Fight or Flight

Chapter One

20 years later - 1995

Sebastian watched with veiled interest as Severus Snape picked his way carefully through the throng of angry comrades to reach his Lord, whereupon he dropped to his knees and did his best to grovel. Sebastian knew Snape well, had for nearly twenty years, and knew exactly how to tell that the man was acting. He left hand, slightly exposed from beneath his robe, was tightly clenched.

Sebastian had always been a talented poker player; he was even more talented when he was playing with life events rather than poker chips and cards. The only reason he was still alive was because he had an extraordinary ability to figure out a person's tell. Snape clenched his hand. Crouch licked his lips. Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle, or they started to twinkle; either way. And the Dark Lord, as impenetrable as he was, flared his tiny, slitted nostrils. Sebastians ability to keep his own tell to himself had kept him alive. It always made his chest clench with fear when Snape displayed his own.

Snape bowed low to the ground and grasped his Master's robes with his unclenched hand and brought it smoothly to his thin lips. His lank black hair swept over his face and covered view, but Sebastian, through personal experience, knew exactly what Snape was saying: "Master, I serve you."

Sebastian fought to keep his own fists from clenching as he reflected upon the words which he had muttered through bile and feelings of nausea time and time again, out of some possibly misdirected desire to subvert the power of a maniac. So far, he had accomplished very little. After seventeen years of peddling his abilities to the highest bidder, Voldemort had come knocking, at that point in time still a miscreant, scaly baby who had to be propped up in the arms of a worm, not able even to shit on his own. But Sebastian, business man that he was, recognized the opportunity to finally take something for himself and turn his life around from a useless, albeit dangerous pawn, and become something else. He had no desire for absolute power, or even control over others; no, for once, Sebastian just wanted to control his own destiny, as he had been struggling to do for years. Twenty years, to be exact. Ever since she had come barrelling into his time and given him the fateful news that would ring in his head for the rest of his life. "You're supposed to be dead." And even better; "You will die."

Since he'd tentatively joined the Dark Lord in his quest for a stupid amount of power that he in all likelihood would never recieve, Sebastian had heard her name over and over again. How often the Dark Lord had marvelled and raged alternately at the small slip of a girl who had managed to circumvent him, through use of her intellect in her aid of Potter. Hermione Granger, Undesirable Number Two, ahead of Ronald Weasley only because she was a mudblood, and so she was slightly more Undersirable than a Pureblooded best friend of the Dark Lord's sole threat aside from Dumbledore. Sebastian had to agree; the girl was dangerous. The only reason Potter had been able to effectively escape the Dark Lord in June of his fourth year was because Hermione had tutored him in spells; simple ones, but effective. Truly, the girl was a marvel, which so far, only he seemed to notice among the ranks.

Sure, most of them noticed her danger because of her absurd amount of intellect, but not many of them noticed what was truly more terrifying – the girl was powerful. And Sebastian knew it.

After she had disappeared in his fifth year, leaving him only with a faint memory of her which no one would believe and terrifying words that would rock him out of sleep for the next five years, until September 1980 was over and he was still alive, he had researched everything he could to find out how she had come back so far in time.

In theory, time turners would be able to go back as far as the time when the time turner was created, without undue consequences. But very few wizards would be able to manage it, because the power required was so great. Voldemort might, along with Dumbledore, and by most accounts, Potter. But to go back as far as eighteen years without meaning to do so, like she had... well, needless to say, Sebastian would not have wanted to be around when the girl was still performing accidental magic.

"Villeneauve," the Dark Lord hissed gently, after dismissing Snape. Sebastian straightened himself and holstered his wand in his sleeve, clearing his mind at the same time. He passed Snape on the way to the throne and Snape looked everywhere but at him, as they had previously agreed upon. The Dark Lord, while he obviously was aware that as he and Snape had been acquainted at school, was not to know that the friendship had not died. But as he brushed by his friend, he felt the quiet brush against his mind, a reassurance he had long since become used to. It was different from the Dark Lord's blunt attack; identifiable, almost gentle.

"My Lord," Sebastian said softly upon reaching the Dark Lord's throne, as he knelt. He did the same thing as Snape had done, brushing his lips against the dirty hem of his Master's robes.

"Rise," said the Dark Lord. "Come, we will speak." He stood, and as he did so, the Death Eaters silenced themselves and bowed as one to their Master. Sebastian followed him out of the side door into the small dining room reserved for higher ranked guests.

"Villeneauve, I have a task for you. One which is of great importance to me." The Dark Lord seated himself, arranging his robes around him neatly like a king.

"For me? But My Lord, surely there is someone more qualified-"

"Do not question me, Villeneauve. Or do you doubt my judgment?" Sebastian shook his head. "Good. I make use of you because you have experience which my other followers do not. You have proven yourself to be a formiddable enemy, Villenauve, and I am most fortunate not to be against you. You might do irrepirable damage, were it not so." The Dark Lord curled his lips over sharp pointed teeth as though savoring the thought of killing Sebastian for opposing him. It was quite obvious to both of them that Sebastian was not a threat... anymore. "You have made the mistake of defying me before, but as a lenient and merciful Lord I have forgiven you. Do not ask me for the same treatment again, because you will not recieve any such thing." His red eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What would my Lord have me do?" Sebastian asked after a tense moment. The Dark Lord curled his lips again, but this time into a grimace-like smile that made Sebastian feel like shuddering.

"I'm glad you understand me," the snake-like man said softly, in a voice that required no volume to be heard. "Now listen carefully..."

----------

Two months later, Sebastian was both closer and further from completing his task than when he had started. He sat in the personal study of Severus Snape, waiting quietly whilst the Potions Master quickly completed some other business. It was a position many a man might very well kill to be in, ensconsed in the study of the most renowned Potions Master in a hundred years, alone, where one might concievably copy every secret that had ever made Snape so impossible to emulate. Snape did not share sources, he did not share findings until they were already finalized and sold, and he did not give advice. In fact, Snape rarely spoke at all, unless he was forced to do so, which, being a teacher, was unfortunately often, a fact which Snape quite complained about bitterly. As Snape's friend though, and one of the very few of them, Sebastian sat still and stared at the wall until his friend was finished, touching nothing.

Finally, twenty mintues or so later, Snape returned.

"So, you're still here," Snape said. Sebastian was unbothered by his tone, well used to it.

"Yes, I rather suppose I am." Sebastian made a show of scraping underneath his fingernails. After Snape failed to take the bait and start a conversation, Sebastian sighed and looked up. "Severus, I need your advice."

Snape sat behind his desk and gestured for Sebastian to continue.

"You know that the Dark Lord set me a task..." Snape nodded once. "Do you know what it is?"

"I hope you are not asking me because you've forgotten..." Snape drawled. At Sebastians serious face, he continued. "As it happens, for once in his illustrious career the Dark Lord has not confided in me, perhaps because of our connection. I do not know what you have been assigned, for certain, but I am aware that it involves the Department of Mysteries."

"It involves a prophecy..." Sebastian said slowly. Watching Snape carefully, Sebastian glanced at his fists. The tendons on his left wrist were taut, casting dark shadows in Snape's pale skin. Sebastian leaned forward sharply, his eyes narrowed. "Tell me what you know, Severus."

"I know nothing which pertains to your assignment."

"You do not know what my assignment is," Sebastian pointed out.

"It does not matter. I don't know what you seek but I cannot help you," Snape said, his voice strained.

"Severus -"

"I CANNOT HELP YOU!" Snape yelled explosively. Sebastian stared dumbly, shocked.

"I -"

"Leave. Do not ask me again." Snape shoved his chair backwards as he stood with his knees and it hit the wall behind him with a bang. Stiffly, Snape crossed the room and hauled the door open. "I trust you will be able to show yourself out," he growled, and he slammed the door behind him.

Sebastian stared at the empty chair for a long while before he got up, deliberating. Finally, he left, without trying to seek Snape out. He closed the door to the study gently behind him, knowing that Snape was a private man and viewed an open door, even in his own home, as an invasion.

Two weeks later, as Christmas holidays were drawing to a close, Sebastian ran into Snape in a tavern in the depths of Knockturn Alley which he frequented during some parts of the year. It was filled with filthy, nasty men who had nowhere else to go, usually hunted by the law or the families of those who they'd wronged. Sebastian liked it there because he would never be noticed, not as Sebastian Villeneauve or as a semi-known Death Eater. It was not common knowledge of his affiliations yet, but it soon would be, and Sebastian wanted his freedom while he still had it. He might have been rich, but he was not as slippery as Malfoy.

"Sebastian," said a voice behind his shoulder. Sebastian jumped at hearing his name, unconsciously reaching for his wand as he turned. When he saw Snape, he relaxed, turning back around without saying anything.

"Hello, Snape," he said stiffly. Snape slid into the chair beside him like a languid cat, without even a hint of noise.

"I am glad I saw you," Snape said. "I wished to speak with you but did not think it prudent to send an owl."

Sebastian nodded to indicate he was listening.

"I am aware that I reacted with unnecessary force, when you sought my help. I wished to... apologize, for my behavior. It was ill done of me."

Sebastian gaped. The only time he had ever heard Snape apologize in his life was when the other man had called Lily Evans a mudblood as a child. In fact, Sebastian was fairly certain that it was the ineffectiveness of that particular apology which had forever stunted his ability to make amends ever again. "I – thank you, Severus. No harm done."

He shook Snape's proferred hand and dropped the contact as soon as Snape had relaxed. Snapes hand was like ice.

"I still cannot help you very much. But I am willing to discuss your difficulties should you still wish to do so. I may be able to assist you upon hearing your dilemma." Snape's beetle black eyes bore into his own and he nodded.

"Not here."

Snape shook his head. "No, not here."

-------------------

"So, tell me," Snape invited once they were safely ensconsed in a sound-proof, warded room in Sebastians town house.

"I have been bid by our Lord to fetch him a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries." Sebastian folded his hands over his abdomen. "I do not know what it concerns, but clearly I am involved or I would not be able to collect it. What I want to know is how to get it, and what to do with it once I have it."

Snape stared. "You cannot be thinking of not delivering it... You would not survive the week, Sebastian."

"Severus, I am not a fanatic. I serve for a price. Should the cost to myself become too high, I will leave. The Dark Lord anticipates this, with deadly force, but I have been on the run from madmen my whole life. I will not be comfortable, but I will be even less comfortable if I am dead."

"You cannot hide from him, you have the mark -"

"Yes, I have the mark." He cleared his throat. "But forget that for now. How do I get it? I cannot very well do anything with the prophecy unless I am able to retrieve it." Like a dog. A retriever. A servant.

"The Department of Mysteries is, in itself, a mystery," said Snape, frowning. "The layout is a veritable labyrinth and the Ministry has not bothered with detailed floor plans since the 8th century when it was only three rooms. It will take a great deal more than simply breaking in and snatching it."

Sebastian nodded. "I will need to infiltrate the security, I suppose. Impersonate an official."

"Polyjuice?"

"It would be the easiest way. So long as I am prepared it should work."

"And how do you plan to find your way around?"

"Severus," said Sebastian chidingly, "You forget that I have been a consummate actor since the tender age of ten."

Snape sneered. "Your self-described 'acting abilities' are no more than a plebian method of the finely honed art of calculable misdirection."

Sebastian allowed himself a small smile at that. "That is true," he allowed, "But it doesn't really matter as both misdirection and acting achieve the same result. I am sorry if I find outright lying distasteful unlike yourself."

Snape shrugged. "I do not see the point of your obsession with honesty, Sebastian – in a life as fraught with deception as yours, a lie might have served you well in one or two places."

"But how would I ever have been able to keep them all straight? We cannot all have memories like yours, Severus. I don't know how you do it."

"It is a talent, I assure you," said Snape sarcastically. Sebastian smirked. "But as to your assignment, I believe you must gain a decent understanding of the layout before attempting anything stupid."

"I would never do anything stupid, Severus," Sebastian said, but he was already running through the plans in his mind.

"Rookwood," Sebastian said in a low voice. "Come with me." He jabbed the point of his wand into Rookwoods ribs and forced him from the packed room, leading him through the secondary exit of the ballroom and shoving him into the first unused room he found on the left side of the corridor. It was a musty, disused office and smelled of cat, but Sebastian didn't particularily care and shut the door behind himself with a firm click. Rookwood was beginning to pull his wand hastily from his robe but Sebastian disarmed him and caught the wand from the air before Rookwood could do much of anything.

"I need to speak with you," Sebastian said, tucking Rookwoods wand into his own sleeve. "I need information."

"You might have simply asked..." Rookwood said, glancing shiftily at the door and the window on the side wall.

Sebastian shook his head. "No, there was too much chance that you'd go to the Dark Lord."

"Afraid I might tattle?" Rookwood sneered. Sebastian raised his wand again and wiped the sneer off his face.

"Not at all." Sebastian said, and Rookwood paled.

"What do you need to know?" he asked.

"I need to know how to access the Department of Mysteries without being seen, and I need to know where the prophecies are kept. I also want the schedule for shift changes."

Rookwoods beady eyes widened. "You can't mean to break in – it can't be done, Villeneauve, not even by you."

"Tell me," Sebastian said warningly, flicking his wand towards Rookwood's throat again. The defenseless man held up his hands in clemency.

"Alright, alright – The Department is near the Wiznagemot courtroom; there is a corridor to the left and at the end of the corridor is a door, plain black – through the door is a circular room with twelve black doors. You must enter the one directly to your right or you will be stuck there for a very long time. The room always starts the same, but if you open the wrong door and go back, youwon't find the right door – they change, randomly. The door on the right is the Time Room, and you go through that room to the door on the far wall, which is the Hall of Prophecy. I don't know what Prophecy is yours, so don't ask me. And the shift changes aren't scheduled. You'll just have to be careful. Why are you doing this? What is this for? I don't -"

"Obliviate," said Sebastian, and Rookwood ceased his questioning. He quickly snatched a thatchful of hair from Rookwood's head and stuffed it into a small pouch, which he returned to his pocket. "Much better."

Sebastian touched his wand to his temple while Rookwood sat down on the ground rubbing his head, and he pulled out the silvery strand of memories, and put them into the waiting vial in his pocket, corking it as Rookwood stood on shaking legs.

"What happened?" Rookwood asked. "Where -"

"There was an accident, Rookwood. A stampede. Cornish Pixie got you by the neck and dropped you on your head. Best get back to the party though, people might be worried about you." Sebastian backed out of the room and tossed Rookwoods wand back to him. When he was gone, he smirked to himself. How was that for a lie, Severus?

-----------------

He studied the memories of what Rookwood had said a great deal, studying his body language and his words until he was sure that Rookwood had been telling the truth. Satisfied, he reviewed his ability to disillusion himself until he was certain that he would not be seen, and he even made an enhancement which would allow his broom to adopt the disillusionment spell as well, so he wouldn't have to worry about flying in, either. He prepared the Polyjuice potion as a secondary method and placed it under stasis in a small, thin flask, to be used only as a last resort.

By the time he was ready to act, it was nearing the end of June. The Dark Lord had presented him with his task nearly eight months ago, and had not been nearly as impatient as Sebastian had expected. In fact, the Dark Lord seemed to expect no better and was merely resigned to his task lasting a very, very long time. Sebastian was only too happy to live down to the Dark Lords expectations.

The morning of June 24, Sebastian woke late, around the time when most people were eating lunch. He stretched as he rolled out of his bed, massaged the muscles in the back of his neck and stumbled to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of orange juice and snapped his fingers for his House Elf, Dolly.

"Is master wanting his breakfast now," she asked, popping into the air beside him.

"Eggs and toast, please. Scrambled."

She nodded and went to work while he took his juice with him to his study.

The night before he had pasted together the directions to the Hall of Prophecy into a copy of the Daily Prophet, using the cacophonic swirls of the regular news to hide the map. He traced the map lines very, very lightly in irridescent powder so that under the right angle it would shimmer softly, and he folded the whole of it into a small square, tucking it with his other supplies.

He had a bag of supplies which he had collected over the years, through other missions that he had learned from. There was a small pair of doctored omnioculars that would allow him to see through most unprotected walls, a pencil that would trace lines viewable only to the wielder of the pencil, and a whole host of Zonko's Joke Shop products, which, as he had discovered after his seventh year came to a close, came in handy for a whole lot more than pranks.

The rest of the day was spent relaxing in his study, reading outdated issues of magazines and smoking the rest of his last pack of ciggarettes. After the sun went down, the last shards of natural light shoving their way through the haze of smoke surrounding him like a furrowing cloud, he gathered his prepared bag and his broom, a warm and form fitting jacket, and a pair of boots specially charmed to make no noise. Standing in his backyard, he snuffed out his final ciggarette and tossed the butt to the ground, stamping it out with his toe.

-------------------

Reaching the inner sanctum of the Ministry took under an hour, and ten minutes more to reach the correct corridor. All he had to do was be sure he didn't accidentaly walk into someone while he was disillusioned, and as there were very few people still working at ten o'clock at night, it was not very difficult to avoid the presence of unwelcome people. In fact, it was downright easy. He was beginning to question why he had taken so bloody long to act, when he could have been in and out months ago.

He reached the room with the twelve doors and was almost curious enough to test Rookwood's instructions and try another door, but he wanted to be home before midnight and get a good night's sleep, because he had an investment meeting in the morning. He restrained himself.

The Time room held his interest though. Ever since Hermione had had her little accident, twenty or two years ago, depending on the point of view, he had been incredibly curious about the effects of time travel. But he forced himself to continue on, not to dawdle, and he pushed open the final door to the Hall of Prophecy. If he wanted to, he could always come back to visit the Time room, now that he knew the way.

The Hall of Prophecy was vast. Nearly three times the size of his townhouse. Thousands upon thousands of crystal orbs cluttered the shelves. He accioed his own orb in an attempt to save time, but nothing happened, so he pulled out his broom from his pocket and sailed down to the far end, where the less recent prophecies were kept. Sebastian counted out the shelf numbers to himself and paused near the middle of the room, at number 97. There, near the center of the shelf, was his name. 'Sebastian Villeneauve/Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter'. He fought down a feeling of something similar to disgust and reached out to grab it. His fingers had just barely brushed against the warm glass when he heard a massive crash. He grabbed the orb and shoved it in his pocket as he spun around in the air and turned to face the origin of the crash. Moving quickly, he moved himself to hover over the shelves where he could view the entire room.

A brief flash of light came from the door which led to the Time room. The door opened and several footsteps rushed through before it closed again. Sebastian moved forward to see who it was, but the sound of a young male voice stopped him.

"Sirius? Where are you?" A pair of feet clamoured down the aisle.

"Harry, wait – are you sure?" Sebastian froze. He knew that voice – that bossy, strident female voice. His blood suddenly felt like ice in his veins. Impossible... The odds had to be almost incalculable!

He flew over to where he could see them closer up. Hovering a few feet over their heads, he scarcely dared to breathe. But it was her... The same bushy, wild brown hair and darting dark eyes in almost the same pale, set face... slightly changed from two years of growth, and he realized when she opened her mouth to speak again that her teeth were smaller. She was now the age that he had been when he met her first. Fifteen.

And this was Potter? He had grown too, in the year since the graveyard. He was taller and his hair was even more dishevelled. His eyes were searching desperately, but Sebastian noted the strong, even grip the boy held on his wand; the same fierce expression was upon all of their faces, all six of them. Six children, come for what? Obviously, Potter was searching for the Prophecy, but why had he called for Sirius? Who was Sirius? Did he mean Sirius Black? The convicted Death Eater?

Sebastian had known Black in school, but they had never been friends. But Sebastian had known Regulus Black fairly well. He knew that Sirius had never been a Death Eater. But clearly Potter was on speaking terms with him. Why would Sirius be here?

Sebastian thought furiously as fast as he could. Should he stay and find out what was going on, or should he flee while he had the chance? But his mind latches stubbornly onto the thought of leaving Hermione Granger behind without first ensuring her safety. Afterall, he owed her for warning him and thereby saving his life.

He made up his mind to stay and watch. He drifted quietly overhead as they traced his own steps to row 97, where Potter let out a sound of anguished confusion.

"Sirius! Where are you!?"

"Are you sure this is what you saw, Harry? Here?"

"I'm sure! Where -?" They all six spread out briefly with their wands held high over their heads to spread light. Sirius was nowhere to be found.

"He's not here -"

And then Sebastian heard another voice. A voice that made him instinctively pull out his own wand, ready to protect the six children below him.

"Hello, Potter." Lucius Malfoy, his slimy, aristocratic drawl. Sebastian touched down on the nearest shelf, to wait.

He saw before the students did the slight disturbance in the dark that indicated the presence of more Death Eaters. Making up his mind, he flew around behind them and silently disarmed and stunned them, binding them together in a pile without a sound. He did a quick search of the area to ensure that none other were coming and flew back to his perch.

"Give me the Prophecy, Potter," Malfoy was snarling.

Potter sneered. "I haven't got it."

"Don't lie... It's not on the shelf. Give it to me."

"I don't have your stupid Prophecy, now where is Sirius!"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, you stupid boy? Your filthy godfather isn't here. He never was. The Dark Lord lied to you, Potter. But hand me the Prophecy and he might let you live."

Sebastian could see the relief evident on Potter's face when he learned his godfather wasn't in danger. But Sebastian could also see the concern flare up on the faces of his friends. Shaking his head, he stunned Malfoy and let him fall, loudly, to the ground. The children screamed.

"Be quiet, all of you," he said sharply from above. He removed the illusionment charm and jumped to the ground in front of them. "Cease your screaming, you have no idea who might be listening. Now listen to me. This is a trap. You must flee, immediately. How did you get here?"

None of them answered, but there was a sudden flurry as they all pointed their wands at his chest. He chuckled. "Don't be stupid. I can disarm all of you without even moving my wand."

He looked at all of them, their pale, determined faces, admiring their courage, before letting his eyes rest on Hermione Granger. Wondering if she would remember him -

"Oh my god," she gasped. It was the second time she had done that when faced with him. He couldn't help it. He laughed. She lowered her wand in shock as he smirked at her. Her friends stared in confusion. Only Potter's wand remained aimed steadily at his chest.

"Hello, Hermione Granger," he said, ignoring her friends. "Do you remember me?"