Two Pairs of Wings
The next morning, just before the students left for the train to London, Severus stalked through the dungeon corridors. Aries had arrived late last night, and instead of waiting, he got the explosion out of the way at once and told her all that had happened after he got taken by the Portkey, and all that happened later, after he had left with Harry. The first round was bad, but the second round, after he had shown her his memories of both happenings in a Pensieve Harry had loaned him from the Potter vaults, was not nearly as bad.
She sat a while with her head in her hands and just took deep breaths.
“Of course I know that things were difficult at the end of the war,” she said hoarsely after several long minutes, “and at the beginning of the peace time. I have talked to Sirius, I know very well what happened to him, so of course I know. But I … somehow … had imagined that it was only him that never got a proper trial. I don’t know why I thought that, maybe I just hoped it was only him. To hear Crouch Jr. state under Veritaserum that he was bundled through a trial with three others, without proper representation, without Veritaserum, without being allowed to even speak for himself!” She made an angry sound.
“He was a fucking victim that night, a victim! A Death Eater, yes, but being a Death Eater is to this day not actually illegal in and for itself. And we would have known all this if he had gotten a trial!” She tugged at her hair. “But we didn’t know, because he didn’t get a trial! And Crouch Sr … Oh, Lady Magic, what a bloody mess!” she cried.
“And you!” Her furious grey eyes locked on him. “Just restoring Dark Lords like that!”
“It was only one Dark Lord, Aries, and he was resurrected already,” Severus defended himself, “all I did was make him whole to stop any possible wars he might have wanted to wage in that state. You saw all the Oaths I put him under. There won’t be any war now. Not any war he will begin, at least. And … Aries … my magic told me that the Dark Lord had been broken for a very long time, a very, very long time. I think that he hadn’t been anything approaching whole for many decades. The process might have begun even before he reached his majority.
“So, while I absolutely abhor the war and all that he did during it, I have also concluded that it all began when he himself was a child. I know how much help the Magical World in general gives to children in horrible situations, which is absolutely not a bloody thing; the Dark Lord grew up in a Muggle orphanage under the Great Depression and World War II.”
She flinched visibly, having had quite a bit of Muggle schooling before Hogwarts.
“Do you want to take a guess at how pleasant his childhood was? How much help he got when he reached Hogwarts and the Magical World? How desperate a child would become in such a situation? He might have done something to himself to begin the degeneration of self, but he most likely did it as a child and to survive. I assume it was bad, what he did, I assume it was Dark Magic, maybe even Black, but desperate people do desperate things, and children even more so, and with even less of an idea of the actual consequences.
“It’s doubtful that he will ever be what we may call a nice man, or pleasant or entirely stable. I doubt that he would ever have become so, but Aries, those things in itself are not illegal. If he broke himself in an attempt to save his life, while still a child, everything that came after, the continued deterioration of self, the murders, the entire war … All that is on the shoulders of those who saw a scared and desperate child and did nothing to help him, not the child himself. However much I wish it was otherwise. He isn’t blameless, and I would never trust him free without the Oaths I put him under, but he deserves a chance at doing it right. At living his life as a whole person, whoever that person truly is.”
“Sometimes I hate your Slytherin silver tongue! You make me actually feel some compassion for the bloody Dark Lord!” she hissed, then she gave a heavy sigh. “I need some time to … compartmentalise … all this, Severus.”
“That is understandable. Would you like me to draw you a bubble bath and give you a massage in bed afterwards?”
Aries eyed him. “Severus Snape, are you trying to grovel?”
“I do comprehend that the actions I took this evening is not what you would have wanted me to do, if you could have chosen for me. That it is against the laws of our world, and more important, your own morals. So, yes, I thought giving grovelling a try might be advantageous. I’m not very good at it, I’m afraid. Very little former practice, you see.”
Aries giggled and then gave a long sigh. “You are right. I would have chosen differently, and … I would most likely have been wrong. At least when we take the Dark Lord’s plans and how they coincide with Harry’s wishes, into consideration. Can we actually call it wishes, Severus? Harry seems awfully driven in regard to the Old Ways and balancing magic. More like a geas than a wish?” She seemed uncertain.
“Harry is not put under any kind of active magical geas, I assure you. We talked about it, and I have examined him extensively for outside influence. It seems it is his instincts that guide him. But as he does not worry about it himself, he seems to rather like his commitment, I do not trouble myself with it. He is happy; do not worry. But thank you for doing so, anyway.”
She nodded and smiled. “So, no, you do not need to grovel, Severus. Of course, if you stand by your offer for a bubble bath and a massage anyway, knowing that grovelling is unnecessary, I won’t turn you down. The day has been rather hectic, for the both of us.”
“Indeed.”
“Just … I feel decidedly female today, so …”
Severus rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Aries. If I’m not allowed to make excuses for being gay and unable to feel sexual attraction for you when you are female, you are not allowed to make excuses because you have female days either.”
Aries smiled and got up, but without her usual bounce. “Are you going to join me in the bath? If I have had a strenuous day, that’s nothing against yours. And we can switch of on the massage.”
“Yes, I think I just might take you up on that. If you would begin drawing the bath, I will find us a glass of wine. Just one, each, no more,” he said when she began to open her mouth. Aries did not like drinking when she was exhausted or when she felt that she should be ready for action on a moment’s notice. “I will even set a sobering potion on your nightstand.”
“In that case, yes to the wine and the potion, and I will go to start with the bath.”
Ten minutes later they both sat in Severus’ big bathtub together, covered in golden lilac bubbles that smelled of lavender and cedarwood, and sipping a nice wine. Aries leaned against Severus’ shoulder and Severus smiled into her hair. It had taken him almost three months to get Aries to understand that Severus was not opposed at all to physical contact with her, no matter her shape, even while both of them were naked. It wasn’t like he was repulsed by the female body, he just wasn’t sexually attracted, and honestly, sometimes it felt good to be able to just relax in close physical contact with someone he truly trusted, and not having lust getting in the way.
He had made it clear that he was fine, more than fine, with close physical contact with her, including snuggling naked in bed - even though Aries had sworn to not tell anyone about the fact that Severus could appreciate some snuggling. As it turned out in the end, Aries was a true snuggler, and seldom let the chance for cuddling, snuggling, hugs, cheek kisses or naked contact pass her by. And she had been true to her word, she never resented the fact that Severus’ body wasn’t interested in hers on her female days, even as they snuggled naked in bed, or in the bath.
As far as Severus knew, Aries was happy with their relationship. He knew he was, he had gone from appreciating and liking her into something he suspected soon could turn into love, even though he personally found that thought somewhat frightening. Harry still didn’t seem the least bit bothered, even if Severus brought up Harry’s feelings on the matter now and again. After all, Harry was an abused child, Severus would not take it for granted that he would be able to bring up his problems with Severus’ relationship unasked. But if they talked about it, Severus would be able to see and smell it if Harry’s feelings had changed greatly.
Thus, it had been a long night for Severus, even if it had turned out well in the end. Aries, that bitch of a chipper morning person, had been gone when Severus woke up an hour after breakfast. He had hurried through the shower, as he had promised Harry to escort him down to take the train to London with his friends, before he would finish packing his own things and close his office and quarters for the summer and meet Harry at the train station in London, together with Ted and Andromeda.
They would spend the summer at Raven’s Keep, at Andromeda’s and on the first proper vacation Harry had ever gone on, on an island owned by the Black’s in the Caribbean. Harry would get to make his first visit to the amusement park he had gotten tickets to, for Christmas, and the Water Park, and he would be able to go watch professional Quidditch matches with his friends. He would get to be the teenager he was, and have a proper summer vacation.
Severus would come back to the school closer to Autumn to make certain he had everything he needed for the new school year, even if he had already put in some orders at the apothecary for the next semester. He wished to have as much time with Harry as possible, but he also wished to let Harry be the teenager he actually was, for the first time in his life. Aries had already called dibs on arranging Harry’s birthday party, his first proper birthday ever. Black and Lupin had made the small mansion on the Black Island ready for company, which had included a complete restoration of the mansion, the grounds and the wards, and several additions. Like a big swimming pool with slides, rafts one could swim to from the beach, with more slides and an Andromeda approved indoor rumpus room with a ball pit, nets to climb in, a labyrinth and even more slides that Harry could use for an hour now and again without hurting himself or his still bad leg.
Severus reached the Entrance Hall and looked for Harry and his friends, but saw none of them. After casting a Tempus to affirm that he shouldn’t be too late, he started to walk towards the open doors to wait in the doorway, in the sun. Before he reached the doors Dumbledore came into the Entrance Hall from the grounds and smiled at him. A smile that sent shivers down Severus’ back and made Darkness drip off him and Shadows crawl down the walls around him.
This was going to be bad, so very bad, and he knew with absolute certainty that he would kill Dumbledore now, because the old man had crossed a line. Even if he as of yet didn’t know what line or how. A line had been crossed, irrecoverably.
“Where is Harry?” The sound was barely human, barely understandable, but he knew it was still in English.
“Severus, my dear boy, you must understand, now that Voldemort is back, according to your very own words …”
A glossy, black hand, three times as big as it normally was, locked around Dumbledore’s throat. It was dripping Darkness down on Dumbledore’s mauve and lime green robes.
“Where is Harry?” It was even more of a snarl than before, the Entrance Hall was filling up with shadows and he heard children crying, far, far away.
“He needs the safety of the blood wards, my boy, you must understand. He needs to remain safe in these turbulent times. I delivered him home to his family myself, instead of putting him on the train where anyone could have access to him. He is safe and sound with them …”
A desperate, strangled sound was the last noise Albus bloody Dumbledore ever made in his life, as the Warder ripped him into three pieces with no more than a thought. His skeleton, his flesh, and his soul.
Dumbledore’s ghost stood silvery in the air above his remains, looking down in shock and horror.
“I will eat your soul, bit by painful bit, and believe me, I will make it extremely painful for you. So you will remain here, in complete silence, until I come back for you,” the Warder hissed, in a language no longer human, though Dumbledore would understand him as he himself was no longer human.
Then the Warder turned towards the doors again and went out them, Darkness and Shadows flowing out around him, embracing him, filling him, and he was airborne. Two gigantic wings stretching out from his back, almost filling the sky above the castle with Darkness and the pinpricks of stars.
He plunged into his own mind and ripped out the information he needed. The information he had gotten from his little Wyrd all those months ago. The information he had hoped, had promised, that he would never actually need, because he would never let his Wyrd go back there. Back to the monsters who had almost killed him. Who had almost destroyed his Wyrd. An address, a place. Back then he hadn’t known that he really wouldn’t need it. Because now he could stretch out and feel his Wyrd, feel his heartbeat, feel his magic, feel his fear, his desperation, his defeat.
They wanted to be monstrous? They wanted to torture and punish? The Warder could help them learn; he had claws and fangs and magic to help show them how it was done.
He beat his wings and the ground beneath him shuddered, then he flew up, up, up, towards the twinkling stars above the sky, towards the magic above the Earth, towards his own massive core. Then he folded his wings close around him and let himself fall towards the Earth, towards the tug of his Wyrd.
He didn’t spread his wings again before he could see the house, the prison, the ugly, little place that held his Wyrd. His Wyrd who was so filled with pain and sorrow and desperation. It was good that Dumbledore was dead already, or the Warder would have laid the castle in ruins to get to him. Yes, it was good.
Long, black claws ripped the house open and he saw his little Wyrd chained to a wall in a small room, chained with chains filled with runes and magic and hate. A whale of a Muggle stood over him with blood on his clenched, pudgy fists. His Wyrd’s blood.
The Warder’s snarl filled the world, from the Abyss to the Stars, and beyond. The ground shook and the Muggle covered and didn’t get the chance to even squeak before the Warder ended his miserable life by squishing him in one big fist. His remains were consumed by black fire.
Carefully, so very carefully, the Warder released his Wyrd from the chains that burned him, burned him, and bound him and shackled his magic. Not his Wyrd magic, but his Wyrd had little experience with using that magic, so far. Then the Warder gathered him up in his hands and held him close to his chest with his massive wings around them, hiding them, while that little shape shook in shock and pain and sorrow.
“I have you now, my Wyrd, you are safe now, little one. You are safe,” the Warder crooned.
His Wyrd was gasping. “Dumbledore … Dumbledore said it was important that I stayed there … that I had to be there. That I would be safe from Voldemort.” He sobbed and clung with all his might to his Warder. “Then he told them that they should make sure I was properly cowed so I wouldn’t fight them and make trouble for them during the summer. I heard him, I heard him say that to them …” The words were slurred, but still in English. That was alright, the Warder could still understand the language, even if he could not speak it in his current form.
“I promised you I would come for you, if you ever got delivered back here,” he crooned and carefully nuzzled the little Wyrd in his hands. He smelled of blood and pain.
“You did,” his Wyrd said with a shaky voice. “But I was so afraid, and it … it hurt.”
Delicately the Warder rebuilt his Wyrds skin and muscle and bones where the Muggle had broken and bruised the skin and damaged the bones. That was his task, to protect his Wyrd, to make certain he was safe, to shield him and to heal him if necessary. It was not like it was with the humans, where his powers could only do so much. Now that he was fully bonded to his Wyrd and thus fully unbound as a Warder, he could do anything and everything for his Wyrd.
At least with fresh injuries, he realised with a slowly dawning horror. His little Wyrd’s left leg had been shattered too many times, too long ago. He could ease the pain and stiffness some more, and he healed it as much as it could be healed, but he mourned the fact that his Wyrd would never use that leg as he should have been able to. Not within his human skin, at least. The leg wouldn’t bother him at all when he was fully in his Wyrd shape. Maybe it would even help to only partially be in his Wyrd shape. They would find out in time.
In silence he let his Wyrd calm down and compose himself, he only crooned reassuringly when the sobs took over and he thought his reassurance would be welcome. His Wyrd had been alone for so long, had been used and abused for most of his life. He already knew it was hard for his little Wyrd to accept help, to accept reassurance and accept to be saved. To accept that he would never be alone again.
“You healed me,” his Wyrd hummed in their own tongue.
“Of course,” he crooned. “It is in my power to do so, so I did.”
“Thank you.”
“Always, my little one.”
“When did you get that big?” His Wyrd looked up from where he sat in the Warder’s open palm. His black eyes were huge with wonder, but his pale cheeks had some colour again, it was a sign of health in the Wyrd’s human form.
“When you needed me to be,” the Warder purred in amusement.
His Wyrd grinned. “Will I ever be as big as you and … are those wings? Can you fly?! With your own wings?!” He chittered in enthusiasm, sitting up and leaning to the side to see his wings better.
“Not as big as me, no, but you do not have to be small, nor human shaped, if you do not wish to. And you may have wings too, if you wish.”
His Wyrd closed his eyes and wrinkled his whole face in concentration before he started to change and grow and glow. The Warder let his Wyrd float on air in front of him and observed as Darkness dripped off him and Shadows gathered around him, and he grew and grew. His shape would be more slender, the Warder concluded, but still huge and with beautiful wings made of Darkness and starlight from a thousand suns. He thought his Wyrd would like that. When he stopped growing, his Wyrd reached his chest, and easily towered over any building close by. His wings fanned out on each side of him, and he happily beat them and chirruped in pleasure.
“May we fly, please?” he asked, not looking behind him at the place of his abuse, his torture, his near death.
That was alright, the Warder would come back for the last of his Wyrd’s abusers later.
The Warder beat his wings and ascended slowly into the air. His Wyrd beat his wings faster and soared up into the sky with a screech of pure joy. It took him only moments to soar and swoop and roll in the air and use the air currents to find the least resistance and the most speed. His Wyrd would maybe never use his broom again, and the Warder knew that that thought had bothered him extensively, but his Wyrd could still fly, and that was more important. The shrill shrieks of joy and exuberance filled the air until he was able to settle down some and fly next to the Warder. Two big, black clouds among the grey ones. Their wingbeats thrummed through the air. Humans screamed and cried on the ground, far beneath them. His Wyrd smiled at him with many, sharp teeth. Safe, close to him. Free in the air. Safe and free and happy under two pairs of wings.