Tales of the Wheeler Family

by the Mandalorian terminator

Happily married Mike and El Wheeler are invited to attend a school reunion back in Hawkins with the rest of the Party. Unfortunately their past comes back to haunt them as one by one they are attacked by a new villain who wants revenge. Together the group must band together and discover the mystery of their attacker before they strike again. Set in 2005

15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Where is my Mind?

Author Notes:

Hi everyone it's me the Mandalorian terminator coming to you with another new chapter of my story Tales of The Wheeler Family for the new year! Thank you for those that read and sent a review for my previous chapter. It truly means the world to me. For those wondering Nyarlathotep's transformations in the previous chapter are, in order:

1. Killer BOB from Twin Peaks

2. Maerlyn from the Dark Tower

3. Smiling Knight from A Song of Ice and Fire

4. Patchface from A Song of Ice and Fire

5. Freddy Kreuger from Nightmare on Elm Street

6. Pinhead from Hellraiser

7. Bill Cipher from Gravity Falls

8. Pennywise from IT

This chapter was inspired a great deal by E Pluribus Unum particularly the scene where Eleven goes into the Void to see Billy. It will also be quite long, almost as long as the previous chapter considering I had to break the previous chapter into two halves. Like the previous chapter this chapter will show alternating POVs and tell several stories within a story to tell a story. No smut in this chapter too for those wondering. I do not own Stranger Things. The only two characters that my own are Mary/Ten and Abernathy. The rest belong to the Duffer Brothers. Please enjoy reading!

---

Danny was, frankly, somewhat surprised to still be conscious, as Nyarlathotep advanced steadily towards him. "Your powers and your name causes the likes of Randall Flagg to skulk in the shadows, and they inspire fear in creatures and groups throughout the supernatural world. I respect that, the fear you have managed to inspire. But understand this: I do not share it," he said through his plethora of mouths.

Without missing a beat, Nyarlathotep seemed to lunge forward, grabbing Danny's left arm and yanking hard, dragging him off balance. And as Danny stumbled forward, Nyarlathotep, now behind him, grabbed the back of his head with one hand and slammed him face first into the forest ground hard enough to cause trees to topple over in the distance.

"Understand this, as well. I am not like those enemies you have faced," Nyarlathotep continued in a cold snarl. "I am not a hubristic, mortal wizard, scuttling from world to world and spinning webs of trickery and deceit to try and achieve some semblance of power, attempting to manipulate others into defeating my enemies for me. I am not a decrepit old man so detached from sanity that he would think he could gain access to the Dark Tower. I am not as they are, pale shadows of greater power, hankering for days long since gone."

He grabbed the limp Danny by the back of the neck again and held him up to mouth height.

"I am Nyarlathotep. My kind and I have been around since before this universe was created. I am the Black Pharaoh, the Hunter in the Dark, Black Messenger of Karneter, and Lord of the Desert. I have roamed the universe wrecking havoc, unopposed and unpunished. At different points throughout history my avatars have been worshipped by men. The "death" of one such avatar wiped the town of Derry off the face of Maine. I have watched empires rise and fall and played my part in both raising them up and bringing them down. I have fought Odin to a standstill. I have ensnared children with a mere whisper, and I, last gunslinger, am going to teach you a lesson you should long since have learned.

"Why not to meddle in the affairs of your betters."

Without ceremony, he hurled Danny across the forest, through tree after tree, until little more could be seen of Danny but a faint glimpse off in the distance.

---

Sam Owens gave a long, drawn out sigh as he stared at the chess set in front of him. He wanted to be alone right now; the present was reopening some raw past wounds.

Kingsley Shacklebolt watched him from afar, a fierce battle raging inside his brain:

Just go over there, he told himself, as a fount of mingled panic and excitement surged up inside his chest, Just go over and talk to him

Amazing, how difficult it was for the Minister for Magic to speak to a muggle. Expect he's not just a muggle, Shacklebolt told himself. He's my friend. He's more than my friend. Or he could have been. If things had of been different.

It had been a different time and place back then. Three months after the Battle of Hogwarts, after the death of Voldemort and the end of the end of the Second Wizarding War in May 1998, the wizarding world in the United Kingdom was slowly rebuilding. Businesses that had closed during the war were reopening, and it was predicted they would be flourishing in a matter of months. The Ministry of Magic was getting back on its feet. People were being hired and promoted, and certain departments were being reorganized.

The members of the Wizengamot had named Kingsley acting Minister for Magic in the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts. As acting Minister he had ordered that the Death Eaters that had survived the Battle of Hogwarts or that had surrounded after the battle be brought to justice. What would forever be dubbed the "Riddle trials" by Rita Skeeter and the Daily Prophet would be carried out in West Yorkshire, England, between 1998 and 2002.

With the help of the Order of the Phoenix committee, Kingsley also suspended an old rule that Veritaserum was forbidden in court proceedings. Not only would the Ministry prevent sending innocent people to Azkaban, but they'd quickly find Death Eaters still at large; all convicted wizards were asked under the Truth Potion to provide names of other Voldemort supporters they knew of.

The most common defence strategy was that they had done nothing wrong – indeed some like the Carrow twins (who would be the first Death Eaters to face trial)Lord Aaron Macklebee and Corban Yaxley professed wizard supremacy against the muggles and mudbloods while Dolores Umbridge maintained she had been following "Ministry policy".

The Daily Prophet was carefully monitored after the war for accuracy as it circulated lists of missing witches and wizards – loved ones were still desperately trying to track down runaway or captured family members – and photos of known Death Eaters still at large. St. Mungo's rapidly filled with prisoners and reluctant fighters who had been tortured or controlled. Runaway Muggle-borns and "blood-traitors" were being found and welcomed back into wizarding society.

Any Death Eaters who'd escaped Azkaban during the war were promptly returned to newly re-enforced maximum-security cells. All wizards accused of willing torture, murder, or unsolicited imprisonment of innocents were sentenced to life in Azkaban. A few sentences were shortened for several terrified Death Eaters who threw themselves on the mercy of the Order when Voldemort fell. As Azkaban filled nearly to capacity, Kingsley organised a team to begin constructing a replacement. Departments erected during the war – like the Muggle-Born Registration Commission – were quickly shut down, and the employees were reassigned to Azkaban to reinforce the prison and work guard duty in place of Dementors, which the Minister refused to reinstate.

The Prophet had a hard time keeping up with the sheer number of trials, but any trial that had Harry Potter's presence was covered in detail.

Kingsley complied with Harry's request that neither Narcissa nor Draco Malfoy were held in Azkaban, but both had to relinquish their wands until their trials. Narcissa's brief trial generated much shock as Harry stood up on her behalf to relay that she lied to Voldemort directly to save his life. Under Veritaserum, Narcissa admitted that she never tortured or killed anyone herself, but she had co-operated with the Death Eaters. She was requested to complete six months of house arrest, during which time a team of Aurors and curse-breakers would inspect Malfoy Manor for remaining Dark artefacts.

Under Veritaserum, Lucius Malfoy admitted he'd spent the entire previous year wandless and committed no crimes during this time. He'd never committed murder, and during the Battle of Hogwarts he only defended himself and his wife, after which he willingly surrendered. He had, however, performed the Torture Curse on many occasions, controlled others with the Imperius Curse, and escaped Azkaban during a prior incomplete sentence for these crimes. One year was added to his sentence as punishment for escaping and working with Voldemort, but far more dangerous criminals had already filled the maximum-security areas of Azkaban. Despite the nearly decade long sentence, Lucius would be in lower-security prison and allowed to receive post and visitors, to his wife's great relief.

Much to Hermione's frustration, the anti-Slytherin bias trickled all the way up to the courts due to lingering fear from Hogwarts parents – the cause wasn't helped by the Prophet's use of the phrase "You-Know-Who's house" to describe Slytherin.

All underage Slytherins received strict warnings from the Ministry that any suspicion of Dark activity would warrant investigation, but all adult Slytherins were required to stand full trial to gauge their loyalty to Voldemort's cause. Luckily, some Slytherin-bias dissipated after Horace Slughorn's trial was over in minutes; Kingsley Shacklebolt himself declared that Slughorn fought Voldemort personally at his side, and he was reinstated as Hogwarts Potions Master without further ado.

No of-age Slytherin witches were held accountable for any crimes, as only two of them had parents with Death Eater connections. But even those – Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode – had committed no crimes themselves and were acquitted with warnings.

Blaise Zabini was required to torture students by the Carrows but expressed regret and – blushingly – admitted that he held Hermione Granger captive but never harmed her. He also protected her during the Battle, and several eyewitnesses reported that Zabini took down Death Eaters at the Battle, so he was fully pardoned.

Gregory Goyle confessed to having planned the capture and surrender of Harry Potter with his deceased friend Vincent Crabbe. He also willingly tortured students and admitted he enjoyed it. Since he was still young, he was only sentenced to seven months in Azkaban, but his wand use would be traced for Dark activity for five years following his release.

Theodore Nott hadn't been present at the Battle of Hogwarts. Like many, he never raised a wand to his fellow students except under duress. He also stated firmly that he had no sympathy for his terrifying Death Eater father – who would've been convicted for life had he survived the Battle – so he was released with only a warning.

One of the most widely publicized trials was that of Harry Potter's school rival, and probably the most well-known Slytherin of their year.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy's reputation as a bully was quite well known and he wasn't exactly the most likeable wizard, so even under Veritaserum he couldn't gain the full support of the Wizengamot. Many wanted to blame him for Dumbledore's death given that Draco snuck Death Eaters into the school in the first place.

Then Harry Potter bravely took the witness stand, also under Veritaserum at his own insistence.

To Draco's great shock, Harry revealed that he witnessed Dumbledore's death. Harry heard everything, including how Draco had been coerced by threats against his family. He asserted that Draco's wrongdoing against other students occurred by accident, and that Draco resisted murdering Dumbledore despite his opportunity.

Next, Harry discussed their capture at Malfoy Manor. Draco had denied Harry's identity, thereby saving him from Lucius summoning Voldermort.

Harry's determined testimony was followed by Neville Longbottom, who was dubbed a war hero himself. Neville recalled the moment Draco stepped back to their side to continue fighting when it seemed Voldemort had won. Neville then turned slightly pink as he admitted it was Draco's uncharacteristic show of bravery that encouraged him to stand up to Voldemort himself.

Finally, the Wizengamot ruled in Draco Malfoy's favour; however, he was determined to be "too easily influenced" and remained "quite vulnerable". He was sentenced to house arrest alongside his mother until September first, then be placed under the protective care and watchful eye of Hogwarts Headmistress Minerva McGonagall to continue to prove himself a trustworthy ally. He was warned that an instance of any Dark magic on his part would overturn his sentence.

An election was held later in August 1998 to officially decide who would be Minister for Magic and Deputy Minister for Magic. Kingsley was unanimous elected. However it was the position of Deputy Minister for Magic that had all eyes on it, with many wondering who would end up being Kingsley's deputy. There was some speculation from the Daily Prophet that fellow Order of the Phoenix member Arthur Weasley or even his son Percy would run but such rumours were quickly dispelled on multiple occasions by Arthur and Percy. In the end the position would go to the only person who ran for it: Lady Whitney Dashwood.

Whitney Dashwood had previously been the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic serving under Ministers for Magic Millicent Bagnold and Cornelius Fudge. Unlike Fudge however, she had taken Dumbledore and later Harry Potter's insistent that Voldemort had returned seriously and had argued strongly against Fudge and the Ministry of Magic's attempts to discredit, slander, and smear both Dumbledore and Harry, eventually resigning her position as Senior Undersecretary in protest. Dolores Umbridge would end up as her replacement and assist Fudge and the Ministry in their continued campaign to convince the public that Voldemort had not returned to power.

During her school years at Hogwarts, Whitney was placed in Hufflepuff where she became close friends with and would later marry in secret Amelia Bones. Amelia would go on to name Whitney as godmother to her niece Susan Bones. Amelia was a known workaholic within the Ministry of Magic and this put strain on their marriage, especially once she became Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and got a seat on the Wizengamot. Respected and celebrated by most, Amelia was known for her unbiasedness in particular when she presided over Harry Potter's disciplinary hearing in 1995.

Amelia would, sadly, end up murdered during the second week of July in the 1996 summer holiday in her own home by Voldemort himself, as she was known to be a very skilled witch and all the evidence left proved that considerable effort was required to kill her. Her murder had also been reported in the Muggle newspapers, the nature of which baffled Muggle police officers as she was murdered in a room which was locked from the inside.

Kingsley Shacklebolt still remembered election night when he had had his first conversation with Deputy-elect Whitney and towards the end of that subsequent night made the biggest mistake of his life.

---

The room had erupted into a cacophony of celebration upon the results being confirmed. Members of the Order of Phoenix who had done stump speeches for Kingsley during the election campaign hoisted their drinks to seven years of Kingsley Shacklebolt and the hope of starting a new chapter in the history of wizarding Britain.

It had to be the shock of the moment, Kingsley thought. The Secret Service protective detail of Aurors now around him was a clear indicator of the position of power he had gained. He was the Boss. They'd support him, protect him from others and from himself, but he had to do the job. They wouldn't let him run away, either. The Secret Service was empowered to protect him from physical danger. Other staffers would serve and protect, too.

He could have refused to take the oath, couldn't he–no, Kingsley thought, looking down at the polished oak table-top in front of him. Then he would have been damned for all eternity as a coward–worse, he would have been damned in his own mind as the same thing, for he had a conscience that was more harmful an enemy than any outsider. It was his nature to look in the mirror and see not enough there. As good a man he knew himself to be, he was never good enough, driven by–what? The values he'd learned from his parents, his educators, the Ministry, the many people he'd met, the dangers he'd faced? All those abstract values, did he use them, or did they use him? What had brought him to this point? What had made him what he was–and what, really, was Kingsley Shacklebolt? He looked up, around the room, wondering what they thought he was, but they didn't know, either. He was the Minister for Magic now, the giver of orders, which they would carry out; the man who made speeches which others would analyse for nuance and correctness; the man who decided what the Ministry of Magic would do, then be judged and criticized by others who never really knew how to do the thing to which they objected. But that wasn't a person; that was a job description. Inside of what had to be a man who thought it through and tried to do the right thing.

Everything he said or did, Kingsley knew, would be subjected to the 20/20 vision of hindsight–and not just from this moment forward. People would now look into his past for information on his character, his beliefs, his actions good and bad. From the moment he had accepted the offer to be acting Minister for magic; he was the Minister, and every breath he'd drawn since would be examined in a new and unforgiving light for generations to come. His daily life would have no privacy, and even in death he would not be safe from scrutiny by people who had no idea what it was like merely to be Minister and know that the position was actually your prison into all eternity. The bars were invisible, perhaps, but even more real because of it.

So many men had lusted for the job, only to find how horrid and frustrating it was.

Kingsley knew that from his own historical readings, and from seeing three men at close quarters who'd occupied the office. At least they had come here with eyes supposedly open, and perhaps they could be blamed for having minds smaller than their egos. How much the worse for someone who'd never wished for it? And would history judge Shacklebolt more kindly for it? That was worth an ironic snort. No, he'd come to this position at this time when wizarding Britain needed, and if he didn't meet the need, then he'd be cursed for all future time as a failure.

The judgement of history was ultimately less important than what he'd judge of himself, looking in the mirror every morning at not enough. The real prison was, and would always be, himself.

Damn.

"Minister-elect." It was the voice of Auror Murray Roberts.

"Yes?" Kingsley said without turning away from the polished oak table-top.

"Sir, you have several owls from world leaders congratulating you on your election waiting to be read. As well as the muggle Prime Minister to meet. Then there's–"

"Where is Deputy-elect Whitney?" Kingsley interrupted, finally turning to face the young Auror. He was slender and tall with blonde hair.

"At her home, Sir." Auror Murray answered.

"Tell me where it is."

"Sir, if you're going to visit her then we will have to accompany you using Side-Along Apparition."

"I can Apparate by myself," Kingsley replied with a hint of irritation.

"Sir with all due respect you are Minister-elect now. Your safety is our priority," Murray said forcefully.

Kingsley sighed. Another luxury gone now. "Fine. If you must."

Murray and three other Aurors surrounded Kingsley, each grasping his hand in theirs. There was a loud crack and next thing Kingsley knew he was standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the centre stood an old war memorial and a few benches. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

Murray and another Auror began walking front of Kingsley while the other two walked behind him. This did not go unnoticed by Kingsley.

"I'm sure I'm not in any danger–," he began to say before Murray cut him off.

"It's protocol, sir," he replied, keeping his tone as respectful as possible.

They walked briskly, past an empty inn and a few houses. All the windows were dark. They finally neared a small, neat stone house set in its own garden.

Murray opened the gate and the other Aurors rushed swiftly and silently up the garden path to secure the house as one of the Aurors knocked on the front door. After a few minutes the door opened and a house-elf stood in front of them. She was small with large bat-like ears. Her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.

She bowed respectful upon seeing Kingsley. "Pinmy welcomes you, Minister-elect Kingsley. It is an honour for Pinmy to see the new Minister of Magic, Sir," the elf said in a soft voice.

"I'm here to see Deputy Minister-elect Whitney. Is she home?" He asked.

"Yes, sir. Pinmy will show you to her," the house-elf answered enthusiastically as she gestured for Kingsley to come in. He entered followed closely by Murray and the other Aurors.

Inside standing by the hallway were several of Whitney's own security service Aurors. Kingsley gave a nod to them as Pinmy led him into the living room. Kingsley could hear Whitney in conversation with someone else he didn't recognise.

"... I still don't understand why you ran. Don't you understand the danger the position puts you in?" a young girl said.

"The war is over. The Death Eaters have all been tried and sent to Azkaban. There is no danger anymore, Susan," Whitney's voice replied.

"But what about the Death Eaters that are still out there, that haven't yet been caught? Being Deputy Minister for Magic puts you in their crosshairs! What if they decide to target you, like You-Know-Who did with Aunt Amelia?" Susan asked her voice almost frantic with worry.

Before Whitney could respond Pinmy cleared her throat, causing the pair to notice that they weren't alone.

Whitney Dashwood was beautiful, with fair skin, long auburn hair and blue eyes. She had long fingers and high cheekbones. She wore a simple grey dressing gown. On her left hand was a shinning sliver wedding ring that seemed to sparkle in the darkness of the room.

The girl she was talking to was thin with jet black hair. She was looking at Kingsley with a mixture of shock and worry. She and Whitney were seated in two large chairs opposite a dimly lit wooden fireplace.

"Minister Shacklebolt! I ...was not expecting you here," Whitney as she rose from her chair to greet Kingsley, who shock her hand. "Congratulations on your election! A Unanimous landslide. Historic!"

"And you too. Apologise for disturbing you at such a late hour, Whitney," Kingsley said smiling pleasantly at her. "But I hoped to talk to you before the swearing in tomorrow. If now is a bad I can..."

"No, not at all!" Whitney interjected. "Susan, why don't you go upstairs and get ready for bed? It's getting late," she said turning to the girl beside her.

Susan nodded and gave a faint smile to Kingsley before leaving the living room, her footsteps echoing off the staircase.

Kingsley waited until the footsteps receded before taking Susan's seat opposite Whitney. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything important between you and Miss Bones," he began, taking in the warmth of the fire. "I couldn't help overhear."

Whitney nodded. "Susan is concerned about the danger that I will face being Deputy Minister for Magic. It's understandable, of course, given what happened to Amelia," she said sadly as she absent-mindedly fiddled with her wedding ring.

"Yes," said Kingsley quietly. "It was such a terrible loss. She was a great witch. I think, had she not been killed, she would have been chosen to be Minister for Magic after the war instead of me."

"Amelia certainly would have got a kick out of seeing me be elected Deputy Minister that's for sure," Whitney mused. "I miss her every day. But I think she would be proud of me getting elected to such a high position even if Susan thinks I shouldn't have run."

"That's actually why I'm here, Whitney," Kingsley said. "I wanted to know why you did decide to run for Deputy Minister. I mean, let's be fair the role of Deputy has always been second fiddle to the Minister for Magic. Few people want the job. So why did you?"

"Because if nobody else was going to be Deputy Minister I thought why not me?" Whitney responded. "I'm well aware of how historically the job is perceived to be largely a ceremonial task and almost all Deputy Ministers for Magic are considered a nonentity unless they take over if the Minister for Magic dies. That about sums up the role doesn't it?"

"Yes it does," Kingsley said smiling slightly and giving a faint laugh. "It's been that way since Ulick Gamp, Britain's first Minister for Magic and his Deputy Minister for Magic: Zackary Clark. Clark was notorious for neglecting his duties and usually being drunk and belligerent when he did perform them. He was addicted to Firewhisky, I seem to recall, and some members of the Wizengamot wanted to replace him for Gamp's second term. Despite this, Clark remained as Deputy Minister for Magic for the ultimately uncontested 1713 election, as the role was considered so unimportant that no one could actually be bothered to discuss potential replacements. In the end, the efforts to minimize his involvement succeeded in about the most tragic way possible, as Clark drank himself to death during his second term and passed away barely three months after leaving office." (1) Kingsley shook his head sadly. "Such a sad precedent."

"With all due respect I have no intention of neglecting my duties or playing second fiddle to you, sir."

"I am glad to hear it," Kingsley said happily. "I intend for us to work as a team together. Rest assured you will not be excluded from Cabinet meetings as previous Deputy Ministers for Magic have been. While the officer of Minister for Magic is not a role I ever intended to occupy I do plan on leaving my mark. There are many reforms I have in mind to change Wizarding Britain moving forward and I intend for you to play a more active role as Deputy Minister and to take on more responsibilities."

"I am glad we are in agreement on this, sir. But I must remind you that I wouldn't support all of your policies."

"All I'd ask is that you hear me out," Kingsley replied. "And I'd do the same with you."

"And when we disagree?" Whitney asked, curious.

"You'll never have to publicly support a policy you don't believe in so long as you don't publicly disagree either."

A small smile came across Whitney's face as she nodded her head in agreement. "Then I look forward to working with you over these next seven years, Minister," Whitney said in an excited tone as she shock Kingsley's hand.

"Please call me Kingsley. The swearing in isn't until tomorrow remember," Kingsley reminded her good-naturedly.

As he made his way to the front door, something occurred to Kingsley and he turned back to face Whitney. "You do realise that, for all the changes and reforms we introduce, there will be those who hate it and will hate us as a result?" Kingsley asked his brow crinkled as he looked pensive.

Whitney shrugged in response to the question. "A black wizard and a lesbian as Minister and Deputy Minister for Magic? What's not to hate?"

That thought continued to occupy Kingsley's mind as he returned to his house on Lydall Street, Murray and the rest of the Secret Service Aurors in tow. It was part of a beautifully preserved Georgian terrace, its graceful façade as pleasing today as when it was first built in 1810, some five hundred years earlier. In fact, Lydall Street was the only Georgian terrace left standing in the metropolis. It was also the only street with houses built of brick. To the people who lived in the flameproof, plastic buildings of the city, Lydrall Street had enormous charm, an incredible sense of history and a tactile quality missing from their own mirror-smooth environment.

The realities of living there was, of course, quite different. The houses were draughty, uncomfortable and cost a fortune to maintain. Not that Kingsley Shacklebolt minded occupying number twenty-five.

He was seated now in his tiny living room. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited.

Kingsley was startled from his contemplation by a knock at the door. Almost immediately one of the Secret Service Aurors was at the door before Kingsley had even rose up from his seat.

"Sir! There's a muggle here. Says you're expecting him," the Auror called out.

"Yes I am," Kingsley said, rubbing his eyes.

"But Sir surely you are not allowing a muggle to see you."

"Yes actually I am," Kingsley said his voice sterner now. "Bring him in."

A buoyant man came striding into the room. He was carrying a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Kingsley dismissed the Auror with a wave and he reluctantly left the two men alone.

"Congratulations on your election victory, old friend!" Sam Owens said, grinning from ear to ear as he settled down in the sofa opposite Kingsley. He looked ecstatic as he began unwrapping his present. "A unanimous landslide. Ha-ha I know you could do it! I hope you don't mind but I brought along some wine to celebrate," Sam said as he produced a large bottle of wine from the unwrapped parcel.

"Muggle wine not the kind you wizards drink," he added with a grin before Kingsley could ask.

Kingsley chuckled and with a snap of his fingers two glasses appeared on the rickety table. Owens smiled and poured the two glasses of blood-red wine and handed the other glass to Kingsley, who murmured a word of thanks.

"To the future," Owens said, raising his glass and draining it.

Kingsley copied him. Kingsley refilled their glasses.

As Owens took his second drink he said in almost prophetically tone, "We did it, Kingsley. Just like we said we would all those years ago when we first became friends."

"Yes we did," Kingsley replied though with less enthusiasm than Owens.

Owens learned back in the sofa and after taking another drink he continued in a business-like tone, "Now we can begin to make change. We have the power on both sides of the Atlantic! Me in the CIA's Black Ops and now you as Minister-elect for Magic for Great Britain. Finally after years of being the under-dog in our respective communities we now are in positions to change the way muggle and wizarding relations have been. We are talking about a complete paradigm shift here, Kingsley!"

Owens was a mystery. A muggle who worked for the American intelligence agency and yet kind and understanding towards the wizarding world. When they had first met during the Iran Hostage Crisis, Owens had been curiosity about the existence of magic and wizards but unlike other muggles who feared and showed outright hatred towards wizards had shown an interest and even fascinating upon finding out the existence of wizards living amongst him.

Kinsley had been in Iran to ensure several underage Iranian witches and wizards got out of the country safely and were resettled in Britain. Owens had assisted him and the two men quickly became friends after. Even after they'd spent all day in discussion Kingsley would often send an owl to Owens's house to deliver a letter. An idea had struck him, and he had to let Sam know immediately!

And what ideas they were. The two men discussed the problems facing their respective communities: for Wizarding Britain Kingsley told Owens about the treatment of house-elves and how nearly all "half-human" creatures, like centaurs and werewolves were greatly looked down upon as lesser, how pureblood families saw wizards from muggle families as "mudbloods", for Owens's it was inequality between white and black people, the lack of a heath care system in America, the threat of nuclear war between the Soviet Union.

Kingsley, so often melancholy and lonely, was first amused, then impressed, then seriously smitten by the muggle. He had never fallen in love before. Kingsley, both as a black man and being a closeted homosexual, considered himself unworthy of love: that he was somehow too damaged for Owens to ever return his feelings.

He looks so happy, Kingsley thought to himself. And yet the importance of his upcoming position as Minister for Magic weighted heavily on his mind. And what could be revealed...

Owens held up the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Kingsley's own face stared back at him from the cover, under the headline of "Kingsley Wins Election".

"That's a terrible shot of me," he said, glancing up at the picture briefly. And it was. Kingsley never looked good in black and white photos.

"I didn't realize that you were fussy about that sort of thing. Should I ask them to reprint?"

Owens chuckled and began to read from the picture. '"Despite a disappointing parade of Ministers in recent years, Kingsley Shacklebolt, formerly of the Auror Offices, has won a unanimous landslide election tonight. Minister Kingsley has already proven himself to be more reliable than his predecessors, having spent the last three months as Acting Minister following replacing Pius Thickness, the former Minister. Thickness was known to have been under the influence of the Imperius Curse for the duration of his tenure.'"

"Obviously I'll get you in touch with President Clinton once you have been sworn in. Sure the President's dealing with a sex scandal at the moment but I'm sure you'll get along with him–" Owens was saying.

Kingsley swallowed slowly. "Something...Sam, I've been keeping something from you...something that you don't know about me."

Owens smiled seductively at him. "All the things that I've been trying to learn, but someone keeps keeping me at bay."

Kingsley gave him a half smile. "No, actually, this is...serious."

Owens leaned in close to face him. "So, let's talk. What don't I know about you? I know that you're intelligent and patient and kind. That you don't take yourself too seriously. I know that you've known loss and that the war hurt you in more ways than I think you're willing to talk about. I know that you were close to your mother, not as close to your father, but that you loved them both unconditionally and still miss them. I know that you're going to make an amazing Minister for Magic and going to bring much needed reform and change to Wizarding Britain. I already know everything I need to about you, Kingsley."

Kingsley swallowed again. "Sam, there is something about me that you don't know. Something...I've had to wrestle with all my life. What's important is that when you learn...I'm...your opinion of me is going to change and I know that you're going to be angry that I've never told you this before and... you might not want to be friends with me and that... terrifies me."

"My opinion is going to change?"

Kingsley nodded. "Well, I would imagine it...there's a strong possibility that it might...yes..." He took a deep breath. "Sam, I... I'm gay." Now that he had finally begun he was determined to get the words out. "And I...am in love you."

"And I am as well, Kingsley. You think my opinion of you is going to change? You do not disgust me. I am not angry at you. The fact that you thought hiding this secret from me was for my own good both insults me and shames you. I love you, Kingsley Shacklebolt and I will never be ashamed of you."

Tears began to well up in Kingsley's eyes as the emotion overcame him like a tidal wave.

"Do you...do you mean it?"

Owens leaned forward and captured his lips and Kingsley found himself leaning into him, kissing him too.

"Does that answer your question?" Owens said after breaking the kiss. "We made a promise together that we would make our worlds better than they were for us. And now we are about to make that dream a reality. You and me together." He took Kingsley's hand in his as he faced him.

Kingsley wanted to believe that, he really did. But something was holding him back. He could feel the doubt whispering in his mind like a serpent dripping poison into his ear. "Sam, we...I can't be with you." And he let go off Owens's hand.

"Says who?" Owens said, his eyes still brimming with hope and possibilities.

"Sam, I'm about to become Minister for Magic," Kingsley started, struggling to phrase his words properly.

"Yes I know that part," Owens replied, frowning slightly still not understanding where Kingsley was going. "You haven't even been sworn in yet and the position's already going to your head." He joked.

"No, listen!" Kingsley shouted. "I'm a black closet gay man, Sam who is about to be sworn into the most powerful office in Wizarding Britain! What do you think is going to happen if the Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter were to discover I'm homosexual? Or, god forbid, an influential Slytherin with connections? They could use it to blackmail me or smear my name and ruin any chance I have of implanting long-lasting reforms or legislative!"

"We won't let that happen," Owens responded.

"Oh really? How? It's not like I can stop the press," Kingsley reminded him. "A free press is the bedrock of democracy as you very well know. If I'm seen going after the press or there's even the slightest perception that I'm trying to lean on the Prophet or suppress a particularly story of theirs they'll all turn on my like vultures and cry that I've become an autocrat."

"It didn't seem to bother Fudge when he got the Prophet to lie that Voldemort had returned and discredit both Dumbledore and Harry Potter," Owens retorted.

"I'm not Fudge!" Kingsley bellowed in his deep voice. "Perception is everything in politics, Sam. I have to be very carefully now that I'm Minister for Magic. Everything I do from now on is going to be watched and scrutinised by everyone!"

"You're worrying over nothing! You told me witches and wizards don't care either way about same-sex relations and if they do find out about us who cares?"

"I CARE!" Kingsley screamed. "Just because wizards particularly those from Pureblood families tolerate same sex relations more than most of their muggle counterparts as long as the relationship is kept discreet doesn't mean they would fully accept their leader being homosexual. You think members of the Wizengamot are going to support legislative ending the enslavement of house-elves when they discover that the Minister for Magic is gay?! No instead they will use it as an excuse to attack me and my policies! My tenure as Minister will have been for nothing."

"So that means more to you than being with me?" Owens asked pointedly. "Are you so scared that you would rather live alone as Minister for Magic than have me by your side?"

Kingsley didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Anger now flashed in Owens's eyes as he gathered the half-drunken wine bottle off the table and prepared to leave. "Never expected you would give into fear, Kingsley. Enjoy your new job, Minister," he spat as he slammed the front door closed.

---

The memory was still raw, even seven years after their argument. Kingsley had missed Sam deeply and had thrown himself headfirst into the role of Minister for Magic hoping it would keep him distracted.

Indeed he quickly came to learn the job of the Minister for Magic was harder than it looked. As anticipated, Kingsley was quickly subjected to harsher scrutiny. Journalists were always watching, ready to imbue a grimace with meaning.

Kingsley learned quickly that at times an opportunity to get a quick win had to be put off for a later, bigger victory. Focusing on short-term success might please the pundits, but it kept the Ministry from doing the hard, obscure, boring work needed to address looming national problems that would become too big to tackle once they became emergencies.

It was one of what Kingsley considered far too many symptoms of the sad fact that Magical Britain was desperately in steep decline. The rich grew richer, the poor grew poorer, and the mediocre suppressed the intelligent. It was an unspoken truth that any young wizard or witch with the sense to see what was right in front of them, the means to do so and without a burning desire to serve the public/serve themselves would slip out of Magical Britain as quickly and quietly as possible, either to Europe, or more commonly the Americas and Australia. In recent years, Japan, Brazil, the more stable parts of Africa and China were also becoming popular destinations.

Of course, this was a matter complicated by the fact that the Ministry as an institution did not like the idea of the best and brightest witches and wizards leaving. It wasn't simply the financial coast, or even the prestige costs, though Kingsley knew for a fact that the American Magical Congress was in the habit of sending their British counterparts a somewhat smug monthly bulletin on how well the émigrés were doing, and how many were flocking in every day, a habit that they'd picked up from the French.

It was a habit which the Ministry found extremely annoying, but couldn't reasonably protest, as all they would get were looks of milky eyed innocence and puzzled questions about why they didn't want to hear about what fine young people Britain was producing, people to be proud of to be sure. People, more to the point, who were leaving as quickly as they could, and going to other countries. This habit had stepped up in recent years, along with a simplification of the immigration process for European (read British) expatriates, leading Kingsley to suspect that Owens was taking his passive aggressive revenge on the Ministry and British Wizarding World at large; despite the new reforms Kingsley as Minister for Magic had began to legislate.

The Chinese and Japanese Ministries were far too polite to do such a thing, but they didn't need to. Their newspapers were perfectly happy to do it for them.

It slightly amused Kingsley that Magical America was seen as a more liberal destination for young wizards or witches than the more restricted Magical Britain, considering how the American muggle society was often times viewed as getting worse, going downhill fast. Wizards talked about how dangerous the American muggles were. And yet, for all that talk, Magical America was home to the Mikaelsons family (2), the line of the first vampires in existence and all vampires were descended from them, half a dozen different werewolf clans, ghosts, and the Winchester family (3). Not to mention Lucifer's past feud against Sam and Dean Winchester. That had been during Lucifer's "angsty teen years" according to the archangel and it was best forgotten about and never talked about again (at least in front of Lucifer anyway).

Then there was Count Dracula and his family. Thank god he's keeping quiet, Kingsley thought. Dracula had fled from Transylvania in the year 2000 to a castle in Stokely, Wales with his children Vlad and Ingrid and his servant Renfield (4). Kingsley and the Ministry had agreed to allow Dracula to resettle in Stokely, Wales as long as he kept quiet and refrained from biting muggles. So far Dracula and his children had kept their heads down to varying degrees.

In the end, what bothered the Ministry was not being in control. They considered all wanded British magic to be their domain to do with as they pleased. Kingsley, even as Minister of Magic, rather uncharitably suspected that they would consider all British magic, wanded or wandless, to be their domain to do with as they pleased, if they weren't all scared stiff by Arthur Langtry and the White Council, which was based in Edinburgh.

In fairness, he couldn't blame them for that. The Merlin taken as an individual was a man who wielded incredible amounts of raw personal power, and the other seven members of the Senior Council were no less formidable.

Ebenezer McCoy, for instance, was the youngest and least experienced member of the Senior Council. He was also the magical equivalent of a bare knuckle brawler – and he probably started and ended his fair share of bar fights with said bare knuckles, no magic required, for that matter – and was the White Council's unofficial assassin and had pulled a disused satellite out of space and used it essentially as a gigantic fly swat.

And then there was Harry Dresden.

Everyone was scared of Harry Dresden.

Even the Fallen were scared of Harry Dresden.

Kingsley supposed that this wasn't exactly surprising, considering all he'd done, but apparently Harry Dresden was actually a rather nice young man. Until you tried to hurt an innocent, or worse, one of his friends. Under such circumstances, he did things that made men and monsters worldwide quake in their boots, and the Ministry found the concept of him coming to Britain a terrifying one.

Apparently he wasn't all that fond of authority.

Kingsley fondly recalled a conversation with Dumbledore where the Headmaster had mentioned he was quite tempted to hire Dresden as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, just to see Fudge's reaction. Maybe he might be able to induce an aneurysm. Or a panic attack. Perhaps both. But as Dresden was American and did not have British citizenship he wouldn't been an acceptable candidate. Fudge had then gone on to appoint Umbridge to the position

Their fellow guest, the Gunslinger was another thing the Ministry, indeed the entire American Magical Congress and most of the Senior Council, especially Ebenezar McCoy didn't like, since they couldn't control him. Danny Torrance, Roland Deschain. His was a name that was not conjured with lightly. Kingsley had never met the Gunslinger until now but he had heard the story: about the Man in Black fleeing across the desert and the Gunslinger following. He had heard whispers of the Gunslinger leaving behind a trail of death, destruction and blood during his hunt for the Man in Black across time and space, across the multiverse itself. Much like Harry Dresden he had rallied against authority.

"Mind if join you?" Kingsley asked, the awkwardness he had been feeling failing to pass.

Owens did not look up in response and instead inclined his head slightly to the opposite seat. Kingsley obeyed and sat down. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes before Kingsley decided to break the silence. "It's been awhile, old friend," he said awkwardly.

"Yes it has, Minister," Owens replied curtly, his eyes still downcast as he focused on the small chess set on the table in front of the men.

Kingsley winced to himself. "You don't have to call me that, you know. You're among friends."

"Is that what you think we still are?" Owens replied. "Friends?"

Kingsley sighed. "Of course. Look, I know we haven't spoken to each other in seven years but I have missed you. And... I should not have left you the way I did."

That made Owens swallow. He had not expected such honest emotion from him. Owens knew him well enough to know when Kingsley was lying, and here she seemed genuine.

"I miss you, Owens. I miss us."

Owens immediately looked up at him. His jaw almost dropped. For years, he would have given almost anything to hear an apology from Kingsley, to hear the invitation now in his voice. He had been so damn lonely, so broken, and now Kingsley offered him this? While he stared, Kingsley continued:

"You were right; I was letting fear blind me. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's amazing how you come to that conclusion after your ambitions are realised, Minister for Magic." Owens snapped.

"I know I hurt you. I can't change that, but we can start a new chapter together," implored Kingsley.

"You make it sound so easy," sneered Owens. "A simple "I'm sorry" and you think that's it? We just kiss and make up?"

"Because you were right. I gave into fear," Kingsley said, his head lowed in sadness. "I allowed what other people would think of me to cloud my judgement and ruin our relationship. I know I did that and I own that mistake."

"Funny how you realise that seven years later," Owens spat.

Kingsley's mouth twitched and a hint of anger crossed his face finally. "You think these past seven years have been easy? You think being Minister for Magic has been a walk in the park for me? Well it hasn't!"

"I disagree. From my perspective you have been quite successful," Owens replied. "You have something all the others don't. "Charm" isn't the word. It's more than that. You exude something. You draw people in. All the reporters love you. Even the ones that hate you love you. Because you play them like the pieces on a chessboard and make it look effortless. And we both know how hard it is constantly being on guard, weighing every word, every move. But from the outside, you make it look easy. People are scared of you because they don't understand how you do it, and they love you for it. And that is the most valuable thing in this business. The ability to win people's respect by making them mistake their fear for love.

"You passed the House-Elf Protection Act, the Magical Being Protection Act, increased wages for Ministry employees and have so far managed to keep Wizarding Britain neutral in the Iraqi War. I'd call that successful. You won re-election last year "

"You...you were watching me?" Kingsley asked, startled.

"Of course I was. Do you really think so little of me that I wouldn't watch your accomplishments from afar?" Owens asked honestly. "You were magnificent. Truly. I knew you would achieve the necessary changes you spoke to me about that Wizarding Britain needed when we first met."

"But I almost lost re-election last year..." Kingsley started to say. "If things had gone differently...if just a couple of votes had gone the other way..."

"But they didn't," Owens reminded him. "For all your bravery and skills in magic Kingsley, you spend far too much time worrying about what other people think of you."

"I could care less what people think," Kingsley lied, though he wished it was true.

"That's what you want people to think. It's why you wanted so many early legislative successes. After years of inaction on certain particular issues you wanted the Ministry to move at a much more rapid pace."

Kingsley smiled in response. "I see nothing gets past you, old friend. And you're right I have been successful as Minister. I...I just wish I had you by my side."

Without thinking Kingsley took Owens's hand in his. "I don't just miss your friendship, but your counsel and your ideas."

Owens didn't move his hand away. "You can't honestly think this is an appropriate moment for such a declaration," he said.

Kingsley nodded and slowly pulled his hand back. Owens was right. The matter at hand took priority. "Of course your right. There is a time and a place for such feelings. I apologise."

Owens's eyes never left Kingsley's face. "But perhaps after the current situation has been dealt with...we can begin to attempt to rekindle what was lost," he suggested, weighting his words carefully.

"Yes," Kingsley said as a smile crossed his face. "I'd like that very much." After all, Kingsley thought it was a start.

"How's your goddaughter doing?" Kingsley asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Buffy? Yeah she's good. Hard to believe sometimes how much she's grown," Owens replied. (5) He sighed regretfully. "Time goes by so fast and it's hard sometimes keeping all those memories of year's gone past. You know part of me actually misses the Cold War?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Things were so much easier back then. It was us against the Russians. Now you have Al-Qaeda and a War on Terror to deal with. Not to mention all these secret organisations each stepping on the others toes: the Men of Letters, the Watcher's Council, UNIT, Torchwood, the White Council, the White Court, the Red Court, the Black Court, the Sidhe Courts, the Fallen, every Ministry in Europe, and dozens of others, both fair and foul. Plus throw in all the different werewolf clans along with Lucifier and the Mikaelsons family. It's one big clusterfuck, Kingsley."(6)

Kingsley nodded. "The whole thing's a house of cards. One wrong move and it'll come crushing down around us. And you know what that'll mean."

"Civil war without end," Owens answered darkly.

"With the muggles caught in the crossfire," Kingsley added grimly. "God help us if that ever happens."

---

For all of Mary's strength, will, and intelligence, when El looked at her she saw someone more confused and tormented than she could have imagined. She saw the most lost of lost souls. This was a being that had been forsaken by all. El had never met anyone quite so alienated before.

At last El understood Mary's true motivation. Mary would not go gently into that black night. No, she wanted El not just for companionship but as her sister. She wanted company, to be understood, to be loved.

What El needed to do was pursued her sister to believe in the idealism that the power of love would result in the ultimate victory, that love can wash away all sins and heal all wounds.

Victory, the vindication of the truth, came from not inflicting suffering on the opponent but on one's self. The one engaging the opponent had to be prepared for physical and/or emotional harm. This was not the result of a desire for self-injury. Instead it was the necessary price for the largest love and the greatest charity, truly loving your opponent that's either a stranger or one who has done wrong to you.

"Despite the absoluteness of happiness and love, my descriptions of those things would come off as hokey to you, Mary. You'll have to see what they feel like for yourself." El said, realizing that a grand speech about love would fall on deaf, scornful ears.

"Bah. Have you been listening to a single word that I've said? I can't feel those things."

"I don't think that's true, despite you believing that. After all, you know they exist and you can feel all human emotions. Why would you only be able to feel the negative ones?"

"Because that's all I've ever known, for the entire course of my wrenched existence."

"Exactly. That's all that you've known, not all that there is. You simply haven't ever had the chance to feel them or have someone feel them for you."

"What makes you think I have any desire to feel them? Especially after what I've been through. I mean, the Bible says quote "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails". But in reality those are just words on a page. They are meaningless to someone who has never experienced love before."

"Then let me show you. Let me help you. I know what happened to you in the Lab, I've seen the tapes of what Brenner put you through to test your powers."

Mary's eyes widened at that statement as several thoughts went through her mind. What was she talking about? What tapes? Where were they? What was on them? She knew Brenner had recorded her tests for future observations but had assumed all tapes had been destroyed by the Department of Energy to avoid discovery by journalists or the larger United States Government. What had Eleven seen?

"As much as you might not believe it, my main motivation for doing this isn't to prove a philosophical point or to understand why you tried to kill my father, even with those being things I hope to do. No, I'm doing this because of you being in pain. I can't just act like nothing is happening when someone is in pain and I can help them. I refuse to give up on anyone; even the worst of us are deserving of saving or love." Eleven went on.

Mary just stood there, silent. For the first time ever, she had an expression of awe. She knew these were just principles but to actually hear these for herself and know that the person saying them was one hundred percent sincere was a whole another experience all together. Especially for one mired in negativity.

"Is that true, Sister of mine? Is that really true?" Mary asked El in a sense of disbelief.

"Yes, Mary. It is true. I'm not trying to trick you to defeat you with force. I'm trying to reach out to you, to extend the peace and olive branch that has been so long overdue." El said with complete conviction, hoping Mary would finally believe her.

"Words and sympathy, no matter how sincere, only prove so much. There must be more behind them for them to actually mean anything."

As convincing as this all was, Mary wasn't fully sold. Despite her sympathy being genuine and all compassing, the demon had learned from years of hardship to never trust anyone at their word even with additional sensory abilities. More proof was needed.

"What else do you require?" El asked, crestfallen about not have succeeded but hoping to not lose Mary after getting so close to reaching out to her and saving her.

"Simple. I propose we go into the Void together and allow each of us to travel through each other's memories at the same time. Only after I've seen the emotion miracles that you promise and you've seen the horrors I've lived with without filter or censor, will I, slightly but still sincerely, be willing to consider your notion that perhaps I have not been seeing life and humanity on its fullest terms.

"Of course, to do so would mean you would be alone in the Void with me. Consider it one last indicator of just how much my pain being lifted means to you before the final test. What do you say Eleven? What is your choice?"

El stood where she had been for a few moments. She needed that time to fully process the two incredible new developments. First, she had almost done it! Mary had actually admitted that she could be persuaded to abandon her horrible course. However, that would only happen after the second development, going into the Void with her. This frightened El on multiple levels. Not only would it mean being vulnerable to Mary but it also meant she would have to share her own memories with Mary, any number of which could be used against her. Evaluating the factors at play, El made her choice.

Turning her back away from Mary and towards the guards, with a flick of her hand she released them from the paralysis she had suspended them in and without preamble demanded, "I need a blindfold. And a radio."

---

The two guards posted to the prison cell were called Bywater and Klein. Bywater was a big, gruff man from Chicago, Klein a petite Israeli woman who never spoke. They had absolutely nothing in common, but because neither of them made even the slightest attempt to get to know each other, they had never found out how truly incompatible they were. Not as friends, not as colleagues – not even as human beings. In a funny way, their complete lack of curiosity had saved them–since they were unaware of how much they naturally would have disliked each other, they actually got on reasonably well. It was boring job guarding the cell. During their shifts they sat side by side in silence, shared the newspaper each morning, and would take it in turns to make the other coffee.

It might be thought that they had been paired deliberately as comic contrast. But they hadn't. Sam Owens and the CIA's Black Ops preferred efficacy and practicality not a sense of humour. And now as they both had been asked by the woman called El to get a blindfold and a radio they complied with the order. A small radio was placed on the table in front of El and Mary.

Jim Hopper was raging at the idea loudly to her as the third guard, named approached with a ripped piece of cloth. El took it muttering a word of thanks.

"El, you can't do this!" Hopper insisted. "Can't you see Mary is using you? This is what she does: play mind games with people. Going into the Void alone with her..." He stopped and looked at his daughter pleadingly. He knew once El had made up her mind there was little anyone could do to change it.

"I have to at least try," El replied. "She may not be the monster you make her out to be."

"No she's worse," Hopper spat. "And going inside her memories; seeing whatever torture Brenner put her through, do you honestly think it will make you understand her more?"

"I agree," Owens said as he approached the pair. "As someone who tried for years to get Mary to open up in Pennhurst it is a fool's errand."

"And how would you know?" snapped El as she glared at Owens. "If you had shown her one ounce of kindness she may never have ended up this way!"

Owens, to Hopper's surprise, nodded in agreement. Lines in his face had started to appear and it was clear the man had now, for better or worse, come to terms with whatever raw guilt he now felt. "Perhaps you are right. Mary was always guarded around me. She made sure never to reveal anything to me. Perhaps if I had tried to appeal to her better angels instead of treating her as a lab rat things would have been different." He sighed with regret.

"If you feel this is the right thing to do, I will not stop you." Owens added and flashed her a kind smile reminiscent of a grandfather.

"We're going to be here for you," Mike said with encouragement as Lucas, Max and Dustin all nodded in agreement.

"How sweet," Mary scoffed. "But I assure you no harm will came to you, Eleven, in the Void."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" El asked suddenly.

"Calling you what?"

"Eleven."

"Because that is your name."

"No it isn't," El snapped. "It's a number forced upon me. My name is El."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Oh spare me. Just because that's the name Mike Wheeler came up for you doesn't make it your real name," she said.

"I know my real name was Jane. It was stolen from me the moment I was taken from my mother's arms. So no, I will not be called a number," El strongly rebuked.

"Your name is Eleven."

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" El raged at her sister.

"I WILL NOT CALL YOU BY YOUR SLAVE NAME!" Mary screamed right back at her. El appeared shaken by her claim. "Now, shall we enter the Void?"

Nodding, El turned the dial on the radio until there was static. Satisfied, she pulled the blindfold up to her face and tied it at the back of her head. With the world blacked out and the sound of the static feeling her ears she felt into the in-between. She thought of Mary's face and then with her consciousness she reached out to the gaps between the frequencies. She reached into those gaps, sending her mind there until she felt herself enter the Void. A silent, empty place. She stood in shallow water that never seemed to leave her feet wet and found Mary standing opposite her.

"So what happens now?" El asked.

Mary smiled and stepped closer to El. "Now, you need to picture the memory or memories you want to show me in your mind," she explained.

But which memory to show? Both Hopper and Owens had told El Mary was manipulative and that this was nothing but a mind game. Allowing Mary to access a specific memory that was important to her could be disastrous. Offering her emotional experiences to and subjecting herself to the existential gloom of Mary, would do two miraculous wonders. First and foremost, it would have Mary willingly forsake its hellish course by showing it the pure and undeniable power of love's relieving embrace. Second, it would show humanity that the way of peace was not just a fool's hope-filled dream. El hoped it might show (if only to herself but hopefully others) the fact that the modern age didn't have to be the same as any other in human history, dominated by the rule and final supremacy of brute force.

With those concerns in her mind, a certain memory began to appear. No, not that one, El thought. Why now? Why was she seeing that memory now? It was all over and done with, and forgotten, and never to be thought about again. Some things were over and stayed over, and that was it, thank you very much.

But the memory did not go away. El could picture it more and more clearly now. No, no, no! Those days were gone, that darkness had been spent. The past was the past, El decided, and in no way, shape or form, did it hold any terrors for her.

"Have you chosen a memory?" Mary asked.

Not that one, not that one! El thought to herself as she fought to suppress it. She closed her eyes fiercely, and pictured the memory locked away in an old oak chest at the bottom of a deep green sea. It had always worked before, when her past rose up to claim her—but this time the chains round the chest were rusted and broken, and the lid was starting to rise. She snapped her eyes open in fright, and noticed Mary was looking at her expectedly.

El took a deep, careful breath, and tried to fight the memory away. But it stayed there, as if taunting her.

"What now?" El asked.

"Now we join hands, while keeping the memory we wish to show in our minds." Mary was smiling, both knowing the fear that El felt being this close and respecting El for actually doing it despite that fear. Though it was slightly trembling, El raised her arm and held one of her slender pale hands up, and Mary's hand interlaced with her. Their eyes closed, them totally concentrating on what memory they wanted to show the other.

"What happens now?" El asked, her eyes still closed as she struggled to fight the memory. She could see it clearly now, the memory of that day. No, no! El was not going to share this memory with Mary.

"Stop," She said as she opened her eyes and started to unlock her hand from Mary's. She couldn't do this. That memory was too dark, too painful.

Instead Mary, who had opened her own eyes, tightened her grip on El's hand, frightening her with the unexpected action.

She tried to pull away but Mary held firm. El struggled against her, trying to pull away, to break away and regain some control. "LET ME GO!" She screamed and used her telekinetic power to push Mary away from her. But Mary suddenly let go and El found herself half floating, half falling. She screamed, her arm flaying around her as she fell backwards into the dark and into memories.

The Void descended into both silence and cacophony, both eerie emptiness and unnerving fullness as her senses were filled with grim secret things and dark oddities.

And the first of these oddities and secret things was…darkness. But this wasn't the darkness that would be seen at night; even the darkest of nights have rays of the sun filtered through the moon. There were no such rays among this darkness. It was marvellously dark; a featureless blackness that would drain all light and display a gross indifference affronting Heaven itself.

Before any sights could be seen, vocal reverberations were heard as they resounded through the black air without a star. There were languages diverse, horrible dialects, accents of anger, words of agony, voices high and hoarse, complaints and ululations loud, sighs and threats wept. These were voices with human words and omnipotent tones. (7)

"NO! Ye shall find only darkness!"

"MY GOD! I'M ON FIRE!"

"That was the messiest one yet. It normally only takes a single blow."

"Yes! I am a woman and I killed those guys."

"I didn't see strangling her as something wrong."

As these voices whose volume and content could hardly be believed hit El, the true nightmare, the true gazing into the abyss began! As the voices started, all other sound collapsed into a dull, hollow echo, an echo that duplicated the deafness one might experience after mortar shells explode around them. Human voices of all types and pitches were heard without filter, often overlapping with each other.

"Mommy! Where are you? I'm scared! MOMMY!"

"'Oh my mommy, my mommy, where's she gone?' Bah! You'll be with her soon enough, brat!"

"I may have strangled with my own hands about 125 men."

"The law must always appear respectable, especially when it's being broken!"

"Remorse, what for? I didn't even know them!"

"No second chance for the weak! NONE!"

"My God! They would scream so loud I couldn't hear myself think!"

El began holding her head, which felt like it might explode at any moment. The nightmare intensifies after El was deafened. The sound became muted, and there is a faint ringing, which made the reality of sound frustratingly out of reach for her. The speech and memory of mankind fell short in their wake; there was no room within humanity to comprehend it in full. To try and convey the pain that El was now experiencing with eloquent words and literary techniques of description would show them to be sorry and farcical nonsense.

"I'm- I'm covered in his filth! DISGUSTING!"

"We only fight when we have just cause- such as our enemy is weaker than us, we want something of theirs, or they differ from us in any way!"

"I'll eat his liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti!"

"THAT IS MY WHORE! There are many like her but that one is mine! I promise I will not hurt or harm you…I just want you to return my whore. Do you have any idea how long it takes to find a whore you really like!? SHE'S A GOOD WHORE AND I LIKE HER!"

"The city was scared shitless. They needed an arrest. They murdered a scapegoat."

"All I wanted was to get inside them…but I killed them because they cried."

"A life without murder is like life without food."

"I looked for my boy for nine months…all we got was a handful of bones."

"None of us are perfect. So how can one judge another?"

"When is a law NOT a law...WHEN I SAY IT ISN'T!"

"I abandoned my child! I abandoned my child! I ABANDONED MY BOY!"

El had sadly realized what was happening; she was discovering the full scale of humanity's capacity for cruelty. She was experiencing every malice-filled thought Mary had ever felt from her powers. After all, as a wise man had once said "Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, heat leads to suffering". (8)

"It's done! I did the deed! There…HE'S DEAD! Now just shut up and leave me alone!"

"The next thing I knew, she was smothered and I liked it."

"I am deeply offended by your calling me a women hater. I am not. I love women… when they're dead."

"Anything I ever did in my life, I felt justified doing. I never abused anybody in my life. If people abuse me and I abuse them back-that ain't abuse."

"I swore an oath to do no harm, and I... mostly meant it."

The maddening ringing in her ears made sound drift in and out without pattern. When sound did come through, it was muffled and made both ambient and menacing by strange blends of wraithlike sounds. Some of the dialogue lacked specific meaning or even concrete sentences but what replaced those things were subhuman growling, guttural wailings, and other spine-chilling sounds.

"Look bitch, I don't care about you! I don't care if you are going to have a baby! You had better be ready. You're going to die and I don't feel anything about it!"

"Man will never be free until the last aristocrat is strangled with the entrails of the last priest!"

"Please could you wait a moment? I don't want to die with my shoes on."

"If you work for a living…then why do you kill yourself working?"

"I loved all that blood. It's all I ever wanted."

"How could they have found me guilty of murder if the body couldn't be found?"

"Weak people beaten by the strong. That's life, isn't?"

"Since he didn't see the situation clearly, I helped him out. I took out those clearly defective eyes of his. There are now in my hand."

"Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her."

"I didn't give a damn who I was with…we're all dying sooner or later. So why not speed up the process a little?"

"I cannot understand honest men. They lead desperate lives full of boredom."

"Daddy, why did you do that to Mommy?"

"Universal salvation is a lie, is it not? It is only a lie. I would like to believe that all people will be saved but I know that is not the truth. They won't be saved…they won't. No they won't!"

El found herself powerless in this storm as the omnipresent sonic distortion, that horrible humming pregnant with human tones, brought a type of pain all their own that brought the greatest despair.

---

But El wasn't the only one experiencing the vestibule to a new domain. The second El had used her powers to push Mary away she had let go of her hand and had fallen backwards herself, down down into the vastness of the Void until suddenly, she found herself standing in the kitchen of the Wheeler house. The only difference was it was snowing in the past; bluish flecks were drifting past the window.

Mary turned and saw El standing in front of her facing the kitchen window. She looked about the same age as present-day and appeared to be focused on cooking the salad that lay in front of the countertop but her eyes, normally so brown and bright but not at all the case at the moment, not even remotely fixated on the task at hand. Instead, they were staring off into space blankly at something non-existent in front of her, a sort of dead, haunted, hollow look lurking in the depths.

Mary gazed, nonplussed, at El, then realised there was someone else in the kitchen. It was Max. She was watching El uneasily while she chopped vegetables she was preparing for the salad, and chose her words very carefully before she spoke.

"You seem to be having a rough time of it lately, El."

El jumped slightly, and turned towards Max. Her expression was oddly blank, something the other woman was not accustomed to in the slightest. It was incredibly unnerving.

"I'm fine."

I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's fine.

It was the same old song, day after day, night after night, morning after morning. By now Max had come to realise that "I'm fine," was actually code for, "I'm about ready to fall apart at the seams."

Max weighed her response to that with incredible prudence, and when she spoke again, her words were gentle yet firm.

"You don't seem 'fine', El."

Silence. El blinked at her, and without responding, turned away back to the salad in front of her.

Max did everything she could to bite back the words springing forth from her lips, but in the end she lost the battle. She knew she was risking the other woman's wrath by even broaching the subject, but also knew that it needed to be broached.

"How are things with Mike?"

The effect was instantaneous. El immediately stiffened. Max watched with trepidation, her eyes filled with worry. She braced herself for the onslaught. But it never.

"I've just realised we're out of tomatoes for the salad," El responded, reaching for her purse and car keys. "I should head to the shops to get some. You don't mind staying here until I get back, do you?" She deliberately avoided Max's gaze as she headed out towards the back door.

Very aware of what she was trying to do, Max stood up with. "El, please. Don't do this. Don't run away. I'm your friend. Talk to me. Please. Talk to any of us. We love you. We love both of you."

There was the briefest pause, where El appeared to process the heartfelt plea. But ultimately, like everything else these days it seemed, she could not bring herself to try and make an effort to grant it.

"I'll be back in a half hour."

And she was gone. Max watched her go miserably, letting out a sigh. It was only when her gaze drifted to the side, landing on the countertop where she noticed that there was already several tomatoes right next to the stove, perched next to the salt and pepper.

Mary looked around; the kitchen was dissolving as though it was made of smoke; everything was fading, she could see only her own body, all else was swirling darkness ...

And then, a darkened bedroom sprang up. Mary was standing in front of the bed and watched as Mike woke up with a drowsy grunt, tucked beneath the soft sheets of their bed, and immediately rolled over to hook his arm around El and snuggle into her. But instead of his arm landing on her waist as usual, it found nothing but empty space. The mattress was cold, so wherever she was, she had been out of bed for a bit.

He propped himself up on his elbow, rubbing sleep from his eyes before glancing around the darkened room, but El was nowhere to be found.

"El?" he called, his voice slightly hoarse from slumber. When he received no response, he swung his long legs out of bed and twisted his lean body into a bone-crackling stretch before standing to seek her out. He was just about ready to open the door and head out into the hallway when he heard it.

Sobs.

His heart immediately sank down into his stomach, and he headed straight to the bathroom off of their bedroom, where the cries were coming from. With every step he took, his heart beat just a little bit faster, scared of what he knew he would find there. Mary watched with intrigue as Mike knocked on the door gently, swallowing roughly before he spoke.

"Sweetie?"

The cries continued. When he received no answer to his inquiry, he gently turned the knob and opened the door, peering his head in. What he saw nearly knocked the wind out of him.

El was huddled in the shower, dressed only in her simple cotton nightgown, her knees drawn up to her chest and convulsing with sobs into her lap. Mike watched her, his throat aching with misery on her behalf. He didn't need to ask her what was wrong. He already knew. In his mind's eye, he was immediately transported back to little over two weeks prior, where El had been in this exact same position in this exact same shower, after coming home from the hospital and having to come to terms with the miscarriage and the loss of their dead child.

He carefully approached her and stepped into the shower, kneeling before her to reach out and gently touch her heads, pressed into her kneecaps. El averted his gaze even more in shame. In a desperate plea to connect with her, he whispered her name.

"Eleven?"

She continued to sob, her face hidden.

"El, sweetie...look at me. Please?" His tone was soft, cajoling. He reached out to touch her cheek and gently directly her gaze to meet his. Her wet, beautiful brown eyes were filled with such anguish he almost felt the impulse to look away himself, but he forced himself to retain eye contact with her. He gently stroked his thumb over her cheek.

"It wasn't your fault."

She choked out another sob, shaking her head at that statement, trying to look away again, but he held her fast.

"It wasn't your fault, baby. You didn't do anything wrong," he whispered, stroking her hair, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away her tears. El tried to speak, but couldn't. She sniffled, loudly and tried again.

"No. Never."

"I'm so sorry, Mike."

"Please don't apologise. There's nothing to forgive." He cradled her face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Nothing," he repeated into her hair.

"I shouldn't have ever thought that maybe it would be better to not have it. I didn't want it enough and the baby could sense it, and...it knew its mother didn't want it...so it...it died, and it's my –"

"Shhhhh," Mike soothed, pulling her against him, pressing kisses into her hair as she wept. He rubbed her back, cradling him to her, feeling tears beginning to sting the backs of his own eyes.

"You didn't wish this, El," he whispered gruffly. "You didn't. It just happened. It's not your fault," he repeated, praying fervently that somehow, the words would penetrate and sink in.

But he could tell by the haunted look in her eyes that they hadn't.

It took a moment for Mary to process what she had just learned. Before Sara, James and Eleanor had been born, Eleven had suffered a miscarriage. When had this happened? Clearly the memory still haunted her enough to be locked away.

Mary stepped forward into the shower and stared down at her sobbing sister. Her first instinct was to reach out, to comfort her. But before she could even think about reaching her hand out, the bedroom dissolved again. This time it was replaced with a living room. El sat on the couch, her face was incredibly passive and blank. The TV was on but the sound was off.

It was unsettling, and so Mike once again decided to break the silence. "Sweetie?"

El didn't acknowledge him, continuing her vigil of staring out at the TV. A tight feeling clamped up in Mike's belly, and he whispered her name.

"El? What's wrong? Is everything okay?"

Again, no answer. Alarm started to sink in, growing stronger and stronger with each passing second. This wasn't normal. El never ignored him. The tight feeling in his stomach expanded into his chest as he replayed every interaction he'd had with her in the past 24 hours, wondering if he had said or done something wrong.

"Why aren't you answering me?"

In a movement so slight he would have missed it had he blinked, she glanced over her shoulder. While the gesture served to, at the very least, prove that she had acknowledged his presence, it did nothing to soothe his growing unease.

"El, answer me. Please. Tell me what's wrong. Are you still upset about last night? Did I say something to hurt you? Talk to me." His voice started to tremble as he pleaded for a response, but none came. Finally, his anxiety bubbled over.

"Eleven!"

This time, El reacted. She stood, narrowing Mike with a steely brown stare full of something he couldn't quite identify, but it was anything but friendly or warm.

"For God's sake Mike, there's no need to get dramatic about it," she snapped.

"You're done nothing but push me away for weeks! I never know what to think about you anymore!" Mike replied. "I love you, Eleven."

The tone was different this time, a mixture of hope and desperation and fear. In that moment, she knew how badly he needed her to say it back. But despite her best efforts to force the words out, they just couldn't seem to release their claw-like grip on her lips.

I love you too, Mike.

I miss you so much.

I'm so sorry for everything

I've been awful.

Please forgive me.

I need you.

I can't live without you. I don't want to.

The hurt in his eyes darkened, and he looked as though someone had just stabbed him in the stomach. When he spoke again, his words were garbled with tears.

"Do...do you love me, El?"

The question was as painful as a physical blow.

The guilt and shame that had been rising up within her like steam in a cooker popped and own eyes filled with tears and her countenance at nigh hysterical levels.

"How could you ask me that?!" Her voice was shrill, hoarse and cracking from self-loathing. Mike flinched, stepping back from her slightly. When he responded, he could barely choke the words out.

"Is it really so hard for you to say it back?"

"That question was completely unfair and you know it!" She knew she was deflecting, knew she was avoiding, knew she was in the wrong, but as per the pattern she'd been following for weeks now, she kept digging herself deeper and deeper.

Despite his own tears, El could see that Mike's anger was coming to his defence; and he had every intention of calling her on her avoidance.

"It's not the slightest bit unfair when you consider the way you've been treating me! And I know the reason why – the miscarriage. I know you're hurting – so am I, truthfully. But every since we were children you and I have always hurt together. Conflicts and tragedies have always brought us together, not force a wedge between us. So yes, Eleven, I need to ask! Last night? That was the first time you've let me touch you in over a month! Ever since the baby!"

El instantly snapped erect, as though she had been slapped. Mike's complete fearlessness to shove the elephant in the room, the one she had been so desperately trying to avoid, right in her face nearly took her breath away. "That's not true!"

The second the words were out, she knew he would shoot them down instantly. Rightfully so.

He did not disappoint. He gasped, stunned by her outright lie. "It is true! You know it's true! You barely even look at me, let alone speak to me! You won't let me touch you or kiss you or hold you, you snap at everything I say and do, and no matter what I do it's always wrong! It's like you can hardly stand to be under the same roof together! I don't understand! You won't tell me anything you're feeling since the miscarriage or what I've done to deserve this! You want to know what's 'unfair?' That's what's unfair!"

El's tears finally spilled over as well, her fists clenched at her sides. "Oh, well, I'm so sorry that it's been so difficult for you to deal with me! Please, forgive me!"

"Don't you dare!" Mike snarled, startling her with his ferocity. "You're not going to do that, Eleven! You're not going to turn this around on me and make it out to be as though I'm the bad guy! Stop avoiding everything I say! Why won't you answer the question? Why won't you tell me what you're feeling?" he gripped her desperately by her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Why won't you let me help you? What did I do? I can't fix it if you won't tell me!"

"You wouldn't understand!" El sobbed, her voice breaking.

"How do you know if you won't let me try?" he shot back, sobbing as well.

"You can't fix it, Mike!" her words were now almost incomprehensible, drowned in tears. "No one can! No one can fix it! It's gone! It's all gone, and I can't get it back!"

Mike didn't need her to clarity what "it" meant. He knew. The baby. The future they'd hoped for with it. Her life as a potential mother. Her passion, her emotion, her strong-willed nature, the fire within her that had captivated him so intently to begin with. He watched as she buried her face in her hands, crying so hard it looked as though she were being ripped in two. Instantly, the fight drained out of him and his heart broke on her behalf. He reached for her, praying that she would not push him away. Thankfully, she didn't.

"Please, El," he wept hoarsely against her temple, holding her shaking body as tightly as he could. "Please, please talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling. Let me comfort you. Let me grieve with you. Let me in. Please."

His anguished plea was her undoing, and she looked up at him, her bright, brown eyes wet with sorrow. She tried to form words, but nothing came at first, her mouth moving soundlessly. Then, finally, she managed to tear them from her throat.

"I feel nothing," she confessed brokenly. "Nothing, Mike. I don't feel anything. About anything."

Mike looked at her, blankly at first, then his tear-stained face clouded over with dread. Despite his obvious terror, he asked the question anyway.

"Including for me?"

There was a horrible, awful, billowing silence. El blinked at him, her wet brown eyes welling anew with unshed tears. She wanted nothing more than to reassure him, swear that she still adored him as much as the day she had married him, that she felt deeper for him than anything in her, but once again, her words choose to betray her and stay buried within.

It was clear that he took her silence for her answer. His hands fell limply to his hands, and he swallowed hard, his throat bobbing spasmodically with his tears. In that moment, Mike was certain that nothing had ever hurt as much in his life, and that nothing would ever hurt as much again.

Suddenly, he felt as though he could not breathe here in his room, this room that had always been such a haven of love and comfort. He slowly stepped back from her, doing his best to ignore the wild panic darkening in El's brown eyes.

Please don't go, please don't leave me, stay, I love you, I love you so much, I don't mean any of it, I'll always love you, it's all my fault –

"Oh," he whispered.

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out.

If El cried or called after him, Mary never heard as once again the scene dissolved, leaving her floating alone in darkness.

---

Danny coughed, and when he did, blood spattered onto his chest, blood not from a cut in his mouth or to his lips, but from deep in his chest. He tried to breathe, gasping, and could only suck in faint sips of air. He tried to move his right arm, and found it in agony, like it was on fire, misshapen and rapidly purpling from internal bleeding. He closed his eyes, using what magic he had to force it back into shape, and let out a choked scream at the pain.

And that was not the only source of pain, though with the amount of pain he was in, it was difficult to distinguish individual sources. Just by looking down at his body, though, craning his neck to do so because his body was barely able to struggle into a sitting position – and that felt like running a marathon – he could see the crater he had created after being hurled across the forest.

Before Danny could continue his self-assessment, a figure appeared near the crater next to him. Unlike Danny himself, the figure seemed to be moving with perfect ease, everything functioning as it should be. At worst, he seemed like someone working out a mild pulled muscle.

Nyarlathotep, having now transformed back into his Killer Bob form, smiled thinly down upon Danny. It had no mirth in it, and no mercy, either. "Your defiance amuses me, Gunslinger. Most people would have died experiencing such injuries as you are right now. But your magic protects you." His eyes narrowed, and the cold fury that the smile had only thinly concealed surged to the fore.

"Did you really think you could threaten and make demands of me? Or that I would be an easy opponent for you to beat in combat? Did you really believe that I would simply give you whatever information you desired simply because you are related to royalty? Everyone knows what you are, Gunslinger, and everyone knows who you are. You have preformed deeds fit to shake the Earth. And yet you are still nothing compared to me." He surged over to Danny in the blink of an eye, pulling him up to eye level by his jaw, seething rage in every word, in every line of his face. "Tell me, gunslinger," he hissed. "Were you really so arrogant as to think you could survive Nyarlathotep?!"

Danny just glared at him, and Nyarlathotep examined him for a moment, then snorted contemptuously.

"I should kill you for that insult alone," he said. "I should hang you up by your ankles and wrists and slit your throat. But the Kingdoms of Andor and Illian could not ignore such an act, and I have neither the time for, nor the interest in, a war with your grandparents. So rejoice, Gunslinger – your heritage protects you." He snorted again. "Of course, I cannot ignore such insults either. And besides, as you know there are so many ways to hurt a person without killing them."

Danny muttered something, and Nyarlathotep raised an eyebrow.

"What was that?" he asked.

Danny looked up and smiled a mocking smile, before clearing his throat. "I said, 'whatever. Go ahead. It can't possibly be more painfully than listening to you talk'," he said.

And with that, he flashed a blast of incandescently bright fire into Nyarlathotep's eyes. Instantly, Nyarlathotep stumbled backwards, howling with pain. He was quickly propelled even further back by as powerful a kick Danny could manage. In the meantime, Danny extinguished his flames and darted back behind some still-standing trees, breathing in deeply, focusing and summoning up as much magic as he could.

"You think you can hide from me, Gunslinger?" Nyarlathotep demanded as he began searching around for Danny. "You think we are playing hide-and-seek? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish you now, Gunslinger? Come out, Gunslinger…come out and play, then…. It will be quick….it might even be painless…and to think my son is afraid of you."

"Many who don't know me personally know to fear me," Danny called out, in a matter-of-fact tone that said that this was a statement of fact, not a boast. "And are wise to do so." His expression hardened. "But yes, I know him, he knows me, and he knows very well to fear me. I have been trying to find him, thwart his various schemes, and preferably, stick his miserable head – his real miserable head – on a rusty pike for a very long time. Which since he is immune to all of my conventional and unconventional tracking methods, and has the sense to keep his head down most of the time, is an absolute bastard." He stepped out from behind the tree so Nyarlathotep could see him. "But I've come close, once or twice, I've come close. I've close very close."

"Come and get me, you bastard," Danny challenged, causing the creature to let out a roar and charge at him.

Danny brought up his right hand, turning side on to Nyarlathotep, levelling it, palm out. In his palm, something as bright and white as a star formed. Then, when Nyarlathotep was only twenty yards away, a bar of thick, white-hot fire shot across the gap between them and slammed into Nyarlathotep with enough force to shake the forest, sending up huge waves of dirt and ground across the forest.

"Now, tell me where the Man in Black is. Where is Walter?!" Danny screamed as he heard footsteps approaching. It took a few minutes but Nyarlathotep emerged from the ground, his eyes burning with incandescent fury.

He bared his teeth in a grotesque parody of a smile, and there was a blur, and Danny was seeing stars, his back slammed into the ground. As he gasped and coughed, trying to get his breath back, it bubbled around him like lava while Nyarlathotep advanced, his human arms now back in the form of gangly hands. "I said your heritage protects you," he said as he raised his four clawed fingers, levelling it at Danny's heart. "But that doesn't mean I can't claim a trophy from you. Your heart will do nicely."

---

The omnipresent sonic distortion, that horrible humming pregnant with human tones which brought a type of pain continued to haunt El and made her feel unrelenting tension and fear. Within this humming there was a mocking, whispered laughter. Within the buzzing and laughter was the worst of humanity's dark potential and reality.

"It is better to torture nine innocent than allow one guilty to go unpunished!"

"am…happy…fixed…crash."

"I am the only successful member of my family and I got that way by robbing the dead and dying."

"I'M NOT A BAD PERSON! I'm just a person who did bad things. IT'S NOT THE SAME!"

"…love…you…white hot…a thousand…"

"Between two worlds, one dead…the other powerless to be born, with nowhere to put my head."

A stillborn scream curdled in El's throat and congealed into a lump, a non-existent lump that still was blocking oxygen as if it did exist. This place had a sort of unreal realism that got to events terrible beyond comprehension; it was a phantasmagoria that was grounded in appalling reality. It was a reality that El couldn't hide from or deny, ever again. Whether by closing her eyes or covering her ears; all attempts at ignorance were pointless now because the dark fever-tides of emotion had gotten past her vision and hearing. They had penetrated her very consciousness and threatened to always be with her forever more. The horror that she was experiencing, in excruciatingly vivid detail, would be etched for an indefinite amount of time into her memory. She would from this day forward be an intermediary between her world and this hallucinatory nether world of blood and mud and escalating madness.

"Just keep up our hatred for me. I know it keeps up their morale. They can only feel righteous by pointing their fingers at guys like me. Without me they wouldn't know right from wrong!"

"If I didn't kill one or two people now and then, they'd forget who I am."

"Always…bright side… just…whistle."

"…way of…and…always prevails."

"If people are told 1,000 poor people are dead…they say 'that's sad' before not giving it a second thought. But when told one little celebrity dies, it's all everyone can talk about for days!"

"They told us over and over again that they were something lower then people and must be wiped out. To me they look like ordinary women and children. I didn't like what we did…I didn't like it one little bit. But I didn't do anything to stop it."

El closed her eyes. They had become too inebriated by horrors and pain. She feared that if she started crying that her face would irrigate blood also and that blood would commingle with her tears.

---

The darkness surrounding Mary dissolved, once again showing her the living room of the Wheeler household. Mary had learned that El over the past near month had days that often fell into one of two categories: "good" days and "bad" days. There were also, at an alarmingly fast growing rate, more and more "nothing" days – days where she felt nothing, good or bad. Ironically, those were the ones she dreaded the most. She actually preferred to be angry or bitter or sad than totally apathy; at least when she felt sad, she had proof that she was actually still alive.

Today turned out to be a "nothing" day. Once again El sat in the chair by the window in her dressing gown, once again staring forlornly out into the garden, her expression devoid of any and all emotion. But today (as Mary would find out) would be the last straw.

"El?" Mike asked.

Silence.

"El, please talk to me."

Again there was no reply.

Finally Mike had reached his breaking point, the awful, horrible place where he just simply could not hold it even remotely together anymore.

"You need to do better," he snarled, his narrowed, steely glare burrowing into the back of her head.

El didn't even flinch. For a moment, Mike wondered if she'd even heard him. She seemed to have completely exorcised him from her entire emotional life since the miscarriage, to the point where he wondered if she even noticed his presence anymore.

Not to be deterred, Mike immediately strode over to stand in front of her chair, and the second his eyes fell on her face, he felt his resolve shake a bit. So beautiful, and yet so sad and lost. He was torn between knowing that yelling would only make her close off more, and thinking that she had already closed herself off as much as possible so perhaps yelling was the only hope he had of getting through to her.

"You need to do better," he repeated forcefully, and she started to blur in his vision as droplets of unshed tears stuck to his eyelashes. "This cannot go on this way, El! We can't keep doing this! You can't keep doing this! Tell me how to make this better for you. I will do anything. I will do anything you ask. I know you're angry at me. I know. I'm angry at myself, too. But I need to know why. I need to know so I can fix it. Please, help me fix it! I can't lose you, Eleven. I can't. Please."

She whispered something unintelligible, and Mike shook his head.

"I can't hear you, Sweetie," he said thickly.

And finally, that glazed look cleared, and it seemed like she was really focusing on him for the first time. Rivulets of tears swam down her cheeks, and this time, though her voice was faint, he heard her.

"You couldn't bring it back."

He blinked, not understanding. "Bring it back? Bring what back?"

"You couldn't bring it back," she repeated, and although he could tell that the words were accusatory in and of themselves, the tone was anything but – instead, they were saturated in guilt and shame.

"Eleven," he whispered, "I don't understand what you mean. What couldn't I bring back?"

Her face crumpled, and she dropped her head into her hands, and suddenly it hit him like a ton of bricks.

That's why she was angry at him. Not just because of vacillating hormones. Not just because of depression over having lost the baby.

Because he couldn't bring their baby back.

The only sound in the room was El's muffled sobs. Mike stared at her, dazed and in a total stupor, reeling from the realization. He tried to speak once, but failed. Tried again, but no words came. Finally, on the third try, he managed to push past the block that had wedged itself in his throat.

"You blame me," he whispered hoarsely. The words were free of censure, but devastating nonetheless. "You've blamed me all this time. That's why you keep pushing me away."

She shook her head to refute the statement, desperate to reassure him that while the words were true, she blamed herself far more than she blamed him and there were a million other reasons she kept pushing him away, none of which had anything to do with failures on his part at all. But the damage had been done. She could see Mike shrink back into himself, horrified and guilty and angry and scared, and he slowly pushed himself to his feet. She knew he was leaving. She knew he was going to run and she was torn between hating him for it and wanting to reach out and grab his hand to beg him to stay, but she couldn't seem to force it to obey.

I'm sorry. Two little words, two such small little words, words that could begin the healing process to fix everything that was broken between them, and yet neither one of them could make them come.

"Okay, El," he croaked numbly. "You want me to stay away. You win. I'll stay away."

He turned and left the living room, refusing to fall apart entirely until he got to the garage, where he knew he would be spending another night sobbing in his car. As he walked, he prayed that she would call him back, run after him, anything at all.

But she didn't.

The scene dissolved and it allowed Mary a minute to absorb all this new information.

After the loss, El's moods had been ridiculously volatile. She would often veer back and forth between the anger and tears, indifference and despair. She was up then she was down. She was happy and then she was said. She was cold and then she was hot. Mike couldn't be sure from one moment to the next which El he was going to get. Consequently, he was frequently at a loss as to how to comfort her because no matter what he did or said, it was always wrong. In addition to that, Mike also found himself the unhappy target of her frustration most days. Needless to say that it had not been a happy time.

Of course, in hindsight, Mike could admit that he hadn't reacted in the best way. Despite El's knowledgeable insistence that women who suffered miscarriages sometimes experienced extreme hormonal shifts that affected their dispositions, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Mike began to take those mercurial rebounds in El's mood personality. As a result, when faced with what appeared to be a no-win situation for him, Mike immersed himself in his work and, when not working, soon began keeping a wide berth from El altogether. Not surprisingly, his doing so only worsened the tension between them. El resented him for the time he spent away from her while conversely resenting him when he was around her as well. It seemed to Mike that he was condemned no matter what he did.

It wasn't very long before the two began to fall into a dangerous cycle of non-communication that threatened to choke, not only their marriage, but the foundation of their friendship as well. For the first time since meeting El, Mike began to feel uncertain about their future together. He certainly didn't love her any less. He didn't want her any less. But he had seriously begun to doubt he could make her happy anymore and that was the most painful realization of all.

However, as a new memory began to form in front of her, Mary saw Mike sitting out in the garden, weeping out his misery in solitude when she had come to him. She knelt before him, her feet bare, her hair unbound and her expression the most vulnerable he had ever seen it…an exact mirror of his own. She tentatively brushed away his falling tears with the tips of her fingers even as she let hers flow unchecked. And then she had asked in a voice choked with emotion:

"Am I driving you away?"

Mike hadn't expected the question and, consequently, countered with one of his own. "Do you want to drive me away, El?"

She kissed his hands tenderly, her falling tears meandering through his fingers. "Mike, I need you. I love you. I don't know what's wrong with me."

He reached out to stroke her hair. The action was almost seemed like a battle for him; as if touching her physically pained him while at the same time filled him with aching need to never stop touching her. "I love you too; El…more than anything," he sighed, "But I don't know what you want anymore."

"I want you," she insisted, "I know I haven't been very good at showing it lately, but that is honestly the only thing I know for sure these days."

Mike leaned into her then, his forehead resting against hers. "I feel the same."

"Then how do we fix what's wrong between us?"

"I don't know. I've tried to get close to you, El. I've tried to help, but you keep pushing me away."

"I…I know that," she whispered mournfully, "I don't know why it happens, I just do. I push you away when all I really want is to pull you close and never let go. I can't explain what's happening to me. Nothing makes sense."

"Is that because you're hurting still…you know…about the baby?"

El jerked a nod. "I've experienced loss before," she considered, "I've felt that pain before and I've dealt with it. I lost my mom and, for a brief time, I lost you. But I've never felt anything like this. There's this hollow place inside of me…like something died and I don't know how to get that part of myself back."

"Thank you for being honest with me."

"I don't mean to sound so hateful." She dropped her face into her hands, but Mike gently peeled them away, refusing to let her cringe in shame when the shame should be his own.

"You don't sound hateful. You sound like a woman who is grieving and, unfortunately, has a husband who has been too selfish and self-involved to give you the patience and understanding you needed to work through your pain. I'm sorry I failed you, El."

"Don't say that. You didn't fail me, Mike. I haven't been the easiest person to be around lately and I don't blame you for running away. I probably would have too."

"No, you wouldn't," he argued, "and that's why you're a better person than me…and that's why I'm so lucky to have you as my wife."

"You can say that even after I've been such a pain in the neck lately?"

"I'll say that for the rest of my life," he vowed.

Her mouth curved in a small smile that was tempered with bittersweet uncertainty. "Are we going to be okay now, Mike?" she wondered tremulously.

"I want us to be."

"Good," El whispered, leaning up to brush his lips with a tender kiss, "So do I."

That night had marked the start of Mike and El's first steps back towards solidifying their friendship and their marriage. Although there had been a series of fits and stalls, both had been so equally committed to repairing their damaged relationship that progress was certain. In gradual stages, the constant fights and angry silences that had permeated their marriage for the past three months were replaced with easy smiles and sweet words of endearment. The wounds finally began to heal, the scars began to fade and El and Mike fell in love with each other all over again. After weeks and weeks of anguish, they had found their centre once more and rediscovered one another in the process. El even worked up the courage to decide again to have another baby and this time, fortune smiled upon her. A healthy baby girl would be born, and Mike and El would name her Sara in memory of Hopper's daughter.

Mary had now seen the middle and the ending but what about the beginning? Was the memory of the miscarriage itself here somewhere?

As soon as she wondered that, the Void lurched forward and a new memory started to appear. The bedroom of El and Mike's came into focus as Mary watched.

El awoke with a fitful start.

Her very first awareness was that she felt odd. There was a vague, fluttery sensation in her chest, as if her heart was quivering rather than beating. She pressed her hand there surprised to discover that was exactly what it felt like. Her breath rushed from her lungs in quick, shallow pants. Her second awareness, which was much more alarming than the first, was that she felt strangely wet and sticky. Frowning and still a bit disoriented from sleep as well as some light-headedness, El reached over to light the lamp situated on her bedside table before whipping back the bedcovers for a closer inspection.

She immediately gasped in panicked horror.

"Mike?" she croaked out in a thread-bare whisper, weakly shoving against his shoulder to rouse him, "Mike! Wake up! I think I'm bleeding!"

While he had responded rather half-heartedly to her persistent nudges until that point, once Mike heard the words "I'm bleeding," he was catapulted into wakefulness. His countenance darkened with a worried frown, he instantly gathered himself at El's side and assisted her as she struggled to push herself upright. It took only a brief glance downward for Mike to assimilate that his wife was indeed haemorrhaging and what that meant. He met her eyes in grim reluctance.

"It's bad, isn't it?" El pressed shakily.

Not wanting to answer her and not wanting to closely consider the implications himself, Mike whispered instead, "Just tell me what to do. Should I get someone? Are you in pain?"

El sucked in a breath, assimilating the implications herself and then gave a sharp shake of her head. "No. I don't need you to call anyone."

"But what about—,"

"Just help me to the bathroom, please," she interrupted in a small, timid voice, "I need to clean up."

The pregnancy had been quite a shock. Mike and El had only known about the pregnancy for a few weeks and were still in the process of digesting the news and plotting out their next move. Naturally, there had been some initial feelings of ambivalence on both their parts in regards to the news. On the one hand, they had made a child together…a pure expression of their love for one another. That alone was cause for rejoicing. On the other hand, however, they had made a child together…which brought with it a host of new responsibilities.

Were they truly prepared for the responsibility of a child? Three and a half weeks after the astonishing discovery that they would soon be parents again, Mike and El were still struggling to find the answers to those questions. Now, it seemed that Fate, always a fickle mistress, had intervened to provide the answers for them.

Wordlessly, Mike carefully scooped El into his arms and carried her to the bathroom, trying desperately to mask his shock and growing panic so as not to panic her. While he wasn't a stranger to miscarriage, Mike had honestly never fathomed that one day it would happen to his wife. The moment was surreal. He suspected that El was struggling with the same disbelief. Though she seemed calm and quiet, he could well detect the frenzied emotions going on behind her eyes. Mike knew that she was in agony even without her saying a word.

As El began to peel away her soiled clothes in preparation for rinsing, Mike couldn't help but take in the sickly pallor of her skin. He had never seen her so pale. Her legs were trembling so violently that her shaking was plainly visible as she stood to strip out of her bloody clothing. Mike winced at the rivulets of blood that continued to meander down her thighs and pool at her feet.

He reached out to take hold of her hand when she started to reach for the cord to start the spray. "El, please," he insisted hoarsely, "You need a doctor. Let me go call one for you."

"There's nothing to be done. It's too late. I already know it's too late."

"At least let me—,"

"It's too late, Mike!" she cut in sharply only to wince when the shrill words echoed in her own ears. She closed her eyes and took a few, shallow breaths before attempting to speak again. "I can handle it. I'm fine. Just let me clean up a bit. I'm fine." She said the words over and over again, as if she meant not only to convince Mike, but herself as well. She pulled the cord then, bringing on the spray to wash away the dried and fresh streaks of blood that stained her thighs. With a weak moan, she leaned her face into the cold façade of the marble and closed her eyes, thoroughly exhausted both mentally and physically.

Gradually, however, she became aware that Mike continued to linger. She could feel the intensity of his gaze even without looking at him. "You can leave now," she told him, "I won't be too long."

"You want me to leave you alone?" Mike balked.

"There's nothing you can do," she reasoned.

Mike reached out to touch her bare hip, but then dropped his hand away when she flinched. He swallowed down the acrid lump of tears that had taken up residence in his throat. "Don't you want to talk about it?" he wondered tentatively.

"What is there to say? It's gone. There's nothing we can do about it now."

He cringed inwardly at the flat resignation in her tone. She was emotionless, expressionless…numb. "El, you just can't…we just…" He trailed off into miserable silence before he finally blurted, "What happened? How did this happen?"

"I don't know, Mike! I don't know!"

"Were you feeling bad earlier? Did you fall? Did you eat something?"

"Are you blaming me?" she croaked in pained disbelief.

"No! No, I'm not blaming you." He regarded her with imploring eyes. "I'm trying to understand, El."

"I don't understand, Mike," she replied in a flinty tone, "How am I supposed to make you understand?"

He whimpered a bit, wanting to cry. "What can I do for you? Tell me so I can help you, El."

She wanted to ask him to take her into his arms, hold her tight and wanted something to fill the incredible void that had begun to pervade her heart. She wanted the pain to go away. She wanted him to bring her baby back.

But El knew that Mike could do none of those things and so she found herself shaking her head in refusal of his gentle offer, rejecting his comfort. "There's nothing you can do…" she whispered when she finally found the words, "…except leave me alone. I just need to be by myself for a while."

Mike nodded his consent and slowly shifted to his feet, even when it was obvious that leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. "I'll be in our room cleaning up," he told her as he turned for the door. He cast a hopeful look at her over his shoulder, hesitating briefly before he added, "Just call if you need me." Only when he was gone did El's brave mask of indifference crumble. She slid down the wall of the shower, curled into a tiny ball and cried until she was empty of tears.

When she emerged from the bathroom an hour later, Mike was still awake and seated on the very edge of their bed awaiting her return. True to his word, he had cleaned the room in her absence. Not a trace of blood remained visible. Even their sheets were pristine and the bed was freshly made. El didn't ask how he had accomplished so much in such a short length of time. Truthfully, she didn't want to know.

"Can we talk about it now?" Mike asked as she crept inside.

Intensely dreading the conversation she knew was coming, El took her time closing their bedroom door before finally turning to face him again. "It's late, Mike." Her dismissal was made apparent when she strode towards their bed without meeting his eyes and peeled back the covers.

"So that's it?" Mike asked in astonishment. "We're just never going to talk about it again are we?"

"I don't want to talk about it, okay!" she flung out irrationally, "I just want to move on."

"Eleven, we lost a child! I can't pretend it didn't happen! You can't pretend it didn't happen! You have to let yourself grieve," Mike exclaimed, his words breaking.

She clapped her hands over her ears then in the obvious intention of drowning out his words. "Stop it, Mike! Just don't!" El bit out harshly. Without really being aware of it, she began pacing the floor erratically, her words flowing from her mouth in a confused jumble. "Look, we weren't even prepared for the baby and…and…we knew it was a bad time and we weren't ready. I mean…it was probably going to be a disaster anyway…" She was so frantic that she didn't realize that Mike had closed the distance between them until she felt his arms go around her.

Though she stiffened in his arms she didn't recoil entirely and that was enough to strengthen Mike's resolve to maintain his tender hold. "You didn't wish this, El," he whispered into her hair, "It's not your fault."

"But what if it is, Mike?" she wept in a pitiful whisper, "What if it is my fault?"

"It wasn't. You don't have to be so strong all the time, El," Mike whispered when El's tears began to die down to hiccups, "It's okay to let yourself hurt."

Tensing slightly because Mike's insight proved to be uncanny and accurate, El reared back and decisively whisked away the wetness clinging to her cheeks. "I don't even know why I'm crying."

"Don't you?"

"How could I possibly love a baby I didn't even know I wanted?" she asked in tearful irony, "How does that even make sense?"

"It doesn't have to make sense. Emotions rarely do."

"I guess I wasn't…wasn't expecting it to hurt so much, you know?"

Mike fingered her hair, his throat bobbing spasmodically with unshed tears. "Well, what can I do?"

"You can hold me tonight," El suggested, "Can you do that for me? I really need that, Mike. I need you."

Mike tugged her back into his arms and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before he whispered, "Yeah, I can do that. Whatever you want."

The memory faded and the Void lurched forward again, bringing Mary back to reality. El, meanwhile, ripped off the blindfold with a terrifying scream. Her gaze immediately fixed on Mary as her breath rose and fell like a beating drum.

"What did you see?" she asked, her eyes narrowed. "WHAT DID YOU SEE?!"

"Everything," Mary replied.

Before El could even comprehend how much Mary had seen, before she even had a change to gather her thoughts after writhing in the absolute agony of the body and the soul, someone interrupted her.

"I have allowed this…farce to go on longer than it should," Abernathy declared as he and several of the Aurors with him stepped forward, wands drawn.

"What is the meaning of this?" Kingsley demanded as he and Owens strode into the cell to see what the commotion was all about.

"My apologies Minister but we're going to do things my way now," Abernathy said. "Talking has not worked, accessing memories has not worked." He nodded and his Aurors began encircling EL, Mike, Dustin, Max, Lucas, Joyce, Nancy, Jonathan, Kingsley and Owens, wands pointed at them.

Abernathy pointed his own wand directly at Mary as he took out a small vile of Veritaserum. "But this will."

---

Beth and Benny eyed the engine room with quiet determination. The room was a circular control room with a vast array of screens and speakers of varying size. Some were standard screens displaying every angle of the facility they were currently in.

The room had surprisingly lax security, the two guards and solo engineer lay sprawled on the ground, bloodied and riddled with bullets. Beth immediately approached the control console and stared down at the many buttons in front of her.

Great. Which one was it?

As if reading her mind, Benny shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"

Beth rolled her eyes. "You don't say," she replied.

Benny raised his sub-machine gun at the console and opened fire, shattering the controls with bullets. The lights throughout the facility began flickering and then went off, plunging the entire facility into darkness.

"Sure, that will work," Beth said as she and Benny left the engine room.

---

"What happened to the lights?"

"Is it a blackout?"

"What happened to the generators? They should have kicked in by now!"

"This is gotta be some sort of bullshit magic causing this!"

"The light! Get the lights back now!"

"Everyone calm down!"

"I can't handle this! I get scared of the dark easily! Will someone get the lights back on?!"

Those were just a few of the cacophony of voices that rang through the darkness. The guards seemed to be in disarray.

With the exception of light from a few wands, no one could see anything. No one saw as two silent strangers made their way to the single monitor that was connected to the camera watching over the cell Mary was in. No one saw a hand stretch out and push a certain button that turned the collar Mary was wearing off.

Mary felt the difference almost instantly. All the fears throughout the room immediately cried out to her. The darkness was a wonderful place. It put everyone on edge, she could feel it.

The Auror who stood a meter apart from Mary was young. Unlike many of the others the darkness didn't seem to have an effect on him. But Mary would fix that.

"The dark not brothering you, dearie?" She asked him softly.

"Shut up," Was his reply.

"No it's not darkness that bothers you. It's something else. Oh, I see. It's snakes."

"Shut up!" The young Auror replied, this time turning to face Mary directly.

"I can see why you don't like them," Mary went on. "All they do is slide all over the place and those tongues?" She gave a mocking shiver. "Creepy."

"I said shut up!"

"What's your name?"

The Auror didn't answer. Clearly he had been told not to engage in conversation with the prisoner.

"Oh come on! No one wants to die nameless right?" That would do the trick.

As expected, the Auror was now looking at Mary with a mixture of apprehension and fright. "What did you say?" He asked, trying to sound brave but failing. "Die nameless."

"Well no one wants that," Mary said, a small smile starting to form across her face. "So, what is your name?"

"Luke," he finally answered.

"Luke! I like that name. Nice, strong name," Mary said. "Well Luke I promise I will not harm a hair on your head."

Luke looked relieved. He won't be for long, Mary thought to herself.

"But," She added dramatically, clearly enjoying herself. "Would you like to see how snake-like I can be?"

Mary twisted from the chin up. Luke could see she wasn't grimacing; her entire head twisted. It was like watching a cloth being wrung by invisible hands. Her eyes rose up until one was almost above the other, and they turned from multicoloured to jet-black. Her skin paled first to white, then to green. It rose as if pushed by fists from beneath, and cracked into scales. Her straightjacket slid from her body, because her body was no longer that of a woman. In a space of three seconds, Mary had turned into a snake.

Luke gave out a yell that was muffled when the snake jammed itself into the young Auror's mouth. There was a wet popping sound as Luke's lower jaw was torn from the joints and tendon holding it to the upper. Abernathy saw Luke's neck swell and grow smooth as that thing–still changing, still standing on the dwindling remnants of human legs–bored into his throat like a drill.

There were yells and screams of horror from the other Aurors as they finally noticed what was happening. Abernathy wrapped his arms around the snake's growing, swelling body in a fruitless attempt to pull it out of the dying Luke's throat, but before he could the enormous reptilian head tore its way through the nape of Luke's neck, its red tongue flicking, its scaly head painted with beads of blood and bits of flesh.

Kinsley fired his wand at it. The snake dodged the spell easily, then struck forward, exposing enormous, still-growing fangs: two on top, two on the bottom, all dripping with clear liquid. It battened on Kingsley's arm and he shrieked, "Get her off! GET HER OFF!"

Luke, impaled at the head, seemed to dance as the snake dug its fangs into the struggling wizard. Blood and gobbets of flesh spattered everywhere.

Owens immediately stepped forward, seized Kinsley and dragged him backwards. His bitten arm had already turned black and swelled to twice its normal size. His eyes were bulging from their sockets as he stared at Owens, and he was muttering some counter-curse under his breath.

The fangs tore free and Kingsley collapsed into Owens's arms. The snake stared at El, its forked tongue licking in and out. They were black snake eyes, but they were filled with human understanding.

Benny charged into the cell. He pulled out his sub-machine gun and opened fire on the unsuspecting guards Bywater and Klein, who fell to the floor dead. Beth joined her boyfriend and shot two Aurors before they could bring up a shield charm.

There was absolute chaos. Abernathy and the remaining Aurors shot stunning charms at the two intruders, who dodged the jets of light and opened fire in return. Abernathy blasted the oncoming bullets with a flick of his wand while the two Aurors just barely managed to put up shield charms in the nick of time. The room was ablaze with showers of bullets and blasts of magic as each side attempted to strike the other.

Hopper fired his own gun at the snake. But once again the snake dodged the bullet easily and then lunged toward him, its fangs glistening in the flickering darkness.

"No!" screamed El and she waved her hand in front of the snake. It was as if an invisible hand had picked up the snake in mid-air and thrown it away from Hopper. Owens took this moment and dragged Kingsley out of the room, followed closely by Mike, El, Dustin, Joyce, Hopper, Lucas, Max, Nancy and Jonathan.

The snake watched as they hurried out of the cell as its eyes become more human and the scales started to shrink. If Abernathy and the few remaining Aurors that were still alive had been watching they would have seen the snake shimmer and waver and change back into a woman once again.

Mary rose to her feet, the straitjacket torn all over, and lunged toward Abernathy. Out of the corner of his eye Abernathy saw her approaching and made to aim his wand at her. But Mary was too quick and before his wand arm had even been raised she crash-tackled into the man knocking him to the floor. Before he could get back to his feet Mary calmly walked over to where Abernathy's wand had fallen during the chaos. She picked it up and held it in her hands. Mary felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. It was as if Abernathy's wand could feel it was in Mary's hands. Almost as if there was a connection…

There was only one way to be sure. She had heard this spell mentioned by the Death Eaters. She knew what it did but she wanted to be sure. Sure that she actually possessed magic.

She looked over to one of the Aurors who lay, a bullet wound punctured her chest. Mary approached the struggling still-alive Auror, pointed the wand directly at her and said, "Avada Kedavra."

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air – instantaneously the Auror fell over onto her back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead.

"That's–" a still standing Abernathy struggled to say. His face had gone ghost white and he was looking at Mary with a mixture of horror and disbelief. "That's not possible," he finally managed to say. The words stuck in his throat.

"Darling you have no idea what's possible," Mary declared as Beth and Benny grabbed Abernathy from behind and forced him to his knees in front of her.

She had magic. Oh yes! Real magic! The wand and its powers were hers now!

So excited by this discovery that she almost didn't notice Benny holding a gun to the back of Abernathy's head. "No," She ordered in a quiet tone. "I want him alive. As I've just discovered magic I'm going to need a teacher. He will suffice. Take him with us."

Benny and Beth nodded and hurled Abernathy back onto his feet. Mary stared transfixed on the wand in her hand, examining it carefully. She hardly seemed to even breathe.

"In the meantime, I have an old score to settle," Mary said finally as she strode out of the cell, leaving Benny and Beth to escort Abernathy back to the lair. She had bigger fish to fry, after all.

"Oh Jimmy Boy!" She called out as she stalked to where her prey was hiding.

---

Danny gasped painfully as Nyarlathotep's hand wrapped around his throat. The gasp, however, did not come from an exertion of pressure.

That came from at least five cracked ribs and two that were actually broken.

Other pains came from the large black eye, which he'd got by being hit hard by Nyarlathotep's tail and a dead leg from a brutal punch to the right thigh.

Nyarlathotep wasn't unscathed – Danny knew that he'd got a few good blows in – but you wouldn't know it to look at him.

Throughout their fight, Nyarlathotep had been swift, skilled and economical, not wasting a millimetre of movement. A consummate professional, in other words.

So why wasn't he dead?

To get the answer, Danny looked into his eyes and saw how cold, calculating and devoid of any hint of empathy or compassion. But there was also something else. Nyarlathotep was toying with him.

His clawed hand tightened around Danny's throat, slowly and painfully. Yes. Nyarlathotep had clearly been dragging the fight out and now seemed to be taking his time.

Then, a gun crack echoed throughout the forest. Danny felt the hand loosen around his throat and looked up in puzzlement.

Nyarlathotep regarded the bullet he had caught between finger and thumb. "Pathetic," he mused before he stopped. And frowned. The bullet was burning him. Impossible. Nothing could harm him, nothing! But as he looked down he could see it was burning his fingers.

A second shot ran out. This one struck Nyarlathotep's shoulder, but where it would have blown a lesser man's shoulder off, and set their body alight; it seemed to merely lodge in his flesh and burn. Nyarlathotep gave a howl of pain as he removed the bullet, dropping it like it was red-hot.

Looking down upon his hand Nyarlathotep could see it was now blistering. So, somehow these bullets were enchanted and therefore caused more pain than normal ones. In a fit of rage, Nyarlathotep turned and leapt onto Danny like a roaring lion. He slammed into Danny and buried both of his clawed hands deep into the sides of his ribs. Danny growled with the pain through gritted teeth and showed him away. The clawed hands left his body and breath returned to him. It hurt like hell but Danny ignored the pain. A third shot sounded and this time Nyarlathotep vanished into a cloud of smoke and fled.

"Yeah," muttered Danny weakly. "You better run, you son of a bitch." Painfully, he pulled himself upright and looked around to see where the bullets had come from. After a while when he could see no trace, Danny began to walk through the forest, blood seeping down from the wound in his ribs.

Clouds formed and rain began falling down upon him. The rain seemed to add to his condition. He was exhausted from the fight, wounded and now he had to deal with rain. Everything felt unreal, he could feel the forest surrounding him slipping away from him. "Is this death?" said Danny wonderingly.

With his remaining strength he dragged himself half a metre then collapsed to the ground. "Mike…Mike," he said before passing out as the rain continued to fall down onto him.

---

Owen half-walked half-dragged Kingsley towards the emergency exit followed closely by two of his Aurors, Mike, El, Dustin, Joyce, Hopper, Lucas, Max, Nancy and Jonathan. Sirens were wailing all around them: the evacuation signal for all troopers and personnel. With Mary freed it was time to leave.

Finally after what seemed like forever the group reached the chief room of the facility. It was secure, made of steel reinforced concrete, layered with other, stronger materials. Owens stopped to enter his password into the keyboard on the door and after a brief second the door swung open.

The room itself was bare, except for a large tunnel. Owens pointed to it. He looked sober and tired. "This tunnel will lead you and your family out to the entrance of this facility. It will be a tight squeeze but you'll be safe," he instructed Hopper who nodded.

"Thank you. For everything you've done," Hopper said as they shook hands with one another before leading the group through the tunnel. One by one the members of the party entered down the tunnel, each waving goodbye to Owens until it was just him, Kingsley and the two Aurors left.

"Right now you, old friend," Owens said turning to Kingsley, whose counter-curse had healed some of the blackness in his hand where the snake had bitten him. His face, however, was still sickly pale.

"Obviously the two Aurors will accompany you using Side-Along Apparition," Owens said.

"And what about you?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Kingsley," Owens said in a solemn tone. "I'm the one Mary is after not anyone else."

"Sam…" Kingsley started to say but Owens cut him off.

"I'm an old man Kingsley. I've had my time," Owens said with a hardened determinate look.

"No," Kingsley replied. "No I can't let you die. We've only just got reconnected. Come with me." He held his hand out. "You and I can Apparate together. We can escape. We can start again, just you and me." Kingsley held Sam's face in his hand. "Please Sam I….I can't lose you. I…love you."

Owens gave Kingsley a sad smile as their foreheads touched each other. "I love you too Kingsley and I'm sorry I spent so much time away from you. But I have to do this."

Tears had begun to fall from Kingsley's face. "Then go through the tunnel. Get to safety before Mary reaches here," he said desperately.

But Owens shook his head. "Can't do that either." He held up a small circular remote with a large red button. "I've wired the tunnel with explosives. If Mary does attempt to follow Jim and the others through the tunnel, I'll set them off. With any luck she'll be trapped in the rubble," Owens said.

"Stop being so noble," said Kingsley irritably. "Just come with me, then you can detonate the explosives when we're safely away."

"No," Said Owens. His face was set, his arms were folded, and he seemed decided. "I have to do this. I may have failed Mary as a young man but I can damn well make sure she can't hurt anyone else as an older one."

It was at this moment Kingsley realised that there was no convincing Owens. The stubborn bastard had made his mind up. Both knew it might be their last moment together. Owens held Kingsley in his arms. Kingsley pressed his lips to his in a lingering kiss. There were tears in his eyes.

"I love you."

To which Owens said, "I know."

Kingsley's face was the last Owens saw before there was a might crack and he and the two Aurors were gone, leaving Owens alone. He sighed sadly then moved to stand in front of the tunnel. Gun already in hand; if Mary wanted to go through the tunnel then she was going to have to get through him.

Suddenly he heard the sounds of gunfire and screams from the guards outside. But as the sounds began to be strangled, defiance turning to panic, as silence slowly encroached once more. Then, Owens saw that the walls of the vault were vanishing, no dissolving, around him, turning to naught but dust. Through the door, came Mary, her face full of suppressed triumph, Abernathy's wand pointing directly at Owens.

"There you are," She said, careful to keep the wand pointing directly at Owen's chest. Her eyes darted over to the tunnel. "Ingenious. Should have known you'd have a contingency plan." She raised the wand. "Crucio!"

Owens writhed and shrieked, falling to the ground, the gun dropping from his hand. He screamed as though every nerve in his body was on fire. Mary stepped over his writhing body and peered inside the tunnel.

Still looking at the tunnel, she raised the wand again. Owens lay flat upon the ground, gasping.

"Where does this tunnel lead to?" Mary asked turning to look down upon Owens imperiously.

"Away from you," Owens declared, taking out the detonator and pushing the button.

---

The group moved as fast as they could, bent almost double; Hopper leading the way. They moved in silence, down and down. At last the tunnel began to slow upwards and Hopper could hear raindrops as he neared closer.

"We're here," He said as he began to crawl until after a while he could see the circular gate covering the entrance of the tunnel.

There was a pause and then the sounds of metal being ripped from its hinges could be heard until the metal crumpled in front of Hopper's eyes.

"Go," Commanded El, blood dripping from her nose.

The group didn't need to be told twice.

They all managed to crawl past the crumpled metal gate and out into the open, rain dropping down around them as if it were welcoming them. No sooner had they all climbed out then a massive explosive went off from inside the tunnel, sending debris flying all around them.

"Holy shit," Dustin exclaimed, slightly breathless.

"Is everyone okay?" Joyce asked, breathing heavily.

The group nodded.

All except one.

Mike seemed in a daze. Then, out of his dreamlike trance, he said, "Uncle?" as if replying to something he had heard.

"What?" El asked, looking at her husband with confusion.

"We need to search the forest," he said urgently. "Uncle Danny…he's there. Don't ask me how I know. He needs help now!"

Mike set off at a run, El and Nancy right behind him. The rain continued to fall down upon them as they made their way deeper and deeper into the forest. They pelted on, and Mike, running out front, stopped in his tracks. Danny lay motionless on the ground, pale as death.

He'll be alright, pleaded Mike to himself as he approached his uncle.

"Jesus he's bleeding! Uncle! Uncle, can you hear me?!"

Nancy and El helped bring the motionless Danny to a standing position and helped Mike as they half dragged half carried him out of the forest.

Nancy was quick to shout orders. "Jonathan, call Mom. Tell her Uncle Danny's in a bad shape and we're bringing him over. Tell her to have the medical supplies she keeps under the kitchen sink ready for us when we get there. He's already lost a lot of blood. I'm amazed hypothermia hasn't set in," She said glancing at the large wound in his ribs.

Mike had not taken his eyes off his uncle's unconscious form. "It's going to be okay, Uncle. We're going to get you all fixed up. I promise."

God he hoped he was right.

---

Mary coldly stared at what remained of the tunnel. Owens thought she would be shimmering with rage but instead, to his confusion, she let out a cold, mirthless laugh.

"It wasn't them I was after," She said lazily as she turned her attention from the smoking remains of the tunnel back down to Owens. "It was you. Oh sure I do want to kill Jim Hopper and I will. But you, I knew Joyce would call you the moment Jim was in trouble. And like the shinning knight you are you came running. Just as I planned.

"Of course I wasn't expecting you to have magical friends' helping you…that was a surprise. But now, thanks to you; I have magic as well. This wand seems to have a connection to me although why I do not know." Mary paused as she delicately examined the wand in her fingers.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" She went on. "How one small object can have such power?" Mary's examination ceased and she aimed the wand directly at Owens. An insane grin spread across her face.

"Miss Hayes and General Kelley were fish. And Jim Hopper has always been my white whale. So that makes you my shark."

"Do you expect to make me beg?" demanded Owens defiantly, his eyes narrowed.

The cold, mirthless laugh echoed around the vault this time. "Make you beg?" She asked. "I don't need to make you. You're dead already. You just don't know it. I can kill you at any moment I want. Now whose in control? But don't worry; I'm going to take my time."

"And I'm not going to go down quietly, Ten," Owens challenged as he rose to his feet and steadying the gun in his hand.

The two locked eyes with one another. A minute that felt like an eternity passed. And then Owens fired. No sooner had the bullet shot out of the gun barrel had Mary tossed one of her knives at Owens. The knife flew through the air and collided into Owens's chest while the bullet sailed through the air and for a minute looked as if it would strike Mary in the left shoulder only for her to swiftly dodge the oncoming bullet effortlessly.

Owens, meanwhile, collapsed to the ground, blood seeping from the knife stuck in his chest. Mary stalked towards him with the mannerisms of a lioness about to pronounce on her prey. "I told you: I always keep my promises. Goodbye Doctor.

"Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the vault. Sam Owens slumped to the ground.

He was dead.

His last thoughts had been of Kingsley and the missed opportunities he had had by not forgiving him sooner, of his goddaughter Buffy and how much he would miss her and of the women in front of him and how he had failed her.

Mary pocketed her new wand and left the vault, a triumphant spring in her step. She did not look back.

---

A rather long one this! Thanks for waiting, I had to finish it off so it took a little longer to post than usual. We get to read a fight scene between Nyarlathotep and Danny. I hope you like it; I wanted to show off how dangerous an opponent Nyarlathotep is not just for Danny but the whole of Hawkins too. Danny puts up a good fight but ultimately gets beaten and is left for dead. Watch out he'll be showing up again ;)

The main crux of this story was the scenes in the Void. As I said in the intro I was inspired by the scenes in E Pluribus Unum. The scenes between El and Mike in the flashbacks were the hardest part to write in this chapter. I wanted to show that just because their married now doesn't mean they have had the happy ever after. I want to as a writer challenge the characters and show them struggling and show their complexities because it makes for good storytelling. I wanted the miscarriage and El's subsequent sadness over losing her baby to feel honest and real. I hope I captured the rawness of it and how it effected Mike and El's marriage and how it almost tore them apart and that the memory is still a painful one for El.

This chapter almost includes more information about Sam Owens and Kingsley Shacklebolt from Harry Potter. One of the things I've always been interested in is what life was like after the events of The Deathly Hallows. Famously J.K. Rowling wrote in the book's epilogue that "all was well" without telling us if anything in wizarding Britain had actually changed after Voldemort's death. So I decided to give my own interpretation of the events after Voldemort's death in Deathly Hallows. I took a lot of inspiration from the Nazi trials after World War 2 with the Death Eaters. I based Kingsley Shacklebolt on US Presidents Franklin D. Roosevelt and Lyndon Johnson as having an ambitious agenda to change Wizarding Britain for the better. I also based Kingsley being unanimous elected Minister for Magic after the war on how George Washington become President unanimously.

I also wanted to explore Kingsley's thought and fears after he's won election and how being Minister will now change his entire life. I also decided to have Kingsley and Sam Owens be a gay couple since infamously there is no LGBTQ character in Harry Potter (with the exception of Dumbledore after the fact) so I decided to change that. I wanted to get across how scared Kingsley was of his political enemies discovering he is gay and giving in to fear instead of choosing to have a relationship with Owens. I hope I wrote and portrayed this realistically modern gay couple.

Yes, I killed Sam Owens. I told you this story would have deaths in it mwhahaah.

And yes Mary now is in possession of a wand. That can't possibly be bad right?

I want to thank my friend gap80 for his continued encouragements and as always his continued support!

Here are some end-notes that I must explain:

(1) This is actually taken from President

(2) The Mikaelsons family is the vampire family from the tv shows The Originals and Vampire Diaries

(3) The Winchester family particularly brothers Sam and Dean are from the tv show Supernatural

(4) This is from the British tv show Young Dracula

(5) Buffy is the main character from the tv show Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I decided to make her be Owens's goddaughter.

(6) The White Court, the Red Court, the Black Court, and the Sidhe Courts are all from the Harry Dresden book series. The Watcher's Council is from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The Men of Letters is an organisation dedicated to hunting down supernatural creatures in Supernatural.

(7) Now, about the many horrible statements that torment El in Mary's memories. Some of these are references to movies, books, or video games. Some are original bits written by me. But, more importantly, others are either direct or slightly edited quotations from real serial killers, murderers, corruption politicians and businessmen, rapists, criminals, psychopaths, and violent revolutionaries. As to which are which, that's for you to guess.

(8) The iconic line spoken by Yoda in the Star Wars film "Phantom Menace" in regards to sensing fear in young Anakin Skywalker.

Please don't forget to read and leave a review. This chapter is the first chapter of 2022 and every review gives me life. Stay tuned for the next chapter and I hope you enjoy reading this one!