Salvage
Draco had a hell of a time trying to convince Seraphim to cut himself willingly in order to activate the portkey on his finger, but the frowning alter finally did so when Draco assured him that it would save them from the collapsing building and all it needed was a very little drop.
Covered in dust, sweat, and grime, the blond picked himself up off the floor of Shadow's bedroom, and almost laughed at his friend's expression. Seraphim was sitting on his butt, looking none to happy with that mode of travel. Draco doubted that it was as smooth as flickering or shadow-Apparating, or whatever it was that Seraphim was able to do. But then his attention shifted to Severus and his heart dropped. In all the excitement of getting the Professor back, he hadn't really checked the man's condition.
He wasn't breathing.
Draco flung himself to the floor and cast the only diagnostic spell that he knew. It instantly revealed that Severus' heart wasn't beating and his brain was shutting down.
"What?" Seraphim asked suspiciously, frowning as he registered Draco's rising distress.
"He's hurt," Draco said curtly, unwilling to say he was dead considering the alter's reaction from before.
Seraphim scooted over on his knees and flicked his hand. Draco watched with bated breath. He had to admit the suddenly wide green eyes and the horror-struck expression weren't reassuring in the least. "I… I can't… It's gone!" Seraphim whispered intensely. He jumped to his feet, staring at his hands in shock.
Draco felt an equal horror - the loss of magic was about the worst thing he could imagine - but Severus dead in front of him took priority. Whipping his wand around, he cast a spell designed to shock the heart into beating again. Admittedly, he had only ever practiced it a few times before, but it was better than nothing.
"No…. NO! …" Seraphim bellowed, terror and fury rising in his voice. Magic was the only thing that gave him power when all the world would have him powerless and broken. It was his one security; his sanity depended on it. Flinging his hands at the walls hysterically, no magic came to his call, neither the healing magic nor the Black magic. "NOOOOO! Give it back. Give it back! GIVE IT BACK!"
Draco cast the heart-starting spell a third time, trying his best to ignore the raging alter as Seraphim flung furniture and attacked the walls. The hysterical howling wrecked Draco's concentration to the point where he had to scream back just to remain steady. He cast the spell a fourth time.
Omi chose that moment to pop into the room, obviously distraught. His round eyes were red-rimmed and snot dripped from his nose. He had obviously sensed Severus' death.
Seraphim screeched at seeing the creature and attacked it with his bare hands. Omi screamed and disappeared, leaving Seraphim to fall to the floor.
"SHUT UP, DAMN YOU!" Draco bellowed, just as Severus jerked and took a deep breath, his bloodshot eyes popping open.
Shocked that Draco had yelled at him, Seraphim curled up against the wall and began to sob quiet, frightened tears as he watched the two humans in the room.
"Severus… Oh, Merlin, Severus!" Draco was almost crying himself. "Omi!"
The elf returned, looking stunned.
"I need potions. All the healing potions you can find. HURRY!"
The elf disappeared with a loud crack, causing Seraphim to flinch and cry harder. He was tearing at his curls, drawing blood in his distress and literally ripping out small locks.
"Seph, it's okay," Draco said, sparing him only half his attention. He was about at his breaking point. "It's okay. The magic will come back. It just needs rest, and then it will come back. You used a lot of it getting Severus back." He could only hope he was telling the truth.
Seraphim stilled his frantic movements at hearing this, but still breathed in quick, tight gasps. Severus moaned, his eyes unfocused, and Draco feverishly prayed the man didn't have brain damage or, worse, had become soulless.
Omi reappeared and dropped about thirty bottles in front of Draco. He stood nearby, wringing his hands and watching Draco's movements tensely as he stared at both his Master and Young Master alternately. His round blue eyes were huge and deeply troubled.
Draco read labels quickly, sniffed at ones that weren't labeled, and chose four. He poured them all down Severus' throat. The man didn't fight him, but did choke and sputter. Draco was relentless and poured more into his mouth. He didn't give Severus a sleeping potion. He knew keeping the man awake and his brain going at full capacity for as long as possible was important.
"Severus, hey," Draco called softly, patting the man's cheek with a shaking, dirt-covered hand. "Can you hear me? Talk to me, Severus. You need to stay awake."
Severus turned his face away, but didn't respond in any other way.
Seraphim was still crying against the wall and Omi was beginning to make a quiet whining noise.
"Severus, please!" Draco begged, almost clawing at the man's arm. "I need you! I can't do this on my own! What about Shadow? You can't leave us!"
"Drac…" Severus croaked, pain flashing across his face, " … be… quiet…"
Laughing, Draco covered his face, almost boneless with relief. Before he knew it, he was crying into his hands. This whole night had been a bloody nightmare! He was never doing anything like that ever again.
xXxXxXx
Voldemort walked into his makeshift throne room. The long hall was windowless. The floor, walls, and arched ceiling were made of cold granite, lit only by three floating magical chandeliers. So far the hall was absent of decoration or furnishings except for his marble and gold, tall-backed throne. It was the only thing in the room.
The Dark Lord sat regally, his pitch-black silk robes draping elegantly around him, accentuating his bone-white, hairless skin. His hands rested loosely on the armrests, the curled nails tapping gently. Nagini slithered out from behind the throne and lifted her large head, draping it casually in her Master's lap. Voldemort stroked her scales absently. Cold fury radiated from his snakelike features; his blood-red eyes smoldered.
Of the ten Death Eaters he sent to steal the prophecy from Potter, only four had returned. Worse, they had returned empty-handed. He had just finished ruthlessly plundering their memories and had assigned their punishment to his newly freed servants. Dear Bella was especially pleased with this, and they had begun screaming before Voldemort had even left the room.
He had much to consider. Sensing Potter at the Ministry had been a surprise. He wasn't ready to deal with the maddening Boy Hero yet. The child held surprising power that he didn't want to waste unnecessarily. He'd find a way to tear that power away from the brat and make it his own, but until then, he was not ready to face that delicious Dark typhoon. This, above anything else, enraged him. The Great Dark Lord Voldemort cowered before no one!
"Potter will pay with his life," he promised his beloved snake. "But first the despicable child will make me a Dark God on Earth."
Nagini hissed, her fangs bared in excitement.
Voldemort stroked her tight coils soothingly, his mood darkening again as he considered the memories he had stolen from his useless servants. He was surprised at how well the children and the unidentifiable woman had done against some of his best minions. They were obviously being trained by someone with skill. One boy had been unconscious and Potter had remained hidden in his Animagus cat form the whole time - what a typically disgusting Gryffindor! - and still the group had managed to survive and destroy the prophecy.
Even considering the arrival of the four Order members and the Earth Elemental, the teens had done better than expected. He would have to keep that in mind for future plans. The Elemental would be his first target, since the boy was capable of causing too much damage. Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated. A minute later Wormtail came scurrying into the room, sniveling and whimpering in fear.
"Y-Yes, Master?"
"I want you to obtain as much information on this boy as possible," Voldemort ordered coldly, ruthlessly implanting a picture of the brown-haired teen.
Wormtail cried out in pain and groveled at the Dark Lord's feet. "Yes, my L-Lord. That is Neville L-Longbottom. I will find out everything, M-Master."
"Go!"
Wormtail yelped and fled from the room as fast as he could.
Voldemort settled back in his chair, fury and bloodlust swirling just beneath the surface. The image of Severus Snape rose in his mind. The hate he held for the traitor, the one who had fooled him so completely, was endless. Snape would suffer until he begged for forgiveness, and only then would Voldemort end his pathetic life. As for Snape's brat, the boy must have arrived with Snape and gotten Potter away before joining the others. But now that Voldemort had an image of Snape's spawn, he'd be sure to slaughter him alongside his faithless father.
The Dark Lord began to laugh, and the sinister sound slowly grew to fill the empty hall with chilling echoes. Maybe he would participate in his Death Eater's punishments. Dark magic shimmered around his form hungrily as he made his way toward the dungeon and he smiled in anticipation.
xXxXxXx
Charlie walked through Grimmauld Place, his hands behind his back and his face set in haggard lines. It was Christmas and all the sitting rooms were filled with groaning, injured people. Ron was upstairs, also gravely injured, but luckily Fred and Hermione were easy to set right, although it would be a few days before they recovered fully.
Luna had been safely sent home with her father, only a little worse for wear because of the swamp, but Neville was still magic-sick and there was still no solution to Ginny's advanced aging. Remus and Tonks would make a full recovery. The werewolf was already up and about. He could be found alternating between Tonks' bedside and Neville's. Sirius was healed and was helping Madam Pomfrey, fetching her things and applying salves and handing out potions.
Kingsley walked beside Charlie, his face remote and his voice silent. Minerva, the last of their Triad, was lying in the green sitting room. She had been severely injured along with seventeen others during the attack on Azkaban. Poppy said she would be limping for a while and would require the use of a cane.
At first, the battle at Azkaban had gone well. They were turning back the Death Eaters and managed to re-secure all the prisoners. But then the Dark Lord had arrived, and all hell had broken loose. Six Order members and nine Aurors died. This all happened ten minutes after Mrs. Longbottom arrived unexpectedly on the scene and informed Remus that she feared Neville was in trouble. Things were well in hand, so Charlie agreed that he could go help the teen, sending Kingsley, Tonks, and Moody with him just in case. And then everything went wrong.
They lost members, lost the prisoners, lost the Dementors. The only thing good that had come out of the battle was that the Ministry could no longer deny Voldemort's return. Almost a dozen Aurors had seen him. But as awful as the battle turned out to be, at least it was clear cut. The story that Kingsley came back with about the Department of Mysteries was not so comprehensible.
It seemed that while the rest of the Death Eaters were attacking Azkaban, the Inner Circle was trying to get the prophecy. Somehow the nine teenagers learned of this and decided to go on their own to stop Voldemort's ten best soldiers. Despite the long odds, it seemed that not only had the kids managed to get the prophecy - which only the Dark Lord or Harry Potter could do - they also managed to successfully destroy it and keep it out of Death Eater hands. More shocking still, it seemed that Moody's - God rest his soul - conspiracy theory might have been right.
Although Shadow didn't turn into the Dark creature that attacked St Mungo's, something strange had happened to him. Kingsley described the teen's eyes turning completely green and then displaying superhuman speed, strength, and phenomenal magical strength. Shadow also seemed to not recognize anyone and showed great antipathy toward everyone except Draco and Severus. He even flung Neville away, injuring him in the process, and it was well known that Shadow and Neville were close.
Not only that, but it seemed that in this state Shadow didn't even know his own father. Another oddity Kingsley reported was that Draco had called him Seph, not Shadow. Kingsley was insistent that Shadow had somehow become possessed by something; an evil spirit or maybe the Dark Lord himself. Although this last didn't make sense. Why would the Dark Lord care about Draco and rescue Severus, who had been marked for death because he was a traitor?
These were just a few of the hundreds of questions Charlie wanted answers to. Unfortunately, Draco, Shadow, and Severus had all disappeared, leaving no trace or clue as to their whereabouts. On the other hand, Charlie had access to the teens who had been present for all of what happened at the Department of Mysteries. They might even know what had happened to Shadow down there.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie stepped into the twins' bedroom. Fred was sleeping off healing potions and Ginny, still a thirty-year-old woman, was sleeping next to him. George, however, was wide awake and sitting close by his twin's side in a chair next to the bed. He had been completely healed by Shadow - or was it Seph? - but he still looked worn. His hair was limp and hung in his pale face and there was something in his eyes that made him seem older than he had been yesterday morning.
"Dad's coming home in a few hours. St Mungo's released him," Charlie offered. He moved further into the room and sat at the end of the bed, facing his little brother.
"That's good," George said with a faint smile.
"Mom's excited." Charlie sighed and reached up, gently pulling his hair out of the ponytail. It fell around his shoulders in a rusty wave. He cracked his neck and tried to relax some of the tension on his shoulders. As comfortable as he was likely to get, Charlie returned his attention to his nervous brother. Lifting an eyebrow, he asked, "Care to tell me what happened yesterday?"
George glanced behind his older brother. Shacklebolt was leaning against the closed door. His stance was casual, but George wasn't fooled. Shacklebolt was practically straining forward, eager for information. The redhead frowned at Charlie. "Can we talk alone?"
Charlie regarded the teen and realized that George wouldn't budge on this point. He nodded his head, not bothering to turn around. There was a tense moment of silence before the door opened and Kingsley stepped out of the room. Charlie turned around and, very carefully and obviously, spelled the room and door with silencing and anti-surveillance wards. When he was done, George flashed him a grateful smile.
"What's up?" Fred asked groggily, and George helped him sit up.
"I think you know what's up. I want to know what happened." Charlie's expression softened and a hint of brotherly exasperation crept into his voice. "What were you thinking, going down there without telling anyone and taking your little brother and sister with you?"
"It wasn't exactly the plan to engage the enemy," Fred drawled wryly.
"What was the plan?" Charlie asked, his gaze hard as he looked at them.
The twins exchanged a glance. Fred said, "We heard the Death Munchers were going to hit the prophecy, and we decided to destroy it before they got there. In and out, with no one the wiser."
"We didn't invite the brats," George growled, scowling lightheartedly at Ginny. "They sort of insisted."
"How did you know about the attack? And how did you think you could get the prophecy? You know that the only ones who can touch it are those who the prophecy is about. I think you'd better tell me the whole truth now. Stop messing around. I don't think you realize how much trouble you're in. If we can't provide the Ministry with a reasonable explanation, they are going to come here and take you all in for interrogation. And it won't be at all as gentle as I'm being. I'd think you owe it to Ron and Ginny not to let that happen."
The twins swallowed hard. "Look," George said, leaning forward earnestly. "Neville came here and told us what was going down. We don't know how he knew, we didn't ask."
"We agreed to help him out and watch his back." Fred nodded, eyes darting to his pale little sister. He still vividly recalled Selwyn casting the Cruciatus on her. He knew first hand what that was like now, and it was awful.
"Then Ron, Ginny, and Hermione got suspicious and cornered us. They threatened to blow the whole thing if we didn't let them come," George added, head downcast. "So we took them to Neville. They convinced him to let them come along instead of just tying them up there. We flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and then took a Muggle taxi to the Ministry's public entrance. Draco and Shadow were waiting for us there."
Between the two of them, they described meeting Luna and getting distracted by the different rooms in the Department of Mysteries. Ginny woke up by this point and explained in a small shamed voice how she was tempted to age herself and how George had to pull her out of the bell jar. He tried to time it right, but she had been thirty when she fell out of it. At least that was better than being a baby or an old woman.
"Whoa, stop!" Charlie raised his hands. They were trying to tell him about what happened in the prophecy room, but it was awkward and stilted as they tried to dance around Shadow knocking the prophecy free. "So, Fred, the prophecy just rolled off on its own? You summoned it, George? Ginny, you saw someone throw a rock at it and tip it off?"
The three teens flushed red and looked at their hands in their lap.
Charlie sighed. He was exhausted, he'd been up for almost twenty-four hours now, but if what he suspected was true, he understood his siblings wanting to protect their friend. "If you tell me something that I think the rest of the Order does not need to know, I will keep it quiet. But I have to know the truth," he said softly. "Had I known, I may have been able to help you and none of this would have happened."
George remained silent, but Fred looked up. He cast a guilty glance at his twin, who didn't look up at him, and said, "Shadow… He got the prophecy down."
Charlie closed his eyes. A laugh rose to his lips. "I should have known. All along he was hiding right under our noses. Severus is a tricky bastard."
"He was only protecting Harry," George cried, jumping to his feet and clenching his fists. "If anyone finds out, the Death Eaters will go mad trying to kill him. You can't tell anyone!"
"If the Death Eaters don't already know who Shadow is due to the debacle at the Department of Mysteries," Charlie scolded, "then I'm not likely to let them in on the secret. Now tell me what happened next."
George settled mutinously back into his chair as Fed and Ginny told the rest of the chaotic story. They had been separated at some points and between them they still couldn't account for all of Shadow's time, but then their stories came together again as they described taking shelter by the swamp in the amphitheater room.
Charlie was amazed as he listened to the description of Neville's power. He knew what they were describing: an Earth Elemental. He listened closely as they recounted Shadow's behavior after Severus went through the veil, but they didn't have much to say. By that point, they had all been in shock and suffering.
"What was it like when he healed you?" he asked George.
"Like an overload," the twin answered softly, defeated. At least they had managed to keep Shadow's lynx Animagus form secret. "It was too much. Everything whited out, and then I was on my hands and knees and nothing hurt. I tingled all over, but it wasn't a bad feeling exactly. Just overwhelming."
"And he asked you what hurt?"
"Yeah." George frowned and looked out the window. "I don't know what it means, but at the time I thought he was referring to Snape falling through the veil, so that's what I told him."
"Do you think he was possessed by something? The Dark Lord maybe?" Charlie pressed.
"No way." Fred shook his head sharply.
"The Dark Lord would never act like that," Ginny said with her new deep, rich voice. "I was possessed by him once, so I should know. And it wasn't like that at all."
"Okay." Charlie took her hand and rubbed it, his eyes softening. "Thank you. You guys helped me out a lot, and Harry, too."
"It's Shadow," George corrected, looking around at his older brother. "He's not Harry Potter. I don't think he was ever the Harry Potter we tried to make him out to be. He really is Shadow Snape now."
Charlie nodded, understanding the seriousness of his brother's statement. They would be making a mistake thinking about the Chosen One as the Gryffindor Harry Potter. That was obviously not who they were dealing with. He was a Snape through and through. Severus must have officially adopted him, and now Harry was gone for good. They had to accept Shadow as he was, or they'd fail whenever they tried to deal with him.
"Are you going to tell the Order?" George asked worriedly. "Because we know there's a good portion that wants to kill Shadow. Just because Moody's gone doesn't mean they don't still feel that way."
"How do you know about that?" Charlie frowned. He had thought the situation was being kept under wraps.
"We have our ways," Fred grinned slyly.
"Look. Mad-Eye had his faults," Charlie told them sternly, meeting their eyes, "but he didn't just die. You should remember that. He was murdered; Shadow killed him. I'm not saying what Moody was doing was right, but we don't know what's going on with Shadow and that's dangerous."
At the stricken looks on his sibling's faces, Charlie sighed and got to his feet. "I'm going to talk to Minerva. We'll decide what to do, but I don't think you should worry. Things have gotten a lot more dangerous with the Dark Lord out in the open. The more we can keep quiet about our advantages, the better, and Shadow is still the only one who can end this war. Now get some rest. Dad should be here soon and we'll have a big Christmas dinner."
"How's Ron?" Ginny asked before he could leave.
Charlie sighed and rubbed at his face. "He's going to live, but he's still very hurt. It's going to take some time before he's up and about. Poppy's not sure she can prevent scarring. She said thoughts burn worse than almost anything else."
Ginny nodded, trying to be brave, but her chin trembled. Fred wrapped an arm around her shoulders and George crawled across the bed to her other side so she was sandwiched between them.
Confident that they would take care of each other, Charlie softly shut the door behind him. Kingsley was waiting for him in the hall, and together they made their way to where Minerva was recovering. They had some decisions to make and an active war to prepare for.
xXxXxXx
It was about one o'clock in the afternoon, about seven hours since they had portkeyed back to Snape House. Severus was in Shadow's bed, propped up on pillows and drifting between coherency and insensibility, while Draco sat next to him in a chair drawn up to the bedside, feeding him healing and stimulant potions and making sure he didn't fall asleep. They were both dirty, but wet cloths and a few well placed cleaning charms had gotten rid of most of the grime and dust.
Omi popped in and out, but was careful not to go too near Seraphim. The alter reacted quite violently to anyone getting too close, and it seemed that this included elves. Omi was bewildered but obedient. At least the alter had stopped raging. Seraphim sat in the corner, his back to a wall, his arms propped up on his bent knees. He was done raging and crying. Now he was silent and withdrawn, watching everything through blank green eyes.
Severus was in one of his more coherent states and had been for the last half hour. Draco, exhausted, hoped that meant his vigil was almost over. As if reading his thoughts - and perhaps he was - the Potions Master said, "Thank you, Draco. I feel much more like myself."
Draco nodded, unsure what to say to that.
"Why do you suppose Shadow does not return?" he continued, finally feeling like he might actually be able to comprehend the answers to his many questions now.
"I don't think Shadow wants to come back. He thinks you're dead," Draco said, yawning against his will.
"I see," Severus murmured and hooked his still greasy hair behind his ear. "I can remedy that, I believe. But before I do, I want to know what happened. Tell me everything you know."
Adrenaline pumped into Draco's veins as he realized just how much he had to explain.
Severus saw the reaction and frowned. "Draco. I'm waiting."
Hands trembling on the armrests, Draco told him about Demon awakening due to the Dark Lord using a Killing Curse and how the Vengeance Ritual had brought him to the scene as the alter tortured Lockhart.
"You did what?" Severus demanded icily, his eyes as hard as obsidian as they took in the wincing teen.
Draco leaned away, cowering in his seat. "I activated the spirit portkey," he repeated faintly. "It combined Boy and Demon. Salazar thinks it's permanent."
"What else did Salazar tell you?" Severus asked with mock sweetness, his hands bloodless around the blanket they gripped.
Draco really, really didn't want to tell his teacher about Demon being a semi-Horcrux. Closing his eyes, he could only do so in a faint whisper.
Severus exploded out of the bed and towered over the teen. "WHAT?"
Seraphim growled from his corner. Severus' eyes flicked in the alter's direction. Seeing the bloody tear streaks smeared across his son's face softened his fury. Stiffly, he backed away from Draco. The blond smiled with bitter irony that Seph had saved him yet again.
"What happened next?" he demanded, voice clipped.
Draco was too exhausted to be afraid any longer. Almost apathetically he explained that the Ministry was now after the Dark creature, and the Order was after both Draco and Shadow for answers. Severus didn't say anything to this, just stood there and smoldered. Draco continued and described the letter from his mother, how they sent Longbottom to warn the Order, and finally recounted everything that happened at the Department of Mysteries. The only thing he left out was the shocking kiss he had shared with his teacher's son.
Remembering made his stomach flutter pleasantly and an unavoidable smile touch his lips even now. It was something he wanted to keep to himself for a little longer and cherish. He had never thought Shadow would make the first move, let alone in such a stunning manner. Closing his eyes, Draco could still feel the weight of Shadow's tongue in his mouth, the texture and taste of it…
Severus' cold, cruel voice shattered his pleasant half-dream. "I leave you alone for only a few days, and my son's cover is blown, his life endangered by his enemies, and the Order no longer offers him some semblance of protection! Well done, Draco. If your goal is to kill my son, you've been doing absolutely wonderfully!"
"Shut up," Seraphim hissed threateningly, getting to his feet and glowering dangerously at the irate man.
Severus masked his furious expression and forced control over himself. It was exceedingly difficult. His heart was racing and his mind was on fire with everything he had learned. How could things go so wrong in only a few days? Breathing deeply through his nose, Severus forced himself to lock away his emotions in Occlumency pools. It was hard. The near death experience had worn away his self-composure and left him raw and volatile.
After a few minutes, he felt more in control of himself and he took in the situation with clearer eyes. Draco was nearing the point of fainting from both stress and exhaustion. He looked a mess. There was a grey tint to his skin, a dullness to his eyes. His lower lip trembled, and Severus realized just how close to breaking the blond was.
"I apologize," he murmured, holding the Slytherin's gaze. "You have been placed in untenable positions. I am aware that you would not jeopardize Shadow willingly. It is extremely fortunate that you kept the Ministry from realizing the Dark creature was Shadow and prevented your father from getting the prophecy." Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to admit the truth. "I am equally at fault for the position we now find ourselves in for not being available when you needed me."
Draco gaped at him. He could remember a time when his Head of House would not have been caught apologizing for anything, let alone willingly accepting blame. The old Severus had been back for a moment, but it was clear that the man had changed as much as Draco himself had. Eyes barely open, he decided to take a chance. "Sir? Can I ask how you knew where to find us? And did you get the Horcrux?"
Severus came forward and gently guided Draco into the bed he had so recently abandoned. The fact that the usually fiercely independent blond let him do this told him volumes about Draco's mental and physical state. Severus felt a pang of worry for the teen as Draco's eyes closed before he was even horizontal.
"Black and I returned here from the cave and Omi told us your location," Severus told him softly. "He overheard your plans regarding the Ministry and was worried. As for the Horcrux, we'll discuss it later. Don't think on it now. Just rest."
Draco nodded slightly and was instantly asleep.
Severus turned to his son. The alter stared at him through venomous green eyes. The hoodie he wore was torn and dirty, his pants were ruined, his shoes were worse, his hair was in disarray, and blood was smeared across his face from his scalp, eyes, and nose. There were a few areas where his clothes were charred, revealing mild burns on the pale skin underneath.
Severus took a step forward, but the teen's whole body tensed and he raised his fists before him in warning. Severus paused and considered his next move. The fact that this Seraphim alter had pulled him from the veil, possibly permanently expending all his massive amounts of magic to do so, made him feel oddly indebted, but he also wanted Shadow back with him. Severus forced himself to concentrate, finding it surprisingly hard to do so, and tried to reach his son with his mind.
The alter jerked his head away violently and practically snarled as rage ignited in his maddened eyes. "Get away from me!"
"Please, forgive me," Severus said soothingly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I should have warned you."
"I will hurt you," Seraphim warned him darkly.
"I believe you," Severus reassured and took a large step backward. The alter seemed to relax a bit at that. "Aren't you tired? I just thought I'd help you get back to sleep."
Seraphim regarded the man. He didn't know him, trust him, or like him. He was a stranger, but his death would cause him pain because it would cause his other pain. Knowing this made him very edgy. He felt every moment that his magic was not there to defend or heal him, and how could he defend against a person he couldn't kill anyway? He didn't like being helpless. He hated it, in fact. And that's exactly what he was right now against this man.
"I won't hurt you," Severus coaxed, still staying far back. "I owe you my life. It obliges me to protect and guard you to the best of my ability. That's what I'm trying to do. Help you."
Seraphim cocked his head. He had never imagined such a thing; that someone else would protect him. He didn't believe it for a second of course, but it was an interesting concept. Although… Draco had once protect him, hadn't he? … From the three who had hurt him most. He had been only a Boy at the time and rendered defenseless with absolute terror when the blond had come and made them all disappear into black smoke.
"Don't you want to sleep?" Severus asked, distracting the alter from his distressed thoughts.
"No," Seraphim growled. "I'm going to stay and make sure we never get hurt again," he vowed, looking back at the man, insanity twisting his face into a manic smile.
Severus paled. This was the moment he had feared as soon as he learned of Harry Potter having Dissociative Identity Disorder. Of all the case studies he had read, it was very rare to find a person with separate identities working to the benefit of the whole. More commonly, the alters would war against each other for dominance, often sabotaging and suppressing their counterparts as much as they could. Desperate, still shaken from nearly dying, Severus flung his mind forward in a last attempt to wake his son.
Seraphim tossed his head back like a wild horse and cried out furiously before spinning around and bolting out the door. Severus chased after him. Seeing this, Seraphim truly panicked. He was defenseless and was being hunted! He saw the staircase and sprinted down them three at a time, hoping it would slow his pursuer.
Panting, terrified, his eyes darted around frantically, looking for anything to protect himself with. Phantom pains lashed across his skin as memories of past punishments haunted him. He bolted across the room and flung himself at the door. It opened to the outside! Crying out with joy, Seraphim dove over the threshold and sprinted across the snow-covered ground.
"Seraphim! Wait!" Severus called, frantic. He watched his son disappear into the woods and panic overwhelmed him. He stumbled forward, the leg that was injured by Dumbledore almost giving out under his weight.
What had he been thinking? How could he attack the skittish alter? Now he had lost his son! Gasping, heart racing, Severus' vision faded in and out, the ground tipped sideways under his feet. He tried to fight his body's weakness, but the stress was too much. He fainted, still reaching out for his son, and fell limply onto his side in the snow.
xXxXxXx
Neville wasn't nearly as sick as he was when Demon woke to go after Lockhart it seemed Boy's magic softened the effect of Demon's - but he still wasn't well when he was taken to an emptied sitting room and seated on a couch. Charlie, Shacklebolt, and a pale-faced McGonagall stood in front of him and made it clear he wasn't leaving the room without giving them answers.
"How did you know the Death Eaters would go after the prophecy?" Shacklebolt asked calmly, his voice as steady and patient as the earth. Resisting was futile. Neville might as well give in because Shacklebolt never would.
"What happened to Shadow down there, Mr. Longbottom? Why didn't he recognize his father and why would he hurt you?" McGonagall asked sternly, leaning on the black cane in front of her with both hands. The fact that she was injured and obviously in pain was geared to make him feel guilty that he was forcing her to stand there. If he told her, she could rest.
"He's in danger, Neville," Charlie appealed to him. By talking, Neville wouldn't be hurting his friend, he'd be helping him. "The Death Eaters may know who he is now and start looking for him. He needs our help; Severus might be too injured to protect him."
Any normal fifteen-year-old would have caved to any one of the three pressures. The fact that all three were being put in play should have ensured they would receive answers, but Neville sat calmly before them. His back was straight and his eyes were completely clear. Clammy sweat glistened on his pale face, but his hands were steady and folded casually in his lap.
"Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall snapped, raising an eyebrow. "I hope you realize that you are abetting an underage minor in illegal pursuits."
"A hearing at the Ministry will only be the beginning, young man," Shacklebolt drawled. "Would he really want that for you?"
"Neville, please, you have no idea what's going on. It might even be too late," Charlie cried urgently. "He could be under attack right now! You need to tell us where they are."
Neville closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The idea of going before the Wizengamot frightened him, but the idea that Shadow could be hurt was worse. Shadow was the first person to see his pain, the first person to reach out to him. No one understood the impact that had on him.
He had lived in utter isolation. His view of the world and himself had been so twisted that hurting himself, bleeding himself, had seemed reasonable. His world was so dark that death had seemed like a solution. That darkness of spirit was worse than destructive; it was a poisonous spiritual prison of despair and depression. And Shadow had been the one to unlock the door and help him learn to step free of that torturous life. Neville owed his very happiness and sense of belongingto his brother. That was what bound them so tightly.
"I certainly don't want to go to prison, but … I will." Neville opened his dark brown eyes, resolute. "I believe Shadow is safe where he is and with people who will help him. You cannot make me betray him."
"It wouldn't be betraying him," Charlie said gently. He walked over and sat next to the teen. Neville didn't look over at him, afraid he'd give in. "It would be helping him. We aren't the enemy, Nev. We're his friends."
"He doesn't seem as concerned for you as you are of him," Shacklebolt said, his voice hard. "Remember that before you throw your life away for him."
"At least tell us how you knew the Death Eaters were going to go after the prophecy," Charlie pleaded. "Give us something, so we can keep the Ministry at bay."
"I don't know anything," Neville protested, flushed with nerves. He looked between the adults, but saw no escape.
"Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall said coolly. "I am severely disappointed in you. It is your duty as the heir to the Longbottom name to aid the Light and with your silence you help the Dark."
"Fine." Shacklebolt sneered. "Have it your way. Don't tell us where your friend is. But explain to us why he would murder an Order member in cold blood! Unless he had some bloody good explanation, that is a capital offense!"
"No!" Neville cried and then hastily clamped his mouth shut. They were trying to trick him!
"What happened to him?" McGonagall pressed. "Is he under a spell?"
"We're trying to protect him," Charlie exclaimed, frustrated. "You can help him and you won't!"
Neville shook his head sharply and refused to speak.
"Nothing to say, Longbottom?" Shacklebolt leaned forward, so they were looking eye to eye. "Then how about you explain your own display of magic, hmmm?"
"How long have you known you were an Earth Elemental?" Charlie asked more gently. "That must have been an incredibly difficult time for you."
Neville ducked his head and closed his eyes. He felt dizzy and sick, and his anxiety didn't help matters. What was he suppose to say? What wouldn't get him in trouble or hurt Shadow? Confused, he decided it was best not to say anything at all. He desperately wished his brother were here to help him, or even Draco. The Slytherin would know how to handle the Order.
The interrogation lasted almost two hours with Charlie acting nice and pleading, McGonagall wielding guilt, and Shacklebolt pressing hard with threats. They asked about the past summer, the graveyard, Shadow, his source in the Death Eaters, Severus, and his own powers. They threatened to expel him from Hogwarts, put him on trial at the Ministry, charge him with conspiracy, and worse; they also promised to give him medals, money, and recognition if he cooperated. With every moment that passed, he grew more confused, more panicked. He was shaking by this point and had thrown up twice from nerves.
"Please, I can't tell you, I'm sorry!" he cried desperately, finally breaking his silence. He felt so sick and just wanted it all to stop!
Suddenly the door was thrown open and Augusta Longbottom stepped into the room. Charlie had to put a restraining hand on Kingsley's shoulder to keep him from attacking the woman. They had been so close to getting Neville to talk!
"I hope I'm interrupting," the old matriarch said coldly. "Neville is my ward and still a minor. It's illegal to question him without me. If this is an example of the respect you give Order members, I resign from my position."
"Augusta, surely you understand the importance…" McGonagall began reasonably.
"I understand my grandson is sick, and you are treating him like a prisoner," Mrs. Longbottom countered with a sniff. She went straight to Neville's side and helped him stand. The shaking teen wiped at his face, erasing his tears with an embarrassed blush. "We are leaving and we won't be coming back."
The Triad said nothing as the woman left with her grandson. Neville smiled at her, half-dazed that she had come, but she frowned at him in answer. Without a word, she took him straight to the floo. They stepped out of the fireplace at home, and she put him firmly on the couch. Neville stared up at her dazed. It felt like he had never left the interrogation room.
"This is the second time I've had to intervene on your behalf, Neville," she said sternly, putting her hands on her hips. "You tell me to send Mr. Lupin to the Ministry after you if you weren't back in four hours, and now I find you being interrogated by the Order. Just what are you up to, young man? I tried to give you some freedom now that you are finally showing promise, but I'm not going to let you drag our name through the mud!"
"I'm sorry, Gran," Neville answered softly. He felt tears burn his eyes as her disapproval and disgust returned full force like it had never left. Maybe her approval and pride had been a dream? Trembling, he clenched his fists on his knees and spoke barely above a whisper. "I promise that I'm fighting for the Light. I'm not doing anything to dishonor the Longbottom line."
"You were caught breaking into the Ministry! This isn't a dishonor?" she demanded furiously. "Having the Order doubt you? Forcing my hand so that I must quit my position? How is this bringing honor to your parents?"
"I didn't mean for you to do that," he answered softly, his shoulders slumped.
"This is because of that Snape boy, isn't it?" she guessed shrewdly. "I knew the moment I saw him that that boy would be in the thick of things. He has the mark of fate about him. But I expected you to handle him with some modicum of sense, Neville! Support him, but you must also keep your distance! Destiny is never an easy mistress to please."
"I'm sorry," Neville answered, cowed.
"Get to bed. You look wretched."
Neville watched his grandmother march into the kitchen. "Thank you for coming for me," he called after her. The woman either didn't hear or didn't care to respond. Sighing, he forced himself to stand and move his aching body upstairs to his room. It took him almost twenty minutes, and he fell twice - severely bruising his knees in the process, but he finally reached his bed. Collapsing on the mattress, he covered his face and gulped back tears.
"Happy Christmas to me," he muttered thickly, despondent, before falling into a deep and troubled sleep.
xXxXxXx
Expectations for Christmas dinner at Grimmauld Place were low. The house was only half-decorated, most of the Order was either on watch throughout England or at home recovering, and fear of the war and grief over those they had already lost hung heavy in the air. But as the few remaining Order members gathered around the table, they were reminded that not all magic came from a wand.
Molly Weasley practically lit up the room as she hovered the feast she had spent all day cooking onto the table. Arthur, still bandaged but looking healthy, sat at the head of the table with a wide smile and complimented his wife, who blushed and kissed his head fondly. The twins were teasing the aged Ginny, while Bill playfully wrapped his arm around her shoulders and said he got his own twin for Christmas. The girl blushed and used her sharp tongue in retaliation.
At first, Charlie held himself apart of the group, but soon his whole countenance melted as he lightheartedly debated with his father about the purpose of a Muggle rubber duck. Molly admonished them all to behave and eat their dinners, but she was smiling around the table with bright eyes. Soon, before they knew it, Tonks and Hermione were pulled into the merry conversation. McGonagall began to recall past Christmases with a gently smiling Shacklebolt. And Remus and Sirius began arguing about pranks with the twins.
The air slowly transformed into something warm and golden. Christmas may have arrived late, but come it did. They ate a spectacular meal, had two servings of delicious desserts, and then went into the sitting room where they opened presents. The most memorable was Hermione's delicate diamond necklace that Viktor gave her, and which Ginny teased her mercilessly about. Others gifts included the prank book from Sirius for the twins, the dog bone for Sirius from Santa, and the beautiful peridot earrings for Tonks from Remus. Laughter softened the atmosphere and for a few hours the darkness of was pushed away.
Before bed, the Weasley clan and Hermione went up to Ron's bedroom. The redhead was woken by Poppy and he smiled tiredly at his family. They talked quietly, giving him support and love. He was even able to open his presents with their help. Poppy smiled at the touching scene, but had to ask them to leave after an hour when tension lines appeared on her patient's face.
Molly shooed everyone out and they made their way back downstairs, Arthur recommending hot chocolate for all of them. Hermione begged off, feeling tired, still not fully healed. Fred went up with her, but the others sat around the twinkling tree and drank cocoa, talking softly. Remus sat on the floor, his back against the couch with Tonks in his lap. Molly and Arthur sat next to each other, Molly's head on her husband's shoulder. Their children lay in a sprawled together in a heap, happy and content.
McGonagall smiled, tears burning her eyes as she watched from a recliner. This was exactly what she was fighting so hard to protect. "Christmas was good this year," she said softly.
Shacklebolt put his hand on her shoulder, standing beside her chair. "Yes, it was."
No one noticed Sirius missing.
Chapter end.
A/N: Hello, all. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and Happy Winter to those of you who celebrate that. (grins) Anyway, due to the upcoming festivities, I will not have access to a computer until January, so look for the next update on the 1st. Sorry, but I hope the semi-break from writing will have me coming back strong. The story could go in SO MANY directions now… What to do? What to do? … I have some serious things to think about. Well… See you then!