Author's Note: Sorry it has taken so long with this story and I hope you read and enjoy. I'm working on this story believe me, it's just very slow in coming. Forgive any mistakes, and again, read and review!

Chapter Three: The New Dawn

Because he was who he was, Kaiser's death seemed to mark the end of the world. Because he was Caesar, the undisputed Lord of the immortal Hecate, everyone had naturally assumed that he would be immortal as well. It had been like in the olden days of Knights and Kings and clear cut foes, the fate of the world rested on Kaiser's shoulders and he would carry it without faltering. He would live and flourish and the world would be at peace with him. He would flourish and Spring would come, or he would mourn and the world would turn to ash and brimstone would rain from the skies. It seemed natural and right that this be the case, for Kaiser was king.

But Kings were not supposed to die before their duty was fulfilled.

And the understanding that this, the impossible, had happened made Gideon ill. It was odd, somehow, how his whole body ached through the memorial service. Outside there was a prefect white sun that made Akel Dama's gardens gleam like jewels, and the birds sang to each other in wonderful melodies that would have made the day beautiful and lasting. Instead, it made the day spiteful and cruel. He wondered how such a world could exist now, without its heroes, and without its Kings.

He wondered if the world could even function at all now.

From his perch on the stairs, staring into the parlor, Gideon could watch the service from a dispassionate distance and observe quietly how Kings are to be mourned. He tugged angrily on the new black robes he wore, they were hot and stifling and no help in alleviating the utter shock and disgust he felt for being back at Akel Dama now that it had lost its soul.

All around guests milled around in states of uselessness and sobriety, from Aurors dressed in their dark blue uniforms to Illuminatti members dressed in fine, dark color robes. Gideon could see his mother's gossip buddies near the bar, while their men clustered together on the opposite side of the room, looking out into Sabine's wonderfully cultivated gardens. Sitting nearest to the door was one of the Auror Gideon had seen that night before, heavily beaten up, with bandages around his arms and neck. Squatting in front of him was a man with dull reddish blond hair who had his hands clapped over the Auror's, whispering something in that dull voice everyone got when talking at funerals.

"You can't blame yourself Malachi."

Malachi bowed his head, rubbing his eyes with his good hand and looking for a moment like if he was about to break down. "Everything was prefect; by the book, Kaiser said. That should have been our first warning. Nothing's ever by the book."

"Malachi, stop please." The man pleaded softly. Gideon could see bandages on two of his fingers on each hand, and knew he must be a Potions Master. His Head of House Julia Wyvern often used that practice to protect her fingers against becoming calloused. "It's not your fault, it's none of your faults."

"It's someone's fault!" Malachi shouted, and then looked around in horror as a few guests turn to watch him. He exhaled and looked back down. "Look, I'm sorry Joseph. I shouldn't be railing on you. It's just…only me and Patrick got out alive, and what they did to Reiner…" His face became haunted by some nightmare. He shut his eyes for a moment. "Two people, out twelve. That wasn't a mistake, Joe. That was a fuck-up." He shook his head again. "What's going to happen to Severus, or Celeste now? They said Mara…"

"She can't come down." Joe replied. "They say she's inconsolable, almost mad with grief. Mara has said there'll never be another Akel Dama heir in Hecate as long as she lives."

"I can't say I blame her." Malachi muttered. "Severus is the only male heir now, and if something happened to him Akel Dama will be broken…but God, she must realize…"

"I know," Joseph whispered in reply. "But it's selfish and cruel of us to pin all our hopes on Severus. He's just a child."

"He's more then just a child and you know it."

"But he doesn't need to know. Let him be a kid, Mal. Let him have his dreams. That's all he has left…"

"And they're such beautiful dreams."

Joseph appeared ready to speak again but something near the door caught his attention. His face twisted into an expression of pain and trepidation. Malachi followed his eyes, turning and sitting up. The Auror's face turned into one of disgust and outrage. Gideon pulled his attention away from them and searched the room. The Illuminatti all turned, glancing curiously at the door frame, while the Auror and Hecate personnel began to mumble under their breaths in terse, angry voices that mirrored Malachi's sentiment more then Joseph's. At first, Gideon was confused. There were still many people that had not arrived, and the sudden change of mood startled him. Interested now, Gideon turned to the doorframe and to the object of the controversy.

It was an elderly man in a gray uniform like the one Rio had worn standing composed and steady in the doorframe despite the glares he must have been aware of. He had a regal bearing about him, that seemed to make him older then he appeared, and thick lines aged his brown, weather beaten face. He was leaning heavily on a cane and as he walked there was awkwardness to his pace as if he was still becoming accustomed to relying on something for guidance. His hair was folded behind his ears, but bangs hung from his crown, shadowing his somber cloudy blue eyes.

Eyes that were now gently weeping as the man walked straight through the parlor, into the ballroom where three coffins laid in state, awaiting burial tomorrow. He walked slowly, but steadily, chin raised in dignity and resolve that didn't falter as two Navy robed men Gideon had never seen before blocked entrance to the ballroom.

"You can't go in, Creature." Said one. "And you know that."

Gideon rose from his perch, feeling in his gut he had better be close to his family now that the mood had changed. Marjorie nodded to him in assurance and held Lucius a little closer to her chest, while Karel took Gideon by the shoulders and tugged him closer. Like most Illuminatti, they appeared to have no clue what was going on and who this "creature" was. But Tristian Moon looked sick at the sight. Gideon glanced over at him, searching the man's face, and only half noticing his companion, known only as Caleb, rub Tristian's back lovingly. Gideon wondered for a moment where Claudia, Tristian's wife, was. The only other person to share in Joseph and Tristian's pain seemed to be Gideon's uncle Conaire.

Conaire Malone was still a complete mystery to Gideon as well as much of the Illuminatti if Marjorie's gossip buddies were any indication. They described him as handsome but aloof and slightly unnerving if one spent too much with him. Rumors placed him as an American despite the accent that sound vaguely like Irish, but he had spent time in the Middle East, or Eastern Europe; they never knew for sure. A man of expression, Conaire rarely spoke, opting to allow his wife and Marjorie's sister Isolde handle the social situations.

Presently, he was sitting at the bar poised like a aristocrat, holding his short glass at an angle as he leaned forward to whisper something into another man's ear. Conaire's wild curls of brown and auburn hair framed his narrow face and fell over dark sunglasses that hid a abnormality. Unlike everyone else in the home, Conaire was dressed in a bright pale gray jacket that looked almost white, with like pants. It occurred to Gideon a moment later how similar the suit looked to the old man's uniform.

The man he was speaking to, Gideon had never seen before. Not polished or regal like the gentry or even proud and righteous like the Aurors, this man was short, slender but not weak, with a thin workman's frame that curved the muscles of his arm but failed to strengthen his shoulders. His face was square, and innocent, with dark, brooding eyes that raged with hatred the man had the wisdom to keep under reigns. His clothing was simple, downright laughable in its humility when set against any of his crowd's fineries but the respect he held himself with rivaled them on. He struck Gideon immediately like a King who had yet to assume his throne. The man turned away from Conaire, meeting Gideon's eyes for a brief second before turning back to the scene. Gideon shivered despite himself.

"I knew Kaiser before he was King." The old man was saying and although there was strength there was also unspeakable sadness. "I cared for him as a child, nurtured him as the boy and returned him to Hecate as the prince you made into a King. I will not be denied the right to say goodbye."

"You did your duty and completed your mission." The Auror countered. "There is nothing here for you."

"There is the man I loved like a son."

"Your kind does not love."

"What do you know of my kind, Creator?" The man asked quietly, but his face was beginning to tighten around the eyes and his voice gradually became steely. "I am nothing to then the tattooed number and a tool for you."

"You are nothing to me then an enslaved beast that has its purposes." The second Auror hissed angrily. The first one reared up. "Remember your place. Kaiser might had treated you like an equal but you're still an animal."

The man's head never moved but Gideon saw his eyes scan the room, before forcing down his head. "Forgive me, sir." He whispered. "Allow me to attend to my Master one last time." There was a long beat. "Please."

"Get out of here, Creature!" Called another Auror from the corner. There was a cheer near Gideon and then another voice. "Yes! Send him out, Stallens!"

"His kind is not welcome here!" Cried another. "It's beasts like him that killed Kaiser! Domesticated, friendly…" The voice continued. "All creatures should be put down!"

This caused Caleb to make a movement, and Tristian to put his hand over Caleb's. Gideon frowned, looking at the Aurors. He still didn't know what this man had done but his presence seemed to turn Auror grief into deep anger.

"Get him out of here, Stallens, you heard him." The second Auror said to the first, Stallens.

The man was leaning away from Stallens now, and with one sharp final look around him, he took a deep breath and strolled forward past. Stallens pushed the old man fiercely, depriving him of his cane and causing the man to fall backwards. The sight of the old man hitting the ground made the civilians in the room jump and squirm but the Hecate personnel didn't seem to notice. A few of the Auror were smiling, while the others lightly applauded. Malachi had turned away and reached over the bar to pick out a bottle to make a drink, completely ignoring the scene; he had taken off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt revealing a small crooked string of numbers that were tattooed on the inside of his left forearm.

The sharp yell from the ballroom's doorway jerked Gideon's attention back to the scene. Stallens had the man's cane raised over his head as if he had meant to strike him with it, before his uncle Conaire had come to the rescue, following the example of the man Conaire had been talking to.

"Let the man see his son." The Good Samaritan demanded, jerking the cane from Stallens hand and turning back, to offer his hand towards the man. Stallens' friend made a motion to aid him but Conaire pushed him back against the wall hard.

"I wouldn't do that." Conaire whispered. He slid his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose to reveal expressive gray eyes that seemed to discern and understand everything that was real and tangible but it was not his eyes he had meant for the Auror to see: it was the thick ugly tattoo under his right eye. It was Arabic script with what appeared to be a number inked in under it. He smiled dangerously. "We Creatures are everywhere. You okay, sir."

The Samaritan was handing the man his cane back. "I'm fine, Conaire."

The friend seemed undeterred. "You think I'm scared of you, Hecate?"

"Malone." Conaire corrected. "And yeah, I do."

"I don't want to ruin this event," The Samaritan told Stallens. "But I will…"

"No you won't." Called a soft voice from the parlor's entrance. Gideon and the rest of the room turned to gaze at the small figure.

Severus Snape was standing like a boy-king in his black robes. His hair fell into curls around his face like a halo, and his eyes were red from tears but he had a dignity and quietness that silenced the room. He looked awkward in his crisp black, and as if to prove he was still a child, he carried a toy in his arm, a stuffed turtle that he kept close to his heart. Behind was his Aunt Celeste, who was watching the room but allowing her young nephew to speak.

"Stallens, Ward." Severus continued, look down and sickened by his duty to maintain the peace at the end of his world. "This is a funeral. Please be good." He moved to Celeste for comfort but his Aunt stepped back, unwilling to allow the Heir of Akel Dama to appear weak. Severus flinched and began to cry but his voice remained dull. "Alexi, please say goodbye to daddy, mommy and Reiner if you want. I say you can."

"Thank you, Severus." Alexi Hecate whispered, and then motioned for him to come. Severus, desperate now for some comfort, ran to the man's waiting arms. Alexi wrapped his arm around Severus' frail shoulders, pausing only to turn and bow to the Samaritan in respect before walking into the room with Severus.

After Severus had left, it was Ward who leaned dangerously close to the Samaritan and hissed. "This isn't over."

The Samaritan nodded. "No. It isn't."

Now that the crisis had dissipated, the room began to buzz again as the people turned back to their drinks and tried to forget the pain. The Samaritan walked back with Conaire towards Karel, Marjorie and Isolde, and when Marjorie thanked him, he blushed and looked away. Conaire laughed and slapped him on the back.

"Look at my King," Conaire said proudly, leaning over and tickling Silas' cheek before kissing Isolde's cheek. "And mark me, there's no other man I would follow to hell."

"Are you an Auror?" Karel asked.

"Hardly." The man countered. He seemed uncomfortable being called King but Gideon saw a smile touching the corner of his lips. "I'm just…a dreamer."

"Oh?"

"Riddle wants to change the world." Conaire supplied. "And he might just do it."

Marjorie asked. "That your first name?"

"No, it's Tom. Tom Riddle." The man supplied and this time looked sincere in his loathing of the name.

"And how do you want to change the world?" Isolde asked.

Tom smiled softly and looked down at the drink Conaire handed him. "I want to stop letting blood spill for useless causes this it has. I want us to stop fighting supposed monsters like Vampires, or Werewolves just because they're different and focus on the real enemy."

"The real enemy?"

"Those who would challenge peace and belittle blood." The man said simply. "Look at this, the Snape family has spend centuries almost, serving their cause and yet at their funeral young fools treat their sacrifice like dirt. They care nothing for our precious blood and how much of it will be shed to keep Muggles safe at night? How many more of our heroes will suffer and die while our government fawns over those who will not help themselves. Stallens blamed the Creature, but it is not he to blame. It's creatures like half bloods and Muggle born that fail to understand the seriousness and responsibility that comes with our blood. They believe our magic is nothing more the parlor tricks and cheap amusements…how long will we allow this?" The man turned away, looking seriously distressed. "How much will pay till it's enough?"

Gideon looked up and was surprised to see Conaire and Marjorie nodding in agreement. Two couples near by the Crabbe and Avery were leaning over and smiling, impressed with the younger speaker. He saw Conaire met Tom's eyes and nod. All seemed enraptured with this new darling.

"We've heard this before." Gideon heard his father mutter to Isolde in German. "And the brown shirts marched through Berlin."

"Hitler was a fanatic, Karel." Isolde countered. "This man is a dreamer."

"The only difference being Hitler had weapons. And he doesn't yet."

"You sound afraid."

Gideon waited for his father to counter but Karel had paused, and become thoughtful like he always did when encountering a tough question. Gideon shivered again and pressed closer to his father. He knew Hitler was a touchy subject for all Germans of Karel's generation. He had heard his father's stories over and over again about what Karel had seen growing up in Germany. He had run his hands over the coarse gray uniform that use to be his grandfather's, pushing his small fingers through the button holes and admiring the red cuff with black broken cross that adorned the upper right arm but he had never believed them to be horror stories to be true. But what Karel said next would sear the memory of that Nazi uniform and Tom Riddle together in Gideon's mind forever.

"I am afraid." Karel said, "And you should be too. No good can come of this dream."