Hi all, it's been awhile! I thought I had posted the final chapter months ago so I want to thank LurkerAlert for pointing it out. I also want to thank Tommy14 who has been with me since the very beginning! And of course I want to thank everybody who has read and enjoyed this. It's been a fun journey and I am delighted that I could share it with you all!

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Chapter 00 – Epilogue

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It was a quiet night, silent and cold, snow softly falling from a cloudy sky. The moon tried valiantly to peep through the coverage and only stray rays of light hit the cobbles of Diagon Alley. The woman hurried through the streets, cloak pulled taut around her thin frame, expelling mist from trembling lips. Her eyes glanced this way and that, terrified of who might be watching in these abandoned streets.

Her curfew was over.

If she was caught, she could lose what little she had left.

Picking up her pace, she hurried through the streets as fast as she could without making a sound. She made her way down a narrow alley and turned the corner to a small street before slipping into the cul de sac that led to her front door. Glancing worriedly over her shoulder, the woman tapped her wand against the wooden door and it creaked open slowly. She pushed her way in and, once inside, she leaned against it, breathing out a sigh of relief.

Slowly, she peeled herself from the door and unclasped her cloak, hanging it on the crooked coat stand. She moved further into the tiny wooden hovel, brushing snowflakes from her hair and ignoring the dank smell and the spongy texture of wet, rotting timber. There were two rooms in her tiny house; the first was a kitchen and living room combined in one small space and the other was the bedroom where, as she kicked her shoes off, the woman approached.

"Sweetie I'm home." She whispered, half-fearful that she would wake the child within."I'm so sorry I—"

She stopped as she palmed open the door.

Leaning over the cot was a dark figure, darker than the black of the room.

"Get away from her!" She screamed in panic and fierce protective instinct, whipping out her wand and aiming it dangerously at the intruder.

The man before her slowly straightened and turned.

"Hello Hermione." He said, stepping away from the cot and into the beam of moonlight that fell from the single yellowed window in the room.

Sasha Kamenev stood before her, calm and unafraid. Hermione didn't put down her wand but she faltered, looking around quickly, paranoid that there might be others here to take her baby away from her. Despite being assured they were alone, Hermione's fear did not lessen. She looked at Sasha with worry.

Sasha leisurely held up his hands in surrender. "Put the wand down, Hermione." He said.

Hermione bit her lip, torn between wanting protection from this man and fearing the fate of those who threatened him. She shifted uncomfortably, clutching her wand now with both hands, her eyes glancing between him and her daughter asleep in the cot, making sure she was alright.

Sasha followed her gaze towards the child and put his hands down. "Let's step outside." He said. "No need to wake the child."

Hermione didn't move so Sasha smirked and took a step forward.

"S-stop!" Hermione shrieked, her voice warbling in terror. Sasha held up his hands again, still presenting a non-threatening demeanour. They both looked over to the child, who shuffled at the sound but did not wake.

"Outside, Hermione; a screaming child won't make this visit any more pleasant."

Hermione wanted him away from her baby. She strengthened her resolve. Her lips thinned and the skin around her eyes tightened as she slowly lowered her wand and stepped aside, allowing Sasha to leave the room. Sasha raised his brow at the whitened skin around her knuckles as Hermione gripped the wand with a painful force. Her arm shook as Sasha walked by. Once he passed the threshold into the other room, Hermione ran over to the cot to inspect her daughter and, finding her unharmed, she sighed in relief and slowly followed Sasha out, walking as if she was heading to her execution.

For all Hermione knew, she was.

Sasha was standing by her kitchen table, leaning casually against the battered old wood, arms crossed and looking for all the world like he was making himself at home. The worst part was; Sasha wasn't technically wrong to do it. Sasha had more legal claim to her own home than she did thanks to her mudblood status. It made Hermione's blood boil. She would have attacked outright in her anger if it hadn't been a death sentence. Maybe a few years ago, that wouldn't have mattered to her but now... He had seen her child. There was too much at risk. She would have to play whatever game he was here for and she would have to win it because otherwise, Hermione couldn't see herself getting out of this situation alive.

"Cute kid." Sasha said.

Hermione didn't speak but she nodded carefully.

"Looks a lot like you. What's her name?"

Hermione hesitated. "Anna."

"Oh, after your mother, am I right?"

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed angrily. "Is that a threat?" She asked. "Are you threatening my mother? My family?"

"No, of course not. I don't care about your family. I'm here for you."

"You've come to kill me." Hermione said with resignation.

Sasha smiled. "No."

"Then why are you here?" Hermione hissed.

"Sit down, Hermione."

"I'm fine standing." Hermione said, folding her arms, wand still in hand.

Sasha shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Sasha shifted his position, lifting himself up to sit on the table. Hermione hadn't thought it would be sturdy enough to carry the weight of a fully grown man but Sasha appeared to have no difficulty, leaning forward and swinging his leg absently-mindedly. Once again Sasha was making this interaction uncomfortably like a social situation more than the threatening confrontation that it was.

"Will you just get on with it?" Hermione snapped. "If you're going to arrest me then just do it and stop dragging this out."

Sasha straightened. "Arrest you?" Sasha asked, his voice high with false confusion. "Why would I do that? Do you have something to feel guilty about? Hmm?"

"No." She said with as much resolution as possible. She impressed herself with her lie.

Sasha grinned. "Really? Nothing? Not even the newly re-established Order of the Phoenix? You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, right?"

"No." It sounded strong but inside Hermione quivered. She was terrified. Did he know about it? Or was he bluffing? Hermione tried to turn a critical eye on Sasha Kamenev but he gave nothing away, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Of course, it's not called that anymore is it? I don't blame you—or them—whatever the story is; the phoenix was a poor phrasing I think. Made for failure and the death of its members. I never knew a phoenix that didn't meet a poor end and while the symbolism is pretty, you can't raise a family off of symbolism. You need results. Something strong, like a dragon—much more convincing. Don't you think?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have anything to do with them."

It was precisely why she had fought for the name to be changed from the Order of the Phoenix to the Dragon Alliance. More and more, Hermione felt the noose tighten around her neck.

Sasha 'hmphed'. "Hungarian Horntails..." He cocked his head to the side, considering the association between the rebels and the dragon. "If I've got my facts straight—and I do—Horntails are a nasty lot; quick and deadly, no remorse when they attack—very territorial."

The Dragon Alliance was made up of various subgroups strewn across the country and some working for Britain's independence internationally. The Hebridean Blacks, the Welsh Greens, the Chinese Fireballs, the Peruvian Vipers and Hermione's own group, the Hungarian Horntails. Hermione's group was not the largest but it was one of the bigger ones and it had an integral part in the last battle against the ruling power.

Hermione huffed, trying to hide her thumping heart. "Where are you going with this?"

Sasha's grin widened, but otherwise he ignored her. The thing about Horntails is that their females are the worst. Whatever about a male, you just don't want to come across a female—especially near her whelps."

"I—" Hermione tried.

Sasha 'tutted'. "I'm saying, Hermione, that the Horntail is a beautiful icon for a rebellion. If I were the head of revolution, I'd probably be thinking along those lines."

"I'm not following—"

"You're husband was recently arrested, wasn't he?"

Hermione froze.

A cold chill ran down her spine and she took a deep, shaky breath.

"Yes."

"Only three weeks ago, I believe. Sent to Azkabhan." Sasha stopped, all humour gone from his face. "For treason against the Dark Lord."

"He had nothing to do with it." Hermione said, breathless with fear. "Don't hurt him. Please. He's not the leader of the rebellion."

"No, of course he's not." Sasha agreed. "The Horntail, Hermione, is a symbol of strength. Of brute strength and sheer force of will. It's a symbol of protectiveness and determination and fierce maternal instinct. It's a female perspective, Hermione. It's a rebellion with a mother at the helm."

Oh Merlin, he knew about her. She was not the only leader but she was one of them and that left her in a position worse than a death sentence. They would torture her for her information. They would not get it, but they would try.

Hermione's world stopped. Her stomach dropped and she wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or get sick. In the end, she swallowed the rising bile in her stomach and whispered "Please."

Sasha just watched her.

"Please," she said, stronger this time, "my baby. Have mercy."

"Begging already?" Sasha asked darkly. "I wouldn't have expected that from the Dark Lord's enemy. I'd have thought you'd have a bit more pride than that; grovelling at the first lick of trouble. Cowardly."

Hermione's terror turned to anger. The pride Sasha claimed missing reared its wounded head. "You think I'd care about that if I could? I'd have fought you to the death and I'd take you down with me. On any other day at any other time I'd have cursed you the moment I saw you." She hissed.

"But not today." Sasha said.

"No."

"Because I've seen your daughter and you know exactly what would happen to her if you were out of the picture."

"Yes."

"The state orphanages aren't so bad, you know."

Hermione shook her head; the tumultuous situation and the toll of extreme emotions were beginning to tire her. "It's no life for a child."

Sasha was quiet for a moment. "Your priority is your daughter?" He asked.

"Of course." Hermione replied.

"Then why run around with the rebellion? You know the risks."

"Because living under this bloody regime is no life for her either! Being treated as a second class citizen? How is that fair? How could I possibly watch my child grow up without a chance of having a happy life? Without a chance of being equal to people who, by all rights, should be standing in her shadow? She'll only ever be taught the most basic of magic, the only schooling she'll ever get is less than third-rate and she'll be worked to the bone from the time she's thirteen as little more than a slave, getting an eighth of the wages that a pure blood or half-blood would ever get. The only hope, the only hope she will ever have, is if she catches the eye of a wealthy, first-class citizen who might want to keep her as a mistress or if she's very lucky, a wife, meant to be nothing more than pretty to look at and a broodmare for his heirs!"

Sasha shrugged. "Still, pretty risky though; if the authorities even suspected you of associating with the Alliance, you'd be thrown into Azkabhan along with your husband and you'd never see your daughter again. She'd lose both her parents in one swoop."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "How could I not fight, though?" She asked helplessly. "Don't suppose it matters anymore. You said it yourself; innocent people having been put in Azkabahn without trial just for being suspected of associating with the rebellion and my secret's out...No point playing dumb."

Hermione fell into the chair behind her, finally taking Sasha's offer of a seat. She buried her face in her hands miserably. "What happens now?" She asked, her voice breaking in sorrow. The fight left her body. There was no point struggling, she could now only hope that her cooperation would help her daughter somehow.

"What do you mean?" Sasha asked innocently.

Hermione looked up, surprised and mistrustful.

"I went out tonight on a random check." He shrugged. "I didn't find anything of note. Far as I'm concerned, this area's clean of rebel influence. Only good, law abiding citizens here."

For more than the first time that night, Hermione froze. "What?" She whispered. She wasn't sure she hadn't misheard. Surely this was a joke? Some kind of sick game?

Sasha smirked. "I don't want you to stop fighting, Hermione; I just want to make sure you're fighting for the right reasons."

She couldn't form words properly. "I—What?"

"You're right, of course; this society the Dark Lord has created is not perfect. There are flaws that any right minded witch or wizard can see. He can be blinded by his prejudices at times. As much as I can I try and soften them but I can only do so much. I still believe it is an improvement from the previous establishment—but it could be so much more. And the Dark Lord is not the person to take it to those heights."

Hermione stared at him in shock. She looked around, paranoid, wide-eyed. "This is treason. What you're saying is treason!"

"Who's going to tell on me? You?"

Hermione was speechless. Her mouth opened to speak and then closed. Her mind whirled with the overload of information. Her chest tightened with the stress and confusion of the situation. She looked at Sasha, trying to see a chink in his armour, trying to spot a lie or some hint to clear everything up. She hoped Sasha might speak; tell her his plans or give her something to work with but he provided nothing.

"You-you're betraying the Dark Lord... You want to join the Alliance?"

"Not quite. I don't want to join you. I want to offer you support."

"I don't understand."

"Like I said, the Dark Lord cannot lead this country to true greatness. He can't. He will try, but as always, his prejudices will get in his way. I have seen him achieve a great many things but then I witness this," Sasha gestured his hand around the small house, "and you and all the talent wasted and it's absolutely criminal. True greatness can only come from open-mindedness and a willingness to utilise everything and everyone that has something to offer. Werewolves and centaurs now have better rights and that's a good thing but muggle born witches and wizards are less than dirt, left to rot away in menial jobs like shop assistants to talentless, mediocre pureblood potion brewers."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "You've been following me." She said, recognising her own circumstances as he said them.

"Of course I have. A brand new rebellion peaks its head up and I wasn't going to suspect the brightest witch of our generation? You've been careful at not looking suspicious to the casual eye but I followed you for a month and you never once suspected anything."

"So you've seen—"

"Everything. Each safe house, every pass code, all the brief interactions between you and other rebels behind your shop, the glimpses of messages passed between hands, I saw everything."

"You could bring us down in a second."

Sasha nodded.

"But you want to help us."

"Not quite." Sasha said. "I want to help you, Hermione."

"Me?"

"I loathe your rebellion; I hate the violence you've incited. Because of you, I've had to step up and kill fellow countrymen. I resent killing when it can be avoided. But your rebellion has made that impossible. I know you are not the leader of the rebellion, but you are one of them, and your decision to overthrow the Dark Lord with violence instead of politics has led to this. I don't propose a battle but a duel. Despite you're intelligence, you're not a commander. You're not a warrior. You talk about Horntails and take your strength from their image but Horntails will attack until there is nothing left. They destroy and they die trying to protect their lot. You are so much more than a savage beast. Don't limit yourself to brutality."

"In case you haven't noticed." Hermione snapped. "Your Lord doesn't allow political debate; he doesn't allow opposition to speak against him or try to take his place. Did you think this was my first call? I don't want to be a murderer, I don't want to hurt people or be responsible for people getting hurt. But I didn't have a choice! This was my only option."

"It was. Once. Now that I'm here it isn't. Work smart. Gather support. Win victories—small ones at first and then make them bigger. Get a following and turn yourself into the leader I know you can be. Speak out against these injustices and fight for your future, for your daughter's future. I won't stand by you, but I'll be in the shadows. If someone tries to hurt you, to stop you, to delay you, I will be there. I will stop them and I will protect you and your family. Be better than you are and be this nation's saviour. You are the only person who can do this."

"I don't understand you." Hermione said. "You've always been loyal to him, you said so yourself; you've fought for him, killed for him, what happened? What did he do to you?"

"You think he did something to me?" Sasha asked, amused.

"He must have. You're not the same. I remember you on the battlefield, I saw you on the last night the rebellion fought against you. You stepped out before us and took out half our ranks without lifting your finger. That power, it wasn't normal. It was...evil. That wasn't light magic—it wasn't even dark magic. I've never seen anything like it in my life. And your face, your body. You haven't aged a day, we're the same age but I look fifteen years older than you. I've heard rumours about it; people say he experimented on you, changed you, turned you into something...inhuman."

Sasha's eyes narrowed. "Who says that?"

"Everyone. It's whispered everywhere. He experimented on you and then did to himself what he did to you once he discovered it worked. That's what they say. That's why he's not changed either."

Sasha 'hmphed' but didn't comment.

"Believe it or not, Hermione, I'm not doing this out of spite, or hatred or revenge. I'm doing what's best for the country. And for you. And Anna. Regardless of my reasons; I'm your only hope of success. You would never win against the might of the Dark Lord and if you challenged him directly, I would be forced to kill you. But this, this is your chance. You can reform the country in your image. You can have your husband back and you can make a future for your daughter. All you need to do is what you were meant to; take control of the situation, stop grovelling and hiding in the dirt and rise. You need to forget fear, forget doubt and just win."

"Like a Horntail?" Hermione said.

Sasha grinned. "Pull this off, Hermione, and Horntails will aspire to be like you."

Hermione was quiet for a long time. She still wasn't sure this was real; it seemed too good to be true. "How do I know this isn't just some kind of game?"

"You don't. And can't. But if it was, you'd probably have to play anyway. Believe me though when I say I have a lot better things to be doing with my time than playing games with you."

Slowly, Hermione processed that information, she looked at her hands and up to Sasha and then back to her hands. Her mind went through all the implications, all the pros and cons. Hermione couldn't deny she had fantasised about fighting the Dark Lord publically, in a political way and winning. That was her dream. The Alliance was set up out of desperation but now this opportunity presented itself...

She still wasn't sure she could trust him. She felt compelled to, felt that he was telling the truth, but she had never been able to read Sasha Kamenev. She remembered back to her school days and almost cringed at how naive she had been. Now, almost two decades later, she had to hold a grimace back at how well she had been played. But what he said was right; if this was a game, then to what purpose? Slowly, Hermione came to a conclusion.

"Okay." She said. "What's the first step?"

Sasha laughed. "Thatta girl." He said, hopping off of the table and pulling out a scroll with his plans from his cloak. "Let's make history."

...

{Enochian Prophecies}

...

The weak light of the early morning sun filtered into the room. Hermione sat over Anna's cot, looking in at her sleeping child. She was alone. All night she and Sasha Kamenev spoke and planned and schemed. And now, though she should be getting some rest, she was too excited to sleep.

She smiled a little as she traced her fingers lightly over her daughter's serene face.

She could picture a hopeful future for her daughter for the first time since her birth and, if what Sasha said was true, her husband might one day be exonerated and she could be happy—truly happy for the first time since her early teens.

Ironically, Sasha Kamenev was responsible for both her misery and her newly found hope. How strange this world was. Sasha had come in prepared. He had, in great detail, explained everything about the steps she had to take. He had taken everything into account, things she had never thought about and never would even consider. The first step was to disband the rebellion or at least change it to gather followers who were willing to win by a peaceful means. That, Sasha had told her, had been Voldemort's first mistake.

"A nation born in blood will end in blood" Sasha had said earlier that night, "You're better than that, you'll be brilliant. Beautiful. A leader like no other. You can create a peaceful nation that will be stronger than any other ever."

He went on to explain everything she had to do. Then, he told her she wouldn't see him again. Maybe once or twice, if the need arose or if there was a problem, but as far as Sasha was concerned, Hermione would be able to do the rest on her own. He told her not to mention him.

"The less people know the better." He had said. "Safer that way."

Before he left, Hermione had spoke to him.

"I promise you," she said, "when everything is over I'll make sure they know you helped. I'll tell everyone, the whole of Britain will know you are a good person. You won't be condemned like the rest of them; you won't be remembered as a villain."

Sasha smiled, a little sadly. "No, don't do that. I am a villain and a very bad man and when the time comes, Hermione, I'll still stand by his side. I don't want to be remembered as a hero because I'm not. I do, however, want to be remembered as a loyal servant. That's all I've ever wanted."

"I can't guarantee your safety then, if you decide to keep this quiet. You might get caught in the crossfire; if Voldemort doesn't surrender you'll end up in the middle of it."

"That's exactly how I'd want it to be. If he falls, I fall, if he is imprisoned, I'll be there too. I owe it to him."

"Goodbye, Hermione." He said.

And then he left.

And Hermione retreated to her daughter's room, once again taken over with love and the fierce maternal instinct to protect her child; even if it did mean allowing a man to condemn himself. She wouldn't stop him. He wasn't a saint; he had killed, he had hurt and he had helped make many lives miserable. But she would remember him as a good man and, in her own way, she would quietly honour him. Perhaps, when Anna grew a little older, she would tell tales of a mysterious man in black who was hero as much as villain.

...

{Enochian Prophecies}

...

Sasha arrived back in the Dark Lord's mansion in the early hours of the morning. The sun had appeared on the horizon and was gradually lighting up the dawn. Sasha had intended to slip into bed before anyone noticed him missing but it was too late now and he might as well enjoy the peace and quiet while he could.

He sat on top of the railings, legs swinging over the edge of the balcony, twirling a half smoked cigarette through his fingers thoughtfully. He took another long puff and blew out slowly, savouring the habit he had never quite managed to quit and the one Voldemort had never quite come to terms with.

In the distance, the last of the night's bats were flitting around near a clump of trees. Their high pitched chattering was out of the frequency a human ear could identify but Sasha could feel the ripples of their presence and the hairs on his arms stood up in response.

He was different now, felt things differently, saw things differently. Ever since the night of the last battle with Chaos, Sasha had changed. Once more, he wasn't sure what he was. Not a wizard or a creature, not a Shira or a Scion. He was something more, something altogether new. Scion plus. A new creature made with the essence of Nature.

And it had changed him.

Having Nature's essence within him for so long changed him. Her power had merged with his own strange magic and had morphed into something else. Nature was a goddess so fused with her own power that she lost her way within the systems she created. She had said so herself when they spoke on the battlefield, she was as much a part of the world as she was the creator of it. But Sasha was not and could never be; not with a second master to serve, he was forced to adapt the power into something he could use and control.

And Voldemort, being who and what he was, found ways for Sasha's newfound power to be incredibly advantageous. Any revolt, any word of disobedience and Sasha would be sent out, showing a vast array of dangerous, destructive power—all nature based. Sasha could split the ground to swallow up a rioter, or make a traitor die by stopping his heart with a flick of his wrist. Sasha could manipulate anything natural or nature-based; he could make trees grow rapidly or the oceans recede. He could do anything he wanted and he was sure there was so much more he could explore.

The night Hermione had spoken to him about, when he faced the rebellion, Sasha hadn't shown the full range of his terrible power. He could have caused the deaths of every last man and woman on that battlefield that night but he didn't. Instead, with a swipe of his arm, he had flung them all backwards, some were killed, some were arrested, some were injured. The fight had been over in moments. Sasha could have killed them all but he didn't.

He may not be what he once was, but that didn't mean he was completely different. Balance still played an important part in his actions. Too much death, too much power, too much of anything was Chaos. Nature always walked the line between Chaos and Balance and now Sasha would walk that line too. And as such, the Shira took a particular interest in him.

Paveh was sent down to him often, Diari and Navaa too. They made it casual, Paveh made it a bonding opportunity, but Sasha knew they were worried about the power he now wielded, particularly in his master's hands. But Sasha would never go overboard, he knew what was too much; he was part Balance too after all, and he would respect Nature and her ethos.

Sasha brought the cigarette to his lips and took another puff, savouring the calm he got with it.

It had been fifteen years since the battle of Hogwarts and life had gotten increasingly boring. After the first two or three years of running around and perfecting Voldemort's hold on the country, life had settled into a dull kind of monotony. It was different, but definitely not better. Sasha had thrived in the turmoil of war—as had most of the Death Eaters—and seemed out of place in a peaceful world with mundane, mostly desk jobs.

Sasha's face was plastered across the media as the key enforcer of the Dark Lord. Next to the propaganda posters praising Voldemort as the best and most generous leader, Sasha had his own set reminding citizens of what would happen if that generosity was tested. Sasha was a more public figure by far than the Dark Lord. Sasha appeared in the papers whenever Voldemort turned up. He also spent a lot more time on the streets, reminding people of his presence and attending things that Voldemort was either too busy or not bothered to to go to.

Pick up a paper on a slow news week and Sasha was sure to see himself in there somewhere. Gossip columns suggested his personality type and what kind of witches would be best suited as his wife or girlfriend. Witches magazines questioned his history with titles like 'behind the man behind the man" and made theories both utterly wild and some impressively close. He was seen as one of the most eligible, but unattainable bachelors in the country and despite the healthy amount of fear most people had for him, he was, apparently, irresistible to young to middle-aged pureblood witches who had nothing to fear.

There were elements to his life now that Sasha had to admit he liked. He liked the ease that he could come and go, he was flattered by the interest and attention on him—and Voldemort's dark jealously even after all those years. What he particularly appreciated, however, was the power it gave him. Voldemort hated muggleborns, but he tolerated Sasha's duty towards his mother and as such, Sasha was able to grant her privileges no muggleborn witch in the country was awarded.

Lily Potter lived by the coast, getting ready to retire from her very high powered job as a ministry official. She was respected, liked and well paid. She also had James. Sasha still didn't know how she managed it but couldn't help but respect her for it; he couldn't imagine a single thing anyone could do that would encourage him to go back to someone who gave him as much grief as Lily gave James.

Sasha took another puff, pausing a moment when he felt someone approaching from behind. His master was awake and he was heading out to where Sasha sat, perched on the balcony railing.

He would have jumped at the hand that appeared on the back of his neck and squeezed, had he not already been aware of Voldemort's presence.

"I did not expect to awake in an empty bed this morning." Voldemort said, moving close, his body heat warming the skin on Sasha's back.

"Oh?"

"You awoke early this morning."

"Hmmm..."

Voldemort reached over and plucked the cigarette from Sasha's fingers, flicking it away over the edge of the balcony. Sasha sighed and shifted so that both of his hands held onto the railing.

"Or perhaps..." Voldemort muttered slowly, his mouth near Sasha's ear. "Perhaps you did not spend the night as I had originally thought."

Sasha turned his head slowly, angling it to look up at Voldemort. His eyes fell on his lips, barely two inches away and then slowly moved up to his eyes.

Sasha smiled slowly, remaining cryptically quiet.

The hand on Sasha's neck tightened painfully. "Where were you last night?" Voldemort asked, his voice taking on a warning edge.

"Out."

"Doing what?"

Sasha gave a breathless chuckle. "Plotting your downfall, of course."

The hand around his neck loosened and slipped away. Voldemort moved from behind him to stand at his side, wicked amusement on his lips. "Of course... I did not expect you to act so quickly."

"I like to surprise."

"And whom, may I inquire, is the candidate you have chosen to be my destruction?"

Sasha shook his head, laughing. "Nah-ah-ah. That's not how this works. Telling you would ruin the game."

Voldemort's expression hardened. "I could force you to answer me, order you to tell me everything."

"And then the game would be over and you would lose. I know you would hate to lose. We agreed you would not know—to make it more sporting."

"I do not wish to be backstabbed by my Death Eaters." Voldemort said.

Sasha sighed. "Okay, I'll give. Just this once I'll give you a hint; it won't be any of your Death Eaters. This is an outside job."

Voldemort's lips twisted. "How easily you are swayed. I'll have the name by tomorrow morning."

Sasha was grinning by the time he answered. "I only gave you that so I don't have to be the one responsible for you making your Death Eater's lives hell. You'll get nothing else out of me. From now on you're on your own."

Voldemort shrugged. "No matter. It won't take long to deduce."

"You'll never see it coming." Sasha said confidently. "And that's all I'll say on the matter."

"Very well. As if I would need any more than that."

Sasha laughed and agreed with him. "Any news on Lucius?"

"So far, no. It won't take long though. His grandchild will be reaching school age soon. That, I believe will be his breaking point."

Sasha nodded.

Lucius had, after the death of Narcissa, become obsessed with his family. Draco's son and heir to the family name, Scorpius, was everything to Lucius. The five year old was all the man thought about now and on more than one occasion; Sasha had witnessed the closeness of the relationship himself. Since his grandson came into his life, Sasha had been thankfully spared Lucius' unwelcome attentions. For years Lucius had maintained to harbour a deep and lasting attraction to Sasha. Slowly, as time went on and Sasha stayed young despite his own son ageing, Lucius began to doubt his chances and questioned Sasha's real value to the Dark Lord. When the grandchild came along, Lucius backed off completely.

Sasha didn't mind; it made his life a lot easier and frankly, he had relished the decreased possessiveness Voldemort had felt necessary to employ whenever Lucius was around. But aside from Sasha's personal gain, Lucius shift in priorities meant that he no longer had the drive for power he once had.

For almost ten years now, Lucius had been working as the Prime Minister of Britain. Everyone knew, of course, that it was the Dark Lord who controlled behind the scenes, but Lucius was the figurehead and many of the Death Eaters worked under him.

Lucius, however, was tiring of the position, that much was clear. Voldemort could have replaced him easily but peace had not proven all that satisfying to the Dark Lord in the end either. He craved the challenge more than even the power allotting to him once he won.

So, late into the night, some weeks ago, Voldemort had shared his thoughts with Sasha. They agreed to leave Britain, let the people figure it out on their own. That way, Voldemort could seek out a new challenge and, when that was finished, he could return and take over once more. Sasha and a handful of Death Eaters were tasked with the job of finding a challenger, one who might 'overthrow' Voldemort. They would be surprised when Lucius would step down from his role and would not expect the ease of the victory but by the time they would think to approach Voldemort, he would already be gone. The world would soon forget about the Dark Lord and his key enforcer and would move on.

In time, Sasha and Voldemort would return challenging a new regime. They could continue in that vein indefinitely, as was the benefit of being immortal, but Sasha knew Voldemort would eventually tire of that too. But that was a problem for another day.

"We must prepare for the day." Voldemort said eventually. "Come."

"I'll follow you in a minute."

Voldemort nodded and wandered back into the mansion, leaving Sasha alone with his thoughts.

There was just waiting now, it was all up to Hermione and Lucius.

Sasha sighed and put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. Having prepared himself, he followed his master into the house to get ready for another day.

...

{Enochian Prophecies}

...

Sasha stood at the grave site with his hands folded behind his back, looking up at the cloudy sky and grimacing when he felt it start to drizzle. He looked back down at the gravestone thoughtfully. The grave had been dug hours ago and the soil was still fresh.

Sasha hunkered down and took a handful of the soil, squeezing it hard until his hand made an imprint when he opened it out. Somehow it made him feel more connected. He looked back up at his mother's name carved in stone.

"It's been a while."

Sasha dropped the dirt and stood up, clapping his hands to rid himself of any remaining dirt.

Sasha turned. "Hello Hermione." He said.

Hermione Granger slowly walked up to him and stood beside him. Holding a black umbrella to save her hair from the drizzle. She, like Sasha was wearing black.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Hermione said, appearing to be entirely genuine.

Sasha nodded. "It was her time. Ninety-two isn't a bad age for a muggleborn witch."

"She was still your mother." Hermione pointed out correctly.

"No one is ever really gone. She's still out there somewhere."

Sasha could faintly feel her spirit in the cycle. He was sad, it did hurt to have leave but she still felt present and how could he truly miss someone who was still so with him?

Hermione gave an amused 'hmm'. "Wise words for someone so young looking."

Sasha smiled and really studied her. "Words more suited to you now, I think. How old are we now? I forget sometimes. "

Hermione raised a brow. "Sixty two, next birthday."

"You're looking well for your age." Sasha said.

"You're looking better." She quipped. "You haven't aged a day."

Sasha laughed. "True. Tell me though, how is our Prime Minister doing?"

Hermione smiled. "Tired. Ready to quit."

"That's not the Hermione I knew."

"It's been forty-odd years. I think it's fair to say I've changed somewhat."

Sasha shook his head. "Nah, you can't quit. It's not in you. You're a tough old bird."

"A Horntail, if I'm not mistaken."

Sasha agreed with her and smiled, a little distractedly, looking down at the grave again.

"She spoke about you a lot." Hermione said. "Told me you visited her often. Particularly after James died. She was so proud of you. I didn't know her well until the end. But I'm glad I did. She was an admirable woman."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I didn't realise a wanted felon found it so simple to sneak into the country so often. It makes me wonder about your master."

"Don't worry; he's not interested in returning to Britain any time soon."

"But he will sometime?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Who knows? I wouldn't ask. Or presume to know."

"Hmm." Hermione said, distrustfully. "Life is peaceful here, but we are not weak. We will fight you if you come here. Do not forget that."

"There's that maternal instinct again. I chose the right person for the job."

Hermione quietened. "Yes. I must thank you for that again. Was he angry?"

Sasha hesitated briefly. "He never knew." He lied.

"For the best, I suppose."

"You've done a lot of good for this country." Sasha said.

"I've made a lot of mistakes too."

"But they came from a good place. That's all that matters; no one can ask any more of you. I just wanted you to know that."

Hermione's features tightened in confusion. "Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?"

"Because I am. Farewell, Hermione. Live well and don't waste any more time on regret."

He started to back away. Hermione turned to watch him go, confused by his behaviour.

"Where are you going?"

Sasha smiled without any humour. "Far away from here. You won't see me again."

He took one last glance at his mother's grave before disappearing from British soil.

...

{Enochian Prophecies}

...

Hermione was dying.

She didn't know but Sasha could smell it on her as soon as she stepped up to him. Walking through the thick brush of the Congo rainforest, Sasha wondered how long she would have. Not long. A year at most. He had known instinctively when his mother was sick and Hermione was no different. In a way, he felt glad. Hermione would never know of his betrayal. She would not be around to see him and Voldemort return. In his old age, he was growing a conscience it seemed.

Sasha walked up to the small house he shared with Voldemort. It was entirely made out of wood with a very colonial porch and shade area. It was magicked so that muggles would stay away from it but frankly, this deep into the forest, the chances of anyone happening across them was slim at best. It had been home for the last five years. Before that it had been Australia, then China, South American and Greenland. They had travelled a lot in the past five years and Sasha had seen more than he ever would have dreamed of as a child.

Sasha had experienced more than he ever thought possible. His venture into the Cycle had changed him and while he was evasive at best when Voldemort asked, Sasha remembered a lot more than he let on. The Cycle had showed him much. It couldn't help itself and he hadn't been able to stop it either.

One very interesting thing he had learned from the Cycle was how Shira travelled between worlds. By skimming the surface of the Cycle itself they were able to transpose themselves in space. Having a stronger connection to the Cycle allowed them to do this while others could not. Sasha could do it but Voldemort couldn't naturally. However after much experimentation Voldemort figured out a way for him to be carried along with Sasha, much like side-apparation.

But Sasha saw more than that in the Cycle.

He saw a thousand billion possibilities. He saw himself and Voldemort, appearing in an infinite amount of timelines, with as many variations of themselves. He saw himself as Harry Potter, boy destined to destroy the Dark Lord, he saw himself as a muggle, as a nobody, as a Dark Lord himself, as a martyr, as an artist, as a human, as a time-traveller, a child, a creature, and sometimes a woman. Voldemort was affected by just as many variations and sometimes Sasha barely recognised him. But one thing that always stood out, whether they were enemies, lovers, master and slave, brothers, friends or even strangers they were always connected. In each world their souls were linked, irrevocably and eternally. They were one. And the story always involved them in some capacity. They were linked by destiny in all worlds, their souls travelling in the Cycle together.

And so, many years ago, Sasha hypothesised. What if they could travel the Cycle using the other alternative versions of themselves as guides? What if they could hop from world to world. Reality to reality. Always a new challenge, a new role, a new life.

Sasha's job was to look after his master. In any capacity. The biggest threat to Voldemort at the moment was his own boredom. This was the ultimate solution to that problem.

"You're home." Voldemort said as Sasha walked through the door.

Voldemort was hunched over the work bench completing some of the calculations to Sasha's theory. They had been working on it for years now, carefully, slowly, with trial and error methods being employed as little as possible. The consequences of failure were not something Sasha wanted to see.

Voldemort did not look up from his work.

"Yeah, I'm back." Sasha replied as he moved further into the house and dropped himself of the sofa.

"Where were you?" Voldemort asked, only half paying attention.

"My mother died. I was at her funeral."

Voldemort stopped and slowly put down his quill, turning to look at Sasha. "Oh." He said.

"It's okay." Sasha said and for a moment, Voldemort almost looked relieved.

"Good." He said, turning back to his work.

"I'm ready now. We can move on whenever you want."

Voldemort chuckled and turned to Sasha once more. "Good." He said. "Very good. I am eager to return to Britain. I do feel in the mood for destroying it right now."

Voldemort stood up and started to pace, grinning widely.

"But it will take time to plan it." Sasha said.

"Of course, months of planning. I should think we won't see England again until next year some time. Still this is the perfect time to start. I have plans, so many I would like to see come to fruition."

"Good." Sasha said, secretly relieved that Hermione definitely wouldn't be around to see this.

"But which should I go with first?" Voldemort muttered.

"Don't worry," Sasha said, "we have plenty of time."

Voldemort smirked. "And worlds. I've almost cracked it, soon nothing will stop us."

Sasha laughed. "So where will we start, master?"

"The choice is quite overpowering, is it not?"

Voldemort charged into possibilities and plans, getting excited and becoming animated. Sasha listened to him and watched him, smiling, glad to see his master happy.

In the Cycle, Sasha saw many things. He also saw his death. His and Voldemort's. Long after the joys of life had fled and Voldemort had grown tired and weary and bored. Sasha watched Voldemort ask for help, one final request from master to servant. Sasha would kill his master gently and then follow him into the Cycle. But that would not come for many years. Thousands and thousands of years. Millions of worlds and times and lives.

This was the beginning.

It would end with eternity.

The End