Family

The man stood next to a horse, a huge, glossy black thing whose coat matched his own hair. The face of the boy next to him was solemn, and even the tiny girl next to her brother was sober.

"Are they coming, Father?" The boy asked, as dignified as possible in an eight-year-old body.

A flash of a smile vanished across the man's face.

"Of course."

"Shouldn't we leave, then?"

Another smile, subdued and bittersweet.

"You should."

The boy begins to protest, but the man takes hold of him, and heaves him up onto the horse, then takes the three-year-old and tosses her onto the saddle in front of her brother.

"Don't argue. Take your sister and go. You aim for the Convent of St. Helen's. No one can touch you there. The horse knows where to go."

"But Mother-"

The man's voice is quiet, sorrowful.

"Your mother is not coming back."

"I know she's dead!" The horse shuffles uneasily. "When she was sick, really sick, right before she died, she told me we should always stay together, the three of us. I ought to obey her; she was my mother."

"And I am your father." There is the barest trace of amusement in the man's voice. "Obey me."

The boy sets his jaw.

"Solomon." No trace of laughter in the man's face now. "Take this. Here."

He motions for the boy to lean forward, and Solomon does so. His father pulls something from around his own neck and clasps it around the boy's.

"Father, I can't-"

"Take it. For God's sake, take it! I love you. I love you both." The man slaps the horse on the rump, and the boy's stricken face vanishes.

Solomon knows. He knows what the locket means, and he knows the only reason his father would give it to him.

The man watches the horse long after it is out of sight. And then he waits.

It is a few hours later when the men ride into the courtyard, and he is still waiting.

Their leader is dressed in red and gold. He is a formidable man, intelligent as well as physically powerful, golden hair hiding a mind more shrewd than many knew. He is loved, but he is also feared, and the one man who feels neither toward him is the one waiting for him when he dismounts.

"I see the brats got away." In a lesser man, his voice would have been a snarl.

The black-haired man is leaning against the low stone wall.

"They are safe."

"I will find them."

"You would kill children?"

"Any child of yours is hardly human."
"They are innocent of my crime."

"They carry your taint."
"My blood. It all comes down to blood, doesn't it? But you are still better, nobler, than I."

One of the men on horse-back shifts nervously. "He could have gone, my Lord." He mutters. "There was room on that horse for three."

The black-haired man smiles, but there is no mirth in it. He moves to stand before the other man.

"Draw your sword, why don't you?"

The gold-haired captain regards him, as if a wild beast.

"Where is your wand?"

The black-haired man takes it from his sleeve and snaps it over his knee.

"Go on. Draw your sword."

The other man does so.

"Why are you still here?"

"There is a blood debt. I know it. I will pay it."

"Where are your brats hiding?"
"Out of your reach." A bitter sneer-smile. "Which is the reason for the blood-debt."

The other man's face is devoid of comprehension. The first continues: "There will be no deaths without my heir."

Disgust. "You saved them to fulfill your threat."

For the first time, hate blares from the first man's face.

"No, you bastard," he hisses. "I saved them because they are my children."

The sword flashes once.

Miles away, Solomon Slytherin clutches his father's locket and weeps.