Author's Note: This is being posted early.

Warning!: Epilogue of DH does not apply, and certain characters are alive while others are dead. There is some swearing and physical body descriptions of a sexual nature. But most of that takes place in future chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Broken Pedestal

Words: 5046

3
o . o . o.0.o . o . o
Two Years Later

Calcifer was an ugly man. He had vile green eyes and scars that rivaled even Moody's. There was a putrid stench about him that had people automatically give him a wide berth. His skin was pale and pallid, and Severus was sure he had to be one of the inmates of Azkaban prison recently set free. He was Bellatrix's male equivalent and currently assigned to dole out Snape's torture. He'd known it would soon come to this, had reserved himself to it, but had not realized that it would take as long as it had. Dumbledore had been wrong on that count; what help would he be to Potter if he couldn't stay alive long enough to get the necessary information to the boy? None at all.

His tormentor stood over him with his rancid breath misting Snape's already stinging eyes. The man's breath alone would be torture, but Snape had been subjected to a number of dark curses. He'd lost count after Calciber had gotten bored of the cruciatus. No matter. Voldemort was soon due to arrive and then everything would end. Hopefully the war along with it.

--oOo--

The sun was just setting, casting golden hues across the sky. Dark clouds were billowing in fast, turning the light a dull brownish color. Leaves flew along the black paved street as the cool autumn breeze blew and the tree branches just loosing their plumes rustled. The street-lights were just turning on. Their light never reaching the end of the lane. The trees were all dead and twisted there in the dark. The sidewalk had begun to crumble with weeds and dirt sprouting up between the cracks. The wind blew again, bringing with it a light fog from the darkness.

"It's time to go, Harry," a light female voice whispered nearly blending in with the breeze.

A cloaked figure stood up from his knelled position over a fresh grave. He looked up when a small delicate hand slipped into his own. He looked into blue eyes and their owner smiled at him gently. Nodding slightly was all he could manage before glancing behind him one last time. Three graves, three names; Severus Snape, Lily Potter, and James Potter. In one way or another he had failed them all.

There was a gentle tug on his arm. "Alright, Luna. We can go now." He was glad that at least one of his friends had stayed with him. He wasn't surprised that it had been Luna, even if he wished that Ginny could have stayed behind. But that was alright. Luna was with him and Ginny had to have her leg seen to. He was okay -- he would be okay. Besides, it wasn't like he had consented to start dating her again.

They walked down the path between the graves, through the squeaking gate that blocked out the graveyard from the rest of Godricks Hollow. Leaves, dirt and gravel crunched under their shoes as they continued down the lane to reach his parents' old cottage.

"Thanks," he whispered as they neared the drive to the Potter's cottage. "Just-- thanks," he was stuttering now, trying to keep from rambling and shouting out all of his thoughts. "For everything," he quickly added.

Luna nodded. She understood what he meant. They hadn't had nearly as much contact in the last two years as they'd had in her fourth year and he was just happy that he could still count her as one of his friends. He had precious few left now that the war with Voldemort was over. Luna was one of the lucky ones to have those close to her still alive. And much like anyone who fought in the war she did not come out unchanged. She was mellowed, just a little less quirky and more attentive to her surroundings. Yet she was still the same ol' Lunny Lovegood. She still knew just what to say and when to say it that made Harry feel that less abnormal.

The wind continued to blow, fanning Harry's hair about his face, the strands of hair weren't long enough to bother him, but they tickled along the edges of his brow and ears. Luna's giggle at her own private joke warmed him in the slight autumn chill. He was happy to note that there was still those that could laugh and smile after everything that happened. His eyes then traveled to the weather-worn destroyed cottage of his first year of life as if pulled by magic. As sad as the sight made him -- thoughts of what could have been -- it also angered him. The heat of rage welled inside of him, hotter than the hand Luna had resting within his own.

"Harry--"

It was the gasp and tone of her voice that made Harry react. Her warning call came just in time as he let loose a quick defensive spell, grabbed her close to him with both his arms, and spun, ducking to avoid the sizzling strike of lightening. He dropped to one knee with Luna's head tucked under his chin as the stone rubble and tree limbs came tumbling down around them. That was more than just a freak of nature.

Two words about their attack came to mind as he apparated them both to safety just as it started to rain: Death Eaters.

--oOo--

A tall, lanky ginger haired male with a generous build of muscle paced back and forth before the door to the room he still shared with his best friend. In previous years, pacing like so would stir up dust. Now, the house at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was nearly spotless of dust, dirt, and grime. His best mate, Harry, had spent hours going through every room giving them a once over with cleaning charms. Most of the darker cursed objects had been removed before they left in search of the Horcruexes, the ones left behind proved to be useful. Ginny and Hermione, with the help of Luna and Mrs. Weasley, had bought new drapes, curtains and hangings for the windows and beds while Harry planned the burial of one of the last connections to his mother.

He growled as he passed the door again and there was no sign of Harry's return. Hermione was in the other room still napping after having returned from the ceremony for Snape. It had been hours since then and Harry still hadn't returned. Ron was biting his nails in worry. A recent habit he'd picked up without even knowing. His mother and older brothers -- those that were left -- were all in the kitchen, having dinner. But Ron found that he just couldn't eat.

He was making it past the door yet again on his countless number of trips to and fro when a loud noise at the bottom of the stairs sent his jumping in fright. Heart pounding, Ron paused for just a moment before running out the room and racing down the stairs until he could see over the railing to the hall below.

"Harry!"

Harry winced at the landing he made, all of Luna's weight on top of him. In his rush to escape whatever lay in wait at Godrick's Hallow his aim for the main floor's hallway was significantly off; they'd disappearated a yard above the ground. He looked down the hall as Luna laughingly rolled off him and noticed the kitchen doorway full of Weasleys. "Hi," he replied meekly at Molly's quickly becoming concerned look.

Luna stood, not bothering to dust off her black cloak or smooth down her hair. "Well, wasn't that unexpected?" She held out her hand for Harry and he blushingly accepted.

"Ron," Harry said as a majority of the onlookers from the kitchen retreated back to their dinners. "You'll fall over and be in even worser shape than me if you don't stop leaning like that." He nearly laughed as Ron's surprised concerned look morphed into one of indignant anger.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" The ginger haired male responded, yet continued even amidst the disapproving 'Ron' from several female sources. "Where've you been?"

"I'd like to know as well, Harry James Potter."

Harry turned back towards Mrs. Weasley and Hermione at the younger woman's demand. She never failed to make him feel like a petulant child with that tone of voice. "Er, well--"

"Well, whatever it was, let's eat," Ron interrupted making his way down the rest of the steps. "I'm starved."

"You wouldn't be had you just come down and eat with everyone else." Hermione admonished.

"I was waiting on Harry." He said, ears going a little pink.

Harry looked at him funny as the five of them walked to the kitchen. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"Can't a bloke be worried about his best mate?" Ron mumbled as he took a seat between Hermione and Bill. His ears turned a fierce red at every-one's laughter.

"Sure, Ron. Sure."

--oOo--

Darkness was the first thing he saw. Pain, the only thing he knew. Damp coldness surrounded him, enveloping him, pressing around his limbs and weighing down on his back. He tries opening his eyes -- at first they would not budge. After a few attempts he succeeded, but only to be faced with the same darkness. And the dark was thick and dense -- blocking his ears, clogging them. The silence was so enormous; it was harsher than what he was use to. The situation began to press in on him, causing him to panic.

He wasn't breathing. He'd been conscious for nearly a minute if not more, and yet he had not started voluntarily breathing. The pain in his body swelled and gathered under his sternum. Despite the heaviness of his limbs, the panic drove him to kick and punch -- desperately trying to escape. The tip of his fingers were quick to wear against the unmoving 'wall' as he ripped more than one fingernail.

There wasn't any air. There was nothing wrong with him other than the lethargy, yet breathing was impossible. Panicking wasn't helping and he could feel himself begin to slip back into the dark. It wasn't suppose to happen this way. He wasn't suppose to be under long enough for things to progress like this. Things must have played out quite faster than he had thought at the time. The boy won, that he was sure of. Though it couldn't have been the end, the boy may not have survived since he'd ended as he had. . .

Something fell onto his face. It was wet and had started to slide down his cheek. 'I'm crying,' he thought. Death had never scared him before, not like this at least. Perhaps it was because he could always prepare for the chance of it, or that he was too busy with a mission to think about it. Whatever it was -- panic -- overcoming him now, his body reacted to the spurred emotions and he was helpless to stop it.

He was going to die. Alone; in the dark--

A pressure swelled within and around him. It was unlike the pressure that continued to build with every second he could not take in oxygen. This building of pressure, even though there was no air, warmed him like a breeze. It wrapped around him as he continued to panic. Reaching it's crescendo, the swell of magic surged upwards and out, seeking what it's host desperately needed.

Air!

Blessed air. He could breath again. Tears continued to run down his face, he could feel the gentle warmth of the sun -- and despite being even more tired than before, he pulled himself up, collapsed on cool grass and took in lung fulls of oxygen.

He was okay. Things would be okay.

It started to rain allowing him to pretend that the continued tears were just raindrops. His gasps for air subsided into deep panting, his chest rising and falling with every breath. Opening his eyes -- a subtle fear that he would still be surrounded in impenetrable darkness trickled into the back of his thoughts -- and staring up his dark gaze searched for any recognizable landmarks to determine his whereabouts.

Headstones. Rows of headstones and markers -- tombs. He threw his head back, dark locks plastered to his face, and laughed uproariously. He was in a graveyard; they had buried him -- however unknowingly -- alive. He didn't believe this would ever be one to forget.

4
o . o . o.0.o . o . o

A deep sigh escaped him. Of all the places to expect him to quietly stay, of all the people to assign him to, it of course had to be Potter and his merry friends. The thought left a nasty taste in the back of his throat. Who knew how long the ministry would have him imprisoned with Potter and the Weaslett shacking up, well on their way to producing more red-headed, green eyed Griffindor spawns. Despite what they'd shared in the war, their school rivalry was infamous and he was sure they'd be at each others throats in no time. And he was at a disadvantage without a wand. For a moment he almost hatted Potter even more for saving his life. This was more than cruel and unusual punishment. It would be worse than the torture he'd endured under Ministry questioning.

He let go of the portkey, taking a small step back away from Shaklebolt and some Auror who's name he couldn't be bother to remember. It was worse than he'd imagined. It wasn't just Potter and the little woman, it was to be the entire family and then some.

He'd been running and fighting for his life ever since his sixth year in Hogwarts. He was relieved to back back even though he was in Ministry custody awaiting his trial. Even without the dementors, he found himself nearly considering begging for a stint in Azkaban than to be forced to endure this. It has to be better than this. . . alternative, he thought, stoically watching Shaklebolt shake one of the older Weasley's hand, endure Molly's coddling and slap Potter on the back in a show of commodore(?).

"Malfoy."

It was one word, uttered with such disgust and loathing that had the no-named auror smirking at Draco as if Christmas had come early. Draco didn't dignify Weasley with an answer. Instead he had eyes only for Potter, gauging the reaction of his childhood nemesis.

"Forgive me for such short notice, Harry," Shaklebolt began not in the least apologetic. "The cells are over crowded and with everything that's going on we don't have the man power to keep watch on him anywhere else. I can't permit him to return to the Molfoy estates; I thought it best he stay here until his trial."

Potter waved him off. "I already agreed, didn't I, Kingsley?" Draco knew it wasn't just the 'Boy-Who-Lived' status that allowed Potter to speak with such familiarity before the Minister of Magic. It was any-one's guess that having gone trough the war, fighting together, allowed for such informality when not in public. He would bet his shackles that Potter was even too inept to be formal in the public, let alone before prisoners of war. "The attic's ready. You're going to have to do the warding, though. I'm pants at it."

Shacklebolt laughed. The attic. They were sequestering him to the attic of all places. Though he figured it must have been some courtesy on his behalf since it wasn't the dungeons. It figured in a house full of Gryffindors -- more than likely wouldn't have one anyway. Towers and spires for that lot.

"No problem, Harry. We'll just take him on up now." They departed with smiles, some of them forced, due to his presence he was sure. As they left what appeared to be the kitchen he could hear Potter being questioned as to Malfoy's presence there. Draco didn't stop the smug look at the fact that Potter hadn't even informed his so called family of his coming.

He was herded through the house with sharp prods in his back from the no-name auror's wand that sent low level shocks through his muscles as the darkly skinned Minister lead them up stairs. It was obvious he knew his way around and Draco was left pondering the significance of that.

Two years previous

He was finding it hard to breathe, hard to catch his breath long enough to keep his muscles from screaming in protest as he ran. Severus was waiting for him; Severus would protect him where his parents where failing to do so. Severus was the way out of this horrid mistake he'd made. They'd been running for days. Apparating and disapparating through several different cities, only stopping for the menial of tasks. They had time after reporting in, after the events in the tower back at Hogwarts, before the Dark Lord would summon another meeting.

They finally came to stop in the open, hill strewn land of Tuscany. Even though they were far from where they'd originally started and had quickly passed through a dozen or more cities along the way — all in order to throw any who would follow off their trail — even going as far as doubling back and then taking muggle transportation to the next city, Draco didn't think he would ever feel safe again.

But he could rest now. They were hiding out in a small, yet open and spacious, ancient Roman Villa. It was magically preserved and located on about a dozen acres of unpalatable land. The view of the small farming villa was beautiful with small mountains -- or hills -- rising up just beyond the back borders of the unpalatable spell. There was even a lake by a river running through the hills.

Both were too tired to take any of it in, so instead quickly made their way up the drive and into the back door.

Severus stumbled and nearly fell over at the sudden weight on his back. Draco had finally passed out, succumbing to the lack of sleep and the injuries incurred before their escape. He sighed, feeling the exhaustion starting to catch up with him as well. Pulling out his wand and a muttered spell later had Draco floating before Severus as he made his way from the ground floor to the first level. It was taking longer than he'd like, but he finally placed Draco into a fairly clean room and went in search of one for himself.

--oOo--

Hours later Draco awoke, the flash of green light from the Avada Kedavra behind his eye lids reminding him of the aches and pains in both his body and mind. The scream died on his lips before it could escape and he dropped his head back on the pillow. The air in the room was stale and musty and he was thankful to whomever at least thought the use fresh linen on the bed.

He ran a weary hand over his face, wishing it were that easy to scrub away the past. At least he wasn't marked; not yet. And it continued to amaze him, though he wouldn't dare mention it, that Severus was able to take Draco with him. He was grateful not having to stay at the manor, not having to constantly be in the presence of both his father and the Dark Lord. It was a reprieve from the reality of a war consumed world and he would enjoy it to the fullest.

The floor was a light coloured stone. It looked like limestone from the way the sunlight glistened off of it, though he couldn't be sure. There was a rug under the bed that covered most of the stone floor. It looked old, frayed and more than a little scratchy. He dreaded putting his bare feet on the thing. The thought gave him pause. Swinging his legs from under the covers and blankets to fall over the side of the bed he gave himself a once-over -- he was wearing soft black sleeping pants and a plain dark green t-shirt. Thinking back to what he last remembered he knew he hadn't taken his boots off. In fact, he couldn't remember undressing at all let alone crawling into the bed. His chest gave a strange jolt and a weird pain spread down to his stomach; Severus.

He refused to entertain the thought like an attention starved child and shook his head to clear it. He slid out of the bed and walked around it to the door, pausing long enough to slip on a pair of slippers and a dark green robe before he opened the door.

He stepped out onto a balcony that over looked a glass covered court yard. There were half a dozen chains hanging from certain panes of the glass that when pulled either opened or closed the windows, allowing fresh air in. Draco was use to extravagance, having lived his life in Malfoy Manor, but this was beyond the wealth he was accustomed to. He didn't know his Potions Professor had the money to afford such a place.

He almost felt as though he'd stepped through time.

There were arches equally spaced out on both levels of the villa, some before doors that led to other rooms and others before walls with paintings hung on them or elaborate sconces. The floor he walked along was made of wood, the walls of stone. It wasn't the modern style of wizards, or muggles even, he thought, yet he could see a royal Roman wizarding family having lived in the place long ago before the fall of Rome.

He walked down the stone steps of the enclosed staircase and the down the hall. He passed yet another open archway with drapes of white that sparkled with gold from the sunlight. He felt positively regal.

He could hear voices now, just beyond the ajar door before him on the other side of the wall. "Draco will join us when he's rested enough. Do not go and bother him." He heard Severus' warning tone. Who could he be talking to, he thought. "He's been sleep a long time, nearly an entire day," the next voice was young, much younger than Severus and Draco wondered who the girl could be and why she was there. "Yes. Well, you would be too if you'd shared in his experiences," was Severus' reply. "Yeah, but you didn't sleep nearly as long. I have the sinking suspicion that you'd been up most of the night."

He heard a laugh after that and wrinkled his brow in confusion. Severus doesn't laugh. "I've become quite predictable, have I not?" Draco didn't know what to think about this. Severus sounded happy. Happier than he should have been after having killed Headmaster Dumbledore only over a week ago.

"Daddy--" He didn't hear anything after that; his whole attention was focused on the single word, daddy. Severus didn't have a kid, hecouldn't have kids, was the selfish and possessive thought that immediately ran through his head. Severus was his Godfather, the snarky, evil, and cruel potions professor, the bane of Potter's existence next to himself (and the Dark Lord of course), not the "daddy" of some little girl. But the word continued to stick in his brain. He didn't notice the portrait lean over to it's neighbor and begin to whisper about him, he didn't hear the footsteps approaching from behind and didn't notice the hand the reached out for him until it was too late.

"What are you doing?"

Draco jumped, sucking in a breath so quickly that he chocked on the air. "Who the bloody hell are you?" He demanded after regaining his composure. His heart sped up, the blood rushing past his ear, as he "glared" at the girl. She pulled her hand back, one black eyebrow arched over eyes a colour he'd never seen before. She was standing so close to him that he could see specks of brown and red in her hazel-green eyes. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a tight pony tail; her skin was dark - not as dark as Blaise Zabini's nor as light as Potter's. He'd guss it was closer to the Patil twins skin tone but more bronze than olive. He thought it safe to say he'd never seen anyone like her.

"Genna." It was the only thing she said before brushing past him through the door.

Draco quickly turned tail and followed. He was fighting down a blush as he watched her from behind. What is she wearing! Thought Draco, scandalized at the very sight. She had on shorts and a top that showed more skin than he thought a girl should. Muggle clothing. Perhaps she's a muggle. No, she wouldn't be here with Severus; in a wizard's house. He was baffled at her appearance, and though she wasn't as thin as some girls he'd seen around Hogwarts, she wasn't unsightly flabby like Miliscent Bulstrode either. And none of his observations explained why he felt she was attractive.

"Dad, Draco's up." Genna announced unnecessarily. Severus had watched them enter the room.

Daco stopped, feeling out of depth with his surroundings. The courtyard and the bedroom was something out of the past; yet this room - a great room open from the family room to the dinning room to the kitchen - was so full of things he barely recognized. What gave him pause even more where the people present and the fact that Severus seemed completely at ease in their current surroundings.

"Where are we?" He mentally cringed at the airy tone of his voice, but it couldn't be helped. He felt a bit light headed now.

Severus looked concerned. "Draco?"

The girl turned back to look at him again with something almost akin to worry on her face. "Motlove and Wednesday said he'd spaced out like that before the door," Genna informed her father. Draco ignored that for now, not understanding whom she was speaking of.

"They called you dad?" He wasn't sure if he was asking or stating a fact. "And it's just that I know you don't have any children. And this room is just so foreign, so. . . muggle," a look crossed his face as though saying the word "muggle" caused him pain. "What's going on, Severus? Where are we? Who are they?"

"Draco," Severus started as he stood, making his way towards the blond boy. "Sit down before you fall down." He had a stern look on his face, not happy at all it appeared. "You no doubt understand the meaning behind calling one "dad", but so that there lies no misunderstanding between us, these are my children--"

"You never told me you had children!" He was angry now, fighting off the hand Severus had placed on his shoulder to steady him. "As your godson I think I had the right to know."

"Not before you could be trusted with the knowledge, Draco. If you remember, not so long ago you were more than willing to follow your father no matter what." Severus snarled. "Now, if you'll let me continue. . ." He eyed Draco for a moment, sure that the boy wouldn't interrupt again. "You've met Genna, the oldest. Playing rather loudly on the couch are the twins, Marcus and Christopher. They are close to your age. Sean is outside, and sitting at the dinning table is Alice, the youngest. You'll appreciate her company more than the others."

Draco arched a delicate blonde eyebrow at that. He couldn't imagine enjoying the company of such a young girl. Yet through the curse of his stay at the villa he learned to enjoy spending time with Alice, coming to see her as the little sibling he never had - and on the bad days, never wanted. Later that first day Draco was introduced to the rest of Snape's family; he had two nephews that were staying with them and three brothers that were never around. He continued to find himself amazed that the snarky professor had a family other than himself and now thought he could understand what the potions master was fighting for.

--oOo--

Draco looked up at the knock on the door, determined to be on his best behavior. No matter what, he would continue to fight for his family as well. Even if that meant being locked in Potter's attic with the Weasleys and a werewolf floors below.

A/N: My use of the term "villa" may be incorrect. I think both versions of Draco was rather in character given the situation. I think.