Chapter Text
Sand was everywhere. In his hair. Under his eyelids. Grinding into every laceration on his skin. The whole world was made of sand. Sand and the sunlight that blistered his flesh and dried his tongue until it clove to the roof of his mouth. His eyes were shut tightly, crusted over with dried salt and more sand. His limbs were too heavy to move, no matter how he tried to lift them. He had no idea how long he’d been lying here—wherever here was.
The sound of the sea lapping at a nearby shore slowly became discernible. A wind started blowing, kicking up the sand around him. The smell of seawater tickled his nose, making him sneeze. In the distance, he caught snatches of voices talking. An uneasy feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Voices were dangerous.
“I see him! Hurry!”
The wind changed direction, carrying that awful sentence to him. He forced his eyes open, rubbing them with his sandy hands and wincing as he tried to blink away the grit and the harsh sunlight. The world was a hazy blur of brown and blue. He climbed to his feet, but his legs crumpled under him before he could take a single step. The blue-grey of the ocean came into focus, and he began to drag himself across the endless sand towards it.
As the tide rushed over his fingertips, they caught him. A pair of large hands hauled him up to a sitting position. He turned his head, his vision still blurred, and lashed his fist out at the pale face. His captor caught his arm easily, unbothered by the pathetic attempt. Then he was bundled up to standing, and his arm was slung around the other man’s shoulders. He craned his neck and bit a bare forearm as it came into reach.
“Fucking tosser! He bit me,” his captor swore.
“Stop it,” ordered another, female voice. “We’re here to help you.”
Not bloody likely, he tried to mutter. But his dry tongue could not articulate the words. He made a final struggle against the arms that held him, then went limp. He would have to conserve his meager strength and wait for a better opportunity.
“That’s more like it. Hold still now, I’m going to get some of this mess off you,” the woman said.
Every muscle tensed in anticipation, but all that he felt was a cool, wet rag wiping the dried seawater and the infernal sand from his face. Then the rim of a wooden cup was pressed to his lips. He drank, and drank, and drank, as though no cup could quench his thirst. He gasped in protest when the woman’s hands pulled the sweet water away from him.
“If you drink too much all at once, you’ll be sick,” she said, as though explaining to a small child. “I’ll give you more in a minute.”
His stomach was indeed starting to churn. Good. It would serve these interlopers right if he was ill all over them. He tried opening his eyes again. Without the sand and salt holding them shut, it was much easier to accomplish. His vision came into focus, and he quickly took the measure of his captors.
The woman was small in stature, though she carried herself with the bearing of a much taller person. Her brown hair curled and frizzed in all directions, framing her angular face. She was studying him with her dark, intelligent eyes, and she seemed relieved when he finally opened his. Her companion was tall and lanky, with a mess of shockingly red hair, and an indolent expression.
“I’m Hermione,” the woman said. “And this is Ron. You’ve been in a shipwreck.”
“Have I?” he replied, as he wracked his memory for some hint of this incident.
“I saw you lying in the wreckage on the beach an hour ago.” She gestured to the ground around them, which was littered with the jagged remains of a ship. “Do you remember what happened?”
There was nothing but sand, burning, and darkness. “No.”
Hermione sighed impatiently. “Well, better not worry about that now. I’m sure you’ll remember sooner or later.”
“We need to get going,” Ron said.
“You’re right,” Hermione agreed. “Can you walk, sir?”
“Of course I can,” he said, taking half a step to prove it. Unfortunately, his legs gave way again, and Ron had to pull him back upright. “Only not right now.”
“We’ll help you,” Hermione said, pulling his other arm around her shoulders.
“Nothing I like better than dragging people back to the Keep,” Ron muttered, bearing most of the extra weight.
“I don’t recall asking for your help,” he grumbled. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone?
“We don’t have time to argue about it now. The sun’s setting,” Hermione replied.
“Who died and made you captain?”
“Save your breath, mate,” Ron said. “You’re not in much of a position to object.”
They started hauling him towards the rocky hills that rose out of the beach. He did what he could to stumble along, but he was embarrassingly aware they were doing most of the work.
“What’s your name?” Hermione asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied.
“You don’t know?” Ron repeated.
Imbecile. “Are you hard of hearing?”
“I’m better at hearing than you are at walking.”
“Leave him alone, Ron,” Hermione said. “I’m sure you’ll remember your name sooner or later.”
“Along with every other damn thing,” he said bitterly. His head was starting to pound, and his legs slipped out from under him as the sandy ground gave way to rocky soil.
“In the meantime, we’ll call you Bilius,” Ron said.
“Absolutely not,” he snapped.
“We have to call you something. It’s my uncle’s name.”
“My condolences to your uncle.”
“Honestly Ronald,” Hermione said. “Will you leave him alone?”
“What?” Ron said, panting as their path began to climb the tree covered hill. “What are we supposed to call him? Hey you? Or what about Foundling? Our own ickle Foundling washed up on the beach…”
“Severus.” The horror of being named by these two creatures frightened his memory into yielding up his name. “My name is Severus.”
Ron laughed. “I’d have stuck with Bilius.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Severus,” Hermione said before Ron could continue.
“I wish I could say the same,” Severus muttered.
“Wanker. We could’ve just left you on the beach,” Ron shot back good-naturedly.
“No we couldn’t,” Hermione objected.
“Actually you could,” Severus said. “I was perfectly fine where I was.”
“Nobody asked for your opinion!” Hermione huffed, her cheeks flushing.
Ron glanced over his shoulder at the rapidly setting sun, and his easy-going manner faded. “We’d better save our breath for walking. It’s getting dark.”
By the time they reached the top of the first hill, the sun was beginning to disappear into the ocean behind them. The terrain became more level as their path curved into the shelter of the trees. Severus was able to bear more of his own weight, though his steps were slow and his gait uneven. Streaks of red dripped across the sky, and Hermione glanced nervously upwards every few steps, as though she might halt the sun’s progress if she kept it under constant surveillance.
“Quit staring,” Ron said. “You can’t stop the sun.”
“I know that,” she snapped back.
“I’ve always liked the dark,” Severus murmured, hardly aware he was speaking aloud. “The sun sees everything and burns all.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Ron demanded.
Severus wasn’t sure what he meant. A dizzy, nauseous feeling swept through him, making it impossible to think clearly. “Nothing.”
The trees closed in around them as they trudged along the well-worn dirt path. Severus lost all sense of time and direction. It was cooler here in the shadows cast by the ambivalent trees, but the crepuscular darkness made his captors dangerously tense. Hermione was particularly twitchy, her eyes darting in all around, trying to watch every direction at once. Severus’s ears were ringing in the silence of the forest. The loss of the soothing, endless sound of the ocean tore his heart like the loss of a loved one.
A sharp snap broke through the quiet. Ron threw Severus over his shoulder and darted into the forest. Thin branches whipped at Severus’s face, but his arms hung uselessly, too heavy to use for protection.
“Put me down!” Severus growled as they ducked behind the twisted base of a tree.
“Shut up,” Ron hissed back, clamping his hand over Severus’s mouth. Severus took the opportunity to bite him again. “Bloody hell! Will you stop that?”
“Both of you stop talking!” Hermione’s voice was tight with fear, and she whirled around to point a stick at the two of them.
Something echoed in the depths of Severus’s murky memory. This wasn’t a stick—it was a wand. Interesting.
Ron tightened his grip on Severus, and an unnatural chill descended around them. Severus let his body go limp again, lowering his head so that he could see under Ron’s arm. A troop of creatures shuffled along the path they’d just abandoned. The creatures’ skin was ashen, their tangled hair clumped with dirt and hanging limply around their gaunt faces. Their eyes were filmed over with a milky white, but he suspected they did not need their eyes to see. A sickly sweet aroma followed in their wake. Ron and Hermione huddled close together, and though it was in no way comfortable being carried like a sack of dead fish, Severus was glad he had not met that horde alone.
“I can’t believe they didn’t see us,” Ron whispered when the horrid creatures were out of sight.
“Maybe they did,” Hermione replied grimly. “Either way, they’ve put themselves between us and the Keep.”
“Underground?”
“We’ll have to.”
Ron’s shoulder cut into Severus’s stomach as they bounced through the underbrush. The scent of decay filled his nose, until he gagged audibly.
“If you throw up on me, I swear I’ll drop you,” Ron muttered.
“No, you won’t,” Hermione hissed, her eyes flashing in the dark. “And be quiet!”
The shuffling step of the creatures grew louder as the three of them crept closer to the dirt path. Severus bit his tongue with the effort of keeping himself from commenting on how idiotic this supposed plan was. Before his frustration could overcome his sense of self preservation, they reached the remains of a dead tree. Its rotting roots stretched across the dirt path. The horde of creatures was close enough Severus might have touched them. With a shaking hand, Hermione reached out her wand and tapped it against the base of the withered trunk. A hole, barely large enough for a person, appeared.
She stepped aside, her wand trained on the path. Ron ducked into the opening, scraping Severus’s back against the top of it as they passed through. Hermione followed them immediately. Though the opening closed directly after her, Severus swore he caught a glimpse of the unnatural creatures outside before it did. A grey twilight, more frustrating than full dark, irritated his eyes.
“How pleasant,” Severus sneered as Ron carried him over the rough underground path.
“Shut it,” Ron grunted back.
The discomfort from being jolted along (upside down no less) began to overwhelm Severus. Soon he was drifting in and out of consciousness, unsure of which of the horrible specters that haunted him were real, and which were part of a lucid nightmare.
He jerked awake when Ron stopped moving at last. Hermione was tapping her wand against the face of a flat stone wall, until another, larger opening appeared.
“Finally,” Ron grumbled as he hauled Severus through it.
“I thought we made good time,” Hermione replied.
“You didn’t have to carry him the whole way.”
“I never asked you to carry me,” Severus muttered, blinking rapidly. It was full dark now, though the night was interrupted by violently bright torchlight.
“What’s this? Trespassers?” A male voice bordering on jolly interrupted the brewing argument.
“It’s us, Fred. Put that sword away before you hurt yourself,” Ron said, setting Severus down on the ground with more care than he’d expected. “Brought Hermione’s foundling back all safe and sound. Only had to throw out my back to do it.”
Severus sank to his knees the instant his feet hit the ground. The air here was fresh and cool after the putrid stagnation of the underground passage. He gulped it down like water.
“A foundling?” Fred asked, bending down to peer into Severus’s face. “Changeling more like.”
“You all smell like the dead,” said another man, sheathing his sword as he came into the light.
Severus shook his head, uncertain at first if this newcomer was actually Fred’s double, or if he was evidence of Severus’s mind succumbing to insanity.
“A pack of Inferi cut us off on the way back,” Hermione explained.
Fred’s casual grin fell away. “Were Percy or Bill…”
“I don’t know. We didn’t have time to look for them,” Hermione said tersely.
“Of course you didn’t,” said the second Fred. “Had to get this one back safe. Who are you, Changeling?”
“He doesn’t remember. The only surviver of that shipwreck as far as we could tell,” Hermione answered.
Insufferable woman. “He is right here,” Severus said. “He has ears with which to hear and a mouth with which to speak.”
Hermione had the grace to blush. “Sorry.”
Severus made a show of brushing himself off as he gathered the strength to stand properly.
“I am Severus,” he said when he was on his feet and not in immediate danger of falling. “I hesitate to thank you for dragging me here, but given the choice between that or being conscripted into an army of Inferi, I suppose I would take the former. I will do what I can to repay you for your…officiousness.”
Fred snorted. “And you’d better. Ron, go tell Draco there’ll be one more at dinner.”
“No thanks. I’m not in the mood for his mouth,” Ron replied.
“Oi! Not the image I needed of my little brother,” the second Fred said, looking disgusted.
“Fuck you. Draco and I are handfasted. It’s all that is good and proper,” Ron shot back.
Hermione grabbed Ron’s arm and began tugging him away. Her face was so red Severus might have been amused if he weren’t feeling half drowned.
“You know Draco will take it better from you than anyone else. George, help Severus to one of the spare rooms, and give him what he needs to clean up before dinner. Fred, tell Ginny what’s happened.”
The second Fred saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Bye Ronnie, have fun with your ickle wove bird,” said Fred.
“This way, good sir,” said George, sweeping Severus a mocking bow.
Severus took one full step before his knees buckled. Fortunately George was quick to catch him.
“That first step is murder,” George said, slipping an arm around Severus’s shoulders.
“This entire day has been murder,” Severus countered, leaning more of his weight than he liked on George’s sturdy frame.
“Nothing some clean clothes and a bit of dinner won’t solve. Draco’s cooking is the only reason we put up with him.”
Severus’s stomach churned at the mention of food. “I don’t think I care to eat again for the rest of my life.”
George laughed at that. “We’ll see.”
The Keep consisted of a knot of hastily built cottages, surrounded by a tall wall of spiked wood. Torches burned brightly all along the wall and throughout the green spaces between. A large wooden building, more solid than the lopsided cottages, sat in the center of the place. George helped him into this larger building, and hauled him up several flights of stairs. At last they came to a long hallway filled with doors. The door George choose led to a simple bed chamber. Someone had already lit the candles, and brought in a bathtub filled with steaming water.
“I’ll help you in and leave you to it. If you think you can get out all right,” George said.
Whether he could or not, Severus needed to be alone. “I can.”
George sat him on the edge of the narrow bed. Severus stripped off what was left of his clothing, unbothered by any sense of modesty. It felt good to rid himself of some part of this wretched day. He required George’s arm to help him into the tub, but the bliss of the hot water was well worth the humiliation. Once Severus was settled, George took his leave, shutting the door softly behind him.
Severus let out a deep sigh as he sank down into the bath. The water wrapped around him, and he let his thoughts go blank. He made no attempt to wash himself, content to soak for as long as his captors would let him. A darkness that was far more comforting than the harsh light of day encircled him as he drifted into a pleasant doze. He let it take him willingly, seeking the rest it promised him and knowing—or hoping at least—that if he could go far enough into the inky depths, he would remember and be safe. Deeper and deeper he went, almost there—almost—
“What are you doing sleeping in the tub? Are you trying to drown?”
Hermione’s voice pulled him unceremoniously out of his dreaming. He jerked and sputtered, choking on some of the now tepid bathwater. Bracing his hands on the sides of the tub, he righted himself, taking his time to deliberately draw his head up out of the water. Then he wiped his eyes, and opened them to cast what he hoped was a baleful expression at the officious woman.
“Why not? I should hate to put my gracious hosts to the trouble of killing me yourselves,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be daft. Why would we kill you after we’ve gone to so much trouble to rescue you?”
“Do you often interrupt people’s baths?”
An adorable blush tinged her cheeks, and the way she raised her chin in defiance was strangely familiar.
“Of course not. But you’re injured. When you didn’t come down to the Hall for dinner, I came to see if you needed help.”
Meddlesome chit. He’d be damned if he’d have her treating him like an invalid. Holding her gaze, he pulled himself slowly upright, until he was standing before her, water dripping off every exposed part of him. She met his challenge, refusing to break eye contact, though her blush spread over the whole of her face.
“As you can see, I do not require help,” he said softly. “Or were you offering help of another kind?”
“Oh! Men!” She stormed out of the room in a whirl of brown curls and indignation, slamming the door for good measure.
He chuckled as he shakily stepped out of the bath, sitting down on the bed harder than he meant to. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass. Water pooled on the bed linens, and the ghost of a memory teased the edge of his consciousness, but he could not catch it. He gave up trying when he began to shiver. There was a clean towel and a set of clothing on the bed next to him—a pair of plain trousers and a rough linen shirt. He dried and dressed as quickly as his stiff limbs would allow. The shoes they’d left for him fit so ill that he kicked them under the bed. His balance would be better in bare feet anyway.
A small table with a mirror over it sat across from the bed. He went to examine himself, though he knew he could only put off dinner for so long before his captor came looking for him again. A pale, pointed face with a strong, hooked nose, and dark eyes stared back at him from the glass. It was familiar, and yet unfamiliar, as though something besides his memory were missing. His black hair hung in a tangled mess down to the middle of his back. That would never do. He picked up a comb from the table and sat down on the edge of the bed. It took a long time for his shaking fingers to comb through the length of his hair, but it seemed horribly important that he do so. When it was combed through, he braided it into a thick rope, as though this were his usual habit.
There was a knock at the door. Severus grimaced as he went to answer it. His solitude was likely over.
Hermione was waiting for him on the other side; dressed in dark green, a circlet of opals on her head, her eyes daring him to bring up his earlier teasing. He held his breath, reaching again for that ghost of a memory.
“If you’re able, I’m to bring you to Lady Ginny now. We thought it best you avoid the Great Hall until you’re stronger,” she said.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Carried like a sack of dead fish, privacy invaded, and now called to dance attendance on some upstart tyrant. If this is how you treat your guests, I wonder that you have any.”
“I understand. A man of your advanced years must be exhausted after the day you’ve had. Maybe you should go to bed before you fall down.”
“Advanced years? I may not be a child like yourself, but I’m hardly in my dotage.” Hmmm. She’d needled him right into that, hadn’t she?
She put her hands on her hips. “Twenty-three isn’t a child! To hear Ron’s mother talk about it, I’m practically an old maid.”
“Perhaps if you did not whine like a child, you would not be mistaken for one.”
“I don’t whine! And furthermore—“
He caught one of her hands and brought it to his lips, where he bent over they way he’d been taught…when? “Peace, you wild cat. Take me to Lady Ginny before you overset your nerves.”
“Of all the—“
She tugged her hand free and started down the hallway, but not before he saw another of her blushes. He followed close behind, his feet steadier now than they’d been all day. As they went through the narrow halls and down the twisting stairs, he noted the potential escape routes. They were unfortunately few. The windows were mere slits, barely large enough for an archer to aim through. There was only one external door, and it was guarded by a pair of swordsmen. Severus was under no illusions that he was in any condition to win a physical altercation.
They passed quickly through the Great Hall. Crammed with people and echoing with the sounds of conversation, cutlery scraping across plates, and laughter, Severus was glad to have escaped it for the night. The noise and the smell set his head aching again. The room beyond it boasted full windows, rich tapestries, and a roaring fire in spite of the warm night. Five silver thrones sat at one end of the room, gathered around a circular table. A young woman with a golden crown perched on her auburn hair occupied one of the thrones. She was deep in conversation with Ron, who was now dressed like a petty lordling, complete with a silver circlet. Hermione brought a sixth, more humble chair, and placed it at the table as well.
“Here he is, Lady Ginny,” Hermione said as she sat down in the throne across from Ron.
Severus bowed to them, proud in his bare feet. “I should be honored. Carried by nobility,” he said, his voice dripping irony.
Ron grinned. “Yes, you bloody well should. Git.”
“May the Goddess bless you for your pains.”
“Please, sit down,” Lady Ginny said, shifting impatiently on her throne. “You have much to tell us.”
He sat on the edge of his chair, his feet planted firmly on the floor, ready to jump if an attack came. “I’m afraid I have very little to tell you.”
Lady Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Hermione says you were in a shipwreck.”
“She told me the same. I was found on an unfamiliar shore, amidst the wreckage of a ship. Before that, I do not remember.”
“But you remembered your name?”
His lips quirked up in a mocking smile. “Yes. I am Severus the Lost. Severus the Occluded. Severus, High Prince of Nowhere.”
“You didn’t tell me our extra guest was royalty,” said a drawling voice. “I’d have put more effort into his stew.”
A beautiful young man with pale skin and white-blond hair came into the room. The cart he pushed was laid with bowls of the promised stew and chunks of good brown bread. The scent of the simple, hearty food stirred Severus’s appetite. Perhaps he would eat after all.
Ron was already on his feet, helping set the meal on the table. “It smells wonderful, Draco.”
Draco’s lips curved into a the ghost of a smile. “I do what I can.”
When the table was set, Ron resumed his seat, and Draco took the throne next to him. Now there was only one throne unoccupied.
“May the Goddess bless this meal and all who eat of it,” Lady Ginny said, rattling off the prayer by rote.
“May it be,” was the automatic reply from all.
They ate without waiting for the sixth worthy. Severus had inhaled half of his bowl before he thought to pace himself, both out of politeness and out of a desire to avoid making himself sick after his long fast. From time to time, his eyes were drawn to the empty throne as he wondered who was missing from the company.
Lady Ginny caught him staring. “Laird Harry is not with us tonight. He is the master of Grimmauld Keep and the lands surrounding,” she said. "He's also my husband."
“I wish him a swift and safe return,” Severus replied.
“Do you?” Draco asked.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Hermione countered.
“No, Draco is wise to be suspicious. You should be careful welcoming strangers into your Keep, Lady Ginny. You’ve no way of knowing I am not your enemy, for I do not know it myself,” Severus said.
“If you were our enemy, all the better for us to keep you where we can see you,” Hermione said, turning her eyes on him, a challenge sparking in their depths.
He raised his glass to her. “Well said, my lady Hermione. Or are you perhaps a princess?” Severus replied.
“Lady Hermione, and by right of combat, I’ll have you know.”
“I’m impressed.” He took a slow drink of the bitter ale in his cup, and glanced at Lady Ginny. “Do you have much combat here?”
Ron laughed. “What do you think we do with the Inferi? Dance with them?”
“One never knows what strange customs other peoples follow.”
Lady Ginny drank the whole of her cup in one long swallow. Then she stared baldy at Severus, searching his face and form. He could practically see the thoughts whirring behind her fierce eyes as she judged him. He would not put it past her to order his death in the next moment if she found him wanting in this one.
At last she sat back against her throne, hooking a leg over the arm of it. “We may as well tell you the whole of it. Your shipwreck has left you in a land under siege. The Dark Lord Voldemort commands the armies of witches, wizards, and Inferi that roam the land every night, killing and destroying all that they can. There are a few strongholds like this one that stand against him. But we’re badly outnumbered.”
“When one’s enemy can raise the dead, I do not wonder at it,” Severus observed. “I thank you for snatching me out of that horror.”
“If we knew where you were from, we would send you back there. Surely your home is safer than here.”
Severus’s flicked involuntarily to Hermione, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze. It was foolish, but he had no desire to return to whatever home it was he’d left.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any case, I am here now. I would like to do something to earn my keep. Charity is…distasteful to me,” he said.
“There’s plenty to be done in the kitchens,” Draco said. “Not to mention the constant restocking of the potions stores.”
“Potions?” Severus closed his eyes briefly, and snatches of steeping herbs and steaming cauldrons flashed through his mind. “I should like to see your potions chamber. I believe I may be of some use to you there.”
“Hermione will show you,” Lady Ginny said.
Hermione eyed him dubiously. “I don’t have time to teach anyone.”
“I did not ask to be taught,” Severus said.
“It can’t hurt to show him around,” Ron said. “If he’s no good, send him down to the kitchen. Draco’ll be happy to whip him into shape.”
“I would,” Draco said, his words full of mischief.
Severus arched an eyebrow at the beautiful youth. “I’ve no doubt of that.”
“And that’ll be enough out of you,” Ron said, downing the remainder of his cup and getting to his feet. “Come on, Foundling. You’re going to bed before you cause anymore trouble.”
It irritated Severus to be dismissed with so little ceremony, but he rose and followed Ron back to his room. His eventual escape would be more likely to succeed if his captors believed him harmless.
“Don’t go snooping about tonight, if you know what’s good for you,” Ron warned. “The lethifold might eat you.”
“A lethifold? Inside the Keep?” Severus could not tell if Ron was being serious.
“Sometimes. So stay in bed like a good Foundling. I’ll come get you in the morning. If Hermione doesn’t beat me too it.”
Severus rather hoped Hermione would. “Good night, Ron. Sleep long.”
The candles were still burning brightly when he let himself into his room. After Ron shut him in for the night, he tested the doorknob. Though it was not locked, he decided he would stay in his room. It would not do to arouse their suspicions of him any further.
He lay down on his bed, folding his arms behind his head as he stared out of the narrow window. A sliver of moon peeked through, until it was blotted out by an ominous black wing.
“Good night, my lord Lethifold,” he said, snapping his fingers to extinguish the candles, and resting in the friendly darkness at last.