Harry Potter 1. Bellatrix Lestrange

**Prologue **

Harry Potter sat, idly twiddling his thumbs and trying to contain a fourth sigh of boredom. He had been sitting up in his room for…well, longer than he cared to calculate. He also didn't want to think about _why_ he was there, because that would only make him angry, and being angry was bad enough in itself, but being angry _and_ trapped in a small room was even worse.

He pushed the air from his lungs forcefully and sat up on his bed. So what if he sighed? So what if he sounded like a disgruntled toddler on a time out? He wanted to pout and brood and damn anyone who tried to stop him!

How long had he been here now? Weeks! Damn Dumbledore, the meddling old fool!

_'And damn me for loving said fool…'_ Harry admitted to himself.

Harry knew the wizened old man had his best interests at heart. Hell, a lot of the time, Harry knew that if it weren't for Albus Dumbledore, he very well may not be here today, sitting on his bed. At othertimes though, like this one, he just wanted to dislike the man for a few moments. He hated being locked up in a house full of people that didn't like him; especially when he had a godfather who was more than willing to take him in. But it was all for his own safety. Voldemort was out there, waiting. Waiting for a chance to get his scaly hands on the boy who had caused his downfall. He wished he could throw caution to the wind; wished he could march out his front door and scream into the darkness. He wished it would end now so that he could be in peace. So he could sleep without nightmares. So he could walk without jumping at the smallest sound, or pause to peer into the faintest shadows.

But it wouldn't end, and he wouldn't scream, because he knew that giving in to your own desires often lead to someone else's nightmare. At the end of his last term, he had rushed from the safety of Hogwarts' walls and foolishly took with him innocent people – his best friends – without knowing what they were heading into. The obvious danger. The possibility of a trap. The fact that they would most likely be facing wizards with five times the experience they themselves had. And of course, the worried friends and family who would endanger themselves coming to his much needed aid.

He had acted upon impulse, emotion, and the compelling need to preserve the last of his family. Even after all those lessons with Snape and the lectures from Dumbledore, telling him he needed to exercise more self control, he chose not to listen. Looking back now, he had a hard time convincing himself he wouldn't do it all over again, maybe without his friends this time. The image Voldemort had placed in his head still sent icy chills up his spine, making his muscles tense, as if his body were ready to sprint to his godfather's aid once more. He saw it all the time in his nightmares: Sirius writhing on the floor under the power of Tom Riddle's wand…

Harry's teeth were grinding in anger at the mere thought and he forced himself to unclench his jaw.

He had been so stupid that night, so utterly foolish to disregard the words of two very powerful and very wise wizards. It was simply _idiotic_ to think he could save his godfather, even if the vision _had_ been real. All the same, he did not delude himself with false hope of a lesson learned. He'd do it again.

Sirius had almost died that night.

Harry's eyes slid shut with shame and guilt as the scene replayed in his head for the thousandth time.

* * *

**Flashback**

* * *

The stunner shot from Bellatrix's wand and slammed into Sirius's chest. The Boy-Who-Lived swears he heard a hollow thud upon contact. He watched his godfather's shocked and angry features go lax with unconsciousness and he tumbled backwards towards the Veil. Opening his mouth to scream, Harry found no sound reached his ears, though he felt his throat burn. It was too constricted – he couldn't breath.

Sirius was falling…

His eyelids slammed shut and plunged him into darkness. His mind was numb and his body felt siezed, bound by a web of shock.

And then he heard it, the evil cackled of Bellatrix Lestrange. It was shrill and sharp and cut through the web that held him like a knife.

His gaze seared a firey path of anger through the room, searching for the source of his rage. The edges of his vision was a white hot haze, tunneling in to fixate on a figure moving up the staircase across the room.

Distantly, Harry realized he was so overcome with anger his mind and his body seemed to detach into two separate entities, no longer working together towards the same goal. His imagination spun images of him running to his godfather's aid; pulling him back from the veil, but the rest of him had decided it was too late to do what he had come here for, and now, must do the next best thing. He wanted to kill Bellatrix, wanted to rip her limb from limb, to cause her as much pain as she had just caused him. His body kicked into high gear, adrenaline pulsing and pumping in his veins. His heart felt tight and trapped in his chest as it beat relentlessly against his rib cage.

He tore after her. People were screaming around him, mingled pleas and cries of pain that all blurred together into white noise. He pushed it aside and deemed it unimportant. The only thing that mattered was getting a good shot at Lestrange.

As he crested the stairs, he got that shot.

"Crucio!"

The scream that was torn from the woman's throat was more satisfying than he had imagined. He let it wash over him, garnering a twisted sense of satisfaction that _he_ was causing her this pain. He held the curse a bit longer and then released her. She lay there panting on her back, her hair disheveled and her clothes rumpled from convulsions. When she had collected herself enough, she pushed herself up on her elbows and regarded him with shaky uncertainty. The look was foreign on her face.

Then she sneered. "Not strong enough to hold the spell Baby Potter? Do you feel _guilty_? Boo-hoo…" her thin lips curled into a smirk Snape would be proud of. "A hero-complex is not very becoming of _anyone_…let alone a weak little boy…" She looked like she had more to say, and Harry wished he could have held his smile at bay a little longer to hear it. But as the manic grin slowly stretched across his face, uncertainty settled cleanly in her features once more.

Although he supposed he did look a little scary…or more like insane. His hair was a mess, his face was bloody, his robes torn. He shook his head. "No, Bellatrix. I could have held the spell longer, but I want you to feel the pain of a new spell…_over _and _over _and _over_. That won't work if you're insane, now will it?" The woman was squirming now, as if just realizing that the situation was more out of her control than she had originally thought.

Harry raised his wand again and she flinched beneath its steady aim, but the grin slowly spreading across her face reminded him that no amount of torture could further unhinge this woman, her mind had been never been completely whole. What little hope she may have had at a sane existance had been thoroughly obliterated by Voldemort.

"Where is your master now Bella…?"

She did not answer him, only stared.

With a fresh wave of anger, Harry felt his lips pulled back over his teeth and he snarled, "CRUCIO!"

And she screamed. And screamed and screamed…

"Harry!"

Startled, Harry jerked his wand up and broke the spell again. Turning slightly, he saw Remus, Dumbledore and Alastor Moody standing at the top of the staircase, looking as weary and bloody as he did.

However, before Harry could respond, he heard the rustling of robes behind him, signaling that Bellatrix had risen to her feet and was attempting to flee. He spun on his heel and took aim with his wand just between the shoulder blades of the retreating body.

"Diffindo!"

A jet of wiry black light shot from the end of his wand and Bellatrix collapsed forward, mid run, and screamed. He ran towards her as she scrabbled to reach the gapping gash between her shoulder blades while it gushed blood over the marble floor where she lay. Footsteps followed him as he neared her.

"Harry! Don't touch her!"

Without looking back, Harry let the anger Remus' statement caused him drive him forward towards the prone figure on the floor. Why shouldn't he touch her? He should beat the life out of her for what she did! For killing Sirius! And Remus should want to do the same!

All of those thoughts fled his mind as he finally reached her and bent to grasp the front of her robes, lifting her upper body off the floor.

Her skinny, blood-soaked hands clawed at his wrists in a futile attempt to pry them off, but her grip was weak and failing.

"Your bark is worse than your bite, Bellatrix." Harry said, his voice as cold and hard as ice. He sneered at her as he heard the footsteps of his teachers draw nearer, slowing down cautiously. He supposed they didn't want to startle him into doing something he may regret.

And with a sudden clarity that made him falter, Harry thought, '_Would I regret it if I killed this woman? If I ended her life?_'

He envisioned himself closing his hands about her neck and squeezing until her weak movements ceased completely. The thought was not wholly unappealing, and the desire must have shone in his eyes, for her black ones widened and her struggles found new strength.

"Are you scared Bella?" He asked quietly, but again she remained silent. "Do you _long_ for your master to come and save you?" He gave her a lopsided grin, "Because he won't, you know."

"LIAR!" She screamed. Finally a reaction. "He searches for me this very moment! I am his most loyal follower! He _loves_ me!"

Harry couldn't help his sharp bark of laughter. "You are a fool if you think that monster is capable of loving anyone but himself." The statement was whispered, but it had a decidedly loud impact on the woman still shaking under his hands. Of course, her defiance returned within the second.

"Just wait Potter. He will have your head…"

Harry threw her to the floor, suddenly disgusted by touching her, by being so close to her; something that revered such a cruel and evil animal. He felt dirty. Like her dark magic had leached through the skin of his hands as he held her and polluted him.

"Get out of here Bellatrix." He snapped. "Before I do something I _will not regret_."

Apparently, she didn't need to be told twice, for, dignity of a Death Eater be damned, she threw herself into the nearest fireplace and was gone in a whirl of green flames.

'_A dog is forever loyal to its beloved master, no matter how many times it get's kicked…_' Harry thought with no amount of sympathy.

"…Harry?"

Said boy turned towards the sound of Dumbledore's voice and regarded him with tired eyes. After a moment of silence, in which the old man did not say a word, Harry raised an eyebrow in question. He didn't think he had enough energy to voice it.

Albus seemed to shake himself and blinked.

"Sirius is alive…"

* * *

**End Flashback**

* * *

That had been almost a month ago now, and Harry still keenly remembered the complete and undiluted relief that had washed through his body, cleansing it of ill thought and pain. That is until he was smacked in the face with a gauntlet full of self loathing. He had, once again, run off irrationally without thinking and done something stupid. He had chased after a very dangerous witch in a fit of sheer rage. If it was one thing Moody had drilled into his skull it was that you should never attack someone out of anger.

Stupid!

And this is what Harry Potter had been doing for the better part of the summer: Berating himself for his own stupidity and promising whoever was listening that he would not let something like _that_ happen again.

He had been practicing Occlumency every night since that day and when he got back to school, he was shelving his pride and asking for Snape's help once more. He was going to try and convince Remus and Sirius to help him in whatever areas they could. Defense, charms, transfiguration. He knew Sirius had always been particularly skilled at hand to hand combat, a dying, if not dead, practice amongst wizards, as it was regarded as primitive and strictly muggle.

Either way, war was upon them, and Harry was not going into it unprepared. As much as he hated to admit it, a lot of lives lay in his hands, and he was damned if he was going to screw it up because he had the self control of a six year old.

* * *

**Chapter One: A Surprise**

It was the morning of the very first day of August. The morning after his temporary incarceration, orchestrated by the Dursleys of course, had ended. Harry knew he should take advantage of the freedom while he could, as his uncle would undoubtedly come up with some other inane reason to lock him in his room.

After shoving breakfast down his throat, Harry put on his boots and left the house before his uncle woke up. After he had finally fallen asleep the night before, he had been woken up early in the morning by a letter from the very man who was starring in his nightmares. Apparently, Sirius and Remus were coming to visit him. Nerves had made him jittery since the moment his eyes had traced his godfather's name at the bottom of the letter, not that Harry wasn't excited to see his godfather, but sometimes the man could be a bit dense. If the entire Wizarding World was looking for him, the last thing Harry would be doing was going on a day trip to visit his only remaining family, who just so happened to be famous so everybody knew who he was and where he lived, who's house was also under protection and constant surveillance.

At least the two of them, Harry was sure this part had been Remus' idea, had decided to come after dark. Now he had some time to kill before he had to go back to the house to meet them. He didn't really know what to do with himself. For the better part of the summer, Harry had been in the Dursleys' house as little as possible, even going so far as to sleep in the park when the nights were warm enough. He hated sleeping in that house and it's not like he had any friends in this neighborhood. He had met a few people later in the evenings, when all the parents had left the park to take their children home for supper.

This is when the older kids came out. Like Dudley and his gang, most of them were up to no good under the cover of darkness, but some were alright. Some just came to hang out after all their homework was done and they got off work. Harry occasionally socialized with these people and found them nice enough. He didn't know them well enough to ask to sleep on their couch though. He was sure he would have a hard time even asking Ron for that.

He'd also wandered into town a few times in the last month. It hadn't been anything spectacular but he had managed to smuggle into the house a few new clothes from the shops, and Vernon was none the wiser.

As he dropped himself into a swing after reaching the park, Harry thought back to the letter had had received. It had been written quickly and was full of excitement. He could tell that just from reading it. Some of the words had been hard to make out in the haste with which they had been written. His godfather had mentioned something about a surprise, something the Order had been working on for a while but he didn't want to say anything and get his hopes up…it just went on and on like that for a while. To say Harry was intrigued was an understatement. He knew as well as anyone that his curiosity was insatiable.

Noticing that a cool breeze had picked up, Harry reviewed his and Sirius' last few conversations and letters in an attempt to extract some kind of clue as to what the 'surprise' was. But, as with the last three times he had done this, he came up with nothing useful. Casting a glance at the sky, clouds that had been in the west and east in the early morning, were now fusing into one heavy, grey blanket overhead. As the last of the sun's rays were occluded by the ominous haze, Harry decided that he would rather be in the company of his relatives than soaking wet.

He began his march back to the house. About half way there he heard the familiar cry of his owl Hedwig from somewhere behind him. He turned swiftly, startled by her screech, and threw his hands up just in time to catch the letter before it smashed into his face. She swooped off before he could even reprimand her for giving him a letter in the middle of the street, where any muggle could pull back their curtains and see.

Quelling his anger and trepidation, Harry glanced around cautiously and was relieved to see the street was deserted and all the windows were dark.

Well, at least the stupid owl had good timing.

With a deep breath Harry began walking again and opened his letter. Immediately he recognized Hermione's tidy scroll.

_Harry, _

_Oh my gosh! Has Snuffles told you the news yet? None of us have seen him but Mr. Weasley has just told all of us. It's so exciting! I bet you are so happy! I don't know if he's even told you yet, Mr. Weasley said Snuffles wanted to tell you himself, so I'm not going to give anything away, just in case! Oh, me and Ron are so happy for you, Harry! Ron hasn't been able to wipe that stupid smile off his face since we found out._

_Also, Mrs. Weasley wants me to inform you that you are coming over here sometime in the next two weeks so that we can, "celebrate the poor boy's birthday properly…"_

_Unfortunately I'm only here until tomorrow. Mr. Weasley only brought me over today so that he could tell everybody the big news together. Oh, I wish you had been there! I would love to see your face when you find out!_

_Oh, well, I'm probably driving you mad by now but…oh just owl me when he tells you!_

_Ron says hi and we both can't wait to see you._

_Lots of Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry was now positively burning with curiosity. He was elated that this bit of big news was something good, instead of the never ending horrible news he had been receiving last term. What could Sirius have to tell him? Maybe he had convinced Dumbledore to let Harry live with him?

His stomach clenched in longing. That would be the best news he could imagine getting.

'_Or perhaps Voldemort has spontaneously dropped dead.' _Harry snorted aloud at this. There was no way that would happen, but the thought was fun to entertain.

As he reached the front walk of Number Four Private Drive, he paused and looked at the house carefully. What if tonight was the last night he would be here? What if Sirius _did_ come to take him away? Perhaps he would never have to look at his aunt, uncle or cousin ever again after this day. Elation flooding him with the possibility, Harry turned the door knob and walked into the house. It was silent. Vernon was off at work still and not due home for another hour or so. Dudley was almost never home during the day. He was always off with his friends doing…whatever it was they did in their spare time. '_Probably beating up some poor child._'

And his aunt, well, she was probably in her room upstairs, watching TV with a large glass of wine, as she had become accustom to doing over the summer. As Harry trekked up to his room, he heard the TV blaring in his aunt's room and knew he had been correct in his assumptions.

He veered off into the bathroom to take a shower, figuring by the time he got out and dressed, it would be time for supper and his uncle would be home. It was at this juncture in his thoughts that he realized he had yet to tell his family that Sirius and Remus would be coming over for a visit.

_'Oopes.'_

"I can't wait to tell him, Moony! He's going to be so excited...you think he'll be happy right?"

Remus Lupin sighed and shook his head. Turning to his best friend, he leveled a playful glare.

"Sirius Black, if you ask me that _one _more time I am going to smack you." The werewolf's face softened, "And of course Harry is going to be happy; elated more likely. You know how much he dislikes his relatives."

Sirius' face went from insecure and worried to dark and moody. "I know." He growled low. "I wish this could have been taken care of sooner. Like in his third year." The dark haired man shook his head regretfully, "I was so sure we had Peter trapped. I was so ready to look after him…"

Remus laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "What have I told you about playing the 'What If' game? Hm? It serves no purpose and only makes you upset." He smiled, "In the words of Albus Dumbledore: "'It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live.'"

Sirius looked thoughtful for a moment. "When did he say that? I don't remember…"

"Oh, he didn't say it to _us_." Remus replied. "He said it to Harry…in his first year. Harry told me about it once. Described it as being his first 'encounter' with the 'batty old codger."

A grin stretching across his face, Sirius nodded, "Yeah, that sounds like something Harry might say…when no one else was around, of course."

Doing up his jacket, Remus ushered his friend out the front door of the house and into the dampness of the evening. He knew his friend was both excited and worried to see his godson. He was excited because he wanted to give Harry the life he never had. He wanted Harry to know how much he was loved. And Sirius felt, for some reason Remus could not understand, guilty for not being there for Harry. Remus may have even gone so far as to believe that his troubled friend felt as if he had betrayed James by not raising his son; as if the twelve years the poor man had spent in Azkaban were completely his own doing, and no matter how many talks, and fights, the two of them had, Remus was never able to convince Sirius otherwise, stubborn fool that he was. Perhaps Harry would be able to drill it through his thick skull.

And as much as Sirius tried to hide it, Remus knew that he was worried, terrified even, that his godson was going to reject him. This frustrated the werewolf to no end. Anyone with half a brain could see that the Boy-Who-Lived was starved for affection. Not that he'd ever admit it. Remus wasn't even sure he was aware of it.

He believed that Sirius and Harry living together would do them both a world of good.

"…this place. Remus…Remus? Are you even listening to me?"

"What? Yes, of course I am."

Sirius regarded his best mate suspiciously. He was about to open his mouth and say something like, 'no, I don't think you _were_…' when Remus beat him to the chase.

"There it is."

The taller of the two, that being Sirius, looked up, taking in the landscape around him. He hummed, "Oh, yes, I vaguely remember this now…" They were walking up the front steps when they heard yelling from inside the house. It was muffled, but getting louder and clearer as the two doing the yelling came closer to the door.

"…CAN'T BELIEVE…ACCUSE MY…PUT A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHIT!"

"FUCK YOU! I'D HAVE BEEN BETTER OFF IN AN ORPHANAGE THAN IN THIS HELL HOLE!"

Sirius had his hand on the door knob, ready to rush in, when there was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh, after which the door beneath his hand shuddered violently as someone slammed into it.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, BOY!"

"Gladly…"

Remus laid a hand on Sirius' shoulder and pulled him back from the door. As expected, it was wrenched open. Harry stood there, with his hand on the knob for support as he pushed bare feet into his boots.

The boy was not facing them directly, and Sirius stared at his godson's profile. The boy had grown a few inches, making him less freakishly short and more approaching average. His hair had grown somewhat tamer and fell down in jagged pieces about his face and ears. His skinny, boyish frame had filled out over the summer to give way to wiry muscles and toned limbs…from all the Quidditch no doubt. But what really caught Sirius' eye was the trail of blood streaming from Harry's mouth and nose.

Before the two men on the front step could even share an incredulous glance at one another, Harry had donned his shoes and proceeded to march out of the house. However, just before the door was slammed, Harry looked up. The raven haired boy cried out in surprise and stumbled backwards, his face becoming alarmingly angry.

"Sirius!" he hissed, "Are you out of your mind? Do you _want_ to get sent back to Azkaban or something?"

Said man could only blink and open and close his mouth a few times. Good thing Remus stepped up.

"Look, Harry, we have something we need to tell you, but…"

Sirius, having found his voice once more, cut his friend off, "But we'll have to tell you _after_ I kill your uncle."

Harry's face softened and he stepped into Sirius' path. "Don't be so foolish, you're not going in there." He paused as Sirius seemed to deflate slightly, then flinched as his godfather raised a hand to touch his cut lip.

"We need to get you cleaned up." He muttered.

Harry sighed and waved his arm in the direction of the park. "We have to move away from the house first," he explained, "Otherwise they will think I did the magic." The two men nodded and the trio set off towards the outskirts of the subdivision, Harry leading the way.


	2. Captured

**Chapter 2: Captured**

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" Harry asked, shifting from foot to foot under the large tree. He kept staring all around him, worried that someone would show up and see his godfather. He peered into the bushes on the far side of the park with wide eyes. Someone could be hiding in them. A swing creaked as the rusty chain swung in the slight breeze and his head whipped around. He glared at every car that passed on the road, even if it was over fifty feet from where they stood. Sirius and Remus had made short work of his bloody face and, with the promise of a long talk later, let Harry ask the burning question.

By now, Sirius could not hold back the large grin that had encompassed his face. He looked to Remus and his friend nodded slightly in encouragement, causing the dark haired man reach into the back pocket of his jeans, pull out a shrunken news paper, enlarged it, and hold it out to his restless godson.

Harry took it quickly, glaring one last time at the bushes for good measure, and then concentrated fully on the paper in his hands. Finally, he would know what Hermione was talking about in her letter. He, too, would know the exciting news that Mr. Weasley had waited to reveal until they were all together.

But a moment of confusion overtook him as the warm parchment slid into his hands. If it was good news and it was about Sirius then why was it in the paper…?

His brain made the connection a split second before it registered the short headline for what it was.

The paper falling from his suddenly slack fingers and hitting the ground with a small 'thump', alerted Harry to the fact that he was not breathing. He forced air past his teeth and into his lungs and tried to blink away the dancing black spots in front of his eyes.

"Easy, Harry. Sit down on the grass here…that's it…"

The Boy Who Lived let the calm, soothing voice of his old professor wash over his lethargic senses as his poor, shocked brain tried to sort thought the information it had just received_._

'_Free…he's free…Sirius is FREE!_'

Blinking a few times to clear his suspiciously blurry vision, Harry managed to pivot on his bum and launch himself into his godfather's arms. A soft 'omph!' came from Sirius when he was pinned beneath his godson in a bone-crushing hug, strength he would not have expected from a boy that size.

"See," Remus said smugly, regarding the scene with a smile, "I told you he'd be happy."

Harry was in such a euphoric state that he didn't even think to reprimand his godfather for thinking, even for a second, that Harry could not be happy to hear such news.

"This is the best birthday present I could ever get, Sirius…" Harry mumbled into the chest beneath him. He felt long fingers tangle themselves in his hair and a hard stomach contract as Sirius raised the top half of his body to press a kiss to his godson's temple.

* * *

It had been three days since he had received the news of Sirius' pardon. Three days in which he could not count the number of letters he had written to his friends. Three days that he had spent restlessly and tortuously waiting for the go-ahead from Dumbledore, informing him that he had fulfilled his required amount of time at the Dursleys and that he could move in with Sirius and Remus. This was the end of the third day and Harry was trying to keep himself busy. Luckily, his aunt had left him a list of chores to do that morning when she left for whatever it was she did during the day, so he had no trouble finding things to do.

Harry was putting away the last of the dishes when he heard his cousin Dudley come stomping into the kitchen.

"Where's mum?" he growled out viciously, as if Harry had gone and hidden her in some unknown closet.

Harry scowled, "I don't know. She left this morning and I haven't seen her since. I promise I didn't _magic _her away or anything."

Dudley grumbled as he walked out of the kitchen, dissatisfied with the answer Harry had given him. With a roll of his eyes, the dark haired boy closed the cupboard door and turned to go up to his room. It was getting late and he was tired from the chores he had been doing all day. As he himself began to wonder where his aunt was at this late hour (Vernon often didn't even come home some nights), Harry felt a cool breeze ghost over his face.

He looked up and froze mid stride, his heart skipping a beat. The front door was open.

Annoyance bubbled in the pit of his stomach and he strode towards the open door.

"Jesus, Dudley, can't you even remember to close the damn door!"

Harry shoved the thing violently as he walked past, heading for the stairs. He had just skipped over the one squeaky stair when he slowed and stopped. The door had not slammed. There had not been a sound. He held his breath and tried to ignore the cool sensation of pins and needles crawling up his spine. Forcing his legs to move, he turned on the narrow step and felt his blood turn to ice in his veins.

Dudley Dursley lay in the still open doorway. His body rigid looking and still as stone. His face had turned the same shade as the concrete step on which his head rested. Harry felt bile rise in his throat as he stared at the gaping, bloody chasm that was his cousin's torso and he pressed trembling hands over his mouth, leaning against the wall for support. He closed his eyes, as if that might somehow make his cousin's eviscerated corpse disappear.

"Didn't you always say he was too fat?"

He wanted to scream, even went so far as to open his mouth behind his hands, but no sound came out. He recognized that voice. Lucius Malfoy stood, beside Dudley's mutilated corpse, in all his glory, his long, silver hair illuminated by the street light flooding through the door, casting an eerie orange glow into the hallway. He bestowed a look of purest triumph upon Harry's quivering form.

"Your aunt is dead, Potter." The man gave the explanation before Harry's brain could even formulate the question. "It was so horribly simple that we had overlooked it these past years." He smirked, "Not anymore. Petunia Dursley is dead, and by default, so is the protection your mother left in you."

Harry became aware of dark shapes shifting within the shadows of the living room and hall. Small creeks could be heard on the landing and the soft padding of footsteps reached his hypersensitive ears.

The house was surrounded, infested, overcome with Death Eaters.

He didn't even consider his wand. It still lay under his pillow, where he slept with it every night. He managed to level a shaky glare at Malfoy as the man smiled benignly.

"Now," he purred dangerously, "We can do this the easy way, wherein you come quietly, or…we can do it the _other _way..."

Harry felt two cold hands grab him at the elbows from behind and he tensed. This may be a hopeless situation, but he knew one thing: he wasn't going without a fight. He was going to make them work for this prize.

"You know me," he snarled, finding his voice, though it trembled horribly, "I like to make things as difficult as possible"

And before the other man could put in his two, snarky, cents, Harry bent at the waist and pitched his body forward, rolling the body behind him over his back and down the stairs. Luckily the man had been on the smaller side, otherwise that might not have worked. The Death Eater tumbled down the stairs with a lot of loud cracks, until he hit the bottom landing and lay still.

However, no one had paused long enough to watch the whole thing play out, for as soon as he was free, Harry had leapt over the banister and into the hallway below. He prepared himself for the impact of the height but ended up landing on top of another person, crushing them beneath him and breaking his fall. His hand closed about the fallen man's wand and he leapt from the floor and away from his attackers.

Another figure blocked his path and, not knowing if it was going to work, Harry thrust the wand before him and yelled, "Stupefy!"

Relieved, he leaped over the body and into the kitchen, closing and locking the door behind him. It was blasted off its hinges within seconds, but that was enough time for him to grab the steak knife from the cutting board, and in the few more seconds it took for the smoke of the blast to clear, Harry positioned himself by the door.

Time slowed.

The wand lay discarded on the counter. He cared only for one thing now. Blood was dripping down his face; the blast had sent splinters flying in every direction and he could feel the small bits of wood embedded in his skin. The pain kept him grounded to reality and kept him sane. He was focused, determined.

He was ready to take some lives if it meant saving his.

His bloody hand clenched around the handle of the blade like iron as he drew it back, the faint outline of silver hair swaying from left to right as the Death Eater strode into the kitchen, wand thrust before him.

Lucius Malfoy hadn't stood a chance. Ready for a magical attack, his gaze had been set beyond the blade and it connected with his throat. A terrible squelching noise cut through the air as metal cut open the Death Eater's windpipe and he fell to the floor, his normally perfect hair disheveled and blood soaked. Before the democrat had even hit the floor, Harry's knife was hilt deep in someone else' stomach. The rest of them wore masks – their identity unknown - and he supposed that may have made it easier in a way.

He was being overwhelmed now, he realized, as he swung the blade up into the next Death Eater's jugular. No sooner had the thought entered his mind that Harry was tackled to the floor by a spell.

Ragged breathing; curse words; cries of pain and bloody, dying gurgles filled the smoky air of the kitchen, and Harry lay there, on the floor, panting. His aunt was dead, his cousin too, and he could only assume his uncle had suffered the same fate. He was about to be brought to Voldemort himself.

Harry's scattered and traumatized mind spit forth gruesome images of torture chambers, shackles and prison cells even as he was enveloped into darkness.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore watched as the most important members in the Order of the Phoenix assembled themselves around the table before him. What had taken place only an hour ago was a tragic and horrible affair, and there would be no easy way to deliver the news. He knew this, and yet his eyes found one man in particular, taking in the toothy grin, the shaven face and clean hair. Just months ago this man had been a complete wreck and now…now he was a new man. Albus knew what he was about to announce would ruin him once more and he wished he could give the man a few more days of happiness. He wished there was some way he could delay this tragedy.

Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore stood, resting his wrinkled hands atop a table as old and worn as he.

"I regret to inform you that you have not been called on a count of good news." His voice was tense and poignant, a reflection of his thoughts and emotions.

Albus felt his heart fall with the faces of the others but he forced himself to speak, "There is no easy way to tell you…" He faltered here and saw alarm flash through several pairs of eyes. They knew it for what it was now. But still…how could he tell them? Inhaling through his nose in a fruitless attempt to calm his mind, Albus ploughed on, "Harry Potter has been kidnapped."

An unexpected silence greeted this statement and the wizened old man stared around, from face to face, and saw features slacken with shock or crumpled with skepticism. Finally someone from farther down the table asked the question, "What?"

The ricketty table absorbed some more of Albus' weight as he prepared for a long meeting and began the explanation.

"After a disruption in the wards surrounding and protecting Harry's house, Ministry officials were dispatched immediately. Upon arrival, however, the Aurors were met with resistance. Anti-Apparition spells had been placed securely around the perimeter of the structure and Death Eaters stood posted everywhere." He paused here, a reprieve in his mechanic recount. "No spells were fired from the Death Eaters, but witness officials say they heard noises from within the house."

"What did they hear?" Tonks, her voice sounding small in the large room, had asked the question.

"They, that is to say the Death Eaters, were laughing. There were screams as well. A witness in the report said they had seen a body lying in the doorway of the house…"

Hands flew to mouths and cries of alarm rang through the air.

"It wasn't Harry!"

"Was it Harry?"

"Who was screaming?"

"How did this happen?"

"The body," Dumbledore spoke, his voice rising above the others and quieting them at once, "Belonged to Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin. Of the screams, we cannot be sure, but the witness was questioned about the entire event and said that the screams did not sound like those of a teenager, but someone older."

"What does that mean?" Asked Kingsley, his dark brows furrowed in worry.

Albus took pause before he decided to tell them his theory. "The only people in that house were Harry and the Death Eaters. If the screams were not Harry's then we must assume they belonged to Voldemort's followers."

"That boy never was one to go down without a fight."

Solid nods and sad murmurs of agreement were all that met Moody's statement.

Albus sat. "Unfortunately, by the time the spell and curse breakers had managed to get through the surfeit of enchantments, the Death Eaters had already fled the house; bringing Harry with them." He heaved a sigh, "Minister Fudge has, so far, been able to keep all this out of the press. His methods are questionable, however. Some of the Aurors on the scene do not seem to recall the event at all, which leads me to believe Fudge has had some of his men Obliviated. This causes some concern, as it suggests that the Aurors and the Minister do not trust one other." Albus leaned back in his chair, "But that is neither here nor there. Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley were all found dead …"

At the very end of the table, where no one's attention was focused, Sirius Black cradled his face in his hands and cried for the first time in fourteen years.


	3. I Cannot Kill You

**Chapter 3: I Cannot Kill You**

"Alright…what do we know? Severus, why don't you start…"

Albus Dumbledore lowered himself gently into the chair behind him. Never in so many long years had he felt so tired. He ached, in his body and soul. His hands shook with anxiety and stress. He felt every bit his one hundred and fifty-three years of age. Harry Potter was missing and there was nothing that he could do to help. He had no information and had been unable to take any steps forward in this matter. For once, he was on the same level and had the same information as everyone else; he had never felt so helpless. The entire Order of the Phoenix was present at this meeting. The first since last night's terrible events. They needed a plan, an idea, a clue even, to get them started. They needed to rescue this poor boy.

Severus rose from his seat and began to speak, but Albus felt the man's velvety voice roll over his senses like water off a duck's back.

He loved Harry like a grandson. The boy had been through so much in his short life, had seen so many awful, horrible things. Things that no child should ever have to go through, and now this. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that Harry would most likely not come out of this alive. The boy was strong, courageous, brave and very stubborn. But he was not trained. He did not have the skill that Tom Riddle possessed. And running from Tom back into the safety of Hogwarts was so very different than fighting the monster in his own lair.

Images of Harry's smiling face drifted through his mind. A bright boy with so much potential to excel in this world. Then suddenly those images turned dark. His memory spit forth reasons why the boy had never had a chance at a normal life. He remembered the boy with cuts and bruises and broken bones; lying in the hospital wing; dark circles surrounding dull eyes; shaking, bloody, hands…

And Voldemort. The reason the boy would suffer was because of one man. The man who currently had the boy in his clutches.

Albus let his head fall forward into his open hands and felt hot tears leaking through his fingers. They made a cool trail down the back of his aged hands and under the cuffs of his robe. He felt despair swell like a growing bubble in his chest and struggled to contain it.

Silence had fallen across the table, thick, heavy and suffocating.

"Albus…" Minerva whispered, her voice laced with concern and sadness.

She rose from her seat swiftly and went to her old friend's side. Everyone sat, some with their mouths hanging open and some with tears in their eyes. And some, like Molly, who had been crying since last night, were openly weeping.

"Albus, everything will be alright." Minerva tried to sooth. She placed a gentle hand on the man's back and rubbed her thumb gently up and down. "You'll see. The boy is strong. He is a fighter."

"You mustn't despair headmaster." Severus Snape's voice was soft, low, and tinged with care. He was a cold man and a bastard at the best of times, but the one thing he could not stand was to see Albus upset. He tried for what he knew would make his mentor smile. "You know the boy will live just to spite me."

He was rewarded with a watery grin and a soft chuckle. The wizened old man shook his head slightly. "Oh, Severus…"

Minerva's smile followed suit and Albus clasped one of her hands in his, squeezing it tight. Hesitantly, his cheeks tinged slightly with pink, he raised his eyes to regard the rest of the table.

"I do apologize, my friends. I let my emotions overcome me for a moment."

Everyone smiled warmly, not really knowing what to say but understanding none the less. It was the Weasley twins that spoke up.

"That's alright, Albus." Said Fred.

"Everyone needs a good cry every now and then." Said George.

"Even the most powerful wizard in the world." They quipped in unison.

Little chuckles were scattered about the room as the mood lightened considerably, or, as much as it could given the circumstances. Albus smiled a little wider, feeling grateful for having such close and loyal friends, and suggested that they start the meeting over again. Beginning with Severus.

As it turned out, Severus really didn't have all that much information to give them. None but Voldemort's closest and most trusted had been told of the plan to capture Potter. The potions master had barely finished relaying this bit of information when Sirius stood up. The four legs of his chair scrapping the stone floor as it skidded backwards shifted everyone's attention to him. His face was contorted with anger, as it usually was when Severus Snape was in the same room.

"What about all the Death Eaters that were standing around outside the house when the Aurors showed up?"

Black eyes glared furiously into blue.

"If you would let me finish, Black, then you would have the answers to all of your questions! Everyone who was there, with the exception of Malfoy and a few others, were Obliviated upon their return to headquarters. Most of the Dark Lord's minions don't even know that Potter is in their midst yet. When that changes, and I assure you it will and soon, I will let you know." Here, the spy paused to take a breath and regain his composure.

Sirius had calmed himself down and grumbled an apology when he noticed Albus gazing at him sternly.

"Why do you think Voldemort is keeping this a secret?" Kingsley asked. "I would have thought he would announce it to the world. Leak it to the Prophet."

"Maybe he is just waiting for the right time?" Tonks suggested.

"But even his followers don't know." Kingsley argued gently. He looked around the table. "I don't mean to be insensitive or blunt but," he paused, "Would Voldemort not want to hurt Harry?"

Sirius made a strangled noise at the end of the table and turned a little white. Most of the occupants of the kitchen had already thought about this, but no one had really wanted to broach the subject. However, Alastor Moody, who had thus far remained silent, spoke up at once.

"He's right. As much as you all don't want to think about it, there is a good chance that Potter is being tortured as we speak. Voldemort may have even killed him already."

"Alastor!"

Several people cried in outrage, alternating concerned glances between a somber Albus, an ill looking Sirius and a nearly hyperventilating Molly.

Moody banged his staff on the floor loudly and everyone fell silent, except for a few hiccups from the mother of the Weasley family.. "It is sad that the Potter boy is in trouble, yes!" The ex-auror spat. "But sitting here, reminiscing about the child as if he were already lost to us is not helping him. We need to gather as much information as possible. We need to find out where the boy is being kept and plan an attack. We need to pull ourselves together if this is going to work! By now most of you have subconsciously planned a body retrieving mission when it could very well still be a rescue mission!"

* * *

He wondered, again, how long he had been here. And where _here _was. He had no idea of either. As he had been trapped in the darkness for what felt like days and days. The silence and solitude was maddening. The cell, for he guessed that was what it was, was just long enough for him to lay down in and stretch, though he never did. To uncurl his body from the tight ball it was in was to be rattled and consumed by the cold, damp, musty air. By now, the little bit of rock wall his back and bum were touching were warm. He had been sitting like this for hours. His body ached and throbbed from it and the atmosphere, but at least he had stopped shivering. But if he moved…oh, it would take hours again to regain the warmth.

So he stayed like this. With nothing but the silence and his aching, hungry belly for company.

_'Maybe Voldemort forgoten about me…'_

Several hours later, Harry was wishing they _had _forgotten about him. He would have been so lucky…

Eyes scrunched shut and teeth grinding against the pain, Harry waited for the fiery curse to consume him once more.

"Crucio!"

Another scream was ripped from his throat, his body convulsing and twisting on the cold, stone floor. Then he was released. He fought hard to suck air into his lungs but, with every curse, the tremors took longer to quell and he had to fight harder to regain control of his body. He was sure that, if they kept up like this, his body would just stop functioning altogether.

"Had enough, Harry?" Tom Riddle's chilling voice reverberated off the stone walls of the chamber where he, and most of his followers, watched the long awaited torture of Harry Potter.

The Boy Who Lived took a few more seconds to make sure that, if he spoke, he could actually form words.

"Fuck…you…" he gasped with as much defiance as his ravaged body could scrape up.

Voldemort's face morphed into something ugly, with muscles twitching and eyes flashing, he snarled, "Foolish boy!" he took a few calming breaths to control himself.

Harry supposed it wouldn't do to lose one's composure in the face of an enemy.

"You have no idea the power I possess!" he snake snarled viciously.

Harry chose not to comment, deciding that he needed to save the energy for the next torture curse.

Voldemort sat in his high backed chair…well, it was more like a throne. His pale hands gripping the arm rests convulsively. And then his face twisted into something resembling a grin and Harry felt as if his stomach had dropped several feet. He could do nothing as he waited for the Dark Lord to spill whatever grand secret he had obviously been waiting to divulge to everyone.

"There are a great many things you do not know, Harry Potter." The chilling voice hissed into the silence of the room. "But, as you are about to die, I will enlighten you." Collecting his thoughts, Voldemort paused and then leaned forward in his throne, his crimson eyes flashing eagerly.

"I cannot kill you, Harry."

For a split second, Harry felt something like relief fill him, then confusion followed. Hadn't Voldemort just said he was about to die?

"…At least," he drawled, giving a long pause for suspense, "Not in this world."

Swallowing back the tang of blood in his mouth, Harry heard all the Death Eaters behind him shifting and moving about restlessly. And from his place on the cool floor he could hear them whispering.

A small frown marred the boy's dirty face.

They sounded…surprised? Dubious?

Was this news to them as well then? Had they not known their master's plan either? For some reason, this didn't make Harry feel any better about the situation.

Voldemort stood from his chair, bearing an arrogant smile.

"I will explain this to you all. I discovered, in my research over the past few months, that this _boy_," he spat the word, "and Myself, have a stronger bond than I had originally thought. I do not wish to go into particular details, but, simply put: If the boy dies, so do I."

There were more whispers after this declaration, and one brave Death Eater cried out, "But my lord! Surely you are strong enough to overcome this bond!"

"Shut up, you fool!"

Every Death Eater in the crown seemed to shrink under their master's withering glare.

"Do not speak of things you know nothing about!" Here, he seemed to collect himself. "The bond is complete and unbreakable. However," That horrible gleam had reappeared in those evil eyes and Harry opted to close his own. He did not wish to stare death in the face any longer.

"I have found a way around this. I will, quite simply, make Harry Potter disappear. If the boy is gone from this world then his half of the bond goes with him."

This was all said as if it were the most obviously simple thing in the world.

"How will you…send him away, My Lord?"

Avery Nott. Harry recognized his voice immediately. He asked a good question, one that was on everyone's mind. Voldemort smiled indulgently, as if he had been waiting for someone to ask it.

"A potion and a spell."

Only silence greeted this answer. Was it really going to be so simple, Harry wondered? Where would he be sent? What would this world be like? Was there even alternate dimensions? Harry had always assumed them to be nothing more than myths. But, then again, until he was eleven, he had believed that magic was just a myth as well.

Voldemort had made his way over to where Harry still lay, shaking on the floor. He looked down his nonexistent nose and sneered.

"The place where you are going is not a nice place, Harry Potter. You will not survive. And that is the point of all of this. First I will make you and the bond we have disappear and then, when you die, it will not affect me in the least. For no bond can stretch across a universe."

Harry wished he could say something. Anything. But his throat was torn from screaming. It hurt too much. Voldemort was walking away now, towards his loyal followers.

"When the boy is dead, I have devised a little present for all his…loved ones." The last two words sounded as if they tasted bad in his mouth.

Dark chuckles floated across Harry's awareness.

"Would you like me to tell you what I will give your friends, Potter?"

Unable to talk, Harry shook his head.

"I didn't think so. Which is why I am going to tell you." Voldemort was once again standing over his enemy's prone figure. "I assume even you have heard of the Visual Projection spell, Visiva Mostra?"

Harry blinked. He had. But what did that have to do with anything? It was like a live television feed. You could watch what was happening in a certain place, as it was happening, without actually being there.

"I am going to show all your little friends your rotting corpse."

Harry's face contorted in disgust. It still amazed him how Voldemort could say such horrible things as if he were just commenting on the weather.

"When will this happen, My Lord?" the Death Eater that spoke sounded giddy with excitement.

Voldemort smiled horribly. "Well, there's no time like the present, Mr. Goyle."


	4. Snape's Story

**Chapter 4: Snape's Story**

When Harry became aware of his surroundings, he found himself in the same place he had been earlier that day: On the floor, surrounded by Death Eaters. Though Voldemort was nowhere to be seen.

He wondered absently, when he had lost consciousness.

Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he noted that there seemed to be drawings on the floor beneath him. They were erratic and didn't seem to follow any sort of pattern. There were also two black stones within his immediate line of sight. They seemed to all at once absorb the surrounding light _and _emit a dark glow from within. Some sort of sparkly substance coated the floor as well and, upon closer inspection, himself.

With a sudden burst of amusement, which Harry later attributed to the onset of insanity, he realized that if there were a few skulls and some candles, this would look remarkably like the evil magic rituals he had seen on fictional television shows. Perhaps Voldemort had decided to raise a demon instead and offer him as a sacrifice.

A little chuckle escaped his parched lips, grabbing the attention of the Death Eaters. They glanced at one another with raised eyebrows and wary expressions.

"Shall we begin before the boy is too far gone to realize he is being sent to hell?"

That roused a round of laughs from the crowd, but they were soon shushed by Voldemort himself as the snake broke through the ring of excited Death Eaters.

"He is right, you know." The Dark Lord hissed to Harry. "You are being sent to hell. Or, as close to it as one can get." Voldemort dropped himself down to Harry's level. "There are monsters there that you cannot imagine, Harry. Twisted, evil beings that will tear you apart or devour you whole. You do not stand a chance."

With those words of encouragement, Voldemort rose and turned to his followers.

"Let us finish this once and for all."

Deafening cheers erupted, crushing the anticipatory silence.

Voldemort turned, his full attention focused on Harry, holding a small vial in his skeletal hand. Harry blinked. Surely something so small could not impact his life as much as Voldemort claimed.

As he was about to do his best to avoid drinking whatever was in that bottle, Voldemort waved his wand and Harry found himself unable to move. He watched, with a growing sense of horror, as Voldemort slowly approached him, a cruel smile upon his thin lips.

When the Dark Lord's hand touched his mouth, Harry thought it might be what the touch of a vampire would feel like. The hand was as cold as ice, like the body it was attached to had been dead for a long time.

The thought made his stomach churn.

His jaw was forced open and Harry felt glass pressing against his lips. He winced at the touch. The glass was _hot_. And as soon as the liquid in the bottle made contact with his flesh he knew why.

The potion must have just been poured from the cauldron, for it felt like it had just been taken off the flame. It scalded his mouth and throat, and if it were not for the icy hand over his mouth, forcing him to swallow, he would have screamed.

As it was, he screamed anyway when the hand was removed. He was sure he would never be able to swallow or speak again. It felt like his esophagus was being incinerated as the potion worked its way down to his stomach. Distantly, Harry heard voices as the Death Eaters began waving their wands. Harry knew they were speaking, but not in English.

He had stopped screaming, gasping instead, trying to suck the cool air of the dungeon down his charred throat. The burning had receded, but an unnatural warmth was beginning to swell within his stomach. His heart hammered against his ribcage and his limbs trembled. Beads of sweat covered his body as an extreme feeling of weightlessness overtook him.

And suddenly, there was pain. More terrible than anything he knew. He was beyond torment. Beyond functioning. He could no longer think. There was only blackness and fire. He felt like he was being ripped apart, one molecule at a time.

Surely he would die soon. He would die and the agony would end.

But it wasn't ending. It stretched on and on until he could no longer scream. He wasn't anything anymore. His body was shredded. His mind, ruptured.

If this wasn't hell, it was damn close to it.

* * *

"YOU _WHAT_?"

"I said, I couldn't _do_ anything!"

"BULLSHIT!"

"Sirius, please…" Remus pleaded with his friend.

"NO!" the animagus rounded on his friend, "He was _there_ Moony! He was_ right there _the whole time and he never –"

"_That is enough_!"

Sirius Black felt his jaw snap shut of its own accord as everyone turned wide eyes to Albus Dumbledore. The man did not look happy. He was standing at the head of the table, his palms open and flat on its weathered surface. He was glaring at Sirius angrily, his eyes, far from twinkling, were chips of ice.

"Severus risks his life on a daily basis to get information back to the Order. You are no fool, Sirius, therefore I am confident that you _do_ realize this, no matter how irrationally you may act or speak sometimes."

Sirius had sat back down and was sinking lower and lower in his chair under the harsh words.

But Dumbledore wasn't finished yet.

"He has more information regarding your godson than any of us do and if you weren't so busy accusing him of being an accomplice in murder, then we would have all seen this information by now."

There was a pregnant pause in which Sirius swallowed compulsively and shrugged in an awkwardly apologetic fashion in Snape's general direction.

Seemingly satisfied with that, Dumbledore sat back down in his chair and folded his hands across the tabletop in front of him, looking as serene and calm as ever. No one really knew what to say after the little display and the silence lingered on for a few more uncomfortable seconds before Tonks cleared her throat and said,

"So, Headmaster, you, uh, you said, um, we would have been able to _see_….the information?"

Albus smiled suddenly, somewhat sad looking.

"Yes." He confirmed. "Severus has been kind enough to put the events of last night, what he saw of them, in a pensive." At the shocked silence, Dumbledore elaborated, after glancing in the potions master's direction. "We have agreed that retelling the story will not give us an accurate perception of what happened. Severus has informed me that there was a potion and a ritual involved. He has an idea of what the potion may be but, he was not the one who made it and so we will have to devote some research to garner a more complete knowledge of how it is made and what it does. The ritual is really the part we need to see, as Severus admits that he cannot remember the words of the spell cast upon Harry."

Severus looked up from the table at this point, "After the spell was cast, there was also a phrase that was chanted repeatedly until Potter was…gone."

Albus nodded, "I figured as much. Most rituals, especially ones that are powerful or dark, require that something be repeated several times to ensure there is a sufficient source of magic to sustain and feed the process until the task is complete."

The wizened old man raised his wand and everyone turned to watch the stone basin float through the door and settled gently on the table.

"Now," Albus began, "The memory is already in place. So, everyone, one finger only in the bowl, if you please, there are a lot of us here."

As everyone rose from the table to properly position themselves around the pensive so that they were all able to reach, Dumbledore turned to Sirius with a heavy gaze. He rested a hand on the younger man's shoulder and said quietly, "Sirius, if you do not wish to come along with the rest of us, I will understand. I'm sure you know, but my conscience compels me to tell you, that whatever means Voldemort used to send Harry away will not have been painless…nor swift."

In other words Harry will have suffered extensively, and probably for a while. Sirius was no fool, he had already asked himself this question. Did he want to see what happened to Harry? He had heard Snape's vague retelling. Did he really need to see the details? Would he be able to handle watching whatever had happen to his sixteen year old godson? He knew he must look a wreck, knew he was probably more pale than Snape, with rings around his eyes and an unshaven face. How could he not be? He hadn't slept in days and the only food he'd managed to force down his constricted throat was a few pieces of bread every now and then.

With a determined look in his haunted eyes, Sirius Black nodded and joined the rest of the Order of the Phoenix around the pensive.

Remus laid a heavy hand on his shoulder in what little support he could offer and, together with the rest of the table, the two of them placed their index finger of their right hands into the swirling liquid of the pensive.

When Sirius landed in the cold chamber his gaze was instantly pulled towards the motionless form of Harry Potter. Sirius closed his eyes in a futile attempt to control his emotions. The boy was a wreck. He lay on the floor in the center of the room. There were random red and white lines crisscrossing the floor beneath his body and he tried to decipher a pattern in the trails but could find nothing besides the fact that they all seemed to be about the same length. Their ends all stopping cleanly to make the vague outline of a circle.

There were also six black stones, all positioned a foot outside the perimeter of the circle, and all varying in size. It took a second for Sirius to realize what was so strange about the stones. They seemed to suck the light out of the space around them, absorbing it into their core, where it appeared charged and glowed with an, eerie, dark luminosity. It didn't make sense, really. It seemed impossible.

And then Sirius realized that there was a circle of Death Eaters forming around Harry's prone figure and the compulsion to run to his godson's aide became almost overwhelming. Only the knowledge that he really couldn't do anything, no matter how much he wanted to, stopped him from doing so.

And then everyone's attention was drawn to Harry, as his eyes cracked open. He looked dazed, his eyes unfocused as he gazed at the lines on the floor beneath him. And, quite shockingly, the boy chuckled after a few seconds of staring at them.

Sirius felt his heart constrict. Had they tortured the poor boy to the point of insanity? By his appearance, it certainly didn't seem all that unlikely. He had rolled himself onto his back, his legs still folded at the knees. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat and blood. His clothes ragged, torn and dirty. Blood trickled from both corners of his mouth and various other parts of his body.

Suddenly, and quite vividly, Sirius pictured how Harry must have come to be in this state. Writhing on the floor under the cruciatus curse would have gotten him dirty. He would have torn clothes and flesh on the stones of the floor. And his throat would have, by now, been ripped to shreds and bleeding from his screaming.

Sirius mentally shook himself and tried to force those images out of his head and focus on the situation. Voldemort had moved into the large ring of Death Eaters where the Order stood. He was talking, taunting…

"He is right, you know." The snake hissed, "You are being sent to hell. Or, as close to it as one can get." Voldemort dropped himself down to Harry's level. "There are monsters there that you cannot imagine, Harry. Twisted, evil beings that will tear you apart or devour you whole. You do not stand a chance."

Again vivid images reeled through the animagus' mind until he was shaken from his thoughts by deafening cries and cheers.

Voldemort then proceeded to immobilize Harry and force feed him a small vial. Sirius was starting to think that this wasn't so bad, that maybe Harry's torment had ended at the torture curse. But his hopes were dashed when Voldemort removed his hand from the boy's mouth.

Harry screamed.

Clapping his hands over his ears, Sirius attempted to drown out the cries of pain. Several others were doing the same but it made no difference. They even heard Snape when he informed them all that the potion was made to feel scalding hot when in contact with flesh, even though, in reality, it was only at room temperature.

Harry had stopped screaming now and Sirius let his hands fall to his sides as they clenched and unclenched. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. His chest was tight and his throat was scratchy. He didn't want to see any more. He didn't know what was worse, Harry's screams of pain or his ragged, shuddering breaths; an attempt to cool the illusion of his scalded throat.

There were words being chanted now, like Snape had said, and he hoped someone was listening to them because he couldn't concentrate enough to make sense of the words.

And then it happened.

He was sure the boy's throat was irreparable now. He had never heard a scream so hard. So raw. So primal. Blood trickled out the corners of his mouth, his back arching off the floor. And before the eyes of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry Potter began to fall apart.

Like ashes off a charred log, particle sized pieces of the Boy Who Lived drifted away into the air as dust. There was no blood, no bone, no gore. He just…drifted apart. His screams of agony becoming more and more airy and fragmented until everything was just…gone.


	5. A Fight and Waking

**Chapter 5: A Fight and Waking**

Sirius did not sleep that night, and neither did Remus, for he sat up with his best friend into the small hours of the morning. Neither of them said a word to the other. They simply leant what comfort they could with presence alone. In the morning, there was another meeting. The third in so many days. This is when they started the research. The Black library was extensive in dark knowledge but still, more books were brought in. Hundreds and hundreds of them, from all over the world. Anything they could get their hands on was in the library in the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

Those not yet deemed old enough to join the order were left to their own devices.

Up in the musty, damp rooms, huddled together on one bed were Ron and Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"I wish they would tell us more." The brunet of the trio whispered. She must have uttered such a whim a hundred times already, but no matter how much they pleaded, the Order would not tell them a thing more about what had happened.

They had managed to squeeze a few meager facts out of Fred and George, but so far all they knew was that their best friend had been taken away by Death Eaters and no one knew where he was or what was being done to him.

Ron sighed and ran a hand over his freckled face. He tossed aside the news paper he had been reading over. It was from three days ago, the night of the incident, and he had all but memorized every word by now.

"This is bloody ridiculous!" He snapped. "Harry is our best mate, you think they would take some pity on us for Christ's sake!"

"Ronald!" Hermione scolded for the use of his language, "That isn't helping any!"

"Well it makes me feel just a little bit better, OK?"

Ginny let her eyes fall to her lap as she twisted the worn and loose threads of the blanket across her knees. She hated it when her brother got upset. She knew how sad her brother was and knew that he was masking it with anger towards the Order. This was a devastating blow for Ron. A violent shove into reality. Up until now, nothing _really _serious had happened to any of them. But now Harry was gone…and maybe even –

"Harry could be _dead _for all we know!"

"_Shut up_, Ron! Just stop it!" Hermione screeched.

"No!" he pointed his finger at the girl before him. "You sit there and defend them like they have a right to keep this information from us! We've fought in this war too and I want to know what happened to my best friend!"

Ginny didn't think she had ever seen that particular shade of red on her brother's face before. But Hermione didn't look much better. Tears were brimming in her brown eyes, ready to cascade down her cheeks at any moment. Her bottom lip was quivering and her hands shook as they grasped the sheets beneath her.

"I'm not defending them! I never said that what they are doing is right! I never-"

But Hermione never got to finish, for Ron had strode across the room, his hands thrown into the air in a gesture of anger and disgust. Whether it was directed towards Hermione or the general situation, Ginny wasn't sure, but what she did know was that when Ron and Hermione fought, it usually got a lot worse before it got better and, apparently, this time was no different.

Hermione had leaped off the bed to chase after Ron as soon as she realized what he was doing. She was gone out the door in a matter of seconds and Ginny momentarily entertained the idea of going after them.

She decided that there wasn't anything she could really do. The two of them had always had to fight out their problems, and she guessed they always would. Even when they were married and had kids…

The youngest of the Weasley clan laid her head down on the pillow at the top of the bed and pulled the blanket that had been draped across her lap closer to her body. Closing her eyes, she waited for the screaming to begin.

Hermione had not been this angry in a long time. For the past few days she had been able to feel nothing else but sadness at the loss of their friend. But, as she hammered down the stairs after her other best friend, her heart pounded and her skin burned.

She felt warm for the first time in days, as if a fire had been lit within her soul.

Maybe, if Ron and her could still fight, still argue like they always had, like _normal_, then, just maybe, Harry could make it through this, like he made it through everything else. Like _normal_.

She finally caught up with the red head just outside the entry to the sitting room.

"How can you be so selfish?" she snarled, the tone of her voice sounding foreign even to her own ears.

Ron had stopped dead in his tracks, his hands clenching into fists. He turned on her.

"Selfish?" He repeated in a whisper. His eyes flashed suddenly in the candlelight of the hallways, shadows dancing across his face making it look angular, sharp and murderous. "You think I'm being _selfish_?"

Hermione forced air out through her nose, her nostrils flaring. "Your acting like you're the only one this is affecting! Like none of the rest of us have a right to be upset. That you can yell and swear and holler all you want but when someone else does the same, you don't understand why!" Her voice, she noticed, had grown steadily louder and more shrill with every word she spoke.

As Ron glared at her, she heard footsteps coming from the general direction of the library, where she knew the whole Order was hard at work.

"Well, I apologize."

It took her a split second to realize he was being sarcastic.

"I'm sorry for being upset, Hermione! You're right! I _am_ being selfish! Why should I want to yell and scream? After all, it was only _my best friend _that was kidnapped and taken to a Dark Lord!"

Something suddenly snapped inside Hermione at the repetition of those words. An explosion of emotion erupted within her heart and, as she desperately tried to regain control of herself, dark spots danced before her eyes.

"HE'S MY BEST FRIEND TOO!" she screamed, slamming the palm of her hand against her chest, her throat feeling as if it would tear right down the middle. Tears were spilling down her face and her shaking hands were balled into fists as her glare slowly melted into a grimace of anguish and she collapsed against the wall beside her.

She didn't see Ron slowly walk to her side, as her face was buried in her hands. But she did feel his strong arms envelop her as sobs wracked her frame. She leaned into him, pressing her face into his chest, her hands grasping at his jumper.

"I'm so sorry…" he whispered into her hair. His arms tightened around her.

Behind the two teenagers, several members of the Order were crammed into the entrance hall. Sirius felt his heart sinking as he watched Harry's two best friends. They hadn't really been paying the children that much attention since the night Harry disappeared, instead focusing all their energy on research and strategies to find and free the Boy Who Lived. None of the members had been aware, nor, if they were honest with themselves, had bothered to check, how the recent events had been affecting some of the most important people in Harry's life.

"Come on you two."

Thank god Remus was so good with people, Sirius found himself thinking. He had always been hopeless in these hurt/comfort situations.

Sirius sighed as the rest of the Order shuffled out of the entrance hall. The animagus assumed they would all rather pour over dusty, old, boring tomes than deal with the turbulent emotions of two teenagers.

So Sirius went into the kitchen to make some tea while Remus coaxed the two friends off the floor (and off each other). After they had all sat in silence, sipping the Earl Grey that may or may not have been laced with some calming drought, Sirius and Remus shared a glance.

Remus spoke, "We realize that this has been difficult for the both of you…and Ginny," he added as an after thought, "And I admit that we haven't really been paying enough attention to what has been going on with the three of you."

The stony silence this statement received prompted Remus to clear his throat and press on with some more, hopefully appeasing, information.

"So me and Sirius have decided to give you a little more information."

At this the two teens seemed to perk up a little, but the grave look on the faces of both men kept them from thinking any news they might receive would be good.

"The first thing that you have to know is that Snape saw the entire thing." Sirius said.

Remus sighed and, immediately foreseeing the reaction those words would provoke, moved to explain quickly.

"There was nothing he could do to stop this without revealing himself as a spy, and right now he is all we have to collect any new information on where Harry is."

These words seemed to placate Ron, though he still looked unhappy, always willing to jump at any chance to be mad at Snape. Hermione, however, wore a puzzled frown. She looked up at Remus. "…where Harry is…?" she repeated Remus' words. "But, I thought you knew where he was."

Ron frowned now as well. "Yeah, didn't you say You Know Who had him?"

Remus sighed again. "Well, yes. He did. But, then he sent him away." The werewolf struggled to find the right words as Ron and Hermione exchanged perplexed looks.

Suddenly Sirius sighed, a harsh sound that revealed how truly exhausted and irritated he was with what was happening. He drained the rest of his tea as Ron and Hermione's gaze settled on him expectantly.

"Bugger it," He muttered to the table top. He pulled his gaze up to meet those of his godson's best friends and, with a quick glance at Remus, said, "I don't care what the Order says, I'm starting at the beginning…"

Remus' words of protest died on his lips when he saw the expressions on the teens' faces. Their eyes filled with relief as they leaned forward and a tiny spark of hope glittered behind their tired eyes. He realized then that they were all in the same boat when it came to Harry. These two had stood and fought beside Harry more times than most of them had and they were still being kept in the dark. Remus imagined what he might feel if something had happened to Sirius and everyone decided that he didn't need to know anything about it…

The werewolf folded his arms atop the table and let Sirius tell the story to Ron and Hermione, even going so far as to hone most of his attention on the locked doorway to the kitchen and the hall beyond. He wanted to make sure that they weren't interrupted.

* * *

The first thing he heard was voices. Snickering, squeaky, scratchy little voices. They were all around him. Their words indistinguishable one from the other. They taunted, with the intention of making him feel vulnerable and weak, their sound raspy and sly. He listened to them, slightly obscured by layers of oppressive cotton that wrapped about his body like a cocoon.

He struggled weakly to pull himself the rest of the way into the conscious world.

The voices hissed with laughter.

He was a corpse, they whispered, a nameless, empty shell from which the life had been drained, left to be consumed by the earth.

A stab of panic shot through his chest and he fought to keep the feeling under control. He couldn't let it overpower him. He needed to think. He was in bed. He was just dreaming…

And then he remembered. Suddenly, his dry lips parted and a sharp intake of breath stung his fiery throat. And his certainties that this was a dream were gone as quickly as the voices, disappeared like smoke.

Or maybe like ashes…

Still wrapped in cotton that filled his head and mouth, that bound his thoughts and reason, he tried again to move his arms and legs. He could do so, but only with tremendous effort. He felt weak, as if he had slept, not for one night, but for a hundred.

His senses were slowly returning. He felt hard ground beneath his face and bare arms; he could smell the earth. The air smelled stale and dead and there was not even the smallest trace of a breeze to be felt.

Where was he?

His panic returned, threatening to overwhelm him, but he forced it down. He had no patience for it and had no intention of giving it power over him. He was not hurt; he was still whole. Deep breaths, one after the other, calmed him down and cleared his foggy mind.

He opened his eyes slowly, not knowing what to expect. Squinting in hazy light, he realized it was night still. He was staring at a darkened sky that domed over the landscape. A infinite, laden canopy. Yet something was wrong. The sky was cloudless, but devoid of moon and stars. Nor was the sun in evidence. The world was cast in the sullen tones of a storm's approach, shrouded in layers of silence, in hushed tones of anticipation.

It must be twilight, he decided. That would explain the empty sky. The sun was down, the moon not yet up and the stars not yet out - yes, that explained it.

The voices were gone and he hoped that they had just been a figment of his imagination. He listened for them and heard nothing, either in his mind or the real world. And then he noticed something else strange. There were no other sounds either. No birdsong, no buzzing of insects, or rustle of wind in the trees, or ripple of water in a stream, or any sound at all save for the pounding of his heart.

It took him a long while, but he eventually forced himself to move. Rolling onto his side and then up into a sitting position, his hands behind him on the earth to brace himself upright. He waited for the dizziness to pass. Slowly, his vision cleared as well, from a watery haze to clarity.

He looked around and felt the panic return for a third time.

He stood in a ragged, blasted landscape, surrounded by trees that were twisted and grey; dense with withered limbs and thick, cracked and peeling bark. They had no leaves. They had the look of blight about them, sickened to the point where they could no longer thrive. Because he was sitting on a plateau overlooking several valleys and, farther out, a river, he could see that the forest extended for miles in all directions, bleak and unchanging. Farther out still, at the edges of his vision, great mountains loomed stark and barren against the skyline. The atmosphere about him was grey, almost colorless. The earth, the sky, the trees, even the air, were lifeless and bleak.

And it was hot. Very hot. He found it strange because there was no sun in the sky.

There was nothing else. Nothing man-made - no buildings, no bridges, no traffic on the river…not even a road through the forest. No people. No life. Seemingly, he was alone in this empty, alien world.

He remembered being captured, tortured and then…he was given a potion. He winced at the memory of the pain and rubbed his throat as if to dispel the thought.

He checked himself carefully to make certain that he was all in one piece. He took inventory of himself as well. Obviously his wand was gone. He would most likely never see that again. All he really had was his black tee shirt and his jeans and boots. Basically, what it came down to was: he had nothing.

He was, once again, eternally grateful for Hermione's extensive range of knowledge. For his Christmas present last year, she had made a potion for him. She had informed him proudly that it had taken a long time and some of its ingredients were rare and expensive, so he shouldn't be surprised if he didn't get a birthday present this year.

But he could not have asked for anything better. The gift of sight was greater than anything he could hope for.

She had said she had decided to make the potion for him because of all the trouble he got himself into. The brunet had said it jokingly, but there had been an underlying tension in her voice when she explained that, now when he got knocked around by Death Eaters, he didn't have to worry about his glasses falling off. The two of them had laughed with Ron and Ginny and Fred and George and everybody who had gone to Sirius' house for Christmas break.

That seemed an eternity ago.

Would he ever see them again? Did they even know he was gone yet? He was fairly certain that if they did, they would never find him. He was sure he wasn't still in England. He fuzzily remembered Voldemort talking about alternate worlds. Harry was not even close to knowledgeable when it came to things so complex. Alternate Universes were not something they learned about at Hogwarts and though he had been studying harder than he had any other year, he doubted he would have found any information, at least in his school books, that would prove useful in this situation. He couldn't even be sure this place would be documented anywhere. World hopping was not widely practiced, he was sure. Not to mention this didn't seem like a place anyone should want to visit willingly. Voldemort had told Harry that this was as close to Hell as one could get.

He suddenly felt the heat more keenly.

His stomach growled and he let the feeling of hunger have his attention rather than the heat. He began to look for food. But it was unlikely that anything such as berries or fruit grew anywhere in this world. His hunger would have to wait.

He started to walk through the trees, looking for water instead. As he went, he listened hard for sounds of other life. What sort of world was he in where there were no birds? Where there any people, any creatures at all? Was it possible that he was the only living thing here? The forest was empty and dead, smelling of its own decay. The grey light was unchanging and oppressive and the sky remained empty of sun, moon or stars. Even of clouds. The dark, ruined world felt incomplete, as if it were only a faintly cast shadow of the real world.

Eventually, he found a stream, but the water looked so foul he decided against drinking it. A black, slimy film coated the edges of the brook and its flow was sluggish as if it were made of something thicker than water.

He set off again, back towards the edge of the bluff where he had awoken to get a better look around. Something else must exist in this place. Another creature. Another form of life. If he could find it, whatever it was, he might be able to determine where he was. Then, if he could do that, he might have a better idea of how to get back to where he belonged.

But then he remembered something else Voldemort had said. That the creatures here were vicious. They were monsters that would tear him limb from limb or devour him whole.

Suddenly he didn't want to find any other life forms.

The walk took him only a short time, though it left him winded and fatigued. He wasn't himself yet. He had not overcome the hours of torture of the cruciatus and wondered how long it took for the tremors to go away. He was grateful that they had not physically tortured him. If he had woken up in this world bleeding and with broken bones, he surely would not have survived.

With a sigh, he stood upon the edge of the bluff, in the shadow of a lifeless tree. And despite having decided he didn't want to run into any of the creatures that may dwell within this world, he found himself carefully scanning the countryside below him. Somewhere deep in his mind he felt the need to find something, anything else that lived and breathed, even if it was an evil monster, just so that he was not alone.

So absorbed in his efforts was he, his concentration so complete, that at first he didn't even know it was there. But, in its eagerness to reach him, it stepped upon some twigs and gave itself away.

Even so, it was on him so quickly he barely had time to react. At the last moment, he threw himself to the ground as it lunged for him. It's eyes were huge, round, and smooth, with no pupil. Like that of a fly's. The thing vaguely resembled a cat but it was larger. Much larger. It's fur was dark and coarse like a bear's.

It lunged at him again, its jaws snapping. He noticed long, razor sharp teeth coated in saliva. This time he was not fast enough and caught a glancing blow. The breath was forced from his lungs when he was sent spinning and slammed into a tree trunk.

Harry struggled to fill his lungs with air once more and pushed himself up on his hands and knees. The creature was circling him now. Ready to jump in for the kill. As he regained his breath, he felt his hand brush against a heavy piece of wood. He grabbed it, the only form of a weapon he was going to find, and stood as the beast lunged at him a final time.

In hindsight, he didn't think either him nor the animal had foreseen what was to come.

The end of the log he held was pointed, jagged from being broken off the tree. As the monster leapt into the air, Harry drove the bottom of the branch into the ground and held it steady at the last second. The beast came down upon him with slashing claws and jagged teeth. But he did not feel much pain as they sliced open the flesh of his upper arm. All he could distinguish in that moment were two things. The first was the cracking and snapping of bones as the cat like creature impaled itself on the log, driving the piece of wood through the center of its ribcage where it burst out through the animal's spine in a shower of flesh, blood and bone.

The second thing he noticed was the ear slitting cry of the beast as it was skewered alive.

Immediately, Harry let go of the log and leapt out of the way as it and the cat creature fell to the ground. He watched, terrified, but morbidly satisfied, as the creature writhed and twitched in a growing pool of its own blood. In a matter of seconds, it had stopped moving at all and lay still.

After he had took some time to compose himself, and shake off the adrenaline rush that had left him jittery and lightheaded, he made his way over to the body to get a better look at it.

It's face was it's most distinguished feature and Harry found himself studying it more closely. It's head looked like nothing more than a skull covered in fur. You could see indentations and ridges in its primitive bone structure. It had no nose, only a cavity where it should have been. It had hundreds of long, needle like teeth that were all crammed into its mouth, sticking out every which way. A thick tongue hung out onto the ground, coated in dirt and blood. It was forked, like that of a snake's, but much thicker. His eyes traveled to the animal's paws, where he saw long claws covered in _his_ blood. He inspected the wound on his arm. Not too horrible. It wasn't deep but he had no doubt it would get infected if he didn't look after it soon.

But where in this place would he ever find medical supplies? There might be plants here that had healing capabilities, but Herbology had never been his best subject and there certainly were no medi-wizards around.

With a sigh that was more meant to steady himself than anything, Harry picked a direction and began to walk, attempting to dispel the bloody images of the cat from his mind. It didn't really matter which way he went. He couldn't tell north from south or east from west without the sun. And he couldn't do a point me spell, not only because he didn't have a wand, but he didn't have a destination either. And he didn't much fancy the idea of staying where he was, no doubt the smell of the blood would attract more unwanted visitors.

With a glance up at the sky, he could see the grey expanse through the canopy of gnarled limbs and he wondered if it would ever change or if it would stay the same; empty and lifeless like the rest of this world.


	6. Losing Hope

**Chapter 6: Losing Hope**

A week had passed since they had fought and in this week they had become no closer to finding out where their friend was, let alone how to bring him back.

Ron and Hermione spent most of their days sitting alone together in the room Ron and Harry shared. It was still two weeks before the start of the school year and the two best friends had nothing to do. Their time was spent together, either talking about Harry, what may have happened to him and where he may be, or thinking in silence over those same subjects.

The adults in the house, those who were in the Order, were forced to watch the teens suffer, for there was nothing they could do for them except find their friend. They were all trying. Fifty people, sometimes more, came and went from the house everyday, laden with books and old parchments, maps and journals. All for the possibility that they could save the Boy Who Lived - a goal that was slipping from their grasp a little more every day; every hour they spent researching. Their goal was slowly turning into a dream they would not be able to fulfill.

Finding out where the boy was was not their only problem either. None in the Wizarding world knew their savior was gone yet. Save for the select few in the Order, everyone else thought he was safe within the protection of his muggle relatives.

How were they going to tell the world that Harry Potter was gone? That he may never come back? Most saw him as a beacon of hope in the war against the Dark Lord. If he was gone, how would that affect their drive? Would they lose hope and give up? The Order was certain a lot of people would. What, then, should they do? Lie and cover for the boy's disappearance? That may work for a while, but eventually the public would find out.

The situation was a dire one and, with the passing of every day came, too, the realization that they were getting nowhere and moving farther and farther away from any chance of finding him.

Remus closed the book in his lap gently. He had been reading the same paragraph over and over for the last fifteen minutes and he still could not remember what it contained. Since yesterday he had been unable to read a book, for every time he did, his mind would begin to wander over the same topics. He could not help them research but, at this point, he didn't know if it made a difference.

Sirius was no better. The poor man had been reading the same page, the book upside down, for the better part of an hour.

Remus hated seeing his friend this way, especially when there was nothing he could do to help him. Harry was the only thing he had had left in this world that he cared about, besides Remus, and the boy was the closest thing to a son the man was ever going to have. If they never found Harry, Remus didn't know if his friend would survive the loss. The child had been gone for a little more than a week and Sirius was not doing well, by any account.

The werewolf exhaled through his nose in a weary sigh and rubbed a hand down his face. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking at his friend.

"Sirius…"

He didn't look up.

"Sirius!"

With a start, the dark haired man raised wide, fatigued eyes.

"That book is upside down, you know."

Sirius let his eyes fall to the book in his lap. He stared at it for a second, a look of confusion on his face, before slamming it shut violently and throwing it across the room where it crashed into a very old and very expensive looking vase on the mantle of the fireplace.

The sound of shattering glass seemed explosive in the quiet of the library where everyone had studiously been reading and writing notes. A few startled cries followed the crash and everyone raised their heads from their books to stare, wide eyed, at Sirius.

Remus, startled by the outburst, had stood and closed the distance between himself and his friend before the little pieces of the vase had even stopped skidding across the floor. He griped the other man's arms.

"Sirius, calm down!" he hissed.

His friend glared at him.

"Smashing things around isn't going to help anything."

"Well it makes me feel a little better."

Remus blinked, taken aback by the sound of the animagus' voice. It was hollow. Sad. He sounded defeated.

Remus felt his head moving side to side of its own accord. "You've given up already, Sirius?" he said, his tone more accusing than he had intended.

Dark eyes lowered, shame tingeing pale cheeks.

Remus could find no other words. Not even angry ones. Sirius had always been so strong. So stubborn. He didn't give up this quickly. Ever. With a sinking feeling, Remus wondered if this was the event that would break his friend. The straw that broke the camel's back so to speak. Was losing Harry going to be more than Sirius could handle?

"Sirius…"

The man was shaking his head now. "I can't do this, Remus…" he said, shaking his arms free of Remus' hold.

Dozens of pairs of eyes watched Sirius Black walk swiftly from the room. His head was bowed and he was wiping furiously at his eyes, trying to hamper the tears before they fell.

Remus stood in the middle of the room, feeling completely lost. Sirius had never cried before. At least, Remus had never _seen _the man cry. He didn't know what to do. So he sat back down in his chair and picked up the book he had set aside. He opened it to the same page and started to read the same paragraph over again. The words drifted through his mind in a meaningless haze. Maybe Sirius had it right. Maybe there was nothing they could do. Maybe they should just give it up and try to keep everything else going; try to pick up the pieces as they went…

Remus sighed again and moved his gaze back up to the top of the paragraph to begin once more.

* * *

Harry wasn't feeling well. His stomach ached with hunger. His throat was dry and his lips were cracked and burning. He wasn't sure how he had even made it this far. He had been here for three days. In this world. He hadn't eaten or drank anything. There was scarcely anything to eat, unless one had the stomach for dirt, rocks or tree bark. Every once in a while he would come upon a stream or a bush with some strange looking berries. But the streams all looked like the first he had found: Dirty, with a filmy, black substance clinging to the edges of the water. The water itself was slow to travel and, once, Harry's curiosity had got the better of him, and he had stuck a few fingers into the stream. It had felt like oil – slimy and thick.

The one or two bushes he had found were as twisted and dead looking as the trees of the forest in which he walked. The berries they produced were old, dry and shriveled like rose hips and bright purple in color. He dared not eat them. Bright colors often meant poison.

He had been walking endlessly, stopping to rest only when his body felt ready to give out from its lack of food and water. Originally, he had planned only to stop at night fall. In this world, however, he discovered there was no night and day. The sun had never risen, nor the moon. The sky stayed the same, empty and grey.

When the need overcame him, he slept in the trees. He did not want to risk sleeping on the ground. He would wake when it was too late, when some creature was already chewing on his arm or leg. He did not light any fires either. Though some extra light, not to mention the sound or the crackling wood, would have been welcome, it would have attracted far too much attention.

So far he had not encountered any other creatures, for which he was grateful. He didn't know how long that would last but, by this time the next day, not that he would be able to tell when that time arrived, he didn't think it would much matter. He may not die the way Voldemort had hoped: being painfully devoured by a pack of hungry skeletal cat creatures, but if he didn't find water or food soon, he was going to starve to death.

It was strange to him that this didn't really scare him as much as he had always thought it would. Maybe because he had had three days to think about it, or maybe because his dehydrated brain was not processing the information properly. He _was_ probably going to die. After all, that's why Voldemort had sent him here, right? Because he knew there would be no chance Harry would survive. Mind, Voldemort had had lots of plans to kill Harry in the past and none of them had worked so far…

'_Why should this be any different?' _The voice of his thoughts asked.

Another voice, he assumed it was his common sense, immediately replied,

'_Because you are alone here.'_

So maybe this _was_ the end. What then, did that mean? What of the prophecy? Was it just another one of Trelawney's false predictions? Or was the world truly doomed now?

A part of him, the part that had lived in the cupboard under the stairs for ten years, did not believe for a second that could be a possibility. On some level, he was still just Harry. A stupid boy with messy hair and a cool scar. He was the kid everyone stayed away from in school, who got beat up by his cousin. How could he defeat an evil mastermind?

The other part of him was enraged that he had given Tom Riddle such credit.

Dwelling on these thoughts so intensely, it took Harry a few seconds to realize that he could hear a sound. It was the sound of water, and he stopped walking abruptly to listen harder.

Yes. He could definitely hear it now. And it _was _water. A brook by the sound of it. But it sounded normal. Not like the other ones he had found. It was rapid and clear.

He sprinted towards the sound, dodging through the thick tree trunks that surrounded him and the sound grew louder, indicating that the brook was larger than the others he had found as well. Elation swelled in his chest. Finally! He was _so _thirsty.

He spotted the river before he reached it and picked up his speed, not really knowing where the sudden burst of energy had come from. When he reached the edge of the water he didn't stop. He waded right in up to his waist, relishing the coolness against his heated and parched body. Then, he sat down right where he was and let his mouth sink below the surface.

He drank. Deep, quenching mouthfuls of cold, pristine water.

The rived flowed about his body, fresh and rejuvenating. It seemed to bring life back into his starved body. It cleared the fog from his brain and the heaviness left his limbs.

Finally, when he began to feel ill, he stopped drinking, sitting there for a while to let his body rest, relishing the feel of water on his parched skin. He couldn't get enough of it.

But, sadly, he needed to keep moving. This water probably attracted any living thing within miles and he didn't want to be caught here. He made himself stand and moved towards the shore once more.

This must have been the river he had seen from the plateau when he had first woken up three, or was it four, days ago.

As the water dripped from his drenched clothes, Harry looked around himself for the first time. He had been so focused on getting into the water that he hadn't considered his surroundings. When he did, he felt his blood run cold and bile rise in his throat.

There were dead creatures everywhere.

One lay close to him. About thirty feet down the shore line. It was one of those cat demons that had attacked him. It looked as if it had been dead for weeks. It's carcass had been picked apart, clean in some places. He could see white bits of bone from it's ribcage. It's flesh sagged on the muscle and bone that was left and, from where he was standing, he could tell one side of the animal's skull was caved in, the eyes nothing but empty sockets. It's hindquarters, which ended at the waist as if it had been ripped in half, was lying in the water, with blackened, rotted entrails stringing out of the open cavity and into the water.

There were many more things that lay in various stages of decay along this shoreline and the adjacent one. Some were large, some were small, but Harry didn't hang about around to inspect them. He turned on his heel and headed back for the tree line.

He felt ill. He had just drank his fill of water that was contaminated with rotting corpses. His stomach was full of it. If he didn't die of disgust than all the diseases he just swallowed would probably do the trick.

He wasn't even sure if he minded any more. This world was horrible. A ravaged, lifeless wasteland with no water, no food. Only predatory animals that would eat anything that walked. He couldn't survive here. He had no weapons. Had no means to make any weapons and, if one went without weapons in a place such as this, one had no food or protection.

Harry slowed to a halt when he reached the trees and turned back to look at the river. From this far back he could no longer see the festering bodies on the river bank and he sighed, feeling his stomach roll. He could force himself to throw up. He may still have time to get rid of any sickness that could work itself into his system. But then he would be become dehydrated again.

Deciding it was a lose, lose situation, he turned to continue his journey through the woods.

When he turned around, something fell over his head, turning his world black. He cried out in surprise and grasped the thing over his face. He realize in a split second that it was a bag. It felt like burlap.

This was man made!

Pain exploded somewhere in the back of his head and white spots suddenly danced before his eyes. He felt his body fall limply to the ground as he lost control and slipped into unconsciousness.


	7. Ukimu Noul

**Chapter 7: Ukimu Noul**

Strangely enough, the first thing Harry noticed upon waking was that he was not cold. He didn't think there was anything cold in this world except for the river. His eyes were shut but he closed them tighter. Wherever he was it was stale and dry. When he inhaled, dust tickled his nose and made his lungs burn. He felt fine, loose dirt beneath him, like sand, and forced his eyes open to look around.

He didn't know where he was, but he definitely wasn't in the forest anymore. The sound of the river was gone, the silence surrounding him. God, how he hated this silence! He longed to be in the bustling corridors of Hogwarts once more, to hear the shouts of the excited first years, the booming voice of Hagrid. He'd even take Snape's cutting tongue and insults just to hear the sound of his voice.

He clenched his hands around fistfuls of dirt as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Sand cascaded from his hair and his clothes and…

Harry blinked. What the hell had happened to his clothes?

He pushed himself up a little to quickly into a standing position and the cell he was in tilted and wavered dangerously before his eyes_._

'_Cell_?'

With a groan, Harry grasped his spinning head in his hands and leant against the nearest wall. He took several deep, slow breaths to calm his beating heart and clear his mind before he looked up once again.

He was indeed in a cell. It was small, its walls constructed out of large stone blocks that cast a washed out, grey color. The ground on which he stood was the same grey, dull earth that had been beneath his feet for the last three days as he walked through the woods. Only this was extremely fine, like the sand you might find on the tropic beaches, just the wrong color.

Turning around, Harry was surprised to note a small window at eye level. It was barely a sliver of a gap, cut horizontally in the stone, but it was enough for Harry to see out of clearly.

He gazed out from within the heart of a great and sprawling fortress. It sat atop a plateau that fell hundreds of feet from a huge mountainside. Silhouetted against the empty horizon, black and stark within a swirling mix of grey mist and low hung steam clouds, the fortresses towers and parapets jutted sharp and hard edged from the molted rock. Down further, when he stood on his toes, Harry could see the ground, were there was a rough path, worn down with use, in the earth; it lead away from a courtyard, a rough stone enclosure that surrounded the base of a large tower. There was a wagon riding hard from it's gates. Dust billowed up behind it in great black clouds, obscuring the driver and whatever beasts were pulling it.

Harry turned from the window in irritation. Wherever this was, it was a long way from where he had last been conscious. There was no sign of the forest he had been in. It had stretched for miles and miles. Whoever had taken him had traveled a great distance to get him here and he contemplated what that might mean.

And then there was the matter of his clothes and the fact that they had drastically changed. He was dressed mostly in black. The only thing he still possessed that belonged to him were his leather boots, a gift from Sirius, but his pants were now snug fitting and black, made from some kind of materiel he didn't recognize but could be compared to leather. They looked old and worn and he suspected that they had been in use before they were given to him. His boots had been put on over his pants and, over the boots, were leg wraps that went around his foot and the lower part of his leg. They were also black and he wondered if a color besides it and grey existed in this world. He wore a tunic of the same color, the material was light and thin and much cooler than his pants. A wide, brown leather belt was wrapped around his waist to hold the wrapped shirt in place. On his writs, and over the sleeves of the tunic, were black leather arm guards, tied up on the underside of his wrist like a mini corset of crisscrossed strings.

He tried not to think that these clothes were nicer than the ones he had had on before this and instead focused on his anger. He was tired of falling unconscious ever few days and waking up in some strange place. He wanted to shout and curse and scream. Suddenly, he wanted to see the face of whoever had brought him here. He wanted to know what they wanted from him.

"HEY!" he yelled, striding the few feet from the wall to the bars. His voice was not as loud as he intended. It was raspy and dry.

He cleared his throat and tried again, gripping the bars of his cell.

"HEY! WHOEVER THE HELL BROUGHT ME HERE, I WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE!"

There was no sound in the hallway beyond his prison. He couldn't see much, even with his face pressed sideways against the thick iron bars.

"COME ON!" he roared one last time; a desperate plea. He didn't care if it was some horrible monster that came. He just wanted to see something else move and breathe. So many things had happened to him, been done to him, in this world and he had not even seen the beings that had done it to him.

Well, except the cat thing.

He shuddered at the memory and gave up on yelling and shouting. His hands slipped from the rusty bars, little clouds of grey dust swirling in the still air, and turned his back on them and went to the window.

Nothing had changed, of course. It never would. The sky and the earth would stay the same forever in this horrid place.

* * *

"Come on, Ron. We have to go."

Ron blinked, his eyes closing for a bit longer than they should have. Even Hermione's voice was different now. Harry's disappearance had changed so much between them; and about them. He had always known, somewhere in his heart, that this would have to happen one day. That one of them was going to have something bad happen. And he had always assumed it would have been Harry. Poor kid always had trouble hunting him. He _had _expected it. They _both _had, him and Hermione.

He just hadn't expected it to happen so _soon_.

They were sixteen years old.

He didn't feel that young right now. He felt tired and drained. He felt hopeless. How were they ever going to fight in this war without their friend? How would they survive when Harry had not? It wasn't that he didn't think they were strong enough, he knew they were. He just wasn't sure he wanted to try anymore.

He was falling into depression. On some level, he knew that. Hermione had tried to tell him several times that she could see it happening. She said he had to fight back. She said he had to keep going in Harry's honor. The fact that she spoke of their best friend as if he were deceased did not help him any.

Why should he be strong when no one else was? Sirius was falling apart before their eyes, having given up long ago, and Remus was hurting because of it. Most of the Order, after three weeks, had become halfhearted in their research. Hermione seemed to have decided that their friend was not coming back and was already taking steps to deal with her emotions. His parents, well, sometimes he couldn't really tell what they were thinking. His mum was a mess, of course. She had thought of Harry as her son as much as her children thought him a brother. His father had always been an optimistic person, but even his words of encouragement, which Ron heard less and less as the days passed, lacked conviction and sincerity.

A darkness had consumed those within the House of Black. The depression was an infestation. A contagious disease that was infecting their hearts. Even those who did not know Harry well were being affected. Ron could see it in subtle ways. People slouched a little more when they walked through the halls. Smiles were becoming scarce, even at the dinner table with his mum's wonderful food. Conversations were absent, people spoke only when they had possible news to share about new discoveries found within the confines of the library.

And now school was about to begin. Ron didn't know how he was going to survive. Who was he going to talk to during History of Magic when Binns got too boring? What person was going to have as much fun making up death predictions for Trelawney as he and Harry did? Who was going to take on Malfoy with him? He had been excited to celebrate their Potion-less, Snape-free year with his best friend.

Hermione was pulling on his arm now, her small hand clamped about his wrist.

Everyone's trunks had been put into taxies and, for the first time in a while, the house was absent any order members. The only ones there were The Weasley Family, Hermione, Remus and Sirius. Mad Eye Moody, Tonks and Kingsley were all outside; one Auror for each car.

Hermione had dragged him to the kitchen where his family was located, saying their goodbyes. Molly and Arthur were hugging their only girl. Ginny was crying silently, her eyes closed against her mother's shoulder. Molly was running a hand slowly through her daughter's hair, her other arm wrapped around the baby of the family. Arthur had his arms about both Molly and his little girl, his hands running up and down their backs in a gesture of comfort.

Fred and George were talking to Sirius and Remus. The twins said something to the men, probably words of solace, slapped their fellow order members on the shoulder and went over to join their parents and their sister.

Ron felt his feet carrying him over to where Remus and Sirius were still standing. The latter of the two was leaning against the counter, both his hands behind him resting on its top, as if the man could not remain upright without it's support. One look at Sirius found Ron thinking that he probably couldn't.

He stopped before the two friends. He was as tall as them now and he looked them both in the eyes. He had heard, in times like this, that sometimes people would come up with words of great comfort. Grand speeches would just drift into their head and make everyone feel better. This did not happen for him and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before giving up.

"I don't know what to say…" he admitted. He hadn't been speaking much lately, except to Hermione, and his voice was hoarse from lack of use.

He looked down at the dirty floor and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I don't think there is anything that can be said."

It was Sirius that had spoken and Ron looked up in surprise. He hadn't heard the man speak in nearly two weeks. No one had. And Ron hadn't really taken a good look at the man. He looked the worse of all of them. His hair was greasy, his eyes sunken and bloodshot from lack of sleep. The skin of his face was pale and unshaven.

Ron felt a tremendous feeling of pity explode in his chest for the man in front of him. He had lost everything. First, his friends had been killed, betrayed by someone he had trusted with his life _and _theirs. Then twelve years he spent being forced to relive his worst nightmares. Now he had lost his godson…

Suddenly Ron had to work hard at getting air into his lungs. His throat felt tight and itchy and he rubbed it absently.

He could see Harry's face clearly in his mind's eye and the feeling of loss he had felt throughout the last few weeks abruptly exploded into a ball of emotional agony, and he realized: He would not see Harry at King's Cross in an hour. He wouldn't play Exploding Snap with him on the train ride. He would never eat a meal in the Great Hall with him again, or play a game of Quidditch with him. The bed across from his in the boys dormitory would remain empty for the remainder of his time at Hogwarts. He would have to practice apparition training by himself when the time came. He wouldn't be able to buy his friend those Quidditch gloves he had found for Christmas…

Ron's throat seemed to close the rest of the way. His head felt light and his vision blurred as he collapsed against the wall behind him. He struggled to draw breath into his burning lungs and his chest hurt horribly as it heaved.

He heard people speaking around him. They were calling his name. Hands were shaking him and rubbing his arms. He tried hard to listen to what the brown blur in front of him was saying.

"…have to breathe, Ron. Come…"

"…Ron? Ron!…"

"…it's alright lil' bro…"

"Ron!"

"Mum, calm down."

All the voices speaking together didn't make any sense. He opened his heavy eyes and focused as best he could on the mop of bushy brown hair before him.

"Breath with me, Ron. Inhale…"

She was drawing air through he nose slowly and Ron attempted to follow her example, but his heart was beating too fast and his lungs longed for more air.

"No!" the brown blob said, "You're hyperventilating, now listen to me. It doesn't matter if it burns, _inhale_."

She breathed in slowly through her nose again and this time Ron doubled his efforts. He managed it, but grimaced in pain and rubbed his chest. She was exhaling now, slow and controlled, and Ron followed her example. He found it much easier this time to inhale, and did so deeply, the burn in his lungs receding and his heart rate slowing.

Finally, his vision cleared and his head felt its normal weight again. He opened his eyes, trying to figure out when he had closed them and found his whole family, plus Sirius and Remus staring at him in concern. He was propped up against the wall, sitting on the floor. Hermione sat, cross-legged in front of him. She was holding his hands tightly. He looked closer at her face and noticed her eyes were slightly red and she had shinny, wet trails down her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He nodded slowly and blinked, feeling dampness under his eye lashes. He let go of one of Hermione's hands and wiped his face, feeling confused as he looked at his wet fingertips. He looked back up at Hermione and frowned when he saw a watery smile on her face.

"Why are you smiling?"

The girl just shook her head and launched herself into his arms, squeezing with all her might. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her back, pressing his face into her shoulder.

"We'll be ok." She whispered. Her voice shook.

Not trusting himself to speak, Ron nodded and the two friends pulled away from each other to stand. Looking around, he discovered many faces with tear tracks. Ginny was still crying and he opened his arms to his little sister and she threw herself into them.

"This is going to be really hard, isn't it?" She said. It wasn't really a question and no one said anything.

"We'll be ok." Ron whispered, repeating Hermione's words.

He didn't doubt that they would be ok…eventually. He knew it was going to take a long time to get there because he couldn't help thinking that, wherever Harry was, he was _not _going to be ok.

* * *

Sometime later, he could not tell exactly how long due to the lack of sun, Harry encountered the first intelligent creature from this world.

He was vaguely reminded of a house elf, though the eyes of this creature were nowhere near as kind and innocent as Dobby's. They were still large, but they gleamed with a menacing sort of intelligence. A creature that was clever and knew it.

He had approached Harry's cell cautiously. One hand on a nasty looking dagger at his side. He had a flat, emotionless face and a mouth that was nothing more than a thin opening at the bottom of his face. He didn't even really have any lips. It's nose was small, almost as flat as his face, and stuck out like a pigs. A few, long, greasy hairs on top of its head were pulled back in a pony tail that was almost resting vertical upon its skull. The creature was fitted with ragged brown hunting gear with several weapons strapped to various parts of his body and may have looked frightening if he hadn't been about three feet tall.

The thing approached the bars of his cell and stared at him intently. Harry stared right back. He was sitting with his back against the wall directly across from where the thing stood. He wasn't about to move either.

"What is your name, human?"

Harry pulled a face at the sound of its voice. It was rough and loose, like his voice box was hindered by phlegm.

"What does that matter?" he snapped. Probably not the best answer to give the thing, but the creature's face remained impassive.

"Answer the question, human."

"Well, my name certainly isn't 'human', that's for sure." He paused and then said reluctantly, "Harry."

The creature nodded once. "My name is Ukimu Noul. You will address me as Master."

Harry blinked. He wasn't entirely sure he had heard right and stared in disbelief. "Excuse me?" he growled, his eyes narrowing.

The creature stared at him a moment longer and then appeared to reach a decision Without taking his eyes off Harry, it snapped it's bony, clawed fingers once.

Four other beings of his kind came from down the hall and, without hesitating, they opened the door to his cell and were on him by the time he got to his feet. Two held each of his arms and the other two had him about the waist. They were surprisingly strong.

"Do not struggle, human."

Harry still felt rattled by the sudden appearance of so many creatures after going so long without any evidence of life.

Harry glowered at the little fiend. "Shut it, you little freak!"

Something resembling annoyance flashed through those big round eyes, the closest thing he had seen to emotional life.

Ukimu Noul reached into his pocket and Harry braced himself for an attack. But he didn't pull out a knife. It was a thin strip of leather he held in his hand. Silver strands were woven into the band, making delicate designs that glittered even in the dimness of the cell.

Ukimu walked up to Harry and reached up towards his neck. At the last second, he realized just what it was the little creature had. They were trying to put a collar on him. He threw himself backwards and into the stone wall, taking the little minions with him and catching them by surprise. Knives were drawn by the four he had thrown to the ground, but Ukimu just looked on placidly, the collar held loosely at his side.

Harry had his back against the wall so that he could see all four of the little monsters. He crouched down slightly and braced himself, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

At least he was not totally defenseless. Sirius and Remus had taught him some very basic hand to hand combat skills. He was not so foolish to think he could escape this situation with the meager skills he possessed but at least he could put up a bit of a fight. Of course they _did _have knives…

The one farthest to his left lunged first, his blade held before him like a spear. Harry swung his left leg up and around in an arc and slammed his boot-clad foot into the side of it's head, sending the little creature's face smashing right into the wall.

The one in front of him jumped forward and Harry grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the knife, yanking it forward, twisting his body away from the blade and shoving the thing into the wall like its friend.

He now held a dagger in his trembling right hand, he didn't take much time to admire it as the remaining two creatures threw themselves at him with vicious snarls. He drove the knife hilt deep into the stomach of the one on his right and felt warm blood gush over his hand as the expected blow to the back of his head landed hard and sent him spiraling into darkness.


	8. A Training Facility?

**Chapter 8: A Training Facility?**

When he awoke next it was to excruciating pain. He thought at first that he might be under the cruciatus curse. Then the pain ended and he remembered. The wasteland of a world. The river of rotting corpses and finally, the cell, where he had killed one of those…things. He forced open his eyelids and found himself staring at a cathedral ceiling. The blackness of the stones used to construct it seemed to make the height greater.

"_Get. Up_."

Harry felt his heart miss a few beats. That was most defiantly _not _the voice of Ukimu Noul. It was far too deep, much too angry and belong to something much, much bigger. He did as he was told. Once he was on his feet and had steadied himself from the aftermath of this world's version of the cruciatus curse, he raised his eyes.

A strangled cry escaped his lips and he shrank backwards. It was horrible. He knew it for a demon right away. It was big, standing taller than Hagrid and broad through the shoulders. It walked upright like a man and in general was proportioned as one, though the resemblance ended there. It's skin was black and spiky, with clusters of spines sticking out everywhere except its face, which was flat and devoid of expression, it's features buried so completely that at first glance it seemed possessed only of blazing red eyes that fixed on him with a burning intensity. It wore no clothes, but an assortment of bladed weapons was strapped about its body, some shaped in ways he had never seen. Massive and powerful, he wanted to look away but those terrifying eyes held him captive. They held him in place. He could feel their power.

Harry was more terrified than he had ever felt while facing Voldemort. This terror was a true and completely primal feeling. His spine tingled with chills, the little hairs all over his body stood on end; all those inborn instincts that told you to run for your life were ringing like sirens in his head.

But he could not move. He did not dare.

The creature spoke again. Its horrible voice penetrating the air around him, resonating within his very skull.

"You have killed one of the Dachen, and wounded two others." The monster stared down at him with those burning eyes. "This will not go unpunished."

Harry felt fear churn his stomach. The demon sounded angry, but also pleased. This was not going to be good.

"Around your neck you wear a collar." Here, the monster leaned forward in his throne. "We have magic of our own in these lands, wizard." he hissed. "Do not test our power! If you disobey a command or speak without permission, the collar will cause you sufficient pain to make you wish you hadn't. Nod if you understand."

Harry nodded.

"Get down on your knees and bow to me."

For the second time in an hour, Harry was unsure if he had heard correctly and stared up at the demon in disbelief. Within seconds, excruciating pain exploded all through him, radiating out from the collar like strands of barbed wire into his throat, his body and his limbs. He screamed at the assault, unable to stop. Clutching himself, he dropped to his knees and lowered his head towards the demon.

"You will speak only when told to do so. Nod if you understand."

Harry nodded at once. The collar no longer tore at his nervous system, but the pain lingered in small waves that rose and fell with every breath he took.

"When you speak to me, you will address me as _Master_. Nod if you understand."

He nodded.

"Would you like some water? You may answer."

His jaw clenched in fury. "Yes, Master."

"Give him water, Ukimu." The demon's mouth was like Ukimu Noul's; a thin lipless opening on the bottom half of a flat face.

The Dachen brought him a cup filled with water that tasted of metal and smelled of swamp, but he drank it anyway. Dust had filled his mouth and his throat was parched from it. When he was finished, the Dachen backed away at once.

"Do you know where you are, human?" The demon spoke to him again. "You may answer."

Harry shook his head reluctantly and almost immediately pain ripped through him once more, dropping him into a fetal position, where he lay moaning and sobbing. The demon studied him for a moment before taking a step forward.

"Answer me as you have been taught. I want to hear you speak the words you were told to speak."

He squeezed his eyes shut against the humiliation and rage he felt, fighting to keep from breaking down completely. "Yes, Master."

"Do you know where you are?" He repeated. "You may answer."

"No, Master." He opened his eyes again and looked up. The demon was walking away from him and Ukimu Noul had moved off to the side of the room a bit more. Perhaps he thought it might be a safer distance at which to view the proceedings.

"You are in the Azure. The Realm of the Devil. This world is also called, by the lesser, more primitive species that dwell here, The Slave's Land."

He barely heard this; his head was still buzzing with the aftereffects of the collar's pain. The demon waved his hand at Ukimu Noul and the Dachen moved to fill the water cup once more, pulling Harry to his knees so that he may drink from it again. He excepted the gift wordlessly.

"You may thank me." Said the demon.

Harry took a deep breath. "Thank you, Master."

The demon nodded. "Ukimu is not please with you. You made him work much harder than he intended. You made him feel inadequate. He is my catcher. My finder and keeper of specimens. He is the one you must rely on for food and water; you do not want to upset him." Here the demon turned a hard gaze on Harry. "Ukimu Noul is very cunning and my most trusted Catcher. He uses traps meant to lure his quarry by sights, sounds and smells that speak to their deepest needs. He is very good at it. I have acquired many specimens form his cleverness. You are the latest, and perhaps the most important. But you are still only a specimen. Do you understand?"

A specimen. Harry kept the anger from his expression and voice with great effort. "Yes, Master."

"Good." The demon's eyes blazed, "I am Raken Ver'tora, Azure Lord. I rule here. I rule this fortress and everything from the Dragon Ridge north to the Skelgarth south, from Shade Moors west to the sweeping Stillfields east. I rule you. Learn to accept this. I am your master, now and forever."

There was silence and then, "Get on your knees again and bow to me."

Harry did so, a deep chill settling within his stomach as he realized how deeply in trouble he was.

"I am glad to see you learn quickly. Perhaps this will not be as painful for you as we had originally thought. That is also good. Your training will not take so long."

Harry was now thoroughly confused and the sickening nervousness had returned. What wasn't going to be as painful? Training? He wondered how much pain he was going to be in soon. Were they going to torture him for fun? He didn't believe for a second that was not a possibility. And what were they training him for?

"You have great strength within you, and a power that is most impressive. That is rare in humans, especially in one so young. It is there, however, I can sense it beneath your flesh." a pause and then, "Has your wound fully healed?"

Harry was confused a second before he realized there was no pain in his arm. He raised it experimentally, rubbing his other hand over it. There was nothing, not even the raised skin of a scab. He looked back up at the demon, his amazement, temporarily overriding his fear and anger, showing plainly in his face.

"Yes…very powerful. You will serve your purpose well. Be glad that I am finished with you for now, human. Take him, Ukimu." The Azure Lord ordered and, without bothering to wait, turned and ascended a set of stairs, disappearing into the gloom.

Ukimu Noul stood before him then and pressed a strip of cloth across his eyes. Harry didn't protest, the collar made it pointless. If there had been any chance of escaping before, it was thoroughly dashed now. If he managed to make it out of his cell in the first place, a feat that had already been highly unlikely, there would be no way for him to know where he was supposed to go. He suspected that whenever they took him out of his prison, a blindfold would be over his eyes.

He followed blindly and silently as he was led out of the chamber. He had hoped that the demon would have explained why he was here. What was wanted of him? They had obviously just found him by chance but the Azure Lord had said he was important. What were they going to do with him? So far it seemed as if they wanted him as a pet. The thing he wore about his neck was no better than a training collar for a dog. Maybe that is what he was to them. An animal. A pet kept solely for the purpose of entertainment value. But that didn't seem all that important. He discarded the pet idea. It just didn't fit in with what he had been told. He didn't think he was merely a play thing, a toy for them to play with and entertain themselves. But what if he was…?

Then a horrible, terrifying thought struck him. What sort of things did these creatures consider entertaining?

He was steered around corners, through doors, up stairs and down stairs and then finally up a lot of stairs before the blindfold was removed and he turned to see Ukimu Noul closing and locking the bars of his cell. His eyes traveled to the ground. There seemed to be much more blood there than he remembered. If he tried, Harry could just pretend that it was a wet patch on the floor, like he had kicked over a bucket of water. There was even a bucked over in the corner to aid his fantasy. He frowned. He hadn't noticed that before. It was new. Then his face scrunched up in disgust when he realized what it was. A waste bucket.

Well at least they didn't leave him to go on the floor. That would have been the ultimate humiliation.

* * *

"Do you really think Harry is out to some training camp?"

"I dunno…that's what Dumbledore said though."

Ron Weasley glared at the floor in front of the fire. He still couldn't believe what Dumbledore was telling everyone. The old man had made the announcement after dinner that very afternoon. When everyone was full and happy. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had all sat down together for the feast, but none of them had eaten anything. They couldn't. Not when they knew the Headmaster was about to announce to the school that Harry Potter was missing…and presumed dead.

But then Dumbledore had commenced his speech, going over the customary welcome to the first years, adding to the list of forbidden goods, and repeating again that the Forbidden Forest was exactly as its name suggested. Then he had become silent for a moment, his blue eyes sweeping over the hall to come and rest a little longer on the Gryffindor table. He looked sad, and the usual twinkle was absent from his kind eyes. Everyone in the hall seemed to sense that something important was about to be announced and, more than a few students had already noticed Harry's absence.

"As I am sure most of you have already noticed, Mr. Potter is not with us this evening." Again, the old man paused, and Ron realized just how hard this must be for the old man to say. "I regret to say that he will not be joining us for some time. Perhaps not at all…"

Ron folded his arms across the table top and pulled his eyes from the Headmaster. Here it was. He was going to say it. For some reason he had dreaded this moment. It seemed like, if Dumbledore, someone so powerful and wise, had given up hope for Harry's life, than what chance was there that he was still alive?

"Harry Potter has decided to attend a training facility."

Ron's eyes flew open and his head snapped around to stare at the Headmaster in disbelief. A quick glance across the table showed similar expressions on Hermione and Ginny's faces.

Dumbledore would not meet their gaze.

"I cannot tell you were the facility is, for I do not know myself. I only know that Mr. Potter is in good hands and will learn a great deal, which will help him immeasurably in the feature." The wizened old man heaved a great, weary sigh and waved his hands in the direction of the huge doors. "Now, off to bed with you all. You have classes to attend in the morning."

The end of the speech was short and not at all up to Dumbledore's usual standards. The students seemed to hesitate momentarily, wondering if the Headmaster had perhaps forgotten to say something else. But the wizened old man had already turned from the podium and was headed off to the side of the hall, where there was a small door leading out.

Ron didn't get up with the rest of the hall. He sat rooted to his seat, still staring at the empty space Dumbledore had occupied in shock. Hermione and Ginny both turned to him, by the looks on their faces, they had bypassed the incredulity and were now red in the face with anger.

"What is he thinking?" Ginny hissed. "Do they think that they will be able to cover for Harry forever?"

Hermione shushed the girl quickly, looking around them at the crowd as if to say 'not here'. She grabbed Ron's hand and pulled him to his feet, dragging him through the mass of people and out the doors of the Great Hall. Only when the three of them were locked within the boys dormitory did Hermione turn around and vent her anger.

"What are they thinking?" She shrieked, her hands waving through the air, "Did they think this would actually work for any length of time? Why are they even bothering? They must know how angry the public will be when they find out they were lied to! Harry was a beacon of hope to most of the wizarding world! How are they going to feel when they realize Harry's been gone! And not just off to some training camp, but -"

"Don't finish that sentence."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, her tirade forgotten as she stared at Ron. The redhead was twisting his hands in his lap, sitting cross-legged on top of his bed. He wasn't looking at either his friend or his sister, instead choosing to stare at the bedspread.

Suddenly all the anger and frustration she felt left her and she was left tired and drained. She let her hands fall to her sides and mumbled and apology, knowing that Ron was going to have a more difficult time with this than she or Ginny. Not that either of them loved Harry any less, it was just that Ron had always had more trouble dealing with his emotions than most people and loosing his best friend had not been something he had ever thought would happen. At least not this soon.

Ginny sighed heavily, sounding much like Dumbledore had in the Great Hall. "I just don't understand why the Order decided it was best to lie. Why not tell everyone now and get it over with. The longer they wait, the more it will hurt when the truth is revealed."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I don't get it either. I mean, surely they must have thought of that as well."

"Not to mention Voldemort will most likely leak it to the press any day now. He'd want to gloat."

Both girls found themselves staring at the red head. He still had his gaze firmly planted on the mattress and his hands were still clenched in his lap.

"I hadn't thought of that." Ginny whispered, looking ill.

"Maybe the Order hasn't either." Hermione suggested.

Ron laughed sharply, the sound was bitter. "Yeah, right. I'm pretty sure they would have thought of something as simple as that. They know Voldemort better than we do. They fought him the last time too."

Ginny looked thoughtful when she said, "I don't know. They've been so busy, obsessed really, with coming up with the best thing to tell the public that they may have overlooked what Voldemort might do. After all, he has accomplished the task he set out to do fourteen years ago. They may think that he wont bother doing anything else."

"Ron's right though. They know Voldemort really well. I'm sure they would have realized that he would want to rub salt in the wound."

Suddenly Ron pushed himself off the bed and glared angrily at the two, but there was a strange gleam in his eye that told the two girls he was not mad at them.

"So what if they didn't think of it?" he snarled, making Hermione blink in alarm at it sudden change in attitude.

"Let _them _be in the dark for a change! Let _them _be horribly surprised when they open the paper and see Harry's picture in the Daily Prophet! _We _wont be shocked! _We'll _have known already!"

Ginny was shaking her head, "Ron, calm down, you're not making any sense."

He rounded on his sister. "Yes I am, don't you get it? They keep _everything _hidden from us! All the information about Harry! Everything to do with Voldemort's plans! Everything! And they still expect us to fight in this war with them!" Ron paused to drawn a breath. "And I'm sure if it weren't for Sirius, the three of us wouldn't be any more informed than the rest of this school. We'd be sitting here wondering why Harry hadn't told us he was going to some training camp! We'd be going about every day as if he weren't dead!"

It seemed to take a second for Ron to realize what he had said. When he did, he clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide. Ginny looked sad, sympathy shinning in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Ron whispered. "I didn't mean…"

"It's ok, Ron." Ginny choked out, her voice cracking with emotion. "You need to deal with this."

"Acceptance is the first step."

"I don't want to except it. I _haven't _excepted it!" Ron backpeddled hysterically. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself that this was true. "Harry's too strong. He's made it through so much already, why would I think that he couldn't make it through this too?"

Hermione and Ginny shared a look, both silently agreeing on the same thing. Ron had to deal with this particular problem on his own, there was nothing they could do for him. They could not force him to accept what they themselves had already admitted. He would have to come to terms with loosing Harry himself. But the two women decided that they would do the best they could to help Ron, even if that meant enduring his sporadic bouts of rage.


	9. What is your name, Human?

**Chapter 9: What Is Your Name, Human?**

At first Harry had begun to think that this place wasn't as bad as Voldemort had had him believe. Apart from the various vicious creatures and strange beings that seemed to replace humans as the superior species, the place wasn't all bad. He may be being held captive but the accommodations were a lot better than what he had received within Voldemort's Headquarters. They gave him water every day and though it smelt and tasted bad, he drank it without comment. At least he _had _water now. They give him food too. That is to say, _their _idea of food, which was a suspicious looking piece of raw meat and some kind of tough root, which looked like it might belong to a plant similar to the wasted trees of the forest. He had resisted at first, upon seeing the bloody slab of venison, but eventually the stabbing hunger pains had won out.

He wondered how many edible things existed here. He received the same root and piece of meat every day. Still, there had to be more to eat than this? Could a species survive on root and meat alone? He wondered what animal it had come from…and what plant.

No, this plave did not seem as bad. And then one day he had been roused from a fitful sleep and blindfolded. It was then that he realized that this _was _as close to hell as one could get.

His training had begun.

The first day he remembered being taken from his cell, blindfolded, and led to an unknown location. He had expected to be brought back to the Demon Lord and the large throne room but he never once saw it again. He had been brought instead to a smaller room. When the cloth had been taken from his eyes he had stared around himself in a growing sense of horror. They appeared to be in the bowls of the keep, no windows were in sight. The stones of the walls were such a dark grey that they almost seemed black. The only light source was several torches that burned in their holsters on the walls. Iron shackles hung from many places, bolted into both the walls and the ceiling with rusty iron pegs as thick as a human wrist. There were various tables laden with steel instruments and Harry quickly moved his eyes away from the wicked looking tools, he didn't want to speculate what they may be used for. But the more he tried to find something safe to look at, something that wouldn't make the raw meat in his stomach roil with nausea, he found himself gazing at something more horrid than before.

There were other tables clustered in a corner of the spacious chamber. One was a bed of nails. The long, crooked, rusty spikes stuck out grotesquely in random directions. Another table was resting vertically against the wall. There were restraints at the four corners where wrists and ankles would be tied into place. From where he stood, Harry could make out a break in the wooden surface and large gears that sat on their side of the break. A vivid memory of a muggle movie flashed through his head where a man had been strapped to a similar looking device and stretched in opposite directions. He felt his stomach lurch.

Swords, knives, daggers, axes and other weapons hung from the low ceiling. A cage, also, could be seen swinging in the corner farthest to his left. It looked just the right size for a person to sit in.

Ukimu Noul walked slowly to the center of the room and then turned to regard Harry. Those large eyes seemed to glow eerily in the dim light of the dungeon. They wracked over his face, no doubt taking in its pallid color. Harry had no doubt he was trembling from head to foot.

"This is where the beginning of your training will take place." The Dachen informed him, his tone flat. "If you have a question, you may ask it."

Harry drew his eyes off the instruments of torture and stared at the creature in disbelief. _A _question. Just _one_? God, he had thousands. Finally he settled on the one that had been bothering him the most.

"What is this training for?"

Ukimu Noul regarded him for a moment before answering bluntly.

"You will become an assassin."

Harry stumbled backwards slightly in shock and then felt anger make a strong presence in his gut. "I will not kill for you!"

Immediately, pain tore through his body, shredding his nerves and lighting fire to his bones. When it ended, he was on the floor. Convulsions still wracked his body as he fought to breathe. He could taste dirt in his mouth and realized he was lying on his stomach, the side of his face pressed into the warm sand. He couldn't bring himself to move onto his back and decided to stay how he was for a little longer.

Ukimu Noul walked towards him and stopped inches before his face, so close that Harry could smell the worn leather of the Dachen's boots.

"You will not kill for me, human. You will kill for our Lord."

Though the convulsions had stopped, waves of pain still washed over his body every few seconds, and he didn't move.

"The task of training you has been given to me. After I am done with you, it is our Lord you will be dealing with. Be grateful your time with him has been delayed."

The Dachen walked away from him then, over to the wall where he set to fiddling with a set of the many iron shackles.

"Get up." he ordered, without looking at Harry.

The dark haired boy struggled to push his hands beneath him, his muscles felt like jelly on his bones and they trembled violently with the effort to raise himself and, halfway to his knees, they gave out and he fell back on his front into the sand.

Again, the pain returned. It sent shockwaves of fire through his body, emanating through the silver bands of the collar like an electrical current. It ended after a short time but Harry's hand went to his throat, trying futilely to sooth the burning there.

"Get up."

Harry gasped as pain shook his limbs. The adrenalin was the only thing that kept him from collapsing again and he managed to push himself to his knees. He momentarily thought about crawling to where the Dachen stood but his dignity would not allow it and he forced himself to his feet.

He was told to hold out his hands and he did so at once. He didn't think he'd be able to remain conscious if he did not comply quickly enough. The manacles, like he had expected, were clamped tightly about his wrists, a bit tighter than necessary, he thought. His eyes traveled from his wrists and up the length of the chain were they were set up in a pulley system and then rested on the iron pegs.

"What is your name, human?"

Harry turned his attention towards the little creature before him. He stared.

"You may answer."

"My name is Harry. You know that." He wondered if the extra comment would set off the collar and he tensed in anticipation.

Nothing happened.

The lipless mouth twitched a little and the large eyes narrowed barely a fraction.

"Harry," he repeated. The name sounded strange and foreign on the creature's tongue. "When you can no longer answer that question…your training will be complete."

Harry swallowed convulsively and unconsciously shrank back against the wall. That did not bode well for him. Not that he had had much hope in the first place, but if the end of his training was marked when he forgot who he was…

He wondered if that was even possible. He could not visualize forgetting his life. He could never forget Hogwarts, or Sirius or Ron or Hermione. How could he? It just didn't seem possible.

Ukimu Noul was approaching him now. He had gone and retrieved something from one of the tables across the room. Harry eyed it, his stomach feeling as if it were being twisted in an iron fist. The steel tool reminded him something of a corkscrew, a spiraled piece of metal jutting out from the handle and ending in a shiny, needle-like point.

The Dachen wrapped a gnarled hand around a nearby chain and pulled hard. Harry hadn't thought it was attached to his manacles, but a second later, his hands were pulled above his head. His feet still touched the ground, but he was on his toes. Next, Ukimu Noul grabbed a fistful of the thin tunic covering Harry's torso and a startled cry escaped his lips when the whole garment was ripped from his body, leaving him bare above the hips.

He felt a prick of pain in his side and looked down to see the corkscrew instrument being pressed into his flesh and Ukimu Noul staring up at him with those big, lifeless eyes. Goosebumps had appeared around the point of contact and had spread across Harry's entire body. His skin became hypersensitive to touch. The materiel of his pants rubbed against his skin as he trembled and the slight contact felt irritating and corrosive. The edges of the shackles suddenly felt more abrasive and it caused his skin to burn when it moved beneath the metal. And he wasn't sure if the increased pain in his side was because his nerves were sensitized with adrenalin or because Ukimu Noul was pressing harder.

"What is your name, human?"

Harry locked eyes with the little demon at his side and felt his lips pull back over his teeth in a snarl.

"_Harry_."

* * *

Outside the walls of the castle were several Dachen tending to a dry, desolate field. They dug at the loose dirt with poorly constructed gardening tools, their actions listless and mechanic.

As one of the workers bent down and wrapped an old hand around the base of a shriveled plant, it's fingers twisted and bent with a lifetime of labor, a scream erupted from the looming castle. Primal and agonizing, it would make most creatures shudder in fear.

The Dachen hauled the crumpled plant from the earth without a tic, sending chunks of dry dirt and small rocks tumbling down either side of the raised column of soil.

* * *

Harry was beginning to understand how he may lose himself. Every slash of a blade, every singe of a hot poker, every instrument that cut, carved or peeled made him forget for a second, made his mind go blank with anguish. Every few seconds of every day, his moments of consciousness were filled with pain. Sometimes, he could not see. Sometimes his vision was obscured by salty tears, filling his eyes faster than they could empty. And sometimes, Ukimu Noul would take a needle, as thin as a hair, and slide it into certain parts of his flesh, making his sight turn black and his nerves catch fire..

As the days passed, the pain became greater and greater. At times, Ukimu Noul would bring other Dachen with him and they would introduce new forms of torture. New Instruments. New tactics. New ways to try and break his mind.

He resisted with the stubbornness and resilience he was known for. He was withstanding, but he often wondered when he would be able to endure it no longer. He knew the time would come eventually and, when the torture had first begun, he had hoped that he could hold out until he died, because surely he would. Surely he would not survive this treatment for more than a few days. The blood he lost in those hours, the energy it took to remain upright and conscious, were leeching the life out of his body. He could feel it every day.

But his hopes that he might die before he went insane collapsed after the third session. They had returned him to his cell, he still did not know where he had found the energy to stumble back. They had stripped him of his clothes, even his boots, and washed his body of blood and sand and grime with the foul smelling water. Then they had rubbed into his skin and wounds a black paste that looked like mud. It was cold and smelt of rotting foliage and the pain it caused was excruciating; just another form of torture. His arms and legs had been held down by four Dachen while he struggled. Ukimu Noul was smearing the vile concoction into a hole in his leg that went straight down to the bone when he lost consciousness. The pain had overcome him, like it so often did, but this time they did not revive him immediately to continue the torment. They left him in peace.

When he had awoken, he remembered his body had ached and felt heavy, like he had been cut open and filled with sand. By that point, he believed it was something the little demons just might do. Lifting his arms to hold his pounding head had been a difficult task and he feared opening his eyes. He could feel the warmth of the sand against the skin of his body and realized that he was still naked.

Eventually he had forced open his eyes to inspect the damage and his heart leapt to his throat at what he saw. His body was whole. There were no cuts or bruises or burns. His flesh was unmarred and unbroken.

For several hours he had puzzled over this. Why had they healed him? Had they grown tired of him? Of his stubbornness? Perhaps they hadn't thought he would last so long? Or maybe they just realized he was not worth the time and effort. Then Ukimu Noul had returned and blindfolded him. He had been taken back to the torture chamber and the torment had begun again.

He figured it out after the second time it had happened. After roughly three or four days of torture, he was returned to his cell again and healed. He understood then, they were healing him because they wanted him to live. They did not want him to die before he lost his mind. They had foreseen this and so were preventing it, healing his body entirely every few days to insure that he would survive the brutal torture that was needed to break him.

That had been weeks ago now and his life had fallen into a routine that involved the rotation of only three things: Pain, Ukimu and his name.

"What is your name, human?"

Snapping back to the present and absently wondering why he had been given such a reprieve, Harry glared halfheartedly up at the little creature from his spot on the floor.

"Harry." he hissed.

His throat stung terribly. It was a constant tenderness that never went away. Not even when his body was healed did it fade. It was from the screaming. Often now, he would try and scream, unable to hold it back, and then he would cough. And cough and cough… Blood would splatter on his lips and down his chin, the coppery tang coating the inside of his mouth.

He did not talk. Mostly because there was no one to talk _to_. He hadn't spoken in a long time. He didn't know how long exactly because he could not tell the passing of night or day. And the torture sessions had torn his vocal cords to shreds. The only sound he made now was either to scream or to whisper his name when he was asked.

"What is your name, human?"

Harry took pause. Hadn't the Dachen just asked him that? He had answered, hadn't he? He must have, the collar had not come to life. And usually the question was only asked in between cuts.

Burn. Name? Slice. Name? Tear. Name?

Harry was lying on his back. Funny, he had been sitting just a moment ago. He gazed down at his battered torso. There was a thin rod, about the thickness of a knitting needle, laced through the surface of the flesh of his abdomen. That had certainly not been there before.

Harry's mind reeled. Had he been so absorbed in his own thoughts, had he receded so far into his mind that he had not even noticed, not felt the pain of a iron bar penetrating his body? He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the metal bar sticking out of it.

They were succeeding. Slowly, they were breaking him.

He set his gaze on Ukimu Noul again and found his eyes drawn to the lipless mouth. It was smirking. Distantly, Harry realized he had not answered the question and the collar had not gone off.

"What is your name, human?"

Harry opened his mouth, tasting salty tears mixing in with the tang of blood. "Harry." he whispered, his voice full of despair.


	10. Tempers Lost

**Chapter 10: Tempers Lost**

Sirius Black gazed out the stained window of the living room and up into a sky that mirrored his emotions perfectly; dark and dreary, the heavens cast a bleak overtone on the world below.

This is how he spent most of his time, when Remus wasn't here with him on the weekends. He sat and stared and thought. Sometimes he drank; something that was once a rare occurrence was now turning into a bad habit. He thought his friend might start to get annoyed with him, if he wasn't already, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. He had failed at the one thing he was sure he was meant to do in this wasted life. He couldn't keep a sixteen year old boy safe and so grant the wish of his dead friend.

A pang shot through his chest and Sirius raised a half empty glass to his dry lips and let the rum flow over his tongue and down his throat, leaving a fiery trail that gave him something to focus on besides his emotional turmoil.

As he set the glass down on the small end table beside his chair, the small movement of his head made a glimmer catch on a photo on the mantle piece. He stared hard at it for a moment, knowing what it was and trying to refrain from moving to grab the object. If he looked at it, it would undo all the hard work he had put in to drowning his sorrows with five glassed of rum. He could not bring himself to look at Harry's smiling face pressed against his, their cheeks flushed from the cold snow that was falling behind them.

That small pang in his chest grew and Sirius realized that he was picturing the photo in his mind anyway. He rose from his chair with great effort and shuffled across the room to the glowing hearth. He thought he remembered Remus coming in and lighting a fire several hours ago.

The metal of the frame was cool on his heated skin and he clamped his other hand around it.

Harry's eyes twinkled, dangerously close to resembling Dumbledore's, and Sirius found a sad smile gracing his lips.

"Sirius?"

Startled, the frame fell from Sirius' slack fingers as he spun around as best one could after so many glasses of alcohol. The picture hit the floor with a crack and the animagus' attention immediately went to the floor at his feet.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

Remus watched as his friend slowly bent to pick up Harry's picture. He didn't know how many times he had walked into the room and found Sirius gazing at it. He made his way over to stand beside his friend and saw a large crack running right down the center of Harry's face and shoulders.

He took the frame from Sirius' fingers and sighed as the man just stared at the empty space.

"Don't worry, I can fix it."

His friend was already turning from him though, back towards the chair by the window and Remus felt a sharp jolt of annoyance in his stomach.

"What, you don't want me to fix it?" he asked, he voice cool.

Sirius' eyes were bloodshot and lidded. "Maybe its better if we just get rid of it."

Remus stared for a moment, unable to believe his ears. He struggled to find words. "Why…would you want to do that?"

"Because I can't forget this if his face is everywhere I look!"

Remus was trembling with the effort it took to restrain himself from smacking the man in front of him.

"You want to forget him? How could you say such a thing? That boy loved you! He looked to you as a father! And now you just want to _forget_ him?" Remus was met with stony silence and the anger welled within him. Hurling the picture frame against the wall with all his werewolf strength, the thing shattered into a million pieces, leaving the paper to drift out and onto the floor. Remus marched forward and grabbed the listless man by the collar, hauling him right out of the chair.

Sirius yelped in surprise as he was slammed against the wall, glass crunching under Remus' booted feet. The animagus regarded his friend with wide eyes, very aware that the only thing standing between his bare feet and a pile of broken glass was Remus' strength pinning him to the wall.

"Get a grip, Sirius!" Remus shouted.

Remus never yelled and Sirius gave him his full attention, a trembling hand coming up to grasp the one about his neck.

"Remus…"

"No! You will listen to me and you will do so carefully. I realize you are in pain, Sirius, I do, but this is. Not. Healthy." He paused to see if any of what he was saying was sinking in. "I've left you pretty well alone for the last month and hoped that you might come out of this yourself. We are all grieving, Sirius, but killing yourself with alcohol is ridiculous." Remus forced his hands to unclench and Sirius dropped to the floor, releasing a breath when he realized Remus had banished the glass, but kept eye contact with the man. "Harry would not want to see you like this. He wants you to be happy. He wants you to live.

Sirius was shaking his head now. "And what kind of life is this to live, Remus? I haven't left this house in months. I couldn't until just recently and besides even if I tried to get a job most of the wizarding world still thinks I'm a criminal and wouldn't hire me anyway!"

A moment of silence and then.

"Come to Hogwarts, like Albus asked. Help me teach Defense to the children." Sirius heaved a sigh and let his head fall into his palms, he rubbed his eyes vigorously. The fact that Sirius was neither agreeing nor disagreeing meant that he was at least thinking about it.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Sirius said once he had sat down again, "How are they? Ron and Hermione and the Weasleys I mean?"

Leaning back into a chair across from Sirius', Remus thought about the question. "Well, miserable like expected. I think Ron is having the worst time of them all. He just doesn't know what to do with himself. A lot of the other children in the school are affected as well."

"And they don't even know the truth…"

Remus nodded. "Makes you think what they'll do when they find out." He sighed, "The Slytherins are having the time of their lives with it of course. I'm always walking around a corner to find them sneering at some group of Griffindors. I even caught Blaise Zambini and Ron down by the pitch. They were beating the pulp out of each other." Remus grinned. "Ron was winning so I pretended not to see them for a few extra moments."

A frown marred Sirius' face, "I'd have thought some of them would have known from their parents what was going on."

"That's what I thought too, but Albus seems to think that Voldemort has put the fear of Merlin in them, and given strict orders not to tell anyone. Those he hasn't already Obliviated anyway."

"So how is it teaching classes again?"

Sirius listened as Remus went on about his days spent teaching at Hogwarts. He understood why the first years were too excited to pay attention in class he just wished they would try a little harder. And the third years, well! It was about the time they started thinking the opposite sex wasn't so gross after all. Remus was tired of half the class staring into one another's' eyes or giggling like idiots. However he was rather impressed with the children in terms of marks. They were smarter and more disciplined than ever (minus the love struck ones). They knew everything he was teaching them and then some and many of them were starting to have trouble keeping their eyes open in class. "I'm telling you, Sirius!" Remus insisted upon seeing his friend's disbelieving look, "They know spells that the seventh years are learning. And the other day as I as was cleaning up after I had dismissed them I heard two boys talking about different types of shielding charms. Their densities, their endurance, their difficulty level and magic depletion."

"What the hell is magic depletion?"

Remus rolled his eyes, "That means how much of your magic the spell will take and how long you can successfully hold the spell before you become drained."

Sirius blinked, "Oh…"

Remus shook his head, "These are sixth years we're talking about. I don't even know how they know this stuff, much less how they practice it…what are you smiling about?"

Sirius had a small, sad grin on his lips, "I know why they are so advanced. The DA."

"The what?"

"The DA." Sirius repeated. "It was a group Harry, Ron and Hermione started in their fifth year. Umbridge was such a poor teacher the children decided to take it upon themselves to learn what they thought was important." Sirius chuckled, "Apparently there was quite a large number of students in the group from all the houses…including Slytherin. Harry told me once that they had all made a unanimous vote that he should be the one to teach them."

Remus found himself smiling. "How'd he take that?"

"Oh, he fought it tooth and nail, of course. You know how Harry is." Sirius smiled, "Anyway, that was all I could get out of him before he blushed to the roots of his hair and ran for it."

"What did Ron and Hermione tell you then?" Remus knew Sirius would have immediately gone to them next for information.

"They told me Harry was an outstanding teacher. That he gave them the courage and the ability to believe they could do anything they wanted." Sirius' eyes shone proudly. "Did you know he taught Neville Longbottom to produce a corporeal Patronous charm? Along with about fifty other students…"

Remus felt his mouth fall open and snapped it shut quickly. "I noticed a difference in Neville. He's more confident in himself. And his magic has improved considerably." He smiled and scoffed, "That's amazing. I had no idea Harry did all that."

"Yeah…"

As an after thought, Remus asked, "What does the DA stand for?"

Sirius smiled again, "Dumbledore's Army."

Remus felt warmth spread through him at the thought of Harry and all the amazing things he had done in his short life. He missed the boy terribly and knew that he would, forever, but he could not help but feel joy when he realized Sirius was chuckling, his eyes still shinning proudly.

"Such an amazing boy…" He whispered, shaking his head. Then he sighed, though it was a feigned exasperation, his expression was playful. "I suppose I better write Dumbledore with my answer."

Remus grinned from ear to ear, "Going to come and help me control Hogwart's new generation of misfits, are you?"

"Nah…I think I'll help them out. Teach them some old tricks." Sirius called over his shoulder as he left the living room.

Suddenly, Remus felt nervousness replace the warmth and his face fell. "Sirius?" He called uncertainly. "You wouldn't really, would you?"

When he received no answer, Remus leapt up from the chair he was in and raced after the animagus, "Sirius! Don't you dare!"

A bark like laugh sounded from within the kitchen.

* * *

"Alright, everyone open your books to page 219 please, we will be starting a new chapter - again - seeing as most of you have been on the verge of falling asleep recently." Remus gazed sternly at the bored expressions before him.

One boy, he could not remember his name, asked loudly, "Why don't we start in on the seventh year stuff?"

Remus sighed and turned his back to the class as he flipped through his own textbook. "The first reason is because you are not _in_ your seventh year. The second reason is because it is too late to begin an entire new curriculum."

The class seemed to slump as a whole and the children began to listlessly flip through the pages of their textbooks.

Suddenly, a thought came to Remus and he went with it before he had time to change his mind. Harry may have taught a lot of children to do the Patronous charm but he didn't teach them all and, in times like these, it was a good thing to know. He called out to the class, "How many of you can produce a fully fledged Patronous?"

Several hands rose into the air cautiously, wary of the sudden change of attitude from their teacher. However, once several brave souls had put their hands up, others rose out of the crowd. Still, more than half the students had remained still.

Remus clapped his hands together, "Right then, books away and wands out please."

This time, they obeyed before he had even finished giving the instructions. Talking in a flurry of excitement, the students had done as he asked and more, moving all the desks off to the sides of the room to create a large area for practice.

Remus stood rooted to the spot, shocked. "How many of you were in the DA?"

This time, most of the children put their hands up, proud smiles on their faces.

"We was all in the DA mostly." Said Anderson, a small boy that looked far too young to be in this grade level. "But a lot of us was newcomers see, and we couldn't get the charm in the time we had left before the summer hols."

"So you are all in various stages of learning the spell. So, as only a very few of you know how to do it properly, we will all start at the beginning. As you all know, you need a happy, powerful memory…"

Even though they all knew the material, the attention of the students was focused on Remus completely. Patronous charms were challenging and interesting, even for those who already knew how to do them. Two students, however, detached themselves from the rest of the group and made their way to the back of the room. Ron and Hermione sat, shoulder to shoulder, atop a desk and remembered Harry, who had taught them how to produce their own Patronous. Harry, who had taught them all just as Remus was doing now. They tried not to think about how much they would rather have Harry here instead.

* * *

Remus eased himself into a chair, the strain of a full day of teaching aching in his muscles.

"Long day, Remus?"

"Quite, Fillius. I decided I was going to teach them all the Patronous charm, but looking back on it, I'm not really sure it was such a good idea…"

The charms professor regarded him carefully for a moment before he nodded, "No, no, highly useful charm to know. Especially with times as they are."

Remus grunted as a form of agreement, his mind focused more on filling his plate.

"How is Sirius doing?"

Remus sighed as he pulled his plate towards him, "Better than he has been. Much better. But he still has a long ways to go."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it! That poor man has been a wreck for months now." The little man shook his head, "'Course, it's understandable. That boy deserved better than what life gave him." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "I mean, the poor boy hasn't even been given a funeral! If the wizarding world knew what had happened to Harry Potter everything would grind to a halt, and very well it should!"

"All the more reason to keep your mouth shut when you know there are so many ears to hear you!"

Remus and Fillius looked in the direction from which the acidic hiss had come. Remus himself had been about to remark on his co-workers blatant disregard for secrecy, only Severus had beaten him to it.

"Oh, I do apologize, Severus, I got carried away."

Snape rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, the _poor_ Potter boy has become the centre of attention once aga –"

The potions master never got to finish his snide remark as Remus had risen from his seat, reached right over the charms professor's head and gripped Severus' throat in his hand.

"Take it back."

Something undeniably ugly shone in Remus' eyes and he felt an anger swirling deep within his mind that he could never remember feeling before. It paralyzed his reason and judgment and fog swirled around his head.

Snape's shocked gaze was mirrored in the blazing eyes of a wolf as he clawed desperately at the hand around his throat. Cries of frightened children drifted through the hall but Remus paid them no heed. His name was being called in the distance and he found he could not answer it; the rage would not let him.

"Take. It. Back."

His voice, as cool and hard as steel, cut through Snape's senses like a blade.

"Let go of me you rabid animal!"

"TAKE IT BACK!"

Remus' voice seemed to rattle the windows and more cries followed him as children fled the hall.

But Severus' black eyes glared from under drooping lids, defiant even on the brink of consciousness. "I…won't…"

Fury exploded in his chest and Remus squeezed with all the strength of the wolf. In the next second, several things happened.

Remus felt, for the first time, the damage he could do with his power. Arteries pinched, tendants stretched and mashed together and bone grinded hard. A strangled moan and gurgle and Severus' black eyes rolled back into his skull. Then darkness consumed Remus and he blacked out out before he even hit the floor, his grip on Snape's throat going slack.

Upon waking, Remus could never remember a headache so bad. Not after a night at the pub, not after exams in school, not even after a transformation had he been in so much pain, his mouth was thick with cotton.

"Finally awake are you?"

The voice sent shockwaves into his brain and he clutched his head in both hands, moaning.

That was Poppy Pomfrey's voice. But if she was here, that meant he was in the hospital wing…

"What happened?" He managed to grind out.

The medi-witch set a beaker of water down on his bedside table and gave him her usual, hard stare. "You attacked poor Severus is what happened! Mind you I imagine he did something to warrant being attacked…"

Something cold had begun to grow somewhere around Remus' navel at Madam Pomfrey's words. He was assaulted with memories of him gripping Severus' throat and it crushing beneath his hand. Bile rose in his throat and he fought to keep his stomach in check.

His face ashen, he looked up at Poppy with wide eyes.

"Is he alright?"

The witch stopped talking and looked at him curiously.

"Who, Severus? Yes he's fine." His concerns were briskly waved away as a matter of little importance. "Of course he is!" A mischievous smile tugged at her lips, "Though I dare say he needed to be brought down a peg. To every house but Slytherin, you are a hero."

Remus rolled his eyes, feeling considerably better now that he knew he had not killed his co-worker.

"I'll go and get you a pain reliever. I imagine you must have quite a nasty headache."

"You have no idea…"

As soon as the woman was gone, the doors to the wing opened silently and in came two familiar faces, both of which lit up upon seeing him. It was the first smile he had seen on Ron and Hermione's faces since Harry had disappeared more than two months ago. He felt good, knowing that it was him that had made them smile.

"Alright?" Ron asked as the duo came up to the bed.

Remus couldn't help but grimace, "My head is a bit sore."

Hermione scoffed, something Remus was sure he had never heard her do, "I should imagine it _would_ after taking eight stunners to the head."

"Bloody brilliant, what you did!" Ron burst. It seemed like he had been waiting a while to say that and color tinged his cheeks.

Remus looked away. "I shouldn't have lost control like that."

To his surprise, it was Hermione that was shaking her head. "If you hadn't, someone else would have. Ron was already halfway to the head table before Seamus and Dean jumped on him." She looked at Ron sternly and his ears turned pink.

"Bloody git was talking loud enough for everyone to hear."

Remus saw something dark glittering in Ron's blue eyes that had never been there before.

"…wish the bloody bastard would just kick it already."

"Ron." Hermione's voice was not shrill or outraged, or even irritated, like Remus had expected, it suggested caution – that he should be careful about what he says in the open.

Remus was still staring in shock, though it did not show in his face. Ron was known to be brash and often said things he didn't mean when he was angry or upset. But the conversation was calm and Remus heard only truth in the red head's voice. He really did want Severus to die. Remus felt his heart ache and his throat constrict. Children should not have such murderous thoughts. They should not have such sorrow and hatred in their eyes.

"Anyway," Hermione said, with the air of wanting to move on. "What's done is done."

"Well, have I missed anything?"

Ron smiled suddenly at the question and Remus frowned. "What?"

"Have you missed anything?" Ron laughed, "I should think so, you've been out for nearly a week!"

Doing a spectacular imitation of a goldfish, Remus attempted to put words in his moving mouth. "W-what? A week!"

Ron and Hermione laughed hard at him, their cheeks going red and tears shinning in their eyes with the force of their laughter. Suddenly Remus forgot about his shock and his guilt and began to laugh with them.

"I told you that would get him riled up." Ron gasped, wiping his face.

Hermione chuckled. "Don't worry, professor, we had a good replacement."

His brows creased in confusion for a split second before his face broke into a smile once more.

"Finally awake are you, Remus?"

Sirius Black, clean shaven and wearing fresh robes walked into the hospital wing with a welcoming smile on his face.

"What have you done with my class?" Remus asked, his tone accusing but grinning from ear to ear.

Sirius placed a hand over his heart. "You judge me so quickly. And here I thought you trusted me!"

When Madam Pomfrey finally released Remus from the hospital wing, he was sent straight to Dumbledore's office. Ascending the staircase, he couldn't help but feel like a nervous schoolboy awaiting his punishment from the headmaster.

"Come in."

Remus did so, feeling guiltier than he had in a long time. Dumbledore was peering at him over the top of his glasses and Remus could not bring himself to meet the penetrating gaze.

"Sit. Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you, sir."

There was a moment of palpable silence while the headmaster poured himself a cup.

"You have been out for quite some time,"

"Yes, well…"

"Did Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger tell you anything that has happened?"

His curiosity peek, Remus sat up straighter and looked up. "Only that Sirius had taken my classes for me."

Suddenly Albus smiled widely. "Ah, yes! I was glad to receive his letter, and just in time too." The old man added, giving him a look. "It is so good to see him finally taking advantage of his freedom, however much he had wished to share it with Harry, he needs to move on. The poor man has had no time to live."

Remus nodded, "Try telling him that. I'm relieve we finally got through to him."

"Yes, quite, quite. Now. There is news I need to tell you, but I must ask you now not to get your hopes up. It is about Harry," Dumbledore said, seeing the question forming on Remus' face. "However, it is not much and it's rather…er, far fetched."

"But it's a start." Remus insisted, sitting forward excitedly.

Albus nodded sagely, "It is."

"Does Sirius know yet?"

Again he nodded. "Yes, he does. And he took it rather well."

"This is good."

"We have Severus to thank."

At this, the wind left Remus' sails rather quickly and heat rose in his cheeks. "Err, yes, about that headmaster, I –."

Dumbledore raised a wizened hand. "Think nothing of it. We all loose our temper sometimes. I dare say I was close to losing mine after that comment. Suffice it to say I have spoken to Severus and he will hold his tongue."

"Thank you, sir."

"Remember only that the ministry allowed you to return here because the public have lost confidence in them and Fudge needs to built up their trust again, and I don't wish to sound conceited but, I am the lesser of two evils in the public eye, I think. Especially now that Voldemort's return has been accepted. However, if word gets out to the public that you are attacking teachers, no matter how much they deserve it," here he bestowed a small smile upon Remus as the werewolf sunk lower and lower into his chair, "you must know that the parents will turn to the ministry once more and I will not be able to protect you."

Remus was now feeling thoroughly embarrassed and guilty. Basically what Dumbledore was saying was that he needed to keep his temper in check otherwise they would lose the tedious hold Dumbledore, who just happened to be the leader of the Light, had on the public. He needed to control himself or he was going to bullocks up what little advantage they had.

Remus nodded jerkily, not trusting his voice at all. He felt so foolish.

"The discoveries we have made will all be discussed at the Order meeting tonight." The headmaster's tone took on a businesslike quality and Remus embraced the formality to distance himself from the intimacy of the last half an hour.

"I trust you would like to return to your classroom and right whatever damage Sirius has done."

"Thank you sir, I mean, yes, sir. Thank you." Flustered, and dangerously close to graveling, Remus stood and fled the office, grimacing at his childish behavior as he tried to ignor the chuckles drifting from Albus' office door.

* * *

The house was quiet with anticipation that night. It was less than an hour until the meeting commenced and already there were many people bustling about the house. Molly was cooking in the kitchen, her way of coping with stress.

No one knew exactly what tonight's meeting would reveal; only that it was about Harry, and they were eager to begin.

Sirius and Remus had claimed the living room as their sanctuary and they sat on the sofa by the fire. The two were silent, staring into the flames in the hearth intensely, lost in their own thoughts.

"What do you think it is?"

Remus sucked air into his lungs and dispelled it in one great burst. "If Snape discovered it I'd say it was something to do with the potion…"

Sirius sighed then as well and shifted in his seat, sinking lower. "I have nightmares about that."

Remus pulled his eyes from the hypnotic power of the dancing flames and stared at his friend. "About the potion?"

"Yes. About how he thought it was burning. About his screams…how it must have felt to be torn apart, piece by piece."

"Stop, Sirius."

Feeling ill by this point, Remus' hands trembled where they rested in his lap. If this is all Sirius had been thinking about then no wonder he was having such a difficult time coping with it.

"You have to stop thinking about this." Remus was glad to hear his voice was much steadier than his hands. "You have to move on and accept that Harry may not be coming back."

"I know that, Remus."

He didn't sound angry, only tired.

"And I want to…I thought I was. But then Dumbledore came and told me they found something and…" He sighed again, shaking his head.

The two lapsed into silence once more and waited for the meeting to start.

* * *

"As you all well know, we have made some progress in discovering some information about Harry's disappearance. It has to do with the potion he was given."

Several pairs of eyes dropped to the table in memory of the incident. Dumbledore had sat down and waved in the direction of the potions master and, with a sigh that suggested he believed this was an enormous waste of time, Severus stood.

"I have, with the help of the Headmaster of course, been able to make a list of all ingredients in the potion. It has a name, we discovered. Also we know what it does."

Sirius slumped back in his chair, has hand coming down on the table top loudly. "You wasted your time with that? I could have told you what it did! It bloody tore him to pieces!"

People's faces drained of color at the words.

Miraculously, Snape only gave a sharp sigh, looking very frustrated. But it was not directed at Sirius, the potions master was looking straight ahead, his head swaying from side to side. Sirius, confused at the lack of response from Snape, could do nothing but seethe at his own words.

"The potion isn't much, according to everything we read. It's remarkably useless by itself. But, when combined with dark magic, such as the ritual the Dark Lord performed, it becomes very powerful."

Arthur Weasley, along with the majority of those present, was frowning.

"But –."

"I know!" Snape cut him off. "I don't understand it either. In all my life I have _never_ seen anything like this."

And by the looks of it, it was driving the man mad. His hair was messy, his face gaunt and tired. He kept fidgeting with his hands and couldn't keep his gaze on one spot.

"Never?" Kingsley asked, sounding dubious.

But Snape exploded, "NO! Never! This is what worries me. I have never heard of combining a potion with a spell. Potions are magical because the ingredients you make them with have magical properties. But they are two separate entities. It would be like combining oil and water. Even if you _did_ manage to do it, it would be pointless…nothing would come of it." He ran a hand through his hair. "The Dark Lord has gone beyond what he has accomplished so far. He is pushing the boundaries of dark magic." Here, Severus shot Dumbledore a look, a rare spark of uncertainty shinning in his dark eyes. "Albus and I have devised a loose theory of what the potion and the spell combination may have been used for but we cannot be certain. However, it is rather a stretch of the imagination…"

"It is _plausible_." Albus spoke firmly and everyone turned their eyes on him.

Severus, happy to be out of the spotlight, sat down at once, but still looked decidedly uncomfortable with the situation. He was a man well known for not trusting anything that wasn't solid. And their theory, if you could even give it so much structure, was anything but solid.

For a moment there was silence while Albus regarded everyone at the table. Then, "We believe that there is a chance Harry is alive."


	11. Wondering

**Chapter 11: Wondering**

He was a created in darkness. A creature born from anguish and bred for killing. Yet he was no one. He was nothing. His existence was nameless and unexplained. He simply _was_. The only thing that seemed sure was the steady drumming of his own heart as he lay, waiting. Waiting for a clue, some sign, so he might find his purpose. Madness swirled within his mind. Images of fire and steel and blood drifted across his consciousness, his own screams playing like a morbid symphony in his ears. He stared, unblinking, into the pitch shadow of his confinement.

He could remember nothing, though he groped in the void for something to replace what he saw now. Nothing surfaced, however. He had memories of naught but vivid screams and gore. It was like his birth, he realized; where he had come from. The pain, the screams, the blood…He smiled then, as it dawned on him. He _was_ something. Something that was staring him right in the face, if he had one, he wasn't sure. It surrounded him even now. He could feel it shifting; slithering like oiled snakes across skin he could not remember having. Yes, he knew what he was; could feel it in him. He was the Darkness.

* * *

It was several hours, or perhaps days or weeks later, he could not remember how time passed, when his world was invaded. Without warning, the darkness was split, destroyed with a sudden explosion of light before him. He cried out and, discovering he had arms, he threw them over a face he hadn't known was there either, for the light burned his eyes. It tore at them until he was blinded.

He screamed in rage.

_'How dare they?' _his own screams turned into angry words inside his mind, '_How dare they spoil the darkness?'_

Rough hands were suddenly all over him, gripping him tight and holding in many places. Around his arms, his ankles, his waist…They pried his hands away from his eyes and the light cut at them once more. He bowed his head against the assault, moaning.

"How long did you leave it in here?" One of the creatures around him asked. Its voice was rough, like a saw cutting through an oak knot.

"Long enough for him to be sufficiently lost." Came the quick reply. Too quick, and laced with venom at the challenge of authority.

"Was just saying." The first grumbled. "Never seen one react to torch light like that…" He could almost hear the cruel grin twist the vile thing's speech, as if it found the whole situation amusing.

They had pulled him to his feet now and were trying to push and pull him towards the doorway, towards the light. He dug his heels into the loose soil, tugging them back, towards the far wall where there were shadows, were the light could not reach.

"Come to me, human."

He was not sure if the command was directed at him. Was he a human? What _was_ a human? Even if he had known, he still would have pulled backwards. The one that spoke stood in the doorway, its form a dark silhouette against the light shinning behind it.

Then he was on the floor and something as welcoming in its familiarity as the darkness consumed him. Fire seared his marrow; acid rushed along his veins. He screamed and convulsed and writhed in the hands that bound him. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come and he was left twitching and panting on the ground.

"Come to me, human."

Immediately, he was on his feet once more, the others having pulled him to. He no longer wondered at whom the command was directed and he put one foot in front of the other, his head spinning, trying not to stumble when a painful aftershock made his muscles tremble.

"Well done." Said the creature when he had finally stopped before it. It's eyes were flat, its mouth nothing but a thin opening on its face. It looked far from please.

He was lead down many hallways and up many stairs, so many he lost count after a while. He did not know where he was but there was no surprise in that. He hadn't known he had a body either, but he felt sure that was something he _should _have known. When they finally stopped walking, he lifted his eyes from his boot clad feet. His knees shook dangerously, close to giving way beneath him. As if they sensed this, his captors pushed him into a kneeling position.

He was in a very big room, the ceiling rising many feet above their heads in a vast and laden cathedral spire, the stones nearly black as coal and smooth as polished metal. There were rows of torches lining the walls on either side of him and the one he faced. There was a large, ornate throne before him as well. High-backed and rigid, it looked very uncomfortable, made from the same black stones as the rest of the place. Dark blue and purple jewels glittered dully on the armrests in the torchlight. Thick clusters of cobwebs seemed to cling to almost every surface except that chair and he spotted a large spider crawling languidly down from its home under a torch bracket.

Absently, he wondered how he knew it was called a spider. He wondered what its insides might look like. Would the heart be big enough to recognize? Could he take out its intestines and see how far they stretched? Was it a large enough creature to scream if he were to rip one of its many legs from its hairy body…?

"About what do you wonder, human?"

He looked around to find something that had not been in the room before. He wasn't sure how he had missed its entrance, the thing was monstrous, black and spiky with blazing eyes that stared at him from within a pitiless face.

"You may answer."

He remembered not long ago when he had not followed a command and his hand strayed to the strip of leather around his neck as he told the demon exactly what he had been wondering. When he opened his mouth however, he realized he couldn't ever remember speaking. He knew he could, somehow. He spoke each word carefully and slowly, to make sure that what was coming out of his mouth matched what was in his head. The sound of his own voice sounded foreign to his ears. It was rough and each word he formed made his throat itch terribly. Unbidden, his own screams rose from memory, harsh and raw.

Suddenly an image flashed like lightning behind his eyes.

All he saw was the darkness, but he felt the acid melting the flesh on his thigh. He heard himself scream and then the pain in his throat took precedence. Blood filled his mouth and splattered onto his chin as his vocal chords ripped.

That must be why his voice sounded like it did, he decided. He blinked up at the demon, who was regarding him intently.

His musings seemed to please the large demon, for it laughed; a deep rumbling sound that reminded him of grinding rock and steel. A shiver ran up his spine at the grating sound. "I am pleased with your work, Ukimu Noul. You will be rewarded."

One of the creatures around him, the one who had given him the command to 'come', bowed so low to the ground his flat nose nearly scrapped the dirt.

"Thank you my Lord, you are too kind."

The black demon rose from its throne with lazy movements, reminding him sharply of the spider on the wall; deceptively relaxed but ready to strike as fast the eye could blink. It walked towards where he kneeled and stopped only a few paces from him. He nearly toppled backwards in an attempt to keep eye contact with it. Suddenly there was a blade in its clawed hand. It would easily have been the length of a man's forearm and he reeled back in a burst of panic.

"Remain still."

He froze, his eyes so wide they burned, but he did not blink. He dared not blink. Slowly, as if the thing did not wish to frighten him further, the demon turned the dagger in his plated hand so that the hilt faced him.

"Take it."

Hesitantly, he reached up and grasped the pommel. It was stone, he realized, and cool where it rested heavy in his palm. The blade slid free of the demon's grasp and he examined it closely, carefully. It was beautiful, if an object could be called such. The steel was polished to the point where it shone even in the dim torchlight. The one sharp edge looked lethal and he pressed the pad of his thumb long it daringly. As expected, blood streamed forth from the digit and he stuck it in his mouth, the coppery tang coating his tongue. He raised his eyes and locked gazes with the demon and of a sudden its booming voice reverberated in his head.

'_Use it. On the Dachen to you left. Settle you curiosity and find its beating heart!_'

It had been a command, but he had sought nothing more than permission. He turned sharply, the blade feeling strange and heavy in his hand, but it drove home nonetheless; sliding into the middle of the – had it been called a Dachen? - as easily as if the creature were made of butter. It made a gurgling sound somewhere in the back of its throat and gripped the blade where it protruded from its stomach.

He watched as blood poured in a steady flow from the wound around the steel and from the Dachen's hands as they gripped the blade, oblivious to the gashes that reached the bone in an attempt to pull the dagger free. In a sudden burst of gleeful satisfaction, he twisted the blade to the right and grinned as the little monster screamed and fell, bucking and heaving as it tried to escape its own death.

_'Vengeance_,' he thought, '_for spoiling the Darkness_.'

The Dachen gave a final hiss and twitch of his hands and then lay still.

His face fell. It had died too soon. It should have suffered more. He raised his head to look at the remaining four of its comrades. With a tug, the dagger slid free of the corpse with a wet sound. They backed away from him now, their own knives drawn and large eyes wary. Then he remembered the demon behind him. The one who reeked of power and control, who had given him permission, who was called 'Lord'. He forced himself to let the weapon drop to his side and swung his head around to ask a question written plainly in his features.

"You may play for a while, my pet, but then we have much to discuss."

That was permission enough for him. He turned back to face the Dachen. They all stood abreast, their large eyes glinting with something more dangerous now. Betrayal and anger shone clearly as they spared swift glares for the Demon and Ukimu Noul, who stood by his master's side, eyes emotionless and cold.

The first Dachen he reached was the slowest, the other three having leapt out of the reach of his arm. The blade caught the last in the neck, splitting the flesh there into a wide gash that gushed blood even as the Dachen clamped dirty hands around it. Almost at once it lay unmoving on the ground, a pool of black surrounding it. He turned to the remaining three with blood spattered on his face, eyes gleaming and lips pulled back in a snarl that would make a wolf proud.

They let their weapons fall to their sides, useless, and accepted their fate. Death was far better than what their master would do to them should they fight back.

So it was, in the Land of the Slaves.

* * *

_'I wonder, does the heart of a spider look like this?'_

Surely it would be smaller than that of a Dachen, he reasoned.

The heart of the fourth and last Dachen sat in the palm of his hand, still warm. He stared at it in wonder. It was rather big in comparison with the size of the creature he had cut it from.

"Leave it now."

The organ slipped from his bloody hand and into the cavity from whence it came. He turned his attention on the demon. Ukimu Noul still stood at its side.

"We must talk. I must teach you."

He fell to his knees, a strange emotion filling him. Would he be told his name? Where he had come from? What he was supposed to do here? What –

"Your name," The demon spoke, cutting off his scrambled thoughts and making him gather breath in anticipation, "Is Ecero Khol."

He thought about that name. _His_ name. He repeated it in his mind, over and over, committing it to memory. He had a name now. He was something; someone.

"Ecero Khol, you are here for a purpose: to serve me. I created you. I am your master and you will address me as such."

Ecero sat, riveted and listening intently to every word that came forth from the demon's mouth. This was why he was here. This was his purpose. He did not simply exist anymore.

"You will be an assassin to me. You will kill those who oppose me. You will torture spies and friends of my enemies for valuable information. You will learn _our_ magic and the art of combat."

Ecero stared. He could not believe his ears. Mere hours ago he had been nothing. He had been nameless and formless and useless. And now he had been given all those things. He wanted to learn, was eager to. His fingers itched with the very thought of plunging steel into another chest and cutting out another heart. He wanted to kill all those who opposed his Lord. His Master, who had given him name and purpose.

His hold on the blade hilt tightened and his Lord gave another grinding laugh, his eyes blazing so that sapphire flames danced in the empty face. "I am most impressed with this, Ukimu. I did not dream he would be so cleanly broken."

The Dachen bowed again, almost as low as the last time. "Thank you, my Lord."

His Lord turned back to him. "The collar about you neck, yes that one, is a magical device that responds to direct commands and actions that are out of line. For example, if I tell you to Kill Ukimu Noul," the Dachen didn't so much as blink, even when Ecero grinned eagerly, "and you fail to begin the task, in a matter of seconds the collar will react."

Ecero felt the grin slip from his face as he spotted several problems this collar may create. He opened his mouth to speak a question but was cut off.

"If you speak without being told to do so, the collar will, again, react. If you attack a being that is more powerful than yourself, the collar will react."

_'Does that mean he is afraid I may attack him?' _Ecero pushed that thought to the back of him mind. Better he examine that when he had more time. Still, he could see problems this collar could create.

"You have a question. You may ask it."

"If…I am…fighting someone, and…" he still found talking strange, "they tell me to…stop. Then I must?"

The demon sounded pleased when he said, "Intelligent question. Because of its magic, the collar is intune with your own mind. If you know what you are doing is incorrect or disobedient, then the collar knows to punish you. This will allow you to fight."

Ecero nodded.

"The collar will not respond to commands that are impossible to follow as well; such as an order to end your own life."

There was a silence in which Ecero took the opportunity to absorb and examine all this new information. Ukimu Noul was being spoken to by the demon, nodding his head at random intervals to his Lord's rumbling voice. Then, abruptly, the little Dachen was gone, run off through a door behind and to the left of the throne.

"There is someone you are going to meet. He will be your trainer and superior. He will teach you our way of magic and its history. He will teach you how to wield the weapons you will be given. He will teach you to kill with stealth and accuracy and care. And most importantly, he will teach you how to survive here."

Several minutes passed in heavy silence, in which the demon watched his newest specimen. Ecero Kohl was completely oblivious to his studious gaze of course. In time, though, Ecero would become aware of everything around him; down to the clicking of the spider's legs as it scuttled up the wall. The boy sat now, once again examining the dagger. He pressed his finger against the blade once more. Raken Ver'tora frowned. Did the boy have memory loss? Anger rose within him and he gripped the jewel embedded armrests of his throne. '_If that Dachen permanently destroyed the boy's mind by poking one to many needles, the Darkness hide him…'_

And just like that the rage vanished, to be replaced by satisfaction. The boy was grinning around his index finger as he sucked the blood from his wound. Not only had Ukimu Noul made the human forget himself, he had also instilled in the boy a taste for blood. He admitted to himself the he had thought the Dachen would have not been able to change this one, no matter how reliable he had been in the past. The human had been so strong, so stubborn. He hadn't been sure it would ever kill for him. But then, he had handed the boy a blade and before he had even finished the command, it was in the Dachen's stomach, the boy grinning wickedly. It could not have worked out better. He always used humans for his assassins. They were far more careful and light on their feet, not to mention more intelligent, then most of the creatures in this world.

Ukimu Noul came into the room by the same door he had left, someone following behind him.

Ecero pulled his finger from his mouth, more interested in the stranger. He was male and he was human. He wore the same clothes Ecero did, only bigger to accomodate the man's larger size. The man was tall, nearly six feet he guessed. His dark brown hair was shaggy and unkempt with a layer of dust making it look dull. It ended in jagged pieces about his forehead and ears, as if he had chopped if off with a blade. His skin was so tanned it was bronze and bright blue eyes shone from under his mess of hair. He looked kind at first, from far away, but as the man drew nearer, Ecero recognized more details. The man's face was tired, making him look older than he probably was. His blue eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red, as if he had been rubbing at them vigorously. Black circles went all around his eyes, making them look sunken and hollow. His face was as expressionless as Ukimu Noul's and seemed to be set in stone.

"Ecero Khol, this is Konin D'Kal. He is the man I spoke of. You may stand."

Ecero did so, never taking his eyes off the other man. His clothes looked better taken care of than his own. The leather was not faded on the wrist guards and the pants, whatever material they may be, were not creased and wearing. Konin D'kal was studying him as well, Ecero realized suddenly.

Something else caught his attention as the tall man stopped in front of him. Konin did not wear a collar.

"He is small and light. He will be difficult to see, hear and track. His eyes are sharp; he is intelligent and a quick learner."

Could the man really tell so much just by looking at him? The demon was nodding in his throne as Konin began to circle him, his eyes trailing up and down his body. Ecero began to turn with the man, a scowl etched deep in his face. This did not seem like a man he wanted to expose his back to.

"Keep still."

He had no choice then, but to obey, and he let Konin D'kal stare at him from all angles, his scowl deepening the more he was circled.

"You will have to watch your back, D'kal." Their Lord was saying, "At least for a time. He is stubborn and strong. He may take the pain if it meant killing you. I would not anger or taunt him without a valid reason." There was a note of warning in the demon's voice and Konin regarded the Lord carefully before nodding.

Ecero's scowl had turned into a frown, trying to figure out just what his master was saying, when Konin pressed something into the palm of his hand. It was a sword that had been hanging at the man's waist when he had come into the room. The steel blade was two sided and the shape of it reminded him of a tendril of smoke rising from a blown out candle wick, wavy and slight. The hilt he gripped in both hands was cast iron, a fat strip of black leather wrapped around the handle.

He gazed at it in awe.

"Come with me." Said Konin D'kal, speaking to him directly for the first time. Piercing blue eyes regarded him, calculating. "I'm going to teach you how to use that."

A manic grin on his face, Ecero Khol followed the dark-haired man as he walked from the room, a feeling in his stomach telling him that having Konin as a teacher was going to be a pleasurable torment.

* * *

**Pronounciations:**

Konin D'kal (_KOH-NIN DAY-KAL_)

Ecero Khol (_EH-SAY-RO KOL_)


	12. Learning

**Chapter 12: Learning**

Water dripped in the distance, hollow splashes echoing and re-echoing, losing their source forever. There were stone bridges and railless ramp-ways everywhere, all sprouting off from broad, flat-topped stone spires all polished and smooth and streaked with black and grey. Level upon level the maze stretched up and down through the murk, without any apparent beginning or end. Every bridge led to a spire, every ramp to another spire, other bridges. Whatever direction Ecero looked, as far as his eye could see in the din, it was the same, above as well as below. There was not enough light to see clearly, or for very far, but he did not mind. He liked the darkness, he was comfortable in it…and he was getting better at being able to focus his eye in it.

He pressed, seeking freedom from the walls, knowing it was an illusion. Everything was illusion. He knew this one well; had followed it too many times not to know. However far he went, up or down or in any direction, nothing changed. The smell of deep, fresh-turned earth permeated the air, the sickly sweetness of decay. The smell of a grave opened before its time. The smell of death. It filled his nostrils and clung to his skin like oil.

He breathed deeply.

A flicked of motion caught his eye and he froze where he was, half crouched against the polished guard wall around one of the spire tops. It was no hiding place; from a thousand places a watcher could have seen him. Shadow filled the air, but there were no deeper shadows in which to hide. The light did not come from torches; it was simply there, such as it was, as if it seeped out of the air. Enough by which to see, after a fashion; enough but which to be seen. But stillness gave a little protection.

The movement came again, and now it was clear. The form of a man striding up a distant ramp, careless of the lack of railings and the drop to nothing below. The man's cloak rippled with his stately haste and his head turned, searching. The distance was too far for Ecero to see more than the shape in the murk, but he did not need to be closer to know the cloak was the blackness of coal, that the searching eyes blazed like two sapphire stones. He tried tracing the maze with his eyes, to see how many connections Konin needed to make before reaching him, then gave it up as pointless. Distances were deceiving here, another lesson he had learned. What seemed far away might be reached by turning a corner, what appeared close could be out of reach entirely. The only thing to do, as it had been from the beginning, was to keep moving. Keep moving and not think. Thinking was dangerous, he knew.

There had been two or three close brushes, though he could not remember them clearly, but for a long, long time – how long? He had run while Konin vainly pursued. He would be lost here forever, he couldn't help but think, in this never ending maze.

For an instant then – just for the length of time it took to take a breath – he knew why it was dangerous to think, what it was dangerous to think about. As it had been before, every time he allowed himself to think of what surrounded him, of the impossibility of this task; if he allowed the fear to stir within his stomach, the air shimmered, clouding his eyes. It turned to jell, holding him. Taking away precious moments in which he should be running, hiding, training himself to remain calm.

The gritty heat prickled his skin, and his throat had long since gone dry as he trotted down the thorn-hedge maze. How long had it been now? His sweat evaporated before it had a chance to bead and his eyes burned. Not a breath stirred within the maze. Bone-dry dust rose in puffs at even his lightest step. It tickled his nose, threatening a sneeze that might give him away. This was a dangerous place, he knew that too. Ahead of him he could see three openings in the high wall of thorns, then the way curved out of sight. Konin could be approaching any one of those corners at this very moment.

Panting in the heat, he stopped to examine the maze wall. Thickly woven thorn bushes, brown and dead looking, with cruel black thorns like inch long hooks. Too tall to see over. Too dense to see through. Gingerly, he touched the wall, and gasped. Despite all his care, a thorn had pierced his finger, burning like a hot needled. He reeled back, shaking his hand and scattering thick drops of blood. He stuck the digit in his mouth and sucked around it, his tongue swirling to catch the tang. The burn had began to subside but his whole hand throbbed. A stray thought took vague shape then, that things might not bee what they seemed, but he pushed it down ruthlessly. Thinking was dangerous here.

So was staying in one place. That was one of the things he knew dimly but with certainty. Still sucking his fingertip, he started down the path in the direction he happened to be facing. One way was as good as another here. At the first opening in the wall he turned right, then right again at the next, and found himself face to face with Konin D'kal.

Surprise flitted across Konin's face, and his black cloak settled as he came to a halt. Then his features hardened.

"Well done, Ecero."

Confused about what he was being praised for but enjoying it all the same, Ecero smiled around his finger and took it from between his lips.

"You found me instead of the other way around." His teacher explained. "Even if it was not your intention."

The air about them began to shimmer and Konin's features blurred and faded. Ecero was used to this and waited patiently while the illusion dissolved. He stood now where he had hours ago. Before the test; the maze. Beside the small fire that burned within a circle of rocks.

It had been fourteen days, according to Konin, since the two of them had met, and Ecero had started training. He wondered often, but never asked, how Konin could tell the passing of time.

As they settled around the fire, Ecero prepared himself. This was where Konin would tell him all the things he had done wrong. What he needed to improve. Often, his teacher would have a new task for him to complete that would teach him to correct his mistakes. Often these tasks involved a great deal of pain, but he had not failed one of them yet. He learned from them. He was eager, even though he had yet to learn to wield a blade properly. He was learning to hide, to keep away where prying eyes searched. He learned to cover his tracks, and follow those who had not been clever enough to do the same. He learned about the land. What creatures lived within it and which ones he could eat. He knew which plants held nourishment and which ones were poisonous. And most importantly, Konin had said, he was learning how to listen.

"Awareness of your surroundings is a greater weapon than any blade." The man had said on their very first day of training, "If you know what is happening around you it can be used to your advantage. Know what is available to you and you will be unstoppable."

Ecero had taken the advice to heart. He had seen few of the creatures in the world, and been told about many others, in his short life. This was a place where two kinds of life-forms lived: Those who hunted and those who hid. There was no coexistence, and he certainly was not about to hide from anything.

He focused his attention on Konin, who was speaking once again. "Your greatest failure is that you do not hide yourself properly. You do not use the Shadow to your advantage."

Ecero held back a scowl. There had been scarcely any shadows at all! How was he supposed to hide in them?

"Pull the Darkness towards you, Ecero." Was the answer to his unasked question. "Reach out to it with your mind. It is always there. Try and you can feel it."

Already he was remembering the cell in which he had awoken. He remembered how comfortable he had been in the dark, surrounding him like a blanket, hiding him, protecting him. He let the memory overcome him. Drew on the feeling of being invisible, untouchable.

His eyes slide shut, but he hardly noticed, and the Darkness was there behind his eyes. Engulfing his mind, shielding him. A gasp shattered the serenity and his eyes flew open. Konin sat before him still, blue eyes wide and a grin splitting his face. "Well done." He said simply, his voice echoing strangely between Ecero's ears. "Though I did not mean for you to attempt it this very instant."

Ecero blinked, confused. He looked down at himself. He could not see his legs where they crossed beneath him. Shadow had swallowed them, and his arms too, as if he was in the very bowls of the Azure Lord's keep. He grinned – the light could not touch him.

"Let it go now."

Feeling frustrated, Ecero let the light overcome the Shadow, not bothering to keep the irritation from his face.

"A shadow in the middle of a well lit area is suspicious," Konin explained, "And some things here can see better than us." Ecero flushed under the revoke. "It is useful only in areas where shadows exist already. This is good however. I thought this would be more of a challenge for you." He smiled then. "But it seems the Darkness is drawn to you."

* * *

"_That_ is what you want me to kill?"

Ecero and Konin sat crouched upon a bluff overlooking a deep valley in which there sat a castle. No, a castle was small compared to this…fortress. It reminded Ecero of Lord Raken's keep, black and sprawling, jutting from the mountain rock in great spires that stabbed at the sky.

The thing at which Ecero stared incredulously was moving slowly past the outer gates of the keep, surrounded by three guards, gnarly and bent at odd angles that made their arms sway wide as they hobbled beside their master. And their master was what he was supposed to kill. He was big, not so big as Lord Raken, but big enough that Ecero was apprehensive about an attempted assassination.

He turned to Konin.

"Ask your question, Ecero." The older man looked like he wanted to roll his eyes but was refraining.

"I cant kill something like that! When you said _we_ had orders to kill Lord Raken's rival I assumed that meant _you_! I am not ready for this, Konin!" He turned away from his teacher's cool eyes to focus on the ugly bodyguards. "Cant I just peg his minions…?"

He was already pulling the bow from his back as he finished speaking, but a large hand on his arm stopped him. "You have been training for this for months now!" Konin hissed, as if he were afraid the demon would be able to hear them a mile away. "If you are not ready now you never will be!"

Ecero narrowed his eyes in disagreement and was not surprised when Konin did not give him permission to speak. He continued to glare and this time the other man _did_ roll his eyes. "Fine." He said. "The demon is nearly through the front doors anyway. You can kill the guards when they move to watch the gates." He growled something about the bow being the _last_ thing Ecero needed to practise as the boy rose and bounded silently down the slope behind them.

Konin followed, remembering how much the boy had learned so far, and much he had left to teach him. He could no longer find Ecero whenever they were in the maze. He covered his tracks flawlessly or else doubled back so many times it was impossible for Konin to tell which way he had actually gone. He hid in the shadows, swirling them about his body in corners. At first it had been easy to spot; a pitch black hole where only a little less light should have shone. That had been corrected though. Ecero's shadows were natural and blended seamlessly. He would jump out, tendrils of the Dark stretching and coiling like smoke, trying to keep contact with the boy, and have him pinned, a knife to his throat, before he even knew what had happened. For several minutes afterwards, Ecero's eyes were always as black as the shadows in which he hid. They lingered there, within him.

Konin made himself focus on the task at hand and noticed that Ecero had gained much ground while he reminisced, looking back up at his teacher with a quizzical frown. He grumbled at his carelessness. Furies roamed these hills like flies on a carcass and he was daydreaming! When he finally reached the bottom of the slope, Ecero had removed all the weapons from his waist up and was now pulling the thin black tunic over his head, where he balled it up and tucked it into the waist of his pants. He then began to replace his weapons, strapping the leather Holster right to his bare skin. It crisscrossed through the middle of his toned chest and stomach and left much of his skin bare. Konin began to think it was time the boy got a Holster that was of better quality. This one did not have near enough straps to hold all the weapons he would eventually possess. His own Holster had so many belts and straps that, even without a shirt, barely an inch of skin could be seen.

"Showing off?" Konin said, looking pointedly at his student's bare torso. He knew it was hot, Ecero seemed particularly affected by it, and he knew his protégé like to wear the least amount of clothing he could get away with. Konin couldn't have cared if the boy went nude, but had informed him that, should he get in a fight, it paid to have something covering your skin.

All he got in response was a mocking swagger as the boy walked away from him and towards the looming fortress gates.

* * *

Ecero pushed everything from his mind as he drew nearer the keep. Every thought left him until there was nothing but the Dark there with him. Konin had returned to the bluff, where he could get a good look in any direction. Ecero was alone, just the way he liked it. Alone with the Darkness.

He crouched down low as he approached the corner of a jutting rock. Peering around the edge, the fortress came into view. He didn't know much about it, only that they were supposed to kill the one who owned it. He could see the guards from where he stood, a little more than three specks on either side of the gate and the third walking between them. He grinned – this was going to be tricky.

The mountainside that he crouched beside was made up of jagged stones that were pointed and curved in odd shapes. Like flames that had solidified into stone while they danced. He used them as cover, ducking and balancing behind the strange shapes they made, making his way closer. His bow was strong, he had made it himself, and he and Konin were the only ones who could pull it all the way to the cheek, but he was still too far from the guards to make the arrow fly straight, now matter how good the bow was.

Eventually, he came close enough to make out the details of the guards' faces and clothes. They were new to him, but that came as little surprise. They had traveled for nearly five days to reach this place, where the enemy of Lord Raken lived. His name was Kevlamin, and Konin had been told that now was the time to attack their Lord's opponent as he was currently involved in a savage war with a city to the west and was low on both funds and men.

_'Which would explain the lack of guard_.' Ecero thought. Said guards were big creatures, hairy, with muscled arms that hung almost to their knees. Their brows were prominent and seemed to protrude over the rest of their face. Ecero thought they looked rather stupid, but knew that looks could be deceiving.

Centering himself in the void of Darkness in his mind, Ecero notched an arrow and raised the bow. He released a slow breath and pulled the chord to his cheek. It would be easier to hit a still target and he centered the tip of the arrow between the eyes of one of the guards, then raised it slightly.

The next second had the guard on the right side of the door crumpling in a heap and the remaining two turning in the direction from which the attack had come. Their weapons were drawn and they moved far more quickly than Ecero would have guessed their size would allow. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Konin descending the slope of the bluff adjacent to him. He grinned and pulled a wicked looking sword, all pointed and odd shaped, from a holster on his back.

They were on top of him when he leapt from his hiding place. The creature in the lead fixed large, black eyes on him at the same moment Konin landed behind the second. It spun, quick as a striking viper, a great, ugly axe whirling in its massive hands. It lashed out, like lightning…and Konin seemed to lean casually aside, letting the blade pass so close he must have felt the wind from it. The beast howled in rage as the force of his blow carried him off balance and Konin moved hands and feet in rapid succession, so quick Ecero was not sure what he had just seen. The beast crumpled like a puppet and then he had to focus, for the other guard had reached him.

Quickly, he ducked as the large blade swung towards his head. As with his companion, the beast put too much force behind the axe and was forced to flow through with the motion or else risk letting the axe fly. Ecero spotted his chance as the large torso turned above him and, still crouch on the ground, he rammed the blade through the furry stomach. The axe slipped from the large slack hands as it reached the peak of its momentum and went sailing through the air.

Konin had reached him before the guard had hit the ground, the whole skirmish had only lasted seconds. The man was frowning down at the beast when Ecero pulled the blade from its midsection, wiping the blood off on his pant leg.

"We should move the –"

So suddenly it made Ecero start, the sound of a horn being blown hard rose from within the black stone walls and within moments, there were hundred of great ugly beasts, with muscled arms and hairy bodies, atop the battlements, all howling and shaking great, ugly axes.

"…bodies." Konin finished, sighing as he and Ecero moved to ascend the valley slope once more, angry howls and blaring horns fading as they climbed. Neither of them spoke as they reached the top, nor as they walked further still, towards the small camp they had made several miles from the valley ridge. They backtracked and crisscrossed frequently, so that if they were pursued, which they most assuredly would be, their hunters would not be able to tell which way they had gone. When the two of them did finally go in the right direction, they made sure no stone was turned, no boot print left in the dry earth, no branch or sprig broken, nothing at all to tell of their passing.

Eventually they made it back to their campsite. The fire was out, they had doused it and covered it with dirt before leaving several hours before. Konin set about digging the hole again and Ecero moved to the gnarled tree in which their food bag was hung. There was not much of the food left now, not after having traveled for five days, and what little they had would be finished tonight. Konin had advised him that the journey back to Ver'tora keep would be spent teaching him how to hunt.

But that had been before they had failed their task. Kevlamin was not dead and returning from an unaccomplished task meant certain torture for punishment.

Ecero grimaced at the thought.

He looked to Konin and stared, the food bag hanging over one shoulder, until the man felt his gaze and raised his head from the fire.

"Speak." He commanded simply.

"What are we to do now? We cannot return to the keep without Kevlamin's head."

The older man lowered his head again and after a moment said reluctantly, "We must return. We have no other choice."

A strangled sound of disbelief escaped Ecero's throat and he snapped his jaw shut before it formed into words. He did not need the collar to go off. But Konin seemed to understand as clearly as if he had spoken.

"It doesn't matter. It was by lucky circumstance we did not reach the other side of that wall. We'd have been in pieces within seconds." Konin scowled into the fire, "I do not know where Ver'tora got his information but it was false. Clearly, Kevlamin has plenty of men at his disposal."

Konin's words didn't little to ease the frown on Ecero's face, or to chase the images of punishment from his mind. It did not matter if the blame of failure belonged to someone else. The point was, they had failed to follow orders and for that, they would be punished.

_'Darkness give me strength…'_

* * *

Then end of the day was near. He was beginning to feel it. Konin said he would learn to read the passing of time on his own, as it was not something that could really be taught. It was in subtle things. The temperature changed slightly and Ecero no longer felt the stickiness of sweat coating his skin. The atmosphere lightened, the air became less oppressive. But other than those small details, nothing changed. He had been told that when he was able to listen and had a complete awareness of himself and his surroundings, he would be able to tell night from day.

He grinned, realizing that night had just fallen. He whirled, his grin widening. Konin raised a dark eyebrow, "What is it? Speak."

"This day has died." Ecero answered, green eyes glittering in the firelight.

A slow smile stretched Konin's lips. "Well done, Ecero. I knew it would not be long before you figured it out."

The sudden sound of rocks being disturbed made both men snap their heads around. On their feet and weapons drawn, the two peered into the gloom of dusty air. Nothing moved.

Ecero felt a chill run up his spine, stirring the hairs on the back of his neck. His grip tightened and he drew the bow impossibly taught.

The next second they were being charged. Two of the beasts fell at once, black plumed arrows sticking out of one eye. A closer look told Ecero they had been followed by Kevlamin's men. Cursing, he realized there were at least ten of the blasted creatures, but everything was moving so fast he couldn't be sure.

Steel met steel, loud clangs shattering the stillness of the air. Ecero struggled to keep the upper hand, but it was difficult. He was quick with a sword but they were only a little slower, their strength giving them an advantage with the great axes they swung. He was pulling his blade from one of his opponents when he felt his flesh split across his right shoulder blade. He cried out, not in pain but in a sudden rush of anger. He reached out to the Darkness for control, grounding himself within its stillness.

He forced the light from the air and filled the void in his mind. He saw the four remaining guards freeze, their eyes wide and gleaming as they searched for something Ecero could not see. He wasted no time however, and leapt to the nearest stunned beast, driving his sword right through its throat and up into its skull.

"Ecero!" It was Konin. He turned towards his teachers voice and frowned.

He had frozen as well, his hands splayed before his face, as if he were feeling for obstacles he could not see, suddenly blind.

"What have you done? I cannot see!"

Ecero felt his own eyes go wide as they darted around. The others were stumbling now, axes forgotten by their side as they fumbled forward, groping, searching. It was then that Ecero realized that the landscape about him had changed. It was colorless, cast in shades of black and grey. Thirty paces away in every direction shadows hung, like a dense black mist, swallowing the trees whole.

_'The Shadow must have expanded_.' Was all Ecero could think by way of explanation. He crept towards the fumbling beasts and, one by one, killed them. By the time the last one fell, Konin was sitting cross-legged on the ground, near the eastern edge of the circle and Ecero walked to him silently, satisfied with the start the other man gave at his touch. He laughed.

"Come on." The older grumbled, "Lead me from this place, you bloody Darkfiend."

He grabbed his teacher's hand obediently, pulling him toward the line that separated the dark from the light. He stopped at the edge, his nose flush with the border as he pushed Konin forward. He watched the man get swallowed by that wall of Shadow, on the other side of which he knew the light yet shone. Then he receded back to the centre, where he was drawn. He was so comfortable there. He felt protected.

After a moment however, Konin's voice drifted from the other side. "Come, Ecero. We must find a new place to camp." Ecero sighed and trudged from his hiding place reluctantly. "I fear more of them will come looking when these ten do not return. And we must be more careful this time."

Ecero snorted as he shouldered his share of their burdens: a blanket roll setting atop a rucksack. How could they be _more_ careful? He didn't think they had ever _been_ so careful.

"Do you still have your tunic?"

He frowned at the question, but nodded when Konin looked over his shoulder at him. It was looped around his belt.

"Good." Said the older man, "We will do double-backs and leave bits of the garment along the false trails. Trogs are not that clever, but they can fight," Ecero rolled his shoulder in a circle, grimacing in agreement, "And they don't see so well, but their sense of smell is strong. I should have realized it, but I thought if we…well, never mind now."

So they were called Trogs then. Ecero thought the name suited them rather well. The silence stretched on between them as Konin lead the way to wherever it was they were going. Ecero never chose camp. He hated it. Always he found something wrong with it; they were too exposed on one side. There was no shelter from the heat. They could be seen from a hundred places. Konin told him he was being too picky, that one seldom found the perfect hiding place, but he was stubborn and refused to decide where they rested. He had a feeling, though, that the situation might change on the way back to Lord Azure's keep.

Night had been with them for several hours before Konin finally stopped walking. They had done as he said, backtracking and laying fake trails with Ecero's scent scattered along the way. He had nothing left of his tunic but if it meant keeping the Trogs away, then he was alright with it. They had ended up going much farther west then they had originally planned, putting them close to Jarkaa, a dangerous city, according to Konin. The wilderness and the animals within the Slave's Land were dangerous, he said, but it was the creatures of the cities that you had to watch out for. They were smart, and so were more dangerous than anything you could find in the woods.

Ecero shivered at the memory, in a mixture of excitement and wariness. He had met many vicious beasts, interested in little more than separating his head from his shoulders. And every time he slaughtered them. He liked the idea of an intelligent opponent, of a challenge he might not be able to meet. Konin and him never fought, not for real. It was practice and lesson; a simulated battle to prepare him for a real one. But Ecero wanted that now. Wanted to know the feeling of having his life depend on a win or loss. On a single strike of his blade. He wanted to match his skill against another, and come out the victor. It was like an itch he could not scratch; a craving only temporarily satisfied whenever he killed an animal or sparred with Konin. But always it was there, the desire to beat a creature smart enough to know it was losing to _him_. Because he was the stronger, the more skilled…

"I will take first watch." Konin said. "We will not light a fire tonight. The smell of the smoke will be like a beacon to the Trogs."

Ecero nodded, a little disappointed. Even after months of seeing it, he still loved to watch Konin light a fire. The way he just pulled the flames out of the air, barely a blink of concentration, amazed him. He was promised he would learn to master the elements. In time. It would be the last part of his training. When asked, Konin had said something about 'making the mould before casting the iron' but Ecero had been so angry at the time he hadn't given it much thought.

He leaned back leisurely against a rough tree trunk, his legs crossing in front of him. Only a small hiss escaped his lips when the gash on his shoulder blade rubbed against the gnarled bark. But in the silence, it was enough to make Konin's head snap around.

"What is the matter?" he asked, striding swiftly to where Ecero lounged against the tree. "Speak, boy!"

Rolling his eyes, the younger of the two replied, "It's just a scratch."

"Sit forward."

Ecero did as he was told, a scowl on his face. He had had worse than this before. Konin was grumbling behind him. "A scratch…" his other words were indecipherable, but Ecero guessed they were far from kind.

He felt dried blood being wiped from his flesh and then saw Konin reach for a small pouch at his belt. He jerked forward and away from his teacher, eyeing the bag, and the man, warily.

"The infection you will get if I do not heal that gash will hurt far worse than the visecin leaves. Now, come here and hold still!"

The only reason Ecero did as he was told was because the salve would cause less pain than the collar. He sat down once more, his back to Konin. Then he was biting his tongue to keep from screaming. It felt as if the wound were being cauterised shut with a hot poker. He groaned, his hands clutching at fistfuls of hot dirt so hard he thought he might have stones imbedded in his palms.

"There. Now you will not die from an infection fever."

Ecero barely heard him, so focused was he on the pain. He let it flow through him, from his shoulder to his head and all the way to his toes. It pulsed, sharp, with his heartbeat and he controlled its flow, timed the stinging pulse with his pumping heart. Every second beat, every third, fourth…until it faded completely and the pain was gone. He opened his eyes. Konin had taught him how to do that. Ecero watched the man's back, where he stood nearly forty feet away. Though he could not see them, Ecero could picture those sharp blue eyes piercing the stillness around them. He remember that lesson well. 'If you can grasp the concept of mind over matter, then you can do anything.' Unfortunately, Konin had decided pain was the strongest motivator for that particular task and, by the time Ecero had finally managed to control the pain and force it from his mind, he had been dizzy and nauseous.

He took his eyes from Konin's hazy figure, the distance making it impossible to focus, and settled down against the tree trunk.

* * *

White hot pain made Ecero's vision go dark for several seconds, pulsing like liquid fire down his spine. He screamed, and heard Konin's agony in answer. No matter how much he willed the pain away, it would not leave him now. There was too much of it and it threatened to consume him.

They had expected this upon their return to Ver'tora keep. They both new punishment would be the only answer to their failure. It stretched on and on, until Ecero thought he might not be able to stay conscious.

Hanging from the ceiling, the chain cutting into the flesh of his wrists, he vowed to scale the highest walls, charge the toughest battlements or fight one hundred Trogs, so long as he never had to put up with _this_ again.

But then Ukimu Noul was putting slack in the chains, dropping him to his knees on the dusty floor, where he trembled and moaned and spit blood from his mouth. Konin was his reflection across the room. Their eyes met and they offered bloody grins.

As they were led to their cell, Ecero though back on the conversation that had taken place upon their return. All in all, it hadn't been that bad. Not nearly as horrible as they had expected. Lord Ver'tora listened while they spoke and gave excuses as to why Kevlamin was not dead. But then his patience seemed to have dried up. Even now, Ecero grimaced at the memory of the shouting, as if it were happening all over again. He was fairly certain he had not seen Lord Ver'tora so angry, and was _very_ certain he did not want to ever see it again. There were not many things that scared him, he had looked hungry wolven in the eye, fought furies with little more than willpower, and won, he had even taken down a skincloak by himself, a feat even Konin had seemed impressed by. But having Raken Ver'tora's blazing eyes on him as he roared in rage, throwing Dachen around the chamber, was something that made those uncomfortable tendrils of fear creep along his arms and up his back.

Konin's grumblings beside him made Ecero come out of his thoughts. He looked around at the man and saw he was just as bad off. They were both naked, the Dachen having taken their clothes before the torture. Cuts, welts, burns, holes and everything in between covered their bodies. Ecero realized he was having a hard time breathing, for something he assumed to be blood was building in his throat. Coughs racked his battered frame every few seconds as blood trickled down his windpipe.

"I don't remember you screaming so much you should have damaged your throat." A frown marred his teacher's handsome, bloody face.

Ecero shrugged and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the stone wall.


	13. The Killians

**Chapter 13: The Killians**

"How many men?" Ecero was almost giddy with excitement. A battle. A _real _one.

Konin grinned slowly across from him, an eager gleam in his eye. "Ten thousand strong."

Barely catching his mouth before it fell open, Ecero blinked several times and then nodded. Ten thousand strong…

Konin had failed to mention just _how_ difficult it was going to be to recruit an army of ten thousand. In fact, he had left out the recruitment part entirely. The way he had spoken had led Ecero to believe that Lord Ver'tora already had these men at his disposal. Konin was only now explaining to him that this was not, in fact, the case.

"Lord Ver'tora has strong forces and a great army at his command, but ten thousand men is a number none, before now, have bothered to contemplate. There are not so many of one race and, even if you _did_ somehow manage to get that many of one species together, they would most likely kill each other than the opponent."

Ecero frowned in sudden confusion.

"You are wondering how Ver'tora will accomplish this task? He has left the recruitment up to us."

The strangled sound got stuck in Ecero's throat before he could make it. He knew his eyes were wide and his face blank with disbelief.

'_What?'_

"Ah, you wonder how _we_ will ever accomplish this task." Konin said, smirking arrogantly. Ecero wanted to punch him. "All we need is a great leader. Or two in this case. If a leader gives his followers a good reason to, they will follow him to the grave." He smiled, "Motivation is our weapon."

With a sigh, Ecero settle into a more comfortable position in front of the fire. He and Konin had been let out of the keep, their punishment officially over. They now sat in a dense stand of wood to the south west of Ver'tora's fortress. The land was flat, which bothered Ecero, as there were no high points on which to get a good view of the land. He did not enjoy the thought of a village or dwelling being nearby, and they had not been able to find a drinkable source of water since they had left the Keep two days ago with orders to hunt down a pack of Wolven that had been seen skulking around the Keep.

Ecero hated the Wolven, even more than he hated the Skincloaks, as vile as they were. Wolves were some of the most vicious creatures that lived in this world. Savage and mindless with insatiable hunger, they hunted and devoured anything and everything they came upon. Teeth like razors and longer than a man's finger, set in jaws so powerful they could snap a bone like a dry twig. Ecero had only come across a pack of Wolven once before, and the scar would be a constant reminder of the encounter.

"Would you stop scowling at the fire and listen to me? This is important."

Reluctantly, Ecero pulled his heated gaze from the flames and regarded his teacher. Konin looked annoyed and the younger of the two realized the man had been talking away for some time. He grinned sheepishly.

"As I was saying." Konin sneered, a most strange look on his usually emotionless face. "This will not be easy, nor will it be swift. I expect it will take several months, possibly longer."

Ecero blinked, feeling generally surprised. That was much longer than he had expected…or hoped. He hadn't thought Ver'tora would wait so long for anything.

Then Konin said, poking a stick at the fire, "Ver'tora will wait this time. Kevlamin and him have been at each others' throat for ages. Even before either had a throne to sit on." He chuckled, cold and humorless, "Ver'tora has waited centuries for Kevlamin to fall, he will wait a while longer if it means delivering a fatal blow." Blue eyes reflected the dancing flames of the fire. "I do not need to tell you the penalty if we should fail."

Ecero lowered his own gaze to the fire. He had already thought about what would happen if they failed to kill their Lord's enemy a second time.

But the tense moment had passed and Konin was speaking briskly once more. "I will need all your help with this, Ecero. It is going to be difficult to get this many creatures to stop fighting each other, let alone get them to focus their efforts on one target."

Ecero wished the man would stop telling him how impossible this whole thing was, as if he didn't already know.

"I've already decided which races we shall attempt to recruit. Any others are last resorts. Some aren't worth considering at all." He began ticking off fingers as he listed species. "The Dachen, of course, that is one we _can_ rely on. The Killians are likely to join, some if not all. We will find friends in Draken Klell also. The last is one we will pursue only if we do not gain enough support from the others. Shaded Vale folk are some of the best soldiers you will ever meet, should you be unlucky enough to meet them. They tend to keep to themselves, but they will follow Ver'tora. The only problem is that the sole road that leads into the Shaded Vale runs through Skelgarth."

The name of the city Skelgarth instantly made gruesome images swim to the front of Ecero's mind. He had heard many stories of the ghastly city from Konin and he now had about as much desire to go there as he did to Ukimu Noul's dungeon.

"So we don't want to go through there unless it is necessary. If you have any questions, ask them now."

Having wanted to ask more than just a few questions, Ecero opened his mouth to ask the first but then froze, his mouth suspended. He thought he had heard something…

"What is it?" Konin sat erect now, his back straight, every muscle taut. "Did you hear something? Speak!"

"There." He answered, pointing off to the west side of their little camp. "I'm not sure…"

"I don't think you have ever heard a sound that wasn't there, boy." The older man seemed only partly aware of what he was saying as he rose cautiously to his feet. His blue eyes stabbed at the din to the west. Ecero came to his side, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"I think…" Whatever Konin had been about to say was abruptly cut short when a blur of movement streaked towards them from the left.

Ecero's blade was out of it's sheath just as the wolf bore down upon him. He was thrown to the ground, the weight of the massive beast crushing his chest and making spots dance before his eyes. He sank his teeth into the nearest hunk of flesh and the creature howled, then lay still.

With no time to wonder how it had died, Ecero used all his strength to heave the dead weight off himself. Konin was at his side.

"There was only one! I don't know where the others would be…surely they would have attacked by now."

Ecero was vaguely surprised to note that his teacher looked troubled and he frowned. Wolven were smart, and they only needed to make a mistake once to learn not to do it again. Undoubtedly, they did not want to give themselves away, but he was fairly confident the rest of the pack was close by.

"What are you thinking? Speak."

Ecero told of his theory and Konin seemed to calm down considerably.

"Yes…yes. That makes sense." Suddenly his eyes flashed angrily. "Maybe if I had taken the time to…anyway, let us leave here. They will track us for sure but at least we can choose the ground on which we will fight."

Ecero had to agree. The forest was far too dense where they had set up camp, and would be an ideal place to be ambushed by, say, a pack of hungry Wolven. He had wanted to tell Konin as much when they had first set up the camp.

* * *

He heard footsteps approaching from behind him. The beat of footfalls was steady, direct and purposeful. If he hadn't known it was Konin that approached him, the man would be dead by now. An arrow through his eye or perhaps a dagger through his heart.

Ecero lifted his eyes from the ground when the other man reached him.

"We have a problem." Konin said at once and Ecero was sure he could hear the man's teeth grinding. He remained silent as Konin took a seat beside him on the stone bench.

Getting into Kil had not been easy. The city was always heavily guarded, as were most, but between the two of them, they had managed to scale the stone walls…and had only left eleven bodies in their path. That had been two days ago now and even though the bodies had been found, neither Ecero nor Konin had seen or heard of any scout being sent out to find the obvious intruders. This had eased as well as intensified their worry. There was one man who ran this city, rumor had it, never mind the king, and the only reason he would send such a poor search party was if he were distracted by something else. Something worse than two intruders who had managed to kill eleven armed guards and disappear.

Though they hadn't disappeared at all. Konin and Ecero currently sat on a old stone bench in the middle of a market central in the city. It was overflowing with grungy stalls, manned by even dirtier things. Creatures of all kinds mingled around, though every hand rested comfortably on a sword hilt. There was no trust here. Groups of creatures of the same species moved through the throngs as a unit, eyes shifting suspiciously, daring anyone to come close.

The first thing Ecero had noticed was the lack of humans. He had hoped it was with a person they would be negotiating, but now he doubted very much that it would be. He saw many things here that made his skin crawl. Things he would rather like to kill, not negotiate with.

He sighed. A problem. Just what they needed. He looked up into the blackness of Konin's hood. He could not see his face, but he knew his teacher was furious.

"I just spoke with a Dachen that was ordered to follow us here." Ecero looked at him sharply. "He did not arrive but two hours ago. Ver'tora sent him." He sighed wearily, "It seems the very Killian we were supposed to negotiate an alliance with has gone mad with power. He is attempting to raise his _own _army." A pause. "We have orders to eliminate him. Speak."

"Is there someone else?" Ecero asked at once, "A command below him that may hold some sway over the soldiers?"

Konin shook his head and spat. "No. Rashar made sure it was he alone that held the power. Once he is dead his forces will split into two groups. One will rebel. The other will simply return to the King…not that he knew of their treason in the first place. No. Any allies we sought here are no longer plausible. We will kill Rashar and leave at once for Draken Klell."

The two of them had changed their clothes to blend into the city. Wearing robes of darkest black, they blended into alley and awning shadows as they moved silently. Nothing showed, even if their hoods were pulled down, their head and shoulders were wrapped in the same black fabric so nothing but their eyes would show.

Ecero thought that the coverings were as good for secrecy as for keeping away the vile stench of the city streets. Every alley they passed or walked down held the remnants of some petty skirmish between two different species. Rotting, festering corpses left to decay where they had fallen, flies circling and humming around them. The sick and dying lay in the open street were people walked, their hands out, begging, crying for something to eat or someone to help them. They were ignored and Ecero watched placidly as they toppled where they sat and died, overcome by whatever parasite or disease had consumed them.

The air that clung to the city walls smelled of decay. Ecero was sure he would turn a corner any second to find a heap of rancid rotting meat.

As the pair passed by what appeared to be a dilapidated building, Ecero caught the glitter of steel through one of the boarded windows. Two beasts were mulling about the front of the small structure, appearing overly casual. Guards.

Ecero let Konin walk a few more paces and then brushed a gloved hand across his lower back. Smoothly, Konin turned into an alley that had just opened to their left.

Turning to his protégé, he said, "Speak."

Ecero gestured to the building they had just passed across the bustling street. "Those lumbering morons are guards to that door. Inside is a human man. I saw him pointing at something across the room. He looked angry and was flashing a sword around."

Silence was all that came from the black hole where Konin's face should have been, and then he spoke slowly. "Humans are not close to the top of the food chain by any stretch of the imagination. For one to go walking about in a city this size means he is confident none will approach him." He paused and looked towards the building. The guards were still there, looking around with overly bored looks and kicking at the dirt. "Perhaps he has the protection of someone quite powerful?"

Rashar.

"I can see an alley on that side of the street and only a building down from the one we want. I'll wait for you to hide yourself there and then we can take out the two guards. Go."

Ecero left Konin in the alley and made his way out into the street and back the way he had come. He walked slowly, at the same pace as the people around him, Mimicking the same cautious gait, his cowled head swiveling this way and that. To anyone who bothered to look, he was just another body making his way through the steaming and putrid market, his purpose there to purchase whatever he needed and leave.

When he turned into the alley, he noted it as exactly twenty three steps to the guard nearest him. He was a lumbering creature that vaguely reminded Ecero of a Trog. Though it was more normally proportioned. It was covered from snout to clawed foot in grey fur, matted with dirt and dried blood. Both of them stood many heads higher than he, but the only weapons they carried were a broad sword attached at the waist. They would be heavy and slow to strike. Their wielders were large but did not look overly muscular.

Ecero let his eyes travel up above their heads to the rooftop. It was flat and set a little lower than the buildings surrounding it. No help or extra cover would be found there. He discarded the idea of an aerial attack and turned his attention back to the ground.

He could see a sliver of Konin where he stood at the mouth of the alley up the street. The guards had no more noticed his passing than that of any other and were beginning to look genuinely bored.

An open attack was not an option here, as the street was packed with suspicious creatures of varying abilities and weapons. Even as Ecero pulled the bow from his back and notched a black plumed arrow, he knew this would draw attention as well, but at least this alternative left out a brawl.

He drew the bow back until it touched his cheek and narrowed his gaze on the nearest guard. The arrow left the bow with a sharp whistle and then the guard lay in a heap, his comrade already crumbling beside him as Konin's arrow found its mark.

There was no shouting, as Ecero had expected. No one barely even missed a beat and, within a few seconds, everyone seemed to have found a reason to vacate the area.

Konin left his hiding place, as there was no longer anyone to hide from, and Ecero moved from the alley as well. Pulling down their hoods, the heat was stifling in such cramped spaces, they locked gazes.

"You have to appreciate how deeply the suspicion runs among the Killian. Did you see the way they scattered? Everyone here has a reason to be hunted. Come. Let us pay this arrogant fool a visit. Perhaps he can tell us something useful."

Ecero reached the door first and raised his leg to kick it in. The rickety, dry planks splintered easily and the whole door flew off it's hinges and into the room beyond. He drew his sword and met the first blow in one smooth movement, then dodged aside for the next. Spinning around, he sliced the man at the knee and then drove his blade through his stomach and into the floorboards.

"Stop!"

The command made his muscles tense, habit making him want to obey, and then next second he was driving his sword through the chest of another man.

He spun around, poised to strike, and realized the room was still save for him and Konin, who stood over the bodies of two men, sword dripping with blood, and the man he had seen through the window. The room was small and dingy and lacked any furniture aside from the table where the man sat, face blank with shock, quill poised above a sheet of parchment.

"Well that was rather impressive." He set the quill down and folded his hands. "And who might the two of you be? I've no doubt you want something from me, else I would not still be alive. Seems everyone wants something from me th-"

"Stop talking." Konin snapped.

The man blinked, quite obviously unaccustomed to being interrupted.

"Now see here, _boy_-"

Ecero flicked his blade and the splattering sound of blood hitting the wall made the man stop short. He fixed a steely gaze on the arrogant fool as he wiped the remainder of the blood on his cloak, so dark it did not even show.

Finally then, the two assassins were rewarded with the look of uncertainty that settle on his face. "What do you want?" he demanded, "Speak it!"

Ecero crossed the room in two strides and grabbed a fistful of the man's robes before he could do much else but stand. He pulled him free of his chair, drug him across the desk and threw him to the floor. Konin's boot connected with the man's head and he spat, "I would first settle for your name."

"Madal." Said the man at once, gasping and blinking rapidly. "Madal Murin."

"A dangerous thing for a human to be walking around so blatantly. If you were not killed for what you are, you would be for your arrogance."

His head seeming to have cleared, Madal glared up at them weakly. "You want to know who I'm working for? Is that it? Well I'm not about to tell the likes of you! Humans yourselves! We should not be killing each other, we should be fighting for the respect we deserve!"

"Is that what your master has promised you?" Konin deadpanned, sounding far from impressed, "Respect?"

"He did not promise! He swore it! Humans are more dangerous than most of the overconfident _animals_ you see walking around in the streets. Does no one ever wonder why all assassins are…" Madal's heated montage trailed off abruptly as he looked from Ecero to Konin and back again. All the color drained from his face as realization hit. "You…you…"

He was shaking now, dangerously close to cowering, and Ecero fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Do not be so bold as to think you deserve the attention of an assassin, Madal Murin. You are hardly influential."

"I will tell you anything you want to know. I work for Rashar. My task is to recruit humans to the Cause. I -"

"We care not for what you do or why. Where is Rashar now?"

"At this very moment I cannot be sure."

Ecero drew a nasty looking dagger from his belt.

"But I know for certain that he will be speaking in the center square at days end, when it is most active, as to have a better audience. He is powerful but he wants, _needs_, more followers. Everyone in the city knows his name, what he does. But there are still many ignorant fools who-"

"Enough." Konin snapped sharply. "That is all we need to know."

Madal sagged in relief and closed his eyes, resting his face in his hands.

Ecero bent and grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, slitting his throat cleanly and cutting off the cry of surprise. Madal's body slumped to the floor with a thud.

"Come." Said Konin, moving to the open doorway. The street was still deserted. "We need to get to the center of town. There is much time between now and the end of this day. We will watch the preparations for Rashar's speech and, hopefully, we can spot a weakness."

The whole city reeked of death and disease. Ecero was grateful for the fabric covering his mouth and nose. Where they sat now was even more crowded than the market had been. He watched from the shadows of his hood as a creature covered in bronze scales and plated armor ambled by, saddling a disgusting thing that didn't seem to have any skin. Partly decomposed muscle was hanging, black and glistening, off white bone. Fluids had dried and caked onto the expose muscle, cracking and flaking off with every movement. When the creature passed by, Ecero prepared himself for the awful stench that would surely follow, but was surprised when he smelt nothing.

'_How is that possible? It shouldn't even be alive…'_

A sharp jab in the ribs broke Ecero's train of thought.

"Stop staring." Konin said, though a hint of amusement bent his words. "That was a Sight Twister." He explained, glancing at the retreating form of the skinless creature. "They have the ability to twist the light to fool your eyes into seeing something that is not real. They are not overly strong or quick and their ability is mainly used as a defense mechanism. They make you see something so vile you don't want to go near it."

Ecero gave one last glance to the creature and conceded that, yes, he most definitely would keep a wide berth should he pass it on the street. He paid attention as Konin began pointing out creatures in the shifting crowd. First was a group of things that looked like something one might get should a human and spider reproduce. It stood on two legs, though they looked thin and the muscles seemed horribly underdeveloped. Short black hairs covered its body and there were many eyes in its head, front back and sides. It had many legs; so many it seemed they would be more hindrance than use. Surely the ones growing out of its back were useless?

"That is a Rachnii. They are almost impossible to kill except from a distance were none of their many eyes can spot you. You wouldn't get within a hundred yards of one…though anything outside that and they are blind. You'll never catch one either. Ever. Not once they start running."

He nodded towards a lone figure glaring suspiciously at a shopkeeper as he tried to sell something. He looked human from foot to neck, but then its head looked like nothing Ecero had ever seen. It looked like the face of a snake. Barely a nose to be seen and a pointed mouth with jaws so large they looked out of place on its nearly human head. Thin, sharp fangs that were much too long crowded its mouth, sticking out a odd angles and dripping with black fluid that Ecero assumed to be poison. Its eyes were nothing more than red holes in its pale face.

Ecero stared at that face feeling an anger grip his stomach so strongly it hurt. His hand clasped the hilt of his sword and squeezed tightly in an attempt to distract himself from thoughts of sprinting through the crowd and ramming his sword through one of those red eyes…

"That friendly looking fellow is a Tachalmay, a name that doesn't seem fitting somehow. They are deadly and if you ever find yourself facing one, remember that there is no shame in running from a fight you have no chance of winning."

Ecero shook himself and tore his eyes from the beast. Such anger was dangerous. It made you do things you wouldn't normally do. The movement of Konin scratching the back of his head caught Ecero's eye, and he watched silently as the man stood and looked around.

"Come on." He said, "We aren't learning anything just sitting here. Maybe you can spot another interrogation opportunity if we wander a bit."

The pair turned down a street to their right and hadn't gone along ten paces when they were attacked. Six of the same creatures they had killed outside Madal Murin's meeting place leapt from the alley's on either side of them. As Ecero drew his sword, he heard many echoings of it from nearly every being in the street.

Chucking a throwing knife disposed of the attacker on the far left and then he was meeting powerful blows from another beast's short sword. Others in the street, those who had readily assumed the attack was meant for them, were fighting the remainder of the assailants. Konin was nowhere to be seen.

Just at the moment he realized he was outnumbered, several pairs of large hands grabbed him from behind. As he was dragged off down an alley his sword was ripped from his hands. He hopped they didn't think to look under his cloak, where there was a rather extensive inventory of weapons.

A slight 'oomph' escaped his mouth when he was slammed into a wall.

"Well, well, what have we hear?"

Ecero found himself face to face with one of the hairy Troglike creatures. It's breath smelled of the city and its words were so heavily accented by its own tongue that he had a hard time understanding its words. But he scowled nonetheless when a meaty, clawed hand pushed down his hood and headdress.

"Ah, a human!" Other of the beasts were crowding around them now, and though their snouted faces could not show much emotion, howls of excitement filled the alley. "Male. And a pretty one."

A sudden and unnatural chill began to spread along Ecero's flesh and he frantically counted faces.

Seven. There were seven of them and one of him. Where was Konin? Something resembling annoyance made itself known in the back of his mind.

Three of his captors were breaking in a door a ways down the alley and then they vanished inside. Ecero was thrown in after them to a dusty floor. He coughed when dirt filled his mouth and nose, making it difficult to breath. Just as he began to push himself up onto all fours, a large boot between his shoulders pushed him to the floor and pinned him there.

"Don't move, human, and maybe we won't kill you."

The others roared with laughter at the lie.

Ecero tried to remain calm, to wrap himself in the Darkness as they tore his cloak from him and threw all his weapons in a pile. But the calm would not come and neither would the Darkness. His hands were sweating and his body quivered with rage. Towards his captors or himself he was not sure.

Roughly he was pulled to his feet in nothing but his boots and trousers. His arms were being held behind his back by one of the beasts. Trying to move them, he realized they might as well be encased in iron. The one in front of him, who appeared to be the leader, had drawn a dagger and was dragging it slowly down Ecero's bare torso.

"Are you afraid, little human? You tremble so delightfully." The blade was sliding across his navel now. "Perhaps we can attach a leash to that collar…"

Just as the blade was passing over his groin, Ecero seized his chance. Using the solid body behind him, he pushed against it to put more power into the kick he aimed at his assailant's chin – or snout he supposed. With a loud crack, it's head snapped backwards and it crumpled to the floor.

One of its companions ran over to it.

"Dead!"

Immediately he was thrown to the floor again, a crushing weight on top of him.

"An assassin!"

"Kill him now!"

"Shut up! All of you!" everyone seemed to quiet down. The one who spoke was the one who currently had his boot between Ecero's shoulder blades. "Fools. Rashar will pay dearly for a human assassin. We will give it to Rashar." He paused. "After we have our fun, of course."

Cheers rose and he felt several hands grip the leather belt around his waist.

Then came a wordless cry from the doorway. For the first time he could remember, Ecero felt something that could only be relief swell within his chest. Konin's blade slid through the nearest beast with ease. The hands holding him were gone at once as the five remaining rushed at the new threat. Ecero dove for his pile of weapons and not thirty seconds later, all seven of the beasts lay in bloody pieces on the floor, no longer coated in dust, but in blood.

"Did they hurt you?" Konin asked at once. He strode to where Ecero had just stood from pulling free a dagger, which he had imbedded in a hairy chest.

He shook his head.

"Good." Said the older man and bent to pick up Ecero's torn tunic. "This will not do. Here, put on your cloak, it will have to be enough for now." The man paused and watched the younger pull on the garment. The robe was not thick, the material was light as air and moved like a wisp of smoke. It was good for the confines of the city, and the heat.

"You are certain you're alright?"

Ecero froze, his left arm only halfway into the sleeve of his cloak. Konin was regarding him carefully, blue eyes tight with some unknown emotion. The fact that there was emotion there at all was enough to make Ecero hesitate. He nodded again though, trying to decipher what he saw in his teacher's face.

Was it anger?

Suddenly he felt his own anger wash over him, now that he was no longer pumping with adrenaline. Roughly, he pulled his cloak the rest of the way on. It wasn't as if he had gotten captured on purpose! Throwing Konin a heated glare, Ecero turned to the small pile of weapons on the floor and began putting them back in their proper places, his back to the room, and his teacher.

There was a silence in the small space, save for the clinking steel, for several moments. A tenseness in the air, Ecero thought, or perhaps it was only his imagination. Either way, he chided himself for the small breath he released when he heard Konin slide his sword into it's scabbard.

"I was not angry with you."

Ecero nearly dropped the last blade he had just picked up. A small throwing knife that slid neatly into a holster on his arm. Sometimes he was still surprised by how well Konin seemed to be able to read him. He stood and turned, staring.

Konin's face was as blank as his own, all signs of that fleeting emotion gone. But Ecero dropped his eyes to where his teacher had a white-knuckle grip on his sword hilt. He cocked an eyebrow in question.

"I…" Hesitation seemed strange with no show of emotion behind it. "I was not angry with you." The man repeated.

'_I am missing something here_.'

With a shake of his head, Ecero deemed it unimportant. It had nothing to do with their orders to kill Rashar, after all. He made to move past Konin, who was in front of the wrecked doorway, but the man placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to pull him back.

"Come here." Konin snapped.

'_Yes, not angry at all…'_

Ecero turned at once and chose a spot on the floor to glare at.

"Look at me."

For a moment, Ecero truly considered refusing the man and simply taking the pain of it. But then he grimaced at the warning tickle of magic. Unpleasant pins and needles prickled his flesh. Unpleasant, but nothing compared to what would come. He took his eyes off the blood spattered floorboards and stared resignedly into bloodshot, blue eyes. He was surprised to see a second show of emotion in under five minutes, though the smirk of satisfaction was nothing new on Konin's handsome face.

When the man spoke next, his voice was soft but cold, like velvet sliding over stone, and it made Ecero itch to cut out his tongue. "It is unfortunate that you press the boundaries still, after so many months. Continue on this way and you may very well wear that thing till the end of your days."

Oh what he wouldn't give to take a blade and just…

"You are too tense, Ecero." Konin purred dangerously, "You cannot assassinate someone in this state." He paused and his smirk, if possible, grew larger. "Take off your cloak."

Scowl heavily in place, Ecero obeyed.

"Now, lie on your stomach." Even as the words left his mouth, Konin was forcing him to assume the position.

All sounds of protest died on his lips when Konin straddled his hips and pushed his thumbs into the base of his spine. He grit his teeth, expecting pain, but felt himself mould to the floorboards as Konin slowly pressed all the way up his spine. His muscles loosened, his head became cloudy and any remaining anger or tension drained away. He was sure he would fall asleep any second now.

Vaguely, he was aware of the tips of Konin's fingers inching under his belt to pull at his pants an infinitesimal amount. But even those few millimeters of exposed skin seemed to send shockwaves into his sleepy brain. Those fingers never missed a beat though, and continued their languid journey up his back.

"Ecero…Ecero?"

"Mmph…"

"I see I have gone too far." Was that amusement he heard now? His foggy brain must be playing tricks.

Ecero decided that tucking his arm under his head was much more comfy than the wooden floor planks and he sighed happily.

"We should be out looking for ways to kill Rashar."

Those hands were back, but Konin did not apply that bone melting pressure. His fingers traced lazy patterns on his back, the ghostly light touch leaving tingling sensations in its wake. In no time at all, Ecero's brain seemed to jump from numb to hypersensitive. Those tingling sensations were spreading everywhere now. His fingers, along his arms, all the way down to his toes…and everywhere in between.

He opened his eyes and rolled to face his teacher. The hand that had been tracing patterns slid over his side and across his navel as he rolled. Muscles jumping under the touch, he barely managed to close his mouth around a gasp. Konin's sharp, blue eyes were tracing the same pattern his hand had just made.

Strangely, Konin's gaze made his skin tingle as surely as his touch.

After a long moment, Konin spoke softly. "Put your holster back on and don your cloak and headdress. We need to go."

Ecero did as he was told, trying to remember when it was that Konin had removed the leather straps that held most of his weapons.

* * *

Rashar was not as impressive as Ecero had been expecting. Indeed, if the man had been in the crowd currently mulling about the platform he wouldn't have given him a second glance.

Ecero stared from under the cowl of his hood. Rashar had a fierce face and burning eyes that somehow seemed bright even though they were nothing more than black holes in a pale, almost translucent, face. Other than those few strange features, the man, Ecero supposed he was a demon, was rather a disappointment, to say the least. But the young assassin had to remind himself that looks could be deceiving.

"Not much to the eye, is he?"

Ecero glanced briefly at the black-clad form next to him.

"Come on. Lets move closer to the bloody stage he's got set up for himself."

Ecero fell into step behind Konin, keeping an eye on the crowd around them. Rashar had, indeed, had a stage built for whatever grand speech he was planning. Ecero grinned, _too bad he wasn't going to be giving it._

He noticed two tall buildings stood to either side of the stage, walling it in. The boards had been laid snugly up against the stone, leaving no gap for someone to sneak between them. But behind the platform, there was nothing. And if the gap in the buildings farther along was any suggestion, Ecero suspected there was a rather long drop to the street below. Soldiers stood nearly shoulder to shoulder at ground level with the pressing crowd. He did a double take when he spotted them. They were the same Trog like creatures they had been having trouble with all day.

All in all, security was tight and no matter how they approached it, they would draw attention to themselves fast. A bow perhaps, while one of them caused a distraction?

"This is going to be more difficult than I anticipated." He heard Konin mutter beside him. Then he spoke in Ecero's ear. "Alright, this is what we're going to do…"

By the time Ecero found an alley that was empty, save for a festering corpse propped up against a crumbling doorstep, Rashar had begun speaking. The little demon's voice carried all the way to the alley where Ecero was now gripping a window frame that stood empty and the room beyond, dark. He scaled the poorly built wall with ease, as there were plenty of irregular stones and holes to provide grips and footholds.

He made his way along the rooftops of packed clay and was, for once, grateful of the cramped space of the city. Gaps between buildings were small and took little more than a hop to cross. In no time at all, he was crawling on his belly across the flat top of the building parallel to the stage. He peeked over the side, just enough by which to see, and grinned. Rashar had moved to the very edge of the platform and was gesticulating wildly to an applauding sea of creatures. Whatever the demon had promised, his new followers seemed pleased by it. But, what made Ecero grin was that Rashar had left his back exposed. No soldiers stood along the drop away and the only guards he had in place had eyes only for the considerable crowd, their backs to the platform and Rashar.

Settling his bow just bellow the lip of the roof, Ecero waited for Konin's signal, feeling grateful that there were no extra eyes to scan the rooftops. He didn't have to wait long, however. Within a few minutes an angry shout rose from somewhere in the crowd. Rashar kept on though, seeming not to have heard. But then there was a ripple at the back and heads began to turn from the speaker on stage to the growing commotion. Not three seconds later a frenzy had taken hold. Steel clashed, blood sprayed and angry shouts rang shrilly. No one was paying attention to the lone black-shrouded figure that broke away from the brawl and vanished down the street.

Ecero raised his bow and took aim.

In a fit of frustration at losing his audience, Rashar turned from the crowd, throwing his hands in the air, just as Ecero loosed the arrow. The demon didn't even have time to look stunned. He collapsed to the stage floor, a frown of annoyance still drawing his eyebrows together over dark eyes.

_'Well, eye_,' thought Ecero, as he saw the black plumed arrow now sticking out of one of the sockets.

Complete pandemonium erupted.

Heads swiveled to the rooftop were Ecero had been seconds before. The guards ceased attempting to suppress the throng of thrashing bodies and turned their attention to the fallen democrat. One, the biggest and ugliest, shouted something in a guttural tongue Ecero did not recognize. The beasts fanned out along the streets and the young assassin moved aside, swiftly blending into the retreating crowd. He had no doubt they would be doing a thorough search of the city.

Despite the success of the assassination, it was with a sour expressing that Ecero pushed through the crowd. Not that anyone could see his face. He had had to leave his bow and quiver behind. The arrow was in plain sight sticking out of Rashar's face, and black plumes of a Mishni, a bird almost never seen in this part of the world, were a dead giveaway.

Everyone that had been either listening or fighting – or both – were walking swiftly in every direction, hastily wiping blades clean of blood or shoving knives up sleeves.

'_Idiots_.' Knowing he was just looking for something on which to vent his frustration did not make Ecero feel any less angry about having to leave a good bow behind. '_Not to mention all those arrow heads…'_

Growing more furious by the second, he stormed down a deserted street and slammed right into another body. A foot-long dagger was in his hand before he even had time to stumble, but a large hand engulfed his wrist, stopping the point of the knife millimeters from a blue eye.

Then pain exploded somewhere around his temple and he struck the ground, his blade clattering to the dirt.

There was no sound save for the ringing in his ears and the blackness behind his eyelids. He gave up on trying to raise his head and let it fall, calling on his last chance at escaping his attacker.

He felt the shadows of the nearest alley reach out to him and then the shaded corner not ten paces from where he lay. Then he pulled darkness from ever nook, every crack in the stone walls of the buildings either side of the street. Someone was speaking beside him. No, someone was shouting. Was it his attacker? Thinking was taking a lot of effort and Ecero tried to focus on the voice.

"…going to…attention!...hear me…everyone will…"

His muddled brain spit forth a sudden image.

A blue eye?

'_Konin_.'

The thought had barely registered before he was releasing the Darkness. It went slowly, like the shadow of Death, but he did not push it. Never push it away. Dim light made his eyelids glow red and he opened his eyes a crack, willing away the pain in his head as Konin had taught him. He was staring at the man's black boots, just visible beneath the hem of that light-as-air cloak.

"You are lucky I don't put my boot through your skull!" the man hissed.

'_Feels like you already did.'_

"Serves you right. First you allow yourself to become so angry you don't know where your feet are taking you. Then you attack me! I should _kill_ you, boy!"

Ecero found the energy to scowl up at his teacher from a less than dignified position half supported on his elbow. It was then that he felt warmth spreading down the side of his face. Whatever the motivation, Konin had hit him hard. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done right now to heal the wound, as taking off his headdress in the middle of the street was not an option. Any human spotted within the city walls in the next year would likely be killed on the spot now.

"Where is your bow?…ahh, that is what has you in such a foul mood." Konin stared down at him from within the depths of his hood. "Good thinking." He said after a moment. "Come, we must leave the city."

Ecero made to stand and was halfway there when his world gave a sudden lurch and he found himself on hands and knees, staring at the dirt.

Konin was already at his side.

"Speak, child! Did one of the guards catch you?"

Shaking his head slowly, Ecero tried to blink away his double vision. "No." he muttered, having to think hard about the words before they would come out of his mouth in the right order. "You hit rather hard."

Silence. Ecero had just convinced himself to have another go at standing when Konin hefted him right off the ground, completely ignoring his squawk of protest. When they were safely within a nearby alley, Konin set him down again so that he was leaning against the warm stones of a building.

Ecero glared the whole time Konin was pulling down his headdress and inspecting the wound, knowing his complaints, should he be given permission to voice them, would have done no good. Still. He could have walked perfectly on his own, thank you very much!

With his lips compressed in a thin line, Konin pulled the small pouch from his belt that Ecero had come to hate. Sharp blue eyes met his a fraction of a second before the salve touched his flesh.

Teeth grinding, Ecero fought to keep his muscles from jumping and cramping. Konin was holding a hand over his mouth to muffle the groans, his other hand on his chest to keep him from thrashing about too much.

A few moments later, when he was healed and the pain was gone, Konin held out his hands and pulled Ecero to his feet.

"Shall we go now? This city seems to hold ill luck for us both."

Nodding, and then stopping abruptly at the throb, Ecero followed Konin out of the alley and back into the streets. When they passed by the platform everything was still and deserted, except for Rashar's untouched body and a single, black plumed arrow protruding from a lifeless eye.

* * *

**Pronounciations:**

Kil (KEEL)


	14. Ruik

*One Year Later*

Ecero sighed, acutely aware of the emptiness inside his mind. He felt nothing. Not contempt. Not satisfaction. Not eagerness. Nothing. When he and Konin had set out to do this one year ago he had felt everything. Unease. Excitement. Curiosity. And especially eagerness.

He _did _feel hot, however, realizing this and shifting to get more comfortable. As they had made their way west, it had seemed to grow hotter every day, until both men had given it up as useless and had been wearing nothing but pants and holsters for the last six months. The air was dry and the earth, dryer. Cracks and fissures littered every foot of the ground, which was flat and ran for miles in every direction, until it met the horizon. Breathing felt as if he were inhaling over a roaring fire, and sweat no sooner beaded on his skin then it evaporated. And despite the dim light, which barely seemed to change, no matter how many leagues they traveled, he squinted whenever he was outdoors. The name Shaded Vale could not have been more misleading.

Looking down at his bare arms, he tried to brush away some of the dust and grime. Konin had told him once, when they had reached the city of Draken Klell, that his skin was getting darker. Ecero had scoffed and asked how flesh could change color. He knew of creatures, demons who could change things like that at will, but humans? They did not have the ability.

He had remained skeptical, until Konin had grabbed his wrist and hauled his smaller arm beside that of his teacher. Then he had stared in shock. His skin was nearly the same tone as Konin's now, as they had left for Draken Klell nearly six months ago.

_'Or has it been longer now?'_

He drummed his fingers against the sword hilt at his hip as he waited for Konin.

He did not like this part of their job. When he had to wait around while Konin did all the talking. Even after a year since his training began, and almost a month since it ended, he still had to wear this _Light-forsaken -_

"Ecero Khol."

Ecero turned sharply at the unfamiliar voice, his fingers tightening around the sword hilt.

Surprisingly, he faced a man. Many years older than himself if the grey showing at his temples was anything to go by. The man's hair was cut so short he was nearly bald. Ecero expected it had something to do with the heat. He was shirtless and the man's torso seemed to be built solely from muscle upon muscles. His skin was even darker than Konin's and he had dark brown eyes that looked like chips of glittering rock. The leathery face was set in stone and Ecero never saw the man blink once.

He had to stop staring at that face when he realized the man had extended a hand in welcome. He took it gingerly and it all but engulfed his own hand. With a grimace, Ecero pulled his hand back after a brief shake.

_'Man could probably crush my bones to powder…'_

Konin was openly glowering at him but the large man just laughed. It was odd seeing that, like seeing the side of a tree trunk split open suddenly.

He gave Konin a questioning look. The man seemed less tense now that the big man had laughed.

Said big man frowned and then looked to Konin as well.

"He is quiet, yes? Why does he not speak?"

"It is the collar, my Lord Maende."

_'Ah, so that's his name.'_

Lord Maende was silent for a moment, still staring at Konin, then he turned to face Ecero, his shoulders decidedly rigid. Ecero only just kept himself from scrambling backwards like a spooked wolven, though the urge was great. If those eyes had been like rock before, now they raged like forge fires.

"A collar." His voice was level and calm and wouldn't have been so terrifying if it weren't for the deadly undertone ringing clear in every syllable. "On a human." He wheeled on Konin and Ecero was glad to see the man swallow. At least he wasn't the only one intimidated by this monster of a man. "I don't know where you come from, boy, but if I wasn't convinced before, I see now that something needs to be done!"

He was ranting to himself now, pacing back and forth along the deck. "Collaring humans like they are some kind of cart hauling beast! It is disgraceful! I won't have it! Take the bloody thing off, boy!"

Ice cascaded into Ecero's stomach at the words and he knew a look of dread had time to show on his face before he hit the wooden planks of the deck. The pain was blinding, as it always was. He had hoped, once, that eventually he would get used to it, like he did the heat.

Panting, chest heaving and muscles twitching, Ecero blinked a few times to clear the spots from his vision.

"That's why."

Enormous hands hauled him to his feet and steadied him against the banister.

"Alright lad?"

Blinking hard one last time, Ecero nodded.

"You have my full support, as well as my army. I have heard things were different in the east, customs and creatures alike, but here you will find that _humans _are the dominant race."

Ecero could almost hear the scowl in Maende's voice.

* * *

He sighed happily, stretching out even more on the pile of plush pillows. He and Konin had been given the best in everything Lord Maende had to offer. Ecero was still having a hard time accepting that this part of the world had human Lords.

For now though, Ecero let his mind fall blissfully blank. The room they were in was still warm but nowhere near the blistering heat outside. The warmth of his homeland, where Lord Ver'tora ruled, was palpable but bearable. But the air had changed as they moved farther from his home. Konin had said it had something to do with the mountains that ridged the kingdom. The land had changed too, as they traveled. Ecero had not seen a tree in the last four months, not since they had passed through Skelgarth.

A grimace pulled down the corners of his mouth at the memory. He was used to unpleasant things, but there were things inside those city walls that made even his lip curl.

Calloused hands on his bare stomach pulled Ecero from his futile attempt at meditation. Cracking open an eye, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Konin. The man had that look in his eyes again, that hungry sparkle.

With a sigh, Ecero sat up. It wasn't as if he could deny the man anything. Well, except that one time a few weeks ago. Konin had made strong advances on him after he had nearly just been skewered by a Trog pike. Ecero had punched him so hard in the face the man had been unconscious when he hit the ground.

He rolled away, in the off chance that Konin might leave him alone. It had happened before. Once.

But Konin was on top of him before he had even made it onto his side, straddling his hips and pinning his arms into the cushions over his head. Lips curling back over his teeth in a feral grin, Konin attacked his mouth.

* * *

If Ecero had thought he was comfortable before, it was nothing to what he felt now. His muscles were goo and he didn't think he could stand if he wanted to. He heaved a sigh, on the verge of sleep. He was lying on his stomach now, naked and with his legs crossed at the ankles. Konin's bare chest cushioned his head, the rhythmic rise and fall lulling him.

It had been one of those rare times Konin had not been completely consumed by his own desire. One of the few times he had made sure Ecero felt every bit of pleasure he did.

"I hear demons in the east pay good gold to watch humans have sex. Too bad we are in the _west _then."

A foot long, lethal looking blade had materialized in Ecero's hand by the second word. But it disappeared just as quickly when he remembered where he was and who was speaking. He lay back down where he had been, Konin hadn't moved an inch, intent on getting comfortable once more. He had also heard about that particular fetish in the east; demons in particular were rumored to enjoy watching humans have sex. Ecero never understood why though, surely engaging was much more fun. He thought so, anyway.

Lord Maende made his way into the room. "I know I promised you a few days of rest." Konin's stomach muscles contracted under his head as the man sat up. "But I've just received a message." he paused and looked troubled. "It came by Mushui."

"Ver'Tora?"

Maende nodded grimly. "We are to move for Skelgarth as soon as possible."

Konin cursed audibly and Ecero moved to find his pants and pull them on. Various weapons lay scattered about, everything from long swords to three inch throwing knives. He began to pick them up and sort them into piles: Konin's and his own.

"Why the bloody hell would he…" Ecero tuned the man out as he began to rant.

Going back through Skelgarth was something he had not been expecting. When he and Konin had made their way through, the older man had said that it was far worse now than when he had been there several years ago. The two of them had agreed to go around the city on the way back to Ver'tora Keep. However, returning to the city with who knew how many thousands of soldiers at their back was not a battle he was about to walk away from. Skelgarth had annoyed him as well as disgusted him. It had had a ruler once, Konin had said, but he had been killed even before Konin could remember. Since then it has been nothing more than a festering gathering place. Demons, beasts and humans alike shared the space, though the struggles were constant and the city was filth itself. The streets made from gore, flesh and bone spilt and split in daily riots and skirmishes, then packed down as thousands of feet pounded over it.

Grinning as he pulled on his holster, Ecero decided that, yes, flattening that disgusting city would be _very _fun, indeed.

"Well I can see this fool has already decided what _he _wants to do."

Konin's scowl had not lessened in the minutes Ecero had taken to dress himself, which his teacher had forgone. Though even naked, Konin had a presence. He was shaking his head again, staring down at the floor, his hands balled into fists where they rested on his hips.

"That bloody demon has gone mad with power! Every time I send him a message saying we've got a few more supporters ready to fight, he comes back with some fool orders that end up taking weeks to plan and execute! Why the _hell _does he think its taken us so long to get here?"

Ecero understood why the man was upset. A party, no, army, of thousands was going to be difficult and slow to move across the earth. Not to mention expensive. Of course, if world domination was what Ver'tora sought, and it certainly seemed so, they would be able to get most of what they needed to sustain themselves by raiding villages on the way back.

The sudden feeling of lips on his made Ecero jerk in Konin's hands.

The older man was frowning down at him when he pulled away. "You need to learn to keep that head of yours from wandering."

Indignation filled Ecero's face. He hadn't been daydreaming, thank-you-very-much. Even if he _had _been, it was only because he knew there was no danger of…

The older man was kissing him again, large hands gripping his hips like iron. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ecero knew they did not have time to do this. There was work to be done. A lot of it.

Konin pulled away, "We haven't the time to do this now." The man was gazing down at him as if Ecero had started the whole thing. So he voiced his mock displeasure with a gasp, attempting to twist out of the man's grip playfully. But Konin was grinning like a fool and only tightened his arms around the smaller man's waist, heaving him over his shoulder amidst gales of laughter.

* * *

*Three Weeks Later*

* * *

Ecero was glad the men were used to the heat, otherwise they would not have looked very intimidating, dragging their feet in the dusty, cracked earth with their shoulders drooping, even if they were five thousand strong. Ecero himself was finding it difficult to lift his booted feet more than a few millimeters from the ground. His skin burned like he stood in front of an open furnace and his muscles felt like water, despite the fact that he hadn't a drop in two days.

They had been marching for weeks now. In that time they had only come upon two small villages, both of which were burned to the ground after they had taken all the food they could find. It was far less than what they needed and at the end of every day, hunting parties were sent out to scout the area for any edible creatures.

It was the end of another day now and Lord Maende ordered a halt.

Several hours later Ecero was making his way through the maze of tents in an attempt to find Konin. He was not sure where the man had gone, only that he was not in their tent, where he had said he would be. Ecero had gone to aid the hunting party this time and the they had just returned. With very little success.

The camp was endless, once you were in it, and seemed to run forever in any direction. He stopped suddenly, hands on his hips and a scowl etched firmly on his face.

To his right there was a large fire, around which sat six very large, very muscular men that Ecero would not want to cross. He was sure he had passed the same six men not ten minutes ago.

"Not lost are you, little one?"

Ecero bristled.

All the men had turned to see who their companion was talking to. Six hard faces split into identically wicked grins and they all rose to their feet. Ecero stood still and rigid as a stone as they circled him.

"Konin says you belong to him."

"Oh, but you're just so pretty."

"Itty bitty thing, isn't he? I bet you've got one tight little…"

"…just a taste wont hurt, will it, boy?"

Ecero could do nothing. He had strict orders not to harm any of the soldiers and to make sure Ecero was not tempted, Konin had taken his weapons. They not only outnumbered him six to one, but even one of them, with their arms nearly as thick as he was wide, could crush him in seconds. He wouldn't have stood much of a chance even _with _weapons.

Next thing he knew he was on the ground, the crushing weight of who knew how many pounds on his back. Spots danced before his eyes, the air having rushed from his lungs, and a large hand groped him through his trousers.

"Let's see what we have here, shall we gents?"

Ecero tried to put his hands under his chest to push himself off the ground, but he may as well be trying to lift Ver'tora Keep on his back. Raucous laughter cut at his brain like hatchets as he struggled in vain against the massive weight. His tunic was ripped away as if it were made if nothing more than parchment and after only a few seconds, he collapsed in exhaustion, the ground spinning where he lay. He felt on the brink of consciousness and struggled to expand his burning ribcage and _breathe_…

Dimly, he realized one of those large hands was tugging at his pants and another had encircled his upper thigh with ease, pushing it out to the side.

Suddenly, the weight on top of him was gone and he drug a ragged breath eagerly, inhaling dust and dirt, and coughing at the burn in his chest. Ecero tried to struggle free and felt dread knot his stomach as two large hands clamped down around his hips to still his movements.

He blinked around him quickly. There were many more pairs of feet standing around now. He could not see past them. He tried to clear his foggy brain. He needed to get out of this or he would likely be torn in half when they decided they were done playing and actually fucked him. But from every angle escape seemed impossible. Who knew how many of those massive soldiers stood around him now? Just as he closed his eyes and was setting his mind away in the Darkness, where he was safe, protected, from the outside world, he heard a familiar voice beyond the wall of laughter and cheers.

"…the hell is going on?"

A silence descended upon Ecero that he suspected had nothing to do with the dark place in which he had placed his mind.

He didn't bother lifting his head from where it rested against the scorched earth. He could hear the crunch of Konin's boots as they stopped abruptly at the edge of the circle. Silence reigned before the sound of a sword being drawn reached his ears.

"Release him."

Even blanketed in the Darkness, Ecero could hear Konin's voice tremble with rage. The hands withdrew and he was left alone.

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear to everyone." With a tone that promised death in every syllable, Konin went on, "Ecero Khol is _mine_. He belongs to _me_."

"Well," One fool said, Ecero thought it might be the one who had been behind him, "We just thought, what with all those weapons…He doesn't act like he belongs to you." The man sounded confident, overly so. "We were just going to taunt him a bit, but then…" A pause, "An arse that tight doesn't belong to anyone."

Laughter and cries of agreement met the statement.

_Fools_.

"You would call me a liar?" Konin's voice was quiet and cool, but it cut off the shouts and jeers as if he had screamed an order.

No one answered the question and Konin's hands were suddenly on his back, thumbs pressed into his spine as he moved slowly up and then down the ridged path. Even in the Darkness, Ecero felt his bones turn to mush, as they always did whenever Konin pulled this little trick. He became aware of the other man straddling him from behind. Groggily, he began to force his arms to move, intending to push himself up and away from his teacher. But strong hands had already flipped him onto his back.

Eyes still closed, Ecero felt Konin's breath ghost over his mouth seconds before lips covered his own forcefully. He kissed the man back hungrily, just to place himself in more familiar territory, just to gain a little control.

But not ten seconds later he was flipped back onto his front in the same position in which Konin had found him, his oxygen deprived brain lagging behind with the sudden movements. A hand clamped around his hips again.

Ecero could feel the material of Konin's tunic brushing against his skin and the rough fabric of the man's pants brushed against his thighs where he was being straddled. Ecero realized that while he was naked, save for the collar (someone had even taken his boots at some point) Konin was still fully clothed. Just a master teaching his pet who was in charge.

Anger swelled within his mind and rage surged through the Darkness, threatening to overcome it and burn away what little control he had of himself. As Konin's hands withdrew again, Ecero rolled to face him, his eyes snapping open at last. Surprise flitted across Konin's stony face when he found himself staring into bottomless black eyes. Then his face became dark with anger.

"Get on your-"

Ecero's fist connected with Konin's mouth before the man could complete the command. Shouts rose from the crowd around them and Ecero stared placidly at his teacher as Konin bore down on him. His black eyes reflected no light and seemed to put the other men on guard. But Konin was used to them and, with a snarl, backhanded Ecero so hard his vision went dark for a moment and he hit the ground hard, a cloud of dust rising up and stinging his throat and nose.

"You will pay for that, pet." The older man purred dangerously.

Ecero was shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, the whole right side of his face throbbing.

"Take off the collar, Ecero."

Eyes widening in shock, the blackness drained from them like blood from a wound and he screamed. And screamed and screamed.

He was left panting on his back, his eyes unfocused on the sky. That had been twice as bad as normal. Once for not following the command and again for so much as thinking of trying to take off the collar. It was a command that was impossible to carry out, and Konin knew it. It wasn't the first time he had used it to cause Ecero double the pain.

He managed to roll himself onto his side before Konin said, "Take off the collar, Ecero."

His groan turned into a scream of agony. Again the pain stretched on. When it was over, staying conscious took great effort. He couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs and his vision was blurred. A low murmur rose from the crowd and he frowned. Why weren't they enjoying this? His muddled brain spit forth an answer.

_'Oh right, they don't like the collar.' _A human being treated like an animal was not something they were used to seeing, he supposed.

A hand on his shoulder rolled him over. He hadn't even realized he was on his stomach. Konin peered down at him with a steely gaze.

"Leave him be, D'Kal." Someone said. "The boy is nearly unconscious from that bloody _collar_. He didn't even hear you that time! You've done enough!"

Konin's face never changed, his cold blue eyes never wavered.

"Take off the collar, Ecero."

Whatever tenuous hold he had managed to keep on the waking world vanished in the inferno.

* * *

When he came to again, the first thing he heard was Konin's voice above him.

"Awake, are you?" Konin's voice seemed very far away. Fingers wedged themselves under the collar at the back of his neck, what little room their was, and he tensed further. Konin jerked the collar roughly, forcing Ecero's head off the ground. "Who do you belong to, boy?"

Ecero stayed silent. He would not give the man the satisfaction.

"Speak!"

Ecero took the pain when it came. It felt lesser after the three double doses he'd had earlier.

"Wrong answer." Konin sounded more breathless than angry. His hand shook where it clenched his collar. "Perhaps you need another lesson, hmm? Take off the-"

"NO!" Ecero screamed, his body convulsing under the tortuous pain. Then it was over and he lay, unmoving, unable to tap any more energy.

Konin's breathing was ragged and his thighs trembled where they rested against Ecero's. "Damn you, boy. Who knew it would feel so good to be defied?"

A chorus of laughter met the statement. The soldiers were still there.

"Well that was quite a show." Someone in the crowd muttered.

Ecero barely heard. His body ached. Every muscle, every bone throbbed or burned from the collar or from Konin. The older of the two pushed himself up and away from Ecero. He watched calmly as his student struggled to push himself up, sitting more on his hip with his knees tucked up. Even bruised and bleeding Ecero was still beautiful to him. Those glowing green eyes sparkling with defiance even after torture.

Konin turned to the biggest of all the soldiers present. "I'm done with him, Ruik. You may continue where you left off." His eyes glinted dangerously. "And if I find out you've touched him without my permission again, I _will _kill you." With that he turned to regard his student once more, intent on threatening him further. But it seemed Ecero had forgotten he was there. Those green eyes were wide, the whites showing all the way around. His face had gone ashen, save for the dark bruise forming on the side of his face. The boy swallowed, convulsively clenching and unclenching fistfuls of dirt. Konin felt something in him stir and then it was gone. Swiftly, he walked past the boy before those haunting eyes could find him again.

* * *

By the time Ecero stumbled into the tent he shared with Konin it was nearly time to start marching again. Luckily, no one was awake yet.

'_Clothes_.' He wanted clothes. Something, _anything _to cover his skin. If he never felt another hand on him again, it would be too soon. He found a white, sleeveless shirt and pulled it on, then spotted his pants where Konin had most likely thrown them to the ground. Once he had them on, it took him a minute to do up his belt his hands shook so badly, he cast about for a cloak but was unsurprised to find none.

He wrung his hands. '_Ruik had been ruthless…'_

'_My holster_.' Where was that?

He combed his fingers through his hair_. 'Am I still bleeding?'_

Where were his weapons?

'_Gods it hurt so much…'_

He was unable to focus on anything. One minute he had flashes of Ruik's big hands in his mind, the next, memory of searing pain, the next he was searching frantically for something he couldn't remember. Oh right, his weapons.

Where _were _they?

There was no more pain now, he had willed that away like Konin had taught him. What else had Konin taught him? He shook his head. Right. How to _not _sleep.

He laughed out loud.

When was the last time he had slept? He couldn't remember. He _did _remember Konin saying it was dangerous to go more than a few days.

He laughed again.

If it weren't for Konin, he'd be asleep right now!

Had he eaten yet today? Yesterday?

'_Where _is _Konin anyway?'_

Ecero backed out of the tent, his eyes roaming for his weapons one last time, before he turned.

Konin's face was inches from his own and he leapt backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. Then he frowned down in confusion. '_Where are my boots_?' He eyed his teacher up and down, as if maybe he had the boots hidden under his cloak somewhere. Seeing nothing that suggested he was, Ecero brushed past the older man to look for them. Then stopped. One of the soldiers had taken them, when he had been surrounded…

'_Don't think about that!'_

He began to go in the direction of the camp where he had spent the last few hours.

"Ecero, I said stop!"

'_Had he? Well it's a good thing it only works if I hear it…'_

He laughed again as he turned to face Konin. That would have been a nasty surprise. The man was frowning deeply as he strode the distance Ecero had managed to create between them.

"Come into the tent. Your injuries need to be healed."

Ecero just scoffed.

Injuries…He was _fine_.

Instead, he followed the older man to the tent. Once inside, Konin had his back to him and was rummaging through some bags. "Undress."

With a start, Ecero did as he was told. His hands were still shaking . He didn't think he could do this again without losing it. He needed to sleep. That must be it. He looked at the bed longingly.

"You can sleep soon, Ecero." Konin's voice was quiet, almost gentle and Ecero stared at him warily as he approached. "I told you if you used that trick too much it would have consequences." He sat down on the bed and told Ecero to do the same. "Do you know when the last time you slept was? Five days. I have been counting to see how long you would be able to go. But I am stopping it now." He said firmly. "Lie down on your stomach."

Ecero's arms almost didn't support him as he lowered himself down. He couldn't do this. Not so soon after…But wait. Hadn't Konin said he needed healing? Healing still meant touching and the most damage was where-

"You are shaking like a leaf."

Ecero tensed visibly when he felt Konin's warm hand press down right above his tailbone.

"Ecero, you must calm yourself."

Burying his face in his arms, Ecero tried to quell the tremors, but he wasn't entirely sure what they were from. He wasn't entirely sure of anything at the moment, save for his need to sleep. He was _so _tired.

* * *

With a small sigh, Konin climbed onto the bed and put his legs either side of Ecero's hips. Finding the base of the boy's spine, he pressed his thumbs into the flesh there. As he applied pressure all the way up, he summoned on fire. He didn't pull enough heat from the air to actually produce a flame, but enough to let it radiate into Ecero's tense muscles. He felt the body beneath him relax completely at his touch and grinned in satisfaction. Even though his student had mastered fire, among other things, he still did not know about _that _little trick.

When Ecero was as relaxed as he ever would be, Konin grabbed his healing salve and moved down so he was sitting between the boy's legs. His hand trailed from the base of Ecero's spine, over the rounded curve of flesh and between once pale thighs to feel the softest skin he had ever known. His body was already responding to the feel of the warm skin under his hand. Ecero was so beautiful; so perfect. And _his_. Both his hands were stroking the flesh at Ecero's inner thighs now, but he did not stop himself. The boy's breathing was evening out and becoming deep and rhythmic with the onset of sleep.

He had not enjoyed what he had done today and he didn't think he had ever felt anger quite like he had when he broke through that ring of soldiers. Ecero was small next to him and he was small next to Shaded Vale men. Ecero had never stood a chance. Den's fingers had wrapped completely around Ecero's thigh. And Ruik…

He had specifically told Ruik for him and his men to leave Ecero alone. He did that with every new ally they gained. If someone belonged to you, you let others know. If anyone touched yours in any way it was considered a great insult. Most of the time it was simply a way to question the credibility of a being higher in rank without getting your head lobbed off by said being. But this could be redeemed by simply giving a display of dominance and control over that which belongs to you. If they are, indeed, yours, they will not resist you and your credibility is restored. If they fight you, however…

That is where Ecero had almost cost him dearly, and the reason he had given the boy over to Ruik. The large man would not have the energy to pursue the ordeal if he was satiated.

He turned his attention back to Ecero and forced his hands to stop their ministrations. The boy was asleep now, but wouldn't be for long. Dipping his fingers into the healing salve he prepared himself for a struggle. He was only going to get one shot at this and he could not risk missing anything. He pressed his clean hand to Ecero's lower back, ready to hold the boy in place when he started screaming. Briefly, he looked at the width four of his fingers gave and wondered if it was too much. Then he remembered Ruik's arm was nearly as big around as Ecero's waist…

"Three…two…one…"

Konin threw all his weight into the hand on Ecero's back as the body beneath him thrashed, trying to twist and squirm. Shockingly, he didn't scream, though his muscles still knotted and jerked.

Eventually, the pain subsided and Ecero heaved his upper body off the bed. His torso was suspended above the bed between trembling arms, shoulder blades popping with the strain. The worst of the pain was over and the boy had made not so much as a sound, though he was sure his teeth should be rattling with how violently he shook.

Ecero was gazing steadily at the bed under him, his eyes wide and shimmering, as if transfixed.

'_The boy needs sleep.'_

"Ecero." He said quietly and his student rolled to face him, eyes still wide, lips parted in sudden shock. He was shaking his head from side to side slowly and Konin wished he would blink. "What is it, Ecero? Speak."

"I…I thought you were Ruik." He whispered, then looked away, "He wouldn't let me scream."

Konin crawled up to lay beside the younger man. "Sleep easy, pet. You wont ever have to go to him again." He began running his fingers through Ecero's hair, an action he knew calmed him almost as much as his massage trick. He was asleep almost instantly and Konin let his eyes roam the length of the lithe body; From growing raven locks all the way down to pale toes, dirtied somewhat from the walk back from Ruik's tent. At least the man had had the decency to wash the boy before letting him go.

Just as Konin felt drawn to the pull of sleep, he heard the first sounds of waking soldiers beyond the tent. In another hour, maybe two, everything would be packed up again and ready to go once more. Until then though, he intended to let Ecero rest. He wrapped a possessive arm around his student, satisfied when the boy rolled into him.


	15. The Battle

**Chapter 15: The Battle**

Several days passed in which Ecero was lucky enough not to see Ruik. He supposed Konin had finally gotten his point across to the large man, who was rather big but had little brain to back it. Sometimes, as they marched across the blighted earth, or as he trudged wearily through the maze of tents at days end, he would catch a soldier in his peripheral vision and he could tell just by the way they stared or leered or grinned, that they had been present in that ring of men when Ruik attacked him.

Shortly after the attack and the night spent in Ruik's tent, Ecero had felt nothing but relief, feeling as though he had somehow managed to avoid what could have been a much more dire situation. Well, he supposed he had Konin to thank for that. And though he reluctantly admitted that to himself, it would _never _pass his lips. Sometimes he thought, no, he _knew _Konin held too much power over him. He also had a sneaking suspicion that Konin may well be threatened by him at times. Ecero longed for the day they could face each other in battle as equals. With no restraints or restrictions save for whatever limitations they had acquired naturally.

But he was starting to believe he would die with this collar around his neck. It had nearly been the cause of his death a few times already. Incapacitating him in the middle of a battle for some stupid command Konin had given him the day before.

He shook his head. He assumed Konin knew how to remove the wretched thing. Then again, the man had never said he did, and Ukimu Noul had been the one to place it around his neck. Perhaps the little Dachen and his master were the only ones who could take it off? He supposed only time would tell, and he seemed to have plenty of that on his hands as of late.

He raised his eyes off the ground to stare at the back of Konin's head. He could kill the man right now, as he walked, oblivious. He could pull one of his many daggers and drive it through the back of the man's neck. Ecero could feel the vibrations in his fingertips as he imagined it scraping past the bone of Konin's spine; He could feel the warmth of the man's life oozing down the handle of the blade and over the back of his hand.

He could do it. Right now. He could end it all.

Except he knew the moment he wrapped his fingers around a knife hilt with the intention of killing the man he would hit the dirt: A ball of shattered nerve endings.

He inhaled deeply and battered down the sudden feeling of unease that tingled along his spine.

He needed a good night's sleep, that was all. Yes. He and Konin were trudging through the network of canvas dwellings, once again returning from a less than successful hunting trip.

"Konin D'Kal!"

Ecero's breath caught in his throat and he halted, narrowly avoiding slamming into Konin's back.

Ruik called out to them again, his massive form silhouetted against a roaring fire. Several other men sat around it, but none seemed to acquiesce with Ruik's hearty invitation of "Come join our fire!"

After only a brief moment of hesitation, Konin began striding towards the circle of men. Ecero followed dejectedly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes skywards. Sometimes he thought Konin went _looking _for trouble. He glared at all the men sitting around the fire, but their heads were bowed and they seemed intent on watching the flames. He supposed they had to be civil to them at least. Ver'tora would kill them if they lost so powerful an ally over so trivial an issue. Honor mattered little to demons.

"How did the hunt go this time?" It was the man named Den who asked the question. He was sure of it as soon as the man lifted his eyes from the fire and stared directly into Ecero's.

"The same as it always goes." Konin replied coolly. He had not sat down and Ecero gladly followed his example.

Suddenly, Ruik's eyes found Ecero's. "Ecero, my boy," he boomed, smiling wolfishly, "Been well I hope?"

Ecero edged away from the gigantic man, eying his hands uneasily where they rested on his knees. Even sitting down, the man could very nearly look him square in the eye.

"He's been just fine." Konin's eyes were glittering dangerously.

"Fine, yes…" Ruik raised one of those massive hands and, despite all his scooting, easily reached out and cupped Ecero's chin with a softness he would never had thought the man could posses.

When he was released, Ecero nearly sagged with relief, able to breath again. He looked down and realized Konin maintained a white knuckled grip on his sword. He allowed himself a moment of lethargy. How he missed his sword…_swords_. Konin still had most of his weapons hidden away somewhere. Except for the few throwing knives and one dagger, the man would give none of it back until they reached Skulgarth.

"You know, me and the gents have been talking." Ruik sniffed and turned his eyes on Konin, firelight making them glow maliciously. "You didn't prove anything with that little display." Ecero realized he was talking about last week, but was confused about the real meaning behind the words. "And anyway," abruptly, the large man was on his feet and Ecero leaped backwards reflexively when those big hands made a grab for him. But he only hit a solid wall of muscle and was pinned by someone else. For once, they didn't belong to Den. "I think the boy needs a master who knows how to handle him." His eyes shone. "And I reckon I handled him rather well last week."

Konin drew his sword at the speed of light, the tip under Ruik's chin. Automatically, the other soldiers all drew heavy short blades, their shouts of alarm ringing clearly in the silence.

"A mistake I never should have made." Konin's voice rumbled low in his throat, his eyes blazing.

Ruik had not moved except to slowly raise his hands in the air. An obvious gesture of peace and submission.

"Breathe easy, Konin." Murmured the big man. He gave an imperceptible nod, "I have overstepped my bounds."

Ecero clenched his jaw shut and could not help but swallow nervously. He was released and he moved quickly to stand behind Konin, his small hands grasping the waist of the older man's tunic while he rested his forhead between muscular shoulders, trying to regulate his breathing. He did not often show such acts of submission, but thought it couldn't hurt if it meant signaling to everyone else that he belonged to Konin, and _especially _if it kept Ruik away from him.

"You most _certainly _have." Konin replied. He sheathed his sword and the soldiers standing at Ruik's back did the same. "I don't want to have this conversation again."

Turning to go, Konin directed Ecero with his hand very low down his back. It was an obviously intimate and possessive gesture that Ruik could not miss.

"That man is infuriating!" Konin seethed once they were out of ear shot. "I'd drive a blade through his heart if it didn't mean the same for me."

Ecero was simply glad to have held the giant at bay a little longer and let himself be led wherever it was Konin wished to go.

* * *

Ecero saw Skelgarth's crumbling spires before anything else over the tops of the crooked and diseased trees. The ravaged, battered columns stabbed at the sky; their blackness a stark contrast against the gloomy canopy overhead. Once, he imagined they might have been a sight to behold. Solid, towering and gleaming menacingly, they might formerly have represented a truly powerful enemy.

Now, however. The city looked sickened. Decayed. The stones looked as if they had been alive once, but Ecero thought they portrayed the state of the city rather well as they crumbled, stubbornly resisting their own demise and swaying dangerously on their foundations. They were a testament to the time that had passed. To the wars they had seen.

He wondered absently to the number of leaders they had seen rise and fall.

It was difficult to say whether or not the inhabitants of the city were aware of their approach. If they were, they were likely to meet little resistance. If they met any at all. More likely would it be for them to find the place abandoned. And if they _didn't _know…a cruel smile twisted Ecero's mouth.

Either way, someone was bound to notice an army of five thousand before they reached the city walls. But they would notice too late.

Rolling his shoulders, Ecero was grateful to finally have his weapons back. All of them. He had felt so small, so vulnerable without them. Especially whenever Ruik was skulking around. The weight of so much steel and, in some cases, the finest silver, was the best form of comfort Ecero could find. As they drew nearer to the city, he drew on that comfort to still his thoughts and ready his mind and body for the impending battle.

He kicked his feet restlessly and fingered one of two sword hilts poking over his shoulder.

"I'll finally be able to see what you can do with those."

Ecero bristled, his back to the man that had spoken. Ruik had left him pretty well alone since Konin had put a blade to his throat, but nothing could hide that gleam in his eye every time he spotted Ecero.

Ecero didn't care, though, so long as the man didn't try anything he could look all he wanted.

"You are most fortunate, Ruik." Konin said lightly, standing a few feet away. "You probably would have been the first to die that day if I hadn't given my little viper strict orders not to harm any of you." The man leveled a cool glare on Ruik when he snorted in obvious disbelief. "In light of the upcoming battle, however, those orders have, of course, been revoked."

"Not meaning any disrespect to you Konin, I'm sure you're a very fine teacher." A muscle jumped in Konin's jaw at the sarcasm, "But I could crush the boy in a heartbeat if I so pleased."

Ecero gripped the sword hilt he had been fingering, his stance wary.

Konin simply gave a dry little chuckle, shaking his head as if he were dealing with a naïve child instead of a hulking soldier. "You will find that speed and intelligence often win out over brawn, my friend."

Ruik didn't seem to have an answer to that and instead snapped at Ecero. "Be at ease boy, I won't bite you!" and stormed away.

When he lost sight of the big man in the sea of bodies, Ecero finally felt comfortable enough to turn his gaze back to the city. To a bird that might circle overhead, the dim light revealed the mammoth army spread out all around the perimeter of the city walls, the carefully drawn formations giving a checkerboard appearance to the land between the thinning trees. The vast army stood silent, motionless on the plains bellow the city, shadows etched out of the darkness by dawn into the figures of flesh and blood, iron and stone. They weren't all five thousand in one place, of course, but split up into five groups of one thousand soldiers. Together, they surrounded the city.

Everyone would be in place and ready by midday, when Maende would give the signal to advance. Or, Konin and Ecero would give the signal under Lord Maende's orders.

It seemed an eternity that Ecero had been pacing back and forth, but finally, Maende came over to where he and Konin stood away from the rest.

"Ready boys?" The Lord was rubbing his hands together, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of a battle soon to come. At their nods to the affirmative, he said, "Right. On three then."

Ecero felt for the Darkness in his mind. It was always there, lurking in the corners of his consciousness, waiting to be called upon. It came readily, almost eagerly, as if sensing his restlessness and sharing it. His mind went blank and shadows reached out from the trees and ground. He didn't let them touch him, but they danced around him like smoke in a breeze. It crawled from within him until it reached the barrier of his skin, turning it nearly translucent in it's attempted to connect with itself outside his body.

"One…"

His black eyes sought out Ruik nearby and the man looked at him, eyes going wide. He drew his blade prematurely.

Ecero laughed openly at the cowardly display, the sound all at once hollow and resounding.

"Two…" Lord Maende's voice wavered as he met Ecero's eye.

Drawing one of the long blades from it's sheath, Ecero focused on the air around him. It shimmered with heated particles and it was not difficult to pull them from the air and bind them. A ball of flames erupted over his open palm.

"Three!"

Simultaneously, Konin and Ecero drew back their hands and hurled the fireballs into the sky over the city, adding heat and mass as they soared.

With a cry fit for battle, Maende leapt forward, broadsword in hand. As one, their divide of one thousand sounded a wordless roar in response and charged after their Lord. A thunderous sound reached Ecero's ears, when five thousand cries echoed theirs in answer, their voices rising into the sky from places unseen. The silence was shattered with the sudden booming, the deep, throbbing beat ringing ominously against the stone walls of Skelgarth.

The army came steadily to the battle, savage cries matched by the thudding of thousands of booted feet marching in ragged time, metal clinking sharply against metal as weapons and armor braced for the assault. They came on, thousands and thousands from every direction, armored figures faceless in the distant gloom. The seconds ticked away as the massive attack force moved to within a hundred yards of the waiting city.

For an instant there was a deep, unbroken silence that hung in frightened hesitation on the air as they waited for resistance from within the city. Then a deafening roar rose from the throats of the Shaded Vale soldiers; with a great surge, the massive juggernaut charged, wave upon wave rushing to grapple with the fleeing citizens that poured suddenly from the city.

* * *

Chaos. That was the only word to describe what was happening around him.

Smoke, thick and suffocating, billowed through the streets. Every building that could catch fire, had and was feeding the black clouds. Things ran in every direction around him, not even seeing him. The grin splitting his face had been there for a while now and he watched as beings raced around in a desperate attempt to save their hides. None of them came together, of course. No resistance was formed. The attack had been too much of a surprise. And besides, everyone hated one another in this city, they would rather die then unite. And so they did the last thing left to them. They ran.

Or at least, they tried to.

Kicking someone's arm out of his path, Ecero slammed the edge of his blade into some man's stomach as he scurried past, nearly splitting him in half. Blood spattered up in his face and on his chest and arms. Looking down at himself, he could not see an inch of clean flesh. Blood coated most of his torso, streaked through with black soot tracks, diluted with his sweat. He held a long sword in each hand, both of which were black with gore, and danced through the fleeing crowd of creatures. One by one he cut them down, old young and in between suffered equally.

He grabbed a fistful of a boy's hair and stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't be older than six or seven, lips curled back showing missing front teeth and a blade longer than the length of the boys arm was driving towards Ecero's heart. He deflected the blow with a lazy movement and cut the boy's throat cleanly; a mercy for being a child.

Looking up, he took note of the sudden stillness of the street. Some buildings still smoldered along the street, black smoke rising from them and making his eyes and chest burn. Bodies lay everywhere of course, like litter in the streets. Only, instead of waste, it was body parts.

Suddenly he felt something rush him. Like a wind, only denser. It circled around him, invisible, but palpable. He struggled to feel it, to attack it, whatever _it _was. It roared in his ears and then was gone, as soon as it had come, and hadn't disturbed even a hair on his head. In the following silence, he became aware of the feeling of eyes watching him. The back of his neck tingled unpleasantly and he whirled, blades flashing, searching the rubble and bodies down the narrow street. But nothing moved. There was not even a sound besides the distant battle several streets over.

Casting one last, narrow eyed gaze down the street, Ecero made for the sounds of fighting. He peered around the corner at the mouth of an alley and saw Ruik cutting down the last or three Trogs, the street here as dead as the one he had just left.

With a grin he was sure must look quite deranged, Ecero left his hiding spot and stepped confidently into the middle of the street.

At the sound of his footfalls, Ruik swirled around, his blade raised defensively. Then he seemed to slump with relief. "Oh," he breathed heavily, the breath having left him in battle, "It's you, boy. Come, we could use you a few streets over."

As Ruik turned to leave, Ecero rose a roaring wall of flames in front of the hulking man, who stumbled back in shock, shielding his face from the blaze of heat. He rounded on Ecero, his face like a boulder. "What is the meaning of…oh," he smirked, "You wish to fight me." He eyed the two smaller blades Ecero had exchanged for the long swords he had been holding. "Let's get this over with then so I can get back to the party."

Ecero advanced forward before he had time to think about how utterly foolish this was.


	16. Malfoy

**Chapter 16: Malfoy**

Ron was trying to concentrate, he really was, but his mind kept drifting away to things he considered more important than the history of personal hygiene spells. Like the raid that had happened last night. In a town called Saffron Walden, where, according to every book he and Hermione could get their hands on, hadn't seen so much as a broomstick with magical potential, much less a witch or wizard, in nearly a century. The attack was random and seemingly pointless. It hadn't even been in the paper.

Ron's hand tightened on his quill as he halfheartedly scribbled down the last few words he remembered Binns saying.

If it weren't for Sirius and Remus, and Fred and George whenever they saw the twins, they would know very little about what was going on around them in terms of the war, and he did not like it. Yes, he had finally conceded the point to himself, they _were _little more than children when placed next to a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but this was a time of war and he and Hermione were right in the middle of it.

His hand twitched at the last thought, streaking a line of ink down his parchment. They _were _in the middle of a war, one the two of them would have to fight without Harry now.

He glanced sideways at his friend. She was studiously copying notes, as expected, and if he knew her at all, it would be word for word as Binns spoke them. He sighed and let his own quill fall on top on his desk.

Sometimes he envied Hermione in all her cool knowledge. She certainly seemed to be coping with the loss of Harry better then he was. So did Ginny for that matter. Perhaps it was a girl thing, in which case he was sure he would never understand.

Growing more frustrated by the second, Ron looked up over Binns' translucent head to the massive clock hanging on the wall. He scowled at it, almost positive the large hand had been in the exact same place when he had looked an eternity ago!

He knew lack of news was what was making him so irritable. Nothing since Snape's minor revelation about the potion and Dumbledore's bloody epiphany about Harry being alive. No one believed him now, of course, not after what had been seen in the pensive nearly six months ago now.

A cool shudder made Ron's teeth clack together. It had taken him and Hermione a whole month to convince Sirius and Remus to tell them about what they had seen in Snape's memory. After the men had told them, Ron could almost wish they hadn't. Almost. The truth was sometimes difficult to bear, but he hated _not _knowing just a fraction more.

As close to Hell as one can get…

That was where Harry was now, apparently. Though he tried to tell himself his friend was dead, there was still a small part of him that would not accept it. That wouldn't give in. Maybe that was why he was having such a hard time of things. He couldn't be sure. He never had been good with feelings and emotions; womanish things.

"You coming, Ron?"

With a start, Ron realized everyone was packing up to go. Binns was gone as well and Hermione stood beside his desk, a small frown creasing the space between her eyebrows.

"Are you alright?"

He hastily began shoving his things in his bag. "Yeah. I was just…thinking."

She only stared at him silently, her brow smoothing in understanding.

The two of them filed out of the room with the rest of the class and joined the throng of students on the way to the Great Hall for lunch.

"I can't believe it's nearly Christmas already." Hermione said at one point, "Everyone will be going home soon."

He grunted to let her know he had heard but said nothing else. She was always bringing up idle and pointless conversation topics to try and get him talking.

"Ron!"

Looking up in the direction from which the shout had come, Ron saw Ginny waving the two of them over. "I saved you guys a seat." his sister said when they drew near.

He took in his sister's inability to sit still and her gleaming eyes. He sat down and asked what it was that she was so excited about.

"We're having an unscheduled Quidditch match after classes today. I was wondering if you wanted to come out. My team is short a Keeper."

As soon as she had heard the word 'Quidditch', Hermione had propped a book open on the table and started reading. Potions by the look of it.

"Um," Ron spooned some mashed potatoes onto his plate, "Sounds great, but," he dropped a few carrots beside his potatoes, "No…thanks. I'm going to take it easy tonight. Do some studying, you know." The excuse sounded lame even in his own head and he trailed off when her eyes dimmed.

Despite her disappointment, she was equipped with a counter argument. "Sirius is playing. And Remus. Don't you want the chance to say you beat the two of them at Quidditch! You know how they go on! It would be fun to kick their butts!"

Ron grimaced and chanced a look up at the head table. He was sure he knew why Sirius was agreeing to play a game of Quidditch now. Anything to take his mind off Harry and the man would do it. With a sudden burst of insight, Ron realized the man was the only one who seemed to be struggling as much as he was, and he felt a sudden rush of compassion and likeness toward Sirius.

He squared his shoulders and turned to his little sister. If Sirius was trying, then Ron could only do the same.

"I'll be there."

She beamed at him.

Glancing sideways briefly, Ron caught Hermione smiling as well, her nose still firmly planted in the book before her, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out what could be so amusing about potions.

* * *

It had been too long since he had been in the air.

Ron was sitting on his broomstick in front of the middle goal post. Both teams were down at the other end of the pitch, where Sirius was frantically trying to keep his eye on the Quaffle as it quickly switched hands and teams.

Ron smirked, his team was winning. Ginny's red hair flashed near the goal post and victorious cries told him they were now winning by a bit more. Sirius pounded at the air with his fist, as if angry, but a large grin was splitting his face and there was color in his cheeks from the bitter December wind.

Ron had been doubtful at first of Remus' playing abilities. He had never seen the man so much as touch a broom in all the time they had known each other. But he was now very glad the professor was on his team.

Fred and George, both of which had closed down the shop early that day to come and play in the skirmish, were sitting either side of Sirius, all three heads bent together.

"I knew he shouldn't have been so cocky!"

Ron turned his attention on his sister and teacher as they both glided towards him. Ginny's eyes were bright, they way they always were during and after a game of Quidditch. Just like Harry.

"Well that's what he gets." Remus agreed with a smile.

"Oi!"

Remus, Ginny and Ron all looked towards the other end of the pitch where Fred and George were flying away from a bemused looking Sirius.

"We're forfeiting!"

Bemusement made way for outrage and indignation.

"Hey!" Cried Sirius, immediately following after the twins. "You can't do that!" He smirked as the three of them reached Ron, Ginny and Remus, "Unless running that bloody shop of yours has pushed all your Quidditch skills out your ears."

Remus and Ginny laughed as the twins tackled Sirius, engaging in a tree-way wrestling match in the air. But Ron drowned out the noise when he noticed a dark spec coming over the hill in front of the castle. Whoever it was, they were running towards the pitch.

"Something's wrong." he muttered, feeling his gut knot itself.

Remus looked at him sharply and then followed his line of sight.

"It's Hermione." He declared, his superior vision no doubt able to tell even at this great a distance.

"What's she running for?"

Ginny was beside them now and Fred, George and Sirius had all ceased fighting.

In only a few seconds, Hermione had made it to the pitch and the six players had descended to meet her. She stumbled to a halt in front of them, hair blown wild by the wind, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. She had run all the way from the castle apparently. "There's been…an attack…" she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest and gulping for air.

"Where?" Sirius' voice was sharp but calm.

Hermione shook her head slightly. "In…in the castle." She seemed to be catching her breath, but at her words, Ron's left him.

"What? How? Who was it?"

He had been wondering the same things, but the questions had not come from his mouth.

"Draco Malfoy."

Ron's mind reeled as the small group of seven followed Hermione back to the castle. They didn't run, for Hermione's sake, who still looked flushed, but Ron's legs itched to break into a sprint.

The Order, and so by default, Ron and Hermione, had known for several months that Lucious Malfoy's body had been found in Harry's house, along with a few other, lesser known Death Eaters. Ron grimaced at the memory of the vivid description Sirius had given them. "Throat split clean open!" He had said, sounding as if he didn't know whether to be happy a top Death Eater was dead, or saddened that it had been his godson that killed him so gruesomely.

But since then the Malfoy death had become public knowledge and the Malfoy family had been exposed as supporters of the Dark. Their home had been raided and many items of questionable legality had been seized. In short, the Malfoy name had been ruined; a good answer to the question that had been on many minds since the first month of school: Where was Draco Malfoy? He hadn't been at the start of term feast and no one had seen hide nor hair of him or his mother since then. The general public seemed to have either decided mother and son had met a fate similar to Malfoy senior or they were both cowering behind their master.

And now, a day like any other, with nothing to suggest change or give warning, Draco Malfoy reappears. Undoubtedly blind with rage and seeking the blood of Harry Potter in some vengeful Slytherinesk notion of retaliation.

Ron's lips compressed into a thin line. '_Well, you're too late, Malfoy…_'

Suddenly a thought came to him and he said aloud, "Malfoy came here for one thing: Harry. If the Malfoy's had run off to Voldemort, or even stayed in touch with any Death Eaters, Draco would know Harry was dead already." The other six were all staring at him with wide eyes, he could feel it on the back of his head. He was glad to note he had only stumbled on the word 'dead' a little. "Whatever Draco and Narcissa have been doing these last few months, I don't think it's been anything to do with Voldemort." he couldn't remember when he had begun saying the name.

"I hadn't thought of that." Sirius muttered, frowning at the ground as it passed swiftly under his feet.

"The question is now, what _have _the Malfoy's been up to?"

They were all passing through the large entrance doors and nothing but silence was there to greet them on the other side.

"So what happened exactly?" Asked Fred, sounding more serious than Ron was used to. "What did he do?"

Hermione had led them off down the right hand corridor, towards the hospital wing. "Somehow, Draco knew the password to the Gryffindor common room. We're not really sure how yet." Her voice was brisk and clipped, as if she were discussing a particularly important project with them. "He managed to get all the way up to the sixth year dorms without being seen." she sighed, a sharp exhalation of breath. She was annoyed. "Him knowing the location of the common room was bad enough, but how did he know the password too?" She paused and visibly collected herself before continuing. "The only thing we can figure is that he waited until someone came along and heard them say it. But the door is on a stair landing, there would be no cover for him to hide."

They rounded a corner and Ron was able to see the large double doors of the Hospital Wing at the end of the hall.

"There are any number of cloaking spells he could have used to hide himself with." Ginny argued reasonably.

"Perhaps." Hermione's tone suggested she didn't consider it an option and was merely humoring the red head. "If he _did _use a spell of some sort it had to be either very powerful, beyond anything a student here would be able to manage, or very dark."

"Or both." Ron interjected.

"Hogwarts: A History," Ron rolled his eyes, "says that all four portraits guarding the dorms have the ability to see through most cloaking devices, which anyone would realize should they have reason to give it some thought. It's kind of like what Moody can do with his magical eye."

Ron shook his head, "You set credence by that book too much." he chose to ignore her glare.

"Think about it, Ron! How could the portraits _not _have an ability like that? If they could be fooled by a simple disillusionment charm or a Notice-Me-Not spell as easily as an ordinary witch or wizard then anyone would be able to gain access to a dorm room once they located it."

Ron scowled but admitted that she was right.

"Well to be fair, finding another house's common room would be almost as difficult of getting it's password."

Ron grimaced, remembering his own foray into the dark Slytherin dorms in his second year. He looked down at Hermione walking beside him and expected her to be sharing his contriteness, or at least blushing, but he certainly wasn't expecting her to be smirking and looking rather self satisfied.

"Don't pride yourself in that map too much, Sirius Black." Sirius looked as startled as Ron felt, but Fred, George, Ginny and Remus were all grinning from ear to ear. "Ron knew where the Slytherin dorms were by second year and I know where all three of the others are by now. And we did it all _without _the help of your map." She added the last bit when Sirius swelled up like a threatened puffer fish ready to defend itself, successfully deflating him rather quickly.

"How do you know where the Snakes live, Ronnykins?"

Ron felt heat rise in his face and scratched the back of his head. "Ah, you know…second year and all the trouble with the Chamber." he was surprised at how steady his voice sounded. He might as well have been talking about all the trouble they'd had with the garden gnomes that summer.

"I am assuming everyone is alright then." Ginny said. "You don't seem too terribly upset."

Hermione nodded. "Everyone is fine. Luckily, Neville, Dean and Seamus were all coming back from supper _together_."

"Were they hurt very badly?"

Hermione pursed her lips together in a rather good imitation of McGonagall. "Dean got the worst of it, as he was the first one through the door. I'll let you see for yourself."

When they entered the quiet wing, Ron's gaze immediately went to three beds on the left hand side of the room. Dean he could just make out under several layers of gauze and bandages, damp and clinging with some potion or another. Madame Pomfrey bustled from bed to bed, waving her wand and forcing potions down unyielding throats.

Seamus was sitting up at least, though his hair was disheveled and singed looking in some places, as if it had been on fire, not an uncommon sight. His face was coated in black grime, dried sweat tracks trailing down through it. His shirt was gone and parts of his torso looked shinny and red. Burned like Charlie's arms.

Neville looked quite the same, only less so, and Ron wondered what the dorm room itself must look like.

"Alright, Nev?" He asked. Neville and Seamus both nodded slowly, as if the movement pained them. Ron supposed it probably did. Dean didn't move at all and, through the bandages, he could see that the other boy's eyes were closed. He was unconscious.

"Where's Malfoy?" The venom in his voice went unnoticed by him at the sudden surge of white hot anger that burned at his insides.

"Dumbledore's got him at the moment." Seamus said lightly, a very glassy, far-away look in his eyes.

"Painkillers." Neville explained rather simply. He scowled then, a look Ron couldn't ever remember seeing on the placid boy's face. "I'm not in enough pain to have some apparently…"

"What happened then? Go on." George urged the bedridden student to tell the story.

"There isn't really much to tell. The three of us were just coming back from dinner and when Dean opened the door to our dorm there was this huge wall of fire there to greet us." he shook his head sadly, "Dean took most of the blast.." he avoided looking at the still figure on the next bed over. "He got thrown backwards, clean over us, and me and Seamus hit the floor. I think I was the only one conscious by then, and when I looked up, all I could see was Draco standing in the middle of the room. I still don't know how he lived through that. I was out in the hall and the heat was still…" he shuddered violently. "I thought my skin must be peeling off…turns out it was Dean I was smelling."

Ron nearly gagged on the description, imagining the smell of burning human flesh filling his nostrils. But Neville seemed to be unaware of what he was saying, his fingers twisting and tugging a loose thread on the bed sheet.

"Draco just stared at me. He looked so angry, like I've never seen him before. Like I've never seen _anyone _before. I swear his eyes alone could have started that fire." He released a tremulous breath, his face pale. "I think he's gone mad."

Sirius reached out and placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on Neville's shoulder. But his "There's nothing you could have done." seemed to make little difference when Neville scoffed bitterly.

"I know. But it doesn't make things any easier, does it? And now I know how Harry used to feel every time we tried to tell him that."

The very air seemed to freeze and nobody spoke for several awkward seconds.

"I sure do miss him."

Sirius' hand slid from Neville's shoulder. After a second, Ron trusted his voice enough to break the silence and say, "He's only away at training camp, Nev." That part of the lie was bad enough. He couldn't bring himself to say, "He'll be back soon enough." because he never would be.

Neville finally took his eyes off his lap and fixed his gaze on Ron.

Ron found himself wishing his friend would look back down at the bed, because he saw something there that hadn't been before. Tonight had changed Neville. There was a darkness there behind his eyes, and they no longer held that gleam of innocence. They weren't dull, per say, not like Harry's had been, just…jaded, perhaps? He couldn't put a word to it.

"Of course." was all the dark haired boy said, one corner of his mouth lifting up. He looked down again and Ron released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.


	17. Merry Christmas

**Chapter 17: Merry Christmas**

The dorm room was even more of a wreck than Ron had anticipated. Virtually nothing remained but blackened stone of floor and walls and a few, crumbling, lumpy forms that had been beds, nightstands or chests. Most strange, and perhaps most worrying, was the wood heater in the middle of the room. At least, what was left of it. Whole, the top of the stove had come to Ron's waist. Now, however, it was nothing more than a molten heap of scrap metal, hardened into the shape of something resembling a melted candle, barely reaching his knees.

Everyone present avoided looking at it as they continued to shift through the charred remains of the room. None of them actually thought they would find anything, but they kept looking anyway.

It was the morning after the attack had happened. Neville and Seamus had been released from Madame Pomfrey's care with reluctance, and maybe that was why they still winced slightly if they moved to fast or twisted the wrong way.

Dean had not yet woken up.

"How is it going?"

The three boys looked up at the sound of Sirius' voice. Ron wasn't surprised to see the man there, nor Remus standing behind him. Without answering, the boys went back to their halfhearted search.

With a heavy sigh, Ron abandoned his trunk, it was all pointless anyway, and moved to the little table beside his bed. Gripping the top of it, his intention had been to heave it up onto the bed, they might as well start cleaning up, but was surprised when the plank of wood tore free, blackened splinters, brittle from dryness, spraying out in a shower onto the floor.

His mouth dropped open. "Guys! Check your nightstands!"

Everyone rushed to obey, Neville and Seamus wrenched the top off of theirs and both cried out in surprise, finding most of the objects within relatively unharmed.

Ron kept his back to the two marauders as he rummaged through the drawers. They had moved over to where Harry's bed stood, an area they all had avoided as studiously as the melted stove. A moment later he winced, his fist crumpling a rough draft of some essay or another from Merlin only knew when, as the top of Harry's bedside table was wrenched off.

Intently, he began to flatten the crumpled parchment against the front of his robes. His hands were shaking, he realized, as he wondered if there was anything to be found in Harry's nightstand.

"Oh…"

Ron froze, then whirled. It had been Sirius who spoke, but both men's back's were to him now. Sirius was obviously holding something in his hands, with Remus looking over his shoulder.

He cleared his throat to make sure his voice would actually work, "What did you find?"

Sirius turned and Ron found that num shock somehow made its way through the sadness that suddenly bound his chest. He turned his back on the man and the photo album clutched in his hands. Harry's photo album.

"Why would that be here?" Neville asked.

When no one seemed forthcoming with an answer, Ron mechanically supplied, "Harry used to leave a lot of his stuff here. He was always scared the Dursley's would take it from him." He frowned down at his hands, when had had crumpled up that essay again? "He seemed to leave more stuff behind every year."

Sirius slowly opened the album cover, Ron could hear the heat damaged pages crackling loudly in the tense silence. Oddly enough, the chuckle that came abruptly from Sirius' throat did not sound exactly forced.

Knowing it would only make matters worse did not seem to stop Ron's treacherous feet from carrying him over to where the two professors stood. Sirius was shaking his head slightly, grinning, eyes suspiciously moist. Remus wore only a sad smile.

He looked at the picture when Sirius passed it to him and felt the corners of his mouth pull despite the knot in his stomach.

"I remember this. Collin must have taken it."

It had been Hagrid's last Care of Magical Creatures class they had together. As a treat, by suggestion of Lavender Brown, Hagrid had forgone a big finish with some hideous monster and instead had brought a large crate from around the back of his hut and set it down in front of the wary students.

In the photo, Harry and Hermione were clearly arguing, unaware the photo was being taken. Then Ron came into the frame with a ball of grey fuzz held in each hand. He said something to his two friends, he couldn't remember what, and they turned to him as he held up the baby rabbits.

Harry and Hermione's frustrated faces simultaneously melted into looks of purest adoration at the sight of the little critters. They each reached for one and Ron could remember the smug feeling to go with the look on his face of having stopped the argument.

He looked back at the album and saw a whole pile of loose photos, both still and moving. Ron gasped a laugh in wonder and reached for them. He sat down on the floor and the others followed suit, taking handfuls of pictures as Ron passed them around their little circle, starting with Sirius.

Harry and Hermione and him sitting under the big tree by the lake. Him and Harry stretched out on the rug in front of the fireplace, a chess board between them and a sour look on Harry's face. Harry and Hermione in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. They were both wearing pink aprons, their arms, faces and hair coated in flour. They both blew kisses at the camera and dusty cloud of white obscured the photo.

He passed the last one to Sirius. "You remember this?"

The older man barked a genuine laugh. "I wasn't there, but I remember Tonks telling me about it."

Ron picked up the next photo and found himself frowning down at an unfamiliar face. He supposed the man was not unattractive. Women might find him good looking. He had dark eyes and dark hair and vaguely reminded him of Snape. If Snape were younger, more good looking and capable of smiling like this fellow was.

He held up the picture so everyone could see it. "Any of you recognize this bloke?"

They all shook their heads.

"Good looking though, isn't he?" Seamus said, snatching the photo out of Ron's hands with a grin.

Ron rolled his eyes but found himself smiling back. "That's all you ever think about, isn't it?"

Seamus sniffed as he passed the photo on to Neville. "As if you think about anything else!"

Sirius and Remus were openly staring at the Irish boy, who blinked owlishly back.

"Are you…" Sirius began.

Ron decided to answer the question for him. "Biggest poof you ever met."

With a squawk of indignation, Seamus picked up a chunk of coal and chucked it at Ron's head amidst a babble of poorly concealed laughter.

Sirius held out his hand palm up while Ron tried his best to rub off the black mark he was sure took up most of his forehead. Seamus gave the older man a high five enthusiastically.

"Dicks aren't always just for chicks!"

"Watch your mouth!" Remus snapped, then turned his glare on Sirius as if the man had put the words in his student's mouth.

"Couldn't agree more." the animagus purred, bravely meeting the werewolf's glare with an easy smile.

"Ok, that cinches it," Seamus said, his hands in the air, "Sirius Black is officially the coolest professor Hogwarts has ever seen."

Remus groaned at the mile wide grin that nearly split Sirius' face in half. "You don't know what you've done, Seamus." His voice was solemn, but his eyes danced with a wicked humor, betraying his ominous words.

Ron shook his head at their antics and focused on the next picture. His jaw almost hit the floor. "I think Harry agreed with you, Seamus." was all he could manage.

All four men yelped "What?" at the same time, but only Sirius and Seamus made a grab for the photo.

Seamus got it first, his eyes positively gleaming. "The dog! He lied to me!" laughter exploded from the Irishman's throat as he shook his head in disbelief. "Turned down by Harry Potter." he looked at the muggle photo again and suddenly his eyes were gleaming in a whole different way. "Merlin, but Harry's one good looking bloke…"

"Watch it Finnigan." Sirius growled in mock anger. "That's my godson your talking about."

Seamus didn't hesitate in shoving the picture under the man's nose. "Go on then. See for yourself."

Ron watched the older man's face carefully. In the picture, the mystery Snape-looking fellow and Harry were a tangle of limbs and lips. Showing them from the waist up, their torso's flush against one another. The mystery man was obviously older, perhaps in his late twenties, and quite a lot bigger then Harry. Muscular arms encircled a slender waist and Harry's hands were thoroughly tangled in the man's longer than average hair.

He himself had not been aware Harry's was gay. Though now that he did know, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. It explained a few things, really. He wondered if Hermione knew though. He tried to remember if she had ever told him anything, or droped a hint anywhere. He remembered asking her once why Harry never bothered to get a girlfriend, as most girls in the school would readily throw themselves at him, literally. She had just smiled one of those shrewd little smiles that women wore when they wanted to confuse a man. It seldom meant they knew anything, but they could make you think they did. He made a mental note to speak with her about it later.

He looked down at the next photo and groaned, passing it right to Seamus, who whooped gleefully. Sirius abandoned his own picture to glare at his student.

It seemed that when this photo had been taken, the two boys had decided that the floor was a much more comfortable spot. Harry was on his back, the other man on top and pressing them together. One of his large hands had snaked up under Harry's shirt while the other pinned his hands to the floor over his head. Two empty bottles of Jim Beam could be seen on either side of the frame, as well as the tip of a finger, most likely belonging to whomever had taken the picture.

"So Harry's a little partier during the summer hols." Seamus mused, seemingly to himself. "Never would have guessed it." Humming, he gave the photo a last glance, "Always thought he would be a bottom though…"

Ron made a face. He couldn't imagine thinking about any bloke that way, let alone his best friend. Sirius seemed to share his thoughts, for he nearly ripped the photo out of Seamus' hands, the glare on his face no longer pretend.

"You seem to have given my godson a great deal of thought."

The student merely shrugged under his professor's glower. "I'm not the only one, I'm sure."

Ron was relieved the next picture was normal. It was of Harry and Remus. He could only see from the shoulders up but it was obvious Remus was sitting down in an armchair, reading, the glow of a nearby fireplace making his face look warm. Harry's head suddenly appeared over the man's shoulder and he took a bite out of a large Honeyduke's chocolate bar. Remus turned his head sharply, to see who dared interrupt him, and green eyes met gold. Still chewing, Harry held out the candy bar with a look on his face that clearly said, "Want some?" When Remus continued to glare, Harry shrugged and took another bite himself before walking out of the frame.

The real Remus rolled his eyes as he took the photo from Sirius. "That boy was addicted to chocolate. Honeyduke's in particular."

Ron stared at the werewolf with Sirius, but Neville was frowning down at another photo and Seamus had taken back the one of Harry and his summer fling. Neither of them had seemed to notice Remus' use of the past tense.

"Look at this Nev." Ron said, handing his friend another photo.

It was a picture of Neville and Harry. The two of them were in the greenhouse. Neville had his hands submerged deeply in a pot of soil, a fat leafed plant sticking up out of the dirt. Harry stood behind him with an arm around Neville's neck and his chin resting on the other boy's shoulder. Smears of dirt ran down the entire length of Harry's face and Ron could clearly picture his friend passing a hand over his face in frustration, only noticing too late. Picture Harry took one look at Neville's spotless complexion and raised a hand absolutely caked in earth and…

"You don't mind if I keep this, do you?" Neville was looking between Ron and the two professors.

A smile passed over Sirius' face very briefly, but it never reached his eyes.

"How come he gets to keep one?" Seamus looked a little put out.

Sirius instantly turned a cool gaze on him. "Because he's not a perverted, horny boy lusting after my godson!"

Neville choked and color rose in Seamus' cheeks as Sirius snatched the photo of Harry away for the second time.

"Keep your hands off it." Sirius growled, sounding very much like a miffed guard dog.

Remus was giving his friend a mildly reproving look but didn't interfere. Ron was just trying hard not to laugh.

* * *

Sirius closed the door behind him softly, somehow feeling both happier and more depressed than he had in a while.

He had walked Remus to his chambers, after sorting through the rest of what remained in the Sixth Year boys dormitory, then came in at the offer of tea. Harry's photo album was clutched in his hands and he rested it on his lap as he sat on the overstuffed couch in front of the fire place. Ron and Neville had both taken a few more pictures but most of them still remained in the album. He had refused to give the Finnigan boy any.

"Stop frowning, you'll give yourself wrinkles." Remus chuckled as his friend's vanity smoothed his features immediately.

There had been an assortment of other things in the bedside table that had managed to escape the fire with minimal damage. Remus set the small bag of things on the chair across from Sirius.

Among other things, they had found, unsurprisingly, a snitch, a miniature model of the dragon Harry had had to battle in his fourth year, several letters from various people, a few more photos, some quills and an ink well and several other non extraordinary things.

Sirius frowned, except maybe for the small collection of potion vials in the bottom drawer. There had been everything from anti-nausea formulas to muscle relaxants and painkillers, powerful ones, to sleep aids so strong a full dose would nock out a Hippogriff.

The three boys, upon questioning, had gone rather quiet, murmuring things like,

"He has bad dreams…"

"Sometimes he gets really bad headaches…"

"Quidditch practice can be pretty rough, you know…"

Sirius' hands tightened around the album.

'_I miss him so much.'_

"I know, Sirius."

Said man jumped upon hearing his friend's sympathetic voice. Had he said that aloud? He took the cup Remus proffered to him, mumbling, "Sorry." around the rim of the mug.

Remus just smiled, "You've nothing to apologize for." He turned his gaze to the hearth, his features going slack as his mind was drawn in by the hypnotic dance of the flames. "Neville suspects." he said after a moment of silence.

"Course he does." Quipped Sirius, his eyes also glued to the fire. What was it about fire that held people so? Once you looked at it, a calm seemed to spread through you, and you were unable to look away. "He's a Longbottom after all." He sunk lower into the couch, "More than meets the eye with that boy."

"Albus won't be able to keep this up for much longer. How long until someone else starts looking closer? There are loopholes everywhere."

Sirius rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Can we not talk about this now?"

Remus pursed his lips, looking like he might argue, but remained silent after that.

Sirius' thoughts unwillingly drifted back to the album that was now resting beside him on the sofa. He hadn't known Harry was gay, and it made his chest constrict painfully. He should know these things about his godson! And he had hopped that Harry felt he could talk to him about anything. Apparently not, he thought bitterly. He wondered when Harry had realized it himself. Had he known when Seamus had approached him? Sirius scowled fiercely at the fire. _'Always thought Harry would be a bottom…'_ . The thought of anyone thinking of Harry like that was enough to make his jaw clench in anger. Stupid Finnigan boy…

"You're scowling again." Remus said, breaking into his negative train of thought. "What's the matter?"

Sirius's scowl only deepened. "Besides the obvious? Finnigan."

With a wince, Remus said, "Ah. I think I shall be grading the next few assignments." he sighed, "Sirius, you can't possibly be angry with the boy. In Sixth Year you were the exact same way. Oh, wipe that look off your face, you know it's true."

"I was nowhere near that…that…" Sirius' face screwed up with the effort of trying to find a word vulgar enough to describe Finnigan.

"Young? Hormonal? Curious?"

Sirius seemed to deflate with every adjective. After a moment, he grumbled something that may have been an assent into his tea.

A comfortable silence fell between them after that, wherein both men continued to stare into the smoldering hearth, their hot tea steaming, and the only sound the comforting crackle and occasional pop from the fire place.

Sirius heaved a sigh. "When are the kids going to the Burrow?"

"Well, Ron and Hermione won't be going home. It's too dangerous for Hermione to travel all the way to her parents' house and she would be unprotected once she got there. So Ron has opted to stay behind with her and Molly and Arthur are going to come for the Christmas dinner to spend some time with them, as they wont be joining the rest of the family." He sunk lower into the chair, "As for the rest of them, I'm not quite sure when they're going. They may have already gone, actually." He contemplated, twisting around to look at the clock that hung on the wall behind his desk. "I'm not sure what Mr. Thomas' parents will be doing…" he voiced his sudden thought.

"Probably come and visit him here. You can't really move someone in that state."

"I can't imagine how they feel. Their son in a coma, spending Christmas day in the hospital…"

Sirius nodded silently, unable to help thinking that the Thomas' were lucky to have that much.

* * *

Ron and Hermione were both lounging in the Gryffindor common room in varying stages of wakefulness around the roaring fireplace. The sun was beginning to sink behind the tree tops of the Forbidden Forest, which they could just make out through the large windows on the west side of the tower. The ancient trees stood as silent and menacing as ever, their silhouetted forms suspended between the day's end and the inception of night. Great, big, fluffy flakes of snow fluttered lazily from the sky, the stillness of the air allowing them to fall at their own, unhurried pace, gathering on the ground in a seasonal blanket.

Ron thought it looked rather perfect. Like the epitome of everything that was Christmas. It was beautiful and magical. And yet, a lingering darkness was forever present in the back of his mind, tainting any real beauty he observed, and it made him angry that Voldemort had the power to touch him even here. The snake was able to make his presence known in his very perception of his surroundings. There was nowhere he could look, nothing he could look _at_, that could distract him from that feeling of standing on the precipice, where he could fall one way into destruction or the other way into victory.

He hated that feeling and he hated himself for succumbing to it. Mentally, he shook away his dark thoughts, scattering them to the edges of his consciousness. He might not be able to rid himself of those morbid feelings, but he could ignore them for a while, at least. He turned to Hermione, who looked to be having a hard time keeping her eyes open. "What time is it?" he asked quietly, reluctant to break the silence but desperate to drown out his musings.

Blinking a few times and rubbing her face a bit to wake her self up, Hermione raised her wrist to her face. "Nearly dinner time."

"I guess we should go down then." he suggested.

"Guess so."

Neither of them moved for several seconds but then Ron forced his legs to cooperate. The atmosphere in the room was heavy and the silence was becoming oppressive. A little holiday cheer, not to mention a little holiday food, would do them both some good. With any luck, Ron thought he might just be able to forget everything for a little while.

Everyone else was already at the table when the two of them entered the Great Hall. It looked even larger than normal, with three of the house tables gone, one being more then enough to seat the staff and two students. The cathedral ceiling towered over their heads, vast and empty, magnifying the smallest of sounds and throwing them back in a harsh echo. A dozen massive, beautifully decorated trees lined either side of the hall and many festive decorations hung around, an attempt to conceal the stark barrenness of the empty Hall.

"Took you long enough!" Sirius teased, snapping Ron out of his scrutiny of their dinning place, "We were going to start without you."

Ron said nothing as he and Hermione sat down beside each other and across the table from Sirius and Remus. He decided the girl's polite smile could speak for them both. He took a look around the table and realized most of the people present were Order members, though he shouldn't have been surprised. Dumbledore was there, of course, at the very head of the table. Snape, of all people, had decided to attend, though personally Ron really could have done without the potions master being so close to his food. Mad Eye was there, already glaring suspiciously at all the victuals in his vicinity. Tonks, Remus, Sirius and -

"Mum? Dad? What are you doing here?" He asked, a little embarrassed he hadn't noticed them until then but secretly delighted they were there. He had not hesitated when deciding to stay behind with Hermione for the holidays, nor had he regretted it, but it was the first Christmas he wouldn't be spending with his family and he had found himself wishing there was a way to see them.

Molly and Arthur Weasley smiled down the table at their son while they piled food onto their plates.

"Well," Said Molly, "Since you lot couldn't come to us, we figured we'd come to you!"

"Bill and Charlie couldn't make it, I'm afraid," Said Arthur, looking a bit sad, "And Fred and George couldn't get away from the shop."

Ron grinned. No, he doubted they could. Christmas must be a huge profit for them. They were probably making loads at this very moment.

"Never mind, Arthur." Said Remus with one of his gentle smiles, "I'm sure the boys will eat well."

Ron was genuinely amused and snorted, "Yeah, a big load of Honeyduke's."

Hermione giggled at Molly's shocked expression. "Lucky. What every kid wants to do but what no good parent would allow."

Albus piped up at the head of the table, "It is my belief that everyone should eat candy until they are ill at least once in their lifetime."

Conversation picked up around the table slowly, the deafening silence of the naked hall now covered with light chatter and warm laughter as the meal progressed. Ron was defending the Chudley Cannons, as he was rather accustom to doing, against Sirius when a rather large, black, wicked looking owl swooped down the length of the dinner table, dropping it's letter right into Dumbledore's mashed potatoes.

Everyone stopped talking to stare as Dumbledore picked up the letter carefully, his expression curious but wary.

"Who the bloody hell is that from?"

The headmaster shook his head and no one commented on Sirius' poor use of language.

"One of those family members that forgets everything, eh Albus?" Arthur grinned, shoving some corn into his mouth.

"Perhaps…" Dumbledore turned the envelope over to open the seal and blanched.

The table froze collectively, and Ron felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "What's wrong?" he asked, ignoring the dark thoughts that were once again crowding his mind, pressing in on him as if to say _'You can run but you can't hide.'_

"What is it, Albus?" Moody had stood from his seat and was clunking around the table to stand behind Dumbledore, who's wrinkled hands shook as he unfolded the letter in his hands.

Ron felt his stomach drop several inches as Dumbledore's expression went from white and shaken to grey and positively sick looking.

"Merry Christmas…" Moody quoted, frowning down at the letter. He regarded the rest of the table, "That's all it says. But who the hell is it from?"

Everyone looked around at one another, then to Albus again, who was trying, but failing, to pull himself together.

"It's from Voldemort."


	18. Visiva Mostra

**Chapter 18: Visiva Mostra **

Dead silence rung for several seconds after the pronouncement and Ron heard Hermione sniff beside him. Without much thought, he reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and wasn't surprised when she leaned into him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father providing the same comfort to his mother.

"Hasn't he done enough already?" Ron couldn't help but snarl.

"That's all it said?" Remus asked, his voice small. Sirius was still and silent beside him. "What would be the point of…"

"Shh!" Snape hissed, raising his hand in much the same way Dumbledore did when he wanted silence. Remus looked a little put out but said nothing further. "Does anyone else hear that?" the dark haired man asked the room in general.

Ron, who had been about to tell Snape off for speaking to Remus so rudely, snapped his jaw shut in favor of listening. It was then that he heard what Snape had. It was like the sound of a frothing river, churning against stones. Faint, at first, but gaining volume as the tense seconds ticked by. He tried to pinpoint it's source, but it didn't seem to be coming from any one place, but was all around at the same time.

"What is it?" Tonks asked. She and the others looked as alarmed as Ron felt. Most of them were out of their seats, wands drawn and pointing without direction. It was disconcerting when you could not physically see your enemy, and even more disconcerting when it sounded like your invisible assailant was attacking from all sides.

"Look!" said a male voice.

Ron turned to where Remus was pointing .

At the front of the hall, above the platform on which the head table usually sat, a cloud of…something was beginning to gather in the air. It looked like a haze of mist, a slight shimmer of dull colors swirling about within. Ron watched as the cloud grew bigger, gathering mass, and the swirling colors became brighter and more diverse. As he stood there, he tried to ignore the roaring in his ears, even though it's increasing volume demanded his attention.

Just when he was contemplating covering his ears, the noise cut off, the following silence so abrupt it left his ears ringing. He looked closer at the mass over the platform. The colors were swirling madly, separating into clumps of the same shade, rearranging themselves to the point where Ron thought he could see an image; figures. But they were blurred horribly. He thought he might be looking at the form of a man, but he couldn't be sure.

"What the heck is that?"

Nobody answered at first but then Moody growled from the end of the table. "Looks like the Visiva Mostra spell. But I've never seen so much power packed into one."

"It's taking a while to clear as well." Arthur said, gripping his wife's hand.

Suddenly, Ron noticed Dumbledore's face slacken, as if he had just remembered something rather important, and the old man's voice rang clearly and firmly as he stood from his chair. "If anyone does not wish to see whatever Lord Voldemort considers a Christmas gift, I advise you to leave immediately."

Ron stared. Dumbledore was giving him and Hermione the option to stay and be a part of what had just become official Order business. It also meant that whatever they were about to witness was not something for the weak of heart…or stomach. He gave the old man an almost imperceptible nod and received one in return. Though he couldn't help but think the headmaster's eyes held a note of sadness, as if to say, 'So be it'.

His mother gasped at once, "But Albus, the children -"

"We have kept enough from them, have we not?" It took a brave man to cut Molly Weasley off in the middle of a rant, but Ron supposed Dumbledore knew what he was doing and turned his attention back to the steadily clearing image.

The haze of mist, which now stretched from one side of the hall to the other over the platform, reminded him of a muggle thing Hermione had once explained to him. A cimina. Cimima? No, _cinema _screen, that's what she had called it.

The figure was becoming sharper and more opaque. Ron could make out a slender male body, seemingly bare from the waste up, but his arms seemed impossibly long as they spun wildly, striking out at a newly distinguished, hulking opponent.

"What the hell is it?"

All of a sudden, the image burst into clarity and those in the room found themselves witness to a vicious mêlée. A young man and a very large, very muscular man locked in a battle to the death. Ron realized it wasn't abnormally long arms but wicked and lethal looking swords that were swirling and striking in a blur of motion. The smallest one was only partially facing them and Ron felt like tossing what little food he had eaten so far at the very sight of him. There was not an inch of the man not blackened by blood or streaked with soot and sweat. An agonizing gash could be seen through a network of leather belts and straps wrapped around his torso, several inches wide and deep, running from his left shoulder blade down to the middle of his back, dirt and grime mixed into the wound. Ron felt the muscles along his back twitch in sympathy and he imagined if the man wasn't killed by his enemy then the infection of that wound would most likely kill him.

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth when the young man ducked, the razor edge of a great axe missing the top of his shaggy black head by a hair. Then the boy spun, like lightning, and blood sprayed out of a new gash in his opponents arm like a fountain. The large man howled in rage and pain, his axe falling from his hand, the arm it belonged to now useless. He swung with mighty fists the size of small boulders, muscles straining and jumping under his flesh with the effort.

As the smaller twisted to avoid a flailing limb, the other arm moved quicker than Ron would have thought possible, catching the younger square in the face. He heard someone groan from down the table as he watched the man stagger, though surprisingly he did not drop his weapons. He dug the point of one of his swords deeply into the earth and leant on it heavily. His muscles visibly trembled with exhaustion and he was breathing so hard his whole torso was heaving up and down.

"Giving up little one?" The big man purred, the effect dampened somewhat by his labored breathing. He took a menacing stride towards his tiring opponent. "I will take what Konin has denied me…"

Ron didn't know exactly what those words meant but he turned his head anyway as the man advanced on his beaten foe. He did not wish to see what he was sure was about to be the young man's demise. At the last second though, the boy dodged, tapping some source of energy that left Ron baffled, and darted behind the giant. By the time the larger of the two realized what had happened and turned around, the boy had thrown down his swords.

What happened next was so immediate Ron couldn't even process it properly. The boy moved hands and booted feet so swiftly they became a blur. The giant doubled over at the assault and the boy aimed a kick to the side of his attacker's knee. There was a loud crack, which made Hermione cringe, and he crumpled, groaning and holding his broken leg.

A deadly looking dagger appeared in the boy's hand as he glared down at his beaten foe. The boy's face was covered in grime, blood, bruises and cuts, and the only thing Ron could really distinguish at this distance was his teeth, red with blood where they were bared in a silent snarl.

He stepped over the fallen man so that his feet were planted either side the man's shoulders and grabbed a fistful of dirty, matted hair, hauling his enemy's face out of the blood-soaked dirt..

Before Ron even had time to shut his eyes the dagger swept swiftly and neatly from ear to ear, opening his throat so wide you could see the white of his spine. Even now though, Ron's eyes seemed stuck open. He wanted to close them. Wanted to turn away. He wanted to vomit. He had never seen so much blood, it flowed like a river from the gaping wound, pooling on the ground and around the young man's boots.

He held the head aloft until the flow had stopped and then let it drop face down into several inches of it's own blood.

A cruel, satisfied smirk twisted the boy's lips as he slipped the dagger, still dripping, into a holster on his back. He picked up his discarded swords that lay several feet away, so caked in gore the steel could not been seen, and slid them into place on his back as well.

With one last look at his victory, the young man began to walk down the street.

Ron watched in rapt attention as he trudged through complete and utter ruin. By the looks of things, he was in what used to be a city. Buildings had been reduced to rubble. Smoke billowed above and made the air thick with suffocating black smoke. Bodies, young, old and some not even human littered the streets of dirt

"Jesus…"

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin at Moody's voice. He had been so wrapped up in the moment that he had forgotten where he was. A quick glance at Dumbledore told him the man had managed to regain some of his composure. His face was still ashen but set in stone as he watched the young man move through the wreckage and the bodies.

He had stopped walking now, his stance rigid and one of his swords held loosely in his right hand. He was staring intently down the street at a shuddering form sitting against a dilapidated building. Slowly, cautiously, the dark haired man moved towards it.

Ron wasn't all that sure how the boy was still moving, by all accounts he looked like he should be dead, or at the very least unconscious.

When he had reached the form, Ron cursed, along with several others. It was a young girl, no older than seven or eight. She was as dirty as the man who stood before her, sword hanging by his side, temporarily forgotten. This time Ron did turn away, covering his mouth. The girl was missing an arm. It had been severed at the shoulder, veins and muscle hanging limply from the socket. Blood had soaked her tattered, dirty clothes completely and tear tracks ran down her face. She gazed up at the man with pleading eyes and he stared back, his face a cold, pitiless mask.

Ron closed his eyes not half a second before the man struck like a viper, the unmistakable sound of flesh splitting and blood spilling assaulting his ears. He gasped in shock, knowing by the reactions around him what had happened. Hermione and Molly were crying and, cracking his eyes open, he saw Sirius staring at the table top, his eyes wide and unblinking, looking very ill. Dumbledore, Snape and Mad Eye never took their eyes from the front of the hall.

"_There _you are."

A new voice, deeper and older and sounding slightly annoyed, made Ron's eye return to watching.

A tall man had fallen into stride beside the younger, who, if he felt any remorse over what he had just done, hid it spectacularly. The newcomer was just as dirty, just as bloody, but several inches taller. He too had many weapons strapped to him, with the same network of leather straps and belts as the smaller man.

"Tell me where you have been, Ecero." demanded the older man.

'Ecero' answered at once, his voice flat. "Ruik and I fought."

The other man bestowed a long gaze upon the victorious man, a brief flash of what Ron read to be uncertainty passing over his stony face. "He is dead then." It wasn't a question. "I am not sure how Lord Meande will take this." he glanced down at Ecero again "What is the matter, boy? Speak."

Ron nearly choked. What was the matter? The man was speaking as if over a cup of tea in front of the fire, instead of in the middle of a ruined city, with dead bodies littering the streets!

"Someone is watching me. Us." the younger replied, his voice no longer flat but laced with agitation. "I can feel eyes on me." he cast a suspicious eye around, as if he would suddenly be able to spot the watcher.

The sound of a chair scrapping across stone startled everyone, drawing all eyes to Dumbledore, who had stood once more, his wand drawn. "We need to break the connection. Severus, stand over there." he pointed to the other side of the room and the potions master moved to obey. "Alastor, come with me, Sirius, Remus in the middle and Arthur, you -"

"Albus…"

Molly was pointing a trembling finger at the two men magically projected at the front of the hall. They were looking directly at them.

"Where?" the older man asked, his eyes sweeping the direction in which his young companion was pointing. Ron was sure they locked with his. After several long seconds, the man looked away, muttering frustratedly, "I see nothing."

The younger pointed angrily but still the other shook his head. "Well you can feel it, yes? You feel where it is but cannot see it?" when he received a nod for the affirmative, the older man said, "Well then reach out to it with your magic. Can you touch it or see it that way?"

The younger nodded and his eyes fluttered shut in concentration.

Faintly, in the back of his mind, Ron could hear the sound of rushing water.

"Move!" Dumbledore commanded. The selected people moved into their appointed positions and raised their wands at the ready, waiting for Dumbledore's command.

Suddenly white noise roared with deafening intensity in Ron's ears and he grimaced, covering them. The young man's bloody face suddenly filled the entire front of the hall, eyes open and wide with alarm. Ron vaguely heard wands clattering to the floor and one of the women screamed, but none of it registered because he was staring into the brilliant green eyes of Harry Potter.

* * *

The second Ecero's magic connected with it, he wished he had never tried to reach it. It had pulled him in like a magnet and, though he struggled to pull free, he was unable to break the connection once it had been established. He felt Konin grip his arm from behind and then his world exploded in colorful starbursts.

When he came around next, he was lying face down on a hard surface, feeling as if he had just jumped off the highest point of Ver'tora Keep…after a session with Ukimu Noul.

He groaned, trying to force his arms to move.

He couldn't ever remember feeling like this. Drained completely, every inch of his body throbbing. He couldn't even find the strength to open his eyes. Instead, he focused on breathing. Expanding his lungs, staying conscious…

His back hurt a lot. He couldn't remember what had happen to cause it. And his head. His head throbbed and ached.

He attempted moving again and managed to twitch his fingers a bit.

It was then that he realized he was cold. He couldn't recall ever feeling such a sensation. And he wasn't just cold, he was _freezing_, though his skin felt as if it were burning, and his limbs and fingers seemed to have little feeling in them.

He struggled to draw strength from somewhere, attempted to find a hidden reservoir of energy somewhere inside him that he hadn't already sucked dry.

Again, he tried to move and got his arms to slide closer to his torso, feeling something move against his skin. Slowly, he was able to open his eyes…and immediately slammed them shut again. The brightest light he had ever seen made his eyes burn and his head pulse.

He groaned again.

"…Ecero…?"

It sounded as if Konin were nearby. There was a shuffling sound and then icy hands were pulling him to his feet. That seemed to be the jumpstart his body had needed. Steadying his legs and using Konin's shoulder as a crutch, Ecero prepared to open his eyes once more.

"Keep them open," Said Konin, his voice sounding pained, "It gets better."

Pure white light assaulted his vision and it felt like someone was trying to rip his eyes from their sockets. Grinding his teeth and growling in frustration, Ecero pressed the palm of his hand into the bridge of his nose, trying to push away the blinding pain. Konin had wrapped Ecero's other arm around his shoulders and was urging him to put one foot in front of the other.

"You push yourself too far, child." Konin was struggling with his weight and his voice was gruff, but a tinge of pride could be heard in the words.

Ecero was having an easier time focusing now and chanced opening his eyes again. It was still far brighter than he was used to, but his eyes now longer burned and he was able to discern other colors and vague objects through the onslaught of light.

The first thing his eye was drawn to was the large castle looming up before them. It was a stark contrast to his own home. Instead of stabbing at the sky and clinging to the rock like a cancer, it's spires and columns seemed to reach up proudly into the solid grey canopy overhead. It wasn't black and cruel looking like Ver'tora keep, nor ugly and sick looking like Skelgarth's spires. It was dusted in white and he could see light flickering in some windows. The stones were pale and the sprinkling of glittering powder highlighted them further. The walls stood powerful but welcoming and Ecero suddenly realized that the whole scene looked…beautiful?

Looking down, he kicked at the whiteness covering his boots. It coated the ground and everything else he could see evenly, as if it had fallen like a blanket from the sky.

"I don't think I have ever been so bleeding cold!" Konin hissed, his teeth clattering together. He slipped, losing his footing momentarily and cursed at the vile white powder for making the ground so slippery.

They kept on towards the castle, puffs of air visible as each man breathed heavy lungfuls of air that dried their throats. About every three seconds, Ecero found himself wishing he had a tunic, or blanket, anything really…his very muscles felt frozen and stiff and the skin on his unprotected torso burned like it was on fire. He felt drowsy too, sluggish…

If he could only lie down for a moment…

"We are both filthy," Konin said suddenly, sounding much clearer of mind than he. "A good wash in same hot water will be nice, yes?"

Ecero knew the man was only speaking to keep him grounded. It wasn't the first time he had been on the brink of consciousness while Konin tried to keep him alive. He tried to focus on the man's voice but the ground had suddenly rushed up to meet him. He flung out an arm to try and catch himself but the limb did not receive the signal in time. He felt Konin slip his other arm under his knees and lifted him from the ground with surprising ease.

"You must remain awake boy. I didn't spend all that time training you so you could die in your sleep. Speak to me, Ecero. Talk."

"S'easy for you to say." Ecero grumbled into the man's shoulder, "You didn't just take on someone three times your size."

"I see your tongue is still as sharp as ever." the man deadpanned. "We are nearly there, then I am afraid you will have to walk. Some bastard stuck my leg with a dagger…"

All too soon Konin was easing Ecero onto his feet. He was relieved to feel stone under his boots. The cold was not so bad here, inside stone walls, it's bite was not as sharp. He looked behind him, out into the expanse of white earth, and shook his head.

They stood in an entrance hall. Two massive doors stood open either side of him, their intricate wood work and carvings catching his eye momentarily. The inside of the castle was much darker, dim with torchlight flickering across the stones of the walls and floor. To his right, a stairwell rose and to his left, one went down.

"We need to find whoever, or whatever, owns this place. But we must be cautious. Barging in with your swords already flailing will not do."

Ecero turned, a scowl on his face, outraged that Konin would even think he would do something so foolish, but it fell upon seeing the man slumped against the wall.

"I am alright." The man said, holding his hand up before Ecero had taken a step. "Unlike you, who seems to have endless reserves of energy, some of us are not quite so lucky." he slid down the wall and sat, "I need to rest a moment, before we…continue…"

Ecero went to his side. The man didn't look well and Ecero was unsure how the man had managed to make it to the castle himself, much less carrying him as well. Under the layers of dried blood, soot and sweat, his face was pale from the cold, his lips blue as if he couldn't breathe, even though Ecero could clearly see that he was.

His own skin burned, more so now in what little heat the walls brought, which didn't make much sense to him. But Konin's eyes had closed and Ecero reached out a hand to shake him. The man's eyes didn't so much as flutter.

Ecero was on his feet instantly. He chose the stairs to his right and climbed them as quickly as his ravaged body would allow. He could heal wounds. Knew what to do if someone got overheated, knew how to keep hunger at bay and many other things…but he had no idea what to do for someone who was freezing to death. He needed to find whoever was used to this strange climate. With any luck, they would be merciful.

He wondered for the first time just where in the _Hell _they were.

He hadn't gone all that far before he was forced to slow his already sluggish place. His lungs were burning already, his chest heaving rattling breaths, as if he had run instead of stumbled through the meager distance he had covered. So far he had seen nothing nor heard anything but the flicker of flames when he passed a torch resting in it's bracket. His footfalls fell silently with practiced ease as he moved through the halls, his eyes roaming, taking in everything he passed. Paintings of people hung in some places, making him feel a bit more confident. He had no wish to turn a corner and find himself face to face with a demon like Ver'tora…or something worse, and he was more likely to find acceptance and aid within his own species.

He was coming up on an opening in the wall, huge, towering oak doors that put the ones in the entrance hall to shame stood open into the hallway. He slowed upon nearing them, the sound of voices reaching him muffled by the walls and distance. Their tones were low but excited. Afraid perhaps? His heart skipped a beat. Did they know he was in their castle already? Had he and Konin set off some kind of alarm?

Swallowing his trepidation, he forced his aching muscles to hold him upright and he walked purposefully towards the open doors. If they didn't want people walking into their castle uninvited, then perhaps they should not leave the doors wide open! Besides, he _needed _them to know he was there. Hiding was no good, they would become aware of his and Konin's presence sooner or later, and he did not wish to try and talk himself out of a very painful death. Better to let them know he was here now, give himself over before they decided to capture, torture and kill him. With a little luck, they would kill him swiftly on the spot. With a lot of luck, they would listen to what he had to say before killing him. With a miracle, they would give him and Konin a chance to rest and heal before throwing them out on their tails. Whatever happened, he needed to convince them he was not a threat. He needed to keep Konin alive because he was the only one who could get this damn collar off his neck!


	19. A Time To Rest

**Chapter 19: A Time To Rest**

He didn't give himself time to hesitate, or think about the odds of him walking back out of the room alive. He strode to the doors and through the opening.

The hall was massive. Large enough for four or five of the one long table that was situated in the center of the room. More food than he had ever seen was spread across the wooden surface and the smells that were circling in the air made his mouth water almost painfully. Nothing had ever smelt so wonderfully sweet, tangy, spicy…it was overwhelming. The last twenty hours had been filled with nothing but blood and gore and fighting. He had breathed only black smoke and smelt only death and waste. The smell of food now, strong as it was, made his stomach churn. Vaguely, he remembered the last time he had eaten, it hadn't been much and seemed like days ago now.

He closed his eyes against the wafting smells, against his pain, his exhaustion, and faltered momentarily, only for half a second, then opened his eyes again to face the task at hand.

He registered the expressions and stances of all in the room, eight of them all together. All human. The second he had walked through the door, only two had moved; One, a very damaged man, and the other, the most ancient man he had ever seen.

Despite himself, Ecero felt his jaw drop when he met the old man's blue eyed gaze. Lines covered his wizened face and white hair flowed from his head and chin like a mane, a proud display of power and proof of the passage of time. He realized the man must wield a remarkable power to have survived for so long in a world where simply existing was sometimes torture.

He forced his mind to stay focused.

He needed to rest and soon.

Slowly, he raised his hands in a sign of surrender and the scarred man jabbed what must be some kind of weapon in his direction. The old man just stared beside him, silent, stunned. He dismissed the others. None of them had made a move to stop him and so they wouldn't anytime soon. He kept raising his hands until he could grasp the pommels of the two swords poking over each shoulder.

"Don't you even -"

"Alastor."

Ecero had frozen initially, ready to obey the command to freeze from the gnarled man, but was surprised when the old wizard interrupted.

Still moving slowly, submissively, he unsheathe his long swords and set them on the floor either side of him. Next he removed the long blades. Then his throwing knives. The blades up each sleeve, the ones in his boots…until he had a pile of steel on either side of him and he felt exceptionally light. He then spread his arms wide and moved in a circle to let them know he was now unarmed.

"Harry?"

Shifting his gaze towards the voice, Ecero took note of the man who had spoken. He was tall, good looking and clean shaven. Though his would-be handsome face was striken, his eyes wide and gleaming in a shocking display of unidentifiable emotions. The man took a step forward, obviously intent on moving towards him, but, thankfully, the old man intervened once more and told him to stay put.

Returning his attention to the old man, who's blue eyes shinned with something comforting - kindness?- Ecero extended both his hands before him, as if begging, and watched as the wrinkled brow crumpled in confusion.

"What is it, my boy?" he asked, nearly whispered.

He forced his frustration away - if only they would give him permission to speak! - and arranged his face to look as if he were pleading. Widening his eyes, parting his lips, he stepped towards the ancient man.

"Watch it boy…" the gnarled one warned a second time, the harmless looking twig in his hand held threateningly.

Ecero paid him no heed, it was an indirect order.

He was a mere three paces from the man when he seemed to take the hint and extended one wizened hand with a questioning gaze.

Genuine relief flooded into Ecero's chest and he gripped the old man's hand tightly in his and turned at once, pulling him along and back to where Konin was.

He swore it! If Konin was dead when he got back he was going to kill him!

* * *

Ecero was unaware of the group of people following them. It took all the energy and concentration he had left to put one foot in front of the other. He followed the exact path he had taken from where Konin had fallen. When he rounded the last corner he let go of the hand in his and trotted over to kneel by his old teacher. The man was conscious, but barely.

"Ecero…?"

Konin peered blearily up at him and Ecero stared right back, willing the man to remain awake.

He felt the presence of the old man behind him. "Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, go and fix a bed in the hospital wing at once."

He looked over his shoulder in time to see two pale faced youths run off down the hallway.

"Molly, Arthur, I need you to contact Poppy. The address of where she is staying should be in the top right drawer of my desk."

Konin seemed to be a little more coherent now and Ecero used the opportunity wisely. Planting his feet either side of the man's hips he grabbed each of his hands. Throwing his whole weight, which wasn't much, backwards, got Konin into a sitting position and he squatted down, looping one of Konin's muscular arms around his shoulders.

Just as he was readying his exhausted body for one more heave, Konin was lifted to his feet with ease from the other side.

Raising his eyes, Ecero gazed blankly into the face of a sandy haired man no older than the man he was supporting. He had kind eyes and a soft face, but worry lines could be seen around his eyes and, beneath his calm exterior, a torrent of emotions battled viciously.

"It isn't far to the hospital wing." The man explained, his voice quiet. It was the most any of them had said to him and Ecero picked up a strange lilt to the man's words. He nodded in the direction the two younger people had gone in and Ecero helped maneuver Konin to follow, all the while wondering what in the hell a hospital wing was.

* * *

A hospital wing, he discovered, staring at the rows of beds covered in crisp white linens, was a place made especially for healing wounds and ailments. He rather thought it was an ingenious idea, Konin seemed to be breathing easier now, and his lips were no longer blue. Though his bloody face and dark matted hair stood out in stark contrast against the whiteness of the bed coverings, making his skin look darker than it was.

He had not seen the red head nor the young woman since they had left and the other two had not yet returned from wherever they had gone. Though attempting to keep track of everyone he had seen was proving to be more than his brain could process at the moment, and so he let the matter drop. He was at the mercy of these people now and knowing their whereabouts would do nothing short of give him a headache.

His thoughts were becoming increasingly sluggish and his head felt like it was stuffed with wool. His muscles jumped and twitched at random times, even when he was standing stock still, though he attributed that to his exhaustion and the cold. The adrenaline had left him and he felt drained beyond a tolerable level. He ached all over and knew he had injuries, bad ones, but didn't think he could pinpoint their location and, quite honestly, couldn't be bothered to try.

He became aware of two men standing beside him. He thought they might be arguing, due to the volume of their voices, but did not have the energy to listen to their words.

Spotting a bed very near to him, he envisioned himself lying down on it's soft sheets. Just for a moment.

He was so very tired.

He made to take a step forward and collapsed like a rag doll. He hadn't been on the floor a second before strong hands lifted him into the air. The softest thing he had even know cushioned his body as he was put down and he struggled to keep his eyes open. The last thing he wanted to do was pass out in a room full on strangers. But then someone began running deft fingers through his hair and he knew he was done for.

"Sleep, Harry."

He frowned, trying to figure out if it was he the man was speaking to. Perhaps there was someone else in the room with that name? A strange name though. He certainly had never met anyone named Harry. He knew one of Ruik's men was named Herenn, after his father, who…

Ecero's train of broken thought ended abruptly, his muscles locking and his chest constricting with the sudden memory.

Ruik.

He remembered them fighting. Metal clashing, flesh splitting, blood spilling. A surge of terror ripped through his damaged body, his eyes flying open as he launched himself off the bed, startling the man who had been sitting beside him.

"Ecero, you need sleep!" Konin hissed, sitting up himself. He looked highly annoyed, "It's been days since…" he trailed off, catching a not often seen look of fear on Ecero's face. "What is it, boy? Speak!"

"I have killed Ruik." he ground out, as if it explained all.

"Yes?" prompted the older man, unsure of why Ecero was reacting this way so long after the fact.

"The Shadow take me, you must have lost too much blood. We are dead. Both of us. Dead! Are you too blind with pride to see it?" Why didn't his old teacher understand? Meande would no longer fight for them after this betrayal. Ver'tora would lose a powerful, deadly ally. Because of _him_. There was no way he was escaping with his life.

Konin had flung the sheets off his legs and stalked to where Ecero stood, now heavily aware of several sets of eyes resting on him.

"And what do you propose we do about it from our current position? Hm? The way I see it you have two choices." Konin snapped sarcastically. "One, you run graveling to Meande's feet, something I truly _cannot _see you doing. Or two, you stay away from Ver'tora Keep and hope you are skilled enough to evade whatever assassin he has replaced you with."

Ecero's barked laugh was utterly acid. "then the Dark One can have you. As for me, I intend to open my veins the hour he discovers the truth. If I get the chance. A quick death is better than what I will find elsewhere."

The adrenaline was leaving him again and he felt his eyelids droop heavily. As much as he hated to admit it, Konin was right. At the moment, there was nothing they could do about the problem that may arise due to Ruik's murder. Besides, as far as he knew, he and Konin were the only two who knew how Ruik had died. He suddenly felt foolish for letting his fear overcome him so completely and felt heat rise in his cheeks. Had he given it a moment's thought, he would have realized the absurdity of his terror.

"Then why not go ahead and end it?" Konin said, his voice suddenly gentle. He grasped one of Ecero's smaller hands in his and pulled him to the bed. "If there is no hope, no chance…then why are you still alive?"

As Konin sat Ecero down, the boy avoided his gaze.

"I once saw a man hanging from a cliff." He didn't bother divulging that he had thrown the man off it in the first place. "The brink was crumbling under his fingers and the only thing near enough to grasp was a bit of grass, a few long blades with the roots barely clinging to the rock, The only chance he had of climbing back up the cliff. So he grabbed it." his abrupt chuckled held no mirth, "He had to know it would pull free."

When had Konin moved behind him? He could feel rough hands massaging his shoulders and suddenly Konin's voice was in his ear, hot breath ghosting over his skin.

"We will worry about it when we wake, yes?" Those hands moved to the back of his neck, the pads of his thumbs pressed firmly to his flesh. As Konin moved his hands down, leaving a heated trail down his back, Ecero felt his muscles turn to mush and his bones melt. His head fell forward and his eyes closed, when the call of sleep came, this time, he let it take him.

* * *

Konin lowered the boy onto the bed, ignoring the glares and stares boring into the back of his head.

The only thought going through his mind was, '_Finally_!' He had been trying to get Ecero to sleep for days. He wasn't sure how the boy had gone this long, really, his body should have shut down a long time ago. He had so many injuries, had lost so much blood... The raid on Skelgarth had lasted more than twenty eight hours. The boy had dirty bandages on his right arm from wrist to shoulder, one of his pant legs had been torn around his upper thigh and was now bunched up above the top of his boot. A large gash had cut deep into the flesh of his leg where the fabric ended and dried blood, soot, dirt, sweat…you name it, was caked to the boy like a second skin. Fresh blood still trickled sluggishly from some wounds, though it was difficult to see.

He sighed and made to remove the leather holster that wrapped around much of the boy's torso.

They were both in need of a washing.

"What is your name, my boy?"

Konin started and turned to face the old man. His eyes narrowed of their own accord, his sudden anger making the kindness in the old man's voice sound patronizing. "It has been quite some time since I was a boy."

The old man smiled benignly. "Of course. I apologize."

"My name is Konin D'Kal."

After a moments pause, in which the white bearded man nodded solemnly, he said, gesturing to Ecero's slumbering form, "And him?"

Before he could answer, a man with shoulder length black hair and sharp black eyes scoffed. He focused on the man for a moment. He was handsome, with a face made all of planes and angles. Piercing chips of onyx glittered within the pale face, drilling holes into anything that moved. A small sneer presently tugged at the man's mouth and, without taking his eyes from the man, Konin answered. "His name is Ecero. Ecero Khol." He felt strangely satisfied when that smirk disappeared abruptly.

Almost at once, the man who had been sitting by Ecero's beside rose, a startling angry expression pinching his face.

"What the hell are you -"

"Sirius."

The old man was the one in charge around here. Whatever he said, people seemed to obey without question. Starting slighting at the belated realization that this man was more than likely a Lord, Konin felt foolish, something he did not enjoy feeling, and uncomfortable tendrils of fear were creeping up his spine, making the little hairs on his neck and arms stand on end. He chided himself for not grasping this before, and chalked it up to being in desperate need of sleep.

Deciding the submissive approach was best, it always seemed to work with Lord Ver'tora, he cast his gaze downward.

"His name is…?"

The Lord was prompting him and he began to wonder if he had spoken properly before. "Ecero, my Lord, Ecero Khol." he said at once, hoping the old man didn't decide he needed a trip to the dungeons for his impertinence.

He became aware of a tense silence and, taking care to seem hesitant, Konin raised his eyes from the floor and found all eyes on him. He frowned. What had he done wrong? He hadn't said the Lord's name perhaps? Some of them seemed touchy about that. He forced himself to gravel at once.

"Forgiveness and mercy, my Lord, but I know not your name."

The old man blinked several times, looking rather lost. "My Lord?" he repeated, sounding incredulous.

Konin was feeling increasingly self conscious and was angry with himself for falling into this much trouble, for not reading the signs. He hated not having control of a situation and he scrambled to think of a title more prestigious than 'Lord' but came up with nothing.

Seeing no other option, he dropped to his knees and all but begged, his gut twisting at the loss of dignity. "Forgiveness and mercy, if you will only tell me how I am to address you!" He let a hint of the desperation he felt leak into his voice, knowing it really couldn't hurt his chances, even if it did hurt his pride. The last thing he needed this long after the attack on Skelgarth was to be strung up in chains in a dungeon.

The old man took a step towards him and he flinched in spite of himself. But instead of magical pain ripping at his nervous system, there was nothing, and the other man stopped in his tracks. The others were gawking, open-mouthed, obviously astounded by his blatant stupidity.

Konin couldn't help but agree with them and perhaps they were wondering the same thing as he; Why was he not in chains by now?

"My name," the man said at last, licking dry lips. "Is Albus Dumbledore. And you will address me as such."

'_Finally_.' "Yes." the word came out as a sigh. "Thank you, my Lord Dumbledore."

It was a strange name, but he didn't care. He lowered his gaze once more.

"Stand, Mr. D'Kal."

Konin rose faster than he thought he was able to, too relieved to wonder about the abrupt change in attitude from the old man. It seemed he was safe from torture, for now at least, and he allowed himself a moment to breath.

"I want you to listen very carefully to the questions I am going to ask and I want you to answer them truthfully."

"Of course, my Lord Dumbledore."

"When did you meet Ecero?"

He pondered the question carefully and decided it would do no harm to give an accurate account of the time line. "Nearly two years ago."

The old man nodded stiffly, but the others in the room did not seem to accept the news so easily. There were a few gasps of shock and one man, the one who had been by Ecero's bed, actually stumbled back into his chair.

"How did you meet him?"

"Our Lord assigned me the task of training him."

"Training…" the man in the chair said, speaking as if someone had a hand around his throat.

Konin searched Dumbledore's face for a similar reaction, but the man just frowned and nodded with a solemn sort of acceptance.

"You need to rest, Konin D'Kal. We will continue this conversation at a later time." His blue eyed gaze found the boy in the bed behind him. "For now, I want you to sleep."


	20. Home At Last

**Chapter 20: Home at Last**

Ecero was…happy. He was comfortable. He felt safe, protected and blissfully alone. It had been a long, long time since he had felt this way. Actually, he could only remember the feeling once, his first memory in fact. The moment of his birth.

Unfortunately it had been short lived. The Darkness had been stolen from him, ripped from his very soul without mercy. His only protection from the world outside. Without it, he had been forced to face his demons head on. Slay them one by one so that he might reclaim that protection. But even with a pile of a hundred corpses at his side, he had felt no closer to the safety of the Dark.

Now here he was, enveloped in it's hold once more. Unable to see or feel anything, pitch blackness surrounded him, clouding his own thoughts so completely he was unsure of his consciousness. He knew this should bother him, but caring took great thought, and a thought itself was hard to catch here.

Home at last, he let himself drift in oblivion.

* * *

Something soft was moving delicately across his skin. He shifted to avoid it, unwilling to feel again. If he did, that meant he had lost his protection once more. But it was persistent and everywhere, no matter how he moved.

He sighed, feeling the air enter his lungs, conscious of his awareness and hating every moment of it. Aches and pains made themselves known again, creeping up from within his very bones, his muscles screaming in protest with every twitch. His head was already voicing its disapproval of his current state of wakefulness and he tried to ignore the dim light shinning through his eyelids.

Completely awake now and thoroughly miffed, Ecero stilled his breathing, his muscles tense. Straining his ears, he listened.

Nothing. No voices, no rustle of fabric or shifting of feet. The only thing he could hear was Konin's steady breathing a few feet away.

'_Well_' he thought '_at least it is quiet here._'

He opened his eyes slowly, cautiously and managed to sit himself upright without too much trouble. He noted at once that the Hospital Wing was deserted save for himself and Konin. He found this rather strange. He had been sure he would find at least two guards by his bed, glaring down at him. But there was nothing to stop him from getting up, leaving…destroying the whole place perhaps…?

He felt every second as it ticked by, the silence of the room ringing in his head, waiting for something to happen.

Perhaps they had a different sort of guard here. Magic? Was it possible they were watching him at this very moment? A sudden feeling of unease settled over him and he shot to his feet, the cool stones of the floor touching his bare feet shocking him. He peered into every corner of the room, the horrible sensation of eyes on him making the back of his neck tingle.

There were many strange things he saw now that he hadn't noticed before and, even though it was because he had nearly been unconscious from exhaustion, he still felt angry with himself for not noticing them.

'_How long was I sleeping for…?'_

"Ecero."

He jumped and spun at the voice, so startled he nearly tripped over his own feet. He glared at Konin's smirking face, heart hammering somewhere in his throat.

The other man sighed as he sat up. "I suppose I'd be foolish to think you would stay immobile for more than a few hours."

_'Bloody idiot…'_ Ecero turned his back on the man to convey his frustration with the entire situation and glared at the set of doors he happened to be facing.

"Where are you going?"

Blatantly ignoring the only other person around, Ecero strode to and through the doors without a backward glance, knowing very well that it would irritate Konin. He was halfway down the hall when the older man's exasperated sigh reached his ears. He allowed himself a secret smile of triumph.

"You don't even know where you are, boy, where _exactly _do you plan on going?"

Ecero had no answer to that question, not that he had been given permission to put it forth, he thought bitterly, so he kept walking. He passed by a door after choosing to turn right at an intersection, and something on it's surface caught his eye. He stopped abruptly, bracing himself when Konin ran into his back.

"What are you-"

He walked backwards, forcing an increasingly agitated Konin back as well, and studied the marking engraved into the wood. It was a drawing like some he had seen carved into the walls of caves or on the front of buildings in some cities. This one resembled a man, crude as the representation was, it was clear.

He glanced over his shoulder and met Konin's eyes just before they rolled skyward in dejected acceptance, then pushed open the door with his hand.

His jaw nearly hit the floor at what lay beyond.

A large basin, big enough to fit ten, fifteen people, took up most of the floor space. A tall mass of metal rods was sticking up out of the floor at one end of the tub. He walked to it and felt Konin follow him cautiously.

"I needn't remind you, Ecero, of the many times your curiosity has led us into trouble."

'_No, you really _needn't _remind me' _Ecero thought bitterly to himself. He watched as Konin examined the pipes.

"They're hollow." he said, sounding surprised when he stuck his finger in the end of one. He frowned down at something and covered it with his hand.

Suddenly it sounded as if the river Devil's Snare was about to crash through the walls. Both men jumped, reaching for weapons that were no longer there and cursed.

But the basin was filling with water and steam was rising from the surface.

'_A bath then._' Ecero realized, glancing at his companion to assess his state of hygiene. He supposed he looked about the same. Their faces had been wiped clean and some of the dirt and grime and blood they had collected in the battle against Skelgarth seemed to be lesser now, but they were still in need of a good washing. He was grateful that whoever those people were had healed his wounds.

When he went to remove his tunic, Konin was already slipping into the hot, soapy water, his tattered clothes in a heap on the floor.

* * *

Ecero closed his eyes for a moment, the sweet aromas drifting up from the hot water in clouds of steam, clearing his lungs of smoke and ash and filling his head with exotic spice and floral scents, allowing him to forget the smell of death that clung to him always. It was almost overwhelming in it's serenity; a blissful drug. If only that light would stop shinning through the window. If only it were dark here. It would be perfect.

Subconsciously he reached for it. Even here, bathed in light, he could feel the Shadow. It was everywhere, even if you could not see it. It reached up from the bottom of the basin; drifted down from the ceiling. Black tendrils like silk-spun wires reaching out to embrace him.

Suddenly lips were pressing against his and he gasped. The reaching, welcoming arms of the Darkness were retreating, moving back, away from him. He felt a loss, like he always did when he had to let it go.

"We can't have you sucking the castle into a pit of darkness, Ecero." Konin purred, the breath of his voice vibrating against his sensitized lips. "You might frighten our hosts." A ghost of a laugh and then, "Turn around. Up against the side."

Ecero moved to obey, pressing his back into Konin's muscular chest and gripping the edge of the basin, the slick tiles reflecting light under his hands and glistening like something magical.

He felt Konin's hand behind him, under the water, rough fingertips trailing up the inside of his thighs while the other hand pushed between his shoulder blades, forcing him closer to the wall.

He squirmed. It had been a while since the last time his ex-teacher had taken him.

"Hold still." The man at his back whispered.

Ecero clamped his teeth around a gasp at the sting.

"That's it…" Konin was trailing kisses over his shoulders and neck, the velvety skin of his lips just a whisper across his flesh.

He sighed, letting go of the tension, letting his muscles relax. Or, at least trying to.

"Ah!" he hissed in pain, shakily exhaling a breath he had been holding.

"Shh…" Konin's hands trembled as they moved from Ecero's hips up to the base of his neck, calloused thumbs applying pressure just at the nape.

A few seconds later and Ecero could barely stay upright, much less resist (as if it would do him any good) the man. His fingers curled hard over the edge of the basin while he attempted to retain at least a small amount of control over his body. But the sweet smells and warm water, coupled with Konin's wonderfully tricky hands made defiance of any kind far too difficult to even contemplate.

Konin had stilled behind him, his large hands gripped Ecero's hips like iron and he tensed waiting for whatever the man was about to do. But he didn't move. Instead, he pulled Ecero to his chest, separating him from the wall of the tub, and slowly dragged a hand down his front.

In the two or so years Ecero and Konin had been working side by side, he had come to realize something. Whatever the situation, whatever the circumstances, whether he wanted it or not, whether it hurt or felt good…his body always reacted to Konin's touch. To his kisses and caresses; it didn't matter if they brought pain or pleasure. Always, he reacted the same and he shuddered as the large hand meandered down his front.

"What's this?" Konin purred into his ear, his grip tightening.

Ecero gasped, his back arching involuntarily, his head falling back to rest on Konin's shoulder.

Another side effect of the man's touches: uncontrollable, spontaneous physical movements.

The older man chuckled, then his breath hitched when Ecero's hips bucked. "You are so soft…so beautiful…"

* * *

Ecero gave a last cursory scan of his trousers and decided they were as clean and whole as they would ever be again. And, all things considered, they looked as if they had come out of the raid on Skelgarth relatively unscathed. Though, it had taken some magical handiwork on his part.

He and Konin had both washed themselves , as well as their pants, thoroughly.

As he pulled on his clean trousers, which had been the only thing other than his boots and holster that had survived till the end of the raid, Ecero pondered about the strange inhabitants of the castle. He realized that what they had done for them was…strangely kind. Abnormally kind, even. An ulterior motive to their generosity would not be unbelievable.

'_That train of thought is best left for another time._' He had too many things to think about. Too many things to consider. To discover.

'_And yet…_' That unnatural kindness kept eating at him. It tickled a dark spot in his mind that he could not reach. Like the answer to a question he had only just forgotten. Perhaps if he-

"Ecero. We should leave."

For now, he let his thoughts go. He would focus on what was happening at this moment and later he could decipher the strange behaviour of their hosts.

Konin and Ecero stalked the hallways of the castle, not having any real destination in mind, since they really had no idea where they were. With every silent footfall, though, another step was added to their mental blueprint of the castle. Another hallway intersection mentally drawn into the maze in their heads until…

Ecero recognized their current position. The stone statue of the beast under the panned glass window, adjacent to the hallway that turned down to Ecero's right. He motioned Konin down the passage and soon found himself outside the massive hall where he had found aid for Konin. The doors were closed now though. And even with their beautifully intricate carvings and breathtaking grandeur, the doors still managed to loom terribly over them, forbidding entrance to all.

He heard voices on the other side, muffled by the wood so that he could not hear the words.

"They are occupied." Konin said slowly.

Ecero glanced back at the man and could see the gears turning in his head.

"We could leave now." He met Ecero's eye. "They would not find out for hours. A good head start…what say you? Speak."

"No." Ecero answered, not even a hint of hesitation in his voice. The lack of reaction from the other man told him that Konin hadn't really considered fleeing. "I have not forgotten what forced us here in the first place. I have no desire to step foot from these walls." They began walking again, past the tall doors and farther down the corridor. "I would rather die in here, warm, than be taken by the cold." He sniffed. "Besides, they'd have killed us by now had they wished us dead."

"Ever the optimist." Konin deadpanned by way of agreement.

After a moment of silence, Konin suddenly hissed irritably. "I wish I knew where they put our bloody weapons!"

'_That makes two of us._' Ecero thought, shifting his shoulders and feeling awkward without the weight of steel on his back.

Silence descended once more and Ecero moved to take a right at an intersection of hallways and slammed into something solid and rather warm. His body moved faster than his brain, as was usually the case, and in the blink of an eye he had what he now realized was a human man incapacitated and slammed into the wall.

"Hello to you too." the man wheezed. However strangled by lack of oxygen his voice, Ecero recognized it at once.

He released the sandy haired man, wishing he did not need permission to apologize.

'_More like beg forgiveness, you fool!_' He scolded himself. Uncontrolled behavior like that would have gotten him tortured into unconsciousness had it happened in Ver'tora's presence. He wondered how the people here dealt with such recklessness. He lowered his eyes to the floor swiftly and prayed to the Lord of the Dark that he looked suitably ashamed.

"I apologize on his behalf." Konin said, not looking sorry at all. If anything, the man looked rather smug.

Ecero repressed a grin with great effort.

"Sometimes the boy's body moves faster than his brain."

The man smiled shakily, gingerly rubbing the arm Ecero had twisted behind his back. "Don't worry about it." He gave Ecero a strange look. "I'm sorry I startled you."

Forgetting that he was supposed to be pretending to be remorseful, Ecero's eyes flew from the floor so fast his head throbbed. He stared, his face a mask, into the tall man's eyes. A Lord, apologizingto _him_? He chanced a quick glance and found Konin staring as well. _'Good. At least I'm not the only one who sees it.'_

"You are…most forgiving, my Lord." Konin spoke slowly, a shadow of the doubt and escalating mistrust Ecero felt leeching into his voice, and gave an almost imperceptible bow.

When the man's eyes widened in obvious shock, Ecero was sure he was about to scream for the guards, that he and Konin were about to be hauled down to the dungeons. He almost felt a split second of relief, that perhaps things weren't as strange as he had thought. Perhaps these people were normal after all. But then…

"Please, call me Remus. I am no Lord."

'_What the Hell is going on here?_' Ecero thought to himself, that nagging feeling of something being…just…_off, _tugging at his thoughts again. And he didn't have to look at Konin to know the man felt as uncomfortable as he.

Before he could organize his thoughts, the sandy haired man - Remus - was speaking again, his voice pleasant and light. "I was just heading to dinner. You two must be starving. Would you like to join me?"

He had the air of desperately wanting to move on and Ecero found that he at least understood _that _about the situation and motioned for Remus to take the lead. He and Konin fell into step behind the man, sharing a brief, wide eyed glance of disbelief.

"We weren't expecting to see you out of bed so soon, you know. We thought it might be days before we saw you both up and about."

'_Days?' _Ecero sputtered in his mind disbelievingly.

"When was the last time either of you ate something?" Remus asked gently, eyeing them over his shoulder.

"Seems like just yesterday." Konin drawled.

Ecero wondered if Remus caught the sarcasm in Konin's voice. '_Probably not, judging by the look on his face._'

"Well, we shall have to fix that straight away." he replied, looking more than troubled.

They had reached the large doors they had passed moments ago and Remus strode towards them as if they stood wide open, and, just when Ecero thought the man would walk face first into them, there was a loud grinding noise and they swung inward smoothly.

Even though he had seen it before, Ecero was struck by the unusual beauty and grandeur of the hall. He had never seen anything like it in his travels. And besides, 'beautiful' was not a term he commonly found use for.

As soon as they were spotted, silence descended in the hall.

"Look who I found wandering about!" Remus declared with an alarming amount of joviality. The long wooden table sat in the center of the massive room, around which sat several motionless people, until the very old man rose and came to meet them, blue eyes twinkling…merrily?

Ecero had been using words he never thought he would lately.

"I must admit, we did not expect to see you two up and about so soon. But this is good news indeed!" he smiled, making the hairs on the back of Ecero's neck stand on end, and gestured toward the table. "Come. Eat. I must say the two of you are looking remarkably better than the last time we spoke."

As Ecero only vaguely recalled the last time he had been conscious around the man, he could only take his word for it, though he doubted he himself had spoken much, given the state he had been in and could only assume that comment had been directed at Konin.

"Thank you, Lord Dumbledore."

He frowned. What a strange name. He followed Konin to the table and was not surprised to note that, even with the smells, he did not feel hungry. It had been a long time since he had felt the bite of hunger. What he _did _feel was dread. A big, huge ball of it knotting somewhere in his navel. He did not want to eat with these people. He did not want to eat at all. He wanted some bloody questions answered! First and foremost being, why weren't they dead yet?…and why were these people so bloody happy?

He and Konin stopped side by side at the table and stared. Not only had they never seen so much food in one place, but they did not recognize any of the food being presented.

The two men shared a glance and Ecero was relieved to see some amount of trepidation in the other man's eyes as well. He wondered if they were both thinking the same thing. Had the food been poisoned? Surely they would not take such a round about way of killing them? But this was a strange place they were in, perhaps surreptitiously killing your enemies was the way things were done here?

He tried to wrap his head around this absurd new possibility while at the same time trying to devise a way to humbly decline the offer of food.

"Whatever is the matter?" Dumbledore asked.

Ecero blinked, the only outward sign of his inner agitation. Why were these people so nice? Were they trying to lure him and Konin into a false sense of security so that they could strike when they least suspected it? Again, why all that work? Why not just cut their throats? They were outnumbered by far.

Was it perhaps a game to them? A sport? Who could come up with the most obscure, subtle, devious, idiotic, pointless waste of…Ecero forced himself to breath evenly. Letting the strange behavior of these people infuriate him to the point where he went blind with rage was not going to help matters.

Meanwhile, Konin seemed to be answering Dumbledore's question, managing, Ecero was glad to note, to sound humble. "I've never seen so much food, my Lord, but the food I _have _seen is nothing I recognize here."

Silence.

"Well, why don't you try just a few things, hm?" the old man pushed.

With every word the man said, Ecero's idea seemed more and more likely. He tensed unconsciously, widening his stance out of habit, ready for whatever may happen in the next several moments.

Beside him, he felt Konin do the same. "We couldn't possibly, my Lord." he pushed through a clenched jaw.

Ecero sent him a warning look.

There were not many people present in the room and Ecero was confident they could take care of themselves should Konin lose his temper. Aside from Remus and Dumbledore only two others sat at the table. A red haired man he vaguely recognized from earlier and a pale man with black, piercing eyes.

The old man looked startled and opened his mouth to say something when he caught the look on Konin's face. At the last second, he seemed to have decided to say something different. "When was the last time either of you ate?"

"I assure you, we have gone longer than this." here Konin gave an obvious pause, "My Lord."

Ecero wanted badly to put a dagger through the man's hand. The reckless fool could die on his own time, but he had no wish to do so! Ecero's gaze snapped to a crude knife lying beside a cut up hunk of meat. He envisioned himself driving it through Konin's eye.

Unfortunately, the fantasy only managed to lift his spirits fractionally.

"Forgive my companion." Konin's voice startled him out of his thoughts. "Sometimes I fear for his sanity."

Ecero wiped the smirk from his face as soon as he became aware of its existence. He had allowed himself to become too lost in his vision of Konin's gruesome demise. He allowed himself a grin, thinking how his ex-teacher might have reacted had he known his inner musings.

"I would not worry so much." Dumbledore declared, "Many a people have called _me _crazy over the years, if you can imagine."

Konin arched an eyebrow, looking blatantly unsurprised. "I fear 'crazy' would be giving the boy too much credit."

Something changed in the old man's face then, and the red head looked pained.

Ecero made a fist and only held back enough so that Konin did not fly to the ground when he punched him in the jaw.

"Now, now!" Dumbledore looked alarmed, "There will be none of -"

"Shh!"

Konin's face was a thundercloud as he glared darkly down at Ecero. "You little -"

Ecero spun angrily and smacked the man on the arm and shushed him again. He pointed two fingers to his ear and then gestured towards the large doors.

He could hear a distant _thump thump thump_. The footsteps of something very large. He wondered if the others could hear it though.

"The boy seems to be able to hear and see things before most others." Konin explained tightly to the others, absently rubbing his jaw. "Insane though he may be, I have come to trust his senses. It has saved both our lives on several occasions." He seemed sore about admitting all that.

The man clad all in black spoke up for the first time. "I hear him."

Both Ecero and Konin turned to face the man.

"It's Hagrid." came the clipped reply to their unanswered question. Ecero met the man's cold, hard, black eyes and stared deeply for a moment. There was nothing there, no emotion, no life, only a cool, calculation awareness.

Ecero decided he liked the man. Or at least, liked him as much as he could really like anyone.

Suddenly a large form came lumbering into the hall.

"Headmaster! I heard…blimey…"

The second the first word had boomed from the half giant's mouth Ecero felt his heart stop and he blindly groped for the handles of his blades before remembering they had been taken.

He spun to face what his brain had decided was an attacker, his hands splayed before him in one of the many styles he had picked up. Then he froze. A near spitting image of Ruik stood before him, but with a beard and several feet taller. Ecero hadn't realized he had been backing up until his lower back connected with the table.

Feeling the wooden handle of the large knife he had seen graze his hand gave some comfort. As inconspicuously as possible, he gripped the utensil turned weapon and moved it bellow the table and behind his back, his eyes never straying from the massive man.

"Hagrid. I am afraid you may have to come back another time." Said the old man. "Things were not quite what they seemed."

The cryptic words, made more so by Hagrid's shell-shocked expression, gave Ecero pause.

"What do yeh mean…?"

"Another time, Hagrid. Please?"

Ecero watched, struggling to keep his magic under control. There were several things in his immediate vision that he could use to kill the giant of a man. If the need arose. But the last thing he wanted to do was kill the ally of another powerful Lord. He certainly didn't need to give Dumbledore a reason to kill them both.

The knife quivered in his fist.

But the large man simply nodded and stomped from the room. Ecero could hardly believe it.

He gave himself a mental shake and forced his fingers to loosen their grip on the wooden handle in his palm. He felt his magic and that Darkness within him recede back into his core and he allowed himself to breath again. The threat was gone.

Swiftly, he slid the knife down the back of his trousers and pulled his top down over the exposed handle.

"Severus, why don't you show Mr. D'Kal and Mr. Khol to their rooms?"

Ecero barely refrained from snapping his head around to stare.

'_Rooms?_' Would the surprises never end?


	21. Of Women and Amusements

**Chapter 21: Of Women and Amusements**

"Just where do you think you're going?"

Ecero found himself surprised when the woman's voice reached his ears. He hadn't known many women in his time, and the few he _had _had been nothing short of a headache. He turned around to face her. She was a short woman with a fierce look in her eye and a way about her that suggested you were going to do whatever it was that she wanted. He remembered her face though. He had seen her in the Hospital Wing. She was a healer then.

He heard the man, Severus, behind him sigh overdramatically, but the woman seemed not to have heard him.

"I don't know how the two of you managed to sneak out of my ward but don't you dare think I'll let you out of my sight again until I know you're fit!"

By this point the woman, he still didn't know her name, had stalked right up to Konin and was wagging her finger in his face as if he were a naughty little child caught doing something he knew was wrong. Ecero felt amusement bubbling in the pit of his stomach, dangerously close to becoming laugher, and he pressed a hand to his mouth to keep from smiling. Though, to his credit, Konin seemed to be keeping his temper in check, and calmly stood silent while the nurse vented her frustration. "Follow me, the three of you!" She called, walking off down the hallway.

Severus made a small sound of dismay in the back of his throat but followed, however despondently. Konin and Ecero shared a glance.

Even after the lengthy walk to the hospital wing, during which the woman never stopped talking except to take a breath, she was still nattering on when they got there and Ecero was remembering all the reasons why he preferred the company of men.

"…men always seem to refuse to admit they are sick, until they're sick enough to make twice as much work for women. Then they claim they're well too soon, with the same result!"

'_And like most women' _thought Ecero, '_she's sure you will see things her way if she talks long enough.'_

"Does she ever stop?" Konin asked, looking alarmed. The corner of Severus' mouth tugged slightly upwards. "I saw her sleeping once."

* * *

As soon as the door closed behind the black clad man Ecero stalked past the empty fire place and flames erupted in the grate, dancing upward, licking and singeing anything nearby.

'_This castle is bloody freezing_!'

He pulled the knife from the waistline of his pants and slipped it under the pillow on the right side of the bed and then laid down, effectively claiming the spot. Konin entered from the main room, no doubt exploring a second bed chamber.

Hiding the knife from Pomfrey had been a close call. When they had entered the hospital wing she had immediately instructed both of them to remove their clothing. Ecero had to comply with the order, naturally. It was sheer luck the woman was not looking when he slipped the knife under his pile of clothes.

The woman had checked them over thoroughly, though she spend a considerably amount of time more on Ecero than she had Konin, often repeating the same spells several times and frowning as if she did not trust the results she was recieving.

From his position on the bed, he watched the older man cast a careful eye around the room. Ecero was sure he would be sharing the bed with the man, regardless of the guest room.

Sure enough, Konin was stretched out beside him within seconds of the thought.

"We should sleep." Said the man quietly, slowly twirling a lock of ebony hair as he gazed down into gleaming green eyes. He smiled. "What say you?"

Ecero felt the corners of his mouth pull and he met the older man halfway to a searing kiss.

Over the time Ecero had spent with the man, he had learned not to dread and fight the sexual contact Konin demanded of him, but to enjoy it.

His body healed and whole once more, enjoy it he did.

* * *

When Ecero felt the first unpleasant tugs of wakefulness calling he did everything in his power to ignore it. But Alas. He sighed, wondering how long he had been asleep this time. He certainly felt better than he had in a long while and stretching only served to make him feel better.

He opened his eyes…and blinked. Something was very wrong.

He forced himself not to panic. Though it was hard when you've apparently gone blind.

He grabbed the knife under his pillow, hearing Konin's steady breathing mere inches away. He was unsure of what to do. He could not let go the Shadow, for he had not summoned it. Yet it was still just blackness everywhere.

A small ball of flames erupted in the center of the room, lighting a small area. Now that he could see the fireplace, he lit one there as well. He loved the Darkness, he really did, but when it made itself known without being called upon...surely it was something cause to be concerned.

It was different though. Not the same _kind _of Darkness he knew. The flames cut through it too easily and their light revealed far too much. The Darkness he knew would have swallowed any and all light whole.

He slipped from the bed, the sheets feeling incredibly soft as they slipped from his naked skin. Moving to the nearest window he glanced out, but could not see past his own reflection. Instantly, the ball of fire hovering in the center of the room flickered out, as well as the one in the grate. He waited for his eyes to adjust and then stared in awe through the glass.

A vast expanse of black nothingness rose in an endless canopy over a sprawling forest. White specks glittered like glinting steel in the darkened sky and a magnificent, glowing orb hung suspended against the blackness. It offered little light by which to see, only highlighting slivers of the plush tree tops and mounded earth. It was a very delicate scene.

Ecero was confused still, though. Only hours ago he couldn't have seen for the blinding light. And now…the complete opposite.

"A most strange place we have landed ourselves in."

Having heard Konin move from the bed, Ecero was unsurprised to hear the man's deep voice close to his ear. Though he supposed 'strange' described their circumstances rather well. He did not like strange things, yet was often forced to deal with them. However, this time it was different. He had been stripped of his weapons, and while his magical powers were well developed, they were his second choice in defence weaponry, he much preferred the heavy weight of steel in the palm of his hand. It was much more steady, more reliable. Magic, it seemed to him, was the exact opposite. Often when he called on his magical strength, he felt as if he was barely controlling it. Like the barest shift in position, or half second of lost concentration and it would overpower him, destroy him.

As an assassin, he was built with the ability to change with the tide, so to speak. It was one of his skills to be able to mould and blend as things changed around him. No one ever has complete control of a situation, but it is possible to have complete control of the _outcome _of a situation, within reason. The thought of losing control over something was not what worried Ecero, it was the thought of losing control of magical energy specifically, especially when it was connected to him, that made his stomach roil and his skin tingle unpleasantly.

"Are you cold?" Konin asked. His voice was farther away now, indicating that he had moved back into the room. A moment later the fireplace came to life again. The light it emitted was dim but still enough to reflect in the glass.

He stared hard at his own face in the window. It was almost foreign to him, having only ever caught slivers of his reflection on the thin surface of his blades, the rare few times they were free of blood. He knew his eyes were green, that his hair was black and that he had a jagged scar on his forehead that had been there before any other scars he now had. But never had he seen his whole face at once. Staring into hard, green eyes, he twisted up one corner of his mouth experimentally. The young man in the window mimicked him.

He turned his back on himself, moving toward the inviting warmth of the fireplace where Konin stood, leaning against the hearth. His blue eyes stayed glued to Ecero as he made his way over, avoiding lavish, decorative furniture at every turn. He stood mere inches from the fire, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of the intense heat in this surreal place. He never thought he would miss anything should he suddenly leave his homeland. But then he had been introduced to the cold and found that the emotion of missing something, of having and losing a thing, was not a sensation he enjoyed feeling. Even if it was over something as trivial as temperature. Something that should be inconsequential was affecting him greatly and it made him feel weak.

He would overcome it. In time he would find a way.

He leaned in towards his mentor, seeking a kiss and Konin was only too happy to oblige. He sought only the familiarity the warmth of Konin's mouth brought, trying to ground himself mentally.

Ecero let his hands travel up the expanse of the elder's broad, muscular chest, cupping the back of his neck to pull him down into the kiss while Konin's hands slid down his back in the opposite direction.

Just then the door to their chamber opened.

"Severus Snape." Konin greeted, having the decency to slide his hands up from where they had been teasing to grip Ecero's hips and press the younger to him possesively.

Ecero wondered what the potions master wanted as he watched Severus' eyes trail from his head all the way down to his bare toes.

Konin's grip tightened considerably; strong fingers digging into the naked flesh of his hips, making Ecero look up at him. Ever since that whole Ruik thing, Konin had been even more aggressive than usual, often threatening anyone who even looked sideways at him.

Like now, for example. Konin's hard blue eyes were drilling holes into Snape's. Or they would have been, if Snape hadn't been staring at Ecero. "What is it you desire?" Konin asked, his voice like a hissing snake.

Severus started slightly and then blinked. "What?" he snapped.

Konin smirked. "What is it you desire from us this hour? Surely you have come for something other than our good company?"

Visibly collecting himself, Severus replied evenly, "The Headmaster wishes to speak with you, D'Kal." he made to leave then turned back and snarled, "And for the love of god, Potter, put on some clothes!" Then he was gone.

Ecero looked up at Konin, who was already looking down at him. Blankly, the man repeated Severus' words. "Potter?"

* * *

Ecero stared into the flames of the dancing fire. Why did he always seem to do his deepest thinking while staring into the embers of a burning fire pit?

He wished he could talk with Konin. His jumbled thoughts and concerns always seemed to align themselves once he started bouncing them off the stoic man. At the moment, however, Konin was talking very secretively to the ancient wizard. About what, Ecero could only speculate, but that wasn't his main concern now. He would either find out what had been said during the meeting, or he would not. Either way, he would deal with that when the time came.

His mind was centered on something else now and he fingered the collar around his neck. The leather was as smooth as it had ever been. Not the heat, nor the ravages of everyday life had worn it down. No blood had stained it's surface. The dry air had not cracked it.

The entwined metal was cold as his fingers passed over it. It had never felt cold before he had come to this world.

He sighed.

His doubts of ever returning to his own world grew with every day that passed. Days that came and went as the light did. Days that were eternally cold. But despite the drastic differences between the two worlds, Ecero found himself wondering…would never returning to the Azure be such a bad thing? This world _breathed _life and he'd seen nothing but his own race since arriving here two days ago. No Trogs. No Wolven. No Skincloaks. No scorching heat. No war. No battles. No killing. No pointless hunting trips or endless marches…

…except he missed the heat. Missed the thrill of a hunt, the desperate skirmish of a fight, the unity and victorious feeling after a battle, the feeling of power and superiority after an assassination.

His fingers twitched where they rested on his thigh, itching to wrap around the pommel of his sword. His left leg began to bounce up and down, pent up energy searching for an outlet. He would have to get Konin to spar with him today. All this sitting around, thinking, was doing him no good.

He left the rooms he and Konin had been given, feeling the need to walk off some of his frustration and restlessness.

It was the time when the Darkness descended in this world, always at the same time, uncalled. He loved it, though found the flickering torches that lined the walls unnecessary and annoyingly bright.

They went out at the thought, complete pitch enveloping him, and all feeling of unease and frustration left him.

In it's place there was damp air. Cold, unforgiving and relentless. Seeping through the thick cloak he had been given, down into his skin, past his muscle, where it settled in his very bones.

He wrapped the cloak tighter about his body and quickened his pace.

After climbing several sets of stairs, Ecero found himself at the beginning of a long and narrow hallway. To his right was a solid stone wall. To his left, ten foot high windows.

He stepped before the fist one and gazed out over the castle grounds.

The delicate beauty of nightfall, a word he had heard Remus Lupin use to describe the passing of the day, was as breathtaking as it had been the first time he had seen it, and every time there after, he imagined.

A gust of icy wind blew the hair from his face and he shivered.

He heard almost silent footsteps behind him. He could tell it was not Konin.

"Cold?"

He placed his hands on the window ledge and did not turn around. After a few moments of silence, Severus joined him by the window.

"Oh, that's right. You're not allowed to speak."

Actually, in regards to this situation, that statement was only partially correct. Severus hadn't said, "Are you cold, Ecero?" He'd merely said the word 'cold'. He wasn't obligated to answer, though he doubted Severus cared, and so, said nothing.

He was more startled to know that Konin had told them about the collar, though, he supposed he shouldn't be all that surprised. The idiotic man was always more than happy to tell everyone what power he had over his companion. But if he had told them about that, what else had Konin revealed to these strangers?

His body began to shake as another gust of wind blew through the window. Severus seemed unaffected completely, which made Ecero all the more determined to stay where he was. He hated showing weakness to anyone, let alone someone he barely knew.

He stilled his muscles and did not move from the ledge.

"You are so different from when I knew you."

Ecero blinked, confused.

"So quiet and…obedient." Severus said the last word as if it tasted bad in his mouth, then glanced sideways at Ecero. "It's rather unsettling to see you this way, to be honest."

A pause.

"Tell me. For how long have you and Konin been sexual partners?"

The question took him by surprise. Why, out of all the things Konin had undoubtedly told them, did the man ask about the most trivial things? A magical warning shock jolted him from his thoughts. He winced and answered at once.

"Since I met him."

Severus was silent. Then, "You mean right after you were tortured."

He had lost count of the times he had been formally tortured, never mind the informal times, so he was unsure of which time specifically the man was inquiring about.

Almost as if he had said as much aloud, Severus scoffed and said, "What am I talking about? You've been strung up in chains hundreds of times, haven't you?"

He nodded absently, wishing his fingers would stop burning.

'_I hate this place._'

"Do you…like, D'Kal?" Severus suddenly seemed awkward, his smooth voice hitching.

"I do not dislike him." Ecero answered. "I keep his company only because I cannot leave him."

"And why can't you leave him?"

He raised numb fingers and touched the innocent looking strip of leather around his throat. "He would only call me back of course."

Silence. "Of course."

His body suddenly gave a violent shudder, his teeth clacking together. Finally, he pulled his hands from the window ledge and wrapped his arms around his torso.

"I knew you were cold. D'kal told us where you came from. Do you spend much time by the fireplace in your room?"

"Yes." He snapped, moving farther from the window. "I don't imagine I will ever get used to this. How do you ever leave the castle?"

"Well, it's not like this all the time!" Severus snapped, as if Ecero were stupid for assuming such a thing. "It will get warmer. You just happened to land yourself here during winter." He suddenly looked unsure. "Do you…you have no season in your world." Snape said, only just seeming to realize.

Ecero was, once again, confused. He repeated the new words slowly, making sure to pronounce them correctly, and committed them to memory.

"Winter is a season, yes?" He asked, just to clarify.

But Severus seemed dumfounded into silence. "You mean the temperature never changes where you're from? Ever?"

Ecero shook his head. "Never. It is nice and hot. All the time. We don't have nightfall either, not unless it's called upon that is, nor a moon or stars or sun." Ecero thought back to the warmth of his home. "Our sky is vast, blank, dark and unchanging. No wind or birds to make noise. No sound at all." He grimaced. "This world is very loud. And very bright."

Severus now looked mesmerized.

"No birds? Wind? Nothing?"

He shook his head and smiled. "Nothing but silence. Unless you make a noise, of course. But then you would be dead."

"Naturally."

Severus glowered over Ecero's shoulder.

"D'kal."

Konin said nothing as he came to stand by Ecero's side.

Ecero could feel the man's body heat next to him. Or perhaps he was just delirious with cold. He leaned against him either way.

How very curious it was that Severus' glower only deepened when Konin wrapped an arm around him.

"Let us return to our rooms, Ecero, and light a fire."

Having just been wondering why had had left the fire in the first place, Ecero turned at once.

A large hand on his wrist stopped him mid turn.

"After what you just told us do you really think I'll allow my student to go anywhere with you alone?" Severus' voice was colder than the blast of air that came through the window. Ecero was mildly alarmed at the pressure with which the man was gripping his arm, but was intrigued by the fact that Severus' anger seem to be directed solely towards Konin.

What in the name of the Dark had the fool told them?

As usual, however, Konin seemed unaffected by Severus' cool words and simply said, "Ecero is mine, Severus Snape, and you can do nothing to change that."

His hard blue eyes locked onto Ecero's own and he ground out the words, "Come, Ecero." as firmly and authoritatively as if he were speaking to a soldier.

Deftly, Ecero broke free of Severus' hold and fell into step beside Konin as he walked down the hall.

As they rounded the first corner Ecero chanced a glance over his shoulder.

Severus still stood where they had left him, his eyes wide and his usually stoic mask was gone, open shock displayed plainly in it's place. It was like seeing Konin in shock, and it rocked Ecero to the core.

He looked away quickly, that nagging feeling of something being just…_off_, once again tugging at his conscience.

* * *

His head hit the wall with such force he saw stars. Konin's hand was blocking the air from entering his lungs and he struggled to stay conscious.

"I don't recall giving you permission to talk to anyone here, much less _Severus Snape_!" Konin hissed. "What did you tell him, boy?"

"Nothing he hadn't already heard from your own lips, Konin." He glared back fiercely. "What the hell did _you _tell them?"

He was thrown onto his stomach on the rug in front of the fireplace. Before he could push himself up, Konin pinned his hands behind his back and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back violently.

"Watch your tongue or I will cut it out!"

It was becoming increasingly evident that Konin was not just in the mood to boss Ecero around. He was angry. Furious. At what or whom, Ecero was clueless. All he knew was that he was on the receiving end of that fury.

In moments he was stripped of any clothing, his back now pressed into the rug.

"You are _mine_, Ecero." Konin growled, his eyes burning with all the heat of the fire behind him.

Ecero felt rough hands force his legs apart.

"I order you to obey no one but I."

Ecero held back his screams but growled in pain as Konin pushed inside him without warning.

"You will kill when I say."

The heat of the fire was burning his skin.

"You will speak only if I give you permission."

His hands were pinned over his head, Konin's breath on his neck.

"You will _never _resist me."

Deeper. Deeper…

"No one's hands but _mine _shall touch you."

One final thrust and Konin held still, attacking Ecero's mouth and biting on his bottom lip so hard he drew blood.

Still trying to catch his breath and ignore the pain of Konin's abrupt entrance, Ecero met burning blue eyes. "You are _mine_, Ecero, now and forever."

Ecero's own blood shined brightly on Konin's lips in the firelight.

"Now...scream for me."

Konin withdrew violently, making pain soar through his body. He _did _scream, his back arching reflexively.

Konin hummed, looking far less angry than he had moments ago. "It has been far too long since you made such sweet sounds…"

He felt Konin's fingers brush over his abused entrance and he rolled away.

At once a thousand hatchets cut at his body, but the scream caught in his throat, the after shocks of the collar caused his muscles to spasm and his sight to darken.

A silky voice skimmed the surface of his awareness.

"You shall _never _resist me_."_

He was on his stomach now and there was an immense pressure, presumably Konin's hand, on his lower back, holding him in place.

'_As if I'm about to dart off somewhere_…'

Konin sounded much too satisfied with himself and black fury began to bubble in the pit of Ecero's stomach.

There just _had _to be a loophole in those orders somewhere. But before he could re-examine them in his mind there was a sharp knock at the door.

Konin stood, leaving Ecero on the floor, his blue eyes lingering over the damage and pulled his pants back on.

As the man made his way to the door, Ecero took the opportunity to leave the room on shaky legs. He entered what Severus had referred to as the lavatory when he had shown them their rooms the other day, after which the man had snapped, "Take a shower, will you?" and left.

Despite the physical pain he was in, Ecero cracked a smile.

Severus was amusing.

* * *

He took a quick shower to wash away any traces of Konin and his tantrum then stepped from the steam filled room with a soft white towel around his waist. The people here were so very modest and, hilarious as it was to make them squirm, he was trying to blend in here. And if being naked in this world was frowned upon, then he would cover himself.

When he walked through the bathroom door and entered into the main room, he was met with one of the more curious scenes he had ever witnessed.

Konin hung, suspended, in the middle of the room, held up by nothing more than the air in which he dangled. Upside-down of course. Severus Snape, obviously the perpetrator of the lovely crime, had his wand pointed at the enraged man, who was yelling obscenities and death threats in the Quegahn language, which was the most common language spoken in the Eastern part of Ver'tora's territory and actually the language in which Ecero was most fluent.

Yes, Ecero though with a twisted grin, Severus Snape was _most _amusing.


	22. Fear

**Chapter 22: Fear**

"Can you believe it? I can't even begin to imagine…! The _nerve_! To think I was naïve enough to assume it was some kind of necklace, an _adornment_! I just can't believe it!"

"_I_ can't believe we're having this conversation again…"

"And what does he mean by 'correction'? Knowing the world he came from I can only image what horrible thing would happen if he disobeyed."

"Would you _relax…_?"

"How can I? Harry is, for lack of a better term, a slave! He's being forced into killing people for some stupid-"

"Not Harry."

"…what?"

"That's _not _Harry, Ron, how many times am I going to have to explain this to you?"

Ecero inched closer to the library doors, cautious lest he give away his position.

The conversation he had happened upon was rather interesting, since it was obvious it was _him _they were discussing. Though he was growing tired of constantly being referred to as 'Harry', this being about the hundredth time he'd heard it in the last two days. It was apparent he strongly resembled someone these people once knew and, though the woman with brown hair seemed to have at least some amount of sense, the man with hair the color of fire, something which still amazed him, seemed incapable of accepting it.

The two of them seemed highly wary of him as well. Even more so than the rest of the people in the castle. If they saw him coming down a hallway, they turned back or took the first corner they happened upon. They rarely spoke to him directly and wouldn't look him in the eyes when they did. Very strange behaviour for two people who seemed obsessed with him when he wasn't around.

The two of them seemed to have been arguing over this topic for some time and it was about to come to a head.

"Hermione, stop right there!"

He heard the brunet slam her book shut so hard Ecero swore it rattled the window panes of the door.

"Listen to me carefully, Ron. Harry Potter is as dead to us as we ever thought he was. The sooner you accept that the easier your life will become." She spoke matter-of-factly, as if there were no other possibility besides the one she was presenting.

Ron was silent as the girl shuffled some parchments around, more than likely preparing to storm out of the room.

Ecero contemplated letting her see him as she left. If nothing else, scaring the hell out of her would be highly entertaining. On the other hand, he foresaw only a negative outcome should she discover his eavesdropping. The chances of over hearing any useful information from her again would vanish.

He turned swiftly and walked back the way he had come, turning the corner just as the library door clicked open.

* * *

Day four in this world and it was snowing. He gazed out through the open window, nothing but air between him and the outside of the castle. Unlike last time, however, cool air did not blow through the opening.

He had dissected the conversation between Ron and Hermione several times and had found nothing he hadn't already known. They seemed to loath the idea of the collar as much, or perhaps more than, Meande had. They were obsessed with this 'Harry' friend of theirs and seemed unlikely to ever call him by his real name.

He heaved a sigh, feeling immensely frustrated. Another day almost over and he had not learned any new information.

He began running through the meeting he had had with Dumbledore and several others yesterday. A lot of questions had been asked and answered on both sides and he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping everything in chronological order in his memory.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus. The first thing he had done was knock three times on the large oak door that lead into the old man's office…

* * *

**Flashback**

* * *

"Come in, my boy, come in!"

As soon as he walked through the door a blast of heat hit him that was so intense it left him stunned. For a split second he was back in Meande's fortress, sprawled out across fifty plush cushions…

_...If Ecero had thought he was comfortable before, it was nothing to what he felt now. His muscles were goo and he didn't think he could stand if he wanted to. He heaved a sigh, on the verge of sleep. He was lying on his stomach now, naked, with his legs crossed at the ankles. Konin's bare chest cushioned his head, the rhythmic rise and fall lulling him..._

A wave of nostalgia washed over him, so powerful he thought he might weep on the spot. He blinked, furious that something so small as a change in temperature could affect him so greatly.

"I hope this is more comfortable for you." Dumbledore was saying, seated behind his desk, "Mr. D'kal told us a bit of what your world is like."

As the old man busied himself with several small, delicate looking cups on a metal tray atop his desk, Ecero wished he could voice his appreciation. He did indeed feel much more comfortable than he had since arriving here days ago. But Konin's last orders kept him from doing so, even if he was asked a direct question.

'_You will speak only if I give you permission.'_

"Would you like some tea?" Dumbledore had gestured to the tray full of odd cups in front of him.

He did not know what 'tea' was, and the confusion must have shown on his face, for the headmaster smiled gently. "It is a drink that is very popular here."

He looked to the old woman sitting beside the wizened man, trying to gauge her reaction. Minerva was the name he pulled from his memory. She smiled as well, though she looked sad underneath.

He nodded, yes, and sat in the chair offered to him.

There were quite a few people in the room. Besides, Albus, Minerva and himself there was Remus, the poor man he had slammed into a wall within moments of meeting him for the second time, and his close friend, Sirius. He didn't think he had ever seen one without the other. A firey haired man he knew to be Arthur, Ronald's father. Severus Snape was there as well, leaning in the corner behind Dumbledore's desk, looking for all the world as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. A closer look however, told Ecero that the man was rigid in rapt attention to every movement he made.

He glanced around the office quickly, taking note of several windows should the unlikely need to escape irise. There were nicknacks everywhere but his eye was drawn to two things at once. The first, a disgusting old hat on the very top shelf of one of the bookcases. It was covered in dust and had obviously not been worn for decades, making it stand out against all the glittering trinkets and polised works in the office. He wondered why it had not been thrown out.

The second thing was on the shelf just below the hat. A long, clean, elegant looking sword with a gold plated handle. It too looked untouched, but, unlike the hat, did not have a thick coating of dust. It was polished to perfection and the firelight glistened across the blade.

He, again, felt longing for his own weapons. Perhaps he could somehow steal that one.

The delicate looking cup of tea floated across the desk towards him and he held out his hands to grab it gently, scared it might break if he handled it too roughly. The glass was warm in his hands.

"I hope you don't mind," Said Dumbledore quietly, "I took the liberty of adding sugar and cream."

He didn't know what sugar and cream were either and he felt his gut twist in annoyance for the second time in as many moments. They were all watching him carefully as he raised the cup to his lips. He paused there, inhaling the steaming fumes as they rose from the cup. Through the calming smell of earth and spice the tinge of something unnatural flared his senses.

The tea was laced.

He lowered the cup and met Dumbledore's gaze evenly.

"It is nothing harmful, my dear boy. It is simply meant to calm you."

He didn't believe the man one bit and was mere milliseconds from bolting when Severus' voice cut across the room.

"Drink it, Ecero."

With a glare that could have melted iron, Ecero downed the cup in one go and, despite the fact that he knew it was laced with something that could very well poison him, the tea itself was very tasty. Sweet and bitter all at once. He almost wanted more.

A sudden wave of serenity hit him and he closed his eyes against the unexpected feeling, leaning his head on his hand and tangling his fingers in his hair. He struggled to regain control of his mind. But the harder he tried to grasp…whatever it was, the faster it slipped through his clutches.

"We only want to clear up a few things." Dumbledore said, sending a hard glance in Severus' direction. "You must answer all the questions we ask."

Ecero couldn't remember why he should feel angry with the man and couldn't tell if he was upset or relieved that Dumbledore had just nullified one of Konin's orders from the other night.

With a sigh, Dumbledore regarded him over his half moon glasses.

"First things first. Can you tell me your full name?"

"Ecero Khol." The answer had sprung forth from his mouth before he even had time to think. Dimly, somewhere in the back of him mind, he was alarmed.

The man nodded. "How old are you?"

"I…do not know." Age wasn't something one kept track of in his world.

"What do you remember of the training you received from Mr. D'kal?"

Ecero shook his head. He remembered every second of it. How was he to answer that?

"Too vague, I think, Headmaster." The redhead murmured.

Dumbledore rubbed the bridge of his nose. "List the first three things D'Kal taught you."

That he could answer. "The first was how to hide myself properly. Cover my tracks, use shadows as a cloak, blend with the things around me. The second was basic combat skills using weapons I could find anywhere. Stones, branches, certain plants used for poisons… The third was what could and could not be eaten."

"And what of the time before you met Konin?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ecero saw Remus and Sirius share a glance and Arthur shift uncomfortably. He thought about the question. "I do not remember…I have always known Konin." He said, closing his eyes and thinking hard.

In the eye of his memory, he saw only darkness. But something had been triggered, and thoughts and images he had long since forgotten seemed to be rushing out of the recesses of his mind as clear and real as if they had happened only moments ago.

_He was created in darkness. A creature born from anguish and bred for killing. _

"I remember waking in Darkness." were the words that came out of his mouth next. "I had nothing."

_He was nothing. His existence was nameless and unexplained. He simply was. The only thing that seemed sure was the steady drumming of his own heart as he lay, waiting. _

"No hands. No eyes. No face. No body at all. I didn't exist."

_Madness swirled within his mind. Images of fire and steel and blood drifted across his consciousness, his own screams playing like a morbid symphony in his ears. _

"All there was, was…darkness." He frowned,

_He stared, unblinking, into the pitch shadow of his confinement…"_

"…I was screaming, in my head, that's all I could hear. I tried to find something else to replace it, but I could find nothing. There was only agony.." He shook his head, thinking of this for the first time in a long time.

_It was like his birth, he realized; where he had come from. The pain, the screams, the blood…_

"Then there was light." he screwed his eyes shut, as if the mere memory burned just as brightly as the real light had. "It was so bright…but it was only a torch. It burned my eyes and I hated it!"

'_How dare they?' his own screams turned into angry words inside his mind, 'How dare they spoil the darkness?'_

"I wanted the Darkness back." He opened his eyes.

Dumbledore's face was difficult to read, flickering orange light was dancing across one side of his face, deepening his wrinkles and making his eyes look sunken and dark.

"Can you remember anything else?" The headmaster asked gently.

Ecero blinked. "The spider." He realized that they probably didn't understand anything he was saying. It sounded like gibberish even to him.

The others in the room looked confused.

"When I was brought before Lord Ver'tora there was a spider."

_About what do you wonder, human?_

He smiled inwardly, remembering some of his very first thoughts. "I wondered what it's heart might look like in the palm of my hand. I wondered if it might scream should I pull off one of its legs or how far it's intestines might stretch if-"

"That's enough." Minerva looked ill, her face pale.

He wondered why they asked the question if they did not want to hear the answer.

"You remember nothing else before…that?" Dumbledore asked. "Nothing at all?" He looked slightly desperate, though was hiding it well.

_His musings seemed to please the large demon, for it laughed; a deep rumbling sound that reminded him of grinding rock and steel. A shiver ran up his spine at the grating sound. "I am pleased with your work, Ukimu Noul. You will be rewarded."_

"Nothing."

The man nodded.

"I need to ask about what kind of magic you use in your world. You seemed to not know what our wands were for…?"

"The magic I was taught and that which is generally used in our world is, at its core, completely elemental. Earth, air, fire and water are the base for all the magical influences of the Azure. However they can be interchanged one with another to form something else. The more abundant an elemental source, the stronger the magic will be. Fire, for example, is easy to call upon in our world because of the heat. You simply pull the particles from the air and compress them together until they reach combustion temperatures and-" a ball of flames erupted over his outstretched hand. "You have fire."

"You have no other instrument, besides your own body, to channel the magic?"

Ecero shook his head. "No. Though I wish we did. When I use magic, I feel as if there is too much for me to control. It feels as if I were to lose concentration for just a moment…I would be destroyed by it."

Alarm bells were going off in the back of his mind. He was telling them too much! He didn't want to say the things that were coming out of his mouth. He couldn't even manipulate his words. No matter how hard he tried, the cold, hard truth came out every time they asked a question.

Was this what Konin had had to endure during his meeting with the headmaster? No wonder he had been in such a foul mood afterwards.

Dumbledore had a calculating look on his face. "What other sorts of magical abilities do you possess, outside of the elemental? Anything?"

Ecero tried with every ounce of willpower he had to keep his mouth shut this time. He somehow knew that his ability to call upon the Darkness would not be well received with these people. His head rang with the effort of holding his tongue and the collar around his neck sent a warning shock of pain down the back of his spine.

His breath hitched, waiting. He would take the pain if it meant keeping this secret.

"Answer the question!"

Surprisingly, those words had come from Sirius' mouth. But he did not sound angry, he sounded sad and distressed.

Ecero didn't know what that meant but didn't have time to contemplate it. His hands gripped the arm rests of the chair convulsively and his body locked at the onslaught from the collar. Fire raced through his veins and his back arched into the wooden chair, his head falling back. He cried out to the ceiling, unable to stop it, his eyes closed tightly.

There was a hand on each of his shoulders and Sirius was standing in front of him, his face pale and etched with worry.

Ecero was so suddenly disgusted by the display of emotion that he briefly thought about punching the man, but an aftershock of mild pain from the collar ended the thought.

"Are you ok?"

Ecero focused on the man and glared, pushing away his hands. "Superb." At least this time the truth came out sarcastically. He really was fine. He had been expecting the pain and had certainly become used to the collar after wearing it for over two years. He tried hard to quell his trembling muscles.

The room was eerily silent. Several mouths were hanging open and Dumbledore looked shaken. More than likely it was because they were astounded by his nerve. Not to mention angry he refused to answer their question.

"I had no idea it worked like that." Dumbledore whispered, his eyes shinning.

Ecero blinked. _'If he starts crying, I'm going to vomit.' _

"I'm so very, _very _sorry, my boy." The headmaster seemed to be just holding himself together.

He didn't know what he was talking about though. He hadn't known that _what _worked like that?

Severus spoke next, the usual sneer strangely absent. "Is that what D'kal meant when he said the collar would discourage you from disobeying an order?"

'_Oh.'_

"The collar is a magical device that responds to direct commands and actions that are out of line." He said, reciting word for word the information Ver'tora had given him so long ago. "For example, if you told me to kill Arthur and I fail to begin the task, in a matter of seconds the collar will react." Said hypothetical target gave a start at the casual mention of his murder. "If I speak without permission, the collar will react. If I attack someone of greater power or authority than myself, without having been provoked or attacked first, the collar will react."

Snape frowned. "How can the collar differentiate from one person to the next who is of higher status than another?"

"It is what the _wearer _knows that determines the reason for punishment." Ecero explained monotonously. "I could walk down the street and kill a King, if only I do not know he is a king."

"That's messed up." Sirius grumbled.

"So when you were given assassination targets, you must have gotten little to no information on them." Severus was either very smart or had already asked these questions of Konin.

He nodded. "That is correct. I was given a name and, at best, a location if it was known. Any and all other information was irrelevant and, in many cases, might have made my task impossible. I was never told as much, but my assumption is that the collar has this function solely for the purpose of protecting a master from his servers."

Severus looked as though he had a thousand and one more questions for him, but Dumbledore nodded solemnly and said. "Alright. That is enough of that for now. We have gathered enough information from both you and Konin to get an accurate enough picture of the situation."

Ecero would have scoffed had he control over his mouth. 'An accurate enough picture of the situation'? If it were him in their position, which was a position he had found himself in many times before, he'd have asked questions until he had a _pristinely _clear picture of the situation…and then he'd ask a few more.

'_Idiots._'

"We have other things we need to discuss with you." The old man continued. He laced his fingers together and regarded him carefully. "Things we did not wish to discuss with D'kal."

Now _that _got his attention. And though his body language never changed, his mind stood open and ready for the information.

"Firstly, and most importantly I think, is to tell you about a man named Tom Riddle."

Snape's head snapped around to stare at the old man. "Headmaster-"

But Albus just shook his head and Snape went silent.

"Tom Riddle, or, more commonly know as Voldemort, is a man of…influence, one could say." Dumbledore's eyes glittered with something dangerous. "He opposes us."

So these annoyingly jovial, up-with-flaming-people morons had an enemy did they?

Maybe they weren't so bad after all.

Dumbledore was still talking. "We believe this information would be beneficial for you to know since, over the last decade or so, you have been the centre of Voldemort's attention." He sighed. "Quite simply put, Tom has wanted you dead for a very long time."

Ecero was lost. The fact that someone wanted him dead was nothing new and Ecero rather thought the man should join the club. The strange part was that this man had wanted him dead for years? He'd only been in this world three days. And there was no way this Voldemort fellow could have been following him in the Azure, he would have know, between Konin and he, were they being followed…

He gave himself a mental shake. Even that didn't matter! According to Dumbledore, Voldemort had been after him for a decade. He'd not even been in the Azure that long...well, that he knew of.

"I know you are confused, but give us time to explain. I know that you have no memories before two years ago but trust me when I tell you this," Dumbledore leaned forward, his eyes swirling with emotion, "You had a life before that world." The old man smiled. "You had friends. You had family. You had people who loved you and people you loved. You were taught in this very castle. Arthur is a close friend of yours! And Remus too! And Sirius is…" The old man looked to the dark haired man sitting beside Ecero.

"I'm your godfather." Sirius mumbled, staring at the floor.

Ecero's head was reeling, and he barely registered it.

'_Lies. They are lying! Trying to trick me into trusting them!'_

"You were born in _this _world, born to Lilly and James Potter. You _grew up _in this world."

'_Liar…_'

"You go to school here. Severus there is your potions professor. Remus taught you in third year. He and Sirius were two of your parents' best friends. They knew you when you were a baby."

'_Liar!'_

"They gave you a name. Your real name… don't you remember?"

He shook his head and stared hard at the floor. He knew what they were doing. He had used this technique before while interrogating enemies. It involved no physical torture. Simply words. You ask and ask and ask, relevant and irrelevant questions, it mattered not. Ask the same questions several times using different words. Ask until the person got facts confused with what they thought you wanted to hear. Then fire the truth at them at random. Point after point after point until they broke and told you everything because they thought you knew it all anyway.

The only problem was he didn't know what it was they wanted him to tell them, or what it was they were trying to shock him into doing or saying.

"We have proof of this." The old man offered abruptly.

His head snapped up. Proof?

He watched the old man pull what looked to be a stack of parchments from a drawer in his desk.

"These are pictures." He explained. "That is to say, we have devices here that can capture an image in time and imprint it on to paper, so that we may remember it always. Generally speaking, pictures are taken at happy, humorous or memorable times."

He took one from the top of the pile and held it up for Ecero to see.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

"This is you, Ron and Hermione together. Last year. A boy named Collin took this picture of you in the Gryffindor common room." The old man glanced at the photo himself before putting it down. "I assume you were studying for your O.W.L's."

Ecero shook his head, having not understood half of the words that had just come out of Dumbledore's mouth.

'_Gryffindor. Owls? Who the hell is Collin?_ '

He hadn't gotten a very good look at the photo, but Dumbledore was already holding up another one. Through no decision of his own, his body slid forward in the chair, his eyes focused on the picture in Dumbledore's hand.

His mouth fell open in disbelief. It was him and the girl, the brown haired one, Hermione! They were in what looked to be a small kitchen of sorts. They were both wearing hideously bright pink aprons, their arms, faces and hair coated in flour. Though even through the light coating of white dust, Ecero was unable to ignore one distinguishing feature: The jagged scar on his forehead.

He exhaled sharply, his mind in utter chaos. They both blew kisses at the camera and a dusty cloud of white obscured the photo.

The next photo was, again, himself, but this time the other person was a stranger. The boy was his age in appearances, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was a bit taller though. The two of them were in a domed room. The other boy had his hands submerged deeply in a pot of soil, a fat leafed plant sticking up out of the dirt. Ecero stood behind him with an arm around his neck and his chin resting on the other boy's shoulder. Smears of dirt ran down the entire length of Ecero's face. Picture Ecero took one look at the other boy's spotless complexion and raised a hand absolutely caked in earth and…

"That other boy with you is Neville." Minerva explained softly. "He is a close friend of yours and asked to keep this photo of the two of you."

He stared at her, unable to think properly.

"Whenever you have a question, Ecero, ask it." Snape said from his corner.

One flew from his mouth at once.

"Konin knows nothing of this?" He had to be sure. Konin could _never _find out about this. Whether it was false or not, it didn't matter. If the man found out Ecero had any kind of connection to these people…well, he honestly couldn't be sure how the man would react or what he would do about it. He didn't want to find out, though.

They all shook their heads and Dumbledore said. "No. It was not something we thought he needed to know."

Ecero nodded. He was silent for a moment longer and then said simply. "You believe I am Harry Potter."

He hopped dropping the question out of nowhere might shock them into revealing anything they might be keeping from him. As it turned out, it _did _shock them. Everyone was silent for a moment and no one really seemed to know what to say. Finally, it was Dumbledore that seemed to have composed himself well enough to get out a few, carefully chosen, words.

"We _know…"_ He sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We know that you _were _Harry Potter." He replaced his glasses, his eyes heavy. "And we know that who you are now is someone completely different than the person we knew. Oh you look that same, for the most part." Dumbledore shook his head. "But you are not Harry. Not anymore."

"It breaks our hearts to have lost him." Minerva said. "But it isn't right for us to expect you to come out of what you've gone through and be as you were before."

Ecero was beginning to feel overwhelmed. True or not, it was a lot of information to try and process all at once. His head was beginning to clear of whatever substance they had given him through the tea, but was now weighed down with all this information. He needed time to think it all through, organize it in a way that made sense. And there was a lot of research that needed to be done. Unfortunately though, he was nearly illiterate when it came to their language. He could _speak _Haavehlian relatively well, but Queghan was the only language he could read well.

Ok, it was the only language he could read at all.

"You have a very large library here, yes?" He asked.

Dumbledore frowned at the change of subject. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Ecero looked up, feeling tired. "Have Voldemort's actions been influential enough to note?"

Sirius barked a laugh with little amusement in it. "Oh there are plenty of books on Voldemort. And you, actually." He seemed to add as an afterthought.

"I imagine the majority of your books are written in Haavehlian, right? That is the dominant language here?" He wondered if there was a way to say that he was incapable of reading their language without sounding pathetic. He decided there was not.

Leaning back in his chair with a sigh he thought it rather convenient for them that he was unable to do any research to back up their outlandish claims. Surely they knew when they had fabricated these lies that he would have no other means to verify their stories and would so, just have to believe what they told him.

"Written in Haava…what?" Remus said suddenly.

Ecero glanced his way. While the others looked as confused as he felt right now, Remus was leaning forward in his chair intently, a curious look on his face.

"Haavehlian." Ecero repeated. "The language you speak here." It was becoming increasingly evident that the language had a different name here, so he decided to explain. "It is also the language spoken predominantly in the western territories of the Azure. Though I spent the majority of my time in the eastern parts of the world, where Haavehlian is seldom heard, I did get to practise the language quite a bit as we moved westward." He allowed a grimace to cross his face, "Though, unfortunately I never did learn how to read it."

"And what language do you speak best?" Remus asked before anyone else could say anything.

"Queghan is what I speak the most and am most comfortable with. It is what Ver'tora speaks and what Konin and I generally use to communicate." He explained easily.

"That's fascinating." Remus exclaimed, looking as though he really thought it was.

Ecero cocked a brow at his enthusiasm.

"We call our language English here." He said. "If you wish to learn to read it, I could teach you." He smiled.

Sirius leaned towards him as well. "How do you say 'get stuffed' in Que…your language?" he had a wicked smile on his face.

And, despite the fact that they all had nearly driven him mad with questions and given him ridiculous information and laced his tea with drugs, Ecero found a genuine smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Remus glared. "Sirius, really! How do you say, hmm, 'Hello, how are you?'"

Ecero didn't think he had ever asked anyone that before, but he strung the words together anyway. "_Oua-aa nel lah?_" The words rolled off his tongue much more comfortably than Haave… English words. "_Oua-aa _is," he struggled to explain the meaning of the words, "it is like inquiring about a person's status. Are they well? Are they comfortable, satisfied with something, you know? And _nel lah _is simply a greeting." He wondered if he were explaining it well enough. "For example, I would say to you: _Nel lah, Remus_."

"Wonderful! And how would you say - "

"Remus, some other time perhaps." Dumbledore said, his eyes, thankfully, dancing with amusement rather the swimming with sorrow like they had been. "We really must press on." He now turned his gaze towards Ecero. "Now, about your past here…"

Daringly, and perhaps foolishly, Ecero raised a hand to halt the man. These people overflowed with compassion and kindness and other disturbing qualities and, if they were not just putting on a show, Ecero should be in no danger…even after interrupting a Lord mid speech.

"Please," he said, letting some of the tiredness he felt lace his voice and body language. "I need time to think about what you have told me." Dumbledore looked disappointed. "You have given me _much _to think about. More, perhaps, than I wanted to know." he added the last bit at the end without even thinking. He chalked it up to being the last bits of the potion they had given him earlier.

"I understand, my boy." The old man said with a nod. "We will not discuss your role in this world any further tonight."

Ecero inwardly sighed. That meant they were still going to talk, just not about him.

'_Well, take a break where you can get it I suppose.' _

"Have you any more questions for us?"

'_About a million and one._'

"What do you call this world of yours?" He asked, the question suddenly coming to mind. Though he had never given it a thought before, he imagined it had to have a name.

Dumbledore smiled. "You could call it Earth, I suppose."

Ecero repeated the word back, "Earth." he smiled slightly, "How fitting."

The other's frowned and Remus said, "What do you mean?"

Ecero blinked, trying to put the Queghan words that were in his head into English words. "You world is so…alive." he said, unable to come up with any other word. "Everything here breaths. Even the stones of your castle have the breath of life in them. The air is heavy with water and shimmers in front of my eyes. There is no smell of death that clings to your skin and clothes. No stillness in the atmosphere, as if the air itself were scared to move." he shook his head. "It is difficult to explain when I have not the same vocabulary as in Queghan. When I first arrived here I…I hated it. It is cold and bright and so loud. It is so very different from where I come from." He frowned, "But I am beginning to think that perhaps it is where I came from that I should be hating."

He knew these were things they wanted to hear, which is why had had said them in the first place. Though he hadn't expected to agree with his own words so strongly.

There was a silence Ecero barely noticed in the room, at which point Sirius cleared his throat, sounding nervous.

"Listen, about D'kal…"

When the man said nothing else, Ecero turned his eyes on him. Color was rising in Sirius' cheeks and he shifted within his chair incessantly.

Ecero frowned, trying to hid the grin tugging at his mouth at the man's obvious discomfort. "What about him?"

"I…well, that is to say…do you two…umm…"

"I believe what my idiotic co-worker is attempting to inquire about is the sexual relationship between yourself and D'kal."

Oh how he did like Severus. So blunt and to the point. Ecero grinned wolfishly and turned his eyes back onto Sirius, deciding to have a little fun and prolong the man's suffering, the only way he figured he would be able to level the playing field after they had laced his tea.

"What _exactly _would you like to know?" he asked, cocking a brow suggestively.

Minerva stood abruptly. "I'm going to…make some tea." She left the room in a hurry, her face almost as red as Arthur's hair.

"_Ecero…Ecero!"_

* * *

**End Flashback**

* * *

At the sound of his name, Ecero's mind drifted back to the present.

Konin was striding towards him from the other end of the hall, his face white with anger and his hands balled into fists.

Ecero sighed and contemplated what could have made the man angry _this _time.

He wished he'd had more time to talk with the group of wizards in the privacy of Dumbledore's office yesterday, but he knew any more information and he would not be able to retain it all. As it was, he was already having a hard time getting his thoughts organized and trying not to think to hard about their tales of him being their long lost friend. Though, every time, that picture of him and Hermione and all the others kept popping into his memory. The one thing he could not shake. That _scar_. On his forehead. The one that had been there before all others…

"I thought I told you to stay in our rooms!" Konin snapped as soon as he was in earshot. "Where the hell have you been all day?"

Ecero didn't give the man a glance as he answered, knowing it would incense him even more. Above all else, Konin hated being overlooked or ignored. "I've been here, Konin." he said, still gazing out over the castle grounds.

The man was silent for a moment, his blue eyes burning a hole right through the side of his head.

"Look at me."

Ecero turned and looked the man in the eye as ordered, a smirk on his face. He had a plan on how to organize his thoughts. It worked every time. Unfortunately he needed Konin's help.

"You dare mock me?" The older whispered dangerously.

"Is this what you need to make yourself feel strong, Konin?" Ecero challenged. He felt the hairs on his arms stand on end and the back of his neck tingled with a sudden rush of adrenaline. "Do you need to give me order after order to assert your power over me? Are you so ashamed of your abilities that you can't _bear _to have me look anywhere but into your eyes?" He splayed a hand across Konin's chest and pushed the man roughly into the stone wall. "You are so pathetic."

He was picking a fight. He wanted to enrage Konin. He needed to clear his head in order to organize all the loose thoughts running rampant in his mind and the only thing he had found so far that worked perfectly was a fight with Konin. The two of them knew each other so well they could anticipated the other's moves almost perfectly and the result was: fists and feet were usually blocked before they made contact. The two of them fought until one, or both, of them could no longer stand and both of them usually came out of it with little need for healing, successfully ridding his body of any pent up energy and allowing him to focus more clearly.

His plan seemed to be working in any case, for Konin's eyes were wide with anger, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled sharply.

In an instant, Konin had grabbed his left wrist in an iron like grip and spun him around so his arm was behind his back, his hand twisted up between his shoulder blades painfully. Konin rushed him forward until he hit the window sill at the waist and the top half of his body was forced out over the ledge.

The ground was very far bellow them and Ecero felt another surge of adrenaline and he smiled, laughed even, to infuriate Konin more.

He could feel the man's groin pressed up against his backside firmly, a subconscious act of that agressive dominance Konin frequently displayed, and pain ripped through his arm as it was twisted and pushed farther up his back.

He groaned.

"Is it a fight you want, Ecero?" he asked. "Are your emotions so out of control that you feel the need to vent them so primitively? I thought you were a better Assassin than that."

Even though it caused great pain to his arm, Ecero snapped his upper body backwards with a sudden rush of furious strength, smashing Konin in the face with the back of his head.

His arm was freed immediately and he turned just in time to see Konin reeling backwards into the hall, his hand over his mouth. He could see a trickle of blood running from under his hand and down his chin.

Ecero lowered himself into a fighting stance, ready for whatever Konin would throw at him. He grinned, taunting the man without words.

It worked beautifully and Konin rushed forward with an animalistic growl, his left fist cocked for a punch. But at the last second he dropped to the ground, his leg arching across the floor towards Ecero's feet.

He jumped and Konin was forced to follow through the path his leg had taken. As Konin attempted to regain his balance, Ecero aimed a knee to his head and it connected with a satisfying crack. But the man rolled backwards and stood, using the momentum to regain his footing. He dodged Ecero's next blow and wrapped a hand around his throat, squeezing with all his might.

Ecero ignored his instinct to simply grab the hand that was cutting off his oxygen and instead raised his knee again and drove it right into Konin's crotch. The man crumpled like a rag doll and gasped, holding himself, "_Low blow!_" he wheezed.

Ecero decided to give the man some mercy and used the time it took for Konin to recuperate to shake off the light-headed feeling and take a few extra lung full's of air.

Within only a couple seconds Konin was on his feet again. He motioned right and Ecero took the bait milliseconds before realising it was a fake out. And sure enough, Konin dodged left instead and stepped into his blind spot…

Ecero's ears were ringing and his vision went momentarily white. He put his hands before him just in time to catch himself before he slammed face first into the rock wall and leaned against it, bringing a hand to each of his ears. He couldn't hear a thing and though his vision was not obscured by white anymore, he still could not see properly, as if looking through a blanket of smoke.

He didn't know what Konin had just done to him, but he wanted to learn how to do it.

He saw a blurry movement to his left and, after only a moment of hesitation, blindly lashed out with magic. A sonic wave tore through the air and caught Konin square in the chest, throwing him backwards several meters where he lay still on the floor.

Ecero wished he hadn't done it. Even that one bit of magic made his heart race to twice the speed it normally would be beating, even in the middle of a fight. His hands shook and his mind felt detached from his body. Though curiously, his vision was crystal clear at once and sounds were now reaching his ears with such volume as to almost be painful.

Konin was stirring on the floor and sat up with a groan. As Ecero made his way towards the prone man, he saw something in the man's eyes that he never thought he would.

Fear.

He had seen it a million times before…in the eyes of _other _people. Other creatures. Usually ones he was about to kill. But never, _ever_, had he seen it in Konin's eyes before. It was unsettling and exhilarating all at once. He felt compelled to move forward. So he did. His mind was strangely blank and the Dark was suddenly there with him. He knew what it wanted. He knew what _he _wanted. He balled his right hand into a fist and a cloud of blackness enveloped it, swirling around his fingers until the whole of his hand and arm were obscured up to the elbow.

He wanted Konin to die. Wanted to drain away his life force. He would feed it to the Darkness and Konin would scream a sweet symphony of agony for him with his last breath.

All he had to do was touch the man. He knew this, feeling the incredible power of the Darkness tingle at his very fingertips…

"Stop!"

Konin's hand was thrust before him like a barrier, as if he didn't expect Ecero to follow the command.

Ecero stopped in his tracks, taking in Konin and his condition. The man was bleeding from several places, his left eye blackened and his lip split horribly wide. His shirt had been torn to shreds by the sonic blast Ecero had hit him with and his chest glistened with sweat and heaved great lungfuls of air.

The man looked dishevelled to say the least, but his eyes spoke volumes more. The fear was still there.

The Darkness was receding from his mind and he felt black anger fill the void it's absence had left. His face contorted with anger. He was powerless to move another inch in Konin's direction and all he wanted to do now was rip the man's head from his shoulders.

Instead, he refocused his anger. He spun towards the wall and drove his now visible fist towards the rock wall. He let go his anger, his frustration and the last of his strength into a current of magical energy and sent it spiralling from his core, down his arm and into his hand just as it made contact with the wall.

There was a deafening boom of rock dividing and a vertical fissure split the stone above and below the area of contact, separating the stone from floor to ceiling several inches.

His mind blissfully empty and his body physically drained, Ecero turned his back on Konin, who had tried as best he could to cover himself as a shower of large and small stones spayed in every direction with frightening speed.

As the last of the pebbles skittered to a rest, Ecero heard Konin release a breath and he smiled, able to hear it tremble in the sudden silence.

He may not have killed Konin today, but this was almost better. Konin had, however briefly, feared him. Him and his power…

No, Konin was not dead, but he was humiliated, and that was something to smile about.

He had reached the state he had intended. He would go now and sit in front of the fire and slowly put together the pieces he had acquired of the great puzzle that was this castle and it's inhabitants.

* * *

**Pronounciations:**

_Oua-aa nel lah _(WHA-AH NEH-LAH)

_Quegahn _(QUEH-GHAN)

_Haavehlian _(HAAH-VEH-LEE-AHN)


	23. Never Underestimate

**Chapter 23: Never Underestimate**

Ecero was awoken by a strange feeling somewhere around his navel. He frowned into the plush pillow cushioning his head, then rolled over onto his back, trying to make the aggravating sensation go away. Perhaps it was just the way he was laying? Unfortunately, moving had only seemed to make it worse.

A loud grumbling noise split the silence of the dawn.

He inhaled deeply, his brain still somewhere between asleep and awake. '_Gods, I'm hungry_…'

His eyes flew open and he froze.

'_I'm hungry_.'

Actually, he thought as he flew out of bed, that statement required a correction. He wasn't hungry…he was _starving_!

He and Konin had been given a load of new clothing. Most of which was much more suited for this climate than what he and Ecero had been wearing. He grabbed the nearest pair of pants to him, threw on a long sleeved shirt and wasted no time going for the door.

"Wher' you going, Ecero?" asked a groggy voice from the bed.

"Food!" By the time he had thrown the word over his shoulder he was already half way down the hall.

* * *

Where was the food? This is where it always was! He looked around the empty hall. The sun was rising now and its reddish pink light was casting the room in a delicate hue. The table was bare and looked polished in the morning light.

He sighed and sat down in the chair closest to him. Resting his chin in his hand, he gazed at the wall, his eyes unfocused and still slightly clouded by sleep. If only he could find out where they kept those wonderfully juicy, sweet red berries…oh! And maybe some of that sweet brown sauce to dip them in…

And suddenly it was all right before him, a soft pop announcing its appearance. He looked around the room quickly. There was no one there save himself. He looked back down at the food and thought that perhaps this was just another sort of the strange magic they had here. The berries…strawberries he remembered, certainly looked normal when he picked one up and examined it suspiciously.

He had another thought and cocked a brow with a small smile.

He would also like some of those orange root plants. '_Carrots_'.

They popped up beside the strawberries and he smiled hungrily.

* * *

Severus shifted his burden slightly, making sure not to drop any of the precious vials. He had been up all bloody night making potions of varying sorts to restock Poppy's supplies for when the students came back from holiday and after all that work he would be damned if he let even one of them go to waste. Of course, the sensible thing would have been to _not _leave them all till the last minute, but, lets be honest, he did the same thing every year, this trek across the castle with more potions than he could carry. He'd probably do it again next year as well.

He felt a vial slipping past his arm and stopped, cursing, as he shifted them all around again. He wished he could just levitate them all but the magic could have some very negative effects on the potions.

How tragic such a thing would be…

He was making his way across the entrance hall and, perhaps it was fate _once again_ interfering in his life with its cruel sense of humour, but either way, Harry Pot - well he supposed he should get used to calling him Ecero - strolled out through the doors of the Great Hall absently rubbing his stomach and collided with him just as he was passing by.

Unable to do anything else, he watched with a sinking feeling as all the bottles careened towards the floor. Cursing again, he grabbed Ecero by the arm and roughly pulled him out of the way of the spray of mixing potions. All the different liquids began to merge into one nasty looking black pool, hissing into the silence of the hallway. Within moments, a shallow indentation in the exact shape of the pool of potions could be seen, the stone eaten away and a slight curtain of smoke hovering over the damage.

Severus felt anger bubbling in his stomach furiously and turned a seething glare on the young man beside him, ready to spit a repertoire of words as acidic as the concoction that had just destroyed the floor.

But he stopped upon seeing the look on the boy's face.

It was a rare display of emotions, so plainly visible that he could almost believe for a moment that he was standing beside Harry Potter again. The thought was sobering and the wind left his sails rather quickly. No. This was not Harry Potter. He had to remember that. Harry Potter had been subjected to torture and torment over the line. He'd died and his body had lived on. This was a stranger he hardly knew. A dangerous one.

Before he had time to discern the myriad of emotions they were gone, his face as still as stone.

"What have you to say for yourself?" Severus settled on, asking the question through clenched teeth.

Ecero's brilliant green eyes turned up to meet his, and Severus knew he never wanted to witness that ghost of a mirthless smile tugging at the corners of the boy's mouth again.

"I should say I have underestimated your talents as an alchemist, Severus Snape."

He considered the young man in front of him carefully. Something dangerous was flickering behind Ecero's eyes as he stared at the floor with an disturbing intensity and Severus felt a chill shake his spine.

No. He definitely did not stand beside Harry Potter.

* * *

Ecero watched Severus' retreating back closely for a moment before looking back down at the indentation in the stones of the floor.

'_This is just….great!_'

* * *

He knocked on the door to the office, resisting the urge to look up and down the hall to see if Konin was anywhere in sight. The door was wrenched open with a snarled "_WHAT_?", then Severus' features settled into a look that plainly displayed his confusion.

Then anger followed suit. Was the man always this angry?

"Well?"

Ecero just stared and raised an eyebrow.

Severus rolled his eyes. "What do you want, _Ecero_?"

"I wish to ask a favour of you." He answered bluntly, trying not to smile. Severus' facial expressions proved to be an inexhaustible source of amusement.

The potions master seemed torn between wanting to slam the door in his face and satisfying his curiosity. He blinked rapidly several times and his mouth fell open and then closed without words. "And what, pray tell, could you possibly need from a foolish alchemist such as myself?"

"This is not something we should be discussing in an open hallway. We do not know who else may be listening." Ecero admonished, enjoying the color that rose in the older man's cheeks.

Again, Severus seemed to think seriously about slamming the door closed. Instead, he moved briskly aside and Ecero walked past him and into the waiting room.

Now this room was much more to his liking than the disgustingly lavish suite they had given Konin and himself. There was a roaring fireplace against the far wall. To its left, rose a tall and wide bookshelf, packed so full it was a wonder the books themselves didn't burst off the shelves and onto the floor. To the right of the fireplace was an overstuffed lounge chair and just before the grate was a matching couch.

Other than that the room was plain, simple. A few paintings, the odd knick-knack. He liked it much better than his own.

"So? What do you want?"

Ecero smiled; it seemed to disarm people slightly when he did. "I want to know more about that potion you had yesterday. The one that melted the stones on the floor."

If humans were capable of it, Ecero was sure Severus' eyes might have been spitting fire.

"That wasn't _a _potion, idiot, that was _several _potions! And their effect on the floor was nothing more than the result of _your _stupidity!"

Ecero was momentarily confused. "I hadn't noticed." He regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth, for Severus, if it was possible, seemed to become even angrier. His mouth opened, no doubt prepared to go into great detail about just _how _stupid and aggravating he found Ecero's presence.

"I apologize." Said Ecero, before the other man had time to get started. He did some quick thinking, relying on what little knowledge he had of these people and this world. They seemed very emotional and, for some reason, his life story seemed to garner a large amount of pity and sympathy from them. Though Severus seemed different. Closer to the way Ecero thought, the way he reacted to situations and people. Though he didn't seem to have great control over his emotions…specifically anger. "There are many things in this world I still do not understand. I begin to wonder if I will ever grasp all its complexities."

He let subtle disappointment warp his features and he lowered his eyes momentarily, feigning a lapse of emotional honesty. "I want out." he said, blinking twice quickly and looking back up, his face still once more. So far it seemed to be working. There was no more angry color in Severus' face and the man seemed to be listening closely. " I am tired of serving Konin. I am tired of his power over me. His orders! His arrogant looks! His _insatiable _desire for sex! I can't take it any -"

"Stop."

Ecero smiled inwardly. Outwardly his eyes were wide, his body rigid with emotion. It had worked. Oh the wonders you could do with a subtle tweak of your facial features!

Severus looked away and inhaled deeply, moving towards a cabinet beside the fireplace. He removed two crystal glasses, filling them with an amber liquid. He handed one glass to Ecero, who took it curiously, then sat in one of the chairs by the fire.

"Sit." Said Severus, gesturing towards the couch across from him. "And drink."

Ecero sat and raised the glass to his lips. He doubted he had ever tasted anything so vile in his life.

"It's bourbon. A type of alcohol." Severus replied. "I wont even try to explain that process to you.

While Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose and collected his thoughts Ecero took another swig of the bourbon. The second mouth full didn't seem nearly as bad as the first and a warm feeling was beginning to tingle in his legs.

"What, exactly, is it that you need from me?" Severus asked smoothly.

"I need you to help me get this collar off my neck."

Another moment of silence. "And why do you need my help for that? Why don't you just cut it off?"

'_Idiot!_' "Do you not think if that was possible I would have done it by now?" Ecero snapped, losing his cool for a moment. He hated playing games, Severus knew very well he could't get rid of it that easily. He pushed the anger away and cleared his mind, ridding it of any thought in preparation for the impending conversation. "If I so much as _think _of removing the collar…it will react. Or were you not listening to that part of the conversation when we were in Dumbledore's office?"

Severus glared over the rim of his glass. "I was there."

"The reaction from the potions mixing…can it be recreated?" he asked, watching Severus' face closely.

"Of course it can." was all the man said, giving nothing away.

Ecero was growing frustrated again. Short thoughts of what he was actually planning on doing, I.e. removing the collar, kept sneaking into his mind and it was getting more and more difficult to push them away.

"The metal wires -" he stopped, closing his eyes and shattering a mental image of slipping a knife under the collar to try and cut it away. He inhaled shakily, trying to keep his focus. "…the metal wires would make it impossible to cut it off with any blade."

This time Severus said nothing. Only stared.

"_So_" Ecero continued, feeling very much as if he were trying to explain this to a child, "If that potion can melt stone then perhaps it can melt through the -"

He'd gone too far with his thoughts. It caught him off guard. The glass slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. His back arched into the softness of the couch and he screamed, half in shock half in pain. It seemed to go on and on and when it was finally over, he was looking up at the ceiling and Severus' face was staring down at him gravely.

"Are you alright?"

"I…" he tensed, an aftershock jarring him and making the breath catch in his throat. "…just need a moment."

That one had been bad. The collar seemed to realized it might be in danger.

"Here." Severus handed him another glass of bourbon once he had helped him sit back on the couch, clearing away the remnants of the first with a casual wave of his wand.

He took a large mouth full. "They are getting worse." he said into the glass.

"What do you mean?"

"Longer. More intense. More pain."

Severus looked thoughtful. "I imagine it might have something to do with your recent hop across worlds." Something in his black eyes changed slightly then and Ecero wondered what it might mean. "Magical bonds can only stretch so far. If not immediately, then over time, those bonds _will _break."

Ecero agreed with a nod. "That much is obvious. However, I do not wish to see what might happen should the bonds tying me to Ver'tora break while one end of the link is still around my neck."

Severus raised his glass slightly in Ecero's direction. "Rightfully so." he drained the last of his bourbon and placed the glass on the small table beside his chair. "Alright. I will have something mixed up within the next several days."

"There is another problem." Ecero said as he stood to leave. "I cannot be conscious while it happens. I can meditate for a time but I am not skilled enough yet at clearing my mind for more than a few moments at a time. The collar will surely react before it is severed and the last thing I need is your concoction to be spilt all over me."

"Naturally." Severus was now looking at him curiously. He gave a pause and then, "When you say meditate, what do you mean exactly?"

Ecero considered how to explain. "When you are first learning how to control your elemental magic you need to be able to focus on nothing but _it _for at least a moment. Everything else must be pushed aside long enough for you to grasp that energy and bind it to your own magical core."

Severus was nodding. "Yes. When we are through with this little project, there is something I wish to discuss with you. A kind of meditation, you could say. Here, we call it Occlumency."

* * *

"Where are you going?" Konin asked. He'd been asking Ecero that question a lot lately.

He froze momentarily in the doorway. "Severus has invited me to his quarters." He was sure the temperature in the room dropped several degrees with his answer.

"The alchemist?" he said, distaste lacing his voice.

"Yes."

"No. You won't be going."

Ecero sighed and turned from the doorway to glare half-heartedly in Konin's direction, where he was lounging on the bed. Before the older man could even smirk there was a swift knock at the door and Severus walked through. It was obvious he'd had no intention of waiting for someone to welcome him in.

Konin was on his feet instantly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well I thought I might escort Ecero to my office personally, as I'm sure you've forbidden him from visiting my quarters." Severus said coolly, levelling a glare to match Konin's. He met Ecero's eye. "Come with me."

Ecero spared a smirk over his shoulder as he followed Severus from the room.

* * *

"Stir it counter clockwise! How many times do I have to tell you?"

"What the _hell _is a clock?"

"…"

"Never mind. Just keep stirring it in the direction I showed you."

Ecero glared through the rising purple fumes as Severus made his way back to the table with a handful of ingredients. He had a fistful of crushed something or other that he had been pulverising for the better part of an hour and a small glass vile filled with a yellowish, green liquid.

"This," he said, dumping the powder into the cauldron as Ecero continued to stir, "Is crushed aconite. A very poisonous plant. And this…is accromantula venom." he poured it in and the potion hissed violently but did not stir.

Several seconds later the mixture turned black and thick and Severus told him to remove the ladle.

"It's done." he took a glass vile, much like the one that had held the accromantual venom and held it with a pair of iron tongs. He waved his wand over the glass, though Ecero saw no visible change to it, then gathered a small amount of the potion.

"Come. Albus already knows what we plan to do. We need to do this where we have aid and medical supplies."

He followed Severus all the way to the hospital wing with tendrils of anxiety crawling up the walls of his stomach. He swallowed and willed the uncomfortable feeling away. He did not know where it had suddenly come from or why. Nothing could go wrong. Not really. Well, unless some of that acid spilt. Then he would be dead. And he would definitely classify that a something going wrong.

When they reached the hospital wing, there were already several people there waiting for them. Albus Dumbledore, Poppy Pomfrey of course and Alastor Moody. Ecero would have rathered the crazy old wreck of a man hadn't been there. He didn't like Ecero and Ecero didn't like him. Especially if he was going to be unconscious the entire time, which is what Severus had finally conceded was the best and safest way to do this.

"Are you ready, my boy?"

Ecero realized Albus was addressing him and nodded, offering a lopsided grin. He got one in return when he sat on the bed that Pomfrey gestured to and laid back.

They all crowded around the bed and Ecero found himself locking gazes with Severus.

"Look at it this way," the man said in that velvet ice voice that mocked you in every syllable. It was enough to make Ecero grin. "At least if the acid spills or the collar goes ballistic, you'll be unconscious before you die so you wont feel a thing."

Ecero laughed. He could always count of Severus to bring a little amusement into any situation. He was still laughing when they cast the spell on him and he welcomed that loving embrace of the Darkness as if it were kin.

* * *

Ecero smiled again, touching the bare skin on his neck. He laughed out loud to the forest.

Konin didn't know yet. He was still trying to find the most amusing way to tell the man. Perhaps right when they were about to fuck he would just stand and walk out of the room, naked. Konin's angry yells and orders to come back would make him do nothing more than smile.

He looked down at the work in progress that was the bow he had been making for the better part of the day. It was nearly done. Though he knew there were probably more constructive things he could be doing with his time, he felt as if he needed this project to focus on. He hadn't had a bow since completing the assassination contract on Rashar in the city of Kill. That had been a long time ago now and he felt like he might need a bit of practise before he could regain his mastery of the skill again. After leaving that city over a year ago, they had moved with such haste westward in an attempt to find allies that there had been little time for such a meticulous task.

It had been difficult to find the proper wood, especially in this climate, that he was used to making bows out of. It, obviously, did not grow here. He had, however, managed to find some species of sapling that came close to being as strong yet flexible as he liked.

He dusted some of the snow off the heavy robe he had been given to wear outside. At first it had been almost impossible to do any work with his hands, for as soon as he took his gloves off they became stiff with cold. He had found a way to rectify that though. After much concentration he had managed to find heated air within the chilled particles. He supposed there was always some amount of heat in the air, even if it didn't feel like it, otherwise he would simply be a block of ice. He had taken the heat and mixed it with his own body warmth and layered it over his hands. Like magical gloves! He had been rather proud to have discovered this on his own, and it allowed him to work on his bow.

He tugged on the strings experimentally. When they did not budge he raised the bow before him and pulled the chord all the way to his cheek with some amount of effort.

'_Perfect_.'

He cast an eye about for the right kind of stone with which to make an arrowhead but, of course, the earth was covered in snow and he could see nothing. It mattered not, really, stones made poor arrow heads. Too bad he had no iron to melt down…

He froze with a sudden thought. '_Well there is bound to be some unused, wont be missed at all scrap metal somewhere in the castle_.' He set off in that direction.

* * *

"What are you doing _now_?"

Ecero didn't pause as he plucked two candles out of their silver holders. They had been sitting innocently on the mantle of the fireplace when he had walked in to his and Konin's rooms. Silver was, by far, much better than iron. The arrowheads would still have a bit of weight to them, and so would carry far through the air when the chord was released. But they could be made finer, thinner and more deadly then an iron arrow head because of the way the element melted and hardened.

Ecero picked up the two large stones by his feet that he had grabbed from the edge of the lake on the way back up to the castle and tossed them to Konin.

He caught them with a perplexed frown. "What are these for?"

"You know very well I am no good with Earth. Cast a mould for me."

"Arrowheads? And silver no less." He shook his head and sat cross-legged on the floor by the fireplace, the stones before him. "Your tastes used to be so austere."

Ecero glared over his shoulder, shrugging off the heavy winter cloak and throwing it over the arm of a nearby lounge chair. He was grateful for the black high necked sweater he wore, a gift from Sirius Black, to hide the fact that he no longer wore the collar. He set a medium sized rock bowl, which he had stolen from Severus' office, on the floor and mirrored Konin's position across from him, laying the candelabras across the rim.

Focusing his energy on the fireplace to his right, he slowly drew heat from it, condensing and pinpointing it in the lowest point of the bowl and directly underneath the candelabras. As the heat began to build a small sphere of white hot energy grew in the centre of the bowl and the silver candle holders began to sag downward, the metal an angry red and the intricate designs fusing together.

He pulled the last of the heat from the last of the embers, so completely they turned to ice instantly, and nudged what was left of the candelabras into the centre of the bowl where they pooled into a single liquid mass.

Konin had the mould ready. The rocks had each been split down the middle, their halves off to one side. There was a shallow indentation in each flat edge of the broken stones in the shape of an arrowhead and a small funnel carved above them. With a hand movement and a fluttering of his eyelids, Konin sealed the two halves together and held the mould steady while Ecero levitated the bowl, too hot to touch.

Konin kept a steady gaze on Ecero's face. "That was quite an impressive bit of magic." he said, glancing sideways at the frozen embers that had, only seconds ago, been on fire.

Ecero paid him no heed. Tipping the bowl slightly, his hands hovering close by to control the flow of magic, he let a small amount of molten silver pour into the hole at the top of the mould until it was full.

"Your magic is getting stronger."

Konin was already standing when Ecero set the bowl on the floor again and he rose to look him in the eye.

So Konin had noticed it as well. Ecero had, of course, it was _his _magic they were talking about. As soon as the collar had come off he had felt…something. If he was honest with himself he would admit he hadn't know what it was. Only that it had felt wonderful. Like something in his body had been out of place all this time and when the collar was removed, it had clicked back to where it was supposed to be. He had wondered if that was a function of the collar. Perhaps it blocked some of his magic? That might explain why it had always been so strenuous to produce even a small amount of it.

But, upon reflection, that didn't make sense. Because he never felt as if it were a struggle to come up with enough magic. It was the exact opposite…he felt as if his body might collapse under the sheer magnitude of it. Perhapse the collar made it so he was scared to use his magic. which he had been.

Now, however, using magic felt natural to him. The way he supposed it probably felt to Konin and everyone else. His heart did not race. His mind no longer felt stretched beyond its limits. And he was in complete control of the flow from his core.

He had been without the collar for only a day, but already he felt like a new person. And it wasn't just in his head, he was sure of it.

"Come here." The older man ordered softly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Out of sheer habit, or perhaps sheer instinct, Ecero moved to stand before him.

Konin moved in for what would have been an aggressive kiss but stopped at the last second, his eyes trained on the high collar of Ecero's sweater.

He hooked a finger in the neck of the garment and pulled it down before Ecero even had time to blink, exposing his bare neck and a thin band of pale skin where the collar used to be.

He watched Konin's face closely, noting the slight flaring of his nostrils as he exhaled sharply with alarm.

"So," he said, visibly collecting himself, "You finally convinced them into helping you get it off." It was a poor attempt at trying to sound unaffected.

"If I hadn't asked they would have done it anyway." Ecero gave a nasty smile, "They like me so much its sickening."

"They like Harry Potter." Konin was quick to reply.

He shrugged. "Whether they see me as Harry Potter or Ecero Khol, it makes little difference. They still do whatever they can to please me." he faked a frown. "They don't seem to care for you all that much though."

Konin said nothing but the vein throbbing on his temple said it all for him.

"I bet I could convince them to kill you."

A new kind of excited gleam was burning behind Ecero's green eyes that Konin had not seen in years. He realized his death had been a challenge to Ecero. A challenged he was only now able to face,

"Then again." Suddenly Ecero's lips were mere millimetres from Konin's, his palms flat and sliding slowly up Konin's muscular chest, "That really is an honour I would like to take for myself."

He saw it coming, but let it happen anyway. Konin's fist connected sharply with Ecero's jaw and he staggered back in pain, kicking over the bowl of melted silver and cursing.

"You will _never _be good enough to beat me." Konin mocked, that little smirk Ecero had come to hate pulling at his lips.

Not bothering to spit the blood from his mouth, Ecero smiled a bloody grin. "Tsk, tsk. Such cockiness is dangerous, Konin. _You _taught me that." he made an exaggerated look of sudden realisation. "Oh wait! You taught me everything you know!" He laughed, "I am your _equal_, D'kal, and that terrifies you, doesn't it?"

Konin's whole body seemed to still. "You will never be my equal, Ecero. I will always win. You are nothing more than a stray brought in from the heat. Ver'tora put that collar around your neck, gave you a name and a purpose and you followed him like the good little slave that you are." He scoffed. "You are _nothing _to _anyone_. Do you know how many pets just like you he's had? You are just as replaceable as they were."

Ecero didn't let the rage he was feeling show on his face. A pet was he?

"I think the question you need to ask yourself, Konin, is who will he replace _you _with?"

"I'm sure he already has. The difference is _I _know my place and my abilities." he crossed his arms with a smug look, "And both of them are above you."

Ecero had a sudden thought that made his own anger dissipate. The angrier Konin became the more he seemed to talk about things he probably shouldn't, no doubt in the hopes that he might gain back some small amount of the power he had just lost over Ecero by making him lose his cool.

"You think so?" Ecero snapped, giving just enough away in his face to make Konin think his taunts were affecting him. "Would he have trusted me with all he did if he thought I was nothing more than a 'stray'?"

"Of course he would." came the sneering response. "After Ukimu was done with you, you were a clean slate! As was the same with all his faithful little hounds."

Konin was smirking again. On the inside, so was Ecero. Konin had a big, fat, juicy secret he had been dying to hold over Ecero's head since the day they met.

"At least the others had some knowledge already ingrained in their small brains. _You _didn't even have that! Your were a lost little pup that stumbled into the Azure by accident! It was pure luck Ukimu caught you down by the river that day instead of some other piece of filth!"

Konin now looked as arrogant as ever, like he had won, but Ecero was having a hard time focusing on his face.

The room swirled in his peripheral vision.

He had always know that there was a big part of something he didn't understand, but this was too much to take. Konin had just confirmed everything the people in this castle had been whispering about since his arrival here a week ago. What Albus Dumbledore had outright asked him to try and believe. All the overheard conversations, the strange looks, behaviours, words…they all made sense now. Everything fit.

He turned from Konin's smug face, unable to look at it anymore. The floor tilted beneath his feet and he fell to his hands and knees. Feeling as though he might vomit he realized that Konin _had _won. He'd known this all along…

…_You were a lost little pup who stumbled into the Azure by accident!…_

…_It was pure luck Ukimu caught you down by the river that day other than some other piece of trash!…_

…_After Ukimu was done with you, you were a clean slate…_

…_What is your name, human?_

He clutched his head in his hands and screwed his eyes shut against the onslaught of images.

…_Sirius Black is in the topmost cell of the dark tower…_

…_Magical bonds can only stretch so far…_

…_What is your name, Human?…_

They were new and old at the same time and it took him a moment to realize they were _his _memories…

…_I cannot kill you…at least, not in this world…for no bond can stretch across a universe…_

…_After what you just told us do you really think I'll allow my student to go anywhere with you alone?… _

…_You! You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!…_

Snippets of images and conversations, from relevant to mundane were flooding his head as if a mental dam had burst inside his mind.

…_Harry is, for lack of a better term, a slave! He's being forced into killing people for some stupid-_

…_Not Harry…._

…_what?…_

…_That's not Harry, Ron, how many times am I going to have to explain this to you?…_

…_What is your name, Human?…_

He groaned, his head feeling as if it were about to split in two.

…_He's not your son…_

…_He's as good as! Who else has he got?…_

…_He's got me!…_

…_And what of the time before you met Konin?…You remember nothing else before…that? Nothing at all?…_

…_You are being sent to hell…There are monsters there that you cannot imagine…Twisted, evil beings that will tear you apart or devour you whole. You do not stand a chance…_

…_He was created in darkness. A creature born from anguish and bred for killing. Yet he was no one. He was nothing. His existence was nameless and unexplained. He simply was. The only thing that seemed sure was the steady drumming of his own heart as he lay, waiting. Waiting for a clue, some sign, so he might find his purpose. Madness swirled within his mind. Images of fire and steel and blood drifted across his consciousness, his own screams playing like a morbid symphony in his ears. He stared, unblinking, into the pitch shadow of his confinement…._

The images were still coming, flashing behind his eyes like a movie plays on television. He could almost feel his mind shutting down as it played the memories continuously, never ending. In the ensuing silence, Harry lowered his hands and placed them back on the floor to steady himself. Looking sideways at the overturned bowl of molten silver he noticed it had hardened again and singed the beautiful carpet underneath.

…_It was a young girl, no older than seven or eight, as dirty and bloodied as him. She was missing an arm. It had been severed at the shoulder, veins and muscle hanging limply from the socket. Blood had soaked her tattered, dirty clothes completely and tear tracks ran down her face. She gazed up at him with pleading eyes and he stared back, his face a cold, pitiless mask. He struck like a viper, the unmistakable sound of flesh splitting and blood spilling singing in his ears…_

The despair began to consume him. He felt the Darkness in reach and pulled in towards him with more strength and need than he ever had. It came in a rush, beating audibly against the walls of the room in time with his heart; a black pulse.

Harry tried to comprehends the horror of what he had done with his own hands even as Ecero laughed at him.

As he stared at the ruined spot of carpet, he saw tendrils of the Darkness crawling gracefully up his arms like a blossoming vine, weaving themselves in and out of his flesh; a ghostly tattoo. It made him feel safe and terrified. It continued to climb up his arms, traveled across his shoulders, curled around his neck, up over his jaw and into his eyes. Something dark and evil took root in his very soul then. He felt it's taint, a corrosive acid to his spirit.

Through Harry's pain and despair and Ecero's contentment and glee he told himself one thing.

He deserved this pain.

Ecero opened his mouth and laughed out loud at him.

So Harry did the only thing he could do in response.

He screamed.


	24. Ron Hates Mondays

**Chapter 24: Ron Hates Mondays**

Ron hated Mondays…even though it was a holiday and he could sleep in. It was the whole principal of the matter. He stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink and, as expected, it stared back.

Lately he had been delaying going down to the Great Hall for breakfast as long as possible. Mainly because it was always so awkward with D'Kal and…Ecero. Both of which clearly wanted to be there about as much as they might like to be stuck in a burning building. The other reason was because Hermione usually managed to talk him in to going to the library.

At this juncture in his thoughts, Ron briefly let himself contemplate why women were so good at getting men to do whatever it was that they wanted. It certainly didn't go both ways.

His stomach rumbled obnoxiously and he was secretly glad no one was around to hear it. He sighed, knowing in his heart of hearts that food would always take precedence over everything for him. It was sad, but true, and he had learned accept it a long time ago.

He left the boys dormitory and made his way out to the common room, absently noticing that the room itself was rather dark and assumed there must be a storm on the way. Chancing a glance out one of the windows as he passed the fireplace caused him to halt.

What a strange sensation it was to see the sun shinning merrily in a cloudless blue sky while the room about you grew darker and darker.

Ron realised suddenly that he was about to pass out. The reason, he did not know. He waited for it to come…waited for his conscious thoughts to leave him. But in a matter of seconds he could not see his hand when he held it an inch from his nose and didn't feel anything short of completely normal.

"I've gone blind!" he yelled suddenly, panic rising so swiftly in his chest it threatened to choke the air from his lungs.

He forced himself to breath.

"People don't go blind for no reason." he reasoned with himself out loud.

What the hell had happened then?

He pulled his wand from his robes, getting it caught up in the fabric in his hast. "Lumos."

After a moment of frantic searching, he thought he might be able to see a small pin prick of light where he guessed the tip of his wand might be.

He scowled. "Lumos Maxima!"

A pathetic sphere of light emanated weakly from the end of his wand, which he could now see. The light was dim and hazy, as if it had no energy. He could see his wand and the hand that held it but nothing else in the room was visible.

As it registered in his mind, Ron suddenly had the feeling of being very small. Even though he knew where he was and what the room looked like, it was like his hand and wand hung in an indefinite amount of space. It was chilling. There was something not right here. Something unnatural that made his wand light pulse like it did. As if an unseen force was drawing on it…

"Right." Ron said resolutely. This would have to do.

* * *

…_He was created in darkness. A creature born from anguish and bred for killing. Yet he was no one. He was nothing. His existence was nameless and unexplained. He simply was. The only thing that seemed sure was the steady drumming of his own heart as he lay, waiting. Waiting for a clue, some sign, so he might find his purpose. Madness swirled within his mind. Images of fire and steel and blood drifted across his consciousness, his own screams playing like a morbid symphony in his ears. He stared, unblinking, into the pitch shadow of his confinement…_

* * *

He heard their voices before he saw their faces.

"What's going on?" He said, loud enough to carry over all the other people talking in the Great Hall.

It had taken him ages to get there. With only a few inches of light by which to see he had had to place his wand close to the wall and follow the portraits.

"Ron?" That was Hermione's voice. "Ron, we're over here, by the table."

He had only just gone through the doors and thought there was a lot more space between himself and the table. However, a loud thud and an exploding pain in his knee proved him wrong.

"Damn it! What the bloody hell is going on?" he growled in frustration, sitting on the chair that had just incapacitated him and rubbing his knee furiously.

"We are yet unsure, Mr. Weasley." Came the answer from Dumbledore, somewhere off to his right.

Ron stood once again and made his way over in that direction, as that is where Hermione's voice had come from as well. He felt like an idiot with his hands splayed out before him and his eyes as wide as they would go, as if that would make any difference.

After a few tense seconds of following their voices, Ron was finally able to discern the usual group of people where they stood, huddled together in a faint dome of light barely big enough to encompass them all.

It was the second time Ron felt his stomach heave. With all their wand tips together like that, the light should have been blinding, not struggling like it was.

"This is crazy." Hermione said, looking exasperated. "The more light we try and produce the dimmer the light gets. It's like we're feeding the darkness…" she trailed off quietly as everyone stared after her chilling words.

Ron looked closely at the small group of people and frowned. "Where are Konin and Ecero?"

* * *

…_He was created in darkness. A creature born from anguish and bred for killing. Yet he was no one. He was nothing. His existence was nameless and unexplained. He simply was. The only thing that seemed sure was the steady drumming of his own heart as he lay, waiting. Waiting for a clue, some sign, so he might find his purpose. Madness swirled within his mind. Images of fire and steel and blood drifted across his consciousness, his own screams playing like a morbid symphony in his ears. He stared, unblinking, into the pitch shadow of his confinement…_

* * *

Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore and Snape made their way through the black corridors of the castle. They huddled together in a close group, allowing their wand tips to make a slightly larger circle of light by which they could see, but also slowing their progress a great deal.

They had left Filch in charge of looking after the children. A decision neither the children, nor Filtch, had been happy with. The rest of the adults had then decided to search for the two missing occupants of the castle. Starting with their rooms.

As they rounded the last corner to what they were pretty sure was the correct hallway, Sirius began to feel the awful tendrils f anxiety clawing at the walls of his stomach. It was one of those moments in life when you just _knew _you were not going to be happy with whatever was about to happen.

Their little bubble of light was abruptly invaded as they jumbled forward awkwardly, Konin's face suddenly within their realm of sight.

Sirius stifled what he was sure would have been a very feminine screech of surprise but couldn't stop his muscles from jumping of their own accord. He blushed, sure that, at this proximity, Remus could hear his heart battering his ribcage violently.

"How's your nerves, Sirius?" in his ear confirmed his fears.

"Where is Ecero?" Dumbledore asked the creepy man.

Konin's eerie blue eyes shifted quickly to Albus. Only some of the man's face was visible. Others were past that wall of light and looked as if they were missing from existence entirely. It made him look even more sinister than usual.

"He is in our rooms." The man replied after what seemed like an eternity. "On the floor," he added, "In front of the fire place."

No one said anything for several seconds. Albus and Konin seemed to be locked in some kind of mental battle that Sirius could neither see nor understand.

"Well is he alright?" Seemed like the most important question that needed to be answered.

Konin's blue eyes did not deviate from Dumbledore's. "He's been worse."

Sirius made to push past the aggravating man but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Looking back, he saw that Konin had finally broke off his little staring match with the headmaster and now had his face inches from Sirius' own.

"Listen to me carefully." Konin was so close Sirius felt his breath whoosh over his face with the intensity with which the words were spoken. "You. Must. Not. Touch. Him."

Sirius snarled and pushed the man away, right into a wall he hadn't known was there. "You're one to talk!"

Dumbledore silenced him with a stern look and said sharply, "Explain."

"We have not got the time for that now! There is nothing you can do. He's lost and he is _not _coming back." Konin's words were harsh.

"So what, we just leave him in there? Is that what you are suggesting?" Sirius could not understand why he was the only one getting upset. Remus was pale but otherwise just looked torn between getting involved and keeping out of Konin's way. Dumbledore looked serene as ever. And Snape…well Sirius didn't consider Snape to be part of the human race. He fell into his _own _category of creepy and gross and so his emotions, or lack thereof, didn't count.

"No." Said Konin, his jaw clenched in anger. "I am suggesting that we kill him. Now. While we still have a chance."

Sirius was so taken aback his mouth couldn't even fall open.

"Not an option, I'm afraid." Dumbledore countered coolly.

Not the words Sirius would have used but certainly more polite.

Konin whirled so fast Sirius thought he was going to attack the old man. He felt Snape tense beside him, assuming the same.

"You don't understand, you _fools_! Harry Potter is _gone_! That boy in there is something none of you can comprehend in this _disgusting_, light filled, happy little world of yours!" Everyone unconsciously took a step back from the man, his anger palpable. "He's had you fooled since the day he walked through those doors! Every word has a thought behind it. Every facial expression is planned, down to the barest twitch! Every pitch in his voice, every stressed syllable is a deception! A way to bend you to his will! He is a master of manipulation…it is what he was _created _for." Konin seemed to be running out of steam now and finished this eerie revelation with "You cannot believe a word he has said to you, or you will all die by his hand."

Remus spoke for the first time. "He would never hurt us."

Konin sneered. "I taught him to draw a sword like a person draws breath. It is his nature to kill."

"Enough of this!" Severus said, pushing pas Sirius and Konin and disappearing beyond the sphere of light given by their wands.

They were silent and heard a door open not five paces from where they stood. Remus and Dumbledore moved forward to follow Snape and Sirius did the same, looking over his shoulder to tell Konin to keep close, not wanting to let the man out of his sight for a second. But the words died in his throat. He turned around fully and searched what little space he could in the fading light.

Konin was nowhere to be seen.

'_Doesn't mean much'_, Sirius thought, '_the man could be two feet away and I wouldn't bloody know it!' _though he felt that wasn't the case.

When they passed over the threshold and into the room beyond, Sirius felt something in the very air shift. Something dark. Something evil. Something terribly powerful.

The hairs on his arms stood on end and he had to fight the urge to look over his shoulder.

Harry was to his right. He knew without looking. The…feeling, whatever it was, became more concentrated, denser, heavier with every step he took towards his godson.

"Sirius…"

He was beyond the security of the light. He could no longer see the others and barely heard one of them call his name. When a magical charge shocked every nerve in his body, he halted, working hard to control his breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. In…

Energy tingled along his limbs like pins and needles and something greasy and sluggish had replaced the blood in his veins, making it hard to lift his wand even a few inches upward.

The dim light produced by said wand gave him little insight into what was having this sort of effect on him, but shed a pale light on someone's face. Harry's face.

Only it wasn't. His skin, which had been a beautiful bronze when Sirius had seen him yesterday, was now almost translucent. Black veins crept out from under the collar of his shirt and up his neck like vines overcome an old house and his eyes were as black as the surrounding room and reflected no light from Sirius' wand.

The boy sat just where Konin had said. On the floor. In front of the fireplace.

He frowned and shook his head, trying to dispel the growing sense of fatigue and looked closer at his godson, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him.

A thin stream of light from the tip of his wand was drifting lazily towards Harry's face. Sirius watched, fascinated. The drunken feeling seemed to be keeping his fear at bay and he swayed on the spot. The light split an inch before it touched Harry's skin and funnelled directly in the center of each eye, right where the iris should have been.

Hermione's words from the Great Hall suddenly drifted into his fuzzy recollection.

"_It's like we're feeding the darkness_."

He suddenly felt tired beyond normal human level, drained of energy, mind and magic.

Something was keeping him conscious. He could feel it moving inside his chest. A burst of mental panic made him waver where he stood and he shakily rubbed a hand over his heart as it fluttered and pounded sporadically.

Harry's face turned slowly upwards towards the wand tip and Sirius realized it wasn't just the light this creature was taking from him, but his very life force.

When the light emanating from his wand failed with the last of his strength and was absorbed into those soulless black eyes, the small amount of comfort it had given faded fast.

"Stupefy!"

Sirius was glad someone had said it, because he had just fallen, no longer able to stand. Harry lay parallel to him on the floor, the stunner having hit its mark.

He noticed weakly that, even though darkness was creeping into the corners of his vision, light was slowly restoring itself in the room.

Or perhaps it was the Darkness that had decided to let it come back.


	25. The Edge of the Precipice

**Chapter 25: Parasite**

The silence was like an anvil on his chest. The eyes, which took turns fluttering in his direction, felt like needles on his skin. But nothing compared to the weight and sting of his own despair. The fates were cruel, if life had taught him anything.

It had been a full twenty four hours since they had found Harry…Ecero…Sirius scowled and kicked an empty Fire Whiskey bottle out of his path . Whoever he was. The young man was still unconscious in the hospital wing where they had left him and they were no closer to finding out what had suddenly gone so wrong. Now that he thought about it, they had solved little of the grand mystery surrounding Ecero and Konin and their return. Or rather, Harry's return and Konin's unfortunate tag-along. Dumbledore had his theories of course, as he always did, but any and every possible explanation seemed so outlandish and unbelievable. Of course, what had happened was outlandish and unbelievable. Most people would scoff if asked to trust such a tale.

He stopped walking, if the awkward motion his body was making could be described with such a formal adjective, and gave the entrance hall a moment to right itself as he leaned up against a nearby wall.

Oh how he would feel tomorrow morning…

He tried to remember what had driven him to drink in the first place. He could not clearly recall. Not that it mattered now.

His head snapped up suddenly. '_Hadn't I gone to the Three Broomsticks with Remus?_' he asked himself. Snapshots from what he assumed was tonight suggested he _had _been with Remus at a bar. Another snapshot of him looking _up _at Remus also suggested he had fallen off his stool at some point. His face became hot at the memory.

"Remus?" He called out, turning back to the enormous doors that still stood open behind him. He peered into the night and listened hard for any footsteps.

"What are you -"

Sirius jumped a mile in the air at the sound of his friend's voice in his ear. He placed a hand to his heart, as if that would somehow help stop it from hammering on his rib cage. After he caught his breath he yelled "How the bloody hell did you do that?

Remus looked confused. "I haven't done anything."

"Yes! I was walking…I was walking all the way back to the castle and you weren't there! How did you get back here before me?" he jabbed a finger into his chest a few times, as if Remus might not know who he was talking about.

Remus had a look of deep, deep concentration on his face as he swayed precariously were he stood. Suddenly he smiled, and his hands were in the air. "I left before you!" he declared triumphantly, clearly please at having solved the mystery. He pointed at Sirius. "Yes, you remember? I wanted to leave but you wanted to have a shot with that strange looking goblin that kept trying to chat us up." He made a face.

Sirius' own features were slack as he tried to recall this and his eyes wandered down to the floor.

"Good Lord…" Remus muttered.

Sirius looked up. The werewolf was gazing at his feet with a quizzical frown.

"I've lost a shoe."

Sirius felt his brow crease. "But those are the ones I bought you."

Remus burst out laughing and Sirius stumbled forward to help him walk back to their rooms.

'_Well_,' thought Sirius, '_We'll stay in his rooms tonight. I'll be damned if I walking all the way over to mine._'

As it was, they barely managed to stumble to Remus' quarters. Feeling a little ill and thoroughly exhausted, Sirius let Remus go, where the man promptly fell to the ground.

"I'm not putting you to be as well." Sirius garbled, looking down his nose.

There was a moment of silence where Sirius believed his friend was contemplating sleeping right where he was, then he said, "There was a time, Sirius, when you'd've picked me up, thrown me on the bed and stripped me naked if I asked…"

"You never said anything about getting naked." He answered grumpily. If he had thought for a second that Remus was being serious, they would have already been in the bed by now.

But no, Remus had closed that particular avenue of pleasure a long time ago. He sighed and left the man to pass out where he was, lying in front of the door. When his head hit the pillow it was the most glorious thing he had ever felt. From somewhere in his mind he told himself to enjoy it while it lasted because, come morning, he was going to regret doing those shots with that bloody goblin.

* * *

As expected, Sirius was awoken by a horrible churning sensation in his stomach. He squinted against the harsh light streaming in through the window on the other side of the room and tried to piece together the events of last night.

There was movement beside him and he froze before realising Remus must have scraped himself off the floor at some point last night and crawled in bed with him. Unfortunately, they were both still fully clothed.

"Jesus…" he heard Remus moan beside him.

They rolled onto their backs simultaneously, groaning, their sides pressed together as they gazed up at the ceiling.

"Well, it's been a while since we've gotten _that _drunk." The werewolf said conversationally. "Though I think I may still have a hangover potion or two lying around here somewhere." He tried to spot one from where he lay, his head swivelling this way and that, unwilling to get out of bed.

"Well if you don't, I _definitely _have some in my rooms."

"Hmm."

A moment of silence passed before Sirius said casually. "Well, I don't have a headache if you want a little rise and shine action."

His crooked smirk was promptly disposed of when the pillow smashed into his face.

* * *

Sirius now recalled why he and Remus had gone to the bar last night. He had been trying to forget and/or delay the conversation that was about to take place.

He was trudging up the winding staircase that lead to Dumbledore's office, his feet feeling as if they were clad in iron boots. He did not want to do this. He didn't want to hear what Madam Pomfrey had to say about his godson. He knew there would be no good news. He was the only one who had been close to Harry when they found him in that room. He was the only one who had been touched by that…thing inside Harry. The only one who could understand it's darkness. It's evil. Nothing that felt as that thing had would be good for his godson. If the godson he knew and loved even existed anymore.

When he got to the office door he contemplated not knocking. Maybe he could just turn around and leave. He knew, though, that that would only delay the inevitable and he would still have to deal with that sick nervous feeling of _not knowing._

He heaved a sigh and knocked once on the wooden door.

When Poppy arrived, the first thing she did was sigh, looking completely exhausted. Dumbledore conjured a chair for her and she collapsed into it, not having had the energy to conjure one herself.

"Thank you, Albus." she mumbled into the steaming cup of tea that had just floated across the table.

Everyone was here in Dumbledore's office. Snape, Sirius, Remus, Arthur, Molly, Minerva and Ron and Hermione. It had been a bit of a struggle to get Molly to accept the fact that 'the children' would be sitting in on this little meeting. She gave the same argument she always did. And, as always, they listened patiently until she was done before telling her not to worry and that they had as much a right as any of them to be there. It was a custom for them now, to have this argument. It was one of the few normal, stable things in their life and, as silly as it sounded, no one wanted it to stop. It was nice to know that someone cared and, however futile the attempt may be, tried to keep them safe from harm.

Finally the medi-witch began to speak. "I'm not sure what to say…"

Dumbledore smiled encouragingly, "Just start from the beginning."

She let out a shaky breath. "There is no sensitive way to say this so, please, do not think I lack compassion when I say that Harry Potter, by all accounts, should be dead." When no one said anything right away she continued in a rush. "His body," she struggled to find the words, her free hand making a clutching motion as if to pull the words she needed from the air "His body is no longer functioning to capacity. He is, quite literally, a walking dead man."

"Clearly he isn't." Hermione said, the highly logical side of her needed to point out the obvious fact that Harry was still very much alive. Her eyes were suspiciously glassy and her face was red, as if Pomfrey's words had upset her.

The medi-witch shook her head. "Of course, he is clearly alive and moving. I don't know how to explain what I mean. I've never seen something like this before. It's like there is another force inside him. When I did my scans I read two separate bodies of magical energy." She looked around at them all. "It is my belief that its some sort of parasite."

"A parasite?" Snape deadpanned from his corner, a dark eyebrow arched.

"A parasite…" Dumbledore mumbled, a deep frown creasing what little bit of his face wasn't covered in beard. He leaned back in his chair contemplatively "A magical parasite is easily picked up in a place such as the Azure. Once it finds a host it piggybacks a ride to our world with it?" he looked to Poppy and she nodded.

"It makes perfect sense when you think about it. As much as any of this makes sense. The parasite needs a host body to survive. It feeds off Harry's power and, in turn, feeds Harry it's own power to keep him alive."

Ron looked confused. "So this parasite is keeping Harry alive just so it can take Harry's power?"

"Yes," Hermione answered, "Because the parasite needs Harry's power to stay alive itself. So if Harry dies, than so does the parasite, and if the parasite dies than so does…oh." She seemed to just realize something, her face falling.

Sirius grumbled angrily, "So what you're saying is to get rid of this thing we need to cut off its connection to Harry's power source. But if we do _that _then Harry will no longer be able to receive its power and he'll die because his body is so ravaged by that fucking hell dimension he needs the life support this thing has him on in order to stay alive?"

"Sirius, calm down." Remus said half-heartedly. He was sitting in a chair, his head resting in one of his hands. It was obvious he was still waiting for that hangover potion to kick in.

Sirius scoffed, shook his head and pushed himself angrily to his feet. "I'm sorry, but this, it just…it's so…" his face was becoming redder and redder and his arms were flailing around like oxygen was the words he could not find. "This _sucks_!"

Remus noticed Ron hide a grin behind his hand.

"Thank you Captain Obvious." Hermione mumbled.

"I mean can't that poor kid catch a break?" Sirius either hadn't heard Hermione or else chose not to comment.

There was an air about Sirius' body language that suggested he wanted to say this and get it off his chest and apparently everyone sensed it, for they all sat back in their chairs and either stared at Sirius as he paced or stared at the floor and waited until he was done.

"_First _he gets captured by Voldemort and put through god only knows what at the hands of the Death Eaters. _Then _he gets sucked into this fucking Hell dimension and tortured some _more_! _Then _he's forced to kill and torture other people for this gross, ugly demon, on top of which he has to spend all his time with a disgusting pedophile that he cant even run away from because he's leashed like a dog! Then to top it all off, he _finally _finds his way home and we discover he's basically no more than a corpse having his strings pulled by some big powerful nasty, like a creepy little puppet!"

"Sirius, for Christ sake, breath will you?" Minerva snapped, looking pale.

Everyone looked at her in shock. Personally, Ron hadn't thought she was capable of swearing like that.

"Well," Poppy said, looking slightly wary of Sirius, who's arms had at least stopped flailing. "I was going to say that I'm not entirely sure we _need _to get rid of it. The parasite, I mean. At least not yet. It seems to be doing him nothing but good."

Hermione pulled a face. "Well it's keeping him alive, right? We can't get rid of it."

"But, now that he's home, we'll be able to make him well again, right?" Molly asked, speaking for the first time. She clutched her purse tightly in her lap. "And then he wont need this, this _thing _to keep him alive anymore."

There was an awkward moment when everyone looked over to Poppy for the answer.

She sighed, "I really don't think you all understand the seriousness of his condition. Some of his internal organs didn't even register as having living cells in them. I don't know if he would ever be able to regain full use of them." She finished quietly, her head bowed. "My only thought is that maybe this power he has might be able to repair some of the damage now that it no longer struggles just to keep him upright."

"So we may never be able to get rid of this thing for him?" Minerva asked, looking stricken.

Poppy supposed it was rather difficult for the others to believe that someone who looked and spoke as if they were perfectly healthy was really, as Sirius had said it, basically having their strings pulled by a higher power.

"I don't know, Minerva. Really I don't. For the time being, however, it would be unwise to try anything of the sort. It _is _keeping him alive."

Sirius, though calmer, was shaking his head again. "Look, you didn't feel that…_thing _like I did, OK? I could feel it when I was close to Harry in his room. It was…greasy and heavy and dark." He rubbed his arms as if he could feel it on his skin even then. "Just pure, black evil." He shivered, remembering the feeling of that sheer amount of power slithering across his skin. "It may not be hurting him physically, but you don't play host to something that evil and come out of it a better person."

* * *

They had argued and deliberated the matter for another hour after that and finally it had come down to taking the advice of the only medical professional in the room, who had become increasingly agitated as they all seemed to ignore her warnings.

They would, of course, not try and rid Harry of the parasite. Mostly because he would, according to Pomfrey, die instantly, but also because they didn't have a clue as to how.

* * *

The hospital wing was heavy with silence. Much like the rest of the castle, and even the barest shift of fabric rustling seemed amplified tenfold. Moonlight beamed in through the many windows, checkering the floor like a ghostly chessboard.

Harry had woken. At least, his eyes were open. The switch from unconscious to conscious had not registered in him. He stared straight up but didn't see the ceiling. He hadn't blinked since his eyes had opened, but the burn went unnoticed.

'_Murderer_…'

Tears welled in his eyes like a spring.

He was worse than Voldemort. A sob clawed its way from his throat, causing the tears to cascade down the sides of his face and leave cool trails into his hair. He was worse than the thing he was supposed to be a symbol of hope against.

'_Murderer_…'

One would think, of all the people, creatures, demons, whatever, that he had killed…or dismembered or tortured or maimed…that he wouldn't be able to remember _Every_. _Single_. _One_.

'_Murderer_…'

Their screams rang in his head as loudly as if their mouths were right by his ear. He pulled a face and grabbed fistfuls of his hair.

"Shut up…" he moaned, scrunching his eyes shut against the noise and forcing more tears to roll down his face.

They only seemed to get louder, as if they wanted to punish him for trying to block out the pain he had caused them. He moved his hands from his hair to cover his ears.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" he said, his voice becoming increasingly louder.

For the millionth time since he had woken, the crushing force of reality descended on his chest.

'_Murderer_…'

Their faces swam before his eyes, their mouths open, all screaming at once. He tried to see them all but there were so many. Some had their throats slit wide. Some had knives or arrows or spears through their eyes. Some just had blood falling from their mouths. Some had no skin left on their faces because he had peeled it off while they still lived. He wanted to wretch and made to wave them out of the air but froze. His hands were black with their blood. Every drop from his victims seemed to be washing over his hands. It was so thick and wet and warm and he stared at them.

For a moment his mind was calm. He knew this. He was comfortable with this feeling. He liked the warmth of life in his hands, dripping down his arms…

He let this feeling take over. Just a little break. Just for a minute. He rubbed his hands together, enjoying the slick feeling of blood between his fingers again. The Darkness pulsed in his chest, flaring to life at the sudden return of Ecero's blood lust.

His eyes widened and his gut churned; his break was over.

"NO!"

He frantically began wiping his hands off on the sheets and pushed the Darkness away with such ferocity it left him feeling dizzy.

They were howling in his ear again. Louder this time. Louder, louder, louder…

'_MURDERER_!'

He shot into a sitting position, "STOP IT! SHUT UP!"

He thought his throat might have ripped down the middle but he didn't care. As he pulled his knees to his chest and bowed his head, his hands snaked up into his hair again, pulling hard and trying to focus on the pain instead of the screams.

"Leave me. Leave me. Leave me." his whispers trembled, "Leave me…"

Suddenly the Darkness was there, throwing him brutally into unconsciousness.

* * *

As Hermione slipped into the dark hospital wing, she was unsure if she wanted to see her friend so soon after the news Madam Pomfrey had delivered. She still had not processed the entire thing yet and was having a difficult time wrapping her head around the facts of the situation. She could see Harry's slumbering form in the bed in the far corner and she made her way towards it as quietly as she could. Though she doubted it made little difference, as Ecero had always seemed to be able to hear her coming from three corridors over.

She wondered what they would do with him when he woke. It was shocking to remember that the school would be filled with students in another week. So much had gone on in the first half of the holidays…the events hardly seemed real to her. She was finding it difficult to believe she would have to be back in class soon. Taking notes and studying and talking about such mundane things as who was going to win the Quidditch cup this year.

She gave herself a mental shake as she drew closer to his beside. Then she slowed, frowning. Harry lay on the bed on his back, in the same position they had set him down in, but his eyes were open. She shivered.

He wasn't blinking.

Her features went slack with a sudden, horrible, realization and she darted forward to his bedside.

"Harry?" she called loudly to him, tears blurring her vision. She had just raised a hand to shake his shoulder when she noticed his chest rising and falling. She collapsed into one of the many chairs that circled his bed, her legs trembling so badly they failed to support her weight.

"Thank god." She whispered into the dark room, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Her heart fluttered anxiously with the shot of adrenaline she had just received.

When she looked at her friend again she noticed tears had welled in his eyes and she leaned forward in her chair. "Oh, Harry…"

She jumped when she reached for his hand and he let out a sob, his tears finally falling.

"Harry, you musn't let this get to you!" She pleaded. Even though the words sounded ridiculous after what he had been through, she didn't know what else to say. "You are better than him, Harry. Stronger than him. Ecero isn't you, he was something you were forced to become in order to survive."

She watched his features crumble at her words. Another sob wracked his body and he grasped fistfuls of his hair. Her heart broke but she hoped her words got through to him.

"Remember that you are safe now. You're surrounded by friends and family. I know it hurts now but it will get better."

"Shut up…"

She blinked. He looked like her very words pained him. He even covered his ears and continued to moan.

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"

She jumped when his voice became loud. "Harry, please. I didn't mean to upset you. I-"

He began to sob, great heart wrenching lungful of air shaking his body. He suddenly moved his hands before him, as if to push something away, and she stifled a cry of surprise at the abrupt movement.

She watched him stare at his hands in horror and felt a cold feeling spreading through her stomach.

Her features dissolved into a stony mask as she watched her friend rub his hands, weaving his fingers together. A peaceful look had settled over his face, a stark contrast to the anguish that had been there not a second ago.

It was back just as quickly.

"NO!"

She gripped the armrests of the chair and closed her eyes when he started to frantically tangle his hands in his bed sheet, like he was trying to wipe something off them. She couldn't watch anymore.

'_He doesn't even know I'm here.' _She felt wetness soaking her cheeks and realized through her shock that she was crying.

Harry suddenly lurched forward, a scream so raw tearing from his throat Hermione expected blood to dribble down his chin.

"STOP IT! SHUT UP!"

She jumped again at his loud words and her lip trembled as she pulled her wand.

"Leave me, leave me, leave me…"

"Stupefy." She whispered.


	26. The Eye of the Storm

**Chapter 26: The Eye of the Storm**

He felt the anger, no, the fury, rise in his chest like the great ugly beast that it was. Ruthlessly, he battled it into submission. There would be time to deal with that later. Right now, he had to focus on keeping it together.

He wasn't at all sure how long he had been in that hospital bed, trying desperately to organize the chaos in his mind as it swirled violently like a hurricane. Eventually, though, the storm raging in his head seemed to quiet. The whirlwind slowed and pieces of thoughts and emotions seemed to fall into place and settle comfortably. It hadn't been an easy process. He had snippets of memories where he woke in restraints; of having calming potions forced down his throat and of spells being cast to contain his explosive magic. These thoughts were fractured though, broken, like debris strewn about after a storm.

But enough is enough and he seemed to have reached a place where everything appeared somewhat stable. His biggest problem was controlling the rage, which seemed to swell in his chest at the most random and inopportune moments. Usually this was triggered by thoughts of Konin D'kal. Even the voice in his head spat the name like a curse word.

He forced himself to let the thought go, for fear of losing control. Again. That would be _most _counterproductive.

The differences between Harry and Ecero were something palpable within his thought process. He could tell the difference most times. Such dark and sinister ideas had never crossed his mind before the Azure. Well, not much anyway. He had come to accept that Ecero and Harry were one in the same person now, yet still had trouble calling himself one or the other. It was alarming to have such contrasting views of the world. A part of him still raged with violence and anger and the desire to fight; was fascinated by the life in this world, the snow, the people, the customs...

The other part of him, Harry, was ashamed and horrified by the crimes he's committed.

But if its one thing he's realized, its that nothing will get done to fix his problems while he's lying tied to a bed and driving himself crazy. The only thing he couldn't seem to figure out was who to go after first: Voldemort...or Konin D'kal.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey had not wanted to let him go, but was forced to by the fact that she had no reason to keep him there. He left the hospital wing grateful that Poppy was, as yet, the only person who knew he was gone. Ignoring her angry huffs, he made his way straight to Albus' office, clad only in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt Pomfrey had insisted on transfiguring for him.

When he reached the statue of the gargoyle, his hope of someone coming or going from the office so that he did not need to use the password left him disappointed. The corridor was deserted. He decided to head to the next most likely place to find people: the Great Hall.

Their voices echoed loudly through the halls the closer to his destination he got. At last, he rounded the cornered and came through the doors and, as he expected, all conversation ceased and there was an awkward moment where everyone at the table blinked at him as he made his way over.

He felt annoyance bubbling in his stomach when he realized Dumbledore was not there either.

"Where is Albus?" he asked the silent room before someone else had a chance to speak.

"In his office probably - what are you doing out of the hospital wing?" Remus asked, being the first to have recovered from the shock of Harry's abrupt entrance. His fork had stopped halfway to his mouth and a chunk of cooked carrot hung precariously from only one prong.

Harry shot him an annoyed look. "Would you have me stay there forever?" he shifted his shoulders and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his t-shirt. "Pomfrey had no choice but to let me go as there was no viable reason for her to keep me there."

"But, you're...er...I mean-" Ron stumbled over his words, having seemed to think they may not be well received.

"Are you sure you're feeling well?" Hermione covered smoothly, instead of 'but you're bat shit crazy' as Ron was most likely about to say.

"Yes, and I would rather like to be getting on with things, so if you will excuse me." he got halfway through a short bow, his hand on his stomach, as was custom in the Azure when leaving someone's presence, before jerking back quickly and turning on his heel to leave. Halfway down the corridor he heard the expected footsteps chasing after him.

"Harry, wait a moment!"

It was Remus. Surprising, he had expected it to be Hermione.

He stopped and turned to regard the man. "Yes?" he refused to let the blush of embarrassment rise to visibility after the slip up with the bow. He _really _needed to work on controlling Ecero's strange habits.

Apparently the older man had not thought of anything to say on his way from the table, for he blurted, "Er...well, I'll accompany you to Albus' office."

_'Don't want to leave me to my own devices, eh? Interesting. They think I'm mentally unstable.'_

Well, he supposed he could hardly argue.

The two made their way to the office in silence and Harry was surprised to see Sirius already occupying one of the convenient number of chairs arranged before Dumbledore's desk, behind which the old man sat.

"Harry, my boy! You are looking well, indeed!" Albus cried jovially.

A quick glance in Sirius' direction found the man looking at the floor. Harry's eyes narrowed. Between Dumbledore's overkill on the happiness front and Sirius' lack of surprise at his entrance, not to mention lack of greeting, could only mean one thing.

"Well, well, word does travel fast." He cocked his head to the side, "Pomfrey called you quicker than I anticipated."

Dumbledore only smiled and waved his hand towards the two remaining seats.

There was a moment of heavy silence in which Harry contemplated Sirius. The man had not even raised his head so far. Just as he was about to ask the man what the hell was wrong with him, he spoke.

"You still have an accent." he muttered, speaking to his hands.

"Excuse me?" Harry was confused and growing agitated by his godfather's solemn mood and lack of acknowledgement.

"You sound like Ecero!" he snapped.

Harry was silent for a moment, noting Remus' concerned expression and Albus' curious one. He turned his attention back to his godfather, who still had yet to raise his head, and said, quite matter of factly. "I understand where you are coming from, Sirius, however I suggest you find a way to get over this issue you have."

At that, his godfather's head snapped up quickly, his face a mixture of outrage and anger.

Harry had not been aware that he had been speaking with an accent. No doubt his fluency and frequent usage of Queghan was the cause. He would have to work on that.

Harry continued calmly before Sirius had a chance to speak. "Ecero is a part of me that, however much I wish it, I cannot get rid of. You need to understand that I am still your godson, James and Lily's son. I'm still Harry." He shifted, uncomfortable with the emotional turn the conversation was taking. He made an effort to speak more softly as he watched Sirius' harsh expression smooth out. "What I've been through...what...what I've done," he swallowed, "I can't forget that. I can't change that. And I need you to understand that _I've _changed. Just like you, I've gone through something awful and come out of it, not a worse person, but certainly different then I was."

Sirius seemed to be thinking it over, and when the man let go of a huge sigh, Harry could at least be grateful of the fact that his godfather seemed to be giving his words some thought..

"Harry, I must confess my concerns." Dumbledore began softly. Hesitantly. "Though I am thrilled by this positive start to your recovery, I must say I am more than slightly alarmed at the speed with which you have reached this point." He leaned forward and gave him that piercing Dumbledore stare over the top of his glasses. "I worry you are suppressing the issues at hand. I'm sure you know the potential disaster that could come of that."

"And what are the issues at hand?" Harry asked, keeping his tone in check.

Dumbledore removed his glasses and set them to the side of the desk. "Harry, you've been tortured-"

"Nothing new."

"-Sexually assaulted-"

"Wasn't _always _non-consensual."

"-brain washed-"

"Clearly not."

Dumbledore sighed and regarded him sadly. "And you've taken lives."

Harry bristled. "Yes. Hundreds of them, in fact. And in ways so creative it would impress Voldemort."

Sirius was shaking his head. "And your trying to tell me your still my godson..." he looked disgusted as he stood, nervous energy making it impossible to sit still.

Harry fought to control his anger. "Yes that's right! I've come to terms with this, Sirius. If you want to wallow in despair over something that is said and done then be my guest! I have much more important things to attend to than your emotionally stunted mental issues." Maybe he didn't have as good a hold on his anger than he would have liked.

Sirius turned on him so swiftly Harry braced himself for an attack. Though none came and the older man simply fled the room, leaving Harry halfway out of his seat, his stance rigid.

"Nice." Remus shot in Harry's direction, following his friend from the office, no doubt to attempt some sort of damage control.

Harry shifted his weight in his chair, feeling only a little guilty. He may have sounded harsh but that seemed to be the most effective way of getting through to Sirius sometimes. He hoped the man figured things out soon or he was only going to be disappointed again and again. Harry knew he should probably be more patient, but after everything that he'd been through he rather thought that Sirius was being a bit unsupportive. Though he supposed his godfather had always been a bit on the emotional side, frequently displaying extreme reactions to any given situation. Like a child. Or like someone who's had twelve years of time, which most people spend maturing, taken away from him. Perhaps he _should _be approaching this problem differently.

He was brought out of his musings on how to fix his strained relationship with his godfather when Dumbledore began speaking again.

"As I am sure Remus will be speaking to you about Sirius at a later time." Albus sent him a mildly reproving stare, "That leaves us free to discuss other matters."

"I want to find Konin." Harry said quickly, not sure how this admission would be received.

Dumbledore froze for a fraction of a second before managing to recover. He hid his shock well, took a moment to dump a spoonful of sugar into his tea, and seemed to chose his words very carefully. "Why is that a priority for you?" he inquired gently.

Harry forced his jaw to unclench. "We have...unfinished business that needs attending to."

Dumbledore contemplated him silently for a moment. The red sunset outside cast an eerily bloody tinge to the room and seemed to reflect in Dumbledore's piercing eyes. A trail of tinted steam rose from the untouched tea, spiralling up in front of the wizened face like a veil.

"You wish to kill him."

"Very astute observation, Albus." Harry deadpanned. "What gave me away?"

"I don't think you tried all that hard to hide it." The old wizard said shrewdly. " Harry, this is exactly what I was referring to earlier. You are suppressing your anger and Ecero's bloodlust. His need to fight. His desire for revenge."

Harry smiled slightly. "I am suppressing nothing, Albus. I am _embracing _it. I am focusing and redirecting it to where it can be _useful_."

"We have no _use _for a mind such as Ecero's on the side of the Light." Dumbledore's tone had a sharp edge to it.

"Perhaps that is why our tenuous advantage in this war has been slipping so steadily." If Dumbledore wanted to play this game then Harry would go along. Dumbledore did not understand his mind. Not anymore. Ecero's cunning and skills of manipulation were his now and if the old man tried to keep him from his goal he would unleash upon him Ecero's full potential.

In the high backed chair across the desk, Dumbledore seemed to be growing angry. "Harry, this is not the way we do things, here. We do not blur the lines of Light and Dark to meet our needs. That is exactly what we oppose. What we fight _against_."

Harry made a show of examining his nails. "Yes, so far its going great."

Albus' was trying to collect himself across the desk, anger now fully evident in his deeply lined face. Harry sighed and dropped his hand. This was exhausting and getting them nowhere. He didn't know how to explain the way he felt. Some of his emotions now were foreign to him. The flares of intense rage or hatred. The urge to outright punch Sirius in the face a moment ago. Or the way his mind strayed to different ways to torture and kill Konin every few minutes. The worst feeling of all was the lack of guilt. Perhaps Sirius was right. Perhaps all that is left is Ecero.

_'No, he's wrong'_' Ecero is evil. Harry only wants to hurt the people who deserve it. People like Konin. Then again, Harry reflected, even in the Azure he had not felt particularly malicious to any one person or species in particular. Perhaps it was the same as when people said crazy people don't know their crazy. Ecero couldn't tell he was evil, that was just how he was taught to act and think. But if that was true, then Harry should feel guilt over this, now that he knows what Ecero did was wrong. He thought back over the last two weeks. His reaction to people and situations was definitively more normal now. His attitude towards Konin had certainly taken a turn for the worse but, again, that could be considered a renormalization. Perhaps they were both right, he and Sirius.

He contemplated the differences between himself and Ecero, trying to decide what had merged. One glaringly obvious, yet useful quality, was Ecero's ananlytical mind. Six months ago he would never have given this issue so much thought. He'd have bounced his idea off Ron and then the two of them would have gone to play Quidditch. Interesting. Harry's love, compassion and general good nature was certainly playing a part in keeping Ecero's opposing qualities in check. Then there were the obvious physical merges. Harry's classical knowledge of spellwork and magic which he learned at Hogwarts, coupled with Ecero's raw elemental talents, however under developed, certainly gave him a magical advantage. His body was stronger and quicker. His hearing, honed to perfection.

And then there was the big thing that he really did not know how to deal with. This draw, this connection with what Ecero called 'The Darkness'. He didn't know what it was. Did it have a purpose? Did it come from the Azure or is it something that exists in this world too?

He had called it. Once, since he had regained his mind. The intensity of his emotional response was so alarming he had shoved it away. Even now, sitting in Dumbledore's office he could feel it. Creeping just out of reach of the light, dancing on the edge of his consciousness, waiting to be called upon...

He shuddered. He was still debating if this strange power was something he should discuss with Dumbledore. Though the man knew about it, he, nor anyone else, had mentioned it in his presence. That may be due in part to his mental state the last two weeks.

Dumbledore was speaking again.

"...don't think you are ready for that. So, Sirius has offered you stay with him at Grimwauld Place."

Harry stared. Great, he'd gone and made his godfather furious only to find out he would be living with the man. He sighed. He kind of deserved it, he supposed. Looking back up, he asked "What don't you think I am ready for?"

For having just found out he wasn't being paid attention to, Dumbledore hid any annoyance he might have felt very well. "To return to school."

"Oh. Yeah, no." Well that poor attempt at articulation was certainly all Harry. Besides, being at Grimwauld Place would be much easier on his mind. No screaming kids, no being jostled in the hallways, no taunts from idiotic Slytherines who didn't know how to keep their mouths shut. He envision smashing Malfoy's face into one of the dungeon walls while his cronies watched with horrified faces as blood sprayed all over Draco's white hair.

With a start, Harry realized that perhaps Dumbledore having him stay at Grimwauld Place was less for his benefit and more to protect his fellow students.

* * *

"He's refusing to talk to me?" Harry asked incredulously.

Remus looked very uncomfortable standing in the doorway to his rooms, blocking Sirius from view. "No. He doesn't _not _want to talk to you. He just doesn't particularly fancy a chat right at this moment."

Harry rolled his eyes. Leave it to Remus to put a polite spin to anyone's words. He took a step forward and called into the room over Remus' shoulder. "Sirius! Look, I'm really sorry about what I said earlier and we need to talk if we're going to make this work. I don't like the thought of you hating me." He tried to ignore the ridiculousness of the situation.

There was a shuffling sound and suddenly Sirius' face appeared over Remus' shoulder. "I don't hate you." he murmured morosely. He seemed to be giving the best puppy dog eyes he had.

Harry gave him a winning smile. "Good, because I've recently come to the conclusion that I may very well have mental issues myself."

Sirius gave a ghost of a smile.

"So what? Now I'm sharing a house with _two _emotional retards?" the werewolf muttered.

"Geez, Remus. Awfully mean of you..."

"Totally uncalled for."

"It's not even your time of the month for another two weeks."

Remus gave a fake scowl. "Well both of you can get the hell out of my rooms!"

* * *

Harry sighed, sitting up and throwing the duvet off his legs. He could not constitute staying in bed another minute. Besides, smells of bacon and eggs and toast and general wonderfulness was wafting from the kitchen up the stairs and through the crack at the bottom of his door.

As he flung open his closet doors he reflected. Today marked exactly one week that he'd been at Grimwauld Place and he and Sirius were getting on better than Harry had expected. He wondered if Remus gave him a talking to about his attitude or if it was because Harry hardly spoke and kept his, and Ecero's, opinions to himself. Ron and Hermione had come to see him once that week. He frowned when he remembered his friends' visit. He had been dismayed to find out that they were still slightly wary of him, as if he would morph into Ecero and rip their heads off. Apparently his alter ego, as he had begun calling him, had left quite an impression in his short time in this world.

Luckily though, by the end of the visit they had seemed to relax a little more. He understood the reasoning behind their hesitancy but it still hurt him. He couldn't expect them to go back to normal right away either, when he had yelled at Sirius for having the very same issue with him.

After pulling on some clean clothes, Harry trudged down to the kitchen, the delicious smells growing stronger drove his depressing thoughts away.

"God, it smells amazing in here!" he exclaimed as he walked through the door.

"Hello, Harry dear."

"Mrs. Weasley." Harry greeted, somewhat blindsided by her presence. No one had told him she was coming.

He hated surprises.

"Oh, Harry, hope you don't mind a last minute house guest!" Remus said jovially, though Harry could see carefully veiled concern as Remus watched him for a reaction.

"No problem." He said easily, stepping forward and giving Molly a kiss on the cheek. "Breakfast smells wonderful."

She made a fuss over the scrambled eggs and smiled brightly. "Oh well, The Burrow was empty this morning save for me and Pig. I thought I'd drop by for breakfast!"

Harry felt the corners of his mouth tug. "Was it Sirius or Remus that handed you the frying pan?"

"Hey!"

"Now you boys behave." Molly scolded good naturedly, in full 'mom' mode.

Breakfast was a veritable feast in Harry's eyes who, for the last three weeks had been living off various potions and whatever two bachelors managed to scrape off the pan. He was leaning back in his chair, full to a level that was no longer comfortable, with Sirius and Remus in much the same positions.

"Anyone for tea?" Mrs Weasley asked, already starting to make some for herself.

"Yes please." Came the chorus.

There was a comfortable moment of silence then that Harry took a moment to appreciate. It wasn't the silence he was used to, where he spent it straining his ears to hear the slightest hint of a predator or enemy approaching. He smiled slightly at the thought of how safe yet comfortable he felt.

"What are you thinking about?" Remus asked gently, no doubt noticing his absent smile. Molly continued about her business but he had a feeling she was listening.

Sirius and Remus were looking at him now and he shrugged. "Just taking a moment to apprciate the differences between this world and the Azure. You couldn't sit in silence there without putting all your energy and focus into trying to hear some monster coming to kill you." he chuckled, noticing the lack of amusement on the men's faces.

He noted the level of attention he was recieving from the two men and gave pause, only now just realizing that they probably wanted him to talk. About his feelings. He held back a grimace. He didnt particularly want to, but if confiding in the two men would somehow help to further mend their relationship then he really didnt have much of a choice.

"I'm just going to light a fire in the sitting room." Molly said politely, and excused herself from the room.

Sirius was pushing leftover food around on his plate. "You've barely spoken since you got here. You were always a quiet kid, Harry but...I'm worried about you." he sighed, putting his fork down. "You know you can talk to us, right?"

Harry just stared at him for a moment. "Can I?" Sirius finally met his gaze. "Because past experience has taught me that you don't have much interest in listening to what I have to say." He was speaking about the incident in the office, of course. Since then, the three of them had limited their conversation to safe topics.

Sirius was looking uncomfortable and shifted his eyes to the table again. "I may have reacted a bit rashly. It was just difficult for me to hear you...say the things you said."

"I was only saying what was true. I was trying to make you understand."

"Ok, I get that." the older man seemed to be struggling with his words. "I guess it wasn't so much _what_ you said but _how_ you said it." he shook his head. "There was no remorse in your voice. No sign that you felt bad about killing hundres of people so 'creatively'!"

Harry felt, surprisingly, not anger, but great sadness cause his throat to constrict. "Sirius I live with that guilt every waking moment." he said, his voice strained. "You have no idea how hard it is for me to just get out of bed sometimes!" Ok, now he felt the anger. "Don't you think it's crossed my mind that I should have to pay for what I've done? That maybe everything would come back into balance again if I just took one of those lovely cutting knives you have hanging on the wall and cut my wrists open?" He stood from his chair and began pacing back and forth, ignoring the striken expressions of the two older men. If Sirius wanted him to talk then he'd give him such an earful he'd never ask for it again.

"You don't understand the opposition of thoughts this merging has caused me! Yeah, Harry feels like I shouldn't even bother getting out of bed, but then Ecero is furious at the fact that I let my emotions affect me so much. Sure, Harry thinks killing myself would make things better, but Ecero is angry 'cause he knows that makes no fucking sense!" He took a breath. "I look out the window and am amazed by the snow on the ground, for Christ's sake! Because, three weeks ago I was walking on ground that had three foot wide cracks running through the earth because it hadnt seen a drop of water in eight hundred years! I am constantly trying to mantain some sort of balance between Ecero's desires and Harry's guilt! I am constantly battling two parts of myself that are fighting for control! And I am _constantly _trying to resist this pull, this...infatuation, this..." he trailed off suddenly, unable to describe the way he felt towards the Darkness.

He closed his eyes and felt its comforting presence, helping to slow his thumping heart and his raging emotions.

"Harry?"

He resisted the urge to pull it towards him and opened his eyes. Both men were staring at him with what he was sure was pity in their eyes.

Remus' mouth was dry as he asked. "What are you trying to resist the pull of?"

Harry cocked a brow. "You mean Dumbledore hasn't discussed this with you? Interesting." He sat and settled in for a long explanation. "When you found me in our rooms that day after Konin triggered my memory I...lost control of it."

"I could feel it." Sirius said suddenly. "I was the only one that got close enough to you. It felt cold and powerful." He shuddered at the memory. "It felt evil, like it was sucking the energy right out of me."

"Yes, well...It _was_ something I learned in the Azure." Harry said. "I don't know what it is and neither did Ecero. Or Konin for that matter. All he knew was how to call it. Though he never had the sucess that I did."

After casting a wary glance in Sirius' direction, Remus spoke softly, "Poppy seems to think that its some sort of magical parasite." When Harry said nothing he continued nervously, as if unsure of how he might take the news. "She seems to think its the only thing keeping you alive right now."

Now Harry was confused. "I don't understand."

"When we brought you to the hospital wing you weren't in very good shape. After Poppy had done her diagnostic scans she was horrified to learn that, technically, you should have been dead." Remus sighed. "Instead what we saw was a perfectly fit, energetic, strong, brilliant person who seemed to be getting on just fine and, in fact, had an endless amount of energy."

Harry remembered Konin saying the very same thing to him on many past occasions. Usually when they sparred or hunted or faught wild beasts and even when they went into battle, Konin always remarked on his endless supply of stamina with some bit of jelousy.

Before he could think more on the issue, Remus kept talking. "So her theory is that this...whatever it is, is feeding you its power and in turn can live through you." Remus winced. "I know it sounds strange but when she did her scans she did find two seperate bodies of magical energy."

Harry had a lot to think about. This new development was troubling but what bothered him the most about this theory was that it was just that: a theory. He knew nothing about this thing, this Darkness. Ecero, surprisingly, had never bothered to examine it very closely.

Harry squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Well I guess that leaves it up to me to figure this out then." he stood from the table. "Believe me when I say I've encountered much stranger things than this and often had its head on a pike when everything was said and done."

"You don't have to do it alone, Harry." Sirius said. "We can help you."

Harry looked from one man to the other and Remus said, almost excitedly, "The first thing we need to do is examine it. See if there is something we can touch or see or hear from it." The werewolf seemed to be taking this on as one might a school project, making Harry wonder who had been taking over his classes this past week.

Harry was silent for a moment as he contemplated the pros and cons of having the two of them help him with this. "Is there a place we can do this where you both will feel comfortable? It needs to be a big space, too." He added, remembering once how the Darkness had engulfed an entire castle he and Konin had infiltrated.

Remus and Sirius gave each other a knowing look and said simultaneously.

"Room of Requirement!"


	27. A Puzzle

**Chapter 27: A Puzzle**

"This ought to do!" Remus exclaimed.

Harry looked around dubiously, wishing he felt some amount of Remus' enthusiasm. It was not that he doubted the power or ability of the Room of Requirement to give them what they had asked for, he just wasn't so sure that they should be doing this in a castle full of children. Although, Dumbledore _had _given them his blessing to do whatever it was that they needed to do, within reason, and had even seemed delighted by their suggestion of trying to unravel this particular mystery.

"I'm not so sure..." he said slowly, rubbing the tips of his fingers over his lips as he spun in a circle, eyes darting every which way, trying to find the flaw in this plan. He felt quite sure that there was one. Something right under his nose that he was missing.

He did not like the unknown.

"Shall we have a go at it?" Sirius said, looking excited to test the room's abilities.

Remus and Sirius took out their wands and stood back to back. After a moment of waving them around a dim sphere of light grew from their wand tips. When the bubbles of light got so big that they began to overlap, they appeared to morph seamlessly together to make one large bubble. It continued to grow until it had engulfed, not only Remus and Sirius, but Harry as well, where he stood ten feet away. It grew further still, up and out and all around towards the walls and ceiling of the room and, just as Harry thought it was going to meet resistance and either stop or go through, the walls and ceiling seemed to move outward at the same rate as the bubble was expanding.

Harry smiled when the walls and even the light from the glowing sphere were so far away they were no longer visible. That proved that the Darkness would be unable to engulf the entire castle. Why did he still feel so unsettled?

"Guess it works." Sirius said. His voice seemed to carry forever in the vastness of the Room of Requirement.

Both men lowered their wands and Harry felt his heart leap into his chest for a fraction of a second as he saw those stone walls rushing back towards them at the speed of light. Having just barely resisted the urge to throw his hands over his head, lest the room crush him into a cube, Harry steadied his breathing and prepared himself for what they were about to do.

"Dumbledore should be here any minute now." Sirius murmured absently, scratching the back of his head with his wand tip.

Harry felt somewhat better knowing the powerful old wizard would be there should anything go wrong, but still felt nervous about calling on the Darkness again. He remembered what had happened last time. A rush of power so intense it left him with a weird sense of vertigo, leaving him unable to tell up from down; a feeling of hatred so black it threatened to rip his soul apart, followed, most bizarrely, by a swell of elation that left him recoiling from his own mind. The entire experience had been two ends of one spectrum. Like dipping your hand into a stream of pristine, fresh water on top of which floated a rancid sludge of rotting algea. It was most confusing. Like he was hot and cold all at once. Drained of life to the point of death but so energetic he felt he could climb a mountain. Sick and well. Happy and sad. Light and dark! It was _so_ confusing...He didn't remember Ecero ever having such a tenuous hold on reality when calling the Darkness and wondered if it had something to do with their conflicting personalities. Ecero had welcomed the Darkness and Harry was afraid to touch it.

At that moment when Harry moved to wipe the sweat from his palms, Dumbledore walked into the room.

"I am having second thoughts." Harry announced at once. The three men turned to look at him curiously. "The more I think about it the more foolish it seems. What if I can't control it? The last time I tried it was awful. I felt like I was going to lose my mind in the fraction of a second it took to call it and send it away again."

Albus looked somber when he said, "Harry, this is a puzzle that we need to solve. It cannot be ignored in the hopes that it will go away." He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You have the aid of three wizards at your side and I am confident that this is a safe environment for us." he paused, contemplating the young man before him. "Perhaps try calling on it a different way this time, I remember you mentioned that last time it was a rather...violent affair."

Harry pushed a sigh past his lips. They didn't understand. How could they? They did not grasp where Ecero was from. Could not imagin the evil from which he was created. Worst of all, they seemed to make the choice not to accept that their Golden Boy was only half that now. The other half was blacker than coal. "Fine. But if someone ends up dead their blood is on _your_ hands." he turned out of Dumbledore's grasp and asked "Ready?" when he saw the man about to comment on his dark remark.

Remus shrugged. "I guess so. We don't really know what to expect, do we?"

Harry made sure to stand a good distance away from them. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he willed away his nerves and focused on calling more gently than he had last time. Focused on how Ecero had reached out to it slowly, almost lovingly. He felt the trickle of power across his skin and the tingle when it stirred within his core. Encouraged by this gentle connection but desperately wanting more, he let the tingle grew into an ache as the need to connect with the Darkness outside his body grew too intense to resist.

He let it in.

The rush was not as intense as last time but the power of the connection still left him staggering. He was delighted to note that he did not feel the nauseating tug between two extremes. As if some of that rotten algea had be skimmed off the surface of the clear stream water. He forced himself to open his eyes to make sure nothing was going wrong and saw the three wizards before him draw their wands, slightly horrified expressions flitted across each of their faces when they met his eyes. He knew what it was they were seeing, Konin had described it to him once, that his eyes were like black holes. Bottomless and reflecting no light.

He looked down and lifted his hands as tendrils of shadows slithered across the floor, through the air, down from the ceiling...like smokey snakes, curling themselves around his fingers, lacing themselves through his arms, coiling around his torso and finally, working their way into his heart, where he could feel it moving like a living thing sharing his body. He could feel it tainting him and that horrible tug-of-war feeling was back. Harry was repulsed and Ecero was greedily drawing it in.

Harry felt his tenuous grip on the situation waver and then shatter into a million pieces. It was one of those rare moments he tried to avoid at all costs. When his words proved true and Ecero and Harry merged into the single person they now were. There was no more fighting between two sides of a split mind, the tug in oposite directions stoped and everything settled comfortably in the void.

His fingers curled into fists and his lips came up in a snarl. Feeling the Darkness push insistently on his consciousness, he wanted more. More power. _More_ Darkness. He allowed it in , feeling it take hold like a root in the earth. The strength of his magic was palpable and audible, causing a thumping, heartbeat like sound to reverberate around the room. Sirius, Remus and Albus shifted like nervouse horses with their feet dancing and eyes rolling. It thudded steadily, in rhythm with his own heart, as the light in the room was devoured by the Darkness in a feeding frenzy. Finally all that was left was blackness and the thudding tapered off into an eerie silence, echoed by an intense calm within Harry that he had rarely experienced even as Ecero.

"Harry...?" Sirius called, nervous, uncertain.

Harry stared at them, his black eyes unblinking, his body unnaturally still. Just like he knew it would, the Darkness had left the three men as blind as newborn kittens...and almost as defenseless.

He grinned.

Power pulsed through his veins like a drug and he contemplated how easy it would be to sneak up behind...hmm, Remus, and eviscerate him with the wave of his hand. His lips curled into a smile when he thought of the mess and he resisted the urge to chuckle and give away his position. He walked towards the three blind men, cushioning his steps and swallowing any noise his shoes may have made with magic.

"Remus, Sirius, the most powerful Lumos spell you can manage, if you please." Dumbledore commanded politely, his voice sounding calmer than he probably felt.

The three men cast their spells almost at the same time and Harry's smile widened at the pathetic sphere of light it produced, barely able to give them light below their shoulders. He wondered how much he could play with them without crossing a line that may ruin his plans. He could later play it off as being under the influence of the Darkness. He had, after all, warned them of its affects and had even told Dumbledore any blood would be on his hands should they not choose to heed his warning.

He stood now just on the other side of their little protective light bubble, a mere whisper away front invading their sanctuary.

"Alright, Harry, where are you?" Sirius called.

With a silent motion, Harry magically disturbed the air around the back of his godfather's neck and purposefully let a soft laugh fall from his lips when the animagus whirled around, hand clamped to the back of his neck and wand probing the Darkness uselessly. As soon as he let them hear his laughter he moved to the side, grinning while they stared at where they thought he was.

"This is no time for games, my boy. We have work to do." Dumbledore's tone was light, but Harry could see in his face a little worry and his wrinkled hand gripped his wand a little tighter when he got no response.

"I like games." Harry hissed into the old man's ear. To his credit, Dumbledore did not flinch at the hollow voice, only turned his head slightly in Harry's direction. "Can't we play just one?" purposefully adding and innocent inflection to his voice.

Remus and Sirius looked nervously between Dumbledore and the ghostly voice.

"What sort of game do you propose?" The headmaster inquired calmly.

"Hmm...hide and go seek?" Harry purred in response, malice dripping from his voice, innocence gone. The tone promised sinister things for the person who hid and was unlucky enough to be found.

"Do you not think you would have a most unfair advantage in that game?"

"Albus, we should call this off. Something isn't right." Remus muttered, his hand shaking with the force of the grip on his wand.

But the old man just held up a hand for silence and called into the blackness around them. "Harry?"

"I suppose...it _would_ be unfair. It's no fun when I win so easily..." Harry confessed. He conjured a beautiful knife, quite like the one Konin had once given him. A long, thick blade of purest silver that would have glimmered had their been any light. An intricate design adorned the metal and carried over to the pommel, around which was wrapped a strip of brown leather.

"A different game then?" he suggested softly, caressing the blade contemplatively.

He circled around behind Remus. "You know, in the Azure, Lord Ver'tora often ordered Konin and I to hunt and kill a pack animal commonly found to be causing trouble around the keep. Awful things they were. Mindless, hideous creatures with snapping jaws and teeth two inches long." Harry made sure to carry his voice around the room with a little magic to keep it from betraying his position. "They were called Wolven." He saw Remus bristle, "I've killed hundreds of them. They share the same aversion to silver that you do, Remus."

"Alright, that's enough!" Sirius snapped.

Harry cleared his throat in a very business like manner and said briskly. "Quite right. Time to be getting on with things. There are decisions to be made. Which game shall we play? How about...pin the tail..." stepped into the small sphere of light behind them and out of their line of sight, "-on the_ werewolf_." As he said 'werewolf' he drug the silver blade violently across the back of Remus' exposed neck.

The cry of agony that was torn from the man's throat was more satisfying than he thought it would be and he giggle excitedly. Remus' hand had flown to his neck and trails of blood were now seeping through his fingers and down his arm. Sirius was by his side in an instant and Dumbledore had spun to face them both, his wand at the ready, but Harry had already retreated into the Darkness again, his laughter echoing dully in the massive room.

"Harry, what the hell are you doing?" Sirius cried, having replaced Remus' hands with his own over the wound. Remus was very pale and was lying on his stomach on the floor, shivering as if cold. "Albus, we have to get him to the infirmary! What the hell did you do to him?" he yelled in no particular direction, his face contorted in rage.

Harry tossed the silver knife onto the floor and it bounced with a clang into their circle of light. It glittered maliciously, Remus' blood smeared over parts of the intricate engraving.

"Shit..." Sirius muttered in horror. His wide eyes stared incredulously at the blade. "Is that silver? You poisoned him!"

"Shh!" Dumbledore hissed, his face pale and angry. There was a moment of silence so heavy it almost seemed loud, save for the shallow, rapid breaths Remus struggled to draw. "Harry...Ecero..." he corrected at the last moment.

Harry froze, his grin slipping. "What did you call me?" his voice was cold as steel. Foolish old man! He refused to think of Ecero and Harry as the same person. He wished he hadn't thrown his blade away, he very much wanted to use it right now, but Sirius had it firmly in his grasp. "You think you can talk to one or the other? How many times do I have to tell you, Harry and Ecero are _one_!"

"Harry would never have done this." Albus said calmly, gesturing towards Remus' prone form. "Harry you must focus. Push this evil from your mind. Do not let it corrupt you!"

"I told you any blood spilt would be on your hands, Dumbledore." Harry hissed venomously.

Dumbledore waived his wand elaborately all of a sudden and the room was, for a fraction of a second, illuminated in its entirety. The light seared his eyes and he recoiled with a shout, turning his back on the source, his hands clamped firmly over his eyes. And then it was gone. Spots danced before him and he groaned, shoving his palms into the sockets.

"Sirius, I need you here." Dumbledore said and the animagus reluctantly stood from his friend.

Before Harry could get his bearings he heard a third voice join them in the room.

"Headmaster, you sent -"

"Severus, I am afraid we've run into a bit of a problem."

"Snape!" Harry snarled, sounding like a vicious dog. Albus must have signaled for help. Belatedly, he realized the blinding flash of light must have been a patronus. "Fuck, I am going to kill every _one _of you!"

"Stupefy him, Severus." Dumbledore instructed.

"Is that Potter?"

"Just do it, please!"

"Where the hell _is_ he?"

Though the pain had subsided in his eyes, Harry felt his chest constrict painfully in his anger, choking the air from his lungs. He gathered the Darkness to him, pulling it in to his core and felt the power build and condense within him. The air around him began to swirl in a vortex, and the Darkness was swept up like smoke in the motion of it. It leeched through his skin, into his veins and directly into his heart.

He realized his mistake as soon as the three wizards took aim. They could see him.

"NOW!"

As the stunners hit their mark, Harry felt his consciousness ebbing away with the Darkness. He fell to his knees and watched through lidded eyes as the Darkness receded back into the corners of the room. Everything around him blurred together when he moved his head and he closed his eyes against the vertigo, falling forward to rest his weight on his hands.

Someone's hand was on his shoulder, pushing on him, forcing him to roll over onto his back.

A face swam into his line of sight and he tried to bring it in to focus, but to no avail.

"Harry...?"

He recognized Dumbledore's voice, but it sounded very slow and loud and he winced, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, Dumbledore's face had cleared somewhat. He looked concerned. He tried to focus on the conversation between the headmaster and Snape.

"I don't know, Albus, I have never seen someone _not_ knocked out by three stunners. In any case, I can't walk any faster..."

They were moving? Damn. He was more out of if than he had thought. He tried to remember what had happened. He remembered a large sphere of light. Then a small dim one. Then something about a game?

His eyes snapped open.

'_Fuck! I cut Remus with a silver knife_!'

He rolled off the magical stretcher just as they passed through the doors to the hospital wing. His inner ear was, apparently, still not caught up and the blurry room around him tilted dangerously as soon as he landed on his feet. His shoulder slammed hard into the nearest wall and he braced himself, trying to convince his brain that his body was, in fact, standing still.

Someone grabbed his upper arm to help steady him.

"Potter, come this way!"

"...can't..." Harry gasped, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead. "...spinning..."

But Snape was pulling on his arm insistently and he forced his shaky legs to support him enough to stumble to a bed that was close by.

"Remus...? Where..."

"He's fine." He heard Sirius say.

He couldn't keep track of everyone in the room and it was starting to get confusing.

"Open up!" Poppy said, suddenly by his side.

Someone forced his jaw open and a potion was poured down his throat.

He was about to protest but within seconds the room stopped spinning and his vision cleared and he was left panting as if he had just dashed up a flight of stairs.

"What...what the fuck just happened?" He cried, feeling an intense wave of dread and guilt wash over him.

"It seems that our stunners did more harm than good." Albus said gently. "You were hit with three of them but...they failed to work."

He sat up on the bed, despite the protesting hand on his shoulder. After he got his bearings he shook his head. "I told you I had a bad feeling about this. We should never have gone through with it!" he was feeling angry again. Angry at himself for what he had done to Remus. For letting the Darkness take control of him like that.

"You can say that again." Sirius ground out. "Just what the hell do you think you were doing?" He was angry. Livid. Harry wasn't sure he had ever seen his godfather like this, and the fact that he was the cause of this fury was what hurt the most.

"I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me. The Darkness, god, it's like it infected me! I could feel it in my heart, in my head I..." he was shaking his head again, unable to explain just what had happened. "I felt..._so_ angry. I just wanted to..." His hands gripped the sheets convulsively.

"It's alright, Harry." Albus said gently. "Remus will be absolutely right as rain in no time. I am afraid this is partially my fault. I should have listened when you tried to warn me."

Dumbledore's attempt at sharing the blame fell on deaf ears. "What am I going to do about this? How do I get rid of it?"

"Just...don't call it, or whatever it is that you do." Sirius said. He wasn't shouting anymore but he also wouldn't look his godson in the eye.

"You don't understand." Harry said through clenched teeth. It wasn't as simple as that. "Resisting it is a fight every minute of every day -"

"Then fight it!" Sirius snapped.

Feeling like this conversation was going from bad to worse, Harry pushed himself off his bed and left the hospital wing before anyone could stop him. This was a problem. A very, very big problem. He wasn't safe to be around. What if he lost control? What if he hurt someone again? Or worse, killed someone. The thought did not frighten him as much as he would have liked and, logically, he knew this was a bad thing.

He stared out a row of ten foot tall windows as he passed them and stopped at the middle one.

He had to fix it, but after pondering any and all options he could think of, only one made sense.

"Potter."

Harry sighed and turned his head just as Snape, when had he gone back to calling him that? walked up beside him and rested his hands on the window sill.

"I think the first conversation we had after I managed to stumble back into this universe was in this exact spot." Harry said, though his small smile held no mirth.

"Indeed."

There was a surprisingly comfortable silence between them before Harry broke it.

"I need to get rid of this thing." He whispered. "But how do I defeat something that I know nothing about."

"You need to find a way to understand it." Snape supplied.

Harry nodded. "Right. And the only source of information I might have has disappeared and I don't know how to find him."

He saw Snape glance over at him from the corner of his eye. "D'kal?"

Harry gave a short nod. "Though, if I did find him, I don't know if I could resist cutting his throat. Fuck, this is such a mess."

"Stop being so dramatic."

Harry spun to face the man next to him. Snape had a good foot and a half of height on him and those deep black eyes regarded him silently, patiently. "Dramatic? Do you know how many people I've torture and killed? Do you know the urges I have to fight every moment of my waking hours? How much I've hurt my friends and family? I'm a goddamn monster! My own godfather hates me because I cut his friend up with a knife that poisoned him!"

"As a matter of fact, I _do _know what that feels like."

Snape's gentle admission made Harry's jaw snap shut of its own accord. He was left speechless and so, turned back to look out the window. Snape was right. He'd been through hell and back through his life too, and he wasn't a giant head case. At least not outwardly. Harry scowled. Snape was strong, resilient. Emotionally and physically, he was a lot like Ecero had been. They could take anything thrown at them and not so much as flinch. They were survivors. So where did that leave Harry? Emotional, unstable, on the verge of insanity.

Great.

He didn't think he was being fair to himself. He didn't want to feel nothing, like Snape. Feeling some measure of emotion was healthy for a human being and he believed there really was nothing wrong with that. He needed to strike a new balance between Ecero and Harry. Something in the middle.

Before he could do that, though, he needed to get the Darkness under control, and before he could get the Darkness under control he needed to do one thing.

"I need to find Konin."

Snape was nodding slowly beside him, his arms now crossed over his chest as the two of them gazed out over the school grounds.

"Yes, I'd say that you do."


	28. The Pieces Come Together

**Chapter 28: The Pieces Come Together**

* * *

The ball of light illuminated the row of books before him, it's limited reach leaving much of the room in darkness. He studied it carefully for a moment. It was his creation, his magic, formed of _his_ mind. He altered its shape, applying his knowledge of classical technique to his knowledge of the raw elemental and it's form shifted smoothly, seamlessly, the light shrinking, condensing...he could feel the heat as it collapsed in on itself, then - a flame. A single flame. It gave off a quarter of the light, but its energy was palpable.

Harry sighed and let the magic fade, his eyes scanning the spines of the hundreds of books at his disposal. No book in this school would hold the answer to his questions. The extinguished flame of magic mocked him even in its death. How could he control _it_ and not himself? After all, the flame and the Darkness were comparable in the sense that they were both a part of him, so why could he not control the Darkness as he would that ball of light, shifting it to his will?

He gave pause in the scarce light of the moon as it filtered through the stain glass windows of the restricted section. Was it something, like the flame, to be controlled? This far it had seemed its own entity.

His slender fingers ghosted absently over the rough spine of the tome he held and he stared into the din, the prickly fingers of realization tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. Perhaps it wasn't the Darkness, nor any other outside force keeping him from the answers he sought. Perhaps it was his own mind. Ecero had never seen the Darkness as a thing that shared his body, he had assumed this was _his _power to control. And control it he had. Spectacularly. Harry, on the other hand, had been told it was a parasite, which is exactly how he'd been treating it.

Why had he not made this connection before?

* * *

He was alone, the first decision he had made correctly thus far. It was still dark so, even if someone was wondering where they ought not to be, or looking where they ought not to be looking, odds were good that he would remain hidden.

Not a bird chirped in the trees, nor a frog croaked in the lake, no sound was made by anything at all. Harry could almost pretend he stood within the Azure once more, were it not for the foliage cushioning his feet or the breeze ruffling his hair.

Harry looked at the moon, half full, and thought of what he had done to Remus seven days gone. Dare he do this again? Even though he was deep in the woods, could he rely on himself to stop it should it go too far? Would he even be able to tell if it went to far? Even as he thought these things he felt its pull. Here, in the comfort of the silence, with little else to distract him...

His eyes slid shut, its call, having been acknowledged, now thrummed loudly in his veins, beating in time with his heart like a dark and twisted love song. His uncertainties vanished like smoke in a breeze and he opened himself to its call.

A small part of him remembered why he was all the way out here in the first place and forced an image of the flame from the library into his mind's eye. It illuminated the void, chasing away some of the shadows that clouded his judgement and left him aware of a clarity he had not experienced the last time he had called upon the Darkness. Last time...when there had only been the throb of oblivion, calling like the ominous beat of a war drum, marching him to his doom.

He questioned his actions here tonight.

To what end would this little experiment come? What might he learn? Anything new would be useful, not to mention provide him with one more reason not to bother finding Konin.

With that encouraging thought, Harry made the decision, not to _call _it to him, but to draw it from his core. It was a part of him, after all, an energy he could mould and modify as he wished. Like the flame.

It swelled like an angry wave within him, restless and unyielding in its birth and Harry smiled. It felt different this time. Different even from when Ecero had used it.

It was difficult thought, his hold on it was tenuous, strained, like a boulder suspended by a spider's web. Any movement now and it would snap and the boulder would crush him.

So he let it go now, while he still could, satisfied with this small progress, yet frustrated by his continued lack of understanding. He kicked at the dirt like an insolent child and a flock of birds swarmed into the sky from a nearby tree. Clearly incensed by the loud noise that had startled them from their sleep, their angry squawks mirrored his feelings.

How the hell was he going to find Konin? He could be anywhere by now!

* * *

Harry sat in his rooms.

The rooms he and Konin had shared.

He resisted the urge to look at the king size bed they had _also _shared, shifted his weight on the couch, and redirected his focus.

He had long ago decided that the best place to start his search for Konin would be Hogsmead. It was the closest town to Hogwarts and would be the first place anyone might have seen the man. At a bar perhaps, or an inn. Harry rolled his eyes, thinking of the man's insatiable sex drive.

_'Or perhaps a brothel'_.

He shifted again.

A knock at his door almost startled him and he contemplated ignoring whoever was on the other side for a brief moment before rising to his feet...and opening it to reveal one Severus Snape.

"Old habits die hard." the potions master muttered upon entering the sweltering room.

Harry didn't spare the roaring fire a glance as he turned his back on the man and regained his spot on the sofa.

Snape removed his outer robe and threw it, quite presumptuously, over the back of the nearest chair and took his place on the opposite end of the sofa. "So how has your little project been going?"

Harry brought his feet up to rest on the coffee table. "Which one?" He deadpanned. "Defeating the madman who murdered my parents or tracking down the madman who trained me to be a killer?"

"Either or, really." was the insipid reply.

He sighed. "Neither appear to be going as well as I'd like, though I have decided to start my search for Konin in Hogsmead."

The other man nodded but gave no opinion, appearing to be either deep in thought or caught in the bewitching dance of the flames as they twirled and jumped in the hearth.

Harry felt his eyes being pulled back in the direction of the fire as well. Though he had been staring at it for the better part of two hours now, his gaze never seemed to tire of watching the conflagration. As it so often did when he fire-gazed, Harry's mind wandered about unchecked. Unfortunately, after a few moments, he found it had _wandered _right back to the king size bed behind him. He shifted again, unused to these thoughts causing him grief. Though perhaps that was because these thoughts had never made it to fruition when he had been in Konin's company. They hadn't been given the opportunity, what with Konin's raging libido. Every other day the man would pounce on him. All strong and muscular and blue eyed...

Harry gave himself a mental shake so violent it made his body jerk. The fact that Snape was in the same room with him while he had these thoughts was mortifying, but the fact that Snape had been staring at him while thinking those thoughts was even worse.

"Alright, Mr. Potter?" he asked, his voice like silken steel.

"Fine." Harry snapped back.

"You seem restless. Is there something on your mind?" Severus asked casually.

Harry's eyes narrowed. _Too _casually.

"Has Dumbledore sent you down here?" He asked outright. "You know the old man can ask me whatever he wants, he doesn't need to send you poking around."

Snape only raised an ebony brow. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry just continued to stare at him and eventually the potions master sighed, "No, I was not sent here on an errand for Dumbledore." the man appeared to be getting agitated.

"Why then?"

Snape pursed his lips together but remained silent, to which Harry shook his head. "You're so full of it."

As he made his way around the back of the sofa in order to put more space between himself and his infuriating company Harry felt, rather than saw, Snape's brain working in overdrive. It was creepy really, Harry realized, taking up a spot on the too large bed, like the room got quieter or something. Ignoring the man as best he could, Harry purposefully made a show of stretching out languidly on the duvet, a book now in his lap, hoping to annoy Snape into speaking.

"I'm here because I was hoping you had found something on D'kal and I wanted in on it."

Well that certainly left Harry blinking down at the book in surprise. He hadn't expected Snape to tell him anything, much less that. Though he still felt agitated...and knowing the cause of his agitation was not Snape but the fact that he was feeling very much the horny school boy/evil assassin did not help calm him.

"That bored, are you?" He said snidely, now just trying to annoy Snape enough so that he would leave altogether.

The taller man blinked but his face remained otherwise impassive. Then, his dark eyes suddenly began sweeping the room, pausing every now and then to study something. Occasionally his gaze would return to Harry, as if trying to fit him into whatever puzzle he was trying to solve.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked suspiciously, his book forgotten as he sat up on the bed.

At last the man's eyes came to rest on the large bed and then finally, on Harry himself, and Harry swore he _heard _something click into place in the man's head. It must have, for Snape crossed his arms and failed to hide the smirk that was tugging at his lips as he leaned casually against the back of the sofa. He had a 'I know something you don't know' look on his face.

"Snape!" Harry snarled, growing more and more agitated with every explanationless second that ticked by.

"I was wondering why you were in such a foul mood and now I believe that I have figured it out." The man supplied smoothly, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

"The idiot potions master using up precious oxygen in my rooms?"

"I noticed you fidgeting since I sat down." Snape continued as if Harry had not just insulted him, "And you kept looking over your shoulder, back to that-" his eyes darted down to the bed by which Harry now stood rigidly, "-and now..." His grin reminded Harry of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. "You must be finding D'kal's absence rather..frustrating."

_'Damn_.' Harry's scowl deepened but he refrained from flying off the handle like Snape probably expected and instead went for the response that would be most likely to give the man something to think about. "In more ways than one."

He was satisfied by the look of shock but surprised by the flash of guilt that followed right after on Snape's usually stony face.

"Potter, I-"

Harry felt his gut constrict in mortification when he realized Snape's suddenly uncomfortable body language for what it was. The man was about to apologize. Harry, in his panicked state, was rooted to the floor as his brain tried to come up with a way to keep the scene from progressing into what was surely going to be a painfully embarrassing -

"...I shouldn't make light of such things."

Harry exhaled. That hadn't been nearly as awkward as it could have been, he supposed. "Forget it." he said quickly, looking anywhere but at the tall man in front of him.

There was a rather uncomfortable silence, in which Harry was left feeling addled by how fast his anger had been chased away by his embarrassment. He felt like shaking his head, where had that emotional control gone that Ecero had once been so proud of?

"Potter, have you spoken to anyone about what D'kal has done to you?"

Blindsided by the bold inquiry, Harry's anger, which had been simmering obediently bellow the surface this whole time, suddenly reached its boiling point. "Is that why you are here?" he yelled, the Queghan accent he had been working so hard to hide becoming thick in his blind rage. "To play shrink?"

Snape stood also, meeting the irate young man eye to eye calmly, which only served to make Harry angrier. If he was disturbed by Harry's dizzying leaps between emotional extremes, he hid it well. There was a loud crack as the mirror on the wall behind them split and Harry felt the Darkness suddenly appear in his lapse of emotional control. He closed his eyes against it's push, trying to regain some control. After a few calming breaths, Harry talked himself down. Surprisingly, it was the sheer ridiculousness of the situation that calmed him. Never in a million years did he think he'd be discussing his sexual frustrations with Severus Snape.

After a moment, he was able to look Snape in the eye without wanting to jab his finger in it.

"You haven't answered my question." Snape said, apparently unwilling to let the matter drop.

"Who would I talk to, Snape?" Harry responded incredulously, his arms flying out to his sides to indicated the emptiness of the room and, by metaphorical extension, any room which might contain someone to talk to. "Ron and Hermione are so scared of me they are reluctant to spend even five minutes in my company. Sirius hates me for what I did to Remus and Remus is so busy fussing over Sirius and _his_ issues that..." Harry trailed off, his head swaying from side to side causing raven locks to dance about his face, "Do you really not see where I'm going with this?"

"Perhaps." was all the tall dark man offered, his obsidian eyes once again searching and wary.

Harry felt the weight of the man's gaze as he shifted slowly from side to side, his eyes, once again, in the fire. "Besides," he said at last tearing his gaze away from the hearth, "There is nothing to talk about." Harry looked up in time to see Snape's eyebrows twitch in confusion and answered the question before it could be asked. "The activities in which I was a willing participant a great deal of the time could arguably be considered inconsequential as, if we are honest with ourselves, they did not _really _happen to _me_." he paused. "They happened to Ecero."

He chanced a glance in Snape's direction as he poured himself a generous glass of brandy from the decanter he had procured with Dobby's help. The man's face was impenetrable, as always, but it was obvious that the gears were turning inside. He took a stab at what Snape might be thinking.

"You must now be thinking this a pathetic attempt by my subconscious to protect my conscious self from the traumatic events of my past by making Ecero into a separate personality, to which I have no emotional connection, thus either preventing or saving me from the task of confronting my psychological demons." he took a sip of his drink, allowing it's bite to quell the smirk tugging at his lips.

Snape seemed genuinely speechless for just a moment as he contemplated the youth before him.

"I feel more and more each day as if I have underestimated your intelligence, Potter." His eyes travelled around the room again, not really seeing anything, "The feeling is most disconcerting."

"How so?" Another sip.

The other man moved forward and, to his shock, made himself comfortable, a second time, on the end of the couch farthest from where Harry stood and levitated the tray of bourbon over to the coffee table.

"I pride myself in my ability to read people and situations and I am proud of the fact that I see more than the average person. Long ago I discovered these abilities were all I had to offer the world." here he stopped to take a large gulp of alcohol. "But with you, it seems, I have failed to apply my only skills most spectacularly."

Harry felt thoroughly confused now. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, the minor amount of alcohol in his system had pushed the words from his mouth before he could decide if he even wanted to risk speaking them.

"Because there comes a time when every man, no matter how proud or stubborn, must accept what is right in front of him." Another mouthful. "No matter how wrong or counter intuitive it may seem."

Harry shot him a look. "Are you saying that acceptance of your epiphany that I am not the demon spawn of James Potter sent to torment you for all eternity is so abstract as to be inconceivable?"

"Correct."

"You're an asshole."

That got him a reproving stare. "I am not one of your school friends, Potter, do not speak to me as if I am."

"I don't have friends, Snape." Harry muttered into his now empty glass. "Just...people who don't want me dead."

"Welcome to the club." Snape clinked their glasses together in a show of dark humor and Harry drank to the toast.

He slowly became aware of the alcohol induced warmness spreading through his body and it added to his level of comfort, even though he knew the room was incredibly hot already. He grudgingly admitted that was a trait of Ecero's and, if he accepted a preference towards extreme heat to be a transferable quality from Ecero's mind to his, as everyone knew he did, it nulled his earlier argument that the atrocities witnessed by Ecero in no way involved him as Harry.

He sighed, grateful for the numbness the bourbon provided. Belatedly, he realized Snape, the most private of private men, had just shared something incredibly personal. Was it not socially acceptable to return the gesture?

"There were times when I enjoyed it...and times when I didn't."

His glass was refilled by a silent potions master.

"In the beginning I would always try and resist him." he scoffed, "Light, I didn't even understand what it was he was asking of me." he sighed, staring at the wall.

"What do you mean?" Snape asked gently, his head having turned at Harry's use of the Azurian curse word.

Harry shook his head slowly. "How do you explain being born again? I awoke to...nothing. To darkness. I wasn't anything tangible. I didn't even know what it _meant_ to exist. And suddenly someone reaches in to the void and explains it all...you think 'this must be God'. Every minute of my waking hours was sensory overload." he closed his eyes, losing himself in the vivid memories. "The feel of hot sand under my feet, the sound of silence, the weight of steel in my hand, the smell of the earth..." he sighed, forcing his eyes to open. "The most basic things about being human were overwhelming. The first time he came to me-" he cleared his throat as if to dislodge a lump of emotion stuck there and forced the image of when Konin had first rapped him from his mind. "-it was beyond what my mind, still trying to figure out the building blocks of this world I was in, could understand."

He huffed in a cloud of intoxicated confusion. "Don't know why I'm telling you this."

Snape sighed, "Because there comes a time when every man, no matter how proud or stubborn, must accept what is right in front of him."

* * *

Harry looked around the dingy bar uneasily. He doubted he'd ever be able to shake his dislike for crowds. No heads even turned as he took a seat at a table near the door, his back to the wall. He wasn't surprised no one recognized him. With his dark skin, long hair and unapproachable air he was the exact opposite of the Golden Boy image anyone in this world knew.

The door to the tavern opened, letting a rush of cold air blow through the place, clearing some of the pipe smoke and disturbing a few dried leaves on the floor. He watched them skitter across the stones to settle around the legs of a bar stool while pretending not to notice as a haggard looking woman in a dirty apron stomped over to his table, her worn heels clicking loudly as she walked.

"Drink?"

She had one hand on her hip as she stared down her nose at him, having an air that suggested she not only hated her job but her life in general.

Harry placed three gold coins on the table. "Not a drink, no."

Suddenly interested in her surroundings, the bar maid scooped up the coins with practised discretion and sat across from him at the table. "What you lookin' for?"

"A man. Keep your voice down." He snapped, making her blink. "He's tall. Bright blue eyes. Dark hair, about shoulder length that looks like it was cut all in one swipe-"

"Like yours?" She interrupted with a grin.

"Yes, but lighter in color."

"This bloke got a name?"

"Konin D'kal, but I doubt he'd have used it."

A thoughtful look came over her face. Harry was sure it was an act, but waited patiently.

"Could have sworn I 'erd some grumblin's up round the bar few nights ago...'bout a stranger in town with blue eyes and a hard face." She sniffed, adjusting her skirts, "Can't be sure, though, me memory's a bit foggy."

With a roll of his eyes Harry placed five more coins on the table and she snatched them up with a wicked grin and said swiftly as she rose, "Ardden Bleendis. Take a left at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shope and its the third house on the right."

"Third on the right." Harry mumbled as he, too, rose.

_Now _there was someone watching him. Someone who was rather large. Someone who rose just seconds after Harry. Someone who was about to be really sorry he had been eavesdropping.

* * *

"Where's Konin?" Harry said, punctuating each word with a punch to the man's bloated face.

"I don't know!" The man screamed for the third time.

"Then why were you following me?"

"I _wasn't_!"

Harry cocked his fist back again and the man's hands flew up to protect his face. He was a fat man, with puffy cheeks and a bulbous nose commonly found in alcoholics. Though the swollen quality of the man's visage could very well be due to the fact that Harry's fist had already made contact with it several times.

"Stop! Stop! Alright!"

Harry let his hand fall and stood up straight.

"I 'eard Bleendis' name 'an..." he huffed, his great chest heaving under the laborious task of supplying oxygen to his massive body. "...'an, well, thought I might be payin' 'im a visit once you'd gone."

Harry contemplated the story and decided the man was probably either too stupid or too drunk to lie. Possibly both. "And why would someone who wants to pay this fellow a visit not know where he lives and have to eavesdrop and stalk a stranger to find him? One might think you do not wish him good health."

The man blinked. "Aint you doin' the same?" he accused, jabbing a finger in Harry's direction, apparently having a moment of cognitive clarity despite his drunken state.

"No." Harry said, reaching into his pocket. "I _paid _for my information." he left his hand concealed within his cloak and watched the man's neck wobble when he gulped nervously.

Harry smiled. "You know, you remind me of my uncle."

The man smiled uncertainly and Harry moved, striking like a snake, and pressed the point of his dagger into the man's flabby cheek. "I _hated _my uncle." he snarled in a whisper, ruffling the man's hair with the force of his voice.

"Look, whatever you want..."

Harry wanted to laugh at this pitiful man. He was quivering in fear, probably on the verge of pissing himself...pathetic. Though Harry wondered if he might not be a more formidable opponent had he not been three sheets to the wind. The man was large, and Harry was sure, had he been sober, likely would have thought to use his size to his advantage. The knife dissolved into thin air and Harry straightened again. In place of the knife was a small bag of gold, though the man did not look at all encouraged by it's appearance. If anything, as Harry had planned, he looked concerned for his safety in light of Harry's questionable sanity.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Konin D'kal?" Harry asked, his tone now brusk and businesslike.

The man shook his head. "No."

Harry tossed the coin purse to him and turned to leave the alley. "Find out if anyone has and I'll give you twice that." He stopped in the mouth of the alleyway and turned to see the man already counting the coin greedily, uncaring of the blood trickling from his left nostril. "I'll find _you _when I'm ready and if I find out you've had even _one_ drink between now and our next meeting..." he let the threat hang. "I'll not have you forgetting vital information because you're intoxicated."

He left without waiting for a reply. As he walked down the street he made his senses reach, stretching out around him like feelers in the dark. The stones under his feet were hard and unforgiving but no sound from his shoes reached his ears. The air was damp and heavy on his skin and his nose was filled with the small of rain. He heard the man from the alley stumble away and the clicking of owl's talons on chimney bricks as it readjusted on his perch on a nearby house.

He approached the third house on the right, studying its...extraordinary normalness. Slightly unkempt garden, chipped paint on the shutters, dusty windows. It looked like the houses on either side and across the street.

"Doesn't stand out much, does it." He mused aloud at the approach of footsteps.

"Gone are the days I could sneak up and scare the hell out of you." Snape drawled, coming to stand beside him.

"Sneak? More like skulk." Harry mumbled. He threw a sidelong glance at the taller man. "Like a vampire."

The man ignored him and gestured up the well worn path. "After you."

"Is this a knocking situation?" Harry asked once they'd reached the door.

Snape stared at him for a moment. "What?"

"Is this a knocking situation? Should I knock? Break the door down? Sneak in?" Harry shrugged. "I've never done this before."

Snape continued to stare at him, as close to befuddled as Snape could look, and wordlessly unlocked the door with his wand.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" He whispered to the back of Snape's head as he followed him into the house.

_'It's half past midnight for god's sake. Not as if the man will be puttering about his kitchen'_. Harry immediately pictured a ridiculous scenario in which he and Snape gently roused a slumbering Bleendis in the darkness of the man's bedroom and politely asked if they might all sit atop his floral patterned duvet and have a chat.

He was shaken out of these disturbing thoughts, though, when a rather large something sailed through the air, much too closely to his face. A frying pan, he deduced from the loud CLANG it made once gravity had done its work.

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

_'What a stupid question'_ Harry thought as he gracefully sidestepped another frying pan, this one being shown the way by Ardden Bleendis' hand, _'had he actually managed to hit me, I would have been in no condition to be answering questions_'.

Harry turned his body away from a third potential collision with the pan and gripped the cookware wielding arm at the wrist, applying pressure as he twisted. The pan fell from the man's seized fingers and hit the floor, followed swiftly by Bleendis himself.

Snape stood poised on the first step leading to the second floor, his wand aimed into the living room where the little scuffle had ended.

"I've got things under control here, why don't you have a look around upstairs for tall, dark and evil." Harry's words, though phrased like a suggestion, brooked little room for argument.

Harry stared calmly as Snape hesitated, his eyes flicking down to Bleendis as he struggled against Harry's, seemingly effortless, hold on him. Then the man gave a nod and ascended the stairs.

Once he was out of sight Harry stared down at Ardden's thinning head of hair and released him.

"If you run, I'll gut you."

The conversationally delivered promise froze Bleendis half way to his feet, causing Harry to smile. "Ardden Bleendis," He continued, "Pleasure to meet you."

Ardden was taller than Harry but shorter than Snape. He had large brown eyes that showed the whites all the way around and stringy grey hair as thin and wispy as the body from which it grew.

"Look boy, I don't know what it is you're after but I don't have it."

Harry stared silently. The man was already sweating nervously, his eyes locked with Harry's.

"Who sent you? Taina? Elbert? I told them I was out of the business! Its _them_ you should be talking to!"

Harry folded his arms across his chest and Bleendis' hands flew out before him, as if to stop something from hitting him.

"Now look, I don't know nothin' about Verdus and his lot, alright, last I heard was they were up in the mountains somewhere...er, can't quite recall the name. Hang on, I'll think of it. Something like -"

"Stop talking."

A heavy silence followed the snap of Ardden's jaw closing and Harry let it linger for effect.

"The man I search for goes by the name of Konin D'kal. Taller than you. Blue eyes and long dark hair." Harry recited in clipped tones. He was so very tired of dealing with blithering idiots who had no dignity.

"Never seen him." The man said at once.

Harry lashed out with magic, freezing the air solid around Ardden. The man's eyes bulged, no doubt due to the immense weight of the air crushing his body. Harry stepped forward so that their noses were only inches apart.

"I am going to make this very easy for you to understand." He said softly, letting the forced British accent drop and allowing words to roll off his tongue as Ecero. The man's eyes widened comically and Harry realized this was not the first time Bleendis had heard a Queghan accent.

_'Liar!_' The man knew exactly what he was talking about. "I know you know who Konin is and I _will_ get the information from you. All you need to know is that I will not hesitate to extract the information from your mind manually should you refuse to give it to me willingly."

Harry was having a hard time keeping his anger in check. How dare this..._Dachen _lie to him! It only made him feel a little better knowing that, could Ardden move, he'd most likely be trembling in terror.

_'Good.'_

Harry released the air from around the thin man's neck and head, at which point he promptly choked "Please!"

Harry glance over the scum's shoulder to see Snape descending the stairs. When their eyes met, Snape shook his head, signally he had found nothing of use on the second floor, so Harry refocused his attention on Ardden, feeling suddenly as if the chance of finding information on Konin's whereabouts was slipping farther and farther away.

"Breath," Harry instructed coolly, "Or you will start hyperventilating."

"Please!" He cried again, "I can't breath! Let me go, I beg you!"

Harry felt a trill of excitement rush along the pathway of his veins and into his heart at the man's panicked words and his pulse quickened, thinking of all the times he had heard those please before.

"Tell me what you know about Konin."

"He was in town a couple days ago! Stayed at the Hog's Head! That's all I know, I swear!" The man was beginning to panic now, desperately trying to bring more air into his lungs, but the crushing weight of the air was not allowing his ribcage to expand properly.

Harry contemplated him silently for a moment, unconcerned about the his inability to breath and very aware of Snape's cautious and calculating gaze on the side of his face.

Should he let the man go, having gotten nothing from the little bit of useless information, or should he make sure the man was hiding nothing, killing him in the process? Harry knew only one way to do it and it wasn't exactly a non-invasive procedure. Would Snape understand? He had been a Death Eater, after all. Would he tell Dumbledore? Was it worth the information he may or may not find? Was it worth the danger of calling the Darkness, here, in a village full of innocent people? His control of it grew stronger every day, but was it strong enough for this?

"Potter..." Snape said, whether in warning or concern, Harry could not tell.

He clenched his jaw in frustration. It would be so easy to just reach into his mind and...

"What are you doing?" Bleendis' haggard words fell on deaf ears and the man's eyes snapped to Snape, "What is he doing?"

Harry was confused for a moment before he realized the thrum of the Darkness had crept up on him and only now had he become aware of its presence. He felt his stomach clench. The Darkness had manifested itself physically before he had even realized it.

Snape's large hand coming down on his shoulder startled him.

"His eyes! Look he's - he's going to kill me! Do something!"

"Potter, its not worth it. Let it go." Snape's murmured words in his ear gave him the strength to push that bewitching song away.

But it left slowly, it resisted, like a scab separating from skin.

Bleendis must have taken his pained grimace for anger for he tossed his head and shrieked, "Taynuilt! That's where he's gone! Taynuilt! To meet some bloke named Big Blond!"

Bleendis was openly weeping now and Harry released him, too preoccupied with his own concerns to keep up the flow of magic. Ardden crumbled to the floor, heaving great gulps of air.

He left the house while Snape thoroughly Obliviated the poor fellow. Out in the damp night air, Harry thought about what Bleendis has told him, instead of the more troubling thoughts of what he had been about to do to the man. If muggle schooling in geography served him correctly, Taynuilt was a small town in the middle of nowhere here in Scotland. Though he didn't know where it was in relation to Hogwarts.

"I'll meet you by the front gates." Snape said before dissaparating.

Harry followed suit and found the man right where he said he'd be.

"What was that back there?" The taller man asked at once.

Harry tried to gauge what the man might be thinking but, as usual, Snape was the only person he could not read.

"I wouldn't have done it." Harry said, going on an assumption that Snape was alarmed by his apparent disregard for Bleendis' life just for a scrap of information that may or may not have existed.

"No?" Snape asked, his tongue sharp.

"No!"

The potions master said nothing for a moment, only stared silently. "Big Blond is a Death Eater."

Harry froze, then dug at the dirt with the toe of his boot and cursed. Then cursed again. "Voldemort can _not_ get his hands on Konin." He said quietly, speaking to the ground. He felt sick just thinking about it. "He's too powerful a weapon in the right hands. If Voldemort offers him something he likes then he'll stop at nothing to carry out his wishes."

His mind made up, Harry turned towards the castle to get a map and find out where the hell Taynuilt was.

"What do you plan on doing, exactly?" Snape asked casually, as if he didn't give half a wit and wasn't planning on coming along.

"I am going to intercept that meeting and _you_ are going to help me." When Harry glanced sideways at the man it almost looked as if he were smiling.

"If you insist."

While he could play off the wicked grin as a trick of the moonlight, Harry could not explain away the glint in those obsidian eyes.


	29. A Little Drama

**Chapter 29: A Little Drama**

* * *

"I think it's a terrible idea."

"You think everything is terrible. Why are you always so negative?"

"Neg - this has nothing to do with - you know what, never mind, I refuse to get sucked into this."

Harry thought he did a pretty good job of hiding his smirk as he kept pace with Snape's increasingly angry stride. The terrible idea to which Snape was referring was Harry's decision to include Ron and Hermione in their plans to go to Taynuilt.

"The reason, as I have already explained, is two-fold, alright?" Harry said patiently, "First, we shouldn't go into this by ourselves. If Konin is already involved with the Death Eaters, who knows how many friends Big Blond might bring along -"

"Oh, so by all means, let us recruit two _school children_ as backup."

"They are not _children_, Snape, and if it weren't for those two I wouldn't even be alive today to have this argument with you."

They stopped just short of the doors to the Great Hall and Snape turned to face him. It was early morning, earlier than most students were awake, but Hermione had always been an early riser and so, by default, Ron was as well.

"Do you really think this one excursion will repair your broken relationship with Weasley and Granger?"

Taken aback by the bold question, Harry couldn't decide if he was angry or embarrassed about Snape's perfectly accurate deduction of his thoughts. Forcing his eyes from the floor to meet those of his former professor, Harry found himself unable to answer. Of course that was one of the reasons he wanted to include them. Maybe it would help them see he wasn't a complete monster.

He sighed, looking over Snape's face carefully. The man's hair had been pulled back haphazardly that morning, Harry noticed, he had clearly been in a hurry when doing so, leaving strands to hang loose here and there.

"I don't know. Maybe?" he said at last. His voice wasn't as strong as he would have liked it to be and his gaze wandered back down to his hands. "Couldn't make it any worse though, could it?" He sighed, admittedly feeling a bit nervous about the impending conversation. "I don't know what to do. It kills me that so much has changed between us. It used to be so easy whenever we had our differences. We'd yell at each other, apologize and then go thwart one of Voldemort's plans and everything would be fine!"

He did a double take at the small grin on Snape's face, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What?"

"It never ceases to amaze me how you can refer to the scourge of the wizarding world with such casual disinterest and annoyance."

The fleeting grin was now gone and Harry sighed, readying himself. "You ought to smile more often, Snape." he said lightly, delighting in the dumbfounded look on the older man's face. He breezed past the man, now satisfied that they were equally rattled, if for different reasons. "Let's get this over with."

"Must I be present for this?"

When he rounded the corner he came face to face with Ron and Hermione, where they stood blocking his path in the massive entry way. And, if Ron's scarlet ears and Hermione's teary eyes were any indication, they had been standing there for the entirety of his conversation with Snape.

_'Swell_.'

There was an incredibly awkward silence, which was momentarily interrupted as Snape cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Well," Harry said, the word coming out in the form of nervous laughter, "You guys in or out?"

"I don't know, Harry. This seems really dangerous."

Harry shook his head, not understanding. "Suddenly that scares you?"

She looked annoyed at that. "I'm just saying maybe it would be best if Ron and I just stayed out of your way."

Expecting an immediate objection from Ron, Harry was floored when the red head held his gaze and said nothing.

"As entertaining as it is to witness this uncomfortable exchange, I do have other issues that need attending to." Snape said, effectively escaping the conversation. He began walking swiftly down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "Come find me when you have things figured out, Potter."

Sparing but a glance for the Potions Master's retreating form, Harry returned his attention to Ron and Hermione. "I'm asking for your help." He said evenly, smoothly jumping right back into the conversation and doing a good job of hiding his surprise at their joint rejection.

A look passed between the two and Hermione cleared her throat. "Look, its not that we don't _want_ to help. Ron and I are just worried we might...get in the way."

Passing a hand over his face in exasperation, Harry looked up and down the hallway to ensure that their conversation was still a private one. However, he knew that just because he could not see anyone did not mean there was no one there and he motioned for the other two to follow him. "Let's walk."

As the three walked through the castle grounds in the general direction of Hagrid's hut, Harry was mulling over what Hermione has last said. She had said that they were worried they would be in his way but what she _hadn't_ said was that they felt inferior. They thought they didn't have the same skills as he did so they were now useless in this war?

He stopped walking in an open, grassy area close to Hagrid's, where he could clearly make out a plume of smoke rising from the half giant's chimney by the tree line. He turned to them and picked up where they had left off.

"So explain this reluctance of yours to help me because, last I remember, if I had tried to do something like this on my own before, you would have first verbally abused me for my stupidity and then shackled us together at the ankles."

"It's different now, Harry." Hermione said simply, her gaze sad but steady.

Ron just jammed his hands into his pockets and stared at the grass.

This made Harry feel inexplicably angry and his next words cracked in the air like an angry whip. "Fine. If you insist on succumbing to your delusions of inferiority, then that's your choice." He made to leave and continue on to Hagrid's, ignoring their stricken expressions. "I'll find someone else to help me."

"Mate, hang on-"

Harry turned at the sound of Ron's chastised voice, his eyes cold. "Oh, so you _can_ speak."

"Cut the crap, alright?" Ron said, his face calm. "I'm tired of pretending every time we have a conversation that it isn't awkward as hell. Things aren't right between us. It's getting better, I think, now that you're, er...back."

Harry's eyes had narrowed to mere slits.

"But I don't know if things are good enough between us for what you're asking."

Harry forced himself to stay calm. Ron was right, of course, but that didn't make the truth hurt any less. "You don't trust me?" he asked, pleased that his voice sounded neutral.

"We didn't say that!" Hermione replied immediately, sounding more than a little defensive.

But Ron's ears were turning scarlet and Harry had his answer.

Harry shook his head. "You didn't have to."

They didn't try to stop him from leaving this time and he left them standing in the clearing.

He felt shaken, irritated and jittery. That certainly had not been what he had expected from those two. How was he supposed to mend their relationship when they didn't seem to mind that it was broken?

* * *

As Harry made his way back to the castle, having found that knocking on Hagrid's door produced nothing more than a loud banging noise, he tried to focus more on what the next step in his plan should be and less on how annoyed he was with his 'friends'. Though a small amount of space in his head was occupied by his mild concern that Hagrid had left a fire burning in his house and then _left_ said house.

He decided to go and speak with Snape, since the man seemed to be full of useful information that Harry wished he'd been privy to before now. He tried not to drag his feet through the halls, lest he look like one of the hundreds of sullen teenagers doing the same. After all, he was in the midst of hatching a scheme to spy on and take down a powerful, deadly bastard of a man that had, not too long ago, been his mentor. Perhaps if he was lucky, he might even get a little revenge killing out of the mission.

The thought of brutally and savagely murdering Konin perked him up like a cup of hot coffee and he practically skipped the rest of the way to Snape's quarters.

After knocking for several minutes, Harry decided the man was not in. Or else was ignoring him. Two equally likely scenarios.

While trudging back up all the stairs he had just descended, he suddenly heard the clicking sound of an owl's talons clambering to get a grip on the narrow stone window sill behind him and, by the time he'd turned to investigate, the owl was already sailing through the air towards him, obviously trying to regain it's dignity after flailing about on the window sill. He stuck out his arm for the proud bird, which he recognized as a school owl, and accepted the letter from it with a smirk.

The bird squawked and launched itself away again, digging his claws into Harry's arm a lot harder than necessary.

_Harry_

_Please meet Ron and I at the Three Broomsticks for supper. We really need to talk about all this._

_Hermione_

Harry sighed and crumbled the letter into a ball before shoving it in his pocket. The girl was right of course. She always was. He wondered absently is she ever got tired of it.

* * *

"This sounds brilliant!" Ron exclaimed exuberantly, referring to Harry's plan to interrupt Konin's little meeting.

Harry really didn't think it was all _that_ exciting, but to be fair, Ron had already consumed several bottles of butterbeer.

Harry took a swig of his own.

The Golden Trio sat at one of the many tables in the Three Broomsticks, as they had so many times before. Of course things between them were different now than they had been, but the familiarity of the scene was comforting.

Harry considered it his first real public outing since he had come back. The one other time he had only been in the Hog's Head for a matter of moments and even for that short while he had kept his head down.

He was surprised by the lack of recognition on people's faces when he made eye contact with them, having expected to be treated much the same way he had before. It was a blessing he was still getting used to and it was making him rethink his idea to cut his hair. Though he supposed his appearance, coupled with the ridiculous story Dumbledore had announced to the masses about him being away at a training facility, as Ron and Hermione had just informed him, made people see what they had been told was true.

Ron had started talking again and Harry decided to give up his thoughts and listen.

"Did you hear about the whole Malfoy thing? I mean, with Dean, Seamus and Neville?"

Harry lifted his head out of his hand, his interest piqued by Hermione's distressed look.

"Ron, perhaps we shouldn't. Not here..."

Ron looked around unconcernedly. "It's fine." He said, waiving away the girl's concern and leaving Harry all the more curious. Ron leaned in and lowered his voice, apparently sharing at least some of Hermione's uncertainty about being overheard in such a crowded place.

"Blew up the bloody dorms."

Harry's felt his eyebrows raise of their own accord. "Why would he blow up his own dorm room?"

Ron was shaking his head. "No. The Griffyndor rooms!"

Harry was left feeling confused. "Ok, start from the beginning please."

"Well one night me, Dean and Seamus..."

About forty five minutes later, Ron's tale came to an end and Harry winced. "So Dean still hasn't woken up yet?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, they had to move him to St. Mungo's."

Harry tossed back the last of his beer. His third, if he'd been keeping track accurately, which he had been, of course.

So Draco fancied himself a little revenge party, did he? Well good.

Harry nodded to the bar maid when she stopped by their table to ask if they wanted another round.

He rather thought Draco was being pretty stupid. The thought made him scowl deeply. As if the little blonde Death Eater wannabe stood a chance against him. He'd jam a dagger into that pale throat like it was butter, snuffing out the second Malfoy just as easily as the first.

A fourth butterbeer was set before him and he cleared his throat, trying to get his head above the murky depths of the alcohol.

Ron was staring at him keenly. "Thought you were trying to set the table on fire with how hard you were staring at it."

Harry's gaze slid sideways, his eyes locking with the redhead's. Ron's tone had been light but his gaze held weight and Harry was suddenly reminded that he was not the only one who had changed over the course of his absence.

"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked, putting a voice to Ron's questioning gaze.

He looked from one to the other, sipping his beer to stall, before clearing his throat and dropping his eyes to the table. "Nothing."

Hermione's lips pressed together into a thin line and Ron looked away, clearly unhappy.

'_What am I doing? I want to let them know they can trust me like they used to. Pushing them away certainly wont accomplish that_.'

He sighed, steeling himself. "I was thinking about Malfoy."

They both frowned at him.

"Senior." he grumbled into his beer, the glass making his voice echo hollowly.

Ron's eyebrows rose. "Oh..."

This caused Harry to smile a genuine smile. He knew Ron had as difficult a time talking about such things as he did.

"What?" said boy asked, upon seeing the smile.

Harry shook his head. "Some things never change."

"Hey!"

"Thank you for proving my point."

"Shut up, Harry."

* * *

Harry wasn't all that sure how they'd gotten to this point in the night, all he knew was that he was here now and it had to be fixed before it got anymore out of hand.

"We don't even know how to talk to you anymore!" Ron exclaimed loudly, once again dangerously close to yelling, despite having promised mere moments ago that he would no longer do so.

Harry shook his head, trying to focus through his drunken haze. He didn't know which of them was the most inebriated but if he had to guess, it would be Ron. His red cheeks, glassy eyes and inability to stay upright without the assistance of nearby objects was a dead giveaway.

Though Harry supposed a sober person would not have given it that much thought.

He passed a hand over his face and sighed. "Look, I know it's hard-"

Ron's laugh was almost hysterical and Hermione wrung her hands.

"You don't know what I'm going through here, Harry. How could you?"

"I'm not saying our situations or feelings are the same, all I'm saying is that we're all struggling with difficult issues."

Ron opened his mouth before quickly shutting it again, blinking rapidly as if he were shocked by what had almost come out of his mouth.

Harry felt his stomach twisting itself into knots. He knew that if there ever was a time he would be able to get Ron to tell him how he really felt, it would be when the man was drunk.

"What were you going to say?" he asked gently, making sure his voice lacked judgement or hostility.

The redhead looked steadfast against answering, though, and his arms were crossed defensively over his chest and he wasn't making eye contact either. Ron was ashamed and that worried him.

"Ron, tell me what you're thinking. I can't fix it if I don't know what the problem is." Harry felt, like he had so many times before, like something was slipping through his fingers and, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get a grip on it.

But Ron was shaking his head and turning away.

Harry felt it slip a little more.

"Why?" he asked, not meaning to snap like he did. "Why won't you tell me anything? Either of you? It's starting to feel like I'm the only one making an effort here." Anger was rising in him now faster than he could push it back, "I thought working through this was just as important to you two as it was to me but with every day that passes I'm faced with evidence to the contrary."

"Harry, no, that's not true!" Hermione corrected quickly, her eyes were watery but not as stormy as he was used to seeing them during an argument.

"Then why won't you talk to me?!" Harry didn't understand. They said they wanted to fix it. They said they missed him just as much as he did them. Yet they refused to take any steps towards doing anything about it.

After a moment of tense silence, Ron finally spoke, his voice rough and low.

"It wasn't nice, what I'd been about to say. I didn't think it would have made anything any better."

Harry stared. "But its still something that's bothering you, mean or not, and I want you to tell me these things. Otherwise...well, none of us wants a repeat of the Tri-wizard Tournament, do we?"

Ron's lopsided grin, however small and fleeting, made Harry feel as if that invisible something wasn't slipping away quite so fast anymore.

The smile was gone a moment later though, when Ron squared his shoulders and met Harry's gaze evenly. "Fine. I'll say what I have to say but you have to promise you'll do the same, because I know there are probably some not so nice things you'd like to get off your chest as well."

Harry was taken aback by Ron's insightfulness, but gestured for him to continue, promising, upon Ron's insistence, that he would not get angry.

The other boy appeared to be taking a moment to collect himself.

"I guess, what bothers me the most is knowing...knowing about the things you did. The people you...that you killed. I thought I used to know you better than anyone and I understand that you weren't exactly _you _in that place but...I don't know, I guess I just don't know how to talk to you or act around you anymore. I still feel like we're worlds apart and that there isn't anything I can do or say that will bring the three of us back together." he paused, finally breaking eye contact and moving it to the floor. "I know I'm not very good at this stuff but I don't know how else to say it. You need to know that things can never been exactly as they were before, and I'm ok with that, because we've all three of us changed over the last six months. But I'm also not ok with things how they are now and I want to work on it."

At the beginning of Ron's little speech, Harry felt his muscles tensing. He couldn't help it. Realizing that your own insecurities and demons not only haunted _your_ soul but that someone close to you agreed with the nasty voices in your head was a hard blow to recover from and Harry felt he should say as much.

"It hurts knowing you see the same darkness in me that I feel myself." Ron and Hermione both suddenly looked distressed, but Harry continued, afraid he might never speak these words again if he didn't do so now. "I can't change what I've done anymore than I can change what was done to me. Strangely enough, it took a conversation with Snape to make me realize that Ecero, even though he was something I was forced to become, was still _me_. Trust me when I say I struggle with this daily. But in the Azure it was kill or be killed, as I nearly was, many, many times."

"Have you spoken to anyone about this at all?" Hermione asked gently.

Harry shook his head. "Whose got time to heal their mental wounds these days?" he chuckled darkly. "Besides, after spending two years with Konin I think my problems would outlive any therapist."

They were both frowning now.

"Wasn't D'kal working _with _you?"

Harry looked between them, their blank and uncomprehending stares giving him sudden insight into how much they _didn't know_ about his time in the Azure. How foolish he had been to assume that the Order would at least tell them the basics. Suddenly the trio's arguments and annoyance with each other suddenly all made sense, now that he was aware of just how little they knew about his situation. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, certain that this was not the best time for him to be having this particular conversation with them. "Konin was my...teacher." was his vague answer.

Ron and Hermione continued to look confused about why that should require therapy, so Harry decided that a direct approach was best.

"Within days of our first meeting, Konin forced himself on me."

Ron and Hermione both paled drastically, swallowing hard. Harry continued.

"After that first time, he'd force me several times a day. At first I resisted, because I didn't understand what it meant, all I knew was that it hurt. After a while I got used to it but when I got my memory back...that was when it really sunk in what he had done." he sighed, "Among other things, anyway."

When he looked back up, Ron and Hermione's faces were stricken.

"They didn't tell us much of what happened or the little that you told them." Hermione said, her voice almost a whisper.

"I think that may be for the best." Harry said, "You don't need to know the details."

"How-"

Ron had cut himself off again, looking unsure.

"How what?"

"How did they wipe your memory? Was it a spell like obliviate or do they have that kind of magic..."

Harry's look made the taller boy trail off, leaving his sentence unfinished. "Like I said. You don't need to know the details." he couldn't help the coldness of his voice, but he forced his muscles to relax and his stance to assume a position that was less defensive. "Sorry."

"We understand." Hermione assured him.

"I think I'll get back to Grimwauld Place, before Sirius and Remus have a fit."

His friends both nodded and he was sure they were glad to end the emotionally draining conversation as well. As helpful as it may have been, they were all still far from sober and emotions were running high.

"Ok, send us an owl tomorrow and we can meet up for lunch."

After wishing them goodnight, Harry made his way towards Albus' office, hoping the man was still awake for him to use the floo. A couple of corridors away from his destination he was intercepted by Snape.

"What are you doing here?" the potions master asked, giving Harry a once over.

Harry pushed a great burst of air from his lungs and stared up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe, his conversation with Ron and Hermione still weighing heavy in his chest. "You know, what every eighteen year old is doing on a Saturday night. Getting tossed and having emotionally taxing conversations about mistrust and murdering people and getting ra-"

"Harry."

Harry snapped his mouth shut. "I didn't know you knew my first name." he said jokingly, something he never would have done sober.

"I meant where were you going?" Snape deadpanned. "And since your surname was not successful in getting you to shut up, I was forced to try an alternative means of getting your attention."

Harry rolled his eyes, "I was going to the Headmaster's office."

"He is not in the castle tonight."

"Of course he isn't."

"What do you need him for?"

"Jeez, what's with the third degree?" Harry exclaimed.

Snape stared. "How much have you had to drink today?"

"An amount well within the social norms, thank you."

"Won't the mutts be worrying about your whereabouts?" Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Obviously. Why else would I be going to Albus' office?"

"So it's the floo you're after."

"Well done, Sherlock." muttered as he pushed past the man.

Snape grabbed him roughly by the arm as he walked by, spinning him around so that their faces were inches apart, leaving Harry alarmed by the force of Snape's grip.

"I may not be able to take house points from you, Potter, but that does not mean you have the right to treat me as your equal."

Harry glared, feeling a little as if he was speaking with Konin. "And how should I treat you?"

Snape released him roughly, his nostrils flaring in annoyance when he could not come up with an answer.

"Well, if _you _don't even know then how can you expect _me _to know?" Harry accused, straightening his shirt sleeve. "You going to let me use your floo or not?"

Snape was blinking at him, his lips pressed firmly together.

"Follow me."

Harry did, a few steps behind just to be safe. His arm still tingled where Snape had been gripping it, whether because blood flow had once again resumed or because of...something else, he wasn't sure. Suddenly he became aware of a problem he'd been trying to ignore since his third beer, and that was the evidence that he'd not had sex in several weeks. His eyes raised treacherously to leer at Snape's back as he walked in front of him. Stride confident, robes billowing menacingly, arms swinging powerfully. In his own way, Snape was just as lethal and powerful as Konin and, against his will, Harry felt his nether regions becoming interested in his train of thought.

Just when Harry's eyes were narrowing in on his target, he realized just what it was the he was thinking of doing and it actually caused him to stumble.

_'I was _not _just trying to figure out how to get Snape in bed.' _He slammed his eyes shut_. 'Was not. Was not. Was not. Was not_-'

"Potter!"

He jumped.

The potions master's black eyes were studying him, his face a blank slate. Harry studied him right back, trying to visualize what that face might look like contorted in something other than hatred or rage.

But Snape was leaning away from him now, looking wary. "What are you doing?"

Harry shook his head, his eyes wide. "Nothing. Waiting for you to open the door to your rooms." a smile slowly stretched across his face. "So I can use your floo."

Far a moment longer Snape stared, then turned abruptly, his eyes fluttering briefly, before a piece of the wall swung inward to reveal the rooms beyond.

Harry stepped forth into the room, observing the new surroundings. "How very...not evil." he concluded.

"Eloquent, as always." Snape was already pouring himself a generous glass of scotch, apparently having felt that their brief interaction was enough to require alcohol. "The floo powder is on the mantle."

Harry didn't even pay the ornate box a glance, now focused entirely on the junction between Snape's neck and shoulder.

What was Severus Snape like under the layers of black robes and mask of cold indifference? Did he feel things that other men felt? Love? Pain? Desire?

Harry's curiosity had never before taken him so far down the rabbit hole and he wondered where this new-found desire to understand Snape on a deeper level had come from. Was he so desperate for sex that his subconscious latched on to the nearest breathing male? Or did it go deeper than that? Either way, he was in no state to examine the hidden meaning behind all of it now.

Snape had moved to grab the box from the mantle and threw some of the powder into the hearth. The familiar green flames erupted there.

"What are you waiting for?"

Harry grinned devilishly.

"Opportunity."

He grabbed a handful of floo powder in one hand and a fistful of Snape's robes in the other.

When their lips met, it was a surprise to both of them, if for different reasons. Snape's lips were surprisingly soft, unlike Konin's, and out of what he assumed to be shock, the man did not pull away immediately.

Harry ended the kiss before he could, stepping into the fire and hollering, "Grimwald Place!", his eyes dancing as they reflected the green of the flames, almost surreal in their colour.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

_'Getting drunk and snogging Snape_.'

Harry could not help the bubble of laughter that burst from his throat at the thought. Apparently this hadn't been what Sirius had expected, and his face showed as much.

"Harry!"

His grin faded, replaced by a frown of annoyance. "I was out. Mending broken friendships and...creating drama where there was none before."

Sirius and Remus shared a look.

"You're drunk."

"Yep."

"Go to bed."

"Ok."

His progress down the hallway was slow and tedious, as walls kept sneaking up in front of him. Eventually, Remus guided him in the direction of his room, but he resisted.

"...want to take a shower." he mumbled, closing his eyes and trusting his feet to find the washroom.

"Harry..." Remus sighed, "Why don't you just take a shower tomorrow?" It was a half half-hearted protest at best.

After a brief struggle, Harry managed to remove his shirt and he tossed it to the floor before leaning his shoulder on the wall and going to work on his belt buckle.

He growled low in his throat after a few moments. "Is there a trick to this or something?"

"Yeah, its called sobriety." Remus deadpanned.

"Oh, ha ha."

"So how did it go with Ron and Hermione?"

Harry expelled a great burst of air from his lungs, redoubling his clumsy efforts to figure out his belt buckle. "Well, they think I'm a bit evil, a little crazy and all around emotionally unstable. But what do they know? My only problem right now is getting my pants off."

Remus' face coloured and he began backing out of the doorway to the bathroom.

Suddenly Harry straightened, a thought occurring to him out of nowhere. "Remus, are you gay?" he asked, looking deeply contemplative.

The werewolf's face coloured even more and he began stuttering incredulously. "W-what?!"

Harry frowned, confused about why Remus did not understand such a simple question. "Are you gay? Do you like having sex with men?"

"Really, Harry! This is hardly the time for-"

"What's going on here?" Sirius asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway with an apple in his hand.

The animagus looked from a shirtless Harry, who had finally gotten his belt undone and now stood leaning against the wall with his jeans hanging dangerously low on his hips, to Remus who was clearly flustered and red in the face, and slowly took a bite out of his apple, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I was just asking if Remus was gay."

"And _I_ was just saying how this is a _highly_ inappropriate conversation to be having with you when you're this drunk."

Harry barely heard, as he had been closely watching his godfather's face, which had gone almost as red as Remus'. The ex-convict looked nervously over at his friend and a sudden, horrible thought wiggled its way into Harry's consciousness.

"Oh my god, you two used to fuck..."

The piece of apple Sirius had been chewing on fell from his suddenly slack jaws and hit the floor with a quiet splat.

Remus has taking deep breaths, clearly trying to regulate his emotions. Harry, however, felt no other emotion but pure shock and his wide eyes and open mouth reflected as much. Then another terrible thought hit him and he cried, "Why aren't you denying it?!"

At this point the two older men exchanged guilty glances before returning their apologetic gazes back on Harry, who suddenly felt the need to sit down.

"Oh my god, you're _still_ fucking...!"


	30. The Morning After

This chapter is dedicated to **harry sharpe**, who's review inspired me to write and post another chapter straight away!

* * *

**Chapter 30: The Morning After**

Harry stared intently at his godfather, trying not to feel too weird about it. He _was_ trying to be objective, after all.

He tilted his head a bit, as if the change in angle would suddenly allow him to see something new.

He supposed he could see where Remus was coming from. Maybe. Sirius was certainly not _unattractive_, by any means, and Remus was quite handsome.

He sighed. They were just so _different_. Opposites, really.

Sighing again, he dropped his eyes back down to the book he was pretending to read just as Sirius turned around to face him.

"How's your head?" The older man asked.

Harry resisted the urge to growl and instead grumbled out the word "Fine." as a response, still upset about being denied a hangover potion. Although, the pounding behind his eyes had already subsided a little now that they were no longer discussing his godfather's sex life. Such a conversation was unpleasant enough by itself, more so when they had sprung it on him over breakfast when he was so hungover that he was working hard just to keep his breakfast down.

"I see your attitude hasn't improved much, though."

Harry's eyes rose briefly to glare at Sirius before they lowered to the book once more. After a moment he felt the couch dip beside him as Sirius joined him there.

"When are you and Snape planning on going to Taynuilt?"

Harry, busy pretending to read, gave a start at the abrupt change in subject and the subsequent utterance of the Potions Master's name. He was dismayed to feel heat rising in his cheeks. "We haven't discussed it properly." he muttered, ruthlessly stomping down the images of his drunken escapades from last night.

He resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. '_God, I can't believe I...I..._molested_ Snape last night. Intoxication isn't a good enough excuse for what I've done. Ver'tora's got nothing on Snape. God, I'm going to die a slow, painful death the next time he sees me...'_

"...as well. Remus invited the git over for tea this evening to hash out the details."

That caused Harry's muscles to cramp, a page of the book slipping through his suddenly rigid fingers mid turn. "Snape?" he asked, not daring to make eye contact with his godfather, otherwise he'd _know_.

The animagus made a noise of confirmation to the affirmative.

"Snape is coming _here_?"

"Yeah..."

"Here." He gently closed his book. "For tea."

Sirius was frowning now and watching him closely. "Yeah. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Harry responded a little too quickly, thinking fast.

"Don't worry. I'm not too keen on having him in our house either, but if we're going to be working together then I suppose we'll have to learn to at least tolerate each others' presence." he saw Sirius glance sideways at him casually before clearing his throat, "Besides, rumour has it you two have been getting on rather well-"

"I'm going to bed."

Sirius blinked up at him when he stood. "But...it's nearly lunch time."

"Yeah, well, I'm tired."

Harry shuffled shamefully to his room, sure that his face was glowing in the dim light of the hallway. Once he was safely hidden behind his closed bedroom door he allowed himself a moment to think.

Why, after contemplating Severus Snape's inner desires and visualizing his face contorted in pleasure, after _kissing_ the man, did he find the relationship between Remus and Sirius so confusing?

'_More importantly_' a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously abrasive and snide, '_Why do you care? This is exactly the sort of distraction that will wind up getting you killed by the very man who's life you wish to extinguish!'_ Ecero's voice, though it was technically his own, always had the effect of sobering him up and making him see the bigger picture.

He was right. This was no good. If he went into this with the mindset of a confused young man that had just put the moves on his former, _hated_, professor-

'_Ok, let's stop that thought right there_.' He told himself firmly. '_That's exactly the kind of bullshit I'm talking about.'_

The manner in which he had acquired his skills as Ecero had been painful, brutal and bloody – he should not let them go to waste now, after all he'd gone through. He was startled to realize just how quickly he'd started to slip into being 'Harry' again, and while he was quite confident he could manage to retain all of the abilities he'd learned as Ecero, he needed to make sure he maintained them in their _perfected_ state. The only way to do that was to constantly, in the back of his mind at the very least, be viewing the world as Ecero always had, through the eyes of an assassin.

He grimaced at the thought of trying to maintain two separate and very different views of the world at the same time. The idea alone gave him a headache. Could he do that without going crazy? Could he do it without blurring the lines between one personality and the other? Did he even _want_ to be one personality or the other? Harry or Ecero, did he have to chose, or could he just use them both whenever he needed them?

His thoughts were travelling far off his intended path and into some very murky issues. When this whole thing with Voldemort was over, he thought he might take Hermione's advice and seek some professional help after all. If he was still alive, that is.

Shaking away the intrusive thoughts, Harry bundled everything up and placed it in a deep, dark corner of his mind where he could re examine it at a more appropriate time. Worries over his future mental health, uncomfortableness with his godfather and Remus' relationship, his confusion regarding his feelings for Snape, all were stored safely out of the way, clearing his mind so that he could concentrate fully on the tasks ahead.

First and foremost, and more important than the visit to Taynuilt, was dealing with Snape when he arrived.

Harry squared his shoulders and left his room again to deal with the storm he had called down upon himself. He'd battled fire breathing dragons and come out the victor, after all. Snape couldn't be any worse than that, could he?

Before Snape arrived later though, there was something that he needed to attend to. He silently made his way down the hall and then on to the main floor, carefully and effortlessly swallowing his footsteps with magic, just because he could. He briefly contemplated scaring the bejesus out of Remus by sneaking up on him, but decided that startling a werewolf might not fit in to his plans to live beyond tonight's meeting with Snape.

He poked his head into the kitchen, where Remus and Sirius were both sitting side by side at the long table, rather closer than necessary, in his opinion.

He scowled at their closeness, wondering if this is what most people felt when witnessing their guardians cuddling at the kitchen table, of all places. Isn't that what bedrooms were for? Nearly choking on the mental images the word 'bedroom' had conjured up, Harry's scowl deepened and he forced his voice to sound even when he spoke.

"I'm going out."

He saw both men frown before he ducked back out of the doorway and threw on his coat, groaning when he opened the front door to reveal a downpour of rain so thick he couldn't even see the houses on the other side of the street.

"Yeah, well...of course."

* * *

Harry watched through the veil of rain as the large man exited the tavern, the same tavern in which Harry had caught him eavesdropping on his conversation with the waitress over a week ago.

He pressed his back into the brick wall behind him, trying to keep under the eve the house and avoid at least some of the downpour. Though he wasn't sure why he was bothering since he was already soaked to the bone anyway.

He studied the man passively, his eyes intense. He wasn't stumbling or shaking and his face lacked the redness it had the last time they'd met, proof that he'd made good on their bargain and not had any alcohol. He was talking to another man with a similar appearance just outside the door to the pub. They too were using the protection of the building's overhanging roof to keep dry a little longer.

After conversing for a moment, the two burly men shook hands and parted ways.

The shadow that was The Boy Who Lived detached itself from the side of the house and moved stealthily up the street after the man. After a few yards, he kicked over a loose stone in the street, alerting the man to his presence.

"Mr. Rathe!" Harry called in greeting through the noise of the rain.

When Harry stopped a few feet before him, he got a nod in greeting. "Mr. Potter. Please, call me Arith."

Harry smiled, hoping to see the man's shoulders relax a little. "You received my owl, then." Harry had sent Arith an owl two days earlier to reveal his identity and to let him know he would be in contact with him soon to discuss any news about Konin.

"Come this way!" Arith shouted, gesturing for him to follow and squinting hard to keep the water that was cascading down his face from entering his eyes. "I don't fancy standing in the rain any longer!"

Harry followed until they had moved a bit farther up the street to a small house and stepped over the threshold and into Arith's surprisingly welcoming home. It was warm and a fire was crackling in the hearth, the whole house smelled of freshly baked break, earth and rain and knick knacks were stuffed on overcrowded shelves of family photos and childrens' crafts. They held no dust, evidence of regular care, which lead Harry to assume that Arith was likely a grandfather.

Said grandfather was currently laying his sodden coat over the arm of the rocking chair closest to the fire and Harry was in the process of peeling off his own robe when a woman, about Arith's age in appearance, came bustling out of the kitchen. She was slightly smaller than Arith, with curly hair tied up in a loose bun, rosy cheeks and a generous amount of laugh lines.

"Arty, where – oh, hello!"

"Antia, this is Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter, this is my wife, Antia."

Harry inclined his head in her direction politely, his eyes gleaming in the gentle glow of the fire as he awaited her reaction.

Her hands had stilled where she had been brushing flour off her apron and her wide eyes snapped up to Harry, over to her husband and back again, at which point she seemed to notice the sodden state of the two men and jumped into a distracted frenzy.

"Goodness, you two must be frozen! Let me dry you off."

To his credit, Harry only flinched a little when the woman pulled out her wand and waived it in a familiar pattern he knew would produce nothing more than a drying spell. Not two seconds later and his clothes and hair were dry once more.

"Shall I put on a pot of tea?" Antia asked kindly.

At Arith's nod she bustled back into the kitchen and Harry took the proffered seat in an overstuffed armchair. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, which he had thrown over the back of the sofa after Antia had thoroughly dried it, he pulled out a coin purse with the other half of the money he'd promised Arith in exchange for keeping his eyes open for information on Konin. He tossed the coins to the older man, who caught the purse deftly.

He watched as Arith rolled the bag between his hands with a grave and thoughtful frown. "About this D'kal fellow of yours," he said, cutting right to the chase and transferring the coins to his own pocket, "I don't know what he is to you but if he's a friend or not, you ought to keep your distance."

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked, watching him closely.

"He's not been involving himself in anything good. He's been dealing with You Know Who's lot. The Death Eaters."

Harry twirled a piece of hair around his finger thoughtfully. "I don't suppose anyone might have overheard any conversations?" He knew no one would have and when Arith shook his head he wasn't at all surprised. Konin was too paranoid and too careful to be overheard talking about anything he didn't want you to know.

"Sorry. No one could tell me anything besides that. And what I _have_ heard passed through several different mouths to boot."

Antia's head of curly hair suddenly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Arty dear, would you give me a hand with the tea?"

The hefty man pushed himself out of his chair with an apologetic smile. "Won't be a moment."

Harry nodded absently and waived the man off. He doubted Antia actually needed help with the tea, he would recognize the sweet tone she, and any woman, used when a man was about to be spoken to. He was more concerned with the lack of hostility from the man who's nose he had very nearly broken just over a week ago. Not that he seemed to be suffering from their encounter still. Quite the contrary. The unnatural flush had disappeared from his face, his hair had been cut and his eyes were bright. Harry ran his index finger over his lips. Perhaps the man had had a few lucky card hands in the taverns this past week.

The sound of china clinking against metal made Harry look up. Antia placed the tea tray on the coffee table and took a seat on the end of the sofa closest to his chair.

He took the cup she offered him with a quiet thank you, passing it under his nose discretely before taking a sip.

"Where is Artih?" he enquired politely.

"Oh, he's just washing up." the woman said, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen without looking. She shifted forward on the couch in Harry's direction and leaned in with a conspiratory smile. "I just wanted to thank you before Arty comes back."

Harry blinked at her urgently whispered words.

"I don't know what happened exactly when you confronted Arty twelve days ago but he's been a changed man ever since!" Her eyes were dancing and she glanced quickly over her shoulder to make sure that her husband was still in the kitchen and well out of ear shot. "He hasn't had a drink since that night!"

Harry felt a smile tug at his lips as she giggled girlishly and popped a small piece of biscuit into her mouth.

"I only wish you'd beaten some sense into him sooner."

Having just taken a mouthful of tea, Harry had to place a hand over his mouth to keep from spraying it everywhere. Arith chose that moment to amble back into the sitting room, wiping his hands off on a well worn dish towel. He paused, eyes narrowing suspiciously, when he caught sight of his wife shifting back from the edge of the sofa.

Meanwhile, Harry busied himself with another mouthful of tea, trying to appear as if he hadn't just been discussing Arith with his wife.

"Oh, Arty, I was just asking Harry here if he knew Deena." Antia said smoothly, patting the sofa beside her.

He sat slowly, eyes still narrowed. "What are you up to, woman?"

She smacked him on the arm playfully and shushed him.

"You might have seen her at Hogwarts, Harry. Deena Vance. She's my niece!"

His interest piqued, Harry leaned forward, mulling over the familiarity of the name. "I know who she is, though I must confess that I do not know her all that well. She's in Ravenclaw, yes?"

Having finally relaxed into the sofa, Arith nodded with a proud smile.

Suddenly, Harry realized why the name was so familiar and he turned to address Antia. "Your maiden name is Vance?"

The woman nodded quickly, cradling her teacup in her hands.

"Are you at all related to Emmeline?"

Antia's face fell a little and Arith's gaze snapped over to him quickly, a small amount of anger there, before his eyes softened and returned to assess his wife's emotional state.

There was a moment of tense silence, in which Harry frantically searched their faces for some clue as to what this reaction of theirs might mean. He carefully slid forward to the edge of his chair and set his cup down on the table. He did not move back and remained perched there, his muscles tense, lest he need to move quickly.

"Emmeline was my sister."

Emmeline Vance was a member of the Order that Harry had met only once. If these people were her relatives, their usefulness had just gone up a notch. However, after seeing their reaction to the mere mention of the woman's name he was more than a little concerned that maybe Emmeline had been on bad terms with the family. Was he sitting in the house of two people who did not support the Order? Perhaps, who did not even support the Light?

Then Harry blinked, having just realized what Antia said. "Was?" he echoed.

She nodded and grasped the comforting hand offered by her husband. "Emme was killed last summer. Death Eaters."

"I'm so sorry." Harry said quietly, feeling like a heel and at the same time wondering if they'd lost any other members while he'd been gone.

"It's alright. It's just that it's still a little strange to get used to, you know?" she sniffed.

He nodded, hoping to convey some of the compassion he suddenly felt for her through his gaze. "I do."

Antia continued, "I begged her over and over to leave the Order. I know they are...it's just all so dangerous."

Harry nodded again in understanding. "I know. When someone you care about is in danger, it's hard not to try and help them, even if they do it anyway after you've tried to get it through their tick skulls that you're not happy about it."

Antia chuckled and Arith smiled in agreement. "You sound as if you speak from experience."

Now that the mood had been lightened considerably, Harry decided to get back to the reason he was there in the first place before he wore out his welcome.

"Thank you, Arith, for keeping your eyes and ears open."

"Sorry I could find nothing more encouraging." said the man with a sad smile.

The couple walked him to the door and he threw on his freshly dried cloak, unhappy that it was still pissing cats and dogs outside.

"Let us know if there is anything else we can help with." Came Antia's soft voice, nearly drown out by the rain. "We may not be ready to commit the Order, but that doesn't mean that we don't believe in the same values Emme did."

Her eyes were shinning again and Arith cleared his through, looking uncomfortable. "We have children and grandchildren to look after, you know." He aparently felt the need to justify his wife's last comment.

"I know." Harry said, smiling again. He seemed to do that a lot around these people. "So, you'll let me know if you hear anything else?"

"Of course."

"Same deal as before." Harry clarified, smirking when the man glared down at his wife, no doubt just realizing what it was she had been 'up to' before he had come in to the sitting room earlier.

"You have my word."

Harry nodded, flashed Antia a charming smile and kissed the back of her hand. "It was lovely to meet you, Antia."

She blushed, causing Arith to roll his eyes skyward.

As Harry made his way through the rain, he contemplated his next move and how he was going to deal with Snape when he arrived at the house in a few hours.

* * *

Would love some more reviews!


	31. Indulgence

So I got a little carried away with this chapter, length wise. It is almost eleven thousand words, but I couldn't find a place to break it up that made me happy, so, here ya go. Would very much appriciate some reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 31: Indulgence**

When Harry returned home it was later than he had originally planned for, as he had been easily distracted by Arith and his wife's pleasant conversation coupled with the inviting warmth of their cozy home. When he finally did get back to his godfather's house, the hour was late and the front hall was dark, a single lamp burning low in it's bracket on the wall.

He shrugged off his sodden coat and hung it to dry on the rack, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror by the door as he did so.

He scowled, noticing that in the last few days he'd become even more pale. Whatever it was in the atmosphere of the Azure that tanned a human's skin seemed to have left him and he was now as pale as the day he'd been sent there. He sighed and turned from the mirror, allowing himself a silent moment to bemoan the loss of his golden skin.

He noticed then that the kitchen door was firmly closed and muffled voices were distorted but audible from where they drifted through the wood and into the hall.

Silent as a shadow, he moved and pressed his ear to the door, listening hard.

Snape's low baritone was unmistakable and he cursed as he bolted from the door and up to his room, making sure to mask his heavy footsteps with magic.

His sodden shoes and socks went flying across the room, followed closely by the rest of his rain drenched clothing. Quickly, he rubbed his hair dry as best he could with the towel that hung off the back of his chair and was in the process of pulling on a warm, _dry_, pair of jeans when he stilled, his eyebrow raising slightly as an idea struck him.

He tugged his jeans back off again and flung open his closet doors.

Part of the reason he thought he might be so nervous about seeing Snape again was due to the fact that he never felt as if the two of them were on even ground. The man's sharp tongue and even sharper wit always served one of two purposes: Making Harry feel stupid or enraging him to the point of senseless violence. He knew Snape's natural defence was intimidation, everyone knew that, and part of Snape's intimidation tactic was wearing dark clothing and appearing emotionless while students squirmed under his piercing gaze.

A smile crept up on Harry's face as he pulled perfectly pressed black slacks and a black turtleneck, the same one he'd favoured as Ecero, from his closet. He left his hair damp and dishevelled and his feet bare, but didn't bother to glance in a mirror before leaving the room. His skin was still pale from the cold and the blackness of his clothing made the skin of his face, hands and feet look nearly white.

Quickly making his way back through the dark halls of the creepy old house, Harry hardened his features into Ecero's trademark mask as he reached the kitchen and pushed the door open without hesitation.

For a moment, Snape simply stared at him and Harry stared right back, both their faces giving nothing away.

"What have I missed?" he asked, addressing Remus because Sirius looked as if he might bite the head off the next person that spoke to him.

Before the werewolf could answer though, Sirius barked, "Where the hell were you?" into the the empty space, the pinched look on his face reminding Harry sharply of his aunt Petunia.

Having kept a straight face in much more unpleasant circumstances than this, Harry easily maintained a neutral expression. "It's not important."

"Harry James Potter, you listen to me and you listen closely." Sirius had moved quickly from where he had been leaning against the counter to come stand a mere few inches in front of his godson, no doubt trying to appear intimidating. "I am your legal guardian whether you like it or not and while you live in _my_ house you will follow _my_ rules. One of which is that you do not disappear for hours at a time without telling us where you're going!" After taking a few deep breaths to return the flow of oxygen to his brain, the animagus finished the rant with an overly polite, "Got it?"

For his part, Harry was trying hard not to grind his teeth and ruin the persona he had decided to walk into the kitchen with. He'd faced off with some of the most vile and powerful creatures in the Azure, creatures the people in this world could not scrape out of the bowels of their darkest nightmares, and now here he was, being lectured by his _guardian_ like he was a stupid child that did not understand the dangers of the world beyond his doorstep.

He simply stared at his godfather for a moment in silence, his features still but his eyes glittering like chips of ice. "Do you know how many people I've killed?"

Whatever Sirius had been about to say to that, and Harry was guessing it would have been good if the enraged snarl was anything to judge by, was abruptly cut off when Snape suddenly scoffed in amusement, which he quickly attempted to disguise as a cough.

"What's so damn funny, Snape?" Sirius snapped, switching his focus to the potions master. "You know, I'm getting tired of your attitude, Snive-"

"What were you saying earlier, Sirius?" Harry interjected smoothly, his voice low and contemplative. He made a show of carefully examining his fingernails as he continued. "Something about learning to tolerate each other?" he goaded casually.

"Yes, Black, if your godson can tolerate my presence for the greater good I don't see why it should be any more difficult for you."

Harry's gaze slid sideways over to Snape, trying to gauge any hidden meaning behind the man's words. Though, with him, you could never be sure what words were an intentional deception or which ones were actually what the man was thinking. Either way, he decided then and there that he wanted to clear the air about what had happened between them _now_, before they left for Taynuilt. He did not want this hanging over his head when he needed all his focus to be on Konin.

Steeling himself, he glanced between Remus and Sirius and calmly asked. "Could you give Snape and I a moment?"

"Uh...sure?" Remus replied, his eyebrow arching sharply. He grabbed Sirius' arm and pulled the stunned man from the room.

Once they were alone, Harry was unsure of how he should proceed.

He started by levelling a steady gaze on the taller man across the room. "About last night..."

Snape remained stoic and unhelpfully silent, letting him flounder.

He pursed his lips slightly, but otherwise remained still. "I apologize. I was drunk and I had just had to convince my two best friends that I'm not psychotic." he clasped his hands together, one over top of the other in front of his stomach, and simply waited for Snape to make the next move.

"Consider it forgotten." he said finally, brushing some non existent lint from the front of his robes.

Harry felt stunned. "That's it?"

The potions master's brow creased with a frown. "What did you expect?"

"What did _you _expect?"

Snape blinked and pressed his lips together, clearly annoyed. "I didn't expect to have to expect anything!" The man sighed, sounding tired. He placed his hands atop the worn table but kept his gaze down instead of looking him in the eye. "Potter, it would be _inappropriate_ to-"

"Why?" Harry interrupted. He had expected Snape to object to the whole thing, but he had been prepared for something about how he was stupid or disgusting or how Snape wasn't gay...

"_Why_? Because you are a student and I am a teacher. Because I am twenty years your senior. Because-"

"First of all, I am not a student anymore." Harry corrected sharply, not entirely sure why he was arguing about this. "Secondly, I am eighteen years old, technically, so both of your arguments are invalid."

Snape was staring at him now, a strange look on his face. "Are you saying you disagree with my opinion that it is a bad idea for us to continue what you started?"

"Yes." To his credit, the only outward sign that Harry realized what he'd just admitted was a subtle widening of his eyes and a muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. He'd walked right into that little trap.

"Interesting." the older man mused, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Wipe that damn smirk off your face, will you?" Harry snarled, his mask slipping a little. He felt exposed and it left him agitated. He did not like feeling vulnerable, in any context, let alone vulnerable to Severus Snape.

"Or _what_, Potter?"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and moved to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. He wasn't particularly thirsty, he just wanted something to busy his hands.

"If you are going to be unreasonable about this then you're not going to Tay-"

Harry's threat to leave Snape behind on the mission was abruptly cut off when he turned from the sink. Snape had moved like a striking snake, pushing him up against the counter, one hand gripping his upper arm hard enough to leave a bruise and the other hand had grabbed him at the hip. He could not move and inwardly he cursed, the man was stronger then he'd thought and it felt to him like Snape was effortlessly overpowering him.

The older man bent his head to kiss him and it was aggressive, hard and made shocks shoot south instantly.

When it ended, Harry drug a breath over his teeth and into his lungs, feeling dizzy. He spent a few seconds regaining his wits, at which point he realized Snape was watching him closely.

"I can't tell if you are pursuing this because you want it or because I told you that I think it is a bad idea."

Harry pretended to think it over for a moment in an attempt to distract himself from Snape's ridiculously strong grip. "Might be a little of both."

They were interrupted by an impatient bang at the door and the two of them separated quickly.

"Won't be a moment!" Harry called, then turned back to Snape. "I think it is safe to say no one should know about us."

Snape was straightening his robes. "Obviously."

Sirius came crashing through the door then, red in the face and out of breath. Remus followed, more reserved but also with his chest heaving and his chestnut brown hair a little dishevelled. Obviously the werewolf had had to work at giving he and Snape that moment alone.

"You see, Sirius?" the werewolf asked, gesturing towards Harry and Snape and running a hand through his hair. "Everything is fine!"

The animagus was glaring daggers at both of them and Harry found himself growing annoyed with his godfather's attitude and extreme emotions.

* * *

The sun was sinking lower and lower, steadily approaching the horizon, and Harry was growing anxious.

Taynuilt was a shockingly small town, something which he had only realized upon arriving there. This only added another level of difficulty to their task. Arriving in a town this small would cause a stir of curiosity and talk amongst the locals and, while alone Harry may have been able to go unnoticed for a while, there was no way the three of them could pull this off without a villager spotting at least one of them.

This had forced Harry to rethink his plans carefully and they'd lingered in the forest on the outskirts of town to come up with a new approach.

Sirius and Snape were both leaning against trees with their arms crossed, looking more than a little bored.

He watched as Sirius squatted down and started poking at something near the base of the tree, but after a moment he jerked his hand away from the ground and frantically began wiping his poking finger on his robes. The man then discretely glance over at Snape to see if the other had seen before standing up quickly and clearing his throat.

Harry could do little more than stare at the man, unwilling to examine the sudden feeling that maybe he should not have asked for Sirius' help with this mission.

"We've been standing here for _two hours_, Harry." The man wined. "Could you give us an ETA on your new plan?"

"I will tell you when I've decided for sure what it will be."

Although he had to decide quickly, as an unseasonable warmth had settled over the small hamlet and the storm clouds were rolling in from the western shore. He allowed a few more minutes to pass and the sun finally disappeared behind the distant hills, a low rumble of thunder followed, making Sirius and Snape glance upward.

"Alright." Harry called as he turned to face them, causing both men to listen intently. He quickly glanced skyward himself, feeling dwarfed by the swelling black clouds gathering over his head. The thunder crackled over the town, booming like a sudden crack in a damn close to bursting.

He focused on the task at hand. "The Rogue's Wineskin is the only Inn in town. Now, Konin can be charming when he needs something but he's only been here for a day or two at the most, so it is unlikely he'd be able to charm himself a place to sleep out of any of the locals yet. This means we are likely to find him at the Inn."

Harry crouched down and pushed his back into the large tree trunk behind him, the movement of his feet crushed bits of the forest floor under his boots, causing a cloud of scents to reach his nose. The bark against his back and the foliage under his feet were damp and the sharp scent of wet earth calmed him. Quickly glancing skyward again, he could tell just from the smell that this storm followed many. Taynuilt's winter had been a wet one so far.

"There is no way the three of us can just walk around together without being noticed." Harry continued. "So we will have to split up. I will be the only one entering the Inn-"

"Hang on, Harry, that sounds like a bad idea. What if he sees you? You can't take him by yourself." Sirius said, having held up a hand to interrupt him.

Harry glared over at his godfather. "Yes I could and let me finish what I am saying next time before you interrupt to tell me what a bad idea it is!" Harry snapped and then took a moment to wrap his cloak tighter about his body when a cool breeze moved through their little clearing. "I will be the only one entering the Inn _first_. We don't know when Konin will be in the tavern and we can't just have one person sitting at a table in the corner all day, it's too suspicious. In a town this small, we're bound to stir up whispers and questions just by being here."

"So what are we supposed to do while you're in the bar?" Sirius asked.

"This is where I can't decide what I want to do. You can either be asking around to see if we can get any information on Konin's comings and goings or you can both keep out of sight until we are ready to swap places at the Inn."

"We are unlikely to get anything useful from the locals," Snape offered. "In fact, we may create more of a problem than any information is worth."

"That is my main concern. I just despise having you both sitting and doing nothing. Quite unproductive."

A drop of rain landed on his head, feeling like ice as it sunk through his hair and onto his scalp. A jarring crack of thunder followed immediately. The storm was upon them.

"I don't think trying to talk to the locals is a good idea, Harry. Best to stay out of sight."

Harry looked between the two of them and stood. "Well, if you're agreeing with Snape, then I guess it is probably the right choice."

* * *

Harry was glad he got the first shift in the tavern, as a torrential downpour was currently raging outside. The tavern was small, with a bar, several wooden tables and a large fireplace all crammed in to one room. Far against the back wall and tucked into a corner was a narrow staircase that led up to the next level of the building to where he assumed the rooms were located. The confined space was almost too warm and two of the windows had been propped open, allowing the smell of the rain to enter the room. Over in a corner, an older man sat at one of the open windows, one leg up on the sill and the other dangling. He had his head back and was gazing out the window as he strummed a lazy tune on the old string instrument in his hands.

After an hour had passed with Harry doing little more than enjoying the calming sound of rain pounding on the roof mixed with gentle tavern music and the mouth watering smells from the kitchen in back, the Inn keeper was starting to glare, so he raised his hand to the waitress and ordered a bowl of soup.

Two more hours later, long after his empty bowl had been cleaned away and he could no longer pretend to be reading the newspaper at a glacial pace, Harry stood from the table and left the tavern, angry that Konin had yet to show himself.

On top of that, the storm was still going full force and he was hit with a blast of icy wind and sleet, immediately losing the warmth the Inn had provided.

He could see Sirius and Snape in the alley across the street, their silhouetted shapes blurred by the downpour. He made his way over to them and shook the water from his hair once he was under the shelter of the overhanging roof.

"Who wants to go next?" he asked.

Sirius nearly trampled him in his dash for the tavern.

Shivering, Harry pulled his sodden cloak about him tighter and focused some of his magic on sucking a bit of heat from the surrounding air and transferring it to his own body. "Couldn't have found my way back closer to summer, could I?" he grumbled to himself.

"So what are you planning on doing once we find Konin?" Snape asked from behind him.

Harry's green eyes glittered behind the wall of rain cascading from the rooftop, his gaze sharp as it cut through the din to fixate on the door to the Inn. "Don't worry about it."

He could feel the weight of the man's gaze on the back of his head. After a moment of quiet contemplation, Snape quietly said, "For having asked your godfather and I to potentially put our lives at risk you are playing this awfully close to the chest."

Harry wasn't sure if Snape was expecting a response to that or not and decided to say nothing. It didn't matter much anyway, what he did and did not tell them. He was here for one purpose only. Konin would tell him nothing about his dealings with the Death Eaters, _if _he'd even actively participated in anything of relevance at all, or answer any of his questions about the enigma that was sharing his body and magic, and he knew that.

No. Harry was here for one reason and one reason only. To make sure Konin did not escape this town alive.

* * *

Three hours later he and Snape saw a soft blue sphere of light glow in front of them. It pulsed into existence, flared once and then flickered out like a candle. It was the signal to let them know that Konin had been spotted in the tavern and was on his way out to the street.

Even though he knew it was coming, Harry was mentally thrown off balance at the swell of hatred that ballooned in his chest when he laid eyes on Konin. It took everything he had not to dash from the shadows of the alley and charge the man with his dagger in hand. Instead, he forced a breath into his lungs, feeling the Darkness reaching eagerly for him, sensing his anger, sensing his longing to kill. He pulled it to him and coiled it around his mind, his consciousness darkening quickly.

This was a job for Ecero, and no one else.

His hand flexed around the pommel of his favourite dagger where it remained hidden under his cloak.

Images began to manifest themselves from his subconscious, causing his breathing to deepen with sudden arousal at the thought of slaughtering Konin. Gods, how he had _longed_ for this day; he felt giddy, excited. His eyes narrowed and he bit his lip to keep from groaning in anticipation, his excitement spiking.

"Steady on, Potter." he heard Snape murmur behind him.

Harry's eyes remained glued to Konin as he made his way down the street. For a moment or two, the man continued on, seemingly unhurried despite the weather, but after only a few yards, his steps slowed and he came to an uncertain halt in the pouring rain, his shaggy head cocked a little, as if he were trying hard to hear something but didn't know where the noise was coming from. Of course, the rain made it nearly impossible to hear anything at all.

Harry felt his eyes widen a bit in realization that perhaps it was _his _presence that Konin was sensing, the man had always been unnaturally intuitive when it came to his younger charge.

He quickly pulled the Darkness towards him in a panic and spun it around himself and Snape like a woven blanket, shielding them from view within the alley and when Konin's gaze turned in their direction, his piercing blue eyes swept right over their hiding spot, making Harry's heart pound excitedly. He watched the man's brow crumple in confusion, not understanding why his eyes could not see what his instincts were trying to show him.

Another moment passed and then he continued on down the street.

"Were you planning on letting me see or should I expect a running commentary?"

Harry pulled the shadows closer to him, away from Snape's unappreciative mind.

The hard rain was already obscuring Konin's retreating form, within a few seconds, the man would be gone. Harry turned to the wall to his right, quickly assessing what could and could not be used as foot holds. He would not be able to tail Konin in the openness of the street, but the rooftops offered a little more cover.

He scaled the side of the house with ease, the low windows of the old building providing him with firm hand grips and footholds, and hauled himself onto the rooftop, grateful for his increased strength after spending so much time in the Azure. He never would have been able to haul himself over that overhang before.

Snape had cursed when he had started up the wall but he ignored the snarky comment about his lack of intelligence, moving swiftly and silently across the rooftops with the agility of a cat, staying low and out of sight, Konin ever under his watchful eye.

The man was moving in a sure direction and at a steady pace, obviously he had a destination in mind, and Harry wished the rain would let up some so he could see farther to where Konin might be heading.

After he had jumped the gap between another two houses, the way up ahead of Konin grew misty and dark and no other buildings appeared out of the gloom. He realized that they had come to the edge of the village and frowned, wondering just where it was that Konin was headed. He had checked several maps before leaving Hogwarts and he knew that the road lead to nothing but miles and miles of forest.

At the last alley, he dropped to the ground between the houses and moved to the opening, feeling mud squish under his boots.

He peered out into the street, feeling his heart skip a beat.

Konin was gone.

Harry cursed, the sound of his voice getting swallowed in the rain, and looked up and down the deserted road before moving from the safety of the alley and hugging the brick wall behind him. This was the last house and the road turned to dirt and disappeared into several meters of tall grass before winding out of sight into the forest. Some of the street was dimly lit by porch lights, but mist clung to the edges of the houses, making everything blurry and dark and offering a thousand places to hide.

Harry held back a cry of frustration.

For a split second, there was a strong, familiar hand around the back of his neck and then the side of his head collided with the brick wall in a blast of pain, leaving him dazed.

He lashed out blindly, throwing his elbow over his shoulder to where he last knew his attacker to be and was pleasantly surprised when it connected with someone's face.

He turned quickly, pulling the Darkness to him and pushing away the remainder of the white haze obscuring his vision, his ears ringing.

"You've let them domesticate you, Ecero."

Harry glared, struggling to contain his anger, struggling to hold the Darkness at bay. He wanted this to last.

Despite the fact that Konin was leaning against the wall of the house, rubbing absently at his chin, the man's hard eyes were clear and focused intently.

"I never would have been able to sneak up on you like that three weeks ago. How could you have let your skills slip so far?"

"If you don't stop talking, I'm going to let this dagger slip into your _throat_." Harry gently fingered the blade, enjoying the sharpness of the steel against his skin.

Konin was straightening himself but didn't take his eyes off Harry for a second.

"I must admit though, I am surprised you are even alive." Konin's face took on another look altogether. "I thought the Darkness would have destroyed your mind."

Harry drug his index finger along to curve of the blade, feeling his pulse quicken. "The Darkness serves _me _now."

Konin merely scoffed. "No. You may have subdued it, but it won't be contained forever."

His gaze lowered to Konin's neck, noting that the man's skin had paled as well. As he envisioned splitting that newly pale skin, heat began to coil in his stomach.

Konin tilted his head, a small smirk on his lips. "About what do you wonder..." his grin turned malicious, "..._human_?"

Harry lashed out like a bolt of lightning from the clouds but Konin was ready, having baited him in the first place, and caught his first in his much larger hand.

So Harry brought his knee up sharply, the force behind it prepared to wind Konin thoroughly, but it too was blocked.

Snarling like a dog, Harry utilized their cozy position and rammed his forehead into Konin's, satisfied when he finally managed to land a blow. In the man's ensuing shock, the grip on his fist loosened and he pulled free, moving his elbow out to take it's place.

But Konin had over exaggerated his stagger, and when he was doubled over he drove out his arm, stealing the breath from Harry's lungs in one punch.

Collapsing back against the house, he clutched at his stomach and struggled to breathe, trying to shake it off. He was not going to let Konin leave this street alive.

As the man advanced, he brought his knee up a second time and it drove home. Then, in the most basic manoeuvre Harry was sure he had ever executed on Konin, he placed his hands flat against the man's chest and pushed with all his might.

Konin toppled backwards into the muddy street, likely thrown off balance by the simplicity of the move, and landed on his backside in the mud, taking a moment to look stunned, and was on his feet again as Harry rushed towards him.

As his fingers curled around a fistful of the man's sodden robes, several loud cracks managed to work their way through the roar of the rain.

His head snapped around to the line of trees down the road so fast that water was flung from the ends of his hair like a sprinkler, but his grip on Konin's robes remained steadfast as he searched the misty din carefully.

He could see them from where he stood, their black robes blurry and shifting with the mist and shadows around them.

Death Eaters.

He turned back to face Konin and sneered. "Idiot! It is _so_ like you to accept the first offer from someone who dangles a little power in front of your nose. Why did you have to go an get _them_ involved?" he shoved the man away, a look of annoyance and disgust clear on his face.

"Lord Voldemort offered more than power, Ecero."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, gauging the distance between him and the advancing Death Eater's, who had yet to discern just who they were and what they were doing from that far away.

When he turned back, Konin's handsome face was inches from his own, startling him and making the Darkness push against his chest, begging to be let free.

"Why do you fight your nature?" he asked, his blue eyes uncharacteristically intense, searching Harry's for something long buried. "The Dark Lord can offer you a lifetime on the Devil's playground! You wont have to hide your desires anymore. You can be free to kill and maim and destroy like I _know _you want to."

Harry was struggling to contain the urges even as Konin spoke of them, his eyes squinting against the strain like he was looking into the sun, the Darkness nearly consuming his willpower, fusing easily with his desires.

The Death Eaters had slowed to a stop behind them upon seeing Konin, their newly found ally, speaking calmly with their nemesis.

"You cannot undo the past, Ecero. You cannot unravel what has been _woven_ in to your soul since the moment of your birth!" He seemed a bit crazed, desperate almost, to get Ecero back. "You may have buried it deeply, you may even have convinced yourself that you are different, but I know..._I_ know, that under the layers of Darkness that you have shielded yourself in that you _long_ for the warmth of blood on your hands again."

He placed a hand against Konin's chest, torn between pulling him closer and shoving him away, and allowed himself a moment to search those normally cold blue eyes. Konin was speaking with such passion and conviction and Harry felt the Darkness tug at something deep within his mind.

His fingers twitched, as if trying to push him to a decision.

He shook his head slightly, trying to shove the Darkness back, but it kept pulling at him, like a plug in a drain.

"You left me." He said finally, his brow furrowing as he stared at the man, feeling cool droplets of water cascade over his face. "You left me here, with _them_. Why?"

Konin blinked, "I...made a grave mistake, Ecero. I thought that your mind had collapsed. I thought the Darkness had claimed you..." The man was slowly closing the gap between them, pressing against Harry's hand. "I am sorry..." Harry let him come and when he felt a calloused finger under his chin, he raised his mouth to meet Konin's.

Something in his mind seemed to pull free with the connection of their lips and Harry's fingers curled around Konin's dripping robes, clutching the soaked fabric and deepening the kiss, enjoying the feel of strong arms wrapping around his waist, pushing their bodies together.

He felt the Darkness recede a little, allowing him to breathe, apparently satisfied that he had given himself over to it's influence.

"Get your filthy hands off him D'Kal!" He heard Sirius snarl from somewhere close by.

Harry and Konin tore their lips from each other and Harry glared ferociously as his godfather advanced, wand rising in an arc over his head, words already taking shape on his lips.

But Harry was faster and summoned on the closest element to him, pulling his magic from the void quick as a flash. Raindrops that had been speeding towards the soaked earth a fraction of a second ago were tugged violently from their trajectory and sent careening into Sirius' face like little bullets, causing the man to turn his face away in pain and leaving his spell unfinished.

After the assault was over and Sirius turned his face back around, it was clouded by confusion and anger.

Harry simply smiled, "A moment, if you would godfather." his tone was icy but smooth and he felt Konin shift beside him.

"Harry..."

He forced himself not to let his muscles tense when he heard her voice. Instead, satisfied that his godfather would stay out of the way for now, he turned to face her.

"Bella..." Konin said, his voice holding a hint of warning.

Harry blinked and stared up at his past mentor, taking in the clenched jaw and unblinking gaze of hatred. Wondering just what it was that Bellatrix had done to make Konin hate her so quickly.

He forced himself to look her in the eye when he said, "Quite the impression you've made in such a short amount of time."

She stared at him for a moment, unresponsive to his comment, her eyes wide and just as crazed as he remembered them to be. Then she smiled slowly, rocking her shoulders from side to side like a child, and started to cackle madly.

Another Death Eater, who he recognized to be Dolohov, sauntered up beside the woman but spared her not a glance, as he seemed to have eyes only for Harry.

"Calm yourself, Lestrange." he rumbled low in his throat, "You'll scare the boy off before the Dark Lord even gets here."

So Voldemort was on his way, was he? Harry felt strangely unconcerned and more annoyed than anything else, worried that the snake might interfere with his own plans. He wondered at his lack of emotion, examined it closely, curious about how much of Ecero had taken over at this point. As he pondered, Konin's large hand slid into place around the back of his neck and interupted his self evaluation. The hand squeezed gently, and he felt himself frown, cold fingers of dread wriggling in his stomach.

He suddenly felt as if things were not, in fact, the way he had perceived them to be. Konin was a bit too tense. Too..._ready_, for something Harry could not see.

Dolohov's eyes finally left him and the man spoke to Konin. "Is it as you promised?"

While most people, including Dolohov he was sure, were not able to see the microscopic changes in Konin's face for what they were, Harry had come to the point where he could read them easily, and after the question, Konin _hesitated_ before answering.

"It is."

"Oh good." Was the pleasant reply, however it was not Dolohov that spoke. Harry watched carefully, feeling Konin tense beside him, as Voldemort picked his way through the small crowd of Death Eaters, red eyes stabbing at Harry like knives. "Otherwise I would have had to dispose of your..._teacher_."

Konin's hand suddenly radiated an unnatural heat to the back of his neck, the same manner in which he had put heat into his aching muscles a hundred times before, and Harry felt alarmed and confused. Konin was trying to tell him something. Something that he did not want the Dark Lord to know.

'_Really wish I had tried harder at Occlumency.._' he thought angrily.

There was, of course, _one_ way he could get the information from Konin without the others hearing, but it would kill the man.

Harry blinked at his own lapse in logic. He'd come here to kill the man anyway.

He watched, his muscles tense and ready to jump at the slightest indication of trouble, as Voldemort stopped several feet from him, watching, calculating.

Harry stared right back, feeling strangely empty in the presence of the monster that killed his family. His eyes narrowed a fraction, the wheels in his head churning while Konin continued to grip the back of his neck in warning.

What was going on here? Had Konin promised to hand him over to Voldemort? If so, had he been promised as a toy or a recruit? Was there something else going on? He just didn't know and it was driving him mad.

After almost a full minute of Voldemort's heavy gaze, the snake finally blinked, suddenly looking bored.

He nearly scoffed, the attempt at nonchalance was poor.

"Ecero Kohl," Voldemort hissed, making Harry blink at the name he chose to use, "I have been told, is as deadly a weapon as I could ever hope to have." He looked between Harry and Konin and then made a casual 'come hither' gesture, "D'kal, to my side. Now."

Konin's hand slid form the back of his neck and he did as he was told, leaving Harry to stand alone. He counted eight Death Eaters, plus the Dark Lord and Konin, at his front, and Sirius, no doubt wet, angry and betrayed at his back.

'_Awesome_.'

The Dark Lord continued, "So I will make you an offer, assassin."

Harry chose his words carefully when he responded. He could not let this opportunity pass him by. Not again. Not after waiting for _so_ long. His eyes locked with Konin's for a moment, but the man gave nothing away in his gaze, standing rigidly beside Voldemort. "I do not belong to you, Voldemort." He decided to say at last.

Konin's chin lifted a little, his eyes narrowing and a smirk playing on his lips.

The snake glared briefly before covering it up with a smirk of his own. "No...not yet." The snake paused then, possibly for dramatic effect, and then simply asked, "What do _you_ want, Ecero?"

He stared, caught off guard by the question. Voldemort didn't ask what others wanted. This had to be some kind of trick.

He played along though, intrigued. "I want Konin back."

If it were any other situation, Harry might have had a hard time containing his laughter when he saw the look that crossed Konin's face then. Sheer confusion. Utter disbelief. He hadn't known Konin could look so completely dumbfounded. He then blinked several times at the ground, his brow furrowing minutely, before his features smoothed themselves once more.

Voldemort was nodding, as if he had suspected Harry might say that all along. The man's arrogance knew no bounds.

"Then you can have him...provided you do something for _me_." he snapped his pale, bony fingers and the small group of Death Eaters parted as a ninth robbed figure came through, dragging with him a bound man with a black bag over his head.

"A small test, if you will." Voldemort explained, "To prove what D'kal has told me. Show me that you are willing to do what needs to be done to obtain what you want, what you _need_, Ecero."

The bound man was pushed roughly to his knees.

"Kill him."

Harry almost wanted to ask who the person was. Almost convinced himself that he even might _care_ who it was. But, in the end, what it boiled down to was, the man stood in the way of him and Konin.

They had pushed the captive to his knees in the muddy street not four feet from where Harry stood. He spared a glance at the houses either side of the street, their windows darkened by magic, and then covered the small distance to his target, pulling his beautiful dagger free of his robes, it's gleaming, twisted blade begging to be dipped in warm blood.

In what he had convinced himself was just Harry's curiosity and not the morbid desire of Ecero's to look his targets in the eye as he drained their life force, he fisted the bag on the man's head and tore it off, likely taking a good deal of hair with it, and found himself staring in to the terrified eyes of Draco Malfoy, the silver tip of his dagger pressing sharply into his classmate's delicate throat.

Harry stared at him, but Draco said nothing.

He felt something, deep in his mind, squirming, writhing, trying to get his attention, but he ignored it and pressed the blade harder.

"You know, it was right about _here_," he stressed, moving the knife to the right about an inch, "on your father."

Some of the fear in the blonde's eyes started to make way for anger, but something was lacking from Draco's gaze. He did not seem fully aware of what was happening around him, his eyes were too unfocused, like a chunk of his mind had been cut out and now there was just a hole in it's place.

"Say hi to him for me, won't you?"

Draco's steely blue eyes might have been leaking tears, it was hard to tell with all the rain.

"I'll see you in Hell, Potter."

Harry slid the blade gently, almost tenderly, into the young Malfoy's throat, holding the back of his head to steady him as the boy instinctively struggled.

Hot blood gushed out from around the blade as Malfoy tried to breath, sucking the red liquid into his lungs and then bubbling it back out again. It poured over his hand, down his wrists and then dripped to the ground, getting lost instantly as the rain carried it away.

When the blonde's movements subsided into unnatural stillness, Harry finally slipped the blade from his throat, letting the body topple sideways into the mud with a splash.

When he stood to meet Voldemort's red eyed gaze again, he caught the look of suprise on the inhuman face before it was wiped away.

"Give me D'kal." He wondered if Sirius was still behind him and where Snape was, but he could not afford to even look over his shoulder.

"Say you will join me." Voldemort seemed to have recovered quickly from his shock, clearly having expected him to refuse killing Draco.

He resisted the urge to clench his fists while the Death Eaters fanned out around him, leaving only Voldemort and Konin in front of him. He readied his stance and his magic, waiting for the right time, wishing he hadn't made Sirius so angry.

He heard over the rain a heavy boot squish in the mud as a Death Eater moved closer than he was comfortable with. He spun, his dagger darting outward, three hundred and sixty degrees, and when he came to rest again, the man was just dropping to his his knees, both his hands wrapped uselessly around his torn jugular.

"Give me D'kal!" he nearly shouted, frustration threatening to break the tenuous hold he had on the Darkness. It was pushing against his skin, begging to be set lose, crying to kill the Death Eaters that threatened him.

"_Join me_!"

Another Death Eater was rushing at him from his right and he spun again, driving the dagger into his abdomen viciously, blade side up, and tugged hard, tearing a path through the man's insides all the way up to his chin, splatering hot blood on his face, chest and arms.

He turned to face Voldemort again, anger clawing at his guts like a trapped animal desperate to break free, blackness engulfing his eyes, shadows seeping out from under his booted feet and curling themselves like vines around his legs, climbing ever higher, reaching desperately for his heart.

But before he could repeat his words again, the Death Eaters came at him all at once, furious, wands arching, Bellatrix's shrieks rising above the others.

In the burst of adrenaline that followed, the Darkness broke free. Hair thin fibres snapping out from his body to the right as he dove, dagger flashing, to the left. Their reaching tendrils drilled themselves into the eyes of the closest attacker, tearing a raw scream from his throat and halting him in his tracks. Another wiry strand wound itself around Dolohov's neck and squeezed, popping his head off his shoulders in a spray of blood and tissue.

As the Darkness moved to claim it's third victim, Harry was on his second, advancing on a suddenly shy Bellatrix Lestrange, her black eyes wide with uncertainty, for, as much as she claimed to love and serve the Dark Lord unconditionally, the crazed woman, like most human beings, served and loved only herself. After watching four of her comrades die within seconds she seemed to be rethinking her plan of attack.

Then suddenly Konin was in his path, blocking the woman from sight. The man advanced and Harry, as always, let him come, happy that he had finally gotten his way.

"Stop, pet." Konin chuckled upon reaching him, his eyes alight with heady excitement. "You have more than proven whatever point you were trying to make."

Harry looked over. Voldemort stood alone now, lurking at the edges of the misty shadows, all but two of his Death Eaters left standing, far from Harry, in the muddy street. He looked more human that Harry could ever remember, his hands balled tightly into fists, his lips a thin line and his brow furrowed with the kind of concern only seen on the face of someone who has realized that they made a grave mistake.

Focusing on the task at hand, Harry turned his attention to Konin. "Do you remember a couple years ago, when we were in Dracholt?" He purred, sliding a finger down the tall man's cheek.

A slow smile made its way onto Konin's face at the abrupt change in subject as Harry scraped the tip of the blade down his front.

"That night was unforgettable."

Konin twirled a strand of the Darkness like smoke around his finger, smiling gently as it coiled around the digit, almost as if it had missed him.

Harry, overcome by the sudden need to feel his mentor, pressed their lips together firmly and shivered when the older man reciprocated aggressively, a large hand running down his back, pushing them closer together.

Aware of the eyes on him, Harry tore his lips from Konin's after only a few seconds, but did not move from the possessive embrace. He had longed for this day, for this very moment, and he was going to do it _right_.

"Then you remember that servant boy..."

"The one we..." Konin's smirk was wicked.

Harry offered a devilish smile in return. "Yes! But I speak of what we did _afterwards_."

Konin's hand came up to his face and he pressed a calloused thumb to Harry's lips as they smiled.

"When you cut his throat...it was beautiful." The man's eyes darkened in memory. "Your eyes ablaze with fire, blood dripping from your naked flesh...I wanted to take you then and there."

It looked as if the man were considering the same thing now.

"Do you remember what I said?" Harry asked, dipping his voice so that it sounded as lustful as Konin's.

"Mmm...you admired his face after, frozen in shock, betrayal and hatred and said you loved knowing that what you did to him would be etched into his face for all eternity."

When Konin, overcome by his desire, engaged Harry in a deep kiss, he reciprocated for a moment, letting his hands wander up into the tousled brown locks, before gripped the hair hard and wrenching Konin's face away from his, forcing his neck to arch back, exposing his throat.

When the blade pressed against his neck, confusion briefly knotted Konin's brow before realization sunk in, but before he could even think of moving, Harry brought the pommel of the dagger down on the man's temple and Konin crumpled, his vision no doubt swimming as he tried to regain his wits.

"Harry, don't!" he heard Sirius cry desperately.

He took another fist full of Konin's hair and pulled him to his knees, placing the blade just under his chin.

Blue eyes met green as Konin gazed up at him with the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

"_Niiche-la_, Konin D'kal." He whispered fiercely.

He drug the blade across Konin's neck with such ferocity that the knife scraped bone. In the very throws of death, Konin attempted to scream in rage, though all he managed was a gurgling sound as his windpipe gushed blood, his mouth open and teeth bared in a silent, bloody snarl. Finally, he fell, his life force in a crimson pool around his knees and his face frozen in hatred and fury.

* * *

After Voldemort's cowardly display of dissapparating with his tail between his legs, Harry apparated back to the castle without waiting to see if Snape and Sirius were following.

The buzzing in his veins had not subsided any and his heart was still pounding against his rib cage long after he had passed through the entrance gates to the castle.

He shook his head, as if that might somehow rid him of the excess of energy, wondering why adrenaline was still coursing through his veins even after the fight was over.

He blinked and slowed.

It was all over.

Konin was finally dead.

But Harry was still feeling the high acutely.

He resumed his walk at a slower pace, trying to control his harsh breathing. At the same moment he heard heavy and deliberate footsteps approaching from behind.

He wasn't surprised to hear Sirius' voice instead of Snape's but he was surprised to feel his godfather grip his arm like a vice and spin him around violently.

The animagus took a deep breath but his gaze was hard and unblinking, staring into Harry's green eyes as if trying to read his mind.

"What do I call you?"

Harry stared at the man, highly confused. "What?"

Sirius shook him hard enough for his teeth to rattle. "Who am I talking to right now?! Harry Potter or Ecero Kohl?!"

Harry allowed himself a moment to process the question. "Let go of me."

"Black, what are you doing?"

"Answer me!"

Harry snarled. "Harry! It may be difficult for you to understand but what happened in the village today was _my_ choice. I didn't get lost in a fog of rage. I was not overcome with a desire for revenge. My head was clear, Sirius-"

"You're sick. You need help-"

Harry shook out of his godfather's hands, feeling more than a little angry.

"Don't you _dare_ walk away from me!" Sirius yelled.

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned, his eyes raging like forge fires.

Snape was looking between the two men, silent, stoic and unwilling to get involved.

"What was the point of this mission? You said you needed to find D'kal to learn more about the Darkness." Sirius was breathing ruggedly, the anger in his eyes mixing with the sincere desire to _understand_. "It seems to me like your plan from the beginning was just to kill him."

"Do you really think Konin would have sat down with me over a cup of tea and answered all my questions?" Harry snapped, his eyes narrowed as if he were unsure if Sirius was really that stupid. "I needed your help." Harry continued with merciless honesty. "I couldn't have tracked Konin on my own without attracting unwanted attention."

Sirius blinked, looking stricken. "You lied to get us to help you?"

"You wouldn't have if I'd told you the only reason I wanted to do this was to kill that bastard!" Harry was trying to keep his temper in check, he really was, but his emotions felt out of control, like they were working double time to make up for their absence during the ordeal at Taynuilt. He understood his godfather's sudden pain, but didn't really care. He had needed his and Snape's help to do a job that needed to be done. "Konin needed to be removed from the picture or things would have gotten messy."

"Messier than_ slaughtering seven people_ in the middle of the street of a small _muggle_ town?" Sirius cried, his hands waving around in the air above his head. "Do you have any idea what the Order will have to do to fix this? Do you know how many memories have to be wiped because of what you did?"

Harry had nothing to say to that. He sighed. "Look, maybe I let things get a little out of hand-"

That seemed to be what pushed Sirius over the edge. The man let out a strangled half laugh, clearly blown away by Harry's detached, apathetic response.

"OUT OF HAND? Hagrid unleashing a crate full of blast ended skrewts on a class full of children, that, _that_, is a situation that would quickly get 'out of hand'. What _you_ have done is much, _much_ worse!" Sirius was now jabbing a finger at him, his eyes wide with shear disbelief. "You're mental. You're sick. I'll-"

"Black, get a hold of yourself, will you?" Snape said, finally intervening. "This is getting us nowhere."

Sirius turned his incredulous stare on the potions master. "Ok, I know we haven't exactly been on good terms but _really_, Snape? You can't stand there and tell me _I'm_ the one out of line here."

"I said no such thing, Black, but _you_ cannot stand there and tell me this argument is a step in a positive direction."

Sirius simply stared slack jawed at the man for a few more seconds before storming off in the direction of the castle, throwing his hands into the air and shouting in frustration.

There was a few seconds of tense silence where Snape and Harry locked gazes.

"I don't know what your end game is, Potter." The man frowned, his voice quiet, "And I believe that you have been hiding some serious issues so well that you have everyone convinced that you are further along the path to recovery than you really are."

Harry remained silent.

"What I witnessed tonight was an unstable man indulging in dark and dangerous fantasies."

So Snape _had_ been near by. At first, Harry was annoyed that the man had not tried to help when he'd been rushed by all those Death Eaters, then he realized Snape likely knew he was able to take care of himself and had wisely chosen not to blow his cover.

"Or maybe I have been forced to hide it or else risk being locked up in a psych ward at St. Mungo's."

"Whether or not that is the case, you have now crossed dangerously close to the other end of the spectrum and you may very well end up there anyway."

Harry raised his arms and let them fall heavily to his sides again, "Well it seems like I can't do anything right anyway so I may as well be doing whatever I damn well please while I still have the freedom to do so."

"Rationally, you know that is not the right thing to do." Snape said, sounding uncharacteristically gentle.

"Then what _is_ the right thing to do? Because I am growing tired of trying to grasp what is expected of me." Harry's heart was still pounding, his emotions fried. He was beginning to feel light headed and gazed angrily into Snape's black eyes.

"The right thing to do is to allow yourself to feel the negative thoughts and emotions. Don't just bury them and hope they go away."

"Well, how am I supposed to do that?"

"Talk, for Christ's sake!" Snape exclaimed, losing his patience.

"About _what_? To _who_? You? Really? Do you _really_ want to hear about my demons? You've got your own bullshit to deal with. Everyone does."

"I think the problem is that you don't _want_ to talk about it so you make up excuses to avoid doing just that."

Harry shook his head. "Oh, yes? Is that what you think?" he crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. You want to know the truth about what I chose to do tonight? From the get go, my intention was to make sure Konin did not leave that town alive. Now, I _hadn't_ intended to kill those Death Eaters but they got in the way and I don't feel too bent out of shape over it." he smiled shrewdly, "And yes, I wanted to kill Konin. I longed to cut his throat as I did. Dreamed of it. For years. You can't imagine what I suffered at the hands of that man."

"So tell me." was Snape simple response.

Harry felt his jaw clamp shut of it's own accord and he found himself unable to speak.

The potions master simply shook his head, a satisfied smirk firmly in place. "You see? I told you so."

The taller man walked past him, back towards the castle and Harry suddenly felt exposed, even thought he hadn't actually said anything.

By the time he had regained his wits, the man was already lost in the gloom of the night. When he finally caught up, the door to Snape's private rooms was just swinging inward to grant his access.

He stormed in after the man, not waiting for an invitation.

"What right do you have-"

"Just tell me one thing." Snape cut him off calmly, turning to face him. "Do you feel better?"

"What?"

"Now that D'kal is dead, has it lessened the pain he caused you."

Harry was grinding his teeth but answered truthfully. "No."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, _why_?"

"Well you sought out to do what you wanted because you felt the need for revenge after what he had put you through but, for some reason you don't understand, you don't feel any better. You may even feel worse. _Why_? Because it doesn't change the past, because those things _still_ happened to you, regardless of whether the man is gone now."Snape's eyes were burning, alight with emotion unlike anything Harry had witness from the man. He realized that Snape knew just what he was going through. Either that or the man had read his mind.

As he stared into Snape's eyes he felt some of his anger dissipate.

Here was the most private man Harry knew bearing a piece of his soul and offering him help that he desperately needed.

He took a few steps forward, feeling the need to be close to the older man. Snape's eyes had calmed but they remained open, watching closely as Harry slowly approached him.

A foot away he stopped, his eyes trailing up the row of many buttons on the professor's outer robe, finally coming to rest on the man's dark eyes.

"You're right." Harry admitted in a whisper, allowing the fingers of his right hand to trace that path of button's up a firm chest.

He sighed heavily, glancing down at Snape's lips. Though the taller said nothing, Harry felt a heavy hand rise and brush a few strands of hair away from his face.

The tenderness, coming from this man in particular, usually so stoic and cold, made Harry's breath hitch and his skin tingle and he softly slid his hand over the back of Severus' larger one, down his wrist, over the back of his arm...then he gently cupped his hand around the back of the potions master's neck and pulled him down into a deep kiss.

* * *

When awareness returned to Harry again, it was due to the shifting weight beside him. His eyes opened slowly, noticing first the gentle firelight emanating off to his right and then bringing into focus a patterned ceiling that he had never seen before.

He frowned at it and then rolled his head to the side and blinked at the slumbering potions master by his side.

His mouth fell open and he rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling again.

He shakily released a breath, unwilling to allow the panic that was clawing at his chest to overcome him.

_'You slept with Snape. You _should_ be panicking_.'

He slipped silently from the large bed, wincing a little at the movement. They had not been gentle with one another and Snape was rather well endowed.

He had just managed to gather his jeans off the floor when the man's low baritone rumbled over the sound of the crackling fire.

"Running from your problems again, I see."

Harry jumped and used his balled up jeans to cover himself, using his other hand to jab a finger in Snape's direction where he still lay on the bed. "You're damn right!"

The older of the two propped himself up on his elbows, the sheet slipping down to revealed his bare, toned torso, momentarily grabbing Harry's attention.

"What could possibly have you so spooked now that didn't occur to you last night, Potter?"

Harry pushed a harsh sigh past his lips, casting about for his shirt.

"The light of day. Post sex clarity. Hind sight. Pick your favourite."

He began one handedly shaking out one of Snape's many robes to see if his shirt had maybe gotten tangle up in it, when the man in question appeared by his side, still very naked, and pried the article of clothing out of his hand.

"Stop and breath, Harry."

His first impulse was to do the opposite and push the man away. However, taking a moment to reflect allowed him to remember that so far Snape's advice had not only been sound, but incredibly helpful. So he forced himself to breath.

Snape easily stood a foot taller than him and he was as well muscled as Konin had been and Harry found himself running a hand over one of his large biceps appreciatively.

Before either of them could say anything else, there was a loud banging noise coming from the door to Snape's room, followed by muffled shouts.

"Stay here and get dressed." Severus instructed, pulling on a robe to cover himself before ducking out of the bedroom to investigate.

Harry did, poking his head around the door after he'd gotten his jeans on.

"Fuck!" He hissed upon seeing his godfather in the sitting room, red in the face as always as he yelled at Snape. He ducked back behind the door, trying, for the second time that morning, not to panic.

"...where is he Snape? You were the last one that spoke to him last night and now we can't find him anywhere!"

"I don't know where your idiot godson is, Black, perhapse he's gone off to vanquish the Dark Lord. Again."

"That's not funny." Sirius grumbled, looking around the sitting room as if he thought he might see Harry cramed into a dark corner. "He didn't say _anything_ to you that might give us an idea of where he's run of to?"

Snape was starting to look iritated. "What makes you think he's gone anywhere? He's likely skulking around the castle somewhere."

The animagus pushed a sigh past his lips and turned to leave. "Fine." On his way to the door he stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to face Snape once more. "Snape?"

Severus, having thought the man was finally leaving, had moved to the book shelf and was pretending to peruse his books carefully, his back to the room.

"Why are Harry's boots in your _personal_ _quarters_?"

* * *

For the song I was thinking of while writing the scene in the tavern:

www . youtube . watch?v=Cs9nNWMCOWY

Just remove the spaces...you know the drill.

REVIEW PLEASE!


	32. A Gain Worthy of the Loss

**Chapter 32: A Gain Worthy of the Loss**

* * *

"Why are Harry's boots in your _personal quarters_?"

Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the closed door with a soft thunk, waiting for Snape to put his sharp tongue to use. Surely the man would attack with the sledge hammer wit he was known for. Surely, any second now, the active spy that had talked his way out of death for the last fifteen or so years would pull some ingenious string or words out of that head of his and weave a rope to pull them out of this mess.

But as the seconds ticked by nothing but silence reached his straining ears.

"Snape..." Sirius' voice, though low and muffled from the door standing between them, sounded deadly, undertones of shimmering hatred making the name waver.

Still nothing from the potions master.

Harry pushed himself away from the door when he realized that Snape wasn't going to talk his way out of this. Though he couldn't see the man, he could very clearly picture the tall, dark potions master standing rigidly before his godfather's enraged gaze, jaw locked in reserved panic, gears grinding, trying to figure out just what to do. Harry had a feeling that, as gifted as the man was with using words to manipulate a situation, he had likely never before had to deal with being caught the morning after he'd spent the night with someone twenty years his junior by the closest thing to a father that someone had.

Now trying very hard not to panic himself, he cast his gaze about for his shirt. Or Snape's shirt. Any shirt would do, really.

Unfortunately, before he could find one, two things happened in quick succession.

First, he heard Snape's angry, alarmed voice shouting from the sitting room.

"Black, don't you _dare_-"

Next, the bedroom door smashed open violently, cracking under his godfather's boot.

Harry was sure he looked like a deer caught in headlights, standing in the middle of Snape's bedroom, beside Snape's disheveled bed, in nothing but his jeans...which he hadn't even done up.

Instinctively, he froze, as if his godfather's vision was based on movement or something, as he experienced a clenching feeling in his gut and a sudden blankness in his head that he was sure Snape himself had just gone through.

Sirius' eyes were burning with unbridled rage as he stared at Harry, hands balled into trembling fists at his sides.

After a few more seconds, in which Harry tried to calm his pounding heart, he slowly raised his hands before him submissively, parting his lips, widening his eyes and lowering his head out of habit, praying to whoever might be listening that this would go more smoothly than what he was expecting.

"Sirius, please don't freak out." he pleaded gently, wincing when Snape appeared in the doorway behind the animagus.

His submissive body language seemed to be working and Sirius at least seemed to be trying very hard to control himself, taking a moment to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths before announcing, "You have_ ten seconds _to explain what the fuck is going on."

For the first time in a very long time, Harry could think of nothing to say, not even a lie, that would make this situation work in his favor. So he merely pursed his lips and hung his head and tried very hard to contain a sudden burst of hysterical laughter.

Sirius seemed to take his silence exactly for what it was and spun back to the doorway, eyes bulging, to face Snape.

"What have you done?" The animagus growled, advancing like a wolf stalking it's prey.

"Black, calm yourself..."

"WHY IS MY GODSON HERE?!"

"Black, Harry is a grown man who can make his own decisions-"

"You piece of shit!" Sirius snarled, finally lunging in for the kill fists first and catching Snape off guard, "He's a child that has been through hell and back and you took advantage of the fact the he's in pain!"

Harry rushed past the man, ignoring his godfather's words in favor of coming to stand by Snape's side.

The older man had his hand covering his mouth to hide the damage but a thin trail of blood was trickling down his chin.

"Harry, get the hell away from him!"

"Give it a rest, Sirius!" Harry warned, snapping a glare over his shoulder before returning his attention to Snape. He gently tried to pry the man's hand off his mouth, "Let me see." He murmured quietly, but the older man twisted away with an annoyed grunt.

"Lemme see!" Harry repeated in a snarl, prying the man's hand off.

Black eyes finally left the animagus and snapped up to meet green.

"Jesus." he whispered, seeing the wide split in Snape's bottom lip and feeling his gut twist in anger towards his godfather's impulsive actions.

"I _said_-" Suddenly Sirius grabbed his upper arm in a vice like grip and tore him from the Potions Master's side savagely "-_get the hell away from him_!"

Just then Remus came bursting through the still open archway into Snape's sitting room, his hair sticking up in all directions and a crazed look on his face, wand gripped tightly in his hand.

Snape growled low in his throat, "What is this, Grand Central Station?!"

However, upon entering the room and taking in the scene before him - Snape leaning against the wall with blood covering the bottom half of his face to a topless Harry with jeans barely hanging on his slender hips to Sirius's death grip on the boy's arm and enraged expression.

"I see you've found Harry." the werewolf commented, the wheels in his head still churning. He straightened himself and frowned, unable to find the answer to his questions on his own. "What, exactly...did I walk in on here?"

Harry finally twisted himself out of his godfather's grip and tugged his jeans up higher, a sour look on his face. "If I told you 'nothing' would you leave it alone?"

"Snape fucked my godson."

"Sirius!"

"Black, _shut up_!"

It was this barked order from Snape, who had righted himself and cleaned and healed the wound on his lips, that kept the argument from blowing up again.

Harry could not believe the way this morning was going already and took a step away from the group of older men and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking that he should feel something more for this situation than he did. He looked between the three men - Remus' stricken expression, Sirius' angry one and Snape's barely controlled agitation - and wondered if he should leave or stay. Say something or keep quiet.

"Black, as much as you would love to use what happened between Harry and I as an excuse to let off some steam, now is not the time. Lupin, why are you here in the first place?"

The werewolf jumped at the sudden reminder that he had had a purpose in coming down to Snape's quarters. "Uh, right. Dumbledore asked me to come down. We have reason to believe there may be an attack on Hogsmead later today."

Harry felt his face scrunch up in skepticism. "What?" he asked, not understanding the simplicity of the statement.

If they knew about an impending attack, why was Remus not in more of a hurry? More importantly, how did they find out about an attack before hand if Snape had not been called to a meeting in weeks?

"How do we know there will be an attack on Hogsmead?" Snape asked, looking as skeptical as Harry felt.

"Well because a contact told us so. Said he heard the words right from Voldemort's mouth."

Harry's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline and he and Sape shared a glance.

"Are you kidding me?" Sirius spluttered, anger towards Snape momentarily forgotten. "This has' trap' written all over it."

"Well, Dumbledore seems to think that-" Remus cut himself off, suddenly looking annoyed. "Look, you three. It is seven o'clock in the morning, I was just woken up by a screeching patronous, there is a meeting taking place right now that will answer all these questions and any you might not have even thought of so, please, Harry, put on some clothes and lets all go to Grimwauld Place!"

Ten minutes later found Harry standing in the open door to the kitchen while the Order meeting progressed. He had no interest in contributing, he just wanted to listen.

So far, from what he had heard, the whole thing sounded sketchy to him. Some obscure contact that had never really been able to give them any kind of useful information suddenly comes forward with some story about hearing a plan to attack a major wizarding city from Voldemort's lips himself?

No, something was definitely not right about it all. He wondered what it could mean. Why would Voldemort give them advanced notice of a planned attack? Was it just to draw them out? To draw _him_ out? He thought it rather a ballsy move for the Dark Lord, considering what had happened just last night in Taynuilt.

Was he attacking out of anger? That seemed unlikely, as anger seldom allows for a person to plan something like this.

He sighed, biting his lip and running a hand through his hair. Something this calculated, this staged, had to be more than just luring Harry out. But what was it the man was after? What did he seek to gain from leaking this information?

Or perhaps the contact _was_ actually telling the truth and Voldemort had _not_ intended for this information to get out. Stranger things had happened.

Once the meeting had finished and everyone went their separate ways to begin whatever task they had been assigned, Harry scanned the crowd for Snape and pulled him aside in the sitting room.

"I'm coming back to the castle with you." he said, grabbing a handful of floo powder, "And you are going to show me where Dumbledore hid my weapons."

The potions master pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly unhappy with the idea, but after a moment of thinking it over, he nodded solemnly.

"I guess we'll need all the help we can get. Floo to my rooms and I will take you to them."

* * *

"Seriously?" Harry demurred, eying the little supply closet with distaste. "He put my weapons in a crappy storage closet?"

"If you're concerned about children stumbling upon them, you needn't worry, as it has a very powerful Notice-Me-Not spell."

Harry glared. "I don't give a shit about that. I'm more concerned that my hand crafted, _irreplaceable_, highest of quality weapons were shoved into a closet as if they were junk."

Snape bestowed a withering stare upon him as the door swung inward and he darted into the small room.

"How foolish of me to assumed you cared about the children."

"Hey!" Harry snapped, "Some of these are worth more than the families of your richest Slytherins." he turned, pulling one of his two long swords from its sheath deftly, grinning when Snape's eyes widened slightly. "This..." he said, waving the tip of the blade in front of the man's face. "Is thirty one inches of pure silver from Shadegate Mines. Do you have any idea how many people I had to kill to get this damn thing?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Three?"

"Eight! Not including the guy it actually belonged to." he grinned as he stared down at the blade and reminisced about the bloody fight. "Chopped his head off with his own sword and then stole it."

"Charming."

"Poetic, Konin said." He put the blade back in it's sheath and pulled a small dagger out. "See this one? Silver also, and those are rubies in the hilt."

"Who'd you kill for that one?"

"His name was Wycaric." he said, leaving it at that. Snape seemed to accept the short answer and simply nodded.

"What about the dagger you pulled on D'kal in Taynuilt? Or the one you had in the Room of Requirement?" The older man asked suddenly, a contemplative look on his face.

"Oh those..." he gathered the rest of his weapons in his arms and they left the storage closet and headed for Snape's rooms again. "Those are just conjurations. They are effective in a tight spot but they aren't real. They have no weight to them, which makes it difficult to use them properly, at least for me." he shrugged, unable to put into words how the conjured blades made him feel. "I dunno, they're just strange, like your holding onto a shadow."

When they got back to Snape's rooms, Harry wasted no time in stripping down to his black undershirt and expertly strapping the network of leather belts and straps around his torso and upper thighs.

"What the hell is that?" Snape asked, watching him closely.

"My holster. Holds all my weapons." He answered simply, focused on putting the thing on right, lest lines become crossed.

When he was happy and felt comfortable with the way it sat on his body, Harry began the task of sliding all the knives into their proper places, which, given the amount of times he'd done this before, only took him a moment or two. When he was done he turned to face Snape, who was standing by the fire, black eyes following his every move.

"What?" he asked finally, after ten more seconds of the older man's intense stare.

He shook his head. "Nothing." he cleared his throat roughly and turned away from him. "Just wondering how someone so small can carry so much steel on their person and still move as quickly as you do."

"Practice, I suppose." Harry offered absently, closing his eyes briefly and trying to concentrate.

"What are you doing now?" Came the quiet inquiry, Snape seeming to have sensed his concentration.

"I can't wear a cloak over this, too cumbersome, and since it isn't exactly balmy out, I need to focus some of my magic on creating a layer of heat over my skin, at least for a little while." He cracked an eye open and flashed a grin at his former professor. "Since I plan on heating things up shortly."

"How do you mean?"

Feeling warmth spread over his body swiftly, Harry opened his eyes and fixed a strong gaze on the potions master, feeling a wave of giddy excitement wash over him. "If it's a fight he wants, I'll give him one. That snake is going to burn."

* * *

Since the contact had claimed not to have heard of a specific time that the attack was to happen, the Order had sent out scouts immediately upon receiving the news. So far they had not reported anything out of the ordinary within the town and the rest of the Order was gearing up to aparate to the outskirts of the city. He wasn't sure what it was that Dumbledore might be doing and wondered if the man planned to try and convince the town to evacuate. He really hoped not, there was something lacking in a battle without screaming civilians running around...it felt incomplete somehow.

When Harry arrived with a crack, he crouched amidst a cluster of bushes, hiding himself from view, clenching a fist full of dirt in the hand that was supporting him and breathing in the heavy scent of earth and snow into his lungs, feeling the heady excitement of a battle in the offing.

Gods, how he loved this.

Images of past Azurian battles flashed in his mind's eye and he smiled easily, hoping for fire and blood and the chance to use his swords again. It had been so long since he'd danced with them.

Would this be his last battle, he wondered, feeling nothing for either outcome, no preference for if he lived or died.

He stood from his hiding place when he saw other members of the Order making their way out of the trees, moving towards the sounds of the bustling town.

He let his fingers rake through the leaves of saplings as he walked, like combing his fingers through hair. He allowed the crunch of twigs and melting snow under his boots to be heard. Closed his eyes to the sound of birdsong in the leafy canopy overhead, the sinking sun's rays straining to penetrate the dense foliage and touch the forest floor.

It may be the last chance he had to appreciate such things.

He felt the Darkness creep up on him, from the cold ground under his feet, from under the fallen, dead leaves, out from the cracks in the bark of the ancient trees and down from the shadow rays amongst the light, weaving in and out, never touching the light but feeding on it as it spun down.

He raised his face to meet it, feeling it on his skin, weaving through his holster, crawling over his shoulders, up his neck...

He opened his eyes in greeting and welcomed it into his core.

Up ahead, he had caught the attention of several Order members, frozen in shock, in fear of the creature walking gracefully, effortlessly across the uneven forest floor, a curtain of woven shadows flowing behind him like a mane, like tentacles, like smoke in a breeze, indescribable.

He paid no attention to their slack jaws and wide eyes as they stared and allowed the Darkness into every nook and cranny of his being, savoring it, caressing it, a balm to his sadness.

Snape was suddenly by his side, a hand hovering over his shoulder, scared to touch.

He stopped and turned his black gaze on the potions master, noting the jumping tendons and ligaments in the man's neck as he inhaled in controlled alarm.

"If this attack is really going to happen, this may be the last time it fights with me." Harry explained, his heart aching at the thought of losing the Darkness sharing his body. "One of us will not be leaving this town alive." he smiled grimly at Snape's stony expression.

Suddenly Remus and Sirius were there too, their unease not as well concealed.

Harry smiled disarmingly at them both, but assumed it might not have the right effect with his eyes stabbing at them like black holes. "I have it under control."

Remus nodded, "As long as you are sure you can keep it that way. We don't want any civilian casualties."

Harry was saved from having to promise not to let any innocence get hit in the crossfire by a thundering explosion from within the town. It didn't take long to pin point it's location, as a billowing cloud of smoke and fire rose into the air, temporarily blocking the setting sun.

Luckily for Harry, everyone was too busy running for the city to see his little grin.

He tapped his fingers against his leg as he walked unhurriedly, the rest of the Order having long since disappeared ahead of him.

He wanted to wait a while, take his time getting there, so that when he did he'd be in the thick of the action. The time when peoples' morals started to slip because they wanted to win the fight. When no one would think twice if he savagely tore through the streets with his swords flashing. When cutting down everything that moved would be overlooked because, they would say, what was a few innocents if it meant winning the fight against the Dark?

When he reached the town, it was pretty much in the state he had expected it to be in. Several buildings were now engulfed in fire, people were running this way and that in the sort of unorganized, unhelpful manor that only blind panic can cause, smoke billowed up into the darkening sky, blotting out the stars and moon just as they began to show themselves.

He picked his way calmly through several fallen bodies that already dotted the cobblestone street, their blood following the grooves between the stones like little rivers.

Up ahead he caught the flash of a black cloak and white mask and pulled both his long blades from his back and continued to walk in his unhurried pace, managing to get within ten feet of the Death Eater before he was noticed.

He could see the eyes widen behind the mask as they took in his wake of shadows, wand raising a fraction of a second too late. He swung the right blade up, the tip missing the ground by a hair, and sliced the man's wand arm off at the elbow, pulling a scream from his throat, then swung his left blade in an arc and then down, cleaving his skull in two right down the middle.

The white mask cracked and the two halves fell to the ground.

He trotted down the nearest alley, feeling warm blood dripping down his face and arms, and resisted the urge to dart his tongue across his lips to taste it.

The next street was utter chaos and a laugh jumped from his throat.

"So many Death Eaters, so little time..." he mumbled to himself, sheathing the long swords in favor of the two foot long fighting knives.

He stepped into the street and danced.

Smoke seared his lungs and stung his eyes and he fed on the pain. His boots squished mud and blood under his feet but he never lost his footing. Blood splashed in his eyes but he did not blink. It trickled down his face and coated his hands and arms like warm gloves. His muscles strained under his skin, blood rushed along his veins and the Darkness pierced his mind like needles, bleeding out the pain and fatigue and conscience and giving him the power to do what he'd been _made_ to do.

He drove his blade behind him, feeling the slight vibrations in the handle as it cut through someone's flesh, and then pulled it free with a tug, not even bothering to look upon the man or woman he'd killed, hummed a tune to the sound of the body hitting the dirt, and moved on.

This street lay quiet now, except for the roaring of the burning buildings around him. He grinned up at the wall of inferno's on either side of the street and couldn't help but wonder if this is what the road to Hell might look like.

The raging heat may have bothered some but to Ecero, it felt like home.

* * *

"Have you seen Harry?" Sirius yelled over the roar of flames, using one arm to cover his mouth and nose against the smoke.

Remus shook his head, unable to speak through a coughing fit.

Sirius grabbed the werewolf's arm and led him down the nearest alley and then across the street, down another alley and finally stopped in the second street, allowing his friend to lean against a crumbling shop's wall and regain his breath.

"This whole city is burning to the ground." Remus wheezed, looking around through red eyes. He closed them tightly a moment later and leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving. "I can't bloody breath!"

"Come on, Rem, you can do it. Just take a few minutes to catch your breath." Sirius encouraged, eyes darting up and down the street to make sure no one surprised them.

"We weren't ready for this." The werewolf said, looking around at the burning town in despair. "If only we'd found out sooner..."

"Remus, this was going to happen no matter how much time we had to prepare! You think a town full of people would have listened if we'd come running in, telling them all to get the hell out?" Sirius said, breathing hard. "Don't worry about the what ifs, just take a moment and pull yourself together."

"No time for that." The werewolf said, pointed down the road to where four Death Eaters had just spilled from the mouth of an alley.

The animagus was rolling his shoulders, sizing up the group as they approached. "No problem. We both take two. We got this, Remus." He sounded as if he were trying equally hard to convince himself as he was Remus.

As the werewolf was pushing himself into a standing position, the two men noticed a fifth figure appear on the street behind the ground of Death Eaters, clearly having been following them. They seemed oblivious to his presence but Remus could assume that was because he did not want to be seen yet.

He swallowed in spite of himself. He knew Harry was on their side but he sometimes worried about the thin line upon which the young man walked. How much of the terrifying entity had the boy allowed in? Was it Harry or Ecero stalking the Death Eaters? Those black eyes, those trailing shadows...blood dripping from him like he'd showered in it, a toothy grin splitting his face. It was a terrifying sight to see headed your way.

What was more terrifying though, was what happened next.

Harry slowed to a meander behind the Death Eaters, a mere ten feet behind them and they a mere thirty feet from where Sirius and Remus stood their ground.

And then, all of a sudden, Harry began to whistle, of all things, a tune that's only purpose was to get their attention.

And he got it. The four Death Eaters spun as a unit, their wands already raised.

But as Remus watched, Harry blew a single, piercing note past his lips and an unnatural gust of wind rushed from his body, so forceful it tore the wands out of the Death Eaters' hands, sending them sailing through the air and out of sight.

For a split second, they seemed frozen in shock, which was all the time Harry needed to take down the closest one. He struck with his left sword, resuming the haunting whistle, never breaking note as he tore his blade sideways through the man's side, not even sparing a glance as the mangled body toppled.

The Boy Who Lived advanced on the remaining three Death Eaters, his whistling tune echoing off the ruined buildings on either side of the street.

The three Death Eaters shared a glance and then rushed him all at once.

Sirius moved to help but Remus grabbed his arm quickly. "I don't think he needs us."

Harry cut them down one by one, his movements so fluid and graceful that Remus found it hard to look away. Blood sprayed from a sliced jugular and a scream was torn from another's throat as a blade was torn from his chest. The sound of knees cracking on stone as they fell seemed to blend seamlessly with Harry's song and dance.

When the last one fell seconds after it had all started, Harry stared at him and his godfather for a second before walking up to them.

Remus could smell the blood even before Harry reached them. He reeked of it, was _dripping_ in it.

When he came to a stop before them, he let the whistle taper off into nothingness. "Where is Tom?" The boy asked, his voice dark, tainted with something that was not just Harry.

"We-" Remus licked his suddenly dry lips. "-we haven't seen him yet."

Harry tapped his chin contemplatively with the tip of one of his bloody swords. "If I were a Dark Lord, where would I be?"

Remus tensed and leaned towards Sirius a fraction of an inch, muttering out of the corner of his mouth "Oh my god, are we supposed to answer?" , chancing a glance at animagus.

The man shrugged tensely, as if scared to move.

* * *

After he'd left Sirius and Remus, the latter of which seemed to have inhaled too much smoke, Harry began to make his way through the maze of streets to the center of the town.

He wished there was a high place he could get to so he could see where the most action was. That was likely where he would find Voldemort, but all the buildings he passed by had either been reduced to a pile of rubble or were in the process of burning.

But, as luck would have it, when he reached the town square, the clock tower still stood, looking to be in far better shape than anything else he had passed and he made a beeline for the door at the base of the structure.

But before he could reach it, something halted him in his tracks.

A group of Order members came tearing into the square, clearly running from something. He turned to see what it could be and saw, unsurprisingly, an even larger group of Death Eaters following them.

They gathered together in the middle of the square and readied their wands, neither of the groups having noticed Harry yet.

And just when he had decided to get involved, movement out of the corner of his eyes made his head snap around instinctively.

A grin split his face. _Finally_.

"Potter!" The man hissed, drawing the attention of both the Death Eaters and the Order members.

"Tom." Harry replied calmly, feeling strangely at peace. Either way, for him, it was all going to end tonight. Either he would be killed and not have to worry about any of this anymore or he would kill Voldemort, with the same result.

The two stepped closer to each other cautiously. Voldemort had his wand held before him, Harry, his knives, black eyes drinking in the dim light from the burning city around them.

"It is a pity," The Dark Lord began, "That you refuse to join me." his red eyes roamed over Harry hungrily, "Such power, such skill...wasted in the Light."

As they moved closer, Harry felt a strange jerk in his chest, like something was trying to dislodge itself and he shook his head, drawing the Darkness deeper into his core.

He readied his blades and took another step closer and again, it tugged at him.

It took a second or two for Harry to analyse what he was feeling, but when he realized what the sensation was, his blood turned to ice in his veins.

The closer he moved towards Tom, the more it pulled away from him. Like a dog that had just gotten a whiff of something delicious, the Darkness was trying to follow the scent of power seeping from Voldemort's every pore.

With this realization came an onslaught of emotion that, when asked about it later, Harry would never be able to describe in words.

A scream clawed its way up from his gut. Raw, enraged, panicked.

He felt so..._betrayed_.

He wrenched the Darkness in, ripping it out of every hiding spot, it raced towards him from all directions and he pulled it down, coiled it around his core, crushing it, condensing it, widening his stance against the onslaught of power, hands balling into fists around the pommel of his blades, teeth grinding, muscles locking.

He pulled harder still, ripping the shadows out of the very night, the black ball of Darkness swelling inside him.

"You want him?" he snarled viciously, wide black eyes leaking fat black tears, the space around him growing brighter by the second. "You can have him!"

A flare of blinding, pure light engulfed him as he pulled all of the Darkness inward. When he could no longer contain it, it surged from him with all the fury of a river crashing through a dam. It rushed from him with terrible force, there was too much of it trying to escape all at once, it tore out his eyes and ears and nose and carried itself on his scream of agony from his mouth. It pushed against his flesh, seeping out through his pores, threatening to shred him to peices...

And as fast as it left him it slammed greedily into it's desired host.

Harry fell to his knees, watching through the blinding pain as Voldemort mirrored him, head thrown back in agony, an ungodly scream being torn from the Dark Lord's chest.

And then it was over and he fell back, the edges of his vision growing dark as his gaze sought out Tom a few feet away.

The man lay prone, his red eyes glazed in pain, convulsing violently as the Darkness fought for control of the new body. After a moment he stilled and the silence in the square was marred only by the distant rumble of collapsing buildings and roaring fires.

And then the Dark Lord rolled onto his his knees and stared down at his hands for a breath before another scream forced it's way past his lips and he started clawing at himself. Eyes wide and panicked, he tore at them until they bled, shrieking in horror, trapped in his own hellish reality.

His blood turned black and gushed from his destroyed eye sockets as the man finally toppled sideways onto the cobblestones, motionless.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

Harry felt as if he were stuck under six feet of mud. Everything was dark, moving took great effort and everything sounded muffled, like people were walking and talking above the surface of his grave and he could only just hear them. He was scared to open his eyes.

Was he in a grave? Had he been buried alive?

He decided to try opening his eyes and was only successful in making them flutter, but the tiny amount of light that found it's way into his eyes gave him the drive to try again. Maybe he wasn't in the ground after all!

Sounds started to become clearer too, the more his brain tried to focus itself, and it wasn't long before he distinguished voices from background noise.

"...morning...sun was...erd...valley..."

Words strung themselves together into something tangible but he was having a hard time making sense of them. He decided to accomplish his first goal before trying anything else and, after a few more tries, managed to crack his eyes open.

For a second he was blinded by sunlight, but after the glare faded he realised there was a window to his left.

He scrunched his nose at the buzzing in his ears, trying to will it away. It went slowly, as his brain adjusted itself to being conscious again. A few more minutes passed as he continued to stare out the window, waiting for everything to settle and then he frowned when he could hear something over the fading buzz in his head.

It was a soft, gentle sound, like wind chimes in a breeze.

His frown deepened, that couldn't be it. There were no wind chimes outside the window.

The soothing sound got clearer and the buzzing stopped. He was able to pin point it's location and turned his head from the window, rolling it to the other side.

A woman sat beside his bed, rocking gently in a wooden rocking chair, knitting and singing softly.

He stared at her, red hair, plump figure, rosy cheeks, laugh lines...so familiar. She continued to sing, oblivious to his gaze, as he tried to find her place in his mind.

"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard a young maid singing in the valley below..."

She briefly looked up from her knitting, a glance that was likely meant to check that he hadn't up and disappeared, but she froze when their eyes locked, her own kind, brown ones widening with the shock of seeing him awake.

She gingerly put her knitting aside, moving slowly as if afraid she might frighten him, her gaze never leaving his.

Harry felt frustrated. He knew this woman. He could feel it. So why could he not pull up any memories of her or remember her name?

"Harry?" she whispered, leaning forward, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He felt his brow crumple again, trying to wade through the fog in his mind. She seemed to become distressed at his lack of response and quickly stood from her rocking chair.

His eyes followed her as she crossed the room and left through the only door there. When she did not return right away, Harry struggled to push himself into a sitting position but only managed to prop himself up on his elbows before the door swung open again and the red haired woman returned with a doctor.

"Hello, Harry." the doctor said, smiling kindly. "I must say it is good to see you up."

He was pushed gently back onto the bed by the tall man and remained still while a wand was waved over his body.

He glanced over at the red head a few times, still struggling to place her.

After a moment, the doctor put his wand away and folded his arms over his chest, a small smile on his face again. "Do you know who this is, Harry?" He asked, glancing back at the woman.

He stared at her again but shook his head.

Apparently that had not been the answer they wanted, as the woman placed a hand over her mouth and the tears finally spilled from her eyes.

But, most confusingly, the doctor did not seem bothered by this and said "That's alright. I have a few more questions for you, though, if you're up for it?"

He nodded shortly, wondering if he would be able to speak. His throat felt sore and itchy.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

Now that seemed like a simple question, but when he tried to answer it, he could find no words. He searched his memory but found nothing but blurry shapes until he'd woken up moments ago. "Pain."

His confusion must have shown on his face for the doctor gently squeezed his arm, "It's alright. This is normal for someone in your condition. Now, you were sitting up when I came in, so we know you have at least partial mobility, but can you wiggle your toes for me?"

Harry did so, wanting to ask a few of his own questions. "Where am I?" he whispered.

"You're at St Mungo's."

"Why?"

The doctor and the woman exchanged a look.

"You were very badly hurt, Harry."

The magnitude of the implications behind that simple statement did not go unnoticed by him, but he did not have the energy to ask about it now.

"How long have I been here?"

"About eight months."

He felt his jaw drop, "Eight...months?!"

He was pushed back when he tried to sit up and glared at the doctor.

"You need to rest."

He swatted the man's hand away. "I've been asleep for eight months. _You_ rest."

After the doctor and the woman left, Harry slumped back into the pillows. He felt so frustrated. Why were such huge chunks of his memory missing?"

* * *

The next time his door opened it was much later in the evening. The same doctor was back, with two other men in tow.

"Harry, this is Sirius and Remus." the man advised, his gaze was heavy when he asked, "Do you remember them?"

He frowned as he stared at them.

"Do you have a dog?" he asked Sirius.

The man smirked and shot a glance at Remus. "Yeah."

Remus' head wiped around to glare at his companion, smacking him on the arm. "Shut up!"

A word popped into Harry's head as he witness the exchanged. "Moony?"

Both men beamed at him and Remus nodded exuberantly. "Yes!"

* * *

A week passed in which Harry was forced to remain in bed. He had more visitors than he could keep track of and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to remember.

On the eighth day, he'd finally had enough and sat up, throwing the covers off his legs and standing on unsteady feet, grateful that he'd been given hospital pants instead of those silly gowns.

By the time he reached the door, he felt more confident of his ability to remain upright and tugged the door open.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

He jumped, pressing his back to the wall when he heard Sirius' voice, watching the man stalk towards him, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

He looked up at the man through his shaggy hair and smiled innocently.

Sirius merely rolled his eyes. "Please, your father and I invented that. Get your butt back in there."

Harry straightened, hardening his features. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I am not going back in that room and nothing you say will make me."

Sirius smirked and set his coffee down, "Then I won't say anything."

Before Harry could react he was grabbed around the middle and hefted over Sirius' shoulder.

He shrieked and pounded his fists against the larger man's back. "I am not a sack of potatoes!"

"You're not much heavier than one."

"Put me down!"

"Okay, okay..."

He was deposited on the bed and immediately jumped off it again.

"What is going on in here?" Remus asked, poking his head through the door.

Sirius jabbed his thumbs at Harry. "Caught someone out for a stroll."

"Whats wrong with that?"

Sirius gawked, "He's supposed to be resting."

The two men continued to argue and Harry scooted out the door, earning a wink from Remus when he glanced over his shoulder. Luckily, Sirius was waving his hands around and shouting still and did not see it.

When he reached the hall, he bolted. He didn't get far though before he ran into a tall, dark, terrifying looking man.

Black eyes pierced holes in his own when he looked up. The man remained unnaturally still, staring down at him as if waiting for something.

"Sorry." he choked out, sidestepping the man and glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was not being followed.

But the man grabbed his arm, "Potter-"

"Get back here you little shit!" he heard Sirius cry as he came careening around the corner.

Harry felt a laugh fly past his lips and he nimbly twisted out of the tall man's grip, taking off down the hall again. After only a few moments he was feeling winded and skidded to a halt, leaning against the wall for support.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and a jolt of anger shot through him as he shoved himself away from the tree, unwilling to let Konin see him feeling weak.

"What are you doing, Ecero?" the dark haired man asked from somewhere behind him.

He shook his head, feeling foggy. The heat was oppressive and when he opened his eyes the air shimmered around him.

He turned to regard Konin's hazy figure. "Is this another training exercise?"

Konin stared at him blankly, "No, Harry."

He frowned. "Why did you call me that?"

Something wasnt right. Konin's face blurred into obscurity and he was suddenly looking up at the sky. Clouds merged overhead, forming a grey ceiling for him to stare at blankly.

He didn't like this, something was very wrong. He reached out for the Darkness, seeking its comfort and protection...and felt nothing.

He panicked, turning all his senses inward, calling upon it.

Again, nothingness.

A cry eased itself past his lips and his chest tightened painfully. "Where is it?!"

"...focus on my voice, Ha..."

"I can't feel it! It's gone!" he sobbed, suddenly feeling as if his chest cavity had been hollowed out. He felt empty.

"It was a parasite, Harry, nothing more. You are better now because of it's absence."

"No..."

"Yes! You are on the mend _only_ because the Darkness is gone. We...we had almost lost you to it. We didn't realize just how close we were to losing you until recently..."

He left the unsaid where it lie and easily dismissed it, too preoccupied with the empty hole in his core where the Darkness had been. "I want it back." he whispered, clutching at the hospital shirt over his pounding heart.

A sigh and then hands under his arms, pulling his onto unsteady legs.

"Come, Harry. We have much to discuss."

With a sudden burst of clarity, Harry felt the need to know if the loss was worth it.

"Is he dead? Is he gone?"

Silence.

"Yes. He's gone. For good this time."

His chest loosed a little and the canyon in his core seemed to shrink.

* * *

**Six Months Later**

Harry stumbled sleepily across the hall and into the bathroom, squinting at his reflection in the mirror. He sighed and ran his hand over the stubble along his jaw and chin and briefly closed his eyes, expertly zapping the hair away with magic.

He hadn't felt a loss of power within himself like he thought he should after losing the Darkness, he felt only the loss of the entity itself, and even though it had been explained to him that it was a parasite he still felt saddened by the loss of it. After all, if it hadn't been for the Darkness feeding him it's own magic, keeping him alive, his body would never have had the chance to repair itself like it had.

Still, he felt grateful that it was gone when he thought about what the Darkness had done to Voldermort. He knew the Dark Lord was...well, _had_ been, much more powerful than himself. So powerful, in fact, that his own magic had torn it's host apart trying to fight the foreing entity when it had tore from Harry's body.

Just knowing that somthing so terrible and powerful had been lurking around in his body made him shudder and appriciate it's absence that much more.

He began to undress and started the shower, ears straining out of habit to see if anyone else was awake. He easily identified the habit as one of Ecero's traits, something his psychiatrist had told him not to do. He seemed to think he should be accepting both halves of himself as they were instead of labeling one as good and the other as evil. A feat that had become much easier when he realized that all, or most of, Ecero's blood lust had actually been the influence of the Darkness, and now that it was gone, well, it seemed as if maybe Ecero wasn't the bastard everyone had thought he was.

As he lathered his hair, he let the thought go, more than happy to follow the shrink's advice.

He inhaled steam through his nose and used it to cleanse his mind and sterilize his thoughts. Today was a new day and the past was done. He would evolve and flow and change how he needed to make it through today and then tomorrow, then the day after, because that is what he does best.

* * *

_**END**_

* * *

The song that inspired me to write the scene where Harry takes down the four Death Eaters in the alley with Remus and Sirius can be found on youtube. Just type 'Drunken Whaler' into the search and hit the first result.

To everyone who stuck around for the four years it took me to get this story out! Leave a review and let me know what you think of the last chapter.

Myownlilfantac


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