Author's Notes: This piece is part of a larger ongoing story about Ionia Rivers. Although some background information is helpful, it can be read as a stand-alone piece. For further information please see the notes at the end.

I.

Albania, October 1987.

The 'Lumëzi' was just the way Io remembered it. The backside of the lodge hugged the steep rock wall of the canyon, not far from it the dark river flowed by in a lazy bend. Downstream it eventually became a power to be reckoned with, but this high up the river only ever carried more water than a streamlet around springtime, when the thaw set in. It was fall now.

The lodge was made of the same pale rock as its surroundings, so even without the muggle repellent charms it would have been hard to spot for anyone who didn't know it was there. The muggles around here had all sorts of stupid superstitions about this area, believing the rocks would come to live if they were disturbed for example, so it was even more unlikely anyone would ever happen by.

Io stepped towards the massive door. It was freezing out here; the first snowfall loomed. The air was crisp in anticipation. With a last glance to the starless sky, Io entered.

The interior had not changed much either, Io found. The walls of the vast room - magically enlarged, of course - were covered in dusty hides to both sides of the fireplace. Io knew that it was connected to a clandestine network that would make the Ministry's toes curl. She steered towards the long wooden bar, passing several sturdy tables that were occupied by all sorts of low lives and shady characters. Nobody paid her any mind.

She stepped up looking for Xhavit. The old barkeeper stood a few paces to her right attending a bunch of shrouded witches, who were jabbering away in what sounded like a heavy Illyrian dialect. Impatiently Io tapped with her fingers on the uneven surface of the bar. However, she knew too well not to press Xhavit. He looked rather unimposing, but he was not a wizard to be underestimated; it might just be the last thing one did.

"Miss Greene," Xhavit's familiar accent-free English drifted over to her. A toothless grin crossed over his wrinkled face as he stood in front of her. "The usual?"

Io nodded curtly and rubbed her cold hands. She always felt cold these days, as if the haunting sensation of the dementors followed her everywhere she went. A steaming cup appeared in front of Io and she gladly took a sip that warmed her to the core. With a comfortable sigh she untied the thick wool scarf from around her neck and shoved down the hood of her coat.

The deep-set eyes of Xhavit gleamed knowingly.

"What brings you around these parts? Business or leisure?"

Io smirked. Leisure. Like that was a thing.

Xhavit shook his head, as if that had been all the answer he needed. He turned towards the cabinet behind the bar and grabbed a pile of parchment, immediately putting it in front of Io. She raised an inquisitive brow as she went through the pile of correspondence and landed on a letter in a familiar yet unexpected handwriting.

"Someone has been looking for you."

Io snorted. "I bet they have."

Xhavit's gaze lingered upon her face speculatively. She looked up.

"When?"

"A fortnight or so."

Io's eyes dropped back to the letter in her hands.

"Scarred fellow, made me look rosy in comparison."

She nodded again. Xhavit took that as a hint and left her to it. After a moment Io made up her mind and stowed away the correspondence in the depths of her moleskin coat.

A hand slapped her shoulder jovially.

"Blimey, a compatriot! Fancy a drink, lass?"

With a glare Io turned toward the overfamiliar youngster next to her. The grinning ginger was barely of age and had all the air of a recent graduate looking for adventures in the real world. Bloody Tourists.

Her expression made him withdraw his hand and muss up his hair in embarrassment.

"Sorry there, got a little carried away, didn't I?"

Io raised an unimpressed brow and waited. That should do it, she figured. But alas...

"So what about that drink then? Barkeep!"

Xhavit ignored him thoroughly. Good man, Io thought. But her patience was limited, more so on such a bloody cold night.

"Look, kid. Take that sodding butterbeer of yours and..." she suddenly stopped, as her eyes fell upon a familiar face in the crowd behind the Ginger. She raised her cup and drained it quickly, ignoring whatever nonsense the youngster was prattling about. Io had business to attend to.

Dragomir was a sleazy git of epic proportions and too dim to light an open field on a sunny day. Hadn't she just walked up to him to settle that debt, or what? Before Io could even open her mouth, a wand was pointing at her throat and his - even more moronic, if possible - thugs had risen from their seats. The bar fell silent in an instant.

Io rose her hands in a universal gesture of surrender.

"Drago, sweetheart, get that thing away from me before someone loses an eye," Io purred in her best impression of a bored housewife in heat.

"Where's my money you tricky, little skank?"

"Hush now, love. I was just about to hand it to you, interests and all. Now be a darling and put. that. away." Her voice had grown more severe towards the end.

Dragomir examined her doubtfully and withdrew his wand in increments.

"This better not be a trick."

"You hurt my feelings," the sarcasm was poignant, but nonetheless Io pulled a small leather pouch out of her coat and threw it over to one of his goons.

The heavy-set man took his time counting the money, even going as far as biting one of the galleons to make sure they were real. Io rolled her eyes. Amateurs.

"'S all there," he finally concluded. A warm smile spread across Dragomir's face and he barked out a laugh.

"Greene, my sugar plum. Come here, you!" Before she knew what was happening to her, Dragomir had her in a bone-crushing hug and two wet kisses were planted on her cheeks.

After that little incident the evening turned out rather pleasant. Well, as pleasant as the company of boisterous Bulgarians could ever be. As it turned out they had rather worthwhile information about a certain area of this country that was the main purpose of her trip. It had only taken one glance at the 'Lumëzi' for her to realize why the compass had brought her here. Apparently it was time to settle more than one debt.

Absentmindedly Io petted the silver compass in one of her many pockets. She had long given up on trying to make sense of why it was forging her fate the way it did. In fact, she had surrendered to it the moment she had gotten a hold of it; it was their only hope, after all. Now all she could do was trust that it would inevitably lead her the right way. If it didn't take her there, it was not yet time to return to Azkaban.

Whenever Io was in the area she rented a chamber off of Xhavit's squib sister Diellza. It was a testament to their long standing friendship that Xhavit let her stay there. Diellza was a fair bit younger than her brother, but looked the worse for wear. Her rheumatic limbs were crippled and she had always been a mute. So Xhavit had made sure to acquire as much protection for Diellza as lay in his power and that was saying something. In fact, their entire friendship was based on his acquisition of a certain dark artefact that now loomed over the entry door. Io shuddered when she thought of what would happen to an intruder.

It was fair to say Diellza's place was safer than any other, which let Io sleep better. Even though Albania was far off from the Ministry's jurisdiction and Io was hardly Britain's most wanted, good rest was hard to come by these days.

She scoffed at the thought of what had landed her at the odds with the Aurors. For once she had done the right thing, and look where that got her. Io, in general, had no illusions about what she was doing. She was certainly not the avenger of the wronged nor did she believe she was actually redistributing wealth, as some of her fellows liked to put it. No, she was a thief and as long as the pay was good she had no qualms about who the rightful owner of whatever her clients wanted was.

But just this once she had accepted marginal pay to redeem an object from the Malfoy estate. It hadn't been so much for the fact that the necklace had been stolen from her client in the first place but her marked disdain for Death Eaters who had gotten off easy that made her do it. She should have known that with the Minister in his pocket, the noxious sleazebag that was Lucius Malfoy would send the entire squadron into action.

With a sigh, Io slumped down on the rustic bed. Dust rose in a flurry from the bedding. It smelled like lavender and mothballs. The dark carved wood of the walls had an eerie look to it and the amenities were as simple as they come. A jug of water and a deep bowl were set on the desk. Io scowled. She should hit up Marrakech after this and lay low for a while, Merlin knew she had the funds to do so. With a pang of guilty conscience, she was reminded of Sirius in his dingy cell. She sighed. A good shower would have to wait.

She took the pile of correspondence out of her coat and sifted through it. Coordinates and a code for object and pay from Borgin and Burkes. Some details on a cave in Western Mongolia from an informant. A request for a house call from a shop owner in Hamburg. When she couldn't put it off any longer she ripped open the letter from her old classmate.

Jo,

I'm sure you've heard that Portius Wenlock passed a few months ago, although - considering your current situation - I reckon you might not know you were named in his will. Certainly the small amount of gold has been collected by the Ministry, or at least frozen with the rest of your assets. However, there is a pile of books and a pocket watch currently in my possession that belong to you.

What with the new amendments to the Werewolf Registration Act, I believe it won't pose a difficulty for you to find me.

I know we're not on the best of terms right now, but I hope that won't deter you. Portius held you in great esteem.

Your friend,

Remus

Io let her hand sink, suddenly exhausted. She had, of course, heard of their beloved Arithmancy professor's passing and it still hurt to think about him. If only Io had visited him more often, or at least written to him. She couldn't even go see him in St. Mungo's, without risking her arrest.

She had also heard of the growing paranoia of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, rounding up half-breeds and werewolves alike. If there was one thing Io was certain of, then it was that the downfall of wizarding society wouldn't come from a new dark lord but a bureaucrat in a tweed jacket.

She got up and poured some water into the bowl to wash her face. Putting her glum thoughts aside, she stripped down and went to bed. It was time to rest now, tomorrow there would be work to do.

For all that Diellza's place was lacking in luxury, the food was worth putting up with it. Bread fresh from the oven, the soft cheese Diellza made herself and the cucumbers she raised in her garden - which remained, unlike the harsh climate of the surroundings, in perpetual spring - were a testament to the gods. While Io gulped down as much as she could eat, Diellza sat there with a bright smile and patted her hand, at ease with the world.

When Io stepped outside, she was greeted by a frosty gale, that almost made her turn around and defect from her mission. With grumbling determination, she apparated a few miles south.

At once she knew that she wasn't welcome here. The fringe of the forest had the feel of a place touched by dark magic, black pines looming threateningly. It was however the eerie silence that kept Io from stepping closer. She frowned, then she raised her wand and uttered a series of spells.

"Aparecium!" This somewhat basic spell to reveal that which is hidden from the naked eye yielded no results, but that was to be expected. Whatever was going on with this forest, it would take other means to discover.

"Homenum Revelio!" This one turned out more ambiguous. It should pick up on any wizard's presence, but all Io could sense were faint traces. Her mind raced. Maybe they had obscured their aura and done a sloppy job? Unlikely. Maybe they had left a lasting impression on their surroundings? That was an unsettling thought.

Io closed her eyes and focused on the next spell, which was infinitely more difficult. It should permit her to see the traces of magic worked on the woods, but it was a much larger area than the kind the spell had been originally designed for.

"Aura Peior Adclaro!"

A faint glowing array of strings started to entwine the trees, from their roots to the tops until Io could see a thick web of powerful magic. Her eyes widened. The structure of defensive spellwork was set into the thick vegetation and had become bonded to the trees' nature. This place was seriously bad news.

Io braced herself and pointed the wand onto herself. She decided on a useful spell to conceal one's aura, that hopefully would make it impossible to detect her.

"Arbiter Obscuro!"

The familiar bristle of the runes on her skin comforted her. There really was no point in applying protective spells, they would be useless for what she had discovered about those woods. She only hoped she had concealed herself well enough to be granted safe passage. With a sense of foreboding she stepped forward and entered the forest.

Her light-footed steps and shallow breaths were the only sound that accompanied her. She tried to imagine what this place might have been like before. Untouched by humans, it should have been idyllic. The further she got, the denser the thicket became. Although it wasn't even noon yet, the ample treetops absorbed the light, so that hardly a ray ever found its way to the ground.

Intuor! She didn't dare utter the word out loud and so relied on her abilities to work wordless magic. Luckily, her wand obliged and pointed her to the right direction, following the stream of evil to its source.

After what felt like an eternity her sense of unease suddenly surged. This was it, she realized as she stepped into a clearing. Unnatural mist wobbled around the mossy ground, turning the site into an otherworldly place. Io stopped and looked around. The mist was the thickest around a dead fir tree. She held her breath. Something had occurred to her.

With a strained movement of her wand she focused on the spell and sighed in relief as she felt the bubble-head charm wrap itself around her mouth and nose.

She crept forward, trying not make a single noise, and stopped a few steps from the dead tree. After some calming breaths she focused on the aura detection charm, but nothing happened. Io stifled a huff of frustration. She should have worked harder on her wordless magic.

"Aura Peior Adclaro!", she uttered and saw the spell work its magic. Anxiously she waited for the defences of the place to attack her, but nothing of that sort happened. She sighed in relief and examined what her magic had revealed.

A tight-knit web of spell work surrounded the tree stump, converging on a hole near the bottom. Some of those spells she knew and they were pure evil, poisoning the very essence of things to their core, others she didn't, which could only mean would do even worse. The glowing lines of the spells were intricately interwoven. If one them were set off, the others were going to follow in a cascading rhythm. Only a master Arithmancer could ever dream of realizing such a masterpiece. If it hadn't been for the horrific nature of the spells, it would have been a sight of beauty.

She focused on the hole. The web showed nothing but a lingering trace of something powerful having rested there. So Dumbledore had been right in his suspicion.

"Aparecium!" Although she was now certain that the diadem wasn't there, she still had to check. Edging closer, she raised her wand for a simple Lumos. Then all hell broke loose.

A powerful gale rose from the ground, almost knocking Io down and a piercing shriek issued from the dead tree. She pressed her hands to her ears and noticed too late, that her bubble-head charm had dissolved. The mist rose and swallowed her.

A flash of darkness, so profound it felt as though it engulfed all of Io's being, descended upon her. All the memories, sweet and bitter, all hopes, however deeply buried, were touched and twisted. The agony was beyond her comprehension. She toppled over, longing for the quick release of death, as she started to sweat blood. Streams of the heavy red liquid clouded over her eyes. Here she was, in the land where she had been born. Only fitting that here she would die.

The deep dark forest stood silent, not a care for its child moved its leaves. It had been violated, twisted, corrupted to maim and hurt those who would dare wander among its roots and mosses. And maim and hurt it did.

With the last ounce of strength Io could muster, her numb fingers fumbled for the compass. More than ever she longed desperately to go home. When the familiar jerk behind her chest pulled her forward, Io found solace in the thought that perhaps she wouldn't be as lonely in death as in life.

A flurry of sounds and light tore at her senses. Io saw herself from afar, toeing the abyss, waiting to go under, but something was pulling her the other way.

"Stay with me," a stern voice told her, fraying at the edges, "Stay."

Severus settled down in the chair by the fireplace. He noticed his bloodstained hand was still shaking. Irritated, he willed himself to calm down and assess the situation. The cup of tea he had been about to enjoy was still waiting on the coffee table. With a flick of his wand he warmed it and took a sip that burnt his tongue.

The blood-soaked body of his former classmate lay lifeless on the settee, except for a weak pulse and the hardly noticeable up and down of the chest. She would survive, for now. He had made sure of halting the dark curse draining her from the inside out.

How on earth had Ionia come here? And why? They had not seen each other for... almost ten years, Severus realized. There was only one person he could think of that would be able to traverse the ancient wards of the castle. Had Dumbledore sent her? Severus frowned. That seemed unlikely.

The only sensible thing would be to send for the headmaster. Then why did he feel a gnawing doubt in the pit of his stomach?

As he raised the hot cup of tea to his lips once more, he noticed something in the corner of his eye. A faint blue glint had started to radiate from Io's skin. Severus got up and moved closer. He instantly knew that this was not the work of the Dark Arts.

With one hand he pulled up the sleeve of her soiled robe. Severus gasped. Her skin was densely covered with runes that appeared to shine from within. A flood of thoughts washed over his mind. He didn't dare touch the symbols. Instead he settled on feeling her pulse. It was growing stronger by the minute.

Io's eyes flew open. They found a stone ceiling. She tried to turn her head and gasped from the pain. Her entire body was sore.

This shouldn't be such a familiar experience, Io thought wryly.

"You have woken," a voice sounded nearby.

She tried to search for the person it belonged to. It sounded vaguely familiar.

"Severus?"

The face of her former classmate appeared next to her, drawn in an unreadable expression.

"I gather you were not expecting me?"

Instead of answering, Io glanced around. The architecture of the study reminded her of the Slytherin dungeons. Was she at Hogwarts? Io frowned, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle that had landed her here. Oh. The compass was never one to bore.

Her eyes flitted back to Severus. He's changed, she thought suddenly. The dark eyes and sharp edge of his nose were there, the scowl as distinct as ever, but somehow he appeared... worn. Life-worn, war-worn? A sad realization hit her. Lily.

Severus drew a chair closer to the settee and sat down.

"Would you care to explain how you're alive?"

Io raised a brow at his question. Her raspy voice only managed a whisper in return.

"I believe you had something to do with that."

Severus nodded curtly and handed her a goblet, "Drink." He settled back in his chair and scanned her with a piercing gaze, measuring his words.

"A curse of such potency has not been heard of since the descent of the Dark Lord and very few people who have encountered it live to tell. Now colour me impressed that not only have you come across such dark magic, but managed to break through century old spells and wards in your quest for help."

His dark eyes were gazing deeply into Io's, measuring her. She held his gaze, warily clearing her mind. After a moment, he looked away.

"I have not poisoned it." Severus pointed to the untouched goblet in her hand.

Io took a small gulp and grimaced. Whatever it was, it tasted like foot. After a few more gulps, she turned back to him and sighed, searching for the right thing to say.

"The war is not over for some of us," she whispered. Her mouth set into a joyless smirk.

Some emotion flickered over Severus' face, but it was gone before Io could tell what it had been. She tentatively moved her hand and touched his.

"It is good to see you," Io said, a little louder. Both knew her words rang with a lot of things left unsaid.

Severus moved his hand to hold hers. She gave it a squeeze.

"Sorry I'm not wearing my Sunday's best." She motioned toward her blood-stained clothes with a more earnest grin.

A smile tore at Severus' lips. "You never had a sense of appropriateness."

Severus hunched over the big cauldron, adding the final ingredient of powdered doxy feathers. Then he gradually abated the flames, until the potion was at a gentle simmer. Now he would have to wait for a day until he could bottle it and restock his healing cabinet. He was all out of blood replenishing solution, courtesy of his unexpected guest.

Io was resting again. Severus' brows furrowed in worry. She should have been able to get up by now. His mind wandered to the sudden arrival of his blood bathed friend, writhing in pain on his oriental rug, effectively ruining it in the process. When he had realized that she was covered in her own blood, his heart had missed a beat.

The two of them had not departed on good terms 10 years prior. In fact, he recalled, Io had spat in his face. He recoiled at the memory. Severus was a proud man, but sometimes he couldn't help but wish she had done worse.

He shook off the unpleasant memories and left the room. Io needed to get up and eat something.

When he entered the study soon after with some broth the house elves had provided, he stopped short. Io had left. On the settee lay a folded note, atop of a sealed letter. He took the note and read.

Bona fide, Sev.

In good faith.

Not the most heartfelt letter of gratitude could have given him a similar feeling of joy and relief. Overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions, he had to sit down. Severus hadn't thought himself capable of such depth of emotion anymore. Not with the war, not with Lily gone.

Severus wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath, slowly regaining composure. His glance fell on the letter still laying atop the blood smeared piece of furniture. It was simply addressed to 'A.D.'

He knew what he had to do.

Dumbledore was already expecting him. When Severus landed at the top of the stairs to the headmaster's study the door stood open and Dumbledore turned around with a knowing smile.

"I see your guest has left."

Severus wasn't surprised that Dumbledore knew. In fact, he would be surprised if anything went on in the castle that he wasn't aware of. Severus simply nodded and handed over the letter.

Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Severus' carefully guarded face. He caressed the seal with a thumb and the letter opened. The piece of parchment unfolded itself and Dumbledore turned his eyes to the writing. Severus watched his expression change as he read.

With a heavy sigh he put it down into a silver dish. Severus couldn't help but look at the few sentences written in Io's slanted handwriting.

It has been removed, as you suspected.

There's very little doubt as to by whom.

My debt is settled.

I.

There was a postscript there, but before Severus could read it, the letter had gone up in flames.

So Dumbledore had sent her on a mission? Ionia Rivers - a pawn in the game? What kind of debt could she have had that would send such a self-serving person into a suicide mission? It dawned on Severus that he knew a lot less about his former friend than he had presumed.

"How long?", Dumbledore asked quietly, looking out the window over the vast expense that were the Hogwarts grounds.

Severus knew immediately what he meant. The dark curse that had hit Io the deepest was still clawing its way through her system. Although he had been able to slow it down, it would eventually succeed. Whatever purpose Dumbledore had had for her information, Severus hoped it was worth dying for.

"Maybe a year."

Dumbledore nodded wistfully.

"She doesn't know," Severus added.

"It's probably for the better," Dumbledore replied after a while. Severus grimaced at that notion.

"How is that better?"

Dumbledore turned his head. He looked sad. Somehow that was startling.

"Hope drives everything, Severus. It would be cruel to take that away from someone who's holding on to it like a lifeline."

Severus shook his head, pushing down the anger rising in his chest. Hope. Love. It all came down to misery in the end. He turned to leave, when something occurred to him.

"Do you have any idea how she got into the castle?"

To his surprise, the headmaster chuckled.

"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."

End notes: The title is borrowed from the poem "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd" by Sir Walter Raleigh, much like the title "When Rivers Rage and Rocks Grow Cold" of the larger story I'm writing, which encompasses Ionia's days at Hogwarts. Also, the last line in this chapter is a quote from The Prisoner of Azkaban.

I will update this story infrequently, since I don't want it to spoil the suspense of the larger work, but I can tell you this piece will have eight parts of a similar length.

MissMooToYou has once again provided her friendly help to beta this work of mine. Thank you!

Some background info:

Nion's Compass = A famed artefact long believed to be lost, that exhibits extraordinary powers in transporting a wizard from one place to another, regardless of distance or wards in place to prevent apparition. It is however highly temperamental and never bows to a wizard's will. Rather it takes them wherever it believes they should be going.

It is made of silver, approximately 50 mm wide and 10mm thick. The compass rose is blue ink on white parchment, magically protected to withstand the wear of time. The centre of it shows a triskelion, a celtic symbol. Its silver needle does not indicate north and south, but Alpha and Omega. On its backside three words are engraved in gaelic: An láthreacht Dé which translates to The Presence of God.

Portius Wenlock = The Arithmancy professor during the Marauder Era at Hogwarts. Last descendant of the renowned Wenlock family whose members had been some of the most influential arithmancers of their times. Portius Wenlock remained a role model and dear friend during Ionia's adult life.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading.