The Serpent's Thirst

School spirit in late January was at a all time high, especially since Quidditch was keeping up morale within the houses. Hufflepuff lost against Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but Ravenclaw lost against them. There was only a match to go before the decider of the final match for the cup, and that was Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Gryffindor had the most points by far, and secretly Harry would rather face Slytherin in the finals, rather then face Cho Chang in Ravenclaw. He was over her ... Harry was happy with Hermione, but there was some tension of an unsolved matter in the air every time they met. Harry was sure there was nothing to be resolved, but the feeling was eerie and he felt his stomach knot every time he saw her.

Harry, however, was a lot more worried then just facing Cho or telling his team mates that broom speed was a little to slow, or Shelley wasn't throwing the Quaffle correctly at one point, and that Trevor needed to build up some more muscle in his beater's arm. Harry was more concerned for the welfare of Mr. O'Connor, who was presumably under torture at that very moment by Death Eaters. Voldemort's terror had begun to spread and was creating chaos within the Ministry, deaths being reported everyday in the Daily Prophet. And now ... he knew that his Aunt Petunia had given birth to a baby girl named Florence, who he had been dreaming about being locked in the cupboard and may in fact be Magical, but wasn't sure about.

Hermione and Ron entered Transfiguration class, Harry following closely behind them, droning to the very back. Accidentally, his textbooks slipped as he neared his desk. Crouching down to pick them up he heard several high giggles. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Parvati and Lavender had set foot in the room. Harry looked up just to see how Ron was reacting and instantly began to smirk, seeing that Ron was again annoyed shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.

Harry sat quietly down in between his friends staring at Parvati who blushed as she crossed the room. Her books held over her mouth so Ron wouldn't see her smile so easily. "Why don't you say something to her?" Harry asked.

Ron didn't reply back, nonetheless, he gave Harry a patronising stare and scowled, his face reddening under the torment. Ron knew very well that she liked him ... and secretly he did too, but to go on further, Ron wasn't exactly sure if he should. So he kept denying it, wishing her away. Nevertheless, it was all working against him. And every time he looked away from her, he felt a little more empty all the time, and the struggle to look at her smiling eyes was proving to be more weightier then ever.

It was true ... she personally went out of her way to ask for the potatoes from Ron when the far end of the table where she sat had an abundant wealth of baked potatoes. She also sent a Christmas card to him over the holidays and a small trinket, even offered to help him study and she also endlessly tries to speak to him. But Ron kept refusing to acknowledge her. There was just something deeper swelling in him making him frightened to even have a go at another relationship. He was just scared his heart would be broken again. Harry thought that was Ron's underlying reason to why he was acting that immature way towards Parvati.

Professor McGonagall was ready to begin class, holding out a leash to a goat which was contentedly chewing on a purple boot. Harry looked up, wand ready and his book open in front of him and his quill already standing in the ink bottle. He sighed, feeling like there was something he was not doing. He really wanted to know if Florence was a Witch. What if they found out soon enough and the Dursleys repeated history with their own child: place her in the cupboard under the stairs for the next ten years, treat her like an outcast who was not worthy to even sleep and eat in their own house? Harry felt sick. He could not live with himself if he let that happen.

Then again, maybe they won't! Unlike Harry, she was their own child, maybe they would act differently. He felt a little better until Tom Riddle's father entered his mind: Voldemort was his own child and he still rejected him. And there were parents in the world who would abuse their own children for no reason at all. But the Dursleys weren't like that. They were loving ... they really were ... just not to him.

"Harry," Hermione quietly said, patting his hand. Harry snapped out of his thoughts, realising that McGonagall had already told them about their lesson and what spell they would be learning. Harry had not even absorbed a single word of it and Hermione knew.

"We are transfiguring a goat into a vase today. She wants us to start transfiguring harder objects and in the next couple of weeks we are going to do an animation spell, to make statues and things come alive."

Harry nodded, memories flooded back of the Statue of Brethren which Dumbledore made to come alive during his duel with Voldemort. He wasn't in the mood to practice, his energy was at a low and his mind was seemingly elsewhere.

"Harry ...?"

"Will you leave him alone!" Ron scolded, leading a baaing goat to their seats with great difficulty.

"Hang on -- I just wanted to tell him something he'd might want to hear," Hermione went on, a bit offended with Ron. Harry was interested and urged her on. "I presume that after six years you still have not read 'Hogwarts, A History'?"

"Well, since you know everything, I didn't think I need to read it -- what did you say Ron? Oh, when you want to know something -- ask Hermione."

"Continuing on." Hermione pretended she didn't hear his words, "have you ever wondered how on earth the Wizarding community knows which children are Magical, and which are Muggles?"

"Once or twice," Harry thought out loud. "Go on, I'm listening."

Hermione tapped her wand at the goat and muttered the incantation, making the goat turn into a cream glazed vase with pretty blue flowers and then returned it back into the disgruntled goat, who looked as though it was ready to attack Hermione for the indignity of being turned into a piece of pottery.

"... There is a parchment laid out every new year called The Hogwarts Registry of Magical Children. A charmed self-inking quill records the moment it detects a newborn child with Magic in its blood. Now, if you're worried about Florence being a witch or not ... then this registry is the best next thing to seeking the information, besides storming off to the Dursleys and trying odd things to get Magic out of her ... like Neville's Uncle, honestly!"

Harry peeked at Neville who was working with Dean and Seamus, and remembered their first year when Neville had said that his family thought he might've been a squib, until his uncle accidentally dropped him from the second floor and he bounced across the street. Harry imagined for a moment what Florence could do that would freak the Dursleys out.

"Where is it?" Ron asked, attentively listening on while swishing his wand to imitate Hermione's action when transfiguring the goat.

"Well it's in Hogwarts you dolt, that's for sure. I think we should speak to Professor McGonagall."

Harry couldn't wait till the end of class to ask the teacher about the registry, especially as the goat endured terribly under his magic.

"Potter, will you concentrate -- the goat is supposed to turn into vase, not into a -- whatever is it I have no idea," McGonagall blew in the middle of the lesson. Harry squinted his eyes; wand shaking nervously in his hand.

Finally, the bell rang and Harry sat in his seat waiting for the rest of the class to leave. Ron and Hermione stayed behind with him as well, quiet and holding onto their books. McGonagall was silently stacking her own things up. The goats were all leashed up and returned to a magically built enclosure for the next class. She turned around spotting Harry, and his friends sitting beside him.

"What is it, why are you not going to class?"

"Professor McGonagall, we want ask you something, something which would put Harry's mind at ease," Hermione teetered, deep lines creased on her forehead.

The old Transfiguration teacher stared down at the trio, pondering what they were up to. Five years around Potter, Weasley and Granger would now easily make her suspicious with a innocent question on their part. Walking to the back of the room, and at the same time cleaning her spectacles before placing them half way down her nose. "Is it something which concerns the Order?" she whispered, sitting down on a desk in front of Harry.

Harry shook his head. "No, Professor ... um, I'm just wondering ... if I could see the Hogwarts Registry of Magical Children," Harry said, hoping she would let him.

McGonagall's lips thinned a little more, her ponderings almost right. She gazed at Harry with weary eyes. "I can't allow that Potter, no one sees the registry until summer. It is for protective purposes that no one is to view it, as there is a high level of sabotage surrounding that thing ... especially from Pure-minded persons, so it is too risky. Some Wizards may find the registry a perfect, no-mess opportunity to bamboozle it into only taking Pure-blood Wizards and Witches."

"So it's guarded in Hogwarts?" Ron spoke up again.

"Why, may I ask, are you asking these questions, when you'll be late to class? And why do you want to know, Potter?" The teacher rose from her seat pointing towards the door, Harry got the message and held his books, ready to head off to Herbology.

"Professor ..." Harry knew she wasn't going to tell him otherwise and he didn't want to tell her why he needed to see it. He retreated very downhearted, out to the greenhouses.

Professor McGonagall watched them leave, her nostrils flaring a little at the situation. She turned her head slightly and made a note to herself to tell Sirius what Harry may be up to before the day's end.

Ron was in the lead, Hermione standing close to Harry behind him, when he spotted Parvati across the lawn watching him and walking towards him.

"Oh no!" he said, going a bit pale in his face. He didn't want to face her now. Why couldn't she just stop? Ron thought, he just needed some time to think without her being in every single second of his life. Harry stared, biting his bottom lip, standing motionless on the spot. "Talk to me Harry, make her think I'm busy."

Harry blinked and smiled benignly. "Ron I know that you like her ... just take a deep breath and let go of the past." Ron was about to say something rude to Harry's face, when Parvati halted behind him, saving him from the insult.

"Hi Ron," she said airily, fidgeting with her Herbology textbook. Her hair was done up especially for the occasion in a bun, which Lavender had helped her with that morning, while Hermione had told her the finer points about Ronald Weasley. "Hi, Harry, Hermione," she smiled happily. Hermione beamed back, pulling Harry by his robe sleeve to the Greenhouse, leaving Ron behind to talk to Parvati.

"Finally ... he's trapped with her ... if I had to stand one more of Parvati's wailing about him before I go to bed, I will scream," Hermione dryly replied, walking hastily to Greenhouse six, still holding tightly to Harry, who turned back, seeing Ron twitching his hands, ogling at Parvati.

Parvati leaned her chin on her books, battering her eyelashes a little, while some loose strands from her pitch black hair moved in rhythm with the breeze. "So Ron, how are you?"

"Er ... fine, fine," he nodded vigorously trying not to look at her deep brown eyes, thinking about wringing Harry's neck for not getting him out of this situation and he reminded himself to have a little chat with Hermione as well. Ron looked towards the greenhouse, where the students were lining up outside. "Where's Lavender?"

"She's in the queue, besides I wanted to speak to you alone. She can be too giggly when I'm with her."

"That's true, I always thought that a cheering charm had never worn off her or something." His voice trailed off, and a new feeling bubbled up inside of him. Should he even had said that? What an idiot he was! Ron accidentally glanced at Parvati, who did not have a disgusted look on her face, but who was actually smiling at him. He looked into her eyes ... betraying his promise to himself. And the hollowness he felt disappeared, like uttering a vanishing spell. His heart hammered in his chest, he didn't know what else to say.

"Well, er ... shall we head off to class?" Parvati said, and Ron nodded -- walking slowly by her side. Even though class was about to begin, it felt like they were walking through a garden, peacefully. Thoughts, however, running haywire in Ron's mind. Hermione had betrayed him -- his first true love, but that didn't mean that Parvati was going to do the same. So why give up on love? He had to let go of the past, and move on, complete the healing process.

"So- so what did you ... er ... want to speak about?" Ron croaked finally, thinking himself straight.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Parvati replied.

"It's been three months since I first realised that I liked you even more, Ron," she said matter of factly, without looking into his eyes. She stared straight ahead, watching the queue of people snake into the greenhouse and out of sight. Ron blushed, a little guiltily. "Three tough months to get your attention ..." She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "You have got to be one of the thickest human beings out there."

"I'm sorry Parvati." Ron stopped, "I've had plenty on my mind--"

"It's because you're scared to fall in love again?" Parvati answered what he was really thinking. "It's natural to feel that way. I mean, having your heart broken is a big thing, but then there is always room to love again, and it only makes you stronger -- I daresay, more experienced," Parvati said rather smoothly, a stream of cheeky thoughts crossing her mind.

Ron nodded, what else did he have to say to those words? "I- I've liked you even more for a while too," he said softly. "I'm sorry I tried to ignore you."

Parvati halted and smiled brightly as if everything in her world was falling into its right place. His words made it all complete. "I thought so too. But you weren't ready yet. Of course, you've just conquered your fear now ... and I like that quality in a man. I definitely don't want to love a coward -- would you like to go out with me?" she asked, as they reached the Greenhouse door.

Ron gaped, very startled by the question. Just five minutes ago he was trying to avoid her, and now she springs this question onto him. Ron breathed in deeply and replied. "Um ... I'd like that. And judging from the look on Sprout's face, I think we might be facing our first detention together."

"That's cool, we can chat some more while squeezing puss out of a bloody pod or something," Parvati joked, seeing Lavender and Hermione smiling and giving a single thumbs-up when Ron wasn't watching.

***

Harry was not in the mood to hear how happy Hermione was that Ron was finally talking to Parvati in a more mature way, while in Herbology and their walk back to the Great hall for Lunch. Harry was just more determined in seeing that registry as time went on.

He had an idea to ask where it was without asking a teacher again. Harry didn't care that he was not allowed to see it. He wasn't going to touch it or anything, just see if her name was on it. The important thing was to know for sure before the Dursleys had their way. After he ate his lunch in two large mouthfuls (something Ron had never achieved before), Harry rushed upstairs, nearly falling down it in his haste. A couple of portraits muttered to themselves about the appalling manners of students as Harry ran past, panting, sweat trickling down his face as he made it up the last flight of stairs to the dimly lit top floor.

Finally when he reached the twelfth floor, he looked around and began to desperately think of what he needed, hoping that the door to the Room of Requirement might appear. But he spotted Peeves bobbing all over the dark corridor just after he zoomed out of a dark classroom, cackling malevolently like it was planning something evil. Oh no! Harry thought as he walked ever nearer to the mischievous ghost.

Peeves halted in mid-air, just short of a centimetre from Harry's face. He could feel the chilling, almost unearthly air that circulated around the spirit, giving him goose bumps and he wished the poltergeist would clear off.

"Why, greetings, young disfigured Pot-head," Peeves sniggered evilly, his transparent teeth tinted an ugly yellow. Harry thought he caught a disgusting waft of bad, ghostly breath.

Harry narrowed his eyes, impatient to search for the room. "If only you were mortal, Peeves ... I would punch your fat nose in."

"Owwwww," Peeves' eyes flickered with mischief, fingers dancing in front of Harry's face. " I'm scared! Nasty, nasty, aren't you ... well, in that case I won't tell you what I know," Peeves said, spiralling around Harry.

Harry continued to walk, but Peeves wouldn't budge, circling around him like an overexcited dog. "Go away, Peeves," he snapped, determined to find the room. Peeves grinned widely while Harry stared straight through his transparent head.

"I know something you don't know," he continued saying, blowing a couple of wet raspberries.

"I'll go and get the Bloody Baron," Harry blurted sharply, not waiting for an answer. Getting more impatient to get answers from the room, anger boiling in him.

Peeves squinted his eyes and bared his teeth in an awful grin before he answered. "Your fly is undone," and chuckled.

Harry looked down instinctively, thinking it was the truth only to find his black robes flowing around him. But it was too late and Peeves hit Harry over the head with a metal arm which he had quickly knocked off a suit of armour to the right of him.

"PEEVES ... YOU EVIL GIT!" Harry shouted, his hands soothing the pain on top of his head where a throbbing lump was quickly forming. Blowing cold air into Harry's face, Peeves sped off; his loud laughter echoing through the school as he disappeared. Harry couldn't believe he had fallen for that prank.

Harry wobbled and rested against the wall for a moment, feeling the cold draft floating through the crack on the windowsill. It was certainly a cold and windy day, and he had Quidditch practice that night. Harry breathed deeply, regaining composure and controlling his emotions. The last thing he wanted was for Voldemort to feel his feelings.

Thinking hard, he thought about getting a map which showed him where the register was. Muttering under his breath, hopefully it wouldn't take long to appear. He had a feeling that the register wouldn't show up in the room, since there was probably magic surrounding it. At last Harry opened his eyes slowly and opposite him, a door had materialised. Harry rushed in and there sitting on a desk, was a piece of yellowing paper.

Harry picked it up with shaking breathes, his heart beating strongly. He looked at the simple scrolled writing on the parchment which read:

Harry smiled, biting his lip as he hid the note in his pocket, tucking it safely with his mother's pendant. All he needed now was to get in without getting caught.

The day had ended smoothly, and he was a little happier as he entered Defense Against the Dark Arts class after lunch. He told Hermione and Ron where he'd been. Hermione wasn't all too thrilled about Harry's plan to break into the room, which she knew resided right next to Professor Flitwick's office. But they were already experienced at breaking too many rules, this just seemed like another truth finding mission.

She wasn't the only one that was pestering him. For some reason Sirius was wondering where he had gone ... Harry didn't tell him. However Sirius kept telling him not to go places where there were too few people present.

"But why, Sirius?" Harry asked at the end of the lesson. It was unusual for Sirius to tell him this; he had never worried like this before. "Why are you all of a sudden worried where I go?"

"Listen, just -- stick with Ron and Hermione, ok?" he answered, giving him a worried look. "And will you eat more."

"Sirius?" Harry demanded, but Hermione ushered him into the corridor with bustling students, before he could say another word .

"What was that about?" Ron said, confused as well, but not as bewildered as Harry was.

"I don't know, but I want to know ... I'm not a little kid anymore ... I have the right to know things, when it concerns me," Harry said angrily.

Hermione bit her lip, she hated telling Harry things that he might not want to hear; nevertheless she had to for his own good. "I think they just want you to enjoy life as a kid, without getting all worked up about Voldemort and the meanings of prophecies. So when Sirius tells you something or not, just understand, Harry, please ... it just might be for your own good."

Harry was about to argue this, wanting to say that he needed to know, and not kept in the dark, teenager or not, when Ron asked what Hermione meant by the meaning of prophecies. Harry glared at him, before realising that they never had told Ron what it meant --

"Bloody hell!" Ron said in a whisper, terror radiating in his eyes as he sat down at their Potions desk at the back of the classroom. "But, but how... and Neville!"

"Neville is not apart of it anymore ... I am, Voldemort had a choice and he chose me, not him. He marked me." Harry said, repeating what Dumbledore had told him.

Ron shook his head but then he suddenly gasped. "But, but ... what about her other prophecy?" Ron questioned, his eyes bright and beady. "I mean you said Trelawney said something about Voldemort being greater then ever when Wormtail went back to him in third year."

Harry never thought of the second part of the second prophecy she had made about Wormtail escaping to Albania to met the weakened Voldemort and helping him. Harry shook his head ... that was something he didn't want to hear.

Professor Snape entered the room and began talking to the class, her mouth opening and forming words which Harry didn't comprehend or even hear as he watched her with blank eyes thinking about Professor Trelawney's words.

Harry blinked, thinking about the words ... students writing down something off the blackboard, while others began taking out ingredients in slow motion.

Harry screwed up his eyes as unwanted panic flooding in. The words repeating again and again.

"No ... no." Harry shook his head again, cool fingers resting on his scar as a prickle of pain throbbed while he thought about the terror the world was about to face with this pure evil. Why was he worried about it? Did he mean he was going to be stronger ... or the fact he was just going to create more chaos?

"Yes!" a cold voice hissed in his mind, like someone had intruded the privacy of his mind.

Harry's heart almost stopped at the freezing word, a wave of cold rippling out from the centre of his heart.

I will not let you ... I've got the one thing that is your weakness ... I won't let you!

"POTTER!" Snape yelled, her voice rattling the glass jars which lined the room, filled with slimy organisms. She was standing over Harry, her long silky black hair dangled as she slapped Harry who had fallen to the ground. Mystical blue eyes wondering what on earth was wrong with him.

"Professor, we'll take him to the hospital wing." Hermione said shakily with an unnaturally high voice. Harry heard the voice, his mind returning back to reality. He felt sick and feverish ... he had just let Voldemort enter his mind for a few unguarded moments to know what he was thinking.

***

Voldemort sneered, laughing to himself as his mind released the bond between himself and Potter, hearing a panting in front of him.

"M-Master," a hunching balding man squeaked, as his hand caressed his silver arm.

Screams echoed in the background, muffled by the walls around them. But nevertheless, the glorious sound seeped through, vibrated towards the Dark Lord. It was like a potent drug filling his veins as the screams bored through him. He realised it ... loved it. How he wished to break every bone in Potter's body and make him scream.

Voldemort opened his ghastly red eyes, leaning his head back as he sat in a tattered armchair, his long pale fingers gently tapping the padded arms. A smile curled again as he closed his eyes once more.

Harry Potter had just given him information from a second prophecy he did not know of, but it was welcome news. And even though Potter tormented him with a power he did not have, Voldemort was sure, that he would become more greater then before, and stronger ... if only --

"Has Mr O'Connor enlightened us with his little secret ... yet?" he hissed. Wormtail shook his head. "Do not harm him too much ... I fear one of you may kill him before he even decides to tell us."

"No my Lord, we aren't ... But Lucius and Horatio think it is wise to follow up on the next phase of the torture."

Voldemort smiled, yet again. "Yes, yes ... I daresay Bellatrix would be eager to play the part ... she played The Mudblood well over the summer, but the potion is not ready yet." Wormtail shook his head. "Very well, continue on."

Wormtail, bowed slightly and flicked his eyes to Voldemort; the man he feared, yet was loyal too, but was still too cowardly to fully connect his sight on. The Betrayer of the Potters waddled back into a disparaging room, where on the ground lay a huddled man, draped in dirtied robes which were once splendid and beautiful, his smooth hair now tangled. His happy face now full of pain and suffering ... and the tortured man hated them ... if only he had his wand he would fight them to the death.

He lay on the hard ground, his face crunched up in misery as the last affects of the Cruciatus curse began to wear off. His hands were tied behind back, and his ankles were shackled.

"Continue on, Master said ... don't harm him too much," Wormtail muttered to Lucius, who stood handsomely proud at his work. He couldn't wait to kill the man. Once his information was revealed, then the Dark Lord would allow them to mangle the form until it was barely recognisable as a human being. But for now, he was unable to do much. The Irish man was strong and full of defiance ... Lucius knew that the type of soul usually had overwhelming loyalty to a source and would die before revealing information.

Lucius hated those types of prisoners, that would drain them of their energy with torture, and frustrate them. But he also admired them in a way, because those souls seldom break ... and they hold on to the very end ... a quality which the Malfoy family upheld. Lucius circled the fallen man, his polished boots nudging the man onto his back, so his face whole face could be exposed.

Declan's blue eyes stared into the coldness of Malfoy's soul. He spat at him, and Lucius smiled, as he stood over him, with a sense of superiority. The man was at his mercy, and yet he didn't care.

Lucius bent down, so he could be closer to the pale, bloodied, and sweaty face of Mr O'Connor. His lips were parched greatly, as he panted, and Lucius could see a couple of teeth that had been knocked out. Lucius sneered and Declan gritted the teeth he had left.

"I will never tell you!"

Lucius closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "It is beginning to become very tiresome hearing the same words over, and over again, Mr. O'Connor."

Horatio leaned his head on the dark stone wall, mouth hanging open in boredom. He nodded silently at Malfoy's proclamation. He rubbed his tired eyes and yawned, as Wormtail stood in the shadows watching. An idea suddenly clicked in his mind.

"I hear you have a son, Declan," Horatio spoke, with calm and innocent curiosity which shocked Lucius, and he stared back, wondering what in blazing hell he was up too.

He never liked the way Voldemort favoured the new Death Eater above all others, except for himself and the Lestranges. Talden had rose up the ranks very quickly. The man was Lucius' competition. Talden might be his second soon, taking over his own place. Lucius didn't like it one bit. But maybe he was too worried for his own welfare.

Lucius gazed down again, his wand now pointed at O'Connor's forehead. Declan swivelled his sore eyes at Talden, the man now interested in the state of his nails. But Talden looked up, with a grin on his face, not a sneer ... but more of a greeting which hid his real agenda.

"Your wife named him Brian ... after your father I think. He's a cute little kid. Born November the twelfth as sources tell me."

Lucius stood up, his blonde eyebrows a little raised. He was never the kind to use metal torture, he always like the sight of blood and the sound of pain, and it was his weakness. Mental anguish was boring, nevertheless it produced more favourable results when it was used the right way.

"But," Talden's eyes turned a shade darker, and his smile was now full of malice, he bowed his head slightly. "How ... would it feel ... to know that you've outlived your child, it would be very tragic wouldn't it. The stain it would carry on your heart would be terrible," he said, slowly and almost seductively.

"NOOO!!! LEAVE HIM!" Declan cried loudly.

Lucius was quite impressed. He had to hand it to Horatio, it was the way he said the words as well which made it even more frightening. It even sent a chill down his spine and for a moment thought about Draco dying. The boy may be an impotent, arrogant poignant heir of his, just like he was as a child, but he was his own flesh and blood and very much himself when he was a boy.

"-DON'T HURT HIM!"

"THEN TELL US!" Lucius yelled above the man's pleas. "Or your baby's blood will be on your hands." He bluffed, truth was they thought that the his wife and baby were held in a secret location; however, they would find them and when they did they would kill them as well.

Declan heaved, calming down. crying silently on his side now rocking a little as he thought about his son, his wife and the duty he was sworn to protect; if he was to die, then his child would carry on the duty. Torn between sacrifice, and the Dark Lord for possessing terrible power.

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS!" he yelled into Lucius' face suddenly.

"O'Connor, you are the Watcher or Guardian of it ... you must know where it is."

Declan laughed, madly and maliciously, "You think it's that simple don't you? I might look after it, but I don't know where it goes ... It vanishes of it's own accord!"

A deep crease running along the centre of Horatio forehead appeared, as he stood over the man now. "Do you mean to say ... that the source, magically wanders off to a new location when it feels like," he laughed waving his hands in the air. "Is there a chance you can somehow find it for us, and at the same time spare the life of wife and child."

"Go to hell ..." Declan growled.

Horatio blinked, sneering savagely. "Thank you ... Crucio!"