Death and Taxes
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Life's Two Great Certainties
-4-

Rating: Teen (currently)
Warnings: Intended HP/LV (that means slash)
Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K. Rowling unfortunately. But the plot is of my own creation, rubbish as it may be.
Beta: Just lil' ol' me

A/N Squees go out to all review-ey people: Xenia Marvolo, cyranothe2nd, Dyna, Marevas, Synne, and redbull07- they are all very much appreciated!!

OOC-ness be be occurring from here on out, and for that I apologise. I don't think it's too bad in this chapter, but you never know…This story will also completely ignore the events of the fifth book and onwards in the majority of aspects… I need various people alive! I will also be killing (or seriously maiming) a few others- don't hurt me- but tis all necessary.

Just so you know, all these events are taking place two days after the eminent battle. So, basically, we've skipped a day. But no worries, we will be revisiting important aspects in either this chapter or the next.


"Where's Harry?" Sirius snarled, "Tell me!"

The death eater before him didn't even flinch as spittle coated his nose at the close contact.

"Harry Potter," Sirius repeated, but the death eater merely smirked. His head tilted up towards Sirius' own, held in place by the muddied hand at the front of his robes.

Sirius nearly screamed in anger as he threw the dark-haired man to the ground, blood and mud spattering on his feet as the body made contact with the sparse grass.

Before Sirius could do more than immobilise the defenceless being, he felt a sharp stinging sensation in the middle of his back causing him to reflexively whip around to face his attacker.

"Black!"

Sirius stormed towards the caster, his arm outstretched and his wand pointed directly in the face of the man ahead of him. One word,

"Harry."

Severus Snape seemed to catch the crazed, desperate question hidden in that single utterance and he shook his head, looking straight into darkened blue eyes with sincerity.

"I'm sorry. I saw him-"

The scene shifted, earth browns, reds and depressing greys merging in a wash of ­­­colour before the setting composed itself once again.

The sleeping Sirius watched as his dream self continued to stare blankly at the once-professor in confusion and anger.

"Harry's safe, don't worry," Snape began again, as if nothing had happened, completely unperturbed by the shift in surroundings. And how desperately he wanted to believe him, to take that offered reassurance and believe in it with all his heart, but he couldn't. Not when he knew the truth…

Sirius woke from his delusional state just as suddenly as he had collapsed into it, sitting up sharply. His dream replayed over and over in his head, but the reality was always there to clutch him back. He clenched his eyelids shut once more and clasped his head in his hands in anguish. His chin crinkled slightly in distress as he fought back the bought of tears that he knew had to come, fighting the inevitable lump in his throat.

Rocking slightly and breathing heavily, Sirius attempted to compose himself as footsteps sounded outside his door.

"Sirius?" The question was tentative and gentle.

"I'm awake; I'll be down in a second." Sirius replied, his voice strained but strong enough for the footfalls to retreat back down the creaking staircase, satisfied. Gradually disentangling himself from the mess of thin sheets that adorned his double bed, he swung his legs round to meet the floor. Taking one last deep breath he stood and stripped from his bed clothes, coincidently, the same pair of robes he'd been wearing for two days straight. They were blood spattered and muddied and Sirius couldn't even bring himself to look at his bed sheet and the dirt that would without doubt reside there. Molly would've killed him…if she could…

Barely looking at what he was snatching from the chair by the wardrobe he pulled on trousers and slipped a thin, deep brown cloak around his shoulders, only taking a few extra seconds to ensure his arms were actually placed within the sleeves. This day was to start afresh.

He paused in front of the full length mirror on his way to the door, staring bleakly at his dejected reflection. He had to be strong, for those around him whom he cared for dearly and for those who no longer could.

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The kitchen was in hushed disarray. With the absence of one Molly Weasley, not even a trace of order could be upheld. Tonks had taken it upon herself to create what could only be dubbed breakfast due to the early hour of the morning for the wretched group that remained within number 12 Grimmauld Place and all Severus could do was sit and watch with a detached stance.

A resounding crash echoed about the once-taciturn kitchen, followed by a muffled wail as the young women was enveloped in a tight embrace by Lupin, segments of yellow-ed china littering the area by their feet. For a few minutes they remained like that, Tonks sobbing into Remus' sweater, her shoulders shaking with each shuddered breath. She mumbled apology after apology as Lupin moved away slightly to collect the broken pieces of plate and transport them to the bin in the corner with a smooth rounding motion of his wand. Ginevra Weasley, now in her early twenties, moved forward to lead the mousey-haired women over to the large oak table, one hand rubbing circles on her back, the other placed reassuringly on her arm, while the werewolf made a discreet lunge for the tilting frying pan as Tonks caught it with her elbow.

The distressed witch slumped in a summoned wooden chair with the aid of Ginny as Lupin finished attending to the meal and distributed it quickly to the waiting persons in the room. But nobody made any motion to tuck in.

Severus looked down his long nose at the dish before him. A lone quarter of charred tomato occupied the majority of the portion and a ration of shrivelled bacon to the right of that amongst a pitiful helping of baked beans in a questionably lumpy sauce. The breakfast was as depleted as its consumers.

The tell-tale clattering of the stairs made entrance to the final figure to join the ensemble that was the kitchen. Black slouched in as if the whole world rested upon his shoulders, his face blotchy and the condition of his hair able to rival Snape's own. His outer robe looked suspiciously like it was inside out. He paused in the mouth of the room before making his way to a free chair near the head of the table. A plate lavished in the same fashion as the others was levitated to the burgundy place mat in front of him, but his eyes remained glazed. Severus had never seen Black turn down even the nastiest of food morsels before now.

Delicately pushing his plate to the centre of the table, Severus placed his hands atop the wood and straightened in his chair, an air of business around him. He gave a soft cough to draw attention to himself before he began,

"Dumbledore wished me to relay a message now everybody is present," he allowed his gaze to sway towards Sirius for a moment before continuing, "I feel he ought to say the majority of this to you personally, however the basics must be covered."

Far from encouraged by the forlorn expressions focused in his direction, Snape shifted uncharacteristically and began to impart what the former headmaster of Hogwarts had said to him minutes before he had departed to resolve subsequent problems at the ministry after the blood-thirsty battle the recent night.

Snape reeled off the points in an unemotional fashion as if it were simply a list of objectives. The first being Albus' sincere apologies for not being there at this crucial time and his pride in the Order's achievements. Then stating the losses to each side, the ferociousness and bravery with which each fought and his dire sympathy for how each and every person must be feeling.

Snape nearly gagged around the sentimental phrasing he was forced to utter and the way it seemed to lift the back-breaking atmosphere that filled the room, if only marginally. He made it his mission for his bored tone to scrape on every nerve presented to him to balance out the sickly words seeping from his thin mouth.

"Now, I have some important news to disclose. As we all know, there were numerous losses to both sides in the battle two nights ago and a select force have been searching the field to deduce the total number from the light-"

Remus seemed to feel the need to stand at this point, and rose from his chair, the legs scraping slightly on the stone floor. Severus sat reluctantly recognising that it probably was a better idea for Lupin to continue with the sensitive subject, it wasn't really his forte. Remus started where Severus left off, having also heard the Auror report earlier that morning.

"I'm sorry to say that many of our suspicions have been confirmed," he said softly, allowing time before continuing for the people seated around the table to think about what he had just said. Severus surveyed the reactions of each tired individual.

"Many missing persons have been recovered, though regretfully not all alive, and it is much clearer now where we stand. We must understand that these people died for our common cause, for the greater good and a better world how ever much it pains us to accept their passing. My condolences, and I'm sure Albus' as well, are with you all through this difficult time, but we must be strong and continue our chosen path."

Remus nodded hesitantly, tears threatening the corners of his eyes, pausing only a moment before sitting back down. The room was plunged into silence once more, most of the breakfast dishes completely untouched.

A sharp click, a gust of wind, another echoing click and footsteps sounding in the hall announced the arrival of Arthur Weasley returning from St. Mungo's. He was here to pick up the boys and then he would leave at once again for the wizarding hospital where lay the comatose form of his wife and gradually recovering son.

Everybody knew that this day would be a long and tiring one, much like its predecessors and a convincing insight of what was to come. They knew that they would indeed have to heed Remus' words, but none seemed ready to truly forget the horrific ideal, if ever, despite the rejoice and relief that they knew would come with time. They had won the battles, they had won the war. The light had triumphed, but that meant nothing without their loved ones. And one in particular. One who truly sacrificed their life for the light throughout their own. One, who, if Remus' statement was to be believed, was dead. One… Harry Potter.

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The two opposing characters stood face to face in a fierce standoff for what could have been mere seconds or tedious minutes before Harry lowered his eyes and ambled dejectedly over to the kitchen table, too tired to even string a coherent sentence together let alone have a tempered argument with his arch nemesis. He slumped gracelessly into the nearest wooden chair and heaved the book from his lap onto the chipped pine table.

An atmospheric silence hung about the kitchen, but neither uttered a word. Harry being left to his musings, his head supported by his hands at the temples, while Voldemort remained standing near the worktop, his fists clenched in suppressed rage.

Harry Potter! Maybe he could have anticipated being held by the ministry in some ironic form of imprisonment in this abnormal residence, or even, some institution in the middle of no-where, but… Potter. Where did he come into this?

A systematic mind, what Voldemort prised himself in, his logic. But no reason presented itself to him here and recently there had been very little to speak of… what with his new appearance, this situation… Potter.

Everything seemed to revolve around the boy, practically any event in his entire life could, in some way or other, lead back to that one single entity. The bane of his existence, one that had to be destroyed, and why not a more perfect time than this? In a house alone with Potter, if only he had his wand…

The dark mutterings of his mind were cut off as suddenly as they had begun, however, when a new bout of pain intruded upon his abused head, though this time the pain did not stop there. Seeming to claw its way down his spine and along the tensed muscles of his arms to the very tips of his long fingers; a tingling like pins and needles prickling the pads as they were forced further into his palms.

Oh, he would enjoy hexing the life out of Potter the moment this vexing pain, that had now reached the disjointed bone of his shin, left his aching body.

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Harry was in a state of bemused pondering. If he was correct in thinking that the book now lying face-down on the kitchen table held the electric blue spell Ron had cast- limited as the description was- then... this war was over… a callous memory… a garish nightmare… the man in front of him could never pose a threat to wizarding society ever again…

But there was no conformation; so little was known and so much more needed to be determined. Harry had to find out more for anything to be certain, but… how?

So many questions buzzed around his tired head. But he knew one thing: Voldemort needed to be kept here, with him, in his house as much as it pained him. He was still dangerous, and with so little information on the curse, Harry had no idea of the true extent of effects, and he would not put other innocent lives at risk.

That single curse held so many implications, so much hope yet so many consequences…

Then the dilemma resurfaced… it couldn't be. How would Ron, of all people, have ever been able to get his hands on this spell. It hadn't be used in centuries, apparently banned by the Ministry 300 hundred years previous, Albus Dumbledore himself had ensured its deletion from all records 40 or 50 years ago. And Harry could see why. The single tome Harry had found held only the meagre mention of it, strictly forbidding its use, not even giving the incantation or wand movement, just the appearance, effects and ultimate and inevitable end for any wizard or witch alive. Dark, dark magic. Cruel magic. Even the monster before him would not stoop so low as to… Harry couldn't even bring himself to think it.

He risked a glance at the seething being before him. Harry didn't need leglimency to tell that Voldemort would quite happily destroy him where he sat, whether because of the fact that the man had been attempting to do so for the entire 24 years of Harry's life, or the insistent twitching of his pale right-hand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Harry said, in what he hoped surfaced as an nonchalant tone from his dry throat, his gaze now back to the dilapidated cover of the book.

Voldemort, who'd been staring avidly just over Harry's left shoulder for the past minute or so turned his, now less fearsome, deep brown eyes, to gaze with a well-constructed, bored expression into Harry's own green irises.

Glancing back Harry felt he would never get used to this strange new appearance of the Dark Lord. The effect was far less threatening than the snake-like visage that had marred the man's features since Harry was 14, 10 years ago, and oddly comical in its irony. Harry couldn't even associate the two differentiating looks, like they weren't the same person... No. Of course they were the same person. This was Voldemort. He could not, and never would, change.

Eventually, Voldemort, in the far more human skin of Riddle, questioned,

"And why is that?"

It was said with as much venom as could be humanely possible in as many as four syllables while still achieving an air of off-handed boredom.

"Shall we say it's in your best interests?" Harry replied, marvelling at the level of maturity he had managed to procure.

This answer didn't seem to impress the Dark Lord any more than Harry's preliminary statement. If anything, it only served to enrage the man further as Harry watched his eyes turn just that shade darker, the rest of his features remaining composed in an indifferent mask.

"Now allow me to give you a little bit of advice, Potter," the last word was spat as only his surname could be and Voldemort continued in a sick mockery of an endearing tone, "…for your own best possible interests."

Harry lost some of his new-found nerve, this man was still very much the Voldemort of old, curse or no curse.

"I suggest, boy, that you tell me all that you know of this little situation we find ourselves so… irksomely in," the soft voice dipped to a dangerous low.

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A/N You'll find out more about who's dead and alive in more detail in the next chapter.

Any questions feel free to ask.