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Dark Lord Rising	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Midsomer Murders or Troy. I make no profit from writing this story. This is a work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Draco came home. The plans he'd made for the nice evening with his family, were shattered. Hermione was busy changing nappies, and Draco dived straight into the chore, helping her. Afterwards, he kissed her neck passionately, observing her while they stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I need to talk to Melchior about Severus. Harry and I have been to Azkaban just now, and – it's not good. I'm afraid he'll succumb to the harsh conditions while he waits for the hearing.” Draco sighed. “Do you think – maybe, if I took Ivory and Wilhelmina with me over to him, that I could heap the chore of dinner-making over on you for a moment? I swear I will be back and give you a hand as soon as I can. I just can't sit down and have dinner without knowing that I've at least begun to do something about this” Draco begged and looked at her with his puppy-eyes.

“I have a better plan: Why don't we postpone dinner-making a bit, and we all go over to Melchior's? This I would like to hear more about. And you could use my support” Hermione suggested. Draco eyed her but didn't reply. He couldn't hold back a smile of admiration. He just loved the way she took charge, and he gingerly told himself that he was glad he wouldn't be her colleague at the Ministry. Hermione turned every stone to get what she wanted, and when she suggested something, it was usually the right thing to do. Whether others liked it or not. She walked hurriedly from the bathroom and to the bedroom to get a shirt or something. She was talking about the innocent-until-proven-guilty-principle, muttering about how typical this was of the Ministry. Draco was listening with half an ear, because a naughty image of Hermione dressed in a black leather catsuit, swinging her whip at him in his mind, was rather distracting.

“Are you coming?!” he suddenly heard her call from outside the front door.

“Huh?!”

“Aren't we going to see Melchior?” she asked, getting the babies into the carriage.

“Oh yes” Draco said, forcing his mind back on the narrow path of present time. “Down boy, down” he muttered to his crotch as he rushed down the stairs with little Wilhelmina giggling in his arms.

Draco had learned that he could simply knock on the door and let himself in. The safest way to disarm a potentially horny eudaimon, was to send a small army of children in first. Draco did both, took Hermione's hand and went inside. His master stood in the sitting room. Melchior was dressed in a beautiful navy blue tunic made of the finest velvet. It was richly ornamented with gold embroidery along the hems, and it was held together by a broad waistband in the front. The tunic had a middle-eastern cut to it. The eudaimon's long, dark brown hair cascaded over his shoulder's shrouding parts of the beautiful tunic. Melchior was obviously going somewhere. He was arranging some of the feather's of his left wing as Malfoy entered the living room.

“Hello Draco. Mrs Malfoy ...” Melchior greeted them softly. “What can I do for you?” he said, finding it necessary to raise his voice above the noise of the eager children.

“Are you off somewhere, my lord? You look …!” Draco was suddenly at a loss of words, hoping to find an appropriate adjective which would please his dark lord.

“I have to go to Azerbaijan. Of all places.”

“You look stunning” Hermione said, taking the word right out of Draco's mouth. It wasn't often she accompanied him to Melchior's lair. This was common ground for master and servant. Every time she set foot in there, she couldn't help but to wonder where Draco and his master had done it. In front of the fireplace. In the couch … she's seen them there, once …, up stairs. Maybe even in the stair. She shook it away from her mind as she heard Draco say:

“I came to talk to you about Severus Snape. That is, if you could spare five minutes before you leave?”

“For you, anything” Melchior said and smiled at his blond slave and his wife.

“I have been to Azkaban. Forgive me for not obeying you, but Mister Potter insisted. And I wanted to accommodate him. It's important, isn't it? That I accommodate him?”

“To a certain degree, aye. What about Snape?”

“Does he have to be in there until the hearing? I don't understand. I thought you were going to reward him! Why allow him to escape Voldemort just to have him rot in Azkaban? It's – !”

“ – you misunderstand me, my dear boy –!”

“ – but my lord! He has to sleep on the cold stone tiles, it's draughty and dirty in his cell ..! He has to choose between crawling in his own vomit or in his own excrements! It's inhuman …! Have mercy and remove him from that place. Please –!”

“ – I understand and I appreciate your concern for Severus” Melchior replied, looking at him with sincerity. “However …!” he continued and eyed Hermione, “Because of the fragile situation, where a handful of surviving aurors now are chasing the most wanted Death Eaters after Voldemort himself, Shacklebolt has decided to make an example out of Snape. Because the number of Death Eaters being chased is thrice the number of aurors to the Minister's disposal, the new Minister has to prove that he is capable of retaining and persecuting suspects. And Severus carries the Dark Mark. Irrevocable proof of his liaisons with Voldemort. Kingsley Shacklebolt is on Harry Potter's side. Right now, the Minister must be allowed to show some muscle. Severus is, alas, the one who must suffer in the meantime.” Draco was about to say something, to object. Hermione too, wanted to protest. “It's a political game, you see. And I do not do politics.”

“But –!” Draco began, “Severus is your – slave. As same as I. Which means, that your property is being withheld in Azkaban. On the basis of propaganda.”

“In deed. But Snape is not alone in Azkaban. I gave him a protector, who continues to protect.”

“But the conditions he serve under are grotesque, they make him ill. He's sick in there, he ought to be in a hospital ...!”

“It's not the conditions which are making him sick. But they deliberately starve their prisoners so they won't try to escape. There's no rule against bringing food to the prisoners. I suggest that if you absolutely must, then do what you can to ease his time there. You have my approval” Melchior said and nodded formerly in Draco's direction. “I really must be going” Melchior said, strapping a leather belt on the outside of the waistband.

They went back to the house and made dinner together. Both Hermione and Draco were deep in thought, and once they sat down to eat, Hermione said: “I think it's highly unfair. He says he doesn't do politics, but he allows Shacklebolt to use Snape as an example.”

“There was something Snape said which keeps bugging me” Draco said, watching Hugo grab a fistful of spaghetti sauce and stuff it into his tiny mouth. “He said that … he thought that Melchior had put something inside of him, and that it continued to grow, and it frightened Snape. Now how many things in this world would frighten professor Snape? Seriously. And Melchior said – !”

“ – that he had given Snape a protector who continued to protect!” Hermione said, taking another sip of water from her glass.

“Has he given Snape to another eudaimon? Perhaps someone who didn't care so much for Snape's well-being?” Draco pondered, averting a plastic plate with spaghetti and sauce from being turned up side down. Ivory whined, looking daggers at his father and attempting his best to regain possession of the plate. Draco held it firmly, and said: “No, Ivory Scorpius, we do not turn the plate up side down.” Admitting defeat with a wail, Ivory lunged out for his plastic cup and grasped it. He shook it violently, smiled and put up a triumphant shriek as he tossed it high in the air. It didn't come back down. Like a balloon with enough static electricity, it glued itself to the ceiling and stayed there.

“Your turn” Hermione said and glanced dejectedly at her husband. Draco left his seat and pulled the chair out so he could climb it. “Well, I'll tell you this, Draco Malfoy: I have completely abandoned my worries about not having magical children. Today, Hugo somehow found my wand and set fire to the curtains in our bedroom.” She sighed and ate the rest of her spaghetti. “Oh, and mum and dad are coming up for a holiday in two weeks time. You don't mind, right?”

“May I ask why?” Draco said and sat down as soon as he'd retrieved the cup. “I mean, rats, that sounded completely wrong. Are they coming on a social call or should I be preparing myself for a speech on how useless I am as a husband and a father?” He watched as Hermione suddenly burst out in laughter.

“You married me, you know, not my parents!” she giggled.

“No, honestly, Hermione” Draco said to her, sounding and looking seriously at her, “their approval matters. A lot. You see I walk around at work all day – in a job that's not particularly well-paid, neither is it intelligent – and I worry about you and I feel extremely guilty about not being at home and supporting you. I'm beginning to think it's a bad idea that I work, I mean, you're alone with three children all day! Two is one thing, but three?! That's not how we planned it. Maybe – maybe we ought to, you know, consider Melchior's offer about some financial support?” He tried to put it as gently as possible. Still, as he spoke, he watched her change from happy to serious to sad, before her tears sprouted. Hermione buried her face in her palms, sobbing her heart out and it made Draco really frightened. He immediately regretted what he'd said, all though he had trouble seeing how she could have found it offensive. He quickly left the table, leapt around to the opposite side and took her in his arms.

“Hermione … dear Hermione” he wailed and kissed her, “I'm sorry! Please don't cry …!” It occurred to him that she was probably tired out of her mind. More tired than she'd care to admit. Three pairs of children's eyes watched them as they embraced, and in empathy with their crying mother, they all began to wail in unison.

“They're coming because … because my mother feels sorry for me and wants to help with the laundry …!”

“And … and your dad?” Draco said with a lump in his throat, realizing he had a real Father Issue going. Or Father-In-Law-Issue. Whatever. Parents. Tricky situation.

“He wants to make sure you still got a job” she sobbed in his shirt.

“Great” Draco replied. “Now, can you tell me why you're crying?” He watched her check her tears. He kissed her gently on the lips.

“It's just that – !” she began, “when you show such support and consideration about my situation, I get very emotional. And I realize how much I love you for being so – so protective of us. Of me.”

“Hermione Granger” Draco said with a lop-sided smile, resting his forehead against hers. “Our family comes first, doesn't it? And I intend to hold you as my wife for a very, very long time. If we don't do something now, you'll be worn out in less then a year. And then what?! I couldn't stand the aggravation of having to watch you move into a nursery home, and then I would have to hex Harry Potter and have him move in as my maid, cooking and cleaning for three children. He probably doesn't even know how to boil an egg!” Draco told her, watching how the silliness brought the smile back on her tear-drenched face. He returned the smile, and they stared deeply into each other's eyes for a long time. The children had stopped wailing. Wilhelmina was watching with great interest as her new parents kissed each other. Their tenderness towards each other sparked a vague memory of loving parents somewhere else. Hugo and Ivory showed no further interest other than that since mummy had stopped crying, then things were all right. The kissing part was boring and it was much more fun to smear spaghetti out on the table. Ivory seized the opportunity to finally get the plate and turn it upside down, over his own head. Hugo took his bottle and dropped it on the floor. The lid came off at the impact, and water splashed out everywhere. Mischief managed!

Draco went to the office the next day. He sat with his supervisor for an hour's time, explaining that he regretted having to resign, but that it was necessary. His wife's sister had fallen out with her husband. There was a case of child neglect, and the deal with children's services was that the girl – his wife's niece aged eight months old – had to live with them for a temporary period of time until they could find a suitable foster home. Suddenly they were sitting there with three children. The manager couldn't understand why he wanted to resign. Draco had excelled as one of her finest employees in a matter of months. She proposed that she would relieve him of his duties, but the job remained his when he was ready. Draco walked out of there feeling relieved and stunned. How easy it was to be met with understanding if one just behaved civilly. He thought about the previous years at Hogwarts with regret. The resentment against Lucius, and the way he'd raised Draco to be haughty and aloof, really bothered him now. Draco felt as if he had to learn everything anew. How to be a man. How to be human.

He walked towards his car. As he opened the door to the driver's seat, he noticed a man on the other side of the street who was staring at him. He was tall and slim, sallow face and blond greasy hair which lay plastered to his temples. He was staring at Draco through glasses which went out of fashion about the year Draco had been born, and those bloodshed eyes seemed to be filled with deprivation and hunger. He was so thin that Draco could see the contours of the man's skull, the prominent jawline. He was wearing an oversized trench coat in dirty grey. He wore a pair of worn jeans but had no shoes or socks. He was staring straight at Malfoy, and the disturbing sight sent shivers down Malfoy's spine. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and all of his experience told him that this was a demon. Draco hadn't thought about bringing his dagger meant especially for demons. The Demon's Bane. The only blade in the world which truly destroyed them instead of just sending them back to Hell. Draco slammed the door shut, remaining on the pavement. The man or demon on the other side stood as petrified, measuring Draco up and down. Draco began to walk. The demon began to walk. Never letting him out of his sight, Draco rounded the corner. The demon crossed the street, not caring that his body was nearly hit by a car. Draco walked faster, close to panic. How could he had been so stupid? Always bring the knife, he told himself. He tried to focus on walking. He had to avoid situations where he'd might be cornered. His pulse had begun to race. His heart pounded feverishly. He could hear swift footsteps behind him, and when he turned his head to look, the demon was straight behind him.

He didn't see the person he walked into, at first. Draco's chest seemed to cave in as his anxiety reached its peak. He had to look up, far up, to find a sort of familiar face. The man had Melchior's eyes, and he was staring with distaste at Draco's follower. The demon behind Draco had stopped, and was now backing away. A silent stand-off. The demon walked away. Draco sighed and rested his forehead against the eudaimon's chest.

“Thank you” he said with great emotion, his words muffled. The eudaimon, whom Draco only knew to be a Sparrow, looked at him sourly, took his arm and dragged him through a portal. A flash of blue later, and Draco found himself in the sizzling hot mountains of Azerbaijan. In front of him was a ghastly scene unfolding. Melchior was watching as a man – in his fifties – naked and bound to a stick in the ground, was being hacked to pieces by giant eagles. The Sparrow who'd brought Draco there, would not let go off his arm. He held on tightly until Melchior turned to find them both there. As he came towards them, the unknown Sparrow said to him: “Romanus Corselaire is back in Britain. Your slave was being careless. He was in Stornoway without his weapon. Corselaire almost got him.” The piece of information seemed to set something off in Melchior. Draco saw his master's irises go red with fury before his palm connected with Draco's face and sent him reeling to the ground. The Sparrow let him go, and Draco dropped. The pain flared up in his face.

“My brothers in France have been watching Corselaire for some time now. He's been observed circling château Trémazan frequently, not caring that he was deep in Sparrow territory.”

“You hear that, Malfoy?” Melchior said venomously. “He's been scoping out your parents' prison, probably looking for a way into the clan.” Melchior inhaled deeply. His victim's screams rang across the deserted grounds, filling Draco's ears. It had been a long time since he had seen Melchior so upset, and he sincerely blamed himself for his stupidity. What if he'd been possessed and gone home to Hermione and the children?

“You're getting reckless, Melchior Sparrow-Monterey! In his condition, he shouldn't be out on his own. I was there by mere chance. It could have ended badly. Very badly.”

“What do you mean? In his condition?” Melchior demanded. Draco didn't even try to get up, knowing the proper behaviour now was to show inferiority. He could not afford to be the alpha dog here.

“Don't be so blind!” the other Sparrow retorted with contempt. “When John hears of this, you're in for a good earful. If that thing can't behave while he's with child – then lock him up! And teach him a lesson about sticking to the rules!” Draco saw the other Sparrow vanish through a portal. He could hear the screams mingling with the noise of bickering eagles, and their wings stirred up clouds of dust, shrouding the horror which unfolded. Melchior seized Draco by his blond hair and forced him to kneel.

“I thought by now, that you knew what dangers demons pose? You've killed hundreds of them, and yet you proceed with such carelessness?! I am – very much displeased with you, Draco Malfoy. I wish it could be enough” he continued, as he forced Draco over to a large rock, “to say that I will leave it at this, but when my father hears of this, he will be furious!”

Draco trembled as he was bent over the rock which jutted up from the sand as some half buried egg. Knowing what was to come, he undid his pants and let them drop to his knees. His mind was caught in a whirlwind. Before he had time to adjust, Melchior forced himself inside. Draco tensed up and screamed in pain. Melchior showed no mercy, plunging in and out of Draco's bleeding orifice. The blond gasped and sobbed, his mind blank and filled with pain, unbelievable pain! He begged for Melchior's mercy, for his master to stop. Draco beat himself up mentally for having forgotten what this felt like. It was like being straight back during his sixth year at Hogwarts. He heard Melchior's deep moans and angered breathing as he pumped in and out of Draco's bleeding hole. The boy lay over the rock, its sharp edges digging into the soft flesh of his belly and his thighs. There was no lust this time. No passionate embrace, just pain. Feeling as if he was being split in half, Draco gritted his teeth and wheezed out his pain. Hot tears of anguish fell from his eyes which were shut tight. Draco tried to bear the pain, waiting for it to end. Somewhere in this haze of pain, his mind began to think again. He regretted his recklessness so, oh so badly, wishing he could go back in time and undo it. Had he only brought his dagger, none of this would have happened! He thought of his relationship to his master which had so patiently been built over the months. All those loving embraces and all of that lust and passion. All of that – gone! He had fallen from grace! Now that he needed Melchior's support for Hermione's sake, for the sake of the family! He could never ask for financial support now! And Severus – miserable Severus came to mind as well. Could Draco venture to go there?! The sharp edges of the rock was cutting into his stomach now. The pain intensified, and all Draco could do, was to get through it. Melchior finally came – after what seemed like ages. He put his clothing back in order while Draco slowly and stiffly got off the rock. His stomach was all scratched up. He fell together on the ground like a sack of potatoes. The screams and the squabbling birds had silenced. Apart from the silence and the hot air, all Draco could hear, was Melchior's ragged and angry breathing. He was pacing back and forth. It took some time before Draco dared to move. He got up on shaky legs and began to rearrange his clothes. There. At least, now he could look half decent on the outside. His thoughts continued to circle around Hermione and the family. She desperately needed his help, and now he had no source of income.

“What?!” Melchior stopped and turned around to glare at him. “What is it that you cannot ask of me?” He resembled a thunder weather ready to happen, and Draco understood that he had suddenly picked up a stray thought from Draco. Ops.

“I was going to – to ask you – !”

“ – yes –?!”

“ … nothing, my lord.”

When Severus Snape woke, he squinted up at the owner of the rough voice which told him to get up. It was one of four prison guards who were talking. The one next to him was holding a Demonometer. It was a magical device designed to identify demons, and presently, it was blurting and blinking terribly.

“I knew it” the prison guard holding the instrument said, “he looks the type, doesn't he?”

“Death Eaters and their foul rituals …!” the guard behind him muttered sourly.

“I tried to tell you the day they brought him in – but did anybody listen? No!”

“It's a strong one! Look at that needle flipping!!” the last of the four said, pointing at the needle to right which was going haywire.

Severus got his legs weakly. He had seen that kind of device before. It was pointed directly at him. And the way it behaved, meant only one thing. It all suddenly clicked into place in Severus' head. The – unspeakable – which he had sensed on the inside – really was there! The night with Melchior suddenly came back to him. The first night! Melchior had – had performed some kind of ritual, then forced his hand into Severus' belly. The swastika! It wasn't the swastika, but what had been behind the swastika! He had planted something …! No, not some thing ..! Someone.

Severus stumbled backwards. He focused on his belly, on the swastika, and presto! There it was! Something – or rather someone – touched his mind the way it happened when he performed the art of Occlumency. It almost brought him to his knees. The mind of the eudaimon – for it was an eudaimon, Severus was sure of it! – stayed with him, observing his fear, slowly invading his mind.

“Get the exorcist” the guard to the left said. “And inform the prison manager that there will be an execution of one of the prisoners.” The guard stepped closer to the iron bars, drilling his black beady eyes into Severus Snape. “I guess we just got a little more than a confession, eh, Mister Snape? Smuggling demons into Azkaban is a capital offence, but as a Death Eater, you probably think you're above the law, huh?!”

Severus scarcely heard them speak. This creature in his belly was now imposing on his mind, eager to know him once Severus had stirred it. There was no holding back. Now that he acknowledged its presence, the obviously powerful eudaimon with the tiny, tiny body, its fierceness caught him by surprise. It refused to let him go, and claimed him and branded Severus to be his with a combustible and unconditional love. It was a territorial predator who considered his body as the obvious property, loving every nook and crevice of both Severus' mind and body. Never before in his lifetime had Severus been such an object of desire, and feeling it – being loved so strongly by someone – coursing through him. It was a sensation so strong it could make up for years of neglect from his parents, for lonely years at Hogwarts, the bitter-sweet sting of jealousy towards James Potter and the bottomless sorrow after Lily's death. Severus shut his eyes tight. Oh, such love! He just wanted to drown in it, to feed on it and become a whole man for once in his life!

When they came back, Severus pressed himself against the brick wall with the window. He was feeling weak, overcome with the sudden surge of emotions due to the new discovery. Everything in him wanted so dearly to protect this – fragile little thing. But how?! Severus eyed the exorcist. A tall, buxom man with a menacing countenance. He was bald on the top of his head and obviously spent hours each day combing the little that was left to the front. Severus recognized him. It was a man named Pratthurst, who had worked for the Ministry through decades. He had seen it all and done every possible exorcism.

“Pratthurst! Run your diagnostics! It's not a common demon! I implore you! Ask Malfoy's eudaimon, he can confirm it! I am his servant!”

“There's no way you can be his servant and still bear the Dark Mark” Pratthurst said quite calmly. He flicked his wand at Severus, and the former headmaster instantly recognized the spell which told the diagnostics of a demon's victim and to an extent it would also identify a demon. Severus tried to remain calm. Anyone possessed by a demon would act erratically, seeing how they had been cornered and were up for a fight for their own survival. Pratthurst had seen so many countless examples where the victim's mind would be completely lost, and the enraged demon inside would take over completely. Severus Snape did not pace restlessly. He did not speak in tongues. There were no incantations or weird languages. He looked normal, his eyes open and his face honest. He was frightened, but that was understandable. He did not toss and turn madly, throwing himself at the walls or bashing his head against the iron bars. Pratthurst glanced at the Demonometer. It was still going ballistic. The diagnostics spell reported back instantly. Severus Snape were obviously with all his senses. He was in complete control of himself.

“There's something in your belly” Pratthurst said and glanced up at Severus. They were all staring at the golden wisp of smoke which indicated what type of demon it was.

“I am … with child” Severus heard himself say desperately. Admitting it, voicing it, was incredibly hard. And embarrassing.

“Gold colour is something I rarely see” Pratthurst admitted to the guards surrounding him. He was still scrutinizing Severus from head to toe.

“Name it” he told Severus.

“A – a name?” Severus asked confused. Defender of Man...! a voice whispered in his head. Your defender …! “How would I know its name?!” Severus repeated. He shut his eyes tightly. The velvety, young male's voice in his head whispered again. Severus focused. After a few, breathless seconds, he looked at Pratthurst again, and said: “Alistair. His name is Alistair …!” Severus' eyes watered over. It was all happening so fast. He had an eudaimon inside of him, and his name was Alistair.

“You're communicating with him” Pratthurst observed. “What does he tell to do? What is his agenda?”

“He – is my defender. He defended me from the dark lord, he shielded me from Nagini, his pet snake! And – now he's ready to defend me from you.” Snape sighed. He checked his tears. “Please, Pratthurst! He's just a – child! Send word to Malfoy, he can confirm it!”

“An owl has already been dispatched” Pratthurst replied with suspicion dripping from his words.

“Thank you” Severus said, relaxing his shoulders. He watched as Pratthurst folded his arms above his chest. He told the guard with the Demonometer to go away.

“Young, yes” Pratthurst began, “but powerful. He's way beyond anything I've ever fought. Did you hear the crackle during the diagnostics?”

Severus nodded. “It would indicate a great … power.”

“A power beyond that of a normal demon. And normally, a diagnostics would have sent the demon squirming away in you, but it didn't. It remained unaffected.”

“Can I assume then, that you believe me?”

“The question is – can you control it? It's going to be the death of you, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where's it going to come out?”

Pratthurst left the uncomfortable question hanging in the air, leaving Severus to deal with it on his own. This miserable day obviously had no end, as the prison manager himself came to see what the trouble was all about. An execution was a serious thing, and he was further enticed to find the exorcist hanging about and not performing any exorcisms.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he asked with a squeaky voice. The prison manager was the exorcist's opposite in every sense. Short and stringy, clad to perfection in a brown tweed suit with a bright red bow tie. Theodore Cluncknitt might look like a joke, but he'd had a long and outstanding career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had been recruited for the job by Shacklebolt himself, and had a reputation as for being a fierce duellist. He had cropped, red and unruly hair which made Snape imagine he might be related to the Weasleys.

“There's a possibility we might have an eudaimon on our hands” Pratthurst responded, still observing Severus with the eyes of a hawk.

“Snape is an eudaimon?”

“Not quite” Pratthurst said. He didn't even look at Cluncknitt. He kept his eye on Snape.

“The Minister will perhaps want to be informed of this?”

“It must be confirmed first. But as we are touching the subject ...” Pratthurst mused, “think of the good we could do, if the Ministry actually controlled an eudaimon.” Pratthurst's eye didn't budge, following Severus as he shifted his footing.

“Think of the power … –!”

“ – the Ministry could have” Pratthurst finished Cluncknitt's sentence. “The streets would be void of criminals.”

Snape listened to their musings with increasing anxiety. He tried his best not to show it. He knew the meaning behind their words. An eudaimon raised by the Ministry, thinking their thoughts and doing their bidding. It would turn Britain from a democracy and into a dictatorship. The land would fall into unrest and darkness. And the muggles would eventually be subdued, and Voldemort's dream would come into reality. They were speaking of owning an eudaimon. They were speaking of stripping Severus of his parental rights and take the child from him! Severus felt rebellion grow in his chest, and the notion was instantly seconded by the child in his belly. By Alistair!

There was a loud crackle in the air, and it nearly deafened Severus. It had come from outside, and Severus glanced out through the bars. All though the draught had gone, the fresh air felt good on his face. He could see the magical shield incinerating, and he fell to his knees as there was a massive pull in his belly. Every abdominal muscle clenched together in a giant cramp as magic surged out and attached itself to the bricks of the wall he was leaning against. Severus could feel the mortar disintegrating beneath his fingers.

“Snape?” Pratthurst asked, directing his wand at the former headmaster. “What are you doing?!” A guard stormed down the corridor in which he was standing, and shouted: “The shields! They're going down!”

“I am not doing anything!” Snape shouted at Pratthurst. “It would seem, Sir, that Alistair has no intention of becoming the Ministry's puppet!” No sooner had he shouted this, before the wall behind him began to fall apart. At first, a few bricks fell out, leaving open gaps towards the bleak and stormy surroundings. Then – most of the wall followed. The sky opened before Severus, and before he could steady his footing, the child made him leap! But without his wand, he wouldn't be able to fly! Pure terror grasped every nerve in his body as he fell freely for what seemed like eternity. Then the child assumed control, and activated the magic necessary for it to happen. Relieved, Severus flew away from Azkaban.
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Dark Lord Rising