Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters but I have made them dance this time. No money made, no gratuities accepted except the reviews of my peers, for which I thank you.

I always answer my reviewers if they leave a name and I am always happy to chat with them over PM. Huge thanks and a great deal of gratitude as you are the reason I managed to get out of the mud and get going again.

If you have a flame to send, I suggest you do a spell check, the last couple look like they were written by a drunken kindergartener.

Another huge thanks to my BeST betas Zarathustra46 and the Wicked Bunjhny who make this lot legible and grammatically sane.

oo0oo

Chapter 07 – Recreating

Time had no meaning in the grey world; it might have been minutes, hours or days before the dust stirred again. Ibrim felt safe and warm under his blanket, the heavy softness cradling him safely. Still, an imperative niggled at the back of his mind and he sat up, the dust cascading from him in a rolling wave that spread out and finally dissipated. Where was he? What was this place? He stared up into the featureless, fathomless grey but there was no inspiration to be had in the uniform sameness. As that was a pointless effort, he turned his attention inward, probing the corners of his being very carefully. Taking stock of himself, he knew he was Ibrim, he knew he was… Ibrim… He knew he had to… do something, something important and vital to his survival. He had to... to... find the light? Yes, find the light and all would be revealed.

Rising gingerly, he glanced around and up again, studying the view or lack of it. Greyness ruled; uniform grey dust faded into lighter grey sky with no line to demarcate the horizon. The space could be feet wide, yards, or miles, there were no visual clues to help give perspective. Stretching his arms wide then high, Ibrim decided the space was not feet or even yards wide, but wider than his fingertips, which was some clue. Turning slowly, he felt a slight tug to his left and behind and turned to face that way although there was no sight or sign to give it any individuality. Shrugging, he set off, swirling the dust around his feet as he walked and watching it settle with a weight that told him the dust was fine and heavy. Occasionally larger bits of stone loomed out of the uniformity; bits of wall, it seemed. The broken masonry reminded him of… something.

"A fortress is a target; in a war it is a placed to lay siege to, a strong point to rally around and a fixed target to batter down. A fortress will only protect when it is unassailable and whole. If one part falls, then it all falls, and the enemy has won."

Who said that? Why did this litany stick in his mind? His mind? What was this? Was this his mind? Perhaps it was, no, perhaps not. Maybe... A glittering shard caught his eye and he swooped on it, staring down at the small fragment that stared back, a single amber eye and a lock of blond hair in a fragment of shining light. Another fragment showed another eye, bright blue with a permanent twinkle. Eyes were so important to him, weren't they? Why were they important? Windows into the soul? The gateway to the mind? Legilimency, the art of reading thoughts and feelings? Was he a Legilimencer? Was that why he collected eyes? Another fragment made him pounce, then almost shriek when two baleful red eyes glared back at him, slit pupils narrowed and furious. He tossed that shard away and it turned to dust as it hit the ground, adding more to the layer already there. More dust? The memory fragment made more of the grey, boring dust? Were these his memories he was wading through, all turned to dust and ruin? The two shards in his hand suddenly took on new and immediate importance and he carefully slipped them into his pocket just in case.

He was more careful to look for pieces of memory then, finding a simple scene of a field with rows of plants. Another shard, somewhat larger, bore a portrait of a messy haired boy with vivid green eyes staring up at him with an oddly quizzical expression. Again it was the eyes that were important, engendering a feeling of recognition. The fragment was preserved with the others in his inner pocket.

Time was meaningless and he did not know how long it was before he began to notice a faint glow in the distance. It would have been unnoticeable except for the uniformity of the rest of the pearl grey light. It was not brilliant white, just pale, dirty yellow in the greyness and he hurried forward, sweeping the dust aside with the edge of his robe to reveal a spark buried in the translucent greyness of the floor under the dust. There were words there, carved in the floor, a language that made him jerk and twitch as he read the syllables one at a time.

Caras dak zodel nifozun. Speak the true name. Which true name? The name of… what?

He flopped down on a conveniently placed piece of masonry and dropped his head into his hands. He was so tired, tired of walking, tired of thinking, he was just too tired!

oo0oo

"I am just too tired to go on at the moment, Minerva. I would dearly like to sleep for a week, perhaps hibernate and wake up when all this mess is behind me." Albus sighed deeply, glancing up at the woman who patted his shoulder in commiseration.

"I know; I know, Albus, and everyone wants a piece of you, to solve all their problems and make it all right again, but you are only human, albeit magical, and you need your rest." Minerva had never seen her friend and mentor look so close to his age as he did at that minute, round shouldered with defeat and sorrow. "Yes, you do need to regenerate and I think I have a solution," the older woman said with a mischievous smile more appropriate to one half her age. "We, you and I, are going to run away together and completely scandalise the wizarding community gossips. I have my cottage in the highlands and I suggest we simply go there and pretend the rest of the world does not exist for a whole week. I know you think it would be bad form but I think we both need the rest or you are going to start making mistakes. At this point, the wizarding world cannot afford that. Better to be missing in mildly scandalous circumstances than make a grave mistake, believe me."

It was a harsh pronouncement, but essentially true. The wizarding world was in great turmoil, half the officials proving to be corrupt or simply stupid. The last remnants of the Death Eaters were causing as much trouble as they could before being dragged into custody, while the rest of the officials dithered about, terrified to do anything in case they were seen to be doing something wrong. The world needed a strong leader and they looked to Albus Dumbledore to solve the woes of the world. He had had enough! It was his own fault, he supposed, he had trained the world to think that way during the Fudge era and Albus now supposed it was time to pay the piper. Perhaps it would be wise to bow out of the picture for a short while. Let the Minister cope for a time; get a feel of how it was to be solely responsible for the fate of thousands. Let the world totter on without him. Albus needed to sleep.

"Do you think we could?" he asked wistfully.

"Yes, I do," Minerva smiled again at his melancholy tone. Taking a pinch of Floo powder, she called for the Minister's office. "Con, Albus is tired. We are going on holiday together for a while. You have the reins. Be careful," Minerva said flatly, her long-time friend and now the Minister for Magic staring at her with a dropped jaw. "And do stop imitating a gold fish," she added acerbically as she closed the connection down.

"You are a hard woman, Minerva McGonagall," Albus said gravely, although the twinkle in his eye belied his stern expression. He rose and offered his arm with old-world dignity, the two exiting the office with Fawkes fluttering overhead like a holiday banner.

oo0oo

The spark had not changed; it still shed yellow light in gentle radiance through the pale grey floor of the space, as enigmatic as ever. Ibrim stared into the light, focusing himself on its steady glow. What did the inscription really mean? What true name, of what? His true name? It was… Snape, wasn't it? Or did he have another? Snape was not a name in the language used to write the inscription; perhaps he had another name, a harsher name. Did he? He patted his pockets, hearing the clink and chime of potions vials, the rubbing of cloth against cloth. The susurrations were soothing, lulling his mind into a semi-trance with the familiarity of the calming gestures. The way was opened to allow older memories to creep in through the crevices of his mind and steal softly into the forefront of his brain. He rose, eyes closed, hands held palm down as he stepped and dipped and swirled slowly, the dance of an old ritual coming naturally to his tall, graceful figure. The dust joined the dance, slithering and eddying, bending away from the hems of the robes that swept it aside with ritualistic flicks; then up into the air where it hung in ribbons, swathes and sparkling letters which he saw branded on his eyelids as they stole into his consciousness.

'Halzas que retun znedracas las culos mit torzek ri mores lasspintdzak don.' ("I am the beginning and the being and the ending, the life and death, the dark and the light.") The words of dust were given voice and caught fire, blazing in the grey, shedding vivid rainbow shadows and hard edges to the space that expanded exponentially as suddenly the Ibrim knew the words he had to speak. 'Kezat tizic mo Tagan Zak Haztus.' ("My mother name is Tagan Zak Haztus.")

The words took on weight, absorbing the light from the spark as they sank into the ground and split it with a soundless groan.

oo0oo

"I don't know why we bother, with this farce," Medi-wizard trainee Mike Lonkreith muttered angrily as he forced the long, skinny arm out and unbent the fingers that resisted the movement with all their might. "Who cares if he clubs up or his tendons contract and can never move again? It's not like he was worth much to begin with, bloody Death Eater!"

"Now, Mike, keep your robes straight. He's an ex-Death Eater. You heard the trial verdict? Besides, we do it because Professor Dumbledore said we should and he does care, very much so." Suzie Tabbour reminded her fellow Mediworker as she worked the muscle groups of the skeletal left arm, avoiding contact with the Dark Mark as if it might bite her. Intellectually she knew the hideous Dark Mark was now nothing more than a tattoo etched by scars and ink into the sick man's skin, but emotionally it still stood for murder, mayhem and terror in the night.

"Well, he's not here now so we can duck out early, give ourselves a bit of a break," the man smirked, giving the thin wrist in his hands a vicious twist. He stiffened as something snapped under his fingers, Suzie looking up startled and shocked. Grabbing out his wand, the Medi-wizard quickly cast Acclaro over the patient's wrist and winced when the diagnostic spell revealed a snapped tendon. With hurried but practiced wand movements, Lonkreith reattached the tendon and clipped it into place with a holding spell while Suzie cast a very strong healing charm to seal it back together. Staring at each other with identically guilty expressions the two medical personnel quietly slipped out, leaving the still, silent man to his own devices.

Once in the corridor, Mike Lonkreith slung an arm around the girl's shoulders and pulled her close. "So, mum's the word on that little accident then? It never happened, right?"

Suzie hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Don't let it happen again though, or all bets are off," she added grimly.

"You bet! Thanks, Suzie, I owe you one. Accidents do happen sometimes and least said, soonest mended, right?" Lonkreith said in knowing tones as he allowed her to pull away, her uneasiness plain to read in the strained set of her shoulders. As she turned her back on him, he simply cast Obliviate over her and removed the incident from her consciousness. "So how about a butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron to round out the shift?" he asked as if they had been discussing the topic all along.

Suzie blinked and blinked again before shaking her head. "Nah, I have some studying to do tonight, you know how Spartan Sadie likes to shock us with pop quizzes. I want to be ready as she hasn't hit us up for at least a week now," she murmured as she drifted away. "Maybe another time."

Lonkreith watched her go with a slight, malicious smile. Fate had just offered him a very nice source of amusement for his nasty little kink. Oh, life was good!

oo0oo

The light pulsed brightly as the plain grey floor split apart to disclose a wide, white staircase going down into the black depths. Curiously, Ibrim bent forward as torches far below lit up. A passageway was revealed, featureless white walls and plain, unadorned stair risers but nevertheless it was unguarded and reasonably well lit.

Pausing to listen, sniff and study, Ibrim stepped down cautiously, testing his weight against the step before trusting it, his wand mysteriously appearing in his hand. The spell Lumos flashed though his mind, accompanied by the picture of a long-faced, black-haired woman who furtively murmured the incantation into his ear. He spoke it aloud, pleased when the tip of the ebony wand lit with a bright blue radiance so different to the yellow of the guide light or the flickering pale gold of the torches.

One step at a time, he moved deeper into the depths, caution in every line but the path was smooth and clear of obstacles, physical or magical, and as he progressed, pressed hard against one wall, the lighting brightened until it was obvious that there was nothing to be seen but more steps. Glancing back, Ibrim assured himself that the opening was still there before he stepped off the stairs and into the corridor that led away into the unknown. As he lifted his last foot off the stair, the opening above ground snapped closed, faster than he could run back up the stairs. He was trapped! He was trapped in the featureless corridor with its smooth grey walls and shadowless lighting leading deeper into the unknown.

oo0oo

Monitoring spells blared and warning spells fired off to various departments as all brain activity ceased, respiration fell to less than two breaths per minute and heartbeat faded to ten beats a minute. Medi-wizard specialists came from all parts of the ward to cast enervate at the long, still man to no effect. Nothing worked, not Enervate, not Revive, nothing! The slow steady heart beat continued to pound out a rhythm too slow for life and too fast for death despite all the medical efforts around him. Severus Snape was… hibernating.

oo0oo