A/N: Hey guys. Here's Chapter 21. Once again, thanks for the DLP bunch for their help. While I might not agree or heed their advice all of the time, I do take it all under careful consideration. Now, there's been a couple of reviews in the last few chapters about how the descriptives are lacking and were better in Denarian Renegade. I'm all for constructive criticism but you need to give me some examples, like 'before' and 'after' or something, so that I can understand what you mean. Cheers. Read and Enjoy, guys.

There had been several key moments in his life which Albus Dumbledore had later come to regret. His sordid friendship with Gellert Grindelwald was one, the death of his beloved sister and his inability to see through Tom Riddle's ambitions until it was too late were but just a few. Now, as he stood in Harry's dim apartment amidst the cracks and holes of battle listening to the screams of one of the most genuinely nice girls he had ever had the pleasure of meeting, he had the most ominous feeling that years from now he would look back and regard this as one of them too.

Amanda Carpenter was screaming. The very sound struck at Albus like a blow to the soul and he couldn't keep the wince from showing on his face as the blonde-haired girl arched her back, twisting and turning as she flopped along the floor. Her hair flew around her and her muscles were taut with pain. Albus did not know what picking up the coin was like but he had wondered. Nevertheless, this painful reaction surprised even him and, for the first time from what he could remember, he hesitated.

The Knight of the Cross beside him didn't have the qualms that he did and strode forward. Albus shook his head sharply and the man hesitated, his warm brown eyes glistening as he looked upon his own flesh and blood in commune with a demon. The Russian Knight, Sanya, Albus believed his name was, put a hand on Michael's shoulder and gripped it. Michael looked torn, his body trembling, and Albus felt the utmost pity for the other man.

"What do we do?" Sanya asked Albus quietly.

The wizened Headmaster turned his head briefly to glance at him over half-moon glasses. He had long ago chosen that style of glasses for precisely the air they gave off when he looked through or over them in the right way. Now, he almost felt like cursing them for the utter hope that blossomed on Michael's face for he had no solution.

"We must wait," he answered gravely, over the screams of the girl. "We must also pray that Meciel shows an inkling of mercy upon your daughter and spares her mind- if not her soul."

Michael flinched as if he had been struck and Albus turned away. Despite his words, his gnarled fingers stroked his wand almost lovingly. He could feel the tingle of magic surge through his aging frame, revitalising his old flesh and making him feel young again- young enough to fight if need be. If Meciel was hostile towards them from the beginning, then Albus was confident that he could prevail against her. She was in a new and relatively unskilled host body and while he may be past his prime, he knew his strengths and weaknesses.

If Meciel had occupied Harry's body and had decided to strike against him, Albus wasn't quite sure what he would do. The very real possibility of that occurring gave him nightmares and the occasional sleepless night. Harry was skilled and his powers were only complimented by Meciel's gifts. Superhuman reflexes, almost godlike healing powers and a natural flair of magic that left Albus envious at times made for a very dangerous combination.

Then again, Albus through wryly, if Meciel was occupying Harry's body then there would be no present danger.

Abruptly, Amanda stopped screaming and her body flopped to the ground. Albus took a step forward, peering down at her carefully. Her mouth was parted in a silent expression of utter bewilderment and her grey eyes, normally so warm and cheerful, were closed. Tear marks stained her pale cheeks and Albus could see signs of self-inflicted wounds, nail scratches and bruises as a result from her fit. He resisted the urge to peer into the girl's mind, partly because of the possibility of delivering mental damage to the poor girl's already-battered mind no matter how subtle he was and partly because he could recall Severus' rather unwise attempts and had no desire to be on the receiving end of a fallen angel's fury.

Then, before his eyes, Amanda slowly clenched her fists and moved. The knights by his side shifted but he remained still, schooling his face into a deliberately polite if not indifferent expression and waiting calmly. Amanda seemed to be having trouble moving as a hand shot out, clutching at the kitchen counter. The teenage girl who was still clad in her Hogwarts robes, pulled herself up but kept her head ducked, her blonde hair obscuring her face.

"Ms Carpenter?" Albus asked quietly.

There was no response. The girl merely stood there, swaying on her feet as her fingers flexed back and forth.

"Amanda?" Michael asked from Albus' side. The Headmaster could hear the hopeful tone in his voice marred with the dread and what his daughter had just done, of what she could have just become. "Amanda, honey? Can you hear me?"

"Yes…"

Her reply was more like an exhale of breath but there was nothing in the tone of her voice that Dumbledore recognised from the upbeat sixteen-year-old. Apparently, Michael had come to the same conclusion because he closed his eyes and muttered something quietly in Latin. His friend gently pulled him back, an action that Dumbledore whole-heartedly approved of. No father should have to put a blade to his own child.

"Albus."

Dumbledore eyed the girl carefully and inclined his head politely, his face revealing nothing of the turbulent emotions boiling beneath the surface of his skin. The next few minutes, he decided, would be critical for Amanda- and Harry's- fate.

"Good afternoon, Meciel," Dumbledore greeted calmly. He peered at the girl over his half-moon glasses, studying her carefully, looking for any sign of a Meciel's presence on her body. Already, he could see many of the bruises and cuts that adorned the body fading away.

Amanda slowly lifted her head and Dumbledore's couldn't help but grimace at the sight. Amanda's eyes were wreathed with pure fire and radiated a hatred and fury so strong that it made him uncomfortable. During his studies, he had come across hypotheses that suggested that other beings, while feeling many of the same emotions as humans, felt them so much more strongly that they became unrecognisable and incomprehensible to anybody who was not insane. Staring into Meciel's fury, he quietly confirmed the validity of those theories.

There was nothing human in there, not anymore.

"I shall be blunt, Meciel," Dumbledore said quietly, and he couldn't help himself as a dangerous tone entered his voice. Many things hinged on her answer and he wasn't quite sure what he would do if he received the wrong one. "Amanda Carpenter. Does she still exist?"

"Your concern is noted, boy," Amanda- no, Meciel- replied frostily. Her lips quirked into an expression Albus had hoped never to see on a child's face. "I shall also be blunt. Yes, she does."

Albus heard rather than saw the exhaling sigh of relief behind him and felt a large piece of the burden leave his shoulders. He straightened, unable to keep the relieved twinkle from his eyes. He was grateful when the Knights remained silent and allowed him to continue.

"I am relieved to hear that," Albus admitted quietly.

He was. While he understood Amanda's decision to pick up the coin and even approved of it in some way, he did not have to like it. If he was given the choice to choose between Amanda Carpenters life and Harry Potter's life while keeping in mind the context of Lord Voldemort's Second Uprising, then, in the end, he would have to choose Harry Potter- if only for the thousands of other Amanda Carpenters in the world. However, the choice would haunt him for the rest of his life and Albus was sure that he would never forgive himself. It was something he had to remind himself of right now in his approach towards Meciel.

"This girl picked up my Vessel so that I may tell you this," Meciel continued and Albus watched as the fires within her eyes grew with her fury. "My beloved host was attacked by the Lady of the Winter Fae. She has taken him from me. I want him back."

It was as Albus feared. He closed his eyes and suddenly felt a humongous weight settle on his shoulders. Once again, he was indirectly at fault for the sufferings of another. Oh, if only Harry Potter had never attracted the dealings of Lady Maeve. Then again, by picking up the denarius coin Harry had made himself one of the only approachable candidates in the world. It was a delicate balance that Summer and Winter had wrought within the isolated confines of the Wizarding World, one that Albus tenured with great care.

"I see," Albus murmured. He stroked his beard, feeling himself relax at the unconscious habit. "I suspected it was so."

"Meciel!" Michael demanded and silver fire flashed through the air. Albus turned his head to see Amanda's father holding his great and holy sword, brandishing soulfire against the body of his own daughter. "Release my daughter at once!"

Meciel cocked her head and stared at Michael imperiously. Her face twisted in scorn and contempt as she glanced at the silver blade. However, there was a considering look in her eyes and she smiled faintly. "No." She answered. "I shall not."

"Release her now!" Michael's voice boomed in the small apartment and Albus was grateful for the quick charms and he placed it. The situation was delicate enough without Minerva or any other member of the Order walking in on it. "She is not yours for the taking!"

"Your spawn made her decision out of free will," Meciel answered with coldness unachievable by humans. "She picked up my coin and fully surrendered herself to me on the belief that I would be able to help the object of her pathetic mortal infatuation. Her mind, body and soul belong entirely to me now, and I shall do with them what I wish. You know this is true, Knight."

Michael looked grim but stood resolute. Next to him, Sanya stood there looking sympathetic but he too clutched the hilt of his sword. If it came down to it, Albus had no doubt that he too would do what was necessary. He doubted that Michael would. No loving father could ever strike down his own child.

"Ah, but that is the real question," Dumbledore interjected, quietly diffusing the situation as he turned the attention of both Meciel and Michael onto himself. "Does Meciel truly want the power of Amanda Carpenter to herself?"

Meciel stared at him with glittering eyes.

"You are a very intelligent child, Albus Dumbledore," she said quietly. Her eyes flickered to Michael. "Fear not, Knight. I do not desire this body or mind. I will find what is mine and I will take it back. After that, this body will be released of all of my influence and her freedom is guaranteed. It will be in your best interest to help me achieve my goal, Knight."

Michael stood his ground firmly but his relief was palpable. Albus knew that Meciel had just conscripted her first unwilling ally in her quest to save her former host and didn't know whether to commend or condemn her actions.

"Now," Dumbledore murmured, eying the apartment carefully. "Before we can do anything, I must know what happened here. From what I understood, Harry took the defence of his home quite seriously and I have no doubt that even I would have trouble subduing him in his place of power."

"Maeve foresaw that problem and planned accordingly over two years ago," Meciel explained cryptically.

Albus' mind only took an instant to piece together the puzzles and he gave a quiet groan.

"Oh dear," he murmured, stroking his long, white beard purely out of habit. "I see now."

"What is it?" Sanya asked, looking confused. "What did she do?"

"Yes, that's right. You do not know," Albus replied. "The association between Harry and the Winter Lady began two years ago when Harry was bound into the Tri-Wizard Tournament. During the first task and thanks to the machinations of the Outsider Azzeh, Harry was pitted against a genuine Drakon. With no other option, Harry called upon Winter and was granted the power to defeat the Drakon in exchange for a rather simple price: Harry would lay with the Winter Lady and give a child."

Sanya and Michael both looked astonished.

"His firstborn," Meciel said and anger clouded her words. Albus thought he could detect some disgust in there, but he didn't know who it was directed at. "Harry gave Maeve his firstborn child, a daughter named Amaris. Apart from the obvious emotional ties against him, the power of a firstborn child can also be used against the father when used properly. Maeve did not lead this assault, but rather, she commissioned the services of her daughter."

"And that is why Harry lost," Albus concluded grimly. "For all of his faults, he could not strike down his own daughter."

"Amaris broke through the wards in an instant," Meciel continued. "She brought with her a pack of beasts and set them upon Harry. He defeated them easily but hesitated as Amaris pitted her own power against him and was defeated. His last act was to release my coin, hoping that somebody would grow suspicious and stumble upon it. If it was Dumbledore, then he could piece together the clues. If it was somebody else, then I could lure them in and enslave them to my will long enough for me to call in our allies- which, admittedly, rests entirely with the Headmaster here."

"When was this?" Albus asked, frowning.

Meciel hesitated for an instant.

"I believe it was twenty hours ago," she replied and there was something undecipherable in her voice. "It is hard to track time within my…prison." Her eyes raked over the Knights. "Those pathetic ideological fools do not understand what it is like. If they had a single ounce of comprehension as to our suffering, they would pick up the coin themselves out of mercy."

"I doubt it," Sanya spoke up thickly. "I have been there before. I have no mercy for you."

"How very…un-Christian…of you," Meciel responded sardonically. Albus noted that she was moving Amanda's body a lot more fluidly than she had been before

"I'm an Atheist," Sanya deadpanned.

Meciel started in surprise and looked astonished. Then, before Dumbledore's eyes, a little bit of the overwhelming fury he could sense in the diminutive blonde girl before him faded and she chuckled quietly.

"How ironic," she murmured. She turned her gaze to Albus and held herself like a Queen staring down at her lowly subjects. "Harry is important to you, to your Order, to your war. You and your order will assist me in getting him back."

Albus was silent but knew that she was absolutely right for a few of the wrong reasons. He had much more personal reasons for rescuing Harry, a very potent wizard in his own right, from the clutches of the Winter Lady. Already, his old brain was humming as he spun plans within plans. Yes…he had contacts still within the Summer Court…there were some beings of old that owed him favours…tracing the Nevernever path that Amaris had taken from the apartment might be troublesome but he was confident that he could get in the general area. Yes. A rescue attempt was necessary.

The Winter Court could not be allowed to own Harry Potter. For Albus, the Fallen Angel Meciel was a much more preferable choice in the end. At the very least, he could counter her motives with his own.

"There is much more to discuss but I agree," Albus replied a few moments later. His eyes were hardened and he felt the thrill of impending conflict surging through his tired old body. "But first, we shall make a bargain. Meciel, in exchange for our assistance in claiming back your host, Harry Potter, you shall return Amanda Carpenter to her full faculties, unharmed, free of demonic or otherwise other influence. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," Meciel responded immediately. Something dark gleamed in the cheerful eyes of Amanda Carpenter. "We must hurry. I will not allow his suffering to continue. I have lost much in this mortal world of yours. I will not lose him."

"You're very determined, aren't you?" Sanya asked quietly, while Michael continued to remain silent and grim. The Russian knight stared at Amanda's possessed body curiously. "I have never seen a Fallen display this much...I don't know."

"Of course you haven't," Albus responded quietly. "After all, love is the greatest motivation of them all. Isn't that right, Meciel?"

"Believe me, boy," Meciel said through Amanda's lips. "I know more of the follies of love than you could ever possibly know."

Albus inclined his head. Of that he had no doubt.

"But it is irrelevant," Meciel continued.

She frowned and took a slow but steady step forward. Albus watched as the Knights parted and Meciel walked past them. Michael lifted a hand as if to place it against Amanda's shoulder but he hesitated. Albus could only muster pity within him as he looked at the torn and agonised expression of the Knight. The emotional trials and tribulations the man must be feeling were immense, far too great for Albus to properly empathise with.

He had never had children. How could he possibly know what it was like?

It was this that made him place his good hand on Michael's shoulder. The knight turned his head as Albus squeezed down softly, his lips not moving but his eyes saying everything that needed to be said. Michael nodded stiffly and Albus dropped his arm.

"We need to make haste," Meciel concluded after testing out her new body. "Time flows differently in Winter. It has been less than a day for me. It may have already been less than a month for Harry."

Again, Albus could feel the utter fury and rage that the Fallen was feeling. He sensed that the possessed girl was having trouble reigning in here temper and, for the first time in his life, saw the stark similarities between one of the Fallen and one of the Knights.

Both were determined and filled with anger.

Both had had their children taken away from them.

"I will call a meeting," Albus said abruptly. "While the members are congregating, I shall contact some old acquaintances of mine." He strode forward and without hesitation, he placed a hand on Amanda's shoulder. The muscles stiffened underneath his bony fingers but Dumbledore ignored them as he gazed into Meciel's fire-wreathed eyes. "I promise you, Meciel. I shall do everything in my power to help him."

The Fallen stared back at him coolly, as if assessing his worth. For the first time in a hundred years, Albus Dumbledore felt like fidgeting as the gaze wracked over him much like the Headmaster's had back in his First Year of school. Then, Meciel smiled thinly and patted Albus' hand.

"Don't tell anybody but I like you, Albus Dumbledore," she responded, almost kindly. She smiled at him mysteriously. "I think your ancestors would be very proud of what you have grown up to become."

Albus started at that as Meciel smiled again.

"Yes," she continued. "They would be very proud indeed."

Albus honestly had no words to say to that and, if he could admit it to himself, he didn't like the implications in that sentence. He watched as Meciel, easily controlling Amanda's body perfectly by now, strode to the other side of the battle-scarred apartment and knelt down.

"I have neither the mood nor the time for subtleties and secrecy," Meciel declared quietly. "I shall take back what is mine not with the silver tongue but with the silver sword."

Silver light burst into existence in the room and Albus couldn't stop the surprise from showing on his face as he stared forward in amazement. The Meciel-possessed Amanda stood up, her flesh sizzling and burning as the Sword of the Cross- Harry's Sword of the Cross- lit up like a bonfire for her. Next to him, both Michael and Sanya gaped at the scene.

"Impossible!" the Russian Knight gasped.

Albus' mind was working shrewdly. He had seen Amanda touch the silver sword before and there had not even been a glimmer of light. Now, the sword blazed in the blonde's hand, silver flames licking furiously at the blackening skin even as Meciel repaired it moments later. Meciel herself appeared to be unaffected by the pain as she watched Albus, who made the connection with a start.

"My word," Albus murmured. "Harry Potter was never the Knight of the Cross, was he?"

"No, he was not," Meciel replied. Something unsettling crossed her face. "I don't know the why but I can understand the how. In the end, I truly do not care. This sword will be my tool once more."

"Did Harry know?" Albus asked.

"Why did it matter? We were one, Harry and I. That was all that mattered," Meciel answered. "Now, take me to your Order. We have little time and I can sense that he has already suffered so very much."

There seemed to be a common theme amongst the books and movies that suggested that a truly brave and courageous man could resist the agonising pain of torture and refuse to give the torturer the pleasure of screaming. The torturer would grow angry and apply more and more punishment in which the victim would just smile in victory and pass out at the right moment, denying his captor the satisfaction of breaking his victim.

Harry called bullshit on that one.

Torture fucking hurt. It really, really hurt. It especially hurt when the torturer was a being that was who-knows-how old with a penchant for misery and a sadistic edge that made the worse sociopath look like a naughty child. When he was being tortured, he considered it a smart move to avoid what pain he could over puffing up his pride. Maeve didn't need any more incentive to hurt him. She already had that in buckets.

Harry was distantly aware that he was screaming in agony but it didn't matter to him. He was above pain, beyond pain, his mind hovering just far enough from his body to be aware of its actions. Every bit of his mental concentration was being used to hold together this ancient mind technique thingy- something that Meciel had drilled into his head the last time the two of them had been separated. It was like he could see his own body before him, his skin all frost-bitten and blue and his digits missing, reddened frozen stumps for fingers and toes. He was missing all of his hair and not just from the top of his head and his back- well, it made even Harry feel a tad queasy and he couldn't have that.

Any loss of concentration and he'd come rushing back into his battered body.

It had happened a few times before. Harry would like to say that it took hours for Maeve to break his mental hold but he was kidding himself. In less than a minute, Maeve had reached into his head and dragged him back to the agonisingly painful world of real life- and fuck, it hurt so badly. It only reaffirmed his position here in Maeve's little castle. The Winter Lady was playing with him, testing and prodding him like a small child might do to an injured bug before squashing him.

It was almost relieving to think of it like that. Harry didn't know what he would do if this were to last for the rest of his long- and Maeve would make sure it would be long- life.

He became aware that his screaming had stopped and immediately drifted back in close enough to pick up his external senses. Maeve didn't like it when she talked to him and received no answer and had showed her displeasure accordingly. Immediately, his vision swam, the icy walls of his prison fading in and out of focus and his entire body literally throbbed with pain. It was painful, yes, but only a fraction of what he really should be feeling. He took deep breaths, one after the other, in and out, in and out as his turbulent emotions swam to the foreground. Panic, fear and unbridled rage assaulted him from all directions and he was barely aware of his body thrashing about. Then, something cool and oh-so familiar slide across his chest and his muscles went limp.

"It's been quite a few days now, Harry," somebody whispered huskily.

Harry shuddered with fear.

Maeve slid into view, her beautiful and provocative clothing covered with drops of his blood. Her green feline-slanted eyes gazed upon him almost fondly as she raised a pale hand and licked the tip of her finger. Harry followed the digit with nothing short of horror in his eyes. He knew what Maeve was capable of doing to the human body with just that one little finger.

"I'll admit, your perseverance is quite endearing," Maeve continued and laughed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were sticking around because you like me. Is that it, Harry? Do you like me?"

She leaned forward, her rotten breath on his face, and Harry hated himself as lust and warmth stirred beneath his broken body. Maeve smiled coyly and Harry groaned, shaking his head and thrashing against the chains of ice that held him immobile against the wall of his cell. There was only one thing worse than the pain and that was the humiliation. Maeve slid her fingers over Harry's body, caressing his aching flesh with skilful movements that had all the signs of genuine affection. Wherever her fingers went, warmth followed and Harry sighed in relief despite himself, his consciousness sinking further and further into his body as Maeve coaxed out of him the pleasurable and warm feelings that he despised.

It would have been better if Maeve had abruptly twisted her fingers into one of his wounds. At least Harry would have been bought back to his senses. But, instead, Maeve continued her roaming, spreading tingles of pleasure throughout his body. Her hands dipped lower and lower and Harry gritted his teeth, unable to bear it. Glamours assaulted his mind and his senses became saturated with the very essence of Maeve. Her smell filled his nose and the sensation of her loose glacial-coloured hair against his bare skin became painfully pleasurable. Just as he was about to succumb to it, Maeve stopped.

The sensations immediately flooded out his mind and Harry let out a heart-wrenching groan. He wanted to scream, to thrash against his bonds and demand that Maeve continue. Why, oh why did she have to bring him back to the pain? Maeve took a step backwards as Harry sagged against his bonds, his body leaning forward and his head coming to rest on her shoulder. His mind fully centred on his body under Maeve's skilful ministrations, Harry screamed in agony as the pain and torture Maeve had inflicted upon he came back to him three-fold. Every nerve in his body howled at him as Harry thrashed and foamed at the mouth. It was one of the most agonising things that he had ever felt and the drawback to the techniques Harry was using. Eventually, it all caught up with you and all at once. But, he couldn't stop doing it. It was his only release, his only escape from the pain.

As Harry screamed his throat hoarse, pain overtaking every perception and sensation in his body, Maeve put a soft hand on the back of his head and took him into a gentle hug. She rocked him back and forth, like a mother comforting a scared child, and stroked his hair lovingly. Her lips came down to his ears and she whispered soft and comforting phrases. Harry could only focus on those murmurs as they took him away from the pain that assaulted his body and gave him the strength to endure.

Maeve didn't need glamours and illusions to break Harry's mind.

"W-why?" Harry croaked out a few minutes later after Maeve had taken away all of his pain. His body was deliciously numb and he hated himself for loving the sensation. "T-this…is…why?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Maeve chided lightly and bopped him on the nose with her finger. "Curiosity did kill the cat. You shouldn't ask so many questions. Actually, you should start answering a few of my own."

Harry choked and stared at her with wide eyes.

"You haven't asked any!" he exclaimed hysterically.

"Oh," Maeve uttered in surprise. "That's right. I haven't."

Harry couldn't help it and burst out into hysterical laughing. For some reason, it was the funniest thing that Harry had ever heard in his short life. He laughed and laughed, his body shaking against the icy chains that surrounded him as Maeve stepped back and watched him with glittering eyes.

It really fucking hurt.

He had to remember, Harry decided as he was laughing. He had to remember Meciel. Yes. Meciel. Meciel. Meciel. Meciel. Harry chanted the name in his head as his laughs turned into coughs, his body shaking with weakness. Meciel would come. Meciel would save him. Meciel loved him. He wasn't aware of his lips moving but suddenly a pale hand came out of nowhere and slapped him clear across the face. His body rocked under the force of the blow and his widened green eyes gazed at Maeve, who withdrew her hand calmly.

"Don't lie to yourself, Harry," Maeve chided. "If Meciel truly loved you, she wouldn't have abandoned you in your most dire moment of need, would she? If she loved you, she would be here with you now, holding you and tending to you-like I am. Tell me, Harry, where is she?"

Harry was smart enough not to tell Maeve where he had dropped Meciel's coin. It had been a lucky break when Amaris had looked over it during their short duel.

"Why…" he asked instead. "Why are you doing this? You have to tell me, Maeve."

"I do?" Maeve asked with quirked eyebrows.

"It's…a mortal tradition." Harry managed a tight grin. "Whenever the main character…gets captured by the bad guy…the bad guy always tells them their evil plans…so the good guy can ruin them when he escapes."

Maeve stared at him and Harry waited for the pain that she might inflict upon him. Then, to his surprise, she tossed her head back and laughed in pure amusement.

"Oh, Harry, you do entertain me so," she said. "Very well. Do you want to know why I'm doing this, Harry? Remember that we Fae cannot lie."

That couldn't lie directly. Harry was started to get used to Maeve's word games in a way. She might not lie but she could twist words, say something and meaning something else and throw all semblance of context out the window. He nodded carefully, anything to get it to stop for a few moments and give him time to rest. Maeve smiled coolly.

"Essentially," she said. "I want the Wizarding World."

Harry couldn't understand that. Sure, there were a few powerful wand-wizards here and there. Dumbledore and he were two examples, Lord Voldemort was another. But, Harry had noticed that the truly most powerful wizards of this time were all men who had broken away from the severe isolation that the Wizarding World offered and found their powers elsewhere. Harry had Meciel. Voldemort had his dark-ritual from wherever. Dumbledore had…

"Fawkes," Harry murmured, his tired mind putting it all together.

Maeve smiled at him coolly.

"I can't directly intervene with that world. None of the Fae can. We do not go back on our bargains…but we are encouraged to follow the word of the agreement rather than the spirit," Maeve answered. "Summer claimed Albus Dumbledore when he approached them and has been influencing the Wizarding World ever since. I had hoped to claim you and do the same, you who fell under my domain the moment you picked up that coin."

Harry groaned weakly.

"Yes," Maeve continued and stroked his bald head, making him shiver. "You were young and powerful. But, you quickly proved to be unworthy- or, rather, unsuitable- for my plans. I had to find another proxy. Somebody powerful, somebody with similar ambitions to me, somebody who could lay the foundations of my power or, at the very least, remove the foundations of Summer's power. Do you know who I'm talking about, Harry?"

Harry groaned again and Maeve smiled.

"There, there," she murmured seductively. "Now you have my evil plans. I eagerly await your attempts to foil them."

"Why…kidnap me?"

"You're powerful, Harry," Maeve answered. "Not as powerful as your enemy, but powerful enough. Besides," she leaned forward and grasped Harry's chin, lifting his head so that his eyes met hers. "I do not forget a slight."

Harry stared into her soulless eyes and then dropped his gaze dully. The agony of his body was already beginning to return to his body and his limbs were trembling. Maeve took a step back and gazed down at him carefully.

"I think we're done here for today. Don't you agree, Harry?"

Harry could have wept. Her next words, though, caused a strange lurch to go through his heart.

"Amaris!" Maeve called. "Come in here and heal your father."

Harry swallowed thickly and his eyes rose up unwillingly. Appearing next to her mother was his daughter, who once again had aged a few years. The time-dilation affects of the Nevernever scared Harry the most. He had been in here for a week, roughly. How long had passed on the outside when his daughter looked as if she were fourteen or fifteen years old? Her long black hair shimmered around her and her identical set of green eyes met those of her father. She wore a variation of those simple little white dresses that she had been so fond of but there was no sign or speck of human emotion on those cold, dead eyes of hers.

Harry couldn't stand to look at her. Every time he did, he replayed his capture in his head and reviewed the openings he had had, the chances he could have taken to kill her. He had grown to hate her as much as her mother. Yet, just the same, he had grown dependent on the way Amaris mended his broken body. Harry's affection and hatred for his own flesh and blood grew every time Amaris casually ran her hand through his hair or her pale digits stroked the side of his cheek.

Something blocked Harry's view of Amaris and he blinked confusedly, squinting upwards. Maeve stood above him, smiling down at him fondly. She always did, after one of her sessions.

"Harry, my pet," she cooed at him. She lifted a hand and stroked his bald head lovingly. "You've been a very good boy today, haven't you?"

The question was humiliating. What was more humiliating was when Harry glowered at her furiously but reluctantly nodded his head. The first time he had refused to answer a question, Maeve had asked if his tongue had been injured and had promptly pulled it out of his mouth, along with most of his teeth.

"Yes," he dragged out with a hiss, the words torn from the very depths of his soul.

"Yes, what?"

"I…" Harry bared his teeth and screwed his eyes shut. "I've been a good boy!"

"There we are," Maeve murmured and Harry wanted to fucking scream at it all. "When pets are good, they get to have a treat. Here's your treat, Harry."

Harry tensed as she ran her hand over his head. Wherever her pale flesh touched his skin, Harry could feel little prickles as she coaxed a nest of messy black hair from his bald head. It would do little to stop the coldness but Harry knew from personal experience that trying to rest on this floor with no hair was futile.

"Harry, do you think that I love you?" Maeve murmured as she stroked Harry's hair gently.

No. Not this.

Harry shook his head in frantic denial.

"Is that what you think?" Maeve asked quietly, her face full of regret. A tender expression crossed her face and she bent down until her face was right in front of Harry's.

He focussed on her eyes, her cruel, cold eyes. No matter how well Maeve played with his emotions, she could never hide her intentions from her soulless eyes. But…lately…hadn't Maeve's eyes…been growing fond? Harry shook his head again desperately in an attempt to stamp out those thoughts.

"Harry. I want you to say it for me," Maeve whispered affectionately. "Just between you and me, Harry. Say it for me. Say that I love you."

Harry shook his head frantically again. His breathing was frantic and his blood was surging through his body as Maeve smiled gently. She leaned forward and Harry groaned as her lips met his in a tender, loving kiss. He hated himself as he eagerly leaned forward, trying in vain to nestle against the warmth of her body. The Winter Lady drew forward his desperate need for affection and comfort and he responded full in kind as he escaped his pain in the softness that was her lips.

Then it was over. Harry gasped for breath and his body shook as the coldness abruptly returned. Maeve broke off the kiss and smiled at Harry tenderly. She reached forward and stroked his cheek.

"Don't worry, beloved," Maeve said quietly.

Harry twitched at the familiar endearment, which had been perverted from him forever.

"I'll be back soon. We'll be together again soon. I'll be here for you again." She gently lifted Harry's head and pointed it in Amaris' direction. "Do you see Amaris, Harry? Do you see your daughter? Amaris loves you just as much as I do. In fact, she can show much she loves you right now just as soon as she's done making you feel better. Aren't you lucky?"

Harry sagged against his bonds and Maeve stepped away. As she strode away from Harry's defeated body, Amaris watched her mother leave with a blank expression before turning her inhuman gaze upon the form of her father.