Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter along with Scholastic and whoever else. I only own my characters so DON'T SUE!!!
Six Feet and Fallingby Saerry Snape
Chapter 32 :: June 20, 1996 :: Voldemort's Stronghold
"Uhn…"
Draco moaned and lifted his head to feebly stare about him. The last thing he remembered was…the Death Eater's knocking him out. After he'd charged them when they were jumping on top of Sheyne.
Now why had he done that?
Draco shook his head and slowly pushed himself up onto his knees, looking around. All of them were there – all of the Death Eater's children together in one room. A very slimy, cold room that looked as though it had only been lived in once and that had been about two thousand years before.
Lovely.
"Hey, Snape," he called, reaching out to shake Harry gently. "Wakey, wakey. We have just arrived in Hell and I am all alone. Wake up so you can join me in my misery."
"Sarcasm will get you everything," grumbled Harry as he rose slowly up into a crouch. He looked around the room and said, "Hell, eh? Looks more like the same place Voldemort used before."
"Before?"
"When he captured Shey. Or should I say when your bastard of a father captured her."
"Exactly the word I'd use to describe him," muttered Draco. "So, now what, fearless leader?"
Harry shrugged and replied, "No idea. We're still talking to each other, so that's a good sign."
"Yeah, but for how long?"
"How should I know?"
"You're the big boss man. You figure it out."
"Ass," grumbled Harry, looking around. He then blinked and turned a horrified look on the blonde.
"Where's Sheyne?"
Draco's face went through three expressions in quick succession: surprise, horror, and rage.
"Fuck," he spat after a moment.
"How eloquent, Malfoy."
"Shut up, Snape."
* * *
"Shey? Shey, wake up. Please? Please wake up. I don't want to be alone…"
Sheyne made a mewling sound and tried to roll away from the weight on her chest. Something bit into her wrists as she tried this and she groaned, opening her eyes.
Stephen pulled back, tears on his cheeks, as he saw his adopted sister's eyes open.
"Shey…you're okay."
"'Course I am, little bro," mumbled Sheyne, her throat feeling raw. "What are you doing here? Voldemort wouldn't want you."
"On the contrary, my dear Shifter, I do," purred Voldemort's voice from the other side of the room. "You see, your adoptive brother is as important to me as you and your blood one."
Sheyne growled and focused on the form of the panther. Pain shot through her veins like white-hot fire and she cried out, causing Stephen to grip her arms tightly.
"Shey! Shey, what's wrong? What can I do? SHEY!"
"You can do nothing," purred Voldemort. "The manacles holding her were designed for one such as she. If she attempts to shift, she will feel pain like nothing else will cause."
"Bastard!" yelled Stephen eyes flashing.
"Now now," said Voldemort, taking a step forward. He reached out a hand to caress Stephen's cheek, which caused the teen to jerk back. "Is that any way for my own son to act?"
Sheyne's heart froze in her chest at those words, as did Stephen's.
"You're lying," spat Stephen. "I'm not even a wizard."
Voldemort smirked.
"Did you think I would be foolish enough to allow that Muggle-lover to get a hold on my child? It was much simpler to hide your powers until I was ready for you. Now I am."
Stephen shook his head and reached out to grab Sheyne's hand, holding it tightly in his own. He glared at the creature standing in front of him and ground out, "Where's your proof?"
Voldemort reached into his robes and pulled out a ratty looking piece of parchment, which he laid on the end of the stone slab Sheyne was strapped to. He then leaned forward and said, "My proof is this: Futeor fides." With that he turned in a swirl of dark robes, leaving the foster siblings alone.
"What happened?" asked Stephen, looking curiously at Sheyne. The fifteen-year-old stared at the very different looking soul sitting beside her. He still looked like the Stephen she knew except his hair was now inky black like Harry's and his eyes were a deep maroon. "Shey?"
"Look at the paper," whispered Sheyne, not wanting to tell him. She guessed that the piece of parchment was his birth certificate – his real birth certificate. And she wanted him to see the information so he could believe it.
She already did.
Stephen frowned and reached out, picking up the ratty parchment. He carefully unfolded it and began to read – dropping it almost immediately.
"No. No, I can't…"
Sheyne tilted her head as best she could and caught a glimpse of what was written on the paper.
Name: Derrick Oberon Riddle
Sex: Male
DOB: September 1, 1982
Mother: Anathema Device
Father: Tom Marvolo Riddle
"Oh, Ste," she breathed. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," mumbled Stephen. He had his chin tucked against his chest, dark hair falling over his face. "I'm okay. It's okay. This doesn't mean anything." He lifted his head and gave her a look full of defiance and stubbornness. "I'm not a Riddle. I'm an Outlaw. You're my sister. Nothing'll change that. Not even the truth."
"Nothing," whispered Sheyne, smiling at him and squeezing his hand.
Stephen smiled at her and hugged her as best he could, laying his head on her chest. Sheyne smiled then turned somber as the question of escape came back.
And what had happened to Harry and the others?
* * *
"Is everyone alright?"
"Fine," grumbled a few voices, to which the rest just grunted agreement. Harry sighed in relief and looked at Draco and Mika, who were sitting on either side of him. Amanda Paine had curled up against the sixth year's side again, her head pillowed on his leg. "Now what?"
"You're the leader here," replied Draco.
Mika frowned and said, "That doesn't mean we can't help in figuring out what to do next."
"You want to know what we do next? We sit here and rot, that's what we do next. Hey, Snape, what's up with you?"
Harry blinked and looked up at Draco in surprise. He then turned his face away and said softly, "I can't believe he's helping them. He's helping Voldemort."
"Eh?" said Mika, looking curiously at Draco.
"Professor Snape," whispered Draco. He then looked at Harry and said, "He can't be doing it on his own. You know that."
"Yeah. But what…" Harry looked lost as he lifted his head to look at the two other young wizards. "What if I have to kill my own father to get out of here?"
Both Draco and Mika looked at each other for what to say.
"I couldn't tell you," muttered Mika. "My uncle killed mine."
"And I'd be happy to do mine in," said Draco. He sighed heavily and added, "We'll just have to hope it doesn't come to that."
Harry nodded feebly then leapt to his feet as a section of the wall on the other side of the room began to move. It shifted into a doorway – a doorway through which two masked and robed Death Eater's appeared.
"Potter," one growled out, spotting him.
"Come with us," rumbled the other, motioning Harry forward.
"Snape," hissed Draco, rising to his feet.
"I've got no other choice, do I?" hissed Harry, arching an eyebrow at the blonde. He then pushed past him and strode out of the room. The two Death Eater's followed him, wands drawn.
"Damnit," muttered Draco as soon as they were gone. He looked down at Mika and asked, "Now what?"
"I don't know," replied the sixth year tiredly. "I really don't know.
"Great. Now I know we're in Hell."
"Why's that?"
"Well, besides our ever-so-pleasant guards the strongest two pieces of our arsenal are missing. One could be anywhere in this God forsaken place and the other is probably walking right into Voldemort's presence as we speak."
"That's not Hell," said Mika.
Draco arched his eyebrows at him. "Oh really?"
"Yeah."
"What is it then?"
"The ninth level of Hell."
Draco glared at him and sneered, "Smart ass."
Futeor fides – Reveal truth
Anathema Device – Taken from Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's novel Good Omens. Hilarious book… Anathema means 'detested thing'
A/N: Don't ask where the bit about Ste being Voldie's son came from. I think my muses are fucking w/ my mind again.
Atra: Now why would we do that? You're mind's bad enough as is
*scowl* Thanks, Atra. You always make me feel better about myself.
Atra: *smirk* Welcome.
Bryv: She was being sarcastic.