Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor anything otherwise related. I do, however, make claim on NM Harry's personality as well as those of all the other canon characters and my original chars.

Time passes like a flash.

One minute it's there,

then gone in the aftermath.

People you love die,

but their memory lives on;

Until it seems

that they live again.

"Remembrance" by Anastasia Snape-Vickers, in memoriam of Severus Jardin Snape (2001-2156)

Chapter 4

Memory Lives On

"Sir?"

"What is it?"

"Another letter, sir."

Harry looked up and eyed the letter in his self-proclaimed assistant's hand.

"Another death threat," he growled. "Toss it."

"Y-yes, sir!"

He watched the young woman – barely in her teenage years and with the barest minimum of schooling thanks to the war – scamper out of the room. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his hair and grumbled something rather unsavory in Elven that Niamh would have slapped him for saying if she could have understood it.

It had been two years since his great-great granddaughter Violet Romaniv had brought him back from the dead. During that interval both she and her son, Lucas, had been lost in an explosion near Hogwarts just before the castle had fallen. Her husband Erik had sought out the culprits despite Harry's warnings and had ended up dead because of it. Which left ten-year-old Anna Romaniv to grow up under the care of her aging great-great-great-great uncle and ex-dead great-great-great grandfather.

The now twelve-year-old girl was one of their best Healer's, a talent that had been discovered just before her parents had died. She'd originally wanted to join the assassins and hunt down the killers of her family but Harry had swiftly (and viciously) stopped that in its tracks. He'd agreed to teach her and had despite her great-uncle Aleksandr and Etienne's wishes.

It was him pushing her to her limits that brought her back from plunging into the depths of madness. After that, she'd sworn she'd never pick up a weapon again. Instead she heightened her skills in healing and she had such innate skill in the field that she could work her magic without a wand.

Then again, she had learnt it that way as she considered a wand a weapon as well.

Harry couldn't blame her for not waiting to touch a weapon again. If he could help it, he'd never touch one again himself.

Three other losses had been suffered within the family as well. Draco's great-great granddaughter through his granddaughter Durundia – Hermione Nostra – had been killed just a few weeks before. And nearly a year ago Benjamin Longbottom, Harry's great-grandchild, had been killed along with Adam's twin brother Arthur in a failed raid on one of the Dark Lord's fortresses.

The recent birth of Cadian Malfoy had lifted their spirits, however, and hope for an end to the war was brighter than ever.

And yet Harry could have had it over with long ago if he could just corner the so-called Dark Lord long enough to get a good fight out of him.

But it seemed this new Dark Lord had learned a few things since Voldemort's time.

Shaking his head, he rose from his desk and walked out of the study in Ashdeir Fierion that had become his again. Ever since Diagon Alley had been overrun and their original base at the Ministry of Magic had been compromised a year and a half ago, the Snape estate had become their base. The main reason were the extensive wards that only Harry and Etienne knew how to truly destroy and the second was that they could house their entire force there with every room in the house and cottage occupied and a few tents scattered about the front lawn.

The Malfoy's Downs and Rook's Wood – the old Parkinson estate that had become a Malfoy property without Harry's knowledge or Malfoy money buying it – were two of their other bases but as their wards weren't as strong as those surrounding Ashdeir Fierion, few of their forces were ever there. Mainly the spy's and assassins stayed in those two locations, taking their chances with the weaker wards that others dared not.

Wandering into the kitchen, he returned Adam's greeting with a grunt and moved over to snatch a piece of toast off the stack that Marly had set up on the counter. As he took a bite and chewed it, he felt a dim zap on his arm and looked down at the little elf.

"Master Harry must wait until Marly is done before he eats!"

He smiled at the house-elf, who was truly starting to get up in years as house-elves go, and said, "Don't have time. I'm supposed to be meeting Saul in twelve minutes to discuss something he thinks rather important."

Marly frowned and waved a long-handled spoon at him, snapping, "That is no excuse, Master Harry!" She then smiled and said in a gentler tone, "But Marly will let you get away with it."

Harry bowed to the elf, making a flourish with his toast-encumbered hand.

"Thank you, Marly, my dear. You're an angel."

The house-elf harrumphed at that and turned back to fixing breakfast for the nearly two hundred bodies that would soon be up and about. Harry turned away and nodded at Adam as he left the kitchen, nearly running over one of the younger children as he did so.

"Watch yourself, William!"

"Yes, sir!" cried the ten-year-old, snapping off a salute before he ran into the kitchen. Harry saw him grab a piece of toast as he dashed past Marly before the door closed and laughed when he heard the elf begin to scold the boy through the door.

Munching happily on his piece of toast, he wandered out onto the grounds, starting to make the daily rounds he'd begun when their forces had set up on the estate. A few early risers greeted him as he weaved through the tents scattered across the lawn and he nodded back. As he left the area where they were set up, he made a left turn and strode down a nearly hidden path between some trees that would lead him down to the cemetery.

He'd once asked Victoria why it was hidden and she had replied that after Patrick Snape's wife Melissa had died and been buried, he had had the trees and bushes planted so he would not be able to see her grave from the house. In the years after, they had done their job well and now only the family and those that stumbled upon it knew of its existence.

Stepping into the cemetery, Harry slowly ambled through it, reading each gravestone with care as he did so. When he had still been alive, there had only been three graves: his father's, Niamh's, and the joint one that housed the bodies of Jardin and Hedwig. Now those of his son, daughter, their spouse's, and a handful of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren had joined them.

Halting at the base of Jardin's and Hedwig's tomb, he bent and picked up five blades of grass. A snap of his fingers and a whispered spell caused the blades to transfigure themselves into five roses.

Carefully, he placed one on the graves of the four people and two creatures he'd held closest to his heart. Niamh's he went to last and he sank to one knee beside the stark white marble tombstone that sheltered her body.

"Where are you, love?" he whispered as he laid the rose atop her tombstone. His fingers slid down to trace the worn lines of her name as he added, "It's been almost a year since you spoke to me."

And indeed it had. Almost a year had passed since he had felt the nearly constant presence of his deceased wife hovering over him, her words whispered gently into his ear in encouragement. She was the only reason he was still fighting this twice-damned war.

And now she wasn't there.

The fact that she had vanished with no warning disturbed him. And he had no way to know if she had been brought back as he had or the connections between the spirit world and the living had drug far enough apart that they could no longer speak. Of everyone on the other side, she'd always had the easiest time contacting him – his father he'd heard from a total of six times and Saerry and Severus had only managed to get through once.

Movement from behind him made his hand snap to the Elven dagger strapped at his hip and he rose into a crouch, eyes darting between the shadows that surrounded him. Leaves and branches snapped to his immediate right and he whipped out the dagger at the same instant a horrified looking Saul Weasley burst through.

"Harry!"

"Good Merlin, man," muttered Harry as he sheathed the dagger. "I nearly killed you!"

"No matter," gasped Saul, causing the dark wizard to arch an eyebrow. "One of our spies just reported that the Dark Lord's forces are gathering for a full-scale assault."

"Here?"

"Here."

Harry cursed vehemently in Elven then turned burning eyes to Saul.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

The Weasley's face fell and he shook his head, saying, "I'd hoped that my sources were wrong and I wouldn't have to tell you this."

Harry scowled and Saul gasped out, "The Dark Lord brought a soul back into this world months ago and trapped it within a crystal ball. He apparently keeps it stored somewhere within his body – we're not sure how – except when he's within his rooms."

"And?"

"One of the spies got a good look at it. And they could see the spirit inside."

Harry arched an eyebrow again, waiting for him to finish.

"And?" he repeated, making a whirling motion with his hand.

Saul looked at him sadly and replied, "It's Niamh, Harry. The spy put the memory in a Pensieve and had Etienne view it. He's positive it was her."

There was a moment of tense silence in the cemetery then the hairs on the back of Saul's neck stood up as the air seemed to vibrate around them. A glance at Harry's eyes made him step back in sudden fear.

The whole of his eyes blazed black with rage and Harry snarled, "He will pay." He spun back towards Niamh's tombstone and continued, "I swear, Ni, that bastard will pay for what he's done to you."

Spinning back towards Saul, he snapped, "Go to the house and rouse everyone. I want the tents up in ten minutes and everyone in full battle gear in an hour. Have Adam call the Downs and Rook's Wood and tell everyone there to get back here ASAP."

He then smiled ferally, teeth flashing as they made a slight shift into fangs.

"If he wants a fight," growled Harry, slapping a balled up fist into the palm of his other hand, "we'll give him a fight."

"And he will regret the day he heard the name Snape!"