Disclaimer # 1 - These characters aren't mine.

Disclaimer # 2 - Squick fest. non con. mpreg.

A/N - bairn is Scottish for child/baby. Sprog is slang for baby/child. Sprogling is Severus' twisted take on the term sprog. Up the duff means pregnant.

Walden McNair was an Executioner.

Oh, sorry, the magically correct term was Disposer.

Walden McNair, Jr., was the official Disposer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures and unofficial Executioner for the Dark Lord, and he was quite talented at both his jobs. For his hallowed role as Defender of Innocence against Dangerous Creatures, he wore a silk, black mask, and he had a very keen blade. Walden was quite found of his axe as he had gotten from his father, and Walden was a bit of a sentimentalist at heart. He kept the blade razor sharp, keeping it free from nicks and notches that were the hazards of its particular trade. Yes, it was a bespelled blade, but sometimes a particularly tough bone would put a chip in it, and he'd have to compulsively, lovingly remove the notch.

He liked to swing his axe.

No, he loved swinging it, feeling his muscles tense as he raised the blade high above his head, enjoyed the SWOOSH as it came down on its victim like a hawk on its prey. McNair was enraptured by the sweet sound of the impact of steel against flesh and fascinated by the bright, happy way in which bright red blood, still being bumped by a beating heart too stunned to realize that it was dead, squirted and sprayed in a pretty pattern.

He didn't like the dark, maroon, clotting blood of a dying heart quite so much, as it was rather… gauche.

Walden McNair had his standards, you see.

He preferred to Execute using steel rather than magic. It was far more personal that way. The first time he had been baptized in a spray of blood was when he was… six? Yes, six, as it had been Take Your Son to Work Day, and so McNair, Senior had shown his son for the first time what he did for a living.

"This is a traditional job, handed down from father to son, so it will be yours," McNair, Senior had insisted, as he had lovingly wiped his axe blade clean.

Walden had licked the blood off his lips, savoring the salty, sweet taste and the younger McNair had smiled a ghastly smile when he admiringly looked up at his father.

He was licking his lips now, and was wearing the same appalling smirk.

"It's Polyjuice time," he whispered before he drank what he called the Essence of Albus. No matter how often he drank it, he couldn't help but gag on how sugary sweet this particular potion was.

Walden stared at his naked Albus form in the mirror, obsessively checking to make sure all the various, saggy, soft bits were correct. Antonin Dolohov had expressed his concern about the effectiveness of the current batch of Polyjuice Potion as he swore that the last time he was pumping Severus Snape that his hands were his… not the hands of Albus Dumbledore.

Yes, he had the soft belly, the white chest hairs, that strange, fascinating scar on his knee… It was a decent body, and some bits worked amazingly well, considering that the old boy was closing on one hundred and twenty and had managed to get Severus Snape up the duff.

He shrugged into a purple, spangled robe, and McNair smiled. It was time to visit Severus.

Part of Walden McNair's responsibilities in the matter of Severus Tobias Snape was to determine when the boy was well and truly broken. It amused him to no end that Antonin and Rabastan would calmly assure the Dark Lord that Severus was a broken husk of the man he once was, but NcNair would shake his head and disagree when asked.

"He's playing us, M'lord," He answered. "He's play acting at being broken. If you have complete faith in Severus' loyalty, by all means, wrap him up in a purple bow and give him to Albus as he is now. But I wouldn't do it. The boy doesn't yet weep when he sees Albus enter his cell, though he knows damn well that before long he'll be playing ewe to Albus' ram. Snape parrots what we want him to say, but I don't believe that he truly means what he is saying. When I'm done with him, sometimes, I think the boy' eyes are hiding something."

The others had mocked and protested his comments, belittling his ability to intimidate and terrorize, but the Dark Lord had been intrigued. The Dark Lord knew that Walden McNair, Jr. took a professional pride in his ready ability to crush a soul and that he hated to admit a possible failure.

"Continue," the Dark Lord hissed.

"Severus is not crushed yet. You don't want him repairable, so Albus can simply gain his loyalty by treating him kindly and reminding him of the abuse he suffered at the hands and under the dicks of his fellow Death Eaters. He might manage to break the Imperio and reveal your plan to Albus. You want his soul shattered beyond mending."

The Dark Lord never truly trusted anyone with all of his plans, including the various assorted souls that were impersonating Albus for the benefit of Severus Snape, and so as Walden expected, the decision had come forth. The boy would be truly broken and shattered before being presented to Albus Dumbledore.

The abuse had escalated, and still the boy played at being broken. He was hiding something, a belief that gave him an almost inhuman strength to endure the countless cruelties that the others were inflicting on him. Some of the brutalities were unrivaled in their particular Albus inspired depravities, and occasionally, they even made the cold blooded McNair's blood freeze in his veins.

In fact, McNair refused to look too closely into what twisted game Antonin had concocted that required a four kilo bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a bag of sherbet lemons, a handful of lemon drops, three chocolate frogs, two peppermint toad creams, a small container of honey and a funnel. Antonin as Albus had merrily whistled as he left Severus' cell, cheerfully chomping away at what remained of the Every Flavoured Beans, his purple spangled robe splattered with various liquids that McNair hadn't felt the urge to investigate too closely.

McNair could almost admire Severus, as it had been some time since McNair could admit that he had a challenge in his job. If the lad didn't break after Antonin's torture by sweets, perhaps it was time to rethink how exactly to break the boy.

And Walden did enjoy the chance to research on his favorite topic.

He knocked on Severus' cell door and cheerily called out, "Morning, Severus! It's time for your morning mounting!"

McNair then barged into Severus' cell and he was greeted by a sweet sight that he had almost feared that would never be forthcoming.

Severus Snape had been weeping, which was nothing new. Both of his hands were over his belly, which once again, was nothing new. But his obsidian eyes were dead.

The boy wasn't shaking in fear; instead, he was utterly still. Severus comprehended what was about to happen and he had accepted that the assault would happen again and again, world without end. Sometime during the night, Severus had reached his personal Rubicon and whatever tightly held belief that had gotten him this far had shattered.

The boy was broken.

"Oh my dear, dear boy," McNair whispered. Unlike the other Albuses, he worked damn hard on his impersonation of Albus. The softness of Albus' compassion made McNair's brutality that much more unexpected and crueler. "Let me comfort you. Everything will be alright, Severus. Remember Severus, how many times have I assured you that I love you and our baby? How could I not care for a child that we created in our love?"

Without so much as a sound, the boy rolled on his belly, and in that same gesture, he pulled up his robes, exposing his smooth, shapely buttocks. He had never done this before; instead, an insolent, unbroken Severus had to be instructed to do so.

The boy even positioned himself so that it would be easier for Albus to mount him. Albus was a bit arthritic in his hips, and not as limber as a younger man.

We have crushed him. The most high and mighty Severus Snape has been shattered.

McNair would wait to tell the Dark Lord. First, he wanted to truly ensure that Severus was well and truly broken. Severus was a con artist, after all, a viper that had nestled close to Albus Dumbledore's breast for many years.

"No, no, Severus. Never like that. Never," McNair softly crooned. "Especially not now while you're carrying."

Carefully, he covered the boy with his robe, allowing himself the chance to slowly caress the boy's lovely buttocks, then rolled him over before he assisted him in sitting next to him. He pushed Severus' long, dirty hair out of his face, and McNair began to cover his faces with soft kisses. Instead of murmuring a protest, or shying away from Albus' kisses, a defeated Severus accepted Albus' touch without a qualm. No, instead the boy was leaning into the kisses, as though he was in need of solace.

"I love you, Severus." McNair assured him. "I'd do anything for you, you know that."

"Will you… protect… us?" Severus whispered. "I promise that I'll be good. Just please…protect us from Albus..."

Severus had learned his most important lesson, though it was by far the hardest. Bad behavior caused painful punishment, but good behavior… might earn Severus a reprieve.

"Now, Severus, I will, but I first want you to tell me how much you love our baby. I have my doubts that you are truly happy. I worry, because there's nothing worse that a child not being wanted by its father. Don't you want my wonderful present?"

As Severus haltingly reassured Albus of his sincere feelings for their child, Walden McNair smiled.

It was time for the second part of the plan, and he needed to sharpen his axe. Plus Bellatrix would have to donate a hair ribbon.

"There simply wasn't enough of Severus' blood and hair to succeed in Locating," Filius softly explained after their sixth attempt at Locating Severus had failed just as the previous attempts had. The diminutive Charms Instructor sighed, and rubbed his aching temples. "Don't you think for one moment that I'm giving up, as I'll continue to research further, Albus. Are you still bleeding, Albus? Should I get Poppy?"

"No," Albus assured him. He pointed out his neatly bandaged wrist that was stained with dry blood. "It stopped some time ago."

"It wasn't truly necessary for you and Minerva to donate more of your blood." Filius tiredly protested, knowing that it was futile to protest, but his personal integrity demanded that he do so. "It's not your quantity or quality of your blood and hair that's the issue, it's his. If it was fresh, maybe I could have Replicated it."

"I should have insisted that this be attempted the minute I realized he was gone," Albus whispered.

"Unless you knew the boy had been hexed with Paters Gignere Ingeniter and that he was… pregnant…I would not have known to combine your blood." Filius paused and shook his head. "I still can't believe that the boy has been Paters Gignere Ingeniter. It's almost five in the morning, Albus. I truly need to rest before class starts as I'm not as young as you two are."

The Ravenclaw Head packed up his assorted books and scrolls as he prepared to leave. He was about to clean the remains of the blood ritual off Albus' table when he was requested by a terse Albus to leave it as is. Flitwick glanced at Albus who was staring at the pentagon, obviously wishing to disagree with Albus' command, and then the worried Charms Master looked upon Minerva.

"Is this wise?" Filius silently questioned.

Minerva nodded her head once. "Leave it for now."

Filius hesitantly agreed and then he left the room, leaving Albus and Minerva alone. The witch watched in alarm when Albus calmly reopened his wound and drained more of his blood onto the pentagram. He closed the oozing wound with a softly spoken command. Then Dumbledore stared at intently at the commingled blood for some time, intently whispering and gesturing with his wand. After a few minutes, Albus grimaced in disgust and sat down.

"Nothing," he announced. "Not a single spark that might show that he's still alive."

"Albus," Minerva's tone was uncertain. "May I say something?"

"Speak freely, Minerva. You know that you don't need to ask permission from me," Albus protested. "Though I believe that this is the first time you've ever asked my permission before you harangue and berate me."

Minerva gave Albus a wintry smile, to let him know that for now, she'd let his comment slip by, and uncommented upon, but that there would be retribution later.

"You're quite concerned regarding Severus…"

"How could I not be?" Albus questioned in a stricken tone. "Do you dare to once again accuse me of being uncaring of Severus' plight?"

"No, no, not at all," Minerva quickly answered. She gestured with her hands, attempting to soothe Albus. "I know you are quite concerned about him."

"He never believed that I cared," Albus softly admitted. "I fear he may die with that mistaken belief."

"But your concern is distracting you from the school and from the war," Minerva quietly stated. "I fear that Severus' kidnapping is a way of drawing your attention away from whatever He Who Must Not Be Named is truly planning. You are expending a great deal of energy for one man."

There was a long moment of silence while Minerva wondered if she had gone too far and had been too blunt with Albus. While she almost wholeheartedly agreed with Albus' decision to use whatever means necessary to locate Severus, a small, sane part of her soul was rationally wondering about the potential ramifications of Albus' all out Crusade.

"Minerva, you truly believe that I have not realized that?" Albus softly questioned. "And now for more bitter truths, Filius is not happy with me. He was not chuffed when I requested that he leave the casting untouched."

"Filius is not fond of Blood Magic," Minerva offered that tidbit cautiously. "It can prove... difficult to control... and it may rebound in such a way that the caster wasn't prepared to handle."

"Yes, I am quite aware of that quirk," the Head Master easily admitted. "If any student attempted this folly, I'd have them expelled."

He leaned forward, and he intently stared at the pentagram. "We'll try one more time, if you're willing. Return here around eleven. If anyone asks, you can assure them that we're having elvenses."

Minerva knowing a dismissal when she heard it and she nodded her head in agreement.

Severus failed to notice when the three people entered his cell. He was too busy focusing inward, trying to remember a moment when he had been happy. Had he ever been happy? He couldn't remember if he had ever experienced that fickle, fleeting emotion, but maybe there had been a moment when he hadn't been in pain. Or perhaps there had been a moment when he had been warm? There was a bitter chill that had seemed to have sunk into his bones, and he had tormented, fragmented dreams of a soft voice with warm hands.

"Severus," the voice of his nightmare hissed.

He wouldn't look up and he wouldn't let the Dark Lord's Red Eyes peer into his soul, but still the voice persisted. At last, Severus finally looked up, fearing that continual impudence would require further punishment. His blood ran cold when the Dark Lord smiled in delight.

"Very well, Severus, show me your Dark Mark."

As instructed, he extended his left arm, and the Dark Lord placed his wand against his forearm. The snake tattoo writhed and twisted on his arm, and his blood began to burn. The Dark Lord kept his wand against his Dark Mark for what seemed to be an eternity, and Severus pleaded with the Dark Lord to stop. The Dark Lord watched him snivel and whinge, and then after a sufficiently painful time to prove to Severus that the Dark Lord was stopping it only because he wanted to do so and no other reason, the Dark Lord removed his wand from the Dark Mark.

"He's ready. Take off his arm," the Dark Lord ordered. "Then have Bellatrix put a neat bow on it so we can deliver it to Albus tomorrow in the Owl Post."

And Walden McNair, Jr. raised his axe.

"Filius," Minerva warned the man who was blocking the entrance to Albus' office. "I'll be late to my meeting with Albus if you insist on standing there."

She wouldn't physically push the Ravenclaw out of her way, nor would she would she 'shoo' him. He was a highly respected and much esteemed professor, senior to her in experience and his length of service to Hogwarts, so he needed to be treated accordingly. The undeniable fact that Filius Flitwick was a prized member of the Hogwarts staff didn't mean that she wouldn't bequeath him an evil glare as he wasn't moving out of her way!

"Promise me one thing, Min, and I'll let you go on your merry way," Filius requested.

"What do you want?" She questioned.

With a soft mutter of magical worlds, she and Filius were then having a private conversation which no one would be able to overhear.

"Please, clean up the blood after you try again. Albus is... not acting like himself regarding this matter. Never, never, never would have I ever thought that Albus Dumbledore would condone the use of Blood Magic, but then again, I never would have believed that he'd claim he was an Oneiromancist. " Filius's compassionate voice was full of real concern. "It's a slippery slope, Minerva. What if we can't Locate him? Do we decide to use the commingled blood to put him out of his misery? Are you willing to do that?"

"Would you prefer to leave him where he is?" Minerva questioned.

"Absolutelynot, Minerva McGonagall, but what are our options?" Filius questioned. "Let me oversee the casting and then let me clean up the ritual. Albus is too emotionally involved in this matter, as he's losing his perspective. Your soul shouldn't be sullied by casting Blood Magic."

"That's two things," she feebly protested, knowing that she had lost the battle and the war.

Filius Flitwick was kind enough not to rub in that he had won their argument.

"Yes, it was. Now shall we go to Albus' office?" Filius questioned.

A weary Dumbledore tenderly stroked Fawkes, and the Phoenix chirruped softly.

"I wouldn't ask you this, but it's rather important." Albus patiently explained. "Will you forgive me for asking this of you? You can say no, you understand. I'll understand, and I won't be upset."

The Phoenix chirped again, and rubbed his face against Albus' cheek.

''There was a response, just now. A slight one and I hope that Minerva's input will amplify the response. If we can triangulate his position, I'll need you to pop in where he is, and drop him the port key. It's just keyed to his touch, and will not react for anyone else. It will be quite dangerous for you, most likely he will be heavily guarded, and you might be injured… or even killed."

The Phoenix blinked once, and started crooning a reassuring sound. Albus blinked his eyes to prevent his tears from falling, and then he nodded his head.

"Yes, I know you're quite fast, and that you believe that you can blink in and out before they notice you. Fawkes, you and I have been together for a very long time. Only Aberforth..." Albus stopped and sighed. "It would greatly pain me to lose you."

Fawkes mockingly trilled, and Albus nodded his head.

"Yes, I'm quite annoying when I get maudlin. Whinging like a school boy, am I?" Albus softly questioned.

The Phoenix response was a distinctly undignified squawk of Phoenixy agreement.

"She should be here shortly. When I call your name, grab the port key and go!"

Albus then sat down, and sipped at his tea. It was luke warm, but he needed Minerva to be hoodwinked into believing that he was behaving himself. She knew him far too well, after all, and she would no doubt closely look for any signs that he had a hidden agenda. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't notice the emerald green sock emblazoned with silver snakes playing Quidditch that just happened to be located right next to where Fawkes was drowsing. If they did manage to locate Severus, and Fawkes was able to deliver the port key, he hoped the boy would recognize it for the escape it was and grab the sock.

It would be just like that demanding, impossible… all too damaged boy to decide not to use the port key.

And while he was wishing for the impossible, of rescuing Severus from Tom Riddle, just maybe Aberforth would one day apologize for breaking his nose.

"I should have gotten it straighten," he admitted. "But I figured Aberforth had landed such a well deserved blow that I should take brotherly pride in his accomplishment."

It wasn't a good sign that he was talking to himself. Hopefully, Minerva wouldn't hear that last comment, as she'd know that he had a trick hidden up one brightly colored sleeve.

She was in the staircase, and he growled when he realized that she wasn't alone.

Filius Flitwick!

He'd be harder to fool, as Minerva, for some strange reason, in spite of knowing Albus as well as she did, always thought the best of him. Filius on the other hand, had known him since he was a student, and remembered far too many events Albus would preferred buried.

Bloody hell, Filius even remembered a time when Albus' nose was straight.

"I twisted Minerva's arm," Filius said by way on explanation on why he had decided to join them for 'elevenses'. "You're too emotionally involved with this to cast clearly. Albus, you are completely blinkered on this subject, Minerva's too innocent to get involved with we might have to do, and that leaves me. I'd prefer that if a soul has to burn for eternity that it's mine, not Min."

"You're just so chivalrous and gallant, Filius," Minerva cooed in womanly appreciation.

That earned a bemused smirk from Filius who shook his head in disbelief before he quipped, "Taking lessons from Charity?"

Minerva easily laughed, and admitted that she was picking up pointers from the flirtatious Muggle Studies instructor.

"Albus, you've been casting, I can sense it,' Filius stated in a very disapproving tone.

"There seemed to be a response," Albus quickly explained. "Take a look."

Filius pulled a chair over to the table and stood on it. He peered at the pentagram and then glanced at Albus. His mustache was bristling and looking particularly fierce.

"Answer me truthfully, how recently did you Blood it?" Filius questioned.

"Fifteen minutes or so," Albus admitted.

"Then why is it wet? The pool of amalgamated blood is also spreading, Albus. Someone's putting more blood into the pentagram, and if it's not you… and Minerva hasn't added any…" Fillius' mien turned serious. "Be prepared to shield me. I need to investigate this, and I'll be wide open to whomever is affecting the ritual."

"Severus?" Minerva questioned.

"So much blood though. It's not an offering, more of a deluge," Filius whispered. "Inquam innotesco indico!"

The Charms Instructor intently stared at the pentagram, and then his expressive face blanched.

"Quickly! It's Severus' blood! We can locate him."

FAWKES!

He heard a familiar voice whisper that name. The name, Fawkes, was known to Severus and it brought faint memories to his mind.

Warmth. Scarlet. Gold. Gentle hands.

The stump of his left arm was still sluggishly bleeding, as McNair's cauterization of his wound had been less than completely successful. It was almost comical, the fact that he could bemusedly stare at what remained of his left arm and not feel anything.

Severus thought that he should feel pain.

After all, they had hacked off his arm. Not very neatly, he had to critically admit. McNair had a lot of strength, not so much finesse.

SEVERUS, CAN YOU HEAR US?

Bellatrix LeStrange had put a nice emerald green bow on his left forearm.

He liked emerald green.

If the little sprog was a girl, maybe he'd give her an emerald green dress for her first Christmas present. It would be cruel to dress the little sprogling in black, though it was a sensible, practical color.

Wait… maybe he'd ask Minerva to give her the dress as he wouldn't be around for the first Christmas.

Yes, maybe Minerva would be willing to keep an eye out on the sprog. No doubt Albus would rescue the baby as it was half Gryffindor, no doubt nobly insisting on raising it as his own, so someone needed to counteract Albus' influence on the poor defenseless sprogling. While Min was Gryffindor down to the colors of her knickers, she was a pragmatist. She wouldn't let Albus clothe the sprogling in spangles, sequins and beads.

Tartans, yes, but no spangles.

Maybe, maybe it would be better if it was a boy. It would be cruel to inflict his nose and Albus' facial hair on a little girl.

SEVERUS!

He was so cold, and he was drifting. The voices shouting his name sounded familiar, and he wondered if he had been friendly with them.

What was he thinking? Slytherins had no friends.

A flash of scarlet and gold out of the corner of his eye. It hovered above him, dropped something on him and then it landed next to him.

"Are you… Fawkes?" He hoarsely questioned.

The bird… the Phoenixs… nodded once, splashing what seemed to be a tear on the stump of his arm. The liquid burned like acid, and he uncontrollably writhed from the pain. Instinctively, his right hand clenched onto something… soft.

With a soft pop, Severus Snape disappeared from the cell. Fawkes then grabbed the loops of the emerald green bow as a handle, and popped out.

"There our boy is!" Filius' voice was cheerful. "We've found him!"

"Fawkes!" Albus enunciated.

The Phoenix grabbed a green sock and then popped out of sight.

"What are you doing?" Filius questioned.

"It's a portkey keyed to Severus. If he touches it, he'll return here," Albus explained.

"This is too easy," Minerva inserted. "We couldn't sense him this morning, but now we can? Better put up wards, as he might be booby trapped."

Filius and Albus began casting protective spells, and Minerva Floocalled Poppy to warn her that she might be having a patient.

Looking back on what happened, the three mages were able to piece together what happened, but at the time when it was happening, it was nothing more than a blur of mass confusion. When Severus portkeyed into Albus' chamber, he landed directly on top of the blood ritual. The pentagram having been activated and Blooded needed to be carefully neutralized and disabled before it was 'brought down', but instead, it collapsed with a forceful explosion.

The resulting bang shook the castle, and caused the glass panes in the various cabinets in Albus' office to shatter. Filius was flung across the room by the blast, and he barely managed to cast a protective spell before he landed hard on the floor. Minerva, Severus and Albus landed in a pile, and Severus was insanely screaming.

Minerva saw that Severus' left arm ended in a bleeding stump right above where his elbow should have been. Having taken Muggle First Aid as an elective many years ago, she instinctively pressed down on the boy's brachial artery to control the bleeding even while she began casting a healing spell.

"Severus," Albus ordered. "Look at me."

That request caused the boy to shriek even louder, and Albus shook his head.

"He's weak. We'll lose him if I don't do this," Albus whispered.

He took his wand and began casting. Minerva noticed that Albus' wrist was bleeding, and that he had deliberately placed it on Severus' stump. It was odd, what she was noticing. Her self induced incision had broken open again, and her own lifeblood was mixing with Severus' blood.

Poor, poor little Slytherin, she thought. All that Gryffindor blood mixing with yours, how will it affect you? Will your hidden streak of nobility be more apparent to the less observant among us?

"Statim ut manum tibi dedi, ipsam tibi dedi vitam. Quidquid venturum est, semper tecum ero." Albus entoned.

Just as I have given you my hand to hold, so I give you my life to keep. What may come, I will always be there.

There was an unexpected flare of warmth in her veins, and Severus' screaming increasing as though he had hit a new level of agonizing torment.

"Bloody hell, Albus," Minerva whispered. "You didn't just bond the boy, did you?"

Something had gone wrong, as Minerva could Feel Severus' pain, could Sense that her left arm was whole when it should not be, could Taste how much of Albus' power was being poured into Severus' empty magical void to stabilize the boy. Her own power was leaving her, in a slow, steady stream, in order to gently help magically nourish the wee ... sprogling... Sprogling? It was a wee bairn, not a sprogling.

"You didn't just accidentally bond the THREE of us, did you, Albus?" Minerva spat.

She never heard Albus' response, as an exhausted and injured Minerva lost consciousness.