Chapter 36

Few living beings knew what being a Necromancer, a Lord of Awakening, really meant. And even those few that were aware of it in general terms had no idea what a humbling feeling it was to actually practice the art; for an art, one of the most sacred once it was. Yet for everyone who had even the faintest of ideas what it meant, there were millions who did not know of them at all or worse yet scorned their very existence.

Since the beginning of mankind there had been those who feared them, who hunted them like some kind of murderous animal. Horrible spells were created to identify torture and kill them. Few, oh so few were able accept them, realise that they were not evil, that they were not hell bent on world domination simply because they were able to walk on the same plane as the soul.

When he had been a little child, not even three years of age, and it had become apparent to his parents just what he was they had done what his brother had done only weeks ago for Harry: they had raided the Vatican, removing or altering every document that mentioned Necromancers even in passing.

Sometimes he wished for a different gift, one that was not so draining, he didn't mind that it was dangerous or that most of the world would kill him as soon as they knew what he was – that is if they could overcome their fear of his family. No, what bothered him was that he could see or rather sense the soul of every being he came in contact with even when he was not actually using his gift.

Inwardly he sighted, he had to find Harry and fast! Normally it posed no problem if a person could project his or her soul outside of their body – as long as it was securely anchored to the body and as long as the separation had occurred voluntary. When they had arrived he had immediately seen that Harrys soul was not anchored at all and he had cursed his cousin for being so careless. He was sure that he started frowning as soon as he allowed himself to open his senses to the world of the souls and the dead. Only once before had he seen someone whose soul had been forcible torn from his body and who had not instantly died. He did not like at all what it implied that someone had the power necessary to tear the soul of a guardian out of his body.

Harry did not know how much time had passed since his connection with Voldemort had been torn open. Had it been hours, minutes or only seconds, he could not tell. Sure, on some level he knew that enough time had passed for Voldemort and his followers to terrorise a small muggle village, to torture and kill, and to leave. Yet that was all he was able to tell. He did not know where he was, nor did he particularly care, all he knew that his pain was not yet over. Even though the raid had seemingly been successful Voldemort was not happy and was taking his frustration out on his followers. The time that passed for the other wizard to calm down enough to speak without cursing those kneeling before him seemed endless. Any concept of time or even rational thought that Harry had had left after they had abandoned the village, fled him during the second torture session.

Dimly he heard that they had been searching for a child that had been born during the last summer, a little boy that had been the most likely choice to become someone Voldemort wanted desperately on his side – or rather under his control. Yet the child, a cute little boy, had been despite every prediction been nothing more than a cute infant.

Even without the curses Harry could feel Voldemorts' frustration, his wish to kill everything around him and with this awareness came the certainty that he was completely at the Dark wizards' mercy. As long as Voldemort did not calm down he would not be able to leave the others presence and the longer his soul stayed torn from his body the fainter his hold on his life grew. In his own time uncle Albus and uncle Nicki had warned him of the possibility that he could be drawn to far into a vision to return on his own, that such an occurrence would most likely bring his death as only a skilled Necromancer would be able to aid his soul back to his body; yet thankfully it never went that far.

Now though, now when he was in a time not his own, in a time where no one knew of his connection to the murderer and what it could cause he had to loose himself in such a vision. For a faint moment his thoughts turned to Bellatrix and he wondered how the young girl was reacting, before a new curse was cast and his awareness shifted once again to the pain it caused him.

His first thought at hearing his name being called was that, besides Fawkes assurances, Voldemort could actually sense him, only when it was repeated again and again did he realise that the voice that called him couldn't possibly be Voldemorts' but none other came to his mind.

It had been easier to find Harry than he had expected, the echo of pain was so strong that he had to suppress a wince as it slammed into him. All he had to do was to follow that pain in order to find his cousin; the hard part would come as soon as he had found him. Not only would he have to convince the younger man to want to return to his body but he had also to break the hold the unknown person had over his cousins' soul. At least he had to block the access long enough for Harry to return and wake up.

There were no set rules, no guidelines that told him how to proceed, there wasn't a handbook that listed possibilities on what he could expect to encounter when he followed a soul that had left its body and was unable to return. Most often the reason for a soul being lost was that they had found their idea of paradise and simply didn't want to return to their body and loose that state of bliss. Then there were those cases where the soul simply wasn't able to either find the body or was - for whatever reason - unable to re-enter the body, children made up most of those cases. The last group consisted of those unfortunate souls that had been forcibly torn from their bodies.

One of the reasons that his kind were feared, hated even, was because they were the only once who could reverse the Dementors Kiss. Centuries ago they had worked with the once in power, ensuring that this most horrible of punishments was not dealt unfairly. Now though they were prosecuted because they could use their gift to help criminals escape justice.

Sometimes he found himself in places that greatly resembled the real world, other times what he saw could only be found in books or dreams – yet what he saw while looking for Harry was neither…and both. He did not really see anything as he was almost completely surrounded by darkness; still something was giving of a faint glow. He did not know how long he stared at the eerily glowing waves of…something… till he realised that what he was seeing was the pain that crashed against his senses. The other source of light was continuously dimming. At the centre of the waves he saw Harry.

There was no doubt in his mind that, had Harry not been a Guardian, had not been Thanatos, he would have died before he was able to come to his aid. While Harry's body had been deadly pale and an unseen wound had been heavily bleeding leaving him in a pool of his own blood, Harrys soul appeared at the first glance to be in good health. It was only when Harry looked up that he saw that he had to act fast lest he loose the young Guardian. Trails of blood were running down the unmoving face, green eyes glazed over in anguish; he couldn't even be sure if he was seen at all. Weaving through the waves he called out to the lost soul.

The sight that met him as he looked to the voice that called out to him was not what he had expected – but than he hadn't been expecting anything at all. For an endless moment he could not identify the man that was still calling him, his mind flickering between needless thoughts, pain and important matters without focussing on anything except the pain. Incomprehensively he stared at the man with the shockingly white hair till some of his thoughts caught his attention.

The first was Necromancer and he felt his sense of power over his own actions return to him as he felt that he was able to command this man who could walk the paths of the souls. The second thought consisted of a name, Marcello, and with it came a longing that he could not identify till the third thought stood out: family. This man, Marcello, a Necromancer was what he longed for the most, he was family and this more than anything else would have been able to do brought him a feeling of safety.

The same moment their eyes connected, all consuming black and anguished green, Harry felt Voldemorts hold on him lessen and his own thoughts slowing down. Once again he was aware where he was, who he was and that he had to return to where he had been before he had been pulled into the horrific vision. For the first time his mind registered that he was crying, not from the pain he had been forced to feel but from the knowledge that he was partly responsible for the fate of the small boy.

It had been that child, that small boy who should have become a Guardian. Had he not come back in time the infant would have carried the essence of Thanatos just as Voldemort had been informed. He remembered what Fawkes had told him, remembered the reason for his time-travel; oh, he knew that even without his presence the child would not have lived to complete his first decade of live but still he couldn't help feeling a small twinge of guilt. A whole village had been destroyed and its inhabitants tortured and murdered simply because the information Voldemort had regarding one of its children was faulty. Would the others have survived if he had not come? Or would they have been killed regardless of the childes power?

Once again it took a moment before he realised that Marcello was calling his name. With surprise he noted that the man was standing next to him when moments before he had been at the other side of the room, far away from Voldemort.

"Harry, you have to return to your body, lest you die. Your soul holds barely any ties to this world and as we stand here they are further thinning, I don't know how much longer till they snap and you will die."

Alarmed Harry looked at his uncle, he had known that there was a high possibility that he could die – but to hear that it was only a matter of moments!

"How do I get back?"

Wearily Marcello focused his eyes, knowing that they were slowly returning to their normal appearance. It was never easy to return a soul to its body but to do so for someone who was his family… There was always a possibility that he would not succeed but when it came to family failure was definitely not an option. As soon as he had fully returned to the plane of the living he looked at Harry, knowing that it might still take some time before the younger man woke up. He would have to talk to him, what had just happened was simply unacceptable for a Borgia! A worried from marred his face as he took in the scene in front of him; his son and his aunt kneeling next to young Harry, both unconcerned that they were kneeling in the unconscious mans blood. They had come close to loosing Harry, too close.