Heir Of Voldemort

One Year Later - "The Prisoner of Azkaban"

"Sirius Black has escaped."

The silence that followed the announcement by Professor Dumbledore in the staff room was one of stunned horror. The full staff of Hogwarts had been called back urgently that morning and all of them were curious why.

"Fudge is about to inform the press and contact the correct Muggle sources," the old Wizard continued heavily, looking more exhausted than he had for a long time. "but I thought it best that I should inform you, particularly considering who we have studying here."

Each member of staff reacted differently, most shocked and some looking scared. The Headmaster didn't miss the range of emotions passing over each face, but his attention was centrally on the Potions Master.

Snape's thin lips were pressed together in a narrow line, his black eyes revealing nothing, his sallow-skinned hands gripping the arms of the chair he was sitting on until it looked like the knuckles were going to thrust through his flesh.

"How?" McGonogall was the first to speak, her voice hoarse. "No one has ever escaped from Azkaban before, Albus...how is it possible?"

"I wish I knew, Minerva...perhaps dark magic...maybe he had aid..." Dumbledore laid his hands in his lap and sighed. "Alas, all we can do now is wait until he is either recaptured and returned to his prison or..." His eyes were on Snape's face. "Executed."

The Potions Master stared neutrally back at him, but - inside - his stomach was churning and his heart doing flips. He couldn't say if he was pleased about it or guilty about letting the man he knew was innocent go to his death.

Discussions sprang up around the room, most being spoken in hushed voices, as if afraid that Black would overhear them. The genuine fear permeating the room was making the dark-haired, pale-faced teacher feel physically ill.

He said nothing. Did less.

He could feel his nails scraping painfully into the solid wood of the arms of his chairs, his teeth grinding together. Dumbledore was watching him, he knew. He could feel the usually calm, twinkling blue eyes fixed on his averted face.

The Head Master knew something was amiss.

He could not prove it or say for certain what it was, but he knew that something about Sirius Black was amiss. Snape kept his eyes turned away, knowing that if he met that tranquil, searching gaze, he would reveal the truth and he did not wish to do so.

After all, it was his vengeance.

After what seemed like an uncomfortable eternity, the aged Headmaster slowly got to his feet and looked around at the assembled staff.

"Perhaps," he murmured quietly, but was still heard by everyone. "We should continue these debates by the light of day. We may be able to see clearer and I know my head has a peculiar longing for a pillow now."

Nods went around the silent room and Severus reluctantly acknowledged the casual look in his direction, meeting Dumbledore's blue eyes for as short a moment as was possible without looking more suspicious than he already did.

The staff started dispersing from the room, no doubt on their way to their various chambers in their respective towers and cellars, still talking in low voices to one another as they moved off in groups or pairs.

Snape was halfway out of the door, when a voice called.

"Severus."

Pausing, his hand on the doorframe, splinters cutting into his skin, the Potions Master glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, Headmaster?" He was impressed by how calm and steady his voice seemed to sound.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

Damn him.

How could he always tell?

"N-no. Nothing I can think of, Headmaster."

The Headmaster took a slow step towards him and nodded, age-spotted hands folded in front of his body. "Very well, Severus," His voice suggested that he knew there was something, but he was not going to push for it. "Perhaps I could talk with you tomorrow?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave him a searching look, then nodded once. "Very well," he said quietly. "Good night, Severus."

Stepping out of the room, Snape heaved a sigh of relief as he started down the long halls towards his office and sleeping quarters.

Concealed by the lengthening shadows from the high windows, his hurried footsteps on the stone floors were the only things that even suggested he was there, his robes pulled close around him, swishing softly.

Reaching one of the passages that opened into a short cut to his office, he ran a hand over the head of a statue of a small Satyr. It hopped to one side and the wall behind it opened into the dimly lit passage.

Illuminating his wand, he stepped into the passage and hurried onwards, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking. All he wanted was to be as far from Dumbledore's questioning gaze as he possibly could.

Within minutes, he had reached the other end of the passage and slid down the small chute and through a portrait hole that had opened up, landing in the corridor just outside of his silent and familiar office.

Entering and reinforcing the combination of muggle and magical locks, he leaned back against the door with a low groan, sinking down the thick wooden panels to the floor, the back of his head resting against the wood.

He could and should have told them that Black wasn't a Death Eater and never had been. He had known them all, by name, by face and by voice, in spite of the masks and various disguises that they donned.

However, while he knew that Black innocent of most of the crimes he had been jailed for, he also knew there were crimes that no one knew of, crimes that validated his silence regarding the now-free prisoner.

Undoing the cuffs of his dress robes, he reluctantly pushed them up, over his bone-thin wrists, a look of distaste crossing his features as he tilted them into the light of the single candle that burned in the wall above his head.

They would never fade, he knew.

The scars.

His right fingers brushed over the thin stripes on his left wrist, marks he had inflicted upon himself daily, every single year that he had attended Hogwarts, after suffering Black's... humourous torment.

That was the fact that was ignored about Black.

He was a bully.

A cruel, vindictive bully.

Snape sighed, closing his eyes. He had been one of Black's favourite victims, because he was smaller than average and - despite knowing a vast array of curses and potions - was simply not strong enough to outdo the larger youth.

He had started cutting himself in the middle of their first year, as a pressure vent. His parents would have literally cursed him senseless if he had been expelled, so he had found a kind of relief in harming himself instead of harming Black.

Not that anyone in Slytherin House had noticed.

Of course, it was the only way any of the non-Death-Eaters and goodie-goodies could fight with and torment the Junior league of Death Eaters, without Voldemort cheerfully walking in and wiping them all out.

Stirring himself, Snape slowly levered himself to his feet and approached his desk, sitting down in the hard-backed seat. His hands came to rest on the desk, his memory drifting back to his final years at the school.

He wasn't any more popular than he had been in first year. He wasn't the only one being picked on by Black or other Witches and Wizards from the other three houses. He wasn't the only one that had resorted to self-harm as a way of escaping it.

He was, however, the one who found Lazing.

The young Slytherin Witch had been another potions adept and one of the few people who had spoken to him willingly, often asking for aid from him with her potions, not ashamed to admit mistakes and learn from her betters.

Here was another of Black's favourite toys.

She hadn't said anything about it to anyone. No one ever did, for fear of it getting worse.

Sixteen-year-old Severus had entered the common room one winter morning, on his way to the potions lab to begin work early, only to find her slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace, her eyes glazed, her body limp.

The young Witch, a barely fourteen-year-old little girl, had been driven to taking poison to escape the torment of the older Gryffindors.

Snape had gone into shock. The only person he could truly regard as a friend had killed herself and he had been too blind to even notice that she had been going through the same thing as he had.

That seemed to be when Dumbledore had realised that - perhaps - he was being too liberal with his house and the bullying was cut down dramatically, but it was too late to bring little Catrina Lazing back.

That was also when Snape realised that he hated - really, truly and from the bottom of his heart and soul, despised - Sirius Black.

When Black had been arrested, he cheered along with the rest of the Slytherins who had been tormented by the handsome Gryffindor.

Many older Witches and Wizards wondered what could have changed the charming youth, but none of the people of his own age group and none of his teachers doubted that he wouldn't have been capable of killing so many muggles.

Now, though, he was loose.

No doubt he would find some way to prove his innocence.

He always had an irritating ability to dodge the blame and it was only blind luck and - Snape had to grudgingly admit - Peter Pettigrew's imagination that got him caught. The fact that Pettigrew had died was rather unfortunate, though.

Snape would have liked to have shaken his hand.

Shaking his head, Snape got to his feet again and wandered across the silent to lean on the mantelpiece. It had always been his favourite spot for thinking and, glancing down at the ashes, a thought came to him.

Ethan.

What if he heard the news and relayed it onto young Bones?

She would know for a fact that Black was not one of her captors. In fact, she - along with him - was probably one of the only people who knew every Death Eater's name. She had been a smart one, little Bones.

That raised the question, though, what would she do?

She might tell Ethan the truth - that Black had gone to Azkaban for twelve years for a crime he did not commit. It wouldn't make much difference though. If Ethan emerged, claiming Black was innocent, no one would believe him, a demon worshipper.

The Potions Master let a wry grin cross his face.

Unless by some miracle, Pettigrew was alive and could come forward and admit he had framed Black, not even the word of Cassandra Bones, mother of Voldemort's Heir, would convince anyone.

He glanced at the mantel clock. It was passed midnight already. His gaze drifted to his desk, where sheets of parchment and his quills lay. Perhaps he would have time to contact Ethan and let him know what was happening.

Or, perhaps, he should wait he had spoken to Dumbledore the next morning.

Maybe that way he could provide some more information for the illusive demon-worshipper and Lady Voldemort.

***

"Oh and me and Jesse are in the 'I hate Cordelia' club. Willow's going to be the secretary! She doesn't know yet, though," speaking enthusiastically around a mouthful of waffles, Alexander grinned up at his mother.

Cassandra raised a brow. "Cordelia? Who is she?"

"Cordelia Chase," he elaborated, pulling a face. "Her dad's that real rich guy and they live in the big house just outta town."

"Ah, the wonderful Miss Chase," the blonde Witch murmured. "I remember you mentioning her...oh...about twenty times in the last hour and a half." She gave her son a knowing smile. "Is she pretty?"

"Ew! No! Anyway, girls have cooties!"

Cassandra reached over and mussed his hair. "I thought you might say that," she replied, getting to her feet and carrying the late-breakfast dishes to the sink. "What are you going to do today? Anything interesting?"

"Me and Jesse are going to try and get Willow to come to the water park with us cos Jesse's dad said he'd take us," He looked disgusted. "She says she's got work to do for school! We don't even go back until tomorrow and she's already doing work."

"At least she's organised," Cassandra laughed at her son's expression.

"Yeah, but its only school!"

"Quit shoutin'," a deep voice grumbled from the door, both Alexander and Cassandra whipping around to see Robert Harris standing there, scowling darkly at both of them. "Alex, get your ass outside and mow the lawn."

"But, dad..." Alexander fell silent as his step-father shot a warning look at him.

"Robert, he's going out with Jesse today to the water park. I can mow the lawn," Cassandra hurried around the counter and stepped in front of her son. Her husband stared down at her, eyes bulging with anger.

"He's my son as well, Cassie," he snarled, his eyes suggesting that she try and argue with that point and - inadvertedly - reveal the truth to her son. "I'll damn well tell him what to do, if I want to."

"Robert, its the last day of his vacation!"

"And he should spend it doing something useful to earn his keep around this house. All he does round here is eat and take up too much space," Dark, piggy eyes stared bitterly at the dark-haired boy. "We should have had him adopted."

"Don't you EVER say that!" Cassandra hissed, her eyes blazing.

Alexander touched her shoulder. "Mom, its okay."

"No, its not, Alex," Cassandra looked up at her husband. "You go and I'll do the lawn, okay?"

"You step out of that door and you'll regret it, my boy!"

"Go, Alex!"

"Mom..."

"I said GO!"

The young boy sprinted for the door, leaving his mother to face off against his massive and furious father. He heard his father yell a string of obscenities as the door crashed shut behind him and his mother's voice screaming back just as loudly.

Tears were stinging in his eyes as he reached the main path and started running. He told himself it was because he was running so fast and because the wind was hurting his eyes, but he knew that was a lie.

More than anything, he wished he could walk back into the house and magically make his father disappear and then he and his mom would be fine. There wouldn't be anymore fighting or bruises or crying.

All he needed was a little bit of magic and everything would be all right.

***

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Cassandra winced, fingering the latest bruise that had swollen her right eye so much that she could barely open it.

Yes, she had her husband constantly under a controlling imperio spell, but occasionally, just occasionally, he could break through, especially when he was as furiously angry as he had been this morning.

Fortunately, though, he was so stupid he never realised that he had done so.

Lifting a cool, damp cloth from the sink, she pressed it against her eye, hissing through her teeth at the sensation. Part of her wished she had the physical strength to return the blow, but she knew that would never happen.

It was times like that that she was tempted to use another of the unforgivable curses.

Especially when her foolish lout of a husband threatened her precious son.

He could scream at her as often as he liked, hit her on occasion, abuse her once in a blue moon, but he could not - he simply could NOT - be allowed to harm or even threaten her beautiful, darling boy.

Cassandra's gaze drifted down to the mahogany wand that was resting beside the basin. It stayed with her at all times for the sole reason that she did not trust her husband as far as she could throw him.

Picking it up, she bent, quickly rolling the right leg of her jeans up to her knee. Twin straps were fastened around her calf and she carefully slotted the wand into them and secured it there, to prevent it from being found.

With it concealed, she smoothed her jeans down, checked her eye once more, then exited the silent bathroom, making her way back down the long flight of stairs towards the living room.

If she had been asked later what made her look out of the window next to the door, she couldn't have said. All she knew was that she happened to look out the window and noticed that the flag on the mailbox was up.

Frowning slightly, she opened the front door and wandered down to the box opening it. A single envelope lay inside and she pulled it out, her frown deepening when she realised that there was nothing written on it, except her name.

Turning, she returned into the coolness of the air-conditioned house, absently closing the door behind her as she tore the envelope open. A couple of sheets of parchment lay inside and she felt her heart leap.

Only one person she knew would use parchment.

Sinking down on the sofa, she quickly unfolded the crisp letter, recognising the familiar, ungainly scrawl that seemed to take up far too much paper, black ink smudged here and there, where he had forgotten to blot it.

***

Dear Skeleton, (She chuckled at the other childhood nickname)

Sorry I couldn't drop in and see you myself, but I'm on the run from a bit of a nasty customer, who wasn't too pleased about a little...job I did for him. I had time to drop this off and I'll be in to see you as soon as I can.

I had to write, though, cos I've just got some more news from a few sources at the pig-house. Poison and Charmer ("Snape and Flitwick,")are both keeping me up to date with whatever is happening in Wiz-world and you know how crazy that place can be.

Both of them told me the same thing: Dogboy ("Dogboy?" She frowned.), friend of Pothead, Loopy and Petti ("Oh! Sirius Black...right. The Constellation...") has managed to escape from the pound and is running wild. ("Eh?")

In case I forgot to tell you, Dogboy was locked up for helping Snakebreath bump off Pothead and Red. (Cassandra shook her head. "That can't be right.") He would have got away with it, except Petti apparently tracked him down and Dogboy blew him to pieces. He's spent the last twelve years in Wiz pris and they think he's after Pothead Junior.

Funny old world, ain't it? Pothead Junior could probably have a run of books written about him, just because he had a thick skull that no bullet could penetrate, but no one cares about old Snakebreath's squirt. ("Not that I mind." She murmured.)

Anyway, back to Dogboy and his escape from the wonderful Wizard of Az. Poison said he can guarantee Dogboy wasn't one of Snakebreath's crew and he said you would know if it was true or not.

What I want to know is, if Dogboy wasn't a bad guy and the one that let Pothead's whereabouts slip, who was it? And fair enough, there was a hell of a lot of evidence against Dogboy in the almost non-existent trial, but I'm still confused by it all.

Either way, if he's just after Pothead Junior, I don't think we've got anything to worry about, but if he did follow Snakebreath, then he might try and bring him back and you know how much that'll mess up our schedules for the next...well, eternity.

Anyway, I have to run for now. I'll drop you another line as soon as I can. Keep the brat and yourself safe. I'd hate to have to yell at you again!

Shags and kisses,

Drizzle.

***

Re-reading the letter several times, Cassandra bit her lower lip. Folding up the letter, questions filled her head. Could she have been wrong about Black? Had he been a Death Eater that she didn't know about?

Snape said no and Snape had been there longer than she had, so that was a plus for her.

But what if he was and he tried to bring...

No.

It wouldn't help to think like that. She *knew* for certain that Black wasn't a Death Eater and because of that, he did not affect her. As long as he didn't come near her, he could be the Queen Mother for all she cared.

If it had been Pettigrew, however, she knew she would have been in trouble, but little Peter had died, according to Ethan. Blown to pieces. A messy, but very quick way to go. And it served him right for what he had done.

Getting to her feet, she ran up the stairs to her bedroom and dug out the keys for her large chest, opening the seventh lock as quickly as she could, revealing her hidden room that was, once she descended the ladder into it, almost as large as her bedroom.

It was a small study, complete with a desk and chair, bookshelves packed with an assortment of magic books and magical supplies. This, aside from the bathroom, was her refuge as long as her husband wasn't around.

Opening her desk, she carefully placed the letter in with the small collection she had gathered over the last twelve years, all of them from Ethan and her only way to get through her life with her sanity intact.

Pushing the drawer shut, she glanced at the shelf above the desk. A huge, leather-bound journal sat there and she tiredly reached up to pull it down. It was the place she could muse over revelations from her friend, sorting through coincidences and puzzles.

The dust made her sneeze as she cracked it open, the pages yellowed and etched here and there with black ink, doodles trailing across the pages when she had lost focus and mentally wandered off on some strange path.

Taking her quill from it's holder, she turned to the first blank page she could find and, leaning on her left hand, started to write about her worries, concerns and fears for her son and musings over where Black featured in the whole messy picture of her life.

***

"You okay, Xander?"

"Hmm?"

The red head's brow wrinked in concern. Alexander was sitting at one of the picnic tables, his chin resting on his crossed arms, a distracted look in his eyes, his damp hair slicked against his forehead. "Xander?"

"What?"

Jesse glanced between the pair. "Xan, we're just wondering what's up with you. You're, like, spaced out man!"

"Just worried about my mom," the dark-haired boy replied, grateful that Jesse's father was away from the table, apparently going to buy them drinks. "Dad didn't want me to come today and mom said I could. They were fighting when I left."

His friends exchanged glances, then looked back at him sympathetically. "She'll be okay, Xander," Willow touched his arm comfortingly, receiving a small, tired smile of gratitude. "Your mom is really strong."

"Yeah," Jesse agreed. "Your dad is just too dumb to notice."

"Like father like son," an intrusive voice put it. The trio turned, each groaning inwardly. "Well, if it isn't Geeks on Parade," Cordelia sneered, her hands on her hips, her flock of minions gathered behind her.

As usual, she was clad in the most expensive bikini of the small group, her hair, make-up and tan perfect.

Alexander raised his eyes to her. "I don't suppose there's a chance you're here to swim instead of to make our lives hell?"

The brunette pulled a face at him. "Ew! Like, as if!" She shot a disgusted look in the direction of the overcrowded pool. "If you want to be gross and swim in other peoples' pee, you can. I'm sure you'll feel right at home."

"And you still come over here and hang around near us," Willow put in.

Cordelia gave her a withering look. "Who gave you permission to exist?" She tossed her head arrogantly. "I just like to watch losers like you squirming together."

"Your way of saying you're checking out the hotness of us?" Jesse smirked.

Cordelia raised a brow, eyeing his neon shorts. "And when the circus leaves town, are you going with it?" Her little flock tittered gleefully as Jesse glowered at her. "We'll leave you geeks to do... whatever it is geeks do." With an imperious wave of her hand, she led her group off.

Turning to glare after her, Jesse already muttering words that would probably make his mother yell at him, Xander found himself wishing with all his heart that he could do something to embarrass her.

Walking along the poolside, derisively commenting on everyone they passed, the gang of girls following her, a miracle seemed to happen before their eyes.

No one could say what happened, but she seemed to stumble, as if someone had pushed her, with a yell of "Hey!" a second before she plummeted over the lip of the pool and plunged straight into the water.

"Cordy!" her brood squealed.

Flapping her arms uselessly up and down, the brunette spluttered and shrieked with outrage and panic, her perfect hair ruined. All along the pool sides, people were laughing and pointing as the bedraggled girl was hauled out of the water by one of the lifeguards.

"Whoever pushed me is SO dead!" she squawked furiously.

The threat might have been taken seriously by some, if her bikini top hadn't decided to spring free at that moment, another ear-splitting shriek escaping the girl as she clasped her hands to her chest.

Her friends dived as one to try and retrieve their leader's top, four of them crashing together and losing their balance, one landing at Cordelia's feet, falling against the brunette's legs so hard that she immediately pitched Cordelia - screaming - back into the pool.

Alexander couldn't help grinning as the scene played out. Jesse was leaning heavily against his shoulder, roaring with laughter and clapping his hands enthusiastically. On his other side, Willow had a hand pressed to her mouth, but he could tell she was laughing as well.

"Okay," Jesse managed to say eventually, wiping his eyes and still chuckling. "It was worth coming to the park just to see that."

"Uh-huh," Alexander snickered, trying not to grin to widely. "The downfall of Cordelia Chase and her bikini top," Another howl of laughter escaped Jesse. "This'll have to be the main topic of the next 'We hate Cordelia' meeting."

"If only we had taken a picture..." Willow added, her eyes dancing. "Just for the expression on her face."

"This is truly a moment to treasure," Jesse nodded towards the pool side, where Cordelia was wailing miserably, wrapped in a large, dark brown and horribly unfashionable towel that had belonged to a sympathetic passer-by.

Alexander had to bite on his knuckles to hold in a shout of laughter. Part of him wished he could claim responsibility for the whole thing, but now...now, he was just happy to point and laugh at her.

***

Walking past the looming Dementor guards at the gates of Hogwarts as fast as he could, Severus Snape shivered as he felt their attention scan over him briefly. It wasn't a pleasant sensation by any means.

He barely noticed his surroundings once he had passed through the gates, his thoughts full of turmoil and confusion.

Was Dumbledore trying to torture him into giving something spectacular away? Was that why he had made some of the decisions that he had this year? What was he trying to do, if not unnerve Snape?

He had been wondering that very thing from the moment he had learned that Professor Remus Lupin, a close friend of Black and Potter Senior, had been appointed as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Of all of the little group, he mused, Lupin had actually been the only one he could stand during their schooldays. Studious and fairly quiet, he had been strangely likeable, when he was separated from his irritating friends.

Why, though, had he been brought back to the school in the wake of Black's escape? Surely that was a damn fool idea.

If Black ever needed inside help, he could turn to Lupin for it...although, like many others, Snape assumed that Lupin believed Black was guilty of the betrayal of the Potters and the murder of Pettigrew.

His mental meanderings were broken off when he heard a voice hailing him and looked around to see Professor Flitwick jogging towards him, his face flushed with exertion beneath his shock of a white mane.

"Thank goodness!" he squeaked, stopping at Snape's feet, panting. "I was hoping I could have a word with you Professor Snape."

"About something in particular?"

Flitwick glanced around suspiciously. "Shall we walk?" he suggested, his voice low. Snape mentally raised a brow, but nodded. They had been walking towards Hogsmeade for nearly ten minutes before Flitwick spoke again. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."

He received no response and it was clear he hadn't really expected one anyway.

He paused as Hogsmeade came into view on the curve of the road and looked up at the Potions Master. "He told me to inform you that the correct people have been received the necessary information and he'll contact you as soon as he needs to stock up on supplies."

"Very well," Snape murmured, then added for Flitwick's benefit. "He always did seem to regard me as something of a supplier."

"Only legal, I hope," Flitwick's eyes twinkled.

Snape's thin lips rose in a slight smile. "Of course, Professor. Only ever legal."