A Righteous Infliction of Retribution

Pleased that he seemed to have at least planted a seed of doubt in his great nephew, Valcan took a few steps forward. His finger searching out the bottom of the tree, it trailed down to Larkana's name. Under Larkana Maeva Drage, was a birth date and a death date. "Here," he started, "Larkana died on December the second of 1978." He paused as his pointer finger trailed down the line, landing on Sammael's name. "Sam was born on November the twenty-ninth."

The old man turned to look at Shane, observing him. These dates were concrete evidence enough for Valcan, but he didn't know how the younger was going to react. "Larkana was healthy after she gave birth to your father. You can call Tinker if you don't believe me." His sister's house elf had come to him the night Ishmael had brought Sam over. With Larkana dead, Sam had become his charge.
 
Shane turned and stepped toward the tree with Valcan, anxious to get a look at it. He desperately wanted his great uncle to be wrong, but the sneaking suspicion that Valcan was right was growing stronger in Shane. He turned his brown eyes on the tree, following Valcan's finger to the dates. They didn't line up. The brunette stared at his father's name, not wanting to believe this.

He thought of protesting until Valcan brought up Tinker. The house elf had been in Stark Manor while Shane was growing up there and he knew there would be no lies from Tinker. Grief and anger filled the young man as he continued to stare at the tree. Why could nothing in his life be simple, or make one iota of sense? Shane drew back his left hand and punched the wall with a grunt of frustration. It didn't really help, but it sure felt good to do.

Turning to Valcan Shane glared up at him. He was no longer angry at his great uncle, but instead his grandfather. "It doesn't make any sense. Why would he kill her?"
 
Valcan's expression was devoid of all smugness as he looked back to his great nephew, observing him. He was still touchy when it came to his sister, as he always had been. His father and Ishmael had both died over the matter, but in the end, it didn't bring her back. But what was he supposed to expect? All he really had was his retribution, and it still left him feeling empty. A thousand deaths would never replace the hole in his heart.

His lips pursed, he replied, "I honestly, never really knew. His reasoning was that he thought she was with another man," Valcan wanted to add before I killed him, but he knew that would only infuriate Shane, "But Larkana wasn't that kind of person. She was never happy with Ishmael. If she wasn't there, she spent her time here or at a friend's." His expression darkened considerably, his accent thickening. "And no matter the reason, he had no right to take my sister's life, nor to deny Sam a mother. He received his due."
 
Shane turned her gaze to the side, staring angrily off at nothing in particular. This was a lot of information to process. The man who had taken him in so kindly when his father cast him out was a murderer. It made no sense to Shane, who had been so found of Ishmael. But the evidence added up against him.

As he started to accept that Valcan was right about Ishmael new questions popped up in Shane's head. He turned to look up at his great uncle, his brows furrowed in confusion. "If he was as bad as you say, why did he take me in?"
 
Valcan glanced back at Shane. He was taking great measures to hide his surprise that the young man was acting civil. For the older having murdered the boy's grandfather, Shane was behaving rather calmly. His lip pursed as he took in the question, knowing that that was one that could take a long time to answer. After a few moments of hesitation, he replied, "Ishmael wasn't ready to take care of a child by himself, and I don't think he took into account until after he gave Sammael up that he wouldn't have an heir. Since Sam didn't have any contact with Ishmael, you were the next best candidate." The large man shrugged, frowning as he examined the damage done to his bookcase. He would have to purchase a new one. "I've always wondered why he took you in myself, so that's my best educated guess."
 
The brunette averted his gaze to the floor and shook his head slowly. All of this made no sense, yet perfect sense at the same time. It was infuriating for Shane to come to the conclusion that the man he had looked up to, depended on, and loved like a father for nearly seven years was no better than the man who had thrown him out of his family. Was there anyone Shane could depend on?

Turning away from Valcan the young man stepped the wall, drew back his left arm, and punched the wall with all the force he could muster. A yell escaped his mouth,the frustration inside him releasing as his fist met the wall with a loud thud. It hurt, but Shane reveled in the pain. It was nothing compared to the emotional pain he was feeling, but a good alternative for now. If he was lucky some bones would be broken.
 
Valcan ran his hand over the charred bookcase as Shane attacked the wall. Luckily, none of the books had burned. He took to removing them from the bookcase, brushing the ash off of their covers and setting them on his desk. The large man had a lot to clean up- or rather, the house elves did. There was really nothing he could do about the tapestry, and he already knew that Pjotr would tell him that it was beyond repair. Well, better that than the rest of his office, right? Or worse, the tree. He might have had to wring the boy's neck had that happened. It was absolutely priceless, possibly more emotionally than when it came to money.

His lip pursing, the old man decided not to comment on Shane's current situation. He wanted to play his cards right, and he had fed the boy more than enough about his grandfather to digest. "Follow me. You should see something," the Norwegian man stated simply, and without another word he turned to the door adjacent to the bookcase, leaving it open and starting to head down the stairs. He went at a slow pace, being ever cautious. It would be bad if the boy suddenly had a change of heart and wanted to send him for a trip down the staircase. Valcan lit every torch as he passed by. At times like these, he missed his ability dearly. This was clear in his expression as he made his way down, expecting Shane to follow.
 
Shane stared at the wall, his dark eyes filled with fury. He punched it once more, savoring the feeling of his bones hitting the wall. His knuckles were bleeding and there was a good chance something was broken. In any event it was a good distraction for the moment, and a good way to take out his frustrations. It was much easier to relieve his rage when Shane had been a pyrokinetic, he could just light things in fire. Now he had to resort to more savage methods.

The brunette turned to look at his great uncle, a bit confused. What else could Shane possibly need to see? Was it a trick? It was doubtful that anything could make him feel worse than he already did, so why not see what Valcan had to offer. Without a word Shane followed down the stairs, keeping his gaze forward as he walked. Hurting Valcan would not help Shane now, and he was curious to see what was at the bottom of the stairs.
 
Valcan's pace quickened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, taking the first door to the right. Straight ahead from the stairs lay passages that one could get lost in quite easily if they didn't know the layout of the basement. There were some places that Valcan had not even ventured. He waited for Shane to follow him, pushing through the door and turned into the hall that he knew so well.

He smiled as the rows of portraits were illuminated before his eyes, the torches lit one by one in their brackets as he stepped into the hall. Females on the right of him, males on the left. The sounds of many voices filled the hallway, all seeming to have just been woken up from a nap. The Norwegian man turned to nod at Brunhild, the last ancestor that the Drage family had been able to trace back to. Without another word and a glance to Shane, he paced down the hallway, heading for the end of the line, to the members of his family he usually dealt with.
 
Brunhild squinted as light invaded her eyes, preventing her from assuming slumber as she usually did when the hallway was dark. Her descendants had not been here for some time. As the years dwindled by it was getting harder and harder for her to remember faces. If the boy standing next to the current master of the Herrogard had been here before, she didn't remember him.

"Hello, Valcan," she stated, her voice clear in Norwegian. She had learned broken tidbits of other languages but hated to speak them, English least of all. English was what many of her descendants were speaking these days, and she was becoming quite worried about it. It would be a pity to have the language lost- but what was she to do? All she could do was express her opinions from a wall, as she was no longer living flesh and blood. She gave a curt nod to the boy, wondering whose child he was. Come to think of it, he looked an awful lot like Sammael, the most recent addition to this hall. Sad, really. He had been too young.

The blonde woman stood from her seat, trailing behind other women as she followed Valcan, determined to find out their business here. She was the oldest, after all, so why not?
 
Shane looked around, his brown eyes filled with a confused wonder they took in the sight of the hallway. It was lined with portraits of all things. The former Gryffindor was vaguely reminded of the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, where he had found himself on one occasion after pulling a rather nasty prank on a Professor. But why were these portraits here, and why would Valcan want him to see them?

When the first portrait spoke Shane turned to look at the woman within the frame. He was not fluent in Norwegian but he knew enough to recognize what she said as a greeting. Sammael had always spoken Norwegian around his children, and the language had not been forgotten by his son. The brunette returned the nod before following after Valcan, anxious to see what he had in store.
 
Valcan turned heel, and seeing that Shane had followed he stopped at the last portrait on the female's side. "Larkana," he uttered softly, a rare smile creeping onto his wrinkled face as he looked upon his sister. She, who seemed eternally young, was a large contrast compared to himself. While he had aged, she hadn't. He felt a wave of anger at the life that she hadn't been able to live, but then he forced himself to remember that the threat was gone now. He had removed Ishmael from the grand scheme of things.

He stepped back a bit, and turned around. Sammael, who was very much his son, if not biologically, sat in the last frame. "Hello, Sam," he greeted, the man before him not having aged a day since he had last seen him. He was angry about the man's death, but he had not saught out his murderer as he had Ishmael. No, Sam had gone seeking retribution of his own, and while Valcan would have had no qualms about wiping Morgase's brother off the map, he wasn't going to trouble himself with it. If he were to place the blame on anyone for Sam's death, it was Tristan, and he had already been punished. His first son knew well enough that he was dead if he were ever in his presence again.

Valcan observed Shane, wondering how he would react. Both Sophia and Estrella had been speechless when they were down here, but Shane was older, much older than they had been. He would just have to wait and see.
 
Larkana yawned audibly as the torches were lit. She stretched her arms beneath the rather dusty frame- she would have to comment about that. The woman waited to see if anyone would visit her today. Valcan always usually said hello, which made her happy. She and the others didn't get a lot of visits down here. She couldn't begin to imagine who had thought of putting all of the portraits in this dark corridor. Wouldn't it make sense to have them out for all to see?

Her expression was warm as the two men approached the end of the hallway. It was easy to see that she had been just as warm in life, even though her last year had been absolutely terrible.

"Hello, Valcan," Larkana replied softly, "So nice of you to visit." Turning her head of blonde hair, she exclaimed, "Oh, this must be Shane!" It was obvious. He looked so much like her very own son, who too not long ago had joined herself and the rest of the portraits in this hall. It saddened her to think that Sammael had not been able to live out to an old age, just as she had, and liked his very last actions even less. However, she took comfort in the fact that the rest of her family were well, especially Shane and Sophia.
 
As they got further down the hallway the names started to look familiar to Shane. He had seen family trees before and it started to sink in that these portraits were not random people. When they stopped at the end of the hallway and Valcan addressed Larkana his fears were solidified. Shane turned to look at the portrait of the grandmother he had never known. He had seen pictures before, and she looked just as beautiful as he remembered.

"Yes. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,"Shane said with a smirk and a slight nod of his head. Although Larkana was not the reason his great uncle had brought him down here, but Shane was content to stare at her for now. Even as Valcan greeted Sammael the young man refused to turn around. His father was a rather sore subject for Shane, and the idea of coming face to face with even his portrait was not a pleasant thought.

Shane took in a rather deep breath and held it in. It was cowardly to not face his father's portrait, and he was not a coward. He was a Gryffindor after all. Shane needed to prove himself in front of Valcan and the closest thing he had left to his biological father. Releasing the breath the brunette turned around on his heel and stepped to his father's portrait. "Hello Father," he said plainly, his pale face not showing any emotions.
 
Sammael was none too pleased that he had been awoken from his peaceful slumber. He spent the time Valcan and Shane were walking down the hallway blinking his grey eyes and and yawning grumpily. By the time the two men got down to his portrait Sam was awake, but certainly not happy about it.

"Hello Far," Sammael greeted plainly. He could see clearly who was with Valcan and was clearly not thrilled. Shane was not a part of this family and did not deserve to be shown these portraits, especially his. He was a bit surprised as Shane turned and greeted him so simply. His face was stoic, a fact which Sammael was somewhat proud of. Shane was clearly his son by looks, but surely nothing else linked them.

Without saying a word to the boy Sammael turned his gaze back to Valcan. "What is he doing here?" he asked in an annoyed tone. He expected a good explanation for this.
 
Valcan's lip pursed as his eyes flickered to Sammael. "Well," he started in thick Norwegian, "I wasn't really expecting him tonight. He came here to kill me, but I daresay he has had a change of heart." The large man smirked broadly, stepping past Shane and letting things unfold between the two. He wasn't really sure what would happen, but he was more content to be a bystander.

He gave the man next to Sammael, his own father Malkolm, a rueful glance before slipping past him. He arrived at the portrait of Valbrand, an ancestor that he had always taken time to speak to, even though his father had never been comfortable with it. Valbrand had had a quite different character than most of the people in this hallway. Keeping an eye on Shane, he spoke with the centuries old wizard quietly.
 
Sammael could not help but laugh as Valcan walked away. Never in his wildest dreams would he imagine Shane trying to kill someone. But Far never lied. Perhaps the apple had not fallen so far from the tree.

"Well, what do you have to say for youself?"
 
Shane was definitely annoyed when the portrait reacted as it did. The issues he felt with his father ran deep, and it was going to take a lot to make him not feel annoyed. The brunette rolled his eyes when Valcan started speaking in Norwegian. Shane new a tiny bit of the language, but not enough to get the gist of what was said. He was curious, especially when Sammael started laughing.

"Say for myself? Coming down here wasn't my idea."
 
"No, of course not. You are a good for nothing blood traitor and that is all you will ever be." Sammael smirked smugly within his portrait, not at all worried about the pathetic boy before him. What could he do?
 
"All right, seriously? What makes me a blood traitor? The fact that I was not a Slytherin? Mother was not a Slytherin and she was good enough to be your wife and a Death Eater. Or is it the fact that I ran that night? No one ever bothered to stop and ask me why I ran, they just all assumed I disapproved of the Death Eaters. I did not run because I hated you, I hated you because you cast me out. You tortured Sophia and erased my existence. Did I really matter so little to you?"

Shane was feeling a rather strange and intense mix of emotions. Although the portrait before him was not exactly his father it was as close as he would ever get to seeing him now. He had never expected to see even a visage of the man again and the sight brought up so many buried feelings it was overwhelming. The brunette stared forward at the portrait, not even caring what else was said. The truth was out and there was no going back.
 
Valcan listened in on the conversation as it ensued. Sam, naturally, was responding with the arrogance he had always carried in life. Not that the old man was any different. His eyebrows raised as Shane ranted to what was a mere scrap of the father he had known, had come to despise. Interesting, very interesting, he thought to himself. Maybe the apple had not fallen so far from the tree, as the saying went. Could he believe what he was hearing?

After Shane had fled Stark Manor Sammael had nothing bad to say, and Valcan had always thought that his great nephew detested his father and the group he had chosen to be part of. He frowned, not trying to hide that he was eavesdropping. The large man knew well enough that Shane wasn't stupid, and he wasn't going to act if he didn't have to. He smirked as he glanced at the rest of the portraits in the hallway- he knew well enough that they were listening in just as avidly as he was, at least, the ones who could understand English well enough.

Valcan crossed his arms over his broad chest, contemplating the situation. Shane wasn't the man he had always thought him to be- there were a lot of windows of opportunity.
 
Sammael was speechless. Of all the things he might have expected from Shane it was not the rant that came out of his mouth. The portrait merely stared at the boy in silence for a few minutes, trying to gauge how to respond. It was unfortunate that things had played out so badly, but there was certainly no going back now. The fact that Sammael was in a portrait made that obvious enough.

After a bit the man in the portrait smirked. "Well well, I suppose you are worthy of the family you are in after all."
 
Shane snickered at the portrait's comment. He did not even bother to hide his amusement, smirking as he looked the visage of his father dead in the eyes.

"The family I am in? I was never in this family. Thanks to you Sophia is the only family I have." The smirk had disappeared from Shane's face, replaced by a look of malice. Hate coursed through his veins as he stared at the portrait. Another snicker left the brunette's lips before he turned and started down the hallway, intending to leave without another word.
 
Valcan listened to the exchange between the two. The scrap that was Sammael did not have much capability of conversation. The real Sammael might have reacted differently, but his time on the earth was over. The large man turned to Shane as he started to leave, deciding not to try and make him stay. He wasn't entirely sure why he had brought Shane down here, but hopefully there had been some purpose.

"Shane," he started, his accent thick, as the boy approached near, "I have a proposition for you." If he was lucky, the boy would cooperate. Valcan didn't usually succumb to impulse but every so often, he had to.
 
Shane could not help but stop at his great uncle's words. A proposition? What kind of proposition could Valcan possibly have? The brunette narrowed his thick eyebrows, quite curious.

"I'm listening," he said plainly, hoping Valcan would continue. Confused as he may be Shane was curious. Sure he had plenty of money from Ishmael, but you could never have too much money. And yes he had a job for now, but Quidditch would not last forever. There were definitely things Valcan could offer than Shane might be interested in. After all, the man was wealthy and powerful, both in the world and on his own.
 
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