetime of admiration and love in hatred and war? This couldn’t be! He needed to know, to fathom what ignominy had taken place that night! He wouldn’t die, wouldn’t give in to his heart’s frailty before discovering what secret Snape was now sole keeping.

“He sent me a letter just before he disappeared,” Narcissa went on, unaware of her husband’s mind wandering. “He said adversity was coming and he didn’t know what would result from it. He asked…” Her eyes screwed up as she was remembering the words that her son’s last letter had carried. “He said: ‘Please, be careful and take care of Dad. We haven’t spoken in a time, but I love him more than he may think. Do not cry for me, and do not mourn for me because where I go, few full wizards have ever set foot. Whatever comes my way, this will be my reward, to be welcome by my peers. And whatever my fate shall be, the cogs of my creations shall go on alone, allowing me to live in their memories. Do not forget me, and I shall survive. With my eternal love, Draco.’”

“But …” began Lucius, pupils dilated by the need to keep on with Draco’s last wish, “What creations?”

“I have no idea,” Narcissa answered tiredly, her eyes asking for their rightful rest now that lucius was awake, “It could be a potion, it could be some people he helped... But what I am sure of is that never would Severus have harmed Draco. Why would Draco have used a blood pentacle on Severus, if he already had placed on him the life-stealing ideogram?”

Luius reflected on what he had missed, and his eyes hardened, his breath shortened, his teeth clinged, wrath and fury renewing his body. No, Snape hadn’t touched his boy. Another one had been in the forest that night. And that one had gotten rid of the wizard before taking care of the demonist, knowing that Draco wouldn’t allow his beloved professor to die, aware that the boy would use energy to save the older man. Snape hadn’t been the attacker. He had been the lure.

o-

Despite all his resolve, it was a careful step that Dars took into the Manor, his eyelids slightly bending to protect his eyes from the rush of magical light. Narcissa Malfoy was pacing the grand salon, marking the carpet with resentful steps, rage pouring out of her in dark waves of shadows, proof of the hatred she was feeling at this moment, of the strength the maternal feeling could raise in her. When she caught sight of him, she directed her angry steps toward him and he couldn’t help retreating half a meter at the sight.

Hands clutched tightly, her face was white with fury, her pupils outlined with dark excitement, her shoulders tensed by apprehension. She looked ready to kill anybody. In what looked like a desperate attempt to regain some of her composure, she wiped her hands against her robes. When she lifted them again, though, Dars watched with horror the long blood strains that now marked the material. Coughing to affirm his voice, he bent his head as formal greeting.

“I came as soon as I heard of your call,” he said, showing he had received her message.

“And I thank you immensely for that,” she said in a soft and tired voice, “I excuse about my state, but the events…”

“There is nothing to excuse for, Mrs Malfoy,” he interrupted her, “your state is perfectly understandable given the circumstances. In fact, it is I that should excuse, for the part I played in your son’s demise.”

He interrupted a moment, waiting to see if she wanted to make some reproach, abuse that he would have accepted for she had all the rights to blame him for the disastrous events.

“I had heard about his... friendship with Mr Lupin,” he just mildly hesitated, “and had I not be blinded by my own feelings, I would have realised the danger he was put in by such an association.” And he regretted it. In the name of his hatred and desire of revenge, a child had died because he had failed to imagine the boy’s intentions could have been anything but evil. He had had enough proof of Draco Malfoy’s true feelings for Remus, a werewolf, yet he had refused the evidence and had persisted in his own opinions.

“For all easy it would be to reject the blame on you,” Narcissa sighed, “I simply cannot. You had other matters in mind, and while I also had been aware of the danger, I refused to force him in changing dormitories. I thought Severus would protect him…” she stopped, out of breath as tears were once more raising to her eyes.

“You seemed to know a lot about your son, would you mind answering some of my questions?” Dars asked, pretending he hadn’t witnessed the weakness, “There are matters that need to be taken care of and, alas, very few people are actually able to tell what your son had in mind this last couple of years.”

“Of course, I will do anything that may help you in your enquiries. But I’m making a very rude host, please sit. Would you have a drink? I know it is still early, still I suppose we both could help with it.”

“I would deeply appreciate, in fact. This day will probably be as long as yesterday and I will need all I can to remain standing. Thank you,” he said when she handed him a bourbon.

They settled in the armchairs in front of the fire and relaxed some seconds. Jonathan fought the urge to rub his heavy eyes. Here, he may be able to get some answers and to lighten a little the frog that was becoming this affair. How could he have been so stupid? He had fought Draco’s relation with Remus to be suspicious because of the boy’s background, the reason being that Malfoys had never looked kindly on impure blood. The young man growing into a demonist had added to his resolution that he was evil, that it was all a plot, but as he could now remember with his head cleared, it had been well known, in the past, that the shadow masters had had very good political relations with other dark creatures. Etherea had mentionned them enough, in her numerous visions. Ah, if only his sweet little child was still there, how life would be simpler, how much relieved he would feel, and how many errors would he have avoided? But Etherea wasn’t of this world anymore, and he was left alone to carry the burden of two bereavements.

It was no wonder that Draco’s bond with Remus had deepened, isolated as he was in a school of wizards. What bothered Dars, though, was that fact that he cared about a demonist’s death. This people were destructive by their powers and murderous by their feelings; demonists and wizards had never hit it off. What would have occurred had the boy remained alive? Wouldn’t he have turned into a killer?

“You wanted to ask me some questions, you said?” Narcissa interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes, about your son,” he virtually shook the doubts from his head and took a moment to organise back his mind, “Would you have any idea about why he kept Riddle at his side, even after the spirit tried to kill him?”

If Narcissa was surprised by the extent of his knowledge, she showed nothing of it. “I have an idea, yes, but I never talked to Draco about it, so it may very well be no more than a wrong feeling, but… I think it was out of thanking to Remus.”

“In thanking?” Dars repeated, surprised by the suggestion.

“Yes. At the beginning of his sixth year, Draco was depressed and was seriously thinking of joining the dark lord in order to liberate his father. But when You-Know-Who did nothing to help them out of Azkaban, Draco decided to act alone. Whatever he did, it took its toll on him. His letters were so sad… I was afraid for him. Every day, I was fearing Dumbledore would call me to tell me they had found him dead in his bed… But one day, his tone changed. He seemed better, more confident. He told me about someone he had met that showed him that his father could have been wrong and that, surprisingly, he was glad of it. That someone turned into a source of joy. Only when Dumbledore confronted the dark lord did I understand that it was Remus.”

She paused and sipped some bourbon, her face pensive and sad. “When Draco awoke some months later, he had only an idea in head: find a potion to counter Remus’ lycanthropy. He wanted to help a man who had become a friend. Remus had taken him away from darkness, lulled him as Draco would say. I think he wanted to do the same with Tom, wished to save him from his own darkness.”

She sighed profoundly, fatigue finally taking its toll on her. Her mind was clouded by exhaustion and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and stop breathing. She gasped at the realisation that tears were welling up in her eyes and she fluttered her eyelashes in an attempt to make the moisture go away.

“Mrs Malfoy,” Dars interjected, “As much as I’d like to spare you the memory, I need information about your husband.”

Silence followed between them and the only left noise in the room was that of the fire’s crackling. Narcissa’s eyes were on the flames and Dars’ on Narcissa, waiting. He wondered what would become of her. A woman from the high society, once coveted by her family, once protected by her marriage, whose son was dead at her friend’s hands, whose husband was on the run to a master that had ordered the killing.

“When we came back from Hogwarts, I went to my rooms. I was tired and I thought that, if it couldn’t erase the events, sleep could make me forget for a while. Lucius let me alone and went downstairs. ‘I will be in my office,’ he said.” She snorted. “And I was so foolish as to imagine there was an inch of sadness in his voice.”

Jonathan could have made a remark, reassure her that all would have been fooled, but he didn’t. There was no time left for niceties. War was beginning, and the Light needed all the strength and knowledge it could gather.

“After… I think it was half an hour or so… since my mind couldn’t get to rest, I got up. I wanted to propose a walk outside to Lucius. I thought the air would do us good, but when I arrived near his office, I heard him. At first, I believed he had flooed a friend to talk and ease the pain, but them I heard her voice…”

Her intake in breath at the remembrance made Dars get up and walk to her side. He laid a hand on her back, encouraging the confession. “Whose voice?” He insisted when she wouldn’t go on.

Her head suddenly whirled and she faced him, the rage and hatred back in her eyes. “My sister! My own sister was there, talking to my husband, rejoicing in Snape getting at length rid of my son! At how that bastard would be rewarded, and her with him for the help she had provided, and Lucius for the…” she gasped, forcing the words out, “And Lucius for luring Draco out!”

Deep lines wrinkled her face and Dars heard her teeth clench together. “I opened the door and he saw me. He knew he couldn’t lie anymore. And I had him there, two feet away from my wand. I had it pointed at him, wishing to blow him up and to make him pay, but that damned vow was there! Do you know how it feels?” She advanced more on Jonathan if it was possible, till their faces were inches apart. “Do you know how it feels to look at your husband, to know he killed your son, and to have to let him escape because of a twenty-years old vow that you had made out of cowardice?!”

She turned back, pacing the room, throwing her hands to the sky in madness and unconsumed fury. “He lied to me! He said he wasn’t serving the dark lord and I believed him! That bloody bastard! They killed my son! I’d rip him apart with my own hands if I could!”

“That’s what I’d like to understand, Mrs Malfoy,” Dars insisted in the calmest voice he could manage, “Why is it that you cannot harm your husband?”

She stopped all of a sudden, strength and fervour evaporating. “Because I was afraid… Before she died, my mother had said so much to me about the Malfoy family that I thought Lucius would kill me in my sleep as soon as he had a heir. So I required a promise of him as part of our marriage agreement. We vowed that no magic of us would be able to harm the other in any way. And I couldn’t even restrain him to keep him from escaping…” A dark laugh shook her shoulders. “How could I misread him so much?…”

“Mrs Malfoy, I excuse for being the bearer of so many bad news, but I have very little time, and should warn you it is likely your son’s testament will be invalidated.”

Narcissa frowned, and this time. “Draco had a testament?” she inquired incredulously.

“Seemingly, Madame. From our source, it was made a month ago. Do you know what could have motivated him into taking such a precaution? Had he received menaces maybe?”

“No,” she answered, searching into her memories for information, “Not that I know of. But now that you mention it, I remember him telling us he had to meet his solicitor. I thought he simply wanted to inquire about his properties…”

Jonathan heard her voice slowly extinguish as remembrance of the past day came forth once again. He sighed. That woman was such a mystery. Was she completely innocent, and a victim of her credulity for her husband’s lies, or did she know more than she admitted? It would be strange indeed that, as she claimed, she had noticed none of Lucius’ activities, considering how much she had been aware of in Draco’s life. Draco who was said to keep his secrets well. Well, Jonathan supposed he could allow her the liberty of the doubt for some more time. He had this matter of the testament to settle first.

“Mrs Malfoy. I suggest that you join your cousin and tell him what happened. It would be better if you could not stay alone for awhile. Who knows what are You-Know-Who’s plans concerning you?” Whatever side she was on. What remained a certainty though, was that Draco had been You-Know-Who’s enemy, and that alone made Dars regret the little attention he had granted the child, and the tragedy that had resulted of it.

“Yes, you’re right. And… Maybe you could send someone to search the Manor. I didn’t want to believe it at the time, but when I caught Pettigrew roaming the dungeons, he might have been here for another reason than spying.”

o-

Draco awoke at the now so familiar feeling of his demons’ nearness, that sort of awareness that you had been separated from a part of yourself, and that your heart was getting whole again, that sort of calling that forces you to take a step forward when you catch the sight of your beloved. He stretched his legs and back from their uncomfortable position on the hard rocky ground, and made note to sleep on the sand the next time; then stood up and exited his retreat, taking pleasure in feeling the bright sun over his skin, the warm energy that seeped in his body.

He looked in the distance, where he knew Karnar would soon appear. All he could see was desert, endless expanses of sand but his mind, fed with Hath’Gack’s immense knowledge, placed on the unknown lands numerous demonists’ roads, the Tauren boroughs of Hugilk and Fryedt and, farther away, at the limit of the continent, bordering the Dying Sea, the ruins of Sihayan, the immortal city.

Draco sighed at the flow of wisdom and allowed his teacher’s memories to run free in front of his eyes. Bright as the day they were created, they showed the vast grounds of what had once been the most beautiful sight of the demonic world. A path framed by rocks carved with magical symbols of prosperity, and high flags embroidered by the blue and white city’s blazon, led from fair sand to rich grass and jumped over the wildness of the river Nhijihikati, the Present from Nhijihi, the Watery Goddess. The path then guided on a straight course toward the imposing doors of Sihayan. The two pieces of stone had protected the city’s entrance for hundreds of years, their one-meter thickness needing the strongest Hayaks to be moved.

For at that time, Demonists, Taurens and Hayaks had been allies, before continuous attacks from the Trolls and Orcs, political manipulations, spies and traitors had finally succeeded in breaking through the circle of Sihayan’s most trusted, destroying its strength from the inside, growing suspicion and disgust where there had previously been brotherhood.

Demonists became wary of Hayaks that couldn’t control their transformation during the two-full moon, a morphing into barely controllable monsters that left them tired and weak for days after. Hayaks were apprehensive of Taurens for their totemic and voodoo art, these innocent statues or dolls that carried undetectable power over living beings. And how could Taurens trust Demonists’ judgement, when their too short life-span prevented them from retaining any history’s lesson?

It had been war, and in half a year, a union that had needed decades to develop and centuries to strengthen had been reduced to oblivion by the greatest enemy of intelligent minds: distrust, leaving Sihayan, gem of the demonic world, plagued by fire, blood and death.

The last of the Taurens and Hayaks had escaped, gaining refuge, one in the volcanic lands, the other in the jungle; but of Demonists, none had remained but one, immortal shadow of a former greatness: little Hyayin, heir to her father’s frozen throne, that had fled through a Veil, to a reality worse than her own: the wizard-dominated first world.

Fifty years later, after wizards had started decimating the demonic population, the then powerful Lady Hyayin had been left no choice but to lead her people through the same Veil that she had used to escape, back to a world which she had yearned never to lay eyes on again.

Riding a domesticated and saddled Soyn, little devil-sized dragonfly-like creature, Karnar jumped in the sand and ran the last steps that separated him from his master. Sighing and beaming in pleasure at seeing Draco safe and strong after his last battle, the devil chuckled at his master’s state of undress, and obvious unawareness of it as the human was totally enthralled by whatever Hath’Gack was showing him. Slightly jealous at the complete attention that the other demon was getting, Karnar leapt about around Draco, unable to resist the juvenile curiosity of contemplating the formed body of a man, so much alike his father’s, mentally comparing it to his own childishly frail one.

He sighed again, allowing his dreams to take him away, and he imagined himself, one day, possessing such a big and strong body. Grinning at the image, he lowered his sight and looked at a part that immediately got his undivided attention. The young devil’s eyes rounded in awe and he held his breath at the package. Glancing around, foolishly verifying no one would witness him, he slightly gaped open his pants and peeked at his own baggage, then gazed openly at Draco’s, comparing their sizes. His father always wore pants and Karnar wondered for a moment if ‘that’ was the reason why the devil has never disrobed in front of his children. It certainly was impressive! Compelled by growing curiosity, the child extended his hand…

To suddenly back away, his cheeks tainted with red as he forced himself to look away. His mother always said it wasn’t proper to peek at big people’s equipment. He would be spanked if she knew! But Draco was his master, he wasn’t any big people. It wasn’t the same… Right? The boy shivered in fear at the memory of what punishment his father could inflict when one of his children disobeyed. His body shuddered at the remembrance of an old smack on the bottom that had prickled for days afterwards.

Karnar shrank away from Draco with suspicion. His sight whirled toward the Soyn, and the child wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just go back to the holes and hope his master hadn’t noticed his coming… No, no, Draco was nice, he would never hit him! Right? Right???

A hand grasped his forearm and he jolted in fright, his lithe body wavering with fear and shame, afraid of turning and seeing the quelling look he would inevitably find in his master’s eyes. Bereft of escape, he could only remain immobile and wait for punishment.

He felt his body being pulled down and before he could realise what was happening to him, the little devil found himself on his master’s lap, cradled in his arms. “What frightened you, Karnar?”

And the voice was so gentle, so tender, that, overwhelmed by the protective tone and bearing, Karnar nearly admitted his fault outright. “I’m sorry…” he only said, keeping all hunched up, hiding from the misgivings that his master would surely have at his demon’s behaviour.

“What would you be sorry for, my sweet one?”

The little devil hid his face in the inside of Draco’s shoulder and closed his eyes, hoping his master would give up the question and let the matter rest. He promised he wouldn’t do it again, if only they just could stop talking about it just now.

Draco was clutching at the boy, and, as one of his hands was rubbing the lithe back, he could feel the harsh beating of the young heart, the fear emanating from his body… “Did somebody hurt you?”

Breath stuck in Karnar’s throat as he considered answering by the positive. It would be so easy, to tell that a scorpion had passed near him and frightened him, maybe even tried to attack him. Draco would destroy the animal, and none would ever know the truth of the affair. But even as it formed in his mind, the idea appeared so despicable that disgrace rose anew in his heart and his little hands clutched in guilt at Draco’s bare body. How could he only imagine tarnishing his master’s reputation so?

Devils were supposed to be reliable allies, not deceptive liars. Karnar sighed at his own cowardice. He had sworn his life to his master when Draco had offered him power. He wouldn’t back from his engagement. Even at the cost of punishment for his errors, he wanted to be a source of pride for the young man that had adopted him as his own. Karnar exhaled slowly, his breath cooling Draco’s skin, and opened his feelings and memories to his master’s inquisitive mind.

Faced with the innocent desire of youthful curiosity, Draco wanted to chuckle, but the fears of the shivering child in his arms were all but a laughing matter. His embrace tightened as he allowed himself a smile out of the happiness that Karnar hadn’t been harmed.

“For all severe his methods could be,” the demonist recalled, “my father never hit me. I don’t plan on initiating the process with you. Especially when you don’t deserve it.” ‘And as for the other ways he had of insuring my obedience and cooperation, I wouldn’t dare use them on you either, for I fear you would grow to have as much mistrust in my views of the world that I have in my dad’s.’

Vaguely, some images of his home tugged at the back of his mind, calling for attention, but they were ignored. And even more faintly, some part of his brain screamed at him that his father’s face was slowly vanishing away. But Draco didn’t hear it, and inexorably, Lucius’ existence evanesced, leaving only the dim memory of a man that had once existed; a man he had distrusted; a wizard.

“Someone’s coming,” Hath’Gack suddenly warned.

o-

Chapter to be continued in Part 2: Waiting.
I hope you enjoyed the lecture. Please Review, if only to tell me I let you wait much too long. ^^