"Good luck, Severus," said Albus Dumbledore to his former student in a grave tone. He then turned to walk back to his desk, his posture stiff and solemn.

In turn, Severus nodded and schooled his features before exiting the Headmaster's office. Swiftly, he passed the corridors in relative silence, down the stairs, and into the outdoors. His mood grim, he drew his Occlumency shield up.

He would always use these moments to collect himself before he entered into the Dark Lord's presence. Though he had been a spy for more than twelve years, that feeling that he would be caught never vanished. After all, the Dark Lord was clever and skilled in Legilimency. Severus always feared that perhaps someday, his lifeless body would be shipped back to Dumbledore.

But there he was again. His emotions reigning free.

'Focus!' berated his inner self.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He nearly snorted at how similar he was being to his former student. Potter had never mastered the art of Occlumency simply because he had allowed his emotions to overcome him. Like his father before him, he was feeble-minded and conceited. Severus had never expected much out of him. Thus, he had not given his best effort to teach the boy.

But Severus's attention shifted back to his task as he Apparated away from Hogwarts. He then landed gracefully on a barren patch of grass. He glanced around for bystanders before proceeding onward. Sensing his presence, the arid trees that concealed the path untwined. As he passed, however, the dry trees resumed their former positions, successfully concealing the path.

Those who did not bear the Dark Mark could not enter past that point. If they did enter, however, their minds would be subject to intense scrutiny that would either drive them insane or force them to return to their previous paths.

But Severus, bearing the Dark Mark, flicked his cloak impatiently as he approached a large, white mansion. He nodded stiffly to the two Death Eaters guarding the entrance and continued inside. As he entered, he was immediately plagued by darkness.

Though there was one or two candles that floated along the corridors, the indoors remained largely dim and dreary. A red carpet blanketed the tiles, the walls were decorated with skulls and bones. Two-way mirrors were plastered against the walls to check the visitors entering the building. Severus also detected faint screams and deranged laughter from the underground dungeons. The entrance to the dungeons was on his left while the Death Eater meeting room was to his right. Ahead, at the end of the corridor, however, was his destination.

The Dark Lord's room.

Inhaling one last time, Severus lifted his Occlumency shield and knocked on the door.

"Enter."

He stepped inside. There, a dark clothed figure sat, his hood casting a shadow over his features. His bony figures rhythmically stroked the head of the snake draped around his shoulders. His throne was slightly elevated over the rest of the room.

Severus stepped forward and bowed before the Dark Lord.

"Master," he greeted.

But the Dark Lord did not answer. Instead, he silently continued to observe Severus with piercing red eyes as he stroked Nagini's head. The snake, in turn, hissed spitefully at Severus which sent chills down his spine. However, Severus did not lift his head to meet the gaze of his master. Instead, he waited for what seemed like an eternity with his head bowed before the Dark Lord decided to speak.

"Rise, Severus," hissed a cold voice from behind his hood. In a graceful fashion, the Dark Lord stood and clasped his fingers together in silent meditation as he descended the two steps of his throne. "Your mission was successful, I presume?"

Severus detected an ominous warning in his tone.

"Yes, Master," Severus affirmed firmly. He stood up with a blank expression on his and met his Master's eyes. He could feel the Dark Lord trying to pierce his Occlumency shield. "I informed them what has become of the boy. The old man suspects nothing."

"You did well, Severus," stated the Dark Lord, a furrow in his brow. His bony figures continued to caress the snake. "You have proven your loyalty time and time again," he paused. "If only the other Death Eaters shared that sentiment."

Severus stiffened.

The Dark Lord seemed pensive. Severus wondered what had prompted his suspicions. But too late, he realized that the Dark Lord was waiting for a reply. His red eyes flashed dangerously at Severus's silence.

Resisting the urge to kick himself, he said carefully.

"What ever do you mean, Master?"

"You are a clever man, Severus," Lord Voldemort said icily. He circled around Severus who remained rooted in the center of the room. "You give yourself far too little credit sometimes," Severus did not respond to the compliments, "But what do you think of these rumors, Severus? Has it not crossed your clever mind of what had become of the boy that had five times defied me? Or why I, Lord Voldemort, heir of Salazar Slytherin, would ever associate myself with the fool by the name of Harry Potter?" He spat the name.

Despite his clear vexation, the Dark Lord was keen and astute. He did not particularly care what Severus's opinion of the matter was. Not unlike Tom Riddle before him, the Dark Lord's words were charming and engaging, but they were never genuine. He simply used words to test for ripples in the water. Severus pondered about this matter for a moment before he responded.

After all, he, too, could be subtle.

"I must admit, it has troubled me," he affirmed slowly, strengthening his Occlumency shield. "But I thought nothing of the matter. After all, you know better than I. I would never doubt your judgement, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smirked.

"How charming, Severus," he hissed, faintly amused. Though the answer seemed to please him nonetheless. "Like me, you have a gift with words. We are very much alike, you and I," he stopped his pacing in front of a window at the corner of the room. "Perhaps that reason alone is why I trust you."

Severus watched blankly as the Dark Lord stood in quiet contemplation. His posture was stiff and tense. He stood with his head bowed, his hood casting a shadow over his snake-like features. Taking advantage of the Dark Lord's solemn demeanor, Severus proceeded to study the room for a hint of what – or who – had occupied his place before he had entered.

Book shelves and cabinets aligned the walls, and a blood red Persian carpet sprawled along the tiled floor. Curtains draped along the windows and candles floated aimlessly. But what caught Severus's attention was the patch of blood splashed across the corner of the cabinet near him.

To Severus, it seemed that someone had been slammed across the cabinet and had even bled there. Whoever had been here before had definitely influenced the pensive demeanor of the Dark Lord. But Severus could only think of one person who could lead the Dark Lord to such frustrations.

Potter.

"There is a traitor amidst our ranks," the Dark Lord whispered, his thoughts echoing across the taciturn room. "Someone has been helping the prisoners escape."

Abruptly, Severus was caught under the piercing red gaze of the Dark Lord. The gaze was so intense that Severus conjured all of his strength not to look away.

"Perhaps you have deduced who that person is judging by your astute notice of the blood on the cabinet."

Severus stiffened.

"Spare me your apologies, Severus," he hissed coldly when Severus had opened his mouth to correct himself. "There is no shame in having a keen eye towards your surroundings. As a Death Eater, I expected no less from you. But that is beside the matter," he waved his hand and gestured Severus towards the door. "Come. Walk with me."

Warily, he accompanied the Dark Lord out of the room and back into the corridor. His mind was racing. Did the Dark Lord know of his true intentions? And what had prompted his discomposure? And more importantly, what exactly happened to Potter? Judging by the blood on the cabinet, the boy was severely injured. What exactly had transpired in the room before Severus had entered?

But as Severus felt the slip in his Occlumency shield, he hastily collected himself. The Dark Lord was leading him into the underground dungeons. He watched as the prisoners shuffled away to the corner of the walls, soaking comfort from the shadows, as the Dark Lord ambled through. From her place around her Master's shoulders, Nagini hissed pitilessly at the prisoners.

Suddenly, however, the Dark Lord halted at the end of the corridor towards a seemingly blank wall. He flicked his wand in a complicated motion before the wall sank beneath the floor. As the dust of the wall cleared, however, Severus discovered that the room was actually a highly concealed and protected cell. But the Dark Lord beckoned Severus closer beside the bars of the room so he could observe its occupants. Warily, Severus treaded closer and his Occlumency shield nearly vanished when he sought the figure lying dormant on the bunk of the bed.

It was Potter.

But the Dark Lord interjected. "Does it trouble you, Severus, to see your former student in such an incapacitated state?"

To Severus's irritation, the Dark Lord's tone was mocking and derisive. He knew that the Dark Lord was watching his reaction closely for any foreign emotions.

"Never," Severus hissed.

Despite his harsh response, Severus observed the figure carefully with detached interest. This was the first time in ten years that he had actually seen Potter. Severus had known that the boy was present in the mansion, but he had never seen him. Potter, however, did not appear asleep; rather, he appeared unconscious.

Severus wondered if he had collapsed from the severe injuries that he had received from the Dark Lord. There was a large purple bruise around his neck. His left eye appeared to have punctured and was actively bleeding. His robes, stained with blood, stuck to his figure. His deathly pale face was contorted with pain. Severus inferred, judging by his experiences with the boy, that Potter must have challenged the Dark Lord which ultimately led to a squabble between him and the Dark Lord.

"As it should," the Dark Lord said icily. He shifted his gaze onto the figure on the bed. "Potter has been responsible for all of the suspicious activity transpiring in the mansion," he paused. "I should have known that what's innate can never be changed."

But Severus's mind was racing. Surely the Dark Lord knew of the boy's fierce loyalty to the light. Why, then, had he kept the boy alive after ten years? The fact that Potter was lying on the bed, exhausted from his injuries, was proof that Potter still rebelled against the Dark Lord. He did not serve the Dark Lord willingly. And even after he had been caught outright betraying the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord had not killed him.

Something was terribly wrong.

"Perhaps you are wondering why I have not killed the boy," the Dark Lord stated nonchalantly. "ten years ago when I ordered his capture. When the Death Eaters brought the boy before me, I received profound disrespect from the so-called Boy-Who-Lived," he hissed. "I pointed my wand at him, ready to cast the Killing Curse that would snuff out the boy's life when the strangest thing happened. I looked into the boy's eyes and found myself standing before me."

Severus furrowed his eyebrows.

"But perhaps you have deduced why this phenomenon occurred," said the Dark Lord, pinning Severus with a pointed look.

But Severus did not trust his voice. He simply shook his head and remained silent.

But the Dark Lord waved his hand.

"Come now, Severus," he said idly. "Has it ever occurred to you why, ten years ago, I was able to lure the boy in after his supposed incapacitated godfather? Or why I was able to possess the boy's body after my duel in the Ministry?" the Dark Lord lowered his voice. "Have you ever wondered why this connection exists between the boy and I and no one else? Perhaps you might ask, what acts have I committed had prompted this connection? After all, before I intruded into the Potter home twenty four years ago, this connection had not existed. What, then, had started this? Why is it that I can transmit my memories to him and to no one else?"

Severus's lips remained sealed and dry. He watched the Dark Lord unlock the cell door and step in. He stood rooted to his place, wondering if he should enter along with the Dark Lord. But he felt as if clawed hands had wrapped around his feet that kept him in place. Alarm bells, too, rang in his head as he watched the Dark Lord approach the dormant figure.

Lily's son.

Vacantly, he watched as the Dark Lord brushed the figure's dark bangs back from his forehead using the tip of his wand.

But the Dark Lord looked lost in thought.

"That mark," he breathed quietly. "That mark had sealed his fate. But I had never thought much of it, never considered its significance. I was desperate, as you know, for my rebirth. To encase my soul into a body. But as I searched for a vessel for my soul, I was perhaps delayed. The boy had hindered my rebirth. But he was foolish to think that he could challenge Lord Voldemort. I thought of Harry Potter as nothing more than a nuisance. A mere product of a Prophecy. Perhaps vengeful for his foolish parents," he hissed, though Potter did not stir. "But as you know, I ignored this mark. I thought of it as nothing more than a symbol of motherly love."

So engrossed in his thoughts, the Dark Lord looked unfazed by Potter's hiss of pain when his fingertips grazed his scar.

"But ten years ago, before I had ordered the capture of the boy," he continued. "I noticed a slight disturbance in my memories. An intruder was observing what I was observing. But this feeling occurred only for a few seconds before it vanished. Soon, this feeling persisted until I found myself looking through the eyes of my intruder. His friends, his teachers, his godfather," he said, amused. "were all free for me to observe. And as you know, I used his love for his godfather to lure him in for the Prophecy. But I was foolish, Severus. In my obsession to grasp the Prophecy, I never realized the essence of this connection. I never realized its significance. Not until I physically possessed the boy's body and spoke through him."

The Dark Lord halted his rant as Potter continued to groan in agony. But the Dark Lord did not withdraw his hand.

Severus, however, felt as if he had been drenched in ice. There was no doubt that the Dark Lord knew of the significance of the mark, though he had not yet led Severus to that conclusion. But Severus had already known of this truth. He had known it after he had begged Dumbledore to forgive him for his disloyalty. He had known it when he had offered to protect the boy. For Lily's sake. He had known of the boy's fate. He had known what the boy possessed inside of him. He had known that the boy was never meant to have survived the Killing Curse.

But now, the Dark Lord knew.

Irresistibly, Severus wondered if Potter had been blessed or cursed by that fact that the Dark Lord knew of their connection. In a way, he had been blessed by that fact that his life had been spared. But as Severus heard his moans of pain, he wondered if Potter would actually have preferred death as an alternative to his ten years of suffering.

But the Dark Lord interrupted his thoughts.

"This possession . . ." he continued coldly. "It was not unfamiliar. The fact that I could speak through another vessel was not foreign to me. Perhaps you remember the Chamber of Secrets? When I appeared as Tom Riddle, I spoke through a book that contained a piece of my soul that this fool of a boy destroyed," he hissed, pressing his fingers deeper into Potter's scar. "But as I took a hold of the boy in the Ministry, I used his voice. I begged his Headmaster to kill him. I pushed aside his thoughts and his feelings and trounced them. But unlike the diary, I had to battle with this vessel."

As if stung, the Dark Lord withdrew his fingers from Potter's forehead and turned to Severus with, if possible, a grave expression.

"Severus," the Dark Lord whispered. "Has it ever occurred to you that it's possible to share our souls?"

But Severus stood silently, his eyes fixed onto the restless figure on the bed. But the Dark Lord understood his silence.

"Yes, Severus," he affirmed quietly. "Though the truth pains me to admit, I could not kill the boy. Not without killing a piece of myself. I was caught between two evils. To keep this defiant fool alive or eliminate a piece of myself. Though tonight I have strongly considered the latter," he added fiercely, "But I was merciful, Severus. I kept him alive," the Dark Lord smirked, his red eyes gleaming. "but not without consequences. Despite my hatred for him, the boy possessed exceptional strength and talent. With proper training, I found potential in keeping him alive. But herein lies the problem . . ."

The Dark Lord reverted his gaze onto Potter.

"You see, when I took possession of his body, I was banished rather quickly by his so-called love for his friends and his godfather. I could not keep the connection. His interference had broken it. Love had broken it," he paused. "I was not foolish, Severus. I knew he would never be a willing servant," but he smirked. "But alas, I decided to take advantage of this possession. To use him as a tool against the light. But the only way I could accomplish this was by separating him, isolating him from any human interaction with special emphasis towards his friends."

He gestured mockingly to the bed. "You are a Legilimens, Severus. I invite you to look through his memories. I assure you that you will find nothing of love but only of bitterness and resentment."

The dungeons then echoed the Dark Lord's spiteful laughter.

Severus, however, was disturbed.

The Dark Lord had taken advantage of the fact that Potter was one of his Horcruxes. He had possessed him, manipulated him, to become a killer. He had used the boy like a marionette. The boy had never been willing.

In fact, Severus wondered if Potter even knew at all what actions he had committed during his possession. Was he conscious at all of his actions? Did he even know how many people he had killed? If he did know, then the Dark Lord had practically killed him. By forcing him to abandon his moral principles, the Dark Lord had effectively killed his spirit.

"But perhaps you are curious why I have confided to you and to no one else," the Dark Lord interjected nonchalantly. "If you think that perhaps I trust you more than the rest, then you are severely mistaken. I have not forgotten the disloyalty I experienced when I was left to search for a vessel with that fool Pettigrew. You will only act as my messenger and share the information I have given you with the rest of the Death Eaters. Inform them that Harry Potter will no longer hide in the shadows."

Severus nearly flinched when the Dark Lord flicked his wand curtly. Suddenly, three small house elves appeared trembling with fear at the sight of their master.

"What ails you, Master?" squeaked the smaller one.

"Potter is injured," said the Dark Lord, gesturing towards the bed. "You are to nurse him back to health. No marks shall be left on his skin. No blood shall drip from his wounds. I expect it to be done in less than a minute," an eerie smirk crossed his lips. "Prepare him for battle."

The house elves immediately sprang into action. Potter, however, remained blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Such was the extent of his injuries. Though Severus had disdained him for so long, he did feel a faint rush of pity for the young man.

After all, Severus inferred that this was simply a regular day for Potter and the Dark Lord. If, after ten years, Potter did not learn how to tame his tongue, then the Dark Lord almost always had a reason to punish him.

Though composed on the surface, Severus blanched when the Dark Lord turned to him.

"Severus," said the Dark Lord. "You are to alert the Death Eaters that a battle is looming. They should be prepared for battle as soon as we receive the signal."

But Severus's mind raced. What signal and where were they planning to attack? But the Dark Lord did not offer any further information. He instead approached Potter's now healed figure.

"This will be the ultimate test for loyalty."

He watched as the Dark Lord pointed his wand at Potter's head. Severus, however, did not hear the spell. It had been cast nonverbally. A flash of light emerged from his wand. Suddenly, Potter screamed and clasped his forehead. His cries then subsided after a moment. The Dark Lord simply watched with a cynical smile as the young man's eyelashes fluttered open. Severus could not quite catch his expression from his position outside of the cell. Instead, he watched dreadfully as Potter sat up and continued to clutch his forehead in agony.

"Rise, Harry," the Dark Lord whispered.

The Dark Lord stood with his hand outstretched towards the groggy young man. In his hand, however, was a wand with its hinge pointing towards Potter, as if inviting the younger man to take the wand. But the fact that the Dark Lord trusted Potter with a wand startled Severus. A second ago, they had been enemies. But as Potter rose from the bed, removed his hand from his forehead, and looked up, they instantly became allies.

Gone were Lily's bright green eyes. What remained was simply the blood red eyes of Lord Voldemort.

And Severus had only one thought.

He had to warn Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore steadied himself as he landed at his destination. As he landed at the cliff of a large island, he breathed in the salty smell of the ocean and tried to peer past the fog, but he could hardly see anything at this point. The sun mercilessly vanished behind the fog while the fierce winds ruffled his robes. He watched as the island slowly drenched in darkness before he started to venture across the island.

He didn't know what exactly he was looking for. All he knew was that there was a Horcrux here.

Rough and blunt edges defined the cliffs while the waves battled against the boulders, splashing droplets of water into the air. The island was very dark and dreary, a fitting place to fashion a Horcrux. In the island, a surreal feeling crossed him as he descended the cliffs and hopped across overturned branches. He felt as if he was dreaming.

Such was the atmosphere of the island.

Sloping trees leaned awkwardly across the water. The barren grass crunched under his feet as he approached a large arch within one of the hills. An enigmatic vibration came from this cliff. There was no doubt that this hill contained magic.

Albus drew his wand and made to approach the cliff when root vines suddenly wrapped themselves around his feet, preventing him from entry.

"Clever, Tom," he muttered quietly.

He then flicked his wand curtly and transformed the vines into water which drenched the sand beneath his feet. Irresistibly, he wondered how many traps his former student had left. He reminded himself to remain vigilant as he approached the large hill. Illuminating his wand, he traced the coarse texture of the cave looking for some sign of an entrance.

He noticed that some edges of the hill sloped inwards, which indicated that entry was possible. Stepping back, he summoned a stray rock from the ground and used his wand to sharpen the edge. He then used the rock to cut a large gash across his left hand. With his hand bleeding, he traced the edges of the hill. Sure enough, the hill cleaved asunder to reveal untarnished darkness within.

With his breath flowing out in front of him, Albus entered the cave. Poised and collected on the surface, he still felt a bit apprehensive about the area. Dark magic hummed along the coarse surface of the cave. As experienced as he was in magic, he couldn't quite predict a trap until he fell in one.

Tom Riddle, after all, had been quite gifted with intelligence.

But Albus walked until he detected a slight disturbance. It sounded like droplets of water were descending from above the cave. He identified the source when he reached a wide clearing. The rest of the path was circled around a murky lake while roots and vines dangled down from above.

In the center of the lake, however, was an human hand perched upright on top of a boulder. Discreetly, Albus approached the boulder and grimaced slightly when he peered down into the lake.

Human corpses, their white eyes wide with horror, drifted aimlessly along the surface of the lake. Men, women, and children, all victims of the war, floated along, though Albus knew that it was an illusion. To him, however, they were a stark reminder of all of the crimes that Tom Riddle had committed.

Perhaps someday, they would hold him accountable for his actions. Irresistibly, Albus wondered how Tom had ever managed to hide his Horcrux here knowing that he feared the dead.

But Albus refocused his attention on his task at hand. Inhaling deeply, he approached the boulder in the center and looked down at the hand curiously. A ring was perched on the middle finger. The ring gleamed seductively, as if inviting others to claim it. But Albus grew suspicious. The task seemed too simple. Too easy.

To take the ring without consequences was not something that Tom Riddle would permit.

Indeed, as Albus reached up to take the ring, a faint rustle disturbed him. He could also hear footsteps and quiet weeping and moaning. But as he looked around to identify the source, he froze when he caught sight of the figure crouched near the shadowed corners of the wall, its back facing Albus.

It was a young girl.

Slowly, Albus drew his wand from his pocket, instinctively knowing that this was a trap. The girl was shaking and weeping quietly. She was also muttering profusely, but he couldn't hear over the sound of droplets dripping into the lake. Warily, he approached her, prepared to fire any curse if necessary. But he froze when he finally heard her muttering.

"Why, Albus?" she muttered, her cries echoing across the cave. "Why have you abandoned me?"

Her weeping caused ripples across the lake. Helplessly, she started to rock herself.

But Albus could hardly breathe.

"Ariana," he breathed in horror.

But she did not register his presence. "Why, Albus?" she cried. "Why have you left me to those wicked Muggles?"

But Albus felt the familiar sting in his eyes as he gazed down longingly at his younger sister. Whatever caution vanished as he approached her with eyes swimming in tears.

"Ariana – I –" he stammered. Inhaling deeply, he started begging. "My dear sister, please forgive me." But she did not register his words. Instead, she continued to weep and weep until his head started to ache with her cries.

"Why, Albus?" she wept hysterically, her cries amplifying. "Why did you kill me, Albus?" Albus's heart wrenched as he tried to sooth the weeping girl.

"Forgive me!" he cried, his tears rivaling a waterfall. "I was a fool, Ariana. Please forgive me."

But the girl shook her head profusely, her hair curtaining her fragile features. Then, her quiet weeps fused into a loud scream as she convulsed violently. But, unlike the first time, Albus caught her before she reached the ground. He wept in anguish when he peered into her vacant blue eyes - so like his, that he abandoned all composure and rationality to envelop her into his arms. Abruptly, however, she banished into a sea of ashes, her remains descending from the spaces between his fingers and into the lake.

With a shaky breath, Albus clumsily collected himself. Fueled with the desire to apologize to his family, he abandoned all rational thought and moved to claim the ring for himself. But as he removed the object, the hand in possession clutched at his wrist for a moment before loosening its grip. Suddenly, however, the corpses of the lake rose from the lake and attempted to clasp his wrists as well. They tried to deny him the ring. But Albus simply drew a ring of fire around the boulder, which caused the Inferi to scream and return to the lake.

Satisfied, Albus breathed deeply, his heart pulsing madly. He had one thought in mind.

It didn't matter the consequences.

To see his family again. That was all he desired.

Slowly, he placed the ring on his finger, eager to meet his family again. But as soon as the ring reached the end of his finger, he suddenly felt a tight congestion around his chest. Sinking to his knees, he felt as if he had been pierced with thorns and needles as he struggled to inhale. His mind was numb with agony as he clenched his teeth, pain coursing through his body.

He was a fool!

It was a trick. He should have realized that the ring was cursed. All of those years spent studying Tom Riddle and taking necessary precautions all vanished in less than a second. But as he sank to his knees and clutched his chest, one thought crossed his mind. He did not wish to die just yet. He did not to want die thinking of Harry as a murderer. He wanted to meet his student again. He yearned to speak to him. To clasp him by his shoulders and beg for his forgiveness.

In his fruitless efforts to protect the boy, Albus had failed him. Bitterly, he thought that he deserved his punishment. He had thought that shielding Harry from harsh truths was necessary, that perhaps he was mitigating Harry's heavy burden. Albus had always envisioned a peaceful life for Harry, perhaps after the war was over. One where he married off like his friends, perhaps had his own children, and perhaps started a family of his own. But alas, fate was a cruel mistress. Harry's fate had been determined by Lord Voldemort alone.

He would never have a peaceful life like his friends.

But Albus felt he owed his student at least a parting gift before he passed. Perhaps Harry would accept his forgiveness so that he could die in peace. With the thought in mind, he uttered a summoning charm and watched a stray pebble appear in his hand. He then pointed his wand at the pebble. It started to gleam. Albus felt the familiar tug in his navel before he found himself back at his office in Hogwarts.

"Albus!" Severus startled at the sight of his crippled Headmaster. He had been impatiently pacing in the office, waiting for the Headmaster to return.

"I was a fool, Severus," Albus muttered, as Severus kneeled beside him.

The Potion Master's eyes swept across the elderly man's figure. His eyes lingered pointedly on the bony fingers around the ring.

"The ring is cursed," Severus stated harshly, guiding Albus to his desk chair. He started to wave his wand in a complicated motion. "Have you lost your wits, Albus? Surely you recognized the signs."

Albus watched blankly as Severus contained the curse into his dead hand and removed the ring.

"I did," he said bluntly, his mind numb with emotions. "But I ignored them, Severus. I was foolish and desperate."

"I fail to grasp your meaning, Albus," Severus stated irritably, his teeth clenched. "What could possibly have driven you to such lengths as to abandon your reasoning?"

Despite himself, Albus smiled.

"My family."

Severus shot him an irritated glare before he resumed his ministration. Albus instinctively knew that he did not have long to live. But Albus sensed that something was troubling the younger man. He sensed unease from Severus, which was very unusual for the typically composed Potion's Master. But as soon as he opened his mouth to inquire, Severus spoke.

"Albus," he said quietly as he finished containing the curse. "Perhaps it is wise to gather the Order of the Phoenix." Severus then proceeded to confide all of the information he had been given that night.

And Albus felt dread fill his heart.

It was time to prepare for battle.

Collecting her parchments and flicking her brown hair back in a flippant manner, Harper Narsfish exited her office and strode across the corridors, simultaneously resisting the urge to skip. With little commotion, she entered the lift of the Ministry and signaled to the Courtrooms. Passively, she shuffled to and fro on her heels. She nearly smirked by the relative ease that she accomplished her mission.

As she reached the Courtroom level, she scanned the area for Aurors before she stepped out. However, there was one Auror, whose back was facing towards her. Smirking, she approached the man and jabbed her wand into his back. Carelessly, she let him fall forward and land face flat against the tiled surface, his eyes vacant.

Kneeling down, she flipped the corpse and patted her hand down the man's robes. Inside, she found a wand, a wallet, a picture, and a pair of enchanted keys. She tucked all of his possessions in her own pocket before she proceeded onwards towards her destination. Down the corridors she tread, ignoring the pleas and cries of the prisoners. At the end of the corridor, however, her eyes gleamed madly at the figure sprawled along the floor of the cell. Flicking her wand at her self, she approached the cell and leaned arrogantly on the bars.

"Hello, husband," sneered Bellatrix Lestrange, her hair slowly fusing to coal black.

Lestrange simply regarded her a smirk as he stood. He approached the bars.

"About time," he mocked as she held open the door for him. "I was beginning to think I was forgotten." He placed a solemn hand to his heart, as if wounded.

But Bellatrix smirked and handed him his robes, a mask, a cloak, and a wand.

"Not tonight, dear," she cooed tauntingly. "Not during our night of victory," she then raised her wand into the air, sending a spark of light across the ceiling. "Prepare for battle."

A/N: I know. It's late. Deal with it.

Anyway . . . R&R!