The Covenant

The Covenant

The moon was almost full.

Almost, but not quite.

There remained perhaps a day or so before the celestial orb reached its zenith and played havoc not only with the ebb and flow of the tide but with men's hearts, minds, and in some more unfortunate cases...their bodies.

For the moment though, with the sky clear and coupled with the light of a billion distant suns pinpricking the velvet black around it, the lack of the remaining sliver or so hardly seemed to make a whit's worth of difference, the resulting argent light bathing the earth beneath in a clear but subtle glow.

It was, therefore, perhaps not the best night for moving about unseen. And in tandem with the loud protesting creak of an iron gate as it was pushed open and closed again, the dark clad figure that slipped through with only the vaguest whisper of further sound might well have been spotted. Had there been anyone around to do so. But even though there was not, the lone newcomer still moved silently through the network of headstones.

Avoiding the narrow, winding, prospectively noisy cobblestone path that led between the graves, his feet barely made indents on the soft, dew heavy grass beneath them. His head was hooded, and his partially veiled features were set in the most severe and purposeful of expressions. If he was wary or uncomfortable, he did not show it, his movements silent from habit...not fear.

In fact, there was little emotion at all in those eyes. No hint as to what his thoughts or purpose in this resting place of the dead could be as he made for his objective.

The light breeze pulled at his robes, the whisper of wool on stone fleeting as it brushed past both simple gravestones and large ornate sepulchres. Finally, his footsteps slowed and came to a stop in front of a free standing long stone tomb, the high polished pale granite glowing softly in the moonlight and its metallic flecks catching the light like mithril fireflies.

Then, and only then, did the shadowed figure make a sound...the slightest of hitches in his breath. Long slender fingers emerged from the depths of the black robes, compelled with a will of their own to trace over the letters engraved on top of the tomb.

Paidea Athena Abernathy

Born: May 31, 1956

Died: May 21, 1980

Peacemaker.

Beloved of family and those she touched.

Rest in peace.

It didn't begin to do justice.

Not even close.

Young Severus Snape's lank black hair caught the breeze a little as his hands moved to the cowl on the cape over his robes, pushing it downwards. Pale features were immediately rendered fittingly spectral in the silvery glow of the night; black eyes lost deep within the shadowed wells of his sculpted face.

A face that was even thinner now, more pallid and gaunt than before.

His eyes came to rest upon the date again.

May 21, 1980

More than a year. Had it really been that long?

That long since he'd seen her face, heard her voice...felt her touch?

He supposed it must. Days had sped by since then in a maelstrom of running, hiding, anger, hatred, betrayal, hurt, and despair. Above all, despair. Minutes bleeding into hours into days, thoughts lost in a nearly never ending recycling of events -- replaying and replaying how it had all gone wrong. Spectacularly, soul destroyingly wrong.

But even then, he still had no idea of the true extent of it.

His talk with Dumbledore three weeks ago had finally made that clear.

A talk that had made him a teacher at Hogwarts. Potions. Not Defence Against the Dark Arts as he had wished. A talk during which he had taken an oath to serve his old headmaster...and had done the will of the Dark Lord into the bargain. But he had not spent those three weeks since in teaching preparations, nor in work for either wizard.

He had spent it searching. Tracking, hunting...verifying.

It hadn't been too hard to discover the names of the Healers on duty at St. Mungo's that warm May night. One of them had even given a statement to the wizard press on behalf of the hospital after their patient's death. Finding the other two hadn't been too difficult after that. Hospital records had good security, but nothing a little ingenuity, a well prepared Unctuous Unction potion into a security guard's tea on his break, followed by the most simplistic of Memory charms couldn't bypass.

If nothing else, Hogwarts was getting a damned good Potions master.

The Hospital records had been tampered with, of course, certain pertinent facts never making the slightest appearance. But the names of those attending his wife had been left there, impossible to remove as no matter what had occurred within that hospital room, one public fact remained unaltered. A heavily pregnant Paidea Abernathy had died upon the delivery table...and someone had to have been attending her, trying to save her and the child that he and the rest of the world had thought died with her.

Two men and a woman, actually. The woman, he had guessed. Not even Dumbledore's obfuscation of the individuals in his memory quite hid that fact.

He had never been one to accept anything at face value and was less inclined to now more than ever...for the only ones he had ever truly trusted were now dead, one of them after leading his most reviled enemies right to him to capture him.

It was, he knew now, an accident...unintentional...but his inclination to trust anyone had taken a serious battering in that moment. And it had not been helped by the gradual realization that he had been played like Orpheus's harp by the one who had promised him his wife's life and handed him only her death.

Trust, therefore, even for the likes of Albus Dumbledore was in short supply. He would never take anything anyone told him as fact again...not without checking its veracity for himself. He could not tell who the other three figures in the Hospital that day had been...but he had discovered the Healers and that was enough. They could perhaps tell him the identities of those others who had been there. Who it was Dumbledore had spoken with about Paidea's child.

About his child. His son.

The son they had taken from him, kept from him. All he had left...all he had of her.

Dumbledore had claimed all of the memories of the truth of that event had been rewritten for those present. Outstandingly illegal and just as difficult to perform effectively without leaving...something...a thread of memory to pull...to unravel. He had gone to each in turn, questioned them thoroughly using all his magical cerebral skills...not that they remembered that either...and the outcome was that he found absolutely nothing.

Dumbledore had not lied and had performed all too well the complex magic required. There was nothing he could do to reverse it. Finally, he had had to accept that the ancient wizard was the only one who knew of the whereabouts of his son.

If there was another who knew amongst the other three present that day, he had no way of knowing who they were. The members of the Order of the Phoenix were numerous and scattered...and once the child had been taken and hidden, they too might have volunteered to have the memory taken or rewritten in their minds.

His only hope of finding his son lay in the honouring of his oath to the old man, even though the old wizard had surely not done what his dying wife wanted for her son...for her husband.

His fingers found the cold sleek surface of her grave again, feeling the warmth of his hand seep into the stone and chilling him.

A family...Paidea had wanted him to have that...and had known that family was important to him. She had known that he'd loved his mother greatly, and she had comforted him through her loss. But more than that, she had known, in spite of his outward anger and deep resentment towards him, that he had loved his Muggle father also.

Despite Tobias's increasingly drunken reaction to his wounded pride, resulting in aggressive, berating, belittling ways, the boy Snape had only ever wanted his approval...would have gone to the ends of the earth to hear a favourable word or a hint of pleasure in his father's voice directed at him. He would have given up everything, all his childish ambitions, if his family could have been whole...healthy.

His wife had wanted to give him that. He had wanted to ensure that. That was what his actions had all been for. And now, she was dead...and he had a son he never knew about...one whose identity or location he had no conception of.

He didn't particularly enjoy the irony.

Nor did Snape enjoy the fact that through his old headmaster's actions, Dumbledore had ignored that marital and familial commitment they had made to and for each other...and was now using it for his own ends.

Even if the elderly wizard's reasoning the day she had died had been cautiously logical and even if her husband's deeds to that point had left him a dubious father in the extreme, it was in Dumbledore's use of the reasoning that having the boy anywhere near Voldemort would have given the Dark Lord a new pawn to play his father with that Snape found utter hypocrisy.

The fact was that the prospect of being used to make the child's father a pawn had already become a reality...the very moment the Headmaster had used his knowledge of the boy to his own advantage.

Dumbledore had chosen freely to use his new Potion master's deepest desire and his last remaining hope to bind him, to ensure his unwavering loyalty more completely than Voldemort had used the Dark Mark that still adorned his arm. And though Snape now had the chance to seek to make amends for his foolish choices...he hated the old man for what he had done more than his former professor would ever know.

The old man truly had no concept of the bond that had tied Snape and his wife together, what they had given each other...what they had wanted for each other...and their child. Or maybe he knew and just didn't care because he was more focused on the bigger picture...on turning every eventuality to his advantage...on winning a war, rather than on the wishes and hopes of those individuals involved. Maybe that was why Dumbledore had even denied the gesture she had made before the lifeblood seeped from her body...feigning ignorance to her husband when he had quizzed him on it, while in reality forbidding his new teacher's son anything of who he truly was even in exile. Or perhaps he was attempting to break the familial bond in order to use the prospect of reunifying it one day as a lure the boy's father could hardly resist.

He touched her name again with one hand as his other delved into his robes to draw out his wand. It seemed so long ago now, a different world...a different him. But the memory of the creation of that deeper covenant between them, along with a great many others, had been rekindled in the aftermath of his meeting with Dumbledore.

He had repressed so much after her death -- the anger, pain, and guilt too much to bear. It had been so hard to do that at times, death would have been infinitely preferable...there had been nights when Obliviating his own mind had been just the uttering of a single word away.

But her dying words to him within Dumbledore's memory had revived his own, making them easier to bear. She did not blame him...she wanted his forgiveness...she believed in him still...she loved him.

"Always."

He could hear her voice in his head from a time before...a happier time. The bond had been unbroken in the end; despite his foolish, desperate actions...their promise to each other had not been shattered by the casting of an Unforgivable Curse. Unbroken, because she had not wished it so.

And as he raised his hand above her tomb and began to cast the spell that would help him bypass the wards upon her tomb just enough to augment a spell of far longer standing, the power generated by him through his silent spell began to thrum around him, his lips moving as the strain of pushing back the warding spells placed by her family to protect her tomb, a symbol, from desecration in this time of trouble grew. It built and built, an aura beginning to form around him...its lambent glow ever more noticeable, until with a gasp he opened his eyes, his empty hand turning palm open as he cried,

"Reveni..."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Snape emerged into the golden twilight...the walls of the whitewashed cottage almost orange in the light of the setting sun as it bathed the Southern English coast.

The world was quiet and still...barely a breath of wind moved through the few trees and plants that made up the small side garden that led to the fenced off cliff area, beyond which the world turned blue-green with nothing but water as far as the eye could see. The tiny wisp of wind that was there blew through the roses and honeysuckle that filled the air with their fragrance, while toying also with the chestnut brown locks of the solitary figure who stood in the centre of this serenity, arms folded about her as she gazed far out to sea from their honeymoon vantage point.

Clad in a long off the shoulder lavender dress embroidered with small flowers along the hem and bodice, she stood with a picnic basket on the small stone bench nearby her, the setting sun lending a kind of halo effect to the scene and her. Her young husband was loathe to interrupt and ruin the peaceful introspection and beauty of the moment, his seventeen year old mind consigning it to his memory as a visual snapshot to treasure for the lonely evenings to come.

Evenings of which would be many in the immediate future after tonight...their last night here and their last night together for some time. Destined on their return, she to London and he to Spinner's End and then Hogwarts for his final year, to months of separation and shadowy brief meetings -- their marriage meant for secrecy for some considerable time.

Until he was older, established...and she finished the work she needed to do.

He looked down at her cape in his hands and back at her...there was little doubt in his mind that he would be more than old enough to be acknowledged as both her husband and a success in his own right by the time the latter was achieved. Trying to bring peace to a world in conflict with itself, conflict that was threatening to spill over into the outside world in the peaceable non-violent manner she desired...was a task no magic could even begin to tackle.

He would have to prepare himself for a life of shadows...a half life of hidden and half truths. Still, he told himself...it was what he had accepted as the price of having her...of her being his wife. A few years...just a few...even if the war was resolved by non peaceful means, then she could set to work healing the rifts...and then, then he would be able to walk with her again just as they had this past week, albeit without all the elaborate protective wards to keep them concealed. Just a few short years hidden away and pretending...no more than that. It would be bearable as long as he had her.

Dressed in his black Muggle shirt and trousers and his soft boots making no sound on the grass, he moved behind her and, holding up the cape, slipped it around her shoulders, stepping close to her as he did and wrapping both the cloak and his arms around her, his nose and cheek brushing hers.

She made a soft sound of contentment as her head turned ever so slightly to nuzzle him. "Thank you," she whispered, her fingers brushing over his arms, before she turned her eyes back to the vista, her voice containing a hint of wonder. "It is beautiful, isn't it?"

He nodded silently, settling himself against her, her body natural against him now in every way - the culmination of a week's worth of the newlyweds' exploration of one another. The nervous, awkward, virginal pair replaced by the ever more comfortable lovers. "You have been standing here for quite some time. What is it you've been thinking on?"

"How I shall miss this place," she replied almost instantly, a soft sigh bubbling from her. "How happy we have been here...how I cannot wait to return." One hand drifted up his arm, her fingers wrinkling the fabric even further. "How I do not wish to leave...how I wish the world was different and we could stay, but knowing we can't. I feel like I'm about to wake from a beautiful dream to step back into the harsh light of day." Her fingers tightened a little. "And...I do not wish to wake."

His lips brushed her cheek. "Ironic." His tone was philosophical. "You prepare to step into the full glare of day...and I into the shadows. Still," he said as firmly as he could manage, "it will not be for long. One day we will return here again. Make our home here if you wish."

She nodded almost minutely before turning her head to meet his gaze. "I think I would like that," she murmured, her fingers brushing over his cheek. "I hate that it must be this way...you deserve so much more than to be forced back into the dark. Your life has been so unhappy already...and here I am adding to it." The blue in her eyes darkened in sadness. "I have learned that being true to yourself is just as important as being true to a cause. Am I being selfish?"

He looked down at her, his black eyes still and soft. "We are both of us selfish in our way, I doubt you know how much in my case," he replied. "But by being true to your cause, you are true to yourself. You must do what you feel you have to. Despite me or anyone else. It is the Slytherin way," he chaffed her momentarily before his tone returned to its serious timbre. "If you did not, then you would not be you, and I would not be here with you right now."

Turning in his arms, she said not a word as her fingers moved into his hair, her lips quirking just a little at the sight of it pulled back into a relatively smooth ponytail, though many of the strands had rebelliously fallen out to cover his eyes. "Slytherin way or not...you know me too well," she agreed with a sigh, tucking one of the strands behind his ear. "And you are right...it does not need to be for long...the war could end tomorrow." She tried to make her voice sound optimistic, but both of them knew that it was not very likely...that in fact 'He Who Shall Not Be Named' only seemed to be growing in power and followers...not the opposite.

He said nothing. The war and all that surrounded it were growing more complex and intense. No one now was truly immune to its effects even though they might wish it otherwise. What they had just been through was testament to that -- the attempt to sacrifice her on the altar of expediency to hasten a war in order to end it. And, though he would never say it to her...the twisted logic involved was founded in a frightening truth...the Death Eaters were a growing force, subtly recruiting more and more witches and wizards to their side every day and striking with relative impunity as those in the Ministry debated.

There were many who feared lack of action more than war because they feared how far Voldemort's tendrils would grow and creep before action was finally taken, and that it might be too late to do so by the time the debating was done. He knew that they had a point. He knew how far the Death Eaters' influence reached...had known for many years.

Their insidious probing and enticing inside the Dumbledore-led bastion of light that was Hogwarts showed both their increasing reach and how early they started their recruitment. He recalled the quiet way he had been drawn aside his very first year by the vastly impressive seventh year, Lucius Malfoy.

Tall, blond, supremely self-possessed Malfoy, who complimented him on his startlingly advanced knowledge of spell craft and potion making...then staggered him with how much he knew about his family. Their pureblood past...ruined by intermarrying with the likes of his drunken Muggle father. He commiserated with him, welcomed him into his circle, and hinted in no uncertain terms that his skills would be welcome in certain quarters, should he wish to ally himself with them...and in return his family name might be exalted once again.

It was the first time he had been approached...but not the last.

He would be lying if he had not said he was intrigued by the possibilities it would open up to him and what advantages it could give him in his studies...but he had learned to be self sufficient even by the of age eleven, developed a strong independent streak, and didn't relish the idea of being a part of a collective hive mind of any sort...less so being anyone's lackey.

But there was no doubting the power His followers offered, and in the years he and his independence had struggled alone against the Marauders, the safety. It had been tempting, he could not deny that. Now, of course, it was out of the question. They were her enemies...so therefore...they were his. A welcome shade of definite black in his too often shades of grey world.

"Is everything all right?" she enquired softly, breaking into his thoughts. "You suddenly look a thousand miles away."

He nodded again. "Everything is fine. Save the thought of tomorrow morning."

She sighed and nodded. "Of course..." Her lips pursed as she gave another firmer nod. "Let us not think about that right now. I want to enjoy our last night together...the sun will again rise soon enough."

He nodded and glancing down at her hand on his arm, caught sight of something and with an expression of remembrance, turned his eyes at her. "Tell me, do you recall when we first talked? Sitting in my hospital room in St. Mungo's in the aftermath of the Death Eaters' attack on Diagon Alley?"

Her smile was soft as her fingers wrapped around an object dangling on a chain around her throat. "Oh yes," she replied, her eyes twinkling a little at the memory. "You were the oddest little boy I had ever met...but after you stopped being rather crusty...you were rather charming."

"I was in pain, surly, and impatient," he scoffed. "Yes, my usual charming self...I doubt I have come within an ass's roar of being anywhere near charming in my life...and only you could deem my behaviour so."

"It was charming," she insisted resolutely. "As evinced by you giving me this." Reaching behind her neck and undoing the clasp of the chain, she held it up between them. Dangling from the white gold chain was a good sized antique ebony locket beautifully decorated with delicate silver vines entwined about the letter P rendered in script at its heart. "I thought it a rather extravagant gift...but you were so insistent. I remember your frown when I tried to tell you it was too much...and you said, 'Nonsense...if I didn't want you to have it, I wouldn't be giving it to you.'" She laughed. "You had that rather endearing glower down to a T."

He huffed slightly and cleared his throat. "Yes...even then you took a ridiculous amount of convincing. And my glower is hardly endearing."

"I didn't want to offend you. You had saved my life after all...so, I took it and wore it just as I promised you every day after we parted. People assumed the initial stood for my name." Her smile became wry. "I think it got to be habit, for I was still wearing it when we met again." Her eyes twinkled at the memory of how exactly he had come back into her life. "You literally knocked me off my feet," she teased. "It was most romantic."

He arched an eyebrow slowly at her continued gentle jibing. "You hardly thought so at the time...and I'm beginning to wonder why I bothered right at this moment," he groused, though his eyes flashed with his own dark humour as she started to laugh at his much put upon tolerance.

His fingers reached out to touch the one family heirloom he had...the one item of value the Prince family had left. The one his mother had been quietly shocked to see him give away to a little girl whose acquaintance he had only recently made, and understandably she had not gained much satisfaction from her nine year old son's dogged explanation that it was 'Quite all right, Mum. The locket has not left our family...I intend to marry her.'

A quiet and decidedly enigmatic "Good" slipped from his lips in a murmur as he continued to regard the locket, and his wife's expression was quizzical when he looked back at her. He did not enlighten her. "Shall we depart for the strand so you can display what it is you have prepared for this beach supper you wish to treat me to?"

Fixing the heirloom around her neck once more, she nodded. "Of course! Though...it's mostly a cold collation," she warned him. "I still do not fully trust my newfound cooking skills," she added, picking up the picnic basket and blanket.

"You will improve in time and with practice." His eyes glinted in the dying twilight as he held out his hand to her. "As you have in...other areas...this past week."

Her eyes widened as her hand slipped into his, her fingers instantly entwining with his own. "Severus!" she gasped, her cheeks pinking, though her lips struggled not to pull into a wide smile.

"You do not feel you've improved?" he mused, returning her earlier teasing. "Very well..." He turned his eyes towards the small narrow gateway that led to the steps at the bottom of which lay their personal and private strand. "I stand corrected."

Both her eyebrows rose as she continued to stare at him. "Severus Snape! I should most certainly think that I have improved! Especially since I knew absolutely nothing about...those...areas when we started!" she exclaimed before her eyes narrowed. "And you have proven...acceptable...yourself this week," she added with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Yes, your acceptance of me has been quite frequent, enthusiastic, and even insisted upon, I've noticed," he replied immediately, leading her to the gate.

She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. "I should know better by now than to engage you in verbal wordplay...have I mentioned you should try going into politics?"

The gate creaked a little as he opened it. "Several times. And as I suggested to you before, with certain key exceptions, there is a certain natural limit a man has in dealing with and dwelling amongst snakes...even for a Slytherin."

Her laughter filled the air as they moved down towards the sand.

Finding a sheltered spot, Snape laid out the blanket, while his wife busied herself with the large picnic basket which not only held their meal and dessert...but also several bottles of elf wine, glasses, plates, utensils, and a couple of extra blankets.

Sitting back, he watched her as the sun continued to descend rapidly. After he drew out his wand, a silent Accio gathered together dried grass from the cliff side and driftwood from around the beach into a neat symmetrical airy pile. On his command, they burst into a crackling campfire, illuminating the gloom around them. A moment later, they were joined by a Lumos spell he had adapted, and a dozen small lights winked into existence in a broad circle around them...throwing a satisfactory glow over the area around them.

Setting out the cheese, fruit, and sandwiches, she handed him the bottle of wine. "Would you care to do the honours?" she enquired, casting her eyes at the romantic lighting and smiling in appreciation.

A small parade of stones drifted up to ring themselves neatly about the fire, the final practical and aesthetic flourish to his creation, as he put away his wand and took the bottle from her.

Taking some pleasure in inserting the corkscrew into the easy give of the cork, he drove it in before pulling it out slowly, the muted pop as it slipped out quite noticeable. "You know, being as we are in Muggle territory..." He returned the bottle to her before turning to raise the blanket behind him and scoop the sand up, forming it to create an angled backrest. "You could be arrested for giving spirits to a minor. Or is it, in fact, your plan to get me drunk? In order to have your diplomatic way with me?" Turning around, he settled back against his creation with a small smirk on his lips.

Her brow furrowed a little. "A minor? But you are seventeen...you are an adult," she replied before snorting lightly. "And I am the one with the lower tolerance for alcohol as you well remember."

Reaching out after a moment, he touched her face, one finger tracing the line of her jaw slowly. "That would only make you more irresponsible to the Muggle authorities," he noted. "I may be an adult in Wizarding terms...but I am a year under age to Muggles..." His lip curled as he inched a little closer to her. "At least for drinking."

She blinked, more than a little surprised. "Muggles wait till eighteen? Does that mean...our marriage isn't legal?" She swallowed, appearing more anxious by the moment.

He paused in his slow encroachment upon her, his hand falling away slowly, as what he had hoped was his rather seductive line fell somewhat flat on his Muggle ignorant wife. She championed them, advocated good relations and more openness with them...but like many idealists, she really didn't have the first basic clue what she was talking about in practical terms.

"No." He shook his head, resuming his former position as a strand of his hair slipped loose again. "Our marriage is legal, Paidea, don't worry. Eighteen is for drinking and voting. Sixteen is the age of consent for matrimony. That's what I meant by other...never mind..." He exhaled, shaking his head tolerantly and following the golden rule that if you have to explain it, it really isn't worth it, he turned his face up to look up at the moon as it grew ever brighter in the sky.

She breathed a sigh of relief but upon seeing the expression on his face, winced a little. "Oh! Oh dear...I'm sorry...you were...oh no," she groaned. "It seems I need to further my education of Muggles..." Her eyes shifted back over to him slyly. "That is if I can find a good...teacher."

Catching her look from the corner of his eye, he ignored her and slid further down his back rest, slipping his hands behind his head. "I'm sure you'll find someone in the Ministry...maybe in the misuse of Muggle artefacts section...or the Obliviators..."

Arching an eyebrow, she put the cork back in the bottle, propping it carefully against the basket before moving over to him and leaning over him, her chestnut hair falling over their faces like a curtain. "I suppose I could," she murmured. "There is that new man in the Misuse office...red hair and freckles, who is rather sweet and vigorous. Though I was hoping for a tutor a little closer to home."

"I have a poor temperament," he warned her as her heat and scent surrounded him intoxicatingly. "I'd make a terrible teacher."

One corner of her lips tugged up as her eyes twinkled down at him. "You did very well with our cooking lessons," she reminded him, bending just enough to brush her lips over his.

"There was a reward system in place," he reminded her, his voice deep and low. "Added incentives."

"I see...and what...incentives...do you require, my husband," she answered softly, nipping his bottom lip.

He eyed her silently, the amused, expectant, and vaguely wolfish expression on his face really all the answer that was required.

The other corner of her lips joined its counterpart. "I am glad I decided on a cold supper..." she breathed before capturing his lips properly.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Propped up on the enlarged bank of sand with its covering blanket, another one draped over them, Snape sat with one arm encircling his denuded wife. Her head cradled against his neck and shoulder, they both sipped on the wine, their legs entwined and their clothes in one pile, their used dishes in another, as they relaxed, sated in the aftermath of indulging two kinds of hunger.

His hand around her playing idly with the bottom-most tendrils of her long free hair, he gazed up at the stars, the sea folding quietly onto the shore in the darkness as the moon reflected on its relatively placid surface midway between land and horizon. Glancing down as his wife's free hand traced little lines on his chest, he put down his wine glass and captured her hand gently, raising it up in the firelight so that the band of gold she wore there glinted in the flames.

Her eyes followed his to the ring, the symbol of their promise of love, fidelity...and marriage, a melancholy expression setting on her face at the realization she would have to remove it in the morning. "I wish...I did not have to put this away too," she murmured softly.

"Where had you decided on keeping it?" he asked vaguely, continuing to watch it as it shone.

She sighed softly and shook her head. "I'm not sure...I can't wear it, even on a chain around my neck it would be noticeable. But I do not wish to simply leave it at home in my jewellery box either."

"You cannot take it with you...not in any conventional fashion." He turned his head to gaze down at her.

She nodded, looking up to meet his eyes and frowning slightly as she recognised the tell tale signs on her husband's expression that indicated he was already several steps ahead of her regarding where this conversation was heading. "I am open to suggestions," she replied curiously.

Reaching out slowly, he traced the line of her collar bone with his index finger before finding and slipping his finger under the locket and raising it.

"Reveni Princepi," he murmured, before the locket around her neck winked out of existence to curl neatly up, chain and all, in the palm of his hand.

She blinked in surprise, her fingers automatically moving to the now missing pendant around her neck. "You had a spell on it?" she enquired, her light frown remaining.

"No," he answered, looking down at it. "Not me. And not just one. Several spells...put there by some ancestor of my mother several hundred years ago, when the Prince family was still one of the notable houses. This is all that's left of that time...a good reminder of how such things fall asunder.

"It's enchanted with some of the strongest magic," he told her. "Always to return to a member of the Prince family when summoned. No doubt that's why we never lost it along with everything else. It was...I believe, designed and created by Aramis Prince for his daughter, Arabella. Supposedly she was a great beauty, and he was afraid she would elope with someone unworthy of her...so when giving this to her for her seventeenth birthday, he placed enchantments on it...some of which he informed her of...like the retrieval spell...and some of which he didn't...like the tracking spell."

"Tracking spell?" his wife repeated, her brow furrowing more. "You mean...I've had a tracking spell on me for eight years?"

"I never used it," he replied mildly. "One has to invoke it...and then follow it. I never did." His eyes returned to her, his voice smooth and velvety. "I never felt I had to...that I would meet you again one way or another when the time came."

The slight tension in her shoulders eased immediately and she nodded. "All right...so..." She inhaled suddenly, her eyes widening with understanding. "You are suggesting we put my ring...in the locket."

He arched an eyebrow. "Have you tried to open it?"

Her cheeks flushed a little. "Yes...a long time ago after you first gave it to me. I was curious about what might be in it...but it wouldn't open," she explained. "I thought its mechanism might be broken...but not even an opening spell worked."

He nodded as he explained, "It can only be opened by a Prince...no magic except in tandem with that will work." His gaze turned back to the prize in his hand. "Aperi." There was a click and the seamless locket suddenly separated and unfolded itself, revealing an intricate gold filigree interior.

"If you place your ring within it...no one will be able to look inside to discover what it is you hold there. It can lie around your neck for all to see...and with none the wiser. A hidden testament to our vows...to our family."

Her eyes moved from the locket to the wedding band on her finger, her thumb and forefinger twisting it a little from side to side, and then, with a deep breath, she slid it from her finger and placed it inside the heirloom. "Close to my heart," she whispered. "Always."

A ghost of a smile rested on his lips. "Now..." he told her, "seal it once more."

Swallowing slowly, she placed her fingers over his and moved to close the locket, and was surprised to see the two halves close over but not seal.

"No..." he said softly, gazing at her, "with the words Claude Arcanum...invoke the Princes' spell." He touched her cheek. "As my wife. As a Prince. As my family."

Turning her face, she kissed his fingers and nodded. Pushing the locket closed again, she said softly but with a firm tone, "Claude Arcanum."

The locket sealed...no sign of a break in the metal anywhere. "Now..." he whispered, kissing her forehead, "call it back to you."

Her eyes shone and her smile was gentle as she held out her hand. "Reveni Princepi," she called quietly, recalling the spell he had uttered a few minutes before. The locket winked out of sight as it had before...and a fraction of a moment later, a light weight appeared around her neck again as it hung in its proper place once more.

She blinked again in surprise, but her smile only seemed to grow as she curled her fingers around it, the familiar, slightly heavier weight reassuring.

Looking at it and then at her, he nodded solemnly. "Now at least when we're apart there will be something of us with you." He kissed her lips softly. "Like a child curled up in its mother's womb...waiting to emerge."

When he pulled back, she was watching him closely with an odd look in her eyes. "You have that look again," he noted.

She continued to watch him some more and after a minute, she hedged, "Do you think about that...I mean...have you? Children, I mean..."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze calculating. "Yes. Family is important."

She nodded silently and turned to refill her glass.

"Family...when done right...gives you strength. A base...a home. I want that. For me...for us." His eyes watched her hawkishly, as his voice grew quiet. "It does not have to be now or anytime soon. I will not pressure you," he promised. "I know there are things you want to do...things you feel are more important now."

She held the bottle up silently askance as she shook her head. "No...it's not that. I just...I've just never thought about it. In fact, I hadn't even thought of getting married until two weeks ago. I suppose, I am simply getting used to one life change still," she answered. "It is not that I don't want to have children...but...if we think about this practically, we can't even be seen married yet...let alone have a child. Never mind there is a war going on...you are still in school...and I'm hardly home." She sighed. "What kind of a life could we give a baby?"

"A better one then we've had," he replied, looking away from her out to the rolling sea. "Parents who are proud of them for who and what they are. Parents who encourage...parents who won't steamroll them into a role they want him to play and taking their lives away in the process." He nodded to himself as his hand turned to the sand, a finger idly scratching symbols in the grains. "As I said, it does not have to be now. But if you do not wish it...so be it," he stated softly as he drew a line through his etchings.

She bit her lip idly, her brow furrowing as she watched and listened to him. "You really want this...don't you," she said softly, and almost in spite of herself, her hand drifted to her blanket-covered belly as her mind mulled an idea that before that day had seemed foreign.

His shadowed eyes remained on his scratched through writings. "Family is the bond that never breaks...for good or ill. It may stretch, even tear...but never completely breaks. It has more magic than any spell with words ever created. It moulds lives, minds, hearts. Magic users understand the power of the marriage vows better than Muggles...the joining of two into one. That's why my mother cleaved to my father so. The covenant is of blood...not just hearts. That's why the locket accepts you as a Prince. We are family...we are blood...and that is the oldest of magic. Children ensure and reaffirm the bond...carry it into the future as testament."

"I agree," she replied. "My father has said something similar my whole life...though from the parent's perspective...not the one of someone who wishes to be." She put down her glass on top of the closed basket and hooked a finger under his chin to turn his face back to hers. "I never said I did not want children...just that I was not used to thinking about even having any of my own." Her eyes were soft and loving as they met his. "I love you...and I am proud to be your wife...and I will be proud to be the mother of your children."

His body relaxed minutely, and he nodded slowly before kissing her forehead and drawing her to him to hold her tightly. "And I to be the father of yours...they will be our strength...grow to know us, carry something of us forward with them into the future...our future."

Her voice was soft and warm as she repeated with an ever growing smile, "Our future."

~*~*~*~*~*~

"...Princepi!"

The short but powerful spell of recall rang out around the silent cemetery. A cemetery that would be silent for only a moment more...his expertise enough to push through the wards on the tomb but not enough to also take care of all the alerts that had been put upon it. The caretakers of the wizarding necropolis would be alerted and on their way even as the pulsing aura around him died.

In the not too distant gloom, he could hear the sound of creaking sarcophagi...the custodians of the burial ground emerging from their sleep to come for the desecrator. Showing no particular sign of haste, he opened his hand, noting with grim satisfaction the glint of silver that caught the moon's beams.

She had taken this from herself on her death bed...their child's birthing bed, her intent clear in an instant to him as he had watched. It was meant for him...for the boy...so he would have something of her; her ring still inside signifying their bond, her commitment, her tie to him, and to their new family. But they had returned it to her body instead of giving it to him, not letting the child have even that to wonder on before they whisked him away.

Turning away from her tomb, he drew the cowl around him as the unearthly squealing of undead voices drew closer, and he moved quickly away into the darkness towards the trees beyond the gravestones, his hand closing tighter still about the precious locket and its contents.

Even in death she had not left him alone. She had given him a family just as she had promised. He had failed her in all things to this point...but he would find their son one day, and when he did, the boy would have this.

No matter what he thought of his father...or his actions...he would have something of their family, know something of his mother and the bond his parents had shared. In this at least...he vowed as he Apparated away, he would ensure her wishes would be met.