You Have Been Judged

They had parted ways with Harry and his team in Yerevan. The Floo to Van had been hastily established, across the international border, by a team of Russian Goblins, working in magical military engineering. Many casualties were brought back directly through it to be treated in Yerevan's hospitals, which were mostly intact. Muggles, the majority of them, magic being used to save their lives.

Hermione couldn't help but imagine that Grindelwald would have loved every minute of this. In fact, Narcissa's government would have brought at least grudging approval from him, in Britain, or at least she was convinced of it.

They had been in the city of Van before, in fact, they had been in this same hotel before, and when they arrived, it felt distinctly weird for Hermione. The idea of being in the same place more than once was somewhat novel at this point; she could count the number of places on her fingers that had any kind of permanency for her. Being in the field felt so much more normal.

The water of the lake remained just as inviting as it had the year before, but, across on the other side, sixty miles away and out of sight, was nonetheless the steady drumbeat of artillery. The brown mountains to the north and south, flecked with green and white, the fields that still had orchards and wheat around the cities—they might have all had a beautiful splendour, no, they did, but the dull crump on the horizon of big guns firing as fast as they could muted it. The looming presence of True Ararat to the west northwest was another reminder of precisely what they had come for, wavering slightly, as if some remnant of the power which had concealed it had remained—or perhaps it was a just a trick of refraction, from the sunlight glinting off the waters of the lake.

Bellatrix interrupted her, then, stepping close. "No use looking to the west. We know he's on the move. We know they're fighting for their lives. Let's have some tea," she insisted, and tugged Hermione away. There was a balcony, with the paint peeling, meant for tourists in better days.

Good enough. Bellatrix, Tonks, Luna, Hermione, and Lady Tamar. The elder woman had procured tea for them in the Middle Eastern style, with a little rub of herbs and a bit of sweetener—who knew what it really was, but it did the job, the tea blazing hot in the heat of the midday sun, as thick as syrup.

"Do you think it will really be long?" Tonks had assumed her normal shape, for now, but was still wearing the right clothes, to be ready in a heartbeat; to conceal them, she had tossed a barnous over herself, acquired from one of the tens of thousands of Arab refugees packing Yerevan, in a quick bargain. "I've heard that the 25th Army Corps launched a significant counterattack."

"No," Bellatrix shrugged, staring at her niece for a moment, and then refilling her demitasse teacup. "He won't regard the muggle operations as relevant. He'll push forward with his plan, whether or not he's in position. He… Is very intelligent, but not in ways that keep him from being predictable."

She rubbed her forehead, idly, with her gold hand, and Hermione couldn't resist the urge to reach out and brush her cheek.

Tonks looked at them almost quizzically. After a moment, it made Hermione flush.

"How the hell, Auntie Bella, did the Brightest Witch of Her Age ever follow a total fuckin' tosser of an idiot like Tom Riddle? Really?"

"I'll probably die wondering that myself," Bellatrix answered with her usual brutal honesty, and Hermione held her tighter.

A MinKol officer stepped up and saluted. "Field Marshal," he patently ignored the embrace, "we have information that a large detachment of Morsmordre Aurors have been pulled back to Voldemort's headquarters in Muş. And, the last orders, in response to the offensive by the 25th Corps, were to bypass Tatvan, and attack to the northeast. Finally, a very strong magical signature was detected passing through the wards on the front, about fifteen minutes ago."

"Thank you, Councillor. You're dismissed," Bellatrix answered, her eyes glimmering. "One more round of tea for us, all?"

Nobody dissented. They poured full the little glasses. It wasn't wine, but it would do. "Confusion to the Enemy."

They drank the toast, with tea that nearly burned the throat. And this time, Hermione took the time, to kiss Bella goodbye.

Back to Koschei's Palace. Larissa reflected on how it was the place all of this madness had started, which in the end, had led her to stand alongside the man she now loved. All of it had been set in motion by this encounter, by this place, by the palace with the red lights which still dimly glowed, under the veil of shadow above.

There had been a certain nervous silence, almost religious, which prevailed as they walked up to the palace. Harry was as tense as a man could be. Larissa certainly thought she saw the qualities in him, the courage, the eagerness to please, the suppressed ambition that boiled forth in some topics, and his loyalty to friends and family who returned to him even the smallest kindness, which had made him Hermione's friend in another life, another time.

It was enormously unfair to both Hermione and Harry—to be separated for years, where one of them grew and made changes and compromises to survive, and the other was sheltered in the veil of death, for better or worse.

But now they stood before the Distiches on the great door to Koschei's audience hall, to his burial-place, a mocking reminder of the vagaries of fate. Larissa delicately danced her wand through the translation spell which transmuted them into their native tongues, so the others who had not been there, could appreciate them for the first time.

Chernosvyat.

"When the Writing of Destiny is encountered

All scheming and hope fail before Fate

Allah has commanded the way to Anahit

Fall silent before the blows of the Faithful

Immortality is mine alone to claim forever

For I, fair supplicant, grasped the prize

Before the appointed hour of Fate

When the road to immortality closed

The difference between you and I is but

The difference which Fate hath decreed

Thus, supplicant, know my favours kind

and Know, too, that I hold no regret."

"Do you think it contains a clue?" Harry asked, looking up at the words.

Larissa had never thought of it like that before. She thought it was just an example of Persian poetry, reflecting on the vagaries of fate, that she herself had experienced.

"Well, start with the first line. If it's a clue as Lord Potter says-what is the Writing of Destiny?" Draco asked.

It was Ginny and Larissa, who had both been raised as Christians, who looked at each other. Ginny's eyes narrowed.

The two stepped forward together, with Ron on their heels, at Harry's side. Into the audience hall, before Koschei's throne, before Koschei's body. There, Larissa stood, and took a breath of the musty air, and pointed her wand toward the great empty wall to the south, which had on it only abstract blue frescoes and tesseracts, and flicked her wand through a sequence of unveiling. "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin!"

"Oh Dear Lord," Ron muttered, momentarily astonished and a bit horrified that Larissa had just done that, said those words in a spell. The Black Court of Koldovstoretz, indeed we are those who know no fear, Larissa thought with the proud confidence of someone who forever would face risk bravely.

The wall glowed red with the infamous words from the Bible, the Supreme Proclaimation which foretold the end of Belshazzar's reign over Babylon.

Koschei rose from his grave, the holes in his skull, his eye-sockets, glowing blue, tattered and mummified flesh on his bones, the enchanted corpse of the Undying.

Harry gasped, and levelled his wand, with Ron and Ginny too.

But Larissa turned toward him, and bowed. "M'Lord."

An unearthly laugh echoed through Chernosvyat. It didn't precisely come from Koschei, but it was there. "Are you not some truly clever witch? How did you know?"

"You had the time to enchant yourself with your dying breath, to carry your own memories. It was clear, My Lord, that you have a wit, and why would you not acknowledge that your own Distiches had come back to claim you? The Hand had written out your Destiny, too. Fate is a Mistress who claims us all. It was as it was for Belshazzar; Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin. You were a man who dared great things, and was found wanting by God. Why?"

"Is he… Alive?" Harry asked softly.

"No, it's just like a portrait," Ginny whispered.

"I dared the Lake of Anahit, before that damned eunuch closed the door."

"We understand that there is also a night road to Ararat, however," Larissa replied. "What do you know about that?"

"Hah! Hah! The night-road is the road to Azi Dahaka, you see. But Azi Dahaka will forever be held in check by the Lake of Anahit. In the most ancient times of the Golden Age of Mankind, the lake was made by the ancient Powers of this world, to hold Azi Dahak in check. One as a Goddess, fought at the side of the three worthy Persian heroes, this is the truth."

"Anahita herself walked in battle against the monster," Larissa murmured, her eyes narrowing. "You mean that someone cannot claim the Power of the Lord of Ten Thousand Serpents, because the lake exists?"

"Well – unless they destroy the lake first," the enchanted corpse laughed again. "But you cannot ascend the night road to the Lake to destroy it if you are the servant of Azi Dahaka. You must walk the Light Road. The temple and the priests will stop you… All the more, that bitch has put an eternal gate in the road."

"The Room of Requirement in the Temple. So you cannot use the gate between the Lake and the Door if you are a servant of the Serpent beyond the Door? The Darkness Between the Stars?"

"You cannot. I was seduced, and I failed. Such is fate. But I claimed my centuries despite it. What will you do, sojourner?"

"Live fearlessly, and die bravely," Larissa answered, "having lived and loved and laughed. They will not write the kind of poems about me that they write about you. But I will be more glad for it. You mean we do not need to spare or kill the one who serves Azi Dahaka, as long as the lake remains intact?"

He just laughed. "Let's see if fate will treat your effort kindly, witch."

Whatever else was not for this conversation, not for what Koschei had seen fit to leave behind.

"You claimed my riddle," the enchanted corpse then proclaimed, more like a recording track than a living thing. "What shall you have for it? Be careful what you ask for, witch."

"An answer to three questions only, My Lord."

"Ask a question, receive an answer!"

"Is your herd of cattle descended from Barmāyeh, My Lord?"

"Yes."

"What is the power that Barmāyeh had over Zahhak, that her milk prepared a Prince to defeat him?"

"None."

Larissa frowned. This was all very useful, but was it pointless? As long as we defend the lake from Voldemort, can we … The Ox-Headed Mace. Such as the most direct translation of Barmāyeh, Larissa remembered.

Be careful how you ask your last question. Koschei left his simulcra to be careful. You wanted an answer about how to defeat Voldemort, if he has made himself the servant of Azi Dahaka. But he gave you an honest answer to the real meaning of the question. That is all you are owed under your agreement.

Guess. Dare. Be specific.

"If Barmāyeh nurtures weapons against Azi Dahaka, how is it done?"

"The cow drank the Water of Life."

Anahita's power. The Water. The Lake. A man takes in the warrior spirit of the goddess. "Truly, even in Death, you are Great, My Lord!" She offered in solicitation, and bowed again.

The eyes of the corpse went dark, and like strings were cut, it fell back to the divan, though without injury to the mortal remains.

Harry stepped closer. "What does that mean, Larissa?"

"You need to get to the lake, and drink the Water of Life. And the weapon which stops Voldemort must be – something that was forged or tempered in it. The cattle are only important because they drank Anahita's water. We may go, and we don't have much time. If he destroys the lake, he will unleash Azi Dahaka's power at his command, and enslave the world to his will. But to destroy the Lake, he must walk the night road, and then walk the day road. And Elahaïs stands in the Night Road, and it will be up to Hermione and Luna to figure her out. But I have to say, Lord Potter, thank you. I understand why Hermione is your friend," she grinned. "You rather economically asked just what we needed, when we needed it. Now let's go, and pray our friends are just as successful."

"We should milk the herd, just to be sure," Ginny offered.

Larissa frowned, but nodded once. They had the time, if barely, to cover their bases.

The Dead Room of Requirement. It still sent shivers down Hermione's spine, that she was literally inside the Earth when within it, that the Earth was around her and inside of her, and that she was only not entombed, no, fused with the Earth, solely because Elahaïs decided to permit her to live, inside of the cubical bounded box, which provided to Elahaïs whatever her ghostly heart and mind decided she wanted (going back through the conversations she had with Elahaïs, 'her' seemed best, for the moment at least).

It was like having a conversation with someone when they had a guillotine fixed into place above your head.

For all that, Elahaïs was very polite and very correct. She had been before, and this time, she was, again.

The feminine eunuch greeted them with a bow, and insisted they set, before a low table, where Elahaïs poured out tea for them into little cups, which satisfied them even though it was as dead as the room. Such had been Elahaïs' Requirement, and so it was done.

A smile, from a face that had learned to lie and prevaricate at a young age, as a matter of survival. Hermione knew to be careful, though Luna, who had previously been threatened at wand-point by this woman, smiled kindly to her as if that past had been nothing at all.

Elahaïs smiled so sweetly at the individuals who looked like Hermione, Luna… And Bellatrix. "Hermione. Luna. Lady Nymphadora Vulpecula Tonks-Remus-Black."

"Oi, you fucker!"

"I was invariably the one being fucked," Elahaïs answered drolly, with a pithy dapper wit.

Hermione couldn't help herself, and laughed.

"Enjoy your tea," Elahaïs raised a cup. "So, you return, and when the hour is late. Your erstwhile Dark Lord is walking the Night Road."

Tonks immediately froze at that. "So he's going in, now?"

"Oh yes."

Hermione put a hand on Tonks' shoulder. "We were expecting it. We were preparing for it."

"We should try to cut him off, pin him in place, though. If Auntie Bella and Lady Tamar succeed we can finish him then and there. We both know how the game is played. Sometimes when an opportunity presents itself, you have to take risks."

"There's no harm in him walking the Night Road by itself; he will just enslave himself, he will complete the deal. Oh, he will bring power to the world, but it is not the kind of power which cannot be easily defeated. Not like during the first war, when Zahhak ruled for a thousand years of darkness."

"Is there a threat?" Hermione finally asked.

"Do you want there to be one?" The eunuch shrugged idly, and poured out more tea for them all. "I was more worried about the temptation of Bellatrix Black, but she seems, fortunately, the kind of person who follows another to Hell, but won't start down the road herself."

"Bellatrix would never…"

"The promise of saving her daughter, of saving you, of saving the world? It's such a small price to pay. Azi Dahaka doesn't care about a world; he would surely destroy Earth, if he came in contact with it, but he is far away, and does not care. It's sapient beings who create doors, in their lust for power or pride or beauty—immortality, whatever have you. Azi Dahaka is a reasonable party, as the Cosmos goes. Give a measure of your soul to the Darkness Between the Stars, receive back a measure of its, his power. The price is only your own insatiable thirst for souls, but this can at least be quieted with a regular stream of sacrifices … I have had visions, my dear Hermione Granger, of the tens of thousands of worlds which groan under their reasonable trade, keeping Azi Dahaka sated in the times between his encounters with planets… On those tens of thousands of worlds, a man like Zahhak rules, and sacrifices some of the people, sacrifices their souls to Azi Dahaka… While live among the elite, the chosen, continues. A civilisation can still do wonderful things, when it is enslaved to Azi Dahaka. The ninety percent who are held as cattle, to develop immortal souls for His consumption, ahh… But there are the ten percent, the ruling elite, the soldiers, the nobles, the descendants of the family members… Bellatrix could have ruled as the Immortal Dread Empress of Earth for a hundred thousand years, and Delphini could have been gifted with a million descendants, all prosperous. For the small price of a measure of human sacrifices each year, from a muggle population managed to provide these. That is what Zahhak managed—a Thousand Year Reich far more horrifying than the one you are thinking of in your mind… And it's all for nothing." Elahaïs shrieked and laughed. "It's all for nothing. Probably, life on a planet will live and grow and die over billions of years, over countless of aeons, over many cycles of the Ages. It will never be extinguished by Azi Dahaka. But if, in his mad, random meanderings through the Darkness Between the Stars, he comes across a planet? Every living thing on it is instantly extinguished. He doesn't care whether or not you are his servant then. He's not capable of caring, or even thinking in those terms. Tens of thousands of worlds sacrifice souls to him, but their odds of the cosmic accident of a direct encounter are no better or worse than those of the worlds which, as our's did, resist the impulse and the temptation to grant him power. He simply meanders onwards, uncaring, through the Dark madness of the night. It's Man who seeks him out, in all our thousands of sapient expressions… We create these hells, for nothing." Elahaïs slapped the table. "But. It can seem like a very good idea at the time. With that power, Bellatrix would have been almost unstoppable."

"She would never. Azkaban left irons in her soul. She would never hand someone over to a Death equal to the Kiss of the Dementors."

"Dementors, ahh, now there's a story…" Elahaïs grinned, nastily. "Dementors are what's left your soul when Azi Dahaka or one of his bonded servants consumes it. All the Dementors presently on Earth, were once innocent young men, sacrificed to Zahhak."

Tonks made a retching noise of aghast horror.

A giggle, from the eunuch. "A soul, after all, is immortal, and how is it ooh, I find such neat things in your mind," the eunuch winked to Hermione, and broadly let it out that here, she could easily practice Legilimency on them, without making them aware of it, "so this is how it goes yes? 'That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die'. How strangely appropriate: Welcome to the life of a Dementor, if you can call it that."

Blanched in horror at the implications of that apocalyptic nightmare, Hermione felt sick to her stomach. "Does that mean, Amycus Carrow…" She barely forced herself to whisper, in a hoarse voice.

"Do you want me to lie to you?"

Luna reached out and hugged Hermione, gently, while looking intently at Elahaïs. "Don't be so mean to her. You'd have done the same thing in her place," she said, raptly looking at the eunuch.

"I would have. It had to be done," Elahaïs agreed without hesitation. Hermione felt her nausea abruptly lift.

"I don't want you to soil the carpet," Elahaïs remarked a hair snidely, and then continued. "The door would have otherwise stayed open until it found someone to receive its power. And without the Lake of Anahit above, it could have consumed the entire world, through a Door left open, with none to tend it."

"So, Voldemort… He has to face the Lake, first?"

"He does… He must destroy it, after he has pledged himself to Azi Dahaka. That is why I say there is no harm in what he is doing now. And when he tries to destroy the Lake, he must walk this road—Right. Through. Here. So I will face him, Rabdos to Rabdos, as finely as if I were still alive."

"But you can't defeat him, can you?" Luna asked, probingly.

"No. But, it's easy enough to obtain. A weapon fresh with the water of life may disable him. Open the door a little, and send him through to his new master. The door will remain closed until another is mad enough to begin to flirt with his power. But you cannot kill him; do that, and the door may yaw open."

"Then I'll dip my wand in the lake and hit him with a stunner right after," Tonks answered, her hair flickering to turn red despite still looking like Bellatrix.

"If you dip your wand in the lake right now, it will be useless by the time he comes. And I don't intend to be defeated. Just because I cannot finish him does not mean I cannot stop him."

"Is that why you didn't tell us?" Luna looked with blue eyes so sharp, under blonde hair that was so gentle, a lilting summer maiden, who saw and knew far more than any mortal should. "That you wished to be the Victrix, after all these years of suffering and waiting? Is there more?"

Elahaïs froze, and then glared at her. "The problem," the eunuch allowed, "is that the mountain is a volcano. The power of the Goddess has always kept it in check, but as her veneration in the world waned, the lava has surged closer to the surface. I have determined there is a risk…"

"He doesn't need to walk the Light Road. He could trigger the eruption by influencing geochemical processes, and destroy the Lake without defeating you. So you need our help."

"I do."

Hermione listened to Luna and Elahaïs talk, but she could only think of Amycus Carrow, vanishing in a flash of black light.

"...So, what happens if Voldemort still has a horcrux?" Tonks asked.

Oh. Problem.

Lady Tamar, though her hair had gone grey, was otherwise quite hale and healthy for and eighty-five year old. She spent the trip lightly teasing Bellatrix about the fact the younger woman had immediately insisted that wouldn't see herself go grey until ninety, such as the strength of the Black family blood. The Dadiani, after all, had married muggle nobility, and the Black had not.

It was something of a bond, though Lady Tamar had gotten Bellatrix solidly, when she had, admittedly, committed the strategic mistake of bringing up the fact Tamar was older than her husband.

"I don't think you ever get to bring that up again," she had remarked in her accented English, and that had been that. It was true. Bellatrix, who didn't much like thinking of her age, oftentimes forgot just how much older than Hermione she was.

Bellatrix had carried on like a good sport. Tamar had her dead by rights.

They had disapparated near Muş, at the exact same moment that Hermione and her group should have disapparated near the pomegranate orchard, before the Temple. Departing from the same location in Van, if timed right, their signatures through the field-wards hastily established by the Morsmordre Aurors, should be at least somewhat confused.

Now they crept closer toward the headquarters that Voldemort had established in the city. Their banter had fallen away into silence, they were both experienced at this most deadly game, after all.

The city around them was deathly silent and very still, and they both imagined what had happened, but didn't see the need to bring it up. Only the sound of the artillery in the background on the front broke what would have otherwise been a deathly stillness. Even the Morsmordre soldiers on guard duty in the streets were quiet and nervous, and the reason for that was soon made very clear, as they approached the headquarters which had once been a university—Inferi were drawn up, standing silently, waiting orders from the Master who controlled them.

A few Morsmordre Aurors paced beyond them, also looking uncomfortable.

They found themselves hiding behind a concrete loading dock, eyeing the main building.

"This could hours to search for even a giant snake," Tamar remarked, at last, her eyes warily flicking to the group of Inferi. "Do you have another idea?"

"Yes," Bellatrix answered. "I speak Parsel—but not truly. Parsel is a magical language, and the last of the Heirs of Slytherin who could speak it truly are… Well, Voldemort, and my daughter. Say, my daughter is transformed into a snake, I can speak to her, because she's not a true snake, who can only be spoken to by someone of the magical blood lineage. Nagini is a Maledicta. Different than a simple transformation, if it wasn't, someone could just heal her, after all. She can sort of understand my Parsel, but hates it, like nails grating across a chalkboard. A true snake, born such, won't react at all. So how about I introduce myself, and we head to wherever there's a commotion."

"Those Inferi may be enchanted to attack anyone in the area; as soon as we create a commotion, they may set upon us."

"Then blow them up first. If we're going to make a commotion at all, a bigger commotion is best." Bellatrix winked and shrugged. As far as she was concerned it was true, anyway.

Tamar muttered something under her breath, like she were dealing with a particularly recalcitrant child, and fingered her wand. "You amplify your voice, and speak in Parsel. I'll deal with the Inferi."

"Gotcha." Bellatrix winked, and then, with her crooked wand held lightly at her side, leapt up onto the concrete of the loading dock, and began to speak in a croaking hiss of utterly unnatural sounds, as she silently cast the amplification spell on her speech.

...And was rewarded with the violent sound of a hiss and a thrashing snake sending a surprised Morsmordre Auror falling out of a window, defenestrated by the abrupt discomfited spasm of the massive Nagini.

Several of the other Aurors on patrol stared dumbly at the falling man, as he toppled down and snapped like a loosely stuffed doll against the side of an abandoned, rusted out and garbage filled rubbish bin.

Then they looked to Bellatrix. Behind them, the Inferi began to turn and move.

She waved.

Tamar leapt up, and hit the group of Inferi with an Incendiary Bombarda shot. The quadrangle of the campus literally exploded in flames.

An emergency siren began to howl over the distant roar of the cannonade.

Bellatrix, laughing, lunged up the side of the building for the broken window. Game on.