This is the last chapter-chapter.

But, I'll be posting the epilogue tomorrow. Then it'll be done.

It was the first time Morena had returned to this "headquarters" in ages. She had been staying at the Gaunts' family home (or shack, rather) with her careless husband, and her son, the best son she could have ever asked for, even with Morfin training the child into a Muggle hater, training him to grow up and be just like his father. Morena truly hated the man. He was terrible for corrupting such a young boy. He was only three years old, for Merlin's sake!

As Morena waited, she tried to keep her emotions under control. Her temper had gotten her in trouble in the first place, worse trouble than she could have ever gotten into no matter how hard she tried. She had managed to, in her hurt anger, send a message out to Grindelwald, completely by accident, and he had asked her to – no, commanded her – to come to her old headquarters immediately. She hated that.

As she hadn't been here in so long and there was no longer any house elf here, everything was clouded with dust. Morena remembered that fireplace with roaring flames within it. Now it was dark with old ashes in it, accompanied by old rotting wood. The mantelpiece above the fireplace was covered in dust that would have erupted in a grayish-brown cloud if her owl had followed her here and taken her old perch atop the fireplace. It was almost as though Marcy had known what was coming and chose to stay behind, as she almost always flew to perch on Morena's shoulder when she apparated.

The rest of the house was no better than that fireplace, from what she could see. When she had sat down on that couch, she had become surrounded by the three or four years of dust that had accumulated on it, deep within the fabric of the cushions. The old, beautiful wooden floorboards no longer shined in an invisible light. They looked splintery and lack-luster. The log walls were covered in cobwebs in every corner, and from where she was sitting, Morena could just barely make out a spider sitting in the middle of a web in the corner, waiting to catch a few poor and unsuspecting flies in its web, just as Grindelwald had managed to catch her in his deadly web without her even seeing it coming. It was a matter of either die now or die later, and Morena had stupidly chosen the latter option, which was followed by the gaining of her first and only true friend and, ultimately, her untimely demise; her going through the distress of listening to Marvolo Gaunt's suffering as he died, reminding her of her own parents; her forced marriage to a psychotic Muggle hater; the birth of her own son, Timothy Morfin Gaunt, whose innocence was already slipping at the teachings of his father.

(he's only three sweet Merlin what is that man thinking?)

Morena took in a deep breath and let it out in a shuddering sort of sigh, pinching her bottom lip between the pad of her thumb and her index finger as she looked around that living room. For the past years, she had only communicated with Grindelwald through thoughts, and her own preliminary, accidental bursts of Legilimency that leaked through to his side occasionally and alerted him to the current situation. He was angry now, angry that she had failed to retrieve the ring and that she had jeopardized any chances she might have had of retrieving it.

But she wasn't afraid. No, she knew she deserved whatever she got. Her poor son, alone with that madman… if she could have kept her mouth shut, this wouldn't be happening. Morfin wasn't ever going to let her near the house, wasn't ever going to let her see her son ever again, and that boy had been the only reason she hadn't just stabbed Morfin through the heart with a bloody stick and taken the ring right off the lunatic's hand as he lay on his floor bleeding to death. Regardless of what Morfin was like, Timothy loved his daddy, and Morena couldn't bring herself to separate them, even if it meant that Timothy was going to grow up to withhold the same exact views as his father and his grandfather.

Morena shut her eyes and tried to drown out her own thoughts before she lost control of herself. She hadn't cried when she had listened to the sounds of Marvolo Gaunt having Cruciatus Curse-induced heart failure. She hadn't cried when she had found her parents lying dead and bloody on the floor of her home. Why did she feel the urge to do so now?

(Don't touch me! You hurt Daddy! Blood traitor! You hurt him! You said you did love him, you liar!)

Morena ran her free hand through her hair and grabbed a large handful of it and pulled, fighting the urge to scream. Of course, that was why. Those things… those were the exact things that Morfin was teaching her son to say, exactly how he was teaching the child to think. He was his father's child, and Morena couldn't do anything to reverse it now. She had messed up, she had completely ruined any chances she had to

(get the ring)

No, not to get the bloody ring, to uncorrupt her son. The ring wasn't important. She couldn't be afraid now. This was her fault. She had wanted to delay things, she had wanted to delay retrieving the ring until after Timothy was in at least his third year in school (and Morfin wouldn't have to drag him out of school for being sorted into the wrong house – no doubt Timothy would be in Slytherin, being trained to act like the stereotypical one of them at this young of an age). More than anything, she had started out wanting to delay her own death. She had joined Grindelwald for that very reason. Now, she feared it would be inevitable, but she accepted it. She was dead scared, but between the choice of living without her son while knowing he has no money and no decent guardian or not living at all, it startled her that the latter option seemed to be the better of the two.

She had never so much as thought about having children before, but now that she had one, she didn't think she could live knowing she would never be able to see him again.

"This is the worst you could have possibly done, Morena."

Morena looked up at Grindelwald – glared, rather. He had been glaring back, his normally wide, crazed eyes narrowed malevolently as he stood in front of the coffee table that separated them, but her glare seemed to surprise him enough to change the glare into a look of slight perplexity. "Don't you dare give me that," Morena said darkly. "Don't. You. Dare. You were the one who forced me to live with that man for over four years now. You. I wouldn't have lost my temper if it weren't for that. I should kill you. I really should."

"But you won't," said Grindelwald in a heavy, exasperated sigh. "Because killing isn't your nature. The only person you've come close to killing is Morfin Gaunt, and that was only a few moments ago, and it took four years for you to get to that point. I don't –"

"Shut up!" she yelled, standing up. She withdrew her wand and pointed it at his heart. "Just shut up! What are you going to do? Are you going to kill me? Cruciatus Curse? Tell me! Don't start bloody reasoning out why I won't kill you, because I will if you do! Just tell me what I face for this. Tell me."

"As I was saying, I don't think you will kill me, either that or you won't be able to."

"If you don't answer the question I will! I swear to it!" she yelled at him.

She grew even more annoyed at signs of a grin forming on his face, and more yet when he gave a disbelieving laugh. He held out his arms. "Go one then – no, wait, I dare you to. Tables have turned now, haven't they?"

"I'm warning you!"

"If you were truly going to kill me," said Grindelwald, lowering his arms to cross them in front of his chest, "then you would give no warning. You'd say it the incantation and get it over with." He paused, looking at her. "I'm waiting." The hand holding her wand shook slightly, but she kept it up. He grinned again. "Have you forgotten the incantation? Actually, there are plenty that could kill me, but only one that would work beyond a shadow of a doubt. Do you know of it?" Morena kept quiet. "Avada Kedavra," he said lightly. "Aren't you going to try it out? It's quite simple. All you have to do is mean it, and apparently you think you mean it at the moment."

Morena glared at him, but his amused look didn't falter at all. She could kill him. All of this was his fault. She could, she had to, not only for her satisfaction but for the good of the wizarding world. She breathed in one deep breath.

"Are you going to –?"

"Shut up!" she yelled, and her throat was beginning to grow sore. She gulped inaudibly. "Avada –" She paused, her mouth not wanting to spill out the correct words. "A – Av–va"

"This is exactly what I meant. You can't even force the words, let alone mean them. That's a terrible weakness to have."

"Avada K–kedav– dammit!"

Morena threw her wand on the floor and her knees collapsed, so she was back on the couch with her hands over her face. She shut her eyes tightly upon feeling that distinct burning in them. "You listen to me," she said quietly. "Really, please listen, I'm begging you." When he remained silent for a moment, she continued. "You're right. I can't kill you. I can't kill anyone. I'm weak. And I came into this knowing what was going to have to happen, eventually if not right away at the least. I joined you to postpone it, but I knew it would happen. I'm not immortal in the least bit. I knew you'd give me a task I couldn't handle, and now you only have one option. You'll have to kill me. It's all there is."

When Morena raised her head from her hands, she saw Grindelwald's expression was half perplexed, half curious. She shook her head and lowered it back to her hands as he spoke. "You sound almost as though you want to be killed," he said. "I can't envision that at all. There isn't a valid reason in the world for it."

"There is," said Morena, her voice muffled by the palms of her hand. "I'd rather die than have to work for you anymore, for one." She took in a deep breath and let it out in a slow, shaky manner before pulling her hands away from her eyes, inconspicuously wiping them of any tears that might threaten to fall as she did so. "And for another, what have I got left now? You killed my parents, I'll be killed if I go near my own son. All that's left is a life serving someone whose beliefs I strongly disagree with." She shook her head. "There's no point to it. You'd be better off killing me, since I'm not going to do anything you say anymore. This was the final straw. You threatening to kill my son if I so much as mentioned your name. And if I disobey you, you'll use him against me again. It's how you work. You know I don't care about my own life, not half as much as his, not even a hundredth as much. As I said, I knew I was going to die when I joined you, it was just a choice of dying then or dying later. I was afraid then, but I'm not so much anymore."

"I had no plans to kill you."

"Then what are you going to do?" she asked. "Even if you let me go, I'm not going to have anything. And as it is right now, since the money my… family, though I really wouldn't call it that if I could think of anything better, was living off of was the money I had inherited from my parents. I won't be able to live knowing that my son's going to grow up in worse poverty than even his own father ever had to endure. The only way for him to have anything would be if he inherited it."

He shook his head slowly. "As I said, I had no plans to kill you, none at all. But I suppose those plans could change if you're going to be persistent about it. I still don't see your reason. Anything has to be better than death. That's exactly what I want the Deathly Hallows for; it's said that the one who owns all three items will become a master of Death, prolonging their life to the greatest possible extent. I'll oblige, if you do so wish, but you might want to take your time to think about it."

Morena rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, mocking deep thought, and looked back. "I've thought about it. I'm sure."

Anger flashed in his eyes. "It isn't smart for any single being to make a mockery of death."

"I'm already completely sure! I don't know what'll happen to me, nor do I really care. I don't have my son anymore, that Gaunt bastard is going to keep him from me."

"And you still want the child back after what he said?"

This struck her like a blow to the head – was this man really so out of tune with human emotion? – but she managed to recover quickly and answer, though not quite as calmly as she had wanted to. "It's none of your damn business what he said," Morena said through gritted teeth, her fists clenching, "but yes, I do. His father's trained him to be like that. He watched everything through a crack in the door and I didn't even realize it until a moment before I came here. He was scared and he was angry, and I'm not going to blame him for what his father's taught him. I tried to reason with that man before I lost it, he just doesn't listen."

"I'm aware. I heard quite a bit of the conversation before I interfered at all. I'm also aware that you did all you could do not to lose your temper even before that conversation, as you've wanted to kill him every time he laid a hand on your son. My threat against him was out of panic and nothing more."

Morena didn't respond. She had to chew on her tongue to keep her motherly instincts from possessing her and forcing her to yell her head off. She wanted to remain calm… even though she had never felt more mortal in her entire life. She didn't know if she was ready to die, and she certainly didn't want to… but she felt like she would have to for the world to work out smoothly, like it was necessary for her son's well being. She definitely couldn't return, not even to offer all of her money to them. She would be killed the moment she darkened their doorstep. Morena did hold a strong belief that there were some things that the human mind just knew – whether it was just witches and wizards or Muggles as well, she was unsure – and whether or not it was time for the owner of the mind to leave the world was one of those things.

She finally managed to swallow any words she might have had to say in regards to the mention of that inhuman threat, and nodded. "I'm sure it was. I'm not going to blame anyone for this except myself. I could have avoided everything if I had just chosen the easy way out in the first place, but I chose to work for you. Granted, I would have suffered either way, as you weren't planning on letting me go with nothing but Avada Kedavra then, but I think that sort of suffering might have been a little bit easier."

"Maybe." There was another moment in which nothing but silence seemed to fill the room. Morena still hated the way silence always seemed to sound in this house, even after being away from it for a few years. Morena chose to speak next.

"Do me a favor," she said, reaching into her pocket, "and mail off my Gringotts key to them. Write an explanation as though it was me writing it to go along with it."

He nodded. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"You seem quite a bit more concerned than the average slave-driver." She grinned at the look of annoyance. "Of course I'm sure. I'm not sure I want to, but I'm sure it's necessary. I'm guessing you probably don't even need to say the incantation to do the spell, do you?"

"Not generally, no."

Morena nodded and sat up straight. "Good," she said quietly staring down at her knees. "I don't want to know when it's coming. You were right," she added, looking up at him. "I'll admit that. Some things definitely are worse than death." She declined her head again. "And if you even attempt to go near my son, god help me, I will come back from the grave and tear your bloody head off."

Morena was shaking slightly, and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She was almost sure that if she glanced over her shoulder, she would be staring into the skeletal face of Death himself, scythe in hand, ready to lop her soul up and out of its bodily cage and drag it off to the next life, whatever it might be. She shut her eyes and, trying to calm herself by desperately thinking

(It's for Timothy, it's for my son, it's got to be done, he'll be the one that has to suffer if it isn't, it's for Timothy)

and waiting for it to hit.

Moments later, Gellert Grindelwald lowered his wand and stepped back a few feet to survey the scene. The dusty walls, the unlit and equally dirty fireplace, the dull wooden floors, and now the equal lifelessness of the body lying sideways on the sofa all made the house as horrible as it was. It always had been this loathsome and horrid to her, trapped within it like a prison.

Had it really been a favor? His own mind chided him for the question; he had killed plenty of disloyal followers before, so it shouldn't make a difference, it told him, no difference at all. But it did somehow. The only other

(murder)

death, he told himself forcibly, that he had ever questioned had been that of Ariana Dumbledore (and his stomach gave a rebellious jolt at the thought of the name), but that had been an accident, an accident entirely, though he had been the true cause of it, no doubt. The anger was what always caused these things to happen. This time, though, that wasn't so. She had asked to be killed, insisted on it, and he had agreed to do it, but whether or not that made it any more righteous was unclear to him. No killing was righteous, that was definitely true, but it wasn't supposed to bother him.

She had been right from the start. Her daring him to kill her had been a bit puzzling to him, he was used to the exact opposite of things. It had either shown courage or stupidity, maybe both – they were one in the same most of the time. Somehow, it had been as though she had known that it would stump him, or even that it would anger him enough to kill Marvolo Gaunt himself.

None of that mattered now, though. With as much left to do with the Deathly Hallows as there was, he didn't particularly have time to dwell on the past. All he had gained was another name he wouldn't be able to so much as allow to enter his mind again.

And so, Grindelwald walked to the coffee table and picked up the Gringott's vault key she had dropped there. The least he could do would be to keep his word. He would send the key off as she had asked, and he wouldn't bother her son at all. That would involve giving up on the Resurrection Stone for now, but

(god help me I will come back from the grave and tear your bloody head off if you even attempt to harm my son)

some sacrifices did have to be made occasionally.

Morfin

It was a difficult enough decision, but I've
come to the conclusion that being forced to
live my life without ever seeing my child
again would be a torture that I couldn't bear
living through. So, simply enough, I won't.

To make things simpler, I'll call this my will.
I leave Timothy Morfin Gaunt everything that
was mine, money included, for him to have
immediate access to as soon as he comes
of age. If you deprive him of this, you'll
regret it. I've told only a few of my plans,
and those few are willing to enforce this will
to the bitter end.

He will get everything. The key that is enclosed
in this envelope is included in that. You will
use the money only for his benefit and will buy
what he needs for Hogwarts with the money in
my Gringotts vault. Once again, there are
people who will know if you haven't done as I
wish you to.

Most sincerely,
Morena Serran

Timothy blinked at the mixture of random characters upon the paper as he looked at it. He understood a few simple words, like "to" and "as" and a few other two-or-three letter words. He saw his dad pick up a small key, examine it, and drop it on the table with a scoff. Timothy looked up at him wonderingly. He was at a complete lack of understandings of what half of grown-ups' expressions or actions meant, and what they said didn't even make sense half the time.

"Daddy?"

"What?" he asked irately.

"Is this from Mummy?"

"Yeah," he said, snatching the paper back. "It is."

"Is she coming home?"

Now a loud bark of laughter came, and Timothy was further confused. Laughter was supposed to be happy, not scornful. "That blood traitor wouldn't be allowed back in this house even if she could come back here."

"Where'd she go?"

"Can't take a hint, can you, boy?" Timothy subconsciously tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes wide. "She's dead. She's off with your grandfather and your aunt because she was a Muggle-loving bitch. She's never coming back."

Timothy gulped. She was… "dead"? He could only ever remember her telling him about "dead" once, his dad had never mentioned it. It meant the place that people went to when they got really sick or too old and could never come back from. The picture he got in his head was a remote island in the middle of the ocean with a brick wall all around it. He felt a lump in his throat and his eyes stinging at the thought of his mum being trapped behind that brick wall with all those other people that were –

"Don't you start blubbering over it, you know as well as I do what she was."

Timothy gulped back that large lump that was forming in his throat and nodded as his father stood and went towards the door to the back room with the key and the note. She was never coming back. The words rang through his mind over and over, but he couldn't grasp them no matter how hard he tried. He was sure that within a few hours, within a few days at least, she'd Apparate with a little pop! and things would be back to normal, he was sure of it. It had to be. She hadn't been sick or old, so she couldn't be "dead." Maybe Daddy had been lying to him, like Mummy had so he wouldn't be sad about what he had said about marriage only having to do with being handy for keeping purebloods in pure families.

He looked at the window, half-expecting to see her there and half knowing she wouldn't be there, she would never be there…. She had to come home. She just had to.

But he knew – and Timothy bit his bottom lip to fight crying, as he didn't want his daddy to hear him – that this hope was more than likely a false one.