The Heir of Slytherin
Author’s Note: My heartfelt thanks to my Beta’s on this, Letomo and Cordyfan. The following ways of notation may be found in this story. This is excluding whatever I need to represent chatting, texting and stuff like that. Speech:
“Who’s on first.” Thought:
*What’s on second.
#I-don’t-know’s on third.# Five new recommendations! I am very, very grateful. Ancientcitadel, asaloth, IronOx, SamuraiCatFan and sunrisereader, thank you very much. Chapter 8 The Heir of Slytherin Boston Massachusetts
Faith was patrolling. She had the itch, the need, the urge. There was no real word for it, but it was why even the most reluctant of the Slayers couldn’t go without the occasional fight.
Oddly enough, Snape understood. He also understood her need to be alone, and her dislike of officious methods of record keeping. ‘Killed some vamps, yo!’ was answered by a laconic ‘How many?' and a short note in the log. Anything special, or that caught her attention was supposed to be discussed. But he trusted her to decide what needed reporting.
The air was still cold, the Dementors were still at large; there might still be Death Eaters who wanted to capture her to breed a new body for their Dark Lord. It was still dangerous to go out, but she needed to. Even in the huge former warehouse they’d appropriated from the Death eaters she felt cooped up, imprisoned.
So she was out here, hunting. So far she’d found three vampires that Snape had directed her towards. Apparently even while he had been a drunken shattered bum, he’d still been observing, had seen things others hadn’t.
Faith had heard rumours that there were vampires in Boston who’d ‘lived’ there for centuries, had integrated themselves in society and enjoyed an upper class lifestyle. Who had their dinners brought to them, to enjoy them at leisure, and had long been predating upon the citizens of Boston and the East Coast.
The old Council had held views on that: don’t rock the boat. The occasional missing teenager or temporarily absent celebrity who seemed to recall alien abductions were a small price to pay for the stability on the East Coast. Faith was sure that if Kakistos had worn a suit and paid taxes, she would’ve gotten an official reprimand for Slaying his ass.
And the current Council seemed to be equally unwilling to take the bastards on. Faith intended to do something about that herself, on her own, if she had to. Though she rather thought that Snape would be delighted to help her. He seemed to get a vicious delight from utterly annihilating demons. Especially ‘Ancient, wealthy poncy bastards who think they’re better than anybody else.’
So Faith was out killing those vampires who roamed the streets and lived in old warehouses and abandoned homes while Snape tracked down the slight traces of the upper reaches of vampiric society, who lived in mansions and had lunch with Governors and Senators in conservatories with necro-tinted glass.
Snape seemed singularly unworried about the vampire’s lawyers, their minions and their power. As he pointed out there wouldn’t be any bodies to worry about and a few well placed Obliviates would deal with annoying investigators.
Faith grinned. It seemed her Watcher was more interested in results than regulations.
She could feel a slight sensation, a vibe that told her that a vampire was close, probably hiding in the alley to her right. She drew her stake, unnamed and carved only that morning (no Mr. Pointy for her) and stepped into the gloom unrelieved even by the flickering streetlights.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” she sang.
There was a rustle of paper and then the vamp sprang, not at her, but up, grabbed the bottom of a fire escape and had pulled himself up and was running up the steps before Faith could react.
Faith grinned. “Right on, exercise!” and made her own jump, drew herself up and followed the vamp, running up the steps without looking where she was going, trusting her strength and balance to save her from any rotten steps.
She saw it duck into a dark window and at the same time throw something up on the roof, apparently trying to make it look as if it was escaping over the rooftops. Faith grinned. A less experienced Slayer would’ve spent the next half hour chasing for the vamp up top while it sauntered out of the building by the regular stairs. *Excellent! Got a fight on my hands.*
Faith hurtled through the window of the top apartment. It was dark, only what little light from outside providing illumination. Faith had landed in a fighting stance, ready to face anything.
Then the window closed behind her and the room was filled with even deeper darkness. Ducking instinctively she dodged the blow that would have landed on her head. A flash of light lit up the room, ruining her night vision, but she recognized it as a Stun spell that Snape had shown her and flung herself to the ground, allowing it to strike the window. *Wonderful, an ambush. Snape is gonna be very sarcastic,*
Faith thought as she pressed herself up and made a somersault, her feet striking the now closed and blacked out window, expecting to break it and land on the fire escape to. Instead she hit a wall. *Magic. Fucking damn wand users!*
Faith tried to keep silent, but the force with which she had hit first the wall and then the floor had been considerable and she let out an involuntary grunt.
A spell hit her and she screamed. The pain was incredible. “Cruciatus, Miss Lehane. I think you’ve encountered it before,” an urbane, American accented voice said. “Don’t worry, we won’t use it any more. You’ve only just recovered from the previous session, and we want you in peak physical for your impregnation.”
Faith tried to give him a spunky answer, but all that came out was a sob.
Ron Weasley was feeling more than a little glum. Faith was supposed to meet him, but hadn’t showed. *Figures. I knew it was too good to be true, too good to last,*
he looked at the single rose he’d picked out for her. With a yelp he nearly dropped it when a silvery doe appeared right beside him.
“Weasley, meet me at Durango’s,” Snape’s voice told him incisively.
The doe faded and Ron shivered. “Git can make me jump even when he’s miles away,” with a sigh he shrunk and preserved the flower with a stasis spell and headed to Durango’s, a favoured watering hole of the older wizarding generation.
When he arrived Snape was standing outside, glaring at a group of children who were playing Hopscotch. “You wanted to see me? Sir?” the last word was jerked out off Ron by Snape’s glare.
“Have you seen Faith?”
Ron frowned. “No. We were supposed to go on a date… Oh.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Weasley, if Faith wanted to be rid off you, a move that I would applaud and cheer if you continue to act like a vapid teenager,” he sneered, “She would tell you so openly and to your face, probably while using some muscular young giant as a pole in an intricate dance. She would not stand you up on a date. Besides which she wanted to change and freshen up before she met with you.”
Ron nodded. “Okay. Do you have a way to find her?”
Snape nodded. “Yes. But I needed to be certain she wasn’t with you first. And I want plenty of back up when we go looking.”
“Good point,” Ron sent off his own Patronus. “I’ve informed the Shrivers we’ll be there.”
“Then we shall go there now,” Snape growled. “And if that girl is somewhere drunk and disorderly I shall make her wish she was dead.”
“And if she’s dead?” Ron asked heavily.
“Those responsible will wish they were. For a very long time,” Snape said coldly.
Ron shivered. *He may be a hero. But he’s still scarier than anybody I ever met bar Voldemort.*
Severus Snape was, Arvid Wundermeyer had to admit, a very capable, accomplished and just plain clever wizard. He had taken a very small amount of the blood of Faith Lehane and used it to create a magical compass, that when pointed at a map, showed the location of the Slayer.
This was excellent news. The bad news was that Faith was currently being held in a distant location, in the Canadian wilds. Pur Sang Castle had been constructed by one of the waves of Wizarding immigrants to come to the American shores in the tenth century. Those first wizards had over flown the continent on brooms and carpets and selected sites for settlement.
Highly appreciative of their own power and abilities, dismissive of the local population, whom they considered to be incurably Muggle and completely morally deficient, the magical immigrants from the old Eurasian and African continents had set up their vast domains and then attempted to rule and lord it over their new subjects, extracting tribute and demanding a level of obedience close to worship.
That was when thing had all gone wrong. At least for the wizards.
In South America they still had stories of the white-skinned pale, bearded gods when Cortez arrived. What the Spanish had never understood was that the Aztecs expected them to be magical and that the measures the Aztecs had taken to fight them were designed to defeat magical forces. That the new invaders were like themselves, only with better, or at least different technology? That realization had come too late.
In the north, all that remained was ruins. Ruins that with the aid of skilled confunding and obliviation, historians and archaeologists dismissed as later constructions. Or were considered fables and urban myths.
But the old Mound Builders, the Shamans and medicine men, they had united the tribes and with the full power of their people behind them, had annihilated the much smaller forces of wizards, magical or not. All that remained were the whispers of the ghosts and the ruins in far off places.
In one of the greatest strongholds of that time, they were holding Faith Lehane.
Chateau Pur Sang, Pure Blood, had been the seat of Cepheus du Promesse Noir, who had sworn that his family would for all of history, remain Pure in blood. To make that a binding oath, he had intended a sacrifice of a child for each century that he wanted the oath to last.
His stronghold was set about with powerful wards and spells still, a dangerous place to approach even now.
“I would think that it would be impossible to get into Pur Sang without a member of the family. The Shamans used old Cepheus’ son's blood, didn't they?” Head Shriver Quetchley asked.
“Yes they did. Which is worrisome. Happily I know the current heir to the line, as well as the oldest male in a distaff but senior line,” Snape glared at Ron. “We need your father and your idiotic brother in law here.”
“Harry? And Dad?” Ron asked, slightly confused.
Snape almost rolled his eyes. “Spare me from Purebloods who don't know their history. Since young Theodore Lupin is too young for such an outing, yes. Sirius Black made Potter, his cousin through his father's mother, his heir. Your father, through his mother, is actually senior, but she was disowned. Together they ought to be sufficient. Especially since Arthur is as Pureblooded as the Blacks. You would probably do, but Arthur does know at least some of the family history.”
Ron nodded. “Ah. I see.”
“Weasley?” Snape's voice was like a black velvet blanket over a satin bed spread.
“Is your girlfriend, my Slayer and Ward currently not imprisoned?” Snape purred.
Ron nodded. “Yes sir!”
“THEN WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S BALLS ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?” Snape thundered.
Ron whimpered and ran. Snape glared at Wundermeyer. “Go gather a strike team. From what I heard tell, Potter has improved. But he's still a dunderhead. So we'll need back up.”
Wundermeyer nodded and scampered away. Chief Shriver Sebastian Quetchley edged towards the door. “I-I’ll just go make arrangements with the Canadians. Errr. Perhaps you would like to avail yourself of the training hall?”
Snape's glare pinned the man to the wall like a rare butterfly. “Are you suggesting I need to train?”
“No, Severus. He's suggesting you need to blow some things up,” a Scottish accented voice told him firmly. “And I agree,” there was a soft slap and Snape wide eyed, rubbed the back of his head.
“You foolish boy! Running like that without even giving me a chance to apologize!” Minerva McGonagall scolded her former colleague and pupil.
BtVSBtVS HPHP BtVSBtVS HPHP BtVSBtVS HPHP BtVSBtVS HPHP The Burrow
Buffy was eating and Molly was providing her with food. Meat pies, potato salad, mashed potatoes, bacon, roast pork, everything moved at great speed into the Slayer's gullet.
George Weasley was looking on in amazement. “Wow. That's... Nev, does she eat this much at home too?”
Neville smiled. “She's a slayer who just got her first taste of your mother's cooking. I remember how I was when I tasted it the first time. I'm really rather surprised at her restraint.”
Buffy scowled, but then closed her eyes in bliss as she tasted the creamy sauce that came with the succulent roast pork, contrasting beautifully with the crisp and crackling skin.
“Hmmmm...” she moaned. Beside her Willow was looking glassy eyed and replete, Hannah by her side. Of all those at the table, only Buffy, Kennedy, Ginny and Xander were still eating, and the latter two only small bites.
“Well, I'm just happy to serve such eager and appreciative eaters,” Molly told George.
“And their table manners are much, much better than Ron's,” Percy noted primly from his chair, Dawn's head resting on his shoulder.
“Yeah, but Ickle-Ronniekins has the table manners of a starving thestral,” George grinned as Buffy cut another bite of her slice of roast pork and chewed it with deep contentment. “Much better table manners aren’t that difficult.”
The door flew open and a red-headed shape burst in. “DAD! HARRY!” Ron called out desperately. “You've got to come with me! They've got Faith! The bastards have Faith!”
Arthur looked up from his study of Luna's mobile phone, the operation of which Joyce had been painstakingly explaining to him. “What? Who? Where? Why?”
“Faith, my girlfriend! S-Snape says we need a descendant of Cepheus du Promesse Noir, they're holding her in-”
“Pur Sang,” Arthur completed his sentence, his kindly face set in a bleak and angry frown.
“Ah,” Draco whispered, stricken. “That's why they wanted all that blood.”
Amy put her arm around him and hugged him close. “Easy, love. It's not your fault.”
Arthur snorted. “His fault? That's like saying Harry's to blame for Voldemort. No. But they've made this a family matter,” he rose and drew his wand, concentrating and suddenly half a dozen flickers of silver were dashing out the doors and windows.
Harry and Ron gaped. “You-you can cast Patronolegio
Arthur smirked. “Who do you think asked Filius to develop it?”
Buffy was leaning back. “Okay, someone fill me in. What's this Pur Sang and who've got Faith and why? And I'm right in assuming this is our Faith, right?””
Ron gave her a look and then nodded. “Right. Ummm. Pur Sang is an ancient fortified stronghold of the Black family. Death Eaters, they've been after Faith before, they want to use her to breed a body for Voldemort.”
“That guy again? Sheesh. Okay, you go ahead. We have things to do here. Will, Kennedy, Xander, Dawn? With me,” Buffy gestured at the door to the sitting room and the others followed, as did Luna, Percy, Hannah and Neville.
“So. That intention to restore their relationships with Faith wasn't very firm, was it?” Harry noted sadly.
Ron was pulling at his arm. “C'mon mate! We've gotta go! I don't want to think about what those bastards are doing to Faith!”
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Faith groaned. She could feel soft, slick satin against her bare back, bum and legs and over the rest of her body. A soft pillow was under her head. The room she was in smelled of luxury, decadence and decay. It wasn’t her bed, a hospital bed, a bed at St Botolph’s or even the bed in the Infirmary Snape was organizing in their base. All in all, it didn’t bode well, though it was better than the torture chamber she’d woken up in the last time she’d been captured. *Great. Just plain wonderful. You really did it this time, Faith,*
she could sense the light through her eyelids. She wasn't chained or tied up and could feel no magical restraints either, but the bedding felt oddly heavy.
“She's awake,” a cold, familiar voice spoke. “I should know. I spent too long in the same bed as the bitch.”
“Now, now honey. Don't be petty. She'll be an excellent birth mother to our Lord,” a throaty voice whispered huskily.
“I still think you should bear him, Alyssa,” a cultured British voice proclaimed. “I'd rather not put any confidence in this fickle and frankly useless bitch,” there was a slight sound as of cloth on glass. “She never amounted to much. I'll never understand why she was Chosen.”
“Oh, Rupert, not you too? Next Ethan will tear into the poor girl,” Alyssa sniggered. “And he's supposed to pound into her. We do want a True heir of Slytherin to be the Lord's new body.”
“To think that degenerate is the Heir! Truly unacceptable,” a light tenor spoke.
“You can stop pretending now, Faith. Open your eyes. Face your great destiny with equanimity,” Robin told her. “Soon you will be impregnated by one of the Blood of Slytherin. And then we shall implant the fruit of your womb with the Dark Lord's soul, and the day he is born, the power of the Slayer line will pass from you to him. He will be the greatest wizard ever, with the strength of ten men to support him!”
“Yeah, and then he’ll snap your neck like a twig,” Faith opened her eyes. Giles, Alyssa and Robin were standing around the bed looking down on her, with Andrew standing behind them, smirking.
“And how do you think he’ll get near me?” Faith sneered. “I’ll rip his balls off.”
“Oh, how audacious. But my dear, I don’t think you’re going to be able to do that. You see, there’s a lovely little drug that the Council developed some time ago. Its highly effective. We used it extensively in the Tento di Cruciamentum. I think the new, coming era will see its reinstatement in the control of those Slayers who seek to disregard the wisdom and, ah, guidance of the Council,” Giles stated with obvious satisfaction.
“Lord Ethan wasn’t looking forward to a struggle, so you’ll find yourself slightly
weaker than you were even before you were so mistakenly Chosen,” the Head Watcher continued smugly. “Though it may have been destiny to make sure whatever Purity remains of your Line’s blood can be melded with the strength of the Line of Slytherin.”
“You’re insane,” Faith whispered as she desperately tried to jump up and beat the snot out of the Brit. “You’re fucking stark raving mad!”
“Oh come my dear, you do know you’re not quite good enough. Quite the contrary as a matter of fact. If it weren’t for your Blood, we’d have chosen someone more suitable. Cleaner living and with greater magical as well as Slayer abilities,” Alyssa sneered. “Miss Summers, except for her utter Mudbloodedness, would’ve been ideal. So praise your Lineage, so that you may be the bearer of the body of the Dark Lord.”
The door opened and Ethan Rayne swaggered inside, wearing what looked like black silk pajamas and a burgundy dressing gown as well as leather slippers. “Are you still here? I thought you didn’t want to join in?” he leered. “C’mon Ripper, let’s share her, just like old times. I bet we can make her yip like a kicked puppy.”
Giles stiffened. “I think, My Lord, that you should concentrate on procreation rather than recreation at this time. Should you still be of the same disposition later, I’m sure we can find a suitable young woman to share.”
Rayne sighed. “Oh, very well. I’d like a little blonde after all the work. Or possibly a redhead. Any news about that delicious young Mountie with the marvelous seat?”
“No, Corporal Weasley seems to have given her trail the slip,” Robin acknowledged. “But we’ll find her again soon enough. Her lineage is Pure and should you choose to impregnate her, your children will be as well.”
Ethan let out a sigh. “Work, work, work, work. Never a moment to enjoy myself. Well, off with you. I’ve got to do this thing,” he waved his hands in shooing motions and the others left. “And I’ll be casting a privacy spell! If you won’t join me, you won’t get any jollies from watching, Ripper! I know the way you think, you lovely old voyeur!” He needled the other man.
Giles made a spluttering noise of protest and Andrew let out a neighing laugh.
Ethan closed the door and then took out a wand and an orange and milky white stone from his dressing gown pocket. He moved them both through the air in a chaotic patter, carefully put the stone at the foot on the bed and sat beside Faith.
Faith eyed him with defiance, trying to muster a smart remark, trying to force her sluggish and unresponsive muscles to move by sheer willpower.
Ethan reached out with his right hand and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look a lot like your Mum.”
Faith blinked at the unexpectedness of the remark. “What?”
Rayne sighed. “Your Mum. I’m rather glad of that. I may be a right handsome fellow, but I’m a man. I imagine it’d be annoying for a girl to look like a guy.”
Faith, despite what Giles and various other watchers had intimated over the years, wasn’t stupid or slow to pick up on things. “You’re not my father!” she scoffed.
“Actually, yes. I am. Those numbwits didn’t tell me of course. I found out for myself. Seen the blood tests and the magical tests with my own eyes,” Ethan assured her.
Fatih gulped. “And you’re gonna-”
“No!” Ethan told her sharply. “Look… I don’t know what you’ve heard about me. Probably little if any good. And that’s true. I’m a hedonist and I love chaos and the good life. But even I have limits. Ripper knows that. They think that I’m so deep in my revels that I don’t know that as soon as their Little Lord Volderoy has been born I’ll be dead. And that I’ll be happy to shag anything they bring me to make lots of little Slytherins. But personally I’d just as soon like to leave and lead my merry life, thank you very much.”
“And me? What’re ya gonna do about me?” Faith asked skeptically.
Ethan shrugged. “I doubt you want me in your life. I’m not the sort of role model I’d want for my daughter, so as your father I’d have to disapprove of you getting to know me better.”
Faith had to chuckle. “And now?”
Ethan winced. “Ah, that. Well, you see, we’ll just tell them that I wasn’t interested in doing anything that might lead to procreation just yet. But that I
had plenty of fun,” he gave her a look. “Trust me, that thought doesn’t make me any happier than it does you.”
Faith shuddered. “Okay. And later?”
Ethan sighed. “I was convinced the Slayer and her litter of puppies would’ve managed to figure all this out by now,” he muttered. “What with all the clues I left and everything.”
“You left clues?” Faith asked confused. “Why?”
Ethan tapped her forehead with a finger. “Use that brain you inherited from me and your Mum, okay? I don’t want to die horribly and I don’t want to breed with my daughter.”
“Mom had a brain?” Faith grunted. “Never noticed that.”
“She did, before the drugs and drink did it in. Trust me,” Ethan seemed sad at the thought. “Anyway, like I said, I can’t get away from these people without help, they’ve got clout in too many places I like to hang out in.”
“Okay. I can understand that. But I know that Mayor Wilkins hired you-” Faith stopped talking when she saw Ethan’s expression.
“I might be a bastard, but I dislike being used to hurt kiddies. I wasn’t too pleased when I found out about your Mayor friend using me for that. Wasn’t much I could do about it, but I didn’t like it,” Ethan explained.
“So what did you think he was hiring you for? Kicks?” Faith snarled.
Ethan rolled his eyes. “He told me he needed the chaos caused as part of a ritual. And since most of my magic comes from things like that, I never even considered he might be lying,” he scowled. “That certainly taught me never to trust politicians.”
Faith had to grin at that. “You only learned it then? Good thing I inherited Mom’s brains then.”
Ethan laughed and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Ah, yes, both her brains and her beauty.”
Faith gave him a long look. “Tell me about her. How you met her, what she was like when you knew her.”
Ethan settled against the headboard. “Let me see… I should tell you a little about myself first. I was born in Wiltshire, last in a long line of Pureblooded Squibs of the Gaunt Family, banned long ago from the Wand Wizarding World by our ancestor’s father Corvinus Gaunt. When I got my Hogwarts letter I told them ‘sod it!’ and decided to explore my magic my own way…”