A Place in the World – Part One

A/N:

Crux ala – cross-shaped, composite bones articulating with the acromial extremities of the furcula [fused collar bones] in quadrupedal dragons. The structural divisions of the crux ala form the sockets for the ball joints of the wings (dorsolateral crux ala) and forelegs (ventrolateral crux ala). Source: Dandy, Beau G.B., and Fopsfeldt, Brum L; 1801. Comparative Anatomy of Dragons. In The Sixth Centennial Symposium of Magizoology. Spiffingwot Press, Fallen-in-Thames, London, Pp. 230 – 596.

(Severus has this volume in his library. He graciously allowed me to consult it – but it was Hermione who warned me that the species lithographs will bite unwary fingers!)

Pugsley Addams is the property of the cartoonist Charles Addams. I make no profit from his character.

Canon characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no money from them.

French – English (GoogleTranslate)

Bravement! – Bravely done!

Mon Dieu – My God.

Thank you, TeaOli, for the beta work on the first part of the last full chapter. I hope the e-tissues came in handy! Of course, I had a teensy fiddle with the text which means that mistakes are all mine.

---

Severus heard himself groan. His body moved awkwardly, full of cramps and aching muscles. Hermione...

Alarmed, he sat up quickly, wincing as a searing headache conjured brightly coloured dots and sent them skipping merrily around his field of view. "Hermione!"

His witch lay within arm's reach. To his relief, he could see her chest rise and fall with her breathing. Her dusty hair stirred limply in the breeze.

Breeze Severus blinked. The wind was fairly howling – he could hear it beyond the...

Beyond the...

His eyes explored a pair of huge, clawed feet. The feet were attached to muscular legs held in a low crouch, and the legs supported a well-stocked belly covered in grey armoured scales. On each side, enormous rust-red wings draped to form a protective shelter around himself and Hermione. Gods. We're honorary dragonets. The observation made him giddy with laughter that he was too exhausted and numb to express.

Arkhré-ach nu, Sévérūs. The old Ironbelly stepped aside, still holding her wings out as a barrier against the wind.

"Salutations and respects to you, too," Severus rasped, thinking that he sounded worse than Albus with a sore throat and a hangover. He took a moment to scan himself for damage, finding that, apart from total fatigue and a raging thirst, he seemed to be unharmed. He pulled himself closer to Hermione and examined her intently. A mischievous smirk surfaced unbidden when, having detected no injuries, he noticed the singed, frizzing ends of her hair. A soul-deep sense of love rose from his heart and consumed him completely with a greatness that was blissfully frightening.

Leaning over her, he kissed her searchingly. "Wake for me, little lioness," he whispered.

Hermione moaned and rolled to one side. "Owwww! Bugger and sod it all, I ache all over. I need a hot bath."

With extreme difficulty, Severus held his amusement in check. No fairy tales with you, my dear. Thank Merlin, indeed. Many times. "Here and now?"

Hermione rubbed her eyes. Sitting up, she took in her surroundings – and the old dragon – as though she thought she were dreaming. Her mind caught up with her senses, and she launched herself at Severus with a cry of relief – knocking him flat. "The rift closed," she whispered, trembling and teary. "The Dementors went through... You threw the Spear... The rift closed and we're still alive!" She held her wizard tightly as he insistently manoeuvred her back into a sitting position. "Where are we? Gods, I thought you were going to fall off... I used a Sticking Charm on your hands. That's the last thing I remember. The last thing I want to remember," she added.

"As to where we are, I'm not certain," Severus answered. "And, obviously, I didn't fall off. I'll thank you thoroughly for your resourcefulness at a more appropriate time." He stood up and scanned what he could see of their surroundings in the remnants of a pale ochre sunset. They were in a shallow, bowl-shaped depression ringed with a carefully constructed rampart of boulders. Beyond the rampart, a broad shelf of basalt stretched to merge with a gently sloping mountain peak crusted with hard-packed snow. "I think this is what she meant by 'a well-built nest'."

The Ironbelly turned away from them and spat a jet of fire at the snow, producing a generous rivulet of water which flooded a natural channel worn smooth by eons of annual snow melt.

Severus and Hermione glanced at each other and gingerly climbed over the rampart, gasping as the freezing wind pressed against them, but thinking only of water's power to restore body and mind. Dropping to their knees, they scooped up liquid sustenance in cupped hands and drank eagerly. By the time they were satisfied, ice had begun to form on the channel's edges.

Hermione tucked her hands under her armpits to warm them. "We must have been pretty dehydrated. I wonder how long we've been up here."

Severus nodded, pleased to find that his headache was easing. He examined the white-capped mountains that stood as a stolid barrier all around the nest site. In the misty skies beyond, the sun sank in a blushing puddle of clouds. "I'd say our dragon brought us here last night, and we've slept through an entire day."

Hermione stood up, alarmed. "No one will know where we are!"

"Or if we're alive."

The Ironbelly gave a rumbling hiss, punctuated with brassy, fluting notes.

"Soul guardians have been visiting us, apparently," Severus said, listening intently. "A goat-like creature has come many times... Felines great and small... a horse... a bear... and a stag."

Hermione drew her wand, concentrated, then sat down again. "Pants! I think I need to rest a bit longer. I'm out of it for a while yet. How aggravating! I could manage an illumination, but that's about all. What about you?" she asked, even as Severus focussed his magic, then shook his head, his eyes drifting half-closed as though he were fighting the pull of sleep.

"I could summon my Patronus, but I couldn't send it... anywhere..." His words faded as he stared towards a towering pinnacle. "Look," he whispered, pointing.

From shadowed crags, a dark form sprang into the dusky sky. Amethyst eyes gleamed as a Hebridean Black approached at a leisurely glide. The black dragon landed at a wing's distance from them, then faced the old Ironbelly with a quiet hiss. Standing on hind legs, the Hebridean exposed stomach, chest, and throat, then dropped on all fours with folded wings and bowed head.

Hermione heard the Ironbelly's soft, indecipherable communication. "What did she say?" she asked.

"She said that he has been resting while waiting for us. He's here to take us home," Severus answered as the red dragon rumbled her approval.

The Hebridean sauntered to the edge of the basalt shelf, snuffed the air while turning his head left and right, stretched his wings, and yawned – revealing impressive rows of saw-edged teeth.

"Now?" Hermione asked, looking steadily at the former Gringotts dragon. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Does she have a name?"

"She does," Severus said, "but it's nothing that I could ever translate into English." He knitted his brows as he thought. "The song of high clouds in a mountain pass before the first frost of winter. That's the closest description I can think of."

"I think it's a beautiful name." Hermione approached the huge being, feeling smaller than she ever had in her life. The dragon's scars from long years of captivity gave a world's weight of poignancy to her mighty deeds of selfless courage. "Thank you... Thank you for everything you've done. I wish I had more words – or better ones..." She looked the red dragon in her ruby eyes once more – and could have sworn there was a touch of affection there.

Severus bowed to the Ironbelly, wordlessy placing his own gratitude at her feet. He clasped Hermione's hand. "Come away now. We shouldn't keep a dragon waiting."

---

Eileen emerged from a light doze, an image burning in her mind: A Hebridean Black gliding low over a landscape of snowbound forests – with two human passengers. Severus... and there's Hermione. They're alive! She sat up, looking around for someone to tell.

Finding that she was alone, she carefully got to her feet and wrapped a knitted blanket around her shoulders. As her hand touched the doorknob, a faint prickling sensation ran up her fingers – a Tell to alert the duty Healer. Undeterred, she opened the door and stepped out into a brightly lit corridor.

"Madam, you shouldn't be out of bed yet!"

Eileen turned around. The duty Healer was briskly striding towards her.

Toby appeared at the end of the corridor, minus his armour and holding something black and furry in one arm. "Goin' somewhere? Again."

Eileen hesitated, still completely thrown by the improbable likelihood that he would be the one to believe her when she gave her news. "The Sight showed me...," she began as he drew closer, certain that she would not sound credible. "Severus and Hermione are alive, and they're... they're riding a Hebridean Black." She leaned against the wall, feeling weak and queasy.

The Healer was at her side in an instant. "Oh dear, you can barely stand! Let me summon a stretcher."

"Thank God," Toby sighed, his shoulders slumping a little with relief. He recovered himself quickly. "I'll see to 'er, Audrey," he said, placing a small black half-Kneazle on the floor. "Would y' mind lettin' t' Minister know Sev'rus and 'Ermione are tearin' 'round somewhere on a dragon? That's on a dragon, not in one."

"You believe her?" the Healer asked with the sort of sympathetic scepticism that came from many years of experience in dealing with patients experiencing a wide range of disorientating maladies.

"She said t' Sight showed 'er... Yeah, I believe 'er." Toby easily lifted Eileen in his arms. "Crikey, woman, a budgie's 'eavier than you!"

Audrey surveyed them with her hands on her hips, a smile fighting with the corners of her mouth. "Very well, Tobias, but I'll be telling Minister Shacklebolt that you're the one he should talk to if the information is incorrect!"

Toby nonchalantly shrugged off the threat of Ministerial ire.

Eileen hesitantly placed her arms around Toby's neck. "Shacklebolt? That's the name I saw in a vision; it seems so long ago. I sent a raven to London with a warning," she said when the Healer had walked far enough away not to hear.

Toby nodded. "'E got it. And 'e's still got t' raven. And 'e'll want a chat with you, I reckon, once you've rested." He wondered if Severus would as well, but knew better than to voice any assumptions on what course of action his son might take. "Tocky, get t' door for us, lad – me 'ands're full."

"I... I don't understand," Eileen stammered as Toby put her back to bed. The black half-Kneazle leapt up beside her and examined her with solemn citrine eyes. "This is so strange. You are so strange."

Toby couldn't help laughing. "Thanks a lot! Don't worry. I get yer drift. There's times I think the exact same thing." He paused to think for a moment. "Explainin' the whats an whys would take a fair while... I'll tell y' tomorrow, if curiosity's got you."

Eileen smiled faintly. "I'd like that... You'd be well within your rights never to speak to me again."

"You'd 'ave far more right not to speak to me," Toby pointed out, his words draped in shame.

Eileen swallowed and looked away. She wondered if she should tell him that she had forgiven him long ago and that it was for herself that the same beneficence would never come unless... He was just a little boy. Severus should have been able to count on me. She reached out to stroke the half-Kneazle's velvety head, her fingers lingering on the animal's green collar as she read a pewter disc bearing a name and a number. "Your name is Southpaw?" she asked as the half-Kneazle placed his left front paw on her wrist as though taking her pulse.

Toby leaned against the door jamb. "That one came from a litter of four, I were told. T' other three – Northpaw, Eastpaw, and Westpaw – they're P.T. staff as well. They wear them green collars and even 'ave their own staff room."

"Poddy is telling Tocky they is rescued from a Death Eaters' den, Mistress Eileen. They was in a cage near a cauldron of boiling Selkie fat," Tocky said, wringing his hands at the distressing thought of the four half-Kneazles' close call. "They was next."

Eileen settled comfortably as Southpaw began to purr. "But what are they doing in St Mungo's? And what's 'P.T.'?"

Toby grinned, gesturing Tocky out of the room. "They're registered 'Ealers. Twelve altogether, some 'alf-Kneazles, some quarter. It were Sev'rus' idea, originally. Poppy – Madam Pomfrey – backed 'im up for t' research proposal. It's all still in clin'cal trials, but it's got promise – Purrin' Therapy. Trust me, it works. I know from experience."

"Experience?"

"Got sliced up with a nasty bit of curse-work – it weren't Sev'rus' doin' – and a spot of P.T. made all t' diff'rence." He raised a hand to forestall any more questions from the witch who stared at him from the midst of a sea of amazement. "Sleep well," he said, leaving her in Southpaw's care.

---

Seated in front of the Hebridean's crux ala – which, combined with the saddle-shaped fifteenth neck vertebra, plenty of firm muscle, and an absence of spines, made a reasonably comfortable seat – Severus looked back towards the high peaks of the Ukraine Carpathians, seeing the native dragons' fiery farewells flicker distantly against winter-marbled peaks and cliffs. In front of him, Hermione shifted her position slightly.

"I'm afraid your flying potion has worn off, Severus. I didn't think to bring a spare dose," she said, her voice sounding pale with a tincture of green.

"Look to the horizon – what you can see of it," he murmured, holding her closer and tucking his cloak around her. "It might help."

She sighed and leaned into his warmth. "Who was the person... the one who had the Spear?" she asked after a moment.

"In need of a distraction, are you? It's a strange thing to speak of, Hermione, as I find it hard to believe and even harder to comprehend. But tell you, I shall..."

Stretching ahead into the night, u-shaped valleys wound placidly between the upthrust, brooding evidence of Earth's tectonic violence. The Hebridean chose his course through them without indecision, swivelling his ears back as he listened to the blood kin of Merlin's curious tale, but never making a sound to interrupt the narrative.

At length, he glided out of a long hanging valley and into what had once been the path of an immense glacier. The black dragon flew low, almost brushing snow from the tips of tall evergreens with his claws, then spat a trail of sparks as the ground plunged away in a frozen waterfall. He flew down into a gorge, where sheer walls barely contained the span of his wings. Far below, the glassy crackle of ice answered his wing strokes – as though the spirit of a wild river stirred in her seasonal sleep.

The gorge opened abruptly. They left the mountains behind. A winter moon peered from behind scudding clouds. The wide plains of Poland stretched as far as the eye could see, majestically robed in mounded snow.

---

Kingsley's quill scratched methodically as he drafted an official Ministerial record that would be stored, in case of any need for future reference, in the Response to Crisis archives.

Gawain read aloud from his own notes. "In addition to the two fatalities, a total of fifteen Muggle half-souls – we suspect they were very recent victims of the Dementors – were captured, given rudimentary health checks, and signed over to the appropriate Muggle authorities."

"Muggle... authorities...," Kingsley repeated, adding several callouts leading to the names of Muggle liaison officers in the Ukrainian and Russian Ministries.

Gawain waited until Kingsley recharged his quill with ink. "There were far fewer Death Eaters than we anticipated. Three were captured, another four killed in a siege, and one unintentionally slain by George Weasley – fatal head injuries post Stunning Spell." He rolled his pocket scroll to the next entry. "The prisoners were subjected to preliminary interviews without Veritaserum. They confirmed that their numbers, boosted with Muggle half-souls and a number of mountain trolls, had been great enough to launch a direct threat to established Wizarding and Muggle societies. When asked where these numerous renegades were, the prisoners said that they went to some place in Croatia, but never returned."

"I know about it," Kingsley said, his expression carefully neutral. "They'll not threaten anyone again."

Gawain nodded. If there was something he needed to know, the Minister would tell him in due course.

A kestrel Patronus soared into the office, landing gracefully beside the sleeping Jamîn. The raven gave a half-hearted, muffled, dozy caw from under one wing – but made no attempt to rouse himself.

"Please excuse the interruption, Minister," the kestrel said. "It's Healer Audrey Windhover here from St Mungo's. The patient of interest, Sister Clarise – also known as Eileen Snape nee Prince – claims to have witnessed Severus Snape and Hermione Granger alive with her Second Sight. She says they are riding a dragon. A Hebridean Black. Present location and possible destination unknown. Tobias Snape asked me to let you know."

Kingsley placed his quill back in a silver stand and leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his eyes vigorously. "I sincerely hope she's right," he said as the kestrel faded, its duty done.

Gawain frowned. "I can't say I'm used to regarding someone's Sight as reliable information – I keep hearing Sybill Trelawney blathering on about her blasted tea cups. But," he added, clasping his hands around one knee as he sat on the armrest of a wing-backed chair, "if they really are on a Hebridean, I'd put Galleons on them heading for Scotland – so long as the beast doesn't get hungry. If Severus really does have a way, as you put it, with dragons, Hogwarts would be the logical destination."

Kingsley got up and paced the length of his office twice. "Then I suppose I'd better warn Minerva." I should let Bane know as well, he thought to himself. It's been over a century since a wild Hebridean flew a sortie over the Forbidden Forest.

---

Hermione felt Severus' insistent prodding and opened her eyes. "Gods, did I doze off ? Even after the news about your mother!"

Severus gave her a gentle squeeze. "You did. I would have left you to sleep, but it'd be a shame if you missed this."

"What?" Hermione looked around at sky and clouds. The air was cold and moist with the tang of salt and seaweed. "Where are we?"

"Above the northern shores of the Netherlands. We're about to leave land behind."

Hermione dared her queasy stomach to do its worst and leaned out to one side, secure with Severus' arms around her. Not as far below as she had assumed, estuaries branched and spread and branched again in dark veins, channelling through sandy beaches and mudflats, merging into the North Sea's inky expanse. To her left, the lights of a town shimmered warmly at the end of a curving bay, marking the start of an arc of offshore islands. "That's Den Helder!" Hermione exclaimed, remembering her Muggle school geography with delighted excitement.

"Where the resident Muggles have a naval base," Severus quickly put in.

"Hmph! And you call me a know-it-all. You're right, though. I wonder if dragons show up on radar? Perhaps we shouldn't be flying so low... And there's an airport servicing the naval facilities!"

Severus groaned. "I can see it now. Twenty feet of parchment detailing air traffic control procedures for dragons. Dare I ask for an appendix outlining the risks associated with naval helicopters?"

The Hebridean Black gave a droning growl and shook his head.

---

Gazing through the window she had designed when she had thought that Severus Snape was dead, Minerva huffed at the scurrying swirls of snowflakes which defiantly blocked her view and took an enlivening swig of Firewhisky. She turned at the sound of hooves on thick carpet. "Kingsley's lynx said he'd tell Bane as well. I take it he's done so?" she asked, absently offering the centaur her hip flask.

"He has, Headmistress," Firenze answered. He kneaded the muscles of his injured shoulder, stirring the scent of the pine, comfrey, and rosemary oils that had been applied as a healing ointment. "I think Bane is looking forward to it – the entire herd would be avidly watching the skies if the skies were actually visible." He accepted the flask and sampled its contents, backing up with a swish of his tail and stamping a forefoot as his eyes watered profusely.

"Och, there now, that'll put you in good heart," Minerva said with a rosy chuckle. "I'm afraid I can't tell the weather what to do, but I can tell that it'll be filthy by dawn."

Firenze handed the flask back and folded his arms, glancing through the window as a buffeting gust made the castle shiver. "It can't bode well for the dragon stopping by, then," he observed.

"Oh, I don't know.... Finn MacFusty says that the crappier the weather, the better a Hebridean Black likes it."

Firenze politely ignored the headmistress' lapse into crude vernacular. "Really? Any reason why?"

Minerva shrugged, and then her eyes flashed with national pride. "Because they're Scottish!"

---

Hermione gritted her teeth as the dragon veered steeply above an oil rig, hissing scorn at the man-made flare. In the distance, the lights of a fully laden container ship lurched and rolled in clockwork shocks of white water. Ugh! I'm glad my stomach is empty, and I'm not on board that...She felt Severus' breath catch. "What is it?"

"Azkaban. I can feel it nearby." Shuddering, he pushed away stark impressions of bleak cells whose stones relentlessly dispensed cold punishment night and day, the calculating watchfulness of hardened felons, and the gnawing despair of those penitents who realised how much they had wronged themselves by wronging others. He sighed, wondering if Lucius would ever number among the latter. He doubted it.

"Expecto Patronum! Yes! My power nap over western Europe worked wonders!" Hermione wriggled happily as she sent her merlin to tell Kingsley that she and Severus were in a responsive state – and quite close to home.

"Power nap? An interesting turn of phrase."

"Muggle expression, dearest wizard...Oooh! Scotland dead ahead! Complete with weather front!"

"Typical," Severus growled. A scattering of coastal sleet nipped his nose and cheeks, taunting his disapproval.

"At least it's a real, honest, natural front this time! Gods, I almost love it!"

The Hebridean pricked his ears at Hermione's heartfelt exclamation, then gave an exultant, skirling shriek as he picked up his pace. He dived low over the deep fjords and scowling cliffs of Scotland's coastline, shrieking again as the heaving breaths of the North Sea surged and boomed against the savage shore. He playfully skimmed the sweeping beam of a lonely lighthouse – and turned inland.

"I think he likes it, too," Hermione said, blinking with the wet cold.

"Our hides are not as resilient as his, so shall we set aside empathy and put our energies into not freezing to death?" Severus proposed. "I'll shield us from natural honesty; you keep up a Warming Charm."

---

Petrus leapt from his plinth, ears pricked in excitement. The shriek which cried down the weather was surely stirring enough to rouse the heart of every warrior in Scotland. A Care of Magical Creatures text grumbled restlessly in response. Quieting the book with a touch, and being careful not to disturb the fine clay packing his wounds, Petrus took to his balcony. Searching the dark, snow-slashed sky, he clasped his hands together in jubilant delight. "Mon Dieu! Bravement, bravement!"

Circling the school's wards, a purple-eyed dragon spouted a plume of fire. In the bright, hot glow, Petrus saw two human figures seated in front of the dragon's wings and forelegs. He whispered a prayer of thanks when he heard Monsieur Severus' voice...

---

Minerva marched through Hogwarts' corridors like a clan chieftain at war, frightening the excited younger students back into the safety of their dormitories and barking orders at the older curfew escapees who dared to try their luck at escaping her notice. Even if Severus had trained the beast to eat from his hand, a dragon was a dragon, and she would not have any young lives put at risk.

Following in the headmistress' wake, Argus and Mrs Norris stalked and glared with great satisfaction, basking in the students' sulky mutterings of disappointment.

Arriving in the entrance hall, Minerva surveyed her chosen company: Filius, Pugsley, and Fergus, who waited with a mutton carcass brought up from the larder. "Petrus sent his owl to me with a message. Kingsley was correct – we have a dragon about to pop in for a visit," she said crisply, wondering how three grown wizards in positions of great responsibility could manage to look like boys plotting mischief. "Petrus said that Severus, through a Sonorus Charm, informed him that the dragon would drop himself and Hermione off at the gates – and to put the bloody kettle on."

A passing house-elf jumped to attention, bowed and departed with a snap of his fingers.

Minerva glared as the wizards exchanged a flurry of nudges, high-fives, grins, and winks. Ignoring the whispers of "Told you he'd make it, didn't I? That'll be five Galleons" and "It's not over until they're safe inside!" and "You didn't see him escape the dreaded Normandy Snarl-kelp – gods damn, I'll raise you ten!", she signalled to Argus to open the doors and drew her miniaturised broom from under her plaid. "Shall we, professors? I've attended to the wards. And don't forget the mutton!"

---

The Hebridean landed before Hogwarts' gates with a great swirling of glittering snow, chuffing contented, steamy clouds as his hind feet sank into the clean, cold carpet. He eyed the reception committee of four wary humans and a respectful herd of unarmed centaurs – and let his fire glow behind bared teeth. He knew there was no danger: Sévérūs gnaveâ Myrddin had said so, but a show of defensive capability seemed appropriate given the proximity of a castle. Crouching on all fours to allow his weary passengers to disembark, his nostrils flared. There was something that smelled tantalisingly like a good, fat, Highland meadow-fed sheep – perfectly aged at that.

Severus winced at the stiffness in his arms and shoulders as he helped Hermione to dismount. Shivering in the sudden absence of her Warming Charm, he let his hand linger on the dragon's rough-edged scales as he communicated his thanks and dropped into knee-deep snow.

"Severus Snape! By the gods, it's about blessed time you got here – you'll give my Animagus form grey hair, you infinitely troublesome wizard!" Minerva scolded over the wind, closing in on him with watchful, snow-booted steps.

"Given its natural predominant colour, no one will ever notice," Severus commented silkily, eyeing the mutton with a raised eyebrow.

Giving him an irritated stare, Minerva gathered Hermione into a warm embrace before resolutely shooing her through the gates. She nodded to Fergus, who levitated the mutton carcass and dropped it within reach of the increasingly interested dragon. "We didn't have enough owl treats in the castle to thank your scaly friend there," she told Severus. "Besides, the owls would have been terribly put out – and the breakfast drop would have taken on a whole new meaning." Her eyes suddenly brimmed. "Damn wind," she muttered. Dashing away the drops, she engulfed the unsuspecting wizard in a fierce hug.

Severus stiffened for a moment, then consciously relaxed as he soothingly patted Minerva's back. He shot a near glare at the dragon. Stop laughing. You might be next.

The dragon gave something between a snort and a hiss, then applied himself to the proffered mutton, effortlessly slicing through flesh and bone with precise, surprisingly fastidious applications of his fearsome teeth.

Severus momentarily forgot the cold when he extracted himself from Minerva's arms and turned to face the centaur herd. All of them, he thought, wiping snowflakes from his eyelashes. Clustered behind Esnyë, the females of Bane's herd watched the entire scene with quiet attentiveness. Severus pondered the sense of peace that surrounded the herd. It's the peace that comes from balance – the females have ceased their hiding, and Bane's herd is made truly whole. Considering Bane, here he is...

Without any sign of concern about the dragon, the herd leader picked his way through the snow, hitching a little in his left hind leg. The injury responsible was all too evident – a brutal gash received on the battlefield. Even though the wound was neatly stitched and daubed with heather honey and healing herbs, it would leave a lifelong scar. "Severus, the planets said you would be safe enough, but it gladdens our hearts to see you and Hermione – your life-mate – return," Bane said, bowing as his herd murmured agreement. He faced the dragon, who had paused in his meal to watch the exchange, and bowed again. "O companion of the deities of wind and fire, our herd welcomes you."

Severus raised his eyebrows at the dragon's formal reply – and Bane's nod of acceptance. "You can hear and understand his speech?"

Bane took Severus aside. "I can. All centaurs can. So can mer-people, leprechauns, and house-elves. Many races of beings, as you call them, knew the speech – before their peoples were scattered and their lands and histories overrun." He noted Severus' sober expression and continued in tones less stern. "Humans, goblins, some races of giants, and Veelas also understood it, once, before they chose to sunder themselves from Elemental Nature, seeking to control it rather than accept its omnipotence. In these lands, the human knowledge of dragons' speech held on until the demise of the Druids."

"Merlin learned it from them," Severus whispered as the Llygad supplied fleeting scenes of magic worked in secret places warded with hidden danger, lessons passed on by word of mouth in a single telling, histories woven into the smoke of sacred herbs while leaping firelight gave life to painted images of beasts and beings on rough cave walls.

Bane gave a knowing smile. "Severus, you have many lessons ahead of you – accept their teachings and apply them wisely for the good of all; they are great and precious gifts. With those gifts, there is no reason that you cannot achieve just as much as your noble ancestor... and so much more. If you haven't done so already." He winced as he shook a deepening layer of snow off his back.

Severus found that he had no reply to the centaur's words. He let them sink in for a moment, then eyed Bane's wound. "A close call, evidently. It looks painful."

High-stepping through the snow, Ronan came to Bane's side. "He'll recover and live long! Did he tell you that Esnyë stitched the wound with a hair from her own tail?"

"From her own tail? Now that's love, that is," Minerva affirmed, coming up behind Severus. She winked at Ronan, enjoying Bane's embarrassment. "Come inside before you freeze," she said, taking Severus' arm. "We'll get you tea'd, fed, and rested, and then Kingsley says that your next mission – should you choose to accept it – waits in St Mungo's."

Minerva looked up at the dragon – it had consumed the carcass and was stretching its wings in preparation for flight. She was struck by a sudden realisation: the word "beast" didn't do the proud creature any justice at all. She stood straight and looked the Hebridean squarely in the eyes. "Thank you for bringing them both home." She took a step back when the black dragon hissed softly, with overtones of 'pipes heard fitfully from a distant, misty isle. Well... I'd almost think it answered me, she mused, touching the cameo at her throat.

Severus smiled to himself, giving Hermione a stealthy wink as he passed through the gates into a warm welcome of wizardly banter and goodwill, and mounted a spare broom handed to him by a grinning, Galleon-laden Pugsley. The Hebridean had told Minerva that she was as welcome as wild weather – quite a compliment, really – and that the mutton had been the tastiest he had ever eaten.

---

For what must have been the fiftieth time since the pre-dawn – when, upon rising to see if Southpaw wished to go out, she had discovered Toby pacing the corridor – Eileen frowned. She shook her head to clear it of swarms of ghosts, centaurs, beer-drinking colicky unicorns, phoenix feathers, ruined villas, cathedrals, red dragons in assorted sizes, Death Eaters, potentially fatal curses, Thestrals, Dementors, half-eaten Muggles, and Toby's astonishing description of Hogwarts' assistant librarian. His story had escorted her through the corridors and classrooms of Hogwarts, reinstating her fond memories of magical creatures and beings along the way. Like long lost friends, they warmed and cheered her, restoring pieces of herself that she had almost forgotten existed. That Toby and Severus had, in the midst of it all, managed to establish an understanding gladdened her heart beyond measure – she was truly happy for both of them.

"So...," she began, folding her napkin. "The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor put the word out that you and the Charms professor are going to have a Gobstones contest? And the rest of the staff are placing bets on the outcome? And you're going along with it?" She pushed her empty breakfast bowl aside. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I reckon Fergus started it. 'E's given me a few lessons – prob'ly to work the odds."

"Does it matter who started it? Toby..." Eileen raised her hands in exasperation. "Gobstones... A few lessons. You'll get absolutely creamed!"

"Gobbed, more like it... I'm thinkin' of callin' Snakepit..."

"Powers and prayers!"

Toby grinned. "That's good to see – a bit of colour in yer cheeks."

Eileen stood up, pleased to find that her muscles didn't tremble at the effort. "Marbles," she said decisively, placing her hands on her hips.

"Y' what now?"

"Muggle marbles. They won't make such a mess while I get my eye and hand in again."

"What..."

"We ask Tocky to procure marbles, we set up a few practise games, I see what's left of my skills, and at the same time, I find out what you've got... Excuse me, I saw that look! Mind on the job, if you please."

---

Minerva had been right about the weather. Dawn, what was noticeable of its arrival, had been filthy. Mercifully, the last of a series of angry fronts had passed over quickly, leaving the clear, crystalline silence of stunned relief.

Severus steered his broom over snowdrifts as he sorted his thoughts. He would have preferred to walk, but having to constantly clear a path would have been too much of a distraction. He permitted himself a proper smile as he circled the new Quidditch pitch. Waking early with sleep-entwined limbs, he and Hermione had willingly succumbed to the ardent passions of lovers who knew the presence of Death and chose to celebrate life, pledging themselves to each other with body, mind, magic, and soul while the snowstorm had raged outside. Severus' body still felt warm and deeply relaxed from his own version of stunned relief. Being alive was proving most enjoyable.

After a hasty breakfast, Hermione had left to pay her parents a visit. Seeing her off with greetings and well-wishes to pass on, Severus had been surprised to find that he really wanted to see his father. His mother... He wasn't at all sure of how to commence any sort of interaction with her, but he was certain that Tobias would be of assistance.

Flying over Hagrid's hut, which had the usual early morning smoke issuing from the chimney, Severus pulled his broom into a hover. He could see where the snowdrifts by the door had been partially cleared – but the work looked as though it had been interrupted. In the snow, there were signs of a scuffle. Drawing his wand, Severus descended to the height of the roof, evaluated the situation, then landed with practised stealth. Pressing his back against the wall, he listened intently.

"Owww! I've told y...No! Gerroff! Sit, will yeh!"

Severus relaxed again. The half-giant's tone was chiding, but affection for whatever creature had misbehaved coated the words like warm honey. Sleeving his wand, he proceeded towards the open door...

A monstrous, shaggy black dog with luminous red eyes appeared in the doorway. Exercising prudence, Severus stood still. Half-giant's best friend, I presume? On massive paws, the unkempt animal padded down the stairs and trotted towards him. The beast's footfalls made no sound at all. Gods! A Barghest!

Hagrid appeared with a rush. "Mornin' Perfess...Severus." His worried black eyes darted over the dog, then rested on Severus with something like an appeal for lenience. "I see yeh've met Petal."

Petal? "Hagrid... What have you done?" Severus stood his ground as Petal circled him once, then shoved a moist, bristly muzzle into the palm of his hand. When the dog raised her head, her jaws were about level with his liver – should the oversized canine have a sudden impulse to rip it out.

"There now!" Shifting evasively, Hagrid gave a smile that was half delight and half relief. "Tha' went well. She likes yeh well enough..."

"What have you done?"

Hagrid rubbed his ear vigorously. "It weren' my doin'... Around the time the unicorns were gettin' attacked, word came tha' a Barghest had been lost from the res'vation down in Norfolk. I heard it from... well, ne'er mind tha'. So I were out walkin' along the Great Ouse one nigh'... after the Battle... after samplin' some good brown ales at the Baronet's Bog... an' she found me an' follered me home. So ter speak."

Severus yielded to another muzzly nudge and scratched the spot between Petal's shoulder blades. "A Barghest found you specifically? And followed you all the way to Scotland?"

Petal began to wag her tail. A chord of drool decorated her jaws like a viscous icicle. "If she were male, I'd've called her Drooles Verne," Hagrid grumbled, visibly squirming at the truth of Severus' implied deduction. "She does tha' when she's really happy." He studied Petal for a moment, then eyed Severus with great curiosity. "I didn' know yeh've got a way with creatures. Albus' portrait told me plenty, but he said nothin' 'bout..." Hagrid shuffled awkwardly. "Shouldn' have said tha'."

Severus dismissed Hagrid's unease with a casual shrug. Albus doesn't know everything, he thought, trailing his fingers down the Barghest's spine. "Should I speak to him again, I'll be sure to thank him for clarifying a situation that would have had me forever on your list of enemies."

Hagrid nodded soberly. He folded his arms and sighed. "It weren' fair, what he asked yeh to do. But war ain' fair on anyone, is it? I'd have done meself in first if he'd asked it of me. I'm righ' glad he didn'!" His curiosity returned, tempered with echoes of raw grief. "He sez he was fortunate, havin' had yeh close by – they were his words – an' he misses talkin' with yeh," he mumbled hastily.

Severus acknowledged Hagrid's concern for Albus with a half-smile. "All in good time." A pleasantly wicked plan took shape in his mind. "You chose the name 'Petal'?"

Hagrid looked at his feet and shrugged. "When I found her... or she found me... not righ'ly sure which... she'd been rollin' in summat that were none too nice, and she smelled like one o' them corpse flowers."

"Titan arum."

Hagrid nodded. "Well, corpse flowers have petals. And I couldn' call her 'Corpse'– that's a terrible name for such a fine animal."

"Fine animal, indeed," Severus agreed, scratching Petal's ribs until she groaned in ecstasy and helplessly tried to reach the same spot with a hind foot.

Hagrid's features brightened with pride. "She is! But it's a righ' shame yer dragon didn' decide to stay. Very misunderstood, they are."

---

Eileen efficiently knocked the last of Toby's marbles out of the inner circle, smiling a little at his soft whistle of admiration. Each had played seven marbles in a game of Ring Taw, the rules of which were nearly identical between their Muggle and Wizarding childhood memories. "Overall, not bad," Eileen appraised, sitting back on her heels for a moment before standing up. "We'll set up for Classic." From the bag of marbles Tocky had procured – whose contents were now widely displayed across the bed – she selected fifteen cat's eyes for herself and fifteen agates for Toby.

Tocky busied himself with smoothing the heavy sand he had smuggled into the hospital, erasing the circles drawn for Ring Taw and replacing them with a single wider ring.

Toby watched Eileen arrange her marbles in the centre. "Tournament array?"

"Of course."

"Competition 'abits die 'ard, then. So do Slyth'rin loyalties – all them cat's eyes're green."

Surprised, Eileen looked at him and then examined the slightly larger taw she intended to shoot with. "So they are... I hadn't noticed! When I was at school I had a set of green ghosts – Gobstones made of clear, green glass." She bit her lip for a moment, her eyes focussing on some unseen point of nostalgia. "I wonder if they're still around somewhere." She nodded to the array which still lacked her opponent's agates. "Best get your ducks in a row, Toby."

---

Severus stalked down the corridor, tempted to retreat into his Death Eater persona. The cheerful "Good morning, sir!" offered by the St Mungo's Admissions and Enquiries staff as he signed the visitors' register and the delighted smile of the morning duty healer who gave Eileen Snape's room number, had further unsettled him just when he was feeling deeply vulnerable. He knew that it was expected of St Mungo's staff to be pleasant and helpful, especially to decorated war heroes, and they couldn't possibly fathom how he was feeling – not that he wanted them to – but irritation insisted on gnawing at his vitals despite his best efforts at dismissing it. Holding back a quiet snarl, he locked eyes with those of a black half-Kneazle wearing a green collar. Somewhere in the dignified slow-blink he exchanged with the animal, he found that his irascibility evaporated like dew exposed to sunlight. He stood still. "How did you do that?"

The half-Kneazle washed his left front paw and curled the tip of his tail.

As Severus pondered the subtle power of Kneazle magic, a door opened half way down the corridor – and Tocky peered out.

Storing his curiosity for another time, Severus allowed himself amusement at the house-elf's exaggerated care in exiting the room and closing the door without a sound – then running towards him as fast as his ragged attire would allow.

"Master Severus!" Tocky whispered at full volume as he skidded to a stop on the polished floor. "Tocky is heard dragon-hide boots! Tocky is knowing Master Severus is arrived!" The house-elf hesitated for a moment, then threw his spindly arms around Severus' lower right leg. "Tocky is happy Master Severus is being safe!" He raised worried eyes. "Is Mistress Hermione also safe?"

"She is indeed, Tocky," Severus answered, thinking that never in his life had he been embraced so many times in twenty-four hours. "Hermione has gone to visit her parents to assure them of our well-being." He noted the house-elf's nervous glance at the recently traversed door. "Are they both in there?" he asked, knowing that Tocky would treat his apprehension with careful discretion.

"They is, Master Severus. Master Tobias and Mistress Eileen is playing marbles."

They're what?

"Mistress Eileen is winning and is teaching Master Tobias many lessons."

Good. I think. Severus recalled Bane's words from the night before. "I hope he applies those lessons wisely, but for now, would you see if Tobias is willing to forfeit and step out for a word?"

Tocky bowed. "At once, Master Severus!"

Severus was not kept waiting long at all. His father emerged from the room in a rush, pulled the door shut and briefly seized him in a rough, wiry hug – which he spontaneously returned.

Toby stepped back and produced the false Llygad y Ddraig. "Y' need to know, Sev'rus."

Severus tilted his head, confused at the mercurial change of mood. "Agreeable to see you, too."

"This... The power you said y' could feel... It's yer mother's power. She put it in there to make t' ruse believable."

Severus felt his stomach clench as he went cold all over, forgetting the questions he had intended to ask his father. That's why she didn't...

"She gave up most of 'er magic – an' she told me 'ow it was for 'er, with leavin' 'er family, losin' 'er brother... She said nowt 'bout me goin' off t' rails – but I know what damage that did. She were at rock bottom, Sev'rus. So far down she 'ad nothin' left to give... To anyone. God's Teeth, lad, I'm sorry..."

Severus swallowed against a dull lump in his throat. "I know a thing or two about deep, dark, hopeless places. I also know that one cannot give that which one doesn't have." He took the false Llygad from his father's hand and cancelled the wards he had placed over it.

"You're not angry?"

Severus shook his head. "I was, not so long ago, and had been for far too long. I've experienced things of late that have permanently altered my perspective on what is worth holding on to." He sighed heavily. "Did she say... If her power is in this Llygad, and it was in the vaults when she created your golem... It's a very intensive process..."

"So where'd she get the juice from? Yeah, she mentioned it. She said that she tapped into t' real Llygad's power – Merlin's magic – an' she could do it because she were standin' near me and, she said, 'cause of the bond she shared with me." Toby shrugged. "I'm none sure of what bond she were on about. I'd like t' think I know, but I daren't."

Severus stared at his father with sudden insight, Albus' words echoing in his mind: Still? After all this time?

"Another thing... There were two golems. One of Eileen, and t' one she made of me. 'Ers was what made that floorboard creak." Toby took a few steadying breaths while Severus came to grips with the news. "Yer uncle made it so as to fake a drownin' so Eileen could disappear and not 'ave to marry a Carrow. 'E made sure there were some witnesses who saw Eileen – t' golem – go under... but then it were lost."

"But Drusus knew where it was..."

"Yeah. The family made a tomb as a memorial – and a place to put remains if they were ever found..."

"Officially, they never were. So Drusus concealed the golem in the tomb, knowing that nobody would ever open it." Severus gave a mirthless laugh. "He hid it in an obvious place. It amazes me how well and consistently that tactic works." But he must have told Eileen that it was there. He had the Llygad y Ddraig at the time... did Merlin's Sight show him that the golem would be needed again?

Toby nodded. "Don't like sayin' so, but it's a good thing it did. Eileen summoned it, and it came to Spinner's End to stand in for 'er a second time."

"And, against all the odds, the substitutions worked. Unbelievable – and yet I can see how Eileen's plan succeeded." Abraxas had become a little too used to easy success in his assassinations. He had lost the habit of examining his victims once he'd dealt a death blow. "So it's a pair of golems in those graves," he muttered. "Gods, even I find that disturbing."

The two men stood in silent thought for several minutes.

"Sev'rus?" Toby raised a cautious eyebrow. "Will you speak to 'er?"

Severus cleared his mind. "That's my intention. Is now a good time, do you think?"

"Well, we were in t' middle of me demonstration on 'ow to lose marbles in record time, but I reckon yer mother'd be more pleased to see you than continue thrashin' me." Toby eyed his son seriously. "'Er power. Can she ever get it back?"

Severus considered part of a conversation he had witnessed between Merlin and Nimuë. Nimuë had asked Merlin if he would take back the Llygad y Ddraig. Did she believe that he could simply access his own power if he had the object which contained it... or could a true restoration be performed? Merlin had refused to take the Llygad y Ddraig, so there were no clues as to what could have been. "I don't know. But we can make a start by returning Eileen's handiwork to her." Severus considered the blue crystal disc and gave a rueful half-smile. "Little wonder I had a sense of something familiar when I first tried to access its power down in the vaults. The nuances of the magical shields I found there were, in some ways, similar to my own."

"Magic 'as traits – passed on like phys'cal ones?"

"As far as research bodies know, yes, though the science behind magical heritability is still lacking a consistent method of prediction."

"Yeah... If y' say so. I reckon you should do the 'onours," Toby said, pointing to the false Llygad and grasping the door handle. "Ready?"

Severus nodded and followed his father into the room. The first thing he noticed was the sand on the floor, then Tocky standing anxiously nearby with a bulging bag of marbles half the size of himself, then his mother – who sat stiffly on the edge of her bed. She jumped as though touched unexpectedly. The tension in her posture revealed that she didn't dare to look at him. He glanced at his father, who mouthed an advisory to take his time.

Everything is so different to what it was. How do I even begin to make sense of this? Severus asked himself. Since he had last seen his mother, all that the Fates seemed to have withheld from him had been granted: requited love, a position of respect and responsibility, a growing bond with his father, and his place – his purpose – in the world mapped in his heart with a certainty whose roots delved the depths of centuries.

Severus considered the great power which now nestled in his hands: the power to decide the next step in his own destiny from a position of surety. Beneath it, an even greater authority was his to call on. A power of which the Dark knows not. He could guide his decision with its quiet wisdom instead of the acrid gall of resentment and the bitter spawn of anger. Those motivations had only ever resulted in sad, crumbling edifices of poisonous dust.

He bent and took his mother's hand, feeling her fingers tremble as he silently coaxed her to stand. He pressed the copy of the Llygad y Ddraig into her palm and closed her fingers over it. "The true Llygad is safe and secure. This Llygad, and that which is within it, rightfully belongs to you. Look at me," he instructed. When she raised her eyes, he searched them intently. Hidden beneath the sorrow and joy in his mother's tearful gaze, he saw the thing that caused her heart and soul to ache. This much I may be able to mend. He gathered both her hands in his. "I forgive you," he said softly, the deep resonance of his voice reaching every corner of the room.