Author's Notes: This is a long chapter, but you're not to get your hopes
up, it won't be this long every chapter.
Disclaimer: See part one.
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Darkness fell. Harry and Nathalie donned their cloaks, fastening the silver skull fastenings. Her hair had been neatly brushed and re-plaited into two plaits. She wore her special earrings, silver skulls, and a dark dress instead of her usual, more practical, trousers. Harry had made an effort to flatten his hair, and he too wore dark clothes.
They paused by the great front door of the Manor, and Harry smoothed an errant strand of Nathalie's hair behind her ear.
"Be good, cherie," he warned her. "You won't like what happens in the Hall." He was pale, but so was she, and she nodded resolutely. Harry's mouth twisted - for a moment he was going to smile - but then his fear caught up with him, and he became grave again. "Don't be afraid," he told her. "Nothing will happen to you."
"But will something happen to you, Papa?" she asked quietly. His guilty face betrayed him, but he said nothing. "Papa..."
"I'll be fine, Nathalie," he assured her. "And we don't have a choice, remember?" His eyes lifted. Draco was standing at the top of the stairs, watching them with a carefully neutral expression. "Hold on a moment, cherie." He moved closer to Draco, standing a few steps up.
"When will - will you be coming back?" Draco asked quietly.
"That's two questions," Harry accused softly. "Which do you want an answer to, Draco?"
Draco shrugged. "Either. Both. You decide."
"The hearing will last several hours, I think."
"I see." Draco's eyes flickered for a moment, then he descended the stairs until he was on the step above Harry. "Here." He pressed something into Harry's hand, then disappeared up the stairs again. Harry looked down at the small, metal object, and managed a dry chuckle.
*At least I know that Draco still has a sense of humour.* He slid the ring onto its old finger. It felt a little odd, after nine years, but familiarly comfortable at the same time. Then he turned back to the front door, where Nathalie was patiently waiting.
"Come on, cherie," he said, feeling a little less afraid. "Let's go."
They slipped out of the Manor. The night was cool, and in their cloaks they might as well have been shadows. They made for the small family graveyard that lay on the other side of the wood. It was from there that they would be able to reach the Hall. It didn't take long to get there. Nathalie kept close to Harry; although she had spent too long in darkness and shadows to be scared of the walk through the wood, a hand kept on drifting over her head, a hand that she couldn't see.
She knew that meant it had to be the Others, but she didn't want to worry Harry with it.
They entered the graveyard. The spirits of Malfoys glared at them accusingly, but the Necromancers ignored them. They walked swiftly to the centre of the graveyard.
"Hold my hands, Nathalie," Harry instructed. She took his hands, taking the opportunity to covertly examine his new ring. "Concentrate. Remember what the Hall is. What we are."
Nathalie closed her eyes and obeyed. Harry, after making sure she was doing what he had said, closed his eyes and opened his mind. The swirling currents of death and necromancy whirled around them, and they were caught up in it, separated but for their firmly clasped hands. Then they landed, and opened their eyes. They were in the Hall of the Necromancers. Nathalie let go of her father's hands, and they looked around themselves.
The Hall was huge, even larger than the Hall of the Creators, although it was built out of a dark stone that created shadows. It stretched up almost higher than the eye could see, and it was as long as several Quidditch pitches.
Unfortunately, Harry and Nathalie had landed at the wrong end of the Hall. They could see the other Necromancers, dressed as they themselves were, gathered together at the other end of the Hall. With a sigh, Nathalie doggedly began walking. Harry quickly caught up with her, swept her up into his arms, and carried her down to the other Necromancers.
"You're late," snapped one of the Necromancers, a tall black man who wore his hood up. Harry glared at him.
"Some of us, Marc, have other concerns," he retorted. "You do know what the Others are doing?"
"Of course we do," said the woman called Robyn softly. "That is among your charges also." Harry's eyes glittered dangerously, but he nodded. Another of the women, Jessica, turned away, and with a flick of her wand a table and chairs appeared. Nine chairs on one side, and a tenth chair facing them.
"Sit down, everyone," she invited. The Necromancers did so, and Harry unwillingly sat down facing them. Nathalie hovered beside him.
"Nathalie, take your place with us," Rachel ordered. Nathalie glared.
"No," she said firmly. "I'm with my Papa." The Necromancers looked grim.
"You can hardly expect otherwise," Harry tried to appease them. "She's only nine. Not even old enough to sit in on a hearing."
"Then you should have left her behind," Marc snapped.
"Silence," thundered one of the men, Mika. "This is not about petty squabbles. We are here to listen to the charges against Harry." He glared around at his fellows. "And we *will* hear the charges," he continued. "Rachel, as the accuser, you have the right to read them."
Rachel, seated near the middle, picked up the piece of parchment. "Harry Potter," she read, "Necromancer and wizard, member of the Order of the Phoenix, Order of Merlin first class." Harry flinched. He knew that when a Necromancer's full titles were read out, it spelled bad news. "You are charged with gross negligence of your duties as a Necromancer; with conducting a sexual relationship with a Creator - specifically, with the Creator of the Others. You are also charged with distracting the Creator of the Others, to the effect that those beings called the Others have been allowed to evolve beyond their natural and fitting state and are now threatening all lands." She lowered the parchment, her eyes fixed coolly on Harry. "What say you to these charges?"
Harry took a breath, and began to speak. He was stopped by a flash of light in front of him. He blinked several times; Nathalie leant into him, a little scared. The Necromancers all looked a little confused.
Then the light vanished, leaving four shining beings in its place. The Creators.
Harry groaned.
Several of the Necromancers rose. One of them, a tanned woman called Celeste who looked as though she'd prefer to be asleep than conducting a trial against Harry, frowned, confused.
"Honoured Ones," she said uncertainly. "May I - "
The Creator of the Living, Is, stepped forward. "We are here to oversee this trial," it said calmly. "It concerns us, and it is our right."
"You have the right," Celeste agreed, sitting down again. She tugged Mika down as well. Chairs came into existence at either end of the table; Harry watched with barely concealed distaste as Was lead Is to his right, and Never took Ever to the chairs on his left.
Then Rachel repeated her question: "What say you, Harry?"
Nathalie put an arm around Harry as he again took a breath. "Guilty," he muttered. "I'm guilty as charged." His eyes flicked to Never for a long moment, then back to the accusing Necromancers, who were all silent. "Well? I've admitted it, what more do you want?"
"We wants your reasoning for this," spoke a small man from the end of the table. "You must surely have known the consequences of your actions." He, too, glanced at Never. "Both of you must have."
"It is not on trial," Harry said warningly. "I am."
"Yes, you're on trial," snapped Marc. "Don't try to threaten us, Harry."
"Don't yell at my Papa!" Nathalie stomped her foot. "Aren't you supposed to be impartial?"
Ever stirred. "The girl is right," it observed serenely. "Be so good as to leave personal grudges outside the Hall, Toby and Marc." The Necromancer reluctantly nodded. "Continue," Ever encouraged.
"As you have pleaded guilty," Celeste began, "all the remains is for a punishment to be decided upon." She shot a glance at the small man at the end. "Despite what Toby may want, we do not have the right to ask your reasoning."
Toby snorted. "You don't think so, but I say we do, Celeste," he retorted. "His actions are having repercussions as we speak - you know what the Others are doing!"
"Yes, and they're doing it mostly to me," Harry spoke up mildly. "So perhaps you could get your heads out of your arses and sort yourselves out?" From his right came a cough; Was was attempting to cover its laughter.
"Thanks for that, uh, observation, Harry," Jessica began wryly. "However unsuitable your wording may have been, the sentiment was right. What punishment is fitting?"
"I say they shouldn't see each other anymore - personally, I mean," spoke up the woman who had remained silent so far. "That would rectify the situation with the Others, and it's a punishment. What do you think?"
"I agree with Robyn," Toby spoke up. "That seems a fitting punishment for the relationship."
"All in favour?" Jessica inquired. There was a chorus of ayes. "And against?"
"Me!" Nathalie piped up, drawing a grim laugh from Rachel.
"And for the negligence?" Mika inquired. "What punishment for that?"
"Take away his rights," Marc said loudly. "He's used our power for his own ends, so take away his rights."
"Unacceptable," Celeste spat. "We don't have the power, much less the right, to take away Harry's rights." She glared at the other Necromancers. "Ban him from entering the Spirit Lands for a few weeks," she said finally. "Stop him from talking to spirits. That is the more traditional punishment - and the one that is most fitting!"
They cast a vote, with Harry observing with detached curiosity. Finally Rachel rose.
"Harry Potter, you are hereby banned from seeing the Creator of the Others in a personal relationship. You are banned from entering the Spirit Lands for a time of one moon cycle, and you may not speak to or see spirits for two weeks." She brought down her hand, fist clenched, and her silver ring banged on the table. "This hearing is over."
Harry immediately rose and started walking to the other end of the Hall. Nathalie, after a moment's confusion, followed him with a cry. The Necromancers silently watched him go. The Creators rose. Was, Is and Ever disappeared, but Never, with an almost scornful glance at the Necromancers, followed Harry, finally catching up with him at the other end of the Hall.
"Harry - Harry, wait."
Harry swung around, his face so carefully blank that Nathalie, catching her breath at his side, winced.
"What?" he demanded. "You heard them. I can't see you anymore, Never. You may be allowed to go against them, but I'm not - and I don't want to."
Never blinked. "You mean you don't want to be with me," it said slowly. "Is that what you're saying, Harry?"
Harry threw up his arms. "Why do I have to know what I want?" he demanded. "Look, right now, it's not a possibility. So why don't you just go and concentrate on your Others like you're supposed to?"
"Because I care about you," Never snapped. "I love you, dammit."
Harry started at the words that they had shied away from for six years. Then he looked down at the ring resting on his hand.
"No," he said dazedly. "No, I don't think you can love, Never. And I don't think I can love you." He turned to leave, one hand reaching out for Nathalie's. When her hand didn't clasp his, he looked down at where she had been a moment ago.
Then he looked around, sudden panic filling him. Then he stretched out his magic as far as he could.
Then he screamed his rage and pain.
She was gone.
The Others had taken her.
And Harry was banned from the lands of the spirits.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To be continued.
Disclaimer: See part one.
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Darkness fell. Harry and Nathalie donned their cloaks, fastening the silver skull fastenings. Her hair had been neatly brushed and re-plaited into two plaits. She wore her special earrings, silver skulls, and a dark dress instead of her usual, more practical, trousers. Harry had made an effort to flatten his hair, and he too wore dark clothes.
They paused by the great front door of the Manor, and Harry smoothed an errant strand of Nathalie's hair behind her ear.
"Be good, cherie," he warned her. "You won't like what happens in the Hall." He was pale, but so was she, and she nodded resolutely. Harry's mouth twisted - for a moment he was going to smile - but then his fear caught up with him, and he became grave again. "Don't be afraid," he told her. "Nothing will happen to you."
"But will something happen to you, Papa?" she asked quietly. His guilty face betrayed him, but he said nothing. "Papa..."
"I'll be fine, Nathalie," he assured her. "And we don't have a choice, remember?" His eyes lifted. Draco was standing at the top of the stairs, watching them with a carefully neutral expression. "Hold on a moment, cherie." He moved closer to Draco, standing a few steps up.
"When will - will you be coming back?" Draco asked quietly.
"That's two questions," Harry accused softly. "Which do you want an answer to, Draco?"
Draco shrugged. "Either. Both. You decide."
"The hearing will last several hours, I think."
"I see." Draco's eyes flickered for a moment, then he descended the stairs until he was on the step above Harry. "Here." He pressed something into Harry's hand, then disappeared up the stairs again. Harry looked down at the small, metal object, and managed a dry chuckle.
*At least I know that Draco still has a sense of humour.* He slid the ring onto its old finger. It felt a little odd, after nine years, but familiarly comfortable at the same time. Then he turned back to the front door, where Nathalie was patiently waiting.
"Come on, cherie," he said, feeling a little less afraid. "Let's go."
They slipped out of the Manor. The night was cool, and in their cloaks they might as well have been shadows. They made for the small family graveyard that lay on the other side of the wood. It was from there that they would be able to reach the Hall. It didn't take long to get there. Nathalie kept close to Harry; although she had spent too long in darkness and shadows to be scared of the walk through the wood, a hand kept on drifting over her head, a hand that she couldn't see.
She knew that meant it had to be the Others, but she didn't want to worry Harry with it.
They entered the graveyard. The spirits of Malfoys glared at them accusingly, but the Necromancers ignored them. They walked swiftly to the centre of the graveyard.
"Hold my hands, Nathalie," Harry instructed. She took his hands, taking the opportunity to covertly examine his new ring. "Concentrate. Remember what the Hall is. What we are."
Nathalie closed her eyes and obeyed. Harry, after making sure she was doing what he had said, closed his eyes and opened his mind. The swirling currents of death and necromancy whirled around them, and they were caught up in it, separated but for their firmly clasped hands. Then they landed, and opened their eyes. They were in the Hall of the Necromancers. Nathalie let go of her father's hands, and they looked around themselves.
The Hall was huge, even larger than the Hall of the Creators, although it was built out of a dark stone that created shadows. It stretched up almost higher than the eye could see, and it was as long as several Quidditch pitches.
Unfortunately, Harry and Nathalie had landed at the wrong end of the Hall. They could see the other Necromancers, dressed as they themselves were, gathered together at the other end of the Hall. With a sigh, Nathalie doggedly began walking. Harry quickly caught up with her, swept her up into his arms, and carried her down to the other Necromancers.
"You're late," snapped one of the Necromancers, a tall black man who wore his hood up. Harry glared at him.
"Some of us, Marc, have other concerns," he retorted. "You do know what the Others are doing?"
"Of course we do," said the woman called Robyn softly. "That is among your charges also." Harry's eyes glittered dangerously, but he nodded. Another of the women, Jessica, turned away, and with a flick of her wand a table and chairs appeared. Nine chairs on one side, and a tenth chair facing them.
"Sit down, everyone," she invited. The Necromancers did so, and Harry unwillingly sat down facing them. Nathalie hovered beside him.
"Nathalie, take your place with us," Rachel ordered. Nathalie glared.
"No," she said firmly. "I'm with my Papa." The Necromancers looked grim.
"You can hardly expect otherwise," Harry tried to appease them. "She's only nine. Not even old enough to sit in on a hearing."
"Then you should have left her behind," Marc snapped.
"Silence," thundered one of the men, Mika. "This is not about petty squabbles. We are here to listen to the charges against Harry." He glared around at his fellows. "And we *will* hear the charges," he continued. "Rachel, as the accuser, you have the right to read them."
Rachel, seated near the middle, picked up the piece of parchment. "Harry Potter," she read, "Necromancer and wizard, member of the Order of the Phoenix, Order of Merlin first class." Harry flinched. He knew that when a Necromancer's full titles were read out, it spelled bad news. "You are charged with gross negligence of your duties as a Necromancer; with conducting a sexual relationship with a Creator - specifically, with the Creator of the Others. You are also charged with distracting the Creator of the Others, to the effect that those beings called the Others have been allowed to evolve beyond their natural and fitting state and are now threatening all lands." She lowered the parchment, her eyes fixed coolly on Harry. "What say you to these charges?"
Harry took a breath, and began to speak. He was stopped by a flash of light in front of him. He blinked several times; Nathalie leant into him, a little scared. The Necromancers all looked a little confused.
Then the light vanished, leaving four shining beings in its place. The Creators.
Harry groaned.
Several of the Necromancers rose. One of them, a tanned woman called Celeste who looked as though she'd prefer to be asleep than conducting a trial against Harry, frowned, confused.
"Honoured Ones," she said uncertainly. "May I - "
The Creator of the Living, Is, stepped forward. "We are here to oversee this trial," it said calmly. "It concerns us, and it is our right."
"You have the right," Celeste agreed, sitting down again. She tugged Mika down as well. Chairs came into existence at either end of the table; Harry watched with barely concealed distaste as Was lead Is to his right, and Never took Ever to the chairs on his left.
Then Rachel repeated her question: "What say you, Harry?"
Nathalie put an arm around Harry as he again took a breath. "Guilty," he muttered. "I'm guilty as charged." His eyes flicked to Never for a long moment, then back to the accusing Necromancers, who were all silent. "Well? I've admitted it, what more do you want?"
"We wants your reasoning for this," spoke a small man from the end of the table. "You must surely have known the consequences of your actions." He, too, glanced at Never. "Both of you must have."
"It is not on trial," Harry said warningly. "I am."
"Yes, you're on trial," snapped Marc. "Don't try to threaten us, Harry."
"Don't yell at my Papa!" Nathalie stomped her foot. "Aren't you supposed to be impartial?"
Ever stirred. "The girl is right," it observed serenely. "Be so good as to leave personal grudges outside the Hall, Toby and Marc." The Necromancer reluctantly nodded. "Continue," Ever encouraged.
"As you have pleaded guilty," Celeste began, "all the remains is for a punishment to be decided upon." She shot a glance at the small man at the end. "Despite what Toby may want, we do not have the right to ask your reasoning."
Toby snorted. "You don't think so, but I say we do, Celeste," he retorted. "His actions are having repercussions as we speak - you know what the Others are doing!"
"Yes, and they're doing it mostly to me," Harry spoke up mildly. "So perhaps you could get your heads out of your arses and sort yourselves out?" From his right came a cough; Was was attempting to cover its laughter.
"Thanks for that, uh, observation, Harry," Jessica began wryly. "However unsuitable your wording may have been, the sentiment was right. What punishment is fitting?"
"I say they shouldn't see each other anymore - personally, I mean," spoke up the woman who had remained silent so far. "That would rectify the situation with the Others, and it's a punishment. What do you think?"
"I agree with Robyn," Toby spoke up. "That seems a fitting punishment for the relationship."
"All in favour?" Jessica inquired. There was a chorus of ayes. "And against?"
"Me!" Nathalie piped up, drawing a grim laugh from Rachel.
"And for the negligence?" Mika inquired. "What punishment for that?"
"Take away his rights," Marc said loudly. "He's used our power for his own ends, so take away his rights."
"Unacceptable," Celeste spat. "We don't have the power, much less the right, to take away Harry's rights." She glared at the other Necromancers. "Ban him from entering the Spirit Lands for a few weeks," she said finally. "Stop him from talking to spirits. That is the more traditional punishment - and the one that is most fitting!"
They cast a vote, with Harry observing with detached curiosity. Finally Rachel rose.
"Harry Potter, you are hereby banned from seeing the Creator of the Others in a personal relationship. You are banned from entering the Spirit Lands for a time of one moon cycle, and you may not speak to or see spirits for two weeks." She brought down her hand, fist clenched, and her silver ring banged on the table. "This hearing is over."
Harry immediately rose and started walking to the other end of the Hall. Nathalie, after a moment's confusion, followed him with a cry. The Necromancers silently watched him go. The Creators rose. Was, Is and Ever disappeared, but Never, with an almost scornful glance at the Necromancers, followed Harry, finally catching up with him at the other end of the Hall.
"Harry - Harry, wait."
Harry swung around, his face so carefully blank that Nathalie, catching her breath at his side, winced.
"What?" he demanded. "You heard them. I can't see you anymore, Never. You may be allowed to go against them, but I'm not - and I don't want to."
Never blinked. "You mean you don't want to be with me," it said slowly. "Is that what you're saying, Harry?"
Harry threw up his arms. "Why do I have to know what I want?" he demanded. "Look, right now, it's not a possibility. So why don't you just go and concentrate on your Others like you're supposed to?"
"Because I care about you," Never snapped. "I love you, dammit."
Harry started at the words that they had shied away from for six years. Then he looked down at the ring resting on his hand.
"No," he said dazedly. "No, I don't think you can love, Never. And I don't think I can love you." He turned to leave, one hand reaching out for Nathalie's. When her hand didn't clasp his, he looked down at where she had been a moment ago.
Then he looked around, sudden panic filling him. Then he stretched out his magic as far as he could.
Then he screamed his rage and pain.
She was gone.
The Others had taken her.
And Harry was banned from the lands of the spirits.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To be continued.