Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)
Responses to my darling reviewers: tkmoore, lovely one, supreme one, almighty one, I adore you as always!!!! Sunday-Morning, ah, but dear, how can I stop singing your praises when you leave such succulent reviews? you are a goddess, and you can't change that! :) BlueJeanJunkie, (gapes in awe of long, delicious review) omg! I so love you! thankyouthankyouthankyou! (faints and dies) sillysun, LOL! Thanks so much and that saying had me cracking up! bigreader, he was saying 'okay, I won't do it', lol. and thank you! Lithui, thanks (as usual), and of course we can! (woos you with a promise of something good very soon) otaku sae, thank you! love ya, as always! MeghanBlack, thanks!! and no threats? (pouts) I feel so unloved. :P me, you rock! thanks so much!! Haunted-Shadows, THANK YOU! you're just so the best! love ya! mell8, thank you! I'm so blushing! Pia O'Leary, you just might get your wish, dearie! lol – and thanks for reviewing! potatomaker, 'evil genius', eh? (ponders this) I like it! (smirks) and I like you more! thanks for reviewing! Tytianne, well, now you get to see! hope you like! and thanks! Flower4444, thanks! I'm glad to hear it, and about celeste…well. poor thing. (snickers) LEGOSGURL, thanks, and merry x-mas to you, too! and yes, I will…eventually. I'm just a bit off track recently. sorry! Morgan, thanks, and yes, she is!!
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?
…………………………………………………………………….
One thousand years and one hundred and seventy worlds later, and it had come to this. A scribe sat in the air before them, his legs crossed on nothing and his quill scraping across parchment, recording the one tale that their people knew nothing of. The beginning of it all on Terra, the capital of the ever-spreading Kingdom. So the scribe, sitting suspended as though he sat on a chair, leaned over the long table he wrote upon, grabbed a small handful of powdered gems, and sprinkled it over the drying silver ink. Eight dark scrolls lay rolled and sealed down the table's length to his right, and that number soon became nine as the one he'd just finished received its own bloody seal. Only one scroll remained on his left, and he took it up slowly, carefully unrolling it and very nearly purring, before turning to face Sirius.
Over the last five and half years, Sirius had become accustomed to seeing the faces of the Dinysi, which were so very much like their own, but so very different at the same time. The bone structure was human, high cheekbones and a curved jaw, and the body was as well, allowing them to walk upon two legs, though they had paws for feet. Their hands, though, they were also humanoid, with fully working thumbs and graceful fingers, but few similarities existed past that appearance-wise. Because a short, thick layer of striped fur covered them from head to foot, whiskers tickled their cheeks, and their lips and noses and palms were a dark, smooth ebony.
Their tongues ranged from crimson to purple, and the furred stripes came in every shade imaginable. But the eyes…they all had the same electric yellow-orange eyes, the pupils split and not a drop of white anywhere to be seen. They also had tails, long, curving, swishing tails with more strength than their hands, which they could kill an enemy with as easily as they used them for balance. The leaders among them were chosen by the addition of a second whipping tail, the females, who ruled since it was a matriarchal pride, had three. They were feline and ferocious, and they had been one of the easier species to dominate, offering little resistance to the 'pale gods'.
They had the capacity for magic, and they revered their new rulers even more for showing them how to access it, master it. Their planet was only one more in a long line of them, the six year period of settlement almost over before the High Royals moved on to the next, and those years had been full of ensuring the continued loyalty of the people. A net of pure darkness and divinity had been spun around the world itself like a second atmosphere, just as one had been around every planet that they now held, sticky and cajoling and demanding, a reminder of who ruled. Because those webs could be activated from wherever the High Royals were.
And with them, they could snuff entire worlds out with a whim.
Their power, however unbelievable, had grown ever more as their rule expanded, and it had…changed them. They had been utterly unique before, true, but now they were…it was hard to explain. They were akin to statues in some ways, moving, thinking statues, ageless and supreme and invincible. Their skin, when they did not will it different, was like the coldest white ebentine and just as impenetrable, and their hair more resembled their namesakes now than anything else. Shadow's black mane was just that, liquid, swirling shadows, Fire bore a sheet of shifting flames that drifted past her waist, and Ice littered frosty crystals like tiny diamonds everywhere he went.
Most of the time, they seemed only half-there, as if they kept one foot in the living Realm and one in some strange, cosmic void that only gods could reach. They only came back fully and completely, returning with all of their passion and fury and feral grace, when they were deep in a battlefield and unleashing their madness, or when they were fucking one of the few that they actually still loved. 'Still' because for a while, when they'd first started going so cold and distant and unreachable, none had thought they even remembered love anymore, not truly. And those few, those few they held forever dear, they had been so cautious for so long…
Until Anton, Bella and Pansy had snapped.
Cornering the aloof High Royals, the three had used every bit of charm and allure they possessed — which was more than anyone should, surely — as well as every ounce of adoration and faith and devotion, and for nearly two days, the Court had had not the living gods they had become among them, but who they had been, before. Before the first dozen planets fell before them, before the reverent prayers that fed them more than blood ever could had tripled, and tripled again, and again, and again…Before Fire could sing suns to sleep, before Shadow could rip open the fabric of space itself and breed an army from its licking darkness, before Ice could laugh and shatter stars.
For two days, they were simply Draco, Blaise and Virginia.
And then another night dawned, their flesh hardened again, their eyes unfocused, and they were a million miles away. But they were still there, somewhere, and that was enough for their Knights. And as for their children…Well, Corpus and Cruoris had changed, as well. Royal to the last cell, they were only known as Death and Ruin, their given names as forgotten to history as their parents' were. To all but the Dark Knights and the Royal family, of course. The Knights remembered, but they, too, had abandoned their birth names long before, rarely even using them with one another. They had taken names that symbolized all the Knights stood for, and they suited them.
Many weren't with them at the moment, but of those who were, each looked different as well. Older, somehow, even though they all still appeared exactly the same as they had over a millennium ago. Pansy, more commonly known as Fury, sat nearest the doors to the left, a Pensieve full of Potter's memories in her lap, staying as still as the portraits painted on the walls. The Queen's twin brothers, now hailed as Pride and Purity, lay gracefully sprawled on a divan, and Anton, Malice manifested, sat on a cushion at the High Royals' feet, idly carving runes in his skin and watching them heal without so much as a trace of a scar, bored now that his part was done.
"My lord, are you ready?" The Dinysi asked in its native tongue, and Sirius nodded, casting the needed spell on the quill. All he had to do was remember, and the feline creature would see it with him, and put it all to paper. Their story of the first years would finally be known, the years that made them great.
For him, his greatness began with Remus.
Begin Flashback:
He'd met the sandy-haired boy on the Hogwarts Express, and one glance had told him all he'd needed to know. Dumbledore had let a werewolf in the school, and Sirius was determined to befriend him. He knew lots of them, after all, old family friends, and he was curious as to who this strange, pure boy was. He found out soon enough, and he was captivated from the first meeting of their eyes. He found himself telling Remus all of it, right then and there in their compartment, partly because the boy looked so lost and partly because…well, just because. He knew, somehow, that Remus would never betray him, and his secrets spilled from him.
He told him things that only a scarce few knew, mainly just Bella, 'Cissa and Andromeda, things like how he was supposed to get into Gryffindor no matter what because their Lord wanted a spy within the House, about what they did over the summers and how fun dark magic was, and Remus listened raptly, shocked, horrified, intrigued and…hopeful. As if the world suddenly wasn't as lonely anymore, as if a thousand whispered, repeated lies were slowly being wiped clean, as if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't doomed to a life of misery as he was now. Sirius resolved then and there to never let anything happen to the beautiful wolf.
Their school years passed so quickly, it seemed, a rush of dark magic and deceit and rising temptation. The magic was to better serve their Lord, the deceit was for the other Gryffindors but for Pettigrew, who Sirius had known since birth, and as for the temptation…well. Sirius was no stranger to sex, especially by fifteen, but Remus…well. So he'd tread softly, so softly, until Remus had ended up mauling him one night right before the full moon. They grew stronger after that though they had yet to bond, and the following years and graduation were a blurry haze of spicy scotch, swirling blackness, and Remus's delicious skin.
Paradise.
But then, a few years later, came the night that changed everything. James…well, he hadn't known that James was going to die. He'd suspected, he supposed, but he hadn't known, not until James had opened the front door and Voldemort, Lucius, Jeran, Bella and Sirius had swooped in, hooded and masked but for the Dark Lord himself. They had set Peter up, of course, because Sirius could have easily agreed to be their Keeper and then betrayed them, but he needed an alibi for Dumbledore, and Peter was it. James had been so surprised, so very, very surprised, especially when he saw the signet ring of the Black family on Sirius's hand.
"S-Siri? Is…Is that you?"
Sirius said nothing, and Voldemort laughed.
"The last of what was Gryffindor dies tonight, and Slytherin shall rule all." He hissed, and James paled, glancing between Sirius's blank, white mask and Voldemort's haughty, imperial face as he started backing away toward the stairs.
"Sirius, please just say it's not you." Silence, then a wretched scream. "Say it's not you, goddamn it!"
"You never should have married Lily, Jamie."
"Oh goddess, no. No, Sirius, no…"
"Do not look so betrayed. I was never on your side to begin with. We just want the child, the mixed child. It can't be allowed to live."
Voldemort watched all with a sadistic, amused smile, obviously enjoying James's pain.
"No." James choked out, as brave as always even though darkness gathered in the corners of the room.
"Then run." Voldemort laughed again, high and mad. "Run, little lion, run and let us catch you."
James ran.
"Come, my fierce hunters, let us stalk our prey." Voldemort crooned, and they ghosted up the stairs, listening to James panic and hunt for his wand.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"
"Avada Kedavra!"
And then Jamie was dead, just like that.
It surprised him a little, and he felt something like anger as though he were dreaming, but then Bella took his hand and laughed her own laugh, and he smiled. Voldemort gave Lily the option of moving, of giving them her child, but she didn't, and she died as well. But then…oh, all hell broke loose then, Voldemort suddenly exploding as he tried to kill the child, the disbelief and burning pain in their Marks, the grief and rage…It was all-consuming. They forgot the child entirely as they fled back to Lucius's Manor to try and stop the Marks' effect before it killed them all, and then word came, swift as sin, of Peter's traitorous intentions.
Sirius went after him, furious as he watched all of his dreams fall to dust, and he told Remus only that he was going on a trip for Jeran. And he found Peter, found him and knew that he would do it, that he would turn them all in, all of the people he'd called friend. And Sirius had a moment, only a moment, to decide if their freedom was worth his own. He could run, flee, but he wouldn't. No, he would make this sacrifice, for them, for Remus. No one knew Peter had been the Secret Keeper yet. So he blew the fucking street to pieces, not sure if Peter survived or not, not that it mattered after that. His loved ones would be safe.
And then, in a clear second of infinity, he realized that he would never see Remus again.
After that, all was blessed madness.
End Flashback
A debauched moan brought him partly out of the spell, and he turned to see Malice swallowing Shadow's cock to the hilt. The Molidon's eyes were lit with darkfire, his pale cheeks slightly flushed, and his teeth had sliced through his bottom lip. Few could affect him so, but if anyone could call the god back to his shell, it was the raven-haired nymph kneeling in between his thighs. Sirius realized it wasn't only the moan that had stopped the memory, but the fact that the Dinysi had frozen, its jaw slack and its tail twitching wildly, quill forgotten. Watching a High Royal was distracting and enrapturing enough even for a Dark Knight, but for anyone else…
Well.
And Sirius didn't worry long on him, because he, too, was enthralled by the sight before him, as were the others in the room. One marble arm moving with cold grace lifted, shimmered, and then it was just alive again, strong fingers tangling in Malice's hair viciously and causing the other to moan around him, before he pulled him up and kissed him hard. Malice crawled fully into his lap with a single, rippling movement, his robes pooling around them like a spill of velvet night, and he licked the blood from Shadow's lips while his lord watched him doing so, treating it as if it were the key to life and death itself, beyond precious.
And it was.
Neither Malice nor Shadow were ones for genteelness and pleasantries, and for them, pain and darkness were necessary ingredients to any sex that was worth their time. Both knew the other from top to bottom, knew exactly what to do and how to do it to maximum effect, and neither wasted any time in reducing the other to gasping and greedy fingers, and Sirius admired the grace with which they did even this, mad with need. It was flowing, eloquent, even as it ensnared and devoured them. Malice sheathed himself on Shadow brutally just as Shadow's fangs sunk into his throat, and the Dinysi fell out of the air and to the floor with a 'thud'.
He scrambled back to his hands and knees swiftly, eyes still locked on Malice and the Molidon, his tail whirling and his pupils huge, and he lifted furred fingers shakily, brushing along the black energy wavering in the air. Sirius glanced over again and met Anton's glowing hazel eyes for the briefest of seconds. But those seconds seemed to stretch, and he saw many things, things that the shadows the Molidon was pouring into Malice through the bloody claw marks on his back were making him remember, and those things were reflected in those jewel-like irises. Sirius knew then that this was how what was left of Blaise comforted what was left of Anton.
Because he saw thousands of starry nights filled with rustling leaves and falling rose petals, thousands of nights spent out in sprawling forests filled with proud, slumbering giants and ancient gardens with their graceful, gothic architecture. Blaise fed Anton memories as Anton fed Blaise life, and when Malice moved in for the kill with an expert writhe and an utterly wanton moan, when Shadow screamed and Blaise came back, everyone in the room came with them. That voice wrapped around their very souls, drawing lust and want and aching desire up in a furious, unstoppable wave, and Sirius fell back into his chair, drained and sated.
As the spell tugged again, no one noticed the quill resume its path across the parchment without a single hand to guide it.
Begin Flashback:
He'd been avoiding him for weeks.
Five years into the new reign, and Sirius and Remus had had their first true fight since his escape. It had been bad, more than bad, and it had all been Remus's faul—okay. It hadn't been Remus's fault. It had been his. But still, it wasn't as if he'd known that Remus really cared. Well…okay. He might have known. But he had only over hated Severus because Remus hated Severus, and when they'd worked everything out…But Remus wouldn't talk to him, even though he'd promised not to take spice around sexy Royal Potion Masters ever again, but that had apparently been the wrong thing to say. And that was an understatement of magnificent proportions.
So he sulked and moped until another Knight cornered him.
"You great prat," Pansy hissed in his ear, pinning him against the wall and digging the sharp tip of a blade into his stomach enough to rip his robes and draw blood. "I cannot believe that you still haven't gone and talked to him. If Anton…Sirius, you are such an idiot. If you weren't so bloody pretty, I'd think your mother had slept with a Goyle."
"Hey—" He started indignantly, but she dug the knife in deeper. and he sucked in a breath.
"Shut up. Just shut up. Fix it, Sirius, make it better, because I will not, will not, watch you mope around from place to place a moment more! If this isn't resolved by dawn, I'll resolve it myself. Do – you – hear?" The last question was emphasized by nasty jabs of the dagger, and he wondered if she'd hit anything vital yet.
"You're a vicious little bitch, you know that?"
"Don't let Anton hear you call me that."
Then she was gone in a swirl of green robes, and he inspected the wound. He could stick two fingers in it! Fucking females and their fucking attitudes, he grumbled to himself. They shouldn't be allowed weapons. I wonder if Ice…no, Fire might kill me. Damn. There was nothing for it, then. He'd have to talk to Remus. He didn't fancy having Pansy murder him come morning. Concentrating for a moment, he sealed the wound and fixed his robes, before gliding down the hall purposefully. He waved off Sethos rather rudely in one hallway — he'd have to make up for that later — and finally reached Remus's rooms, raising his fist to knock.
"Go away." Remus's growl drifted through the wood before his knuckles landed, and he jerked his hand back.
Damn, damn, damn. This was not going to be fun if he was in a mood already.
Gathering his strength, he took several deep breaths and barged in. He easily ducked the vase thrown at his head, but the table was harder to avoid, and caught his leg, sending him crashing to the rug. Getting to his knees, a slew of pillows came next, followed by a bust that weighed more than the bureau. He narrowly missed getting smashed in the head with that, and he moved lighting-quick, tackling Remus to the floor. He didn't pull on his Mark or on the power of the Knights, as that would have been monumentally unfair, but he probably should have, because Remus was infuriated. Within three seconds, he found himself in the hallway, the doors slamming in his face.
He simply gaped for several long moments.
He didn't even get to say a word! And how had Remus done that? That was awfully quick even for a werewolf, and—oh gods, Pansy was going to murder him. He was fucked, so, so fucked, and the low laughter creeping down the hallway like music didn't help. Anton, Jeran and Lucius looked all too amused, and he didn't have to ask how much they'd seen. Bastards. Bloody bastards. Bloody bastards with their silk robes and sleek muscles, with their—and that's what had gotten him into trouble in the first fucking place. Must not think of Slytherin sex appeal, he thought desperately. Must not, must not, must not…
"Oi, Sirius!" Anton snickered as they drew up to where he was still sprawled out against the far wall. "That looked like it hurt. You head hit the marble like—"
"Thank you, Anton, I think I remember, though."
"Well, someone's irritable. It wouldn't have anything to do with your three-week sulk, now would it? Its gossip fodder as is, Sirius. If you keep it up, it'll be legend how the mighty Knight was felled by the big, bad wol—"
"Shh! Not here, you fool!"
"Ahh, yes, preternatural hearing can be a bitch, can't it? Quite like my wife?"
Oh. Shit.
"Hmm, about that—"
"Shut up, Sirius."
He seemed to be getting that a lot lately.
"Come on, you silly git." Hauling him up to his feet, Anton brushed off his robes. "You obviously need a different approach. This has Fire written all over it."
"What?"
But, apparently, it did. Because as soon as the situation was explained to her, she rolled her eyes and sent for Remus, much to Sirius's horror. She then proceeded to make them talk about it, and she blocked any items that ended up headed at Sirius's skull. She then told them how she saw it, which bizarrely made them feel about four years old, and sent them off to the baths to be pampered and where they could discuss it farther privately. Well, mostly privately, since she ordered Lucius and Jeran to stay to referee in case they decided to be stupid again. They ended up staying in the baths for over three days, and didn't even know it until Bella came ghosting in.
"Come on, come on, you've been in here forever!" She admonished, throwing robes at them and tossing back a glass of wine, a house elf trailing her to refill it when needed. It did so then, and she tapped her foot impatiently while they dressed. "The Dark Knights are gathering to wait for Shadow's return."
"What? When did he leave?" Lucius asked, stretching like a cat, and Bella sneered.
"He left — with Pansy and Anton, I might add — over two days ago for Mist, and from there to go on a slave hunt, which you would have known if any of you had brains not placed between your legs."
"Oh, saucy today, are we?" Lucius drawled, sweeping past her and looking as immaculate as ever, as though he hadn't just been engaged in rather disheveling affairs for days on end. He brushed up against her as he passed and she shoved him away violently, to which he smirked knowingly. Jeran closed in on her other side, and when he was younger, Sirius had always marveled at the way they moved in perfect harmony. It was no less impressive now.
"Careful, lovely one, or you'll make him think that you wish for him to show you what that fool husband of yours never could." He purred, his lips brushing over her hair, and for the very briefest of seconds, Bella looked flustered. Then she snarled and those black eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I doubt there's anything that he, or you, could teach me that your son already hasn't, Jeran."
That was definitely a point for Bellatrix, Sirius thought, biting back the urge to cackle.
"So cold, love, what happened to you, hmm?" Lucius asked, sliding back up on her other side until she was caged between them. Sirius wondered how wise that was.
"Azkaban happened, you fucking moron. Why my sister married you—"
"No, not Azkaban." Jeran argued, somehow cutting her off and making it sound as though he hadn't.
"Rodolphus."
And a big point for Lucius.
"Shut up, Lucius. You know not of what you speak."
"Don't I?" He spat back, genuine anger lacing his eyes. "I know that you only spend your time with the other Knights now, that you think the younger ones won't hurt you. Fire healed you, made the pain old and bitter, but you haven't gotten over it."
"Lu—"
"We miss you, lady."
Bella grew quiet at that simultaneous statement, and Sirius and Remus crept out, hiding their smirks with their sleeves. Remus growled at him playfully and shoved him towards the High Royals' rooms, and Sirius smiled, because the last shove he'd received from Remus had nearly given him a concussion, which was quite a hard feat to accomplish these days. He was soon curled up next to Daphne and Theodore, half-watching Sebastian and Padma embroil themselves in a game of war that sent small daggers at you when you fucked up and that ended in some sort of serious bloodshed every time. Although, that was usually the result of the two that were playing attacking each other.
The rest of his attention was on Daphne, who had way too much clothing on.
"What the—" Parvati said just as the door she was standing in front of crashed open, and she jumped back just in time for it to pass less than a hair's breadth from the tip of her nose. Then Bella was sweeping in, trying her damnedest to scowl and failing miserably, and Sirius couldn't help but notice the soft, subtle glow to her skin.
He laughed.
…Which was probably not the wisest thing to do.
"And just what," Bella started slowly, venomously, gliding up to him with the eerie grace of a succubus (which he'd always privately suspected her of being) and narrowing her onyx eyes, "is so entertaining, cousin?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing." He said flippantly, testing fate. "But I was wondering if you might do something for me. You see, there's this…gift I wish to give. A 'congratulations and my condolences' sort of thing, for a recent conquest of theirs. So, if you happen to…see Lucius and Jeran anytime soon, which I'm sure you wi—"
Bella could hit hard.
"F'kin b'ch!" Oh gods, was his jaw broken? Well, whatever it was, it was bleeding. A lot. Spitting out a mouthful of blood before it could choke him, he saw four of his teeth on the rug, the world swam fuzzily, and he did the only thing he could since he couldn't hit her back. He stuck a blade through her thigh as he fell.
"Shit." He heard someone murmur, but he was too busy fighting off unconsciousness and keeping his eyes on Bella, who hissed and ripped the knife out, throwing it to the side before leaping on him.
He rolled, cursing her to the ends of heaven and back as he spat out another mouthful of blood, not particularly wanting to swallow a tooth, since several more felt loose. If he was a muggle and couldn't re-grow them, he might have killed her for it. He kicked her hard in the healing wound, feeling his own jaw re-knitting, and she clawed a row of bloody furrows down his side. Deep ones, the sadistic bitch. He went for another blade just as she was on him, her hands around his neck as she straddled him, her hair falling around them to mix with his, the colors identical. His world started going foggy again, and finally, he lashed out with the power of his blood.
Black hit Black and Bella screamed.
She fell back and into Theodore, who had moved to catch her as soon as he felt Sirius draw on his energy, and Sirius spent the next minute relearning how to breathe. She'd crushed his fucking throat! Sitting up slowly, Daphne silently snickering as she helped him, he saw the others all staring at them and sneered. Ice cocked an eyebrow and gave him a look that clearly said, 'She's going to be livid that you did that', before resuming his study of the graceful curve to Fire's shoulder. And he was right. Bella was furious that he'd used his power as the Black patriarch, but he was furious that he now had three painful, slowly-healing wounds.
And then Narcissa entered, snipped a bit, and nearly gave them all bloody heart attacks.
She definitely could have chosen her words more carefully. Seeing both Fire and Ice suddenly start bleeding from heart wounds would have been bad enough without the frightening moment where he'd thought that he was about to have to kill one of his cousins for real. He'd seen the same brief flash of fear in Bella's eyes as well, and their momentary squabble disintegrated into nothing. But the Queen's brothers saw the Sovereigns' eyes flash blue, which meant that Shadow had been the one originally wounded, not them. And the Knights wanted to go, they needed to go, but they were ordered to stay behind, and it was maddening.
Melody and Daphne stood utterly still in the center of the room, Theodore and Sebastian beside them, and all had gone cold, their blank eyes seeing everything and nothing. Bella stayed by Narcissa, her hands vibrating with the need to help, to guard, to protect, and Sirius went to them without a word. The same power he'd used against Bella minutes before he used now to strengthen them, and they all waited silently until Fire and Ice returned. All he could feel was snaking fury when Fire said that her brother had shot Shadow, and he knew, with a sick, delightful certainty, that Ronald Weasley would pay. And it would not be quick or easy.
And then…and then Anton and Pansy returned, with news of his godson's capture.
End Flashback
It was not a throaty moan that drew him back to some semblance of reality that time, but a tearful plea for mercy. It was with a bit of surprise that he registered seeing the Dinysi whimpering at Fire's feet, next to Pansy, who looked freshly fucked and had scarlet blood trickling down her throat, blue blood staining her lips. She'd apparently awoken the Queen, and that Queen was very, very pissed off about something. The twins were oblivious, a half-awake Ice more than consuming their…attention, and Shadow and Malice looked as enraged as Fire. The Dinysi had his tail tucked tight, his face against the floor, and he seemed about a second away from heart failure.
Hmm. Sirius had certainly missed something.
"You dare to touch me?" The Queen asked in a soft, terrifying whisper, her mystical voice like a brush of hallowed velvet, and he suddenly felt no pity whatsoever for the creature at her feet. In fact, he very much wished to make it bleed. The fact that Shadow and Malice had yet to do so said quite eloquently that Fire had stopped them for the moment. Pity.
"N-Never, g-great goddess, n-never."
"But you did, or shall you say I lie?" Such utter malevolence contained within nine short syllables. It was amazing, really.
"N-never, great g-goddess."
"Well, which is it?"
"I…I…forgive me, I didn't mean to, I—"
"Silence." She cut it off with the barest flicker of one achromic hand that looked as though it hadn't seen sunlight in centuries.
Which it hadn't, really. Not if she could help it, which she usually could. She glanced at Malice and the Molidon, and Sirius saw that Pansy had done well in bringing her back, because the dark, eternally-satiric mirth in those star-laden eyes was all Virginia. And Ice was rising, his eyes meeting Shadow's and learning all that he needed to know there, and he, too, was anything but pleased. Sirius wanted to rise and help them when Fire gave them leave to do as they wished while her attentions went back to her ravished best friend, but the spell still held him captive, and all he could do was listen to her say that she wished to keep the fur.
And he remembered another time, similar but different.
Begin Flashback:
Fire paced in front of him, back and forth, back and forth, as lithe and lethal as a jungle cat, and her eyes shone with anticipation. All of Harry's friends but for her brother, Hermione and Cho were dead, and she had told Harry that if he could pass her challenge, his friends could live. Hopeful when they shouldn't have been, she even let them share a room, mostly just so that the pain of eternal separation would be even more difficult to bear. So for the last time, the Golden Trio plus one plotted and schemed and prayed, while the Midnight Court threw a celebration that birthed legends. And the slaves…if they had already been defeated, he didn't know what to call them then.
With Harry would die the very last smidgeon of their hope.
"I want to keep his skin, I think." Fire suddenly said, stopping and staring at Sirius. "We could preserve it, keep it with Voldemort's tongue and skull. As a reminder."
"Whatever you wish, darling. I simply want him gone, because he is a reminder himself. A reminder that if he had only been pure…"
"If he had been pure," Fire said slowly, surely, "he would have taken Draco's hand. Only a fool wouldn't have, even then."
"Exactly. Which is why it's quite depressing to think on long. No matter, your work to repair the holes in the lines is working quite nicely. The things you three can do with blood is…well, you know you're brilliant. But it's nice to start feeling whole for once."
"And in another few centuries…" Fire said dreamily, starting a smooth, spinning dance towards the bathroom, letting her hair free from its braids as she went.
"We will be." He finished for her in a bare whisper, the magnitude of that seemingly impossible to grasp.
Already, after only a short while of the High Royals reparation, they were stronger than ever before, family after family regaining the Old Blood magics, and the lines were barely starting to heal. The process had to do with blood and a spell that the High Royals had created, one that called upon instant reincarnation. One moment, you had a vial of a dead family's blood and three glowing, omnipotent High Royals, and the next, you had a bawling infant and three drained, exhausted High Royals. And due to that, the work went slowly, but it was worth it. He rose to leave, as she seemingly wished for privacy, until her sacrosanct voice slithered over him.
"Come now, Sirius, will you not join me?"
'Only a fool wouldn't', he almost said, but it came out as, "Of course, darling."
He padded silently into the large bathroom, more than half of the pools obscured by fog, the trickling of the waterfalls an ever-present melody. She stood in a center one, her hair completely unbound and flowing to her knees, not a stitch of clothing to be seen. Jewels and platinum glittered at her ears and throat, her fingers and wrists, her waist and ankles. Bands of spiraling white gold encircled her upper arms and her calves, and she was like a piece of perfection given form. He was honored to be anywhere near her, and he was hers to command for always. So humbled by her majesty and beauty was he that he had sunken to his knees before her without even thinking.
"Rise, Dog Star, and show me your bite."
She was sensual seduction at its most sinful, and he obeyed as he would forever obey anything that fell from those ruby lips. Lips that he had soon caught between suddenly sharp teeth, and she hissed with pleasure. He did not break the skin, for without permission, it was an automatic death sentence, but he made it sting and tingle as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her against him. Then she was kissing him, slicing her tongue open on one of his fangs, and he was in hell, a sweet, pure, beloved hell that he never wished to leave. One hand rose to cup an alabaster breast and pinch the nipple viciously, at which she moaned and wound her legs around his waist.
"Sirius." It was utterly wanton and laced with that sought-after permission, and he wished to hear her groan his name like that for ages upon ages.
His robes were just suddenly gone, he was inside of her, and his legs gave out slowly as sensation overwhelmed him. They sank into the water and underneath it, their breathing stopping automatically while their ravenous kiss continued, and their hair fanned out around them, scarlet and ebony, like hellish seaweed. She ground into him as his mouth finally left hers, trailing to her neck and then to the tops of her breasts, before his fangs finally split that divine skin. She had given her leave for such with a single, depraved moan, and he knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted pain, violent, delicious pain; she wanted to be reminded that she was alive.
He struck again and again as he drove into her, until not an inch of skin from her throat to her waist remained untouched, her front covered in bite marks and her back shredded from sharp claws, and he received much the same in return, not that he was complaining. No, he wouldn't have been able to think coherently enough to complain had he wanted to, which he most certainly didn't. Rather, he wished he could speak, so that he could mutter reverent prayers to her into all of that bloody white skin. Since he couldn't, he worshiped her with every inch of his body, marveling over the supple, muscled grace of everything about her.
When they came, the water boiled with their passion.
Ice appeared not long after, laughing at their lazy grins and pulling them from the pool, drying and dressing them with a spell, before leading them from the room. Hours had passed, he told them with a lecherous smile, and it was time for the games to begin anew. Hermione and Cho were taken from their beloveds as 'incentive to behave', or so they were told, while Harry and Ron were drug into a large, dark room that was bare of furniture or anything else, made completely of ice eight feet thick at the thinnest. Harry and Ron stood stiffly, looking around anxiously and trying not to show how scared they were, how much they wished to be anywhere else.
"Where are Cho and Hermione?" Harry asked him in a voice full of determination as the Dark Knights and a few other select members of the Royal family poured in and took up positions around the walls to watch.
A second later, he found himself on the floor nursing a broken nose, while Anton didn't even look over as he finished passing by. The rapid movement had been hard to follow even for Sirius, and Harry hadn't seen it coming at all. Pansy kicked him hard in the ribs as she followed at Anton's heels, and Melody spat on him as she stepped around him daintily. Ron kneeled to help him, and both had only started to stand when Shadow entered, bringing darkness and cruelty with him like an aphotic cloud. Both flinched away instinctively, and flinched even more when Ice and Fire came in after him. Ice went to Shadow's side, and Fire sauntered over to their prisoners.
"Hello, brother." She purred, and Ron tried to glare, but he was beyond that, beyond simple loathing and righteous anger. "It's been a long time, you know. I'd almost managed to forget what you look like."
"Just tell us what we have to do, Ginny."
Fred's curse hit him a moment later and dropped him screaming to his knees.
"Alright, I'll tell you." She agreed after several long minutes of his agony, and all he could do was pant and sob on the cold floor. Harry looked as though he wanted to say something, do something, but he was smarter than that, at least. Even he could see that it would just make everything worse.
Not that it could get much worse than what the High Royals had planned.
"See, it's very simple." She started, circling them slowly, her crimson ringlets bouncing around her lightly with every airy, elegant step. "You will each kill someone for us. Do that one, simple thing, and you go free."
Lies, lies, lies. Pretty, cultivated lies.
"Kill someone?" Harry asked blankly, his eyes flickering to Sirius in wounded betrayal before going back to the Queen almost instantly.
"Yes." She clarified, leaning in and sniffing him, then pulling away quickly as if he'd smelled even fouler than imagined. "We wish to see you commit murder for us, in our names. Then, and only then, will we be satisfied."
Ha. They'd never be satisfied.
Harry and Ron resisted at first, but it was meek and thin, and soon enough, two slaves were drug in, each wearing saggy, formless robes and each bearing a bag over their head in the style that ancient executioners used to be fond of making their victims don. The two Gryffindors stared at those they had to murder, stared at them as if they could make it all stop, but they couldn't, and they knew it. All they thought of, all they let themselves think of, were the faces of their beloveds, those they killed for in order to free. They couldn't think about the fact that those were people before them under the sacks, people that were held against one wall by the Patil twins.
"Do it." Fire commanded, and both lifted the wands they'd been given, stumbled forward a few steps, and then faltered. Sirius wondered if they would be foolish enough to try and use the wands against someone else, but they weren't. No, they simply froze. Theodore moved in, viper-quick, and shoved them both forward violently.
"Do as the Queen says!"
"Sorry, so sorry." They could hear Harry and Ron muttering, before both straightened, looking haunted and damned, and sealed their doom. "Avada Kedavra!"
The slaves fell lifeless to the floor.
"Oh gods." Ron chocked out, before falling to his hands and knees and throwing up. Sirius felt his nose wrinkle and he stopped drawing breath, while two elves appeared, cleaned everything up, and disappeared.
"Are you happy now?" Harry asked in a broken voice, crouching beside Ron, and Ice laughed.
"Yes. Very, actually, because now your true punishment begins."
"What?" Harry asked slowly, and Ron looked up, his face still green and ashen. "But you said—"
"Hmm, yes, we know what was said." Fire smiled a saccharine smile. "But surely you didn't really think that we'd just let you go."
"You…you…" Her brother tried, but he couldn't seem to form words. But Harry could.
"You fucking lied! You lied! Where are Cho and Hermione!? Where are they!?"
"Why, they're right here, of course." Shadow intoned gleefully, and a rhythmic wave of one exquisite hand had the sacks falling from the slaves' heads.
Poor, poor Hermione and Cho. Killed by their own beloveds who thought they were saving them. How bloody tragic.
Needless to say, Harry and Ron fucking lost it and did try to attack everyone, which resulted in them being knocked unconscious by a positively joyful Lucius. What they awoke to…Never let it be said that the High Royals lacked creativity. And Harry and Ron were more than just amusement, they were a statement. So their fate got to be particularly…interesting. Interesting and wrong and disturbing, and something that made Sirius very happy that he had chosen the right side. Because they were magically restrained to beds, which seemed normal enough. Except they were also chained to people. Two particular people. Two particular dead people.
Two particular dead people that their cocks were buried inside of.
Their screams upon waking echoed through Umbra like tortured, demonic wailing, and they grew crazed as they struggled to free themselves, to stop seeing those familiar, waxy faces and those empty, glassy eyes, to stop feeling what they couldn't help but feel, but their struggling only made it all worse. They were left in public view in one of the huge audience halls, and spells were placed on them that refused them the blissful release of madness. For weeks, the bodies of their loves rotted atop and around them, before their souls started being fed upon piece by piece until nothing remained that hadn't been banished to Hell.
Strangely, since he could have sworn that Remus had told him an odd story once that was incredibly similar, Harry ended gnawing out his own tongue and throwing up vile black sludge, and Ron clawed his own eyes out after one of Hermione's had finally burst during the second week and drained all over his face. By the forth week, both she and Cho were at one of the worst stages of decomposition, and looked as if they'd been underwater for a very long time, all bloated and gelatinous, which had a lot to do with the High Royals' twisted senses of humor. By the eighth week, Harry and Ron finally passed beyond life or death or lunacy.
Their last sight was of their decayed lovers, their last feeling that of their slimy, rotting flesh surrounding them.
End Flashback
"Fucking finally." Someone that sounded a whole lot like George said exasperatedly, and Sirius's eyes cleared of the ancient past. They were at one of the many Divine Pools, on one of the tiered levels above the sacred ground and obsidian water, and the others who'd been with him before were there now. As were the scrolls, the last of which the quill finally stopped tracing over, falling still.
"Damn thing had quite the mind of its own." Anton explained, nodding at the plumed feather and sneering. "We've decided to toss them." He shot a glance at the Pool.
"Toss them?" Sirius asked, his mind still slightly cloudy. "Why?"
"We changed our minds." He said simply, and then continued at Sirius's look. "None of us really wanted to do it in the first place, you know that. We did it only as a favor to that pride's leader. But its subject stepping so far out of bounds voids that promise, and we do not care for the early years to be known. Many would just warp them, make them into what they wished and ignore the facts anyway."
"So you're going to throw them into a portal to Hell?" Sirius asked sarcastically. "They could end up anywhere!"
"Oh, come now, Sirius." Ice crooned, looking as if he knew something that they did not. "What are the chances of them ending up anywhere at all? Let alone somewhere important."
"Honestly," Shadow continued for him, the same secretive, knowing glint in his eyes, "there are thousands of realms, thousands of worlds. The possibility is very slim, indeed." Seeing that he was getting no more out of them just yet, Sirius sighed.
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you when we conquer some backwards little planet and they're found again. This isn't a very thorough way to get rid of them if you want them gone."
"But we don't want them gone." Ice said, scooping up the scrolls and spelling them into a sack, the last still in his hand. "We just want them lost in time for a little while." He finished, and Sirius stood as he started to throw the other one in and toss them. Something caught his eye, though, and he snatched the scroll back quickly. Then he laughed, because it was positively absurd that such a question would be asked, such a familiar question, so far from home and by a bloody enchanted quill, of all things.
"What is it?" Anton asked, and Sirius grinned and told him as Shadow took the sack and the last roll of parchment.
"It says, 'And what is the moral of this story?'"
"'The moral'?" Shadow mocked, tossing in the last one before throwing sack of black scrolls over the edge and watching them sink with a sly smirk. "Morals are boring."
finis
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Well, considering that this was supposed to be three chapters long, it took a while to get here, but voila! And never fear, I have a little Yuletide present coming for all of you soon, so watch for it!
Please review! I'm begging! (bats eyelashes)