Author's Note: For Saerry, because she asked.

The appearances of things are deceptive.

-Seneca

Chapter Two: Peaceful Hells

It was an odd dream to be sure, one that lied to the senses and the mind; professing falsehoods and hidden truths that one could not decipher so deep into the dreamscape. She was warm, and not uncomfortable but devoid of all senses. Reaching her arms out as far as she could, she tried to touch some semblance of reality. None could be found, nor could her eyes or ears, despite their enhancements give her any clue to her place or predicament. She inhaled quietly, and tried to quell the uncertainty that was beginning to creep into her mind.

She knew danger was close. Every fiber in her being screamed for her to come to arms, to prepare herself for something but her body refused to obey her mind. She was still too weak. She was dying. That could explain it all. She was dying and her body, though polished and drilled for war and survival had finally succumbed to the barriers she had been bucking her entire life. She was dying and soon, whatever fate awaited those of her kind would be waiting for her.

No…

The grim realization struck her moments afterwards. She was not dying, not in the traditional sense, as one would consider dying. That moment of transition between living and what lied beyond had already passed, and yet she had remained. Trapped. Panic began to overcome her. She screamed till her vocal chords were ragged but could not hear her own voice. No one would come to rescue her from this abyss; she could feel it. Jumping to her feet, she strained to gather the last reserves of her strength and will to break free of this prison. She had to get free for she knew what awaited her beyond the darkness, knew of the terrors so alien to humanity, their kinds had no words for it. She had to get free. Escape began her only memory, her only desire, her only hope.

Scrambling towards some direction, she pushed herself until the blackness overcame her and she fell…

Erised Hecate jolted up in bed in a cold sweat. It took her a few tense moments for her breathing to slow, and the tremors from some nightmare she could not remember to subside. She exhaled finally, partially in annoyance with herself. These unrecalled nightmares were nothing new to her; she had been having them on and off for about three years. They came and went on their own accord, never remaining after she had awaken to give her some clue to what had seized her with such fear, but always leaving souvenirs of in their wake. Rolling over in bed, Ari groped in the dark blindly for Isaiah only to find her Vampire lover had abandoned their bed. Judging from the impression in the sheets, and the warmth his body left as residue, it had not been too long.

She could hear his voice through the walls, quiet but serious, speaking business to someone. Ari frowned, through the thick curtains of their bedroom; she could see the faint afternoon rays of sunlight. An odd time for business to any world. She debated for a moment about returning to sleep but knew her curiosity would not allow her a peaceful respite so she rolled out of bed to attend to her paramour. She went about the usual preparations, ensuring she was clothed modestly, and properly armed before picking up a silver glove that appeared completely harmless at first glance.

Ari pulled the glove onto her hand seamlessly, like she had for three years, and waited for the Charms to take over. Charms would take over for her missing fingers and augment her innate strengths as well as compensating for her weakness. Her hand was disfigured, from a battle she had fought years before but couldn't quite remember. Isaiah had said the injury had been an Auror's fault and, having no reason to disbelieve him, accepted this.

She made her way down the hallways, following Isaiah's voice. He was in his office, entertaining some guest whose voice was strangely familiar to her. Now by no means was ease-dropping an accepted trait for her, however there were certain subjects and words that baited her curiosity enough to have Erised forgo the human notions of respect for privacy.

Her own name being atop that list.

"You told me Erised would be left out of your petty wars." Isaiah hissed, "We had an agreement. You take the child and I have Ari."

"It was a promise I was all to willing to respect, Oir Ri but the rules have been changed and it was not my doing." The strange voice apologized.

"It's not mine either."

"But like us all, you will be affected. If Prince Mordred is allowed to continue on his path, we will all suffer."

Something stirred with Erised at the sound of Mordred's name. Something buried deep within her soul that would not come to her now as she called on it. Idly, she frowned and tried to push the worry from her mind; resting her hand over her heart- over a thick scar she didn't remember earning.

Isaiah inhaled, "And what do you want from her?"

"She can track Dove the best." The voice replied. "And where the girl is, Mordred is sure to be." There was a pause, as the voice turned cold. "Return Dove to me, and keep your corpse bride with my blessing."

"And if she fails?" Isaiah's voice was quiet and worried. "What then?"

"There are other means at my disposal if she fails." The voice soothed, and brightened with the next turn. "But she won't fail. Will you Erised?"

Erised walked into the room to face the strangers; she could see now that Isaiah was not entertaining one but two men.

"No." She said simply. "I won't."

Hecate Compound was immortal and one did not realize just how much that meant, or how much was included in that until they walked to cool gray footpaths in low light with a waxing moon overhead, and the simple security of knowing that this was the front lines of the world as well as some hidden, private fortress for the guardians. Snape exhaled against the cold air, watching his breath turn to vapor, and smiled a little relishing his home. It was early summer at Hecate, and in this region of America the summers were brought in by thick overpowering thunderstorms that some times brought tornados or hail through the area. From the thick crack in the distance, Severus could tell the upcoming storm was going to be huge.

He shifted his briefcase and grimaced. There were a million and one different reports Severus had to go through to prepare for another wave of Tribunal bureaucracy and testimonies, dating from the Dark Times up till modern day and ranging from anything like Auror evaluation reports to mission breakdowns and dossiers.

Another tired exhale escaped him as he randomly pulled one file out from the front of his back to look over it. These reports in particular were special to him. They were the reports and other files from the Intelligence Wing of Hecate, Interrogations sector dating back twenty years back when the Wing had been under the command of Master at Arms Malachi Smith.

Although most of these files predated even him, Severus knew many of their secrets by heart, having memorized them back when he had been a lowly apprentice on one of Malachi's squads. It had been illegal and a breach of protocol for Severus to have even known of these files but exceptions were made.

Mainly because he was dating the boss' Kaga.

He grinned, reading the clear script on the front of each file: Malachi, Sydney and Erised's names each signed and dated to show where exactly the file had transferred ending finally with Erised to be kept in the Kaga Archives until such a time as this one. He wondered idly, if he looked for these elusive archives could he find more then just old files there. He had spent his life learning to rely not on what Kaga said, but what they did do. Most Kaga were quick to bring attention to their superhuman senses, strengths and their "evolved" sense of morality but this had been largely been a guise for the Companions to study the humans. Which is why Snape knew whatever secrets the Tribunal wanted to uncover would lie with the Kaga.

The only problem with that is the Companions from that time were all dead.

And he could now only rely on their written word: something Hecate was never known for. Idly playing with his necklace, Snape shifted the folder open and began to read. He smiled lightly as he read Sydney's dry wit in the words.

Evaluations went as ordered, save one minor distraction. Apprentice Moore and Apprentice Snape brought water balloons to war game. Challengers Auror Remington and Companion Erised (KC9017) were unprepared for new weapon and fell back. Apprentices were able to capture the flag in two hours, forty-seven minutes.

Master at Arms Smith awarded commendations for ingenuity.

There was a rustle in the foliage behind Severus that caused him to stop reading but continue in his pace, pretending to be unaware. He heard the footsteps heavy behind him and debated for a moment if this was just some passerby even though every sense in his body knew better. No matter how long peace had been entertained, being a Death Eater Prince had birthed in Severus an innate paranoia that had kept him alive longer then most. He paced himself, looking ahead to find a clearing to his liking. The shadow continue to follow him, haphazardly though the grounds and despite himself, Snape felt a stab of indignity.

Here he was, the famed Dark Prince himself, stalked by an amateur.

It was insulting.

Finally, Snape reached the clearing and paused, returning the file to his briefcase and waiting. He inhaled deeply to calm himself, knowing full well he was no longer the fighter he had once been and knowing this time was different. He could not enter a battle with no care or concern anymore. He had Sind to think about. He had something to live for.

He heard the person emerge from the gardens behind him, coming towards him. Snape counted to three before pulling his wand and swinging around- fully prepared to face whatever came.

Almost.

"Father…"

At first Severus didn't recognize the haggard creature before him. Lean and pale, Mordred stood with his trench coat folded all around him, as if Mordred had been attempting to keep out the chill. His hair was long and matted, still with tresses of royal purple, but now also discolored with gray. His face, once noble and handsome, was drawn and scarred with thick bruises that bloated one side of his face. Snape could see a make-shift patch covering his son's right eye.

Severus dropped the wand, ignoring the clatter it made on the stone underfoot. He wanted to move towards Mordred but couldn't find the will to make the motions. He was too shock to even think. He was unprepared for what came next.

"Father," Mordred repeated weakly, choking on something. "I need your help…"

Mordred took a fumbling step forward, but his legs rebelled, and the Black Prince pass out from the pain. A moment later, Severus fell to his knees to catch him, awkwardly attempting to render aid. He was so clumsily in his actions, the coat opened, and Snape, slicking his arm through it to better hold his son felt the warm stickiness of fresh blood.

And suddenly, peace was over.