Sorry for the long wait guys! I'm updating two chapters now to make amends!

Warning! We've resurrected yet another character JK Rowling decided to kill off. Hope you don't mind.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns it all.

Chapter 25

Albus, rather inexplicably, found himself in a field. He was wearing whatever he'd fallen asleep in the night before-filthy jeans, an old Chudley Cannons tee shirt, and charcoal grey robes-but could somehow feel the sun's warmth, as though his skin was bare. He smelled the vague aroma of wildflowers, and in the very far distance, heard a stream patter against stone. He felt strangely different in this field. He felt lighter. He felt strangely powerful, as though everything could and would go his own way. He felt happier, even. Albus had nearly forgotten what the word "happy" meant.

As he walked, he shrugged his robes off. The day was far too warm for them anyway, and they reeked of everything his bedroom in Godric's Hollow stank of. He could feel a spring emerging in his step, a grin spreading on his mouth. He even went so far as to grab a fistful of wildflowers and smell them, before continuing on his journey. Before long, he broke into a run, laughing loudly. Somehow, everything was right in the world. Everything was okay. He was a boy again; young and carefree and bright. He looked up at the huge sun, and smiled at it. The first true smile he'd smiled in weeks.

"Al?" A soft voice. A familiar voice. He turned and saw Rosalind smiling brightly at him, looking more beautiful than ever before.

"Rosalind?" the words flew from his lips like joyous birds. His grin widened, nearly splitting his face. He rushed up to her, and swept her in his arms, laughing loudly, happily. He heard a sound that he had been deprived of for months-Rosalind's sweet, musical giggle. He hugged her hard, as hard as he dared, and held her at arm's length.

"But I thought you hated me. I thought...I thought you didn't love me anymore." he whispered. She laid a hand on his cheek.

"I will never stop loving you Al. Never." the lips that spoke those words were soon pressed against his own, and he felt as though his heart would burst with happiness. After she pulled away, he opened his eyes.

"Oh Rosalind, I'm so happy, I-" she took a step back.

"Rosalind?" Albus asked, confused. She took another step, and another, and another. Her sweet, genuine smile had turned into a painfully forced grin. Her eyes looked empty and dull, as though a dementor had sucked the soul out of her. After a few more steps, she extended her hand. Her head lolled to the left.

"Rosalind!" he jogged after her, but for every step he took forward, she took two steps back, hand still outstretched.

"I'll never stop loving you, Al," it was no longer a promise, but rather a chant. A lie. "Never. Never. Never." Her grin slid from her face, and turned into a snarl. Her features had all gone grey and lumpy. Her hair was knotted and rumpled, her face broad and greasy and grey. Her eyes were completely dead, the bare hazel color nothing more than a taunt. A thick strand of drool slid from the corner of her mouth. She was pregnant, he realized. Hugely pregnant and disgusting.

"Rosalind?" he was frightened. Terrified. "Love?"

"Never..." Rosalind took one final step back, the hand that wasn't in midair resting on her stomach. "Never."

It was as though the floor slipped from under her. All at once she was gone, and Albus was left, looking at her as she plummeted from an unseen cliffside.

"NNNNOOOOOOOOO! NOOOO!" he screamed. He dove off of the cliff without thinking, but as he fell, he realised she was nowhere to be found. He was falling through darkness, feeling himself grow thinner and bonier and angrier as he fell. He felt power coursing through his veins, but not the same power he felt in the field. This was darker, this was thicker. This made his eyes narrow, and his face sallow. This made him hateful, and coldly angry. He looked up and saw, up above him, a baby boy gurgling, Rosalind clutching him. Her face was set in a hard line, its message clear.

"AAAAAGUHHHHHHHHHH" he shouted, feeling the cry rip through his chest like tissue. He looked one last time at Rosalind, before the blackness at the bottom of the drop swallowed him soundlessly, wordlessly, and completely.

...

Albus sat up in bed, sweating bullets. His thin chest heaved, and one bony hand went to touch his hair. Though he was sticky with sweat, his flesh was still cold to the touch.

"A nightmare," he said. "Only a nightmare." he stood shakily, and walked to his bedroom window. As he walked, he imagined he could smell something burning. He leaned against the windowpane and looked outside. There had been something burning. Felix had started a fire with young muggle girl, and was feeding it with the limbs of her parents. Albus' face almost cracked into a smirk, and he looked at the flames. Hope you're happy, dad, he thought. We all know how much you hated muggles.

...

In Hogsmeade, there were no dreams being had. The nights were full of bustling activity like the days. Even though the word had gotten around that Albus Severus Potter was torturing and killing muggles in Harry Potter's name. Even though Cygnus Lestrange, the son of the mad, wicked terror, Bellatrix Lestrange had killed them. Even though their meeting could not have been far away. Life went on nearly untouched in Hogsmeade. People hustled through their business more quickly, perhaps. Perhaps no one was willing to meet anyone's eyes. Perhaps the words "how could he? The son of Harry Potter, killing muggles? Killing his own brother?" dangled from everyone's lips. Perhaps people were afraid to be out at night, to let their children and spouses out of sight, knowing that if one was caught by Cygnus' or Albus' band, one could easily be torn to shreds, or tortured for seemingly useless information in a matter of moments. Despite all of the horror and worry, life seemed to move on as it always did.

Grimmauld Place was filling with Cygnus' followers. Cygnus had only barely slept since Rhea's death and Alice's murder. As he sat in the makeshift kitchen, a young girl approached him tentatively, putting a small, white hand over his.

"Cygnus?" he looked up tiredly at what could've been his youngest follower. She chewed her lower lip, and couldn't have been any more than eleven or twelve years old.

"Well, if it isn't little Lillian Lovegood. What can I do for you, my girl?" he said, trying his hardest to be happy and lighthearted for her benefit.

"Have some tea with me?" she asked shyly. "I'm having a little party in my room." He gave her a weary glance.

"Lillian, I appreciate your motives, but I really don't want any-"

"Oh please Cygnus!" her eyes were wide and grey and begged him to follow. Cygnus' stomach did a flip as he looked into her face and saw Rhea peering back at him.

"Of course." he replied. She smiled and took his hand, and dragged him up a flight of stairs, into a room that was hardly big enough for him to stoop in. The walls were covered with fraying starry wallpaper, and as he watched them, they moved lazily to form constellations. Dangling from the ceiling was a mobile made of realistic looking planets, that spun around each other, defying their orbits. He couldn't help but smile, as he felt the little boy in him jump for joy. He'd loved astronomy as a child, and felt almost bitter that his parents had never allowed him to seriously pursue it at Hogwarts.

"Here's the tea, Cygnus." he looked down, and saw that she had seated herself behind a card table that would barely come to his knees if he sat in a chair. Grouped around the other sides of the table were a few dolls. Nearest to her was a stuffed bear and a pink rabbit wrapped in a yellow blanket.

"Aren't you a bit old to be playing with dolls?" he asked. She smiled dreamily.

"I suppose I must be. But they've been my best and only friends for all of my life. Surely that counts for something." Cygnus felt his throat close on itself.

A friendless childhood. Because Mother thought that I was a Black. Too good for all of those other children. Especially the muggles. Especially that filthy Greyback girl. Especially, especially the filthy dirty half bloods. Play with your cousins, she'd say. Play with me. I'm scared of you, I'd reply. I don't like the way you smile. Her little grin would vanish, and she'd shriek in fury and break a dish. I'd run into my room and cry. What else was there to do?

In an uncharacteristic display of compassion, he grabbed her hand from across the table, and looked at her earnestly.

"I'm your friend, Lil. Don't you ever forget that, alright?"

"That's wonderful, Cygnus!" she cried, pouring imaginary tea into his chipped mug. "Just wonderful."

...

"What were you to my father?" The crooked, fat old man smiled, and showed cracked, yellow buck teeth.

"Ahh! Yes, H-Harry P-P-Potter!" the old man chittered. "Harry P-Potter, found me very useful when he was trying to find out how his own parents died. Of course, I supplied adequate information. I, uhm, even helped him defeat the D-D-Dark Luh-Lord and become one of the most powerful w-wizards of our day."

"My father would've told me about you if you were as helpful as you say you were." Albus said suspiciously. The old man laughed, and began to circle Albus as quickly as he could, being slumped over a huge, thick walking stick.

"Well...why would he t-tell his son," he hissed. "After all, he'd want to seem a hero to you." Albus pursed his lips. The old man continued.

"And why shouldn't he? I don't blame him, and I don't care for the credit myself..." he stopped walking, and thrust his face too close to Albus'. The old man reeked of dung and rotting flesh and despair. "But I've been brought here by your friend F-Felix...because you've hit a wall."

"What has he told you?" Albus' hand was already at his wand. Felix immediately threw himself to his knees, and stayed the younger boy's hand.

"No Master, I told him nothing. I only told him that perhaps...the Lestrange boy...was standing in your way of seeking the power that your father would have wanted you to have." he said, his voice all honey and oil. Albus' hand dropped from his pocket.

"Yes," he said dully. "Cygnus Lestrange has been a problem. He murdered one of my servants in cold blood, and has made threats on..." the words 'love,' 'girlfriend,' and 'wife' stuck in his throat. "...a close associate of mine. I want him dead as soon as I can afford." The old man smiled his cracked, yellow smile again.

"That can easily be arranged." Albus leered, and as he turned, was shocked to hear that the old man was still talking.

"But wouldn't you rather deal with him...personally?" he said. Albus turned to stare at him.

"What do you mean, personally? Isn't it enough that I have to deal with him at all, you globulous waste!" he shouted in a high voice. Higher than usual.

"I mean, Master," the word dripped off the old man's tongue with just the right amount of flattery. As though he'd been saying it for years. "I mean that perhaps this is a problem better to face yourself. Do not allow him to try to kill your servants and then not face him yourself."

Albus narrowed his eyes at the old man. At length, he spoke.

"Alright. You're right. I'm going to face him myself." there was something about the icy determination in his voice that sent a familiar spike of terror down the old man's spine. He smiled as one would smile at someone that one was about to steal hundreds of galleons from. He put his filthy, puffy hand on Albus' scrawny shoulder.

"I can make you powerful, boy." the old man said. "I can make you more powerful than you've ever imagined." Albus looked at Felix for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his expression for a moment.

"Your father would be proud. He'd be proud of what you've done...what you still need to do." he said, Albus still turned from the old, lumpy face. He turned back to face the old man, and slowly nodded. His hand hand slid from Albus' shoulder.

"What do I call you?" Albus asked at length. After a moment of thinking, the old wizard answered.

"Call me...Scabbers, Master. Scabbers will do."