AN: Blame Japan for the long update. I was morning over the fact that I can't see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban until the 26th. And yes, we are still in the Summer holidays. This story takes place in a matter of weeks, at most a month. I know it is confusing, but if you have any questions you absolutely have to answered, ask them. If the answer doesn't appear in the text, I'll answer in author notes.
Three more chapters.
Interlude of Desperation
The Dark Prince could only remember once such time when he had felt such a surge of the unknown. One time when he was completely unable to affect anything. One time when he was desperate to know the out come. Then unlike now, the result would not harm his person. Then like now, the result would severely alter his standings.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.
An hour had passed since his Lord had left. An hour since his Lord informed him of His impending victory. An hour since his Lord should have returned. An hour.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.
The clock now read two hours past midnight. He had heard nothing from his Lord. He knew nothing of his Lord's impending victory. His pristine white face had not looked at any other object in the room. There was no other object in the room. Nothing.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.
He needed to know. He had to know. He could not remain in this suspense for any longer. He had been told to remain until his Lord returned. But his Lord had not returned.
His shoes clicked with every step on the hard wooden planks stretching across the room. The echoing sound reverberating into every cold corner, every solitary and secluded location filled with his own increasing anxiety for the night. Even the ticking of the clock resounded mournfully as though it was in possession of dire news.
The mechanical ticking and the echoing clicking remained in his thoughts, driving out all precious thoughts of clinging hope. Instilling in him manifestations of worries the passage of time pulled along. Images the dead should only see.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Six. Stumble.
The chimes rang out the third hour, causing him to miss a step. The hour did not bode well for the Dark Prince. Nothing in the evening had seem to go as planned. All circumstantial evidence pointed towards an undesired outcome. And that outcome looming overhead as an ominous soothsayer, gleefully foretelling damnation. With the end of the chines came a foreboding silence. No ticking of the clock, no sharp clicks of boots on hardwood floors, no sound but a ragged intake of breath signaling the making of a decision.
His Lord could not be fallible.
Within seconds there was no longer a living object in the room.
The house was no longer a house and there was nothing coming from the house that spoke of living beings. It was a crumbling wreckage of the destitute and forsaken. A scattering of timbers, unrecognizable debris. He knew this was where his Lord met his end. He had followed the magical signature, for someone as devoted to his Lord as he, it was not a challenging task. Somewhere beneath this collapsed frame were bodies, and not the one he wanted to find.
He knew that, too. It was the instincts of a servant that told him this. The ones he wished in vain he could ignore.
Not a movement from the shadows, a sign that worried the Prince. He could not abandon this tomb until he knew why his Lord did not rest beneath its structure. Yet he could not advance for fear another would see his approach and believe him the cause of this destruction. And as he would not find his Lord and Master under the wreckage, there was no true point in him removing himself from his cover.
Instead he watched. Waiting for the enemy to claim their dead. The wait had not been long before he a thunderous noise from the sky announcing the arrival of one Sirius Black. Of course the Secret Keeper would come and survey the damage his decision had done. Without a backward glance, Black started rummaging through the pile of debris. He could not understand what Black would want from from the rubble. Even the Prince did not need to see the bodies to know the deed had been done.
A loud pop announced another arrival. One close to the house. The half giant, Hagrid. Who could only have come at Dumbledore's orders. But that gentle giant would not harm a fool, especially not one the ones he had known from childhood. And from the look of the conversation the Prince was right.
He could not hear the conversation from where he was, but that was not necessary from the physical gestures and angry Black was able to preform. The man was furious as he tore through the rubble not finding what he was looking for and appeared to be yelling at Hagrid. Just what was so important that the man had to find it? It had not been the body of James Potter, for he had uncovered that minutes ago. And that was what the Prince had expected the traitorous Secret Keeper to relish finding.
Then as one, the traitor and the giant turned in the same direction. They must have found it. Black reached the point first. However, the Prince could not see as the giant oaf Hagrid was in the way. Whatever had gain their attention was not destined for his eyes as when Hagrid turned the object was already stuffed in one of those enormous pockets. It must have been what Dumbledore wanted. And then, by surprise the half giant took Black's motorcycle and flew off.
That left Black. And only once that excuse for a man had disappeared could he then search for his own clues as to why his Lord was missing. But fate was against him. That cursed fool saw him. He knew from the fierce maniacal grin the idiot sent in his direction. Black had betrayed both sides.
The Dark Prince had no response for this. Betrayal he understood. The insane glee extruding from the very pores of that betrayer was incomprehensible. The frantic laughter startled the Prince. And then Black was gone. To where, he did not know. But he did not wish to know. His main concern was to find out what had happened to his Lord and Master.
In his distress, part of him told him to go to Dumbledore. And so he went.
He could stand in the middle of the Headmaster's office with little difficulty. No one had seen him enter. No one had seen him at all. Which was pleasant for him. School was in session, but no sane soul would wander the night of All Hallows Eve.
Yet Dumbledore was not present. He had only entered the school because Severus was welcome. Yet no one had been there to meet him. The situation was strange. The Headmaster never left except for dire occasions. Tonight appeared to be one of those occasions. He began pacing again. He despised waiting. Waiting for information he should have been the first to receive. The first to know. But here he was waiting. With no ticking of a clock. Only the soft footfalls on the thick carpet. The soft whirling of the strange gadgets the eccentric Headmaster collected. He could do nothing until the old wizard returned.
A door closed.
Somewhere deep in his conscious he knew he should have heard it open. His own survival depended on his keen senses. Something was desperately wrong for him to not realize another man was in the room with him.
"You." The inarticulate conversation began. The white bearded man with the the sparkling half moon glasses only stared, a frown developing deeply on his face. "You caused this. Without you non of this would have happened. This was your interference. Your fault."
"I fear I do not know the situation." There was no fear in that voice. No concern. Grief. Confusion. But no fear.
"Your meddling cause this failure. Without you none of this would have occurred. You caused this!" he could not pull a complete thought from his scattered mind. All he could do was to find the blame. He rounded on the venerable Headmaster. Took a menacing step forward. "You did this. You caused it all. Your meddling. Your interference."
"Severus?" Confusion.
He stepped back. That wasn't right. Something was wrong.
"Severus." A statement. He knew. "Remove your mask. It is over. For now."
Mask? There was no mask to remove. This was his face. He was here because his master was gone and he needed to know why. "Why?" he hissed, stepping back once more. He suddenly felt as a foreign element in this office. "Why did you interfere? Why did you cause this? Why? What did you do?" His back hit the wall. The Headmaster was frowning more. Stepping closer.
A frail old hand rose and drew near to his face. He swatted it away angrily. He would not have that meddling old fool touch his face. "Severus. He is gone for now. There is no need to hide behind your mask."
"Where is he?" he demanded instead. Ignoring the comments. They were not important. He needed to know. "What have you and your foolish companions done?"
"He is gone."
That simple phrase undid him. Gone. The one man he believed would never go, was gone. One word should not be adequate to express that. But it was. It was more than enough. Gone. Echoing through his mind. Gods were not gone.
"It is over, Severus. There is nothing more to fear."
"I do not fear," came the hard, unwavering, cold answer. A gloved hand rose without a tremble and his face broke free.
In that one terrible moment a single thought was shared, "Tell me why he is gone."
Three more chapters.
Interlude of Desperation
The Dark Prince could only remember once such time when he had felt such a surge of the unknown. One time when he was completely unable to affect anything. One time when he was desperate to know the out come. Then unlike now, the result would not harm his person. Then like now, the result would severely alter his standings.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.
An hour had passed since his Lord had left. An hour since his Lord informed him of His impending victory. An hour since his Lord should have returned. An hour.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.
The clock now read two hours past midnight. He had heard nothing from his Lord. He knew nothing of his Lord's impending victory. His pristine white face had not looked at any other object in the room. There was no other object in the room. Nothing.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.
He needed to know. He had to know. He could not remain in this suspense for any longer. He had been told to remain until his Lord returned. But his Lord had not returned.
His shoes clicked with every step on the hard wooden planks stretching across the room. The echoing sound reverberating into every cold corner, every solitary and secluded location filled with his own increasing anxiety for the night. Even the ticking of the clock resounded mournfully as though it was in possession of dire news.
The mechanical ticking and the echoing clicking remained in his thoughts, driving out all precious thoughts of clinging hope. Instilling in him manifestations of worries the passage of time pulled along. Images the dead should only see.
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Six. Stumble.
The chimes rang out the third hour, causing him to miss a step. The hour did not bode well for the Dark Prince. Nothing in the evening had seem to go as planned. All circumstantial evidence pointed towards an undesired outcome. And that outcome looming overhead as an ominous soothsayer, gleefully foretelling damnation. With the end of the chines came a foreboding silence. No ticking of the clock, no sharp clicks of boots on hardwood floors, no sound but a ragged intake of breath signaling the making of a decision.
His Lord could not be fallible.
Within seconds there was no longer a living object in the room.
The house was no longer a house and there was nothing coming from the house that spoke of living beings. It was a crumbling wreckage of the destitute and forsaken. A scattering of timbers, unrecognizable debris. He knew this was where his Lord met his end. He had followed the magical signature, for someone as devoted to his Lord as he, it was not a challenging task. Somewhere beneath this collapsed frame were bodies, and not the one he wanted to find.
He knew that, too. It was the instincts of a servant that told him this. The ones he wished in vain he could ignore.
Not a movement from the shadows, a sign that worried the Prince. He could not abandon this tomb until he knew why his Lord did not rest beneath its structure. Yet he could not advance for fear another would see his approach and believe him the cause of this destruction. And as he would not find his Lord and Master under the wreckage, there was no true point in him removing himself from his cover.
Instead he watched. Waiting for the enemy to claim their dead. The wait had not been long before he a thunderous noise from the sky announcing the arrival of one Sirius Black. Of course the Secret Keeper would come and survey the damage his decision had done. Without a backward glance, Black started rummaging through the pile of debris. He could not understand what Black would want from from the rubble. Even the Prince did not need to see the bodies to know the deed had been done.
A loud pop announced another arrival. One close to the house. The half giant, Hagrid. Who could only have come at Dumbledore's orders. But that gentle giant would not harm a fool, especially not one the ones he had known from childhood. And from the look of the conversation the Prince was right.
He could not hear the conversation from where he was, but that was not necessary from the physical gestures and angry Black was able to preform. The man was furious as he tore through the rubble not finding what he was looking for and appeared to be yelling at Hagrid. Just what was so important that the man had to find it? It had not been the body of James Potter, for he had uncovered that minutes ago. And that was what the Prince had expected the traitorous Secret Keeper to relish finding.
Then as one, the traitor and the giant turned in the same direction. They must have found it. Black reached the point first. However, the Prince could not see as the giant oaf Hagrid was in the way. Whatever had gain their attention was not destined for his eyes as when Hagrid turned the object was already stuffed in one of those enormous pockets. It must have been what Dumbledore wanted. And then, by surprise the half giant took Black's motorcycle and flew off.
That left Black. And only once that excuse for a man had disappeared could he then search for his own clues as to why his Lord was missing. But fate was against him. That cursed fool saw him. He knew from the fierce maniacal grin the idiot sent in his direction. Black had betrayed both sides.
The Dark Prince had no response for this. Betrayal he understood. The insane glee extruding from the very pores of that betrayer was incomprehensible. The frantic laughter startled the Prince. And then Black was gone. To where, he did not know. But he did not wish to know. His main concern was to find out what had happened to his Lord and Master.
In his distress, part of him told him to go to Dumbledore. And so he went.
He could stand in the middle of the Headmaster's office with little difficulty. No one had seen him enter. No one had seen him at all. Which was pleasant for him. School was in session, but no sane soul would wander the night of All Hallows Eve.
Yet Dumbledore was not present. He had only entered the school because Severus was welcome. Yet no one had been there to meet him. The situation was strange. The Headmaster never left except for dire occasions. Tonight appeared to be one of those occasions. He began pacing again. He despised waiting. Waiting for information he should have been the first to receive. The first to know. But here he was waiting. With no ticking of a clock. Only the soft footfalls on the thick carpet. The soft whirling of the strange gadgets the eccentric Headmaster collected. He could do nothing until the old wizard returned.
A door closed.
Somewhere deep in his conscious he knew he should have heard it open. His own survival depended on his keen senses. Something was desperately wrong for him to not realize another man was in the room with him.
"You." The inarticulate conversation began. The white bearded man with the the sparkling half moon glasses only stared, a frown developing deeply on his face. "You caused this. Without you non of this would have happened. This was your interference. Your fault."
"I fear I do not know the situation." There was no fear in that voice. No concern. Grief. Confusion. But no fear.
"Your meddling cause this failure. Without you none of this would have occurred. You caused this!" he could not pull a complete thought from his scattered mind. All he could do was to find the blame. He rounded on the venerable Headmaster. Took a menacing step forward. "You did this. You caused it all. Your meddling. Your interference."
"Severus?" Confusion.
He stepped back. That wasn't right. Something was wrong.
"Severus." A statement. He knew. "Remove your mask. It is over. For now."
Mask? There was no mask to remove. This was his face. He was here because his master was gone and he needed to know why. "Why?" he hissed, stepping back once more. He suddenly felt as a foreign element in this office. "Why did you interfere? Why did you cause this? Why? What did you do?" His back hit the wall. The Headmaster was frowning more. Stepping closer.
A frail old hand rose and drew near to his face. He swatted it away angrily. He would not have that meddling old fool touch his face. "Severus. He is gone for now. There is no need to hide behind your mask."
"Where is he?" he demanded instead. Ignoring the comments. They were not important. He needed to know. "What have you and your foolish companions done?"
"He is gone."
That simple phrase undid him. Gone. The one man he believed would never go, was gone. One word should not be adequate to express that. But it was. It was more than enough. Gone. Echoing through his mind. Gods were not gone.
"It is over, Severus. There is nothing more to fear."
"I do not fear," came the hard, unwavering, cold answer. A gloved hand rose without a tremble and his face broke free.
In that one terrible moment a single thought was shared, "Tell me why he is gone."