"Who are you and who am I, to say we know the reason why? Some are born; Some men die, beneath one infinite sky. There'll be war and there'll be peace, but everything one day will cease. All the iron turned to rust, all the proud men turned to dust. -Pink Floyd, Childhood's End

Subject no. 394 – age 10: Typhus injected via spine. Reaction not yet apparent

Subject no. 395 – age 8: Cranial impact delivered every 10 seconds. 2:46 p.m. - Skull has begun to fracture. 5:32 p.m – Subject has begun to show developments of psychosis. 7:15 p.m – Subject dead via hemorrhaging.

Subject no. 396 – age 9: Week 3 infected with tuberculosis. Remedy attempts have resulted in failure. Send for extermination.

I poured over the photos attached to the notes. All the children in them were about my age, only they looked near death; they all had the similar appearance of being a single layer of skin stretched too-thin over bare bones. Some of them had great big growths in their backs and legs, or didn't have legs at all. One little girl had her eyes taken out of her head and was hooked up to some strange machine. Another only had a head, which was wired to a crude, skeletal looking, metal 'body.'

"Grandpa, I thought you said you were a doctor?"

"I am a doctor, silly boy.", he smiled, ruffling my hair.

"I thought doctors were supposed to make people better...it looks like you made them sick."

Grandpa put his arm around my shoulders, and looked down thoughtfully. "Well, you see, Severus, it's like the old American saying goes. If you want to make an omelet, you have to open up a few eggs."

"It looks like you had to open up a few people."

Grandpa chuckled. "Yes, well, what I mean to say is...we are men of science, little Severus-"

"I'm not little anymore, Grandpa."

He looked at me with mock-crossness. "My apologies, Your Grace.", he said, playfully tweaking my nose. "Anyway, as I was saying, we are men of science. As such, in order to further our knowledge, in order to achieve progress, it's necessary that we...experiment...

Subjects no. 397 & 398 – age 11: Adrenaline glands harvested and added directly to Xenochrome potion. Final product twice as potent as previous batch. (Keep bodies at room temperature, perhaps?)

Subject no. 399 – age 14: Placed in decompression chamber, altitude of 18,256 m simulated. Did not survive.

"Sure, rats can be used, or cats, or dogs. However, once you've been allowed to dabble on the human canvas...that is where science becomes art. More than that even..."

His hand drifted toward a chess set on the bedside table. He began fiddling with one of the pawns, somewhat unconsciously.

"I mean, when you're experimenting on props or animals, it's like playing with toys. However, when you hold human life in your hands...when you can lay it on a table, shape it, mold it, change it, twist it...", he began to lightly flick the chess pieces over, one by one. "It's practically like playing God."

Grandpa seemed to be very far away. I watched as he sat there, mindlessly tipping over the chess pieces, gazing out to space with eyes of glass; whatever scene was playing out behind them, I couldn't even begin to guess. I picked up the box of notes and photos again, reaching in and taking out the first Polaroid I touched. This one presented a somewhat lighter tone. It was of Grandpa, looking young and jubilant, arm-in-arm with another doctor, both smiling on the edge of laughter. This must have been his partner...The other man stood slightly shorter than Grandpa. He had neatly cropped brown hair and brown eyes, and sported a slight gap between his front teeth. If one didn't know better, you could say they were college boys at a frat party. I turned the Polaroid over in my hands. There was writing scrawled on the back:

Drs. Prince and Mengele.

12 April, 1943

Auschwitz.

…...

The air tasted gray. Dust. Asbestos. Mildew. More dust. Yes, gray. It was the only way she really could describe the distinct smell that permeated the air of long, long, abandoned buildings. It was so cold the misted clouds of her breath were visible in the dim, off-white light of empty winter. The only sound that could be heard was radio static that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. Where am I?

"Hello!", she called. The only response was the echo that reverberated from a thousand empty rooms.

To her left there was a doorway leading to a stairwell. Cautiously, she entered. It must go up at least 20 stories. One by one she ascended, looking for any sign of life. Every single doorway she encountered was boarded up by planks. Here and there she could spot rectangular discolorations in the walls, as if they were once adorned by pictures or paintings. Every window was shattered, leaving small shards of glass on the ground which were all but buried in dust; Eileen had to tread carefully to avoid a possible sliced foot.

"Hellooo!", she called out again. Ello-ello-ello. No sound, but for the radio static. Seeds of fear began to crack and spread in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers became icy and numb as she continued to climb flight after flight of stairs. Suddenly, a black particle of sorts bounded toward her, so quickly her eyes couldn't even take it in; it landed square in the middle of her chest, moving and twitching, the sensation of a waxy feather. She felt long antennae caress the underside of her chin, as her heart stopped. Squealing, she spastically clawed at her chest, sending the offending creature hurling to the floor. The insect bore the body of a cockroach and the long, arched legs of a spider, she had never seen anything quite like it. Turning forward again, she saw another, and another.

When she reached the next small landing, she found their source. In the corner lay a decayed mass of orange fur, black rot and bone that had once been a fox. The strange insects crawled inside and out of its mouth, and various other orifices formed of decomposition. They had no wings, but could jump well over Eileen's head, and seemed to be eerily attracted to her. Instinctively pulling her arms close to her body and shielding her face with her hands, she ran up the next flight of stairs, spasmodically swatting at her hair and arms when she felt a phantom crawling sensation. She didn't stop running until she was three flights clear of the fox and any sign of the bugs. Finding herself at another main landing, she stopped to catch her breath. In front of her, was another boarded-up doorway. On the wall along the stairs leading upwards, someone had tagged graffiti in black spray paint:

NIGHT CREW WAS HERE.

Was it her fear-struck imagination, or was the radio static growing louder? She turned again to the boarded entryway, running her fingers along dust-coated plywood. So caked in dust, it was barely discernible from the rest of the wall, a plaque was imbedded. Eileen brushed off the thick coating of dust to reveal its lettering.

Gryffindor! Where dwell the brave at heart!

"The entrance to Gryffindor tower...Hogwarts...no, this can't be.", she whispered to herself, the words drifting from her mouth in tufts of mist that dissipated in the stillness. However, when she looked upon her surroundings again, she knew them. The stairs lie motionless, the walls barren, everything around her in a state of at least 5 decades of undisturbed decay, yet...here she stood, at what could only be Hogwarts. This can't be real...I don't understand.

Tapping. Light and scattered, yet rhythmic. Small footsteps. "Hello! Who's there?" No response. The tapping fades into the distance, leaving only echoes behind. Eileen ran, taking the rest of the steps two at a time, until breathlessly, she reached an open corridor. It was long and desolate as the rest of the forsaken castle. She could spot patches of black mold growing on the walls. To her left, someone had tagged more graffiti, in the same black spraypaint.

ROCK ME, AMADEUS!

Walking along, she simply stared in disbelief at the rotting emptiness bathed in gray winter's light coming from the shattered windows. Above, it looked like an intercom speaker had become the home to a small nest of wasps. Amazingly enough, it must still be operational, as it was from there the radio static was emitting. This doesn't make any sense...I was here as a student no more than 8 years ago. There was no word in the papers of any sort of shutdown. Off to the side, she spied a lone table, on top of which lay a book. Curiously, she picked it up, brushing away the dust and cobwebs which had long since settled on it.

Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion Making. She remembered having the same textbook during her sixth year of school. When she opened the book, however, every single page was occupied with the same thing. One bizarre line of text, repeated over and over and over again.

And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes. And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes. And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes. And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes...

SCREEEEEECH...SCREEEEECH!

Eileen threw the book in the air, gasping, clutching at a heart that felt close to bursting. She eyed the intercom speaker, which had begun emitting bizarre sounds, not even daring to breathe.

SCREEEEEECH...SCREEEEECH!

On second hearing, she knew the sounds to be vaguely familiar. They were the tones that would play on muggle television sets, before a test of the emergency broadcast system. The sound was setting her teeth on edge. She wanted to scream. After a few grueling seconds, an eerily monotone, automated female voice began to speak.

Alpha. Yankee. Foxtrot. Alpha. Yankee. Foxtrot. Three. Nine. Seven. One. Five. Three. Nine. Seven. One. Five...

The robotic voice continued to drone out strings of numbers amidst waves of static, speaking to empty corridors in this strange place that time had forgotten. Eileen continued down the way, dazedly gazing out of shattered windows as she passed, watching snow fall over the Forbidden Forest, which had been stripped bare by the cold season.

One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight. One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight...

Eileen's foot caught on something lying on the floor. She flailed her arms and tried to steady herself, though to no avail, she came crashing to the ground, luckily landing on her hands. The offending object appeared to be someone's discarded school uniform. Gray vest and pants, blue and bronze tie, a Ravenclaw. When Eileen pulled herself into a sitting position, she realized her hands were covered in something other than dust. She rubbed between her fingers something gray and black and sooty. Ashes. Gingerly picking up the vest, she watched as it shed a pile of ashes onto the ground, as well as some solid white fragments of a sort. She picked up the fragments for closer inspection, nearly vomiting when she realized what they were. In her hand she held human teeth.

One. Nine. Two. Seven. Four. One. Nine. Two. Seven. Four...

Eileen could no longer stifle the urge to scream. Scrambling to her feet, she hurled the teeth at the wall and began feverishly wiping her hands on her dress. She wanted to tear off her own skin; no part of her felt clean. The sound of small footsteps threw her from hysterics to pure, frozen, baited breath terror. They were steadily coming closer.

Seven. Eight. Four. Nine. Four. Seven. Eight. Four. Nine. Four...

Click-clack-click-clack. Nearer and nearer. It was all Eileen could do to just keep breathing. A small figure appeared at the far end of the corridor; a little boy. Knees trembling, she strode over to the short, skinny silhouette, not even daring to speak. They regarded each other in silence. The boy donned rich, black robes, which strongly contrasted his milk-white skin. His hair was a mess of ebony that fell just below his chin, framing strikingly cold black eyes. On his head sat a crown, cut from golden-yellow construction paper. Eileen noticed uncomfortably that it was stained with red splotches.

"Mother...", the child cooed, flashing her a grin.

"I-I think you're mistaken, sweetheart.", Eileen had never seen this child in her life.

"I'm never wrong.", The child's eyes flashed dangerously, his face quickly reflecting annoyance.

"Do you know what happened here, dearheart?", She bent to his level and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Progress.", He replied simply, his frown turning to a prideful grin. "Do you want to see what I've got upstairs?"

"Please, child, if you know this place, could you show me out? All the exits I've found are boarded up. I just want to leave."

One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight. One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight...

He offered her his hand, which she took. "This way." He began to lead her up the stairs. If memory served, this was the way up to the astronomy tower.

"Where are you going? These stairs lead to the astronomy tower, there's no way out up there."

"I know a gentleman who might disagree with that assessment."

"I don't understand, what is it that you want?"

He grabbed her other hand and yanked her down to his level. He looked into her eyes for a moment, and then brought his lips to her ear and whispered..."I want everything." The words held such gravitas that it sent a sharp chill down Eileen's spine.

"What-"

"Hush!", He squeezed her hands in his and jerked her forward slightly. For a bony child, he had a scary amount of strength. "Wait'll you see what I have upstairs."

As she followed the child, hand-in-hand up the stairs, she noticed more discarded uniforms littered about. What in God's name could have happened here? This can't be real...

Seven. Eight. Four. Five. One. Seven. Eight. Four. Five. One...

The child released her hand when they reached the top of the tower. The large steel globe that occupied the center of the balustrade was rusted beyond repair. Next to it stood a simple picnic table that bore a cardboard box.

"What is it that you wanted to show me?"

The child ushered her over to the table, a grin of satisfaction on his face. He has eyes like mine...that hair too... She had also seen that grin before. It was her father's; the look of utter satisfaction crossed with crazed, childlike excitement that he reserved specifically for times when he completed a project, reached a new milestone in potion making, or was sharing tales of the SS.

The child wrapped his long, slender fingers around the lid of the box. "Look." He removed the lid, and Eileen's stomach let go. When she had passed the first wave of vomit, she dared to take a second look of the horror in the box. It was a woman's severed head. Her hair was a deep shade of crimson, her skin pure white tinged with blue from her burgeoning decay. Her eyes might have been green once, but it was hard to tell. The strange jumping spiders that were eating away at the fox had all but devoured her eyes. She watched as they crawled in and out of her mouth and neck, their larvae wriggling around in the rotten meat.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Eileen only stared, frozen in terror. "Come, I'll show you the way out." He moved a couple feet to the edge of the balustrade, and beckoned her to come over. She wanted to run, she wanted to scream, but she didn't dare do a thing that might provoke the child. The sharp chill of winter nearly froze her forming tears to her eyelashes. She grasped the railing and peered over the edge of the tower. What she saw brought forth a terrified whimper from her lips. A body, being picked clean by ravens. She looked in disgust as one of the carrion tore tender skin off the dead man's face and flew off into the gray sky with a beak full of flesh. The man was dressed in long, elegant robes of blue and purple. His hair and lengthy beard were the same shade of aged white. Mother of God, it was Dumbledore down there!

"This is the only way out. Sorry mother." Small, slender hands rammed her back with the strength of a grown man. She screamed so hard her throat nearly burst as she careened backwards towards the Earth. She could still see the child, bending over the railing, his ebony hair fanning out in the wind around a face that was howling with laughter. His words echoed through her brain.

"Sorry, mother."

"Mother."

"Mother."

"Mother!"

"MOTHER!"

Eileen jerked awake with a start, panting heavily as she found her son's hazel eyes looking down at her.

"Mother, I'm bored. I want to-"

She cut him off with a frenzied embrace, holding the small boy to her trembling, cold-sweat drenched body. Looking over his shoulder, she came across the half empty bottle of quaaludes she left on the coffee table. Looks like Mommy's little helper got the best of me. Her son's fine, white-blonde hair felt like silk between her fingers as she stroked it. "Oh, my baby. My sweet baby. I had the most horrible dream."

"I'm not a baby!", he said indignantly.

"Oh, Viserus, you'll always be my baby. Don't you forget that.", She whispered, releasing him from her embrace and looking him in the eye. The three-year-old smiled in spite of himself.

"What were you dreaming about, Mom?"

"I dreamed that I had a different little boy...he was nothing like you.", she squeezed her child's hand. "He wasn't like any child that I've ever come across. He was evil and he kept showing me dead things. It was horrible."

"Grandpa says that dreams are like jigsaw puzzles. You get a bunch of pieces of picture, but they don't make any sense because they're all scrambled. But, if you're smart you can put them together, and they'll show you a picture of the future.", he spread his hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture. "I have lots of scary dreams, too. There's one I've had twice. I'm playing Quidditch, and then all of a sudden my body turns into a hamburger and I get sucked into this big, scary white light. After that, a bunch of ladies wearing white tell me I'm in heaven. Grandpa says...if you have the same dream three times that it's sure to come true in real life!" His eyes began to tear and his voice became shaky. "I've had that dream two times, mom. What if...what if I have it a third time?"

She pulled Viserus onto her lap and hugged him close. "Viserus, do you remember that talk we had about Grandpa?"

"The one where you told me that I need to pour salt on him?"

She laughed out loud. "I think you're a little mixed up, sweetling. I said that you need to take what he says with a pinch of salt. It's an old expression. It means that Grandpa...let's just say...isn't always right about everything." He looked up at her with wide eyes that didn't understand or believe how that could ever be possible. She only sighed. "Why don't you go wake up Dad and see if he wants to take you on a broom ride?" His face beamed into a smile and he ran up the stairs. The boy simply adored flying, and it was a treat he seldom got to indulge in, as his father was rarely home, and when he was home, his mind floated off with what flowed through his arm.

Eileen lit a cigarette and dragged deep. Tendrils of smoke hovered and snaked out in the light of the late afternoon sun. She rested her back against the couch and just took a moment to enjoy the sound of silence. It had been a blissfully peaceful week. Aunt Jenny was off on a two week vacation to Hawaii with the Studworths, and Eileen was on a two week vacation from Aunt Jenny. For two whole weeks she was spared the usual barrage of criticism that followed basically anything she did. Her cooking was too bland, she was babying Viserus too much, her taste in clothing was too plain, her tits were too small, she was too skinny...and the list went on. If that hag walked as much as she bitched, she might actually be in shape, Eileen mused.

'And Viserus!? What kind of a name is Viserus!?', her Aunt would rant at least once a day. Oh, the flack she caught over that name. Of course, if anyone had actually been there when she was in childbed with him, that whole situation might have been avoided. Being that her darling husband was out with God knows who, Aunt Jenny was God knows where, and her father was doing God knows what, she had to apparrate to St. Mungo's alone. When the healers placed the wailing infant into her arms and asked what the boy's name shall be, she had meant to say Severus. However, she was so zonked up on pain potions, that she had responded in a drawled, mess of syllables that sounded something like 'vvvsssserrrrrveersssss', which the hospital clerk had interpreted to Viserus. With no one around to correct her, and it being too late to change the records, Eileen was sent home three days later with a baby boy who bore a slurred perversion of the traditional family name. In truth, deep down, she couldn't think of anything more amusing.

Her little Prince Viserus was truly her only joy in the life she now led. Her relationship with her husband had evolved into a venomous paradox wherein she managed to both hate his absence and his presence. She hated when he was around, ambling around the house with his eyes rolling back in his head like the heroin space cadet that he was. Even more so, she abhorred providing the sex he so vehemently demanded, and he knew it. She had even told him to just get his jollies off with the thralls and just leave her alone. To cousin Severus, however, 'no' meant 'yes', and 'leave me alone' meant 'fuck me harder.' She hated when he wasn't around because of what it would do to Viserus. Through his three-year-old eyes, the drugged up waste of carbon was still his father. A man who, during the rare times he was awake and alert, would bounce him on his knee and take him for broom rides. To a boy that young, she supposed Dad would always take the guise of a ten-foot-tall superhero, regardless of who they actually were behind their upraised mid-peekaboo hands. When he was away, she would often catch Viserus peering out the window with a look of melancholy spread across his small features, wondering when dad would come sauntering up the walkway.

The boy did not lack for male company though, oh no. Good ol' Grandpa had been showing him the ropes of life, death, and the wizarding world before he could even hold his own head up. He would spend hours, just prattling on, and on, and on, throwing reservation and any sense of age apropos to the wind while her boy listened intently and poured over old pictures the man would bring. She had once tried to forbid her father from having contact with her son, when one night Viserus began asking such questions as 'What's a mudblood?', 'What does nuclear winter mean?', and 'Did Adolf Hitler really have a spaceship?'. She had railed on Dr. Prince the next day, asking him if he was out of his mind, screaming that he was never to visit her son again. Of course, her father only met her concerns with his usual 'And how do you propose to stop me?'.

How did she? Three against one, that was the story of her life. She could rage against her husband, but it would only upset Aunt Jenny, who controlled the household's income. She could rage against Aunt Jenny, but that would upset her husband, who controlled the fathering of her son. She could rage against her father, but he had control over Aunt Jenny, who had control over the money and control over her husband, who had control over the fathering of her son. She could rage against all three of them, threaten to leave and never come back, as she did so many times, but all three would cry in chorus 'excommunication from the family forever', and would share the story of the penniless single mother named Eileen Prince who had to whore herself on the ghetto streets just to feed her starving son. And then there was Viserus, who so cherished Dad's broom rides, Grandma's home baked peanut butter cookies, and Grandpa's stories. The little boy who counted down the days to Christmases where he would receive droves of presents and enjoy a night of partying with his Mom, Dad, and Grandparents. Viserus, he controlled her heart, and he was coming down the stairs right now with a used syringe in his hands.

"Mom, Dad won't get up.", he whined, with his tiny fingers wrapped around the barrel of the syringe. Eileen ran to him.

"Viserus, give that to me! Where did you get this!?", She took the syringe out of his hand slowly and carefully, so as to not prick either one of them with the needle and threw it in the trash. Her son cowed at her sudden change of tone.

"It-it was in Dad's arm. I thought he hurt himself, I just wanted to help him.", he shakily explained.

"Listen, sweetheart, I want you to stay right here on the couch. I need to have a talk with your father. Don't move until I come back down to get you, okay?"

He sat down and nodded to her, eyes wide and lips pursed. Turning her back to him, she marched up the stairs, shaking with rage. Cousin Severus had finally gone and done it, he'd shown their boy his habit in all its ugliness, exposed him to drugs, and let him hold a dirty needle. She didn't give a damn what the consequences were, she was going to let him have it, she was going to kill him, only...she wouldn't have to. When she kicked open the door to their bedroom, cousin Severus did not move. He sat propped against the bedside table, caught in a tangle of crimson sheets and blankets that were still half on the mattress. His right arm was a shade of blueish purple that could match the dress she was wearing. The blueish tint crept all the way up his neck towards his mouth, where clumps of white foam were crusting over. His toes were beginning to turn black. A very slight, faint odor was beginning to waft from his body due to the summer heat. At the very least, his eyes were closed, so he merely looked asleep in the eyes of Viserus. Eileen just stared, rubbed her eyes, and stared some more, little by little letting the image in front of her permeate her current reality. As first order of business, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten, and then calmly walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

"Viserus, sweetheart!" She called from upstairs.

"Yeah mom?"

"I need you to go to your room and shut the door please."

"Am I in trouble, mom?"

"No, just please, do as I say."

Without another word he scuttled up the stairs and down the opposite hall to his bedroom and did as he was bid. Eileen was not a particularly squeamish person, she had seen death and bodies before...just never close enough to smell. She didn't feel up to going back in the bedroom just yet. She paced up and down the hall, trying as best she could to shake off the initial shock of what just happened and collect her thoughts. He's dead...he's really dead...the bastard's finally gone and done it. I told him a thousand times that he was going to turn up blue one day if he kept shooting up that shit and now it's finally happened. There was no love lost between Eileen and her now late husband. There was neither grief nor sadness in her heart, and quite frankly, not even surprise. All there was, was anger. Her husband lay peacefully in his grave a few feet away. The manner of his death was probably painless as falling asleep after a hot meal. The crude, thoughtless, brainless, useless son of a bitch died in total satisfaction.

As for Eileen, she would be the one who would have to look a three-year-old in the eyes and tell him that Daddy was never going to wake up again. She would be the one who would have to face his tears when she told him there would be no more broom rides, because Dad was too in love with a drug that made him sleepy to give any kind of thought to his family. She would be the one who would have to face a thousand questions from Aunt Jenny, and every day from this day forward somehow be blamed for his death because she was his wife and goddamn it she should have done something. She could see it all now, playing out in her head. Her father and Aunt Jenny feeding her son stories about how his mother drove his father to the needle with her frigid ways and did nothing to help him. Her son would grow to hate and resent her, and day by day he would fall deeper into Aunt Jenny and her father's web of insanity. He would drift away from her, grow up, and start spewing racial slurs like 'mudblood' and 'half-breed' left and right. He'd marry a Lestrange or a Studworth, have children of his own and teach them what he'd been taught, leaving his mother forgotten and alone.

With shaking hands, she lit another cigarette and leaned against the railing at the landing of the stairs. She turned her eyes toward the huge tapestry that hung above the main doors of the home. It illustrated the Prince family tree. At the far edge of it, she could see Viserus' little white haired head which had just been added. Her eyes absently followed the intricate web of faces and names that spanned 40 centuries, traveling upward as the skin tone of each face slowly went from sallow white, to lightly tanned, to dark. Further upward, the English alphabet ended and Egyptian hieroglyphics began. Her eyes scanned all the way up until she reached the top, which of course was none other than Severus The Conqueror, flanked by his two sister-wives. How do you like us now?, she mentally asked the image on the tapestry, which stared stoically down at her through cold, black eyes painted with cat-like eyeliner. What would you say if you knew that one of your supposed 'great descendants' is lying dead in the next room like a common muggle junkie? Would you still look so goddamn smug up there, you great hardass?

Eileen thought back to one of her father's visits to the house. It was late at night and she had just put Viserus to bed. She was deep in her cups already and her father had just settled down on the couch and began pouring himself a drink. Her mind was hazily drifting through memories of old events, and a question occurred to her. She turned to her father and asked, 'So, is this one, Dad? Is this your great king come again? Is this what I had to sell my life for? Will little Viserus be our promised champion that we just had to have?' Her voice dripped mocking sarcasm, but as always, her father's face betrayed no emotion. 'He's a good boy.', he replied, taking a swig of his scotch. That was it. After all his diatribe of conquerors and kings that had been the driving force of Eileen's arranged marriage, that was all the old man had to say about the final product. Did he just happen to forget about his obsession over his little prophecy? Or, was he, for some reason, waiting for something else? Eileen honestly didn't care. Her life was what it was and there was nothing she could do to change it. Like it or not though, it had now changed all by itself. While she could abide what it had been for the past four years, she knew the misery that was sure to come would break her.

Unless...the safe. There was a safe in the bedroom that contained all the money her husband had on hand at any given time. Aunt Jenny may have been a mollycoddler, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew if cousin Severus had free reign over the family's money it would be pissed away in a matter of weeks. Therefore, she regulated his funds in the form of a monthly allowance which he kept locked away in the safe. There was never a king's ransom in there, but it was usually a good, hard sum. Eileen had snuck a peek at her husband dialing in the combination one night, and for some time stole galleons from the safe for shopping trips here and there, as she was allowed no personal funds of her own. When cousin Severus discovered money was slowly going missing, he charmed the safe so none but he could open it. Now that he was dead...his magic was dead with him.

Eileen darted back into the bedroom, doing her best to avert her eyes from the corpse and ignore the odor. Carefully, she input the combination. A surge of excitement shot through her as she heard the satisfying click and opened up the little door. As fast as she could, she counted out a total of 3,000 galleons and stuffed them in her purse. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to get her and Viserus room and board for a while in England. It was enough to start a new life for her and her son. He's lost his father, a voice in her head told her, you would have him lose his beloved grandmother and grandfather, too? All in the same day? Eileen knew that if she left for England there would be no turning back. She'd have to sever all contact with her family forever. While that was no tragedy to her,it would hurt Viserus terribly. It may hurt him for a long time. However, he was only three. He would heal. He would forget. She would rather bestow upon her son one period of pain and grief than a lifetime of brainwashing by insane blood purists and wannabe royals.

Hurriedly, she pulled out her suitcases from the closet and began to pack all the belongings she would need. Clothes, toiletries, a select few favorite books, brushes, jewels, shoes, and...the glimmering gold and emerald artifact caught her eye from the ornate showcase in which it was housed. The crown of Severus The Conqueror. We could live for years on what that crown would yield, should we sell it to a museum... She sauntered slowly to the showcase, carefully opening the glass. As she raised her fingers to the crown, however, an unpleasant knot formed in her stomach. Something about this...just felt wrong. She recalled an article she once read about the RMS Titanic. Supposedly, a wealthy American archeologist had brought the mummified remains of the princess of Amen-Ra on board the ship, meaning to transport them to New York. Legend had it that the mummy was cursed. Eileen was never a superstitious woman and rarely gave thought to the paranormal, but...2,000 people went to their icy deaths on that boat. Severus The Conqueror's crown was said to be cursed as well; that it would bring death and misery to those who wore it unjustly. To have that crown in her possession just felt strangely unclean to her. Besides, it was a fresh, new life she wanted, away from all the ludicrous, antiquated traditions and customs of the Princes. She decided to leave the crown behind.

Eileen once again turned to the corpse of her husband. She noticed uncomfortably that a small crowd of fruit flies were beginning to explore his milk-white and purple flesh. Holding her breath, she bent down and flicked off the gold watch he was wearing, then stripped him of his chains and rings as well. Lastly, she removed the two ridiculous looking golden earrings he always insisted on wearing. With them gone, he might have actually looked better, if he wasn't dead. After she packed away the jewelery , she grabbed the comforter from the bed and respectfully laid it over cousin Severus' corpse. It was, after all, the least she could do.

Backing away from the body, she carefully scanned over the room, seeing if there was anything else worth taking. Her eyes fell to five porcelain figurines on the dresser. How could she forget? As much as she wanted to leave her old life behind, she would not abandon the Night Crew. The little figures had always represented the happy times in her youth, the days worth remembering. Grabbing some old Daily Prophet pages from the bedside table, she carefully wrapped up the dark prince, the mystic princess, the innocent unicorn, the golden knight, and the hard at work blacksmith, and set them inside the suitcase. She had packed all she needed, but now came the hardest part. She took one last sweeping look around the room, knowing it would be the last time she would ever do so, grabbed her luggage, walked out and shut the door behind her. Down the opposite end of the hallway was her son in his bedroom. Her little boy who thought his Dad was merely sleeping too heavily, who had no idea that this would be his last day in his home, and expected a fun filled visit from his Grandfather before the week was out.

Eileen walked down the hall and opened the door to his bedroom with a heart as heavy as lead. She searched and searched her mind, but the words just could not be found.

"Viserus, dearheart, I...I...I need you to pack up your things."

"Why, mom?"

Why? "Because...we're going on a trip."

A look of confusion spread over the child's features. "Why? Where are we going?"

Why, why, why...the eternal why of a child. This isn't going to be easy. Eileen knelt down to her son's level, feigning a look of excitement on her face. "Sweetheart, do you know how you're always telling me how badly you want to take a ride on the Knight Bus?"

He nodded. "Well guess what?"

"What?"

"Today, we're gonna get to take a ride on the Knight Bus all the way to England! Just you and me! Won't that be so much fun!", She smiled and batted her eyes at him.

The child beamed. "Really!?"

"Yes! Now you make sure you collect up all the toys you want to bring and Mommy will help pack up your clothes, okay?"

He nodded, smiling from ear to ear, and began fritzing around the room, not knowing what to pack first. Well that accomplished something, at least... In between folding Viserus' little garments and packing them away, Eileen called up the Knight Bus customer service line and requested pickup for the first bus bound to England. At 6:30 p.m., her and Viserus would be boarding bus #1202, which would take them from Frankfurt to a town called Spinner's End, in Cokeworth, England. A place I've never been to, a place I've never heard of, a place I'd have no reason to be, a place my father or aunt or anyone else would never think to look...

At promptly 6:25 p.m., Eileen and Viserus stood at the front curb, luggage in hand. For the moment at least, the little boy had forgotten about his not-so-sleeping father, he was so excited about getting to ride the Knight Bus. Pangs of guilt gnawed at her chest at the sight of his carefree smile. She had to break the news to him somehow. Viserus was not a dull-witted boy, he would notice something was off about all of this sooner rather than later. For now though, all she wanted was to be safely on the bus, out of the open, low hanging evening sunlight which left her feeling so exposed. She felt a sense of foreboding in the air, an unpleasant, too-quiet stillness that bespoke something going wrong. Nervously, she glanced at her watch. 6:28...Come on..

And then, at the very edge of her hearing, there it was. The all too familiar swish and pop of someone apparrating nearby. Mother of God, not now... Apparrating guests always entered through the back door, so as to be out of sight by the various muggle residences on the street. She knew that for the moment at least, she had not been seen. Maybe whoever it is inside will assume we're not home, that I took Viserus to the playground...maybe they'll just leave, they won't think to go upstairs, to open the door to the bedroom. She glanced at her watch again. 6:29. Please, please, please...

"Grandpa!"

Fuck.

He would have run straight into the man's arms, had she not grabbed him by the collar. The child looked up at her, frightened and confused. Her father stood at the front door, his expression unreadable.

"Eileen, what is all this? Where are you going?"

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. Her mouth moved in vain to form words that could not be found. She had the look of a dear in headlights as her child struggled against her grasp. The sound of an engine slowly approached, and a moment later, a tall, purple bus came into view. In one fell swoop, her father's expression changed from guarded suspicion, to understanding, to unhinged fury.

"EILEEN! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!", He broke into a run. Even at the age of 50, Dr. Prince could still beat most teenagers at a footrace.

The Knight Bus opened its doors. Eileen seized her son by his clothes and threw him on the bus, followed by the baggage. The driver, a wisp of a young man, only stared wide-eyed.

"EEEEAAAHGH!" Eileen shrieked as her father's thin, bony fingers wrapped around her ankle and yanked. Her hands and knees scraped along the pavement, but she managed to scurry back to her feet, like an animal struggling against a predator. Viserus began to cry. The driver's eyes grew ever wider.

"Eileen! Get my grandson off that bus! What the hell do you think you're doing!?", His face was twisted with rage, spittle was flying from his mouth.

"I'm LEAVING! I'm DONE! I'm done with this family and I'm done with YOU! I won't have my son being raised around you degenerates anymore! And by the way, my ever-so-loving and cherished husband is DEAD! His corpse is in the bedroom, you can deal with the funeral expenses.", Her voice was cracked from shrieking.

Her father was breathing heavily. His voice dropped to a low growl. "You...I'll find you. Wherever you go, I will find you, you cunt."

"Save your energy for Aunt Jenny, Father, she's going to want a good romp in the sack to take her mind off her dead son. Or, is he your dead son, too? It wouldn't surprise me in the least."

Dr. Prince lunged at his daughter in a maelstrom of unbridled fury, but Eileen was prepared. He cried out loud when her fist connected with his face, shattering his glasses and sending him flying backwards. Before her father could regain his footing, Eileen scrambled up onto the bus. The driver sat there, gaping.

"What are you doing!? DRIVE!"

Snapping out of his trance, the driver quickly closed the sliding doors and put the bus in gear. Eileen caught one last glimpse of her father. Rivulets of blood ran down his face where shards of his ruined glasses dug into his flesh. His mouth ran wildly, spewing a string of profanity she would never hear, whilst he shook his fists. She turned towards the other passengers on board, all of which were staring at her with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"AND WHAT ARE ALL OF YOU GAWKING AT!?", She shook her fist, which she now realized was dripping blood and had several chunks of glass sticking out of it. The other patrons of the bus hurriedly looked away and whispered amongst themselves. Grabbing onto a handrail, she took a moment to catch her breath and let a bit of her raging adrenaline subside before loading her luggage in the compartment of the nearest seat.

"M-m-mommy? Dad is...d-d-dead? Why did you hit Grandpa? What's going on?"

She turned to find his little cherubic face stricken with abject horror. Shit. She did not want him to find out this way. Gently, she lifted him up and took her seat, cradling him on her lap. His tears shimmered in the light of the setting sun.

"Sweetheart, I..."

"We're never going back home again, are we, Mommy?" He was not a dull-witted boy.

"No, sweetling, no we're not. Your father won't be waking up again. And your grandpa, he's a bad man, a very bad man. One day, when you're older, I'll explain why-"

"I don't believe you!", He cried in a voice brimming with sorrow and anger. "It's just like Grandpa says! You're a..a..a..a BITCH!"

"Viserus! That talk stops right here, young man!", She wondered what other colorful poetry her father had taught the boy.

"No! It's not fair! Why do we have to leave home? Grandpa never did anything wrong!", Yes he did, Viserus, he cut up little kids like you and brewed their organs in his cauldron. But he probably told you Auschwitz was full of candy and fairy dust, didn't he?

"Viserus, I know it seems unfair right now, but believe me, one day you'll understand that things are better this way."

"That's bullshit, Mom-"

"Viserus!"

"I want to go home! I want Grandma and Grandpa!" He began to sob in earnest; breathing in deeply and letting out screams of pure anguish. The sound of his cries carried through all three floors of the bus, as only a toddler's could. Eileen popped a quaalude and held her head in her hands. Well, this is going just swimmingly, isn't it?

"Hey, lady! How about you shut that kid up!", One of the second floor passengers hollered.

"How about you go screw yourself!", Whoever was up there backed off. Luckily, Viserus didn't hear her words over his tantrum. She didn't need to be teaching her son more filth. Nevertheless, she was not about to tolerate his ear-splitting screams for the next 7 hours. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a bottle of Kool Aid, Viserus' favorite drink. Turning her back to him, she pulled out a small vial of purple liquid as well. In one swift motion she discreetly poured the Draught of the Living Death into the Kool Aid. If all else fails...

"Viserus, sweetie", She gently shook him and he turned to her, hyperventilating with a face beat red from crying. He looked at the bottle hungrily. "Why don't you take a drink, dear?"

Shakily, he took the bottle and slowly began to down the sugary spiked beverage. When he was finished, he made to start up his hysterics again, but the scream that escaped his lips quickly dipped to a low moan, and then silence. His head slumped and lightly hit the seat in front of him with a soft thump. Eileen slid the boy's body to a prone position on the seat and laid his head on her lap. Stroking his soft, white-blonde hair, she shifted her gaze out the window, absently watching the scenery fly by as the pleasantly dizzying effects of the quaalude began to kick in. She drifted off to sleep as the sun disappeared behind the hills, somewhere between Brussels and Ghent.

It was 1:25 a.m. when the driver announced 'This stop: Railview Hotel, Spinner's End.' Eileen gently nudged Viserus awake and collected her baggage. The child took her hand, still half asleep. Hopefully, he wouldn't regain full awareness until morning, granting Eileen time for a much needed hot shower. She tipped the driver, exited the bus, and made her way towards the most shit-shod hotel she had ever seen.

When she entered the dimly lit, hideously tacky-wallpapered lobby, she could smell the distinct aroma of body odor and cat piss, with just a smattering of marijuana. On the wall directly in front of her hung a needlework sampler. It read: "Progress for progress' sake is not progress at all." At the front desk, a hunchbacked, white-haired old woman snored with her head on her hand. Eileen cautiously approached and rang the service bell.

"What in tarnation!- Oh, a customah!", Eileen made the uncomfortable observation that the woman's mouth bore only three rotting teeth. Her breath reflected it.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'll be needing a room for two."

"Wassat, miss? I can't hears ya! Ya gots to speak up!"

"I'll be needing a room for two!"

"Huh? What? These ol' ears, miss, they dun work so good no more. Ah hell, Tobeh! Tobeh, get down here and help ya mothah out!", She called upstairs.

"I'm busy, mom!", A gruff sounding voice answered.

"Like hell ya are, ya good for nuthin' freeloadah! Get ya ass down here and help me with this customah!"

"Jesus Christ!"

She heard shuffling coming from upstairs, and then a tall man, clad in workboots, blue jeans and a white wife-beater came stomping down the steps. Light, mouse brown hair framed blue-gray eyes in a shaggy, unkempt, obvious home-haircut. He looked upon her down a hooked nose as his masculine, 5 o' clock shadow bearing jaw momentarily shifted into a welcoming half-grin. That was when Eileen Prince found Tobias Snape handsome for the first time.

"Can I help ya?"

"Yes, I-I...need a room for two, please. The name is Prince."

He jotted down a few things on a logbook which lay open on the desk. "Alright, the room will be 35 a night. You'll be in number 27. I'll, uh, help ya with your things.", He stepped out from behind the desk. At the sight of Viserus, his features softened. He knelt down to the drowsy child's level. "'Ey there, little buddy! You're out quite past your bedtime, ain't ya?", Smiling playfully, he ruffled the boy's hair.

Viserus sniffled. "My Daddy is never going to wake up again."

The man's smile faded to a look of awkwardness, and then sorrow. "I'm, uh, sorry to hear that, son.", He said, rubbing the boy's shoulder. He rose back up, his sympathetic eyes meeting Eileen's. She dropped her gaze from his.

"It's a long story.", She spoke softly, her tired eyes looking at the floor.

An awkward silence spread over them. "Maybe you'll tell it to me sometime, hun. Anyway, you folks must be bushed. I'll show ya to the room.", He relieved her of the luggage and led them down the hall to room number 27, and then handed her the key.

"By the way, my name's Tobias Snape, but most folks around here call me Toby.", He held out his hand, which she shook. It was rough and callous. The hands of the proletariat.

"I'm Eileen Prince.", She smiled back at him. "Oh, here.", She reached into her wallet and grabbed a few bills to tip him, but he raised his hand.

"Nah, miss, don't ya worry about it. You just take care of yourself now, ya hear?"

She nodded, and turned the key to her room.

The wallpaper inside the small, double twin bedded space somehow managed to be the most garish yet. It was tearing in places and the ceiling showed several spots of water damage. The carpet reeked of cigarette smoke. She paid no mind, though. Viserus rubbed his eyes and would have nearly collapsed on the floor, had she not scooped him up in her arms. She brought him over to the bed nearest the window and tucked him in, kissing him lightly on the forehead before she strode over to the bathroom.

This day feels like it's spanned a thousand years, she mused as she slid off her dress, wanting nothing more than to climb in the shower, relax, and attempt to process the events that had taken place within the last 24 hours. She slid open the shower curtain...and felt her heart stop in her chest.

Crawling along the white porcelain of the tub, was a large insect. It bore the body of a cockroach, and the long, arched legs of a spider.