The Black Moon

Warning: Contains coarse language

Servius' legs turned to jelly and he dropped to his knees there on the spot, head bowed, opened palms held high. "I'm unarmed! I'm unarmed!" he shouted and then clenched his teeth, wondering how it would feel to have an arrow penetrate his spine.

All around was the noise of hooves and falling sods of earth and whimpering children; yelling from the males and cries from the females, all in a language Servius had never heard before. It took only seconds for the large grey Centaur to traverse the stretch of meadow and come to an agitated pacing in front of Servius, and while he dared not look, he could smell that not-unpleasant warm, wholesome odour he remembered from trips to the farm-park as a youngster, from pony rides and patting the draught horses at the county fair.

The point of a single hoof pushed him at the shoulder so that he rolled to the ground on his side, and he covered his head with his hands.

"Stand! Stand, human. To your feet!"

Servius didn't stop to question, but carefully rose, slightly wobbly, with his hands up high. He stared at the ground. "I'm unarmed," he declared.

"Who are you? Are you lost? Are you from the school?"

"I am Servius Snape. I'm not lost. I am a first-year student at the school."

Two other large male Centaurs - one black, the other a dappled chestnut - joined the first, taking position on either side. They too had their bows at the ready. They exchanged consternated words at Servius' pronouncement.

"You are not lost?!" roared the grey Centaur. "You have disturbed us! We are Praising on the eve of a Black Moon! You are in Centaur Territory but you are not lost!"

"I have important news for you -,"

"SILENCE!" The grey reared up slightly and then brought his forefeet down hard on the ground with a threatening thud. Servius screwed up his eyes.

The three Centaurs talked amongst themselves, their raised voices and swishing tails at various junctures signaling to Servius that occasionally they disagreed. Despite this, their bows were lowered and their arrows returned to their quivers, so he figured they at least weren't going to kill him.

Presently the black and chestnut centaurs moved aside while the grey approached and towered over him again. All three were staring hard and Servius gulped, forcing himself to meet their eyes. Up close, he was startled to realise that their heads and faces were an extraordinary blend of human and equine, having slightly elongated jaws, large expressive eyes, long, coarse hair and pointed ears that could swivel. They were quite astonishing to behold.

"We do not trust humans – any kind – but also we do not harm the young. You must leave."

"But I really need to tell you something -!"

"LEAVE!"

"I will! I will – just please let me tell you first."

"Salmastus – look!" said the chestnut suddenly, coming forward to the side of the grey leader. He was pointing to Servius' hands. "The sign of Psykhe!"

The large grey – Salmastus, Servius presumed – frowned and looked closer. Confused, Servius drew back his hands to see, but Salmastus grabbed his left wrist and turned it back over. When his arms were raised, the sleeve of his jumper had drawn back and there, quite visible to the Centaurs, was his black moth.

"The butterfly of our deity, our divine spirit, our guardian. Who are you?"

"It's not a -,"

"Answer the question!"

Servius thought better of attempting to correct him and decided that an insignificant identification error between virtually overlapping species was not something to stand on ceremony over, particularly when the error appeared to be working in his favour.

"Um, I'm James Servius Snape -," he began.

"James?"

"Yes; I normally go by Servius -,"

"Are you a patron of Iakovos?"

Who? Servius shook his head slightly.

"You are a wizard child but carry no wand?"

"Salmastus, observe – he has black eyes," added the chestnut. "That is two signs on this, our eve."

Salmastus stared even harder at Servius, then turned once again and consulted his fellow Centaurs. This time, judging by the folded arms and solemn nodding of heads, they were far more in agreement.

As he waited, Servius noticed movement towards his feet and glanced down to see a large, glossy black raven standing nearby and examining him with a beady eye. The bird gave a single, peremptory flap of its wings and appeared to wait with him. It didn't take long. The chestnut noticed and pranced backwards, pointing. "Behold! Kyvernitis – it is the third sign! This peaceful child called James has come with a message on the Lilith moon! We must listen!"

Salmastrus evidently didn't much care for being given advice by a lesser Centaur and scowled at the chestnut, who in turn demurely lowered his eyes, but then the grey regarded the raven and then looked back at Servius and after a moment, nodded his head.

"Perradus, Baccion – calm the herd, reassure them, our trespasser is welcomed. He is a harbinger and we will hear his message."

The two Centaurs bowed slightly and cantered away to the collected group who had been watchful and huddled in the clearing.

Servius – and now his raven companion – gazed up a Salmastus, who lowered one hoof beneath him and also bowed. "Patron – did you hear our Praising?"

Servius nodded nervously. "Uh…yes…it's…really clear in the forest."

"Forgive us our conduct earlier. We did not appreciate you had been sent to us."

Servius shook his head inadequately, feeling very much like an imposter in his oversized boots, trackpants and warlock cloak, but the raven was staring in a weirdly determined way, and so he shrugged. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Please – the hour comes ever closer – what is your message?"

Servius glanced at the sky and realised that Salmastrus was right: the light was lowering and precious time had been lost.

"A man is coming," said Servius, his voice slightly uneven and raspy through his pounding chest. "A bad man. He wants the Resurrection Stone for himself. He knows about the Black Moon and he will try to take the power to do evil."

Salmastrus concentrated. "A wizard man?"

"Yes. A wizard. He may bring others with him I don't know."

"He comes tonight?"

"I think – I think he will come tonight. He's been planning it, I'm pretty sure."

"He will use dark magic to take the Stone?"

"Probably," said Servius, nodding hesitantly. "I don't know how exactly."

"How did you receive this prophesy?"

"Me and my friends just kind of figured it out…"

Salmastrus frowned at this and looked nonplussed. "There was no prophesy? Iakovos will always send a prophesy."

"I – I don't know Iakovos."

The grey stood back and snorted, and the raven began strutting to and fro and Servius had a forbidding sense that things were unravelling slightly.

"We are not intimidated by a weak wizard," announced Salmastrus with bluster. "He will need an army to take the Stone! Are you playing a prank on the Centaurs?"

At that moment there was a ruckus from the clearing where the herd were gathered, and some Centaurs were rearing up, others trotting to the cover of trees, others gathering their children close. The warrior Centaurs, however, were shouting to each other and swiftly arming themselves with bows and arrows – which were pointed to the sky.

Salmastrus took perplexed steps towards his fellows and now studied the sky along with the others. Suddenly there were shouts and points and arrows were fired, streaking into the sky like shooting stars in reverse. The warrior Centaurs scattered about as they fired and Servius struggled to see what they were aiming at.

And then, between the gap in the trees over the meadow, hurtled a broom, ridden by a person in dark, concealing clothes, even their face appeared to be covered. They had crossed the open space in seconds, so that the dozen arrows fired at them flew harmlessly into the air left behind.

Then Servius saw more shadowy riders, perhaps four or five. While further away, they seemed to be together: their speed, direction and the confident way they rode gave the impression of clear coordination.

Salmastrus swung back to Servius and leaned forward to grab him by the shoulders. Servius gulped.

"Is this they? Are these the bad man's army?"

Servius quailed. "I don't know. Maybe. I hope not."

The great grey Centaur tossed his mane and gave Servius a last, penetrating glare. "Thank you, James Servius, you have warned us and we will prepare to respond. Return to your kind now – here it is dangerous. I will assign you a Centaur to take you back to the castle school – warn the friendly ones who are teachers."

Servius nodded rapidly, and a last glance at the sky saw another broom flash past and arrows whisked into the air after it, some falling back to earth with terrifying slicing thuds.

Salmastrus called a younger, dark bay Centaur and introduced him as Piremon. Salmastrus issued orders in their own tongue, and Piremon immediately lowered himself and Servius was instructed to climb on. "Put your arms around my waist," said Piremon. "And hold on."

Pressed up uncomfortably against the Centaur's back, Servius had time to see the raven launch silently into the sky, feet curled up tight beneath it, before the Piremon bounded away into the forest.

The run from the great front doors of Hogwarts to the edge of the Forbidden Forest had followed a random path for Snape, a route he often followed himself when taking a rare, aimless stroll, and so when he arrived at the wall of trees featuring not one, not ten, but hundreds of potential entry points he stalled and began cursing at the scope of this seemingly futile endeavor. Servius was likely headed for, or already at the Centaur's tomb, and he had seen it from the air, he remembered on the gridded map in Longbottom's quarters where it was geographically located and yet here, now, with nothing but trunk after trunk of ancient trees and undergrowth presented to him, did he falter at the improbability of success.

But Servius had done it. Servius had crossed that threshold, that barrier that was real and manifest, as well as the doubt, the fear, the hesitation and Snape took a deep breath to calm the uprising in his chest. He didn't feel an urge to compete with his son, only inspired by him, and afraid for him, and he knew he couldn't wait any longer. Having reached a landmark – the owlery, a place he knew Servius frequented – he cast his Patronus and the bright, silver fox bounded into the air before him.

"Which way to Servius," Snape asked it, and the fox promptly turned and trotted into the dark gap between the trees, followed by Snape, with his wand lit before him.

Piremon moved quickly and surely and Servius was beginning to feel hopeful that he was going to come out, against all odds, unscathed. He would be in trouble, he knew that, for leaving Slughorn's house and entering the Forest, foraying into Centaur territory and for just about everything, really, down to stealing the boots of his Head of House. But he was going to be expelled anyway, he hadn't put anyone but himself in danger, and it seemed he may even have been able to help the Centaurs. He had doubted himself, but now he felt a flicker of pride and surprise at what he'd achieved, and knew that when he boarded the Hogwarts Express, perhaps never to return, that he'd be glad he'd consummated his rocky road as a warlock. Being a true warlock was more than knowing hexes and jinxes, he understood now. It was having the courage of conviction and doing whatever was possible, however little, and however unlikely.

And so as the young Centaur wordlessly crashed through bushes and bounded over roots, Servius held on tight and tried to imprint the experience to memory. There wouldn't be anyone in Muggledom to whom he could describe this, not even his grandparents, and with a cold clench of his heart it occurred to him that however solitary he'd felt at Hogwarts, it was soon about to get much, much lonelier. His heart had filled slowly and cautiously with magic, but now – now, too late - it seemed to gush at each beat and he felt he might drown in the sheer sorrow of its squander and loss.

Without warning, Piremon lurched dramatically, cried out, and pitched forward. Servius tumbled from his back, hitting the ground hard. When he got his breath back, he turned to see Piremon on his side, braying in agony and leaning forward to grasp at his forelegs. Just above the knee bone they had been almost sliced through and bright blood gushed forth. Instinctively, Servius scrambled to his side but Piremon lashed out. "Humans!" he snarled. "The Gods will break you!"

"I didn't do it!" said Servius. "How did it happen?!"

"Tripwire," said a deep voice behind him.

Servius swung around and Piremon tried to reach for his quiver and bow, but the owner of the voice, in a long, black coat and wearing a Death Eater mask, stepping casually towards them from nowhere, had his wand out and pointed at the Centaur. He chuckled.

"Go on then," he said to Piremon. "Get your bow and arrow. You'll feel better."

"The undead will come for you. Hell will come for you," spat the Centaur, and Piremon struggled to reach for his quiver so Servius leaned across and pulled free an arrow for him.

With shaking hands, while Rabastan Lestrange waited, Piremon mounted his arrow and pulled the drawstring tight as he lifted his aim. Then Rabastan said, "Avada Kedavra!" and the killing curse struck Piremon so instantly, the arrow was never even released. He collapsed on the spot, his weapon falling harmlessly onto the dead, damp leaves.

Rabastan leaned down, picked up the bow and arrow and tossed them to Servius, who had shuffled back slightly but was unable to drag his eyes away. "Your turn. Want a go?"

Servius shook his head.

"No? But look what you made me do. Now he's dead and it's your fault. Least you could make an effort."

Servius didn't move, just watched closely, willing his heart to go back into his chest where it belonged.

Rabastan removed his mask with a slow, meditative move and hooked it onto his belt inside his coat. Then flicking his wand said, "C'mon pretty boy. Up on your feet. Walk with me now."

Servius rose stiffly, and with one last glance at Piremon, took hesitant steps towards Rabastan. He was grabbed roughly and his cloak ripped off, then Rabastan searched him all over. "Where's your wand?"

"I don't have it."

"Expelliarmus!" said Rabastan, and Servius felt a blow so hard his breath was knocked out again, but when no wand appeared, Rabastan laughed. "What the fuck are you doing in the Forbidden Forest without your wand? Balls, I'll give you that. And what the fuck is this?"

Rabastan had shoved the sleeve of Servius' jumper back during his search and now jerked his left wrist up to show the inked moth. "Are you trying to make a Dark Mark?"

Servius frowned furiously, not even sure himself what it was, but he didn't like the way the question had somehow pricked a nerve of truth. Rabastan was keen-eyed, and read his expression then laughed openly. "Awww, that's kind of cute. A wee fan. Tell you what Uncle Stan's going to do for you lad. I'm going to make that real. Now it really hurts, so I'm going to cast a spell so you can't move or yell, cause I don't like yelling while I work, alright?"

"No -," muttered Servius, but before he could move, Rabastan had pointed his wand at him and said, "Petrificus Totalis".

Servius fell to the ground and, trapped in a horrendous rigor mortis, unable to move, barely able to breath, Rabastan picked him up with ease and swiftly bound him to the nearby trunk of a tree. Then he lifted Servius' left wrist and held it inner-side up, extended. With his right hand, he took his wand and pointed the tip to the black moth then began incanting a series of chanting-like spells that Servius knew without question were of an ancient and dark variety. The pain was excruciating and flooded him so utterly that he knew no other sensation until there was a blinding light behind his eyes and he passed out.

An unknown amount of time later, Rabastan brought him round with a reviving spell. The petrification had been removed and as Servius dazedly blinked to reorient himself, he saw Rabastan slot his wand away inside a holster and then point at his handiwork with a satisfied smile. "There. All done. I couldn't erase your butterfly, so I just added the Death Eater serpent. Nice reminder of your mum."

"Iss not a butterfly -," muttered Servius, lifting his wrist to look.

"'N't it? Thought you might be into the lads." The mocking grin on his face belied this.

A cold chill ran down the spine of Servius when he saw the Mark. Running the entire length of his lower arm was a scaly winding serpent, and overlaying it was his moth: but that no longer had the amateurish, naïve-art appearance of a self-drawn doodle – now it was sophisticated, detailed and biologically accurate. For a moment he couldn't drag his eyes away, then he looked up at Rabastan.

"How?"

"I was the Dark Lord's Chief Marker for twenty years or thereabouts. Pick up a few tricks. Reckon that'll toughen you up." Rabastan undid the bindings that held Servius to the tree, then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pushed him out front before him. "Time to get a move on, pretty boy. We got things to do now. Places to be, people to see."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Well where do you think, Junior? To see the bluebells?"

Servius walked sullenly for a few steps, the adrenaline making his head swim, his wrist felt flayed, as if skin had been ripped off raw. "The Centaurs know you're coming. You'll be killed before you see them."

"Fuckin' hell…you're right!" said Rabastan, pausing with exaggerated dismay. "You know what, maybe I should just forget about nearly three years of planning and research and fuckin' killing my fucking liver. Because of the bleedin' neddies? Do you honestly think I haven't thought about the fucking Centaurs? The Centaurs can't kill me."

They trudged in silence through the forest, back the way Piremon had travelled, his path through the undergrowth easy to follow.

"Your pater, on the other hand – now there's someone I'm keen to see. He's taking his time though, innhe? What could be keeping him, I wonder? Lack of fuckin' interest maybe?" Rabastan chuckled. "Tell you what lad, let's give that harry spanker a go, eh? I'd be interested to see if his still works. Not very interested, but, you know, mildly."

Servius frowned and kept walking but Rabastan grabbed him hard, swung him around and grasped his wrist. "Like this," he said with bared teeth, and pressed his fingers hard on the pared, flaming Mark so that Servius screamed.

The sound reached Snape's ears even over his own labored breathing, but seconds later it was the sudden burning to his left wrist that brought him to a stumbling halt. He didn't need to see it to know what had happened, but the pain made him bend, suck in his breath and press the heel of his right hand to his brow until it faded. When he stood upright again, his fox had disappeared and he cursed quietly, knowing Servius was near but to cast a new Patronus would create light that would likely give him away. He paused, listening, waiting, wondering what had happened but at the same time knowing, knowing completely and with a heavy heart that Servius had been Marked and that Rabastan had done it. But at least the boy was alive.

A soft hoot sounded above him in the trees and at first Snape ignored it, but when three single-note hoots were made he looked up. "Tāne?" and held up his hand. The owl swooped down and landed on his forearm, well away from his stinging wrist. The huge eyes blinked and his head bobbed and Snape said under his breath, "You are a good owl. Where is Servius?"

Servius saw the opening through the trees. The middle of the meadow was now clear of worshipping Centaurs, but the perimeter instead had large, armed, warrior Centaurs stationed at intervals, watching closely and every now and then a small bird would fly up to a Centaur and twitter in his ear and flit away again.

Rabastan had brought Servius to his hide. It was a dead oak tree, half fallen and decomposed with a layer of fungi, moss and mistletoe almost entirely concealing it. Rabastan had hollowed it out and then built a screen of brush around it, through which it was possible to observe the meadow and its tomb unnoticed. Servius was shoved down into the hollow trunk and then Rabastan's boot came up and rested against it, just above his head. "Move and you die," he said calmly. "Daddy ain't coming." Then he rummaged around inside his coat and brought forth a device which he fixed about his head with strange, metallic talons, and scanned around him. Presently he murmured, "There you are my darlin'," and smiled. Immediately, there came a noise like a muffled explosion, and shockwaves shook the ground and a blinding flash of light lit up the naked twigs and branches above Servius as though a star had crashed to earth.

Servius was able to raise his head just enough to watch what was happening and he observed that something indeed had arrived and was positioned in the middle of the meadow, a person also wearing a Death Eater mask and an ivory, long, patterned robe that covered the body from neck to foot and arms as well. The person was wielding a wand, and, to the background of war-cries from the Centaurs, was now engaged in methodically fending off arrows and blasting Centaurs across a one-eighty-degree span with smooth, controlled and precise movements, as though they had the ability to slow time and attend to each threat with care. It was awesome to watch. As a Warlock in training, Servius could only stare and revere, entranced but also very, very afraid.

He couldn't watch for long. The systematic slaying of Centaurs was gruesome, and he covered his ears at the cries of pain and distress. Wretchedly he huddled in the hide, concentrating on a knot-hole in the trunk that faced the forest, forcing his mind to think about Amelie, of escape, to think like HBP and rise above his misery and pain and turn it into resolve. He almost ignored the silvery shine that shone through the wood, assuming it had something to do with the flashes of magic discharging from the clearing, but he felt drawn to put his eye to the knot-hole and look through. And there, distant in the trees and out of sight from Rabastan, he saw his father's fox. Servius caught his breath and saw that the fox appeared to acknowledge him as it then turned and disappeared into the woods and its shine ebbed away.

Hope exploded in him. He couldn't help but smile. Unbidden, he remembered his father on the platform of the Express, that sure and certain walk through the chaos, that embodiment of confidence, and how the tumult in Servius had changed gears at the sight of him. He didn't consciously realise it then but now his own smile freely admitted it: he'd jump in a fire if his dad told him to. His father was his best and greatest hope. He glanced quickly at Rabastan, saw that he was grinning and chuckling as he watched the slaughter through his eye-piece, and so discreetly raised his left hand and tentatively touched the Mark.

The pain had a buzzing backnote to it, as if he'd pressed a counter-bell and was such a bizarre sensation he was only game for half a second. What he hoped was that it somehow reached his father, a sensory proof of life, and he watched the knot-hole knowing his life literally depended on it.

Other than Rabastan's chortles, the Forest had gone quiet. The Centaurs had clearly withdrawn, at least for now, and Servius carefully raised his head to look in the direction of the meadow.

Perhaps half a dozen bodies of warriors lay where they'd fallen. There were no visible injuries, but death hung heavy and noxious over the scene. Salmastrus had been disarmed and chained, his wrists bound behind his back, and the remaining Centaurs were rounded up, liberated from their weapons and tied together at the hoof. The sorcerer in the mask remained in the centre of the meadow, now standing in repose.

"Well done, love," said Rabastan, apparently to himself, and he unclipped his eyepiece and slotted it in his pocket. "Alright Junior, those Centaurs will be moving on to plan B, so let's get a jog on." He reached into the hollowed-out tree trunk and lifted Servius up and onto the ground as if he were not much more than a kitten. "I've got a little job for you."

Virtually vibrating with suppressed excitement and gossipy chitchat, the Slytherins had been ushered from the Great Hall and down the spiral stone steps to the dungeon with Slughorn in the lead and Amelie and Wait for William tagging along in the rear. Professor Hellmann would be joining them a little later, but for now, the tail end of the sinuous line of serpents was unsupervised. As they proceeded along the dungeon corridor to the Common Room, Amelie glanced about, grabbed William's arm and when he looked at her, she put her finger to her lips. Then with her other hand, beckoned him to follow.

William also glanced around, then following Amelie's lead, they ducked neatly behind a plinth with a bust of Elizabeth Burke on it and waited, like statues themselves, until they heard the Slytherins move steadily onwards and away.

"We'll take the secret passage," said Amelie. "It's back this way. Come on."

William's mouth opened and the start of several different comments died on his tongue at Amelie's non-negotiable expression. Finally he shut it again and gave a resigned nod. They stole to the holding cell and then Amelie located the hidden entrance the way Servius had showed her, by pulling on the manacle chain. Soon they were racing along the dank tunnel as fast as Amelie's wandlight and the slippery stone floor would allow.

When they reached outside, Amelie stopped and checked the horizon. "I think there is maybe only an hour of light left."

"We're not really dressed for this," said William, being of a practical nature and easily deterred by inclement conditions. "They reckon it's going to snow again."

Amelie glanced at him scathingly and swore. "Are you a Warlock? You say you are a Warlock."

Just then, they both gasped in pain and raised their wrists, shocked and staring at their inked mark. "That bloody hurt!" exclaimed William, and added nervously, "Sev?"

"But it's just ink! How?"

"Think he's in trouble? Do you think it's a message?"

She paused, staring into the middle distance, and then shivered. "Ja. We need to hurry. This way."

She sprinted down the hill and in the direction of the owlery. Behind her, William panted in alarm: "What if Professor Snape finds us? He'll take scalps. Or the Centaurs? Or that Raba-whatsit guy?"

"And what if we find Servius?" replied Amelie, her tone cool and impatient as she drew to a halt before the wall of trees. "What if he is hurt and needs our help? I know how to get to the tomb, Professor Snape does not. I will not wait for you William. Are you coming or not?"

Amelie balanced her wand on her open palm. "Go to pinpoint," she instructed it, and the wand swung left and right and then settled determinedly, pointing to where the Forest seemed to be at its gloomiest. She turned to William.

"For fucks sake," William thumped the heel of his hand repeatedly against his forehead. "He better be in massive, life-threatening trouble, I mean, really, really bad." He took out his wand and lit it. "Cause otherwise he's gonna be when I'm finished with him. Ah hell with it, let's go."

They plunged into the cover of the Forest. And up on the Observation deck of the Astronomy Tower, Sinistra watched them through her telescope and shaking her head she said to herself, "Oh no, no, no, no -."

She took a deep breath, gave her stomach a quick rub and then ran for the stairs.

Servius felt a sharp zap between the shoulder blades. His hands were tied behind his back, he'd been gagged with a charm, and twice he'd lost balance and stumbled to the ground. Each time, and sometimes just for the fun of it, Rabastan gave him the equivalent of a mild shock with his wand. "Keep moving," he said, between an odd whistling through his teeth.

Daylight was fading fast, and the gathering of clouds with their heavy charge of snow stole the long shadows that normally advanced at this time of day. The air felt pressured with it, stilled and dense. The novelty of his adventure had long worn off for Servius. He bitterly regretted what he'd done and trembled continuously: between the shocks and the adrenaline his nerves were frayed like old rope. Fear gnawed at him and pain was constant, but not even the possibility of death could temper the scramble in his mind that reminded him of being on a carnival ride he'd wanted to get off, but it wouldn't stop and all he could do was bite his lip and close his eyes.

The softly shining fox had not reappeared, at least not anywhere Servius had sought a glimpse of it, and now Rabastan was forcing him to walk through the shorn grass of the clearing, the ground pockmarked with dents from Centaur hooves, their still bodies forming indistinct mounds in the dim light. They were approaching the sorcerer who'd slain them, and who, Servius realised the closer they got, had the shape of a female beneath her fitted gown. The droning whistling behind him ceased, and then Rabastan called, "Love – put some lights on! Dark as a bat's arse."

The sorceress pointed her wand and a ball of flame erupted in the air, and then burned brightly floating on the spot, as though attached to an invisible torch. She created several more of these and positioned them around the edge of the clearing. The tomb had two large urns on either side of the entranceway, and these too were lit, their fire burning bright and high although what fed them, Servius had no idea.

They had come beside the masked sorceress and Rabastan gave her a quick hug. "That's better," he said, although she herself seemed disinclined to speak. "No moon tonight, see. Don't want to be bumping into things. Oh look, darlin' – an Auror."

Above them flew one of the hooded figures on the broom, hightailing it across the gap in the trees. Not fast enough for Rabastan – suddenly, there was a blaze of green and the Auror was struck, pitching forward and falling through the air to disappear into the bare treetops of the forest, his broom flipping and plummeting crazily.

"Bullseye," said Rabastan twirling his wand, and chuckled. "Do any duelling, Junior?'

Servius shook his head, staring hard at the ground.

"Uncle Stan can teach you a few tricks. But not right now. Cometh the hour, eh?"

Rabastan roughly turned Servius to face the tomb, grabbing a thatch of hair and jerking his head back. "Look at that, pretty boy. Special, innit? The Centaurs act like it's theirs, but it ain't. It belongs to the Devil." He laughed suddenly. "And it'll be my resting place, one day. Hang on, there's no rest for the wicked is there? Ha ha. But I need something from it. I fuckin' need it, know what I mean? Don't just want it – need it."

Servius made no movement, no sound.

"Did you say The Resurrection Stone? Aye, good lad! I'm going to send you up there, and you get me the Stone. Righto? Easy enough, eh?"

Servius' tongue was fixed, his lips cemented. He moved his jaw and looked at Rabastan with glittering eyes and Rabastan laughed again.

"Now, if things go a bit haywire up there, we're probably in trouble for moving the Stone. I don't think it's true, but if it is is, well, you're going to get a good fuckin' view aren'tcha? Eh? May as well look on the bright side. Right, 'nuff chit-chat. Stand there and…Imperios!"

Two things happened simultaneously. The curse was cast and Servius felt like the equivalent of a mental hood being placed over his brain. The carnival had stopped and the pain had stopped. No longer gagged or bound, he stood straight and turned with dulled eyes to Rabastan.

"Ready to work, are we?" Rabastan asked cheerfully, and Servius nodded. The sorceress remained silent and watchful.

Secondly, as the sun dipped by all but one leg below the horizon, a cold, groaning exhale came from the tomb, as though the earth itself was pained.

"Fuck eh?" said Rabastan. "Enough fuckin' about." And with that, Rabastan touched his Dark Mark. "Get the Resurrection Stone, pretty boy. Climb up there and bring it back to Uncle Stan. Quick as you like!"

"Darling, this was not in the plan -," murmured the sorceress. "You don't need to send him up for it, that will take longer -,"

"This little shit is the unholy fuckin' spawn of Snape and a Mudblood," snarled Rabastan, turning on her so that she recoiled a little. "He has given me nothing but a ball-ache all fuckin' year. And if the fuckin' Centaurs think he's some messenger or what-not, then he stands a better chance of getting the Stone by hand. You're gorgeous, my love, but don't fuckin' question my thinking, alright?"

Servius heard none of it. He was crossing the ground towards the tomb, oblivious to the moths that were one by one fluttering from the pitch dark entranceway and circling his head, then flying into the flames of the urns.

Snape cast an arresto momentum and caught the falling Auror, lowering him gently to the ground. His gaze lingered long enough to register small movements, signs of life, then he pressed on to the edge of the clearing, his eyes concentrated on the sorceress whose magic he'd assessed to be superior and the greater risk. She was distracted right now, by Rabastan and Servius. He watched and listened as Rabastan cast the Imperious curse on his son, and his heart thumped painfully to see Servius walking towards the tomb. He discarded his plan of simply killing Rabastan at the earliest opportunity – now that Servius was under his control he was the only one who could lift the curse.

Part 2 – The Saving of Souls has been posted.