Chapter 11: The Carving

September 2nd, 1998

Dolores Umbridge was a stout and stubby toad of a woman, dressed in frilly and fuzzy overbearing robes and cardigans. The woman, better known as Undersecretary to Minister Cornelius Fudge, was as hot tempered as she was controlling. She marched determinedly to Headmaster Dumbledore's office as fast as her pudgy feet in her pink stilettos would take her.

Upon arrival at the top of the Headmaster's spiral staircase, Albus called, "Enter Dolores."

"Headmaster, I have some shocking news. I reviewed some OWL student records and one student took all of the OWL classes and half of the available NEWT classes and he's still here! I saw this boy earlier and he was walking around the Black Lake with-"

"Severus? Of course they were." He said in a grandfatherly tone, keeping his smile in place. "Tea? Lemon drop, perhaps?"

The toad-woman ignored the man's inquiries and sputtered, "But surely you believe such appalling incidents occurred, Headmaster."

Albus nodded, "Of course. I've known of such events for a while now. They are good friends. I believe they were even collaborating this past summer on potions and healing advancements and made a few breakthroughs. Quite impressive, I believe."

"You knowingly let such a thing happen? Why is the boy still even here? He doesn't have any classes and doesn't do anything extracurricular besides Quidditch," Umbridge complained.

"He's teaching."

Dolores' face was turning a fiery red colour. "Are you saying you have an unlicensed, unqualified child running around here teaching Merlin-knows-what to students? What would the Board of Governors say? What would the ministry and by extension, the Minister himself have to say about such an outrage?"

"You misunderstand me dear Dolores," Albus explained calmly, still bearing a smile and twinkling eyes. "I was referring to him and Severus. He is teaching his professor and mentor without even knowing it. Severus has much to learn still as do you and I. Azrael can teach him some of it."

"Azrael? There is another boy other than Naos Black that has been hanging around the Potion's Master?"

"No, Azrael is a name that the seventh year Slytherins gave him last year. He is friendly enough with them."

Dolores stepped closer to the ancient man's desk. "Answer me this then: how does a child whom doesn't speak, communicate or seem to feel understand a man like Severus Snape anyways, let alone teach the mood bastard."

Dumbledore chuckled, "I would ask that you refrain from name-calling behind other professors' backs. As for Azrael understanding and teaching Severus, he just does and is. They get along effortlessly and that's all there is to it. It's not against any rules, regulations or laws for students to be friends with their teachers on a personal level or vice versa, otherwise Severus wouldn't have been strolling around the lake earlier. If that's all..."

The stubby witch put her nose in the air and gave a slight nod before turning on her heels and marching back to the way she had entered. "Oh, and Dolores, I think you'll find that you are also missing two records in Azrael's file."

"And which papers would those be?"

"An approved Mentorship application and a Change of Lodging request – also approved. He lives with his mentor now."

Dolores Umbridge seethed. The old man was baiting her. "I am guessing that he is mentoring with his Head of House, then?"

"Of course. Any other complaints?"

Umbridge gave a forced semblance of a smile and her heels clacked away with a more audible 'click' that made the Headmaster smile once his office door was shut and the stairs could be heard retracing their movements of earlier.

"Albus Dumbledore, you've still got it," he said to himself as he popped a lemon drop into his mouth.


November 24th, 1998

Azrael was spending the day before his final five NEWT exams on Severus – literally. The two had had an argument about who got the coveted place at the end of the couch with Severus saying he was big and Azrael was little so the bigger of the two got the best spot on the couch to read. In response to that, Azrael had seemingly given up. Unfortunately, once Severus sat down, the 'little' one sat on him claiming that he was 'little' so it shouldn't bother such a 'big' person for him to sit on Severus. Severus frowned at being outsmarted and squished in the same moment but let the boy be.

The younger wizard had ended up leaning against Severus' shoulder and read the same book as Snape until Azrael ended up asleep against him. The man carefully removed Azrael's arms from around him and carried the teen to his own bed. The boy looked every part of what Severus was almost ninety percent sure the boy was – some sort of angel or angelic breed.

He was one of a kind as only about two per hundred and fifty years were born and the last one died at least a hundred years ago. They all were said to have had markings that manifested on their skin, they were often mistaken for wizarding anomalies and marked their chosen humans with their angelic name and a symbol. Azrael had blessed him the night of the Summer Solstice and it mean that Severus was a person of trust and love – platonic or otherwise – to him.

Severus resolved to tell the boy once his exams were over.


November 27th, 1998

"So, how was the final exam?" Severus called from the living room as he sensed his beloved Ángel entering his rooms.

'Sodding waste of my time, just like all of the other years' material that I've covered. The only reason I even took Divination was to have something to do and it was so boring. At least I finished early. I wasn't supposed to be done until a half-hour from now,' Azrael replied. He approached the chair Severus was sitting in and stopped for a moment. 'Sev? Can I sit with you?'

"Why?"

'Why not?' Azrael countered.

Severus made a big production out of sighing and scooting over a big in his large chair and opening his arms in invitation. The teen was quickly sitting on the chair and closed his eyes, relaxing against Severus' chest.

"Ángel, I have a surprise for you."

'What's that?' he mumbled into Snape's button-down.

"I figured out what you are."

The relaxed wizard sat up a bit, leaning into the comfort of Severus' chest. 'Are you serious? When did you figure it out?'

Severus chuckled, "Of course I'm serious. I've been piecing things together for a month or so now and calling in discreet favours trying to find any information on what I guessed you were but the problem arose when it was plain that there isn't much literature on such beings. You're currently one of a kind."

The potion's master looked down at the green eyes below him and the cherry lips parted slightly in question. "From what I've managed to gather, you're a morarke. Essentially, you're a fallen archangel. Mor- comes from many languages meaning death and a few others meaning dark. Arke is derived from the Swedish 'ärke ängel' meaning archangel."

'So what about the manifested name on my arm?'

"That's part of the distinguishing features of your kind. Tattoo-like manifestations start a year after birth and once the morarke has gained more magical experience, usually in their teen years, they have their first burning and receive their manifested wings on their back and a Latin scroll on their torso and more designs appear. As they mature after their first burning, the morarke get their angel name, named after the archangels of heaven. Only about twelve to fifteen records can be found of them and so far Azrael and Michael are the only two that have only been documented once."

'Do they have stories? The archangels of heaven?'

"Actually," Severus pondered, "Michael, Gabriel and Azrael have titles as the Defeater of Satan, Messenger of God, and Angel of Death respectively." After seeing his Ángel cringe at the title, Severus added, "That is not to say that you will bring about someone's death. Don't worry yourself about it. In the mean time, come and help me with some of these potions I have to brew."

'Alright. But this really does explain a lot. Last week when I went into the forest with Hagrid, three unicorns flocked around me and bowed before nuzzling me. Maybe they knew what I was.'

Azrael stood from the chair and offered his hand to Severus. He had plainly established long before that he had been getting himself out of chairs for many years on his own and didn't need assistance. Azrael had rebutted saying it wasn't about getting out of the chair, it was about trusting the other person to help one to their feet. Severus had been hesitant at first but now always accepted the hand when offered as a sign of trust betwixt the two wizards.

"Thank you," Severus said automatically.

"Any time," replied a quiet, accented voice.


December 1st, 1998

Viktor Krum sat at his writing desk at Durmstrang when he felt his mark tickle in the slightest. The mark always seemed to do so around this time of the night as it was currently nearing eleven o'clock in the evening and had been tickling for the past hour or so.

Since the summer solstice, the mark had done it more during the summer and only ever now and again during the day but always, like clockwork, the tickling sensation appeared over his heart from ten at night until at least eleven. Sometimes, it would continue through the night and into the early morning and be gone by the time Viktor awoke from the most relaxing sleep he had had since his brother had disappeared.

Viktor had been convinced that his brother was the cause of the heart and wings. His mother and father had cried when they saw the mark over Viktor's heart and they were both sure that it was their Kozmas trying to send them a sign. They had issued country-wide searches in Bulgaria and Macedonia and placed handsome rewards for the return of their lost son but to no avail. Andor had become discouraged by the little to no response from authorities and individuals in their communities.

They had lost almost all faith of his survival of the raid at all when the manifestation had appeared on Viktor's chest. The small Kozmas-like anomaly brought new-found hope and faith to the Krum family and many of the family's friends and relatives whom had all fallen in love with the boy's quiet mannerisms and actions.

The tingling, however, was one thing that Viktor kept to himself. It seemed intimate, like his talks with his brother that they had had boy to boy as young wizards. Sharing the feeling with others seemed like a breach of their private time that they had once had together.

As Viktor stared at the dark wood of his writing desk, he glimpsed the carving done four years before by his brother. 'Vik + Koz until the end' in the Cyrillic lettering of their native tongue lay forever engraved in the otherwise smooth mahogany wood. Two drops of water lay on the wooden surface, not far from the carving. The muscle-laden teen stood from his chair, swiped his hand across his eyes and walked to the window with his shoulders hunched in their usual way.

That night, looking out at the stars Viktor knew that somewhere, every night at ten o'clock his brother was happy. Even if he wasn't in Kozmas' new life, he was assured that his brother was understood and taken care of, which was all that he could ask for. He hoped that one day, Fate would allow for them to meet again, but until then Kozmas was somewhere – and Viktor hoped it was beautiful.