A/N: Alright, looks like you didn't have to wait that long for the next chapter. If you're enjoying these faster updates, please be sure to Follow, Favorite and Review! Now then, let's get into chapter 9!

Chapter IX: Quarrels of a Past Life

(Neville P.O.V)

Blaise, Tracey, and Hermione hurried after Neville, but the boy couldn't stop. His legs moved on his own and carried him closer and closer to the castle, their thestral-pulled carriage left in the snow behind him. He heard Hermione call out to him, but Aberforth's words were all that rang in his head. If Voldemort hid his Horcruxes in places important to him, then, of course, he'd have put one in the castle. Neville had dismissed the idea as foolish when it was clear Harry had been able to sense them. Still, Hogwarts was notoriously large, unlikely as it sounded; perhaps Harry had just never been close enough to perceive it. Or maybe, he did and didn't know it. There were too many variables, and Neville couldn't just sit around and wait.

The braziers brought warmth to the ground level of the castle. Neville wished he had the time to warm his hands by the orange flames, but there was no time to waste. Neville spun on his heel and made Hermione jump, the girl seconds away from impact with his chest. "Hermione, the Grey Lady, where can I find the Grey Lady?" Neville's voice was desperate and riddled with exhaustion.

"What? Why?" Hermione questioned but shook her head, "Sorry, right, well, it's hard to be exact, but she tends to really enjoy the hallway outside the library."

Neville nodded his thanks, then bolted off again, unaware of his friends' cursed frustrations behind him. They'd understand in time, though, there was no time to explain. Every second they wasted was a second they didn't have, a second closer to Voldemort's resurrection. If Harry's theory was correct when Voldemort used whatever Horcrux to come back, he wouldn't merely return as his usual self; he'd be mightier than before. Harry may have had the upper hand in combat class at Azkaban, but Neville wasn't the type to bet that it would hold up forever. The fewer chances the Dark Lord had to amplify his strength, the better.

Neville probably could have found his way to the library from anywhere in the castle with a blindfold on. That place had become his haunt before he'd become tangled in Michael and Harry's web of schemes. Neville appreciated it though, he may have loved to learn, but unlike Hermione, he didn't find the place a heaven on earth. The rubber tracks of his boots screeched against the marbled floors at his sudden stop just before the library's door.

Panted breaths closed in on him from behind, and Neville feared the look of frustration in his friends' eyes, so he opted not to look back. Rather, he scanned the distance in search of grey, whisp-like form. Come on, Neville hissed beneath his breath, Where are you? As if a god had listened and answered his request, the Grey Lady emerged through the grey, stone walls. Neville had never paid the ghosts much attention; he knew that Nearly-Headless Nick was a showman, the Bloody Baron was terrifying, and that the Fat-Friar was loud. He'd always liked the Grey Lady the most as she always kept to herself, but what he never saw was a distant look of sadness plastered upon her ethereal face.

Had she not been a see-through ghost, Neville's first thought may have been that she was gorgeous. She was tall with waist-length, black, curly hair and a perfectly regal face. Her eyes still held shimmers of blue from her past-life, and her dignified expression looked almost like a carbon-copy of Daphne's. She was noble, yes, but sad. Neville must have stared for too long because he soon found himself on the other end of an icy glare.

"Hufflepuff Boy, what are you looking at?" The whisp-made woman asked.

"Apologies," Neville said with a bow of his head, "I meant no disrespect. I um, I came because I had a question to ask you."

"Hmm?" The Grey Lady muttered, "Few students are wise enough to use the ghosts of Hogwarts as a knowledge resource; we have indeed lived the length of many lives. However, I am afraid that I no longer associate with students. It is for the best."

"Did you impart that rule upon yourself after your conversation with Tom Riddle?" Neville asked blankly. Bingo, Neville muttered to himself at the mixed expression of blistered rage and fear. "Relax, I'm not here to accuse you of anything; I know how conniving he can be, but I need your help please."

"Go!" The Grey Lady hissed, "I will say nothing more!"

"Please, tell me, is the Diadem truly lost, or do you know where it is?" Michael asked.

"Even if I did, and I told you, what would you do with it? Cheat on tests, gorge yourself on knowledge, become obsessive and -"

"No, I want to destroy it," Neville said.

"I've heard that before," The Grey Lady sneered, "You lie, just like all the rest, like him. Begone, boy! Leave my presence!" Neville couldn't even say another word before; with a turn of her full-length dress, she raced back into the wall she'd emerged.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," Neville muttered. He turned back to the group behind him, "Anyone else got another idea?"

"You're trying to get information about the Diadem out of the Grey Lady?" Tracey asked, "Why?"

"I believe now, after what Aberforth said, that the Diadem is here in this castle somewhere. Voldemort hid all his horcruxs in things and places important to him or belonged to people he deemed worthy. I think Hogwarts would be a place that fits that criteria. Still, Hogwarts is huge, and I was hoping that if I knew more about just what happened to the Grey Lady in the past and her interaction with Voldemort when he was last here, I'd be able to pinpoint that location. But clearly, she doesn't seem willing to talk," Neville said.

Tracey scratched her chin; then, her eyes glowed with light. "I've got an idea! The Baron, I mean, the two of them are so intertwined, he has to know something. It's not much of a lead, but it's better than nothing." Neville agreed, and this time, with Tracey in the lead, they descended into the dungeons.

Neville made it a point to never venture into the dungeons if he could avoid it. Sure, Slughorn's presence helped, but it hardly put Neville at peace. Maybe it was wrong to hold a grudge against all Slytherins. He had three perfect examples of 'Good Slytherins,' to look to, but the stories he'd heard from Blaise and Tracey had left a sour taste in his mouth. Even in the halls of Hogwarts, Neville kept his wand at the read. He'd been burned on the issue many times before; a fight could happen anywhere.

Tracey guided them, her auburn-hair a beacon in the dark dungeon halls. Part of Neville couldn't even imagine how awful it would be to live in the dungeons when compared to the coziness of the Hufflepuff Common Room; then again, Neville imagined a person like Blaise might have felt more comfortable in the dimly lit basement than in the loud Hufflepuff Common Room.

The Hogwarts underground wasn't any different from its above-ground counterpart in the sense that both were atrocious mazes to master. How Tracey managed to log all the routes in her head without the direction of something like the marauder's map impressed Neville thoroughly. The four of them had walked for a while, he wasn't sure about it, but Neville could almost sense that the sun had set since they departed beneath the school. Michael, Neville thought, the image of the forbidden forest at night made his hairs stand on edge, Hope your plan went well.

Smack! Nevile rubbed his nose and apologized to Tracey for their collision. He hadn't been focused, but at the same time, the sudden stop felt utterly random. They'd passed what must have been fifteen identical doors before they'd stopped at this one, and Neville questioned how Tracey was even able to tell them apart. But the girl stood confidently in her spot.

"He's in here," Tracey said, "At least, I think he is; outside of meals, he hardly ever leaves this place. Just uh, prepare yourself, the Baron, he can be a little odd."

Odd how? Neville wondered but swallowed the thought. It didn't matter; strange as the Baron might be, Neville wasn't exactly handed a plethora of options. He nodded, and Tracey knocked on the Baron's door. She announced her presence, then turned the handle at the lack of response. Neville took a position behind Tracey, his wand at the ready, but it had nearly fallen out of his hand when the door opened. Odd didn't even scratch the surface of what rested in the room before him.

The Bloody Baron, typically, was a sight that sent chills down the spines of all the students who saw him. His blood dipped robes, hardened black eyes, and gaunt face made him look exactly like a ghost from Muggle Horror Films. Only further solidified by the chains that wrapped themselves tightly around his ghostly figure like an escaped upper-level prisoner from Azkaban. But his bedroom had left Neville even more terrified of the Baron than he'd ever been before if he could even call what he saw a bedroom.

Gilded photos of Helena Ravenclaw covered every inch of space along his stone walls, none of which moved, which made it oddly even more uncomfortable. He kept glass boxes full of things that Neville could only guess once belonged to Helena when she lived, one of which, if Neville wasn't confused, was a pair of medieval undergarments. If that weren't bad enough, though, they'd found the Baron in a compromised position, bowed before a shrine the size of a headmaster portrait of the Grey Lady.

"You described this as odd," Hermione hissed in Tracey's ear.

"I really couldn't think of a better word," Tracey replied.

"Get Out!" The Baron roared, "Don't you dare interrupt me while I'm in mourning!" Neville could tell how badly the other three wanted to listen, part of him wanted to bolt without a doubt, but he held his ground. In the blink of an eye, the Baron soared at him, and Neville felt his ghostly chill against his face. "I said get out, boy."

"Or what? You're a pathetic ghost, you can't hurt me." Neville returned, his voice far more collected than he felt. The Baron's eye twitched at Neville's forced tone, "I've come here to talk to you. That's all."

"We have nothing to talk about!" The Baron's voice shook the room, but once more, Neville stood undaunted.

"I think we might, because what I'm here to talk about, is her." Neville pointed his finger towards the large shrine of the Grey Lady. "She's hiding something important, something that is hurting her, and I know that you would know all about that. You are her biggest fan, after all."

"Don't patronize me!" The Baron bellowed, "I am no ordinary fan! I commited a cardinal sin against her, now I have dedicated my eternity to serving her and protecting her at all cost. That, is my burden."

But she's dead, Neville thought in confusion but dismissed the thought. "So, you are sworn to protect her then?" Neville said, as a newly hatched plan formulated in his mind. "Tell me then, would you like to remove the sadness from her pretty face? Would you like to become her hero?"

"H-Her Hero?" The Baron stuttered. Neville nodded at the Baron's eyes widened a filled with sparks of life. "Tell me boy! Tell me how I can become her hero?"

Neville did as the Baron asked. Neville's lips tasted of poison; he hated to lie, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He tried to resort to half-truths as he explained his theorized connection between the Grey Lady's sadness and the Diadem and how if he could just return it to her, Helena would have been happier. Neville told him about Riddle and how he'd suspected the man had retrieved it from the tree where both the Baron and the Grey Lady had died in Albania. Neville wasn't a good liar, but the Baron believed him regardless, and a smile grew across his lips.

"Riddle, yes," The Baron muttered, "Was a good lad, belonged to this house, one of our best, I'd say. I do hope he's well it's been so long since I last saw him. In fact, I haven't seen him since the day Dumbledore took over as Headmaster, thought, I suppose that makes sense, the two never really got along."

"Baron, the diadem?" Tracey asked softly.

"Yes, yes, lass, I'm getting to that," The Baron growled, "Last I saw Riddle, he'd left the Headmaster's office a bit upset and ran off to the seventh floor. I'd tried to follow him to talk a little, like I said, he was one of my favorites, but when I got there, he'd vanished."

"Vanished?" Hermione questioned.

"Yes, lass, vanished. Do you have cotton in your ears?" The Baron snarled, "I remember that I searched every room up there; the boy was nowhere to be found. For what it's worth, though, I wouldn't continue to pursue that line of thinking. Riddle was a good lad, he'd never have stolen anything from Helena."

An endorsement from a murderer is hardly convincing, Neville thought to himself but nodded politely, "Just wanted to check all avenues; thank you for the information. We'll be sure to let you know when we discover the Diadem's location so you can deliver it to her in pieces. I know she'd appreciate you so much if you were the one to deliver it to her. It's the least I can do since you've been such a big help."

"Yes, please do; I would love nothing more than to bring a smile to her radiant face. But cross me, and I will make your after life a living hell." Neville tilted his head curiously at the ghost's threat but said nothing once more before slowly they moved out of the room and closed the door.

Hermione's eyes locked with Neville's once they reached the end of the hall, and they nodded, "If the Baron's story is to be believed, and Riddle really did just vanish on the seventh floor, then-,"

"Right," Neville said in agreement with the bushy-haired girl, "I think I have an idea of where Riddle hid the Diadem."

(Michael P.O.V)

The Quintaped, Michael could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the image of the beast. He'd taken many looks at the parchment, from many angles, but there was no mistake; the animal Heron had to kill was none other than the Class 5 Beast, the Quintaped. Even the beast's image made Michael's skin crawl, a five-legged deformed spider with a humanoid head and clubbed feet all covered by thick reddish-brown hair. It was a monstrosity of a creature without a doubt, and from what Michael could remember, the Quintaped had a hunger for human flesh.

"You look as if you recognize this beast, yes?" Heron said. Michael could hear the irritated undertone beneath his words; the centaur hadn't liked the idea of a wizard for a partner, that was without question. "If you do, please tell me. I know only it's name, any help would be appreciated."

"From what I remember, the Quintaped used to be a wizard by the name of Macboon. The story goes that Macboon challenged a superior wizard to a fight and got permanently disfigured by a transfiguration spell in a duel. His opponent hadn't realized that his transfigured opponent had only grown more lethal in that state, and Macboon killed the other wizard before he ate him, leaving nothing but bones." The hair on the back of Michael's neck stood up at the imagined scene, "I really would recommend your father change your assignment, this isn't a beast for rookie hunters to tangle with."

Heron pulled an arrow from his quiver and pointed it at the side of Michael's neck. He felt Claire's blue flames erupt around her, and the faintest hint of fear crossed Heron's face before he forced his lessened threat from his lips, "Never, call be a new hunter. I may be young, but I am my father's son, and I am no rookie."

"Drop the arrow Heron," Michael said, "I won't be able to stop her if she decides to burn you to a crisp. I also didn't say that you weren't capable or that I wouldn't help you, I just meant to imply that rushing into this isn't a good idea."

Heron tucked the arrow back into his quiver and the heat from Claire's blue flames dissipated in response. "Now, from what I recall, the Quintaped has mild spell resistance and is incredibly agile despite how it looks. The problem is I don't know where it is. The good news is, I know someone who might. The worse news is, I don't think we'll be able to convince him to tell us without him tagging along." Michael glanced towards the hut that stood at the edge of the forbidden forest, "Let's go and meet our expert."

Heron grumbled the entire way to Hagrid's hut. Michael found it difficult to believe that the centaur at his back was Bane's son, yet, he knew from personal experience just how different a son could be from their father. The thoughts of his parents made his heartthrob, so often Michael tossed and turned in his sleep. Had he made the right decision? Would his parents ever forgive him? Those thoughts plagued him, but he couldn't give them any time; Michael didn't have time for unproductive thoughts.

His knuckle tapped the wooden door of Hagrid's hut. From the corner of his eye, Michael watched Heron jump at the sound of the heavy footsteps that approached the door. Claire had met Hagrid around the school, and even she looked a bit rattled at the size of the man that opened the door. Michael couldn't blame them, for those who didn't have a memory, like his, it was probably hard to remember just how large of a man Rubeus Hagrid truly was. The half-giant's black beetle like eyes blinked rapidly before a bright smile bursted across his face. "Michael! Good to see you lad! I didn't know you were back at Hogwarts!"

Hagrid turned towards Claire and smiled, "Ah, and Miss Belmont is with you as well. Where are my manners, let me fix you up a cup of tea, come in, come in." Hagrid's eyes widened at the presence of the Centaur behind Michael and he grinned even brighter, "Ah you must be Bane's son! You look just like your father, it might be a little cramped in here, but I can bring you out some tea if you like. Actually, the house is a mess anyone, why don't I just bring out the refreshments and we can all eat outside."

"Oh, um," Heron said a bit lost in the fanfare, "Thank you, sir?"

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Groundskeeper of Hogwarts," The Giant's outreached hand even dwarfed the centaurs as they shook politely before Hagrid hurried back into his hut.

"This man is our expert?" Heron asked, his jaw tightly clamped. "He, looks more like a fool than a professor."

"He's our expert alright," Michael said, "He's eccentric for sure, but there aren't many people in England that can compete with Hagrid when it comes to knowledge of Magical Creatures." Claire took a seat beside Michael on lowest stair on Hagrid's hut and Michael took her hand and kissed it softly before he looked back up at Heron. "I've been meaning to ask, actually, do centaurs normally send their kids to kill class five beasts to prove themselves?"

"I don't know, do humans always sent their young to fight in their wars for them?" Heron snipped back.

"Fair enough," Michael relented. Claire yawned and shivered from the cold breeze that danced in the night sky. Michael looked back at the castle. He longed for the warmth tucked inside that large fortress's grey walls. He longed for his bed in the Ravenclaw Dormitories, he longed for the fun riddles on the door, he even longed to see his Head of House, just to see some new faces that didn't want to kill them was an underrated gift in his knew reality.

Still, Neville's descriptions hadn't painted the prettiest picture of castle life. He sighed at the activity he knew must have been in full swing behind the castle walls, Hope your mission is working out, Scout. We're counting on you.

Michael turned at the creak of the door behind him and with pink apron and all, Hagrid scurried down the rapidly cleared steps hot tea, and hard rock cakes in hand. As quickly as he'd emerged he'd gotten to work on the handout of his refreshments. Michael took to the warm tea gladly, but passed on the cake. Hagrid was quite talented in the realm of tea, but as a baker, he needed some work. Heron, of course, denied both. To take anything, even refreshments from wizard-kind was a weakness in the eyes of a centaur. Michael only hoped that this stubbornness wouldn't lead to problems later.

"I take it you aren't just stopping by for a social visit, are yah?" Hagrid asked, his throat still layered with chucks of indigestible baked goods. "I know the fight with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't over yet, so what brings you here."

"His name is Voldemort, Hagrid," Claire corrected, "Don't be afraid of the name. Harry says it only leads to fear of the man." The French model sipped her tea swiftly, "You are correct though, we aren't here just to stop by. We've come to look for information."

"Information on what?" Hagrid asked curiously.

Heron stepped forward, rolled parchment in hand and flipped it open before the half-giant's bearded-face. "We're looking for information on this beast. I've been assigned with the great honor of being the one to slay it and bring honor to my colony. I've come only to ask you for it's location and then we will be on our way."

"Merlin's beard," Hagrid muttered, "Assigned to kill the Quintaped at your age, Bane must have great faith in you. Although, it saddens me to think you have to eliminate it. So much can be learned from even the meanest creatures if you just treat it with a bit of love."

"It will receive the embrace of my arrow's impact and nothing more," Heron huffed proudly. "Now tell me, Keeper of Keys, where can I find what I seek?"

Michael felt Hagrid's eyes on him and he figured he just explain to avoid further questions. He told the Half-Giant about the mission and how Claire and Michael had been assigned to the young centaur's side in order to promote a relationship between the centaurs and the Order. He told Hagrid of his promise to demand the centaurs receive better treatment from the ministry, and how he held them in great respect. The notion of the last remark brought a wide smile to Hagrid's face before he stood and made the earth tremble gently beneath him.

"Sounds like you've got a lot of work to-do, and I certainly don't wanna keep you waitin' too long, so I'll get into it. I'll tell you where the Quintaped is known to be, but I want a favor for it." Michael nodded, aware already of what the man was destined to ask. "I know you have to do what you gotta do, Heron, but before ya kill then Quinty, give me a couple minutes to observe it. I just want to get one real good look at it before it's gone for good."

"Fine, I don't care," Heron growled.

"Good!" Hagrid laughed. "From what I've heard, the Quintaped lives on the Isle of Drear, just at the north-most tip of Scotland. I'm sure I can arrange for a house-elf to get us all there in a jiffy. Just need to call my friend and we can be on our-"

"Northern-most tip of Scotland, Isle of Drear, thank you Hagrid, I will be on my way," Heron said.

"Wait, don't you want to just travel with us-," Michael said but stopped at the fiery glance in Heron's eyes.

"What my father sees in you, I'm not sure, but I have no interest in being involved with any magic. I will travel their myself and we will reconvene at this Isle of Drear. Simply await my arrival, or don't. If you die, I'll still complete the mission on my own."

Michael didn't even have a chance to say another word to the centaur before he sped off. Only a trail of cluttered snow remained where Heron once stood. "He certainly is pleasant," Claire said with a heavy roll of her eyes.

"He's just trying to live up to his dad's expectations," Michael said softly, "I know how stressful that can feel." Michael shook his head and turned back to Hagrid, "It's fine, he'll meet us there eventually. It can't hurt for us to get there a little bit early, figure out exactly what we're going to be dealing with here though. Heron's too proud to listen to reason in the heat of the moment, so if we're going to kill this Quintaped thing, we're going to need to make a plan."

"A real shame it'll be to put down such a beautiful creature, but if it's for the sake of Dumbledore's plan, I guess it can't be helped," Hagrid said, his eyes dripped with sadness. How Hagrid could even think of the Quintaped as a beautiful creature boggled Michael's mind, but he swallowed that swiftly.

"Come on," He said, his hand in Claire's, "Let's go. The quicker we get this underway, the sooner we can report some good news back to the Order."

Riddle Manor:

Carmilla sat upon her throne with a facade of coldness, though rage bubbled beneath her skin. Snape's corpse laid out on the table, split opened and flayed for her kin to feast on, and by within two weeks, the man was nothing more than a drained husk. How could a mere mortal have done that to her? How had she not been able to see through the man's betrayal? Even with the knowledge of his double-agent status, she'd fallen for his loyal facade. Her eye twitched at the man's last words, Harry Potter, she hissed, Damn you.

Her nails chipped the wooden armrests of her throne. Her cold-heart raced and pounded at the thought of the boy's cold, emerald green eyes. Her lungs compressed, and she snarled at her hand that trembled without her permission. The way that boy's magic flared when she'd poisoned the blonde bitch, it felt fiercer than even the Dark Lord's. She hated to admit it, but had it not been for Alucard's gift; she'd without a doubt have been dead, permanently.

Carmilla's teeth gritted against each other before she forced herself from her throne. She'd waited patiently; she'd tried to honor her bargain with the Dark Lord and treat his followers as her own, but she couldn't afford to wait anymore. Potter was a threat to their plan, and she knew better than to think she could stop him on her own. She needed the Dark Lord back, and the Death Eaters would follow her orders, or they would die.

Her heels clicked along the rug-covered wooden floorboards of the Manor. She wanted to sprint but held herself to a quickened and brisk- paced walk through the Manor's hall towards the den of the snake that reeked with Voldemort's magic. She hadn't been sure of it before, but the presence from the cup and the one that emanated from the snake were identical. The snake shared the cup's properties, and if the cup could have revived the Dark Lord, the snake would do just as well. She'd honored Jonathan's request to refrain from the snake option for a few weeks to give them time to search for another alternative, but none had arrived before her, and her allotted time was up.

Delphini's chamber rested along her path, but Carmilla couldn't afford to stop, though it almost hurt her not to. The child, though one of pure negotiation tactics, had intrigued her. Carmilla often found herself by Delphini's tank transfixed upon the silver-haired and hazel-eyed girl. Delphini was like a cake in the oven, and she was a child eager to indulge upon her. What power would the mixture of Alucard's line with the Blood of Voldemort create? It was a question that made her both salivate and feel sick. But there was no way to reverse what had happened. Delphini was formed, still growing, but formed; there was nothing else to do but wait.

Carmilla kept her impulse in check and marched past the room without a moment's waste. Her daughter's power wouldn't matter if Potter killed them all, and Voldemort was the needed deterrent to stop the raven-haired wizard's ability to foil her plan. Her sensitive ears twitched at the hushed whispers in the darkened distance; one of the voice made her body quake with fury.

"I won't help you," Kakaroff said meekly, "If Lady Carmilla were to discover who was behind the plot, then we'd both be killed."

"Carmilla can go fuck herself with a muggle cock!" Bellatrix hissed. "We are the Dark Lord's servants, not hers! And the Dark Lord would have all of us lay down our lives before we allowed any harm to come to that snake."

Kakaroff's voice was troubled. He was a weak man, but Carmilla liked weak men. They were easy to manipulate and keep in line. She decided to lay in wait in the darkness, the former Headmaster may have been in-line to earn himself a reward, and Carmilla would hate to have missed out on that chance. Though she wouldn't have minded if she had to administer a few punishments as well, Carmilla desired nothing more than a way to release her seething rage.

"I-I can't," Karkaroff stuttered, "Frightened as I might be of you, you're nothing compared to Carmilla. I won't help you."

"Oh, you will," Bellatrix hissed, "Let me in to get Nagini or you'll find I can be far more dangerous than that vampiric whore."

Carmilla smiled and emerged from the shadows, "Oh, is that so?" Carmilla's hands tightened and released in rhythm. A curled grin traced itself across her lips. "You know, I've always hated you, I'll enjoy this." Carmilla's eyes sharpened when she glared at Karkaroff, "Leave before I kill you in the crossfire and tell nobody else to approach. It appears I have to remind little Bellatrix here once more of the pecking order."

Bellatrix's eyes widened with rage and a flurry of red laced spells launched from her wand. Carmilla smiled at the pitiful attempt and simply phased through them, her wand not even in hand. Bellatrix shot yet another spell, though this one had a foul scent and green hue. Ah, the killing curse, Carmilla thought to herself before she took the blast head-on. "That was very cute."

"W-what?" Bellatrix stuttered, "But that was-,"

"Yes, I'm quite aware of what you attempted," Carmilla said, her voice sickeningly sweet, "But we pure vampires, direct descendants of Alucard himself, we operate by a different set of rules than you humans." In a flash, Carmilla blinked towards the foolish witch and wrapped her hand mercilessly around her throat. A gasp of pain crawled itself free of Bellatrix's lips from her slender frame's impact with the wall behind her.

"You said just now that you could be far more dangerous than me? Tell me, you worthless excuse for a witch, do you feel that way now?" Carmilla smiled at Bellatrix's fear-induced silence. "You know, we vampires, while capable of performing all the same spells you do, we have a whole plethora of spells mere wizards like your kind could never hope to use. Tell me, LeStrange, would you like to experience one?"

Carmilla watched the woman try to mouth a response, but she paid the witch no mind. Her nail dug into Bellatrix's torso before she hissed, "Sanguis Coit." For a second, only silence filled the halls, and then, a scream ruptured through LeStrange's compressed windpipe and rattled the Manor's walls. Carmilla only smiled at the tears of sheer agony that trickled down Bellatrix's cheeks. She couldn't blame the dark witch for her tears, though, the process that caused one's blood to curdle in their still fresh body; it was a pain like no other.

The witch could have screamed until her lungs launched out from her inside her; Carmilla didn't want to stop. Bellatrix had been the perfect remedy to her bad mood, and she savored the release when she twisted her finger deeper into the witch. She continued to press and make Bellatrix squirm; she'd had enough of Bellatrix's insolence. If the Dark Lord didn't discipline her the way she deserved, Carmilla would do so gladly. It was only when Bellatrix had lapsed into unconsciousness, and her screams no longer filled the air, did Carmilla finally let the girl fall limply to the ground.

She stepped over Bellatrix's battered frame like a pile of garbage and turned the handle into the sanctuary where the snake lived. The hushed slither of the snake through its miniature rainforest was not lost to her, but she had no time to play games. She waved her hand and summoned Nagini to her side. The snake hissed and lunged towards her, but its suspended and restricted mid-air animation made it little threat to anyone.

"Come, Nagini," Carmilla said, in a fake mimicry of her daughter's father, "I have use for you."

The snake continued her struggle, but Carmilla paid it no mind. There was a mild sadness in her heart, the snake was without a doubt quiet gorgeous in appearance, but she didn't have time to appreciate it. Her life, and the lives of her kin were on the line. A snake's beauty was inconsequential. Carmilla couldn't risk another Death Eater intervention in her plan, but thankfully, her servants had followed the process quite closely. It took her kin no longer than thirty minutes to replicate the conditions the Death Eaters had created weeks before. Of course, Greengrass' journal had been monumental in the reconstruction. Had Snape not soured her to the idea, she'd almost considered a reward of her blood to the most useful of the Death Eaters.

Her nose curled at the scent of the liquid that sustained Voldemort's essence. It smelled of putrid acid, but she hadn't needed to waste more time. A glimmer of fear glistened behind the snake's eyes. Carmilla wasn't a parselmouth, but she could almost hear the snake beg for mercy. She sighed and swished her hand so that Nagini rested just above the deposit hole to the preservation tank. "It is a shame that things have to be this way, your venom was quite effective, it'll be a shame to loose it's source, but there is no other way. Goodbye, Nagini."

Nagini tried to lunge at her, but even her long body couldn't reach Carmilla from her height on the platform. A hiss of agony erupted from Nagini when she hit the acidic potion, and without a moment's hesitation, her vampiric servants sealed the tank shut before they themselves sprinted from the platform. Carmilla stood still as a statue, though she did conjure a shield between herself and the preservation tank. Nagini's cries had turned silent and the hair on her neck rose at the black mist, thicker than an apparition cloud, that filled the rune-painted glass. The corpse of the snake had vanished completely, and the black smoke began to wrap itself around Voldemort's body that had levitated to the center of the tank.

The Riddle Manor shook from the power and a Carmilla's smile grew as wide as her eyes. The power she felt, it was beyond fathomable. With that power at her side, there was nothing in the world that could stop her. A scream erupted through the air, and the glass shattered into dust around the man. From the center of the now destroyed tank, a pair of red eyes gleamed at her with a mix of confusion, anger, and thanks. There was nothing to worry about anymore, the Dark Lord had returned.

A/N: Well, a lot certainly happened this chapter. From Neville's first steps into his plan and his creepy encounter with the Baron, to Michael's team going on the hunt, to the Dark Lord's return, a lot of pieces are on the move. What happens next though? Guess you'll have to wait and see. If you enjoyed this chapter, please be sure to Follow, Favorite, and Review! Until Next Time, Peace!