The soft crackling flame and the rhythmic thumps his feet made proved to be the only sounds in the lavishly decorated study, interrupted occasionally by a soft sigh or light scuff. The ornate clock declared sunrise nearly upon the land, and the Persian rug already bore a distinct oval indentation, upon which his feet continued their march. His gray eyes glared at some indistinct spot towards the center of his track; the blond, aristocratic eyebrows scrunched in a most un-charismatic manner. He had been contemplating a way to solve his current problem without alerting Snape, if such a possibility even existed. The obvious answer, of course, was no, but the blonde was way too stubborn to accept that. Not even when ‘no’ was underlined, fluorescent pink and blinking (as it might as well have been), would Draco stop trying to turn it into a nice, meek ‘yes’.

This, he now understood, was precisely why Malfoys did not hold anyone equal to them by default, let alone acknowledge another as their superior. That way, they never had to worry about explaining anything they did or failed to do. for Draco, he had stopped trying to be a model Malfoy long ago. He rubbed the scar behind his ear again, absently wondering how a thing so small could have altered his life so much. This was, after all, what caused him to stop worrying how his father would react to his actions.

He remembered realizing that his father would not be the person who controlled his life, not even Voldemort would, but a then unknown stranger who would be able to not only kill Draco on a whim, but order Draco himself to perform the deed. He, unlike his delusional father, was well aware that he was not the Alpha, and whole-heartedly believed whoever was must be as cold-hearted and twisted as the Dark Lord. He remembered his shock at learning that the Alpha was actually Horris, and his astonishment that he would rather be this boy’s henchman than his father’s son.

Opposite to what he expected, Draco had thrived under Horris’ guidance and protection, and was now deferring to the Alpha’s father as he knew his leader and friend had often done himself. He now knew his earlier worries over the unknown Alpha’s temperament were entirely wrong, but could not help but wonder if, upon learning what Draco had kept form him, Snape Sr. would not cut the blond into tiny little pieces. By deferring to the man, he had given his ex-professor the superior position (in Draco’s mind, which was what mattered), and thus the man deserved to be told all the things Draco had been keeping from him.

And he had been keeping things from him — many, many things. As the Asps rarely had contact with the man while school was in session (and Snape would have probably glared them to death had they put anything even remotely related to the Asps or Voldemort in owl-post), leaving out certain information proved far easier than it would when school let out for the winter holidays in a few short weeks.

The Asps had left Hogwarts ten days after Horris’ most-untimely demise, and the professor somehow managed to hand in his resignation without stuffing it down the Headmanipulator’s throat. While the professor was now working at Durmstrang, (thankfully, as teaching proved one of the few things that could keep him from wallowing in his eternal sorrow), the Asps gave up on formal schooling. If this war ended before it had claimed them all, they would be more than ready to take the OWLs and NEWTs, and that would be that. For now, they had the Snape Family Library at their disposal (unless Snape found one page creased or one tome out of place), within which greater knowledge can be attained than in all the magic schools combined. Besides, their wandless magic now served them better than their wands which now lay in a box in the attic.

Lea had remained at Hogwarts, with all the Slytherins on strict (though unknown to her) orders to keep her safe and a private room in their dorms (formally Draco’s, as the blond knew asking her to live in Horris’ room would be extremely cruel). She had blatantly refused to let a bad Headmaster keep her from her education, and would reap the fruit of her labors in a few short months.

However, what would happen months from now was far from Draco’s mind. Lea would be here in a little over a week for the winter holidays, and the professor would follow soon after. And here he was, with a right mess on his hands — three dead Asps and a living corpse.

She walked down the well-rehearsed path of Hogwarts halls, though they seemed unusually dark and deserted today. She knew why, of course, and that very reason was why she was certain her eyes were ablaze with all her emotions. It had been over a week since Horris died, but only now would Draco allow her to see him. Her steps faltered slightly while turning the corner into a hallway filled with Slytherins. The nightmare from the train… the one she could barely remember having, much less the content, returned full force. Never before had she believed in prophecies and premonitions, but as those she had gotten to know like a second family parted before her, she could not have denied the existence of such divinations.

Unlike her dream-turned-premonition, however, she understood. She knew. Knew why all of them were silent as statues, why none wished to meet her gaze. All their emotions that she had noticed in September she felt once more, now conscious of their origin and meaning. They felt they had failed him, she knew, yet nothing anyone said or did could alleviate their belief.

As she passed from Slytherins to Asps, a distinction she failed to make in her dream, Draco broke from their number, almost hesitant in his step. He had always considered her off limits to anyone but his Alpha, as did all Asps, though nothing of an intimate nature had transpired between Horris and herself. It was not so much that they thought she belonged to Horris, either; they simply saw them both in positions of power. How she had attained this power, she could not begin to fathom herself. Not until Horris died, really, did she even know she wielded it at all. Before, she had attributed the Asp acquiescence to her requests as courtesy, because she was under Horris’ ‘protection’ or slowly becoming their friend.

Even as he hugged her, gave her the comfort she so desperately longed for, she could feel his fear of overstepping some boundary neither knew. She ignored it, however, content to bury her face in him and have him lead her the rest of the way.

Dumbledore had allotted them ten days. They had ten days to put their affairs in order, ten days to decide their path, ten days to mourn. They had not told her of his deadline, but she would learn of it soon enough. For now, they’d make sure she got a chance to mourn in peace.

Draco knocked softly on the door, opening it without waiting for any real answer. The professor was expecting them, and no one else would dare come here uninvited, especially not now. He felt her shift her weight off him, not sure if he should perhaps turn back and leave her in the professor’s hands. He felt her stiffen, slightly, and in a blink, she had charged at Horris’ father.

He had not seen her so violent since Draco had told her Horris was in Voldemort’s hands, and could not help but feel slight relief that it was not aimed at him, for once. He winced when the blows against the professor’s chest turned hard on a few occasions, timed with instances of barely coherent vocalizations. The whole time the professor stood still, as if the physical blows helped ease the man’s emotional anguish as well as her own. Or, perhaps, he still blamed himself for the loss of his son. Unfortunately, Draco feared the latter was far more likely.

He watched as the tantrum drained the energy from her, half springing when her strength finally left her. The professor caught her with ease, however, preferring the poor girl more tenderness in the embrace than Draco could have. The feeling of interrupting something overwhelmed him once more, and were it not for the Professor’s forcedly unaffected seeming words, he would have left right then.

“Draco…” the father of his Alpha beckoned softly, eyes betraying how forced the normality of his voice truly was.

“Are you certain, Professor?” he questioned in turn, knowing what he was asking of him before the man had to ask.

“Anything less would prove quite cruel, I fear.”

“She’s been insistent, Sir, she might think it’s an attempt to keep her from him.”

“She has waited a week, Draco, she can wait another hour,” the man insisted, his gaze lowering onto the veil of hair on his chest, “She would rather see him when her cognitive abilities are properly functioning, surely.”

Draco nodded, once, slowly moving to the two whom Horris had entrusted into his care. He placed a soothing palm on her shoulder, needing but a trace of venom to let a peaceful sleep overtake her.

“On the sofa, Draco,” the professor instructed gently, easing his hold on her so Draco could lift her into his arms. He wondered if offering to heal the professor’s bruised torso would only result in harsh words and an even greater blow to the man’s pride, opting finally for a subtle dose once the man was safely asleep and unaware.

“Have you decided how you will answer Dumbledore, Draco?”

“In the negative, Sir, obviously,” Draco answered shortly. “He cannot honestly expect me to undermine Horris’ authority.”

“Draco…” the professor cautioned, “they are your Asps now, do not let what you think Horris might have decided keep you from making educated decisions.”

“Are you saying I should accept?” he asked incredulously. “Trade one master for another?”

“I am simply warning you that whatever you decide must be your choice, not Horris’. As proud as I am of my son’s leadership, his precedent cannot impede your ability to lead your Asps.”

His Asps. Merlin, the very though sent trembles down his spine. His Asps. No… no, he couldn’t do it… not his. Horris’s. Not Draco’s. His Alpha’s words of caution, spoken oh-so-long ago it seemed, reverberated in his ears once more… this time sounding more like a curse than words of warning. Horris had cautioned him to prepare for this very situation, but now that it was here… he…he…

“-co! Draco, stop this instant!”

He was shaking. The professor was holding his wrist in a vice grip and Draco-fucking-Malfoy, supposed leader of the great and powerful Asps, was shaking like some damnable five year old afraid of the dark.

“Have you returned to your bloody senses?” the Potions Master growled, “or do I need to toss you into the bloody lake before you pull your wits about you? Unfortunately, neither of us has the luxury to show weakness within these cursed walls. Few things can change your lot in life, so I suggest you learn to deal with it. Now, are you going to act like the leader you are, or am I going to post watchers to your person so as not to have to explain you leaping off the bloody Astronomy tower… or some other halfwit attempt to escape from your life and responsibilities? Your Asps cannot handle another loss right now. I will not have them all suffer because you cannot handle a little extra pressure. See to Lea, and for Merlin’s sake, you had best shape up!”

Draco, still shaking slightly and presently gaping like a fish, could do nothing but watch the man leave with his wide gray eyes. Only after the Professor had gone could he manage a sharp nod and weak, ‘Yes, Sir.’ The man was right, of course, Draco owed the Asps and Lea… and the Professor. He had to be strong, for them and for himself. He knew the Alpha’s father was close to his limit… closer than Draco, perhaps, and the blond felt like kicking himself for hurting the man further. Doing it in front of Lea or the Asps would have been worse… he was their strength, after all, and if he broke down by himself, he might never snap out of it.

He sighed gazing at Lea’s sleeping form, realizing that the professor was right on all accounts. Draco was being an idiot, and if he didn’t get a hold of himself, who knows what might happen.

Draco gently rubbed the calming salve onto her forehead, hoping it would help her on her visit, before rubbing some onto his own. For him, the act was purely self-assurance, as most mood-altering concoctions worked by creating chemical imbalances that an Asp’s healing venom immediately countered. Preparing himself for what might be round two of her tantrum, Draco slowly set to waking her sleeping form.

Thankfully, a stiff Horris-like glare was the only indication of her anger.

“May I see him now, Draco?” the annoyance in her voice was clear, through it held a definite tang of resigned defeat. In response, Draco nodded slowly, ushering her gently to the nearby room.

He remained by the door as she attentively walked to the form on the bed, pausing almost uncertainly before reaching down and moving some stray hairs from his face… as a mother comforts a sleeping child. The thought struck him so suddenly that he had to physically brace himself against the wall, his calm mask slipping for a second.

Transfixed, he watched the hand repeat its motion a few more times, as if too quick a touch would wake him from a much-needed rest.

“Why couldn’t you tell me?” her voice whispered, still stroking Horris’s forehead, making Draco feel intrusive once again, “Why did you leave me now?”

How many times had she comforted him, just like this after a rough meeting or tiring training session? Hell, how many times had she done this while he had been ‘Harry Potter’? How much closer would they be had he told them… her… his identity? Oh, how much time and how many problems could have been spared had he told them. Then again, Draco could not help but wonder if he could have handled the reality, or if he would have tried to climb by betraying the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Draco…” he heard her beckon him softly away from his morbid musing, “let’s go.”

“Sit, Draco, and put some wards about,” he acknowledged the blond entering his office. He probably didn’t need to remind the boy of warding anymore, but old habits were hard to break.

“Yes, Sir,” the boy responded, setting himself into the chair before him, “already done.”

He took a moment to simply study the new leader of the Asps, noting how the extra pressure was forcing his abilities to grow quicker than Severus had predicted. It seemed like only yesterday raising wards proved quite taxing on the Beta, who now raised them almost as easily as Horris used to. Still, he was sure Draco was at his wits end.

“Are you immune to Dreamless Sleep?” he asked.

“No, Sir, should I be?”

“Horris had built up an immunity to the point of uselessness shortly after the winter holiday,” Severus explained, glad that Asps seemed to simply build up a tolerance instead of the addiction normal wizards experienced.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I did not mean to bring Ho-”

Severus’ hand rose to silence the boy, not wanting the young man’s pity or self-respite.

“You are to take a double dose tonight. Yes, I know Asps can go weeks on end without sleep, but you have not rested easily all week and are clearly a moth’s wing away from losing yourself altogether.”

“But-”

“You should be rested when you act on your decision come Monday. It would not do to have you appear weak and indecisive.”

“Which brings me to my next point, Draco,” he continued, not wanting to continue with this topic, “Have you reached a decision?”

“Yes, Sir,” Draco answered without hesitation, “we leave when Dumbledore announces Horris’ passing.”

“I will have the portkeys ready to take us to the manor, then.”

“Us, Professor?”

“I have decided to resign.”

“Dumbledore requested we not tell anyone that Horatius was previously Harry Potter,” he stopped the blond before a protest could be made, “I agree.” This was not a decision he would allow Draco to alter or second-guess. “As annoying and wrong as it feels to keep Horris’ past a secret, breaking the Wizarding World’s hope could prove disastrous.”

“Surely you do not expect Voldemort to keep quiet about Horris!”

“As long as we deny it, or do not confirm it in the least, it will be viewed skeptically at best. You will not confirm it, and you are to inform Lea to also hold her tongue in check,” he insisted, to which Draco gave a sad but accepting nod.

“I’ll see to it, Sir.”

“Sleep first, Lea will not tell anyone before they ask. Had she wished to, she would have done so by now. Do you plan to warn her of your departure?”

“She wants to stay.”

“As expected,” Severus agreed, “you must not make this any harder on her than it already is.”

“She may be in danger here, Professor, especially if you plan to leave as well.”

“Horris inspired loyalty beyond his Asps, Draco, trust it to survive his death.”

“The Slytherins.”

“Yes,” he nodded, smirking for the first time in a while, “I doubt any would let harm come to her, even without you requesting their protection.”

“She’s been sleeping in Gryffindor all week, Sir,” Draco pointed out, still apparently unsatisfied with Lea’s protections,

“Which proves even those numbskulls are not about to assault a grieving witch. Let her have your room when she needs it, tell the Slytherins to keep an eye on her and trust in her ability to take care of herself. She will be fine, Draco.”

“I apologize for earlier…”

“Not necessary, I assure you.”

“Still, Sir,-”

“No, Draco,” Severus insisted, “I am not going to let you punish yourself over this. I have suffered through many losses in my life, and I know how difficult the first ones are.” He did know, though he had never felt quite as hopeless as he did now. He had heard someone say a parent should never have to bury his child… and oh, how right that someone was. Still, he would have his time to break down and grieve the loss. For now, he had to make sure Draco would survive it.

“He was your friend, a true friend… something few Slytherins get a chance to experience. Do not think it a sign of weakness for his death to effect you so.”

“They need me to be strong, Sir,” Draco negated.

“The hardest part of leading is having so few people to help you through hardships,” Severus agreed, hoping Draco and Lea would seek this help in each other.

“But earlier…”

“There is a time and place, Draco, and this you must learn well… and quickly. Besides, grieving and losing control are two different things. Only imbeciles and those too weak to do otherwise are allowed the luxury of a mental breakdown. You have both brains and strength of will – use them.”

“Was there anything else, Mr. Malfoy?” he asked, once it was obvious Draco would not say anything. Perhaps he had pushed too hard?

“No, Sir.”

“Take a double dose of Dreamless Sleep then,” he ordered, handing him a vial before gently pushing him towards the door. The boy would feel better tomorrow… at least Severus hoped he would. For now, it was time to return to his own grieving.

Dad,

You have no idea how hard this is for me (or maybe you do, though I’d rather hope you never had to prepare for something like this). I’m sorry if this proves one of my most unarticulated letters, or if it has more post scripts than should be allowed, but I have only the vaguest idea of what I should say, and to have to re-write this might kill me before Soulshadow or Voldemort get their chance. I thought about writing to you last, as by then my words would probably be far more concise, but I could not forgive myself if something should come up (as it often does in our lives) that forces me to leave you without a letter.

Thus, I write you first, and ask that, if something does come up, you let the others know I did plan to write a few words to them as well. If I don’t get the chance, tell Draco to hold on, that I’m sure he’ll make a fine leader and that he had better keep you and Lea safe (don’t argue, I want you taken care of). Tell Lea I’m sorry, please, though I’m sure you think I have little to be sorry for, and to the others, tell them I’ll miss them. And that I forgive Sirius- that I have for a while now.

I can’t stress how much you mean to me, Dad, how much you have changed my life for the better. I know you think your presence forced me into things I didn’t want, but the truth is, I had accepted my lot in life as a weapon against the Dark Asshole, and honestly, expected to die by his hand before graduation. You changed that. You, Dad, gave me hope- let me accept that there would be more to my life than this war and my role in it. You cared, and for that I can never express how grateful I am.

I want you to promise me you will not revert to spending long hours alone in your dark dungeons. I hope that you make peace with Aunt Abby, as I’m sure she sees your father in you, as you saw James Potter instead of me. Also, take care of Draco. I loved him like a brother, and I know you care for him as well. I fear what his own father will do if (when) he learns we are not fighting for Voldemort but against him so I need to know he could turn to you if the need arises. If you find yourself alone, invite Alex over; I know the kid burrowed into your heart and he really does like magic. If you feel inclined, you have my blessing and full support in naming either your heir.

I know-

Severus put the parchment back into the battered envelope. He felt on the verge of tears already, and he would not be able to forgive himself if the blasted things made the ink run. H e could read it later. He had the thing memorized already, either way. For now, following his own advice and getting some much-needed rest would do him a world of good, as well. The next few days might push them all to the edge.

Never before had she felt so… so out of place while in the Gryffindor dorms. Not even when Ron had called her up to the boys’ dorms was she this hesitant, and she’d often gone through the very door she was about to knock on. Of course, she knew why she felt so off… everyone had noticed Hermione’s odd behavior. Hell, even the Grytherin’s dorm mates- the Gryffindor ones, that is, as the term could apply to both as of late… except for this past week or so, had felt it.

Ginny doubted a single person in all of Hogwarts had failed to notice the sudden shift. What it was, exactly, or why it had occurred, however, remained a mystery. Everyone could see the signs, repercussions perhaps, but that was all. Everyone felt subdued somehow, almost as if a rouge Dementor was just close enough to sap a tad of happiness. Or perhaps the castle itself had become somehow sullen…

No one seemed to joke around in class anymore, no pranks or midnight outings. Hell, even talking in the halls was steadily declining! People were skipping class without reason, and after repeated annoyances to the point of ‘I just won’t come’, the Professors themselves stopped asking, only occasionally mumbling something about how such behavior will come back to haunt the students when the OWL’s or NEWT’s come upon them.

Hermione, however, acted most odd of all. From the moment she ran into the Gryffindor Common Room (making everyone present half-expect a hoard of Slytherins oh her tail), she seemed to have broken contact with the slimy snakes. She hardly spoke to anyone at all, and some of the girls claimed she warded her bed with privacy charms each night. The things they had ‘accidentally’ tossed into her (unused) part of the room had been haphazardly dumped onto the floor near the center of the room, forcing the offending girls to sort things out among themselves. It served them right, really.

This morning, however, she’d been twice as off, which was the reason the girls in her year had begged Ginny to go and speak with her. They said Hermione acted ‘sad and detached’, though how that differed from the girl’s recent behavior was beyond the young redhead. Still, she had agreed to go… no use stalling.

“Tell Draco my answer stands!” answered her knock, making the girl question her earlier resolve; Hermione sounded quite ticked at someone. She fought with herself for a moment, but in the end, her Gryffindor courage won out and she knocked once more.
“I said-” Hermione’s face seemed to drain of anger, “oh, it’s you.”

Ginny was going to ask if she honestly thought Dean would be able to climb up here, but stopped herself just in time. Guys couldn’t walk up the girls’ wing… Hermione knew that since before Ginny entered Hogwarts… so… did that mean…

“How many Asps are there in Gryffindor?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” was the curt reply, “is there a reason you’re here?”

“Erm…” Tomorrow, what was supposed to happen tomorrow? “We’re kind of worried about you.”

“We?” the brunette asked skeptically, “don’t tell me they bullied you into this.”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing what’s going on myself,” Ginny sighed, knowing it was useless to deny who made her come up here.

“What makes you think I know?”

“If anyone knows, you do,” Ginny stated matter-of-factly.

“Ah,” Hermione leaned back against the frame “and what makes you think I’d tell you?”

“You told me other stuff.”

“And that entitles you to ask me anything you damn well please?”

“No,” Ginny answered, suddenly feeling three again and caught with chocolate before dinner, “I just…”

“Couldn’t help but ask,” Hermione finished, “come in.”

Ginny hesitated a moment, but her curiosity propelled her inside. The dorms looked odd, the pile of stuff juxtaposed to the mostly-clean beds, Hermione’s sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Silver curtains?”

“I couldn’t sleep with the red anymore… they’d have killed me if I turned them green,” was the shrugged reply.

“Right.”

“So?” Hermione asked. When Ginny simply looked at her, she elaborated, “you wanted to ask me something?”

“Would asking what the hell was going on be too broad a question?”

“Hogwarts is mourning.”

“Mourning?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow.”

“But when Cedric died-”

“Cedric,” Hermione stressed, “was connected to none of the founder lines.”

“And… and whoever died was?”

At Hermione’s nod, Ginny tried to run through the names of whomever she hadn’t seen lately. It must be one of the Asps, surely, though that didn’t help her much. It wasn’t anyone from Gryffindor, she was sure… and whoever it was made Hermione not want to stay in Slytherin… even blow Malfoy off. Malfoy. Almost as soon as she had thought it, she realized Malfoy sent for her -- Malfoy, not Snape. Snape was Alpha though, of that she was certain. Why would the second-in-command…

“Oh Merlin… it’s Snape!”

A sniffle confirmed it, and an array of thought bombarded the young redhead. Snape was an enigma… an unknown, but Malfoy was evil incarnate. He’d changed lately, true, but now that Snape wasn’t there to keep the git in line…

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“Don’t make me slap you, Ginny. I swear if you so much as think that again-”

“What am I supposed to think?” she practically screamed, “Malfoy’s in control!”

“Oh shut it, Gin, he’ll be none of your concern soon enough!”

“What?”

“You’ll see tomorrow. Don’t miss breakfast,” was her only explanation. “Leave, Gin, now. And Merlin help you if you babble this to anyone.”

Not wishing to be overly harsh on the dead, as Slytherin as he may have been, Ginny begrudgingly agreed Horatius Snape was not that evil a bastard… for a Slytherin. At least he seemed tolerant of half-bloods and Muggleborns… letting Hermione in and all. Malfoy, on the other hand, had his ugly pureblood mug in the dictionary… under ‘J’ for jerk and had just lost being found under ‘E’ for evil due to You-Know-Who’s face taking up the whole damn page. She figured the only reason he had tolerated Hermione was to remain on Snape’s good side. She gave him two weeks before the ‘old’ Malfoy returned full force now that he was back at the top of the proverbial food chain... at most.

Did Hermione realize this too? Was that why she wouldn’t go back to the Slytherin dorms? She had been mad when Ginny suggested as much, of course, but believing something and hearing someone say so were two very different things.

“Damn.” Looking over to the clock, Ginny begrudgingly realized her ponderings had left her unable to fall asleep the entire night… and as tired as she was, there was no way in hell she would miss breakfast. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one to get the tip. For a Sunday, the Great Hall was simply overflowing with people… and this was breakfast! Usually, not even a quarter of these people (Ginny included) would have been awake this early. Most (Gryffindors, at least) snuck out to the kitchens at whatever time hunger rolled them out of bed or waited (or hurried not to miss, whichever the case may be) for lunch.

“Morning,” she mumbled, sat herself on the wall side of the table, as to have a good view of the hall and whatever was about to happen. She was disappointed when both Hermione and Dean sat opposite, as it left her no chance to whisper with either.

“Morning, Ginny,” Dean greeted as he sat, pulling a weak smile to which she replied in turn. Oddly, he only greeted Hermione with a sideway hug after sitting on the bench.

“I do hope he lets you eat first,” she heard Hermione mumble to Dean, “not that I’ll get any peace in which to eat once this is over…”

“You’re not turning cynical on us I hope, My Lady…”

“Just tired, Dean, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Dean murmured something too low for Ginny to hear in answer, but from Hermione’s ‘no need, she knows’, he’d probably realized Ginny was listening in.

“In that case,” Dean continued, louder, “I do hope you’ll be able to count on her after all this.”
“We’ll see, Wolf.”

Dean had just opened his mouth to say something more when the Headmaster rose, shushing the hall into a near-perfect silence and directing all eyes onto him with an unnatural ease. A quick glance back toward Hermione and Dean revealed their eyes fixed on the Headmaster as well, wearing forlorn expressions, and Hermione’s hand clenching the boy’s shoulder as if it was her one and only lifeline.

“Students,” Dumbledore began, pulling her attention back onto his risen form, “I fear a great tragedy has befallen one of our number. A little over a week ago, one of the bravest young men I’ve had the pleasure of instructing was killed by Death Eaters. In lieu of this, his father, Professor Snape, has decided to resign and will not be teaching next year. I had hoped to persuade him to at least finish the present term b-”

“I leave tonight, Dumbledore,” the professor in question interrupted, slamming his hands on the table as he stood. Honestly, Ginny couldn’t blame him for leaving, father of an Asp or not.

“We, too, leave tonight,” another voice called from the Slytherin table, before Malfoy slowly stood before the hall, all eyes turning to him now.

“Are you certain, young Draco?” the Headmaster asked, sounding suspiciously aware of what was occurring… as if he knew this was going to happen long ago. “Nothing will sway your choice?”

The blonde snorted, “You damn well know we wouldn’t have stayed.”

“And did they decide this, Draco, or you?”

“You told me Horris told you about us Asps, Dumbledore,” Malfoy insisted, the entire hall freezing at his casual address, most now watching the blond with wands at the ready beneath the tabletops.

“Then you should know,” he continued upon receiving the Headmaster’s nod, “that we are loyal to Horris and him alone. Not the Ministry, not your Order, and certainly not our Alpha’s murderer. To Horris, we swore obedience; the others have little obligation to follow me.”

“We follow gladly,” Dean answered, standing as well. Every Gryffindor near him (with the exception of Hermione and Ginny) gasped and scooted as far away as they could only subsiding when similar reactions issued from the Ravenclaw and (to Ginny’s amazement) Hufflepuff tables. Students were standing up at all four tables just as Dean had, declaring themselves Asps before their friends and teachers.

Ginny nearly fainted when she recognized the faces of some of the Asps, hardly able to comprehend they’d been bred to be Voldemort’s soldiers. The friends of some were worse off than Ginny, only Slytherins taking it all in stride (some even congratulating their fellows). A few Ravenclaws were even scolding one of those standing for kidding around at a time like this, trying to get their friend to sit the hell back down. None of those standing were joking though, Ginny could tell… mostly because of Hermione.

The brunette who had gotten so close to these dangerous individuals, these trained killers, was catching each one’s eye with a knowing expression on her face, encouraging each with a slight nod of acknowledgement and approval. The Great Hall was in a total uproar of denials, and she was just silently smiling… sipping her pumpkin juice from time to time.

A hush fell the moment Malfoy moved, heading towards the Gryffindor table (to Ginny’s utter dread).

“I take it your decision stands?” he asked, stepping right up to Hermione. Only then did the girl stand, nodding.

“I told you it would,” she answered simply… and what happened next left even the teachers speechless. Ginny had a front-row seat, literally, and she still could hardly believe it.

Draco I-Take-Shit-From-No-One Malfoy bowed before a Muggleborn with all the grace one could expect of a Malfoy heir, embraced her, finally pulling away to formally kiss her hand.

“Be safe, My Lady,” he voiced and stood back, as if he had done nothing more than shake her hand goodbye.

“I’ll see you at the funeral, Dragon.”

With that, he walked out of the hall, and Ginny watched as each and every Asp waited their turn to do the same (though they remained silent, and only a few others actually hugged her, with Hermione only acknowledging the act with a calm smile and a… a nickname, Ginny guessed; always an animal of some kind. She did tell Dean (Wolf, she called him) to ‘take care of him for her’, but beyond that her responses stayed the same.

Ginny wondered how Hermione could have acted so calm about it all, not allowing herself to consider these… these Asps had always treated her as such. But her conversation with Dean, though seemingly so long ago, flashed in her mind and threw the redhead out of her denial. He had said they all saw her as a person deserving their obedience and protection. But…but even Malfoy (was he ‘Alpha’ now?) bowed before her!

A gasp stopped that train of thought as effectively as a brick wall on the tracks. There was Hermione, being hugged by Professor Snape of all people. Well… at least he didn’t bow… now that would have been a shock that would have killed her!

“Until the funeral, Miss Granger.”

The girl, having slowly declined to the point of tears, nodded silently, hugging the man one last time before following him out with her eyes.

Everyone, teachers included, seemed to stare at the closed door, slowly turning back to the still-standing Hermione. She, in turn, wiped away her tears and sat down with a forced calm. She ate a few extra bites with her head so high Ginny guessed she could barely see the plate, and excused herself (before the shock would diffuse to leave enquiring mobs) as if nothing at all had occurred that morning.

Ginny sprinted after her as soon as the doors had shut once more.

“What the- Ginny!”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Gryffindor Tower.”

“Oh.”

“Look, Ginny, was there something you wanted, or do you just want to be sure I didn’t leave with the Asps?”

“I…” she wasn’t certain this was the best time to ask this. Actually, she was quite sure it was quite the opposite. “I wanted to ask you some stuff.”

“Something along the lines of ‘what the hell just happened’?”

Ginny could only nod.

“You’ll help me pack, I’ll explain.”

“Pack!” she practically cried out, “I thought-”

“Do you honestly expect me to stay in the Gryffindor dorms after that little stunt?”

“Um…”

“Draco left me his room.”

“Oh.”

“I hope to be out before the crowds come and I have to explain everything a hundred times over.”

She gave the password to enter their dorms to the Fat Lady, “and before you ask, no, I didn’t pack last night. I was helping Harpie… erm, Angelina.”

“What are these, anyway? The animal thingies?”

“They’re Asp names. Voldemort picked them… they turned them more into nicknames than anything else. Quite a slap in the face, actually.”

“Wait, they defy You-Know-Who that openly?”

“Gin, he just killed Horris. Of course they’ll defy him!”

“I meant before… before Snape-”

“Only when He couldn’t catch them. His inability to separate their acts of defiance from servitude only proved how over-confidant he was.”

“Are you sure they won’t mind you telling me all this?”

“Dragon babbled most of it anyway,” she shrugged. “Now that they’ve openly defied Him, it doesn’t matter as much. Besides, I know what not to tell.”

“Oh.” Ginny looked around uncertainly, “is this it?”

“My books are still down in Slytherin, so yes,” she paused by the door, “are you coming?”

“To the dungeons?”

“You have been to the dorms before,” she noted, as if it was obvious.

“Will they let me in? I mean, last time-”

“Let me worry about what they will or will not let you do.”

Ginny walked a step behind Hermione in silence, drawing closer to her as they entered the common room. Oddly, of all the Slytherins there, not one questioned Ginny’s presence. They all just put on weak smiles for the brunette, welcomed her back, and turned back to their studies.

“This is…”

“Bare, I know. I hadn’t thought Draco was going to take so much… Guess I’m too used to his decorations.”

Ginny, to whom ‘bare’ was far from the first thing that came to mind, looked around the large room.

There was less stuff than she’d seen in Snape’s room (the one time she’d been in it), but it still had the furniture and decorations the school provided. Hermione’s books already filled several of the bookshelves near the desk, and an all-too-familiar mirror stood off to the side.

“Do all Slytherin rooms come with this?”

“Oh, the Professor moved that from Horris’ room. It’s a two-way portal to Snape Manor… don’t tell anyone.”

“So they can come in here anytime they want?” Ginny demanded, remembering how Malfoy ‘appeared’ last time scaring the living daylights out of her.

“It’s more for me to go there than vice versa, but yes, they can.”

“You okay with that?”

“They did ask if I’d rather it was here or in Horris’ room,” she assured Ginny, not needing to explain her choice… Ginny didn’t want to go back to Snape’s room either, and they hadn’t even been close. “It’s how I’m getting to the funeral, at any rate.”

Ginny continued to ask things while helping Hermione unpack (as you couldn’t use magic to unpack before a place of precedent was set), being hushed anytime she struck slightly too close to home.

On the redhead’s way out, Hermione told her to wait a minute, and walked off to speak with some seventh-year Ginny only half-recalled.

“You have their permission to come here anytime I’m in. Just knock on the chipped brick. If I’m not in, and you really need to see me, tell them and they should let you wait in the common room. I take it you not abusing the privilege to play pranks is a given?”

“Uh… of course,” she quickly assured, practically speechless. Did Hermione rule Slytherin now? What was the world coming to?

Dumbledore had forced himself to appear calm and mostly unaffected until the Asps left, busying himself with calming the hoard of shocked students. He had never expected the young Malfoy to act so rash! In all the meetings Dumbeldore had requested with the youth, he had made it quite clear that the Asps ought not reveal their identities… and for Draco to speak against the Order as if it were no better than Death Eaters! It took all his life-earned patience and self-restraint not to put the boy in his place.

Thank Merlin that rash young Malfoy did not say anything of his Alpha’s other identity… though that he should probably attribute to his prudent talk with his now-retired Potions Master… which in and of itself proved quite disturbing. Had the young Malfoy forsaken all the powers of this war, only to create a new one? Led by a Death Eater-turned-spy, no less? Merlin, this could prove to be a major hindrance.

Dumbledore had expected the Asps to join him in lieu of learning their Alpha’s true identity or, at least, ask to be allowed to remain at Hogwarts for a good while longer. Oh, to have their power at his command! What a devastating blow that would have been to Voldemort- not to mention the Ministry. Still, no use crying over spilled Butterbeer… best make do with what he had.

His gaze wondered to the wooden display box at the corner of his mantel, bewitched so that none but he could see its true contents. There, suspended on a clawed brass hook dangled a thin gold chain, with what would look to others like a large, oddly-cut ruby at its center; its sharp tips covered in gold, by which the chain was connected.

How remarkable, that a thing so small and seemingly-harmless could shift the tide of war in Dumbledore’s favor. He regretted having to resort to such means, of course, but he’d be damned if he lost because he refused to use all the available tools. And this… this may prove the old man’s greatest tool of all. Perhaps, with this, the Aspidis would answer to him, after all. That all depended on the extent the crystal could ignite powers gone and suppressed, of course, but oh, what a wonderful thing it would be.

The Death Eaters stood waiting in his mind’s eye, hoods and makes worn by one and all. They shot curses hurriedly, the multi-colored jets spinning a killer web of speeding lights. But, oh but no, their curses did not hit any target. The Asps, however… they charged at the black minions and Dumbledore could almost see the fear in the masked eyes. And then the two groups clashed properly, the Headmaster’s view shifting skyward, where the few heads of hair were distinctly apparent amidst the sea of hooded gray. The deaths of Death Eaters looked like ripples on water, falling all around the Asps at a magnificent pace.

The scene shifted once again, before the aging Headmaster. The Asps had destroyed the sea of black and gray, and now only one red-eyed opponent stood on the field of battle. And the Asps had him surrounded. Then, one of their number – their leader- steps forth, Dumbledore could see the anger and, yes, fear in the monster’s blood-red eyes as his own step in for the kill.

And then, with one touch from the boy before him, Voldemort falls and is no more. Lying on the ground, never to rise again.

The Headmaster’s skin tingles with the promise of a nearing end to this messy war… one that keeps him and his Order safely out of the battles. He has to stop himself from caressing the crystal and close the presently-open case, pulled from the lingering images of his fantasy by a pronounced knock on the door. Remus, of course, punctual as ever.

“Headmaster?” the man’s voice greeted as he entered Dumbledore’s office, “you asked to see me?”

“Yes, yes,” he smiled at his guest in turn, “do come in my boy. Lemondrop?”

“Thank you, Headmaster, I’m fine.”

“Pity,” he did partake of his candies, settling the dish down after taking two more for the trek back. He looked his guest over, wishing the visible fatigue could be magicked away. This was to be his successor… a man who would not disappoint him. Now, he just had to help the man deal with his present problems and slightly mould him where the man’s present personality proved unsuitable for the future role. He would have his perfect successor… even after the Phoenix Child disaster.

But then, who could have anticipated such a strong-willed wildcard as Severus? Dumbledore knew Lily would never dishonor James in such a manner, which was precisely the reason he had her take the potion, glad it did not only work if used by the male (for who’s ingestion it was created). He had known James may have acted unfaithful, true, but he had not thought his rogue urges would be acted upon so soon. Nor, in all his precautions, had Dumbledore ever thought James might go as far s whoring his own wife in order to attain the one he sought in school.

Still, the infidelity did result in a twice-powered child… oh, if only Dumbledore had known! Such occurrences made or broke plans, and he prided himself on being able to use any such unexpected twist. Still, even a man as skilled as he could do little with unknown complications. He had played his cards as best he could, really… especially with seemingly everyone but Remus working against the tired old man.

Which brought him back to said individual, who was at present staring at him intently.

“Forgive an old man his wanderings, Remus, my mind had run off with me for a moment.”

“Not a problem, Headmaster.”

“Shall I never convince you to call me Albus?” he sighed, though secretly glad. Remus still looked to him as a mentor and superior… he would not turn from him.

“Forgive me, Albus, old habits die hard.”

Yes, and if I need to remind you, you’ll keep the balance of respectful familiarity I need. Albus assured himself, “tell me, my boy, how is Sirius coping?”

“Not well. He fears they should not have tried to shadow him, that had he not been suffering from such a drain, he could have made it out alive.”

“Being dead is always preferable to being anchored to Voldemort, I’m sure.”

“Severus told him much the same… though he, too, blames Horris’ death on himself; thinks Horris should not have saved him.”

“Does he?” Interesting. He could use that.

“Unfortunately,” Remus sighed, seeming more broken than ever, “this must be the first time they’re blaming themselves and telling the other to stop feeling guilty… instead of forcing the blame on each other.

“Perhaps this will lead them to a friendlier relation, then?”

“Severus has already named Sirius Horris’ Godfather, saying Horris never stopped considering him as such.”

“Then some good has come of this.”

“Nothing worth his death, sir.”

“Yes. Of course not,” Dumbledore assured him.

“Tell me, Remus, have they made any plans?”

“The Asps, sir? None past the funeral. They will be staying at Snape Manor, with Severus, as most were forced to leave their quite-devoted parents for fear of them trying to pull them back under Voldemort’s control. I have heard of several being outright disowned as well, leaving them with no home to return to, even if they wished.”

Several had, indeed… including young Mr. Malfoy, though Albus knew he really should stop naming the young man as such. Death Eater or not, Lucius Malfoy was still on the Board of Governors… best not agitate him over something so easily avoided.

“And Severus?”

“Trying to keep Draco from loosing himself entirely while hardly keeping it together himself,” Remus reported. “I worry that once he sees Draco accept the situation and his new position, he’ll lose himself to grief and whiskey altogether. Finding out he had a son was difficult enough on him… to lose him not a year later…” the man’s voice trailed off, sniffling.

“We must give him time, my boy,” he comforted, patting Remus on the shoulder, “all wounds heal in time.”

Heal, or fully devour.

“I hope so, Headmaster.”

“Fear not, Remus, we will be strong for him,” to save or crush, whichever will prove necessary.

“The man shows promise, at least. His acceptance of Sirius proves as much,” Dumbledore allowed,

“Only for Horris’ sake,” Remus agreed, “he invited us to the funeral tomorrow, as well.”

“At Snape Manor, I assume?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then Horris will not be buried below ground?”

“No, none of the Snapes are. The manor has its own catacombs… or so I was told.”

How unfortunate. At least Albus was forewarned of this complication. And it will force some alterations to his plans… move certain events forward while keeping other moves till a later time.

“And you, Remus,” Dumbledore continued, “how are you dealing with things?”

“Honestly? Not well,” the man confided, “I cannot begin to explain how much it has affected me… to lose both in an instant.”

“Both?”

“Horris was so different form what he acted like before. It was like loving two distinct boys, in two distinct ways.”
“Ah.”

“Not to mention how Severus changed… I thought we were finally becoming close.”

“The invitation would support such a theory, Remus, even now.”

“Yes, but he’s withdrawn into himself again. When Horris was around, the man actually cared about things… acted human and so on.”

“That will return, Remus, with time.”

“I hope so.”

“Is he truly so dire?” Albus calmed the forlorn man he’d seen grow up.

“He has yet to step foot into Horris’ room again; here or at the manor,” Remus confided, looking even more tired and worn, “Draco’s had to go through most of the things he left here and place them in Horris’ room at the manor himself. Thankfully, the boy has been conditioned to deal with death, though this one’s definitely put a strain on even his training.”

Ah, yes, Lucius was among the harshest fathers Dumbledore had encountered in quite some time; insistent that his son not taint the Malfoy name by showing weakness. The boy was probably trained to be ready to take over running the family at a moment’s notice- while he had a family to run, at any rate.

“Is it true, sir?”

“Is what true, dear boy?”
”Did Hogwarts really mourn his passing?”

Ah, that. Word does indeed travel fast, though he doubted most realized the root of the castle’s strange behavior as Remus had.

“To a certain extent, yes. He was, as you noted, one of the few to harbor all the founder lines. A good deal of gloom in the school’s populace, however, stemmed far more from the disposition of the Asps than the meddling of Hogwarts’ stones.”

“Still, it is quite an honor for ‘her’ to mourn one’s passing.”

“That it is, my boy… that it is. Very few, even ones with the blood of the founders in their veins, can inspire the castle in such a way with their passing. The school had quite a solid bond with young Horris, and he with her.”

Both lapsed into silence after that, though Dumbledore knew it would be short lived. As expected, Remus soon asked if the Headmaster had called him for anything other than what they had already discussed. Therein, unfortunately, lay the problem.

Dumbledore had wanted to call Remus here to discuss his future… how he would one day take over the leadership of the Order. Yes, he had mentioned it before, but Dumbledore felt his age. He needed to start training Remus to fill his shoes… and the sooner he started, the better.

He had figured the first step to accomplish this would be to reveal his plans to the man, asking for his input and thus teaching him to spot flaws while laying down plans. Leading either the Order or the school involved a great deal of manipulative scheming if one did not wish their role to foster their premature demise… and it would do Dumbledore no good for Remus to buckle under the pressure.

“Headmaster?”

“Forgive me, what did you ask?” not that he had forgotten, of course, but he could now see quite plainly that the man was not yet ready to be made part of his plans… not informed of them, at least. NO, Remus might very well run off and tell Sirius… or, Merlin forbid, Severus or even young Draco (who would, in turn, waste no time telling Severus). That would prove disastrous.

“I-” he paused, “are you alright, Headmaster?”

“Just tired, Remus, my lad.”

“Would you rather I came back later? Tomorrow, perhaps, or once you’ve had a few days to settle things?”

“I am fine, Remus, really,” he promised, not wanting the man to worry enough to become a nuisance to his plotting.

“Was there something specific you wished to speak with me about, Headmaster?” Remus asked him once more, this time sounding hesitant.

“Yes, yes there was,” Dumbledore agreed, figuring there were still ways to use the man, even if he could not be trusted with Albus’ plans quite yet. “I was hoping you might keep me informed on how everyone is coping. As I understand, most feel quite hesitant towards me, at present.”

“They’ll come around, Albus, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, my boy, I’m sure they shall,” he agreed, knowing Remus would not fail to report on the aforementioned subject. “Oh my, Remus, is that really the time?” he continued, as if he truly had not known how long it had been, “Forgive me for keeping you… I had no idea this would run so late.”

“No harm done, Headmaster.”

“Off you go, then, and perhaps you would be available sometime next week for tea?”

“Certainly, Albus, tea would be wonderful.”

Dumbledore smiled one last time as his office door closed with a click, snapping his fingers for the elves to bring him some food. And candy, of course. With the last of the tea Remus and he had been sipping throughout the meeting, the older man absorbed all that he had learned, trying to augment his plans to work with these new variables and restrictions in place. It would not be easy, certainly, but this scheme was by far one of his most complex. Still, this was where he was in his element. Here, free from outside distractions with a heedful of new material to bend to his master plan.

He would have to overcome the body’s visibility, first and foremost, which would probably end with him having to accept the element of surprise null and void;

unless he carried out the first part of his plan without relocating the body?

That would prove tricky indeed. Severus’ grief might keep him away from the body, which could be useful, as it had kept him from the rooms the boy resided in. However, it could just as easily do the opposite… especially if he wished to find ‘closure’.

Yes, he would certainly have to start putting things into motion as soon as possible, though if Severus did linger by the boy extensively during the first step, things might prove disastrous. No other option but to hope for the best, he feared, lest the Asps who just left return seeking blood…his blood. For stealing their Alpha. They would probably retaliate no matter when he took the body, but if he waited, he would at least have a weapon capable of defending him from their onslaught… and the school, of course.

Now he would just have to find a way to incite the process without actually going to Snape Manor, lest they realize his plan too soon. Had he told his plan to Remus, he could have easily asked that he do the deed… as he hadn’t, however, that particular option could no-longer be used. No. This would have to be by far his most underhanded piece of infiltration. He had to beat Severus Snape at his own game, after all.

The crystal shimmered in its box, giving the old man the oddest instinct to assure the blood-red object. Soon, soon your time will come. His old friend’s words coming back to him like a seductive whisper. He certainly had become a keeper of souls… as unimaginable as it had seemed at the time. And soon… soon he would become even more, crossing lines he never thought he would. And he would cross them, gladly, for the war to be over. For the war, he would become a puppeteer.

And soon, soon he would have to explain all this to Remus, lest he run out of time before training him in what the man would need to know. Yes, the time for all those things and more would come. Soon… soon, but not yet. Now was the time for planning… for making sure no miscalculations were made. And, for everyone else, now was the time to grieve. The summer was theirs to try and cope. The fall would be a time for war.

Normally, the summer was a time for students and teachers to relax and prepare for the stresses of the upcoming year. It was a time for the young to play and the older ones to shed their problems, if only for a little while. This summer, however, proved quite the opposite. From the moment he no-longer had the funeral to take care of, Severus spent most of his days in bed (though little time actually sleeping). When not in his rooms, he sat beside his son for hours on end (or atop the hill, veiled by the weeping willow), trying to somehow accept the situation.

It did not take the Asps long to realize it was best (and safest) to leave him well enough alone. Then again, some of the curses he fended them off with might have helped spur their cooperation. He still met with Draco on a semi-regular basis, and the Asps almost always joined him at meals (though he did not always come, rarely feeling up to eating multiple times a day). Draco also had them patrolling the property, a few at a time, and continued training them (which Severus figured was mostly to keep the lot busy).

Hermione had, thankfully, stayed the first few weeks; her presence doing a great deal of service as far as Draco was concerned. At least this way, Severus did not need to put on the brave mask for the boy’s sake and was allowed his solitude. Still, as he made his way from the manor to the willow, petting Pazur lightly as he passed, the man could not help but wonder if the boy was truly as fine as he currently appeared… or did Draco now wear the same mask Severus tried to show in the boy’s presence?

He could hear the echoes of a distorted voice as he began descending the steps, pausing a moment to pin it with a face, though its words were lost in the reverberations. The Asps came to sit with Horris sometimes, but the feminine voice sounded older than the teen she-Asps. It took him another moment to think of the other Snapes within the chamber.

His mother… Abdicattera.

He wondered if, perhaps, it would be best to wait until she left to see his son, but Horris’ now-memorized letter kept running through his mind.

He was surprised to see her speaking to Horris and not their mother, wondering not for the first time if Horris was a far-better judge of character than anyone believed. Had he truly misjudged his own sister so much? He leaned against the entryway, strangely comforted by the sight of her gently stroking his son’s forehead as she spoke.

“…could have met her,” he caught her saying just as he cleared the passage, “She’d have simply adored you, dear, spoiled you rotten as well, I’m sure.”

Severus smiled sadly at the words, his mother would have adored her grandson… might have even survived it all a while longer had she had him to live for.

“Who would have thought it would take Severus’ son to undo the transgressions of a devil of a man who died before your birth?”

“Who indeed,” Severus agreed aloud, deeming it time to make his presence known.

“Lord Snape!” she meeped, visibly stiffening at his voice. “I… I just…”

“We missed you at the funeral, Abby,” he cut her off, hoping to ease her fears.

“I just strayed from Mother’s side a moment, I swear, I-”

“Do calm down, Abdigale,” he sighed, wondering if she was listening to what he said, or simply trying to talk her way out of the situation she thought she was in. “I would not keep Horris from his aunt.”

“But-” she paused, apparently having heard him at last, “you aren’t mad?”

“Disappointed you did not come to the funeral, but not mad, no.”
”I didn’t think you’d want me there… even when Remus extended the invitation.”

“No way to change that, Abdigale. You are here now, and are welcome whenever you wish to return.”

“He was quite fond of you,” he added after a short silence, eyes fixed on his son, “I regret he did not get to know you, as well. He did so cherish family.”

“Lord Snape, I-”

“By Merlin, Abby!” he sighed tiredly, looking at her once more., “Lord Snape died years ago, and I do not wish to be equated to him. I am sorry I did not right his wrongs earlier, but I believe it is high time you remember who your family is.”

He wondered, looking now at his boy’s calm face, if this was what Horris had envisioned when writing his letter.

“When is Randolph picking you up?” he asked, knowing the Gryffindor often collected his wife at the edge of the Snape Estate.

“He’s not, Lo-” she stopped, “Severus.”

“Will he be expecting you?”

“Not until Sunday. He’s on some mission for the Order again.”

“I see.”

It took him another few moments of silence to decide what he should do with this information. With a kiss to his son’s forehead, he pulled his attention back to Abdicattera and nodded.

“Come.”

“Come?” she echoed, even as she moved to follow, “come where?”

“Home.”

“You were serious?” she whispered in amazement, “You… you’re really-”

“I am not a man of jest, Abby,” he confirmed, his slight smirk free of malice. He would not have her stay in an empty flat for four days- not now. He did not press her to speak on their way back, though her dreamy echo of ‘home’ nagged his soul for not doing this sooner. He noticed how Sila nudged Abby’s hand to be petted on their way up the steps, and how the house elves tried to sneak peeks at her as the two last Snapes walked up the steps.

“I trust you remember the way up to your rooms?”

“I though Fa- I though He destroyed everything in them.”

“An exaggeration; you should find everything there just as you left it,” he assured her. “Besides, I see no reason for the elves to prepare another set when you already have one.”

“You’ve no idea how much this means to me,” she sighed gladly, accepting his offered arm.

Once he had led her to the rooms she had lived in as a child, Severus trekked up to his own suite, letting her get settled. An elf was ordered to make sure she was asked to join them at dinner at six, and with that he locked himself away once more. He felt far more content than he had in a while, he realized; not happy, no, but content.

Hermione looked out the panoramic window in her room, as she was wont to do. In a way, she was glad her parents had decided to finally take that ‘long-overdue trip around Europe’ they had been planning upwards of five years. It was not too difficult to convince them that she couldn’t go sight seeing only a few weeks after her best friend’s death, especially when Severus himself had asked them to let her stay at the Manor.

The view of the grounds placated her like little else could these days, and being useful was the best way for her to cope. Here, she had found a balance; enough time to herself while being needed enough so she didn’t wallow in the tragedy. Draco, seemingly, needed her more than anyone. Perhaps it was because the professor knew grief most his life, or simply preferred to deal with it alone, but it was Draco who called for her comfort the most.

Then again, Draco was also responsible for leading the Asps now, a task she knew he did not want. She had often needed to push him to perform his role, even after Horris’ attempt to get Draco used to the task. In all honesty, Draco just didn’t do well with so many lives in his hands. He would make a good leader if he overcame his insecurity… which she dearly hoped he would. He still refused to let the Asps get involved with the war in any way, though he at least took her advice and kept up their training.

“One second!!” she called to answer the knock at her door, the polite tap pulling her from her musings. “
“Take your time,” Draco’s voice called back, though she was already reaching for the handle.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed,

“How are you?” she always asked as soon as she could nowadays, knowing he came seeking her aid more often than not, and would be damned if he felt he was asking too much of her.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” she pressed knowing how not alright his ‘alright’ was.

“Stressed. Worried… tired.” He finally admitted, dropping into the window seat beside her.

“Ah,” she nodded, smiling reassuringly, “Asp problems?”

“Wolf’s getting restless… as are at least half of them, actually.”

“They want to fight,” she agreed. Wolf- Dean- had thankfully stepped in as Draco’s second. Draco was lucky to have him; her old friend often knew more about the Asps than the blond did.

“He’s right, you know,” she sighed, knowing all the Asps felt the need to pay Voldemort back for the pain he had caused them. It was part of their grieving process, she had realized long ago.

“I don’t want them to fight.”

“I know, Draco,” she knew very well he didn’t- he was truly and utterly afraid of losing anyone else; especially while they were following his order.

“Best thing you can do, for now, is say you’re training them for just such a thing, and in the mean time, accept the fact that you will eventually send them into battle,” she advised, leaving ‘sometime soon’ unsaid. Voldemort had been quiet lately… extremely quiet. The few parents who’s love for their children surpassed their loyalty to the monster had been carefully letting hints slip… hints of something brewing that’d endanger the Asps regardless of their involvement in the war (or lack there of).

“The Professor’s sister is here,” Draco stated, bluntly calling an end to their previous topic as he usually did. The change this time was so sudden, however, that it too her a moment to register exactly what was said.

“Mrs. McGonagall?” she questioned, knowing Horris had once mentioned the woman as such. But… he had also said she’d been disinherited like Draco now was. For her to be here was supposed to be impossible, even if Horris had said the woman did have permission to see her mother in the catacombs.

“Apparently,” he continued, “the Professor decided to undo what his father did to her.”

“Is that possible?” Professor Snape’s father was far from a nice man, and she had read some of the ‘side effects’ purebloods could add when kicking someone out of the family. Draco got away without much more than losing his titles and vaults as his father was forced to disinherit him from afar since the blond boy was smart enough not to return home for any reason after his true alliance was proven, but-

“Not all of it, certainly. I heard some houseguests at Malfoy Manor discussing her once, and the late Lord Snape certainly made sure what he did could not be wholly undone. Still, the Professor returned her social status as Lady Snape, as far as I can tell… reinstated her in the Manor, at least. Even that is unheard of.”

“Are you sure?” she questioned, wondering why the Professor did so now, of all times.

“You should be able to see for yourself at dinner,” he nodded, “and I assume Horris had something to do with it, as far as the timing goes.”

“You think so?” she asked again, knowing very little of what was possible in pureblood households.

“I don’t see how else it would happen so suddenly. The Professor seems better for it, either way, so I see no immediate harm in letting her stay.”

“…” she knew he had left ‘I will still be keeping a few eyes on her, either way’ unsaid.

Dean interrupted them to tell Draco he was needed on the training grounds, and that Hermione declined coming along to watch. She had gone in the beginning to provide some extra support for Draco, but the training always left her feeling cold. The Asps did not train any gruesome forms or anything, but knowing the purpose these people her age served in the great scheme of things… what their training would ultimately be used for…

She gave her usual excuse (not half untrue, mind you), saying their stunts made her feel terribly out of shape, and went back to her window watching. Dinner, for once, couldn’t come soon enough.

Her rooms. Never, in a million years, did she think she’d ever step foot in this place once more. Then again, before the day she was confronted by the boy in the catacombs, she’d have said the same thing for stepping inside the Manor. Still, to stand here again. Having lived for years in their small seaside cottage, the suite appeared thrice the size she remembered from childhood. Had she truly taken all of it for granted, in all the years she had lived here; the pure luxury of the sparkling granite flooring, golden accents and antique furniture? It all felt so overwhelming now.

“Dinner, Lady Snape, will be served in ten minutes in the main dining room,” an elf announced, bowing. Now, if only she could remember how to get there. She vaguely recalled the layout of the room and that it rested on the second floor… damn. Had she really forgotten so much? She did not mind the opportunity to wander about as much as the fact her mind had failed to retain such knowledge.

Her pride kept her from calling for an elf to guide her, but when some teenaged girls passed her, she set a similar pace behind them. They had to be going to the dining room, after all.

“Abby,” Severus greeted her as she entered the room, “you decided to join us at last.”

“I’m sorry to make you wait for me.”

“Sit,” the indicated chair, vis-à-vis Severus’ head seat, startled her slightly, but she forced herself not to show how effected she was. Severus meant to really restore her full status.

She ate quietly, never contributing to the conversations some of these children had. It was odd, to have the Manor filled with so many young souls. She knew what they were, of course, though knowing and accepting proved two different things altogether. The mood was somber, certainly, but beyond that these young warriors behaved just like the hoards of other people their age at meal time. It was so difficult to remember how different they actually were… and harder still to accept Horris was their leader. Had been.

It was strange how she missed the young man, having only spoken to him briefly. By Merlin, could that boy leave an impression on someone! And to think she had missed out on all those years she could have been in his life. Poor Severus, for him, this was by far the hardest of all. She could tell he was acting as if he were far better off than he was, though she dared not confront him about it. Maybe, in time, she’d find the courage to do so. For now, she’d bide her time and be thankful for the kindness her brother had shown her.

“Do you think he has a chance?” a voice caught her attention, especially the annoyed answering ‘shush’ from the boy beside her.

“Draco knows what he’s doing. Just do your part,” was the strained answer, though Abby barely heard it.

“I can’t imagine this fooling the Professor.”
”I said shush.”

“But Blaise-”

“Drop it.” The boy, Blaise, looked right at Abby then, as if trying to discern what she’d do. Before anything else could be said, however, Severus pulled everyone’s attention with a growled ‘Draco…’

“Um, yes, sir?” was meek enough to intrigue Abby further.,

“What is the meaning of this?” Severus questioned, thrusting a letter at the blond.

“Erm…” he read it over quickly, “a letter from Headmaster Krum… . asking… asking if you could fill their potions position?”

“And?”

“And what, sir?”

“And what have you to do with this?”

The girl who had first caught Abby’s attention shrunk so close to Blaise she could have laughed.

“You are one of the top Potions Masters, sir…” Draco pointed out slowly, “and with ample teaching experience.”

“And you did teach at one of the best Wizarding schools,” another boy piped in.

“And..” it was that Blaise boy now, though the younger girl seemed shocked that he of all people would contribute, “Professor Zeskaya was pushing her retirement.”

Severus leaned back with that, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this? Do I truly look so naïve?”

“Um, no, sir…” Draco amended, “but you need to work again, away from Dumbledore and all his annoying sidekicks.”

“Draco-”

“You’re killing yourself!” the blond cut him off forcefully, pushing himself to stand. I don’t care how well you hide it, you are not alright. You need to take your mind off it, sir, and this may prove the best way to do it. You love to teach, even if you go to painful lengths to keep your students from realizing it.”

“I am in no state of mind to teach.”

“Severus?” Abby sighed, figuring she had to butt into this, after all, “could you listen to yourself?”

“Not you, too,” Severus bemoaned, leaning forward to better massage his temples.

“The boy is right, you realize?”

“Abdigale…” he growled, still leaning onto his circling fingers.

“I’m serious.”
”Abby…” he repeated, more pleadingly now.

“You need it,” she insisted. “I know you. I know what happens if you’re left to your own devices.”
”I am no longer six.”

Abby backed off at the finality in that last statement, though she was quite sure the scheme would do Severus good. Judging from the silence that filled the table, she was not the only one to hear the underlying ‘drop it’ in his final rebuttal. Apparently he had learned something from the late Lord Snape…

It was sick. Sick. She half-hoped Draco or Dean would admit the situation to purely be some sick joke gone out of hand, but she knew the Asps far too well. They would not joke about that. Never about that. Not them. Hermione had seen how they all revered him, and that they knew how deeply she cared for Horris herself. Either way, she'd barricaded herself in the dorms and simply refused to come out. The Gryffindor sixth year girls must be quite mad at her by now, she knew, but at the same time couldn't bring herself to care. Couldn't bring herself to go down to the dungeons, either, lest this did prove to be some prank. Then again, even (or perhaps especially) if it weren't, she'd rather not encounter anything or anyone who reminded her of Horris so potently.

Then again, she could not help but wonder how Draco and the other Asps were dealing with it… the event having occured practically under their noses. She hoped they didn't blame themselves, though she knew that to be as likely as them having made the whole thing up. Hell, she had blamed them as well, hadn't she? Outright demanded to know how something like that could have happened…

No matter how she digested things, however, the dark facts remained the same. Horris' body had somehow disappeared from the Snape family catacombs, from the formidable Snape Manor web of wards, said to be at least twice as thick as any other (Hogwarts included, apparently), without a trace. Not only that, but she was fairly certain the Asps had continued to guard the place as a way of mourning their leader, and most of the Asps frequented the body's side. The event should be recorded as the very definition of impossible.

Hermione had been wary of the professor's mysterious sister, but couldn't quite bring herself to blame the woman of something like this. Then again, could she bring herself to blame anyone? Did she really know anyone sinister enough beyond the cruelest of Death Eaters she'd seen when brought before Voldemort?

All she knew, thus far, was that some sick, twisted individual (or group) had done what no culture on Earth fails to at least frown upon. How? Why? The answers no one seemed to know. What's worse, as custom dictates, nothing but a few preservation spells had been cast on the body, all previous spells taken off... which meant, sadly, that there was basically no way to find the stolen body. If this had happened earlier, a week or two after his passing, Horris' body would have still contained traces of his magic that they might have been able to track. Now, did this mean the perpetrator was lucky, or was this but a mark of a skilled grave robber; if such wizards existed?

A soft knock pulled her form that train of thought, her hand snaking around the wand at her side in preparation of hexing whomever dared disturb her at such a time.

"Herm?"

She stayed silent, though the wand returned to her bedside table. She wasn't about to hex the one girl who might prove her best Gryffindor ally.

"You there?" Ginny asked once more, the door creaking open.

"Where else would I be, Ginny?"

"Something's wrong," the girl noted sincerely, "what happened?"

"It's none of your concern, Ginny."

"Bloody well it isn't!" the younger girl huffed. "I think I damn well deserve to know what's got you avoiding everyone and their house elf!"

Hermione couldn't hold the sniffle that assaulted her at that moment, which changed Ginny's tirade. "Oh, come here," she offered instead, pulling Hermione into a much-needed hug just as the last of her control broke and Hermione began to cry in earnest. She didn't know how long she cried, how long they sat on the edge of her bed with Ginny softly patting her back and telling her it would all turn out fine… that everything would be okay soon enough, never realizing what she was assuring her friend.

"They took him, Gin…" she sobbed at last, not truly caring if she should have divulged that to anyone,

"They? They who? The Asps? The Ministry?"

"We don't know who- not the Asps- he's, he's just g-gone."

"Wait, who's gone?"

"Horris."

"Snape?"

Hermione nodded, wiping at her eyes,

"But, Hermione, Snape… Snape's dead."

"I know."

"So-"

"They took his body, Ginny… they… they stole it, right out of the pr-professor's catacombs."

"That can't be right. People don't do such things…" Ginny insisted, "even if they care nothing for customs, a body that old's useless, Hermione, especially one that's been kept in catacombs. One of the reasons rich old families keep catacombs is because the preservation spells prevent necromancy and all that!"

"It was not an easy feat, mind you; I expect to be paid in full."

"You'll be paid," the hooded figure assured,

"And my debt to you is null and void, correct?"

The hooded figure nodded slowly,

"I've no clue what you think to do with it, mind you, and I warned you it would be soaked in preservation spells before I got it, so don't you dare try to skive out of all you promised me!"

"I repeat, you will be paid, and the debt is done."

"Why are you willing to give me a small fortune for a dead kid, anyway? Especially with the debt I owed you already?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Fine. This had best not come back to bite me in the ass, or you shall find yourself forced into a state as lifeless as his," the vampire warned, coolly indicating the lumpy bundle he had just shrugged off his shoulder before walking away.

The hooded man smiled as the blood red eyes of the vampire turned to look back once before disapparating for good… when the Asps found the vampire, as the man was sure they would, there will be nothing left to come back and harm, let alone maim him. His pocket felt light with the lack of galleons, a small price to pay for a weapon as powerful as Horatius Ferox Snape had proved… as Harry James Potter would become. Now, all that was left was to tie a few loose strings, smooth a few rough edges, and nurse his plan into a fruitful success. If all went well, he just may remove all the threats to his goal… not just the one he had planned to use this new trump card against. After all, this boy proved far too expensive not to use against as many thorns in his side as possible.

He brushed back a few misplaced hairs once he had opened the canvas-wrapped bundle. First thing he had to do was revert the boy's appearance to that of the former Mr. Potter. He'd have to work on dispelling those pesky preservation charms, which by themselves would stretch the incubation period necessary before his actions could come to fruition. He had time, however, especially since when the weapon was ready, he could make up for all the time he'd lost. Now he simply had to make sure the renegade Asps did not catch onto his plan too soon.

Too bad they had deserted him; truly, their deaths would prove an acute waste of power. If only they had let themselves be led by him, as they should have, he might have let them live… if they proved adequately controllable, that is. He had considered attempting to control them through his newly-acquired tool, as this Alpha had before, but he was too wise to think such trained and jaded youths could be so easily deceived… even with their submission imprinted into their very being. Best cut his losses and risks by ridding the world of the lot… far less potential for miscalculation.

***

Draco fumed. They had no leads as to who could have stolen Horris's body… he was beginning to believe it had just vanished of its own accord. Whoever did it was a professional, knowing exactly what to avoid. Whoever did this was also obviously not human. None of the security mirrors near the entry recorded anything, so either both were wrapped in an invisibility cloak (since spells to make one invisible or unnoticeable would have tripped the magic-sensitive wards outside), or this was the work of a poltergeist. A vampire could have gone through as well, but those had to be invited inside warded areas, not to mention bloodsuckers were hostile to all sides save their own. Unless the vampires wanted Horris, the probability of a vamp being involved was slim to none.

Many of the Asps were getting restless, even before this fiasco, their natures unsatisfied with the lack of action now that they'd been christened in the blood of battle. Their instincts to avenge their Alpha, too, were gnawing at their constitutions. This may have well proven the last straw. Draco could practically feel how close the others were to taking it upon themselves to satisfy their urges. He feared, in fact, that they may destroy him if he tried to stop them.

To Horris, they could not help but be loyal… they'd all have starved or outright killed themselves before turning on him or disobeying his orders. To Draco, on the other hand, they were only loyal because they chose to be… because Horris had tried to accustom them to being so. Now, without even the reinforcing presence of his body, a constant reminder of what their Alpha stood for and what he had sacrificed for them, only their deteriorating self-control kept them under Draco's command. If he didn't give in and let them appease their nature (which Draco himself was also having a hard time ignoring), he feared what they might do.

He worried about Lea, as well, though he no longer dared say that name aloud. She had not taken the news of Horris's disappearance well, not at all, though he wished to find anyone who had. The Slytherins reported that she had locked herself in Gryffindor tower after her outburst when first told, meaning that she was presently bottling it all in. As she was in Gryffindor, however (and probably why she had hid herself there), he would be hard pressed to speak with her until she returned to Slytherin. If she didn't return soon, however, it may prove a risk he'd be forced to take.

"They found something, Dragon."

"Did they?" he asked, pulling himself back to what the new arrival was saying,

"Wolf told me to get you right away, sir," the Asp continued, "he sounded most disturbed."

"Where is he?"

"At the edge of the wards, near the river."

He was off before the Asp, Terry, knew what was happening, a most annoying dread nagging in his stomach.

"What did you find, Dean?" he called when he was near enough the group for them to hear him.

"We finally figured out where he breached the wards."

"They go through the river bed," Draco negated.

"Thus we didn't start here," Dean confirmed. "The wards keep anything harmful from entering through the water, but let fish and the normal, natural debris pass…"

"A body or life signature would have registered," Draco insisted, having studied the wards in detail after the event.

"We found a scrap of…well, something. We thing the body was wrapped in it."

"You found a scrap of 'something'…" Draco echoed. "So?"

"So it seems to mask everything; smell, magic… and the wards can't detect it."

"That's impossible."

"See for yourself."

"Well, I'll be damned." Draco huffed, the cloth giving readings like some random boulder.

"It won't disguise life or movement… but a rock and body wouldn't be distinguishable with this."

"What about the person who did this then? A body…" Draco calmed himself a bit, "a body doesn't just get up and walk away."

"Would a moving rock trigger the wards?" Dean prompted,.

"Well… no, but even this thing can't disguise life!"

"Vampires aren't alive."

"But Vampires-"

"Draco, just because they aren't on a side doesn't mean one of them couldn't have been bribed."

"But…" Draco paused and really considered what Dean had said, "This is bad."

"Sucks, I know."

"Wait, but the manor has anti-vampire wards."

"Those rely on magic signatures unique to vampires and the trace of those they fed from still lingering in the blood. This thing takes care of both of those."

"So this is supposed to be some sort of vampire ward cloak?"

"Far as I can figure," Dean affirmed, "nothing else could use it without still needing to get around the life detection somehow…"

Great. Vampires have something that makes wards useless, and they're apparently out of their self-proclaimed seclusion from Wizarding matters.

"Have you found a trail? Any at all?" Draco pressed after fingering the taunting cloth once more.

"Um…"

"Well, have you?"

"A drained Muggle hiker was found about a half-hour's walk from here… the Professor might-"

"The Professor is NOT finding out about this. Get Lestrange or Lea to do it if you must, but I am not about to tell him about something we could rectify ourselves."

"Draco, how are you planning to rectify this? Especially without telling anyone who could identify the vampire?"

"I'm dispatching the Asps. We have a trail, we have a drained Muggle… and we damn well know the vampire didn't steal Horris' body for himself. One team, two even, follow what they can while we look at the poor drained fool to find markers or vampire residue. Even if this guy's a pro at espionage, he still can't mask his residue… and even if I'm not the Professor, I can still brew a lineage potion good enough to identify its clan given the necessary equipment and a Ravenclaw or two."

Draco could only hope the situation proved no harder than he had led his friend to believe. Still, a hunt was just want the Asps had needed… a vampire would prove quite a formidable prey, far more challenging than some Death Eater idiots.

There was a key there, though nobody saw it. It waited patiently, slightly sparkling under the notice-me-not spell that seemed to be cast upon it after every use. The old man used it frequently, ever since the one night he had conjured the little golden key. There was a door there, too, quite close to the little key, though no one saw it either. The door could not be seen by the old man, but he knew where it was, no matter that it blended perfectly with the wall.

Beyond the door, there was a room. A little room, sparsely furnished and blatantly under-decorated; not that its present occupant would care. It had a bed to one side, a stool and a small candelabra so that the old man could see. The occupant didn’t matter. The occupant was just there.

The key was charmed sentient enough to know that it should only work for the old man and no one else. It did not Question the state of the occupant, it did not question why no food was ever brought in or why he never moved. The little key knew only to fulfill its job when handled by the old man. It did not know what treasure it kept locked away.

He hissed once more, bearing his fangs in a futile hope that he could scare him pursuers. Vampires were hunters; it was a disgrace to his clan that he was forced into such a position. They were circling him as if he were their prey for Merlin’s sake! He was not their prey, he knew, just as he knew which of his actions brought this plague upon him. He cursed the old wizard, he cursed his stupidity for accepting the task. Now he would be ripped apart by wizard teenlings. Him; an immortal over two hundred years upon this earth!

The teenlings continued to stalk him, their steps more fluid than that of vampire assasins. He could barely believe them to be wizard teenlings, or that so small a task had ignited their wrath to such an extent. What’s more, they seemed to not fear him at all… a full fledged vampire warrior! What were they, he wondered, he had made sure to leave no tracks a wizard could follow… even their Aurors. How had they found him?

“Give up, Vampire!” one of the teenlings called out, “return what you stole!”

He hissed at them once more, swiping at one of the teenlings who tried to grab his arm. The claws hit nothing but air, not that he had expected to get as lucky as scratching one at this point.

“What are you!” he finally demanded,

“We’re Asps, Vampire, though you’ll find us your executioners if you don’t fess up to what you did.”

Asps… so these were the rogue Aspidis the old man had been so angry at… these were the little snakes their maker had hoped would one day lead his army. Did they know how much Vampiric blood was used in their creation? Did any of that matter now?”

“What I did,” he acknowledged finally, “Was a debt repaid.”

And with that said, he barely saw the spell that made his world turn black.

The Asps circled the now-stilled vampire with a good deal of caution. The spell one of them had fired should have pulled the creature under for several hours, but not everything worked as it should, and vampires were known to be among the best actors and escape artists. Dean kicked the creature sharply in the ribs, pleased when the thing neither grunted nor shifted to shield itself.

“Alright, bag it.” He huffed, knowing Draco would be displeased if they lingered any longer. They had already drawn the chase out significantly, after all.

They apparated right to the edge of the Manor wards, continuing inside at a brisk pace. Dean sent one of the Asps ahead to alert Draco with a meaningful look and a tilt of the head. He was not about to risk this thing coming around anywhere but the deepest dungeons the manor could provide them with. They had begun following this thing just as it fed, so Dean didn’t perceive any problems with starving him a while before blood truly became a problem. It would be aggravating to the thing, true, but it would cause neither death nor bloodlust for several weeks yet… especially with how often the thing had fed as of late.

He watched the creature after they had deposited him into the windowless room, brightened by torchlight (as even small wizard orbs proved unpleasant to vampires, and they had all been taught not to waste torture on those who cannot feel it yet).

The adrenaline from the hunt stil pulsed in Dean’s veins, making him feel far vicious, but also making him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Finally, he was doing something beyond the drills they all engaged in… he was righting the wrong done to his Alpha! Dean followed Draco, they all did, but execution his orders felt warped somehow; left them feeling hallow. He had thought it was a figment of his imagination, but too many others had noted similar sensations for it to be purely a figment of his mind.

“That him, Wolf?”

“Yeah, he’ll be out for quite a bit longer though, Dragon… at least I think so.” Dean replied, pulled out of his reflections by his Beta’s arrival.

“I was surprised you returned so soon… I had hoped this thing might keep everyone satisfied a bit longer.”

“Want me to dump him somewhere and call a second hunt once he’s gotten a bit of a head start?” Dean jested, dangling the keys slightly. Draco needed to relax a bit, no matter how hard the situation; his demeanor agitated all the others it seemed, and they were restless enough as it was.

A playful swat answered him, accompanied by an indignant huff at the prospect of releasing such a catch. Dean would have never actually let the vampire go, of course, the capture not having been easy by any standards… and the creature would know to not take them so lightly, now, too.

“Think we should wake sleepyhead and get this over with?” he offered,

“After you.” Draco answered, nodding as Dean shuffled to find the right key.  There were spells keeping the beast in as well, but a good iron door with an unbreakable charm never hurt matters. Most of the spells wouldn’t need to be taken down, either, as they were vampire-specific and placed back when these cells were used for vampires centuries ago (such as the ever-helpful invisible sun charm on the hallway, if the thing ever got into its head to try and leave).

Several other Asps had come to see the thing, mostly comprised of the few unable to join the hunt , all wisely remaining just close enough to see, giving Draco and himself space to work the creature at will. The vampire jerked awake at Draco’s touch, and though being pulled from such a state could bring about the reaction, Dean hoped Draco had added a bit of pain venom to add an extra kick.

The vampire hised, pulling at his shackles to get away from Draco’s palm. Confirmation that Draco had added some pain venom, then. Good. The filth deserved it.

“Awake?” Draco questioned snidely, then in a far more regal tone added “get up.”

The chain rattled as the vampire shifted, sloppily rising without the use of his arms.

“Where’s Horris?”

Dean had the distinct urge to back off as he heard his Beta ask in such a voice. The others, he saw, had also tensed at the words.

“I don’t know.”

“You stole him, Blood-sucker.” Draco growled in frustration, digging his nails into the pale skin and injecting his venom. The vampire didn’t scream, it took more than a little pain to make such a creature scream, but it did seem to relieve Draco’s anger a bit.

“I only delivered it.”

“Delivered him to who, Vampire?”

“The Old Man, Asp.”

“You know who we are…good. You hopefully also know what we’re capable of, then. You took our Alpha, Vampire, and we will get him back; even if we have to break your cobweb-filled mind to get him. Now who did you deliver Horris to… before I lose my patience?”

“The Old Man. I was paying off my debt to him… but we immortals care little for the names of human filth.”

“Yet you readily become indebted to one.” Dean huffed, unable to keep the comment to himself. One look from Draco, however, told him exactly who’s interrogation it was.

“You are trying my patience, Vampire. If you rather die of starvation in a bloodlust frenzy with nothing to chew on but yourself…” Draco waved his hand uncaringly as he let the threat hang, smirking evilly as he seemingly reconsidered the advantages of letting the thing feel a pang of hunger before trying again.

“Come, Wolf, we need to prepare.”

Dean locked the cell dutifully, resetting the few spells they had had to take down before entering. He wondered what they would do if this idiot wouldn’t tell them what they needed, but he supposed Draco was right in his Actions. Draco had the most knowledge on vampires, after all.

“So the corpse was your Alpha…”

Dran didn’t respond, continuing to add spells to the cell.

“I had wondered why the Old Man was so keen on acquiring a stiff.”

“Don’t call him that!” Dean huffed,

“Oh, so you are listening! The blond was your… Beta, I presume?” the vampire waited for Dean’s answer in vain before continuing; “Was the Alpha that pushy?”

Another silence,

“Not allowed to converse with prisoners?”

“I will not have a chat with Horris’ kidnapper, Vampire.” Dean shot back pointedly, quickly checking his spellwork before leaving as quickly as possible.

Draco walked up and out of the dungeons as quickly as he could without appearing to be in a hurry. Dean could handle the vampire for now, as if it became an unrehearsed version of the ‘good Auror, bad Auror’ interrogation technique, all the better. Hermione had still not contacted anyone from Slytherin,  and Draco was genuinely starting to worry about her. The vampire’s capture gave him an excuse to check up on her, so check on her he would. He could come no-closer to finding Horris now, and perhaps Hermione might know something useful.

So much as touching the handle to the heir room made him shudder, but as the professor had refused to move the mirror, Draco had little other choice. He passed through it quickly, stepping out of the memory-filled room at the other end just as urgently. The Slytherins acknowledged him as he passed, all smart enough not to engage in small talk with the obviously-agitated Asp. He forced himself to calm down as he stared into the common room fire before heading out t meet Her, thankful that Horris had discovered how to apparate within Hogwarts.

He popped into a dark corner of the Gryffindor common room, having cast an invisibility spell on himself right before, his popping sound going unnoticed in the noisy room. Why Gryffindors were so loud, he would never understand. The trek to the girl’s dorms proved easy enough, the anti-boy wards only keyed to students in case of visiting fathers (or other non-students… such as teachers or Aurors) requiring access. He knocked lightly, hearing an immediate ‘go away’ from within. He knocked again, dropping the invisibility spell as the entrance was alcove enough for him to not be seen by anyone downstairs.

“I said-” the door opened, “-Draco?”

“Can we talk?”

“Here?”

“If you prefer this to the Slytherin commons.” Draco nodded, “In or down, Hermione… I’d rather not have your cats clawing at me.”

“Okay.”

“You know,” he commented off-hand, “were your little kittens to enter, they might get an awfully wrong idea as to my presence.”

“Funny, Draco. Funny.”

He leaned purposefully back on the bed, telling her that yes, he did believe it was.

“Seriously though, Why’re you here, Draco?”

“We are worried about your self-imposed seclusion… and I wanted to give you an update on things back at the Manor.”

“You find any leads?” she asked enthusiastically, obviously wanting Horris’ body returned to its rightful place as much as any of them,

“Better, we caught the bloodsucking idiot who stole him.”

“You got his body back?”

“No,” he sighed, slumping against the pillows as his earlier bout of smugness left him, “we just started drilling him today.”

“A vampire though? What do vampires want with Horris’ body?”

“Nothing. Some ‘Old Man’ called in a debt or some such shit… a flat-out recon mission with a drop and go. That’s all I could get out of him so far.”

“He couldn’t give a name?”

“You probably know what vampires consider ‘names’… ours mean as much to them as the composition of Norwegian mud.” he sighed, “You earn a name and no vampire will ever forget it, but beforehand you’re just ‘witch’, ‘wizard’ or ‘human’ … and the name you earn is rarely the name others know you as; I’m starting to think ‘Old Man’ is what the wizard is known as to them.”

“And you’ve no idea who it could be?” she pressed, obviously tired.

“I couldn’t imagine anyone but Voldemort or Dumbledore wanting the body so badly… and I don’t doubt both have the means to indebt a vampire.”

“Can’t you show him a picture? Dumbledore’s easy enough to come by, at any rate.”

“Vampires only recognize faces when they want to, and this one’s being as difficult as possible. Besides, he could say it’s him just to be left alone.”

“Deal with a lot of vampires, Dray?” she teased,

“Lucius used to be Voldemort’s liaison to the bloody things… made me come a few times as to warm them up to my presence. He always said they were damn good creatures to keep on your side.”

“Sound advice,” Hermione agreed.

“So, you ready to stop worrying us?”

“Draco…”

“I’m serious, this isn’t something either of us should deal with alone. Please Hermione… we can cope better together. You, me, the other Asps, we’re all going through this and we’ll only hurt more if we try to deal with it ourselves; especially with this new complication tossed in.”

“I know Draco, it’s just-”

“Hard.” he finished, nodding.

“Why don’t you stop by this weekend?” he suggested after a short silence, “you could see the Asps, the Manor… might even help with some research.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “I’ll help in any way I can.”

Draco nodded and smiled in thanks, knowing he could ask no more of her right now.

“We will get him back.” he promised, having already acknowledged no other possible outcome himself.

“I hope so, Draco… he deserves some peace.”

“He’ll have it,” Draco vowed solemnly, “no matter what it takes.”

“Don’t say such things!” she huffed, “the last thing your Asps or I need is for something irreversible to happen to you, too… and I won’t even mention what that could do to the Professor!”

Draco, properly cowed, just nodded.

“You give them stability, too.” Draco made sure she realized, “ and they do miss you.”

“I said I’d come.” She reaffirmed,

“Friday night?”

“As soon as I can get away.”

Draco watched the final preparations through the window, dreading the whole thing. A week ago, they had received word that Voldemort had begun attacking and the strikes were becoming too close to ignore. That, coupled with the edgy disposition of the Asps, forced his hand. A source inside the Death Eaters warned of a possible attack tonight, and he had little choice but organize retaliation. The source was not overly high ranking, but had the advantage of being inconspicuous and easily attainable.

The war was heating up it seemed, and the Asps might yet prove to be key players… and they wouldbe getting Horris's body back. Merlin have mercy on whomever took it.

Dumbledore hesitated before removing the crystal from its case for the final time, knowing that after tonight, its presently light-pink color would finally fade into nothingness and his waiting weapon would finally be ready. His Phoenix Child would finally be ready. Harry Potter would finally complete the task for which he was born and bred.

With a wave, the seemingly non-existent door shimmered into view and with a grab at the inconspicuous key, Dumbledore made his way in. Before him lay the body, so different now from the way it looked when first removed from its canvas cocoon. It had taken quite a few spells to infuse the glamours that now made him, once again, look like the spitting image of the late James Potter… especially since he certainly did not wish for some stray spell to break the glamours. As he had since the day his indebted vampire brought him the prize, Dumbledore unlatched the crystal off one of its gold clasps, pushing the sharp object to penetrate the boy's skin a final time. The reddened wrist already bore the line of dotted punctures, following a blue-green vein away from the palm. Tomorrow, once the last of the crystal's magic was absorbed into Harry, Dumbledore would finally be able to check where he stood - what powers would be his to control. Would the boy still be shadowed? Would the Phoenix Powers be mature, or would Dumbledore need to incubate them? So much would be revealed so soon.

By next week, if not sooner, his puppet of a savior would be destroying Death Eaters and other annoyances left and right. A well-placed eye to convey the visual of the great Harry Potter will instantly quench the sparks of doubt Voldemort's supporters ignited so aggressively upon the young Snape's demise. Remus was already becoming ever more responsive to his pushes, and soon Dumbledore would be able to fully integrate him into his future role. He would check the man's stance later today over tea, and depending on its outcome, he'd either wait until after Potter ran his uses, or assimilate his future successor now.

He replaced the now clean crystal into its golden chain, securing the necklace under his many-layered robes… lest someone notes the new accessory. He could already feel it warm as its depleted contents began their role. Soon, the crystal promised him, soon all his work would pay off; soon all would be on track; soon the war would be over.

With a turn of the key, his secret door disappeared once more, a lightly glowing orb on his desk alerting him of a person waiting at his office door. Remus, then, just in time. He patted the concealed necklace once more before opening the statue with a wave over the orb.

"You asked to see me, Albus?"

"Tea, my boy?" he offered, "lemon drop, perhaps?"

"A cup would be lovely, Albus, thank you."

"Not a problem, son, I assure you."

"How are you feeling, Albus?"

"I must admit, my boy, the years are certainly sneaking up on me," he acknowledged, sipping calmly. "That is actually why I have invited you here. I need to ask where you stand."

"Where I stand?" Remus questioned, setting the teacup off to the side. "Where I stand on what? Has there been some doubt?"

"I heard of the trouble at Snape Manor, Remus," he prompted, leaving it to the young man before him to decide if he was cordially changing the topic or hinting as to the doubt set upon him.

"I still cannot believe someone- anyone-would steal a body Albus…"

"Its disappearance must be hard on those who knew him, certainly."

"You do not believe it unimaginable, however."

"Beyond the fact that it obviously didoccur, Remus," he reasoned, noting the boy was not overly surprised at his comment, "I do see how the act might prove quite prudent."

"Prudent, Albus!" Remus exclaimed, standing suddenly,

"Yes, prudent," he repeated, raising a hand to calm the younger man. "Think, Remus, beyond the worry over his body by those left behind, there is little a person can do to hurt the dead."

"The dead should have their peace."

"Only once their duty is served."

"And Horris hadn't done enough?"

"He has. No one can claim otherwise… but it ishis destiny to defeat Voldemort."

"Where one has failed, another will prevail. Where one left off, another will continue. You told me that."

"How many more must die, Remus. Think." Albus beseeched him, ready to obliviate should the young man not be swayed. "Why not let the one who was supposed to end this, and had been given leniencies to live his life, not now be used to end this?"

"Necromancy, Albus? You?"

"No, my boy, I would not use such evils."

"Then-"

"A shard, a soul, a puppet." He waited for the moment of recognition before casting the memory suppression spell… it would do little good for Remus tofullyforget this, after all; far better to simply keep it suppressed until such a time as Albus triggered them back.

"Are you alright, Remus?" he asked as soon as the glossy quality began to recede from the man's eyes, "your mind seems to have wandered a bit, my boy."

"Forgive me, Albus, what were you saying?"

"I asked how you were coping, dear boy,"

"Oh. Yes, well… I… I suppose I'm dealing with things; as best I can, at any rate."

"I do hope you keep me informed on things, my friend."

"I already promised I would," Remus reminded him,

"Yes, yes you did."

He looked over each Asp, clad in the resilient armor robes with whichever weapons each had taken a liking to, and with wand secured in Auror-grade holsters. The hooded robes were cloakless, unlike most battle robes, the sleeves customarily fanned for extra mobility and easy access. Along with the wand holster on their wrist, each carried a band of single-dose potions just above their non-wand elbow filled with all sorts of concoctions that might be useful in battle. The royal blue robes, trimmed in gold, were made of a light and magically altered cloth, rendered them tough enough to protect without losing their flowing and flexible quality.

A part of him dreaded the idea that something might happen to any of them tonight, the last time they had fought Death Eaters was still quite fresh in his mind. He could only pray that no more of them would die before their time. Tonight… tonight, there shouldn't be much resistance - no upper crust Death Eaters, no great number advantages, and no one waiting for them to show. It should prove quite an easy fight, by all accounts, but he still couldn't get the dread to leave him. Their lives were his responsibility.

He was the last one to go, apparating into the village as the others were looking for a good site to wait for their ambush, already having (as he himself had) put up glamours to hide their robes and weapons… lest someone notice something amiss before the actual attack.

The Death Eaters appeared about an hour thereafter, allowing the Asps plenty of time to twiddle their thumbs, though getting there late would have been a poor alternative. Their enhanced night vision gave them an advantage as they watched their enemies. Although the Death Eaters had cast vision-enhancing spells, those only let one see in reduced levels of light, while theirs shifted into heat-based vision. Theirs could also be canceled and replaced at instinctively; a feature they were planning to take full advantage of tonight.

The moonless sky, coupled with the village's unlit streets ensured that the Death Eaters had to be using someform of augmented sight, be it spell, potion based… or that strange Muggle device Lea once mentioned, as unlikely as the last option was.

He readied himself to send up sparks as soon as the Death Eaters neared the spot the Asps had determined would give them the greatest advantage, his signal hopefully drawing the enemy's attention as well, only increasing the effectiveness of their trap.

Just as Draco had hoped, his 'get ready' signal of red sparks had most of the Death Eaters look up and away from the main congregation of Asps. Perfect. He turned the sparks green with a wave, knowing everyone (himself included) had already dulled their vision to near-blindness… another helpful feature. Immediately, everyone shot up their brightest Solarisspell, and he knew the bright bursts he saw would be a thousand times brighter to the sensitized eyes of the Death Eaters, leaving them effectively blind for quite some time.

They followed the quickly decreasing light level, always keeping their vision as sensitive as possible without being adversely affected by the fading spells. Soon as he was sure they could easily see their enemies and not be hurt by the light, he shot another set of sparks, blue, launching the Asps into action. Most of the Death Eaters, still covering their eyes, fell quickly under their soundless spells with only a few attempting to blindly retaliate.

The disorientation faded sooner than Draco would have liked; and a few of the brighter Death Eaters cast restorative spells as soon as they realized what had happened. One of them nearly succeeded in blasting Wolf to kingdom come, the ex-Gryffindor dodging the blood-boiling curse by near millimeters. Close. Fartoo close. Draco's answering spell didconnect, sending the cloaked figure slamming into the side of a nearby building… the resonating crack grimly satisfying. Dean gave him a quick nod of thanks before once more concentrating on helping keep their anti-disapparation wards up. No use having their pray running off, now was there? And, honestly, allowing them to send reinforcements did not sound overly appealing to him, either.

The battle was nothing like the horror that robbed them of their young leader. The Death Eaters outnumbered them two to one… three to one at most, and almost all were untrained rookies probably only a few years older than the Asps themselves. It seemed to end in mere moments and left him feeling disturbingly empty and worn. He gave the order to gather and bind the idiots, the Asps yanking off those despicable masks as they carried out the order.

Now came the hard part. If they delivered these idiots to the ministry, he could bet the Malfoy fortune that most would somehow freely leave the lax institution. If they dropped them at the Order's doorstep, then Dumbledore would find a way to make it seem like the Asps were under his umbrella of manipulation. If they took them to the Manor dungeons, and not only might the Ministry (if they found out) charge them with mass kidnapping of wizards, the Professor might wring Draco's neck for sullying his Manor with the filth.

"Dragon!"

He turned towards the call, wand at the ready in case Wolf had spotted some extra Death Eaters or some of the captured ones had gotten loose. He looked at him questioningly when no such danger was apparent, the other boy already making his way towards the blond.

"We gotta go, someone's attacking the wards."

"More Death Eaters?"

"The Order, more likely… the magic isn't dark enough, though I wouldn't stake my life on that."

"How long?"

"Not much longer," Dean relayed after feeling them for a second.

"Listen up!" he called out, knowing his choice was made for him now, "everyone take as many of these idiots as you can safely apparate with. Get to the Manor as soon as you feel our wards drop; I do notwant anyone here when whoever it is out there knocks them down. Get ready!"

They all ran towards the bound Death Eaters, each grabbing a few and standing by for the wards to drop. He felt them fall only seconds later, looking over to make sure all the Asps and captives had gone, popping out just as Dumbledore apparated in and met his eye. Damn. He had hoped to keep the Asps unnoticed for at least a little longer.

"Toss them into the dungeons," he called as soon as he materialized at the pre-arranged retreat site, not bothering to tally the captives. "We have plenty of cells, so don't tempt fate by bundling them together. Use the second level ones, heavy guard."

It wasn't necessary, he was almost certain given how quickly they fell, but it would give the Asps something to do, at least. He'd have to contact the Professor and ask what should be done with them on a long-term basis… this still being his manor and all. Scanning the mass before him, however, waiting until the weekend sounded like a far better idea than needlessly bothering the man now. Then again, he revisited his logic, Merlin forbid Dumbledore contacts the Professor first… maybe firecalling now would be the lesser of two evils?

"Dragon?"

"Dumbledore saw me," he explained his mood away, "gotta call the Professor beforehedoes, Wolf, or he might very well skin me."

"Are you going to tell him that Horris has been stolen?"

"Not if I can get away with not doing so… I'd rather tell him after we've recovered him," he confessed, shrinking into himself at the possibility of having to tell the man.

"Yes, Mr. McCarlen?" he asked, looking up from his grading,

"Sir! The Headmaster sent me to request your presence, sir."

"When?"

"Now, sir, he received a firecall."

As the pupils were disciplined, the inter-staff relations proved far more amenable than those in Hogwarts, and with far less annoying co-workers. Thus, until the boy had said 'firecall', Severus had assumed the young man was sent to invite him to something akin to afternoon tea with the man. A firecall meant Draco.

"Well?" he asked as soon as the door shut behind the Headmaster and Severus had cast some privacy spells about the now-vacant room,

"Sir."

"Get on with it, Draco," he tried not to growl, knowing something musthave happened for the blond to contact him like this.

"Sorry to disturb you, Professor, but I figured you should find this out from me, not Dumbledore."

"Find whatout?"

"The Asps have entered the game, sir."

Damn, this was notthe news he had hoped to hear.

"The captured Death Eaters are in the Manor dungeons, unless you want us to remove them from your property. Dumbledore saw me before I could apparate out after the fight."

"No casualties?" he asked in a sharp voice even though he was internally pleading,

"No, sir."

"And what, may I ask, prompted you to overcome your decision to stay out of things?"

"A lot has happened since we last spoke, sir, and I must apologize for that, though some of the recent events I could not tell you in good conscience without further information.

Severus leaned back at the cautious words, motioning the blond to continue. Something big must have happened, and by Merlin, he wanted to hear what it was.

Dumbledore was annoyed. No, not annoyed; mad. Not even mad… he was totally and utterly pissed off. The Asps, for all their powers, were not supposed to be partaking in battle. They were, quite frankly, supposed to be sitting with their hands tucked behind them, watching the war with the eyes of those fed up with trying to make a difference. Their sudden appearance as a potential power was disturbing, especially now.

His pointedly twinkle-free eyes glanced at the key, through it, almost able to see the true hazard to the Aspian involvement. Not even he could readily face their combined wrath if they learned of what he was doing to their Alpha. The young body was taking the complex augmentations surprisingly well, disturbingly well.

Dumbledore nearly had a heart attack the last time he had checked in on him, only to find the body had somehow ended up on the floor. For a second, the graying man had been sure the Asps had recovered the boy, rendering the headmaster's life effectively forfeit.

The boy's progress, in all honesty, was not only surprising and encouraging, but beyond all else, frightening. If things continued the way they were going, he might end up with a far less dependent puppet than he could have ever expected. A far more powerful one as well, he hoped. He would have, had he had more time. At any rate, with the Aspian involvement, he would have little choice but to push his plans forward, lest they cut him off before he can complete them. It was time to see what his refurbished weapon could do.

With a twist of the key in its lock, Dumbledore entered the room as somberly as always. The body was once again shifted from the clinical position it had been laid in, appearing for all intents and purposes asleep and at peace. Not for the first time, Dumbledore wished the boy had not met this sad fate so soon… so very soon.

The boy was the closest thing he had to an heir, a grandchild, and he did mourn his passing. However, as he could not have prevented the hardships this sable-haired child had faced in life, he could not halt this war… he could not grant him peace, not yet. Not when using the boy once more may very well take years off the war.

"Phoenix," he called softly, lightly shaking the upturned shoulder to wake him as if he were a young child sleeping in; "It is time, Phoenix."

Eyes like the first blades of spring grass, speckled with flecks of black were unsheathed, lasting only a moment before reappearing as swampy green-gray orbs after a lazy blink. The shift disturbed the headmaster more than he wished to admit. He had not expected such vibrant eyes , not even for the brief moment it had lasted.

He Accioed a diamond-tipped staff the boy would ultimately use as a want, helping the boy stand before handing it to him. His weapon was still weak, sagging against the staff before looking to Dumbledore for further direction. Weak, but not for long.

The old man could not help but run his hand gently through the raven locks once, infinitely glad the boy had been able to experience family and attain a glimpse of childhood before the monster killed him. The headmaster was glad he had been able to keep the boy at least partly out of the thick of things until his death. He truly did feel connected to this amazing young man.

At times, Ginny truly wondered if she was doing the right thing. This could very well be perceived as spying against the Order, after all, getting not only her into trouble but her brothers as well. She was still kept far from the Order, and was only able to find out what she knew from what Fred and George told her.

"You wanted to see me, Ginny?"

"… yeah."

"Well, come in then. No point standing out in the dungeons when there are perfectly cozy rooms nearby."

She still felt iffy about entering the Slytherin dorms on the best of days, but she supposed it would be far better to do this among Asp supporters than those loyal to the Headmaster. Merlin, she hoped this was what she should be doing. Brian, the Slytherin who had helped her acclimate back when she first started coming into their dorms, was sitting near the fireplace. He waved at her as she entered, pulling what she knew to be a light blush to her cheeks, making her feel a bit better about being here.

"I spoke to Fred and George recently," she began as Hermione closed the door to her room, "they're in the Order now."

"Are they?"

"I'm serious Hermione; they were asking if you'd have by, chance, told me why the Asps fought in the Death Eater raid."

"And?" Hermione demanded, probably realizing what her brothers had. Yes, Ginny was in a position to lure a few tidbits of information from either side, with potential to quickly gain access to more.

"And I said I'd talk to you."

"Ginny-"

"that's not why I'm here," she quickly insisted, "I came to warn you."

"Warn me?" Hermione echoed, surprised.

"you, them, the Asps…" she confirmed quickly, half-afraid that if she did not say everything now she'd lose her nerve and never muster up the courage to return.

"Fred told me that Dumbledore had gotten his hands on some sort of weapon Hermione; something big."

"How big?" Hermione demanded, suddenly grabbing Ginny's shoulders with a death grip, amber eyes blazing.

"Big." Ginny answered worriedly, "Big enough that the twins were positively giddy when they told me," then, in a smaller voice, "they said it would end the war."

The look in Hermione's eyes drew a chill down Ginny's spine, the cross between fear and something akin to righteous anger.

"Do you have anywhere to be today, Ginny?" Hermione asked her quickly, gathering a few things from around the room. Then, stopping as if she'd hit an invisible wall, she asked "You are telling the truth, right Ginny?"

"Of course I am." she huffed indignantly,

"And you're sure they told you the truth?"

"I've lived with them long enough to know when they're lying." she assured, the words seemingly spurring Hermione into action.

"You've no plans?" Hermione repeated, this time not slowing in her rush.

"No."

"Good." Hermione nodded, grabbing her arm as she hit the full-length mirror with a small glass orb.

"Wait!" Ginny yelled, yanking back, "where-"

Too late, she'd been pulled into the glass, only to emerge in a room that made her gasp. She felt as if she could spend all week staring at it, but the pulling did not stop, and she soon found herself tugged along the hallway.

"Where are we?"

"Snape Manor." was the short answer, just as they rounded a bend and Hermione waved two Asps over.

"Where's Draco?" Hermione demanded of Dean,

"In his room. What's sh-"

But Ginny was being pulled again, and Dean had to trot up to ask his question.

"What did you bring her here for?"

"I'll tell you both at the same time, Wolf."

Once again, the authority Hermione wielded in what was essentially the Asp headquarters took Ginny by surprise. All too soon, they were knocking on a door, which opened to reveal Malfoy in all his blond snootiness.

"Dragon," Hermione greeted, walking right in, "we have a problem."

"Erm…" Malfoy did not quite manage to reign in the noise, his earlier snootiness flaking away as he looked at her uncertainly. It was, Ginny was sure, the first time she had witnessed such an expression on the Asp. "What's she doing here?" he asked, turning his eyes onto Hermione, "you know how big a security risk she presents…"

"Security risks be damned, Draco, what she's just told me is far more pressing."

"And that would be?" he asked, rubbing his temples,

"Dumbledore just told the Order he's found himself a weapon. The weapon."

Ginny hated how Malfoy and Dean's eyes focused on her; Hermione's joining theirs more calmly.

"And how, exactly, do you know what the Order had been told?" Dean demanded, knowing she would not have been allowed in.

"Fred and George were allowed to join at the beginning of the year," she started slowly, cowed under their stares, "they told me."

"And you expect us to believe they just did this, knowing who you associated with Weaslette?" Malfoy demanded, towering above her.

"Tell him what you told me, Ginny."

Dead. What the hell was Hermione thinking? Malfoy was already wary of her being here… and she was supposed to say th-

"Now, Ginny." Hermione huffed, "we don't have time for this."

"They wanted to… to get me to change sides; change sides and…"

"And spy on us." Hermione finished, and for a split second Ginny was sure Hermione believed her to have agreed, before Hermione asserted "which she won't."

"You trust her?"

"Would I have brought her had I not?"

And just like that, Malfoy nodded and the matter seemed instantly dropped. He only ran a hand through his hair and turned to her once more;

"So, what else did they say?"

Durmstrng was lucky that it stored all its rare and expensive ingredients in a warded cabinet far away from where Severus was, and its wards included ones that prevented enraged individuals from entering… even if they were otherwise keyed in. The school was also lucky that Severus was prudent enough to lock all overly-volatile substances in his private lab with similar wards, for no glassware had survived his rage as he barged through his office and lab after speaking with Draco.

Draco. That boy was lucky he still had his hide attached… though he did know of several only slightly-illegal potions and spells that skinned a subject with wonderful efficiency. How, how could he have allowed their situation to degrade so quickly? Not that Severus was fooled, mind you; he was well aware Draco had not told him everything. Hell, Draco had probably only said what he knew he could not get away with not revealing… and it had been hard as hell not to demand answers to it all. He had to allow the boy to learn to deal with things, he knew, even if doing so forced Severus to remain behind on things… at least as far as Draco was concerned. Severus fully intended to interrogate a few 'associates' as to the relevant happenings at Hogwarts and Britain in general.

Taking care of things on his own was a good sign, as it proved Draco was finally accepting his leadership role, but Severus was still annoyed as hell. There were Death Eaters held up in his dungeons, for Merlin's sake, and due to a lack of any alternatives there they would remain. Not only that, but the boy had let Dumbledore see him! Had Draco listened to him at all when Severus had trained them? Had the truly failed to understand the importance of secrecy in his actions?

Dumbledore had fire called him not half an hour after Draco, demanding to know what Severus thought he was doing by entering his battles. Only thanks to Draco's rundown of events was he able to point out that the Asps left before the Order even arrived. It took far longer to make the old coot accept that Severus was not controlling them, especially with the manipulator constantly alluding to the Asps being viewed as helping the Death Eaters by most of the others… omitting the obvious fact that the view was most likely encouraged by Dumbledore himself.

The Headmaster had once again tried to "offer the Order's protection" to Draco and the rest, noting how such an "alliance" would alleviate all those nasty accusations. This, of course, translated to the Asps being offered a new master who would at least strip them of their magic once their usefulness had passed… at worst have them discreetly eliminated "for the good of all wizards". Thankfully, as foolish and brash as Draco was, his father had at least taught him to see through such attempts at manipulations.

Severus had, of course, assured Dumbledore he would pass the offer on to Draco… mostly to subtly enforce his earlier removal from the position of power. He knew he held quite a bit of it, more than he honestly wanted, but he would be damned if Dumbledore knew it.
Damn it, Severus missed his son.

Somehow, Horris always seemed to know what to do… not only to seemingly dissolve almost any situation, but he also knew how to sooth. Like Lily… so like Lily. Horris…
Severus stopped his train of thought with a stiff shake, knowing full well once he truly began he would be hard pressed to stop himself.

Still, the fact remained that where Horris was a leader, Draco is a follower. Where Horris learned to be self-sufficient and independent Draco had been spoiled and doted on. Unfortunately, the Asps needed a leader… and Severus could only hope Draco would be able to adapt before it proved too late. He was mad at Dumbledore, not Draco, though he would be sure to give the boy a few choice words once he returned for the winter solstice. Merlin, the holidays could not come soon enough. Something was brewing; something important. Dumbledore had sounded disgustingly pleased with himself… and Severus was nearly positive it could not have bee caused by his excuse to once more pressure Severus due to Draco's screw-up.

"I am definitely becoming too old for this," he sighed, his earlier anger leaving him annoyingly drained. Damn Dumbledore and his ever-scheming twinkle!

Dumbledore laid the boy on the bed, allowing sleep to overtake the still-frail form. Not real sleep, no, but as close to it as Dumbledore could define. Had he been a Muggle, he might have compared it to a computer going on 'standby'… but as he knew nothing of such technology, 'sleep' it was. He had attained enough blood now to run his tests, even if doing so temporarily halted the 'recovery'. He needed to know; know which abilities from Lily's serum manifested or would manifest, which Asp abilities had (hopefully) remained. He needed to analyze the boy's magic levels, and above all else, make sure he did not retain his Soulshadow.

The quality of Severus's replacement was definitely lacking, however even without being a Master of potions, the diagnostic serums should still be well within his grasp. Poppy would have been more reliable, perhaps, but she would insist on running the tests herself… and that might lead to far too many problems. She might have connected the results to either the 'hidden' Harry or the 'late' Horatius… or even more both, in the most disturbing scenario.

As he had requested the potions a good two days ago, most should be ready to be picked up from the dungeons, allowing for the Headmaster to perform several of the tests today.

"Yes?" answered his knock, the voice within laced with a complaisance Severus had lacked by age eleven.

"My boy, I trust the children did not wear you down too much…" he greeted, walking into the office.

"Not at all, Headmaster, Mother made sure I was not ill-prepared for them."

"Yes, Minerva is well accustomed to their presence, certainly." he nodded, smiling fondly at the young man. His young wife's family skills at brewing had rubbed off enough onto the boy for him to be competent as a teacher of the subject… and to brew his serums. Oh, if only Albus could trust the young Abdicattera directly. Alas, with her title restored and mended familial ties he was not about to give her any direct authority. And here he was so hopeful to finally attain the girl's loyalty.

Severus, for all his aid, had never fooled Albus into believing he retained the Snape heir's unconditional allegiance. The young Snaps aided him closely, yes, but his first priority was always Severus… not the cause. Abdicattera, isolated from her family and eager to do something meaningful, on the other hand, would almost certainly have done so. If Severus hadn't' meddled with things, that is. As it stood, Albus had nearly as little chance winning Abdigale's loyalty as he had Severus'.

"Do you need me to analyze their results, Headmaster?" Randolph's voice pulled him back to the matter at hand, "though I can't guarantee my interpretations would be infallible, having never dealt with such diagnostic potions before."

"That's quite alright, my boy, I am sure I'll be able to manage." He had dealt with such things before, after all, and he certainly did not want to inspire the boy's suspicions… especially if the results proved that some of the young Snape's particularities lingered. Merlin help him, after all, if Albus's sample revealed Soulshadow or its shadowed form.

"Are those all of the vials I'll need?" Albus asked before gathering the afore-mentioned containers, already knowing which was which.

"Yes sir, and I saved a little extra in case you wish to double-check a result."

"I appreciate it, my boy, and the work you put into these brews."

And with that, Albus went into an unused lab and began testing the qualities of his weapon's blood.

Once more Draco inspected his Asps, no longer allowed the luxury of not treating them as wholly his. Acting as a stand-in leader now could lead to disaster. They had been fighting Death Eaters (as well as the Order, when the idiots attacked them once they finally arrived on the scene) more and more these days, and organization was crucial.

The others had accepted his orders more easily as the clashes began and Draco actively took up the reigns. He still inspected them each time, as he had before their first skirmish, memorizing each face anew. They were great fighters, true, but life never gave any guarantees. Horris had been the best of them, after all, and yet had tragically been the first to fall.

He found himself stalling today, walking slower and lingering at each face. Last time, the Order had included a new member... a stranger cloaked in the mystery of a crimson cloak. The new wizard, his hood constantly drawn forward to cast his face deep into shadow, scared Draco like no other. He felt wrong to Draco... unnatural somehow, making him wonder if this was a wizard at all, or perhaps the weapon of which Ginny had warned them earlier.

Phoenix, they had called him... it didn't sound like a first or family name. The stranger hadn't done any active fighting, last time, leaving Draco with no way to actually gauge just how great a threat he may prove, but something told him this was no mere pawn added to the communal chessboard.

Draco pulled himself back to the present, giving his last look at the Asps. One of their sources had tipped him to a raid that should be stopped tonight, and Draco really was stalling too long now.

"Let's move out," he ordered, nearly sighing at the inevitability of the process, nodding to the gathered Asps as everyone began to apparate out.

He went last, the thick growth of trees and calming rush of water blurring into the dull gray monotone buildings under the glow of street lanterns and desperate screams. He was firing a counter curse before the light feeling of apparation left him. The Order, oddly, was already here, and Draco had apparently popped right into the crossfire. Wonderful.

He looked around quickly to make sure none of the Asps had apparated into a dangerous spot, even as he moved out while keeping curses off his person. He had thankfully apparated into a far stickier situation than the others; else everyone might not have managed to get out of the curse line unscathed. He, as the others, began fighting as soon as he found his bearings, always keeping an eye out for 'stray' curses from the Order of Idiots. Wouldn't put it past them... especially once most of the Death Eaters went down.

About twenty minutes later, after realizing both parties were against them, the remaining Death Eaters finally began to turn tail and apparate out. The Asps, as always, quickly set to binding them as a few (Draco included) stood watch in case the Order wanted to claim the fallen Death Eaters as theirs. The calm did not last for long.

As often as he could, Draco had kept an eye on the Order's new asset. Hell, he was sure Wolf or some other Asp had to cancel a curse coming his way while he was lost in his watching of this Phoenix fellow. This time, the crimson-cloaked figure did not linger from the fight.

Draco's earlier perturbation with the stranger had increased tenfold at least. Yes, he seemed like a powerful fighter, even as Draco was sure the figure had not exerted his full power upon the Death Eaters, but there was something scary about his fighting style. In all honesty, the stranger had none.

Even as a child, Draco's father had pushed him to learn different styles of fighting and what one's style and fighting habits revealed about the fighter... how to learn of not only his weaknesses, but the life history and personality as well. It was crucial, his father had insisted, to be able to read an opponent and unbalance him, even if you had not known him previously.

This fighter... this Phoenix showed none of the things one judged a person by. It was not due to some training regime, either, as some things could not be beaten out of a person. He simply seemed to possess no personality, and Draco did not know where to start analyzing what that could mean.

Furthermore, the core fighting style and the fighter's ability seemed to contradict each other. This Phoenix was calm and controlled, acting like a seasoned fighter in that respect, yet his movements were rough and mechanical... lacking the flow and grace of one used to the motions. Draco found the whole thing profoundly disturbing... inhuman even.

Just as the Asps were securing the next batch of Vampire food, the Order called them to stop.

"We'll take them, Asps, this was our fight!"

"You'll just let them leave the Ministry as soon as their lawyers show up!" Draco shouted back, not even sure to whom the original shout had belonged.

"They need a trial!"

"No," he countered, "they don't! The Ministry is corrupt... they'll be let out if we hand them over,." he repeated, knowing first hand just how corrupt the Ministry was.

"Don't force our hand!" a warning came,

"Don't be stupid," he countered snidlysnidely, all present knowing how much power his Asps held.

The others were already apparating back with the Death Eaters they had secured, but Dumbledore continued his insistence.

"Give it up," Draco finally yelled, "they're ours."

He was on the ground before he knew what hit him. He still had no clue, actually, though the muffled 'stand down, Phoenix' might have been significant. It took his vision a moment to realign itself, and when it did, Dumbledore was standing over him, the still-cloaked Phoenix just behind him and to the left.

A step behind, a step to the left... a position Draco knew well. A servant, then, this Phoenix... a servant or a minion. How like Voldemort this great leader of the light Light was making himself; Draco was tempted to ask if the old coot even realized it.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, realizing it may not have been the best idea only after his head gave a reprimanding jolt. Damn... he really should have kept his guard up, not that he figured he could have prevented whatever this 'Phoenix' hit him with. Hell, he couldn't even identify the damnable spell!

"Next time, young Draco, I might not be around to stop him.," Dumbledore threatened, gesturing towards the statue-still Phoenix. "All future Death Eaters are to be relinquished to the Order."

"Screw you," was his growled reply, as soon as Draco made certain he could safely apparate and was gone before the shock could fully register on the old manipulator's face.

He didn't care how powerful his new lackey was, his Asps were not about to roll over and allow themselves to be ensnared by the old idiot's threats. Horris hadn't sacrificed so much to free them of Voldeamort's clutches for Draco to be cowed into working on Dumbledore's terms. He'd destroy this Phoenix himself if he had to... or be destroyed by him, but the Asps would stay autonomous.

Totally and utterly ensnared by the thought, Draco walked right into the manor and up to his room, confident that Wolf could take care of everything that needed to be done after the battle. Draco had seen no serious injuries on any of his Asps, so there was no need to see to their healing anymore than what they'd taken care of themselves. As for the Death Eaters they had captured, Dean had most likely secured them in the dungeons already, assessing which were minor enough to give to their vampire and which might be worth keeping for the information they might provide.

In his room, he collapsed onto the bed, woefully aware of a lingering tingle from the Phoenix's spell. For a moment he wondered if it might be some embedded tracking spell, but quickly dismissed the worry. The manor wards would render it useless if that was the case, and he was quite sure Dumbledore was not so dim witted as to not know where the Asps were headquartered.

He concentrated on the tingle, trying to follow it as far as it would lead, the signature somehow muffled and obscured... as if only a part of it had imprinted. That should have been impossible, but he had more pressing things to check before the spell's imprint faded into nothingness. The imprint matched a rather standard blasting curse, often resulting in mild disorientation and confusion. The power level did not seem overly high; either... in all honesty his inert shields should have canceled it before he had been affected whatsoever. His shields had never wavered, however, as if this Phoenix simply went around his every barrier.

Grasping at the magical thread, Draco forced himself to pour his consciousness along the ever-thinning metaphysical path. A moment of suffocating darkness, a moment of blinding light, and he was drenched in an olive green haze. Normally, one would be able to directly follow the signature if he latched onto it soon enough... which Draco obviously had, so this detour substantially worried the blond.

Strong Occlumency could keep a person out... very strong Legilimency had even been rumored to be capable of tapping a thread follower within the targeted mind... but neither should have caused this. Blocking him should have thrust Draco back, and a mind was never this empty, green haze or not. Hell, only outside control of the mind could really inspire such a haze. So, unless he had just lodged himself in the mind of someone under heavy mind control, something freaky was going on.

Draco was just about to pull out (or attempt to do so, as the mind of one under enough mind control was said to have the potency to trap a thread follower depending on circumstance) when something in the haze shifted, not really changing so much as reforming itself. The haze did not thin or change color... it just felt heavier. Draco's presence, too, felt more defined, more there. Hell, he had to tug on his own magic thread just to ensure he had not lost sight of it or been cut off altogether.

Still there, thank Merlin, though steadily weakening. Damn, he hated the fog... it made finding anything of value impossible.

"This is ridiculous," he huffed in his transient self, keeping half an eye on how weak his strand was becoming. In all honesty, he was seriously tempted to just jump back into himself, but he knew another such chance was not likely to present itself. Hell, he almost made himself believe the fog was receding just to silence the part of him wanting to go back. He could practically see it starting to-

Crap. It was moving off! The green haze was actually getting thinner and he could seriously see something behind the fog... some sort of rectangular pillar with a lumpy top. Sort of like-

His thread grew terribly weak, practically begging Draco to come back. As tempting as identifying the object was, his life was in danger if the thread became too thin to transverse back into his own body, and he couldn't die now, not before he solved the enigmatic stranger and ensured the safety of his Asps once and for all. He pulled back, just as he could swear the lumps atop the prism-like object moved.

Dumbledore finally allowed himself to sit back and try to relax. Something was wrong with his Phoenix. As relieved as he was that his weapon did not hesitate to attack the young Malfoy, the fact that he did so without being ordered to made the situation quite worrisome. The tests Dumbledore had run were inconclusive at best, one vial contradicting another as he ran and re-ran the results. Unfortunately he could not blame the potions, having checked them before using any of them to test the blood and having ascertained their quality to be nearly as high as ones brewed by Severus himself. Abdigale must have helped her husband, he assumed, assured by their accuracy.

Still, if he had not known better, the tests would point to the boy having no special traits or magic whatsoever. An impossibility, of course, after what had occurred after the boy had met the ex- Malfoy heir.

Now Dumbledore wanted to run the tests again, though he held little hope that they would be any clearer than those he had run earlier. He first needed to find out how his weapon was able to act without direction, however. He had not been lying when he warned Draco that he might not be able to stop his Phoenix the next time, and not due to his lack of presence. It had been hard enough in this instance, and he was sure the boy was still growing in power as the potions and spells fulfilled their purpose.

Not only that, but Dumbledore had felt his control slip again after the battle, when his Phoenix should have been 'asleep' for all intents and purposes. It was almost as if the boy was fighting him slightly... but his weapon had not mind to fight back with, and the only piece of soul still keeping the body alive was in Dumbledore's possession.

The necklace containing the jewel in question never left Dumbledore's neck now, resting under layers of clothing and a powerful notice-me-not charm. As long as the jewel remained in his possession, no one else could control his weapon... and nothing could actually reanimate the dead, after all.

Clearly, someone was trying to attain control- perhaps even hoping to make it seem as if Dumbledore's Phoenix was truly becoming self-sufficient. Who could do so, however? The young Beta was unaware of Phoenix's past identity... else Dumbledore would be fighting for his life, he was sure. By the same principle, his old Potions Master must be similarly ignorant of the weapon's true identity. The vampires, frankly, would not bother with such an underhanded scheme, even if they were to actually take note of Wizarding affairs.

Voldemort? Could he actually have become powerful enough since his return? Tom was not known for his subtle tactics, though Dumbledore knew him capable of it when necessary... and perhaps some lingering link to his dead Alpha might have left a crack through which he might try to assert such control. Still, attacking Draco so early in the game... Voldemort would not have thrown such an advantage away on such a slap to the Beta. Not before utilizing his advantage to far more nefarious ends. But if not Severus, the Asps, vampires or Voldemort... then who was it?

Ginny stared at Hermione as if she'd grown another head. Yes, Ginny had gone to Snape Manor at least a half dozen times by now... and yes, she had stopped fearing for her life while there... but still...

"Are you serious, Hermione?"

"Yes, Ginny, tell them it'll be a good opportunity to spy on us and the twins should cover for you with no further questions."

"If I say that, they'll expect me to tell them stuff..."

"We'll give you information you can pass along; things that seem important but the Order will find useless in the great scheme of things."

Snape used to do the same thing... for the Order. Somehow, Ginny couldn't decide if that made her more at ease, or simply served to agitate her further.

"Still, twoweeks?"

"Wolf wants to teach you some stuff; make sure you can take care of yourself. Draco and I agree it'll be good for you."

It took Ginny a bit to correlate 'Wolf' with Dean, even tough Hermione almost always referred to all but Draco by their Aspian nickname. Ginny didn't know why Hermione held Draco as the exception, though she figured it may have something to do with the late Alpha.

"What is he going to teach me?" she asked instead, shaking her deeper questions aside,

"We'll deal with that once you arrive. We're leaving it mostly in Wolf's hands to come up with the lesson plan."

"I'll be home for Christmas?"

"Of course, Ginny, would I force you to miss the Weasley family Christmas party?"

No, she wouldn't, Ginny agreed, and realized how affronted Hermione seemed by her question.

Every other time though, Ginny had visited the manor for a few hours or so, coming right back to the dorms. She had seen the Asps train, she had conversed with some of them, but she still mostly dealt with Hermione and Draco... not the Aspian society itself, small as it may be. Of the others, she was closest to Dean, and she fully acknowledged that her ease with him most likely stemmed from his past as a Gryffindor. Even so, she only really spoke with him briefly as he escorted her to wherever his Beta and Hermione were to meet with her.

This... this would be living with and apparently being trained by them, for two weeks... two whole weeks in which they'd probably get pissed off at her for some reason or another. And then... what would their retaliation be?

"Trust me, Ginny," Hermione interrupted her train of thought, as if reading her mind, "it'll be fine."

Ginny nodded, not really knowing what to say. She had been itching to become more active in the war... to no-longer be babied because she was the youngest. This was her chance; this was someone offering her the tools she'd need in order to do anything but leek information from one side to the other. Still, why couldn't it have been her family offering this chance?

Perhaps because you're not on their side? She asked herself, cringing slightly. Well, she was helping Hermione and the Asps... but her family didn't know that... nor did Ginny actually think herself actually working against her family- the Asps were working towards ridding the world of Voldemort too, after all.

No, Ginny was just their little girl... incapable of doing anything but what she'd been told. She was safe (thanks to Hermione) gaining info, relatively at least, but that was all. She didn't doubted her family would be less than happy to leave her 'at the mercy' of the Asps... they'd cave eventually, of course, because this really would be an opportunity to great to reject for the Order... but still, it would not be as easy to get their approval as Hermione made it seem.

Remus looked at the door leading to Padfoot's room, even as he listened to the head in his fireplace. He understood why Hermione, why Lea, wanted to invite them to the Manor... but it might just be too soon for Sirius to come out of his self-imposed isolation. It had taken much insistence (and a direct request form Severus) to so much as get him to go to the funeral, after all. Hermione had done a wonderful job, from what he heard, of keeping everyone sane and connected. She not only helped Severus, but Draco, helping the blond adjust to his new position of power. Remus had certainly been worried the boy would have trouble filling his friend's role... he remembered their talk, seemingly oh so long ago, before Draco even knew who Horris was. Who Harry Potter was, actually, as it was 'Harry Potter' who was the disguise... Horatius Snape the one it hid. He was sure the boy's adaptation was a testament to her abilities and strong constitution. The question was, could she do the same for Sirius... and him.

"I'll ask him, Hermione," he promised, sighing, "but it's really up to him."

"Horris' death really hit him hard," she agreed, "has he improved any?"

"A little;" he nodded with a strained smile, "at least, I think he is."

"I hope so. None of us can afford to suffer another loss."

"We will try to come," he assured her, not needing to confirm the truth of her last statement.

Remus sunk further into his chair as the fire returned to its normal color, utterly unsure of how he was going to get Sirius to go. Hell, how was he going to get Sirius to even think about going? To go out. Remus agreed that going would be good for the man, and honestly, he wanted to get out of the house himself as well. While he had gone to some meetings with Dumbledore and had kept somewhat in touch with Hermione, he still felt quite out of the loop, as the kids were prone to say.

The man wanted to get back to actually helping the war effort... was itching to at least feel like he was making a difference once more. He wanted to make sure Draco and the Asps were actually all right, fearing Hermione's words might just be to appease his own worries. He wanted to make sure Severus was all right as well, and on that front, he had heard almost nothing, though he had also been hesitant to ask about him directly. Severus, who had tried so hard to do right by his son... who had been willing to let old grievances go so that Horris could be happy, to continue doing so even after his son's death.

Sirius was simply too consumed by grief to willingly go though, and Remus could not discern if making him do so might not do his friend a great injustice. The grief was consuming the man, but forcing him from his morbid contemplations might simply make him withdraw further. And that, he feared, might pull him further than even Sirius who had survived the horrors of Azkaban could ever come back from. And, underneath it all, Remus also feared Sirius might blame Severus for Horris' death... which would make having both men in the same room a really bad idea.

Even if Remus somehow persuaded Sirius to go, he would have to watch him carefully, lest he looses himself. Siri had nearly lapsed into bouts of guilt-driven depression several times already, most notably when they had seen Horris in the Snape family catacombs. Remus shivered as he remembered how distraught Siri was then, shifting back and forth between guilt and anger... wondering how it could all happen, why he had been unable to stop it and why Dumbledore said Horris would be safe thanks to some ruby or crystal... or whatever it was Siri kept moaning over. He had not had the heart to ask him about it, nor did he wish to ask Dumbledore something that may just be a figment of a mentally fragile man's mind. He had stopped mentioning it, at any rate, which made Remus more confident that the ramblings had held no ground in reality.

Blaise scuffed at the ground as he walked through the dungeons. He hated this part of his duties... he split the task with Dean, Zack and Marcus, but every monday he still had to make the woeful trip. He stopped at the cell he had gotten to know far too well for his liking. Each one of its occupants always looked at him as if he was the devil himself... and they did not even know his purpose. All they knew was that every other day an Asp would come and take away one of their number, or dump a new load of Death Eaters after a battle.

They all backed away from the cell door as he pulled it open, none foolish enough to oppose his entrance. They hardly moved as he looked for the one he would take today, and none tried to stop him once he made his choice. The man he picked struggled, yes, but no one tried to help him, nor did the man's own resistance last once Blaise closed the cell door behind them.

They were all Death Eaters, he knew, just as he realized he shouldnt' feel sorry for their fate. Still, at least they were human; fellow wizards.

"Where are we going?" the man asked Blaise with the courage known only to those resigned to their death.

"To feed you, first," Blaise answered, though the act was more efficiency than kindness.

"And then?"

"To feed another."

It made his stomach turn, even as they stopped by the simple wooden table. At least this one did not ask if Asps ate men, for now. He let the man sit and eat, ignoring the fact that this meal was mostly so his blood would be more nutritious. He was too Slytherin to lie to himself... to pretend the meal was some sort of attempt to ease the prisoner's death.

Blaise watched the prisoner feed himself half-heartedly, staring more at the wall opposite the table than actively watching the man eat. Not for the first time, he wondered how Wolf managed when his turn came. The ex-Gryffindor, after all, had far less exposure to cruelty than he did. And yet, somehow, he had yet to see Dean look woeful at his designated task. "Have you finished?" he asked indifferently, eyes shifting to those of the prisoner.

"Would you let me stay if I haven't?"

"Eat your fill."

The vampire could wait, and as far as Blaise was concerned, they should not be feeding the thing at all. The bloodsucker took Horris.

Blaise let the man stall for another ten minutes as he picked at the food before him. There was only so long he could stall before Dean or Draco got wind of it... he had made the vampire wait long enough. He stepped up to the Death Eater, pulling him up by the shoulder. The prisoner made no move to protest, probably realizing he had drawn his meal out long as it was. Blaise did not bother holding onto or watching the man, content to simply walk ahead with little but an order for the prisoner to follow. Blaise could easily hear the quiet footsteps behind him, and honed Aspian reflexes could quickly overtake the Death Eater, were he stupid enough to try to run.

The footsteps remained quite close, however, more likely than not fearing what else might be held within the vast dungeons. The walk took but a couple minutes, all of which the two walked in uninterrupted silence.

"You are late," the vampire stated slowly from the shadows of his cell, drawing out each word.

"Be glad I came at all."

"Not by choice, I see."

"No," Blaise concurred, "definitely not."

"You are to him as much a monster as I, Asp, you realize?"

"A monster's monster, then," Blaise countered with a exaggerated shrug.

"A chair is a chair to all."

Blaise grabbed the man behind him, pushing him through the cell door before the confused man realized his fate. The wards were down only as long as it took him to open the door and push the prisoner inside. As soon as Blaise was sure they were back up and whole, he left. He did not wish to hear the screams. Again.

"You all right?"

"Not really," he answered Dean just as he was turning towards the corridor leading out of the blasted maze, probably looking as pale as always after doing his duty, "but I will be."

"I know you don't agree with Draco's decision to keep him around..."

"He took Horris from us," Blaise confirmed, glaring back down the passage leading to the bloodsucker's cell. He could swear the thing had gained weight since its capture... hell, it was probably quite content with being catered to.

"Vampires hold high their debts, Blaise, you know that."

"I don't care," he brushed off the statement,

"You should."

"You sympathize with him so much, one might fear you'll set him free one day..." Blaise growled, "your mind has been hazed by those damn books you read so much." Hell, he doubted even Hermione knew so much about the suckers now.

"I will, Blaise," Dean acknowledged, for a moment flaring Blaise's temper, "as soon as Draco orders me to, I will."

And suddenly, Blaise could think of nothing more to say... as if Dean had opened some cosmic drain within him.

"Draco wants to speak with you," Dean added, revealing the reason for his presence so close to the bloodsucker, "I suggest you collect yourself before you go."

"I-"

"Just go." Dean insisted, a finality in his words.

Properly chastised, Blaise made his way up into the Manor proper, thankfully passing only a couple Asps, both of which knew better than to speak to him after he had been dealing with the bloodsucker. He needed to collect himself as Wolf had said, and he couldn't do that if others kept giving him the opportunity to rekindle his anger by asking that he tell them why he seemed upset. He definitely did not want to see Dragon in this state... especially if Dean had gone out of his way to remind him of that.

Lately, Dean proved the best reader of Draco, short of Hermione, though Blaise had no idea when the ex-Gryff had learned to do so. He didn't envy Dean's job... though he remembered a time when Blaise himself was the one who knew Draco so well. On second thought, he took it back, he did know. It all boiled down to Dean being Gryffindor enough to step up and do what he saw needed to be done... to help Draco even as he was barely keeping it together himself. Strong enough and determined enough to help keep everything in order. And, apparently, he was going to keep doing so.

"You asked for me, Draco?" he asked, once he had walked through the already open door,

"Blaise," he was greeted, ushered to sit in on of the chairs with a wave, "how are you?"

"all right, I guess..."

"Do you want to trade duties with someone else?" his Beta probed further,

"Duties?" Had Dean-

"Dean told me you dislike working with the vampire. I can assign someone else."

"He took Horris, Draco, of course I hate him!" Blaise insisted, "We should be torturing it, not feeding the damn thing..." Then, after taking a deep breath, he added "I can handle the damn feeding duty; I'm not some child incapable of doing what I don't like."

"It's not that I don't trust you to keep it together, Blaise," Draco insisted, "you know that."

"Then-"

"I need your help."

"With what?" Blaise asked, edgy. If this was some friendly favor, a way to let him off feeding duty with his pride intact, he was sure he had rather just be told that Draco did not trust him to keep it together after all.

"You know I can thread spells..." Draco told him softly, not waiting for confirmation, "I know you can deconstruct transient experiences."

"Threading is entering one's memories or looking through one's eyes though... there's nothing to interpret!" Blaise insisted slowly, not understanding what exactly Draco wanted.

"That's usually true. However, no matter how many times I recall the experience, I can't understand it anymore than I did while threading it."

"Who's thread?"

"The Phoenix."

"I don't know any symbolic threading experiences, Draco; I've nothing to contrast it against."

"I have the memory in my pensive, Blaise, please try to look through it... I need to know why this threading is so strange. Why this 'Phoenix' could shoot a simple hex right through my Aspian defenses."

Blaise looked at Draco for a moment, trying to absorb what Draco had just said before nodding slowly. The Phoenix had certainly shaken the Asps... even those that have not heard of how this new player bested their Beta. That he could fire curses through their shields instead of shattering them first scared him to no end. The latter took power... the former, well, the former should be impossible without their intentional yielding.

Slowly, he leaned over the shimmering liquid, looking back to Draco before entering the pensive.

"Should we go together?" he asked,

"Think it would help, Blaise?"

"I haven't seen a thread memory, I wouldn't know what was odd and what was normal."

"all right," his Beta agreed, "but I can tell you right now, there is practically nothing normal in that memory."

"Still, I'd rather have someone to run a commentary when needed," Blaise insisted, knowing he would probably need to watch the memory several times to make much of anything out of it.

"Is it supposed to be this green?" he asked as soon as the memory formed,

"No. Usually, the thread connects directly to the caster's optic nerve."

"Is this all you saw?"

"I thought I saw something more there, towards the end," Draco offered, "but by then I was so desperate to see something, I might have imagined it altogether."

"There?" Blaise pointed, walking towards the spot once Draco confirmed the location. He would not be able to see what Draco's eyes had not detected, but what he saw would remain unchanged by his mind's interpretation. "There is something," he confirmed, "but the fog's too thick to make it out."

"It will lift some, I think."

"What did you make of this?" he asked, not turning back to face his Beta. Draco had made it clear they had time... but he would not miss any clues whatever was there could give him. He listened to Draco's response with half an ear, hearing and understanding, but refraining from contemplating it until a later time. Then, just as he noticed a lifting of the fog, Draco quieted as well.

Blaise trained his eyes to pierce the fog, trying to make out the shape beyond. A lumpy object, he figured, oscillating, perhaps? But then, as the fog thinned further, it was no longer a lumpy mess at all. Not an object, but a body- somebody shifting positions as he slept. He could go no closer, so the fog was still too thick to make out much beyond that, but it was certainly the silhouette of a person. The Phoenix, Blaise figured.

"Draco, do-" he began to ask, but the memory had ended, and he found himself gasping as his mind left the pensive instead. Damn, but he hated leaving Pensives while speaking... always made him feel like he was drowning.

"You alright?"

"Fine," he coughed, "did you see it, Draco?"

"The lumps?"

"It was somebody... stirring. Waking up or shifting in his sleep, I don't know. Your Phoenix, I assume, based on who's mind you were in.

Draco was silent for a minute, Blaise keeping quiet as his Beta worked things out.

"Any idea what that could mean?" Blaise was asked, eventually,

"Not really..." he confessed in answer, "normally I'd say the body would represent the subconscious self... but here, that's not possible."

"You sure?"

"If he was asleep, you'd have been pulled into a dream, right? And if he was awake, his consciousness would be in control."

"Could it be mind control?"

"None that I've heard of..." Blaise insisted, "even those can't clear a mind so fully... and if we were in a dream, I'd expect the body to be chained or something at least. Occulemcy?"

"No, I've been stopped by that before; it wasn't like this."

"I'll try to figure it out, Draco," he assured,

"Thanks."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, My Lord," he answered, bowing. And then, with a smirk behind his mask, he added, "I will enjoy it."

He rose, smoothly taking his place among the Death Eaters with his head held high. His mask, shielding as it was, could not fully hide his pleasure with the given task. Finally, finally he would able to step out of the shadows and claim his rightful place. A place, he noted smugly, no other had been strong enough to claim when it had been offered. He listened as his Master gave varied tasks to others, punishing the idiots who dared fail and displeasure Him, joining in his Master's satisfaction at the sounds of their pained penance.

When everyone had been dismissed, he stayed without being told to, knowing his Master wished to speak with him alone by the look He gave him while dismissing the others.

"You wished to speak with me, My Lord?"

"Persseptive, young one," his Master noted, to which the boy bowed in thanks, "come."

He approached his Master calmly, having foregone his fear long ago. After the boy had proved himself, the Master had been most kind and lenient. He would do his best now to never earn his Master's displeasure... though he knew it would be far harder for himself to do so than some ordinary Death Eater or those like Malfoy who had failed to raise their own spawn correctly.

Of those, several had been killed outright for allowing his Master's Asps to turn rogue. Snape, of course, had run and hid in his manor, then that other school. They would kill him, soon enough. Malfoy and a select few others had sidestepped death by the skin of their teeth... losing their elevated status in the process, of course, which served his ascent just fine.

"My Aspssss have become too ssecure; I believe itssss time they were reminnnnded I ssstill hold their very livesss in my hanndsss."

"Name your medicine, Master, and I promise to deliver it swiftly."

"Not yetss, young one," his Master chuckled, "for now, ssimply unssssettle them; ssshow how little power they possesssss without my sssuport."

"Name it, Master, and it will be done."

"The girl, young one, the girl they sssso revere."

"Shall I kill her, Master?"

"Not quite."

Draco shook off the remnants of his interrupted sleep as he hurried into his battle robes. Being woken in the middle of the night to fight off some stupid Death Eaters was seriously becoming an annoyance. He was dressing on autopilot, barely able to keep his eyes open, even with the Asp ability to go without sleep for days on end. Dean or Blaise was giving him a rundown of the situation, though honestly he felt more than half the words fly in one ear and out the other.

“When?” he would ask intermittently, if he thought he had just heard something important or ask some detail of numbers or location when needed.

Someone handed him coffee as he walked briskly to the garden, the bitter taste helping him finally take heed of his senses. Most of the others were not much better... except for those who had been on watch tonight.

“This is going to be a big one,” Blaise (yes, Blaise... he could actually identify him now) warned him, “Pony left just as the Death Eaters were starting to apparate in, and already there were at least twice as many as usual.”

“Any-” he yawned, “any of the Order show up?”

“Not before she left.”

“Give the apparition coordinates, Blaise; I want to get this over with.”

He chugged the rest of his coffee before aparating himself, taking one last look towards the hallway beyond which waited his fluffy bed. The next moment however, he was on the outskirts of a small village, clearly magical, dodging curses. As Blaise noted, there were far more Death Eaters than usual. Also unusual (though occurring with increasing frequency), the Order was already there as well. Their Phoenix, most prominently, was fighting off the hoard of black cloaks. And Merlin, could he fight! Only due to his Aspian senses could Draco follow the Phoenix's staffwork, and he saw a good number of other fighters simply watching the crimson robed figure. The Death Eaters, Draco quickly disposed of with a well-placed spell. The two Asps he noted, planning to thoroughly reprimand them as soon as they returned to Snape Manor. And then another oddity made itself known. As the Death Eaters in his immediate vicinity fell, the Phoenix turned to take aim on Draco's Asps. Normally, the Order ignored their presence until it was time to demand they share the captured Death Eaters... but the Phoenix fought as if anyone not of the Order was automatically an enemy.

“Get down!” he yelled at Wolf, who was busy fighting a couple Death Eaters at the periphery of Draco's vision. Thankfully, he ducked down in time, but to Draco's left another Death Eater screamed. As when Draco fought him (if their encounter could be termed as such), the Phoenix's spells passed through his Aspian shields as if they were not there at all. He fired spells to redirect the red-robed figure's focus... hopefully creating a big enough distraction for one of the other Asps to help Marcus. Well, he certainly got the Phoenix's attention... the big staff the odd fighter had been using turned on the blond with with a menacing whirl. Its first spell hit Draco's left knee, already weakened from some Death Eater's lucky shot and not quite healed yet. He felt the leg buckle instantly, falling back against a tree into a reclined position that still let him level his wand at the aggressor. He fired several spells, none of which visibly affected the hooded figure at all. The Order's Phoenix was stalking towards him, and Draco could not remember being more scared.

Some of the other Asps tried to distract Draco's assailant, the Phoenix not even heeding the spells; it was as if the Asps had been shooting nothing but bursts of light at him from several directions. Phoenix was fixated on him, apparently, and for a second Draco could have sworn he saw the green flash of Killing Curse like eyes within the darkened hood. Just as the Phoenix stepped before him, a blur tackled him over a mound to his right. Now that he no longer needed to fire at the Phoenix, Draco forced himself up with a loud groan as his side protested the effort. He pulled himself to the top of the mound, trying to find out what had happened. He couldn't feel anything but pain from mid thigh to just above his ankle, but not actually bending the knee seemed to allow him a sure-enough footing. Why it was taking so long to start healing he would question later, when dodging stray curses and fighting the Phoenix was not taking up so much of his attention.

There were others still fighting around him, but something insisted he look at what was happening, an instinct too forceful to ignore. And there, the moment he looked over the small hill, a stone fell in his gut. The Order's Phoenix was slowly getting to his feet, methodical, calm and far too mechanical. Blaise just lay there, unmoving. Dead. One of his Asps was Dead. The staff was still on the other side of the mound where Blaise had first knocked the still-hooded figure over, and Draco had yet to see the Phoenix use anything else to cast. The thought gave him a sliver of hope and he began shooting spells at the still-rising figure.

The spells seemed to dissipate before they even touched his cloak, a magic alien to Draco, but keeping the spells off must be drawing on the Phoenix's power... and so Draco just kept on firing.

“Draco!” he heard from somewhere behind him, glancing with one eye to identify Dean,

“Stay back,” he ordered, “break the staff!”

“Break it?” he heard Dean question incredulously,

“Smash the damn focus stone to smithereens!” he insisted, still firing curses at the Phoenix. Hopefully, destroying the staff would hamper the hooded fighter. “Call the Asps here,” he added as an afterthought.

Dean sent up sparks to gather the Asps, running off quickly to grab the staff before returning to Draco. The blond could tell Wolf was reluctant to leave him leaning against the tree, trying to keep as much weight off his injured and stubbornly non-improving leg. Thankfully, the reluctance did not keep him from following Draco's orders. The figure before him simply stopped and was just looking at him. Creepy, really... made him feel exposed. He took the calm moment to readjust to a more dignified pose, though he moved no further than where he could still latch onto the tree in case the leg gave way again.

His Asps were beginning to gather around him, and in the background, he could hear Dean trying to break the staff. Why was the Phoenix, who surely heard all this just as well as he, just standing there? Even if the staff was not his only weapon or his most powerful, staffs were hard to replace... and a wizard should always protect his tools. At the very least, he should have been preparing for the gathering enemies.

“It's done,” Dean told him, pulling him up and letting him lean against his friend instead of the hard and uneven bark, “we're gathered.”

Draco looked around, counting twice before realizing why he was coming up short.

“Emily?” he asked softly, not seeing the young Ravenclaw in their midst.

“A Death Eater took her by surprise,” Dean said regretfully, “I didn't get to her in time.”

“Phoenix killed Blaise.”

“I saw,” Dean acknowledged, trying to help heal Draco's knee with his own venom. The ache might have receded somewhat, but Draco could not be sure. Nor did he particularly care. What was important now was their opponent.

“He needs to die,” and it would probably take all those left to make it so.

Dumbledore had watched the battle calmly, feeling only a slight annoyance when those meddling Asps joined in the proceedings. His Phoenix was fighting beautifully, truly shaping into his ultimate weapon against the Dark. He was already planning how to make his tool work further from the necklace... how to plan the final battle.

“Where did you find him?” Moody whispered in his ear, “there be something strange about him...”

“Accept him, Alastor, and trust my judgment.”

“He has too much power, Albus. Such people cannot be trusted blindly.”

“We will speak on it later,” Dumbledore insisted, never really taking his eyes off the battle. The necklace had been sporadically warming against Albus' chest, nearly burning him on one occasion. The strange sensations made him wary of the sight before him, though his Phoenix had not shown any problems.

His necklace burned again, turning substantially hotter than the few times before, and this time the event inciting the change could not be mistaken. Without warning his Phoenix turned from some nameless Death Eater onto one of the young Asps. Like before, when Dumbledore felt hard pressed to stop his weapon when he had attacked Draco (seemingly) of his own initiative, his Phoenix turned vicious when his dull-green eyes fixed onto the Asps; first one, then another.

Dumbledore tried to call him back through the necklace when he realized his weapon was turning from violent to deadly. As annoying as these Asps were, the fact remained that they aided his Order against the Death Eaters... it would be quite foolish to dispose of them at this time when they could still be of some (albeit limited) use. More importantly, while he was sure his Phoenix could triumph against any one or two Asps that chose to fight him, could he really take on all of them at once?

The necklace kept burning him, throbbing with an inner heat that he found most troublesome. He had never heard of the wearer's will not flowing into the vessel freely... of the controller encountering such resistance.

“Are you alright, Albus?” Minerva asked,

“Fine,” he assured, forcing his hand to fall from the concealed necklace and rest calmly at his side.

“Albus,” she insisted more worriedly, “You're bleeding!”

“Excuse me?” he asked, now actually turning towards her in his confusion.

“Your hand, Albus, it's bloody.”

It was, and there could only be one place the blood could have come from. And even that was impossible, as far as he could tell. He quickly turned his back on the battle and his allies before pulling out the necklace. The normally clear, crystalline exterior was now deep red, slick and bordering on gelatinous... like a dislodged blood clot. He nearly dropped it from shock, the outside staining his palms and robes.

The next moment, the crystal was hard and clear again, the blood on Albus' hands brown and crusted. He quickly called for as much of his strength as possible, refusing to acknowledge just how disturbed the moment had left him. He could not lose his grounding, not while they were fighting a battle. The strength he pulled he tried to direct into the stone, summoning his Phoenix back from the fight. Before he even finished the attempt, he was already sure his weapon would not hear the call... let alone follow it.

Throwing discretion to the wind, he turned back to the battle, crystal still clutched in his palm.

“Return,” he demanded, scanning the field for his soldier. It took him a moment to locate the boy surrounded by what must have been all the Asps. A glance at the rest of the battlegrounds revealed mostly other Order members subduing the few remaining Death Eaters. The message, to Albus, was clear... the snakelings were concentrating on the threat, and were probably not planning to stop until his Phoenix was dead. Albus ordered his fighter back again, hearing desperation creep into his voice. Could the boy take on the Asps? Possibly. Was Albus willing to risk it so early on? No. Especially not if there was a chance the snakelets would realize where his Phoenix had come from... what Albus had done.

His Phoenix was standing his ground, the Asps slowly circling him like a pack of hungry wolves closing in on the kill. One Asp broke rank and lunged at the central figure with his arms in what Albus assumed was an attack with his venoms. At the same time, several of the others fired spells from different directions. It was the first time Albus could remember seeing any 6f the children use wands since before they left Hogwarts, though even when they had he assumed they only pretended to use them as to not draw attention to their growing abilities. Their use of them now sent chills down his spine.

Still, his Phoenix deftly caught the Asp by the wrists through the child's cloak, twisting him to absorb some of the fired spells before tossing the Asp back at the others with a loud crack of the child's arm, as it was obviously dislocated with the sudden change of momentum. Could his Phoenix win this? A tall Asp caught the human projectile, lowering him quickly behind their line when a smaller one tried to run to the fallen before the tall one pushed her back towards the fight. Not caring for their wounded? Odd. Unless the curses they had thrown were meant to do more than wound.

Now he wished he knew who the young Asp was. Had he known the boy well before his nature had ripped him from Albus' sphere of protection? What House had the boy been in? What year would he have been? With a substantially heavier heart he tried calling his Phoenix back again, realizing the prominent absence of the weapon's staff. And as he tried to scan the field for it, he saw an Asp use it to strike at his Phoenix as if it were a stick or a cheap broom. This was not good; his Phoenix could only work magic through the staff. The blow knocked the central fighter down, the rebound causing blond hair show as the hood fell from his attacker. Draco, then. His Phoenix stood back up quickly, but Draco was ready to strike again, this time aiming for the head instead of the gut. That swing was dodged, but a crack resounded when the staff struck his Phoenix's leg on a returning arc.

Albus noted the young blond walked forward with a limp of his own, wondering if it was his Phoenix who had caused the injury (and how extensive it must have been for it to last while the Aspian healing venom was circulating in the blond's blood). It would not be the first time a Slytherin combined an attack with revenge, after all. Albus was still trying to call the Phoenix back, pausing only when he knew the pull (if it was reaching the figure at all) could overly distract him while fighting.

The other Asps, Dumbledore knew, were not standing idle; some made sure the Phoenix did not attempt to escape, others casting spells when their present leader gave them an opening. All stunning or non-lethal spells... most likely to ensure Draco did not become overly hurt on accident. Quick learners, Asps. He wondered how long it would take them to realize that his Phoenix could not cast anything.

He dared not loosen his grip on the crystal, feeding it power that he hoped would help his Phoenix. He could tell the red-hooded figure was weakening... not standing as straight, not recovering from the blond's blows as quickly or as fully. Draco was still limping with no obvious bettering thereof. It was a testament to the boy's resolve; as he was obviously hurting himself -knowingly- in order to hurt the Phoenix. Albus wondered how all these kids would react if they knew... if they knew who his Phoenix had been.

Just then, his fighter hit Draco with a solid kick to the injured leg, causing the blond to fall onto his side. The next moment Draco was up again, in time to dodge a second attack. He was limping quite a bit more, however, Albus noted. The small victory did not appease him, as he knew his Phoenix was drawing on the last of his strength. The battle had gone on too long, and the youth would need to 'sleep' it off for a week or more. He was just about to call on some of the other Order members to break things up when it happened.

A kick from his Phoenix had landed again, knocking the young Asp off balance but not quite causing him to fall. From his hunched position, the blond latched onto the Phoenix's ankle, sending both of them down onto the ground with the force of their combined momentum. Then, in a voice loud enough for Dumbledore to hear from his vantage point, the blond ordered the Asps to apparate out. For a moment, Albus thought all would be well, until Draco's 'eat wards, you scum' echoed on his own popping disappearance. The blond had never let go of the Phoenix's ankle, and now the only figures remaining were those of the Order and the fallen Death Eaters. And, at the exact moment his Phoenix was pulled into apparating with Draco, the crystal burned Albus' hand... then shattered before the popping sound fully dissipated.

It was at that moment that Dumbledore knew winter had come upon the Wizarding World... that Voldemort had won and that his Phoenix would rise no more.

“Gather the Death Eaters!” he ordered, for once the Asps not bothering to collect their fallen foes and take them to whatever fate awaited the others they had captured. He wanted to leave here as quickly as possible and realign the wards around Hogwarts to permanently and absolutely ban the Asps from entering. And, as he knew they had some way of entering without tripping the wards already in place to keep unauthorized visitors from coming in, he planned to post some major protective wards around his office itself. Against Severus, too... the boy's father would definitely try to reach Albus as well.

Only then would Dumbledore allow himself to mourn (or even truly acknowledge) the loss of a weapon with such potential. Shards of the crystal still lay in his hand; shards that he would need to remove post haste, so regaining his Phoenix was quite impossible. The Asps had not taken the staff, and while Albus would be sure to retrieve it before he left, that provision alone did him little good.

Draco blinked a few times once he landed on the cold stone floor, momentarily unsure of what he was seeing. He had done it to finally finish the damn Phoenix, unsure of what else might work against the foe. Hell, the only reason he had chosen to apparate directly to the dungeons (something not even the other Asps could do, something Draco had only recently been keyed in for by the Professor) was to force the the Phoenix through both sets of wards. The outer one should have been powerful enough, disabling anyone too powerful to be bounced back (or in this case, someone pulled forcibly through), but the ones around the dungeon were set to kill unauthorized intruders.

The Phoenix was not moving, at least, but judging by the weak throb of magic he sensed against the hand he still had clamped around the Phoenix's ankle, he was not dead either. How, Draco was not sure, but that could wait for now. He quickly pushed his opponent into the nearest cell with a burst of wandless magic, putting up several extra wards before pulling the door closed. He had to get back to the others, lest someone assume he had been left behind. He had wounded Asps to tend to; three dead to mourn. The Phoenix could wait and rot for all he cared. He was not important; not now, hopefully never again.

Dean walked a step behind Draco, both descending back to the holding cells far from where they detained the captured Death Eaters. Draco had told him the Phoenix had been holed up just a little further down this corridor since they had aparated back from the battle a day and a half ago. They had been busy taking care of each other since then, Draco choosing not to mention having pulled the Phoenix into the Manor's dungeons until other more important matters were seen to.
"He hasn't moved," Draco mumbled as the cell came into view, filled only by a pile of dirty red cloth... under which the Phoenix, the cause of all the suffering they now felt, lay.
"You sure he's alive?"
"He was, that night."
"Be careful, Draco," he insisted, the blond moving to go inside after pulling down several sets of wards... the Phoenix could be playing possum, after all.

Dean stayed near the bars, hearing the screech more so than seeing Draco open the stubborn door. The sound seemed to suddenly combine with the smell of mold and mildew, of ancient blood caked on the walls and the impossibly faint drip of water somewhere off in another cell. A chill ran up his spine, the atmosphere narrowing at him for the first time in what felt like eternity. Draco's steps were slow, cautious, and Dean slipped in behind him to offer any help he might need. They were both spooked; not by the Phoenix but the situation in general.

Dean had yet to sleep since the battle, all of them healing and trying to calm those who had been driven to the brink by the sudden losses and overpowering battle. So much death, so suddenly... so much carnage. The wounds were messy, the stench of blood- blood of Death Eaters, of the the Phoenix, of each other and their own- soaked into their clothes. But it was not just the blood. The stench of blood was faint and somewhat familiar. But the smell of burned flesh... Merlin, to that they were in no way used to. Hopefully, they never would be.

They had lost three Asps that night, two directly due to the very individual Draco and he were checking on. Blaise's death had hit them all very hard in particular, and Dean was quite sure the only reason Draco had yet to sequester himself and have a private breakdown was because others needed to rely on him too much. Dean would make sure Draco was given some time to mourn on his own... before thanking care of the Asps destroyed him from the inside. Dean would make sure, once they finished here, that Draco would remain undisturbed and free to grieve.

"He's alive," Draco told him, now cautiously leaning over the lump of cloth, " the magic's faint, but it's there."
"Do you plan to heal him or kill him?" Dean asked, not sure what mental state Draco was in at the moment, or if he should interfere with whatever decision Draco made. This was the one who killed Blaise, after all, the one who used Justin as a shield and used their own curses to kill him... the one who had wounded many others.
"I want to see the bastard's face, before anything."
With a nod, Dean pulled himself back towards the bars ready to fire a strong stunner, close enough to help and far enough not to intrude. He understood how Draco needed to do this alone, as the one who led them now, to face the one who had hurt so many of his Asps.

He watched Draco crouch between Dean and the prisoner, one hand poised to unleash a stunner of his own if needed while the other rolled the body over. He saw Draco's back tense and his dominant hand fall limp at his side.
"Merlin," Dean heard him gasp, before the blond suddenly pushed himself away from the Phoenix and right past Dean to run out of the cell. The body fell back as if Draco had never moved him, just as the sounds of the blond retching in the hall reached his ears. Dean stayed as he was, utterly unsure if he should go tend to Draco or check what had set him off so strongly. Draco had seen true cruelty growing up, his father not sparing the boy any horrendous sight in order to toughen him up for the day he would serve his master. The Phoenix was still alive as well, and Dean did not recall any of the curses or blows being of a disfiguring nature. What, then, had Draco so perturbed?

He stood there, abandoned by his Gryffindor bravery as the events continued to bombard him. The retching turned to heaving, which ebbed into tired coughs. When these turned to sobs, however, while the Phoenix had yet to show any spark of life, Dean stepped out to see to Draco. He raised some wards around the cell on his way out, just in case, before turning his full attention onto his friend. His leader latched onto him immediately, never before having cried openly in Dean's presence. Maybe Blaise's death had finally caught up to him? Maybe everything had?

"How could he?" Draco would mumble every so often between sobs, or ask "why?" or "how?". Dean kept holding him, once in a while glancing back to be sure the Phoenix's cell was secure... from inside and out. It took nearly half an hour more for Draco to say something more unexpected. It was not a gradual calming, but an instant shift from distraught and broken to composed and seething. "Dumbledore dies."
As soon as he said it, Draco stood up, calling himself an elf to ready an out of sight room in an unused part of the manor as if the last hour or so had not happened.
"Draco?" he asked cautiously,
"I don't know," his Beta answered, "I don't know anything anymore." And, in a strange way, Dean honestly felt that answered everything he might have asked.

"I need you to do something for me," Draco told him after another stretch of silent introspection, "I don't want to, but I see no other way."
"What do you need, Draco?"
"I'm sorry," Draco sighed, sounding as if he just sentenced Dean to death, "I... I can't face him, Dean. I need you to take him up without being seen."
"The Phoenix?" he asked, confused and not a little afraid as to Draco's mental stability at the moment.
"Your aunt studied necromancy, right?"
"She delved into it, yes," he nodded, knocked off balance by the topic change, "why?"
"Do you know anything about it? Did she teach you things?"
"Not really... she died before I turned twelve." Thankfully... she was scary as hell from what he remembered of his crazed aunt.
"Damn."
"Talk to me, Dragon, why do you need to know about necromancy?"
"Go. Go look what Dumbledore has done... tell me what the hell he did."
Dean looked over Draco another minute, trying to understand. Trying to assess if Draco really did lose his mind, too. His Beta looked utterly drained, dry and empty, as if all his emotions and strength had seep out with his tears onto Dean's shirt. He tried to mentally brace himself, knowing the effect the Phoenix had had on Draco. He walked slowly, forcing himself to prepare without scaring himself too badly. The Phoenix had yet to move, seeming dead as he just lay there unaffected by the events around him. He walked in and knelt, too worked up to even remember to reset the wards once he went inside. He turned the body in one swift move before he could lose his nerve. He pushed back the hood and gasped.
Harry...
The Harry he saw so long ago, before meeting Horris Snape.

The sight made him rear back as far as his kneeling position allowed, trying to wrap his mind around it all. Poor Draco. No wonder he had such a strong reaction. Hell, Dean could barely force himself not to reenact Draco's earlier actions. What was going on though? Horris' body looked like... well... Horris when he died, not Harry. Horris' body was dead, too. This one had a pulse.

Draco's questions about necromancy suddenly made a hell lot more sense, and Dean was left wishing he had actually listened to his crazed aunt's babble. Blaise would have known more, but... but Harry (or whatever this was that looked like Harry) had killed him. Their Alpha had turned on them, in some crazy far gone way. Now he was ready to retch.
Zack. Zack would know. His parents delved heavily in the art; far more that Dean's aunt, at any rate.

Draco had not told the other Asps about the Phoenix, though. Had not wanted any of them to know. Best be left that way, too, until they knew what the hell they were dealing with. He picked the body up, determined to do as Draco asked and save the blond any further emotional mayhem. To him, Harry had been a friend; Horris his leader. He cared for both deeply, but no where near as much as he knew Draco did. Horris was Draco's salvation; a true friend to save him from the evils he had resigned himself to. Dean could survive this, barely... Draco could not. He'd try to move the body quickly so that he could return and check on the blond.

As he walked, everything seemed to weigh him down. The more he saw the Phoenix's... the Harry-lookalike body... the more he realized how terrible the situation was; how his hatred of Dumbledore was growing exponentially with every step. Why did he have to make his weapon look like Harry? Was it to hurt them? Get them to hesitate fighting his Order? Enrage them... push them to alight with Voldemort even? Give them some perverted false hope perhaps?

The dead could not be brought back to life; even at ten, his aunt had drilled that into him often enough. Dean forced himself to acknowledge the stone-cold fact over and over as he walked. He had to ensure that he did not allow any stray thoughts of this actually being Horris he carried; or Harry. Horris was dead and his body missing. Harry... Harry was a mask that had melted away- a mask, nothing more. This, what he carried, was a killing machine. This was the reason Blaise and Justin were dead. This had simply taken up the mask of Harry. A figurehead, he realized quite suddenly, someone Dumbledore could point to as their savior; their Boy Who Lived. Everyone expected Harry Potter to save them... why not shape his weapon as the savior everyone already believed in? Was what he carried even human?

Thankfully, no one ran into him as he carried the cloak-wrapped charge, and he made short work of placing him on the bed in the room and warding the place tighter than the cell he'd previously occupied. He did not know the extent of damage going through the wards had done, but he had seen nothing outwardly wrong with the body. The breathing was steady and calm, the skin warm and pulse even and strong. He did not cast any medical scans, but this boy, whoever he really was, had been simply knocked unconscious as far as he could tell. Maybe his brain got fried? He'd have to look into it later... after he had checked on Draco.

He took a more direct route back, no longer worried about being seen. A couple Asps did pass him before he reached the dungeons, but he hasted on and they let him be. His only mistake was passing by the Vampire.
"I see you have found him, then?" the Vampire's voice echoed in the passageway, burrowing beneath Dean's skin.
"What?" he demanded stiffly,
"His blood is on your arm; the one the Old Man had me take."
Blood? There was a little blood on his arm near the shoulder, now that Dean was looking for it. Must have been from when he carried the Phoenix guy up... or when they fought him earlier.
"Horris' blood?"
"A Vampire always knows... even dried his blood smelt of power, though now it smells soaked in the Old Man's magic."
"This... this is Horris'?" he demanded again, staring at it as if seeing the red substance for the first time in his life.
"You sound surprised."
"I am," he bit back sharply, mind racing as the new information assaulted him like a kick in the gut.
"Odd, I assumed you were aware of what you had found... knowing how set you snakes were on the search."

"I gotta go." Dean could not lose himself to these thoughts now. He had to go. He had to push this aside and make sure Draco was alright. It felt so long since he had left him.
"I gotta go," he repeated, more for his own resolve than anything else, the itch to demand answers form the Vampire here and now growing to nearly unbearable levels. The Vampire and he had developed a relationship of mutual acceptance. Dean did not go out of his way to remind the Vampire that everyone here hated him, did not insult him or comment on the bestiality of his feedings. He was there, he needed food, and his infiltration was not for personal gain or reason. In turn, the Vampire did not snap at him, usually, did not act as other Asps had said he acted in their presence. He even told him things, sometimes.

Still, at this point, he could not believe the Vampire was being candid. That he had not noticed the blood and used it to unsettle them. Dean had yet to catch the creature on a lie though, no matter how small. Only hyperboles and omissions.
"I will ask someone to bring you down a meal," he told the Vampire, realizing no one had thought to feed him since before the attack.
"So long as it is not that rude one... Grime."
Grim. Blaise.
"Grim... Grim died. In battle."
"I'm sorry, Pup," the Vampire consoled honestly, making Dean feel calmed all of a sudden; more in control. "You two were close..."
Dean left without another word, feeling red eyes follow his movements. Draco was far closer to Blaise than Dean. Draco needed him more, needed to be alright so that they would all be alright. Merlin knew non of them could survive another tragedy.

To Dean's dismay, he found Draco exactly as he left him. He had alerted a house elf to convey Dean's request to Zack, hoping the Vampire knew well enough not to tell anyone about the blood he had smelt on Dean. Then again, the Vampire spoke so little to others that did not stem from insult that the others would probably not heed anything he did tell them. Dean did not want others spreading rumors before Draco and he had a chance to investigate the validity of the Vampire's claims... and Draco was not ready to take on the task. The nagging question of the Phoenix's identity would have to wait.

Or, Dean rationalized, he would have to investigate it himself... keeping it from Draco until he had more reason than a Vampire's nose to go on. The problem with which being the stress of trying to keep it a secret while investigating. Another problem being that the other Asps had a right to know. Tomorrow. He'd figure things out tomorrow. Right now he would just help Draco as much as possible.

He bit into the jugular of tonight's meal, the Asp who had delivered it at the edge of his vision. It was the darkest of his feeders... the one who always stayed to watch. The sweet liquid was filling him, which he knew made his eyes flash crimson. The boy was fascinated by his kind, by Vampires, he was sure. Normally, he was willing to entertain the youth's curiosity... but tonight he honestly wished to be left alone.

The Pup, the kindest of his feeders by far, had given him a wealth of things to think on... beyond the blood he had smelt on the youth. The time he had to wait for food had already allowed him to surmise that the Asps had gone to battle again. That was normal. That one died... that was new. He, the epitome of a perfect hunter, had been easy prey for the youths. That something more powerful than even they existed... the thought unhinged his reality to a severe extent. The way the Pup had acted, too, as silly as their 'names' were, pushed him from the norm.

Vampires, on the whole, were lone creatures. Their social structures, though rigid and quite complex, served mainly as a self-policing and protective form. A threat to their kind, they gathered around their sire. A threat to their sire, they gathered to protect him. Their sire called, they gathered. Otherwise, they pick a territory and stick to it. To them, humans are food, other Vampires competition... they do not get attached to either and they do not worry about anyone but themselves. He knew no Vampire would come for him, as the Asps' grudge lay with him directly. Had the Asps caught a random Vampire, a gathering and retribution would have been imminent.

But now, he had been held captive by the kids for at least two months now. Now, he had little to do but listen to what was going on with his feeders. He had gotten accustomed to them being around... snide comments and hesitant attitudes. For the first time, he knew people, knew them and they knew him... even if it was only on the surface. This intimacy, as thin and strained as it was, scared and confused him... but he couldn't help but acknowledge that it also left him immensely relieved. He almost felt like he belonged here, at times... even with all the hesitance and secrecy and distrust the Asps showed him.

It was odd, but he figured the others being Asps... monsters in their own right, was why he could feel this way. They weren't human, he wasn't even certain if he could drink from them, so he wasn't 'playing with food', as it were. They were not Vampires, either, so in no way were they competition or natural enemies like werewolves. Either way, the Grim boy's death impacted him in a way he certainly did not like. He was growing soft, damn it, Vampires should not care.

"I think we should tell the professor."
"We can't Dean, not yet." Draco insisted,
"It'll be worse if he comes back and demands to know why his son is not in the catacombs... you know it's the first place he'll go."
"I'll meet him at the gates if it comes to that," he insisted, adding "three weeks won't matter that much," with a final tone. They had not made much leeway in figuring out the Phoenix, though both were now confident that it was, indeed, Horris. Dean had told him after seeing how the wards and Pazur reacted to a sample of the Phoenix's blood, justifying Draco's worst fears. It hurt to realize what lengths Dumbledore was willing to go to, no matter how distrustful Draco had been of the Headmaster from the start.

"He moved last night," Dean offered, Draco still not up to going into that room each day.
"Moved?" The Phoenix, for Draco still held onto the sliver of hope Horris had not been so violated, had not woken, moved or eaten since his capture three days ago. The lack of nourishment did not seem to weaken him, nor could Dean or he force the unconscious figure to absorb nutrients in any form. Essentially, the Phoenix was a corpse in all but respiration.
"Not much," Dean qualified, "but he did roll over."
"Still, that's-"
"And Susan said she heard noises from this part of the Manor last night."
"What kind of noises?"
"Zack blamed it on the girl being a Hufflepuff, of course, but Susan insisted we ask the Professor if the Manor has any ghosts in that area."
"I thought Zack was over the house rivalry stuff..."
"He was teasing, Draco... even Susan laughed it off."
"Ah," he acknowledged vaguely, thankful for one less thing to deal with.
"Still, that means he made noise, too."

"We need to get to the bottom of this, Dean. Soon."
"I think he's absorbing power," Dean offered.
"The wards did waver last night," Draco contemplated, nodding.
"You think he drained the wards?" To directly absorb magic... it was...
"Let's go see him," He decided, his perturbation with it all forced to the back of his mind. It was Horris there, it would be too easy if it was not... and nothing came easy to them, or Horris.
"You have an idea?"
"The beginnings of one, at best," he admitted, getting out of his chair.
"More than I've got," Dean laughed offhandedly, following.
As soon as they walked into the relatively barren room, Draco felt the difference. The figure was certainly gaining power. Perhaps the wards had drained him? Was that why he collapsed right after Draco had apparated them through? He cautiously walked up to the bed, eyes locked on the headboard rather than the Potter-esq face.

"He looks peaceful, at least... like he's resting," Dean murmured from behind him, to which he automatically and half-consciously replied;
"No. It's a mask." It was all a mask; a part of the Potter face. A quality painted on by Dumbledore. He was looking at the face now, the rounded boyish features like a blow to the gut. It all screamed of injustice to him... that all the marks that Horris received from all that he had survived were so simply painted over and negated. It was as if all Horris did and suffered had been a lie. Still, he trailed a hand behind the boy's ear, feeling for their mark.
"It's not there, I checked."
"Whatever is making him look like this is certainly thorough, to hide this, too." Draco said, annoyed at how convoluted the situation was. It wasn't Polyjuice potion- there was no one who looked like this alive. Glamours were not solid; they only disguised how one looked. Transfiguration? That took a lot of power, but Dumbledore certainly had enough of that. To keep them up, however, required the innate magic of whatever person or thing it was put upon to be permanent and the dead had no magic... it would drain even Dumbledore to reset it every few days.

"I wish Blaise was here," Draco sighed, finally, "I don't think anyone could have unraveled transfiguration like him." Then, after a moment to clear his head, "I think we need to deplete his magic."
"That would kill him."
"He's dead, Dean. He died over six months ago."
"He's breathing!"
"Don't hope for miracles, Dean," he warned roughly, already walking away. He was becoming too aggravated for this... he was certain he would end up doing things he would later regret if he had to deal with much more of it now. Merlin help him, he was getting all wound into this. Death of the living, living bodies he dared not think of as anything more... he wondered how much more of it he could handle. How much longer he could bear it all, and how long he could keep making the others bear all this. He saw no end to it; no thinning enemy forces, nowhere to flee to from the dark or any way to keep the others from also being sucked into danger repeatedly.

"Draco!" he heard Dean call him back, the voice making him stop and turn in the hallway,
"I'll be in my room if anyone needs me," he answered, 'though I hope no one does' not needing vocalization. The interruption to his slippery train of thought did give him the needed pause to pull his mask back in place. No need to worry the others.
"Speak to the Vampire sometime before dinner," Draco instructed after taking another moment to solidify the mask, "I have heard bloodsuckers know a way to drain a body of things other than blood, and probably have a better understanding of death and ways to escape it than anyone else. He might know what we're dealing with here. See if he'll cooperate... he seems the least antagonistic when dealing with you, and tell me if he's willing to help." He was not sure if any good would come of it, but he would certainly rather deal with a vampire than get an Asp into the know about their dilemma.

He left his friend there, knowing he had treated him far more harshly than he should. He needed some time to himself though, time to figure out just what was going on. Thoughts of his Alpha kept assaulting him; memories, feelings and past misconceptions. He hoped he could figure things out once left alone long enough, in his room, but instead Morpheus called him as soon as Draco caught sight of his pillow. It was odd, how tired he felt lately, Asps not needing much sleep in the first place. Still, as soon as he let himself be claimed by the calm, he knew it was unlikely he would make it down to dinner.

When he woke, forcing back the images that had assaulted his sleep, he knew his earlier assessment had been right. A quick time spell declared it to be closer to midnight than dinner, nearly an hour after the 10-o'clock shift change. Dean was busy, then... he would speak with him after breakfast as far as what the Vamp had said. Unfortunately, despite the long nap, Draco woke seemingly more tired than before... drowsy and drained. His dreams had been fixated on the disaster of days past and old woes... deaths, pain, and mourning. His fears and assumptions kept running in circles in his mind, unable to latch onto any one possibility.

Knowing sleep would do him little good, if he was able to catch any more at all, Draco set out to his study without worrying anyone. The elves would know, or would as soon as he ordered tea, and that was enough if anyone was looking for him. He called them to start a fire in the hearth as soon as he entered, looking slowly around the room he had often occupied without truly seeing it. Beyond the different color scheme, the study was not overly different from that of his- from Lucius's in Malfoy Manor... the one he had often been called into to be disciplined or chastised as a child. The small difference seemed to change the feel of the room entirely. It was organized but not overly stiff, elevated but not overbearing; stable not scary. Although he never wanted to go into Lucius's study... he had come to be quite fond of the Professor's one here.

He began pacing without realizing it, not fully able to escape the weight of his choices, even here. Perhaps especially here.
Severus Snape.
He owed the man so much... and yet he kept questioning himself on possible ways of keeping him out of the loop as he had managed to do thus far. It was not fair to the Professor, Draco knew, but would telling him not be more cruel?
Yes, he was nearly certain the Phoenix they had captured was their Horris.
Yes... as far as Draco could tell, the Phoenix's body (at least) was alive.
But, and it was an awfully big but, he could not even begin to hope anything beyond the body had been reanimated. The body was warped and disfigured, too, and Merlin willing, what Draco was planning would revert the Phoenix to Horris' appearance in death . How cold-hearted would he have to be to tell the Professor that the Phoenix, a living weapon, was Horris... only to kill him once more?

The problem, this dilemma, he now understood to be precisely why Malfoys did not hold anyone equal to them by default. At least that way, they never had to explain themselves on anything they did or failed to do. Unfortunately, for Draco, he had stopped trying to be a model Malfoy long ago. He rubbed the now-familiar scar behind his ear, a habit he had developed while trying to fill Horris's shoes, absently wondering how a thing so small could have caused his life to change so much. This, inevitably, had lead to the reminiscence of how most of said changes were due more to Horris and his friendship than Draco's status as an Asp... though being an Asp certainly facilitated the friendship's dynamics.

Horris was the best thing that had (or ever had or ever) happened to Draco, he readily admitted, a leader that cherished his subordinates instead of subjugating them. Draco remembered realizing the full implications of being an Asp- of not being Alpha. He remembered the dread of knowing some unknown stranger would have the power to not only kill him on a whim, but to order Draco to do it himself.
However, Horris was the opposite of Voldemort and Draco's father. He was a friend, then a leader, and Draco had thrived under his guidance and protection. It made Horris's absence all the more painful, for Draco as well as the others, and left the blond with some very big shoes to fill.

A knock diverted Draco from his mind's wanderings, a quick glance at the grandfather clock proclaiming the hour approaching four in the morning.
"Enter."
"The elves said you'd be here..." Dean told him before walking in, "I'm not interrupting, I hope?"
"No," he answered simply, his mind still half lost in the past.
"You weren't at dinner."
"I overslept."
"Yeah, I figured... listen, I wanted to talk to you about the Vampire."
"You've spoken to him, then?" Draco asked, motioning Dean to have a seat as he settled himself to the one behind the desk.
"I have."
"And?"
"He wants to see the Phoenix first... and..."
"And?" Draco prompted, slightly worried by Dean's hesitation.
"And he wants to taste him."
"Taste him," he repeated slowly, careful not to sound too incredulous.
"His blood, said a vial would be enough."
"Why?"
"He said he could taste things in the blood; a whole slew of potions and residuals from spells..."
"This vamp seems awfully forthcoming with information all of a sudden, Dean," Draco noted slowly, "I'm not sure how I feel about his newfound willingness to help his captors." Draco had assumed the Vampire would be hesitant at best, with all the Asps had done to keep him confined. Nosferatu were a proud race, if solitary, and should not be so easily swayed.

"Well, he did smell his blood on me after I had brought him to that room," Dean told him, "maybe he's as curious about what happened as we are?"
"I still don't like it... especially when it involves loosening his shackles."
Letting him see Horris (or whomever or whatever the Phoenix was) presented a gaping security flaw that the Vamp would be stupid as hell not to take full advantage of. Vampires were not known to be stupid.
"You did want his help, Draco," Dean reminded him, "I don't know any other way to solve this."
"We can bring the body to him instead, I suppose,"
"I'm more worried about the Phoenix waking in transit than the Vampire being set free," Dean countered, "And the Phoenix is waking."
"All the more reason to transfer him to the dungeons permanently."
"I'd hate for Horris to wake up in a cell."
"He's not Horris." Draco growled, the idea as painful now as when he first looked onto the Potter mask, "Horris wouldn't have killed his Asps. Horris is dead."

"We'll furnish a cell, then," Dean finally agreed after a shocked silence, apparently understanding how painful the situation was to him. And for that Draco was extremely thankful... only Dean and Hermione could read his moods nowadays. Hermione. Hermione would be back in a little while.
"When is everyone coming?" he asked, veering slightly off topic, "I want him moved beforehand."
"Remus will try to drag your cousin Sirius over in two weeks... you know when Hermione and the Professor are coming better than anyone. Are you going to take up the vampire's offer?"
"If he gives me his name, yes." Draco knew how intimate a Vampire's name was to him- how heavily protected. To have that was to hold the vampire's very identity as insurance. A thing more precious to the beasts than blood. With his name, Draco would trust him... to this extent at least.
"I'll try to see if he'll agree. If not-"
"If he won't, we'll deal with the options left to us," Draco cut him off, "but tell him I'll be willing to give him more leeway were he to agree."
"More leeway?"
"Let him think on what I mean himself. It will make the offer more appealing."

He was treading on thin ice, he knew; keeping the Phoenix from the others, making deals with a captive vamp and so on... but he had to. He knew no other way to face it all. No other way to protect them all and resolve these hardships with which they were faced.
"I'll need help to move the Phoenix," Dean finally stated,
"I'll help tomorrow night- it's nearly time for everyone to gather for breakfast, and someone is more likely to notice us during the day."
"Must we really move him?"
"Or ward his room more and walk the Vamp to and fro..."
"Wouldn't that be safer though? Especially if you have his name?" Dean pushed,
"Safer how?"
"The others know about him, at least. That he's finally earning his keep will probably make them less annoyed that we're keeping him, too," Dean pointed out, "and most ignore him enough anyway not to ask for any particulars..."
"I still think it would be better to shorten how long the V-"

A loud knock made Draco stop his argument, something about the rushed, forceful thumps making the hairs on the back of his neck stand and his muscles tense. Dean must have felt it, too, already moving to answer the door.
"Zack?"
"I heard Draco was here..." the Asp said in a rush, "I need to find him."
"I'm here," he chimed in, Dean moving to let him face the other Asp, "what is it?"
"There's been an attack."
"No." Draco said with finality, "We can't interfere this time... let Dumbledore handle it on his own for once." Most of his Asps were still burned out from when they fought the Phoenix, a good deal of them still nursing their wounds. Draco's leg still pulsed in pain if he pushed himself too far, and Dean's side was still healing from a fire spell. He knew the Asps wanted to fight and did far more against Voldemort than Dumbledore's Order... especially now that they had pulled his Phoenix out of action. Still, he would not let his Asps – Horris' Asps – hurt themselves before even having a chance to heal for some strangers.
"But-"
"I said no. We're too tired and wounded to-" Draco began, stopping only because Zack ignored him and said three words that made the blond's blood run cold and Dean's face grow impossibly pale.
"It's the Grangers."

The Hogwarts passages were cold and dark in the hours preceding morning- cold and dark and silent and damp. Her footsteps echoed impossibly loud on the old, dark stones and more than once she was sure one of the ghosts or Filch's cat or some stray ghoul would be drawn to their piercing sound. None came.
She made her way slowly through the corridors, needing some warm milk when no dreamless sleep was available. She had that dream again tonight; the triad. It scared her in its detail and unmentioned knowledge. Three figures standing on a hilltop, the grass around them stained red, all three staring each other down. One clad in green, another in black, the last in a dark red. Each holding a wand or weapon.
What she did not see, but knew and felt, was that these figures on the crest of manhood held the wizarding world's future in their hands. In this, they were kin, in all else, enemies, and divided none would ever win. One a servent, one a puppet and the third confused and hesitant. The black one would not be swayed to leave his master, the green too slow in growing into the role of leadership. The red, however, the red could be pulled to either side. He must be pulled to one or fall forever when his puppeteer's strings untangle.
“Some milk, Dobby, if you could,” she answered, as the ever-enthusiastic elf asked what he could get her when she entered the kitchen.

The milk he gave her did not help as much as she had hoped, and slowly she made her way up to the astronomy tower. She needed some air to shake the dream. Maybe that would help. She climbed the staircases slowly, not as worried of being cought out after curfew as she probably should be, not registering that she should be anymore, either. Instead, she walked up the steps half-awake, almost in a trance. She embraced herself when the high wind enveloped her near the window, eyes looking further than they should. She did not see the grounds or the lake, or even the face of the forbidden forest. Instead, she saw what she couldn't possibly see; her neighborhood and family home.
Except, it could not be her home. People did not run around frantically around her neighborhood. No one wore robes around her neighborhood... not black robes, especially. Curses were not thrown near her house, people did not scream. Her house was not alight with fire; it did not have the Dark Mark above it.
Except... it did.

She screamed out from atop the tower, nearly throwing herself off in an attempt to reach her family. Then, when her lungs could be purged no more, she collapsed into a heep on the stone floor. There, she remained shaking until running footsteps sounded.
“Are you alright?” someone asked, whom she did not care.
“N-no.”
“What happened?”
She just shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head.
“Come on Hermione, talk to me.”
“Ginny?”
Ginny nodded,
“Get Draco.”
“Come down with me,” the younger girl insisted, checking her over, “I'm not leaving you alone.”
She did not want to move. She did not think she could get up even if she did want to- but she certainly did not want to be left alone.
“You want to go down to your snakes? They could get Mal- Draco for you.”
“Get Draco.”
“Come on Hermione, we'll get Draco.”

Another set of hurried footsteps sounded, and Ginny let go of her gently. She sat down again, aware of some mumbling but little else before Ginny was back and holding onto her again.
“Hermione, Hermione,” was repeated until she forced herself to focus and look at Ginny, “what happened?”
“I dont' know,” Hermione admitted at last, “get Draco.”
Draco could make it better. Draco would come, tell her no raids had happened tonight... that no one was hurt, that her parents were fine and waiting for her to come home soon. Or at least that the Asps had saved her parents, foiled the Death Eaters' plans as always, and her parents were waiting for her at Snape Manor... shaken, but alright.
She heard Ginny deal with a few other people while she waited, the Gryffindor sending them away with varied amounts of difficulty. Hermione only listened enough to know it wasn't Draco or some other Asp Ginny was dealing with, not caring who else reacted to her scream.

 “Where is she?” he asked as soon as he saw the readhead, who just as swiftly pointed him into the room. Wolf had come running to him, saying one of the Slytherins had said Hermione was hurt by something. He came as quickly as he could, fearing the Death Eaters had attacked both her and her parents at the same time. He was on his way to see her anyway, admittedly stalling somewhat before Wolf had come with the news. Honestly, the only reason he did not check on her right away was that he dreaded telling her she was now an orphan.

He injected some healing and sleep venom while checking her injuries, determined to take her back to where it was safe before anything else could happen.
“Where are you taking her?” the tabbycat of a Gryffindor demanded,
“The Manor. She isn't safe here.”
“Not safe?”
“Her parents have been attacked,” he informed the youngest of the Wesley clan, “they're dead.”
“When?”

“Look,” he huffed, frustrated, and shifted Hermione's weight to minimize the strain on his still-injured leg, “I am not about to go into details here. I'm damn well not about to dally here just to satisfy your curiosity. You want answers? Come along.”
“You want me to go with you?”
Draco kept walking, figuring her curiosity would get the best of her or she'd drop out of hearing distance. Either way, Wolf would be telling her of the raid... Draco would be busy dealing with Hermione; that was hard enough.
“Why cant' anyone just tell me when I ask them? I feel like a clingy puppy always following your lot around all the time.”
“You coming or not?” he huffed, not breaking stride, managing to smirk slightly at the younger girl's indignant huffs despite the situation.

As they entered the Manor through the mirror in what used to be his dorm room, he directed Ginny to Dean without stopping, going right to Hermione's room. There, he layed her on the bed, settling himself in a chair while waiting for the venom to wear off. He could have woken her with a touch, but in all honesty he was glad to get a chance to organize his thoughts. Even though she seemed to know something, based on the state he found her in, he still had to prepare himself; prepare to tell her she he had failed her. Again.
She looked so peaceful, sleeping there. It broke him to think of how she would probably not sleep so well for a long time after this. This, unfortunately, led him to simply watch her instead of preparing to give her the news, and all too soon she was waking. A glance outside proclaimed it just past sunrise, the sky still locked in the lingering gray of twilight as the sun barely peaked above the overcast horizon.

“Good morning,” he greeted gently, managing a slight smile as she looked his way.
“Draco? I've just had the most awful dream.”
“Hermione...”
“It... it wasn't a dream... was it?”
“There's been an attack, Hermione,” he told her as gently as he could, leaning forward in his chair, “I'm sorry.”
“They're dead.” It was not a question.
“We did everything we could, Hermione... we were too late though, most were apparating out when we got there.”
“But the wards! Dumbledore-”
“They weren't even triggered.” Draco told her, feeling her slip into information reconnaissance mode, “we think Voldemort used someone they knew, someone they invited in or who had been keyed to the wards all along.”
She just sat there for what felt like an hour, looking at a spot somewhere just over his left shoulder. He knew she was trying to figure out the same thing that had him stumped on the whole situation- whom could her parents have invited in that was working for Voldemort? Which of their number was working against them?

“I need to be alone.” she stated finally, snapping him from his own circular questions.
“I don't think-”
“Now, Draco. Please,” she insisted, “I need to be alone.”
She did not want anyone to see her break, he realized immediately, and it hurt to know she did not accept the support she had given to them all from him. She was sniffling already, the emotional trauma catching up with her and overtaking her analytical mind.
As she had so often done for him, he pulled her into a hug against her wish for him to leave, starting to rub circles on her back. Her head fell onto his shoulder almost immediately, the last of her barriers breaking as she began to cry in earnest.

Dean left Ginny in the rooms she had stayed in previously while at the Manor, having given her a rundown of the attack. She knew where Hermione's rooms were already, though he did ask that she refrain form seeing her until later. He assumed Draco would let her sleep a while, probably telling her the sad news in the morning. He wondered if he should contact the Professor or wait for Draco to do so. In some ways, everything had suddenly shifted. Dean knew Draco had hoped to work on the Phoenix before anything else, but now Hermione would have to take center stage. The Professor- the Professor too would have to be seen to. Soon the people they had invited for the winter holidays would come; Remus, Sirius, the Professor's sister and so on. They would not be easily kept in the dark, specially since Dean knew each and every one of them would want to see Horris.

Before he knew it, his feet had led him towards the room they had put the Phoenix in. He did not want to be here... though apparently he did. Now that was something he really did not want to analyze, though he quickly moved back towards the regularly used parts of the manor. Maybe he could take over for someone... Marcus, perhaps?
The boy had been feeling quite weary as of late, being the youngest Asp left. Of the three who had been fourth years (who would have been fifth years now, he realized with a grimace) Lisa had fallen in the same battle which took Horris from them, and Emily had died alongside Blaise not even two weeks ago. Dean had heard from Cho that Marcus was sure he'd be next to die- the youngest and thus the weakest. Not that he was, in all honesty... during practice the young Slytherin actually faired very well.

Dean hoped all the boy needed was some time to relax and calm himself- rediscover his center. He had Cho keep an eye on him, either way... just in case.
“Marcus!” he called, spotting the boy walking past, “where are you off to?”
“Zack asked me to feed the Vamp; said he couldn't do it today.”
“Why?” Zack should know better, “I thought you had patrol duty right now.”
“That was yesterday... it's my day off.”
“Then go relax,” Dean insisted, “I'll take care of the Vampire... and don't let Zack toss his chores on you.”
He got Marcus to agree easily enough, though Zack really did annoy him. There were reasons why only certain Asps were supposed to feed the Vampire. Some of which applying to those like Marcus especially. The boy was not detached enough- especially not now. He was only fifteen for Merlin's sake, and though Dean was not two years older, it felt like a terrible gap. Marcus also experienced a far more sheltered childhood despite being an Asp and a Slytherin. A quality Dean hoped the boy could keep some semblance of for as long as possible.

As he went through the motions he'd become so used to he noted only somewhere between a dozen and twenty Death Eaters left in the holding cell. He'd have to tell Draco, when he saw him.
“I was not expecting you today,” the Vampire announced in way of greetings,
“Disappointed?” Dean asked back, smirking slightly. He knew how the Vampire hated Zack.
“No, not so much.”
He fed the Vampire mechanically, only slightly put off by how passively he could watch the thing feed.
“You are unusually introspective today,” the vampire noted after finishing his meal, “has something happened?”
“Yes.” Dean acknowledged sharply, unwilling to say anything more specific.
“And did this event occur before your Dragon and you had a chance to speak on your little Phoenix dilemma?”
“As we spoke, actually.”
“Was anything decided, then?”
“You are awfully curious today,” Dean huffed, not really wanting to be speaking of this now. It had to be done however... and Dean might be otherwise occupied for a while hereafter. “Yes, we did manage to figure out one of the conditions.”
“And what condition would that be?”
“Dragon wants your name.”

“Well,” the Vampire smirked after a heavy silence, “the boy is apparently smarter than I gave him credit for.”
“You agree, then?” Dean asked hopefully, though he kept his voice flat.
“I agree to think on it. Anything else?”
“We did not get through much more before the attack.”
“Ah. Well, your Dragon should know that if I do agree, I will want you to hear my name, not him.”
“Why me?” he asked. Anyone who knew the name was given a way to influence the Vampire, but it was the one to whom the Vampire gave his name to that could really make life difficult for the creature. “You must realize telling me would mean more people around here would know it.”
“I trust your discretion.”
“I follow orders.” Apparently, that made the Vampire laugh. It was a strange sound coming from the undead creature; unnatural.

“Zygmund,” the Vampire said after settling from his laugh.
“What?”
“Zygmund Bromasz Stal. My Name.”
“You're serious? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Zig-mond Bro-moosh S-tall,” he trield it out, “quite a mouthful.”
“Not a half-bad pronunciation, Pup.”
“Can I just call you Brom?”
“It would not have the power of my full name, Pup,”
“It doesn't always need to, I hope,” Dean countered, to which the Vampire smiled slightly, “and my name is Dean.”
“It suits you, Pup.”
“I'll speak with Dr-Dragon, soon as he's available,” he assured, “though he'll want to know why you agreed so quickly.”
“You are easy to trust. That is all, though I have a feeling this Dragon of yours knows more of Vampires than I had previously assumed.”
“He knows his share, Brom,” Dean told him cautiously, feeling quite a bit better that he was now able to call him something other than 'Vampire'.

Dean left shortly after that, figuring he needed to see if he could speak with Draco. He hoped he would find the Beta unoccupied- maybe having already spoken with Hermione. He found him, oddly, wandering the halls, looking pointedly depressed.
“She just went to sleep,” Draco told him without prompting while staring out a window, “I don't know how much more she can take.”
“She knows we're all here for her- she knows we won't think any less of her if she breaks down or needs us for once.”
“I hope so. Everything just piles up right now.”
“We'll survive,” Dean insisted, “we always do.”

“I just spoke with Cho; she said Remus wants to see me tomorrow.” Draco told him, changing the subject.
“He must have heard something from Dumbledore; Ginny told me the Headmaster was acting off lately.”
“Think he told his Order we stole his 'Phoenix' weapon?”
“Seeing as half of them saw us do so, it would be the only prudent course of action,” Dean replied simply, nodding. “Best way to make us out to be evil, after all.”
“Should I tell him?” Draco asked, sounding far less sure of keeping the Professor out of the know than he did when last they spoke.
“Let the Vampire do what he can, first,” Dean cautioned, “we can have him look the body over before Remus gets here.”
“Not before I have his name.”
“I just spoke with him, he already agreed.”
“Did he?”
“Apparently, he finds me trustworthy. I was surprised he gave it up, as well.”
“I suppose we should not delay, then... not with his natural enemy meeting with us soon.”
“Want me to get him?”
“Hermione will be sleeping for a while yet, so now would probably be best.”
“I'll fetch him.”

Brom had another laugh at his expence when Dean showed up for the second time that day.
“You work fast,” Brom told him,
“You'll behave, I hope?”
“As I've assured you. I'm surprised you know such thorough solar-protection spells... few wizards bother with them.”
“I'm an Asp.”
He kept Brom's shackles on, mostly in case someone saw them.
“So this is your Phoenix, Dean Pup?” Brom asked when they arrived in the room, “and the Dragon.”
“You should not have told him your name, Wolf,” Draco scolded,
“It doesn't carry the weight for mortals; you said so yourself,” Dean reminded, liking the way Brom had come to favor him. “Zigmoond Bromash Stall,” he introduced him, making sure Draco memorized it.
“Wolf said you will not tell me yourself,” Draco remarked to Brom,
“He said you accepted this.”
“Yes, I have. See what you can make of that,” Draco ordered, pointing to the still form on the bed.

“The blood sample I asked for?”
“Take it yourself.”
“No, it will not work if taken directly.”
“Wolf, go to the lab and bring a couple vials.”
“If there's a cup, Dean Pup, that'll do,” Brom amended.
With a nod from Draco Dean took the cup in the room, scourgified it, and cut the Phoenix's wrist as swiftly as he could to collect some blood. The cut closed easily before the cut was fully filled, and he handed it to Brom.
“Why can't you take it right from him?”
“Too concentrated, Dean Pup, and I would not know if what I tasted was in the blood or on the body.”
“Well?” Draco prompted, impatient,
“Don't rush me, Dean's Dragon,” Brom insisted before taking slow sips like Draco did when savoring vintage wine.

            Draco poured two glasses, handing one to Remus. It was quite early to be drinking, yes, but the topic at hand could use a few drops of brandy.
“Thank you,” Remus smiled slightly, taking the offered glass.
“Dumbledore sent you, I assume?”
“No, not directly... though he did tell us you captured his Phoenix; our best weapon against Voldemort.” Remus leaned forward, his stare seemingly searching for something in Draco's expression, “This left the Order quite defenseless, Draco.”
“How close have you stood to him? How much do you know, Remus?”
“The Phoenix only ever appeared in battle, we-”
“Dumbledore didn't tell you anything,” Draco dismissed, sighing, “I guess I have to start at the beginning.”
“Is he still alive, at least?”
“Alive?” Draco barked out, “ Remus, the 'Phoenix' died long before we 'captured' him.”

           “Horris' body was stolen by a vampire; we caught him, but didn't regain the body. Not until we caught the Phoenix.”
“You captured him to find Horris' body?” Remus demanded, reeling back, “Why didn't you come to us? Did you tell Severus?”
“Merin, no, and we didn't know who took Horris. We took the Phoenix to kill him; to stop him from killing more Asps. He took out Blaise, Remus, and Emily would not have died if we had only been facing Death Eaters!”
“You make no sense, Draco,”
“Dumbledore took Horris.” Draco stated bluntly, “Dumbledore made the 'Phoenix' into his puppet; out of what he stole.”

           “The Phoenix is Horris?”
“The 'Phoenix' is a reanimated puppet, made to look like Potter for some sick reason.”
“He looks like Harry?”
Draco nodded slowly, suppressing a cringe from the hopeless whine he heard in Remus' voice.
“Can I see him?”
“No. Not now.”
“Why, Draco?”
“Dean is watching the Vamp right now, he's trying to figure out how it's been done and what's going on, exactly.”
“You trust a vampire to find the truth?” Remus growled,
“He gave me his name, and Dean can take care of any problem that arises.” Draco calmed, knowing how deeply werewolves hated vampires. “I'll tell you more, but I would like you to bring Sirius here and settle in, first. Things are being set into motion; I need all those we trust in one place- protected.”

           “You want Sirius to come here now?”
“And I want you to keep this whole thing from him, if at all possible,” Draco confirmed, “Forgive my bluntness but I don't want to deal with his temper and issues over this situation- I don't know if I can, but we need everyone together.”
“You think something is about to happen?”
“I don't see how it won't; Dumbledonre would have to be a fool to think Voldemort doesn't have a spy within his Order. He has just lost his new weapon- announced it, mind you- and let's not forget the Asps are down two more members with the ten that remain obviously wounded or fatigued. How could he not take such an opportunity? How could Dumbledore not at the very least try to retake his 'Phoenix', for that matter?”

Ten.
           Merlin's balls! He felt like hurling, then and there. Of the fourteen who made it to Hogwarts (not daring to think of the twenty originally conceived) not even a dozen were left! Four dead; ten alive.
His fault.
“Draco?”
“Sorry,” he shook himself, focusing back on the man before him, “what did you say?”
“I said that I don't like you keeping all this to yourself. Does Severus even know?”
“No.”
“Draco-”
“No. When he comes back I'll tell him everything. He doesn't need all this right now.”
“You can't handle all this on your own- you need help.”
“I have help.” Draco insisted, standing up as he realized nothing else could be settled.
 “Now, I'll have Dean come get you as soon as you can see him,” he assured, “I need to be getting back.”
“You can always talk to me,” Remus assured him in turn, taking the hint and walking slowly out the door.
Draco sighed and sat back in his chair, suddenly unwilling to go back down to where Dean, the Vampire and the Phoenix were. He had made so many mistakes. So many big mistakes.

He finally made it down nearly an hour later, somewhat glad Dean and what Draco was quickly beginning to think of as Dean's vampire had not yet finished. There was a small cup, now empty, off to the side with a red smear still visible along its lip.
“Well?”
“We only started two hours ago,” Dean told him calmly, “Brom said he needed to fully digest the blood before the subtler things could be 'tasted'.”
“Has he digested it by now?”
“Yeah, that's why we're back here. Now that it's absorbed he said he can tell us what spells are on this thing and all the other modifications.”
“Basically,” 'Brom' agreed, “though this is not quite that simple.”

           And?” Draco pressed,
“Brom said it's definitely the same body he took,” Dean began, “though there appears to be a ton of foreign magic on him.”
“We know that; who's is it? Dumbledore's?”
“Not sure, actually, we don't have any of Dumbledore's blood to test it against.”
“Damn,” Draco sighed, wishing this had given them all the answers he wanted, “well... can he undo it?”
“We're making a list of the spells on him, for now. Brom thinks it would be better to know what he'll be taking down before we start actually doing it.”
“You think there may be repercussions?” Draco asked, addressing the brooding vampire.
“The blood tastes odd; I do not believe it is simply due to him having been an... Asp.”
“Have you sampled Wolf's blood?” Draco asked, giving Dean a reprimanding look. Dean should be more careful.
“No.”
“Good. Now that I am here,” he emphasized, glad that Dean had shown some restraint, “would something like that help?”
“It might, though from what my Prince's intelligence advisors say... is there a difference between him” Brom asked pointing to the 'Phoenix', “you and a normal Asp?”
“There is,” Draco confirmed, “Thus my blood would be closest.”
“As I said, I do not think it comes of him being an Asp.”
“I'd rather you know for sure.”
“Neither way will I be sure... unless you have some of his blood from before his capture. Anything else and some guesswork must still be involved.”
“Either way we must rely on your intuition, you mean.”

           Draco endured the answering silence, waiting for further assessments. Finally, when it was obvious neither Dean nor his vampire were going to be forthcoming, he asked,
“So what are our options?”
“Options?” Dean echoed, sounding distinctly hesitant.
“You know something,” he huffed, “tell me.”
“Well... Brom said that in order to get rid of the foreign -whatever it is- in the blood, we'd probably need to drain him, let Brom digest it a while then replenish him... so he's still whole as the burial rights dictate.”
“What I said,” the vampire quickly butted in, “is that would be what I would normally suggest.”
“I assume there is a 'but' here somewhere?” Draco demanded, a migraine threatening to overtake his wits.
“You realize this is no normal situation. This hardly even qualifies for a purging; the body is not dead.”
Draco quickly grumbled that the Phoenix was certainly not alive or sentient, either, but tried to keep the sound low enough to pass as something he'd meant to keep to himself.

“What do you suggest, then?” he asked in a louder voice, trying to ignore the indignant feeling that threatened to overtake him whenever the body inhaled a deeper breath of air in mocking testimony of its 'nondead' state.
“Draining the magic. If I drain the blood, possible problems from venoms aside, the lack of blood would kill him before the magic would be gone.”
“The magic is what is making it 'alive'.” Draco insisted, “He died already.”
“I am saying that to peel off the mutilations all but the most outer must remain intact; in order to dismantle them all. The magic keeping him breathing is the most buried, I would assume.”
“And?” Draco asked, rubbing his temple, utterly confused by what the vampire had just stated.
“If he stops breathing, canceling that magic, all the layers above will fall in on themselves; tangle to an extent that you will never be able to unmake them.”
“Fine. Just revert him to what he was before you took him.” Draco demanded, not caring for the particulars anymore with the other issues that needed his tending, “How long will this take? I need to see Hermione.” he added, turning to Dean.
“We can't tell,” the other Asp answered meekly, “a few days, probably.”
“Get started. The Professor will be here soon.”

           Too soon; four days. Four extremely short days from now... and then, Draco would be held responsible for all of the disasters that seemed to plague him ever since Horris up and disappeared due to the very vampire now gorging himself on their captured Death Eaters. And once the he learned of it all, Draco was sure, the professor was going to kill him.
“I need to go.”
And he left, forgetting all about the werewolf. He wanted to see Hermione... the only problem was that she was even more broken than he was right now. She had worse problems to deal with, and it would be cruel of him to heave more onto her already sagging shoulders.

           Still, he went to her, hoping to help... even if he was unable to help himself. When he opened the door, she was looking out the window, as she would often do before all the tragedies. The familiarity of the scene warmed him and he ran a hand through his hair to help ground him.
“How are they?” he asked, meaning the Asps she is watching train.
“Ginny was there, earlier- with Terry.”
“He's helping her while Dean is busy... she's taken to learning how to take care of herself,” he clarified the girl's presence, “how are you?”

           Hermione fell silent at his question, and he refused to press her for a verbal answer. Instead, he sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They sat there, quiet, Draco taking a substantial comfort in being able to offer her his support.
“I'll be okay, Draco.” Hermione assured him softly after several minutes of them simply sitting there,
“You're the strongest of us all.”
“I am not,” she negates his assessment, “I'm simply blessed with wonderful friends.”

           Dean watched silently as Brom set to work on the body. At first glance, the extraction looked just like a feeding, the vampire's fangs firmly lodged in his victim's jugular vein. No blood was siphoned out, however, and the experience seemed to be weakening the vampire instead of rejuvenating the undead's strength. He wondered if he should have an elf ask Zack to prepare one of the Death Eaters, as the Asps who helped feed Brom were told that Draco and he were using the Vampire in another part of the manor. He would also need to ask Zack to take an inventory of said food supply, as he was sure Brom would now need extra nourishment over the next few days.

           “Interesting.”
“What is?” Dean questioned, turning his attention back to the present to hear Brom clarify his muttered curiosity.
“There are more layers of spells than I had assumed, but amazingly thin.”
“Thin?”
“Single spell layers... with a few interwoven supporting spell threads. I had expected a far more convoluted and extensive network to keep the body functioning and animated to the extent you said you saw during the battle. This should take a day and a half, at most.”
“Can you do it in a day?”
“Late tonight, if I get enough actual blood, and barring any complications.”
“Are you hungry now?”
“Not yet; in a couple of hours.”
“I'll get you another Death Eater when you finish.” Dean assured the vampire, hoping the offer of a second meal would present an incentive to get this done as soon as possible. Draco, he knew, needed this done and over with.

           He watched as Brom returned to pulling at the layers of magic, looking more at the emotionless face of the body in bed than the vampire himself. He saw Harry and Horris; his friend form first year, his dear Alpha and yes, the cloaked figure responsible for their latest tragedy. All on the same, not-quite grown, body of a boy on the edge of maturity. It felt like watching him die. It was slow and calm, as sharp a contrast to how Horris actually died as Horris was to his earlier Harry persona. It hurt, seeing such a willful and vital friend being killed off so slowly and passively. Standing here was practically like killing Horris again himself. Dean could barely stand it. He wanted to leave, run away and pretend he was unaware of this extra, secret tragedy of Dumbledore's making.
He forced himself to stay.

           He watched for hours, having stopped briefly to tell an elf he would need a Death Eater prepared soon. He watched both deteriorate; Brom with fatigue as Harry grew pale and seemingly thinned right before Dean's eyes. It was too gradual to know for certain, with so little physical change, but Dean tried to use Brom's shifts beside the bed to gauge when each layer of magic fell.
When the next one fell, he needed no such cues from Brom. Harry's face seemed to melt and fade, slowly at first, then quickly like a wax mask held over a fire before it was seemingly reabsorbed by the body beneath it. Horris lay before him, still and unmoving, and it was now that Dean called for the house elves to bring in the Death Eater.

           He let Brom move to the back of the room to feed, the vampire seemingly aware of Dean's need for some time alone with Horris. He didn't know if it was due to him being an Asp; Horris his Alpha. He didn't know if it was simply his love for his friend or the urge to assure himself that the search was over. He needed to know Horris was really here. More than that. For just a little while, he needed to see him breathing and sleeping; calm and alive.

           Draco would want to be here; to know, at least. Part of him wanted this for himself, for a while at least, but he did call over one of the elves watching the vampire feed and order him to call for Draco.
“Yoou's to waits, Master's Drakoh saids, he come.”
Dean just nodded back, once the elf had told him Draco's answer, glad that he could keep from looking on for a while more without guilt. He had at least five minutes to himself with Horris.

           Even in the comatose state, Horris looked so unquestionably alive. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the slightest twitch of a muscle every now and then and the presence of warmth viewed though Dean's Aspian senses that could never be fully turned off. He could not help but touch Horris' face, feel the warmth physically radiate from the body, as well as the softness preservation spells had previously solidified to a point somewhere between flesh and stone.
“Forgive us for failing you, Horris,” he whispered.
“You didn't.”
“It feels like I did; like we all did,” he told Draco honestly, though the negation did make him feel better.

           He turned from Horris then, sparing the Beta a half-hearted smile.
“I never thought I would see him alive,” Draco murmured, now as lost as Dean had been.
“The professor should be here, too.”
“No.” Draco countered firmly, “Not when we'll be forced to see him die. Again.”
A bombardment of images assaulted Dean then; of the vampire sucking at Horris' neck as he had for hours... though now looking as Horris and not Harry. The image, the sense of that softness and warmth he had felt, fading back to the previous, dead state. Merlin, how he did not want to see it, how he wished Draco did not need him here. That Draco had never confided this business to him. He nodded.
'Can we put this off?' he wanted to plead, keeping silent only because he could see Draco in much the same pain. He also knew the answer would be no. He knew the answer and dared not force Draco to utter it.

           Brom had finished his 'meal' long ago, Dean saw, having put the body in one corner and leaning it against the wall. Draco was still lost in Horris' presence, his state echoing that which Dean must have been in at first. He did not want to pull Draco out of it before he had to. He moved back quietly, positioning himself beside Brom; giving Draco his space.
“How many layers left?” he whispered the question after a minute of just standing there. He did not want to disturb Draco... but neither did Dean want to put up silencing charms.
“Under ten,” was the shrugged reply, Brom adapting the same soft voice Dean had used. “They'll take a while, as these ones have been compacted by the ones above. The changes will be more obvious after each is brought down as well, I think... all that is left is the sustaining ones.”

           “Do it.” Draco ordered, voice still sounding distracted and his attention still obviously fixed on the form atop the bed.
“Draco-”
“No Dean; I'll lose myself.”
Nodding to his Beta's order and the unvoiced fear that delaying would only make it harder to ever give the order, he asked Brom if he was ready and attempted to brace himself for the moment Horris returned to the ranks of the dead. He would just have to remind himself that Horris had never actually left them.

           Next thing Dean knew, he was standing next to Draco (...or was it Draco who stood near him?), and Brom was leaning over to sink his fangs into Horris once more. He remembered none of them moving. He was in a most sudden haze; a state of existing as opposed to actual awareness. Was he losing his mind? Only when he heard a muttered 'well, this is odd' did he become aware of things once more.
“What is?” he heard Deaco demand, standing now on the side of the bed furthest from Dean; as if the Beta had appirated.

           Dean forced himself to full awareness, listening to Brom ask Draco if his offer to sample his blood still stood.
“Why now?” Dean asked, struggling to catch up with the conversation,
“He said the blood's taste has changed.”
“You said it'd do that with every layer though,” Dean puzzled, focused on Brom,
“Not by this much, Pup, and not so suddenly.”
“Then...?”
“We don't know, Dean,” Draco answered, “though whatever it was pulled both of us into a weird state.”
“The haze?”
Draco nodded, then turned to Brom and offered up his non-wand wrist.
“The last two layers were interwoven,” Brom told him before taking Draco's wrist, adding “you two fell into a weird state and his blood went from sickeningly sweet to tangy,” before biting down.
“What could cause that?”
“If we-” Draco winced as Brom's fangs sank in, “if we knew, this wouldn't be necessary.” Then, as Brom pulled back, Draco focused on him instead, silently demanding an explanation now as well.

           “Tangy; tangy and a little bitter.” Brom told them after mulling over the taste like a wine connoisseur. Then, as if only now realizing the two Asps did not understand him fully, he added “I think I've finished taking off Dumbledore's magic.”
Both fell silent at that, just looking at him for a minute before Draco stated what Dean realized had been bothering him over Brom's statement.
“He's still breathing.”
“There are still layers to dispel, but they're hewn of his own magic.”
“That's impossible.”
“Funny, Muggles say the same of Vampires.”
“Just get the rest of the layers off him,” Draco insisted, clearly not up to arguing about the subject further.
“But Dragon,”
“No, Wolf, it may be his magic... it's not him. Horris died. If Dumbledore figured out a way to use Horris' magic to accomplish his scheme, that's all the more reason to undo it. Now, Vampire.”
Brom moved to comply, apparently knowing nothing Dean could say would make Draco negate his order.

           Unlike before, Brom's fangs did not simply sink into the flesh. The layers did not fall away without any outward indication and the body on the bed did not lay still as all this occurred. The fangs sank in smoothly as before, but ten, maybe twenty seconds later the body on the bed arched, sucking in a noisy breath. Then a bright flash blinded him, followed in quick succession by a thump and Brom's moan before he fell unconscious from being slammed against the opposite wall.