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Of Lions and Lambs	By : Whimsy101 Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 19547 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 10
Disclaimer: All rights belong to JKR and LKH respectively. I own no rights to the characters or the world involved with the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series, and the Harry Potter series. I make no profit from this piece of work.

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TITLE: Of Lions and Lambs

CHAPTER TITLE: The Other Side

CHAPTER WARNING: Descriptions of child abuse/neglect. Descriptions of brainwashing and torture. Descriptions of underage sex and rape.

AUTHOR: WhimsicalBalderdash

SUMMARY: The BWL’d disappears; years later, Micah turns to Anita to save his pard and he brings with him a dark haired traumatized submissive named Cassius, whom is called ‘Lamb’ by most of the pard. The W.W. attempts to interfere...

MAIN PAIRING: Asher/'Cassius' - other pairings to be mentioned as they occur.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please feel free to tell me if I leave a gaping plot hole or something seems off. There will be explanations coming up soon, but for now this is merely a kind of filler. Chimera will be killed sooner than in the books, but it’s imperative that he survive a bit longer. How he dies, well…that’s another surprise. :o)

Please forgive the long absence from this story. It’s been a rough ride between chapters, enough that I’m not going to get into it. This story has always been in the back of my mind, however, and I’m pleased to bring you the next installment. This chapter focuses partially on two main characters from the HP universe. I felt that we spent so much time on what’s happening with Cassius, that ya’ll needed a glimpse at what’s been happening in the Wizarding World or at least…two other inhabitants. They should be fairly obvious; however, I’ll refrain from naming them and what actually happens to them after their little scenes. On with the show!!

This was not the way he’d always envisioned his ending. Lying in a ditch, blood pouring from the punctures in his wrists; half naked and bled nearly white, rain pouring down on him in mockery, he imagined that perhaps the Gods were laughing at him. In between flashes of his life, he had brief moments of clear clarity. He knew the wounds gaping at his wrists were designed to be painful, and to bleed him slowly, rather than for a swift death. He was the message, and the message was quite simple.

A swift, resounding, “No.”

One of the many regrets he now carried was the regret at not seeing how the message would be received by the paragon of light. It seemed that the vampires either could sense a lie even from one who believed what they were saying, or there was a spy within the ranks of the Order. To say he was disillusioned was an understatement. The world which had been solid and unshakable beneath his feet had been turned to quicksand, sucking him under and drowning him in the knowledge of how utterly he’d been sacrificed and fooled. His regrets were suffocating him almost as effectively as the pouring rain filling the ditch he lay in.

A flash of bittersweet memory, of his love –a love he kept hidden for so very long – brought a trembling smile to his lips. He regretted so very much. The time he spent trying to atone for his sins so pathetically wasted disgusted him. He could have accomplished so much, and now it seemed he had squandered what time he did have playing right into a selfrighteous idiots plans to play chess with the Gods – and use the world as his pieces.

A memory of a green eyed boy drifted by his glazed eyes and another smile crossed his lips – this one of dark amusement. At least the moron’s queen had escaped his grasp. Part of this mission had been to discover if any of the vampires had ideas of the brat’s location. When it became obvious that the Council found the request for information laughable, and they had no idea, he’d felt a burst of pleasure at the thought that at least Harry Potter was safe away from the Headmaster’s machinations.

The shade of Death grew closer now; he could feel its icy touch along his spine. The rattle in his throat grew louder as the seconds crawled passed. So many dreams and desires, washed down the proverbial drain. He’d wanted his death to mean something, he’d wanted his death to accomplish something in this godforsaken world. With a mysteriously watery scoff as a strange wet substance stung his obsidian eyes, he realized that no one would miss him.

That his life was a mere footnote in the Masterminds Grand Scheme. His life – and death – meant nothing.

Just as the mysterious wet substance filling his eyes (he was certain it was merely rain, even as it continued to burn his eyes) fell down his pale cheeks, a shadow loomed at the edge of his vision.

“Well, well… Hello, poppet…”

Potion glazed silver eyes rolled wildly in their sockets as he struggled to make sense of the events happening around him. He lay bare and bound, magically tied to the stone table that was freezing and damp against his naked flesh. The huge harvest moon hung low enough that it illuminated the large clearing he was in the center of. Dimly he could hear the low sounds of animals, but he wasn’t certain it was real. Whatever he’d been given was playing havoc on his reality, deadening his physical senses and numbing his responses to outside stimuli, while amplifying his magical senses to a screaming point.

His magic was a living entity beneath his skin, rolling and frantically struggling to escape the spells binding him. He could feel it, brushing against the inside of his skin, desperate for freedom. It grew steadily painful as it struggled, building and building in power and intensity as the moments ticked past.

He could dimly hear chanting among the animal sounds now – but it faded in and out from the blood rushing in his ears. Above him, a sudden motion caught his fractured attention. Long blonde hair fell against his face and familiar eyes stared into his own. Hope glistened in his eyes, and he felt it bursting in his chest, even as his magic recoiled in rejection.

Moonlight flashed against swift moving silver out of the corner of his eyes, and he turned his head to face what had distracted him. He heard a long, pain filled howl of agony rise among the animals around him, heard the thud of something hit the ground with a sickening finality. Cold fingertips gripped his chin, directing his attention above him again. A knife, already slickened and dripping in blood, hovered against the skin of his throat moments later. Or was it seconds later?

Time was abstract around him, even as his magic warred within him to fight, to flee, even as horrified realization dawned on his conscious of what was happening. The face above him smiled maliciously, showing blood stained teeth, and the knife raised for the finishing blow. His magic – his soul – screamed in betrayed protest as a drop of blood fell to his cheek.

Full trembling lips parted and a tear escaped his eye as the blade began its unerring descent.

“Mother…”

It took only a few weeks for the first wind of change to sweep through the pard. One night, on the rare Blue Moon, Merle stepped down from his position as Nimir-raj. Micah had been ordered to fight him, however Merle had interrupted and said that he wasn't worthy of being the Pard's Nimir-raj any longer, and that he'd basically given the position to Micah. Of course, that didn't satisfy Chimera one bit, and in an effort to get his own pound of flesh and blood, other alphas of the pard had to fight Micah for the right to lead.

It was a bloody mess, however, Micah still stood tall and strong at the end. Merle had been seen smiling over at Cassius, who watched the entire scene with knowing, heavy eyes.

Now, Micah had been Nimir-raj for over a year; he lay in the comfortable pile of his Pard dozing away as he plotted and planned a way to free them all from Chimera's rule when he felt the door to his room open. The sound of bare feet brushing along the thick carpet was almost silent, but he knew without lifting his head who it was.

He could smell the distinct scent of a coming storm, the tang of lightning and the gentle musk of leopard. All combined to make the scent of Cassius. He could sense the timid, shy presence, even as he lifted an arm and felt the warm press of the slender length of body against his chest. Sighing deeply, he inhaled the distinct scent and huffed into the soft black hair.

Cassius pressed his lips against Micah’s in greeting, suckling Micah’s lower lip into his mouth gently. Glazed green eyes met Micah’s yellow-green ones; the Nimir-raj could practically see the effects of the drugs Chimera forced on Cassius in the way his eyelids were slightly more than half mast; the way his breathing was deep and even, despite his heart racing wildly in his birdlike chest. Micah ran his hands down baby soft arms in a calming fashion.

“I see he’s released you.”

It took a moment for Cassius to respond, so consumed and enthralled with the touch of his King’s skin on his.

“For now. I was a good toy tonight.”

Micah mentally winced at the term, even as he nodded in understanding.

“You are wandering tonight.” Micah murmured softly, smiling as the slim body shifted against him for a few moments.

“My dreams.” Cassius said simply, purring softly as Micah ran his fingers through the tangled mass that was his hair. “I’ve seen.”

Micah made an inquiring noise, deep within his chest as he played with the soft locks of hair. When he’d discovered what Chimera had enforced as a price for Merle’s freedom, he had raged for days. Between the bouts of mind blowing fury, he sobbed in grief at the agony he knew Cassius must have endured. When he’d calmed enough to understand the reasons why, he’d been astonished and not a little suspicious. He still had moments where he doubted the things that Cassius came out with, but he’d learned to trust them anyways.

“What have you seen, little lamb?” Micah asked, knowing this was the reason Cassius had sought him out.

The touch and comfort of the Pard came as a secondary benefit to Cassius, and Micah knew this was Chimera’s doing – training him not to seek the Pard out for comfort and to keep the little Nimir-Rishi firmly under his control.

“Sometimes, I see things that I remember, but want to forget. And sometimes I forget things I want to remember.” Cassius murmured sadly.

Micah frowned at this, understanding what the little leopard was saying, but not being able to comprehend what he meant by it.

“Are you talking about memories, Cass?” Micah asked.

Cassius shook his head, took a breath and sighed.

“No. I don’t want to see what happens to Master…but I can’t forget it. I want to remember when we will all be happy and alive and whole…but it’s foggy and I forget it.” Cassius smothered a yawn in the broad shoulder of his Nimir-raj. “But I see the next big thing.” He sounded almost bored now, drowsy and uninterested.

“The next big thing?” Micah murmured softly.

“Mmmhmm.” Cassius wiggled again, nudging Caleb out of his spot with a soft, mildly irritated yowl as he cuddled back into his Nimir-raj. “We will leave before the New Moon. We shall meet the one to Liberate us all.” Cassius lifted his head and stared eerily into Micah’s eyes. “Patrick will help with the Execution. He promised.”

Micah smiled reassuringly at Cassius, carding his hands through the mid back length hair. For weeks now, Cassius had mentioned this Patrick, and how he told Cassius secrets on the Master. How he wanted to help escape Chimera’s control and cared for Cassius when the Master went too far in his treatment of Cassius. There was only one problem with this.

Patrick didn’t exist.

There was no one in any of the factions under Chimera’s control named Patrick. Micah feared that Chimera’s drugs and treatment of the Nimir-Rishi had irreparably broken the sweet boy, and Patrick was a coping mechanism – an imaginary friend – at best.

Or Cassius had begun to have breaks in reality at worst.

One of the newer Pard members had mentioned putting Cassius down in order to end his suffering. Merle had retaliated with a fury that showed that he was still one of the strongest members of the Pard, and had only stepped down from Nimir-raj – not been defeated for the position.

Thomas, the pard member in question, was still having difficulty seeing out of his left eye and cowered whenever Merle even considered entering the same room as him.

It broke Micah’s heart to think that Cassius was irreparable. When he’d first begun to call Cassius “little lamb”, Caleb had asked why. It was Merle that had answered.

“Whenever one of us is called on the carpet for Chimera, Cassius diverts the punishment onto himself. He sacrifices himself – his body, his gift, his mind – to save us as often as he can get away with it. Necromancers often use chickens as sacrifices to raise the dead. They call human sacrifices white goats.”

“But you call him a lamb.”

“Can you really see that kid being a goat? He’s completely docile. No. He’s our White Lamb. The lamb that saves us.”

From that conversation on, the pard had been eve more hyper vigilant about their actions and the consequences that those actions garnered. Not that it mattered for Chimera, as he continued his torment and treatment of Cassius any way he saw fit.

Merle was the most adamant that Cassius would recover his faculties once away from Chimera. He was the only one who wasn’t beside themselves with worry whenever Patrick was mentioned. It seemed, he had far more faith in Cassius than anyone in the Pard.

Soft lips against his brought Micah’s mind back to the present.

“Do not worry, Micah.” Cassius whispered soothingly to his Nimir-raj. “All will fall into place.”

“But how many will fall in order to free us? How much blood will be shed?” Micah asked, cupping the pale face in his dark hand.

Cassius blinked heavily, and the older man felt Cassius’ lithe body begin to grow heavy and relaxed.

“Too many will fall.” Cassius murmured, his eyes closing with a deep sigh. “Too much blood will stain the ground.”

“How much of it yours?”

Cassius’ eyes snapped up to meet Micah’s in surprise, and he hesitated as they shared a moment of complete understanding.

“Enough.” He whispered. “But it will be worth it in the end.”

Micah cuddled the boy close against him, and felt a corner of his heart shatter at the realization that to be free, he’d let the boy do what needed to be done. He’d let the boy suffer and bleed and be tormented, because in the end, he was right. It would be worth it.

And he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to Cassius for his sacrifices.
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Of Lions and Lambs