Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Works are not mine. The characters and settings are owned by J. K. Rowling and her respected publishing companies e.g. Bloomsbury.
Plans Needing To Be Made
Put me back together, or separate the skin from bone;
Leave me all the pieces, or you can leave me all alone;
Tell me the reality is better than the dream, but I've found out the hard way;
Nothing is what it seems.
Duality – Slipknot
"Oh Merlin, that was amusing," Samael told his blonde companion, as they left the Transfiguration classroom. Humour shone in Samael's eyes, whilst his face remained impassive; Nott, Parkinson and Zabini were following listlessly behind them, shooting metaphorical daggers at Samael's back, who merely smirked at them in return.
"I know," laughed Draco, wiping his eyes as they began to water from the intensity of his laughter. "Did you see the look on Potter and Weasley's face as McGonagall jumped at them whilst transforming into her human form? Oh, it was beautiful."
"I agree, however I noticed that she refrained from removing points from them for their tardiness." Samael stated neutrally; disallowing the smirk which wanted to spread across his face, when he heard the unhappy trio behind him making sounds of grudging agreement.
Draco turned to his companion, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face when Samael withheld his emotions on the subject. "Severus told me that she's been wanting the House Cup for years, so that might explain her reluctance on taking points," he suggested.
"Well then it's understandable then is it not? As Slytherins we can respect another's motives when they present themselves," the dark-haired replied with a raised eyebrow, "however we can also use them to our advantage."
"How so?" Parkinson's voice queried from behind him, and this time a smirk did settle upon his face. 'I knew they were not totally hopeless. Then again, they did just play straight into my hands...'
"McGonagall may refuse to punish her House by removing points, but she will not refrain from other methods of punishment," Samael said deviously; grateful that the staircase was in motion so he had time to rest his twinging ankle. "If so many of her Lions had detentions with herself or Filch, then she would have a surplus and would have to give the miscreants to other professors. And because the only Professors who can be present in detentions are the Head of Houses..." he left the sentence hanging, as the other Snakes figured out his meaning.
"Then she would have to give them over to either Black, Sprout or Snape," Zabini announced, casting desperate eyes upon Draco's, ardently wanting acknowledgement from the blonde.
"And on occasion, that oaf Hagrid," the Malfoy told the Lestrange; oblivious to the Italian boy's attentions, but instead focused upon his emerald-eyed companion who nodded accordingly to the blonde's words.
"However McGonagall would not trust so many of her Lions with the Gamekeeper, who is notorious of having detentions in the Forbidden Forest," Samael countered, sending the blonde a small smile only he could see. "Similarly she would not trust Black with her students, for a different reason though - he would most likely encourage them to disobey her; despite McGonagall being on good terms with Sprout, she would not give the her Lions to the Herbology Professor either because the students would most likely walk all over her. So that only leaves Snape, and we all know of his dislike for the Gryffindors."
"That's brilliant!" Nott exclaimed. His excitement was clearly visible upon his face for a few brief moments, before his veil of indifference fell; once he realised what he said, and how it would be interpreted by his fellow Slytherins. His other two companions raised eyebrows at him, but they themselves had only just had enough restraint to gape at the Lestrange.
"But what exactly are the Gryffindors going to do?" Zabini asked, doubting that the Lions would ever be able to pull off a stint large enough to get their whole house in detention.
"But Zabini," Samael began with a devious smirk, causing the other four to watch him warily in return. "I never said the Gryffindors would do anything. We can easily enough perform the act ourselves and place the blame on the Lions, and if needs be, we can always pull the strings from the shadows – we are not Slytherins for nothing."
The four other refused to say how brilliant they thought that plan was, so instead nodded at the child with approval.
"But what of Severus?" Draco questioned softly, he was all-for Samael's plan, but not if it meant Severus spending less time with Remus and Andras. Samael turned towards the blonde, an eyebrow raised as if he knew exactly what the blonde was thinking.
"Severus shall of course be alerted to our plans, ultimately it is his decision on whether this plan is finalised or not. I would not make Severus suffer the company of the whelps without his consent, when he has a better offer elsewhere," the raven-haired child answered, noting the confused glances the other three were sending each-other – undoubtedly attempting to guess who their Head of House could be meeting.
"Of course, we shall," the blonde answered, placated now that he knew is Godfather wouldn't be parted from his family without a choice, and slightly embarrassed for not realising that fact himself.
As a large group of 6th year Ravenclaws stepped onto the stairs from the floor above, which (in turn) caused the staircase to move in a different direction, Samael leant closer to Draco, so that his mouth was brushing the blonde's ear. "Remember the 3 S's Dragon, you're showing too much emotion," the raven-haired child admonished neutrally. Eyes shining in an unknown emotion as he swiftly spun to ascend the now stationary steps; leaving a stunned blonde behind, who quickly gathered himself together, and caught up to his estranged companion.
"Sirius Black teaches this class," Draco told Samael, face not showing the worry which was evident in his voice when it came to Samael. "Will you be able to attend this class with him as your Professor?"
"Your worries are for nought," Samael told him calmly, refusing to even attempt to decipher the warm feeling which was settling in his stomach at the blonde's worry. "I was able to meet all four of their gazes this morning and not curse them six ways to Sunday, it was difficult, believe me it was, however I will not harm them," the raven-haired child assured the blonde, and they both knew that the words 'just yet' did not have to be voiced for they were already at the tip of both of their tongues.
"Fair enough my fine companion," Draco murmured softly, inclining his head in Samael's direction, acknowledging his control and thought-process as they walked into the room. "There is no-one in here," the blonde announced, turning his head to see the distant backs of the Ravenclaws who were now on the opposite floor below, before looking back to the seemingly deserted classroom.
"But I could've sworn that those 6th years just had Charms, so where is he?" Parkinson interjected, glancing around the once warmly furnished room, which had now been hidden under the dankness which came from dusty curtains never being drawn, disallowing the sunlight to banish the stuffiness which had effectively permeated the air.
"There's probably Doxies in that fabric." Zabini grimaced at the curtains, striding to the other side of the class where he hoped he would be safe from the Biting Fairies. Draco was unsure but he was quite certain that the Nott heir was murmuring about 'evil Grandmere's' with their 'infested bedspreads' and 'sadistic house elves'
"I cannot stand those beasts!" Parkinson hissed darkly, glaring daggers at the offending fabric before quickly taking a seat aside the Zabini heir, a moue forming on her lips when Nott sat in the spare seat next to her, not Draco.
"What are you doing Samael?" the blonde questioned, when he saw that his companion was not following after his fellow Slytherins, but was instead standing aside the Professor's desk, fixated at a sight only he could see.
"What are you doing Lestrange?" Parkinson echoed the blonde, glaring at the empty side next to the Malfoy, then at the raven-haired child.
"I am finding the Professor," was Samael's calm response, pacing around the desk, a sneer fixed upon his face. The others saw the perfect mask (which seemed to always be in place), crack slightly at the amount of emotion which flashed across the child's face.
"There is no-one here but us, Lestrange." Zabini stated, although the bare amount of uncertainty which was held within that statement was apparent to all of those present.
"I would advise you to look again," Samael advised, making the other children think that they had performed some sort of misdemeanour in the eyes of the Lestrange. "It seems as if our resident Charms Professor and Head of Hufflepuff has had a tipple too much to drink this morning, which has led to his early-morning nap...and strip-tease." The child sneered, leaning heavily on his uninjured ankle to lift his cane so that it was in view for his fellow Snakes to see the dirty, maroon shirt dangling precariously from the end.
The revulsion which greeted the injured boy did not disappoint, however he did not expect most of it to come from Parkinson. "Oh Merlin, I definitely don't envy you, Lestrange," she murmured quietly, gaining a green tinge to her pallor. It seemed that not even Black's handsome features could deter the Parkinson from her dislike of him, like it did to many other girls. 'Not too hopeless then,' Samael commented to himself, almost missing what the girl said next.
"I still cannot believe the amount of girls who ignore his obvious flaws just because his face," she sneered, flipping her black hair from her eyes, with a short, severe shake of her head. "Even some of the Slytherin girls are obsessed with him! It's ridiculous, they all seem to forget that big law file against him from several women and men for indecent propriety and drunken disorderly."
Samael's ears perked at the girl's words, he had not heard of these misbehaviours before. 'Surely a scandal that big would have set the gossip columnists' Quick Quills burning?' Merlin knew that, that forsaken woman Rita Skeeter positively adored a chance to ruin a person's reputation, so why was Black's still solid? Potter or Dumbledore must have hushed it up, 'But honestly the depraved little man obviously still has something wrong with him if he is getting spiffy before noon,' Lestrange thought, as he scrutinised the wizard sprawled across the flagstone floor, pale chest raised in goosebumps as it was braced against the cool air of the Charms classroom.
Turning his back slightly, so the others could not see the malicious grin which spread across his features, he levelled his wand at the slumbering man; noticing the unmistakable, thundering sound of Gryffindor footsteps in the distance as he quietly whispered out "Aguamenti!"
The spluttering Charms Professor awoke with a start; once alert eyes which had now faded into bleary ones (too damaged by years of alcohol abuse), stared at the end of a wand, which was slowly being holstered in a place the elder-wizard did not see. Calloused hands raised themselves, to rub furiously his face, still marred by yesterday's afternoon five o'clock shadow, before they blindly reached for the edge of the desk with familiarity which could only come from years of waking in the same position. Stumbling to his feet, Sirius Black narrowed his eyes at the child in front of him, brows furrowing closer together when he took in the Slytherin uniform on the boy, and then his eyes smouldered with ire once he realised that this Snake must have been the owner of the wand he saw when he woke.
"What do you think you were doing!" Black thundered to the child in the most frightening voice he could imagine, scowling at the child when he showed no reaction him apart from an unimpressed raised eyebrow. He saw that Robert and that kid he met last night, waving at him as they took their seats, confusedly looking between himself and the Slytherin.
"I believe Professor, that I was waking a previously unconscious member of staff who was so inebriated by second lesson that he had passed out." the boy replied, his voice containing so much vitriol that he thought it almost unreal. "Now I would recommend that you cast a drying charm on yourself, sir," the boy advised, leaning heavily on his cane. "Otherwise, those who are not aware of your reputation may believe that you decided to resemble the Giant Squid for a day."
A silent snarl made its way to the elder-wizard's face when he heard an amused snort from the back of the room, and saw the smirk adoring the boy's face. And his glare only intensified when he saw the unforgettable pale-blonde hair – almost silver in its colour (which only came from those of Malfoy genes), on the head of a smug, pointed-chinned child.
"And what exactly would be my reputation, boy?" Black enquired venomously, smirking victoriously at the flinch the child expressed at the words, undoubtedly because he hadn't expected the professor to call him out on his previous statement. 'Cowardly Slytherins.' he snickered silently; missing that the smirk growing on the child's face.
"I am of course referring to the law-suit against yourself, from various members of the public, in regards to drunken, indecent acts which have left you incarcerated on more than one occasion. I am also referring to your repeated determination to disgrace the Black name, despite already being removed from the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, plus your tendency to consume too much alcohol than is healthy, thus resulting in your current state," were the unexpected words which came from the child's mouth, which were perfectly manipulated to give the impression that the receiver was some ignorant child. Redness, mottled with both anger and embarrassment flooded the Professor's cheeks, and by his gaping jaw, he assumed he must look like a gaping fish. 'Sneaky Slytherin!'
"H-How dare you!" Black finally demanded, unaware of the disbelieving, feared and disgusted looks being thrown his way by everyone in the class. "I demand that you take those words back right now!" the elder-wizard practically screamed at the child before him, with Robert and Ronald nodding vigorously in the background.
"Professor," the child stated calmly, shifting on his feet slightly to get his balance. "I believe that this matter should be discussed elsewhere and at a more convenient time. Many of the people in this room have come here to learn Charms, however are being hindered by this altercation. So if I could take my seat?" he asked, moving sideways onto the man, never removing his eyes off the furious form of Sirius Black. Who was inhaling deeply through his nose, in an obvious show of restraint.
"20 points from Slytherin for insulting a professor; it looks as if your House is in the negatives already is it not?" Black said sweetly, smiling an ugly smile at the child, who merely raised an eyebrow in impassivity.
"It would seem so, Professor," the child replied simply, allowing nothing but the hatred towards the man before him to be in that one simple honorary, before walking swiftly towards the empty seat aside the Malfoy, who sneered at his second-cousin.
'Stupid little Slytherin.' Black declared internally, sneering back at the blonde child. Sirius closed his eyes in irritation, he knew that any other indiscretion on his part would cause him to lose his job. The case from last year against him from Susanna Mulciber, about incorrectly teaching Wingardium Leviosa to the first-years because he was drunk, had just about cost him his career and the reputation of a Hogwarts Professor. And he just knew that if he did anything to disgruntle Malfoy Jr., then he might as well kiss his job goodbye. So with obvious effort, he calmed himself before even daring to face the class once more.
"Okay kids!" Black shouted loudly to the class, resulting in the Slytherin's disgust, the female Gryffindors shock and their male counterparts delight. "My name is Professor Sirius Black, but you can call me Sirius if you would like," he told them, waving his wand to dry himself off, clothe himself, and then summon the attendance register to himself. "As you may have already guessed, my subject is Charms. But before we all learn about this wonderful subject, I want you all to introduce yourselves. So I'll start, like I said earlier, my name is Sirius Black, I'm best-friends to James Potter and love dogs. Who'll go next?" he enquired, winking at a blushing girl to his left. 'Oh yeah, I've still got it.' "How about you Robbie?" he grinned at the equally happy Gryffindor.
"My name's Robert Potter, you've most likely already heard of my family, what with my parents being two of the Professors here at Hogwarts, and my brother being the Boy-Who-Lived," the child stated, smiling cockily at the children around him. "However I really, really like pranks and I love dogs as well." 'Ah, he's definitely Prong's son.' Black thought lovingly, before he clapped his hands in a single, loud signal, calling for attention. "Good job, Robbie!" he praised obtrusively, smiling broadly at his Godson. "Now, you pick someone you want to know something about." he instructed; watching as the Potter scrutinised every face in the room intently, before narrowing upon the child that had woken him earlier.
"Lestrange." Robert said, raising his finger to point at the child in question; whose face remained blank at the stares he was receiving. 'Lestrange? Isn't that Bellatrix's husband's name? She had a kid? She's back in England?'
"Good morning." the child, now known as Lestrange greeted, and an unsettling feeling growing in his stomach. "My name is Samael Cygnus Lestrange, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Lestrange and the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black." 'What! How dare he say that, everyone knows that the Black heir will be my child.' Sirius ranted inside his head, 'Just what has Bella being telling him to think he's entitled to my son's birthright?'. "I have an interest in Defence Against The Dark Arts and a dislike of child abuse," he stated, emerald eyes glittering in anger, before they turned towards the Malfoy. "Draco?" he enquired softly.
"Hello. My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, and the scion to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. I have a strong importance for my family and a hatred towards child abuse. Nott?" the blonde child answered at an appropriate pace, giving the 'seat' to his fellow Slytherin, whilst glaring at the professor. 'What is this?' The black thought, as he regarded his two second-cousins, 'What's the point of both saying that they hate child abuse? Is that meant to affect me in some way?'
It carried on in that manner, with the Snakes following the Malfoy and Lestrange by giving their family name and their dislike for child abuse. The Slytherins gave sufficient information to the rest of the class, never passing onto a Gryffindor until a girl named Greengrass enquired after a Lion named Lavender Brown. Eventually the entire class had finished their introductions, however there was little time left for Black to actually teach anything useful to the students. Knowing this, the class was dismissed early whilst the Black retreated to behind his desk, intent on finding that bottle of unidentifiable alcohol which Lily had hidden earlier.
"I can't believe that he managed to get those croissants!" Zabini paced furiously across the Slytherin boy's dorm room; not answering Parkinson's original question about the Transfiguration essay they were set earlier in the day.
Other houses may have been shocked at the fact that females were allowed in the male dorms, however Slytherins did not necessarily abide by the conventional 'celibacy' rule – not if it could give them an advantage in a deal or agreement. Besides, since the publishing of the 'Fertility Potion for Men' homosexual relations had become more frequent (or more public depending on your view), and it wasn't as if these relations weren't happening behind closed doors anyway. However others with their simple-mindedness believed that the need to ban a gender from the opposite sex's dorm was highly necessary, because to them nothing could ever encourage same-sex partnerships.
The girl in question, crossed her arms across her chest, meeting the dark gaze of the Italian with her own unimpressed one. "Honestly Blaise? You didn't expect it? This is Samael Lestrange, I've only known him for a day and I know that he isn't one to back out on his word. He told Warrington he'd get him some croissants and he did," Parkinson replied, rising from one of the beds to flick her friend in the ear, to which he scowled at her in return.
"You can't honestly say you're impressed by this!" he fumed, daring her to contradict him.
She did.
"Of course I am, Blaise," she murmured softly, seeing that her friend was genuinely getting agitated, which usually never boded well with him. "He has been at Hogwarts a day and has already found how to enter the elusive Kitchens and leave with food. Added to that he played us well, put Black in his place and is planning havoc for the Gryffindors. How can you say you are not impressed?" she enquired, placing a placating hand on his upper arm. The Slytherin boy understood her action, and pointedly began to breathe deeply, forcefully calming himself.
"Fine. I can understand why he has gained respect, however I can't see why you're defending him so," Zabini retorted, casting an assessing eye upon his friend who sneered at him in indignation.
"I cannot even believe that you're implying that Blaise!" she screamed at him, whacking him hard on the arm. "I do not harbour any of those sort of feelings for him! I detest him with all my being!"
"And yet you defend him," her companion cheekily inserted, easily forgetting his anger at Lestrange with the opportunity to annoy his oldest friend.
"I am not defending him!" she hotly replied, fixing dagger-like eyes upon Blaise. "I am merely saying that Lestrange is impressive in his own right if one is easily impressionable or if one has just met him. However, I do not like his attitude one bit. He is arrogant, impertinent and believes that he is Draco's one and only confidant!" Pansy concluded, stamping her foot loudly against the flagstone flooring.
"We met him when he was seven, Pansy." Blaise place his hands on her arms, locking his warm eyes onto hers. "Lestrange has most likely known Draco since they were infants, they are cousins after all. Their relationship is just like ours, it's understandable that they're close." Pansy sighed softly, pulling on one of boy's arms until he followed her onto the bed. The Slytherin girl wormed her way onto Blaise's side, until there was practically no space between the two.
"I know you're right Blaise," she murmured, smiling slightly as her friend tucked a strand of her onyx hair behind her ear, whilst complaining about the short length of it. "It's just him. He's so...difficult. He seems so supercilious and talks at me, not to me. It's like I'm not even worth anything to him, as if my name and importance doesn't comprehend in his head. He told us we shouldn't judge anyone in fear of losing contacts but isn't that what he is doing to me?"
Blaise wrapped his arms around the smaller frame of his fellow Slytherin, pulling her face into the crook of his neck. "Pansy, shh, darling," he cooed quietly, "is the main reason you're upset because he doesn't like you?"
There was a few moments silence, in which Blaise Zabini patiently and expectantly waited until his female friend burst into tears. Their friendship was at first an arranged one, political and impassive at the most, until Blaise accidentally spelled his mother's favourite corset periwinkle whilst attempting to impress the girl and Pansy took the blame. Since then their relationship only grew, Blaise had held her after his mother had finished her rant, and she then hit him repeatedly over the head (as well as a four year old child could). Blaise had a way of always impassioning Pansy, and Pansy always had a way of calming Blaise down. They were opposites, and the best of friends.
"I know it sounds silly," she sniffled into his shoulder, which he was rubbing gently. "I was expecting the other Houses to be indifferent and cruel to me – us, but I just thought that the Snakes would understand! We're going through this together, I thought I knew who all the Slytherins would be, but then Lestrange just appeared out of the blue! I wasn't expecting him, I wasn't prepared!"
"Il mio tesoro, I don't think anyone was prepared for Samael Lestrange," the Italian quietly murmured, resorting to his native tongue which always seemed to calm her. "Even Draco doesn't seem to be able to handle him, and he is one of the most domineering people I've met." Pansy could only manage a wet-sounding chuckle at the Slytherin boy's remark. "As much as it pains me to admit it, Lestrange is going to make a change, whether it is small or large no-one knows – however I'm going with the latter – wouldn't it be best if we just go along with it? I do not believe we would ever survive the social suicide of challenging Lestrange, and I'm willing to follow him if you accompany me."
Pansy did not answer, only snuggled closer to her friend. "Will you not answer me, il mio tesoro? Lestrange, will be – is ridiculously strong, both magically and politically. I must admit that it has been stupid of me to have been this hostile to him, but my emotions have bested me as of late," he told her, letting his resentment show clearly about the mishap on his part. "I let our first meeting rule my decision, and I disliked being deceived by him. And because of this, I've been extremely hostile, and may have potentially ruined my chances at aligning myself with such a powerful ally."
The girl mumbled something against the Slytherin boy's shoulder, which Blaise interpreted as 'what are we going to do?' He smiled softly at the affection she was showing, not answering for the moment, just so he could relish in the attention that had seemed to be diminishing ever since they had met a certain blonde boy.
"We'll do the best thing we can do, Pansy," he told her gently, chocolate eyes burning with determination as he held his only friend close to his chest. She glanced into his eyes and nodded, snuggling into him as he lulled her to sleep.
...has an extreme hatred towards myself and my son, Lander. I can speak for both Lander and I when I say that we are not aware of any discourse on our part which may have caused such dislike. Godwin must believe himself to have a plausible and strong reason however as he has cursed Lander. Nothing drastic, I can assure, just that an orb of what I can only assume is magic appears whenever Lander is feeling strong emotion.
It is nothing severe, and I find it quite inconceivable that Lander is not of the same mind as I, and yet, he believes that this 'curse' is somehow the apocalypse for him. Then again, Lander does have the tendency to be a smidgen over-dramatic, which (in turn) causes the curse to activate at least thrice a day. A vicious circle if you will. If it was not placed upon my son I would have perhaps enjoyed the effects it had upon those who valued their dramatic entrances.
No-one, however, curses a Slytherin and escapes unscathed, so Godwin Harrowsson shall forthwith be known as an enemy to the Slytherin line, anyone of my descent seen affiliating with Godwin Harrowsson shall be punished accordingly. I seal this bond with three drops of blood from I, Elmer-Algar Slytherin III, Lord Slytherin.
There is one good thing to have come from this however, Lander is significantly more calmer than he previously was, in fear of becoming a Minstrel. His outward indifference is quite frightening at times however...
Samael sighed, exhaling quietly through the nose. The journal of Slytherins, dating from Salazar himself, was becoming more intriguing as he progressed throughout its entirety. The habits associated with a Slytherin were present in Salazar and his offspring, however they were much more diluted, less poignant than the ones harboured inside Samael. Salazar spent most of his time with his Potions, his son and his Head of House duties, his 'mask' (which, upon entry to the Snake house everyone was expected to perfect) was shown only to Gryffindor and his supporters, not to everyone like the modern Snakes were told to.
'It is to be expected though,' Samael closed the journal softly, caressing the soft-leather with his too-pale fingers. 'In Salazar's time there were less people hostile towards himself, he associated himself with purely magical-beings who (on the majority) respected him. He had no need to wear a mask to the outside world, unlike the Snakes of today. Am I correct in thinking that this should be changed? The Snakes would like to escape the confines of the common room with true smiles on their faces, would they not? Or would the notion be too alien for them? Yes, those of the Slytherin house are known to be haughty and cunning because they are the aptitudes which placed them in their house, but that should not prevent them from being happy. Or so one would assume. I know I would not like to reveal my happiness to anyone apart from those I now consider family, would the other Snakes feel the same?'
Samael snorted softly to himself, sardonicism practically emanating from his every pore as he grasped the raven-head of his cane. 'In all honesty, does it matter what the other Snakes feel? If I can free them from the suppression they've been living, then who would they owe their loyalties to? It has been proven, (in both the Muggle and Magical world) that those who have "rescued" another gains their power. It has more value however in the Magical world however, as magic will hold those to their word – that is essentially what a life-debt is. So if I can get the Slytherins loyalties, well the mere thought is slightly delicious – is it not?
The lone, flickering, candle astride the low, mahogany table caught the child's attention; it released a nearly non-audible 'hiss' before it burnt itself to the wick. The Lestrange sighed softly at the action, then smiled ever so slightly to himself as the candle re-lighted itself. 'Ah, the wonders of magic.' The raven-haired child discovered only a few hours previously that Hogwarts kept candles alight throughout the castle whenever it sensed a person was nearby, (much like the automatic-doors in the Muggle world). Samael delighted himself with silence of the common room, the area was not particularly noisy when filled to the brim (due to the nature of the Snakes), however once everyone had departed for Morpheus' embrace the common room was noiseless.
'So it seems as if that music in Draco's Manor was because of an inherited magical curse,' the child's mind continued, sifting through memories to find the one of a much thinner and paler Samael reverently cupping an orb of pulsing magic. 'It says that the curse becomes active when feeling strong emotion, however I can never recall it happening apart from that one single time in the Manor. Undoubtedly then, someone must have modified the curse, to what exact details I am not aware of yet; perhaps it is written in the diary somewhere? However, as much as I would like to become aware of the facts, I cannot afford to waste time on something as trivial as magical music unless it can help me win over the elder-Slytherins, which I doubt it can.'
He swept his gaze over the common room; absent-mindedly smoothing the aged, leather cover of his most precious possession. Intelligent eyes, lost in thought as they scanned the surroundings, not really noticing the minor details he discovered. Instead, ideas of possible-schemes involving Gryffindors in various degrees of punishment floated through his mind, being assessed thoroughly before either being discarded or filed away appropriately.
Sighing softly to himself, he rested the foot of his cane against the cold, stone flooring before testing his weight on said object; heaving himself to his feet once he was sure that the can could hold his weight. Gripping his cane in one hand, and the journal in his other he made his way towards the first-year boy's dorms, smiling softly as the candles throughout the corridor lighted themselves at his approach.
None of his peers were awake when he walked into the eerily-lit dorm room, 'Why should they, I doubt that it is even dawn yet,' he reasoned, tightening his grip on the raven. A small moan came from Samael's right, he paused his progress towards his destination and saw that his pyjama-clad legs had brushed the side of the bed aside him. The hangings hadn't been closed completely, and a small gap between the drapes along with the dim light of the dorm, afforded Samael a view of the person in the bed. The raven-haired child glanced at its inhabitant, and saw his blonde companion 'Draco' tightly clutching a soft, emerald dragon to his chest, murmuring sleep-produced nothings into the dragon's horned head.
A strange sensation of warmth flooded the child's chest at the sight, whilst his lips unconsciously lifted at the corners. The Malfoy curled into himself, (so he was in a loose foetus position) and nuzzled his plushy. 'Oh the blackmail on this would be so beautiful,' he thought, yet despite that ever so tempting idea, he shifted so that the journal was held between his upper-arm and torso. Freeing his other hand, in order to close the few inches of Draco's curtains, which offered such a heart-warming view to the Lestrange heir.
With one last fond smile at the hidden blonde, he continued towards his bed attempting to ignore the insistent throbbing of his ankle. The sparse space which greeted him was oddly comforting to the boy; he liked thriftiness, indulgence was an acquired taste which he only had stomach enough for necessities. Approving of the impeccable bed, lone chest sitting alone in the corner, and the plain candelabra, he gently placed the journal atop the table aside the bed, secure in the knowledge that the near-1000 year old enchantments placed upon it would keep it safe.
He winced to himself as the pulsing throbs in his ankle only increased in both pace and strength; gritting his teeth when the pain seemed powerful 'too powerful', his upper-lip pulled back so much he appeared to be snarling, small pearly-white teeth showing. Leaning heavily against the column, he savagely threw the cane onto the covers, watching with satisfied eyes as it bounced once before landing askew on the duvet.
Agitatedly, the Lestrange hissed the spell all the new Snakes learnt which would close the drapes, and with a pained sigh he collapsed onto the bed, frantically rubbing his ankle to alleviate the ache. Hissing with displeasure, his eyes narrowed to slits as it soon became clear to the child that moving his foot more than a couple of degrees in any one direction caused the ache to intensify. 'Previous nights of assessing the injury have yet to produce this outcome,' he thought, still applying pressure to the inflamed ankle. 'Which can only imply that it has gotten worse...brilliant.' The child raged internally, yet willed himself to sleep, so he could escape the thralls of the Agea's Lupe; thoughts of contacting Narcissa, and needing to make plans dominating his mind as he quickly drifted into the welcoming arms of Morpheus.
Precious moments of Time's sand, offering such rare and peaceful moments, dissipated around the Lestrange. Not quite an hour had passed, and if it was possible Samael's bones felt heavier than they were when he was previously awake – as if they were laden with lead. Every movement brought a groan of displeasure from his very being, and hisses escaped his lips when he felt a hard object digging into his back. It took the Lestrange's sleep-addled brain a few moments to realise that, his cane was the offending object, which he had angrily deposited there in a fit of rage. 'Tantrum,' he corrected dryly. Stretching his arms out, delighting as his muscles uncoiled seemingly removing any tension which was there, Samael quickly divested himself of his clothing.
The other children seemed to have no problem with stripping in front of their peers; they had yet to question 'or perhaps realise,' that they had never seen his naked-form. The salvation and shortcoming of all Slytherins were their curious nature, so the child knew that when they finally did question him he had best have a plausible story; which was the only reason he had yet to dress in front of the others. As he told Draco all those days ago, he was not ashamed of his scar-laden body; it provided the fuel to the proverbial fire was a constant reminder to what he was striving for. Yet he couldn't give the other Snakes the feeble story that he gave Robert Potter,
'They may not be the sharpest of athames, but they would most definitely see through that explanation straight away. After all, if one only took the time to look properly then they would see that some of the scars are years old.' No, the Lestrange would soon need to create a background for his scars, and more importantly the motives of the scar's loving contributor; as in no way was he going to approve of the implication that it was Bellatrix and Rodolphus which were the cause. No, Samael's loyalties were few and far in between, but they were unequivocally strong towards his adoptive parents, and to a further extent his pseudo-family. He doubted that many would survive his wrath towards anyone who insulted them. 'No,' he thought, a malicious smile spreading across his face at the direction of his thoughts. 'If anyone attempts anything, they'll never see the light of day again.'
Sounds of his fellow Snakes awakening caught Samael's attention, as he ran a hand down his form; smoothing any wrinkles that may have accumulated from his mechanic dressing. Content with his appearance, (and in knowing his infamous 'lightning' scar was hidden beneath the glamour Draco and himself had searched over a month previously), he raised his arm and pulled the curtain away. He was immediately met with a flurry of activity, and he could hardly withhold his unimpressed snort. Crabbe and Goyle were monotonously buttoning their shirts; identical gormless expressions on their faces, whilst Nott was groggily blinking at Samael, (most probably due to the noise of his curtains). Draco had secluded himself in the bathroom after hurriedly shoving his dragon under his pillow, whilst Zabini refused to leave the warmth of his bed, as he tightened his grip on the squirming form of...'Parkinson? I was not expecting that.'
He approached them slowly, smirking as he saw they had not yet noticed him. "Zabini," he greeted, amusement written clearly written across his face as the two forms froze on the bed; timidly raising their embarrassed eyes to meet his. "Parkinson." Samael inclined his head at the girl, who merely blinked slowly in return before offering a tentative smile.
'Strange, I was sure she hated me. They were both nervous as well, what are they planning?' he remarked to himself; whilst entering the common room. Stares from the other Snakes were obviously being thrown in his direction, and he only just restrained from glaring in return at them all. They were assessing him, the Lestrange realised belatedly, his ire increasing as he had to wait for the rest of the first-years because that was what the ridiculous 'Slytherin-laws' dictated. 'It's going to be a long day,'
The infamously feared 'Bat of the Dungeon' had to bite back a smile as he recalled the look of pure indignation on the Potter spawn's face, when he managed to deduct fifty points from the Lion House from one single lesson. Severus knew that he'd have the boy's parents, and probably Minerva and Albus annoyed at him, but he had heard of Black's attitude towards Samael and was righteously angry on the child's behalf. 'Besides, Potter had no respect for the lesson, at least that Muggleborn – Granger, had the presence of mind and good grace to take notes.' Severus also knew that the Gryffindors wouldn't be happy with their sudden decline in points, they would of course dislike him more because of it, but he knew that in the eyes of the Lions most of the blame would fall onto Robert Potter's shoulders.
Glancing at the miniature hourglass on his desk, he watched the final grains of sand fall to the heap on the bottom glass-bulb, before the objected magically inverted itself. He called a close to the lesson, (though not before assigning three-feet on the effects of Armadillo Bile when added to Glumbumble secretion) and instinctively knew that every single student in his 7th-year Ravenclaw class, 'perhaps, the only class of dunderheads worth teaching,' had (unsurprisingly) completed their Amortentia potions to perfection.
The Potions Master could only cast an appraising eye on the labelled vials, and muster nothing short of an O for them; he was proud of them (not that he would ever tell them), proud that they had listened to him and had enough intuition to complete the potion with half the instructions absent from the board. However, the smell of that certain potion in such a high concentration had Severus quickly longing for his lover, so as soon as his last student exited his classroom he strode towards the Headmaster's Office.
Considering how powerful and supposedly omniscient Albus Dumbledore is, Severus had pleasantly learned years previously that he was surprisingly easy to fool. Undoubtedly, the Headmaster was intelligent in his own right, however he had too much faith in those that he thought were 'Light'. So Severus being who he was, easily spun a tale of dining alone in his rooms due to an especially volatile and delicate potion, and that he could not be disturbed under any circumstances; it was ingenious if he did say so himself. However, afterwards Severus was then subjected to the damned unsettling glittering-blue gaze before being told to 'hurry along' as if he was some adorable first-year Hufflepuff. 'Outrageous!'
Severus soon secluded himself in the shadow of the corridors outside the office, to cast the disillusionment charm and escape the castle, unnoticed by any other living being. His cottage upon arriving was unusually silent, and trepidation immediately wormed its way into his gut; Andras was usually having a good old chin-wag with his dad whilst they both read in the living-room. Normally that was. His wand sprang into his hand whilst he ducked his head into the sitting-room, however it was void of human life – in fact, it was completely dark as if none had entered it in a couple of hours.
Fear. He had not had the need to feel fear when he was child; apprehension certainly, but fear was never present. Beatings were a norm, he had no fear of them, and he most certainly did not fear for his mother, it was after all her decisions which caused him to be abused, so he never could find compassion for her. No, he only began to feel fear when he found friendship. Friendship with Lucius, Narcissa, the Lestranges, and his Lord; he feared the day if he ever lost these people as a friend. However the two people whose absence in his life, physically caused a burning in his chest made him fear the most. That perhaps one day they would realise they could do so much better than him, and leave him alone, bitter. 'Broken.'
Which was the reason he was indeed feeling fear, the all-encompassing fear which causes the simplest and instinctive actions such as breathing, to become the most difficult thing to ever perform. The type of fear, which blinds your vision with unbidden, terrifying images and causes all rational thoughts to escape your mind as quick as an amorous hummingbird dives. Sweating palms, clasped the wand tighter to himself, whilst his torturous fear likewise gripped him, and he desperately fought to keep calm. 'No-one but Narcissa and Lucius know of this place; Dumbledore could never have found it – the fidelius would prevent anyone from stumbling across it. Yes, they've probably just gone out...Andras did say he wanted some new pencils.'
Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he furthered his search towards the kitchen; his dread somewhat abated yet still present in his mind. Readying his wand, he slowly pushed the white-painted door open, however it faltered at the sight of Andras casting a worried glance at a shocked Remus, before breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of his father. Severus couldn't help but mimic his son's actions; his traitorous, hammering heart only slowing at the sight of his family safe and sound.
'Fine. They're fine, safe, fine. Oh Merlin.' "What did you do?" the Potions Master asked his child; quirking an eyebrow at his son's confused expression. Severus frowned when it became evident that Andras did not have an answer, he sighed softly and crouched beside his lover and lightly shook his shoulder. "Okay then, how long has he been like this?" Severus attempted to gain information once more.
"Only a couple of minutes," was the distant reply.
"What happened before?"
"I found a book in the Library." Andras tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, a look of pure confusion on his face as he studied his father's face. "There wasn't a title so I opened it – I wasn't in the Dark section Father!" he diverted when he saw his father about to reprimand him. "It started talking about something called sexual reproduction," he continued in the tone only one could muster from childhood innocence. 'Oh Circe, please tell me he's not going to-' "so I asked dad how I was born, because he doesn't have a v-vageen-no-vagina, but a penis, and then this happened," Andras whined in confusion; indicating Remus' frozen form before frowning at his father; a pout playing on his lips. 'Oh Jesus Merlin Christ.'
A/N: I'm not going to make any excuses for the lateness of this chapter, but I will apologise – I am so sorry.
I thought that I'd get a smidgen of Andras in here, just a little bit of comic relief due to the severity of this chapter.
Also, I'd like to thank everyone who is supporting me in writing this, and a massive thanks to my darling beta Zoey Rowan.