Harry Potter and the Seventh Horcrux

by U-No-Poo

PostHBP. This time everyone is expendable. This time there is no Dumbledore. This time there is only one hope. This time only one will survive. Harry Potter and the Seventh Horcrux. All bets are off.

2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter and the Seventh Horcrux

By, U-No-Poo

"A monk awoke from a dream that he was a butterfly,

then wondered whether he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man."

- Buddhist parable

Chapter Two: The Island Life

The Island of Aeolus

1:26 pm

The Same Day

Harry was leaning heavily on Jonathan by the time they arrived at the manner.

"The manner, Harry," Jonathan had explained during the hike, "is where I live. It's located at the direct center of the island. It will also be your new home until we've completed your training."

The moment the manner had come into view Harry had let out a small sigh of relief and Jonathan allowed him a minute's rest. Harry sat heavily on a boulder near the trail and casually looked over the place he was expected to call home. Harry wasn't sure if he could get used to living in a place as beautiful and extravagant as the resort looking building in front of him. After living the first eleven years of your life in a cupboard you find there are just some places you'll never be comfortable in.

The front of the manner had seven full sets of stairs building up to it, like those Aztec temples Harry had seen in a muggle social science book. Each of the steps were made of a grey stone and at the top of the massive incline were eight pillars that stretched horizontally across the front of the building. The edge of the roof connected to the eight pillars and moved away from them. Harry guessed that the distance between the pillars and the front door was quite a ways because even from this distance he couldn't see the entrance.

Jonathan must have seen Harry's distress at having to walk up all the steps to the entrance and said, "Don't worry kid, we'll be taking an easier route than all those stairs."

Harry was so exhausted he was only able to give a small smile of relief to show he had understood what Jonathan had said.

"Don't relax too much now," warned Jonathan, "once your leg heals we'll be starting your training and you'll be jogging those stairs between every meal. You're too thin and are in desperate need of some muscle."

Harry frowned at how Jonathan described him, but knew deep down that this was what he had agreed to and smartly kept his mouth shut.

"Breaks up!" declared Jonathan after another minute went by.

By the time Jonathan and Harry had reached the manner, Harry felt he was ready to puke himself gutless.

"We're almost there, kid."

Harry gathered his strength and followed his new mentor towards the first set of long stairs.

"I thought…we…weren't gonna…climb…these," panted Harry in ragged breaths.

"We're not," said Jonathan shortly before removing his katana sword and walking alone up the first four steps. It was only when Jonathan raised his sword that Harry noticed the small crack on the fifth step just the right size for a blade. As Harry predicted, Jonathan let the blade fall into the crack until it was in halfway. To his surprise Jonathan turned the sword like a key in a lock and rumbling noises began to sound around them.

Harry stepped back in shock as the stairs Jonathan had stepped onto started to disappear below the ground. Ten seconds later and Jonathan was standing in the middle of a small passageway that the missing steps had created.

"You coming, kid?" asked Jonathan, not stopping to see whether Harry followed him into the dark emptiness.

Harry swallowed hard, ignored the pain in his leg and slowly limped into the darkness. The moment he was through, the stones began to rise up behind him until the entrance had been sealed and the sun was blocked from view. In the surrounding darkness the sound of stones being shifted again could be heard and then torches erupted along the narrow passageway illuminating Jonathan's slowly vanishing figure. Harry hurried to catch up and then slowed as he came to a dead end. Jonathan was standing in front of the wall that blocked their way in intense concentration.

"What's wrong?" whispered Harry, trying not to surprise the man.

Jonathan shook his head and Harry knew not to say anything more until he was told to. Jonathan placed a hand flat against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. Harry was reminded of the face Hermione always made whenever the rare occasion popped up that she had to struggle to remember some answer during an exam.

Jonathan dropped his arm and took a step back before saying, "There."

Harry felt like saying "there, what?" but refrained. He needed Jonathan's help and becoming a nuisance before his training had even begun wasn't going to help him. Regardless, his question was answered a second later as the stone wall lifted effortlessly and vanishes through the ceiling.

Jonathan and Harry stepped through the archway and into what appeared to be a large library. Harry smiled at how jealous Hermione would be if she knew he had been to a library like this. There was no doubt that it put the Hogwarts library to shame. Floor to ceiling windows, facing the sun, made up the entire left hand wall. Sunlight streamed into the library and illuminated the many rows of books that made the room more of a maze than a library. The ceiling was also made of glass and Harry counted at least four more levels to the library and wondered if his new home had been magically expanded at some point.

"This way," said Jonathan, leading Harry down the aisle to their right and after a few more turns they reached their destination. Harry smiled at the muggle contraption and thanked Merlin he wouldn't have to climb anymore stairs.

An old metal elevator was set into the wall and Jonathan pulled open the accordion like doorway and pressed the call button. A moment later an elevator in desperate need of oiling lowered onto their level and stopped. It was like the elevators Harry had seen in those old Doris Day movies, a square bottom with a pyramid like ceiling where the electrical and safety cords were attached. Harry was surprised that the elevator seemed to run without the aid of any visible magic.

The elevator slowly came to a stop a few floors into their ascent. Jonathan opened the gate and motioned Harry out of the elevator. Harry stepped onto white marble floors and saw a small living room like space. There was a comfortable looking black leather chair facing a fireplace with matching black leather couches on each side of it. In the center of the sitting area was a glass table with jade outcroppings and a fur rug beneath it. There were two doors on either side of the fireplace, both closed. On the opposite side of the room was a small sink with cabinets, a stove, full sized refrigerator and a small island with black painted chairs.

"Is this yours?" asked Harry impressed.

"No," answered Jonathan, "It's yours."

Harry spun to face his new mentor and quickly asked, "WHAT?"

Jonathan cracked a smile and replied, "What did you think we were going to do? Make you sleep outside on the steps?"

Harry suddenly couldn't find the words to express any kind of thank-you or… well anything really. It was like someone had opened his head, dumped everything out and sown it back up without putting the brain back in. The best Harry managed was to close his gaping mouth before Jonathan mentioned it (which he looked about ready to do anyway).

Harry walked over to the window that made up the far wall and gasped at the view. From this far up he could see all the way to the ocean and miles of jungle in all directions. Turning away from the window he saw that beside the elevator there were wall to wall bookshelves, all empty.

"The elevator is the only way in and out of yours and all rooms on this side of the house" explained Jonathan, "There are four elevators total in the manor, one for each side obviously. Got it all so far?"

Harry nodded and Jonathan continued, "The elevator runs off its own… special… power supply so there is no way to deactivate it. In case of a fire the elevator is the safest place as it's magically warded against anything that may harm it. So if there is a fire your number one priority is to get to the elevator. It is not, however, your first priority to save your belongings. Understand?"

"Yes," answered Harry, "but I haven't got anything to save."

Jonathan dropped his stern attitude and smiled, "Not yet anyway."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the cryptic reply so instead asked another question.

"How do I know if you're coming to see me?"

"Planning on doing something you need warning about, Harry?" asked Jonathan slyly.

"No!" said Harry quickly, "I just… you know…"

Harry wasn't sure how exactly to phrase it without sounding guilty of plotting some scheme. Luckily Jonathan saved him by laughing.

"It's alright, Harry," chuckled Jonathan, "I, too, understand the necessity of privacy. When someone presses your floor number on the elevator you'll hear a chime. They also won't be allowed to enter your room unless you press this button here."

Jason pointed to a small black button next to the door. Above it was a small screen that showed the inside of the elevator and below it was a white button.

"What's the white button for?" asked Harry.

"It calls the elevator to you," answered Jonathan completely unsurprised by the question, "Anything else or shall I leave you to get some rest?"

Rest sounded perfect to Harry but then he remembered about the relentless pain in his leg and promptly collapsed onto the floor out of sheer exhaustion.

"Harry!" cried Jonathan checking the boy over. "I knew I should have just carried you here."

Jonathan picked the unconscious boy up off the floor and lugged him into the door to the left of the fireplace. Inside was a room with soft white carpeting and a king sized bed, decorated in grey and black. Jonathan laid Harry's head on the nearest pillow and stretched him out into a comfortable position.

Jonathan left the bedroom and entered the door on the right hand side of the fireplace. Harry's bathroom was decorated with black and white tiles and dark colored walls. Jonathan took a quick glance around the bathroom counting off the object he saw until he came to the one he needed.

Toilet… shower… sink… mirror… closet… shelves… medicine cabinet!

Jonathan had made sure to give Harry a room with an extensive medicine cabinet. The boy would be starting his training so late in life that the sheer number of injuries he was going to sustain in the first week alone, would call for most of the supply. Gathering what he needed Jonathan closed the cabinet and reentered Harry's bedroom.

The teen was still sleeping which would be an even greater problem for Jonathan. He thought briefly about using an enervating charm but knew that the kid needed rest. Waking him would last only a few moments before the pain put him out again. Resigned to his current position Jonathan dumped the supplies on the bed and moved over to Harry.

First he stripped off the boys' outer clothing and laid them out neatly on the other side of the bed. He would have to tell Harry the house elves had disrobed and bandaged him. He didn't want Harry to feel uncomfortable with him from the get-go for something as silly as revealing skin. It was important that they establish trust from the genesis of their partnership. Jonathan quickly set the bad leg and bandaged it before checking Harry's vital signs again to make sure he was still asleep. When he was sure, Jonathan aimed both of his hands at Harry's body and focused on a single thought: Heal.

A bright orange light, like the kind that had carried the pair hundred of thousands of miles away from the bridge, began to swirl around his hands. Jonathan guided the hands across the marred areas of Harry's body until every superficial wound had healed itself. When he was content that he had done everything he could he focused the sum of his attention on the leg. This time he placed both hands, full contact, on the injured leg and let the magic cover the entire ligament.

Jonathan knew that the bandages he had placed there would have to stay on for another night or so but that magic had done its intended work. After returning the unused items to Harry's medicine cabinets, he closed the bedroom door and pressed the white button to call on the elevator.

Welcome to your new life, Harry James Potter he thought as the elevator carried him off to his own room and a much needed rest.

Elvira's Pub

6:30 pm

The Same Day

Mundungus Fletcher sat in his favorite booth at Elvira's Pub. It supplied him with the perfect view of the whole room and the barmaid's very tight uniform as she hustled from table to table. Elvira's Pub was the home away from home for the Wizarding world's greatest scum. That was why Mundungus had been sent here by Minerva McGonagall, his new boss.

Most people in the Order of the Phoenix hadn't expected Mundungus to stay on after Dumbledore had passed and he had enjoyed proving them wrong. Although Mundungus held a special respectful relationship with the dearly departed Headmaster, he also had a deep seeded dedication to the Order. No-one, even Mundungus himself, new quite why but he'd always felt attached to it somehow. Never in his life had he experienced that feeling of a destiny until he crossed paths with Albus Dumbledore nearly 17 years ago.

Of course at that time he hadn't known about the existence of such an organization until after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat at the hands of the Potter child. He had helped supply Dumbledore with some sensitive information during the First War and only after the war had ended had Dumbledore trusted him enough to clue him in. Then two years ago, while everyone was turning against Dumbledore and Potter, he had been asked to join up again. No one had ever trusted him enough to join anything, even when he was in school at Hogwarts, yet here he was being recruited. Mundungus joined and from then on everything fell into place. Even after Dumbledore's untimely death he wanted to truly belong somewhere, so he decided to stay.

McGonagall had sent him to three pubs already to find any information on who might have taken Harry or anyone who had been responsible for the attacks.

"I WANT NAMES!" she had yelled at him furiously.

Mundungus so far had come up with absolutely nothing in the past four hours and he had little hope. At least until a familiarly fowl face turned up looking the worse for the wear.

"Macnair!" called Mundungus in a stage whisper.

The figure turned at his name with a wand drawn until he saw who it was. He pocketed the wand and waved Mundungus over. Mundungus silently gave himself a pat on the back now that he had something to report to McGonagall and show that Weasley witch he did belong in the Order. After all she hadn't just come across irrefutable proof that the Death Eaters that had been captured at the Department of Mysteries had been quietly freed from their prison stronghold.

Mundungus knew that Walden Macnair had been one of the attackers at the Ministry that had cost Sirius his life. Mundungus also knew that there'd been no notice of any Death Eater breakouts since the twelve two years ago. Now he had proof that the Ministry was keeping their failures quiet and Voldemort was keeping his victories in the shadows.

"How's it going, Dung?" asked Macnair gruffly.

"What's a matter with you?" asked Mundungus as the barmaid delivered Macnair's drinks. He shook his head to say he didn't want anything to drink.

"Not even going to drink with me, Dung?" asked Macnair stiffly, "Am I no good anymore?"

Mundungus waved over the barmaid and ordered a shot of firewhiskey. He resisted the temptation to drink it just yet. There was some double meaning in Macnair's last question, and he needed to keep his whit about him. At least until he got the full picture from the Death Eater… maybe then he'd get hopelessly drunk.

"Course not," denied Mundungus, "One of the best men I ever knew you is."

"I'm glad someone thinks so," muttered the Death Eater.

Mundungus tried to keep his surprise muffled. Was Macnair, a trained killer, actually moping around because someone had hurt his feelings? He wasn't sure whether to be suspicious or break out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Mundungus tried to keep the Death Eater talking as he subtly continued to order drinks for his "friend." After the sixth shot of some green smoking liquid Macnair seemed to visibly deflate.

Finally the Death Eater murmured something about being a failure to his lord, and Mundungus pounced on his opportunity.

"You messed something up?" asked Mundungus, making sure to slur his words so that it would appear he had also had more than just the one shot.

At first he thought he might have appeared to be too eager to comfort Macnair but after the man paused just long enough to take a last shot he started to explain his predicament.

"It wasn't my fault!" the Death Eater exclaimed.

"Of course it wasn't," supported Mundungus.

"They were just so stupid! So careless!"

"Who was, Walden?"

"Bella's trainee's," sighed Macnair, "She sent them to guard the end of the bridge in case Potter made it through…"

"You took Potter!" gasped Mundungus, placing awe in his voice. Unfortunately his plan to boost the man's ego backfired as the man threw his shot glass into the wall behind the bar and screamed at his drinking buddy.

"OF COURSE WE DIDN'T GET HIM! HAVEN'T YOU BEEN LISTENING TO A BLOODY WORD I'VE BEEN SAYING, FLETCHER! WHY DO YOU THINK I'M IN SO MUCH DAMN TROUBLE!"

Mundungus was surprised at the crazed tone the Death Eater was using and tried to think of a way to rectify his mistake. Fortunately he was saved of having to think on his feet as Macnair collapsed onto his bar stool in shaky sobs.

"He's gonna kill me, I just know it!"

"Surely it can't be all that bad?" asked Mundungus.

"You try failing the Dark Lord and see what happens!" cried the Death Eater, "You don't know what it's like! I've always been a faithful follower! It's always been me who he could fall back on!"

Mundungus tried to piece as much information from the man's rant as possible before the most surprising thing happened. Macnair had just finished listing off all the things he'd done for his master when his face was filled with pride and he said, "He even trusted me with one of his horcru-"

Macnair stopped speaking as he clutched his heart through his robe. He turned wildly to face Mundungus in a panic before he stumbled off his chair and fell to the floor. Mundungus jumped to his feet and looked to the crowd, trying to see who might have hexed the man but he found no one looking even remotely suspicious. Well, no more suspicious than usual anyway.

Macnair was still writhing on the ground when he leaned on one hand and pointed the other at Mundungus.

"What…have…you done…to me?" he screamed at him.

"I…I didn't do anything, Walden," denied Mundungus.

Macnair's eyes went wide and he used his free hand to grab his wand and pointed it at Mundungus' heart.

"You…made me…betray…him!" he struggled to get out as blood trickled down the sides of his mouth, "I'll…take…you with…me!"

Mundungus had never been fast with a wand and realized he was going to die right there. He backed up against the bar and readied himself for the curse that never came. Mundungus looked back at Macnair and saw that the fingers holding his wand out had fallen off directly from the stem and were strewn across the floor. The Death Eater's tongue was on his chest and the few grey hairs on his head wilted to the ground. Mundungus almost screamed when he watched the man's eyes disengage from his skull with two twin "pops" before falling to the ground. Finally the man's arms, legs and head collapsed one right after the other. Other patrons who had been attracted to the area by the shouting and the appearance of the wand were now backing away from Mundungus with wide, frightened eyes.

The barmaid had pulled her wand on him and order him out of the bar frantically. Mundungus tipped his hat to the woman, raised his only shot of firewhiskey at the corpse of Walden Macnair before downing it in one fast gulp, and disapparated from Elvira's Pub with a loud crack!

The Island of Aeolus

8:00 pm

The Same Day

Harry slumbered in what he thought was a dreamless sleep until the voices began to swirl around his consciousness. At first they were whispered in his ears, then they became muffled words and finally full on coherent sentences. Harry struggled to hear what they said.

"You don't think he's dead do you?" asked a voice from his right.

"Who cares? When's dinner?" a second voice asked uncaringly.

"Charlie!" rebuked the first voice.

"What?"

There was a pause and Harry guessed there was a visual fight going on between the two, when a third voice entered his consciousness.

"He's cute, don't you think?"

"He looks smart," answered a fourth in a matter of fact manner.

The third voice giggled and mocked, "Of course that's what would appeal to you."

"What's wrong with thinking he's smart?" asked the fourth voice, "He's got glasses, so he must be a reader, right?"

"He's got that wicked scar, too," pointed out the third voice, "Maybe he's a fighter."

"Well of course he's a fighter," stated the fourth voice, "He is here."

"Yeah, too bad about that, isn't?" asked the uncaring voice from further away.

Harry heard a door open and wondered if a person had entered or left.

"So this is the new guy?"

Question answered.

The new voice continued, "And you thought to just get a good look over, eh? Does the word privacy mean anything to you people?"

"Oh please, Troy," said the third voice dryly, "you're going to give us a lecture on privacy?"

"I won't even dignify that with an answer," said Troy lightly.

Harry felt a hand stroke the hair on his forehead playfully, before pushing his bangs back.

"He shouldn't hide his eyes," said the owner of the hand quietly.

"Would you want someone messing with your hair like that?" asked Troy.

"He's asleep," argued the third voice, "he'll never know!"

"Not for long," correctly predicted the fourth voice.

Harry felt the bed shift and realized that the owners of voice numbers three and four had gotten off his bed. Harry tried to shift his head from side to side and heard his neck muscles cracking out of stiffness. Harry tried to open his eyes but found his vision was merely blurred light anyway. He heard the sound of light footsteps approaching him.

"Welcome back," said Troy from his right, "Here drink some of this."

Harry felt a glass pressed to his lips and he opened them slowly. The water was cold and his dry and cotton tasting mouth greedily swallowed it. He felt the water trickle down his chin and down his bear chest. Harry tried to control his surprise that he was nearly naked in front of a bunch of strangers, including some attentive girls, but he ended up choking on the water anyway.

"Real eloquent," commented the uncaring voice dryly.

"I've got it from here," said a stern voice that Harry instantly recognized.

The glass disappeared and a napkin wiped at his mouth carefully. Harry felt embarrassed at having to be pampered like this. He decided to try to open his eyes again and this time saw five blurred outlines making a hasty exit out of his bedroom door. The one large figure to his immediate right stayed seated.

"Feeling better?" asked the figure to his right, Jonathan.

Harry nodded and mumbled something incoherent.

"What was that?" asked Jonathan, leaning forward to hear better.

Harry cleared his throat and said, "Glasses."

"Here you are," said Jonathan, handing the boy his much needed glasses, "fall asleep did you?"

"Huh?" asked Harry, who had always been incoherent so soon after being asleep.

"You were late for dinner," explained Jonathan, "I came up to fetch you."

Harry groaned and started to get up before remembering his current "no clothes" position. Jonathan gave no outward appearance that he understood Harry's predicament but did raise himself from his sitting position and take an interest at something outside Harry's window. Harry found his clothes laid out nicely for him on top of the soft mattress and hurriedly dressed. When Harry had finally laced up the last shoe Jonathan held the bedroom door open for him and followed him out into the main sitting room.

Harry spared a glance around the room, as if to make sure he hadn't dreamed it up, before the elevator arrived with a soft ping. Jonathan waited pointedly and Harry pressed the black button and the door swung open. Jonathan pulled back the metal curtain and both males stepped into the contraption. The elevator began to slowly descend and Jonathan decided to warn Harry about a few things before they arrived.

"Don't worry about the rest of them, Harry. They're a close knit bunch but they were like you once, too. Each of them was the new kid and was slowly accepted. Never forget that."

Harry scrunched up his face in silent confusion. Who were the 'others' that Jonathan kept referring to and why should Harry be worried about not fitting in?

Jonathan must have correctly interpreted the look on his pupil's face because he asked, "You didn't think we were alone here did you?" Harry wasn't sure exactly how to respond. He actually had thought they were alone, but apparently he had been mistaken. Harry silently fumed at the stupidity in his logic.

"Right, Potter!" he mocked himself mentally, "Big fancy island, with a huge manor with probably hundreds of rooms and you think it's just you and him! What a wanker!"

"I guess I should also tell you that I'm not the only instructor you'll have, either," admitted Jonathan, pressing a red button on the inside of the elevator. Harry squashed himself hard against the elevator wall as they came to a sudden halt between two floors. Apparently Jonathan thought he would need more time than an elevator trip to explain everything.

"There are two other teachers here beside myself," he clarified, "who will be instructing you. I, and I alone, will be teaching you the more deadly of the lessons. However that information and what goes on during our private sessions must be kept strictly between you and me. No one else must know Harry."

Harry nodded his understanding and acceptance of the terms being set out before him.

"Emma Sinclair is the only female member of our little staff here," continued Jonathan, "and she will teach you the basic skills of…" at this point Jonathan trailed off, a faint blush coming to his cheeks before continuing, "blending in."

Harry didn't understand why this would make Jonathan so embarrassed but whatever it was Harry wasn't so sure he would like it. As much as he wanted to interrogate Jonathan about the woman's subject, he found himself unable to force the issue in light of the man's uncomfortable attitude.

Jonathan continued in an increasingly more comfortable note, "Simon Wexler will be teaching you the basic educational systems in both the muggle and magical worlds. I assure you it will be a slight bit more exciting than your usual classes at Hogwarts have been in the past."

"You went to Hogwarts?" asked Harry.

"For a time," answered Jonathan cryptically, waving a hand in the air as if to literally brush the subject away. He continued to explain as if the interruption had never occurred, "You will also be studying with seven other pupils that my colleagues and I have hand picked. They are all about your age with the oldest being 19 and the youngest being 16. I believe that you yourself are almost of Wizarding age?"

Harry nodded and said, "July 31st is my birthday."

Jeffrey smiled and replied, "We'll keep track of it. Birthdays here are always…special occasions."

Harry wasn't sure what Jonathan had meant but he was interrupted from asking by the sudden appearance of a voice calling up the elevator shaft.

"EVERYTHING ALRIGHT UP THERE?" called an anxious voice from below.

Jonathan yelled a quick yes to the inquirer below and pressed the red button a second time. Harry saw the motion and quickly braced himself as the elevator sparked back to life and together they descended to the bottom floor where Harry met his new instructors and fellow pupils.

Russia

8:52 pm

The Same Day

"Do you know why you are still alive, Donavan?"

On the outskirts of Russia, a woman was tied to the chair of her own apartment. Book shelves had been snapped in half, as if someone had been thrown full force into them. Books, glass and splinters littered the ground around the bookcase. A table that had once been in the center of the room now lay in four large pieces around the room. A fifth piece had been used to smash through the once beautiful bay windows. The front door to the apartment had been blown open and was currently sideways off its hinges. Not a single portrait in the room was still hanging correctly. All signs of the occupants' short but happy life had been shattered and strung across the entirety of the apartment.

A man in a violently dark robe stood before her, victorious in their apparently hostile encounter. She was bleeding, as was he, but the attacker wasn't the one stuck to a chair. The captured woman, Eliza Donavan, was a fit young woman with a fierce temper was glaring at the man.

Maddox stepped closer to Donavan and shrugged off his robe. He revealed a cotton grey short sleeved shirt and black trousers. His shirt had a large horizontal slash which was bleeding down his abdomen. He placed a finger to the wound and covered it with blood. Donavan grimaced as he tasted the blood coated finger.

Jeffrey Maddox smiled.

He stepped forward and drew a small heart on the woman's right cheek with the blood.

"Where's Jonathan?" he asked casually, not really expecting an answer from the woman. He was not disappointed when she turned her head away in silent defiance.

Maddox stepped back and bent low, picking between the wreckage until he found what he was looking for. He smiled as he stood back up and showed Donavan his prize. In his hands was a katana sword, the steel handle wrapped in purple lace.

"I believe this treasure is yours," he grinned maliciously, savoring every moment of his victory. "I always thought you'd be a bit harder to beat… guess that's why you should never meet a legend, always a disappointment."

Donavan's eyes carried from Maddox's eyes to the wounded abdomen. Maddox followed the gaze and, if possible, smiled wider.

"I see you've figured out that, I," he said, lifting his bloody shirt to show off the wound, "am exactly like you."

Her eyes widened fearfully as the wounded flesh began to fold together. The blood flowed back into the wound and the skin resealed itself in a silent hiss.

Without warning, Maddox slashed through the air with Donavan's weapon and she winced in pain. A slow trickle of blood began to flow from her shoulder. Maddox ripped open her shirt roughly. He watched in satisfaction as the woman's flesh healed in an exact imitation of his. After a final hiss filled the silence that had dominated the room he dropped the sword.

Donavan's eyes widened in shock and a small amount of hope radiated from her eyes.

"Don't think I've changed my mind about killing you," he warned, dashing her hopes of survival with less than a dozen words. A tear fell slowly from her vibrant lavender eyes. Maddox, in an uncharacteristically sympathetic move, wiped the tear away.

Bending low to face her eye to eye he explained quietly, "This is just the way life is. I am the hunter, you are the prey. I am the thief; your life is the prize. I am the attacker, you are the victim. I am the almighty executioner, while you are the unfortunate damned. Each of us plays our little part for Fate. Is this not the way a true Phoenix, like you and I, are supposed to live? Is it not, and has it not always been, survival of the fittest?"

"Don't worry," he continued placating, "It's nothing personal between you and I."

"Just between you and Jonathan," she dared to speak for the first time. Her voice, which had been noticeably absent, sounded bark-like and unnatural in the stunned silence.

Maddox, for the first time that she'd seen him, looked deeply troubled.

"Yes," he said slowly, staring somewhere into the space behind her head, "Jonathan."

His sudden change in character gave her the courage to finish what she'd started.

"He'll beat you!" she yelled angrily into his stunned face, "He always has and always will!"

The slap was hard but not entirely unexpected. The knife at her throat, however, was.

The blade was an intricately carved bird that made up the stone handle of the blade. It was rock grey with blood red eyes. The thin blade protruded from the mouth of the carving and bent upwards to the tip in one long slope. The point of which pierced her flesh so that only a single droplet of blood left the puncture.

"As you can see," he hissed angrily into her ear, "this is a Phoenix blade."

He dragged the knife an inch further across the skin, toward her ear. She grimaced but bravely held in a scream.

"As all Phoenix blades do," he lectured, his voice wavering dangerously, "they will make wounds that will not heal. Wounds that not even you can survive, my dear. Why your precious Jonathan has indeed bested me before, it will not happen again. Unfortunately for you, sweet Eliza, you will not be there to witness it."

A whimper passed through the barrier her lips made.

"You never did answer my question," he reminder her, "'Do you know why you are still alive, Donavan?'"

He laughed into her ear harshly as he moved the blade in deeper, "Because you, like me, have power. And now I want that power. Unfortunately for you, there's only one way to get it. I'll give Jonathan your love."

The knife silenced her cry and the night went still in mourning.

Maddox stepped away from the body and wiped the dagger on his black trousers until he felt the process begin once again. Maddox felt his toes tingle and smiled in anticipation as the sensation moved to his knees. The pressure massaged his body and comforted his muscles. His dark soul was at peace and soon the feeling encompassed his entire body like an invisible cocoon.

Orange mist began to rise out of the still body of Eliza Donavan. The mist lifted into the air above her head and lit on fire. It began to swirl and grow to encompass the ceiling. Slowly it began to separate into twelve distinct balls of levitating fire. The balls of light began to vibrate.

Maddox held out his arms as if he were riding a rollercoaster and let out a shout of excitement. Eleven of the twelve spheres flew out of the blasted window leaving Maddox alone with the final orb of fire. The orb punched into Maddox with such speed and force that he was punched through the apartment wall. In the rubble that the crash created Maddox pulled himself into a sitting position. Despite the pain, the destruction and the death the killer was still smiling.

The Island of Aeolus

9:00 pm

The Same Day

Harry chose to keep his eyes on the plate in front of him instead of having to face the curious looks that were being sent to him across the dinner table. Smashing his peas and sauce together seemed like a much more pleasing idea than being forced to make more polite conversation with his fellow dinner guests. So far the other two adults had inquired after what subjects he had learned so far at Hogwarts and how proficient he was at them. The man Jonathan had introduced as Simon had seemed somewhat appalled that Harry had only managed to earn one Outstanding on his O.W.L. examinations. The woman, Emma, had chided the man and welcomed Harry to the table graciously where she introduced the other students he would be working with.

Troy, Harry was never told any last names, came from Australia near the outback. He remembered vaguely hearing Troy when he was waking up earlier. There was an essence about him that Harry found comforting. It was in the boys ever available smile and the way even his navy blue eyes seemed to be grinning at Harry. Harry had also learned that the boy seemed to be only vaguely aware of how others reacted to him. At first Harry had been a bit overwhelmed by his over friendliness, but Troy had shown no signs of understanding Harry's uneasiness.

A middle-eastern girl who looked about the age of 15 wore thin silver wired glasses and nodded politely at Harry. Emma had mentioned her name was Ganesa and that she was the "brain" of the group. The compliment seemed to appeal to Ganesa. She seemed to be taking in his disheveled appearance in one smart evaluating glance before returning to her meal. Harry still wasn't sure what to expect from her.

Caden, a better built and better looking version of Draco Malfoy, smiled at Harry as he sat down. Caden, who spoke with a southern accent, was a distinct mix of clichés to Harry. His aunt had mentioned running into an American at the supermarket one day and complained about how brainless the southerners were across the pond. Caden however didn't seem to be stupid so much as uninterested in anything that the island or it's occupants had to offer. He also had heard about unhealthy inbreeding from his Aunt, yet Caden seemed to differ from that assumption. The 18 year olds arms were twice the size of any muscle Harry had and dressed like Malfoy. Thinking of Malfoy in comparison to Caden seemed a bit cruel to Harry but it did give Caden's platinum blonde hair a negative in Harry's eyes.

Mercedes and Nevada had been seated next to each other and Harry suddenly found himself lacking oxygen. Mercedes, a beautiful 19 year old young woman with ebony skin, smiled politely at him. Nevada, who didn't seem anywhere near as self-controlled as her friend, smiled flirtatiously through long eye lashes. Nevada's pearly white smile matched perfectly with her tanned skin and thin lips.

The only person who hadn't seemed to be the least bit pleasant to Harry was another young man named Charlie. Harry quickly learned from Troy that he was Mercedes' younger brother. He learned from personal experience that Charlie wasn't the easiest person to get along with and didn't even bother to try and make an effort with Harry. The condescending glares being sent his way put a damper on Harry's whole first experience with the other students. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to see Charlie very much.

"I guess now is as good a time as any," said Jonathan, "to tell you about the change in class schedules."

The youths at the table, save Harry, groaned in unison.

"Please tell me," asked Emma with a raised eyebrow, "that you didn't think nothing would change with the appearance of a new student?"

"But he's too old!" complained Charlie, "we'll be set back by months!"

"That's only if he's had any proper training," added Ganesa.

"And it doesn't look like it," said Charlie, sending a glare in Harry's direction.

"I've had six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry defended himself, "surely that much count for something!"

"That pathetic excuse of a school?" mocked Charlie, "Forget months, we'll have to go back years."

"Please try to control yourself, Charlie," warned Jonathan archly, "you certainly will not be set back years."

"But he's had no real training!" argued Charlie.

"He will be taught an advanced course by a tutor in order to bring him up to your level by the summer exams," Jonathan informed the table.

"An advanced course?" laughed Charlie, "Taught by who? We've had almost a decade more training than he's had! Who's going to be able to catch him up with us?"

Charlie's question left the table in quiet contemplation. Jonathan merely lifted his eyebrows at the table and sat back in his chair with an unmistakable look of challenge.

Harry of course knew from their conversation in the elevator earlier that evening that it would be Jonathan who would be his tutor. He wondered what the reaction would be once everyone else cottoned on. He also wondered briefly whether or not Jonathan had told the other teachers. Simon continued to chew his bread lazily while watching the argument. Emma on the other hand seemed a bit worried instead of informed.

Wonder what that's about? he questioned silently.

"No," breathed a voice from across the table.

Harry turned his attention back to Jonathan and Charlie. It seemed that while he had been deciding how much Jonathan had told his counterparts that Charlie had finally realized the truth. Somehow Harry wasn't surprised that Charlie's face had developed scarlet blotches in anger.

"You," he asked angrily, "are going to teach him?"

Once the words left his mouth the rest of the table seemed to react in slow motion. Troy was still grinning but now he was at least trying to hide it behind his napkin. Mercedes was looking questioningly at Harry. Emma had gone paler still and kept looking at some point beyond Jonathan's chair and into the distance. It seemed that, over all, the only other person seated at the table besides Charlie and Emma that had any qualms about the private lessons was Ganesa.

If possible she looked even angrier than Charlie did.

"That's not fair!" she cried.

The whole table turned their attention to her. Harry was shaken to see her face actually turning a light shade of plum.

Jonathan nodded and Ganesa screamed again in frustration, "But that's not FAIR!"

"I fail to see what fairness has to do with it," responded Jonathan calmly.

"It has everything to do with… EVERYTHING!" she responded.

"He needs help and he has the potential," said Jonathan shortly, as if that explained everything.

"Potential?" Ganesa asked as if she had had the wind knocked out of her. "I've got the best grades here and you've never offered me private tutorial! Screw potential! I've got more than potential, I've got the talent and I've got the experience now!"

"Which is why you will be repeating the same number of classes as Harry," said Jonathan, completely aware of the bomb he had just dropped on her.

"What?"

"With your infinite wisdom," Jonathan explained smartly, "you should be able to guide Harry through the learning process. Thus he won't have to bother with any trial and error experiences. He'll be learning from the best in the class."

Emma, sensing the frustration about to erupt from within Ganesa, quickly tried to intervene.

"Of course the classes you'll be repeating in my course won't all be elementary," she said, "we'll be able to review some of the courses I believe most of you have been begging to repeat."

"You mean…" asked Troy with the largest grin Harry had seen on him yet, trailing off at the end in silent question.

Emma nodded yes and Harry felt a tangible shifting in the mood of the room. Suddenly the atmosphere had gone from extreme frustration to something more… exciting.

For the second time that evening Harry wondered just what exactly was so special about Emma's class. She hadn't seemed to have any special powers, at leas that he had seen. She also appeared to be a nice enough woman. Yet Jonathan had nearly blushed at the mention of some of her class activities. And now the others seemed to be like little children waiting up on Christmas Eve for Santa Claus to deliver their presents.

"And on that note," said Simon, entering the conversation for the first time, "we should be off to bed."

Without question the students began to stand and gather their belongings to retire for the evening.

"If you could wait for me at the elevators, Harry," requested Jonathan.

Harry nodded while trying to ignore the identical set of glares sent his way by Charlie and Ganesa.

Harry followed the rest of the youths to the hallway outside the dinning room. Ganesa, Mercedes and Nevada turned to the left of the elevator and walked down the torch lit hallway. Charlie knocked Harry with his shoulder as he went past, but Harry let it go. His first impression with the others had already been ruined by the tutoring issue. He didn't want Jonathan to come back and find Harry fighting with one of his other students after leaving him alone for just a few minutes. Harry had had enough of adults thinking he was some helpless brat, he wasn't going to give that idea a chance to enter Jonathan's or any of the other teachers' heads. That of course didn't mean he couldn't glare at the other boy's retreating back as he walked in the opposite direction of the girls with Caden trailing behind him.

Harry heard someone chuckle behind him.

Harry turned and saw that Troy had stayed behind to talk with him.

"Planning on sneaking up on him?" the boy asked in his thick Australian accent.

"I don't attack someone when their back's turned," answered Harry.

"That's a noble idea," Troy agreed solemnly, "but good luck holding onto noble ideas while you're here."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, with narrowed eyes.

"Things have a way of changing you here," grinned Troy cryptically, "you'll see."

"How did they change you?" asked Harry.

"I'm much more mellow now," said Troy with a straight face.

Harry's eyes bulged incredulously and Troy snickered.

"I know, I know," he said, waving his hand in the air, "how could someone possibly be more excitable than I am, right? Believe me it happens."

Harry decided to keep his opinion on that matter to himself. So far Troy was the only one who was even bothering to make an effort. Harry didn't want to alienate more than two of his new schoolmates.

"Don't worry about Ganesa," informed Troy, "she's just jealous that someone else could be getting a chance at something she can't have. It's nothing personal against you."

"What about Jonathan?"

"Yeah that might be personal."

The boys chuckled quietly.

"What about Charlie?" asked Harry, looking down the right hand corridor where the boy in question had disappeared to. "Is it just jealousy with him, too?"

"Oh, no," answered Troy, "you just piss him off."

"Gee," said Harry, "I feel so much better."

"I guess I'll see you later, then."

Harry nodded his own good-bye and Troy vanished into the darkness of the right hand corridor.

Harry entertained himself while waiting for Jonathan to show up by looking at the various portraits that surrounded the lengthy hallway. The two he found most intriguing were placed on either side of the elevator shaft.

The first was one he recognized from his younger days at Muggle public school. The gold plated notation at the bottom of the frame announced it was The Coronation of the Virgin by Enguerrand Quarton. There was a brick wall that filled the entire background of the painting from border to border. The painting was divided into three sections of a crowd. The top was dominated by blue clothing clad angels. Each angel equipped with a jewel, harp, wings or a flag. They peered down on the blood red virgins, who wore towering cloth hats. Apostles stood in the bottom right section with hands clasped together, also starring at the virgins.

The second painting, on the right hand side of the elevator, was called The Wrath of Fate. Harry saw that the painting was actually a magical painting, yet it wasn't the normal kind of magical painting. The picture moved but continued to replay the same event over and over. At first Harry thought the painting was pitch black until noticed a faint glow in the center of the portrait. The closer Harry stepped to the portrait the farther the white light spread across the painting until finally he was almost touching it with his nose. The white light began to shoot out from the center of the painting in lightening shaped cracks. Finally the whole painting turned white and then blood red.

Suddenly a hand appeared from within the portrait and Harry could see where the palm pressed hard against the invisible barrier of the painting. Harry took a step back as a second hand appeared and a naked human body began to break free from the blood red background. Harry saw that the figure was a young boy of what he guessed was 12 years old. Tears flowed down the boy's face cleansing it of blood. The boy stopped crying as a brilliant red bird entered the painting.

The phoenix flew around the boy's head until finally landing on the boys shoulders and digging its talons painfully into the boy's skin. Blood trailed in thin lines down the boy's body but he did not appear to feel the pain. The boy continued to stare reverently into the phoenix's eyes until the bird let out a squawk and flew into the air directly above the boys head.

Harry gasped as the boy erupted into flames and the smoke covered the hovering bird from sight. When the flames stopped the smoke smothered bird lay in a pile of the boy's ashes. It appeared dead to Harry until a single wing lifted and then another. Slowly the bird rose from the ashes and flew into the sky. Lightening exploded across the sky and struck the bird down and the painting turned endlessly black again.

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. The painting was certainly the most intense he had ever seen. He looked to the author of the painting and read the name but it registered nothing in his mind.

"Who's Eliza Donavan?" he asked to the darkness.

"Harry?" asked a voice from behind him.

Harry turned and saw Jonathan waiting for him in the archway between the dining room and the hallway. Harry was about to say something about the time when Jonathan's eyes widened and he walked quickly to Harry. Harry wondered what he had done until he noticed Jonathan was looking at the portrait he had just been viewing.

"Did you watch it?" he asked, not looking at Harry.

"Unfortunately," replied Harry.

Why does he look so nervous?

"Are you alright?" asked Harry.

"I'm fine," he said, still not looking at Harry, "Go and find Emma or Simon. They should still be in the dining hall."

It took a moment for Harry to register he had just been given an order. Jonathan seemed to think he was being stubborn because he finally turned to Harry and added, "Please."

Harry nodded and passed through the archway. Emma was still seated in the same chair but Simon was at the liquor cabinet Harry had noticed earlier. Simon turned as Harry entered and raised his eyes in silent question.

"Jonathan asked for you," he said in answer to the unspoken question.

Emma turned sharply in her chair, having not heard him enter the dining room.

"Where is he?" she asked tiredly.

"In front of the elevator," he answered, before deciding it was important to add, "He was looking at the weird painting by the elevator."

Simon dropped the glass of brandy he had just poured for himself and was running past Harry within a second. Emma took a moment longer to push her chair back but was out of the room before Harry had even thought to follow. When he reached the hallway Emma and Jonathan were speaking quickly to each other. Simon was further down the hallway looking out the open doors that led to a balcony over looking the ocean.

Jonathan was the first to notice Harry.

"Harry," he said pleasantly yet unable to hold in the worry his face betrayed, "I'm feeling a bit under the weather. Perhaps we could continue tonight's discussion tomorrow morning?"

Harry got the hint and started walking back to the elevator.

"Goodnight," he said, but the teachers had already turned away from him.

Harry reached the elevator and was about to press the 'up' button on the elevator when a hand grabbed him hard. The hand pulled him around the corner and Harry almost shouted in surprise before a hand closed his mouth tightly. He followed the hand to a face and realized it was Mercedes that had grabbed him. She put a finger to her lips to indicate he should be silent. Harry nodded that he understood and she released him.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

"Wait," she said and peaked around the side of the corner into the main hallway. Harry stood behind her and waited for her to tell him what was going on. When a minute passed with no explanation he asked her again.

She rolled her eyes and pulled him towards the corner. She bent him down towards the ground and looked around the corner from above him. He followed suit and his eyes widened at the sight. Emma had pulled her wand and was aiming it at Jonathan who looked like he was meditating. Harry wondered why she would do such a thing and why Simon, who was still on the balcony, had yet to do something about it.

Should Harry do something? Was this some kind of test or something?

Simon finally walked back into the hall and shouted to Emma, "It's coming!"

What was coming? Harry thought.

Jonathan finally came out of his trance and he looked very nervous.

"What is it?" he whispered to Mercedes.

"You'll see," she said shortly, her eyes wide and anticipatory.

Harry turned his attention back to the scene unfolding before him. Emma began conjuring pillows behind Jonathan while Simon began casting spells at the paintings and furniture in the hall.

"What's he doing?" Harry asked.

Mercedes must have decided that waiting was just not something Harry was good at because this time she answered, "Placing protection charms."

"Protection charms?" he asked, "Protection from what?"

"From that," she whispered.

Harry turned back to look into the corridor and wondered what Mercedes had meant. He didn't see anything in the hall that was remotely dangerous.

"Where is it?" he asked confused.

Mercedes sighed and whispered, "Outside."

Harry looked down to the end of the hallway where the doors to the balcony were still open. Beyond the balcony he saw something floating towards the doors. It was a circle of brilliant orange flames that seemed to be on a direct impact course with the manor at an impossible speed.

Simon flung himself against the side of the wall as the flames entered the hall through the balcony. Emma hurled herself through the archway into the dining room. It seemed the only one that hadn't moved was Jonathan who seemed to want to be hit. Harry opened his mouth to scream in warning but Mercedes put a hand in front of it again. The sphere flew directly into Jonathan's chest and he screamed in pain. The force of the collision propelled him through the air and onto the pillows that Emma had conjured. Jonathan's pillow carried him backwards down the long hallway and smashed into the wall at the other end. Emma and Simon rushed out of their hiding places and raced to their fellow teacher's aid. In their rush to help Jonathan they never noticed Mercedes and Harry in the darkened corridor.

Harry rushed into the hall to help but Mercedes caught his hand and held him back. He turned back, confusion written across his face, but she shook her head no. Her eyes pleaded with him not to draw attention to them. He looked back down the corridor to his injured mentor and then back at Mercedes.

"Please," she mouthed to him.

He took one last look at Jonathan before allowing Mercedes to lead him away from the corridor. Mercedes made sure that they stuck to the shadows and after what felt like an infinity of rights, lefts and stairwells they arrived at an alcove. A statue of a troll much like the one Harry, Ron and Hermione had immobilized in their first year occupied the space. Mercedes bent low to the right foot of the monstrous figurine and pulled back the big toe. The troll began to climb into the ceiling revealing a revolving staircase much like the one that led to Dumbledore's private office. Mercedes and Harry stepped on and together traveled up into the manor.

Apparently Jonathan was wrong in thinking there was only one elevator per each side of the house thought Harry.

The troll finally came to a halt in a pitch dark room.

Mercedes stepped out onto the landing and Harry followed suit. A second later and the troll began to climb down to its original level.

"Did he see it?" asked a new voice from the darkness.

"Yes," answered Mercedes, taking Harry's hand in her own.

"And?" asked the voice.

"He's fine," Mercedes answered the voice and giving Harry's hand a tight squeeze.

"Good."

As if the word were a trigger word, torches flickered on around the room. Every one of the students was watching them. Mercedes had dropped his hand the instant the first torch erupted but Harry could have sworn he saw Troy smirking at him.

"Come on," said Charlie gruffly, turning away and exiting out of a doorway.

Harry realized that it had been Charlie that Mercedes had been talking to.

"What's going on?" he asked Mercedes.

"A little hazing tradition," answered Troy.

Harry swallowed nervously.

Troy chuckled and said, "We all did it, Harry. Don't look so worried."

Harry nodded and followed the group out of the same doorway that Charlie had left through.

Harry felt the warm night air bath his skin the second he stepped through the door. They were standing on the roof of the tall manor. Charlie was standing on the corner edge of the far roof. Harry and the group joined him and Troy pointed to the pole that marked the edge of the roof. Harry looked closer and noticed that a thick wire connected the top of the pole and fell diagonally into the forest below. Caden opened the bag he had been carrying around and pulled out a handful of thick straps.

Harry suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what they were about to do.

Charlie took the first strap and looped it around the wire. Without warning Charlie jumped off the side of the roof and allowed the momentum and gravity to carry him down the wire and into the dark forestry below.

Harry's throat went dry.

One by one the rest of the group descended to the ground outside the manner boundries through the same means of transport. Some, like Caden, only used one hand. Others, like Ganesa, hooked their feet around the wire as well for extra support. Finally it was just Mercedes and Troy left with him.

Troy held out a belt for him and said, trying his best to look serious, "Do or die."

Mercedes slapped his arm.

Harry took the strap and wrapped it securely around the wiring. He held on tight and wondered what would happen if he chickened out.

Forget that! he thought what happens if I die?

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath and plunged into the abyss.

Ottery St. Catchpole

11:51 pm

The Same Day

Bellatrix Lestrange looked into the sky where the clouds had begun to part to reveal a full moon. She looked into the crowd as a few cloaked figures began to vibrate at the appearance of the moon. Their outlines became rigid and stone-like before falling to the ground and the screaming began. That had always been her favorite part of watching the werewolves turn. Death Eaters were already beginning to place imperius curses on the beasts in order to control them for the night. Bellatrix still didn't understand why they had to use the mutts this time, but their master had commanded and so they would obey.

Bellatrix felt a presence behind her and turned to see Fenrir Greyback standing beside her.

"You survived, then?" she asked.

"Disappointed?" he returned with a snort.

Truth be told Bellatrix was disappointed that the beast had been allowed to live after failing so miserably. Fenrir had returned to them earlier that evening where he had immediately been interrogated by the Dark Lord. She had heard screams coming from her lord's chamber so she knew the werewolf had at least been punished.

"What did he use?" she asked.

"Silver," he said shortly.

Although Fenrir seemed discontented she knew better. The werewolf, she had to admit, was like her. The pain was part of the pleasure of serving the Dark Lord; the harsher the punishment, the stronger the pleasure. There were few in the Inner Circle that understood the idea, and the werewolf was definitely one of them.

"He had help," he said abruptly.

Bellatrix kept her confusion out of her face as she tried to understand what the werewolf was talking about. As a Death Eater you learned never to reveal too much about what you don't understand, otherwise competitors can use it against you. Likewise, you never reveal too much about what you do understand; otherwise they'll kill you for it.

"Who helped him?" she asked.

"Someone new," the wolf growled, "someone different."

"Problems transforming?" she asked lightly. She knew that as an older and more experienced werewolf, Fenrir could control when he changed between human and beast. Few had ever been as successful with it as he was.

"I can only keep it off for so long once the moon comes into play," he responded, each of the words said in a deeper tone.

Bellatrix walked away once the transformation had gone into full swing and began looking for her master.

She walked over a small hill in the distance where she saw yellow light illuminating the outline of the hill. As she crossed the peak she stopped to admire the sight below her. A tall figure with blood red eyes was performing one of the most advanced acts of the Dark Arts. Few were powerful enough to survive performing it, and her Lord was the last alive of the few. Her black heart swelled with pride.

Voldemort was holding one hand towards the moon and the other stretched out straight ahead of him towards the rows of gravestones that lined the countryside. Latin was pouring from his lips in ethereal hisses. His eyes were glowing yellow instead of red and his face was contorted in pain. A young Death Eater that Bellatrix assumed was a new recruit stood naked and shivering behind the towering figure of her lord.

A moment later Voldemort's shoulder's slumped and he fell to his knees. Bellatrix would have run to his side in an instant at this sign of weakness but experience told her to wait. Voldemort used his remaining strength to turn sideways and pointed one hand at the naked recruit and a thin yellow beam shot from his hand and into the young males mouth.

Bellatrix heard a gasping sound and sighed in disappointment. The youth these days had no will to die for a cause anymore. She found it all rather pitiful and disappointing herself.

It took less than a minute for the recruit to die and by then Voldemort could stand without assistance. The Dark Lord looked to the hill and waved her forward and Bellatrix followed his lead. Voldemort sat upon one of the headstones and began giving her instructions.

Bellatrix sat the corpse up straight and magically held it there with binds. Voldemort removed a dagger from within his black robes and levitated it to Bellatrix. She cut symbols into the decaying flesh and the wounds became a puss yellow. In the moonlight the wounds were illuminated against the pale moonlight grotesquely.

When the last carving was made Bellatrix stepped back and handed the dagger back. A drained Voldemort panted out the last words in Latin and for an instant the moon turned puss yellow. Bellatrix held in her gasp of surprise as a pair of hand erupted from the ground and pulled the corpse beneath the surface of the earth.

"Where did it go?" she asked her lord.

"To gather his new found brethren," he answered mysteriously.

What?

Her question was answered less than a second later when the soil at every grave began to stir and decayed limbs began to break the surface. Slowly corpses that stretched back for years began to return to the top of the earth. Each entirely under the control of the most evil wizard the world had seen in centuries.

"Inferi," breathed Bellatrix in amazement.

"Yes," her master hissed darkly, "Here to say hello to Potter's friends."

LAST UPDATED: August 14, 2005

The Next Chapter: Only the Dark rises before the Sun

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U-No-Poo

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