A/N: Graphic scenes ahead. You have been warned. Rated M for Mature.

Evaluating

Sirius threw the heavy box to the side. He'd gone through everything. It wasn't up here. "Where else could it be?" he growled, glaring at the trunks, boxes, and furniture all around him.

"What are you doing up here?" George asked as he popped his head into the room. He sneezed at all the disturbed dust and looked around dubiously. "Have you been up here all night?"

"I'm looking for something," Sirius explained tiredly. He rubbed at his face, his long scraggly black hair dust-streaked.

"Yeah… I can see that." George grinned wryly and pulled himself the rest of the way into the attic. He crouched by the defeated man, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Need some help?"

"Where's your brother?"

"Getting dressed for breakfast. I was sent to find you."

"Breakfast, huh?" Sirius smiled crookedly. "Coffee sounds real good right now."

"What are you looking for?" George asked again, looking down at the prank master with suddenly serious eyes. "Really. I can help. My brother and me, we've explored this place up and down over the summer. Maybe I've seen whatever it is."

"A silver locket with small emeralds," Sirius answered slowly. He flashed a grin and gave a barking laugh. "It was just something of my mother's. Got to thinking about it because of the holiday. Wondered if it was still here, is all."

George didn't buy that for a second, but nodded. "And it's not up here?"

"No." Sirius wiped at his face and stood. "I think I remember my brother, Regulus, having it last. I checked his room, but it wasn't there. I thought maybe…" He gestured around at all the disturbed boxes and trunks.

"I haven't seen it. But I'll keep my eyes open."

"Thanks." Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, making George stagger slightly. "Now about that breakfast you promised me…"

George laughed and followed the Animagus down from the attic, but he wasn't going to forget about that locket. He was far from stupid and knew that Shadow needed it for some reason. That was good enough for him. Besides, a treasure hunt would be just the thing to lift Fred's spirits.

xXxXxXx

Seraphim was cold. The state of coldness painfully permeated his body, and he curled up more tightly in the hollow tree he found. Faint tremors ran through his muscles and his eyes stung. It had been hours with no relief.

He had walked through the quiet wood until his feet began to hurt, soaked through with snow. He found the tree and, at first, curling up inside had warmed him. But then night fell and it got colder and colder. Whimpering, he shook and chattered. There was no magic to help him. Stiff… numb… cold… helpless...

First, he stretched his hoodie over his knees. It felt like this might work, but then it didn't. The cold seeped right on through. Then he worked his hands up and down his arms; blew his stuttering breath over his fingers. But then his core temperature dropped and his breath failed to warm them. His hands grew number until he could no longer feel them. The panic attack built slowly as one thing after another failed to work to warm him up, and the flashbacks had come.

"You filthy ingrate! I put a roof over your head! I protect you from the gutter rats, and you have the nerve to be ungrateful?" Vernon roared. He yanked off his belt and whipped him across his face. The pain exploded in his mouth and cheek, turning his vision white and a scream from his throat. "Do you have a birthday? Freaks like you, Boy, they don't have birthdays!"

"I'm sorry!" Seraphim cried out, trembling. "I'm sorry, Uncle!"

Vernon snarled and raised the belt again. Seraphim jerked back and struck his head against the tree. The real pain brought the cold and the woods back into view. Uncle Vernon was gone. But red… red blood was on the snow… his blood. Frantic, Seraphim brought his numb hands to his face, but his lips were not cut open, his cheek was not flayed. Gasping, sobbing, terrified, he looked again and the snow was white in the moonlight.

Then he remembered. Uncle Vernon was dead. DEAD! He would never hurt Seraphim again. But the cold was. The cold was hurting him, and he didn't know how to stop it. The magic was gone. Keening, he curled up.

"Make him beg!" The snake-man laughed. "I don't hear him begging."

His pelvic bone shattered with a disgusting crackling, grinding noise. Large splinters pierced though his skin and carved through the highly-sensitive groin nerves. Agony sheared his world in two; it was so great he could not even scream, reduced to a gibbering, drooling wreck.

Warmth touched his face and he flinched, a scream ripping from his throat as he broke free from the flashback. He was in the tree. The faceless men were not there. The wands weren't there. The sun was rising. Seraphim looked into the light, his eyes wild. The warmth hurt as the cold was forced to release its deathly hold.

But the cold was what really hurt him, not the warmth. Warmth was good. It was all he had been able to think about for hours and hours as the snow and ice bit at him. It was what would make the pain stop. So why did it hurt? Confused, afraid to stay curled up with the flashbacks, he crawled out of his hole and into the sun. It stung and he cried. Why did it have to hurt him, too? Everything hurt him. Even the cold and the sun. There were no people and still it hurt. The magic was gone.

He could go to sleep. He could go away from all this and leave it behind. Seraphim shook his head. No. Then his Other would be awake and could get hurt. The Other could call him back. He'd have to face the hurt again. If he stayed, he could make sure he never hurt. That they never hurt. But he wasn't; he was failing. He still hurt, and he couldn't fix it. Maybe the Other could?

"…no…" he whispered. He would not be helpless. He would stop the pain. He had to. That meant getting rid of this cold. It was tricking him! Just like that maggot…

"Sit on my lap," Lockhart said with an eager smile, his large hand reaching for him.

Seraphim was trapped in a body that inexplicably obeyed. It was like he was locked in a puppet. He sat in the man's lap and felt the erection against his back as he was pulled tightly against the man's chest and hips. One of Lockhart's arms pinned him in place, the other came around to fondle him. They were both panting.

Seraphim moaned, though he didn't know why, and lay his head back on Lockhart's shoulder, closing his eyes. He couldn't feel the pleasure - that was Shadow's to remember - so he was trapped inside a body with no understanding of why it was reacting the way it was. His behavior was baffling and infuriating! Why couldn't he move? Damn it! Why was he making those noises, encouraging the worm behind him?

"Yes… So good. You are so… so good…" Lockhart panted in his ear, rocking against his back for friction.

"Feels good…" Seraphim's voice slurred in answer.

Yanking free of the memory, he flung himself away and brought his numb, useless hands up, snarling and ready to fight to the death. He'd rip the man's face off with his nails and teeth if he had to! But he was alone again, lying on his back in the snow, the morning sun falling on his face, the woods silent.

"No, no, no! I won't be tricked!" he yelled. He had KILLED HIM! And he wouldn't let the snow trick him, too. He was smarter than that. He wasn't Boy any longer. The cold wanted him to believe the warmth was bad, but it was really the cold. He'd get warm, no matter how much it might seem like it hurt!

Staggering to his feet, falling to his knees twice, Seraphim forced himself to walk. He couldn't feel his feet. It was like his legs ended somewhere below the knee. They were invisible, but he knew they were there because he could hear the crunch of snow under each numb step. He would get WARM!

He made a meandering, snaking progress through the woods. His hands tingled, and then they prickled. A sharp, piercing sensation followed. Seraphim laughed. He wasn't going to believe it! He wasn't going to be tricked by the cold!

"I told you to stay out there, Boy! You think you can just sneak inside, you bastard?" Vernon hissed threateningly. He grabbed Seraphim by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

"…P-p-lea-s-s-se… It's-s-s c-c-c-cold…" he begged pitifully.

"You worthless freak!" Vernon flung him several feet and he fell painfully back into the snow-coated yard. "Go wait for me behind the shed!"

The man disappeared and Seraphim scurried across the yard, frozen and desperately hungry. He waited, rocking and crying softly, hoping beyond hope that he'd be spared since he had obeyed and was waiting like he had been told. Vernon's heavy tread could be heard coming across the snow toward him, the ominous crunch sending shivers of terror down her spine, and he shook down to his toes with terror. The giant of a man came around the corner holding a red hot poker.

"You scream and I'll cut your tongue out, Boy," the man threatened, his eyes glittering murderously. "Next time you'll do as you're told. You'll not spread your filthy lies about my family ever again!"

Seraphim stuffed a fist into his mouth as his Uncle raised the poker high and brought it down. He arched, writhing in agony as the bar pierced his right shoulder and pinned him to the ground. He passed out as a wave of agony crashed over his head, the smell of his sizzling flesh filling his nose, but he had not screamed. He had kept his tongue.

Gagging, Seraphim took his fist out of his mouth and looked around. He was on the ground again, but the poker wasn't there. He remembered having to pull himself up the bar, almost all the way to the top - still pierced through - before he could get the leverage to yank himself free. He was desperately glad he didn't have to do it again. But at least then the magic had come and the pain had gone away for a little while. But there was no more magic. And he was cold and still extremely hungry.

He didn't know how long he walked, but the sky was bright and the sun was high when he broke free of the woods and saw it. There was a town. It was a big one. He could hear it from here. Demented, Seraphim plodded obsessively forward. Warmth. Food. He would have both.

xXxXxXx

Draco was the first to wake Saturday afternoon. He felt sore and tired, but he couldn't sleep any longer. He had to move. Getting up, he took a long bath and borrowed some more of Shadow's clothes. He didn't understand Shadow's fondness for Muggle T-shirts and jeans. Slacks were much more comfortable and T-shirts were just hideous, but he found black pants as well as a nice blue cashmere sweater.

Looking in the mirror, he decided he looked presentable. After one last run through with the comb, he went in search of his friend. It didn't take him long to look throughout the house and discover that Shadow was missing. "Severus!" he called frantically.

"Master needs his rest!" Omi cried, appearing before the man's door with his arms spread. He had been beside himself with worry when he found his Master unconscious in the cold snow yesterday and had quickly put him to bed. "You not disturb him!"

"Move, elf!" Draco growled warningly. "He needs to know Shadow's gone! It's important, and Shadow's your Master, too!"

Omi looked torn, and that hesitation gave Draco the opening he needed to rush past the elf and bang on the door. It was yanked open a minute later and Severus glared at him out of a pale face. He was leaning heavily against the doorjamb, his leg not accepting all his weight. Draco ignored this and exclaimed that Shadow was absent.

Severus jerked and limped quickly from his room, moving toward the front door. "Omi! Do you sense Shadow anywhere near?"

"No, Master. He came home feeling different; I cannot sense him," the elf answered immediately, following after Severus and Draco as the two rushed forward.

Severus flung open the door and cursed loudly. New snow had fallen and Seraphim's tracks were long gone.

"Why would he leave?" Draco asked softly, fretting.

Severus snarled, hating the guilt that flashed through him, and slammed the door. Without a word, he turned and moved toward his lab. He'd need a potion to enhance the tracking spell he intended to use. Thank Merlin Shadow was his biologically now. The altered psychological state wouldn't interfere with a Blood-Tracking Spell.

"What are we going to do?" Draco pressed, still following the man.

Severus spun around, his eyes blazing. "We are going to do nothing. You are going to stay here and out of trouble; you've caused enough as it is. I am going to find my son."

Draco stood still in the middle of the hallway, shocked, and then rage rushed up from his stomach. "Don't blame this on me! You're the one who wasn't here!" he yelled at the man's back.

Severus spun around, his cloak flaring up behind him. "Don't blame you, Draco?" he purred threateningly, stalking forward. "Who else am I to blame for the utterly imbecilic plan to rush headlong into the abandoned Ministry knowing the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters would be making an appearance? Only a child would be so naïve as to think it possible to avoid the inevitable confrontation such an action would provoke!"

"And what would you have done, then?" Draco screamed furiously right into the man's face.

"I would have told the Order and had them stall, or I would have anonymously tipped off the Ministry! They do have capable weapons, especially in the Department of Mysteries! Anything would have been better than following your plan and becoming sacrificial lambs to be slaughtered, you useless boy!"

Stung, hurt, Draco sneered nastily. "I'm useless? I'm not the one who left Shadow outside all night, possibly to freeze to death!"

The blond staggered back as Severus struck him with all his strength. Hand burning, Severus stared at the panting Slytherin through narrowed eyes. He felt cold panic clutch at his chest. Memories of his abusive Muggle father flashed through his mind, as well as the certain knowledge that Shadow would never understand or forgive him had he witnessed the unintentional action.

"I'm sorry, sir," Draco said quietly. He lowered his hand from his face and kept his eyes submissively on the floor. "I was out of line."

Severus could hardly move, could hardly talk. The teen's apology cut at him. "Stay here. In case he comes back," he said tightly and forced himself to turn and continue on to his lab.

Draco watched him go, his cheek on fire.

xXxXxXx

Seraphim passed several rows of houses and a few stores. People were walking about or could be heard in the buildings. He tried to avoid them as much as possible, but a few noticed him. One woman even tried to approach, worry in her face, but Seraphim had met the woman's eyes and she had fled. Reassured, Seraphim continued forward.

Now he found himself in front of a house that had no vehicles out front and no noise coming from inside. He looked through the windows, his feet in agony. He saw no one; the house was empty. He tried the front door, the back door; they were both locked. Inside it was warm. He knew that, but all he could think of to do was break a window. That would hurt.

Seraphim slowly came to a strange understanding as he stared at the house that would grant him relief. Sometimes hurt was unavoidable when trying to meet a higher goal. He needed to get warm; he needed food. He would have to hurt himself to get those things. A little pain - small in comparison to what he had already gone through - had to be borne to cure the larger pain. He remembered then Draco asking him to make a small cut so that they could escape the bigger threat. He hadn't understood at the time, but he was beginning to.

Resolute, he moved forward and punched a hole in the window with his half-numb hand. The window shattered and glass cut his palm and the back of his wrist. Seraphim cradled the hand to his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. There was still glass in the window. With his good hand, he clumsily picked free the larger pieces from the frame and then pulled himself through. Glass cut his cheek, shoulder, both knees, but as soon as he was in the house he was embraced by warmth.

Trembling, Seraphim pulled the drapes closed on the broken window, hoping it would keep the heat in. He moved over to the couch and pulled the blanket there around his shoulders. He staggered to the kitchen and grabbed a hand towel, wrapping up his hand. He basically collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and cried out with relief as he got off his painful feet.

There was a bowl of fruit and candy on the table. Seraphim used his good hand to pull the food closer to him. He grabbed the chocolate first since that was easier to eat. Then he quickly ate a banana and an orange, tears running down his face all the while as his fingers and toes painfully defrosted. He was just about ready to get up and get a glass of water when he heard the sound of a car outside.

Seraphim jumped to his feet, leaving the blanket behind. A muffled cry escaped his throat, but he ignored the pain and moved toward the counter. He looked around frantically and then he saw it. He rushed over and grabbed the large kitchen knife just as the kitchen door swung open and two uniformed men barged into the room wielding short clubs.

"Police," yelled the first man. He was tall and broad shouldered; his eyes were hard.

"Drop the knife! Put your hands up where we can see them!" the smaller one ordered.

Snarling, Seraphim limped backward until he hit the counter. He held the knife before him in both hands, trying to keep it steady. "Leave me alone!" he screamed wildly. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!"

"A druggie," the first said, disgusted.

"What do we do?" the smaller one asked, head tilted to the side and his expression softening.

"You go around that side, I'll come in from the left. Distract him and I'll grab him," the big man decided.

Following the plan, they went opposite ways around the table, their clubs out before them. The smaller man alternated between soothing sounds and reasonable demands. Seraphim's eyes danced wildly between the two men.

"Don't! I said leave me alone! I'll kill you!" he raged, slashing the knife out at the larger man and then the smaller.

"Whoa!"

"I wouldn't do that again, punk, if I were you!"

"Frank, wait! He's just a kid!"

Seraphim leapt as soon as the smaller man lowered his weapon, his attention turned sideways to his larger partner. The man screamed as the knife stabbed down into his chest and they both toppled over. Seraphim grinned as hot blood welled and speckled his face as he yanked the knife free, feeling the tug of the blade against bone. Elated, he laughed. He was no longer defenseless. Even without magic he could protect himself. The officer gurgled under him, his arms and hands spasming.

"You bloody bastard!" Frank yelled furiously. He swung his club around and connected with the distracted teen's head.

Seraphim's vision went dark, and he blindly lifted the bloody knife as he fell against the cupboards. Panicked, blind, dizzy, Seraphim wanted to kill the man who hurt him, but getting away without further damage was more important. Seraphim pulled himself to his feet and slowly stumbled to the kitchen door. The policeman called for him to stop, but Seraphim slashed out toward the voice viciously.

There was a thump and a sizzling sound. Seraphim had jerked out of the way just in time as the man fired his taser gun. His vision was coming back in splotches, and Seraphim saw the electric sparks coming from the pronged weapon now embedded in the kitchen door. He snarled. The man paled and stepped fearfully back, his club held tightly in his hand.

Seraphim was furious, but the room was whirling around and he could hardly stand. Turning, he ran. The front door was open and he bolted outside. The cold hit him like a slap in the face, but he barely acknowledged it. All he could think about was fleeing. Nausea rolled through him and he vomited everything he had just eaten. As soon as he was able, he continued his terrified run. He was very careful to keep a firm grip on the knife.

xXxXxXx

Narcissa stepped lightly on slippered feet into the room her husband had been granted. The beautiful white robes she wore trailed along behind her. Crystal clear winter sunlight filled the room and made her porcelain skin glow. Her long blonde hair sat in an intricate, braided bun on the back of her head. A few long wisps framed her cold, beautiful face.

She sat gracefully in a tall-backed chair placed by the bedside. Carelessly, she moved a sweaty strand of hair from her husband's eyes. Lucius groaned, his face twisting with pain. He had finally been released from punishment this morning and had yet to regain consciousness. Even in his sleep, he grimaced and whimpered with agony. Narcissa regarded him with her cool grey eyes for a moment and then turned her attention to the paper she had brought with her to read.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Returns

In a brief statement Friday, this past Christmas night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more.

"It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord - well, you know who I mean - is alive and among us again," said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. "It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe that the Dementors are currently taking direction from Lord - Thingy…"

She skimmed the rest of the article, looking for truth and things she did not know. She was pleased to see that the Daily Prophet wasn't so cowardly as to not mention the recent slurs on Potter's sanity. The reporter wrote that the boy was "… a lone voice of truth… perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story… forced to bear ridicule and slander…" It also reprinted the letter Potter wrote that had appeared in the Quibbler months ago. But what really caught her interest was on page ten, near the very back of the paper.

Accident At Ministry:

Shut Down Until Repairs Are Made

It seemed that the two lower levels, floors eight and nine, of the Ministry had collapsed in a freak accident that Minister Fudge insists had nothing to do with Death Eaters or the Dark Lord. Narcissa knew differently however. In Lucius' more coherent moments, she had heard him curse and mutter about their son. She smiled coldly. The Death Eaters had not retrieved the prophecy. Her son had prevailed.

Reading further, she saw that it would take the Ministry at least two weeks before the building was fixed, which was about how long the Death Eaters needed to recover. The Inner Circle was either dead or injured from severe punishments, and those rescued from Azkaban would need at least that long to regain some sanity. However, she doubted that her sister would ever be normal again, no matter how much time was afforded her. Those who had Animagus abilities had fared better, like the Lestrange brothers.

"Cissa," Lucius rasped, his blue eyes cracked open. He pushed his head into the pillow as pain gripped him. "Potion…"

Narcissa took the vial from the bedside table and brought it to her husband's lips. She wished it was poison, but the Dark Lord would be aware if any of his slaves died of unnatural causes, thus it was just a pain-relieving potion. Lucius drank it clumsily, spilling some down his chin. Disgusted, Narcissa pulled her wand from her robe and cleaned him. Lucius was too far gone to really notice.

"Where…?" he whispered dully, confused.

"Snape Castle," Narcissa answered.

The Dark Lord had taken great pleasure in occupying Severus' Muggle inheritance. He planed to take everything he could from Severus before killing him. It was the only thing fitting for a traitor, and it was a clever move. Snape Castle would be the last place anyone would think to look for the Dark Lord. It had the added bonus that Severus might accidentally wander by, not knowing he'd be walking straight into his enemies' hands. Narcissa knew better, however. Severus hated his Muggle father more than anything. He would never return willingly. Still, she should try to find a way around the spells that bound her to silence; Draco could make use of the information.

At first, she had been uncertain of the wisdom of her son defecting to the other side, but now she realized that Draco had seen the truth long before she had. Narcissa gave thanks every day that Draco had escaped the fate of becoming like his father. Even if the Light should lose, and they still might, she would rather see her only child dead than a twisted, broken, tainted shadow of himself. Now it was her mission to do all she could to see that the Light prevailed and her son survived.

xXxXxXx

Severus was exhausted. He had been Apparating around all day. It was nearing dusk, but he refused to go home until he had his son. The spell he was using only pointed him in the right direction, so he tried to triangulate the teen's location. He had finally narrowed it down to a large town about twenty-five miles from the house and had been wandering the streets, following the tug, ever since. It didn't help that Seraphim was obviously moving around.

He was not pleased in the least. For the last half-hour, he had progressively encroached deeper into the seedier section of town. Doors were propped closed, homeless people were huddled in doorways, and the sound of screaming couples and neglected infants could be heard from the street. Severus was certain that if the cold hadn't muffled the smell, he'd be submerged in the scent of trash, urine, and feces. This was no place for his son.

Turning the corner, a sneer curled permanently on his lip, Severus faced a dark alley. Barely two feet wide, he couldn't see the end, let alone the middle. Anything could be waiting down there, the dark shadows of dusk hiding any potential threat. But the spell insisted that his son lay somewhere past this obstacle. Hand tight on his wand, glad he had disillusioned himself long ago, Severus moved forward, only to freeze as a familiar growl reached his ears.

"Seraphim…" Severus called softly.

There was no answer. Heart pumping steadily, Severus calmly lifted his wand and cast a weak Lumos. The alley lit up under the white glow, and he had to swallow a gasp. Seraphim sat huddled in the middle of the alley. He wore a stained and torn trench coat, obviously stolen from the corpse that lay near him. Not even the cold could erase the growing stench of decaying diseased flesh. The teen's curls were matted on one side of his head with dried blood. His face was pale and his thick lips were blue. Two dull green eyes stared out at him; a bloody knife was clutched before him in a shaky grip.

"Seraphim," Severus tried again. "I've come to take you somewhere warm. There will be food and no one will hurt you there."

The teen blinked his green eyes, but didn't respond. Severus took a chance and moved a half-step closer. Seraphim growled again and the knife lifted higher. Severus stopped and just regarded the boy. He was obviously ill, weak, and needed care. He couldn't imagine how hard this journey had been for him. He had to get him to come willingly. Forcing the alter would destroy his standing with the boy forever.

"Seraphim, do you remember Draco?"

Dull green eyes blinked and a frown tugged his lips down.

"Yes. Draco." Severus hoped he knew what he was doing. "I came looking for you because I was not sure he would be safe without you. Bad people are after him. They want to hurt him."

Without warning, Seraphim got to his feet. Severus had to force himself not to move forward and help steady the wavering teen. A single, blood-stained hand reached to brace himself on the wall; the knife held securely in the other. The trench coat hung off his slender frame and a disgusting smell wafted toward Severus with the movement.

"Draco," Seraphim said in a hoarse voice. His eyes were narrowed on Severus with obvious distrust.

"I can take you to him," Severus offered and reached forward his hand. "Just let me touch your sleeve and we will be gone from here."

Seraphim sneered. "Don't touch me."

Severus dropped his hand and forced calm and patience over his emotions. He had to let the alter decide on his own to trust him. A few minutes went by with Seraphim leaning on the filthy wall, shivering in his too-large coat. His head lowered to his chin with exhaustion and Severus could just make out the weak sound of the teen's teeth chattering. Severus forced himself to hold still.

Seraphim lifted his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He lifted the knife and pricked his finger. Severus' eyes widened as the teen touched the blood to his ring and whispered, "Take me home."

xXxXxXx

Bill walked into the strategy room and watched his younger brother silently. There was only a year difference between them - he being twenty-three and Charlie twenty-two. He had considered them close, but he was as surprised as everyone when it was decided that Charlie would be part of the Order Triad.

On the other hand, there had always been a part of Charlie closed off and inaccessible even when they were kids. The energetic and good-humored boy had always had a darker edge; this was what led Charlie to seek out and thrive in the dangerous dragon taming business. Still, Bill was amazed at how well Charlie took to his position of authority. He was thriving under the pressure instead of wilting, and his young age was proving to be an assent not a liability.

Charlie finally felt eyes on him and looked up. "Bill?"

"Hey." He smiled and stepped into the room. "You still going over the reports?"

"The others aren't here, so yeah. Minerva is in a meeting with the Wizengamot and the Minister, and Kingsley is fulfilling his duties as Auror," Charlie responded, his eyes already returning to the papers spread out before him.

"Can I help?" Bill asked, silently sighing. Charlie was a good leader. He cared about the people and he was decisive and intelligent, but he missed the little brother who was laughing with him just last night at Christmas dinner and who teased Ginny about the womanly presents she had opened from the twins. How they had time to get lingerie was a mystery.

Charlie shook his head, his dragon fang earring catching the light. "How's the kids?"

"Ron's improving slowly. It'll just take time. Dad's getting around better, though. So are Hermione and Tonks. We still don't have a cure for Ginny. Poppy keeps complaining that Severus isn't here to help her."

"Hopefully the Potions Master will return soon," Charlie said softly, but he was thinking more about getting answers than his sister. His eyes drifted to the death report. Thirteen Order members had died. Too many. They didn't have that many agents to spare. "You know, I might have a job for you now that I think about it."

"Really?" Bill crossed his arms and waited.

Charlie regarded him solemnly. "I need you to be a recruiter. We need more members. Perhaps your fiancé can go with you. She is quite charming."

Bill frowned. "Are you seriously asking me to manipulate people into joining the Order by using Fleur, possibly sentencing them to death?"

"I'm not asking you to force anyone. It has to be a willing choice," Charlie countered, his expression hard. "I'm simply saying we should give the option of defending our world and protecting untold innocents from the horrors the Dark Lord is going to bring to bear to more people. We can't fight alone, Bill. If we're going to be saved, we must have people willing to do the saving."

His brother was right. Bill still didn't like it, though. The war was going to be very ugly and he hated the idea of recruiting people who may not fully understand the sacrifice or the commitment they were being asked to give. And to take Fleur and make use of her Veela charms was definitely not right.

Charlie sighed and ran his hand through his growing hair. He no longer needed to keep it short since he wasn't working with dragons who could light it on fire and had not gotten around to cutting it. He looked more like Bill than ever, and the little brother in him grinned at that. But the Triad leader didn't see his brother, he saw an agent who had a job to do and needed to do it.

"We took too heavy of a loss. If we don't get new members, we're not going to last. The people you are trying to protect from this hard decision will be dead instead. No one can afford ignorance anymore. You have your orders. I expect regular reports."

Bill regarded his brother - no, his leader, silently. He lifted his hand and gave a vague salute before turning and leaving without a word. Charlie sighed, ignored the stab of regret, and returned his attention back to his papers. He had his own work to do.

xXxXxXx

Seraphim collapsed on the bedroom floor as soon as the portkey released him. His head swam and nausea welled in his throat. Sensing movement from the side, he slashed out with the knife, a snarl on his lips.

"Hey!" Draco cried out, astonished. "It's me!"

He had been sitting at the desk, staring out at the night when he heard Seraphim's entrance. He had been too shocked at the filthy condition of his friend to say anything, but the violent gesture with the knife got his attention. He stood slowly and frowned as the alter's green eyes narrowed with confusion. Then they opened wide and the alter was moving toward him quickly. Draco flinched back, away from the horrid smell and the blood-stained hand.

"You're hurt," Seraphim rasped, ignoring the blond's reaction, and gripped his hair firmly at the back of his head.

Draco grimaced and tilted his head as the alter twisted his hair to get a better look at his bruised cheek. Draco had been distracted with worry and hadn't thought to put healing ointment on it. Seraphim touched it gently, aching with the need to heal it and unable to. This was his fault. He had sworn to protect Boy, and he had left him in his panic.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, releasing the blond.

Draco stared into the green eyes of his friend and could almost feel the alter's guilt and sorrow. He'd had no idea just how much Seraphim worried about him. "I'm fine," he promised. He reached to wiped away the teen's tears without thinking and dropped his hand when the alter flinched away. "Really, Seph. I'm not hurt."

Seraphim shook his head hard. He would have time to feel bad about leaving Draco later. Right now he had to get them somewhere safe. He grabbed the blond's wrist and pulled him toward the door. Draco protested, but couldn't really bring himself to fight the alter. He felt his own guilt. Why hadn't he healed himself?

They were heading toward the front door when it was thrown open and Severus walked over the threshold. Draco gasped as Seraphim flung him to the side and lifted the knife. "Move," Seraphim growled.

Severus froze. He stared into his son's eyes and had no idea what to do or how to keep him here.

"Seph, wait." Draco stepped up to the alter's side, but was careful not to get between him and the threat. "This is Shadow's father. Remember? Hurting him will hurt Shadow. That will hurt you. Please. I don't want you to get hurt. Put the knife down. Severus won't hurt you, I promise."

Seraphim frowned, obviously not happy. He glanced at the blond from the corner of his eye. "Make him move," he ordered.

Draco looked at Severus helplessly.

"It's cold outside," Severus said evenly, coming to the blond's aid. "The cold is very dangerous, Seraphim. It will hurt you and Draco. But it is warm here, is it not? And there is plenty of food. Please stay. I will not come near you."

"Please, Seph. Let's stay here," Draco coaxed.

Seraphim spun around and grabbed Draco by the upper arm. Jerking him forward, he grasped the blond's chin and showed Severus the bruise. Severus stood rigid, the blood draining from his face. "Look! We are not safe here. Someone hurt Draco," Seraphim growled. He released the blond and once again took a protective step forward, keeping Draco behind him. "Now move."

"I went outside!" Draco said hurriedly. "I was looking for you. I slipped in the snow. No one hurt me. Severus took care of me and said that I had to stay inside, that he would look for you so I wouldn't get hurt again."

Seraphim looked back with wide, wounded eyes. Draco winced, hating to lie, but knowing Seraphim would never stay if he thought they were in danger in the house. Severus stared at the blond over Seraphim's shoulder. He did not deserve the reprieve Draco afforded him, but he'd make it up to the blond somehow.

"Fine." Seraphim finally relented. He looked back at Severus and pointed the knife warningly. "Stay away from us."

"I will remain downstairs." Severus bowed his head in acquiescence.

Seraphim glared at him dubiously, but grabbed Draco's wrist and led him back upstairs. He checked to make sure Severus wasn't following them and pulled the blond into the bedroom. Draco smiled at him and Seraphim managed a small smile in return.

"You are filthy. Why don't you take a bath?" Draco suggested hopefully. He didn't know how much longer he could stand the smell without vomiting.

"No."

"Seph, no offense, but you stink. It's disgusting. Take a bath and I'll get you some clean, warm clothes."

Seraphim glared at him, but the bruise reminded him that he had failed and the blond deserved consideration. Sighing, he nodded, but added, "You will stay with me."

Draco nodded and went to the closet. Seraphim followed him. When he asked what the alter wanted to wear, Seraphim merely stared at him blankly. Draco picked a few things and headed for the bathroom. Seraphim pulled him away from the door before he could open it and checked the hallway very carefully before allowing the blond to proceed. He checked the bathroom, too.

Eventually, Draco had the bath running and coaxed Seraphim into taking off his clothes. He frowned when he saw the discoloration of his nails, feet, and hands. He must have been frozen for hours last night. He moved to turn down the heat, knowing it would seem twice as hot to the chilled teen. He only hoped that he had defrosted enough by now that it wouldn't hurt too badly.

Seraphim stared at the water unhappily. "I don't want to," he whispered, lifting pleading green eyes to the blond.

"It will warm you up," Draco soothed.

Seraphim sighed and stepped into the tub, the knife still in his hand just in case it was needed. Draco jumped as the alter screamed and basically fell the rest of the way into the tub, the frostbite on his toes and hands burning like acid. Draco hurried to that alter's side and grabbed his arm.

"It's tricking me," Seraphim whimpered, pulling away from Draco's grasp. Large tears spilled from his eyes and he huddled in on himself. "It hurts, it hurts."

"Oh, Seph." Draco closed his eyes and leaned against the tub. "It will feel better soon and then you will be really warm."

A good thirty minutes passed before Seraphim's sobs tapered off. Draco turned the warm water back on, making it as hot as the teen could stand it. Seraphim stared at him with amazed, wide eyes, a look of startled pleasure filling his filthy face. Draco talked him through the process of washing his body and his hair. By the end, he was even smiling and his stomach rumbled from the fruity, yummy smell. Draco laughed and splashed him lightly. Seraphim giggled and splashed him back.

"Come on. Let's get you something to eat." Draco smiled and lifted up a large towel.

Seraphim stood and took the cloth. After drying, he pulled on the clothes Draco had chosen - a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black sweater. Together, they made their way to the kitchen; Seraphim in the lead, his smile replaced by a dangerous expression. The knife - now clean - glistened in the light. As Draco suspected, the kitchen was empty; Severus must have warned Omi to stay out of sight. They raided the cupboards and made simple sandwiches. Seraphim ate four very quickly as Draco stared with wide eyes.

"Do you want another one?"

"No," Seraphim answered thickly. His belly was full, he was warm, and now he felt very sleepy. He forced his eyes open and took Draco by the wrist.

They made their way back to the bedroom, and Seraphim shut the door and pulled the dresser in front of it. No one would get in while he slept. Draco stared at the dresser in consternation. How was he going to sneak out to talk to Severus now? But that was forgotten as Seraphim took his hand and led him to the bed. He felt his heart pick up speed and stared as Seraphim sat and tugged for him to do the same.

Draco sat on the edge of the bed carefully. Seraphim crawled under the covers and put his head on the pillows. A sigh of contentment rose from his mouth. With his eyes clothes, Draco could almost believe that this was Shadow. He itched to curl up next to him, to pull the curly-haired teen into his arms.

"Rest. I won't let anyone hurt you," Seraphim murmured.

Draco lay down. His hand brushed Seraphim's arm accidentally and the alter pulled it away. Draco sighed and closed his eyes. He had no idea how they were going to get Shadow back, but he hoped it was soon. This was likely going to kill him.

Chapter end.