Part Seven

"Well," said Abby, looking around.

The portkey, which had been delivered by pigeon three days later, had brought them all to a lovely white sandy beach with a turquoise lagoon to one side, and a cool-looking house to the other.

Harry shook his head: since the Triwizard Tournament, he hadn't been able to portkey without remembering another such trip. He had his wand in hand, just in case. "Where are we?"

Abby checked the watch on her wrist. "Definitely in the South Pacific, as it's tomorrow morning here." As per Black's instructions, they'd activated the portkey in the evening. "Probably an island in the vicinity of Tahiti."

Moody growled and muttered something about the bloody heat.

"Shiver me timbers! It's the Captain!"

Moody groaned loudly as he recognized the voice. "Fiji, the Magnificent."

"In person." The macaw made his way down the bannister of the stairs, head bobbing up and down.

"In scurvy, mouthy person," growled Moody, staggered awkwardly towards the bird, his wooden leg sinking into the sand. Harry went to his side, to help him find his balance after the portkeying.

"Don't encourage him, Alastor. He's hard enough to deal with these days. Thinks of himself as a pirate's mate."

Sylvester Black, dressed only in a white and red sarong, came out from the shadows of the house and down the stairs to greet his guests. He looked Moody over and nodded his head as though satisfied. "You're looking a lot better than the last time we met."

"That's because he's eating regularly. And because I'm rationing the firewhiskey. Hi, I'm Abby. Grandfather's told me so many things about you."

Sylvester grinned. "Remind me to tell you a few things about your grandfather before you leave here."

"Ohhh, possible blackmail material." She sounded absolutely delighted. "Just when I think I'm going to need some. Thank you, Mr. Black."

Sylvester's grin grew wider. "Oh, yes. A Decourcy trait: take advantage of any occasion. Please, call me Sylvester, Abby."

Then turning to Harry, Sylvester looked him over with a far more intense look. Harry had almost been expecting such an examination. Moody had given him one that first morning he had come out of Abby's bedroom. Harry had suddenly found that he had no trouble at all believing that Moody had once been a hit-wizard. That he probably was still quite sharp with those skills. And now Black. Harry wondered if he were going to be invited to call the man by his first name.

"And Harry also. We're not much on formalities out here."

By then they were all in the cooler shade of the porch. "Perhaps, before we get down to business, it would be easier on all of you if you were more comfortable. Alastor, I seem to remember that you favoured kaftans back in the old days. Solfeggio here has one for you. And Abby, Ariette will show you where to change and how to wear it. Harry, if you'll follow me."

Harry was aware that he was being closely watched by Black, and he really wasn't certain as to why. Did Black see himself as yet another of Abby's honourary uncles, or was it something else?

It only took him two attempts to get the sarong to stay knotted. He had to admit that it really was cooler, though next to Black, he felt very pale and...guilty.

Black had been sitting on a chair in his room, watching silently while Harry had struggled with the length of material. He turned to face the man.

"Would you like to tell me why you're looking at me like that?"

Black cocked his head and didn't respond right away. He slowly rose to his feet and approached Harry. "Why are you suddenly involved in this investigation of mine?"

Harry was reluctant to answer. Abby had let slip a few things and he wasn't certain she should have. He didn't want to get her in trouble.

"Guilty conscience?"

Harry swallowed: there was that tone and look again. Bloody hell, another damn "Unspeakable", probably even a hit-wizard.

"In a way. I failed someone who had done his best to defend me."

"And now you're trying at redemption?"

Harry shook his head. "One thing he taught me was that we live with our mistakes. Redemption is an illusion. Redress, on the other hand, may go a little way to making living with mistakes easier."

"So you're not in this for absolution."

Harry shook his head. "There can be no absolution for failing a comrade in arms. Look, Mr. Black..."

"Sylvester. Call me Sylvester, Harry."

Harry wondered why he suddenly felt that he had passed some test. "Sylvester. Until two weeks ago, I had no idea that anyone was trying to discover what had truly happened to Severus Snape."

"And what happened two weeks ago?"

Harry had had enough. "Two weeks ago I fucked Neville Longbottom in exchange for his signed confession that he had framed Severus Snape for treason. With the willing and maybe not all that knowledgeable participation of several other people, some of whom I know. Or thought I knew. Abby was waiting for me when I came out and she took me to Moody's flat."

Sylvester's eyebrow rose high. "You did that without back-up? Surely Severus taught you better!"

Harry sighed. "That's what Abby said."

After a moment, Sylvester grinned, shaking his head as he gestured to the door. "Shall we join them, Harry. I'm curious to hear how the Whiner has assigned himself so many roles in this little drama of ours."

In the hallway, Sylvester added. "Have you met Decourcy yet?"

Harry groaned. "No, not yet."

Sylvester laughed, sympathetically Harry thought. "Remind me to tell you about his little stay in Bangkok. I don't think he's ever bothered to mention that one to his wife."

They sat around the table on the porch. Solfeggio hovered in the background, seeing that their glasses were filled, listening and silently assessing their reports. Sylvester knew he'd get the elf's assessment of the proceedings once they were alone. Over the years, he'd learnt to appreciate Solfeggio's perceptions.

Moody let Abby do most of the talking. "Her research, her work, her conclusions," he muttered, his magical eye focused on Fiji who preened himself throughout the meeting.

Abby folded her hands on the table and began. "Wyman Osegood has connections both to the Snapes and the Malfoys by virtue of family lines."

"If I remember well," interjected Sylvester, "he's a couple of decades younger than I. Began his career with the Department of Mysteries. Where he'd felt vastly underappreciated. Hence The Whiner."

"He expected his long eyelashes and those blue eyes of his to open a lot of doors," muttered Moody.

"Well, they did. Just not the doors he needed to get where he wanted to go," reminisced Sylvester. "They don't call it the Department of Mysteries for nothing. He was ambitious. I remember that about him. And proud. Vain."

"He was a bloody pain in the arse," growled Moody.

Sylvester caught the look of commiseration Harry sent Abby. He hid his smile: had she thought her report was not going to be presented without interruptions? With Moody present?

She took advantage of the pause to reclaimed the table. "Well, he did get called upon to use his good looks to others' advantages. And to his. For example, when Edwin Snape began to show too much interest in one Esmeralda Longbottom, nee Evergreen, Wyman Osegood suddenly appeared on the scene."

Sylvester was suddenly very interested. "Are you're saying that Edwina Snape had something to do with that?"

"I think so. The reason Edwin didn't put up much of a fuss about being sent to Italy was that he and Esmeralda had had a fight...about her new friendship with Osegood. And Osegood was certainly on the scene to console her after Edwin left.

"And when Edwin came back with Lucrezia, Osegood suddenly began to be mentioned frequently in the social columns of the Daily Prophet at the same gatherings as the Snapes attended. And they attended many as Edwin did a fair amount of socializing in diplomatic circles as part of his position. Osegood is often mentioned as accompanying Edwina Snape."

Sylvester slouched onto his backbone. "You think Edwin's mother tried to have Osegood bat his eyelashes at Lucrezia?"

Abby shrugged. "Would make sense. It had worked once already. Her plans for her only son did not include him attaching himself to a witch from a minor family, nor a foreign one. She wanted a witch with powerful connections for her little lad. From the information I got out of some of the older house elves..."

Moody tore his eyes from Fiji. If Sylvester hadn't known better, he'd think the old grouch actually missed the bird "How the hell did you ever get house elves to speak to you, Abby? There's not a more close-mouthed bunch anywhere."

She grinned. "There are ways. Actually, Grandfather is owed a few favours from that camp and he allowed me to call them in."

Sylvester was taken by surprise when some internal switch from long ago clicked into alert. "Decourcy is interested in this? Why?"

Abby sighed loudly. "If I may be allowed to continue?"

Moody smirked at Sylvester who nodded, grinning, "Decourcy genes. Go on."

"Well, it seems that apart from her work and Severus, Lucrezia wasn't interested in much. Not even poor old Edwin who, once home, fell back under his mother's thumb again. Seems Lucrezia told her house elf that she'd fallen in love with the surface of the man, with his manners. It had been a whirlwind courtship, just months before he was coming home, and she had been blinded by the courtship.

"I've seen pictures of Edwin back then. He was quite a handsome man. Bit of a weak chin, but then Lucrezia seems to have come from a family where women ruled."

Harry grinned. "Guess Edwin's mama was not pleased about that."

"No. The house elves told me there were some incredible battles whenever Mama visited Snape Manor. With Edwin's marriage, she'd moved into the dowager house. So finally she didn't. Visit that is. Not until Lucrezia died."

Sylvester grew serious. "And are you still maintaining that was not an accident?"

Abby nodded. "The potions she was working on were not explosive. And..."

"And?"

"Well, it seemed that Wyman Osegood was a frequent visitor at her lab. The Ministry had grabbed her as soon as she indicated she was interested in working for them. She was quite a catch for them.

"By then, Osegood was working his way up Auror ranks and was supposedly coming by to see what Lucrezia was up to, in a friendly manner. He was very flirtatious as well, according to her then lab technician. She wasn't interested. Thought him silly and tried very diplomatically to push him away. Seems when she finally lost her temper, it was something to behold. She shredded his ego to bits. Two weeks later, there was the accident."

Sylvester felt a coldness rise in him. He pushed it back and shook his head, sighing. "And let me guess: someone reported to Edwin that his wife had been `friendly' with Osegood."

She nodded. "Friends say he changed after that. Became a misogynist. Stayed long hours in his office and took work home. A few months after Lucrezia's death, there was a spectacular scene in his office. With Edwina. Not that anyone had to eavesdrop: the whole office could hear them screaming at each other. She wanted him to accept a marriage union with someone and beget a `decent' heir. He told her that he wanted nothing more to do with women. As was, he couldn't even trust the heir he had to be his."

Sylvester rubbed his face. "Shit. Poor Severus. And is he Edwin's?"

Moody looked startled. "With that nose? It's stronger than Edwin's, but it's a Snape nose. Hell, even the old witch had a nose to be noticed."

Harry spoke softly. "So her plans backfired and her relationship with her son went sour."

Sylvester nodded. "And she took it out on Severus."

Harry said nothing but Sylvester noticed that he looked sympathetic. There had been rumours about the life of the Boy Who Lived with his Muggle relatives.

Moody was, as usual, more direct. "Bitch!"

Abby shrugged. "Yes, well, she came from a minor branch of the Snapes and she wanted to socialize with the best wizardry families. She'd been counting on Edwin to give her that."

Sylvester allowed some of the coldness to escape. "I don't care. Severus was abandoned by his father and abused by her. They both needed whipping."

Harry got them back on track again. "Tell him how Osegood gets involved with the Malfoys."

Abby smiled at him before continuing. Oh, thought Sylvester, so it's like that, is it? No wonder the boy was worried about meeting up with Gerry.

"He's a cousin to Narcissa. Lucius and Narcissa were his kind of people. Vain, well placed. Rich."

Moody rubbed his chin. "I've been talking to a few of the old Aurors, the ones who have been put out to pasture after Voldemort. Seems there was a rumour around for some months after the Death Eaters round-up that we didn't get all the Voldemort people. That there was a highly placed mole. The idea came up a few times under Veritaserum, though no one knew the mole's identity."

Sylvester shared a telling look with Moody. "Hmmmm."

Harry involved himself again. "How did Osegood get involved with Draco and Longbottom?"

"Well, near as I can find out..."

Sylvester looked at her in exaggerated surprise. "What? Only near? Ms. Decourcy, you shock me! You mean to say that your sources are finite?"

Moody snickered evilly.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Well, I only had so much time. Give me more and..."

Sylvester smiled at her, "No need. I'm certain that your guesses will prove true in the long run."

"Well, as near as I can find out, Neville and Draco were known to frequent a certain disreputable tavern in Knockturn Alley. You know, the one that's just off Diagon Alley?"

"The Crossover," Harry said.

Abby raised an eyebrow. "I won't ask how you know."

Harry grinned, not at all repentant. Sylvester was pleased to note the boy wasn't pretending that wild time of his hadn't occurred. Or that if it still did, he'd learnt to keep it away from the Media.

"Yes, well, Draco hadn't yet been confined to Malfoy Manor - he was still appearing in court, getting away with the old Dark Mark forced upon him by his father's Imperius defense - and Neville was drowning his sorrows that Harry here still hadn't cottoned on to the fact they were destined to be lovers."

Harry moaned and looked slightly embarrassed. Sylvester and Moody grinned at him. Abby ignored them all and continued.

"This is speculation on my part. But from what I remember of them at school, I think that maybe one night they shared a bottle or two and I don't put it beyond Draco to have mentioned that maybe something heroic would garner's Harry attention. He liked to pull Neville's cord a lot at school. The war was over, and everyone knew that Neville hadn't been much of a participant. But he does have an active imagination. And Draco, we all know, even after he was confined to Malfoy Manor, did have a way of getting out. I think he's the one who `directed' Neville's fiction.

"And Draco knew Osegood. Knew that if such a highly placed Auror supported the diaries...."

Moody nodded. "Osegood, for all our dislike of him, knows how to play people well. And the game. He knew what he was doing by taking the `revelations' not to the Ministry first, but to Dumbledore..."

Harry finished Moody's thought. "Who had already convinced himself that Snape was to be the next Dark Lord."

"What!" Sylvester sat up, not believing his ears. Severus? The next Dark Lord!

Harry nodded, face serious. "Osegood must have been surprised at how quickly Dumbledore fell in with his plans."

"Fortuitous," agreed Sylvester, still trying to see his Severus as a Voldemort. Had he changed that much? He doubted it. His lad may have been damaged, but his innate nature was still there. Sylvester sat back and forced himself to think on the situation here. After a moment, he offered, "Plus, Osegood had a reputation for never forgetting a slight. So there was probably a little remnant of need to revenge himself on Lucrezia's son for her rejection of him."

Abby nodded. "She'd begun complaining to the right people about his visits to her lab. How his presence interfered with her work."

"Ah!"

"Would not have done his reputation as a ladies' man much good," said Moody.

Harry suddenly sat up. "And he had to know how much money was involved in reclaiming Lucius's fortune. The Aurors were the ones who confiscated it."

Abby nodded. "About 57 million galleons."

"Not petty cash," agreed Sylvester. Then caught the little look of incredulity Abby sent his way. So she had researched him as well, had she? He'd have to remember that. He smiled innocently at her. She was smart enough to continue with her report.

"And we know that Osegood's lifestyle has to be expensive. He could always use a little more cash."

Sylvester nodded. "So, he's probably how Draco found a way back and forth. Can we safely lay Draco's disappearance after Snape's escape at his door?"

Moody growled, "I don't see why not."

Abby added, "Osegood was reported to be very upset when Narcissa committed suicide. Some of his staff thought it was because she'd escaped Azkaban that way, but I think he had a soft spot for her."

Moody thought a moment. "When you think about it, they were very much alike. And she did have access to all the important families."

"And once he had the diaries in hand, Osegood and Dumbledore were the ones who went to the Minister about Snape."

So that bothered Harry. Sylvester noticed Abby reach over and give his clenched hand a little squeeze.

Moody ignored them for Fiji who was preening himself once more. "Fudge is such an arsehole that the mere fact Dumbledore was backing the idea meant that he could push the matter through quickly."

Harry agreed. "Osegood probably played Dumbledore's card that the people needed to know they were safe from all of Voldemort's people. That's something Fudge would jump on as his excuse to keep everything as secret as possible."

So the lad wasn't blind. Before they left, Sylvester wanted to have a private chat with Moody about his assessment of Harry Potter.

"And the revelation of Snape as Voldemort's man would have put an end to the suspicion that there was some a mole inside the Ministry," said Sylvester.

"If Osegood is the mole," Moody sounded pensive, "then that would have allowed him to keep on with his work without having to worry about being found out. He'd be safe to await his moment."

Harry sounded curious. "You're willing to accept that concept?"

Sylvester nodded slowly. "Yes. I am. The Osegood I remember was incredibly ambitious. He had plans and he wasn't above trying to claim successes that weren't his to help him implement his plans."

Harry wondered, "So, how do we present this or any of it to the Minister?"

"We don't," said Abby. "Grandfather says to tell you that he and only he gets your assessment, Sylvester. He's had his own suspicions about Osegood for some time, but he's had to step very carefully. Osegood has a lot of political friends and backing."

"I wonder..." started Sylvester.

"Yes?" Abby waited.

"I wonder just how high those political ambitions of his go?"

Moody followed his train of thought quickly. "To the Minister's office?"

Abby shook her head. "But he's not in line for that. There have been rumblings that Fudge has irritated too many powerful families. They're talking about Dumbledore as the next Minister."

Moody and Sylvester grew very still. Sylvester sat up and Moody looked at him.

"Do you think..."

"Well, why not? It's been done before. Hell, we've done it before."

Harry was curious. "Done what?"

"Singapore..." said Moody.

Abby scowled at them. "Care to let us in on the good old days?"

Sylvester explained. "You set up a new leader of some association, then have the man you really want to run it suddenly appear with some devastating information. Say the fact that the new leader used his influence to order an important man killed. End of leader...and another, if you played the cards correctly, the man who bore the news, is crowned."

Moody took it up. "What do you think popular reaction would be to the news that their new Minister for Magic, Dumbledore, had not only accused Severus Snape - a war hero who protested his innocence throughout his secret trial - of being a traitor under false pretenses, but that he'd allowed Snape's torture until he'd `confessed' and died?"

Sylvester raised his eyebrows in mock shock. "And that the one who brought forth these truths did so at great danger to himself. Putting his high position and life in jeopardy to reveal these truths to the public."

"The sympathy vote alone will put him in!" scoffed Moody

"Fucking shit!" said Abby.

"We need to get to Decourcy," said Harry.

"Sylvester." Solfeggio appeared next to Sylvester and tugged urgently on his sarong. "Sylvester." With more urgency.

"Yes?"

"Severus. He's here."

"What? He can't be. His lessons aren't due to end until noon."

But he was. Coming slowly across the beach, a small smile on his face. That smile was becoming a regular item these days whenever Severus returned from a lesson.

"Bloody hell!" Sylvester ground out between clenched teeth.

Abby looked around. "What? What's wrong?"

Sylvester slowly rose to his feet. "Severus doesn't know about this meeting. I thought you'd all be gone before he'd be back. Now we have to deal with this. Could you all remain very quiet and wait for my direction."

He made his way from the table to the top of the stairs. "Well, you're home early. Is there something wrong?"

Severus had noticed them all and was standing very still. Solfeggio and Ariette were waiting in the shadows, both ready to do whatever Sylvester told them.

Severus squinted, as though not certain of what he was seeing. He finally settled on Sylvester. "Penaia got called away to an emergency. He released me as midwifery is not a particular interest of mine."

Sylvester nodded. He'd thought he'd had all bases covered. It had never crossed his mind that some woman would pick this morning of all mornings to go into labour. He went down the stairs to Severus.

"Do you want me to go away and come back later?"

Sylvester wanted to wince at the slight edge of worry in Severus's voice. That was an even worse idea.

"No, lad," he spoke quietly. "No. I think you may know these people and since they're only here for a meeting, well, I didn't think it necessary to mention it to you. I would have told you after."

He took a step closer, voice low so that only the two of them could hear, "I don't know how you feel about these people and I didn't want you worried for nothing. It's Alastor Moody, Abigail Decourcy...I think you may have taught her...and..."

"Harry Potter."

"Yes. Harry Potter. Severus, we're just finishing off. If you prefer to go to your room until I send them portkeying back..."

Severus wrinkled his brow as he thought about that suggestion. "They're not staying long?"

"No. Honestly, Severus, a few minutes more and they're off."

Severus cocked his head. There was a hint of a smile on his mouth. "What? Solfeggio will allow you to host visitors even for so short a time and not feed them?"

Sylvester smiled, relieved and really quite pleased at how well Severus was handling this. "A noble sacrifice on my part. He'll whine to me about that."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but we'll all have to endure his bad temper about your lack of manners. And that may be too much of a sacrifice on all our parts for a mere...hour?"

"You don't need to do this, Severus."

Severus nodded. "Yes. Well, it'll be a good test to see how I do in wizardry company."

Sylvester placed his hand on Severus's arm. "You don't need to pass anymore tests, lad."

"Don't say that to Penaia or Amta. They'll laugh themselves silly."

Harry sat in the shadows, watching Sylvester talk with the man who had suddenly appeared. A man he had thought possibly dead. Though he'd been told that Severus Snape was alive, he hadn't quite trusted that information. And now here he was, not only alive but looking...very well.

As a student, he'd sometimes wondered what the man looked like under all those yards of flowing material. Now he knew.

He was tall. That was no surprise. And thin. That too had been easy enough to guess, even with the robe and the old-fashioned suits. The shoulders were wider than he'd thought. And though he was thin, he looked fit. There was a tightness to the musculature, as though he exercised a fair deal. Well, Harry chastised himself, there was a beautiful lagoon right in front of them. The water was inviting and he was certain that Snape answered that invitation.

The hair was far longer than it had been the last time he'd seen the man. Which, when he thought about it, had to be a good five years. And it was no longer pure black but lightened with streaks of grey and white, and even braided it was still long enough to drape over a shoulder. The face was thinner, the cheekbones more noticeable, the nose more dominant, the eyes with their greater number of wrinkles hidden under sleepy-looking eyelids. The mouth looked more relaxed, as if Snape weren't using it any more to hold back snarls and sarcasm. And he was brown, a healthy looking tan rather than the pale sallow tinge of dungeon life.

"He's scarred," whispered Abby, who had also been looking over their former Potions instructor.

He was. Thin lines of paleness against the bronze.

Harry shook his head. He had no idea who this man was. He looked so very different than the man who had trained him, who had fought by his side and who had spent so much time snarling at him.

He was used to the man who was dressed from neck to boot in black, not this one who was naked other than the sarong of brilliant yellow and blue that matched the feathers of the macaw who was squawking, "Ahoy! Jolly Roger!"

Snape, with Sylvester by his side, approached the steps with a slow gait that also seemed so foreign to the man.

"Avast yourself, Polly."

The voice was deeper, rougher than he remembered. Less angry. The bird made a sound that Harry would later swear was a snicker.

Snape nodded to the three of them. Moody got to his feet as did Abby and then Harry.

"Snape. Looking good for a dead man."

Snape looked a little surprised and Sylvester hissed. The house elves stepped a little closer to the front.

"Thank you, Moody," Snape finally acknowledged. "I return the compliment."

Moody chortled. "I have to thank Abby here for that. She decided to take me in hand. Lovely girl, mind like a steel trap and cunning enough to be Slytherin."

Snape cocked his head a little. "But Ravenclaw, were you not, Ms. Decourcy?"

She grinned happily at him. "Yes, indeed, Professor. I'm surprised you remembered. I wasn't much for calling attention to myself in your classes."

Harry noticed that Sylvester had looked ready to jump in when she'd mentioned her surprise, then relaxed a little when she'd continued.

"You wrote clearly and didn't waste ingredients. For that alone, Ms. Decourcy, I would remember you." He turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter."

"Professor."

And that was all Snape said to him throughout the entire meal that followed.

Harry wondered at the feeling of loss that invaded him. But he didn't push. He'd already noted that though Sylvester sat to one side of Snape, there was no one on the other; that one of the elves was always close by him. That he didn't contribute to the conversation which Sylvester kept far away from matters that concerned them all. That his attention was focused solely on his food unless Sylvester addressed him personally, which he did only once or twice. And even then his eyes never truly rose to look at them.

These changes hit Harry far more than the physical ones.

Moody had caught on even faster than Harry. He directed the conversation back to the old days, his and Black's and Decourcy's, in the Far East. They were raunchy reminiscences for the most part. About events that had happened long before Harry was born. Hell, long before Snape had been born. Abby was delighted though he noticed she often checked to see how Snape was responding.

When dessert was served, platters of fresh fruit like none Harry had ever tasted, Snape slowly got to his feet. Everyone at the table held their breath.

"It's been...delightful seeing all of you again. You will have to excuse me: there is some work that awaits me."

And with that Snape disappeared inside the house, the female house elf at his side.

Moody turned to watch him go, his face scrunched up in thought. He waited until Snape was deep inside, out of hearing, before turning to Sylvester.

"That Auror, the one who did that to him, it was Osegood."

Sylvester's head snapped to Moody. "What makes you say that?"

"The pattern on his body. It looked familiar. The back view was what made things finally click in my head."

"How, familiar?"

"Remember the wizard we dealt with, the one from the highlands around Kinabalu?"

Sylvester had to think a moment. "Ko Kut? The nutcase killer? Yes, what about him?"

"We took Osegood with us to that meeting, remember, after he'd told us that he could get information out of a stone when we'd failed to bring the information he thought we should have."

"Oh, yes. The one where he nearly shit himself."

"That's the one. Ko Kut had a `pet' with him. The kid. Osegood was fascinated by him."

Sylvester squinted, thinking. "The one with the tattoo... Fuck! That was no tattoo!"

Moody nodded. "But that was the pattern."

Everything went very quiet. Even the birds stopped singing.

Sylvester looked at Moody and Harry saw the men, the Unspeakables they had been, years ago, in the wilds of the Asian highlands, gathering information. "I want him." And his voice sent chills down Harry's back. "No one else touches him but me. Is that understood, Moody?"

Moody nodded.

"Make certain that Decourcy understands that as well. And I won't care about anyone who stands in my way."

Moody sat back. "If we accept that Osegood was the first Auror, then whom do we accept as the second?"

Harry said, "Draco Malfoy. Who is the source of all this...shit. I think we're all agreed that he supplied Longbottom with the means of his so-called revenge. He was the one who introduced Osegood to Longbottom. Which led to Dumbledore and Snape's incarceration. And if Osegood is yours," he looked over at Sylvester, his voice dripping cold resolve, "then Malfoy's mine."

Sylvester met his eyes and slowly nodded. "If the occasion arises, agreed."

Abby reached over and placed a hand on Harry and her other on Moody. "We need to talk to grandfather right away."

Wyman Osegood nodded to the wizard who had opened the door of his London flat to him. Security in this, his work-place residence, was in his hands, not the Department's. Every witch or wizard who worked for him personally had been expressly selected for their skills, not only in maintaining his residence and lifestyle, but in protecting him. The same security existed at his small gem of an estate in the country.

"Where is he?"

"In the library, Sir."

Osegood paused in the doorway, looking at the younger man who was stretched out on his dragon-skin couch.

"Draco, take your feet off my couch."

Draco Malfoy looked up from his book to smile at his cousin. "You're late tonight." His feet remained where they were. "While you're up, pour me a drink, Wyman, please."

Osegood shook his head. Anywhere else, his command would have elicited immediate obedience: Draco was the only member of his household who showed him as little respect as he showed the furniture. Osegood waited for Draco to reach up for the glass of firewhiskey before holding it just out of his grasp. "Feet off, Draco. Beautiful and sexy though you are, spread out for my delectation, you do not have the right to damage my possessions."

Draco sighed as though put-upon and sat properly on the couch. "There," he pouted prettily, "now may I have my drink?"

Osegood laughed softly at the teasing tone: there was so much of dear Narcissa in her boy. She too had never been impressed by his position, by his power, liking him for the pleasure of his company. And for the pleasures they had shared.

He sat down next to Draco and took a sip of his own drink, appreciating the slight burn of the alcohol as it made its way down.

"We have a problem, Draco."

"Do we indeed? What?"

Osegood sat back and crossed a leg over the other. Draco leaned back into a corner of the couch and watched him, his eyes already anticipatory.

"Potter was seen leaving Longbottom's hovel in the company of Abby Decourcy."

"That bitch."

Osegood smiled slightly. "Let me guess: she resisted your manly charms."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Plu...eze! My standards even then were much higher. No, she was a nosy little bitch, never saying anything but her eyes never missed anything either. You know the type: you keep waiting for an owl to show up with some blackmail request."

"And did it?"

Draco scoffed. "Little good it would have done her had it. Malfoys never respond to such plebeian bids for attention."

"Unfortunately, we are going to have to pay some attention. She took Potter to Moody's. And then, the next day, Potter paid a visit to our future Minister for Magic. Also unfortunately, our eyes and ears at Hogwarts were not able to follow that particular meeting as Potter went up as McGonagall came down. No chance of overhearing the newest of Dumbledore's quaint passwords."

"But we assume the worst."

Osegood smiled. No need to explain to Draco. He would make a good Head of Security when Osegood had the Minister's office.

"Moody's flat is especially ward-protected, but the building is not."

Draco understood right away. "Any chance that we will be fortunate enough that all three of them are in residence?"

"No idea. I had one of my men try to apparate into the flat."

"And?"

"The Department of Accidental Magic Reversal isn't certain they'll be able to unscramble him properly."

"So," Draco's eyes turned calculating, "if they're getting about, they're portkeying. Might be interesting to see if they can portkey back to nothing."

Not only beautiful and intelligent, smiled Osegood, but such a quick mind! A worthy partner on the road to success.

"Yes, I thought that might be a pleasant surprise for them so I've arranged for the building to be torched. And now we come to the problem of Longbottom."

Draco smiled and Osegood saw how strong Lucius was in him. "Oh," Draco positively purred, "do allow me the pleasure of dealing with him. I have a sneaking suspicion that he'll be overjoyed to invite me in."

Osegood nodded his agreement. "Just remember to ward the house for silence. Muggle neighbours are far too nosy where screams are concerned. Even in that neighbourhood."

"What about my beloved former Headmaster?"

Osegood shrugged. "He'll be very quiet. He wants the Minister's office and it's about to be offered to him."

Draco finished his drink. "And he'll allow his conscience to be consoled by the thought of all the good he'll be able to accomplish once in that office." Draco stood up and stretched, knowing full well that Osegood's eyes were on him. He smiled, slowly licking his lips.

"Anticipating your visit to Neville?"

Draco grinned lasciviously. "Actually, he bored me long ago. Still, it will be fun to do to him what I've been meaning to since I first met him and his stupid toad on the Hogwarts Express. But can it wait until after supper? Your cook's prepared the most delicious repast and I'm going to need my strength for the night's activities."

"Of course, dear boy." Osegood got up. "Oh, by the way, I think I've figured out where Snape is. Some of my Pacific connections have located Sylvester Black. He really should have known better than to involve himself personally in the lives of so many of the actors in our little drama."

Draco looked delighted. "Oh, I do hope this means we get our toy back?"

Osegood felt like a benevolent parent. "I would think so. Then Minister Dumbledore will be so happy to re-instate you to your proper place in society once we have Snape's confession in hand. Delighted too that he was proven right after all."

Draco growled, suddenly petulant, "I just want the bloody money!" He shook his head. "I don't see why we don't just create such a confession."

"Because, dear boy, Dumbledore will work some spell on it and know that it's forged. This way, he may worry but his need for vindication will insist that he accept it. And later, when we take him down, the `confession' will be oh so much more powerful a tool to use."

Harry had changed his clothes and was going out to join the others when he saw Snape sitting cross-legged on the ground, his hands dug firmly into the grass, his lips silently moving.

He carefully opened the French doors and stepped out onto the porch.

Snape must have sensed his presence because he opened his eyes to look his way.

"Would it be possible for me to speak to you for a minute, Professor?"

Snape cocked his head, his eyes remaining on Harry, then he nodded. "For one minute, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, Professor."

Snape shook his head. "Severus. There is no more Professor, no more Snape. There's just Severus."

Harry's gut ached. "Then thank you, Severus."

Snape closed his eyes. "Your minute, Mr. Potter."

"Yes. I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am that I failed you."

Snape opened his eyes and looked interested. "Failed me, Mr. Potter? And how did you do that?"

"I should have been with you. I should have realized that we...that you and I made those in authority uncomfortable and I shouldn't have left you alone."

Snape thought a moment and then surprised Harry by smiling. "I thought you hated Divinations, Mr. Potter. That you didn't believe the future could be predicted."

"It should have been a logical conclusion, not divination."

Snape shook his head. "Don't be foolish, Mr. Potter. Even I couldn't have come to that conclusion logically. Besides, my remaining at Hogwarts was my choice. They wanted someone to feast and that someone had to be the one who actually rid us of Voldemort, not the assistant."

Harry allowed some of his feelings to colour his voice. "You were never my assistant, Severus. You were my mentor, my protector. I succeeded only because of you. You should have been feasted."

Snape looked down at the ground and finally gave a little nod. "Well, we can no more change the past than we can determine the future, Mr. Potter. What are you doing with yourself these days?"

Harry understood from the slight quiver in Snape's voice that he had to follow his lead. "Teaching Defence and coaching Quidditch. At Beauxbatons."

Ah, that surprised Snape. And maybe even pleased him: he offered Harry a hint of a smile. Which made Harry dare, "And finally understanding why you were so often short-tempered with us."

The smile grew, though not by much. "Yell a lot, do you?"

Harry grinned. "No, Severus. I was better trained than that. I snarl."

"Harry?"

Harry turned to see Sylvester and Abby waiting for him in the bedroom. He nodded. He looked back at the man sitting so still he could have been a statue.

"Good-bye, Severus."

He turned and ignored Sylvester's scowl for Abby's hand. Behind him he heard Snape's soft voice. "Good-bye. Harry."

And something Harry had long thought lost warmed in him.

Severus watched Harry Potter walk out of his life again.

The man had apologized for not being there for him.

Severus tried to think of the last time, if any, anyone from that period of his life had apologized to him. Usually he had been the one to apologize, if not for something specific, then simply for being.

He'd apologized once to his grandmother. For not being the kind of Snape she'd wanted. She'd responded that better he should be dead than bear the name of Snape. That apology had taught him that some things were sometimes better left as they were.

He'd apologized to Dumbledore after the incident at the Shrieking Shack. He could still hear the Headmaster. "This would never have happened, Severus, if you had only minded your own business."

Not that Dumbledore had insisted that anyone apologize to him for nearly killing him.

And he'd apologized to the old man yet again, several times, the night he'd come to find him, to confess his involvement with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Dumbledore had accepted and found a way of using him to the Light's advantage. But once he had put himself into the Headmaster's hands, it had been impossible for him to get away. The things he'd confessed to that night in the Headmaster's office were silently, yet effectively, held over his head.

He'd been mocked by his colleagues, scoffed at and hated by his students. No one's disrespect towards him had ever been held to account. Of all of them, only Poppy Pomfrey had ever bothered to thank him for his potions, acknowledging the hours and skills he spent on them.

As for the Boy Who Lived.

Severus shook his head slightly, digging his fingers even deeper into the ground.

All that potential, all that power. All that anger and hatred.

Not that he blamed the boy. He understood where it came from: his own had come from that same part of himself.

But there's been one night when they might have had more than that. The boy had kissed him and Severus had felt an overwhelming urge to give in to him. But he'd pushed him away and sent him off. It wouldn't have done for the Greasy Git to lay his hands on the Boy Who Lived. He doubted that no matter how much he'd apologized, groveled, inched his way on his belly to Dumbledore's feet and there licked his boots, his behaviour would have been tolerated. Not by Dumbledore.

So he'd rejected the boy and thought that was that.

Until Voldemort had made him choose and, to Severus's surprise, Dumbledore's too he'd wager, Harry Potter had chosen to protect him.

And that had made up for the curses, the insults that Harry had thrown his way after he'd blown up Voldemort.

But now the Boy Who Killed Voldemort had apologized for not being there for him. Not a token, socially proper apology. But one that he'd meant. Truly. Sincerely.

Severus closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling the Magic that was Mother Earth, ignoring the small smile on his lips.

"Are you all right?"

Severus opened his eyes and saw a worried Sylvester crouched near him. He nodded.

Penaia was correct. Mother Earth was the Source-Of-All-Life. Sitting here in the quiet, he could feel the Magic that saturated the world about him, replenishing him, anchoring him to reality. Slowly releasing the handfuls of earth back onto the ground, he murmured his thanks to Her.

"Parlante is sitting on the porch. He has that new book in his hands and he and Fiji are patiently wondering if you feel up to reading."

Severus suddenly grinned. With the fluid gesture that he had copied from Penaia, he rose to his feet. "I think that maybe catering to Parlante's love of piracy on the high seas is having a negative effect on Fiji." Severus could hear the laughter in his own voice. No wonder Sylvester looked surprised and, yes, delighted. "He seems to think that he's a character in a swashbuckling epic."

Sylvester grimaced. "If I hear `Yo-ho! Swab the deck, me hardy, or you'll walk the plank!' once more as my morning wake-up call, Solfeggio may be serving up roasted macaw."

Severus laughed softly.

"Abby! Thank Merlin you're all right!"

Abby lost her ability to breathe as her grandfather grabbed her in a tight hug.

"What the hell's happened?" Moody limped over to a chair and allowed himself to drop into it. She knew how much he hated portkeying; it upset his equilibrium. Sylvester had arranged for them to portkey home in shortish stages because of it.

Instead of slipping his wand up his sleeve, Harry kept it out, ready for use.

They had portkeyed into Decourcy's study at home rather than return to Moody's flat. Abby had insisted that, no matter that it would be dawn by the time they'd arrive in London, she wanted to report to her grandfather as soon as possible. Sylvester had been happy to reprogram their portkey for that destination.

Decourcy finally allowed her some leeway to breathe, but didn't release his grip on her. "Your entire building went up in a five alarm blaze shortly after ten last night. No one's been able to get inside to pull out what's left of the bodies."

Abby wrapped her arms around him, giving as much comfort as she could. She wasn't his only grandchild, but she was his favourite, the one who was most like him.

Harry shook his head. "Thank Merlin Moody insisted the documentation be secured in Gringotts."

"Damn," muttered Moody, "I liked that flat."

"We'll fit you up with another, but one that's more secure. Till then, you're all staying here. You, too, Potter. A report came in about 20 minutes ago. There's been another fire but this time the Muggles were able to put it out. They found what was left of Neville Longbottom. I'm sorry, Potter, but he didn't die easily."

Abby noticed that Harry still felt enough sympathy for his former house-mate to be upset.

Moody got immediately to the point. "Where's Osegood?"

"We've lost him. Him and Malfoy. Seems while we were searching for him, Malfoy has been comfortably sequestered on Osegood property. His tracker finally got a lead on him then followed him from Osegood's estate to London and close enough to Osegood's part of town before Malfoy must have clued in. They played tag until the tracker lost Malfoy."

"How could you lose Osegood? He's either with his latest bedwarmer, at his office or at the flat."

"He's at none of those. My inside man tells me that an hour ago, as Malfoy returned all horny and ready for play, Osegood got a message via some large, exotic-looking bird."

"Blue and yellow?" Abby held her breath.

Her grandfather shook his head. "Green. Then Osegood and Malfoy went into the library and they still haven't come out."

Harry and Moody shared a look.

Abby felt her heart begin to pound. "Severus. Sylvester needs to be warned."

Moody's curses were educational as Decourcy ran to the door of his study, calling out for his own security people.

"Severus! Parlante! We're here."

Sylvester and the other house elves boarded the sloop, ready for an evening picnic. By now their visitors should be arriving home. Sylvester shook his head, remembering Moody's thanks at his programming the portkey to get them back in easy stages. Sometimes he forgot just how old they were all getting.

Sylvester had suggested the short trip out to his household after the day they had all had. He'd been pleased with the way Severus had handled their visitors, even coming to some sort of peace with Harry Potter. Parlante loved any excursion out, most especially sailing under the night sky, something they hadn't done in some time. A treat for the household. The two had gone ahead to prepare the boat while Solfeggio had put a meal together.

"Severus? Parlante?"

The sloop wasn't so large that they couldn't have been heard.

"Where is that boy?" muttered Solfeggio, using elven Magic to bring the large picnic basket he had prepared over the side of the sloop.

Ariette looked around, a slight frown on her face. "Where is Fiji?"

Sylvester felt a sudden chill up his spine. He gestured to the two house elves to remain behind him as he carefully approached the cockpit. Cautiously, reminding himself that it was better to be paranoid and prepared than not, he descended the companionway, ready for any eventuality, and checked out the small galley and the three berths.

He popped his head up to deck level. "There's no one here," he said, pretending calm, as he joined the other two.

Solfeggio had been exploring the deck, trying to see if there were any signs of anyone. "Nothing. Nothing here. No Severus. No Parlante. No Fiji."

"Sylvester!"

At Ariette's shriek, Sylvester dashed to where she was looking over the port side of the sloop. One long finger pointed to something that was floating, a splash of colour on the darkening water.

"Bloody hell!" Sylvester squinted, making out the brilliant yellows and blues of Fiji, one out-stretched wing, bent at an unnatural angle, all that was keeping the bird afloat.

Without pausing to think about it, Sylvester immediately stripped off his sarong and dove into the water. Fiji wasn't more than sixty feet away, bobbing slightly in the waves, unconscious or dead.

Sylvester laid a hand on the bird's chest, gasping in relief at the feel of a heart beating. With great care he slipped a hand under the large bird and eased him closer to the sloop where Solfeggio and Arietter were waiting, ready to help. "His wing's broken."

Solfeggio offered Sylvester a strip of what had been his sarong, to cradle the macaw as the wizard used Mobilarbus to lift Fiji carefully out of the water and over the side. Ariette saw to it that bird found its way to the deck without jarring while Solfeggio tossed the ladder down to Sylvester.

"There is blood," announced Ariette. "On talons. And on beak."

Sylvester quickly wrapped what was left of his sarong around his hips as he knelt to check out the bird. "Flesh as well."

He looked up, his face cold. Concentrating, he spread out his hands and chanted words that he hadn't used in decades. "No magic. Whoever did this used no magic."

A squawky moan got his attention.

"Fiji? Fiji, it's Sylvester. Fiji. What happened?"

The bird's eyes blinked open and then a small pained sound made Ariette gasp in sympathy while Solfeggio looked almost malevolent. Sylvester fisted one hand while the other gently stroked the wet feathers in a soothing rhythm.

"Fiji?"

"Pirates. Boarded by pirates. Took Severus and Parlante. Tried to fight them...took us all by surprise. Waiting for us. Bats in their hands. Sorry, Captain." The bird's unbroken wing spread out suddenly, as though the macaw wanted to take flight.

"Hush, Fiji, hush. It's all right. You did well. Solfeggio, while Ariette and I do our best to mend Fiji, could you please inform Penaia about what's happened and ask him if he would be so kind as to come check if Island Magic was used. I can't sense any, but just in case. It would give us something to track down."

And more hands and heads for the hunt, he added to himself as he chanted a bone binding spell.

Ariette managed to get Fiji to drink some warmed water into which she'd added a dash of calming potion as the bird was very upset at not having been of more help.

"Don't be silly," Sylvester said firmly, "your wing was broken, your head hit and you've spent a little too much time in the water for my peace of mind. In spite of all that you managed to mark them. If they're human and not magical, that will help us more than anything else you could have done."

Penaia and several of the villagers appeared on the beach with torches flickering in the evening breeze. The large wizard cupped his hands to his mouth. "We've organized search parties. For humans, not wizards."

Sylvester nodded.

Solfeggio suddenly appeared at his side. "Ariette and I takes Fiji home. Already others waiting at house." Sylvester noted that Solfeggio had slipped back into house elf patois, a sure sign that he was extremely upset. "Ariette stays there. In case. Can send to us if Severus or Parlante..." He took a deep breath as though needing courage to go on. "If there be news."

"We'll all go to the house. We need to plan this carefully, as carefully as someone else did."

There was news when they got to the house: a message from Decourcy, warning Sylvester that Osegood and Malfoy had disappeared. While Penaia checked that Fiji was indeed on the road to recovery, Sylvester sent a message back.

Penaia had already divided the island up into segments. "We had a small child disappear one night many years ago. I just reminded everyone to take up the same plan."

Penaia's wives were spreading the word that the humans they were seeking had been clawed and bitten. The local villagers reported that no boat or ship had been seen leaving the docks. Though the island was large enough that a boat could have sailed from an unwatched beach, there were enough people around that someone would have noticed.

As for strangers, well, they too would have stood out, so the general consensus was that either someone from the island was involved or offislanders who had found a good hiding place.

Penaia sat on the grass, eyes tightly closed, muttering words that meant nothing to Sylvester. For several minutes afterwards, he was silent, head slightly cocked as though he were listening to something. He smiled as he opened his eyes, not surprised to find Sylvester crouched near him. "I have sent word to those who have some Magic in them. We now have eyes watching for us, searching with us, from one end of the island to the other, from one side to the other. If they see anything even slightly out of the norm, we will know of it."

"Sylvester?"

Sylvester turned slowly at the sound of a voice he hadn't heard in far too long a time. He stood slowly, watching as those who had portkeyed waited for him to give them instructions.

"Gerald."

Decourcy nodded. "Thought you might be able to use a few more hands." He gestured to Abby, Harry and Moody who stood right behind him along with three other witches and wizards who all wore determined, uncompromising looks that Sylvester had once seen in his mirror.

"Did Alastor tell you that he's mine?"

Decourcy nodded.

Sylvester glared coldly at all the people who surrounded Decourcy. The cold came from deep within him. He felt the same unemotional determination rise in him that had filled him the night he had followed Solfeggio to his son's killer. "Osegood is mine. Don't come between me and my prey."

Decourcy's people nodded. They understood.

"Good. Then welcome and thank you for coming."

Under Sylvester's orders, Moody stayed at the house with Ariette, wand in hand, ready for anything. Fiji was deemed too weak for any active role in the search though Sylvester, knowing that the bird would fret himself into serious illness if he weren't involved, put him in charge of assigning members of his family to each search team.

Harry and Decourcy assigned themselves to Sylvester's team. Harry's presence didn't surprise Sylvester. He knew that if they found Osegood, there was a good chance that there they would also find Malfoy. He ignored the fact that Decourcy was along, hoping to keep them under control.

By dawn the island was being thoroughly searched though no sign of either the kidnappers or Severus and Parlante had been found. Until there was a shout overhead and a bird resembling Fiji landed on a tree branch near Sylvester. "Body found. Vanua beach."

Sylvester and his group apparated to the beach. By now everyone on the island knew that they were wizards with different talents than those of their own. The villagers who had sent the bird stood back as Sylvester turned the body that the morning surf had brought in.

"It's not Severus. But it is one of Fiji's pirates. The man's shoulders have been clawed."

While Sylvester had identified the body, Decourcy had used his wand to determine the cause of death. "The Killing Curse. So we are dealing with wizards." He turned to the villagers. "Send word out that the shores are to be rechecked for bodies. If the surf's brought this one in, there'll probably be others."

And then Sylvester's blood ran cold when another message arrived. Parlante was at the house. Alone.

Severus managed not to cry out as his aching body hit the floor.

"Who would have thought that he had such a soft head," muttered a voice that he had to think hard to place. Draco Malfoy. "We wouldn't have to be waiting for him to regain consciousness," now petulant, "if it hadn't been necessary to pick him up without Magic."

The next voice was out of his nightmares. "Sylvester Black is not to be underestimated, dear cousin. He was, much as it pains me to say so, one of the best Unspeakables of his time."

"Is that why we haven't eliminated the house elf? Because it's his?"

There was the kind of chuckle that made Severus's skin crawl. "No. That's because we're going to use it to see if we can't get Severus here to be cooperative. A signed confession will be more believable without a shaky hand. My sources reported that the house elf seemed to be important to our ticket to fame and fortune."

Malfoy sighed. "Pity the Decourcy bitch wasn't crisped. We wouldn't be needing that confession so much now if it hadn't been for her."

His torturer's voice was self-deprecating. "Who would have thought that a mere graduate student could have found a way of putting my plans in jeopardy when so many others could not! It will please me to see that she has a very painful accident. I must try to be there when Decourcy finds her body. That will teach him to get involved in things that don't concern him."

"Meanwhile, what do we do?"

"Well, since my expertise lies in the inflicting of pain, not in the healing of its effects, we wait until Severus deigns to join us."

And then a door shut and the voices faded.

Severus allowed himself the release of trembling. Initial response over, he needed to deal with the situation to the best of his abilities. Teeth gritted, he set about getting himself in hand. His head ached terribly, making it hard to concentrate, because...because of the fight he'd put up. He and Parlante had boarded the sloop to find...

"Parlante?" he whispered. "Parlante, can you hear me?"

There was a faint muffled sound that made him sigh with relief. "Are you all right?"

The muffled voice sounded angry, by which he concluded that the elf was gagged and livid at being caught.

"Are you tied up in any manner?"

He assumed the next sound meant yes. He himself had his hands bound behind him, with magical ropes that meant they couldn't be loosened by any means other than Magic. And, for some reason, though he wasn't gagged, he was blindfolded. As he had been whenever his tormentors had visited him in Azkaban.

"Are you hurt?"

There was silence before that positive sound came again.

"Badly?"

Severus interpreted the muffled growl to mean no.

"Do you know where we are?"

No.

Severus allowed the pounding in his head to dominate. It was hard to ignore, even if his brains were feeling less scrambled by the minute. The next time their captors visited, they would know that Severus was alert. And the real pain would begin.

For both of them.

He could feel the anger in him. Not so much for himself but for Parlante. The house elf had already nearly died once because of him. Now his death would be painful in the extreme. And all because of him, Severus.

The anger grew.

He had long ago accepted that life would not treat him fairly, but for the house elf whose only crime was that of being his friend, it was intolerable.

The strength of his anger began to push aside the pain in his head.

Once, before Azkaban, he would have had enough power to deal with a situation like this. He had had, after all, a certain ability with wandless Magic and he could have done something to protect his friend. Instead he was in some unknown place, waiting like a trussed up chicken...

The anger changed in colour from black to reddish in hue. Even blindfolded he could see it in him.

And suddenly he could hear Penaia's voice in his head, repeating that lesson he'd drummed in, time and again, during his instruction. "Use your emotions, Severus. They supplement our Magic."

Maybe...

If...

He ignored the splitting headache and thought quickly. If it worked, Parlante would be away from here, away from his death. If it didn't, well, there was a good chance that he, Severus, would kill him. A faster, quicker death than what he would suffer if Severus didn't try anything.

"Parlante, are you blindfolded? Can you see me?"

Yes.

"Can you come to me, close enough so that I can touch you...your shoulders?"

He heard a soft grunt as the elf somehow made his way towards him. He tried to sit up but the headache flared anew and he realized there was too great a chance that he'd lose consciousness to try it again. He lay panting while he found the anger in him and began feeding it.

He called up every memory that had made him angry and he added it to the haze that grew in size and in colour until it filled him with a blood-red rage.

Anger at having lost his Magic. His beloved potions. Anger at not being believed by Albus Dumbledore, of all people. At the scorn his colleagues held for him in spite of all that he had done to keep their little worlds safe. Not just the Order of Phoenix, but the staff at Hogwarts. Harry Potter who had been too busy being feasted. All the times he had lost a potion because he'd had to deal with a House problem. The blatant favouritism in Hogwarts for Gryffindors over Syltherins. Voldemort for not remaining dead. At his using Severus to create potions that were used for torture and death. At himself for being so needy for some approval that he'd willingly walked into Voldemort's hands. At his grandmother who had hated the mere sight of him. At his father who had abandoned him to the bloody bitch. At his mother for leaving him.

He barely sensed Parlante against his prone body, wriggling until his shoulders rested against Severus's hands.

He did feel the air about him change, felt the power of his anger, and he brought to mind the house where he'd thought himself safe, the porch and the beach in front of it. Focusing all his anger as he had been taught, linking it to the power of his Core, he sent it out through his hands.

"Parlante, home!"

There was a gasp, a loud crackle, and then nothing.

Severus sagged almost unconscious against the floor. It took him several breaths to become aware that the anger in him was gone. That his head no longer ached. That he was still bound.

That he was alone.

"What the hell was that?"

Now no longer alone.

Sylvester looked at the small elf in Marguerite's arms. He was more surprised by the sudden appearance of the elf than he was to see her here.

She looked up. "Ariette thought I should know. And I thought that my presence might be needed." She smiled at the elf. "Other than some bruises and abrasions, a bump on his head, Parlante seems well." Her eyes sent a different message to Sylvester: so she was worried about that bump. "He just suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs, bound and gagged."

Sylvester crouched next to her chair and placed his hand on the elf's trembling knees.

"Parlante sorry."

Sylvester shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry for, Parlante. This isn't any of your fault. Do you feel you can answer some questions?"

The elf's eyes filled with tears. "Severus with me. He sent Parlante back."

Sylvester waited while Ariette held a handkerchief to her brother's nose. He blew then rested his head tiredly against the woman holding him, her face growing more worried by the minute. Sylvester kept his impatience under control, suddenly realizing that the elf was weaker than Marguerite may have thought.

"Parlante," he spoke gently, "can you tell us anything about where you were held?"

The elf closed his eyes, sighing. Ariette placed her hand on his shoulder, as though for encouragement. He frowned in thought. "We was in small space, with door. No light. Parlante thinks he smell fish. Could smell ocean. Could hear nothing."

"Did you see who did this to you?"

"Pirates waiting below deck. Three. Hit Severus first. Fiji... Fiji! They kill Fiji!"

Sylvester squeezed Parlante's knee to get his attention. "He's all right. We found him. Like you, he's too hard to kill."

"Him fight pirates."

"Yes, we know."

Tears silently flowed down his face as he talked. "Parlante not know where Severus and Parlante taken because hit on head. But pirates not the ones who scare Severus. Wizards come check on how awake we is. We pretend sleep. They say..." He took a deep breath, wiped the tears dripping off the end of his nose with the back of a trembling hand. "They say hurt Parlante to get Severus to sign con...con..."

"Confession?"

Parlante nodded a bit, his face reacting to the pain. Marguerite gestured to Sylvester that he needed to hurry up.

"There were two of them. One younger. White-blond hair."

Parlante whispered, "Yes."

"The other, much older. White hair. Handsome in a cold way."

"Yes."

"And Severus used his Magic to send you away from there?"

Parlante's eyes closed. His `yes' was so faint that Sylvester had trouble hearing it.

"That's enough," Marguerite said.

While she and Ariette took Parlante to his room, Sylvester rose to deal with the reports that had suddenly begun arriving.

Two more bodies had been found, one with Fiji's marks on his face, shoulders and back.

"Good job," Moody told the bird who was still upset at not being part of the search parties.

Penaia returned to the house, listened intently as Sylvester recounted Parlante's appearance and report.

"Good. So if Severus used Island Magic to send the elf back, we might be able to find the point of departure."

Decourcy send word to his people to return and waited for the witch-doctor to work his Magic.

"Where's Solfeggio?" asked Sylvester.

Moody shrugged. "Haven't seen him since everyone took off. Ariette's been the only house elf here."

Solfeggio had heard of Parlante's return - the macaws were all talking about it - but he remained on the trail he had sensed. He knew that unlike the other wizards, he had spent many years straddling not only the local Muggle community, but that of the two magical ones. Though his tracking abilities had not been used since he'd sought and found the man responsible for his mother's and Nicky's deaths, he put them to good use now.

He had picked up a whiff of non-Island Magic. Not strong. In fact so faint that at first he'd thought he'd imagined it.

But it hadn't belonged where he'd been and so he had followed it to the small buildings used by the local fishermen to store their boats during the monsoon season. Deep under the security of the palm trees, protected from the fiercest of winds, the huts were some distance from the beach.

Solfeggio stood in the shadow of the trees, looking at them, trying to figure out what was wrong with what he saw.

Then he knew. There should have been five of the huts. All five had successfully survived the last monsoon season. But now he counted only four. He moved silently through the trees to see if he was wrong. No. Only four.

He sniffed the air. The scent of Magic - both kinds - was stronger to one side of the huts. He guessed that someone had placed a ward, hiding the building from view. He approached even more cautiously. If the hut was hidden, he could only assume that there were other protective wards set up as well.

He listened. He could hear the birds overhead. With a muttered word, he called one of them down to him. He'd often followed Severus at first when he'd begun his lessons with Penaia, just to keep an eye on him. Island Magic, unlike that of wizards, could be used by anyone who had Magic in him. Now he used his knowledge he'd acquired to send the bird towards the field of Magic.

The bird seemed to hit a wall, bouncing back and landing hard on the ground. Solfeggio nodded. Warded but not primed to kill. Well, at least not the local animal life. Wouldn't do to have a pile of dead animals at the limits of the ward: that would be certain to attract attention. He watched as the bird found its feet, shook its head and took off as though nothing had happened.

He called another bird to him, a blue and yellow macaw this time, and sent the bird back with a message.

"I still don't understand why we're still here," whined Draco, leaning against a wall, looking almost disinterested at the body hanging by its wrists from a low ceiling beam.

Osegood shook his head. "He loses consciousness far too easily. That's the problem with having had to use Muggles. They don't understand subtlety. There was no reason to hit him so hard." He turned to Draco. "We are still here, sweet Cuz, because I enjoy the fact that we are dealing with this little situation on Black's island. It adds spice to an already tasty meal. He's an arrogant prick with no respect for his betters. I would have thought that losing his son would have taught him some. Finding Snape's body and knowing that he couldn't do anything to save him will be a good lesson in humility for him."

"Hard to learn a lesson when he never realized that you had something to do with his son's kidnapping." Draco suddenly grinned at his cousin.

Osegood shrugged humbly before returning. "Yes, well, my cover was quite good, even then."

Draco chuckled. "Your cover was quite good because, until Voldemort, it wasn't a cover, now was it? You gave the ward codes to that foreign wizard just for revenge. Remind me never to really piss you off."

Osegood came closer to Draco, his hand cupping the man's jaw. "Don't ever piss me off, Draco," he obliged. And then bent to kiss Draco's mouth.

He pulled away reluctantly from the man who was rubbing himself against him, like a cat in heat. "No time for that right now. There are other pleasures that await. How is our toy doing?"

Osegood turned and flicked his wand to cast a minor shocking spell at the blindfolded man whose arms were drawn above his head, his body open to Osegood's wishes. There was a jerk as the spell hit, a moan and Osegood grinned at Draco. "Ah, so happy that you're back with us, Severus. Now where were we? Oh, yes, I was trying to find places to extend that lovely design I began creating on your body. All because you refuse to co-operate with us. You know, Draco, I think Severus missed my touch, otherwise don't you think he would be rushing to sign anything we asked of him?"

Sylvester apparated, accompanied not only by all the wizards and witches, but by Penaia and several other of the island wizards, whose eyes were open wide at this means of travel.

Solfeggio didn't seem particularly surprised. He got down to business immediately. "There are wards up. Start at bush with red flowers"

Without looking at Sylvester, Decourcy took command. "All right. I want people spread out so that if anything goes down, we can approach from any side."

After a brief consultation with Penaia, each of the island wizards joined one of Decourcy's people. As they moved out, Sylvester, along with Penaia and Harry, stayed put, standing with Solfeggio. Decourcy opened his mouth and then shut it. "All right," he snarled quietly, "don't do anything rash. As far as we know, Snape is still alive. And I want you two," he glared at Sylvester and Harry, "to continue working on that premise. Is that understood?"

"Just make certain that your people don't set anything off," warned Sylvester, not answering Decourcy's challenge. Harry just looked over to the huts.

Decourcy reluctantly nodded and slipped away silently to join his people.

Solfeggio waited until Decourcy was out of hearing range. "Birds bounce off. Wards probably set for humans and wizards. Maybe not for house elf."

Sylvester considered carefully. "You're thinking of that last time."

"House elves easy to forget. Wizards like those don't think we is beings. Or animals. House elves nothing."

Sylvester crouched so that he was eye to eye with Solfeggio.

"Parlante is at home, safe. Marguerite and Ariette are taking care of him."

Solfeggio shrugged. "If not killed this time, they will hurt Severus again and again. Severus is important to Parlante. To us. To you."

Sylvester swallowed hard. Yes, the lad was important to him. Not a Nicky, but almost. He nodded.

"So, we do like last time."

Sylvester thought and accepted. "Only if it is like last time. Solfeggio, Severus would not like to know that you died because of him. You are important to him, as much as Parlante is. And you are very important to me."

Solfeggio smiled, raising his hand to place it on Sylvester's cheek. "I will be very careful."

And he unwound the fabric around his waist and went to see if the wards had been set to include house elves.

"Why is he stripping?" asked Penaia.

"Because the wards are probably set to respond to anything human or what a human would wear. It's a precaution on his part. One he learnt long ago."

Penaia grunted softly. "What will he do?"

"Try to find a weak spot and slip in. If the wards weren't set against house elves, he might be able to do that. Once in, he can't kill them but he may be able to help us find a way in."

Penaia nodded. "Then he needs the protection of Mother Earth." He sank down onto the grass as he caught Sylvester's look of surprise. "His Magic is not like yours. Yours remains separate. But he has been here long enough to be part of ours so I may be able to help him in this." He closed his eyes and began softly chanting his spells.

Harry stood close to Sylvester who was watching Solfeggio inching his way around the limits of the ward. "The others will watch over him as he comes into view," he whispered.

Sylvester nodded, his eyes never leaving the elf. "I want him to find it on this side. I want in before any of the others. If I know Decourcy, he's going to want to take them in alive. I don't know about you, but I want to get my hands on them first."

"Then we should be ready to move quickly."

Sylvester nodded and loosened the knot on his sarong. "Solfeggio may be able to open up part of the ward. It'll be easier to slip in if it's just us."

Harry began shucking his clothes. "Wands all right?"

Sylvester took his eyes off Solfeggio long enough to glance at Harry. "Do you have any skills with wandless?"

Harry's grin was feral. "Severus was an excellent teacher. Of course I do."

"How good?"

"Good enough to cast an Unforgivable, but only at close range."

Sylvester turned back to watching Solfeggio. "Welcome to the club, Harry Potter."

Solfeggio suddenly stopped inspecting the perimeter. He stepped back, reinvestigating an area he had already checked out. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. With some caution, he pressed his hand against the invisible wall, then, when it went in, without further ado, Solfeggio pushed himself through the ward. He seemed to be encountering some resistence and, behind them, Penaia's chanting grew more intense. With a final push, Solfeggio made it through. He waved to Sylvester who raised his own hand in response.

Beyond the ward, Solfeggio looked slightly ridiculous as he crawled towards something only he could see. He resembled a mime, hands out, feeling his way along an invisible wall, ear pressed against nothing.

"The wards don't affect him because they weren't spelled for house elves. That's why we can see him," Sylvester explained to Penaia, who was now standing next to him.

Looking at the other huts, Sylvester remarked that they had both front and back doors. It would be easier to bring in the long fishing canoes and hang them on their supports that way. Part of Solfeggio suddenly disappeared and Sylvester knew he had found a way of getting inside the hut. Now they only had to find a way of getting to the same door.

He gestured to Harry and they both crouched, carefully making their way to the area in the ward where Solfeggio had slipped by. He could barely hear Penaia begin his chants again. He must have been chanting to keep the birds in their trees for they kept on chattering away as they always did, doing nothing that might warn their prey that hunters were near.

Solfeggio appeared once more and made his way to them, crouching at the edge of the ward. "Severus inside. So are the others. Hurting him."

Sylvester whispered back, "Any way of getting us in?"

Penaia's voice suddenly appeared in his head and, from the expressions on the others' faces, in theirs as well.

"Place your hands near the ward, Solfeggio, and let us see how the SourceOf -All-Life deals with this."

Solfeggio nodded and did as Penaia asked.

"Sylvester, place yours near his. And concentrate on weakening the power of that area."

Sylvester did and suddenly felt a flow of power come up through him from the soles of his feet. His hands tingled and Solfeggio's eyebrows rose high. Slowly their hands approached and Sylvester could feel a connection between his hands and Solfeggio's. "Harry, you first."

Harry didn't hesitate, a fact that Sylvester duly noted and appreciated. Ducking under the short bridge of their arms, Harry pushed his way through the ward to the other side. Sylvester immediately followed him, feeling the ward lower as he did so. Without their joined hands, the ward had reclaimed its space.

The three could now see the door that Solfeggio had left partially open. And through it they could hear a man's voice, screaming.

Sylvester hesitated. Dear Merlin! Was that how Nicky had sounded, as he'd been killed? Had he been so terrified? Had he called for his father?

A hand, shaking him slightly, brought him back to present time. Harry was looking at him, obviously wondering if he were up to this?

Then, as the scream waned, they heard laughter. Harry's head snapped towards the sound, going completely white. Now Sylvester wondered what his partner was thinking. Harry turned to him, mouthed `Malfoy.' And Sylvester watched as all emotion left Harry's eyes, to be replaced by steely determination.

He nodded, finding the Unspeakable in himself. Until this was over, Sylvester Black no longer existed.

Resolve firmly in hand, Sylvester moved quickly, silently, all his old skills back at hand. Harry was equally silent, following his lead. His lad had trained the boy well.

As they moved, Sylvester could feel more of that power coming up from the ground. He would have to ask Penaia, after this was over, the proper way of thanking his Mother Earth for Her protection.

Part Eight

| Harry Potter Index | Fiction Index | Main Page |