FIC: Phoenix Rising, Part 14 of 37

[geri_chan]

Title: Phoenix Rising, Part 14 of 37
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Word count: ~8,950
Warning: AU; my own version of Year 6 (was written pre-HBP).
Author's notes: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts
Disclaimer: No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Sequel to: Always (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6), Summer Vacation (Part 1, Part 2), For Old Time's Sake (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5), Three's a Crowd (or, Summer Vacation II) (Part 1, Part 2), Return of the Raven (Part 1, Part 2), Phoenix Reborn (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8)
Summary: Snape and Dylan answer Voldemort's summons, and finally learn what the Dark Lord wants from Dylan.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

***

Snape Apparated himself and the boy blindly, following the call of the Dark Mark. He found that they had not reappeared in the Dark Lord's underground chambers, but outside a large mansion. The black iron fence surrounding the mansion was flecked with rust, and the grounds were overgrown with rosebushes, the vines growing up along the walls of the house, nearly obscuring it from view. Two dark-robed figures stepped forward out of the shadows.

"Where are we?" Dylan whispered nervously.

Voldemort threw back the hood of his robe and smiled. "Do you not recognize it, Dylan? Ah, but that's right--you have never seen it before. This is your ancestral home, the Rosier estate."

"My father's home?" Dylan asked, and his eyes widened as he stared at the mansion.

Snape frowned at the almost eager tone of his voice. It was natural for the boy to be fascinated by his father's home, but he hoped that Dylan wouldn't forget the danger they were in. The Dark Lord would not have summoned them here just so that the boy could bond with his father's memory.

"There were a couple of Aurors keeping surveillance on the mansion," Voldemort said in an almost casual voice. "I had to have some of the others provide a distraction to lure them away. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Severus?"

"No, my Lord," Snape replied in a level voice. "But Mad-Eye Moody is convinced that Dylan will follow in his father's footsteps. He has tried to persuade Dumbledore that the boy cannot be trusted, and I suppose it is possible that he got some of his contacts at the Ministry to take him seriously. It is a logical assumption that Dylan might one day go to his father's estate, and try to claim whatever spellbooks or magical items there might be in the mansion. I'm sure Moody has visions of Dark Magic items lying about for the taking..."

"Perhaps," Voldemort agreed, although he didn't sound convinced. "I wonder why...my source...at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement heard nothing of this."

Snape grinned beneath the hood of his robe; Voldemort's "source" was Gwydion Donner, of course. He maliciously hoped that Donner would get in trouble for not keeping his Master properly informed.

"No one has been able to enter the estate for over fifteen years," Voldemort said to Dylan, "since your father's parents died. You see, only a Rosier can safely bypass the guardians." He motioned towards the rosebushes. "Though many have tried, to their detriment." He gave the Death Eater standing next to him a pointed look.

"I was only trying to obtain that which you desired, Master," Bellatrix Lestrange said sullenly, and suddenly Snape understood how she had sustained the injuries that had nearly killed her during the summer. She had tried to break into the Rosier mansion, and had been attacked by the magical roses; the scratches and puncture wounds were not bite and claw marks, but had been caused by the thorns of the rosebushes.

"You were trying to redeem yourself in my eyes after your failure to obtain the Prophecy!" Voldemort snapped. "And you failed yet again! You are a fool, Bellatrix; I told you no one but Dylan could get past the roses, but you did not believe me. I should have let you die for your stupidity and insolence, and I would have, had not most of your comrades been in Azkaban!"

No Death Eater was foolish enough to talk back to the Dark Lord, and Bellatrix bowed her head humbly, but Snape could feel her seething with anger and resentment. He would have to watch her carefully to make sure she did not try to take out her resentment on Dylan later.

"So you see," Voldemort said, motioning for Dylan to step forward, "I have a very important task for you. Lead the way, child, and claim what is yours by right of birth."

"I am honored, my Lord," Dylan said in a steady voice. He stepped forward and hesitantly reached out to touch the gates. They, along with the fence, were made of black iron bars topped with sharp spikes, and the lock in the center of the gate was wrought in the shape of a rose. As soon as he touched it, the rose-shaped stone in his ring began to glow red, and the gates swung upon with a loud creak. Dylan jumped a little, then took a deep breath, and stepped through the gates. The roses pulled back with a soft, rustling noise, clearing a path for him. Dylan nervously followed that path to the house, and his companions followed behind him. The roses let them pass, although Snape noticed that roses were drawing back together after they had gone by, closing off any possible avenue of escape.

They reached the front door; there was a knocker on it shaped--of course--like a rose. Before Dylan could even touch the door it soundlessly swung open, and they entered the house, finding themselves inside a dark hallway.

"Who dares enter the House of Rosier?" a deep voice boomed, and Dylan jumped back with a start, pulling his wand out of his robes.

Snape jumped a little, too, but he recognized the voice. "It's all right," he said softly. "That is your great-grandfather." He took out his own wand and said, "Lumos." The tip of the wand lit with a dim glow, illuminating the hall just enough so that they could make out the portraits hanging on the wall. An elderly man was glaring out of one of them; his features bore a resemblance to Dylan's, and despite his white hair and wrinkles, he was still handsome, but there was a cold hardness to his dark eyes that gave him a menacing appearance.

Dylan pulled back his hood and said boldly, "I am Dylan Rosier, son of Evan, and I have every right to be here!"

The elder Rosier peered more closely at him. "Evan's boy? I did not know he had a son, but we have been cut off from the outside world for many years. You certainly look like him, and the roses would never have let you pass, otherwise. I suppose he got you upon that Ravenclaw girl he took up with." His voice turned scornful. "I knew no good would come of that, but did Evan listen? No, he was always a stubborn, willful--"

"Those are my parents you're talking about," Dylan said in a cold voice as he raised his wand threateningly. "Speak of them with respect, or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?" the portrait sneered. "Blast me into pieces? A young whelp like you? You haven't the power for that."

"But I do," Voldemort said in a dangerously soft voice as he stepped forward into view of the portrait. "Hello, Armand."

"You!" Armand Rosier gasped, a hint of fear entering his voice. Then his eyes filled with hatred and he hissed in a low voice, "You were the one who got my grandson killed!"

"Aurors killed your grandson," Voldemort said coolly, "not I."

"They killed him because he was fool enough to join your cause," Armand snarled.

"As I recall, once upon a time, you did not think my cause was foolish."

"Would I like to see the world rid of Mudbloods and half-breeds?" Armand retorted. "Yes, of course! But to make open war upon the wizarding world was a fool's errand. It was too dangerous, and I told Evan so, but he did not listen. I told his parents to stop him, but they always overindulged the boy and had no control over him! And they, too, were enamored of your ideals..." Suddenly Armand's voice changed from angry to bitter and weary. "Their deaths, too, I lay at your feet. This house lies empty and abandoned because of you. Are you now going to get my very last descendant killed, Voldemort?"

Voldemort laid a hand on Dylan's shoulder; Dylan turned pale, but did not object. "I intend to take good care of Dylan," he purred. "He is, after all, the son of one my most loyal followers, who died rather than betray me." He caressed Dylan's cheek with his white, bony fingers, and the boy trembled, not quite able to hide the fear in his silver-gray eyes. "You are eager to serve me, are you not, Dylan?"

"Yes, Master," Dylan whispered.

"You are a fool, boy," Armand said.

"Serve me well, child, and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams," Voldemort said, in a voice rich with promise, and Snape remembered how persuasive that voice had seemed to a couple of Slytherin boys who were eager for power and revenge.

"Your only reward will be death," Armand said in a hollow voice.

"You are wrong," Bellatrix said defiantly. "Those who oppose the Dark Lord are the ones who will die!"

"That voice I recognize," Armand said slowly. "Bellatrix Black...no, it's Lestrange now, isn't it? One of Evan's foolish friends..." His eyes turned to Snape. "And you..."

Snape glanced at Voldemort, who nodded slightly, and he pulled back his hood from his face.

"Judging by that nose," Armand said dryly, "you must be a Snape. Yes, I remember you now; Evan brought you by the house a few times. Severin, was it...?"

"Severus," Snape growled.

"Why are you still alive when your friend, my grandson, is dead, Severus?" Armand asked coldly.

"Severus does not answer to you," Voldemort said sharply. "He and your great-grandson answer only to me. This has been amusing, Armand, but we have no more time to chat with you tonight."

Armand stared back at him with defiant and despairing eyes. "You are using my great-grandson to get your hands on the treasure of the Rosier House!"

Voldemort pointed his wand at the portrait, and Armand vanished, leaving behind a blank canvas. The Dark Lord pocketed his wand and laughed scornfully. "You are a coward despite all your bold talk, Armand!"

"Wh-what should I do next, my Lord?" Dylan stammered.

"What we want is upstairs, on the very top floor. Severus, perhaps you can help him find his way."

Snape nodded, and still holding his lit wand aloft, said, "The staircase is this way."

There were other portraits lining the walls of the hallway, but the people in them quickly averted their eyes as the Death Eaters and their Master passed by. "Are any of these my father's parents?" Dylan asked Snape softly.

Snape looked at the paintings and shook his head. "No, I don't think they ever had portraits made of themselves. No one expected them to die so young."

Everything in the house was covered with a thick layer of dust, as Dylan found out when he placed his hand on the bannister of the staircase. He quickly jerked his hand back and wiped it on his robe. There were also cobwebs hanging in corners and from the dusty chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. They saw no sign of the spiders that had spun them, though; they saw no sign of anything living in the house other than themselves. Finally, they reached the topmost landing, and found their way barred by a door that was painted black and covered with red runes of warding.

"It will open for the heir of the house," Voldemort said, and Dylan placed his hand on the doorknob. His ring briefly glowed red again, and the doorknob turned easily under his hand. The door opened into a small room that appeared to be a wizard's workshop. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with spellbooks and tomes on Dark Magic, and there was a long table that held beakers and bowls and jars filled with ingredients that had long ago dried up and turned to dust. On a small round table in one corner of the room sat a black ceramic flowerpot painted with the Rosier crest, a red rose in bloom. Growing up out of the pot was a single white rosebud, its petals still tightly furled.

"Pick up the flowerpot, Dylan," Voldemort ordered. "Be careful to touch only the pot, and not the flower."

Dylan looked a little puzzled, no doubt wondering why the Dark Lord had gone to all this trouble just to retrieve a flower, but he knew better than to question his Master's orders. "Yes, my Lord," he said obediently, and carefully picked up the flowerpot. The rosebud quivered a little when his hands touched the pot, and Dylan stared at it apprehensively.

"We must leave now, quickly," Voldemort said. "There is a spell on the house and grounds preventing anyone but a Rosier from Apparating in or out."

They went back down the stairs, Dylan carefully holding the flowerpot in front of him. Armand was back in his portrait; he frowned unhappily as they left, but said nothing. As soon as they were outside of the gates, Voldemort said, "I will go first, and summon you to me."

Voldemort had not entrusted his followers--at least, he had not entrusted Snape--with the exact location of his hideout; they knew only that it appeared to be an underground complex of rooms, perhaps a hidden system of caverns, or the basement of some old, ruined manor. Thus, Voldemort always summoned them by using their Dark Marks, which allowed them to Apparate blindly to their Master's side. Voldemort Disapparated, and a moment later Snape felt his Mark burn. Dylan winced, but was careful not to drop the flowerpot. Bellatrix vanished, and Snape put an arm around Dylan, pulling him close--though he was careful not to touch the rosebud--and Disapparated as well.

They re-emerged in the usual place, Voldemort's underground chambers. Bellatrix was there, as well as a few other Death Eaters, but--since there was no cry of shock and outrage when they saw Dylan--Snape assumed that the Donner brothers were not among them.

"Do you know what you are holding, Dylan?" Voldemort asked.

"No, my Lord," Dylan replied.

"That is the great treasure of the Rosier family, which can be safely wielded only by the head of the clan," the Dark Lord said, smiling with amusement as his Death Eaters gasped in shock. No one wanted to ask the obvious question, but Voldemort knew what they were thinking. "It doesn't look like much, does it? That is because it is dormant. Set the pot down in that corner, child." Dylan obeyed, kneeling down to set the flowerpot on the floor in the far corner of the room. "The blood of a Rosier is required to awaken its powers," Voldemort said; Snape did not much like the sound of that. "Reach out and touch the thorns on the rose, Dylan."

Dylan's gray eyes flickered nervously to Snape, and Voldemort frowned. Praying that he was not making a fatal mistake, Snape said sharply, "What are you looking at me for, boy? Your Master gave you an order!"

Dylan quickly reached out and touched the stem of the rose, allowing the thorns to prick his fingers. He cried out in pain, and thin trickles of blood began running down his hand--more blood than should be flowing from such small wounds. But no one other than Snape seemed to notice, because the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were captivated by the sight of the rosebud, which slowly turned from white to pink to deep red, and its petals opened and unfurled; it was now a rose in full bloom.

The Dark Lord let out a little sigh of satisfaction, and Dylan tried to pull his hand away from the flower, but the thorns had bitten deeply into his fingers and would not let go. An increasing sense of franticness filled his eyes as he tried unsuccessfully to tug his hand loose, then suddenly the stem of the rose began to lengthen and put out offshoots; soon it was not a single flower but a series of long vines bearing one red rose and several white rosebuds; the black flowerpot also seemed to expand in size to accommodate the growing plant. The vines snapped out like whips, wrapping themselves around Dylan's arms and torso, and the boy screamed in terror.

Snape started to reach for his wand, but Voldemort's crimson eyes instantly shifted from the rose vines to Snape. "No, Severus," he said sternly, then smiled. It was not a reassuring sight. "Become fond of the boy, have you?" he asked in a light, almost joking tone, but his eyes were watching Snape carefully. "It is not like you to be so sentimental, Severus. Are you worried about your young student?"

Snape let his hand drop back to his side, and said in a sour voice, "I am more worried about what will happen if I return to the school with a bloodless corpse." The rose vines' long, needle-like thorns had torn right through Dylan's robes to bite into his flesh; he was drenched in blood, and still screaming and struggling wildly. Snape fought to ignore those screams and remain outwardly calm and emotionless. "It would be difficult to explain a student's death or disappearance," Snape continued, as if he were speaking of a minor annoyance. "Are the roses really supposed to be doing that? It rather defeats the purpose of having a family treasure if that treasure kills the last living heir."

Voldemort chuckled, as if reassured by Snape's response. "I don't want the boy to die any more than you do, Severus; I need him to control the roses. But they have been dormant for many, many years--possibly generations, and they are thirsty. There is a reason why Dylan's grandparents never used this weapon, not even when they set out on their suicidal mission of revenge after Evan was killed. The roses will obey the true head of the family once they have tasted that person's blood, but will kill one who is weak or unworthy. Family legend has it that the roses were gifted to the founder of the Rosier clan by a demon, and it is indeed the sort of double-edged gift that a demon might find amusing. But since young Dylan is the last surviving member of the family, and he does seem to be quite a strong-willed lad, I do not think the roses will kill him."

Snape did not want to leave Dylan's life up to chance, and might have broken his cover to rescue Dylan and take him to safety, but with Voldemort alerted and watching him so closely, he knew that he had little chance of succeeding. To his great relief, the vines released Dylan and let him fall limply to the floor; they settled back quiescently into their pot, now bearing a dozen healthy-looking blood-red roses.

Snape cautiously approached--he wanted to run, but did not dare let the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters see how concerned he was about the boy--and dragged Dylan out of reach of the roses. The boy was pale, but still conscious, and he whispered, "Professor..."

Voldemort leaned down to examine Dylan. "He lost a lot of blood, but he should live," he said in a dispassionate voice. Then he reached into his robes, took out a small glass flask, and filled it with blood from one of the still-flowing wounds on Dylan's arm.

{Control,} Snape thought to himself, reinforcing his mental walls, ruthlessly suppressing his emotions. He could not afford to feel anger, horror, or outrage right now; that would have to wait till later. But he knew what Voldemort must want the blood for; the Dark Lord would want to control such a powerful Dark Magic weapon himself, and not have to rely on a teenaged boy to do it for him. He would use Dylan's blood in an attempt to create a spell or potion that would allow him to control the roses directly, without having to use an intermediary.

"Dylan," Voldemort said, "break off one of the blossoms for me. Just the blossom, mind you, and not the stem or thorns." Dylan hesitated, eyes still filled with fear, but for once the Dark Lord did not punish that hesitation, and said almost indulgently, "The roses acknowledge you as their master now; they will not harm you."

"Yes, my Lord," Dylan said. He crawled back to the roses--he was so weak that Snape had to support him--and reached out and grasped one of the red blossoms; it broke off easily, almost falling into his palm, and the vines remained quiet and still. Voldemort's words were true, it seemed. Dylan placed the rose into the Dark Lord's eagerly outstretched hand.

"You did very well, Dylan; I am pleased with you," Voldemort said approvingly. "I am sure your father would be proud of you."

"Thank you, my Lord," Dylan replied in a soft but steady voice, sounding genuinely flattered. "I am honored to serve you."

He didn't know if Evan would have been proud of Dylan, but Snape knew that he was very proud of the boy. He had been attacked and nearly killed by demonic roses, had lost so much blood that he couldn't even walk, but he still managed to stay in control of himself and keep up the appearance of a loyal Death Eater.

"You may go now, Severus," Voldemort said, now more concerned with the flower and flask of blood than he was with the bleeding boy lying on the floor at his feet. His crimson eyes had a distracted look to them; no doubt he was eager to begin his magical research. As usual, once he had what he wanted, he showed little concern for the minion who had been wounded in his service. "You had best get Mr. Rosier back to school and tend to his wounds."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said. He bowed to his Master, then gathered Dylan into his arms and Disapparated.

***

Sirius missed Lupin and Branwen and the children when they left in the fall. He was so lonely and bored that he even missed arguing with Snape, for Merlin's sake! So he was happy to have the company of the little hob, who made the house a much nicer place to live in. The house seemed brighter and more cheerful somehow, even though a hob had only very small magics. Faded, peeling wallpaper was magically repaired and its colors restored--no changed, to colors more cheerful than Mrs. Black would ever have allowed in her home. Similarly, moth-eaten curtains and worn-out carpeting soon looked like new, and Hob drew back the heavy drapes from the windows to let the sunlight in. (A spell, cast by Sirius's paranoid father, allowed the occupants of the house to look out through the windows, but people from the outside could not see in.) Sirius thought that his mother's portrait would have a fit when she saw what Hob was doing to her house, and indeed she did loudly object the first time she saw him in her hallway, but Hob's little repairs lessened the chances of noises awakening her, and the comfortable, homey air that Hob's presence created seemed to send the portraits into a dormant slumber.

Sirius considered moving to Hogsmeade to be closer to Harry and the others, but he did not want to leave Hob behind; a hob would not be happy in an empty house, and Sirius felt grateful to Hob, who had brightened his gloomy home, and always had the fire started and a pot of tea ready when Sirius woke up in the morning, and who would play chess with Sirius in the evenings to ease his loneliness even though hobs didn't really care for such games. Of course, a hob was bound more to his people than a particular place, so he could take Hob with him if he moved, but when Sirius went down to Hogsmeade to look at apartments, he did not like the reaction he got...

Sirius and Hob were playing chess one evening in the drawing room. Hob was puffing contentedly on his pipe in between sipping a cup of tea and nibbling on a chocolate-covered biscuit; the little household spirit had a sweet-tooth as strong as Snape's. He moved his chess pieces seemingly at random, with no thought to strategy, but a hob's luck was so strong that occasionally he won a game through sheer good luck. Sirius heaved a heavy sigh.

"Mister--excuse me, Sirius--is unhappy?" Hob asked anxiously.

"Just bored, I suppose," Sirius sighed. "I miss Harry and Branwen and the others."

"The house is quiet without them," Hob agreed. "Wasn't Sirius thinking of moving to Hogsmeade, though? Hob does not mind; Hob can keep house anywhere."

Sirius sighed again. "There's no point to it, really. Harry and the others are too busy with school; I wouldn't be able to see them except on the weekends, and maybe not even then if they have a big project to work on. But mainly..." Sirius grimaced. "But mainly, I didn't like the reception I got when I went to Hogsmeade the other week. Even though my name has been cleared, people still look at me fearfully, and cross the street when they see me coming. They act like they think I'm still a murderer."

Hob looked uncomfortable; such problems were beyond his powers to solve. "That will change with time," he said, sounding hopeful but not at all certain of that. "But it isn't really good for Sirius to be alone, with only a hob for company. Perhaps the Mister should find himself a Missus, and perhaps have a few Babies?"

Sirius had to chuckle at the even more hopeful expression on Hob's face; a hob was not really happy unless he had a family to take care of. "Well, maybe someday," he said, then smiled wryly. "It's not like there are a lot of women standing in line to be the next Mrs. Black."

Before Hob could reply, they heard the front door open and slam shut. Sirius jumped to his feet, grabbing his wand, and Hob vanished. A minute later, Lupin and Branwen walked into the room.

"Oh, it's you," Sirius said with relief, pocketing his wand, and Hob became visible again. "What's up?" Sirius frowned. "This isn't just a friendly visit, is it?''

Branwen looked solemn, and Lupin looked pale and worried. "Severus has been summoned by Voldemort--along with Dylan. He told us to come and wait here in case--" Lupin's voice faltered for a moment. "In case anything goes wrong."

Sirius was not too thrilled about Snape using his house as a refuge, but he could hardly object, since it was the Phoenix headquarters. Besides, Lupin looked troubled enough as it was, without Sirius adding to his burden by behaving selfishly, as he had done in the past. So he swallowed his objections and motioned for his friends to take a seat on the couch, and without being bidden, Hob quietly fetched two more cups of tea and another plate of biscuits. The tea went mostly untouched, and Bane ate most of the biscuits. Branwen and Lupin attempted to make small talk about school, but their efforts fell flat, and they finally gave up and waited in silence. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably an hour or two, the front door slammed again and they heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase. As the three wizards jumped to their feet, Snape entered the room, carrying Dylan Rosier in his arms; the boy's robes were torn and soaked with blood.

***

Dylan was just barely conscious; he could see and hear, but everything seemed hazy and somehow removed, as if it were being filtered through a thick glass window that muffled and distorted sight and sound.

"Oh my God!" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed; it belonged to a tall man with long, dark hair.

"Severus, are you all right?" Professor Lupin cried. "What happened?!" Dylan frowned; what was Lupin doing here? Where were they, anyway? This didn't look like Hogwarts...

"Lay him down here," Professor Blackmore said. Maybe they were at Hogwarts, after all...

"Shacklebolt's guess was right, after all," Snape said. "The Dark Lord wanted to use Dylan to get his hands on a weapon--some sort of vampiric roses that require the blood of a Rosier to waken their powers. I think they drank more blood than they should have; the Dark Lord said they were dormant for a long time..."

Professor Blackmore looked down at Dylan, her green eyes filled with concern, and she touched his face gently, the way his mother would have. He blinked, wondering if he was hallucinating. "This is bad," she said. "The wounds are not fatal, but they are not healing properly, and he has lost a lot of blood. I sense the taint of Dark Magic, possibly even demonic magic...maybe Dedalus Diggle wasn't just talking through his nose after all, when he said the Rosiers were once demon-worshippers..."

"Perhaps we should take him to St. Mungo's," Lupin suggested.

"Only as a last resort," Snape said. "They will ask questions we cannot--or should not--answer about how he got these wounds."

"If we do nothing," Blackmore said, "he will not die, but he will be a long time healing, and in a great deal of pain--for weeks, perhaps. He needs magical healing, and none of us are true Healers. But there is one spell..." She exchanged a significant look with Snape.

"Sanguis Sanatio," Snape said quietly, and Blackmore nodded.

Sanguis Sanatio...Blood Healing? Dylan had heard of that spell, had read about it in the Dark Magic books his mother had secretly given him. It was blood magic, Dark Magic, and banned by the Ministry of Magic.

"Hob, fetch me a knife, please," Snape said, and suddenly a round little man less than three feet high appeared out of nowhere and handed Snape a paring knife.

"It's too dangerous for you to perform the spell on yourself," Lupin said in a tone sterner than any he had ever used on his students. "You nearly killed yourself when you healed Sirius, and I won't let you do it again!"

Sirius? That name sounded familiar...and suddenly he connected the name with the face of the strange man who was hovering over him along with Snape, Lupin, and Blackmore. It was Sirius Black, whose picture Dylan had seen in the Daily Prophet, along with an accompanying story about how the supposed mass-murderer had really been innocent all along. Snape had healed Sirius Black with a Blood Healing spell? That made no sense at all...

"The spell is less dangerous if Severus performs it on a separate donor," Blackmore was saying in a soothing voice.

"Then I will be the donor," Lupin said.

"No," Snape said firmly. "Even though you're only supposed to be contagious during the full moon, we don't know what effect the transfusion of a werewolf's blood might have on the boy. And things are complicated enough as it is without having Dylan turn furry on us every month."

"SNAPE!" Sirius Black yelled, giving Professor Snape an evil look.

Snape glared back at him, but flushed slightly and said to Lupin apologetically, "Sorry, you know I didn't mean it that way--"

Was Snape actually apologizing to Lupin?! Dylan decided that he really must be hallucinating, probably from blood loss...

Lupin just chuckled. "'Turn furry'--I actually kind of like that description!" Sirius Black rolled his eyes.

"Then I'll do it," Blackmore volunteered.

"Meaning no offense, but you are not entirely human, Branwen," said Snape. "I don't know what effect demon blood would have on him, either. Possibly none, but I don't care to use Dylan as a guinea pig."

"Demon blood?" Dylan whispered, but so softly that none of the adults heard him. So the rumors about Professor Blackmore were true after all!

"Then who will you use as the donor?" Lupin asked in frustration.

"Branwen can perform the spell on me," Snape started to reply, but Sirius Black interrupted him.

"I'll do it," Black said, then scowled at Snape's shocked expression. "I owe you one, and quite frankly, I don't like being in your debt, Snape."

Snape recovered quickly. "Fine. But don't think that this makes us even. You still owe me."

"Argue later, you two," Professor Blackmore snapped.

Black held out his arm, and Snape made a shallow cut on his wrist with the paring knife. Then Snape raised his wand and said, "Sanguis Sanatio!" Blood dripped into Dylan's mouth, and for a moment he almost gagged, but then suddenly it tasted better than anything he had ever tasted in his life; it was hot and rich and salty-sweet, and he found himself drinking it eagerly. He drank, as if in a drugged stupor, and he felt the pain receding from his body. Then the flow of blood ceased, and Dylan looked up and saw Snape's black eyes staring down at him. Surely those were not tears he saw shining in the Potions Master's eyes; it must be a trick of the light... Then Snape touched his cheek, as gently as Blackmore had, and said softly, "You'll be all right, Rosier," and Dylan lost consciousness and knew no more...

***

Hob watched in horror and dismay as Snape, the one whom he thought of as the Dark Man, turned up with a badly wounded boy in his arms. The boy was not one of the children who had lived in the house earlier, but all the wizards seemed to recognize him. The Dark Man ordered Hob to fetch him a knife, and Hob obeyed, then in an almost offhand remark, Snape revealed that Lady Blackmore had demon blood! So that was why she radiated such a strong aura of power! But how could Lady Blackmore be a demon when she wasn't evil? The thought was making poor Hob's head spin. Then, further confusing him, Snape and Sirius performed a Dark Magic spell to heal the wounded boy. But the Dark Man's hand trembled with relief as he caressed the boy's face, then gently lifted the child in his arms and carried him to the rooms he and Lupin shared. Whatever else Lady Blackmore and the Dark Man might be, they were not evil, Hob decided, and that was all he needed to know. Lupin and Snape stripped off the boy's bloody robes, and Hob fetched a basin of warm water, some towels, and a clean nightshirt; the two wizards smiled at him gratefully. They bathed and dressed the boy, and tucked him into bed.

"I should go inform Dumbledore and the boy's family about what has happened," the Dark Man said in a weary voice. "Though I don't much fancy telling Ariane what I let the Dark Lord do to her son."

"Branwen or I can take care of that, Severus," Lupin said, holding Snape's hands between his own.

"Are you sure?" the Dark Man asked, but he sounded relieved. "I really should be the one to go; after all, I am responsible for him..."

"You can face the Donner family's wrath later," Lupin said firmly. "You are the one Dylan is closest to, so you should stay here with him. What happened tonight is enough to give anyone nightmares, and you should be here at his side in case he needs comfort and reassurance."

"All right, Lupin," the Dark Man said, sounding too tired to argue.

"I'll be back later, my love," Lupin said, kissing Snape on the cheek, then he left the room.

Hob whispered a small charm of blessing to ease the boy's pain and help him sleep peacefully, then blended into the shadows in a corner of the room, invisible to human eyes, even those of a wizard, and settled down to keep watch over this new member of his household. The Dark Man pulled a chair up next to the bed to watch over the boy as well, but Hob's charm seemed to be working on him, too, because he kept yawning and his eyelids kept drooping, and finally they closed and remained shut as he slumped back in his chair. Eventually, the slow, even breathing of the two humans lulled Hob to sleep as well.

***

Dylan woke up, feeling weak and groggy, to find himself in an unfamiliar bed. He looked over, and to his surprise, saw Professor Snape slouched down in a chair next to him, fast asleep. Dylan had vague, hazy memories of being attacked by the roses, and being carried to a strange house where he was healed by Snape...and Sirius Black? Had Snape been watching over him all this time, while he slept? Perhaps he was still asleep, and this would all turn out to be a dream...

Then Professor Lupin opened the door and tiptoed in, carrying a blanket over one arm. To Dylan's further shock, Lupin smiled tenderly at Professor Snape and carefully draped the blanket over him, tucking it securely around his shoulders, then bent down and kissed Snape on the forehead. Snape did not stir or wake, but a contented smile--one that Dylan had never seen before--spread across his face.

Dylan felt like an idiot as he suddenly realized what the expression on the young Snape's face had been in his Occlumency memories; it had not been hatred, or at least, not solely hatred, although there might have been some of that mixed in. No, it had been obsession and desperation and longing...hitting Dylan like a ton of bricks was the realization that Professor Snape had been--still was?--in love with Lupin!

"Professor," Dylan whispered, his sleepy voice slurring the word slightly. But Lupin understood him, or maybe was just reacting to the sound of his voice, because he looked up, startled, and said, "Dylan? You're awake?"

"Y-you? And Pr-professor Snape?" Dylan stammered. He tried to sit up, but Lupin reached out and stopped him.

"No, lie back," Lupin said, gently grasping Dylan's shoulders and easing him back down on the bed. "You need to rest."

Dylan gave in readily, since his attempt to rise had made him dizzy. He felt the bed sag slightly as Lupin sat down next to him. "What's going on?" he whispered. "Where am I? What are you doing here? And did I really see Professor Blackmore and Sirius Black?"

Lupin glanced over at Snape, apparently worried about waking him up, but the Potions Master was still sleeping soundly. "You're in a safe place," Lupin said softly. He hesitated for a long moment, then seemed to reach a decision. "This house belongs to my friend, Sirius Black. It's very well-protected; that's why Professor Snape brought you here. And yes, Professor Blackmore was here earlier, although she returned to Hogwarts once we knew you would be all right."

"Why does Professor Snape pretend to hate you?" Dylan asked.

Lupin smiled sadly. "Can't you guess, Dylan? What would Voldemort do if he discovered Severus was in a relationship with a Gryffindor ally of Dumbledore?"

"Kill him," Dylan whispered. "No--he would kill you first, slowly, and make Snape watch."

"Exactly," Lupin said gravely. "Severus fears for his own life, but he fears for my safety even more. And I fear for his. That is why we keep up our little charade at school."

Dylan's thought process was dulled by fatigue, shock, and lingering pain, but finally he put all the pieces together. "Snape has been working against the Death Eaters," he said slowly. "That's why he tried to warn me off, and why he protected me after the Dark Lord Marked me." Lupin nodded encouragingly. "He...he really did repent, during the first war; he wasn't just pretending, like everyone thought. He's still working for Dumbledore. You all are. You're working together. Against the Dark Lord."

"You're a clever boy, Dylan," Lupin said. "Just like Severus says."

"If I'd been more clever," Dylan whispered, "I wouldn't have this Mark on my arm."

"Shh," Lupin said, gently brushing Dylan's hair back from his face. "You should get some rest now."

"But," he protested weakly, "my friends back at school will be wondering what happened to me--"

"The Headmaster has told everyone that you're sick." Lupin smiled. "You made a small but very crucial error in your potion that had a delayed reaction and made you very ill. You were sent back home to recuperate with your family over the weekend. Professor Snape was a close friend of your father's, so he went with you, to make sure you arrived safely and to pay his respects." He grinned. "Your mother is known to have quite a temper, or at least she did when we were all students together. And old Mathias is slow to anger, but implacable once his wrath is aroused. I think Professor Snape would be anxious to show your family how concerned he is about you, and apologize for his part in your illness; it is not wise to make an enemy of a wizard as powerful as your great-uncle." Dylan managed a small smile. "Now go back to sleep, and get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning." Lupin drew the covers up to Dylan's chin, tucking him in as if he were a small boy once again, and kissed him lightly on the forehead, as his mother often had, as he supposed his father would have done, if he had lived. It was odd, to have his two favorite teachers fussing over him and behaving as if they were his parents, but Dylan found that he didn't mind; in fact, he rather liked it... He drifted back to sleep with a smile on his face.

***

Dylan woke to the sound of a low groan. He opened his eyes to see Professor Snape rising from the chair that sat beside the bed, rubbing his neck and back. The blanket that Lupin had draped over him had fallen to the floor.

"Professor?" Dylan asked. "Have you been here all night?"

Snape blinked, startled, and turned to look at Dylan. "Ah, you're awake, Rosier." Then he flushed a little and said gruffly, "I was just going to keep an eye on you for a little while, but I must've fallen asleep..." Just then, someone yawned, and it wasn't Snape or Dylan. They stared at each other for a moment, then Snape looked down at the floor and said, "Oh, for pity's sake!"

Dylan sat up, crawled to the foot of the bed, and peered down. Professor Lupin lay curled up on the floor in a tangle of blankets and pillow. Snape scowled down at Lupin, prodding him with his foot, and said, "Must you act like a wolf even when the moon isn't full?"

Lupin yawned and stretched, kicking away the blankets, then sat up and said, "Good morning, Severus."

"What are you doing on the floor, Lupin?" Snape asked, glaring at Lupin as if he were an errant student he had caught prowling around the dungeon after-hours.

"I just wanted to keep an eye on Dylan," Lupin replied, smiling sleepily at him. "And you."

"I don't need a werewolf to 'keep an eye' on me!" Snape snarled, his eyes flickering briefly towards Dylan.

"Good morning, Dylan," Lupin said cheerfully as he got to his feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Um...much better, Professor, thank you," Dylan replied, looking at his two teachers nervously. He wondered if he'd dreamed up last night's little incident...

"You can stop scowling at me, Severus," Lupin said, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "He already knows."

"Knows what?" Snape asked, looking a little frantic.

"I thought he was asleep," Lupin said apologetically, although his eyes were still sparkling. "I came in during the night to cover you with that blanket, and he saw me do this." Lupin reached up, pulled Snape's face down, and kissed him on the forehead.

"LUPIN!" Snape howled, his face turning red.

{Guess I wasn't dreaming...} Dylan thought.

"I thought he was asleep," Lupin repeated.

"I'm not sure I believe that, you little exhibitionist," Snape growled. "Why don't you just kiss me at the head table and get it over with?!"

"Don't tempt me, Severus," Lupin said, grinning wickedly as he eyed Snape in a decidedly non-platonic way.

Snape hastily backed away from the werewolf. "Show a little restraint, Lupin, at least in front of the boy!"

Dylan watched his two teachers, feeling very bemused. Well, he had wished earlier that Snape didn't hate Lupin so much--wasn't there an old saying that went, "Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it"?

"Oh, all right," Lupin sighed. "I suppose we wouldn't want to give Dylan a relapse."

Snape turned his glare on Dylan. "And you are not to say a word to anyone--"

"Stop growling at the boy, Severus," Lupin chided. "It's not his fault."

Dylan said earnestly, "Don't worry, Professor, I won't say anything! I know how dangerous it would be if the Dark Lord found out."

Lupin smiled approvingly. "He's a very clever boy, Severus, just as you said."

Snape just grunted irritably. "How are we explaining his absence at school?"

"The Headmaster has taken care of that," Lupin replied, then grinned. "Very convenient that you made your fifth-years test their own potions yesterday, Severus. We're blaming it on a subtle error in Dylan's potion that made him sick enough to go home for the weekend."

"That will still make people suspicious," Snape grumbled. "Dylan is my best student; he doesn't make mistakes."

Dylan flushed with pleasure at that unexpected compliment, and Lupin smiled at him. "Anyone can make a mistake. Besides, it was the best we could come up with on the spur of the moment."

Snape sighed. "It can't be helped, I suppose." Then, looking guilty, he sat down on the bed next to Dylan. "I wouldn't have brought you to the meeting last night," he said quietly, "if I had known what would happen."

"But then you'd have been in danger for defying the Dark Lord," Dylan objected. "I'm all right, really I am!"

"Are you really?" Snape asked, looking concerned. "How do you feel? Answer me honestly."

"I'm fine, really," Dylan insisted. He looked down at his hands and arms; the thorn-inflicted wounds had healed without a trace. "I don't need to stay here; I can go back to school." But then he tried to stand, and found that his legs felt a little wobbly beneath him.

"Back to bed, Mr. Rosier," Snape said firmly, pushing Dylan back down onto the bed.

"I'm okay," Dylan said, but didn't fight him. "I just feel a little weak."

"Not surprising," Snape said grimly, "considering the amount of blood you lost. The spell healed the outward damage, but you still need to replenish your strength naturally. That means food and rest, Rosier."

As if on cue, the door opened slightly and the round little man Dylan had seen the night before left a huge tray laden with enough food for three people just inside the door, then vanished. The tray looked way too heavy for such a small creature to carry, but obviously it wasn't human.

"That wasn't a house-elf, was it?" Dylan asked, frowning.

"No, it's a hob," Lupin said cheerfully, picking up the tray and setting it down on a nearby desk. He poured a cup of tea and added cream and sugar without being asked, then handed Dylan the cup and a plate heaped with eggs and bacon and toast.

"A hob?"

"A hob," Lupin confirmed. "Eat your breakfast, Dylan. You too, Severus."

Snape muttered something under his breath about nagging werewolves, but got a plate for himself, then came back to sit beside Dylan's bed as he ate. Lupin pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, and Dylan had the somewhat dubious privilege of having his two teachers watch over him sternly to make sure he finished his breakfast. However, after the first bite, he needed no encouragement; he found he was starving. Besides, he wanted to wash away the coppery taste of blood that was still lingering in his mouth.

"Hobs don't usually serve wizards," Dylan said between mouthfuls.

"Well, this hob needed a home, and my friend Sirius...um...lost his house-elf, and needed some help taking care of the house," Lupin replied.

Snape scowled at Lupin. "Are we going to tell him everything, Lupin?"

"I recognized Sirius Black last night," Dylan said. "From his picture in the Daily Prophet. He helped you with the Blood Healing spell."

Snape choked on his food. "I wasn't sure if you were conscious," he said, when he recovered. "I didn't think you'd remember all that."

"Well, I do," Dylan said. "I remember Sirius Black, and Professor Lupin, and Professor Blackmore was there, too." Snape did not look pleased, so Dylan added in a small voice, "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's not your fault, Dylan," Snape sighed. "It can't be helped, I suppose. I see we will have to explain some things to you..."

"I think he can be entrusted with as much information as Harry and--" Lupin started to say.

"LUPIN!" Snape bellowed, looking very angry.

"Harry?" Dylan asked, startled. "Harry Potter?"

"I'm sorry, Severus," Lupin said, looking genuinely contrite. "I just didn't think."

"Damn it, Lupin, I've been trying to protect Dylan--"

"Please don't be angry, Professor," Dylan pleaded, seeing how upset Lupin looked, though Snape's anger had never seemed to bother him at the Hogwarts dinner table. But Snape's insults there had apparently been feigned, and his anger now was clearly real. "It's no secret that Harry Potter is working against the Dark Lord; he was he one who defeated him fifteen years ago, after all. And he's the one who revealed the Dark Lord's return. Besides, Professor Lupin must be very tired, and so must you, after watching over me all night."

Snape's anger faded, and he smiled wryly at Lupin. "What magic have you worked, to win over my Slytherins?" he asked.

"You're a good boy, Dylan," Lupin said, ruffling Dylan's hair fondly. "But Severus was right to be angry with me. I was careless, even considering lack of sleep and all the excitement that went on last night. We had agreed to conceal certain things from you, for your own protection."

"I can keep a secret!" Dylan insisted, turning to Snape. "You've been inside my head; can't you tell by now that you can trust me?"

"It's not a matter of trust, Rosier," Snape said sternly. "The less you know, the less you can reveal, in case the Dark Lord becomes suspicious and tries to break into your mind."

"But isn't that what the Occlumency lessons are for?"

"You can pass a cursory examination, Rosier, but I'm not sure you can stand up to a full-scale attack by the Dark Lord should he become determined to actively break into your mind. A great many lives would be in danger if he should learn the truth, not the least of which being yours and mine..."

"I would never betray you, Professor!" Dylan cried out, a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. "I would die before I'd betray you, I swear it!"

Lupin and Snape exchanged alarmed looks. "That's enough, Rosier," Snape said sharply.

"I would," insisted Dylan. "I'd cast a Death Strike spell before I'd betray you, I swear--"

"ENOUGH!" roared Snape, but he looked more frightened than angry.

"You're scaring the boy, Severus," Lupin said, but he also looked frightened, as well as guilty.

"No more talk about death, Rosier," Snape said firmly, but in a gentler voice. "It's my job to protect you, not the other way around."

"But--"

"Hush," Snape said. "I had meant to shield you from all this, but what's done is done. It's more my fault than Lupin's for bringing you here, even though it seemed like the best choice at the time. And he's right, you do have the right to know what's going on." Snape smiled a little, although he still looked worried. "Besides, you're too clever for your own good, Rosier, and I'm sure you'd have figured it out on your own eventually."

"But I--"

"We'll take the proper precautions, Rosier," Snape continued. "I have concealed my true loyalties for over fifteen years, so believe me when I say that I know what I'm doing. I'll put more blocks around your memories if necessary." The expression on his face was very concerned and un-Snape-like. "I don't want you dying for my sake, Dylan," he whispered. "I have enough blood on my hands as it is."

"Professor--"

"Shh," said Snape, picking up Dylan's empty plate and setting it aside. "Lie back and get some rest." Dylan saw Snape take out his wand, and with his free hand, he traced a rune on Dylan's forehead with his finger. "Sleep," Snape said, and Dylan felt the force of magic behind that word. He opened his mouth to protest, but it turned into a yawn. He felt Snape touch his forehead again, but in a gesture of almost paternal affection rather than to cast a spell. He gently smoothed back the hair from Dylan's face, then let his hand rest briefly on Dylan's cheek. "It will be all right, Dylan. I'll protect you. Now sleep."

So Dylan closed his eyes and obeyed.

Part 15

***

Afterword: The idea of the blood-drinking roses was inspired by a scene from Laurell K. Hamilton's novel "A Kiss of Shadows." Dylan's roses are quite different from the ones in the book, but that is where the idea originated.