He had found it strange at first, the partying. Dusk was, after all, a time when everything was blanketed in darkness and whispered enchantments. Silence reigned like a fear driven chariot throughout the night, partnered only by the dread of the Death Eaters whose possibility always threatened.

So this, this wasn't usual. Standing on the doorstop with his mother, still clad in his pajamas, his wide eyes took in the very unusual scene that was his usually dour street. Instead of being locked up in their houses, everyone had flowed out onto the streets, weeping hysterical tears onto each others shoulders while dancing erratically to some beat that was being played. Yet, yet, they were not crying the tears that he was used to. Tears of death, he knew. Tears ruled by fear, he knew those as well. But this wasn't that.

He didn't understand.

"Mummy, what's going on?" He asked, looking up questioningly. "Why are they crying with smiles on their face?"

His mother glanced down, a warm smile decorating the beautifully frail face. It was rare for his mother to smile so freely, and it only served to confuse him more.

"They cry because they are free, Marcus - because *we* are free," The smile widened as brilliant bolts of light suddenly shot into the air, weaving seducingly through the evening sky.

"Free?" This just became more confusing.

"Free from Voldemort, my child - free from fear!" She laughed, drawing him into a loose hug. "Everything will go back to how it was now, everything will finally be normal."

With wonder, Marcus glanced around, everything suddenly taking on a new look. Could it be true? Could everything be going back to being 'normal'? He had heard tales of what life had once been like: myths that had been spoken by those few yet to be disillusioned by the decay the war had resulted in. He had been entranced by their stories, an eager listener. Had there really been a time where one was allowed to go out after sunset? He had always thought only the foolhardy would dare such a thing. And the use of light after 6pm - surely not! Who would want to possibly attract such deadly attention to their house? The myths had been spun deeper and more far fetched - a world where rationing was a thing of the distant past, and money could be used on such trivial things as vid cubes and jokes. They had not known fear back then, they had said ...

"Dance with me," His mother said with a smile, taking his hand and leading him down to the crowded street below. He hesitated slightly, still fearing that perhaps no one had told the Death Eaters that normal had come back. But the warm hand grasping his helped to make *that* fear slid slowly away, as did the buoyant happiness that seemed to practically illuminate from everyone. This was all so wonderful and terrifying and incredibly different to everything he was ever used to ...

Yes, he had found this partying strange at first. And then, it had simply seemed right.

He had been sure it was some sort of dream, the next morning. He would have believed it, if the completely tuneless and off-key voice of his mother hadn't floated lazily up the stairs and into his room, carried on the back of some modern song that was always being played on the radio. Mother never sang. Not lullabies, not soothing songs during raids, certainly not the Top Ten Teen Tunes.

He hoped normal came with earmuffs. Yech.

Slipping quickly into the jump suit that his mother had left next to his bed, he quietly padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the source of the early morning howling was hiding out. In undisguised amazement, he watched as his mother flipped a pancake with a seemingly well practiced ease while turning the sausages at the same time.

Pancakes *and* sausages? Both were treats, and certainly never had at the same time. He slid into his chair with a wince as his mother tried vainly to hit a note that was far too high. The song mercifully died its agonising death when, spinning around in time to the song, his mother's eyes fell on her only child.

"Marcus, dear, how long have you been here?" There was the smile again. It seemed to come so easily to her lips, almost as if it had some kind of permanent claim. It was strange, to see her smile so much. While his mother had always tried to make sure he was happy, there was always a lingering sadness about her that seemed to taint her every move, colour each comforting word. Now, it had evaporated like morning dew in early morning haze.

"Just a couple of secs," he responded, pouncing on the warm breakfast the moment it was laid down in front of him. Devouring it with zest, it was several long moments before he looked back up at his mother, who had sat down opposite him with her own breakfast.

"Yesterday will be a day forever etched in history, Marcus," she spoke up, sipping gingerly from her mug. "For so long, *so* long , we have lived in this unrelenting fear, however fate has dealt her hand kindly in our favour." Marcus waited impatiently for her to continue, fiddling idly with his food. "Two innocent people died to give us our freedom, many more trying to achieve it. Never forget that, dear. We are all living on the time that was supposed to be granted for others." As she trailed off, Marcus nodded, not really understanding, but not caring a great deal that he didn't. Suddenly, he froze, fork dangling mid air.

"If the war is over ..." he reflected, excitement building. "Then that means -"

"That good old dad can come home," A light tenor finished from the doorway.

"Da!" Slipping quickly from his seat, Marcus threw himself at his father, laughing gleefully as he was swept up in his strong arms. "Da, Da, Da!" He practically giggled in delight as his father placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. Da hadn't been home for *months*, and now that normal was here, Da would never have to go out and fight against those nasty Death Eaters again!

"Oh Marcus," Da whispered softly, smiling over the small head at his wife, who, close to tears, seemed too overcome to come and greet him herself.

Even the myths hadn't prepared Marcus for just how wonderful normal would feel.

For nineteen days, normal had wrapped them its blanket of wonderment. Marcus loved with a passion, the new life that seemed to have sprung out of nowhere, how all the rules that had governed their lives were quickly becoming as distant as a dying sunset. His mother said that even many of the rules that *were* still in place would soon be removed by time.

But most of all, he loved having Da around. Da had always been so busy as an Auror, and often had had very little time to spend with him. But now, Da could take him to the park or teach him to fly his new broomstick or even simply just read him a story in front of the fireplace. This was one of Marcus' favorite times, the way he could curl up in his father's lap, listening to his tales of the war. Love untainted by fear was something that was so new ...

The sun had long since retired when they had come. Easily past his bed time, Marcus was still seated on the floor in front of his father's chair, listening entranced as Da spun an elaborate tale of deception and flying brilliance. Wide eyed, he gasped in disbelief as Da described aerial moves so daring and dangerous that they seemed to defy logic.

So caught up in the tale, he hadn't notice the intruders enter the room until Da had trailed off mid sentence, before quickly rising to his feet. Shuffling around to face the direction that Da had turned to, Marcus had been surprised to seen four men standing near the living room doorway. Each was clad in ruby red robes of silk, the splayed ends gently kissing the soft carpet. Tasseled gold rope snaked its way around each of the varying sized hips, while still more of the fine thread dripped from the collar of the robes. Assorted badges and medals adorned each rogue chest, and if the stern faces were not an easy indicator of the importance of the guests, then their dress certainly was.

In wonder, he watched as Da approached them, worry etched into his ageing features.

"Drando, what calls you here so late?" Da asked the one with flowing ivory white hair. "Has there been some emergency, some rebellion?"

"No, everything is under control, Anthony," The one known as Drando replied, his gravely voice heavy in its seriousness. His father's look of relief turned into one quickly of confusion when the men before him remained stockly formal.

"To what then do I owe this visit, gentlemen?" Da asked, as Marcus watched on. This time it was not Drando who spoke, but the fair headed man to his left.

"Anthony Flint, you are being charged with the following rimes against the Ministry: Desertion, treason and the murder of civilians. It is our orders to transport you to the Alkerzan holding cells immediately." Da had looked on in dazed disbelief as the man had blandly informed him of what was happening, and Marcus found himself frozen in shock. What was this man talking about?! Da was a war hero, everyone said so! Strangers would walk up to him on the street and shake his hand!

"Drando, what is the meaning of this?" His father turned desperately back to the first man. "Surely this cannot be serious? You *know* that I could never, would never!"

"We have the sworn testimonies of several Death Eaters of your betrayal. A court will decide whether they are devoid of truth or not." Da seemed to have expected the man to respond with warmth, and was obviously shocked at the cool tone used by the other man.

"Drando, you must know this is preposterous! You of all people should know I am not capable of such atrocities!"

"I thought I knew you, Anthony," The man replied coldly, before muttering a charm softly under his breath. A fine thread wrapped itself around Da's hands binding them tightly together. "You will not resist?" Drando asked, as a similar thread wrapped around Da's exposed ankles. Da shook his head mutely.

"What about the child?" One of the other men asked, glancing over at Marcus who could only watch on in disbelief.

"My wife is visiting her mother – she will not be home for several hours - surely you could leave someone here with him," Da spoke up, appealing yet again to Drando. This time the harsh features of the other man softened slightly, and he nodded in assent.

"Smith, stay behind with the child until his mother returns, then meet us back at the Ministry."

"No!" Marcus demanded as he rose to his feet, realising suddenly that they were going to take his Da away from him. "I want to go with Da!"

"Marcus, be a good boy and stay with Mr Smith here," Da replied quietly. "Could you put Marcus to bed, Jeffrey?" The question was directed coldly at Mr Smith. "It is past his bedtime." Da looked to be about to say something more, but along with three of the other men, he suddenly disappeared.

"Da!" Marcus cried, terror ridden eyes resting on the spot his father had been. This couldn't be happening! Why did those nasty men think Da was involved in those horrible things?!

"Well, Marcus, I suppose we should prepare you for bed," Mr Smith said stiffly, awkward in the situation. Marcus stubbornly shook his head, glaring at the man who was partly responsible for taking his father from him. He settled himself down cross-legged on the spot Da had been on only moments before, chin up in defiance.

"Come now, child - your bed is far more comfortable than the carpet," Mr Smith tried again. Again Marcus shook his head, biting his lip as it threatened to tremble uncontrollably.

"Da puts me to bed," He spoke up, his voice wavering in its rebellion. He batted erratically at the few tears that had begun to well up, yet the determination that was coiled in his small frame never left. "Only Da."

"But your father asked me to put you to bed, remember, Marcus?" Mr Smith tried softly, yet all it served to do was elect a low growl from the boy. Knowing when a battle was lost, and unwilling to use magic on a terrified child, the man flopped into a nearby chair, his eyes wearily trained on the boy. Marcus would give up, eventually.

Hours later, his mother had found them both in the same positions, a stubborn child seemingly glued to an uncomfortable spot on the floor, a Ministry representative watching him with a gaze bordering on amazement. With a disdain laden glare aimed at the representative, she had swept Marcus into her arms, the tired boy yawning into her warm embrace. He had fallen asleep almost instantly when she placed him in his bed, sleep-slurred words and fragments of sentences about "Da" falling from his lips.

It was only when she was convinced that his sleep was undisturbed by nightmares that she returned to the living room. She simply glared at the unsuspected man in her house, silently demanding an explanation for why her son was up so late and in such a position, and where her husband was.

"Mr Flint has been arrested for Treason and other such crimes," the man spoke stiffly, rising from the seat he had been occupying. "He shall go -"

"Do you know who my husband is?" she broke in with a stern quietness.

"Ma'm, it doesn't matter who-"

"My husband," she continued, ignoring the man. "My husband, was in charge of the aerial strike force against Voldemort." She took a perverse pleasure in the way using the forbidden name had the desired effect, as the man cringed visibly. "He was responsible for the saving of hundreds of lives, if not thousands. He single handily outwitted many opposition troops, continuously put himself in a position of personal threat to secure information that your Ministry needed."

"You may believe that to be so, Ma'm"

"Get out of my house," she ordered, her voice breaking slightly with pent up emotion. "I suggest you go hunt down those who were responsible for all the horrors of this war, Sir, instead of preying on the true heroes." Wordlessly, the man apparated. Her legs giving out underneath her, she collapsed to the floor, desperately trying to control her suddenly too rapid breathing. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth, pressing her fingers firmly against her lips in terror. This couldn't be happening, *how* could this be happening? After everything they had gone through, to come to this? How could they take her Anthony from her, so soon after she had got him back?

There had been no trial. Marcus hadn't understood - his mother had said that Da would be cleared, that all evidence against him was weak and falsified. His mother had said Da would be coming home soon.

Now she was saying that he would never be coming home again.

He clung tightly to his mother's hand as they stepped out of the Knight Bus, an icy fear wrapping itself around him the moment his foot contacted with the ground. Shuddering, he huddled closer to his mother, who in the past few weeks had become as frozen as a winter chill. With Da gone, she had closed herself off completely, retreating somewhere that Marcus couldn't find her.

"Mum, I don't feel so good," he whispered as they continued up the winding path colonnaded by tired weeping willows. His mother had warned him of the effects the place they were holding Da would have on him, that it would make him feel cold and bad. But she had also said that it would be the last time he would ever see Da, and to not go would be wrong.

Not to see Da again, it seemed impossible. Even during the war Da had been able to spend weeks at a time at home, even if there were months between each visit. All this would be sorted out, Marcus knew that with absolute certainty. The war was over, normal would sweep in and tell these horrible people that Da was innocent, and that this wasn't how things were to be done now. Das belonged with their sons, not in some horrible prison, normal would tell them.

By the time they had reached the large steel doors that served as the entrance to the prison, he was shaking uncontrollably, tremors racing through his small frame. Death and disillusionment radiated off this place like waves, and he felt like he was drowning in misplaced sorrow. Only his conviction that Da would be freed regardless of what his mother said was all that stopped him from pleading with her to take away from this horrible place. He growled quietly when they were met at the doors by Drando, and even his brilliant robes seemingly dulled by the pain that surrounded the place.

"Lyinda! What did you bring the child for!" Drando demanded, his grim face a mixture of surprise and disgust as he took in the shivering boy. "Azkaban is no place for a child, how could you bring him here?"

"Azkaban is no place for the innocent either, Drando," his mother replied coolly, seemingly oblivious to the effects Azkaban had on everyone else. "Yet you still put them here."

"Your husband was found guilty," Drando replied tiredly. "The evidence -" He was interrupted by the harsh laugh from mother.

"Evidence, what evidence? There was no trial to decide whether this evidence was factual, no jury to make a decision. A verdict usually requires some sort of process to reach that decision."

"Your dislike for the decision does not justify bringing a *child* into this hell hole, Lyinda," Drando replied sternly. "What do you hope to accomplish with this, give the child nightmares for years to come?"

"Oh, this will serve its purpose." Lyinda replied with deadly quietness. "Marcus will leave here, knowing to never trust or respect authority, that to put faith in those who do is to be naively stupid. He will learn a valuable lesson, that one does not need to play by the rules or what you have defined as right, because those who define them as such, do not follow or believe it themselves. He will learn the hypocritical nature of authority, Drando, and he will spit in its face."

"You would destroy your son over this?" Drando asked, shocked.

"I gave you my husband for *years*!" Lyinda seethed angrily. "And now, now that it is time for him to finally return to me, you are taking him from me again! You *dare* lecture me on what is ethically right? You have no idea yourself! Marcus will never make the mistake Anthony made. And Anthony *will* be redeemed." With that, she brushed past the man, dragging Marcus along behind her.

Marcus bit back a sob as like a sea sponge, he soaked up the terror and coldness of this place. He didn't understand what his mother had been talking about, didn't know why they were keeping Da in this horrible, horrible place, why his mother had made him come ...

The starkly bare corridors wove in never ending spirals, and it seemed like an aeon before they finally reached the room that his mother had been looking for. With a curt, cold nod at the two Ministry Guards who stood on either side of the entrance, she entered the room, Marcus trailing uncertainly behind her. The room was empty save for a chair near the center, and a single wooden bench that was pushed against the far right wall. It was to the bench that his mother led him.

"I want you to pay close attention to what they have done to your father," she hissed in his ear, her fury barely constrained. Marcus looked up at his mother in stark and unbridled fear. He didn't understand, why was mother acting like this? She was so cold and harsh and so not how one was supposed to be now that everything was normal.

"Mum?" He questioned, his voice trembling as he felt the loathing and hatred of the place close in on him. "Mum-mm, can we go now, please can we go now?" Silent tears began to fall as he felt himself being consumed by the surrounding darkness that seemed to mute everything good and true. "Please mum, I ...I don't like it here, please can we go home?"

"Weak," his mother accused, glaring down at him, mindless of the sob it drew from the small boy. "You're father is about to be sentenced to hell, and you want to miss seeing him one last time because you feel cold?"

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, closing his eyes tightly in an effort to lock all the hatred and emptiness out. "I'm sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry-"

"Cut it out, Marcus," she sternly replied, as more Ministry officials entered the room. The comment was unnecessary however, as Marcus had stopped the moment he had seen who the officials were accompanying.

"Da!" he cried, trying to launch himself at his father, but being held back by his mother. He looked up at her confused, why wouldn't she let him go to Da? Da was seated in the lone chair, his features ragged, his eyes firmly on the ground.

"Anthony Mark Flint, you have been found guilty of Grand Treason, the conspiracy to murder and maim innocent civilians, and other war crimes," One of the officials read from a scroll. "For your crimes, you have been sentenced to the Dementors Kiss."

"No!" Mother cried from beside him, rising to her feet. "You can't! He isn't supposed to be punished like *that*!" his mother erupted in fierce denial and shock.

"Lyinda, it's all right," Da spoke up softly, for the first time since he had entered the room acknowledging his family. "Please, get Marcus out of here before it happens." Hazel eyes begged gently as his gaze rose from the floor and met with his wife's. Yet they were met with icy blue ones in return.

"No," she replied hoarsely, choking back a sob. "Let Marcus see what they do to those who let themselves be dictated by morals, those who put misplaced trust in those who they have served diligently!"

"Lyinda, no!" Da pleaded, eyes wide in surprise. "Marcus is too young, spare him this."

"Like they are sparing you?" she shot back, as Marcus looked confusingly between his parents, trying to understand, needing to know what was going on. Why wasn't anyone telling him anything? "Let them perform their justice in front of a child, and *then* say that the punishment was a deserving one."

His Da seemed unable to reply, obviously shocked at what his mother was saying.

"The punishment will take place in a side room," one of the Ministers spoke up briskly, shooting a glance of disdain at his mother, as Da whispered a quiet "thank you," under his breath. "If you must," the Minister continued, "you may stay here until it is over, although I agree with Mr Flint - a child has no place being so close to a Dementor."

"We will stay," she growled from beside him, ignoring how Da pleaded with her to leave again. What, what was a Dementor? And why did Da not want him around anymore?

He watched as they dragged his father off into a nearby room, a wave of terror washing uncontrollably over him as the door to the room open briefly, fading slowly when it closed. With a fascinated horror he looked at the room Da had been led into. What was in there? Where was Da going? As if reading his mind, his mother spoke up.

"They are about to kill your father, Marcus." She said, almost conversationally, calm all of a sudden. "How wonderfully justified." It took several precious moments, but the second the meaning behind her carefree words hit, he was on his feet, dashing towards the door they had lead Da through. He didn't stop to ponder why his mother burst into laughter as he tried to dodge one of the Ministers, who made a futile dive at him as he raced past.

"Someone grab the child!" A voice rang out behind him, as murmurs rose from the startled officials.

"Go on, Marcus! You can do it!" His mother countered in support, clapping her hands wildly. The door in reach, he thrust it open, only to collapse to his knees as he was met by a wall of hatred and despair. He sobbed painfully as he pushed himself to his feet. Da was in the room, terror fighting to break the calm facade he had in place. In front of Da was some horrible monstrosity that was clad entirely in black, its robes swirling around it like billowing storm clouds.

"Da!" he cried, trying to take another step into the room, but finding the almost visible dark emotions to be practically a physical barrier. Noticing the intrusion for the first time, panic spread on Da's face.

"Marcus, get out of here!" he desperately demanded, fighting suddenly against the grip the Dementor had on his arm. He cried out in pain as an iced agony raced up his arm and down his spine, neutralising the threat of any further physical resistance. Marcus watched on in horror, eyes wide as he found himself desperately wanting to obey Da, but finding himself unable to. This wasn't supposed to be happening! Where was normal?!

"Don't! Not while the child is here, please!" Da turned his eyes from Marcus' and to the monster's, his pleas making as much impact as autumn leaves rendezvousing with the surface of an ice coated lake.

"Da!" Marcus screamed hysterically, as the hooded face of the monster closed in on Da's, hiding most of Da from him. Body shaking, he forced himself to take one tiny step into the room, before collapsing into a jumbled heap on the harsh floor. His eyes connected wildly with Da's for a moment, the panic laced sorrow in Da's eyes causing a wave of pain to wash over Marcus that had nothing to do with the monster.

And then, Da's face was gone, hidden by the cloak that hung over the Monster's head. He wanted to scream, to run and push the monster away from Da, but just as he thought he had mustered the strength to rise to his feet, this hostile and twisted world he had been dragged into seemed to crash all around him, blinding him in its hatred, freezing every part of him in its impersonal coldness. Silent cries fell from his lips, nothing more than muted sobs allowed to escape. The alarmed cries from behind him fell on ears that were defended to anything but the roaring horror that was thundered there. Hatred, despair, fear, loneliness, all flooded his senses until he knew of nothing else but them. If this was normal, then he preferred the horrors of the war, a small, unassulted part of his brain bitterly thought, before it too was crushed beneath the unbearable pain.

When the soothing darkness came, he welcomed it lovingly.

Mother would be there when he woke.

*****