Prologue | Aftermath

Cold and silent the night was, perfect for a hunt, Sirius reckoned.

Many lights came from the streets of Godric's Hollow, but only a faint noise could be heard; that of the muggle's voices, like a weak echo, so low even his slightly augmented senses had trouble detecting. Yet the young Animagus could not care less about those people. In his mind, there was only another person in the world who mattered apart from him.

A man who was going to die tonight.

Sirius Black abandoned his human form and allowed the primal rage he had felt for the past few hours to take over his body and mind. And so he became Padfoot. At first, the lights and the noise became clearer, like needles upon his sight and hearing, but he quickly regained his composure. Peter Pettigrew. Blood. Those were the only thoughts which filled his mind that night.

The exact moment he had remembered where James and Lily lived, so suddenly, Sirius had understood his life was about to change. He had prayed many times to whatever higher being watched over them for it to not be as awful as he thought; as he knew it would be. However, his hopes were completely crushed the moment he reached where the Potter's house was supposed to stand, on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow.

That fucking rat had betrayed them.

Truth to be told, Sirius had been very confused at first, as he stared at what was left of a house; only a mass of charred wood and piles of ashes. Their lifelong friend, one of his three brothers in all but blood, could not have done this. There was no way. It had to be a mistake; a cruel joke. Then despair and blame became the only two emotions he could feel. How could he not? After all, the person who decided to name Peter as the Secret Keeper was no other but him. Was the madness which ran through the Great House of Black finally catching up to him? Why had he refused to become the Secret Keeper?

Padfoot let out a grim huff, more like a growl, as he strode through the cemetery's alleys. Who would have thought that Peter, the most cowardly and weak of the Marauders, could become the man who possessed the knowledge to alter the course of the damned war? To alter Sirius' world? Not him, certainly. I must focus on the present, Padfoot thought. I cannot change the past, but I know what comes next. Oh, that I do.

Both Sirius and Padfoot had waited for hours under the moonlight, waiting for a certain bastard to appear—because he could not live without regrets, could he? Peter Pettigrew was a traitor, a man who had sold his best friend to the Dark Lord, but he was not as strong as he needed to be in order to survive the guilt. He would feel the need to see the price of his actions with his own eyes; to feel their weight. The sins of a coward who killed the man who befriended him when no one else wanted. A coward who killed the man who welcomed him into the Marauders.

Suddenly, Padfoot came to a halt.

Weren't those his sins too? Had he not refused to become their Secret Keeper? The Animagus resumed his stride. He would live with that weight over his shoulders, though Peter would not. As soon as that bastard was to appear at Godric's Hollow, Sirius would kill him. What other thing could he do? Little Harry was safe with Dumbledore and Hagrid, so Sirius had no worries. He was a man on a mission.

Finally, a familiar presence reached his senses. Atop of some little hill of the cemetery, a cloaked figure stood; a short man, no doubt. Barely conscious of his actions, Sirius took control once again. The young wizard cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, but he didn't silence the noise of his footsteps. That would be too much magic, and he trusted his stealth skills enough.

One step after another, he got closer to the cloaked man; so close his scent filled his nostrils, that of fear. Once he was close enough, Sirius pointed his wand at Peter, who had yet to acknowledge his presence. His former friend stared to the south, where the remnants of a house still burnt.

Suddenly the words came out of Sirius' mouth by themselves. "What have you done, Peter?" It was a hoarse voice, so emotional it angered him. He needed to be cold as ice! Yet the words kept flowing. "Why?"

Almost instantly, Peter turned toward him with a scared squeak as he held his wand with a trembling hand. He looked around, but no one else was there to return his gaze. "The Dark Lord was going to win!" Peter exclaimed. Truly, such a voice was that of a coward. "We were all going to die, Sirius! I had to do it!" He looked everywhere as tears fell down his face. "I had to do it! I have never been as brave as James or you were! I did not want to die so early!"

His hood finally fell off his head. Hearing his confession and staring at his face made something shift inside Sirius. All the memories from their years at Hogwarts came to his mind, just to be quickly erased the instant after it.

He then turned visible. "Betraying them was your first mistake, Peter," Sirius said with a cold voice; one his mother would have been very proud of. "To think I would not hunt you down was the second and your last mistake."

The rat had the audacity to beg for his life, "Sirius, wait, please." Moreover, he raised his wand at him. How did he dare?

"Avada Kedavra!"

Peter was quick enough to turn into a rat, dodging the Killing Curse by mere centimetres. The little animal ran from him, but Sirius also knew how to play that game. He welcomed Padfoot once again, and so the hound began his persecution. Street after street, the dog missed his chance several times; let it be its sharp teeth or paws, none graced the rat. Padfoot knew his form granted him a natural advantage, but Peter was a coward, and they sure knew how to run for their lives. Many muggles had to jump out of the way, sending shocked glances at the large dog. A few times, Padfoot had to jump over those machines which were called cars.

In the end, after a few minutes which felt like an eternity, the persecution died as they entered a square with no exits but the one at Padfoot's back. They were surrounded by a bunch of surprised muggles and many houses with black roofs that were built around the large fountain at the centre of the plaza.

Peter was the first to regain his human form, and Sirius only needed a moment to imitate him.

The muggles looked at them with horror perfectly written all over their faces, but neither of the two old friends seemed to care. "This is it, Peter," Sirius said. His wand was clutched in his right hand with a strong grip, enough to make his knuckles all white and insensible. "I shouldn't have told James and Lily to name you their Secret Keeper. I failed them, and I will have to live with it my entire life, however, you won't."

"I see," Peter whispered in a high-pitched voice. Still, his face showed resolve; a rare sight to behold. "I am really sorry about what I did, Sirius. Believe me or not, I truly am. I wish things hadn't turned into this, but... I cannot die today... All the sacrifices I made... I can't let them be worthless!" Just as Sirius was about to end his life with a precise Killing Curse, Peter moved his wand faster than he had ever done. "Confringo!" he shouted to the skies.

A blasting sound broke the square's silence as an orange curse turned into a storm of destruction.

Sirius could barely protect himself with a Protego. His shield stopped the curse, but he still was thrown into a wall, several metres at his back. Pain was the first thing he felt, and then came dizziness and confusion. When he regained his senses, hell could be seen over the smoke cloud surrounding the place. Dead bodies and limbless muggles filled the plaza, and those who weren't so hurt cried for the loss of their loved ones. The large fountain now poured water into the ground, into the newly formed craters; water tainted by the chrisom red tonality of blood.

And where Peter last stood, there was nothing but one of his fingers.

Sirius could not believe it. He had been bested by Peter Pettigrew. He had escaped right under his nose, and thus he had failed. The young Animagus fell to his knees and started to laugh, maniacally, over the cries of dozens of muggles.

Suddenly—whether a few seconds or hours had passed since his failure was something he ignored—clearer voices could be heard over the cries and sirens. Amidst his madness, Sirius recognised some of them: Gawain Robards, a brave and loyal Auror, was among them. "Dear Merlin," the Auror muttered, not far from where Sirius had knelt. "What the hell happened here?"

And just like that, Sirius found himself surrounded by Aurors and Ministry officials. Some asked him questions about the events which had just occurred, and others tried to help as many muggles as they could; long forgotten was the Statute of Secrecy, it seemed. Many faces became recognisable apart from Gawain's; brothers and sisters who had cried, sweated and bled by his side during the war.

However, Sirius could do nothing but stare at the emptiness. He had failed and James was dead. Peter Pettigrew had escaped alive. Alive! The world had never been as black as it was that day.

Although some words proved him his life would turn much worse. "Aurors, seize this man immediately!" Cornelius Fudge commanded. Sirius was unable to move as several hexes bound him to the ground. Not even his voice could escape from the Silencing Charm which came from Fudge's wand. "Sirius Orion Black, you are accused of the murder of twelve muggles and Peter Pettigrew's death!" he went on. "You have the right to be judged under the Wizengamot's Eyes, but I myself will attest against you, for the surviving muggles have already given their testimony. You shall attend a fair trial, but until then, you will be put under custody."

No, this cannot be possible. This is just a nightmare. Sirius tried to break through the hexes with all his might. His efforts were worthless.

"Gawain, look at this," the voice of Gerard came to his ears. His neck, the only part of his body Sirius could move, turned to look at his friend. In his hands rested Peter's finger. The only proof of how that bastard had eluded death, and the only proof of Sirius' failure. "If those muggles were right with the descriptions, this is all that remains of Peter Pettigrew." Gerard's eyes briefly looked at Sirius; hatred and disappointment were all they showed. "In the end, the news was on point..."

No, please, you must listen to me! Gerard, you can't be serious! You need to trust me! Peter was still alive, of that he was certain. He would never risk his life in one attack if he didn't know he could survive it. This was just another cruel joke! Sirius was sure his mother would be laughing at him from her grave at that moment. That rat, still alive? How could he have failed? A joke! It must all be a joke!

James, Lily, Harry... I'm sorry. And just like that, Sirius was hit by a stunner right on the head.

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It was a cold morning of November; colder than usual, at least, or so Lord Elend Shawn thought. The icy winds of these weeks were a signal that winter was close, but for him, it had been way too long since he last felt other feelings but coldness and despair.

A cup of hot coffee steamed over the large, wooden table of his study. Next to it was a thick book of leathered cover and yellowish paper; The Way of Kings, one of the most ancient manuscripts from his collection. However, none of that mattered as soon as Jiru, the most loyal of his domestic-elves, stormed into the office.

"Master, Lord Covan Redfield is here," the short, old elf said as he bowed his head a little.

"Let him in," Elend sighed as he closed the book. He already knew the reason behind his old friend's visit, and he dreaded it as much as he expected it.

Covan Redfield did not take more than one minute to reach the study at the last level of the manor. He stormed into the room without knocking on the door; his sweaty face and ragged breath were proof of how important the news he brought was. Covan was a man in his mid-thirties, with curly, brownish hair which ended at shoulder length. Tall and broad of shoulders, the result of many years of battle and duels prior to the Great War, not even his proud bearing could hide the horrors the man had seen in those years of conflict; bag under the eyes, the first grey strands of hair, eyes which could only move in every direction to follow the slightest of the movements…

"Tell me, Covan, is it true what Albus Dumbledore proclaimed?" Elend asked, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice.

"It is," Lord Covan replied with a nod of his head. "I went to Godric's Hollow as soon as the news reached my ears. The house no one could remember is in ruins and its remnants burnt to the root, as if it had been struck by a hundred lightning bolts. There was no trace of his body, but I could feel the last traces of his magical aura, Elend. Oh, I sure did! Lord Voldemort is gone, and my gut is shared by Dumbledore himself."

"What an odd ending, indeed," Elend muttered. There was something very strange about the way Voldemort had been defeated, and it was making him very anxious. "I was informed it was a work of very ancient magic, one not even Dumbledore can identify. To be honest, it is the only plausible explanation I can find for this miracle. Besides my personal beliefs, Dumbledore would never lie about the Dark Lord's demise unless he was not completely sure of it."

"That's a point I share," Covan said. The man looked unsure about whether to go on or not, so Elend incited him. "That is not everything, Elend," the wizard continued with a tired sigh. "The baby, one-year-old Harry Potter, survived the Killing Curse! Can you believe it? Only a scar on the forehead! That's all the damage he received."

Work of very ancient magic, indeed. Elend tried to remember all the details of his brief conversation with the Great Sorcerer. Then an idea came to his mind. "How did you find James and Lily Potter?" It was a question based on a mere hunch, but it was the only power capable of such a miracle.

Covan took a moment before answering. "James Potter was found dead in the staircase; struck down by the Killing Curse, most likely. I think he tried to face Voldemort in order to make some time for his son and wife to escape, but there was no trace of his wand nearby, so I assume the fool thought of himself to be safe under the Fidelius." The Danish lord shook his head in disgust, "How could Black betray them? I thought they were like brothers."

"What about Lily?"

"Found dead in the baby's room. Right in front of the crib, to be precise."

The confirmations only fuelled Elend's hypothesis. "I know that Dumbledore mentioned something about the work of ancient magic, but what else? You talked to him in person. Did he say anything else? How this unknown magic was to work, or even how it came to appear at that exact moment?" A certain part of his mind, the one which refused to believe Voldemort's demise, kept whispering about another theory. For the time being, Elend silenced it.

"Well, he kind of did," Covan replied with a furrowed brow. "However, I did not take his comments to heart, precisely. After examining Lily's body and the room where it all happened, the old man started to mutter nonsense about the power of love, the importance of a sacrifice, and those poor souls who could not understand its importance. You already know how much he loves to ramble about these topics, so I paid those words with no second thought."

"This is a kind of magic I have only read about in ancient books," Elend commented as some mirthless smile appeared on his face. Who would have thought the sacrifice of a mother was all it took to defeat the vilest wizard to ever step on the planet? If so, why had so many people lost their lives when the Potter's sacrifice was all they needed? Elend quickly regained his composure and averted those ironic thoughts from his mind. Whatever the hell had turned the Potters into such a valuable element was something only Dumbledore was aware of. After all, it was the Great Sorcerer who ordered them to hide under the Fidelius. "Anyhow, as important as the news is, I guess you did not come here just to inform me about them, didn't you? And certainly, not to cry about the Potter's deaths. You want to know if Voldemort is really gone, am I right?"

Covan winced very subtly at the mention of that cursed name. Many wizards, even those who excelled among the rest like lord Redfield did, had problems with it; to the point some even refused to pronounce it. Elend could totally understand why. Only those who fought in the war knew how far Voldemort and his followers were ready to go in order to accomplish a single bastard's ambitions. In fact, Elend would never forget the first time he saw the Dark Lord in action. How easy it was for him to kill seasoned wizards in combat. So powerful that Elend could barely hold his ground the one and only time he fought that monster.

"You are correct," Lord Covan nodded solemnly. "Say, Elend, do you really think he is gone for good? Do you think the most powerful wizard in history could be defeated by a mere baby and some forgotten power no one remembers? I know what Dumbledore thinks, but I want to know your opinion. I am certain you will not hide any information from me."

As he was about to answer, the office's door suddenly burst open with a loud thud.

Elend's wife, Lady Athena Shawn—formerly known as Athena Black, prior to her removal from the line of heritage like her sister Andromeda before her—stormed into the room. For an instant, she looked surprised to see a second wizard there. "Lord Covan," she greeted, her ice-cold features hiding all the emotions her face could have shown. "I was not informed of your arrival."

She glanced at Elend as if seeking a reason.

"My lady," Covan replied with a little bow of his head. "I came here as soon as I could confirm the news. It is all true."

The confession was enough to shatter her facade of indifference. The woman took her hands to her face as she let out an exhausted sigh. Elend shared the sentiment; they had just got rid of a big problem just to dive into another.

Athena then turned to her husband, "Elend, what are we going to do now? You do know we cannot stay in England for much longer. The surviving Death Eaters will not stop. No, they will try to hunt us down. I know my sister Bellatrix very well. They will come for us all, to finish the venture their master could not!"

The usually collected woman had raised her voice quite a bit, and she calmed down as soon as the realisation hit her. "I will not endanger our son's life," she declared. "Alexander needs to live in a place where he will not need to hide from the enemies we made. Somewhere in which we can go outside without you and me fearing for our safety. I do not want to live in this hell of a country anymore. Here, the shadow of a war will loom over us for the years to come."

"I have already considered every detail," Elend soothed her. "I have lived through a war for far more time than I would have ever wanted. I am not free of sin, though. I have committed many horrible deeds. All the people I killed; some of their faces still visit me at night. But do not get me wrong, I would do it all over again. It was them or us." Elend took a moment to breathe, trying to forget the many faces which came to his mind. Not those of his victims, but those of the comrades he'd lost in the way. "My son and heir Alexander will not pay for the sins his father committed, nor for those of the monster known as Lord Voldemort and the bastards who followed him. It is time for us to move and carry on with our lives."

"Thank you," Athena said with evident relief written all over her face. Then she turned to look at lord Covan. "You should do the same, Covan. How much time has it passed since you last saw your wife and son? Too long, I suppose."

"Certainly," the Danish wizard allowed himself to smile a bit. "Even so, before that happens I need to check something with Elend. That is the reason why I came here."

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At that moment the said man rose from his chair. His mind was stormed by so many questions that he didn't realise he came to stand near the large window behind his table until his wife took the word. "What's the matter, Elend?" Athena asked worriedly. "I know you very well, and I don't like a bit when you get so lost in your thoughts."

Elend just sighed, exhausted. How long had it been since they all had a proper period of peace? He hated himself for being the one to deliver the bad news, but it needed to be said.

"Before you interrupted us, I was about to answer one of Covan's doubts," he began, still avoiding their eyes. "I must admit that I don't think Lord Voldemort is completely dead; something is telling me this story is not over yet. Maybe it's my instinct, nurtured and altered by the war, or perhaps it's Magic itself trying to warn me against being a fool. Either way, I learned long ago to trust my instincts, and so, I will not ignore them."

"But Dumbledore said-" Athena cut in.

"Yes, I know what he said," Elend interrupted his wife. "He told everyone in the Order of the Phoenix that Voldemort had been defeated. Not that he died. Those two are very different things, and even a man like him cannot lie about them. Although he did soothe the truth, certainly."

The wizard finally glanced at his two companions with a calming look. "I have yet to talk with him in person, and I will tell him about my doubts and theories. For the time being, do not stress ourselves with unnecessary drama. Even if I think that Lord Voldemort isn't gone for good, I'm quite certain he will not cause us any trouble in the near future."

One word appeared in his mind: Horcrux. From what he knew about the Dark Lord, it would have been very possible for him to try to reach immortality; although no one really knew what fate those aberrations of nature could bring upon a man. "We should carry on with our lives until proven otherwise," he finished. "For now, you should go back to Denmark, my old friend, and we, my wife, should get ready to abandon England as soon as possible."

As soon as those words left his mouth, Athena walked out of the office without further preamble. And so the two friends were left alone once again.

"Why would you leave your country, Elend?" Covan asked. "If the loyalists are your main concern, you should not worry so much about them. It is just a matter of time for them to end in Azkaban. Or even better, buried deep into hell. Without Voldemort to lead them, they will tear each other apart in their search for a new leader."

"It ain't them who worry me the most," Elend huffed as took a seat once again. "On the contrary, those who are not so loyal to the Dark Lord are. Pureblood lords, like Lucius Malfoy or Jacques Yaxley, will claim to be victims of the Imperius Curse. And they will be excused of their crimes soon enough; of that, I harbour no doubts. We shall not forget money is what is needed the most after a war, and they have plenty of gold to buy their freedom."

"Bartemious Crouch won't allow them to walk away like that," Covan argued back. "That man's life is his duty toward the Ministry and the people of England, with justice as the main flag."

"Crouch is a good leader for the rough times, indeed," Elend agreed. "Nonetheless, he won't be able to make those filthy Death Eaters rot in Azkaban. No one can do that, I'm afraid. The Wizengamot is corrupted, and it will only get worse as the years pass. All those pureblood lords have to do is to shower the future Minister with money, and so they will restore their good reputation within the high spheres of the country."

"Fuck then, if so." Covan slammed his fist on the table, knocking off some jars of ink and a glass of water. "What the hell are they gonna do, Elend? We've dealt with way worse than them. Malfoy, Yaxley, Greengrass; we will end them for good if they try anything against your family. But for that to happen, they would need to be bold enough, and I doubt those bastards have what it needs to go against you."

"Truth be told, I don't think they will try anything in the near future," Elend confessed with a sad smile. "However, in a few years, once the war is forgotten by the great majority of people, and their sins along with it, those bastards will have the same influence within the Ministry as they did in the past. And that is way more than mine."

"Don't be a fool, Elend," Covan went on. The man had taken a seat in front of him; his red robes were dirty due to the ink which had fallen over them. "Your lineage is far purer than theirs. In this country, the only Houses that can rival your power are those of Malfoy, Black and Greengrass. The rest do not matter."

"I wish it could be so easy. However, even though the Great House of Shawn has a seat in the Ancient Council, as those you just named do, here are the Sacred Twenty-Eight who ran the country. And mine does not belong to that select group."

"Have it your way, bastard," Covan sighed in defeat. The man leaned back into his chair, and just like that they enjoyed the brief silence that enveloped them. "If you ever need me for something, I will stand by your side, Elend," the Danish broke it. "No matter against who or what, our families are sworn allies."

For the first time in months, Elend found himself smiling. A real smile. "Thank you, my friend." A new life meant new opportunities—to forget the traumas of the war, to spend time with the family. It also was a very difficult step to take. To leave the country which saw him become the man a little kid grew into was a huge step for Elend; a new stage in which his magical mastery would not help him at all.

But to live in peace? Oh, he could grow used to that...

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To drink himself into a stupor was the only way forward, Severus reckoned—the only way to inhibit those damned thoughts which assaulted his mind in every single moment of clarity.

What was left of the man whose great Occlumency allowed him to live with no regrets? Maybe he had died the moment the news of Lily's fate reached his ears. What was left of the man who had no trouble following the Dark Lord's command? Perhaps, he was also gone. A good riddance, if someone was to ask Severus about it.

Despite his young age, Severus had already experienced many tough moments throughout his life which had pushed him to become the fantastic and cold wizard he was in the present. To become a very important member within the Dark Lord's inner circle. His horrid life at Spinner's End had been the first step towards his demise. The hate of a muggle who was supposed to be his father and his mother's weakness which made her surrender to the drink.

Then came Hogwarts, and with it the beginning and the end of his friendship with Lily Evans.

Oh, Lily! What have I done? Severus took another gulp of his whiskey. All he could remember about Lily was the look of disdain on her beautiful face, on those green eyes he loved so much; the disdain she felt towards the man he would become. In the end, she and Potter had been right. Maybe, that was the cherry on the cake.

Severus drank another shot, not paying any attention to his surroundings. Not as if he needed to, either way. He had found one of the properties which belonged to the Dark Lord. Probably donated by some pureblood lord who wanted to ascend through the ranks, and used by those filthy murderers and rapists who called themselves snatchers. To be honest, it was a rather nice place. A large, wooden hut of three levels with expensive furniture, like the carpet which decorated the living room. It was red, and sewn in black over it was a wizard fighting against some kind of monster from the Ancient Times; silly details he did not care about.

Silly details, just like the three lifeless men who lay over the carpet, whose lives had been taken by Severus a few hours ago. Snatchers. Worthless people who no one would miss. They happened to be unfortunate enough to be in the same place and time as Severus, just when solitude was all he wanted. His hand had not trembled the slightest as those men begged for their pathetic lives. It was no surprise, given the fact they no longer were on the same side.

Everything was so good between us, and I lost her because I wanted to be in the same group as these three rats. Severus was the most stupid wizard in history. Lily's face was replayed again and again in his mind as those thoughts did not leave him in peace; her green eyes, red hair and bright smile. Why had such a beautiful person died? The Dark Lord had promised him that he would spare her life! Yet when a had snatcher appeared at Malfoy Manor to deliver the news, Severus's mind had no trouble accepting them. After all, it was all a man like him deserved.

The young wizard was as drunk as he had ever been, but it did not stop him from unsheathing his wand as he turned around the moment he felt another presence in the hideout. The tip of the wand started to emit a green gleam, caused by the Killing Curse, when Severus found himself blinded by a bright, golden gleam. The Shield Charm came after it, but it was useless. His wand flew away from his hand to land on the intruder's. Severus's eyes were still unused to the bright light, but he didn't need his sight to acknowledge the wizard who had found him—such a magical aura could only belong to the Great Sorcerer, Albus Dumbledore himself.

Much to his surprise, the young wizard found himself smiling quite happily. So, this is how it ends, eh? A bit too late, though. He should have killed me the day I overheard that damned prophecy! Severus just closed his eyes as the shield around his body disappeared. He wouldn't be the one to make things more difficult when the easy way out presented itself right in front of him. Yes, it was better to go in peace before he could do something else to remind himself how much of a failure he was.

Yet the final he waited for did not come.

"You are quite difficult to track down, Severus," the voice of Dumbledore hummed. Severus opened his eyes to find the old man smiling at him. Was it sadness that his eyes showed, perhaps? To a bastard like him? "Fortunately, my old friend Fawkes helped me to find this place. For how much of a great wizard Tom was, he certainly overlooked how wonderful a magical creature can be, and how incredible their abilities are." He had just talked about the Dark Lord as a thing of the past, Severus realised. Albus Dumbledore, the man who was believed to be the only wizard Lord Voldemort ever feared.

Although that was a blatant lie—the Dark Lord had never feared a single man.

"I must say I'm quite disappointed about the poor security of this place," the old man went on as he eyed around. Certainly, he was good at ignoring the pitiful state Severus was at. "These men you killed, because I know this is your work, were snatchers, am I right? I have never felt an ounce of sympathy towards them, but the war is over, and even these poor souls deserve to be judged fairly."

"What do you want?" Severus asked, straight to the point. His drunkenness had remitted a bit; probably thanks to the adrenaline of the brief battle. "Just get it done, Dumbledore. Spare me of your pitiful words and kill me once and for all. I've always hated your moral speeches."

"To kill you?" the man hummed in response. For any reason, the idea looked to amuse him. "Oh, I didn't come here to kill you, Severus. Had I come to do that, you wouldn't be alive to chat with me. Anyhow, forget those pessimistic thoughts and let's enjoy the talk. I came here because I wanted to know how you were doing."

"How am I doing?" Severus repeated those words with a bewildered sneer, too shocked to do anything but look at the old man with a murderous glare. "Ah, I see it now. You want to torment me a little before taking my life, eh? I can't complain, though. This and nothing else is what I deserve."

The Great Sorcerer let out a tired sigh as he gave Severus's wand back to the young man. Its warmness comforted him instantly, but just a little. "How many times do I need to tell you that I did not come here to kill you? I know you are in great pain, Severus. Trust me, I've also been there, in the very same spot you are now. You need solitude and time to soothe the pain, but that does not work for everyone."

"I don't care about soothing my pain," Severus snorted as he took a seat. If he wasn't there to kill him, the young wizard didn't want anything to do with Dumbledore. "Either way, I won't have much time to soothe my pain." The mere idea darkly amused him. He deserved all the pain he was feeling and more. "It is just a matter of time for Bellatrix or any other of the loyalists to find me here. After all, they know it was me who told the Dark Lord to go after the Potters."

"Wouldn't such a fate be a shame?"

"A shame? It is way more than I deserve, old man." He took another gulp of his drink, but no liquor came from the bottle. It was empty. "Killed by the very same people whom I left Lily for! That would be such a poetic ending for me, don't you think so?"

Again, the Great Sorcerer looked at him with sad eyes, something which infuriated Severus to a new level. "I still think there is good will in you, Severus," the old man said. "My experiences and wisdom turned me into a firm believer in second chances, and only a very select group of people are rotten enough to not deserve them. You do not belong to that group, my boy. We both know you have committed very vile acts, but there is still a chance for redemption. I think Lily would have agreed with me."

That last part flared Severus in anger. His magic got out of control for a moment, shattering everything around him; the bottle of liquor was shattered as the wooden door exploded in a rain of splinters. "Don't you dare to pronounce her name!" Severus growled as he stood up. In his hand, the tip of his wand gleamed with a golden gleam, yet no spell came from it. "You promised me you would protect her! But she is gone and I won't get to see her ever again!" A few tears fell down his face; their warmth made his skin burn.

Dumbledore did not move from his spot, and neither did he flinch due to the wand pointed at him. "They trusted the wrong person."

With that, Severus fell to the floor on his knees. Oh, in what moment did he tell the Dark Lord about the prophecy about her son? The only culprit of her death was Severus alone! His wand was let off his hand as the golden gleam disappeared.

"Stand up, Severus," the Great Sorcerer went on with a firmer voice. "There is something you can still do for Lily. Her son, Harry, the baby the prophecy talked about, it's still alive; the rumours about him are true. He survived Tom's curse. However, he will need protection, and I would be very glad to have someone as talented as you help me with that task."

"Protection?" Severus echoed those words. "The Dark Lord is gone, old man. With him out of the picture, it is just a matter of time for the Lestranges to kill everyone else who might have the slightest of doubts about their Lord's demise. And those who will flee away as soon as things start to spiral out of control, like Lucius Malfoy, will become the Ministry's obedient puppies for the near future."

Dumbledore eyed him with serious eyes. "You know as well as I do that Lord Voldemort has many followers out of England; loyal people who will survive the aftermath." He took a moment of pause in which the old man crouched so he could stare at Severus eye to eye. "Moreover, I do not think Tom is gone for good."

For a few seconds, Severus's heart stopped pumping blood. "That cannot be possible," the young wizard muttered with fear. Lily's death could not have been in vain! "He is dead. He must be, otherwise, he would have never disappeared for so long. If he's gone after what happened, it's because he died at Godric's Hollow."

"Tom has accomplished feats no wizard believed to be possible before him; not even me," Dumbledore explained in a soft voice. "If there is someone who can survive the ancient magic that turned against him, that one person would be Tom. He will be back, Severus. However, this being said, I think his return will be a thing of the far future. I refuse to believe otherwise. Not even Tom can bend the laws of this world to his favour. There are limits no human being can surpass. In fact, if we are fortunate enough, we might not see him ever again, at least, as we know him to be. If he travelled the path I suspect he did, then his soul must have taken a huge toll."

Those words made Severus crumble in fear.

Memories of his education came to his mind; he had also heard about a certain way to survive death. Lord Voldemort was a demon in flesh, of that he was sure. If there was anyone who could survive death, it was him. "You could be right, old man," he finally said. "But I am not the wizard you are looking for. I'm sure you can get a noble and brave bastard like Alastor Moody or Elend Shawn to play the role of caretaker for the child." Severus got up from the floor—his drinking time had been ruined by the old Headmaster, so he had nothing to do in that place anymore. His knees hurt a bit, but so did his head. That demon could still be alive!

He felt the Great Sorcerer's eyes all over his figure as he walked out of the room. The moment his hand reached the knob of the door, Dumbledore's words made him freeze on the spot. "The boy has her eyes, Severus. Think about it. Think about your second chance, and maybe your last one. You can be a better person, just like she wanted."

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Ashram waited for Xaladir the Second to make an act of presence.

The tall wizard stood near the border of a large cliff, looking at the violent sea as the waves collided at the feet of the natural structure. The smell of salt filled his nostrils as the noise of seagulls echoed around, enjoying the warm sun which shone upon them. "You have answered my summoning," a grave voice disrupted the peace.

Ashram turned to look at the voice's owner, even though he knew very well to whom it belonged.

Xaladir the Second was a tall man of white, short hair and beard; the same shade of dirty silver as the tunic he wore. The wizard's presence demanded respect, as it could be expected of the Second Master from the Order of Merlin. An organisation which, despite its existence being ignored by the great majority of the magical race, still held great influence within most of the Ministries and pureblood Houses from all over the world. They acted from the shadows, but in no way were they scared of the world. No, it just was the best way to fulfil their agendas.

"The Dark Lord has fallen," Ashram announced. "No one knows how he died, though. All the people I have asked about it told me the same: whatever way it happened, it should not have been possible."

"I have my theory," Xaladir said as he walked towards him. The Second Master stood near him, at the border of the cliff, as they both stared at the far horizon where the sky and the ocean became one thin line. "I did not summon you here to talk about it, though. I came here to end our partnership since you are no longer of use to me, Ashram." The older wizard finally looked at him; his blue eyes were ice cold, and no ounce of warmth could be seen in them. "Our ambitions were of common interest, but these recent events have altered my agenda."

Ashram quickly nodded his head in agreement. He had come to this place expecting the worst, so this simple farewell was something he gladly welcomed. People shady and powerful like Xaladir did not like to leave loose ends in the way. Still, Ashram had many questions in need of answers, so he decided to push his luck. "You do not seem very disturbed about the Dark Lord's demise," the Russian wizard pointed out with a neutral voice. "I thought you needed him to make your ambitions come true. What made you change your mind?"

Xaladir's face remained the same; his intentions were hidden under an emotionless wall. Seconds passed and the Second Master did not answer his questions. The atmosphere was so tense Ashram started to think he had pushed his fortune a bit too much. Then his reply came. "I came to understand that Lord Voldemort was out of my control, and thus I would not be able to use him. At first, I refused to believe I could not manipulate him, but as I grew vigilant of him..." His gaze rose to the clear sky. "He was powerful. Maybe more than any other wizard in history. And that power of his made him lose his mind. In the end, his power search condemned his sanity."

His explanation being finished, the Second Master walked away from the cliff. Ashram observed him until Xaladir apparated away from the island. A sudden smile formed on his face. So, that was what happened. This bastard realised he was playing with powers way beyond his control and he got scared of Lord Voldemort. Such was the power of the Dark Lord, indeed. How easy it was for him, for his mere name or presence, to scare some of the greatest wizards of the present age!

It was so obvious Lord Voldemort was the Chosen One! The Chosen One to clean the world from those who owned it. From those foolish and arrogant pureblood lords of the present age who had allowed magic to decay. Once, in the Ancient Times, the magical race had been feared by every being, let it be a muggle or a magical beast; wizards and witches had been respected and feared in equal measure. However, in the present, those of noble lineage, those who through their veins ran ancient and noble blood, did nothing but to spill it in their petty and stupid disputes as the muggles put everyone else into hiding.

Lord Voldemort was the Chosen One. Yet he had also failed.

Suddenly a new presence could be felt nearby. A shadow rose over the cliff; it created a sombre and icy aura. Little by little, the shadow became clearer. The ghostly figure of a dementor, which emitted an ethereal and faint glow of a red-blood tonality, glided over the wizard's figure. It was much smaller than those creatures that guarded Azkaban, but its presence, although way different, was as imposing as theirs.

His name was Kadir, and he was an Essentia. A being made of magic in its purest form.

Ashram had found him five years ago in a Romanian forest, during one of his expeditions in his search for knowledge and power. The wizard would never forget the day he met the Essentia. A form of life so majestic and royal; made of pure magic! Not like the one Ashram himself possessed, which was tainted by human weakness. In theory, or so Kadir had confessed, there were other beings of his same nature. Scattered around the world, each Essentia had its purpose and duty. In particular, Kadir was a warrior of old, and to restore the magical might was all he lived for. It was he who told Ashram to join the Dark Lord's armies; to become closer to the Chosen One. The Essentia was the only being in the world who shared his dedication and fate, and so, they had become partners.

Ashram allowed Kadir to move through the world with ease, and in exchange, the Essentia educated him in the field of magic. Spells and curses which were long forgotten; knowledge and wisdom from the Ancient Times and the wizards who dedicated their whole lives to studying magic. Truth to be told, much of it was knowledge far superior to his capacities, but he had come to understand some precious concepts about magic which, had he not met the Essentia, he would have never become so wise.

"In the end, he spared your life," Kadir said with his ominous and deep voice; one which fit perfectly with the form he had adopted. "His mind was far weaker than I thought. Xaladir the Second got scared of the Chosen One as every other man did before him. He was no special wizard."

"You might be right," Ashram hummed in response. "He might not be as special as I believed him to be, but he was quite intelligent and scheming. Xaladir used us to get closer to the Chosen One without revealing his plans or risking the secrecy of his identity. And now that Lord Voldemort is gone he sent us off like nothing had happened at all."

"He does not deserve to be called a follower of the Ancient Times," Kadir hissed. As it always happened the very few times his emotions got the best of him, his figure became more ethereal. "He is like every other wizard of this age; weak and fearful of what needs to be done. Lord Voldemort was the only exception, and yet he failed because he got lost in the ambiguity of a prophecy." If there was something Kadir hated above all things, it was how weak and pathetic the magical race was in the present age. According to his words, the wizards and witches from the Ancient Times used to spend all their lives trying to develop magic and their control over it. They were feared and respected as deities. They were the kings of the world.

A sentiment Ashram shared.

In the present age, those wizards of noble blood preferred to play a silly game of power to obtain control over the politicians and wealth above anything else. Muggles had forced them into hiding. The magical beast had more and more rights with each passing day. And yet those wizards who should have been leading the magical race kept killing each other in their games. The world needed a leader like Voldemort—a Chosen One. That is why, even though he did not really care about the purity of blood—if magic ran through a person's veins, let it be pure, half or impure, it was simply because they had been blessed—Ashram had put all his efforts into making the Dark Lord succeed.

"Come on, we must leave this place," Kadir announced, suddenly. "We have a very difficult venture to complete, Ashram the Wizard. The Dark One's demise is a very tough setback, but we shall not give up in our search for justice. Change is an accomplishment only those who seek it harder than the rest may reach. We are above those weaklings who are ruining what was accomplished in the Ancient Times. We will be the change itself."

Kadir was right; this was not the end, just another step in the way. Ashram had already spent many years trying to change the world before the news about the Chosen One reached his ears; even before he met Kadir.

This was just the beginning of his destiny.