All thanks and praise goes to the almighty Ping whose advice, bidden or not, always makes the story better. She's listened to my ramblings and my revisions and STILL is a fan. Lauds to Amissa who is one of the greatest Muses and RP buddies around. Thanks for helping me through writer's block and giving yours opinion. Finally, Megan and Karen who are also terrific muses and testing groups.

"Then the devil took Him up into the holy city,

set Him on the pinnacle of the temple,

and said to Him, "If you are the Son of God,

throw Yourself down…"

          Matthew 4: 5-6a

Chapter Twenty-One: Courage Equaled to Desire


          Lord Voldemort stepped onto the balcony, fingers curled around his wand, lightly tapping the length of the wood, as if he were playing the piano. Beside him were his two lieutenants, Jacqueline and Silas. Silas' arms were wrapped around Jackie's waist, and he was leaning into her neck. Voldemort glanced at them and smiled.

          They really were made for each other. Both loved the panic and euphoria of open war. They were fierce fighters, creating the sense of fear that Voldemort needed to begin the war.

          Now all he needed was someone to keep the fear alive. Someone methodical and precise in his actions, someone who knew what it was to be both a member of the light and of the darkness.

          Such as this fallen angel of Hecate's Compound.

          Voldemort watched as his breath turned to mist and danced on the rushing wind. "Will he join?" he asked into the stillness.

          "Imre Macardit will begin to train him," Silas answered. "He will follow you to hell, soon enough."

          "Give him a kingdom," Jackie whispered. "Imre will fashion you a Prince."

          "And soon he will give you your war."

          Voldemort considered this as he gazed into the city. He had taken everything from Severus. Not just love, but also hopes and beliefs, and in a way that was deadlier than merely killing everyone he loved. A man without hope was the cruelest of all creatures, and the most irrational. Severus would make an able general, of this Voldemort was certain.

          But Severus was a sleeping viper that could one day rear up and strike Voldemort himself. Sins had a way of coming back like that.

          But, until then, Severus would give him a war, and then…

          A throne.

          Voldemort felt a chill and tugged on his robe, pulling it closer. "And let slip the dogs of war." He turned towards Jackie. "Come to bed."


          Jackie bowed, removing herself from Silas' grasp, and followed him in.


          Severus was alone on the stage of the Looking Glass, going through the motions of swordplay. He forced his breathing to remain calm, even as he forced his muscles to tense and flex with each movement. He mindful of his footwork, even as he weaved around imagined obstacles, keeping his arms close together and his balance centered. He knew the rules by heart, each one entwined with a memory that brought a smile to his lips.

          Although he danced alone, each action, each movement had been honed by those who came before him. The history of Hecate Compound moved with him, guiding, guarding, and wrapping around him like a protective cloak. Each action he executed had been done before, by the Aurors that had come before him; with each practiced move of his arms, he took their strength and made it his own. The blood that ran through his veins was Auror, and never was he as proud of that as in the moments he practiced the art of war. In those moments, he knew virtue, loyalty, honor, and a host of other things that made him complete.

          And he longed for home. He longed for Hecate and her vast' looming gardens, her white walls and the people he viewed as family.

          He thought of Sydney. The man's words rang through his mind. Van Ness had asked him to return home, and Severus longed to return with the man. He ached for home and family, but felt with the same passion the need for revenge.

          Billy, Dahlia, and Dora had been murdered. He couldn't allow them to be disgraced by being forgotten. He couldn't allow their murderer to go unpunished either. He would exact a cruel and proper revenge for this traitor.

          A wave of anger overcame Severus and caused him to stumble. He relaxed and shook his head. Sydney would be disappointed, but he had none of Van Ness' infinite patience.

          He smiled at the thought of his mentor and best friend. After basic training, Sydney had taken Severus under his tutelage, teaching him all that he knew. Sydney's lessons had been simple but powerful, with example and direction given when needed.


          "Keep it simple," Sydney instructed, meeting each blow Alex gave him with ease. They had been at this game for almost two hours and Van Ness had barely broken a sweat. It annoyed Snape to no end. He exhaled angrily and pushed into Sydney's arms.

          Van Ness blocked with one hand and stepped back. The momentum caused Alex to lose his balance and stumble. Sydney reached out and steadied him, smiling. "You're letting your emotions guide your actions. It doesn't work like that."

          "Why not? Shouldn't you fight only when you believe in something?"

          "But feelings can cloud your purpose. They can make you lose sight of your goal. Remember you're not fighting because you believe in it, you're fighting because it's right."

          "That doesn't make any sense," Alex countered, flipping away from Sydney's first advance.

          "One day you will understand."

          "Why do I feel like I'm caught in a bad Kung Fu movie?"


          "Because your senses are tuned…" Van Ness smiled, "…Grasshopper."

          "Yes, Master." Alex smiled, reaching out and playing with his friend's hair. "But I think you're underestimating the value of feelings in your fighting."

          "Why do you say that?"

          "Because," he said, throwing his full weight on Sydney as he picked up his black cowboy hat and placed it on his head, "feelings can keep you going when beliefs fail."



          "You fight well, but you have no purpose behind it."

          The voice of Imre Macardit broke Severus' concentration, causing him to stumble and pulling him away from the memory. Imre was walking between the tables towards the stage, calmly, but with a distinct prowl that made him feel like a hunted animal. He took a step back and watched as Imre smiled and pulled himself onto the stage.

          Marcardit had an arresting appearance, but not because of a graceful frame or imposing figure. It was the way he held himself. Imre could control a room by walking into it. His manner could not be described as fierce, but there was an edge to his silence. His power came from a danger sensed when he appeared, and real or imagined, Imre used that fear to his advantage.

          He was dressed in a Muggle suit of white linen and carried a cane to help his walking. His hands were perfectly manicured and rested nimbly on the top button of his coat. His hair was white and his eyes a simple brown.

          "It seems a shame as well," the man said softly, pulling his gaze from Severus and turning to admire the woodwork. He began to pace the length of the stage, his steps echoing eerily in the auditorium. "Such passion wasted. You have skill, but no tenacity, and you deny your emotions when they are easily the strongest of all your virtues."

          "What would you know of my virtues?"

          "I don't, but I know of your desires…your wishes and dreams. Those dark secrets you have buried so deep in your heart even you don't know you have them. I know your heart. The darkness and the disquiet you feel inside you, even now," Imre picked up his cane and held it like a sword over Severus' heart. "And I know your fears. They're written in the way you fight. You fear your passion because it will take you one step closer to that darkness you were trained to fight against. You are afraid of losing your Auror mask because underneath it…" He smiled softly. "What is under there?"

          Severus bit down and looked away. He meant to walk away, but Imre's voice pierced his soul again.

          "Son of Man, why do you walk away from me? Why do you fear mere words?"

          "Your words are poison," Severus countered, turning around. "I know who I am. I am Alexander Rouge..."

          "An alias?" Imre asked carefully, tilting his head. "How can you truly be an Auror if you can't even use your real name?"

          "What's the importance of a name?"

          "You know the reason as well as I. Naming is one of the oldest and most powerful forms of magic. To name something is to define it, and to define it is to control it." He pressed the cane against Severus' chest. "Now, I wonder what was the dowry you accepted to let yourself be so mastered."

          Again, Snape pulled away. "What do you want?"

          "I seek to teach you." Imre saw the frown and continued. He withdrew his cane and returned to pacing. He walked towards the edge and jumped off the stage. "You have passion, but no discipline, Morning Star. You have skill, but no desire to use it. You are content to allow yourself be forced into servitude when you could be much more."

          "Aha, I could be more with Voldemort? If I joined him, I could truly realize my potential? You'll have to do better than that if you are to tempt me, Satan." He moved towards the edge of the stage.

          "I can show you the kingdoms of man, with all their riches and splendor, but it wouldn't make you bow, Severus," Imre answered simply. "So I do not offer the world. I ask you to follow me. I ask you to trust me to teach you, and you can do what you wish with my lessons. If you seek completion, take that from my lessons. If you seek vengeance, I ask you to allow me to show you the ways and means to exact it." He reached out his hand. "Will you take it?"

          "I've spent my entire life fighting against creatures like you." He asked, "Why should I follow you now?"

          Imre closed his eyes to consider this. There was a long pause before he simply replied, "Because it's time."

          Severus watched him. He couldn't really comprehend what was running through his head at this moment, but he knew there was truth in Imre's words. He edged closer to the brink and looked out. Emptiness and darkness surrounded him, and like some tempting angel, Imre stood, hand extended, patiently waiting. He wasn't exactly sure of the reasons, but there was something in him that longed to learn from this man. He wanted to jump off the stage, and follow him. But at the same time, Severus feared him. This gilded world where Silas ruled like a prince was already calling to him, and he could feel himself losing grip on his home even as he longed for it. This world wanted him, and he was having a hard time resisting it, even without Imre's poisonous words.

          Still, he knew who he was, didn't he?

          Exhaling, Severus jumped.


          Jean Lafayette entered his apartment and threw his coat on his bed, shuffling through his letters. Most of the letters were from Hecate, regarding business that he had to tend to. He groaned, pouring himself a drink and searching through the dismal remains of his kitchen foodstuff. He needed to go shopping.

          He needed to do a lot of things. Impersonate a dead man, be there for a squad that was tearing itself apart, and hold them together long enough for this raging storm to pass.

          No problem at all.

          There was a knock on his door. He glanced at it curiously, hand falling to his wand. He wasn't expecting company. "Who's there?"

          "Rouge, open it up. It's Sydney."

          Jean frowned, but went to admit his friend. He was stunned by what he saw. Sydney was sober, but there was a pain in his eyes. Jean stepped aside and guided Sydney towards a chair. "What's wrong?" he asked.

          Sydney bowed his head, slumping forward. "I've messed up, Alex. I've messed up big."

          "Come on, old man," he answered, lightly. He did the best he could, but knew that he wasn't the Alexander Sydney needed right now. But Jean would be damned if he didn't try. He reached over and nudged. "It can't be that bad."

          "Amissa and I got into a fight last month…she went to home," Sydney said into his hands. "We haven't talked since then. I fear I've lost her."

          "Have you tried to make amends?"

          "I haven't the strength or the courage to go talk to her."

          "Then you've already accepted losing her."

          "No!" Sydney said, and for the first time in a long time, there was a resolve behind his words. He looked like his old self again for that brief moment. "I can't lose her, too."

          "Then what's stopping you?"

          "The night we fought…" He forced the words to come. "I slept with another woman." Jean leaned back, knowing there was more. Sydney looked up, meeting his eyes. "She's with child."


          The Kaga exhaled. "Well, that is something, isn't it?"

          "I don't know what to do, Alex. I've never felt this…lost."

          "You have to tell Amissa, Sydney. You have to find her and tell her or you'll do more than lose her." He inhaled deeply before adding, "And you have to end this, Sydney. You have to end it all. No more drinking, no more double-guessing. You're an Auror and once that meant something. Remember what it means again."

          "I don't think I know how to."

          Jean reached over and brushed his shoulder again. Sydney exhaled slightly and pulled away but Jean continued. "It's easy to jump into the darkness when it's everywhere, Sydney. It's easy to feel pain and anger and want it gone. It's easy to hide it away somewhere and look away, hoping you'll forget it in time."

          Sydney was nodding and he leaned back, against Jean. He looked so tired that it pained Jean. The Kaga reached over, smiling softly. "But the important thing is…not to jump."

          Sydney looked over again, took Jean's hand and gripped it firmly. "You'll have to help me."

          "I swear it," Jean answered. "Come on, let's go call Amissa."