A/N- It's been a while. I am happy to say I am nearly finished school! Anyway, here is the chapter for which this story is named. I hope it does not disappoint.

This chapter is dedicated to lastcrazyhorn who has supported me in this story! Thank you lastcrazyhorn, please go read their stories!

Also, the 888th review triggers the one update every Friday deal. Go go go!

"I'm speaking of stories that begin

Where some will leave their blood

Where children must grow up too fast

And words freeze time"

-Prince Arthur by Coeur de Pirate

Return of Emerald

Chapter 36: The Return of Emerald

Altair Castell sat in his little house in France, sipping a warm cup of tea in his dining room. The post had just flown in and Altair was eager to see if his son had sent any interesting news. It really was so lonely out here...

Altair sorted through the mail and froze as he uncovered the Malfoy family crest on a heavy cream-coloured envelope. Lucius...Altair swallowed as he opened the letter.

"A. Castell,

Does the word horcrux mean anything to you?

Lucius Malfoy"

Oh dear...Altair set his tea down and sank into the high-backed wooden chair. He could just imagine the type of exasperated betrayal in the man's voice, the tone which made him want to curl up and hide because he had done something wrong. Because he had. He had effectively blackmailed his ex-lover with stolen memories into doing his dirty work for him. But it was for a good cause, Altair tried to tell himself. It was for Hasan, for Harry.

And gleaming unprotected on his shelves, now that his son was safe at Hogwarts, were the fruits of their combined labor: the Ring of Gaunt, Slytherin's Locket, Ravenclaw's Diadem, and Hufflepuff's Cup. It worried him to know that his own son had had the tiara in his bag for a while and it was also a concern that he had but four horcruxes out of seven and, of course, it was a concern that Lucius had finally caught on. Had just...figured it all out like a puzzle.

Altair Castell was not sure if he should feel elated or very very depressed. In fact, his body trembled as his hands shook. His normally elegant cursive was reduced to mediocre scrawl.

"Lucius,

We need to talk.

Altair"

.oOo.

"Give me your arm." Snape commanded, conjuring a vial with his wand.

Draco snapped out of his cool veneer to look at him with utter surprise. "It's really true then?" he sputtered. He was unsure if he felt honored or nauseated as Snape quirked an eyebrow at him.

Soundlessly, Draco offered his arm, trying not to wince as Snape clinically pressed a thin surgeon's knife to his vein, causing a bead of blood to form there.

"Isn't there a spell or something?" Draco asked weakly as the wound started to sting.

Severus' lips quirked up in amusement. "What? Can't handle a little pain, Draco?"

The boy opened his mouth to protest but promptly shut it. He didn't appreciate being ridiculed by his godfather. He had to know being sliced open wasn't a pleasant experience.

"Oh, do stop being so melodramatic," Severus sighed as he regarded Draco's paling face. "I'm not really trying to cause you pain. Although there are more...humane methods of drawing blood, this ritual, as you could have guessed (had you put any effort into it), is not a humane one. It calls for a sacrifice and sacrifices are not pleasant, regardless of willingness."

Draco licked his lips. "He's really coming back then?" he asked hoarsely.

Snape gave him an inscrutable stare. "What made you think otherwise?" he questioned.

Draco shrugged.

"Is it perhaps that the Dark Lord isn't all you have imagined?"

Draco remained silent.

Snape inwardly sighed. The boy was clearly feeling uncomfortable about this new prospect and would probably melt under all of the new developments. Draco was helping a madman resurrect himself for Salazar's sake. This was not an act done lightly.

"How long until this potion is ready?" Draco enquired tonelessly.

"Three months." Snape answered, sealing up the vial and cleaning the wound.

"How long until he comes back?" Draco asked.

"One."

"But-!"

Snape raised his eyebrow. "You are free to go, Mr. Malfoy."

With a slight trembling in his limbs, Draco walked out of the office with as much dignity as he could muster. There was no sign that his godfather had taken blood at all, except for the slight tingling in his forearm. He could easily pretend that he had not just given his life force to the Dark Lord, but he had and the implications were unknown. One thing was for certain, his place in the Dark Lord's inner circle was secure. His parents would be so proud and what was more, he had triumphed over Barty Crouch Jr...

.oOo.

Hasan woke up with a start, sweat drenched his hair, causing it to cling around his pale face. He had dreamed of the Department of Mysteries again, except this time he was led down an alternative hallway leading to a room with a fluttering Veil in the center of it. His dream-self had stepped right up to wispy fabric, before he began to hear voices, and more than voices, Hasan began to see the misty forms of people. Before he knew it, he was staring across the veil at Lily Potter, her beautiful auburn hair in elegant waves, James Potter, his characteristically messy hair and glasses making Hasan jump back, and then everyone behind them. All the ancestors of Harry Potter. All of them...

And the strength in his legs dissipated and his legs crumbled to useless sticks beneath him, and he fell to the ground in tears. Hasan prided himself on his separation from Harry Potter. He prided himself on his ability to escape. His ambiguity. He loved his freedom.

So then, why was this veil bringing back all of those emotions? Lily's face smiled down on him, lovely and radiant, but gentle and soft like the moon. His longing doubled. It finally struck him that he had never seen his mother. That he could not remember much of what she looked like, except for the glimpses he caught when the dementors came near. How pathetic was that?

No one knew who he was, but if they had, would they shower him with relics of his parents? Even articles and books which were written about Harry Potter: The Boy-Who-Lived had limited pictures of his parents, and then they were always the same ones. The same nice familial pose. But there was nothing to indicate what life could have been like. No wedding photos, no family albums, no...his tears came in torrents down his face.

Was this what he was supposed to see in the Mirror of Erised? Why was this a desire only secondary to his need to hide? There was something wrong with him, wasn't there? There was something wrong...He raised his tear-streaked face to meet his mother's once more. She held out her hand. One glistening hand and Hasan reached...

In the split second before his hand met hers, her emerald green eyes flashed scarlet, and the apparition suddenly lunged out of the veil with fangs bared and dripping in blood. Hasan had just enough time to roll back as his 'mother' was sucked back into the veil by some unknown force. A cold, high-pitched laughter resonated throughout the room.

"Oh, poor little Harry Potter..." and the Dark Lord's cackling continued as he was torn from his dreamscape.

Now awake, Hasan used his Protean ring to call out to Luna as he walked shakily to the Great Hall. If they were going to go down to the Department of Mysteries, they had better do some research first. How many rooms were down there? Were all of them like that? Was there even such a room? As he walked, he thought he felt the Veil caress him...

Luna caught up to him just outside the Great Hall like he had asked her to.

"What is it, Hasan?" Luna queried, concern shining in her silver eyes. "Did you hear the banshee this morning too?"

Hasan gave her a small smile, but it was empty with worry. "I want to research the Department of Mysteries," he whispered, "You don't mind, do you?"

She shook her head. "That's a very insightful idea," she agreed. "But I doubt the headmaster would just leave those books lying around in the library. Even their presence in the Restricted Section is doubtful."

Hasan leaned in closer, "I'm talking about the Chamber of Secrets, Luna."

Her eyes seemed to sparkle at that. "No basilisk this time, I hope."

Hasan grinned, "Absolutely not. Although I did pick up this snake..."

.oOo.

Daphne frowned as Hasan had yet to show up at breakfast. Tracey was doing a Transfiguration project with Pansy and Draco looked a bit volatile this morning. Sighing, she made her way over to the Gryffindor table, where Theo was eating with Hermione.

"Daphne!" Theo smiled, "What brings you to the sunny side of town?"

"Nothing much," Daphne smiled, "I guess I just missed you and Hermione."

With a quick polite smile, Daphne began to fill her plate. She noticed that Ron, Ginny, and Lavender were no longer at the table- as they were serving detention with Filch every weekend morning until the end of the school year. Dumbledore had not been particularly happy to know the truth behind Neville's injuries.

"Where's Neville?" Daphne asked presently, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice as she noticed his absence.

"Hmm, I think I remember Dumbledore calling him up to his office...but that was a while ago." Hermione frowned, sneaking a glance at the head table. "He should be back by now."

Daphne got a sinking feeling in her gut. Something was off here, maybe not dangerous, but something was definitely wrong. She knew the headmaster was trying to train Neville to take up the Boy-Who-Lived mantle and she knew that Neville was suffering under the responsibility. But why would he need Neville now, during breakfast?

Daphne turned the corner to the headmaster's office, when Neville came barreling down the hall towards her.

"Neville?" Daphne asked softly, "Is everything-?" But as Neville ran past her, she imagined she saw tears shining in his eyes. Her heart melted and she was going to run after him when she heard the voices of McGonagall and Augusta Longbottom emerging from the office. Acting purely on her Slytherin instincts, she pressed herself to the wall and waited in silence.

"They were doing so well!" Augusta cried softly, the sound muffled by perhaps the cloth on McGonagall's shoulder.

"It's not your fault," the professor soothed. "We had no idea that there would be a relapse, even a possibility of one. No one could have-"

"But I could have taken Neville to see them more often!" Augusta confided. "I take him once every holiday, but I always feel as if it tears him up inside. His mother always tries to give him things, scraps of things, trifling nothings! And he would always try to pocket them and- Merlin! I would never let him! I told him to throw all those scraps of trash out! I thought it would be unhealthy for him to be reminded too often. I made him toss out all those wrappers! I made him!" Augusta sobbed. "I made him…"

Minerva pursed her lips. "We may never know how it feels to be Mr. Longbottom, but I know he loves you and won't hold that against you."

Great sobs racked the grandmother's body as she leaned on Minerva, her old friend.

"It will be alright, Augusta. I'm so sorry. For him and for you."

Daphne had heard enough. She crept away from the hall and then went sprinting down the hall. She caught a glimpse of his retreating figure near the back door. He swung it open and tore outside. Daphne followed Neville as he ran through the snow flurries to the greenhouse. The cold bit her as she ran, but nothing would not deter her from her task.

"Neville!" she cried after him. "Neville!"

He reached the greenhouse door and turned around, stunned that there was indeed a person behind him. He didn't want to be pursued, not really. He just needed to be alone for a bit. His hand rattled the copper doorknob and it opened. He backed inside. Daphne stood frozen in the cold, unsure of what to do now.

"Come on, it's cold," Neville's voice came softly, sneezing at the end of it.

Daphne gratefully stepped into the sauna-like warmth before turning to the boy. Her eyes scanned him for injuries first. She took in his running nose- which could have been from the cold- his red puffy eyes- which were certainly not- and his shaking limbs- which could have been from many things.

"Neville..." Daphne began, her voice shaking. What was she thinking? She was not intimate enough with Neville to broach the subject of his parents' decline. She was not even sure she knew the exact situation correctly. "So you've heard then?" Neville asked. "Was it announced in the Prophet? Boy-Who-Lived's Parents to Die?"

"Oh Neville..." Daphne's voice broke off, her heart reaching out to him. She wasn't stupid. She knew the stories: Bellatrix had tortured Neville's parents into insanity, but they had been fine up until now, right? Like vegetables...But she could see now that it had been absolutely not fine. Just because they hadn't been in the public eye for quite some time didn't mean they weren't in Neville's eyes. It never occurred to her that during those years Neville had suffered seeing them, how they were unable to remember him. "I'm so sorry," Daphne murmured brokenly, regretting her lack of insight. Ashamed she had been ignorant...

"Yeah, me too," Neville said, clearing his throat. "I never expected them to recover, you know, but I never expected them to get worse either...You know why they declined? Because I didn't visit enough! Because they can't remember me!"

"Neville, you know that's not true!" Daphne said with conviction, although she was unsure of it herself.

"It is, the doctors said so. They lost their will to live and now..." he took a deep steadying breath. "It's because they can't remember anyone who loves them. They don't recognize me. They barely even acknowledge Gran. If I had been there. If they had remembered me, they wouldn't want to leave me! Would they? They wouldn't want to leave me..."

"But that's not your fault, Neville. It's Bellatrix's, the Dark Lord's," Daphne tried helplessly.

"Yeah, and I'm their failure of a son who can't figure out how to defeat Him!" Neville sniffed, frowning bitterly. "If I weren't such a weakling I could get revenge. But I am. Even with all of Dumbledore's help I can't even defend myself from my peers."

He's thinking of that day in Hogsmeade, Daphne realized with a jolt. He's not rational. He's mixing his emotions.

"I should just go," Neville sniffed again. "My parents don't think I exist. The world thinks they know who I am, but they don't. Not really," he had come close to revealing Dumbledore's stratagem there, "I can't defend myself. Gran only loves me for heroic deeds that I didn't even do! I should just go."

Daphne looked at her clenched hands. "I'll go with you." Daphne said firmly.

"Oh, I don't think you want to do that." Neville said with façade of self-control. Daphne stared at him confusedly.

"Well why not?...You're not-" Daphne gaped at him as realization dawned. "You can't possibly think-"

"I'm sorry I can't be stronger for everyone." Neville said, new tears springing into his eyes. "Maybe I'll even be able to greet my parents..."

Daphne wasn't sure what made her do it, but a resounding slap echoed throughout the greenhouse, accompanied by their rather harsh breathing.

"How dare you just give up like that!" she shrieked. "You have no idea how many people are relying on you!"

"Yeah, as the Boy-Who-"

"Shut up, Neville! Just shut up!" Daphne shrieked, backing him up into the table, causing the edge to cut into the back of his legs. "To your friends, you idiot! We'd all miss you! Tracey, Draco, Hasan, Me! Not to mention all your little Gryffindor friends!"

"They don't understand, once they learn the truth-"

"Didn't I just tell you to SHUT UP?" Daphne screamed. "This isn't about living because of obligation. This is about not letting V-voldemort win. He wins if you kill yourself, Neville. You owe it to yourself to survive." She took a deep breath and began more gently, "The world might not know who you are, but I do." Daphne said. "You're not the Boy-Who-Lived."

"What-?" he sputtered, honestly taken aback. "What do you-?"

"You're not," she said again, more confidently this time. "And your Gran will love you all the same. She has to."

They were nose to nose, Daphne's eyes boring into his. Neville cleared his throat and turned his face away. "And do you?" he asked.

Daphne peered at him, understanding that Neville was fishing for compliments but was also emotionally unstable. His breath was coming out all ragged and his face was beginning to take on a flushed hue.

Daphne swallowed. She was unsure of her feelings also, but knew that whatever she was feeling was unadulterated. She bent down and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. She pulled away just as abruptly, feeling the atmosphere in the room heat up.

His face was still glued to hers, eyes wide and so shamefully innocent. He seemed to ask why not more. He wanted more. He wanted someone to hold him.

"I don't like tears with my kisses," she explained sharply. "Come on, let's get you back to the castle. I'm sure your Gran is worried sick."

Her brain was no longer calculating. It was a flurry of emotion. Had she unknowingly committed to something she could not keep? She could not be Neville's raison d'etre. He had to survive on his own two feet, but glancing back at him, she was sure she had done the right thing. He had been betrayed and used so many times he needed a large shove of something genuine for once. But that was too genuine. Her first kiss, used as nothing more than a manipulator's tool. But for a cause, she thought to herself. For Neville's life.

And Neville's head, of course, was empty as he trailed behind the apparent love of his life. Except perhaps for the soft mantra: She slapped me. She kissed me.

.oOo.

Hasan led Luna down to the Chamber of Secrets once again. Melusine was there to greet them with a great flick of her tail, indicating her joy at their arrival.

:Melusine, this is Luna Lovegood.:

:Your lover?: Melusine asked amused.

Hasan flushed and pointedly ignored her. "Luna, Salazar's study is this way."

:Touchy subject?: Melusine teased.

:Shut up. Are there any books on the Department of Mysteries down here?:

:Silly boy, don't you know that Salazar is older than your Ministry of Magic?:

Hasan paused. He hadn't thought of that.

"What is it?" Luna asked, clearly comfortable having Hasan talk to a giant snake beside them.

"I just remembered that the Department of Mysteries is quite recent compared to, er, Salazar." Hasan flushed, embarrassed at the oversight.

"But isn't the Department dedicated to researching ancient things? The bell jar of time for instance isn't exactly a modern artifact."

Hasan nodded appreciatively.

:Your mate is intelligent.: Melusine remarked, :Yes, there might be some interesting tomes to look at after all.:

Hasan gave both a broad smile. "Thanks you guys."

"So what did you want to look for, Hasan?" Luna queried. "The Department is really large. I've heard that Unspeakables are only allowed in their own section and aren't allowed to speak to other Unspeakables about their section."

"That seems a bit suspicious, don't you agree?" Hasan asked.

Luna nodded. "That's why father did an article on them in The Quibbler. Did you know that the Veil-" Hasan started-"is a portal to the Land of the Dead? Yes, I was intrigued too. We went there when I was little with a visitors' pass, but the actual Death Chamber was sealed off from public view. Unfortunate really. I would have liked to hear my mother's voice again."

Hasan shivered very violently as he took in what she was saying. "The Veil leads to death?" he whispered. "What happens when you go through it? You die, don't you?"

"I would imagine so." Luna said thoughtfully, peering at him. "Are you quite well, Hasan? Do you still want to research this topic?"

"Yes, of course." Hasan said. "I- I'm fine. I just had a nightmare."

Luna frowned and continued on ahead. "We better get started then."

Halfway through research, Hasan developed a pounding headache. There was little to nothing on the Veil in any of the books, which surprised him as Slytherin was always associated with murderers. Why wouldn't their leader be fascinated with death?

"Hasan, are you sure you're alright?" Luna asked worriedly. "You look awfully pale."

Hasan passed a hand over his tired face. "Sorry, just a lot of information." Useless information, but information nonetheless.

"What was your nightmare about?" Luna asked, effectively catching him off guard.

"My nightmare?" Hasan repeated tonelessly.

Luna nodded. "I can put two and two together, you know."

Hasan sighed in defeat. "Alright, you got me. I dreamed about the Department of Mysteries again."

"Again?" Luna exclaimed. She knew he had dreamed about them before, but now she wondered why. Hasan had never been there that she knew of.

"Yeah. Usually I'm in the Hall of Prophecy, but last night I dreamed about the Death Chamber...I saw my parents for the first time, Luna. It was- I was in awe."

"You said it was a nightmare." Luna remarked perceptively.

"Because the Dark Lord tried to drag me into the Veil." Hasan shivered. "And before he came, I actually wanted to step through myself."

Luna sighed. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be with you loved ones, Hasan. It's natural. But they wouldn't want you to join them. Not yet."

"Yeah, I know all that." Hasan sighed. "But now you know why I look so terrible," he smiled.

"Not as bad as Voldemort," Luna returned.

.oOo.

Albus Dumbledore sat in thought with his fingertips steepled. Augusta, Minerva, and Neville had just exited his office in tears and Albus felt terrible. Nothing could crumble a kid like the death of his parents. What was worse was that Dumbledore with all his knowledge could not heal them. The minds of Frank and Alice Longbottom were lost to insanity, unsalvageable. And his hero might now be too.

He let Minerva escort Mrs. Longbottom off the grounds because they had known each other since childhood. Albus was still amazed how the two women were able to pick each other up. Albus had no one.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He glanced at Fawkes over his half-moon spectacles, but frowned as he observed the greying feathers. While greying was a natural process of age, Fawkes did not simply grey in his supposed prime. Albus had Severus, Hagrid, and Poppy look the bird over, but even Hagrid was at a loss for unusual methods of healing. They all looked at him concernedly, as if he were finally losing his marbles, and asked if he had changed Fawkes diet at all. Well, not that he was aware of, but he had summoned a house-elf and Dobby had said everything was fine and normal.

The only thing that could possibly affect this immortal beast was magic, but Fawkes was not a part of any spell he could think of and so Albus was forced to concede that perhaps this was just a phase and he would return to his normal coloring in time.

With a sigh, Albus turned his attention to the rolled up Daily Prophet on his desk. It had lain ignored in light of Augusta's frantic news, and now it seemed that he should get down to reading it. He smoothed over the front and read the headline: Time Turner Taken: Ministry Accident or Terrorist Group? Albus frowned. He did intend to call Voldemort's attention to the Hall of Prophecy, but this did not sound like the work of Voldemort. Call it wishful thinking, but Albus was sure Voldemort had enough knowledge of the old ways to know tinkering with time was likely to throw the world into oblivion. Albus glanced at the author. Rita Skeeter, of course. It was probably a Ministry accident then. They were known to happen, and as the world was at relative peace, Rita had to fabricate a story out of nothing.

Albus could only pity her.

Then, out of nowhere, Fawkes began to sing. He did so when he was particularly happy about something, or right before he burst into flames, but he did no such thing. He simply sang. It was a tune which Albus had never heard before but which sounded vaguely familiar. It wasn't particularly happy, but neither was it sad. It sounded...anxious. As if he were waiting for something grand to happen very soon. And still, Fawkes did not burst into flames, and his plumage greyed a little more...

.oOo.

Lucius Malfoy was not particularly fond of venturing into unknown territory on the fragile word of a potential enemy, but Lucius had already risked enough. An invitation for tea was hardly something to worry about.

He knocked.

The door opened slightly, revealing one brilliantly blue eye. Thick brown hair fell down the broad shoulders, bordering a weary face.

"Won't you come in, Lucius?" Altair asked, his heavy brown eyebrows quirking in amusement.

Lucius walked stiffly into the Castell Estate, unsure of what to do. He could not keep his eyes off the man named Altair. It was impossible. The man walked with grace, yet bumped constantly into tables and chairs. He also spoke in a smooth, commanding voice, but ended with a question mark at the end of each phrase. In short, the master puppeteer was just as uncomfortable as he.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself." Altair began as he set the tea tray down. "My name is Altair Dean Castell. I live in France. My son is Hasan. And you are?"

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy." Lucius said stiffly. "I don't know anything else anymore."

"Care to elaborate?" Altair asked, carefully meeting the man's eyes.

"My memories have been stolen. What more is there to elaborate?" Lucius replied silkily.

Lucius was unable to comprehend the man in front of him, but then, there was no apparent need to. He had this overwhelming feeling of being safe here, which was curious if not important.

"You know about horcruxes?" Altair asked finally, tearing his eyes away from Lucius' steel grey ones.

"I believe that's what I wrote to you."

"How?" Altair asked simply.

"Why should I tell you anything?" Malfoy sneered. "You haven't exactly been transparent with me."

Altair seemed to deflate, but then he looked at his nails. "Well, I assumed you had something you wanted to talk about. Otherwise you would never have ventured into unknown territory on a daft man's word, especially one who could be a potential enemy."

Lucius was gobsmacked. "Did you just legilimize me?" he demanded, trying to keep the rage from his voice. Come on, Lucius, where's that Malfoy dignity?

"No, it was written plainly on your face. You get a wrinkle by your right eye when you feel uncomfortable." Altair smiled lightly.

Lucius appeared affronted. How dare this man know more about him than he did! "You're right. I do want to talk...Dumbledore gave me a curious note from Regulus Black which was inside a locket I clearly recognized, no thanks to you. But it lacked any of the Dark Power I would have sensed immediately. It was, in short, a fake."

Altair hummed. "Regulus, you say? He was Sirius' brother. Maybe that's what he meant when he said he needed Kreacher to accompany him. Yes, I see it now."

"See what?" Lucius growled. "I fail to see any logic in any of your mutterings."

"Ah, forgive me. Albus found the locket in a cave, correct?"

"Yes, how did you-"

"Regulus talked about travelling to the cave with his house elf, Kreacher. This was the day before he died. He went to replace the horcrux with a fake."

"How do you know this?" Lucius asked, eyes guarded. His rage was quickly yielding to amazement as this man brought all the puzzle pieces together.

"I hear things." Altair said simply, leaning back. "Now, that you've answered my questions, I'll answer one of yours."

And suddenly Lucius went from cool and collected to a whirlwind of accusations, each one threatening to spill from his lips. All formulated into one simple word.

"Why?"

Altair gave him a grim smile before summoning something from the other room. At first, Lucius was not sure what it was for it came so fast. But then Altair held it out to him.

"This is yours, I believe."

And he held in his hands the Malfoy dagger. Lucius was stunned into silence once more. This anomaly just kept spreading before him in infinite mysteries. This man had his dagger? How? Why? Who had given it to him? But that was answered easily by the way Altair looked at him with tenderness in his eyes and the way Lucius' heart raced without memory or meaning.

"Take it," Altair said. "I've hung onto this long enough. It belongs to you." As does my heart.

Lucius reached forward, their fingers brushed each other's, and then Lucius was shaking. All over from head to toe. Magic poured from his core and into the object and from the object into his core. The magic began to pulsate wildly around the estate, expanding from the dagger and from Lucius himself.

"What's wrong?" Altair asked, immediately at his side. The dagger was empty, devoid of all memories to Altair's knowledge. They were in Hasan now, so what was affecting Lucius so deeply? Maybe there was something else still in the dagger. A reminiscence of emotion, a stroke of tenderness. A curled lock, a soft kiss...

Lucius shut his eyes against the torrent of emotion that suddenly flowed into him. It was his own love, he realized, and he had once given it to this man. The thought was...enough to cause his self to shatter.

"I need to leave," Lucius choked out, his voice cracking. He knew he needed this. He had to go. He wanted to run. "I...think I understand," he said. "I will endeavor to help you and your son, even if I don't yet understand everything. I believe your intentions are good."

Altair nodded sadly. He did not want to see his love go, but the euphoria in knowing that Lucius finally knew what he felt for him was more than enough. The feeling that someone else shared this knowledge, that it didn't exist in an alternate reality of his memories. Altair's own magic flared suddenly, causing the room to shake.

"Thank you, Lucius. I hope I will be able to see you once more."

"I- I do too. Maybe when the war is over."

"Maybe…"

Altair smiled sadly, his eyes glistening for some unknown reason. He escorted Lucius to the door and locked it softly behind him. When he heard the crack of Lucius's apparation, Altair sunk to the floor.

"I love you." he whispered. But there was no response. And all his love had left with that man in the dagger. It was the least he could do. Lucius couldn't remember but he could feel, and now Altair couldn't feel but he could remember...but Altair could feel. The giant gap in his body, the missing hole in his mind. He slept on the floor that night, hair wet with tears, like the night he downed that potion so long ago...

.oOo.

It was during dinner when Severus first noticed that Moody had disappeared. He had been keeping a close watch on him all day after waking up to see his own dark mark inflamed. And then of course, Severus had delivered the resurrection potion a month ago, but when Voldemort did not immediately use it, Snape was helpless to wait in constant anxiety. The Dark Lord had not the courtesy to give his servants a fair warning. But now, Snape had gained his first clue. Moody had been summoned. He caught Dumbledore's eye over a plate of mashed potatoes and forced the thoughts of the Dark Lord's resurrection to the forefront of his mind before hurling them out.

Albus blinked and started a bit from the impact, but then he paled drastically and nodded his comprehension. The Dark Lord was to return.

Tonight.

The mark began to tingle on Severus' arm as he stood up. He had taken all the potions he could for the Dark Mark, but there was little that could be done to staunch the constant flow of pain. The pain began to mount. He began to descend from the head table, trying to keep his face collected the whole time. His eyes flickered to Hasan who was now staring at him with his wide jade eyes, his brown hair falling down his shoulders like a curtain. He too was feeling vulnerable.

And then many things happened at once.

Fawkes flew into the room, a shrill warning emitted from his beak, feathers bursting into flame one by one. Albus jumped to his feet, knowing that Fawkes had sensed what was to come. And then Severus Snape, in front of the entire school, released a blood curdling scream and fell to his knees. Everyone was stunned into silence, watching their terrifying Potions Professor, the man who could cut anyone down, writhe in agony in the very center of the school. There was no visible tormentor and this was what worried everyone most. No one can fight an unseen enemy. But he was not screaming alone. At first, everyone wondered where the second voice had come from, but then someone must have spotted him. The boy.

Draco watched in horror as first his godfather crumbled, and then his best friend, Hasan Castell, flung his head back, and exposed his face to the world. Draco, who was sitting nearer to him than anyone else, identified some sort of obscure shape on his forehead from which the blood began to leak, and began to hyperventilate. What was happening? He knew his godfather bore the Dark Mark, but why was Hasan screaming too? His entire face inflamed, and his voice. Oh, Salazar, his voice! Raw with no intention of letting up. Was this somehow his doing? He had helped the Dark Lord return to his corporeal body after all. Draco felt the bile rise.

Albus was frozen in place as he cradled his baby Fawkes- not a grey chick, but a brilliantly flaming one- watching as suddenly, Snape rose to his feet, his apparent torture over and sprinted over to the other.

The blood continued to seep from Hasan's forehead, flowing outward, seeming to coat his whole entire face and soak into his hair. The emotions, the memories! Hasan could feel Voldemort's delight. His utter glee at getting his body back. The pain of being ripped in two! He was slipping. Hasan Castell, for the first time, was slipping. His grip, his footing, his magic, his power...

Draco watched as the blood saturated Hasan's hair, not realizing at first as Hasan's head began to shift. His hair receded back into his scalp and turned an inky, black, unruly as it stuck up in certain places. Then Snape was by his side, and he was digging his fingernails into Hasan's arm. And Hasan was still screaming, the pain literally eating at his very core. All magic used to sustain his appearance snapped and withered as it went to combat this unknown force instead.

The world began to panic.

"What's happening?"

"His hair!"

"His face! It's changing!"

And then the screaming stopped. It took Hasan a minute to figure out that it was himself who had finally shut his mouth. Hasan shrank back into the supportive arms, his head disoriented. He turned to find Severus staring back at him with nothing but concern in those onyx depths. And then Hasan stood shakily and faced the headmaster of the school, his emerald green eyes blazing like the fire that had just consumed Fawkes. The staff blinked in wonder, their jaws hanging open. All eyes were on him.

There was distant ringing in his ears, and then someone screamed it, the secret which Hasan had guarded with his life. Everyone was staring, at his hair, at his brilliant emerald eyes, at the scar that marked him for life.

Because there revealed was the bloodied face of Harry Potter.

A/N- PLEASE REVIEW! Did you expect the ending? What about Neville and Daphne? Will Neville's parents survive? Is Lucius going to abandon Narcissa? Will Draco pick a side?

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story! To my darling readers, I hope you enjoy what is to come. I am in the process of finishing the final chapters. They shall be up before the summer is over. All my love, BT.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Also, the 888th review triggers the one update every Friday deal. Go go go!