~*~Allies and Brothers~*~

He'd left Persephone with some half-truth of an excuse before anyone but the Malfoys could arrive. People in his home, it had never been a concept he was ready to willingly accept. Death Eaters in his home, well, that was simply rejected at conception. After Wormtail, Severus had lost all fantasies of having his brethren as guests. He didn't attend parties unless he was ordered to and did not host them. His secrecy and privacy was of great importance to him and had always been. Letting Persephone sleep in his bed had been a brief moment of madness.

Severus admitted to himself that he had taken to Hermione far too quickly. And though he was at first wary of Persephone, she found ways to tempt him out of his shielding. When he put thought into why, it always came down to one thing.

Emerald eyes.

Despite his best efforts, Severus kept falling for them. Over the years, those eyes had been many things to him, but they had one thing in common. Those eyes meant loss. Lily had had those eyes and he had lost her. The boy had had those eyes and he had lost him when he was meant to help him. Now comes Hermione in this guise of Persephone, with those eyes. Those eyes fashioned after the boy's which were a mere reflection of his mother's. He could feel the tendrils of time winding themselves around him again, trying with all their worth to repeat his broken history.

To deny himself the time to think of it, he pondered Persephone's new developments.

She hadn't complained about any pain in her head in a week or so and familiar things to Hermione didn't trigger as much confusion. It was almost as though she was settling into her altered memory. He wondered if Hermione realized fighting it made it worse and decided instead to go with the flow. In Severus' reasoning, Hermione was a dormant part of Persephone's mind. He saw the pain as Hermione pushing against the magic that kept her down and eliciting a backlash that translated as a headache. It gave him hope that she was in there somewhere. Alive and whole, despite this horrid world and its deceptions.

His greatest fear was still that the upcoming battles would take her from him. Severus had endured one loss too many over the course of his life and the thought of Lily still ached around heart. He had dwelled for four whole years on all that he had had, lost or thrown away. He had blamed himself for everything when he wasn't laying blame on dead men.

Those four years had been so dark for him. He had had nothing to cling to and no allies, aside from the Malfoys, that he trusted or that trusted him. He had served the King and had given himself over to the lure of the darkness of the King's rule. Severus had relished in the killings and the thoughtless obedience because he didn't have to feel anything as that man. He could be a destroyer and it would help him bury himself so that he could be dead as the Light was. He wanted to die like they had, wanted to close his eyes and never wake again. There was no point to life and his meant less than nothing in the end. Severus had hoped someone would do him in, if just to spare him the humiliation of admitting he was incapable of doing it himself.

But then a woman in a red shirt happened to fall into his life.

He had never really known that the transition from lack of feeling to an overabundance could feel like regaining warmth in frozen limbs. At first you welcome the heat, thinking yourself saved, then the unbearable agony begins and you know you have to endure it, but the prospect of running back to numbness seems a mercy. It had felt the same in his heart. At first he was so happy, so present for the first time in four years, and then the emotion he was once too despondent to feel came over him in a wave of daggers.

If it weren't for Hermione he would have sought the merciful numbness again. She had saved him from himself and his depression. She was his savior and he felt bound by gratitude and newfound emotion to try his best for her. But she was so receptive as Persephone where Lily had not been, she was so willing and available in ways Lily had never been.

It had taken him twenty years to realize she was never his to covet. There was something he now understood about James and Lily. They had been meant for each other. They had been the exact two needed at that exact moment to produce Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. No other combination of people could have formed him and in the end, despite the shortness of their lives, they had made it possible to defeat the King.

Out of all the humans on earth, of all the witches and wizards, out of all possible outcomes, James Potter and Lily Evans had come together at that precise moment to create the hope of the wizarding world.

Now, all these years later, Hermione comes to him at this exact moment, in her exact form, and out of all the members of Light that could have ended up in his custody, out of all the people he had ever known, she was the one that came.

The girl he had reprimanded for being too eager, too Gryffindor, and far too much like a young Lily for his taste, especially when he had to deal with Harry Potter's presence. The girl that had both stood up for and rebelled against him. The girl with the buck-teeth he had insulted. The girl who'd managed to turn herself into a human-cat hybrid with Polyjuice Potion, whose ingredients were stolen from his own stores, at age twelve. The girl who had used a time-turner to save the fugitive Sirius Black who had, ages before, saved him from Remus Lupin. The girl with more brains than sense, trying to teach Potter how to survive a Tri-Wizard Tournament. The girl who spearheaded the now-famous Dumbledore's Army. The girl who had managed to escape the events of the Tower, leaving him with a token of her ire; the three inch long scar across his cheek. The girl that had seemed so betrayed and disappointed that he seemingly wasn't for the Light. The girl who had had hope he was a better man, despite how cruel he had been to her.

It must mean something that through all that had happened, all they had been through, it was her existence that revived him. Severus wanted her more than he had ever wanted Lily, because she was his. Hermione Granger had survived the King's world to find her way to him and he was never going to lose her. But when he let himself see the truth, he knew he had never had her in the first place.

She was a fighter in the rebellion, she had however many lives in her hands, she was sticking it to the King by theft and sneaking and whatever else she could. She hadn't been looking for him and he hadn't been looking for her. He was no nearer to believing this world of the King would end the day they met again. He was too far gone to feel anything but contentment at the way things had turned out. She was the exact opposite, putting her life on the line every time she left refuge walls, just so she could take one more thing from the man that had taken everything from her. She didn't love him. She might have cared if he lived or died, but that was merely because he was the only one in a unique position to help them infiltrate the court.

Without him, they had nothing. They were baseless and full up with lies. If he wished it so, he could reveal their entire plot and show the King's men where the Nest was so they could scour the area for the refuge. Without him, the Light would be at a distinct disadvantage. Alastor Moody must have realized that as surely as Severus had. And when he sent back his agent, his snake in the grass, he had sent back something he knew would entice Severus to stay with the cause and with the course. But he had been so ready to give up the entire charade when the theft had intervened and still, even now, he was not in such a place that he could look at their venture and see anything but failure.

Well fought, stalwart failure.

If he told the King about the Light, revealed all their secrets, he would finally be free of this prison...and he would not have even had to cast the curse to end it.

But as dark as the pit around him was, Severus knew he could not follow through with it. The world may be vicious and cruel, broken and miserable, filled with mad men and demons, made up of all the pain and sorrow of short human lives, but it was the only world he had and he had loved that world once, despite its flaws. He would save the world. He was always being asked to. But he would not love a shadow. That's precisely what Persephone was. A delicate, emerald eyed shadow, made especially for him, so that he would not stray from the planned path.

Dumbledore had used Lily against him, like a muggle scalpel, chipping away at the bits of him that wanted to stay out of the war. Severus knew the signs of that vein of manipulation like he knew his own face. He would not let another man hold that kind of sway over him, least of all the old and battered Auror Moody.

No, until Persephone no longer existed, until the King was dead in the ground, until Hermione was back to him again...Severus would not pretend to love her. He had spent too many years of his life being led about like a dog on a leash, changing masters as it suited those around him. Well, he was done with leashes and he was done with oaths. After all this was over, he was going to leave this place, this country. He was going to vanish like smoke in the wind. Let them fight their wars and let them die on their wands, but let them do it without him.

Narcissa woke when the sun was hanging low in the morning darkness, just barely cresting the lowest valley around their Manor. She had been unable to sleep. Lucius was still face down in the master bedroom, so deep in slumber that she feared he would not wake.

After the mishap at the Ministry all those years ago, Lucius had been a punching bag of the Dark Lord's. She had watched as he was given twenty men's responsibilities and told to carry them without fault. It was only a matter of time before he would succumb and as the Master of Death, their Lord-now-King, had more than enough time on his hands. But Narcissa was not going to succumb to any man. She had been raised brave and willful, a proper Black daughter, and with sisters like Bellatrix, who answered only to the King, and Andromeda, who relinquished all her inheritances for the man she loved, Narcissa was bound to be as unbreakable as the sea.

No King, immortal or otherwise, was going to destroy the family she worked so hard for.

The elves had laid out a small and easy breakfast for her and she sat at the table in silence. It was not until she reached for a slice of bacon, however, that she noticed the other person in the room.

Sitting in the dark, with a book in hand and no shirt to speak of, her son had paused in the act of chewing to meet her gaze.

"Morning, Mother." He said and she smiled, flicking her wand for some light.

"Couldn't sleep?" She asked, looking back down to her plate to quell the urge to rush over and embrace him.

Splashed across his pale chest, like lash-marks from a thin whip, were purpled bruises. Yellowing ones littered the parts that weren't covered in new or old scars. She knew if he turned his back to her, she would see bright red wounds that too recently were leaking blood. He had again bore the brunt of his father's allotted physical punishment, which the King delighted in taking out on him, and she ached for the days when he had been small enough to pick up and as unblemished as an angel.

"I was writing to Astoria." He said, flipping a page before beginning to nibble on a sausage. Her heart leapt.

"Oh? I assumed you were done with all talk of her."

"Persephone, apparently, spoke to her. She sent me a very long letter detailing what she wants out of life and her qualifications for those desires. It read like a university entrance essay, but..." He fought back a smile. "It was endearing."

"At least you are trying." She gave him a grateful close-lipped smile and he shook his head.

"Don't get your hopes up, Mother."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"There is something familiar about it, though." Draco stood, bringing himself to sit across from her. "The gesture was very...familiar."

"How so?"

"When I was at Hogwarts, there was a..." He hesitated, "Someone that spoke just like that. Wordy and slightly indignant as though I had belittled them at some point. It was written by Astoria, without a doubt, but the attitude behind it was someone else. But that can't possibly be because that person is either dead or in hiding and couldn't have counseled Astoria."

His words were riddles and she let him speak without asking questions as he seemed to be working something out on his own.

"Unless, that person is in hiding. Unless, that person is right in front of our faces." He seemed to realize something so astonishing it shocked him into silence. Narcissa swallowed a mouthful of tea and spoke.

"Darling?"

Draco's eyes, so much like his father's, blinked and reoriented on her face. "It's nothing, Mother. Just rambling." He cleared his throat. "Why are you up so early?"

"I'm going to see if our one true friend is still willing to help us. Your father cannot take much more of this, I cannot continue picking up the slack left behind and you do not deserve this life."

"If it keeps you safe, Mother, I can endure whatever he gives me." Draco's face was set and she could no longer see the remnants of the boy that had rushed foolishly into the King's trap in his sixth year, stubborn enough to not quit, but not stupid enough to not be horribly afraid. This young man, her son, was growing into a Gryffindor's courage and reading as many books as was possible to know as much as possible. She glanced at the book in his hand at this moment and realized she did not know it.

"What were you reading?"

"Children's tales. The King gave me a book on transgenetic mutations and how they could both aid and harm the magic of witch or wizard. I opted for something less like training."

Thinking about the King's influence in her son's life made the wounds across his body all the more evident. Her heart could not take much more of it. She polished off her breakfast and stood. "I'm off. Take care of yourself while I'm gone."

"And Father? I heard him come home last night. You must have cleaned it up as there wasn't a smell this time."

"Watch him. He needs us more than he ever has." She worked her way around the table and placed a kiss on her son's forehead. He was warm despite his lack of clothing. "I love you, dearly."

"I love you, as well, I suppose."

Narcissa chuckled, making for the front door as the elves cleared away her plate.

The tomb hadn't been opened in at least a year, that much was completely obvious the moment he let a drop of blood paint the smooth stone. The gust of thick and moist air that escaped the doorway was old and stagnant, with an appalling odor of something dead. It couldn't have been the bodies, because they were each privileged with their own slot and locked securely in thick marble.

Rodolphus lit the torches, using a handkerchief to breathe through. The hall of the dead stretched on for a very long while and he had to remind himself that the Damascas were an ancient family. They had been great, a millennia ago, but being on the wrong side of battle or the wrong side of the bars had slowly eaten away at them like a furious disease. The beginning of the record purging began around the fifth century when a muggle/magical battle over ownership of a large plot of land caused the death of twenty people. The man who had started the fight was stricken from the records, though his deeds were not. It only grew worse from there, sons killing fathers, fathers killing daughters, daughters killing mothers, mothers killing children, children killing themselves. After a couple hundred years it became common practice to systematically destroy the existence of anyone that had done the family harm publicly.

What harm Penelope or her brother had done remained to be seen.

Rodolphus set a solid pace as he wandered down the long hall, casting his eyes about for any hint of his quarry. Nothing.

Arama, Clodius, Tytani, Icaban, Polpinena, Fundus, Werto, Abidan, Kestrel, but no sign of the two names he wanted to see the most. Not even where new stone had been carved to make space for the next generation. The holes without labels sat just down from Kestrel's. For all intents and purposes, the line ended there.

There wasn't even a hint that something had been moved. Any spell he cast fell without a sound and he let out a frustrated growl. He only had today. If he didn't trace these lines back to something worthwhile, he was going to be in for it. He lifted the vial of Oberan's blood and stared at the two drops left. Rodolphus had been very careful to not use it all. He watched the blood run around the bottom of the vial and an idea struck him.

"Blood tells." He whispered, delicately hiding the vial back into his chest pocket.

The hall didn't seem so long once he started back. Now his task was to convince the King to aid in this matter. He wondered if their sovereign would be willing to harm Persephone in any way. It seemed unlikely, but he had seen odder things in his lifetime.

The King's manor was unusually noisy upon his arrival and he felt his body shift into battle stance as he neared the throne room. The little patter of feet began to permeate the air and Rodolphus peeked around the corner to see the mudblood children dancing and laughing. The King was not in sight.

He slid out of the shadows in silence. An older girl, standing off to the side, noticed him first and shrieked. The others turned, saw him, and scattered like the roaches they were. He caught a young boy as he sped past him.

"Where is the King?" Rodolphus asked, wondering if this was one of the mutes or one of the tongue-less.

"M-m-m-m..." The boy looked terrified as he should be. Rodolphus only relented because his brother, Rabastan, had had a stuttering problem when he was younger. Even nowadays he would catch on certain words and so he didn't like to talk much. Sometimes people forgot he was there, until, of course he hit them with a nonverbal curse.

"Take a breath and answer me." He loosened his grip. "I won't kill you." Yet.

"M-m-m-min-n-n-istry." The boy nodded and closed his mouth.

"When did he leave for the Ministry?"

"An...hour a-a-ago." The boy relaxed and he let him loose. The boy had black hair and soft brown eyes, his tiny mouth looked just like Rabastan's had when he was this age. Rodolphus wondered if his son would have looked like this.

"Go, while I wish it." The boy vanished before he could completely close his mouth.

A moment later it seemed, the Dark King returned. He had a satisfied smirk on his pale face and the robes draped over him looked new. His blood red eyes landed on him for all of a heartbeat, then he continued onward.

"Have something for me, Lord Viper?"

"A few things, my King." He paused as the King walked away, across the large ballroom to a different hallway.

"Oh, please, on your own time." The King said, waving his long-fingered hand through the air. Rodolphus caught up quickly.

"My king, I have exhausted the records and traced the living relatives. I have been told rather conflicting information. According to Oberan Damasca, the cousin on Persephone's mother's side that still lives, she is dead and has been for two years. But the family tomb is empty of her body and there is no trace that it has ever been there. I have this," he showed the vial. "It holds two drops of Oberan Damasca's blood. I wish to extract a sample of Persephone's to compare. With your leave, my king." He retained a respectful tone, the cut on his cheek a keen reminder that the king could have a furious temper.

"If you can find a way around Severus."

"My king, I thought perhaps..." He hesitated, unsure of this next bit. It was rather presumptuous of him. "Perhaps you could secure a sample."

"Now I am to do your duties as well?"

"No, my king, I simply thought that if I am wrong in my misgivings of her, you could use this time to grow closer to her and if I am right, she will be within your reach for punishment."

"Grow closer?"

"She is quite lovely, especially if she proves true. Formidable, even." Rodolphus was covering every single base. If something went wrong, if Oberan was a liar, or if Persephone was a real Damasca and not a masquerading member of the Light, he would be prepared.

"You think I would take her from Severus?"

"No, milord," he said with reverence. "But I think you want to."

His fingers had been working as his mind sorted itself from that morning's events. Persephone hadn't come out since she went inside and he hadn't been able to muster up the nerve to go and call on her. It had been harsh, what he had said, and seemingly unfounded, but he had needed to do it. Severus was not going to allow himself to regret breaking the lie that Moody had created. He was so deep in his attempt to convince himself that he had done the right thing that he hardly noticed the wards shifting at the gate. It wasn't until the bell rang that he perked up. Severus hadn't been expecting anyone. This was more or less his day off. Putting the potion under stasis and decontaminating himself of ingredients, Severus weaved his way downstairs.

Persephone was nowhere in sight, especially after what he had said and he hurried to answer the door. Narcissa stood on his doorstep, her face so very worn and weary that his first thought was that Lucius had succumbed.

"Ah, good. You're home."

"Narcissa?"

She paused, staring at him with a puzzled expression, almost as though she was fighting contradictory thoughts. Without warning, she spun on her heel and headed back to the gate. The front door shut behind him quietly as he hurried after her.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Home. I should have never come."

Severus used his height to his advantage and put himself in front of her. She came up short almost immediately.

"Why did you come?"

"It's like that night all over again."

"What night?" Severus stood in such a way that she couldn't see the gate behind him unless she craned her neck.

In these four years, mostly because of his rampant despondency, he had climbed the ranks of the Death Eaters and had garnered a store of power all his own. Since the night on the Tower, the Malfoy's had been close friends and sought his advice on many things. Draco had become his godson, Narcissa had become something like a sister and Lucius had become a dear friend. He wondered sometimes if his friendship was the only thing keeping them afloat in pureblood eyes. He never heard a bad thing about the Malfoys when he was present, but had heard through the grapevine all the horrid things spoken about them. The look on Narcissa's face worried him.

"The night you swore to protect Draco."

"What's happened?" He asked, fear etching its way across his face.

"Nothing, nothing." Narcissa seemed reluctant to speak though her face was twisting in an anxious way. He took hold of one of her wringing hands and she stopped her nervous twitching.

"Are you in trouble?"

"Not yet." Her eyes met his and she was so broken behind the steel of her armor that it pained him. He had tried so hard to help them and it didn't seem to do any good.

"Tell me." He said, maneuvering them towards the garden path. The morning was warm again, though winter had only just begun. Narcissa's sable cloak drug on the stone path, sweeping behind her much like his robes would have, had he been wearing them. Clad in a light grey long-sleeved shirt tucked into black slacks with his customary dragonhide boots, he was quite comfortable in the noon air.

"I can't do this, Severus. I am sick to dying of struggling to survive. The more I do, it seems, the more I must overcome. Lucius is but one man, he cannot withstand this torment forever. His boulder of punishment is far too heavy for us to bear. I do not want to do this again, you have been the only friend our family has had since these punishments, but we can do no more."

"What do you wish of me, Narcissa?" Not another oath, anything but that.

"Speak to the King. He values your counsel as I do. Try to convince him to at least lessen the load. Whatever aid you can give us will be enough."

Severus was silent, watching the rituals of his property's resident animals. They were towards the middle of his garden, which was on the opposite side of the house to the library. A fountain, some distance away, gave off a steadying trickling sound. Narcissa's hand tightened in his and he sighed.

"I shall speak to him tonight. I do not know what he will do to Lucius for seeking my intervention, but I will do what I can. You must go home and rest." Severus made to guide them back towards the house, maybe to offer her a cup of tea before she left. Suddenly arms were around his waist and he was automatically doing the same to her.

"We are in your debt. You've done more for us than we can ever repay. I do not know what made us worthy of your care, but know that we are eternally grateful." Narcissa retreated, a delicate smile on her face.

"You owe me nothing. Now, go home, try to find some comfort. I will see what can be done with the King."

The guards outside the Lestrange manor were grumbling under their breath when Rodolphus finally made it home. Apparently his dearly beloved had turned to their number to relieve her carnal urges. That, in and of itself, was not surprising. It seemed she had caused a quarrel between three of them that was an annoyance they could not keep silent.

He didn't really care. Rodolphus took off his cloak and made for the sparring ring in the basement. It was large and well-equipped. He kept himself in shape as much as possible since being sprung out of Azkaban. Wide open areas were akin to an addictive drug, though in too much quantity he found them frightening.

The dark, cold, sea fortress never left his mind. He could remember the rocking of the small boat that brought him there, the frigid bite of the air as they hoisted him up on the dock and gave orders for his placement in a top security cell. He could remember the low keening whine that greeted his ears as he entered and the symphony of sobbing, shivering and screaming that became comforting after the fifth year. The days were the most horrible because in the morning light that filtered through the tiny splinters of windows in the expanse of the thick stone walls, one could almost recall what hope and happiness felt like.

Rodolphus thought of one such occasion, towards the beginning of his vacation, when he had made the foolish choice to try and remember his mother's face. At first he had gotten the nose wrong and then the hair, but eventually he had captured her entire essence in the puddle of rainwater and filth beside his small window. He could still taste the joy that failed to mask the shit, mold, decay, and desperation. He could still feel the sun and could still replay the moment he found his happiest memory.

He had been ten, at most, or perhaps he was just eleven. He had been waiting for something, a present...or maybe his letter, and was playing Exploding Snap with Rabastan in the foyer. He lost the game, but it made Rabastan happy so he didn't much mind. As he reset for a new game, their mother came through the door. She was still very beautiful back then, with a gentle smile and strong, warm arms. He knew she smelled of peppermint and Ulper's Perfume. He knew the feel of her cheek against his. He let himself remember her words. "I love you both, so very much."

He closed his eyes to her words and for a moment, he was gloriously happy. Then he opened his eyes to the gritty mess that was his cell and turned to the window in time to see that one Dementor, the one who had hovered just out of reach of his window, come sweeping in.

Afterwards, he didn't know why he had drawn some chubby-faced woman with smiling eyes in his own filth on the floor, but it was washed away by that night's storm and he forgot it had even occurred.

The sparring ring had become his coping mechanism once they had been freed. His cell was eight-by-eight, arch-ceilinged, with a nice view of the endless storm of the sea outside their hellhole. He knew Bella was down in one of these cells, too. He wondered how she fared. The day after him they brought Rabastan and the split second they carted him past the bars of his cell was the last time Rodolphus saw his brother for fourteen years.

Once every day, Rabastan would call out down the hall to him, asking about their parents. He would bring up little things to keep them going, but day by day the Dementors would draw from them their happy memories, until they could scarce remember each other.

Sometime after the seventh year, the words would no longer come out. His brother stuttered in his sleep in those long years, crying out for him, for their mother, for silence. Rodolphus cried for home. Fourteen years seems like a long time when you think about it, but in the long run it was very quick. It sped along once all the memories he wanted to keep were gone. Sometimes he would go to sleep clean-shaven and wake with a beard. Sometimes he would wake to snow in summer.

It had taken a couple years just to find a solid footing in the outside world. The Dark Lord, King, had been understanding and had honored them for true servants of his rule. Though it was incredibly difficult, seeing as he still had nightmares and woke up screaming and had holes in his memories that ached like sore teeth, he had resumed his place among the Death Eaters.

He had fought his way back from depression and madness to serve the King in all he did. This was why he could not stand the raising up of Severus Snape. If they had been free, they would have searched the ends of the earth for their master. They would have never ceased and yet a turncoat and two-faced traitor is revered above them. It turned his stomach to think of it.

His face must have betrayed his inner thoughts because Rabastan gave him a funny look when he walked into the ring.

"W-w-what are you so d-dour about?" There was a hint of a joke in his tone.

"Nothing." Rodolphus cast aside his rumination and divested himself of his shirt. "When did you arrive?"

"Three d-days ago. I was staying with G-Godemar in Flintshire."

"Have you got an assignment, then?" His brother was covered in sweat, holding one of the training dummies by the throat. The equipment was bewitched to fight you on command. It was physical and borderline muggle, but it kept him sharp and fit. His muscles had atrophied some in Azkaban and he had grown very thin. Years down the road, and after a ton of hard work, he felt good about himself again.

"Tomorrow. D-d-did you want to come? I'd like c-company." Rabastan gave him a smile, gentle like their mother's and he shrugged.

"I'm free for now. What are you doing?"

"Talking to a couple Sn-natcher friends of Greyback's. They say they captured some valuable fugitives. Godem-mar thinks its worth the look just in case."

"It can't be worse than sitting around here waiting for plans to progress. Speaking of which, what do you think of this Persephone Damasca?" Rodolphus took a sparring dummy and activated it. The sudden rushing charge set him off kilter and he had to fall backwards on his hands to avoid the next attack.

"You mean that girl everyone has been on fire about? I don't care for her much either way. Why d-do you ask?"

"It's," he dodged again, punching the dummy quickly in the kidneys. "It's slightly complicated."

"Oh? Even for you?"

"You don't have the right to be sarcastic."

"I've been on the shit side of Spain for twelve days. I get to be what I w-want." Rabastan set his dummy aside and it fell lifelessly to the floor.

"She's a spy." Rodolphus finally set in his rhythm and the dummy was staggering back. A sheen of sweat formed on his skin. "For the Light."

"What does the King think?"

"He doesn't really know. I sort of omitted the truth."

"Sort of? As in you sort of w-woke up this morning, you sort of drew breath?"

"I'm working on it."

"On what? Since when does the most loyal w-withhold the truth?"

"I was going to tell him, but first I need a fallback. He's enamored with her and if I am wrong..."

"Are you wrong?"

"No, but if the Light has learned anything in four years, I might not be able to prove that. I need an assurance that I am still on top of the heap. Yaxley is assisting."

"You tell him before m-me? I'm offended, brother."

"I needed a scapegoat. If anything goes off kilter, I'll have a way out. Remember..."

"Always have an exit strategy? Or was it always know when to fail?"

"Both. Father taught us that."

"Yes, and father is dead. I say you shouldn't follow past glory. You remember when we started this servitude it was for a Lord. When we went to Azkaban, it was for him. It's almost been twenty years. Can you honestly tell me he is the same man we swore to serve?" Rabastan always seemed to forget his impediment when it came to their Lord. He grew eloquent and clear, until he realized that he had been speaking without anyone interrupting and then he would lapse back into his stuttering. Rodolphus learned early not to draw attention to it or Rabastan would stop out of self-conscious fear.

"That sounds treasonous, brother."

"So does withholding valuable information for the sake of self-protection. I see it is acceptable for you to do it, why not I?"

"I have plans, Rab, to reclaim what has left us."

"Maybe you can't. How many times can a man be broken before there is nothing left to stand? Our Lord will need more than a p-paramour and a clean roster to be what we remember. The poison is inside of him and unless we can remove it, all our actions are for naught."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"The same thing Bella did to you all those years ago." Rabastan seemed pleased when the dummy knocked him flat out. Looking upside down at his brother, Rodolphus sighed.

"That is the cruelest thing you've ever said to me."

"Now just think what it will do to our Lord if he falls in some way like you did. Think of the anger and the murder. Think of the power. Our Lord has been sleeping for too long. Let us wake him up."

A/N: Okay! I'm liking this chapter much better than the last one. I'm officially at the unwritten chapters, so there could be a small space between them, but I have the Werdsmith app on my phone and the word counter on it is wondrous for my writing flow. I can know in a glance how many words I still have left and the progress bar turns green when you meet your goal. Here comes my favorite part of writing-writing! Please Review! Tickle2Kill.