"Highlord, we have come as ordered," Harry said, is breath coming out like great gouts of steam in the frigid night air. Impa panted beside him, and both were lightly dressed for the cold weather: after visiting Hermione in her prison, they'd retired to their tent together and had been summoned from sleep.

Tirion was studying a map of Icecrown, and glanced over his shoulder at Harry's entrance. "Ah, good. Come. I think it time we put more serious thought into retrieving this High Blade of yours."

Harry and Impa stepped over to the table where the map was spread, showing the geography of Icecrown glacier. The Highlord tapped his finger on a location at the far north of the glacier, near where the glacier plunged into the North Sea. "Illidan's Doom. The location of the last battle between the forces of the Betrayer and the Kinslayer. Some would say a victory for the Light, for evil fought evil on that day. Others would note that they did not fight for our benefit, only for the right to conquer."

"That is where you believe the shards of Quel'delar lay, Highlord?" Impa asked, studying the map. "It seems it may be accessible from the sea."

"Perhaps," Tirion said, shaking his head. "But I doubt it will be so at this time of year. It is early spring in most of Azeroth, yet spring comes very late indeed to Northrend. The snow in the passes will not melt for weeks still, and the ice on the North Sea makes it unnavigable."

"Is there another way there?" Harry asked eagerly. "I know the Tournament is not yet over, but if we could retrieve the blade before the campaign begins in earnest it would be a mighty weapon."

"Folly to venture into Icecrown while winter's grasp lingers," a new voice growled, reverberating with unholy menace. "I fought the forces of the Lord of Outland alongside Arthas. They were defeated as much by winter's chill as by the armies of the Scourge. If you went there now, you fleshlings would freeze to death before we had gone a league. If we were not torn apart by its guardians."

Harry whirled, hand going to a sword that wasn't there, as Impa's eyes glowed with thunder and she assumed a reading stance. They forced themselves to relax when they saw who had spoken: Crok Scourgebane.

"Champion Scourgebane. Thank you for coming on such short notice," Tirion said, motioning for the undead orc to join him at the table. "I want your advice on the soonest we can mount an expedition into Icecrown to retrieve the fragments of Quel'Delar."

Crok strode in, clad in his dark plate and bearing his cold steel axe upon his back. Harry and Impa nervously edged away from the orc, who extruded an air of menace and necrotic power. Resting his gauntleted hands upon the table, Crok studied the map. "You think Quel'Delar lies within Illidan's Doom?"

"Yes," Harry said curtly. "It was wielded by Lana'thel of Quel'thalas before she was slain and resurrected as one of the San'layn. I have the hilt, but we need the blade."

"Hmph. Well, it would likely still lie at Illidan's Doom, as you seem to believe. But I would not lead you there now. All it would serve to do would be to give Arthas more corpses for his army," Crok stated grimly. "You had best wait for spring thaw."

"What if we flew?" Impa asked. "We're friends with a skilled gryphon rider, he could take us."

"In the skies you'd be easy meat," Crok stated. "Not only would the winds blind and freeze you, but the gargoyle's and frost wyrms would strike you down before you were halfway to Illidan's Doom. And before you suggest approaching by sea, that is folly. Kraken patrol those waters when it is not frozen, which at this time, it surely is. This late in the season, the sea ice would be treacherous, and unfit to walk on. No, the time to hunt for your sword will be once the thaw hits and the snow melts in the high passes of the Storm Peaks."

"Oh." Harry felt disheartened, looking to the Highlord who was frowning at the map. "Do you have another suggestion, Highlord?"

"There may yet be another way," Tirion mused. "To venture through Azjol Nerub."

Crok looked up, his expression blank. "The lost city of the Nerubians. And how would you navigate such a maze?"

"Not all of the Nerubian people have been slain," Tirion stated. "The taunka still trade with a small group of those who escaped the Scourge. Seer Ixit leads them; he could supply us with a guide."

"A dark people, even before the coming of the Scourge. They served the Old Gods, like the Qiraji of Silithus. With Yogg Saron slain at the hands of mortals, will they even respond?" Crok demanded.

"We will trust their hatred of the Scourge outweighs their fervor for their dark masters," Tirion replied. He looked to Harry and Impa. "Would you venture through darkness and death in search of the High Blade?"

"We shall trust in the Light," Harry answered. "And that it shall lead us to victory."

"A risky venture. But to obtain a High Blade, it may be worth it," Crok mused. "The weapons of the Titans have proven ineffective, and we have but one Ashbringer. Another weapon to strike at the Scourge will be key."

Tirion nodded, stepping back from the table. "Then it is settled. Harry, Impa, the two of you get some rest. We shall complete our plans for the expedition in the morning."

Bowing, Harry and Impa left the tent together, leaving Tiron and Crok to discuss their plans in low voices. Once outside, they clasped hands, making their way through the light snow that was falling.

"I wonder why the Highlord is so concerned about finding the blade now," Harry mused. "He seemed content to wait until spring only a few days ago."

"It must have something to do with those demons Hermione summoned," Impa opined. She shivered, drawing closer to Harry for warmth. "I cannot believe she would be so reckless as to summon an eredar. Rosalind is one thing, she seems to be seeking redemption, but Jaraxxus would have killed us all without a second thought."

Harry put his arm around Impa, enjoying the feel of her so close. "We should visit Hermione again in the morning. I know she's become tainted by the fel, but not all hope is lost for her, not yet."

"I think she may be beyond redemption, Harry," Impa whispered.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I fear you may be right. But we have to try."

They walked the rest of the way back to their tent in silence, but they did not go to sleep immediately. They were both young, and recently wed. Besides, this time they were certain no one would interrupt them.

The next morning Harry and Impa brought Hermione a pot of hot porridge and a flask of hot tea. They found their friend curled up in the corner of her cell, with Pizyap standing outside of the open door. The guards were gone, as was Jaraxxus the Imp.

"Heya," Pizyap called, shakily getting to his feet. He had to hold onto one of the bars for support, as he clearly wasn't used to standing or moving on the back bending legs of an eredar. "She um, she ain't doin' so hot. Look, I know you don't like me, and I ain't exactly fond of either of you, but...well, we both kinda like Hermione, right? So, maybe help a guy out? I'm worried. She ain't' said nothin', and she won't come out of the cell. K Lee came by earlier, Hermione wouldn't even look at her. Took Jaraxxus though, thank the Nether."

Impa narrowed her eyes at Pizyap, putting a hand on her mace. "Why should we help you, demon?"

Pizyap raised his hands in supplication. "Look, I get it, I get it. But listen, you help Hermione, I'll owe ya one, OK? She, well, she needs a friend, and I ain't so hot at the whole bein' nice thing."

"We'll help her, but not for you," Harry said cooly. "Hermione needs to be cleansed of the demonic influence in her body, and her spirit soothed."

"Yeah, whatever. Just so long as she turns out alright. She's the only one who really understands how this whole body swapping thing happened."

Harry and Impa walked into the cell, setting down the food and kneeling beside Hermione. Harry hesitated as he looked down at his friend. She was barely recognizable. Whereas before she had been a short scrawny waif with long curly hair and pale skin, now she was muscled and tall, her body infused with fel power.

"Hermione, we brought you some breakfast," Harry said gently.

"If you are injured, we can heal you," Impa offered. "Perhaps we can find a way to cleanse you of this demon blood."

Hermione didn't stir, and Harry and Impa exchanged a look. With a sigh, Impa poured a cup of tea, adding two sugars and some cream they'd managed to get from a vendor. "We brought you tea, just the way you like it. Cream and two sugars."

That got Hermione's attention. Slowly, she pushed herself up, the tattered blanket she'd been wearing slipping from her body. She was nearly naked, her robes ripped and torn from how her body had grown. Harry looked away to find Pizyap looking at Hermione with a puzzled expression, his head cocked to one side. Harry glared at the demon, but he seemed to have no regard for Hermione's privacy.

After a moment, Impa coughed politely, and Harry turned back around. Impa had draped the blanket about Hermione to cover her modesty. Pizyap let out a grunt of disappointment as Hermione sipped at her tea, head down, face hidden in the shadow of her new rams horns.

"I...I'm sorry," Hermione whispered once she was finished with the tea. She held the cup in trembling hands, her talons scratching the pewter.

"You can still find redemption," Harry said gently, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder. She suddenly hissed, jerking back as if in pain. Harry noticed that where he had rested his hand, the skin was a much lighter shade of red.

"Yeah, could have told ya about that," Pizyap commented from where he was slumped against the bars. "Paladins, they got all kinds of Holy power in 'em. Hurts like blazes, don't it?"

Hermione looked up at Harry, her eyes still brown, but now flecked with bits of green fire. "Harry...I didn't mean...oh God Harry, it was all my fault!"

Hermione began to cry again, causing Harry to reach out for her, then withdraw his hand. He looked at Impa helplessly, but when she reached for Hermione the demoness jerked back. "No! Stay away! I don't want...I'll just hurt you too!"

Harry and Impa sat helplessly for a moment as Hermione cried, unsure of what to do. Harry turned to glare at Pizyap. "Are you going to just sit there, or are you going to try to help?"

Grumbling, Pizyap got to his hooves and stumbled over to Hermione, tentatively putting a hand on her head. "Hey, it's er, it's going to be OK?"

"Oh Pizyap!" Hermione flung her arms about her former servant, weeping onto his bare chest. Pizyap looked up at Harry, confused and helpless.

"Comfort her," Impa hissed. "Surely even an eredar knows how to show compassion!"

"I'm not a blessed eredar," Pizyap complained, but he patted Hermione gingerly on the back. "Hey toots, your gonna be fine, see? We're both big scary demons now. And my brains didn't even melt or whatever. Wonder what happened with that Thought-Thingy."

"It...it must have reacted badly to the demon minds because of the saronite," Hermione hiccuped. "Or perhaps it was the fact that Jaraxxus was controlling a great many demons himself at the time and channeling fel power. We never tested the Thought Outsourcer in those circumstances. Perhaps if we rebuilt it, we could run more tests. Yes, yes that's what we shall do. We'll have to see why it allowed a permanent body swap. Think of the potential! We could use it to restore undead, or allow people to experience life as another race! Yes, yes that's an excellent project."

Hermione sprang to her feet, using the blanket to wipe away her tears then tossing it aside. "We'll have to start at once. There is a great deal of research to undertake! Come, Pizyap, I shall need your assistance."

Swearing under his breath, Pizyap stumbled to his feet, walking awkwardly after Hermione as Harry once more averted his eyes.

"Hermione, please, I brought you this robe," Impa said hurriedly, taking out a bundle of clothing. "Why don't you put it on. It's very cold."

"I don't hardly feel cold at all," Hermione protested, but reluctantly slipped the rob on over her head, struggling to get it past her new horns. Impa managed to dress her as Pizyap looked on with interest, despite Harry's glare.

"Thank you, Harry, Impa," Hermione said as she left the prison. "I know I can use all this to further my research. This has to have great implications for VOMIT."

"Do we really still care about imps?" Pizyap asked. "Cause, you know, I'm an eredar now, and you're like a demon human or whatever."

"Of course we care about imps!" Hermione lectured as she strode away, Pizyap hobbling after her. "We care about everyone! That's what we're supposed to do! Now, perhaps I should summon a few more imps to use in our experiments. Provided they're willing, of course. We'll have to find a way to persuade them…"

As Harry and Impa made their way out of the cells, Ron strode up to them, dressed for battle with a grim expression on his face. "Ye seen Hermione?" he demanded.

"She just left," Harry said. "She seems to be taking her transformation rather well, all things considered."

"I saw what bloody happened," Ron growled. "Fought some o' those damn demons meself when they came through the portals. Pizyap's a bloody eredar now, and Hermione's turned into a demon. Just like I saw in those visions."

"That...that should not be possible," Impa gasped, taking half a step back. "You said those visions were lies of a dark god!"

"They're lookin' more bloody likely with each passin' day," Ron said, putting a hand on the haft of his warhammer. "Ye and Harry gettin' married. Hermione turnin' into a bloody demoness. By the storm if I see a bear man I might just go mad. His niece had damn well better be a fine bird though, or I bloody well ain't shaggin' the bint."

"Ron, why are you looking for Hermione?" Harry asked, taking a step forward to stand directly before his friend.

Ron met Harry's eyes, a grim expression on his face. "To damn well put her to rest. Her and those demons of hers. They have to die Harry. They betrayed people to Voldemort. Or will, at any rate."

"Ron, none of that has happened," Harry said gently. He rested a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Hermione was judged innocent by the Highlord. It isn't your right to mete out justice for acts that could happen. I was going to look for you, though. We're going after Quel'Delar."

"Your sword?" Ron asked. He shrugged. "Look, fine, I'll no kill Hermione now. But how in the blazes are ye going ta get that blade? Isn't it supposed to be in Icecrown? The passes are snowed in, and even Sharpbeak and I can no fly into that place without a great bloody frostwyrm eatin' us."

"We shall travel through Azjol Nerub," Impa said calmly. "Through the hidden tunnels of the lost city, we can make our way to Icecrown undetected."

"I see." Ron frowned, then shook his head. "Very well. Ye can count on me and my hammer. It's no a place for a gryphon underground, but I'll come all the same. Mylra though is a different matter. She's trainin' the crusade's recruits on them snowy gryphon's they've got. She'll be sad to lose me, but she'll understand I've got ta go with ye."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said fervently. He smiled and patted Ron's shoulder. "Come on, we've got to talk to the Highlord."

In the Highlord's tent, they found Vindicator Maraad and Crok waiting for them.

"We leave in two days time," Maraad stated. "It is good Ronald shall accompany us, he has experience fighting the Old Gods and their minions, and it is likely we shall find such waiting for us within the lost city."

"I shall ride ahead," Crok informed them. "I will speak with Seer Ixit, or any other still living Nerubians. If I cannot find a guide, we must find another way."

"We shall have faith," Harry declared. "The Light will find a way."

Crok managed to give the impression he found this prospect extremely dubious without changing his expression in the slightest, then walked away.

"You shall be well supplied," Tirion told Harry. "I would send a hundred men with you, but a small party will be able to move in secret. Too many and we risk drawing Arthas' attention. Good luck, and may the Light guide your path."

Two days later, they departed at dawn, mounted on gryphons and flying through Crystalsong Forest, into the Dragonblight. They passed over many skeletons of ancient beasts in the dragon graveyard, all patrolled heavily by the Red Dragonflight. Too many of their ancestors bones had been used to raise frost wyrms, and the dragons were enraged to see their corrupted kin. Harry kept a wary eye on the dragons, but aside from flying near enough to identify them, the dragons left the party alone.

After a full day of flying, they came to a great icy pit that plunged 100 feet down. At the surface was an encampment of taunka, over which banners of the Horde flew.

"Well met, friends," the taunka flight master said, taking their gryphon mounts when they landed. Ron was reluctant to hand over Sharpbeak to a stranger, but the flight master assured them all the gryphons would be well cared for.

"I shall send them back to the Argent Tournament grounds with the next Alliance patrol," the flight master stated. "We work closely together now, in preparation of the offensive we shall mount come the spring."

"It should bloody well be spring already," Ron complained, kicking at a snow drift. "Even in the Aerie the snow would be melting by now."

They stayed the night with the taunka, the great buffalo men treating them to a feast of mammoth meat and boiled tubers and a drink made from fermented ox milk. Ron seemed to enjoy that, though Harry and the draenei contented themselves with water from melted snow.

In the morning, Harry awoke early to relieve himself, leaving his warm blankets and kissing the still sleeping Impa on the cheek. He was leaving the outhouse when a snowball smacked into his cheek, causing him to rub it and sigh.

"It's too early for this Ron, I-"

"Ron?" a voice squawked, and suddenly a red headed woman in highland garb stood up from the bushes near the outhouse. "Bloody buggering hell Lucy is going to kill us!"

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's you. Fred, or George, or whatever you're calling yourself today."

The woman paused in her rant, eyeing Harry skeptically. "I'm Fredrika, of course. Don't you remember that? You're really getting old if you can't even remember my name after less than a year."

"Fred, I'm younger than you are," Harry said patiently. "What are you doing here? Did Khadgar send you to help retrieve Quel'Delar? Do you know how to get through Azjol Nerub?"

"Ha! Knew you were up to something. Lucy said we shouldn't interfere, but you're going to spider town aren't you? So yes, Khadgar definitely did send us."

"Us?" Harry glanced around. "That mean your brother is here?"

"Yeah, he's around," Fred said, waving her arm vaguely. "Always been a bit of a sleepy head, so I got up first to snoop around. We had a hell of a time figuring out where you were going, but Khadgar knew you were up to something. But...but you said Ron was here?"

"Yes, he's back in the tent," Harry said, pointing in the direction he'd come from. "You want to talk to him?"

"No! I mean, yes, but…" Fred bit her lip, glancing around as if someone was watching. "Could I? Really? I...I'd like to see him, at least."

"As long as you behave yourself, I don't see why not." Harry led Fred back to the tent, then peeked his head inside. Ron was still snoring loudly, though Impa was up and making hot water for breakfast. "Morning love. Poke Ron for me, would you? Fred the mage is here to see him, Khadgar sent her."

Impa turned her head, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Fredrika? That what she's calling herself now? I would like to speak with her also. Ron, wake up, someone is here to see you."

"Huh?" Ron groaned, rolling over and reaching for Aesuga. "Tell them to bugger off, it's too early."

"It's that twin mage, Fred. She says her brother George is here too," Harry called.

Ron sat bolt upright, gripping his weapon and barreling outside, nearly knocking Harry over. "Fred? George? Bloody hell where did you-" Ron paused, glaring at the wide eyed woman who seemed to be cowering away from him. "Oh hell, don't tell me you're Fred. Ye don't even look like me brothers."

"Gee, thanks," Fred muttered, standing up straight and glaring at Ron as she folded her arms over her chest. "You're no looker either. You look like a punk kid that took his daddies warhammer and forgot to shave."

Ron rubbed at the reddish stubble on his cheeks frowning. "Clansmen don't bloody well shave. Ye'd know that ifin ye'd earned that tartan yer wearin'. That's the clan pattern o' the Aerie. Where'd ye get it?"

"I paid in blood for my clan colors," Fred growled, drawing a wicked looking dagger. "If you want to take them, come at me you little shit."

"FRED! What in the name of Malygos are you doing?" George strode forward, adjusting the strap on his cloak. "If he's here, we have to leave, now! Naaru's sake woman, who the hell knows what would happen if you fought or killed him!"

"I'd work out all the abandonment issues I've had for the last two decades," Fred muttered, but she sheethed her knife. "Well you can go, you yellow bellied gnome lover, but I'm staying. I don't care what Lucy and Chromie have to say about temporal anomalies or whatever. If Lucy got to go to Stormwind and save her's, I can damn well stay here and help mine."

"Do you have any idea what in the name of the Light those two are talking about," Maarad said quietly to Harry and Impa, pulling on his thick elekk hide cloak.

"Not a clue," Harry admitted. He glanced at Impa. "You?"

"I think...I think they have some connection to Ron and they're arguing about it," Impa whispered. "What Georgina, that is, Fredrika, told me at Valiance Keep, it was odd, but she did mention Ron, and...something else. I shall have to talk more to her."

"Will the two of you just please shut yer damn mouths," Ron groaned, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. He lowered his hands, glaring at the arguing mages. "Look, what are ye even here for? Did Khadgar have a message for me or somewhat?"

"Fred we-" George began, but he fell silent when his sister turned and glared at him.

"Look, Harry said you're going into Azjol Nerub," Fred said finally, turning back to the party. "We'll come with you. You'll need someone experience with finding their way in mazes, and Light knows we've experience with that sort of thing. Plus, we've experience dealing with the...things... you find below ground. You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Ron?"

Ron hesitated, shifting uneasily. "You mean...the Old Gods? They're here?"

"That they are," George said, coming to stand beside his sister. "And we're here because we have reason to believe that Harry setting out has stirred up the 'fins again. We don't need them ambushing you and ruining everything."

"You're friends with Rosalind and Midna, right?" Ron demanded. "They were working for Khadgar, hunting those things as well."

"Oh yes, we know them very well," Fred agreed. "They're practically like sisters to us. Though I think George here has the hots for Midna."

"That is extremely irrelevant to our task at hand," George said evenly. He looked to Harry. "Fine. My sister has a good sense for these things, and despite my misgivings I think we should help as well. Will you have us, Harry Potter?"

Harry looked to Impa, who was studying Fred and George intently. She nodded slowly. "They should come. At the very least, it will give us time to talk to them. And they were very useful against the Scourge before."

"Very well. But know we go into the direst peril. We will not be swayed from our mission: Quel'Delar must be restored. We venture through danger to the den of evil itself: Illidan's Doom in Icecrown."

"What? Why?" Fred asked, confused. "Quel'Delar's in the-."

George elbowed his sister, glaring at her before turning back to Harry. "Illidan's Doom is a wise place to start. My sister confuses it for Quel'Serrar, the sister blade of the Kal'Dorei. That is supposedly lost within Dire Maul in Kalimdor."

Fred massaged her side, but didn't speak, going suddenly pale.

"Well let's get started then," Ron said with a sigh. "Crok's probably waiting for us."

Authors Note:

One small change for you WoW Lore nerds: the Nerubians, like the Mantid and Silithid, worship the Old Gods in this story. It doesn't make any sense they would fear the faceless ones and the servants of Yogg Saron, since every other race that was descended from the Aqir worship them, and are specifically gathered around the resting place of an Old God to serve them. Also, I sort of need someone to provide more insight into the Old Gods and the surviving nerubians can fill that role nicely.