Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

Responses to my lovely reviewers: tkmoore, oh, beautiful one, what can be said of your brilliance and might? nothing, I tell you, nothing that does either justice! Sunday-Morning, (faints over such a long, delicious review) you…are…a…goddess. divine and awesome and supreme…(sobs dramatically) I love you!! sillysun, thanks so much! love ya! morphed, thanks! I'm honored you would abandon homework for this! (gods, I'm such a bad influence…) :P bigreader, I'm glad that email helped, and thank you so much for reviewing! Michelle Marie Maire, thanks for reviewing, and I hope you like 'Unexpected', too! and behold celeste, lol! otaku sae, I totally agree about his hair (snickers), and I adore you for reviewing, as always! Flower4444, thanks, and nothing happened, I just have a strange mind, is all. lol MeghanBlack, thanks!! and that was quite creative. :P LEGOSGURL, thank you! GinRoseRaposo1, well, you get part of your wish, at least! and thanks! Haunted-Shadows, that he is, indeed! just wait! lol Pia O'Leary, thanks, and I can't say right now for secret reasons that you will discover soon enough, I promise! AnitaBlake/BuffyFan, I'm just happy you like it! thanks a million! me, I'm glad you liked that part! I cracked myself up with that, I must admit. and thank you for reviewing!!

Author's Note: I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

……………………………………………………………………………………

Anton glared at Celeste, thoroughly annoyed. He didn't know who he wished to strangle more, her or Cruoris. The latter he was almost sure was only doing this to be a pain in the ass, and the former…well, he didn't know where they'd gone wrong with her. It wasn't that she was unattractive, no, because she wasn't. Blond hair feathered around her elfin face, her brown eyes sparkled, and she was as lean and trim as Corpus herself, though she lacked the Princess's muscle tone. That was mostly do to the fact that she'd never so much as picked up a weapon of any kind, unless a bloody fucking sewing needle counted.

And she was…well, she was sweet. She constantly smiled, cheerful and pleasant at all hours of the day and night, and she still had the voice of a little girl. It was baffling, since she was a vampire, but her instinctual cruelty didn't even surface on the full moons. She took only bits of blood to keep herself alive, and wouldn't feed off of the slaves, saying that it was wrong to make them give such a thing. The only reason she was even still alive after breathing such stupidity was the fact that she always added that it was only wrong for her, since she was so much lesser than the others of the Court, no matter what her last name was.

He would have liked to argue that last point, but it was true. She was the closest thing to a light witch left on Terra, much to her parents' shame. And, to top even that off, she had the brainpower of a fucking slug. The utter lack of intelligence in her eyes still stunned him at times, and they were typically filled with no more than that good-natured happiness and a slight, constant confusion. She was even still a virgin at nearly two hundred, the games of the Court passing right over her, and she had never once called on darkness. She was the anomaly, the odd one out, and there was no way that she could hold the attention of one like Cruoris.

"What is it, my lords?" Celeste asked, slightly taken aback at opening her door only to find the three most powerful males in the Kingdom standing before her. Neither Anton, Ice nor Shadow said a word, and she pulled the door open father. "Come in, come in." She said, her sugary smile returning full force, and he resisted the urge to scream.

He really didn't like his sister.

"Now, what can I do for you, my lords?" She asked once they were inside and had refused her offer to sit.

"How do you even bloody know Cruoris?" Anton demanded, not fucking around with pleasantries. She paled, her hands started shaking, and she looked at the floor, not that she'd dared meet their eyes so much as once, anyway.

"I…" But she couldn't seem to speak properly, and so she started crying instead. Anton just stared, unable to believe, yet again, that this woman, no, this girl, shared his blood. She was just so…weak.

It was vaguely sickening.

"Fuck, Celeste, it was a simple question." He snapped, and she flinched. With tears still streaming down her cheeks, she tried speaking again.

"I…I m-met him o-one day in…in the k-kitchens." She finally said, and she burrowed into her chair like a frightened animal at that admission. Ice sneered.

"The kitchens? What in the bloody hell would either of you be doing there?" He asked, his voice as cold as his eyes.

"He…he was…I mean, I s-saw…" Her face turned a horrid crimson, her voice died, and Shadow whispered something into Ice's hair. Ice smirked, regarded Celeste for a moment, and then rolled his eyes.

"He was fucking Lee?" He supplied with more than a bit of amusement as her blush spread. "I'd forgotten they had a thing for the heat of it, or some such."

"Y-yes." She finally replied, gaining a semblance of control back.

"But what were you doing there?"

"I w-was…" She shot a fearful glance at Anton, before rushing on. "I was helping, I mean, I like to cook and they're always so busy down there, and I—"

"You were helping the slaves?" He cut her off viciously, and her trembling grew worse. "How many fucking times do we have to tell you…" He trailed off, utterly disgusted, and wondered why their parents hadn't just drowned her when they'd realized how useless she would be.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly, and he tried to remember that she was his sister, blood of his blood, so that he wouldn't snap and kill her. The weakness in her almost demanded it of him, and it grew harder every time he spoke to her. Cruoris was up to something.

"Fine. Now, explain why the Prince informed us of your betrothal. He told us of it just over a year ago, and we've managed to hold him off about it until now, just as we've managed to avoid this discussion with you as long as possible. But he says he will wait no longer, that he wishes to wed you before the next bridge goes up. Why? What could one as dark as he is see in you?"

"I…I don't think he sees anything, my lord." She replied after a minute or two, and he could see the grief it caused her. "He…he wants a child of our blood, and I am the only option to give him such, as you have only sons."

"And you've agreed to this?" Anton questioned, slightly incredulous. "You, who has never so much as tasted of another's flesh? You would consent to a cold binding?"

"It…it was my idea." She said after a few seconds, and Ice snarled. Turning slightly green, she looked at him nervously before continuing. "He wanted…he wanted to…to b-breed with me, and I said that I would never do such a thing until I was b-bound, not even for him, though I…"

"You what?" Shadow asked vehemently. "For all I see is a scared little witch whose deficiency is about tie our son to you eternally. Surely you realize that we will not let him ruin his life so by submitting to a loveless binding."

"But I…I do love him, your Highness."

And as Anton watched that love swirl up from inside her, filling those dull brown eyes with something besides stupidity, he felt the years melt away. There had been another set of mages in a situation all-too-similar at the end of the war, and their union had not been pretty. So many had tried to talk them out of it, had tried to save them from such a bleak fate, but the witch had been too consumed by affection and desire, while the wizard had been blinded by want of her blood. She had thought he would grow to love her, and he had thought it wouldn't be too bad, since he could still slake his lust with others. But they had been wrong, so very wrong.

The end of the war…yes, he remembered.

Begin Flashback:

It had all happened so quickly at the time. The discovery of Dumbledore's location, the final battle, the celebration and giddy success, Draco's disappearance, his finding of the abandoned monastery, his trek to Germany where Dumbledore had fled upon feeling McGonagall's death, the revelation that the old fool's mind had forced upon them all…It was a bitter way to end the war, a bitter, betraying way, and he hadn't thought, while he listened to Draco explain, that they would be able to recover from it. But then…gods, he'd only dreamed of such before. Royalty returned to the people, they were not leaderless after all, and Anton rejoiced.

The next few weeks were hectic, dedicated to getting everything in order and restoring the peace that had shattered months before, hell, years before. Never let it be said that the elite of the purebloods didn't do anything but order others around, because they all worked their fucking arses off during those long days and nights. They had an entire planet to settle and soothe, and the plans made before Voldemort's fall still held, those sitting upon the Thrones the only difference. Within a month, everything had calmed and the rebuilding was to start, as well as the formal formation of the Midnight Court. Two days before that ceremony, Ice slid into his rooms.

"Anton…" He called softly, seeing Pansy and Daphne sleeping, and Anton untangled himself from their warmth, padding silently to where Ice waited. He could barely see straight, completely fucked up from the massive amounts of spice he'd indulged in all night, but he managed to stay upright.

The King took his hand and pulled him down the hall, smirking, before throwing open the doors to his own chambers and dragging Anton inside. The doors shut behind them, and between one second and the next, he found his lips covered with frosty ones and he moaned. Still drugged to shit, that woke his mind up quickly enough, and he kissed Ice back hungrily as his back was slammed into the nearest wall. Chilled fingers traced over his bare chest and knotted in his hair, teeth nicked his tongue deliciously, and one of his legs was lifted in order to let Ice fit more perfectly between them. His hard length ground against Anton's, and the latter very nearly screamed.

Then Ice was slicing his own tongue open, and blood such as Anton had never even imagined crashed through him like unstoppable, ecstasy-inducing waves of sheer rapture and darkness. Every muscle relaxed, every nerve and vein was teased and taunted by it, and he felt as though he were going to burst, burst and die, and he'd never wanted anything more. Ice's hand slithered between them and under black silk, wrapping around him as ever more of that intoxicating hell slid down his throat, and he would have returned the favor, but he couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel and writhe and internally beg.

When he came, all he knew was the darkest bliss.

"Name a country." Ice whispered as he let them both sink to the thick furs at their feet. "Hell, name an entire continent, any that you desire, and it is yours, beloved."

"What?" Anton asked dazedly, his senses reeling and his mind little more than spicy, pleasured muck as the power of that blood changed him, strengthened him, indebted him ever farther to the High Royals.

"Your reward, love, your requital." Ice crooned, smoothing back his long, raven hair and kissing him once more with lips stained blue from Royal blood. "Tell me what place upon Terra you treasure the most."

"Europe, but not the Isles." He responded without thinking, still much too fucked up and out of it to be thinking anything like clearly, and he barely even understood what was being asked of him. What did it matter?

"Then it is yours."

That took a moment to sink in. "What?"

"Europe is yours, to do with as you wish." Ice replied, smirking as though he were the one being given such a gift, and Anton could do nothing but stare in foggy disbelief, contemplating if, perhaps, he was hallucinating. It had happened once or twice before. "Did you not think that we would repay you, dear one? Did you think that we would force you to serve at our sides forever?"

"But I—" Anton started to protest, until Ice kissed him again and he once more lost his train of thought altogether.

"The continent is yours but for the Isles, as requested. It's the least we can do, mon ami." Ice said silkily, and Anton let his head fall onto the other's shoulder as he attempted to process everything. He'd woken up, been immediately ravished, and was now being given thousands upon thousands of miles of the most beautiful land he'd ever seen. Forgive him if that was a bit staggering, even for him. But for what was he being so honored?

"For what?" Shadow asked as if Anton had spoken aloud, stepping from his namesake in a spill of black glory. "For what? For everything, what else?"

"But I haven't done anything." Anton pointed out, his scrambled thoughts still swirling wildly. Had they both finally finshed going mad?

"Surely you jest." Shadow sank down beside them, the picture of grace and constantly contained violence. "Ohhh, or perhaps not. I mean, all you've done is try your damnedest to keep our friendship and trust, to never fail us as so many others have. All you've done is fight for us, love us, and never once ask for anything in return. No, I see your point now. That's certainly not something to reward and cherish. How silly of us."

If sarcasm had a name, it was Shadow.

"But I do not need to be rewarded for such things." Anton argued as his mind slowly started working once more. "I was only doing what I wished to do, it was completely selfish really."

"Oh, yes, very selfish, indeed. And we are trying to give it to you, yet you…Fine, if you wish to be all difficult and bloody noble, then I will aid in your decision. We need someone there, and if you will not accept, then who should we send to rule that sacred earth?"

Anton blinked. "But I do not wish to le—oh." A new thought pushed its way through him, and it brought sorrow and agony hot on its heels.

"'Oh', what?" Ice asked, amusement lacing his tone. Anton drew away from him slowly, trying to shove this new, disturbing epiphany somewhere that he could later torment himself with it. Although, truthfully, it seemed to be doing a fine job of that all on its own.

"Nothing. I simply meant…It does not matter. I will leave on the morrow for Europe, your majesty." He said with his best courtly voice while wearing his best courtly mask, and then, though he would deny it to his dying breath if ever asked, he fled.

He was not proud of it, but there were very few things that could truly get to him and hurt, and no matter how irrational, he fled from one of them then. Because their rejection just might, no, it would break something fundamental within him, no matter how prettily they phrased it. If they wanted him away from them, then he would go, of course. But he didn't have to like it, no matter how much he loved the land that he was being banished to. For banishment it was. What else could it be? And what had he done to deserve to be cast away from them so? He could think of no crueler punishment as he sped blindly through the halls.

He reached his rooms with his mind in complete turmoil, and he forgot magic entirely as he threw clothes into a bag carelessly, followed by a sack of gold, a diamond the size of his fist that he wouldn't sell if his life depended on it, and a few other personal effects that had been given to him by those he cared for. He shrugged on a robe of the softest suede swiftly, threw the stained silk pajama pants into the corner, and laced his boots with shaking fingers. Braiding his hair proved altogether too difficult and required way too much concentration, though he could usually do it in his bloody sleep. Positively pathetic, he thought acidly.

It ended up in a messy ponytail that left several stray, wavy strands to tickle over his cheeks and down the front of his robe, but he simply couldn't give a damn if he looked less than perfect. Let the bloody Court hiss and whisper, he though venomously. Let them laugh over my fall from grace. They're not even a goddamn Court yet anyway! Grabbing his bag, he still had the sense to shrink it, and he froze, staring at his pale, black-nailed hand for a long moment. He didn't even think about using wandless magic anymore, he hadn't in a long time, it seemed. It had been one of the many privileges that had come from being favored enough to taste of their blood regularly.

But no more.

He supposed he couldn't resent the way that they'd gone about getting rid of him. It was just like Ice to give him a last, lingering taste before sending him on his way. He'd seen them do the same to countless others, but none that had stayed with them so long. That could be because no others have been with them as long, his treacherous mind supplied, but he blocked it out. If he obsessed over it now, he would come completely undone in the newly-forming Court's center. He had to get out of Morte Nera. It was the unofficial capital until the rebuilding began shortly, and the entire first, second and third circles were in attendance.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had to get out, get away. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, and he wasted no more time. Shaking Pansy partly awake, she was soon rising and cursing as he hurriedly explained, most likely looking quite crazed as he did so. But it was Pansy, so it didn't matter how completely frazzled his control was. No, all that mattered was that she didn't follow him. He didn't know what he had done to be displaced, but he didn't want her condemned to such expatriation with him, of that he was positive. She screamed and ranted and pleaded, begged him to take her with him even as she begged him to stay, but he made her promise, made her swear.

Then he was grabbing his weapons and ghosting back down the hall, the heat of her lips still stinging his. The shrunken bag rested in his pocket, and he strapped sheathe after sheathe into place as he forced himself to walk calmly down the numerous passageways, ignoring the curious, staring eyes locking onto him from every direction. The estate was brimming, it seemed, and he looked straight ahead as he slung his bow over one shoulder and strapped his swords across his back. The daggers were all already in place, twelve in total, and the heavy staff in his right hand was as deadly as any of the others when he wielded it.

He could not stay a moment more.

End Flashback

No, he truly had thought only of escape at that point. It was too much all at once on his spice-riddled brain, and he hadn't been altogether there. The thought of such estrangement had been unbearable, but if it was going to happen, then it would be sooner rather than later, for there was no way he could have survived living in a place thick with the memory of it, knowing that it would be any second before he was thrown out, and that would have been…breaking. Looking up at Celeste's eager face, he knew what happened next, because it is what had drawn him into the whole stupid web of that star-crossed couple's unfortunate binding.

Their fate had been a vicious one, a truly nasty one even in his eyes, and it had started, for him at least, as he had neared that desired exit. Would that he had taken a different path, or that he had been more careful after his discovery and hadn't let the fool leech onto him…Because the chain of unfortunate events that had followed had been quite gruesome, and had even made Daphne, who was stronger than most people he knew, become physically ill. Because obsession breeds madness, and madness breeds all sorts of vile things when it latches onto a weak mind. But yes, it had begun in that hallway, and it would end in a glade over a body of a dead witch.

He should have just killed him then.

Begin Flashback:

"My lord!"

He ignored whoever it was, almost to the east exit and an Apparation point.

"My lord, please!"

Fuck! Why now?

"What?" He snarled, spinning on one heel and glaring, about a second away from murder. And Longbottom knew it as soon as he saw his eyes.

"You're leaving." The shorter wizard stated, and Anton sneered.

"So I am. What of it?"

"Has something happened? Do you need hel—"

"No." He turned to leave again, and Longbottom jumped in front of him, a pleading look on his face.

"Take me with you."

"I don't think so." Shoving him out of the way, Anton continued down the hall, noticing a few others gathering their courage to speak. Damn it!

But before they could, another did.

"Anton!" Theodore walked towards him from a side hallway, his eyes slightly wide at his friend's disheveled appearance. "Why do you leave so abruptly? Is there more fighting somewhere?"

"No." Honestly, all he seemed to have been doing since he awoke was repeating himself. It was certainly shaping up to be a shitty fucking day.

"Then what are you doing? The inner circle is supposed to meet in half an hour, remember?"

"Have fun." Anton snapped, and tried to leave again only to have his arm grabbed in a strong grip. Damn Theodore.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" He paused. "Oh, Pansy's being difficult, isn't she? Well, just do what I do and—"

"Shut up, Theodore!" Anton hissed, and the other wizard blinked, taken aback.

"Gods, you really need to loosen up. I was just joking. Now where are you going?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Fucking hell, Anton, one would think you were being exiled! Come now, whatever it is can't be that b—" But Anton had already ripped his arm away, growling and raising his staff in a way that Theodore couldn't misinterpret. His friend paled the slightest bit and backed up, before realization washed through his eyes and his mouth fell open minutely.

"No!"

"Fuck off." That time, no one stopped him as he took off down the hall once more, but Theodore's voice rang out behind him.

"Anton! Wait!" A muffled curse. "You two! Send for the High Royals! Run, you fools!" Footsteps quickly scampered away.

Damn Theodore into the brightest hell! He was out of the exit in less than a minute, and he didn't feel the hand wrap around his sleeve until it was too late and he was already Apparating. They came out in the Netherlands, near Almere where he had an estate. Spinning, he had a blade at the fool's throat before the other was even reoriented. Longbottom. What kind of an idiot was he? Anton's knife had already drawn blood, and had been less that a heartbeat from slicing clean through. Pushing him away and knocking the fuck out of him for such impertinence, he contemplated what to do with him. He sure as hell wasn't taking him back, that's for damn sure.

"That was a very stupid thing to do." He stated wryly when Neville regained consciousness. He observed the quiet man as he hadn't in years, noticing how much better he looked than he had back then. Good for him. He'd be an even prettier corpse.

Or maybe Anton was just in a foul mood.

"I know." Longbottom agreed, wincing and lifting a hand to his bruised cheek and his split, swollen lip. He licked the blood away carefully, and slowly lifted his eyes. He didn't meet Anton's since he hadn't been given leave to do so, instead looking an inch or two off to the side. "But I…needed to get away."

Sweet fucking gods. He was in accordance with a bloody Gryffindor.

A very shitty day, indeed.

"Wonderful. So you decided to come with me why, exactly?"

"Because you were leaving. Because…I thought you might be able to help me."

Anton scoffed.

"I'll pay whatever price. I mean, look at the one I'm paying already." He laughed, and it was only slightly shrill, unlike when he'd first come to them. "It's just…every time I see her, I want it."

Eww. "Come again?"

"I want it, but not her. But she…she wants me, and I don't know what to do."

"You have five seconds to make sense."

"Her blood, I want it and I don't know why. I mean, it doesn't even make any sense. It's not like I'll be able to keep the children. At least not the first two." Again, that odd, high laugh. "And she wants to marry me. Won't consent to it otherwise."

"Someone…" He tried not to laugh. "Someone wants you? Spare me, Longbottom."

"I know! Strange, isn't it?"

Sweet Circe. "You still have shit for confidence, don't you?"

"What? Oh, I…I don't know. I'm not like you and your friends. I don't have…"

"Don't have what?"

"Your looks, your grace, your power, your darkness, your…body." He looked away again, blushing furiously, and Anton smirked coldly.

"None of it matters, apparently. I wouldn't worry on it too much."

"What?"

Hmm, that really hadn't sounded at all like him, had it? "Just shut up about shit you don't understand, Longbottom. Now, who is it?"

"Millicent."

Double eww. "Then here's my only advice, and it'll cost you quite dearly one day, I can assure you." Anton looked him over again, sighed, and shook his head. "Don't bind to her if you don't love her."

"But you don't understand." Longbottom started. "And it couldn't be that bad, could it? Loveless bindings are rare, but—oh gods. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I forgot you almost—oh gods. I guess you do understand. That was almost the same, wasn't it? I'm sorry, I—"

"No, you fool, it wasn't the same. Bloody hell, all you want is her blood, and all she wants is your heart. Completely different, actually. And it would not have been loveless." Then, with a chilling swipe of memory, he added, "At least not on my part. Now go the fuck away." There was an edge of a growl to his voice again, menacing and very clear.

Longbottom disappeared after another mumbled rush of apologies.

He didn't notice anything around him as he made his way over familiar terrain to his estate, and he slid through the wards easily after slicing his finger open with a fang. The land underneath him responded to his return, remembering the touch of his magic, which he'd poured into the gardens with the utmost care. Flowers bloomed early, the grass seemed suddenly greener, and he smiled a sardonic smile. Well, at least his old home still wanted him. It was a hollow comfort. And no matter how he tried to think of something else on the long walk up the drive, not caring to signal the servants to send a coach, it all came back to one thought.

Why am I being sent away?

No one else had been. None of the inner circle, at least. He would know. But they hadn't been, which meant that no matter how delicately it had been said, they did not want his presence there any longer. A reward, indeed. They could not truly think that this…this alienation was a gift! No, he must have simply grown boring, since he knew that he had done nothing to anger them. And what was this that he was feeling? It was strange, alien in itself, and he would almost say that it was akin to abandonment, insecurity…but that was ridiculous, wasn't it? He still had his family and his other friends, he still had Pansy, and he could live with that, couldn't he?

Unless…unless they all turned away from him now, of course.

He'd seen it happen to others. Reaching the manor, he waved off the rush of servants and house elves before sweeping up to his rooms, throwing most of his weapons on the bed — you always had to keep a few daggers, after all — and leaving for his study and a few pints of firewhiskey. An hour later, he was two pints and three spoonfuls of spice down and even more wasted then he had been earlier. Everything was slushy and pretty and blurry, not to mention sparkly, and he soon had all of his mother's jewels in a pile on the floor, fuzzily playing a game with them that even he didn't understand. Then the wards tingled, accepted whoever it was, and spilled them out behind him.

"Anton McGregor! What in the bloody fucking hell are you doing!?"

Fire was pissed. Fabulous.

"Nothing." Hmm, maybe he shouldn't have said that. His 'nothings' didn't seem to be getting him anywhere good lately. She stalked around to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips and her hair in a million tiny, perfect plaits, reminding him of how he couldn't even finish a few of his own earlier. She was beautiful, and he was going to miss her horribly.

And he'd said that out loud. Brilliant.

"Anton?" She questioned, softer that time, her hands falling to her sides. Scooting the small mountain of jewels aside, she knelt beside him, her silk skirts pooling around her. "Whatever are you talking about? I'm right here; how will you miss me?"

He laughed sourly and just a bit madly, pulling away and draining the rest of his goblet. "Don't mock me. Please."

She cocked her head to the side. "Anton, Theodore wasn't serious when he said that you—"

"Gods, he does have a mouth on him, doesn't he? Bloody bastard. Maybe I'll bind him to Millie and save the little one some grief."

Fire stared. "How much spice have you had?" She picked up the pouch lying on the floor next to him, peered inside, and gasped. "Goddess, have you gone insane? Is this the batch that I just gave you yesterday?" He nodded and nearly fell over. "Oh gods. Oh gods. This can't be safe."

"What d'you care?" He snarled, stepping out of bounds completely, but the Queen's eyes only softened even more.

"They said that you ran from them earlier, that you were disappointed with our gift. Why?" She asked quietly, inching closer. "It hurt them, you know. They were only trying to please you."

"Please me?" He questioned incredulously. "Please me? They cast me from them, from you, from all I know and all I want, and it was supposed to please me?"

She looked slightly stricken. "No, no, it wasn't like that, dear one, we would never—"

"Then what? What else could make you banish me from all I love?"

"It is…it is a gift, it truly is, but it is also a choice."

He froze. "What choice?"

"We…I mean, you…" It was the first time he'd ever seen Fire lost for words. "Damn it, Anton! We just wanted you to have a decision about serving for life! To know that we would never force you, out of all others, to do so! I don't think that Draco realized how much of this shit you'd had," she waved the pouch for emphasis and he'd wondered where the other two had come from, "and, well, you know that Blaise can be…snarky…"

"I am not 'snarky', whatever the hell that means." A voice like liquid night slithered over his already frayed nerves, soothing and infinitely dark. Why hadn't the wards gone off? Or maybe they had. He really didn't know anymore.

"You two are idiots, is what you are." Fire snapped, shoving the pouch at Shadow and Ice as they appeared next to them. They glanced inside, stopped, glanced inside again, and blinked. Then they dropped down beside him, the expensive powder sifting over the rug, forgotten as they started checking his pulse and looking in his eyes, muttering about 'fucking McGregors' and their 'fucking addictions'.

"Congratulations, Anton, you're the first person to poison yourself with spice in over a century." Shadow said darkly, and Anton wondered if he'd gotten paler, and when he'd acquired a twin. And why he was so angry, when he'd sent him away to begin with.

"It's your fault, you sodding prick." Oh yes, he'd definitely had too much spice. Evil stuff, that. Never touching it again…"Sorry. Sort-of."

"Fucking hell." Shadow muttered, tucking a lock of stray hair behind one ear with bloodstained fingers. Then he looked at him, and—wait. Bloodstained fingers?

"What happened?" He asked, immediately furious and wondering who, exactly, needed to die.

Because some of that blood was blue.

"Well," had he been sober, he would have seen that Shadow and Ice both looked slightly sheepish, "when the messengers that Theodore sent came…"

"…We were a bit upset already, and…"

"…They said something about you leaving…"

"…That you were never coming back…"

"…And so we killed them."

The last was said in unison, and Fire was snickering deviously.

"Oh yes, killed them, indeed." She agreed sardonically. "More like you shifted and ate them in the middle of the hallway for daring to suggest that you no longer loved him, and managed to cut yourselves up in the process." She looked at Anton, her smirk fading into a rare smile. "It was touching, truly."

"I don't…I don't think I understand…" And he didn't, because his blood was suddenly pounding inside his skull, everything was fading into black and white and gray, and she sounded farther and farther away as she spoke.

"Sweet, stupid, idiotic male." She crooned, biting his lip affectionately. "That's because these two were careless with their words and timing."

"Yes, that was our fault, I suppose." Ice agreed, his voice like water trickling away at an alarming rate.

"We would have you with us always, beloved." Shadow whispered as just he started sinking beyond consciousness. "You're what's birthing our Dark Knights."

His last thought before nothing was, 'What's a Dark Knight?'

End Flashback

Anton stepped out of Celeste's room, knowing what he had to do. He had to tell Cruoris the so-sad tale of Neville and Millicent, because Celeste was adamant that she adored him. His remembrances had made that much clear at least, because he recalled all too well what had happened between those two. He told Ice and Shadow of his plan, and they agreed. The Prince wasn't in the Palace or even on Terra, but up on the bridge encircling the planet like a bloody silver ring. A ring spun from clouds and sunlight and Royal magic. The very essences of light and darkness trapped within, full of power enough to branch more bridges from that one, bridges that could span galaxies.

You could smell the coming wars on the very air.

A transport took them up, a transport the size of a ship that was made from the same material as the bridge. You could see out of all four walls after a whispered spell, and watching Terra grow farther away so rapidly was thrilling and entrancing, but nowhere near as entrancing as the view once they broke through the atmosphere and into the cold, endless void of space. A city sat upon the massive bridge, a city that's shields shone a faint silver around it, like a dome of pure moonlight, and it was made from black marble that reflected all of those thousands of stars. When Shadow had first brought him, remembering his wish, he'd been instantly bespelled.

And he had been every time since.

And they would go to all of those stars eventually. It would take centuries, millennia upon millennia, but one day, they would hold the very universe in the palms of their hands. It would be the greatest empire ever so much as dreamed, and nothing could stop them. They could not die, and there was nothing in creation like the High Royals, they'd heard as much from the very lips of the dark gods. Their dominion was fated, written in the very stars that they would rule, and his lovely little train of thought only came to a halt when they landed at the Palace in the heart of the city. It was an easy trip to the Prince's chambers, a transporting stone obeying them instantly.

"Do I have your approval, then?" Was the first thing that Cruoris said as they appeared in his sitting room, and Ice sneered at him.

"Are you fucking kidding, you impossible little shit? Have you spoken with her for any length of time at all? You'd kill her within a week!"

"I will not." Cruoris said sulkily. "It's not my fault that he couldn't have had a daughter!"

All eyes turned to Anton. "What?" He backed away a step. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you!" The Prince snipped, crossing his arms and scrunching up his nose. "Father says I'll need an heir one day, and I know that's parent-speak for 'we need your children to rule our worlds', so I thought about it, and I only want children of your bloodline."

"Right. You stay away from my hair and blood, you strange little freak, do you hear? I don't fancy tiny clones of myself underfoot."

"Very funny, Uncle."

"I'm serious. After that incident with your sister…"

"But Father caught her! And that…that was Corpus, not me! She was sick with it, I tell you, completely deranged…"

"Regardless, you helped her create that fucked up potion, which I'm still convinced you used demon magic to brew, and I will never forget Ice's face…"

"But it still wasn't me! Nor was I the one that set grand-mère's hair on fire, the one that flooded Mist, the one that stole the Book of Necromancy and resurrected Pettigrew, the one that—"

Pettigrew. The slimy, sniveling, groveling little traitor. Oh, how Anton hated him.

Begin Flashback:

They hadn't even really been looking for him, too preoccupied with more important things at the moment, so it had been more of an accident then anything else that they ran across the rodent in Italy. Nearly two years had passed since the end of the war, and they were there for some party at the main Arcdine estate (he clearly recalled taunting Melody about being her Lord since it was in Europe, no matter if she herself now held India or not), when they had decided, in a fit of extreme drunkenness, to visit the nearest city, Rome. It was nowhere near as grand as a Great City, but it was still beautiful after having been rebuilt, much like London and Alexandria.

They went with the intention of fucking around underneath the Vatican, having left the area mostly free of destruction, since even they had hardly believed the things found deep, deep down within those vaults. Treasure, heirlooms, legends of their people, all stolen and horded for gods-know-how-long beneath some muggle holy place. The Veil of Veronica Malfoy, with a gold plaque spewing something about someone named 'Jesus' underneath it, the lost Staff of Merlin, the Shroud of Slytherin and the Grail of Gryffindor, both of which had been lost and found several times since the fall of Old Rome, and numerous other things besides.

Things like books thousands of years old that the muggles wouldn't have had a hope of deciphering and that were still in perfect condition, the full skeletons of demons and dragons and the winged Atlantians of ages past, and a giant crest of ebentine with the symbol of the first Royal wizarding family. The edges of that masterpiece were engraved with those of the first fifteen Noble Houses, and it had been the first object removed from those hidden rooms. But they never made it to that dark maze of darker artifacts that was now heavily warded, because Draco suddenly stiffened in the middle of an alleyway, before a deadly smile glinted underneath his hood.

"I smell a rat." He said evenly, low enough that no one else but the four people at his back could hear him, and Anton and Pansy shared a knowing glance before shifting into panthers and setting off down the dark stretch of granite, immediately picking up the scent.

When the High Royals joined them, still in human form, they had him pinned by his tail and had changed into house cats so that they could chew his ears off. Slowly. Mousy little squeaks deafened them, but they paid them no heed, since the fear they were laced with was much too delicious. Their game didn't last long, though, because they knew whose victim this one should be. And maybe, maybe they underestimated his terror, or maybe they were simply too careless with their guard, but regardless, as soon as they released him and prepared to Apparate, he changed back to his human form and hit Pansy's small, fragile body with his silver fist.

She yowled and then hit the limestone wall over eight feet away with a series of sickening cracks, and Anton's vision lined itself in furious scarlet and swirling ebony. Shifting back, he had the fat little man's throat in hand a second later, watching with satisfaction as he turned red, then blue, then purple…Then he was snatched away, someone was telling him that Pansy needed him more, and he was at his love's side, Apparating her the nearest Palace and laying her carefully on their bed there. For three days, he stayed constantly at her side, while the High Royals healed enough of her injuries to keep her alive, but her skull…

It was crushed; the entire left side smashed to bits.

'She should be dead', they told him when the panic would start anew as she never seemed to grow any better, 'Our magic keeps her here, but we know not if she will ever wake'. Gods, how he wanted to kill that twitchy fucking bastard! How dare he? But he couldn't leave her like that, and no one had mentioned him since they had returned. And then, at sunset on the third day, he was summoned to dinner. It was not a matter of choice, the slave said, and he snarled and cursed, but he dressed all the same. He was enraged throughout it, as nothing worth his time had occurred, but he thought that too soon, much too soon.

He would never forget watching two people he loved murder each other.

And that's what they did, Ice taking off Shadow's head as Shadow did the same to him, and Anton had already leapt to his feet along with everyone else. He'd vaulted onto the table with one smooth, rushed movement as soon as they'd attacked each other, his mind reeling with shock and horror, and all the while, Fire sat sedately upon her Throne. But she slid from it when they decapitated each other, and he was screaming at himself, because he simply hadn't been able to choose. How could he pick one over the other? It was impossible, but that led to him watching them both die in pools of silvery-blue blood that was beyond beloved to him.

Or so he'd thought.

Because they didn't die, no, they didn't die, and he watched with more than a bit of awe as Fire put them together again in a grisly display that very nearly made even him sick, considering whom it involved, and they…healed. It was improbable, true, it was impossible even, but it happened all the same. Strange, stitched tattoo-like markings were all that was left on those pale throats, and he nearly hit them when he could move again. They were smirking, which meant that they'd known, and they'd done it anyway, making him (and everyone else) think that they had finally flipped completely the fuck out. How could they—

"Come, mon amour, let us go bequeath a gift upon your lady, hmm?"

He suddenly saw forgiveness in their futures.

And, oh, he more than forgave them, and Ice…changed Anton while Shadow changed Pansy, and both marveled at the new sensations for hours, cackling about the texture of velvet pillows and snickering over how very soft their Sovereigns' skin was. But it wore off quite a while later, fading into a dull roar of power, and he rose quite suddenly, demanding to know if Sirius had killed Pettigrew yet. Shadow shook his head and took him to Sirius's chambers, where he found that Sirius had been saving him until Pansy's survival had been determined so that Anton could play, as well. He'd known there was a good reason that he liked Sirius so much.

He was always willing to share, among other things.

They decided to be creative with the little rat's fate, and they laughed at his pleads. He'd gone along with Sirius in front of Potter once, thinking Sirius would forgive him if he did so, but Voldemort had been the only thing keeping him alive after that, and when he had been killed, Pettigrew had, once again, ran. But there was no running then, and he screamed and screamed and screamed as they cooked him alive on a spit, and he continued screaming long after he was dead and trapped inside that body. Juices and spices and fat bubbled and sizzled from the splits in his roasted skin, and they fed his flesh to banshees and goblins while he watched.

All they let remain whole and untouched were his eyes and mouth, because his torment was expressed so vividly and pleasingly by both, and he himself got to eat his own dick before he died. Once that had happened, all he could do was watch and feel and shriek as they smiled and gleefully carved him over several hours like one would a Yuletide turkey. They did not even need to keep his blood to repair the pureblood holes, since Voldemort had made him breed years ago. No, they simply enjoyed his torment and enjoyed damning his soul to a hell worse than any he could begin to imagine even more. They kept the silver fist as a souvenir.

Peter Pettigrew paid for his betrayal in full.

End Flashback

"So…" Cruoris started after things had settled down a bit again. "What was it that you came here for? I want the bloodline, and I will have it."

"Anton wished to tell you a story. The story of Neville and Millicent." Ice explained, and the Prince perked up.

"Truly? No one ever speaks of it but the older ones, and only then in hushed whispers. I've wondered about it for a while." He said eagerly, and Anton wondered how long that eagerness would last when he learned just what the very binding that he wished for could fester into.

"Neville was a Longbottom, as I'm sure you know since you've briefly met his son and his son's daughters, but even they don't know all of what happened between him and Millicent Bulstrode. Because you see, they, too, wished to forge a dead bond."

Cruoris stiffened, but said nothing.

"Longbottom only wanted her blood, children of her blood to be more specific, and she…she loved him above all others. She had since we were still in school, though many of us had forgotten her defending him then. But he cared not for her, and he asked me once, in the beginning of their end, if he should bind with her, because that was the only way that she would consent to bear his offspring."

Something flashed in those silver eyes, but still the Prince stayed silent.

"I told him not to, and he seemed to listen to those words for a while. But five years later found them marrying, and he, being mostly friendless, asked me to stay at his side throughout the ceremony. I did not wish to, but he appealed to the Court and asked for me to be his Priest and wed them. His request was agreed to out of amusement," he shot a dark look at Ice and Shadow, "and I did as commanded."

Cruoris motioned for him to continue, looking petulant and determined.

"At first, it seemed as though our worst suspicions might have proven false, but as more and more time stretched on and Millicent didn't get pregnant…the obsession ate at Longbottom, destroying his mind as the bond began growing…infected. It soured and rotted, and though it made Millicent even more desperate for his love, it made him crazed. Then, when she finally did get with child, he appeared to even out again."

His words reached the cocky Prince, but he wondered if they would be enough.

"Twins, she carried twins, and it wasn't until her sixth month that complications arose. The bond…it had warped both the mother and the father, diseased them, and for weeks, she fought to keep her children. None of our healers could help her, for poisoned bonds are blasphemous things, and the gods do not look kindly upon the abuse of such a gift. She went into premature labor mid-way through the seventh month."

Cruoris wasn't looking at him anymore, and Anton prayed silently.

"Longbottom lost his fucking mind altogether that night. He stole her out of the healing rooms and took her to Salisbury, and she gave birth to one of the twins straight away. The other, though…the other took longer, too long for his distorted liking, so he called upon devils to aid him. They demanded a price, of course, and he carefully removed Millicent's eyes, tongue, heart and bladder, piled them on a flat rock, and sprinkled them with his own blood."

Cruoris was staring again, his knowledge of such rituals fresh in his gaze.

"Don't look so calm, Prince, for I assure you that even you would not wish to do what he did next. Because devils, as you know, are cruel, tricky creatures, and they cared not for what he wanted. They bent the bond's putrid pull to their will, and he cut the next child from Millicent's very womb, and the devils hungered, for they love a living child born of dead flesh. So he took the pure infant and sacrificed it as well, even though it had been what he wanted to save."

"What…what do you mean he sacrificed it?" Cruoris asked haltingly. "That's horrible, the child being pure and all, but we use muggle infant blood in numerous—"

"He killed the child, dear nephew, not drained it of a bit of blood. He ripped it apart piece by piece, and though I seem to be thinking of nothing else today, he devoured it and his wife's parts raw. We came upon him just as he cracked the head open and lapped up the insides, and I took the remaining child, who wailed and wailed over its twin's death, while Virginia and Bella unleashed a female's fury over such an act."

"He…he consumed his child? A...a twin?" Cruoris spat, face twisted with disgust and horror, thinking of his sister, no doubt. And if their world had any taboo, it was the eating of one's kin unless specifically demanded in their last requests, not to mention a child of pure blood. It was a crime among criminals, a sin among sinners, and it tweaked several instincts within the Prince, none of the pleasant.

"Yes. Makes you want to run off and marry Celeste even more, now doesn't it?" Ice asked sarcastically, and Cruoris stilled for a long moment, before looking up with innocent eyes and a guileless smile.

"Who?"

………………………………………………………………………………...

This chapter was a bit late, but trust me when I say that there's a reason for it this time, and that you'll see soon enough. That is, if you…

Review!