Many thanks for Idrisien for beta'ing this chapter.

Additional Beta's welcome.

Look Upon My Work, and Despair

Chapter 2

By Oberon Warning: Beware mortal, this is not for the faint of heart or the weak of mind. Madness this way leads. Another words, don't read this kiddies.

Disclaimer: I don't own Angel the Series or Harry Potter. I don't own any characters there in. All characters are properties of their respective authors. Weldon and Rowling. Respectively.










In Little Chelsea, near Battersea Park, a little shop goes unnoticed between the many trendy restaurants and café shops. Joe's Exotic Meats in large but unobtrusive lettering appears on the front door. The shop has no windows and only two doors - the main entry and one in the back.

Few of the local residents ever venture into this shop. Those curious enough, quickly learn the owner has a hideous disfiguring skin disease.

The doorbell rang. Joe has a customer. "Top of the mornin' to you, Fred," the butcher greeted the thin woman. Butcher Joe remembered the bird mostly because of the odd accent. Three weeks ago, she first showed up in Joe's shop. She wanted something good for building muscles in a human.

Joe had introduced her to the still beating heart of a Colibari demon. Funny, she didn't squirm at all.

"Mornin' Joe," Fred said cheerfully. "I'll have the usual."

"One Colibari heart, coming right up." The butcher wondered if he should try his hand at matchmaking. The bird's a lovely girl and very likable, even for a human. However, most of his regulars tend to eat lovely young girls. He couldn't do that to her.

"That'll be three hundred and twenty-two pounds, love." Joe announced, pointing to numbers on the electronic scale.

The bell atop the door rang again. A brute entered the shop. This newcomer's eyes had both a mean and dull gleam to them - angry but not intelligent. This brute, a creature in a black leather jacket, swaggered over to the meat counter. The creature had loose skin that hung off his flesh and jiggled as he walked. The creature's most prominent feature was its large flapping ears.

Illyria thought Loose-Skin's ears resembled that of a mutt owned by the shell's neighbor. She was intrigued by this creature for it had the gall to touch her. Illyria in her 'Fred' persona, allowed Loose-Skin to shove her aside.

"Joe, me boy, you haven't been payin' your protection. My associates are very, very upset with the way you keep spittin' in their faces." Loose-Skin leaned over, taking hold of Joe's apron with both meaty hands. He whispered into Joe's ear. "And when they're upset, they send me in to make them happy. You do want to make me happy, don't you Joe?"

Joe looked Loose-Skin determinedly in the eye. "Mate, you can tell those human friends of yours to shove it, shove it good up their arse, cause I ain't paying the likes of them one single shilling."

"Now, you listen to me. You better start payin' or there's goin' to be… accidents." Loose-Skin brushed the Colibari heart off the counter. The heart landed on the tile floor. It bounced and continued to beat. "It would be a real shame to see all these delicious meats spoiled, mate." Mustering a good deal of speed, stomping on the heart, he ground it under his boot.

Still, the butcher didn't budge. "Bug off. Your associates have no business with our people. These are matters humans have no right interfering in."

"I'll say this one last time. Pay up, or else . . ." Loose-Skin stared at Fred obscenely. "Your customers might find themselves in a bit of an accident too. That can't be good for business." Licking his fleshy lips, he winked at Fred. "Ow do, chick. The name's Prisck, want to have some fun?"

The God-King grew annoyed with the offensive creature. "You would presume to speak to me - your better?" Illyria rumbled like a storm.

"You a Yank?"

Illyria glared at the creature before her. Without warning, she struck Loose-Skin with enough force to send the creature crashing into the back of the store. The creature smacked his head against the brick wall with a thud. Illyria stalked toward Prisck's unconscious form. Her face wore a stony unreadable expression.

"No, wait." The butcher shouted. "Don't bother killing him. They'll just send another." He saw Illyria's eyes and shivered. She was a monster, more terrible and glorious than he could ever hope to become.

Illyria frowned at the butcher. "The affairs of the human slime are beneath my concern," she said coldly, stomping on Prisck with her foot. "This one will pay for its insult toward me."










"Are you here, Brian? Brian? Please, Brian … Please, come out. Please, let me see you, baby. Oh God! Colin… Brian, stop! Oh God… Oh God… NO! Brian…" Mrs. Kensington kept going on and on in a feverish delirium. She struggled with her bonds, rattling the hospital bed but unable to break free. Her eyes stared lifelessly into nothing, glazed over like nothing was between them.

"She's been like that since she woke up," the tall doctor said. He shone a light into Mrs. Kensington's eyes. The poor woman just continued to ramble on as if the light wasn't there. "Sometimes, she is aware of what's going around her. She's still in shock though. Keeps spouting on about her dead son killing her husband."

Hermione felt guilty for not being able to help her sooner. If only she had realized what was going on when Mrs. Kensington showed up at her doorstep earlier that day. She could have saved Mr. Kensington too. "W-Will she…."

The doctor sighed. "In time. It depends on her. She suffered trauma both psychological and emotional. She saw her husband murdered right in front of her. People don't recover from that - at least not quickly. Do you want to stay with her? I think she needs to see a familiar face right now."

Hermione agreed.

"Just hit the call button if anything happens, all right?" The doctor left Hermione to her own devices.

For a while Hermione just sat there, beside Mrs. Kensington. She held the woman's hands, hoping to comfort the grieving widow. Hermione Granger felt a connection with the woman, like they understand each other now.

Now that they shared something in common – death had unjustly taken someone close to them. Yet the older woman did not get better. Hermione realized something, Illyria was her pillar. If it wasn't for Illyria, she wouldn't have been any better than Mrs. Kensington right now.

Worse, she would be dead. For the first time, Hermione saw how much she depended on Illyria for strength. "Maybe the reason she is so cold is because she's got nobody to lean on." Hermione remembered that Y-You-know-who killed her parents too. "And I've been acting like such a spoiled insensitive prat toward her… "

"H-Hermione?"

"Mrs. Kensington, you're awake." Hermione hugged the older woman.

"I-I remember. You were there, Hermione. I remember you in that room. You saw him right? Right?" Mrs. Kensington was hysterical. "They say I'm insane, but you saw him, right? You saw Brian? I'm not insane. They need to find my boy. They need to find Brian."

"Mrs. Kensington…"

"Tell them I'm not insane. Tell them," Mrs. Kensington pleaded desperately, almost angrily.

Hermione mulled over what she should say. She couldn't possibly tell the doctors the truth about what happened that night. The doctors would think she was crazy too. Hermione swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kensington. I really, really am but - I didn't see anything. It's only a hallucination from having so much blood loss and all… That is… the burglar. Well, we all know the dead can't come back to life."

There, she lied to a grief-stricken woman driven half insane by a demon-child that murdered the woman's husband. Somehow, Hermione felt she was less than dirt. They didn't talk much afterwards, Mrs. Kensington relapsed into madness.










A lifetime of memories lay forgotten underground. Grandma Granger's oak rocking chair, relegated to a dark corner to collect dust. Old vinyl records of the Beatles left neglected since the last time they saw the light of day. Great-grandfather Hortus left Liz and Jack his ancient bicycle; it was down here with an African fertility totem - a souvenir from his safari. An Egyptian sarcophagus from another Granger served as a makeshift workbench. Ancient texts of indiscernible languages and origins piled on the stone sarcophagus.

A gloved hand dangled a large pendant with a large jewel set in the middle. Words, unrecognizable and simultaneously both eloquent and vulgar, echoed in the chilly basement of the Granger household. In response to the power of the words, the jewel in the pendant shone with an angry red light. The red light throbbed and screamed an animalistic roar. Then the light suddenly died, the red jewel cracked and shattered in the pendant.

Illyria scowled angrily at the hateful object. It infuriated the God-King that a pathetic spell had given her this much trouble.

The blue goddess felt someone enter the house. Illyria stretched out her senses - the bushy haired one had returned. The Granger spawn stank of self-loathing and guilt. Illyria became Fred again before she went looking for Hermione. She found the girl waiting in the kitchen.

Hermione gathered her courage. She felt rotten about the way she had acted toward Illyria in the last few days since the Kensington incident. The Gryffindor decided it was time to clear the air. Deep down, Hermione resented Illyria for making her, Hermione Granger, feel doubt and inadequacy, bungling even. Hermione understood this and was not afraid to admit her feelings.

"I was thinking, we really haven't had much of a chance to talk." Hermione waited for a response but got impatient when she met Illyria's blank expression. "Well, I do think we need a good talk. It would help promote the important notion of teamwork and cooperation if we communicated more."

Illyria studied the bushy haired creature curiously. "You wish for deeper intercourse?"

Hermione blushed but quickly realized what Illyria had meant. "Communication… that's important, as I was saying."

Illyria appeared not to notice Hermione's momentary confusion, or it might be that she simply did not care.

"You may speak," Illyria told the girl imperiously.

"I've been meaning to ask. Did I-I kill Brian or did I kill a creature that used his face?" This question had been bugging Hermione since the night of the incident. Brian was unlike anything she had read about in both the wizard and muggle worlds.

"You are feeling shame…" Illyria understood. Pride. ". . .Because you pride yourself on knowing more than others. But your hopelessly small minds can never hope to grasp the depths of my knowledge… I will set your mind at ease. He was a demon, Brian was but a lie meant to deceive the foolish lambs."

Hermione nearly had her world turned upside-down. "Wait. A demon? They don't exist!" Hermione protested, denying what she had just been told. "A demon is just a term muggles use to call various magical creatures. Besides, if they are demons, they would just fall under the Dark Creature category, I would think. Are you sure I didn't just kill some obscure Dark Creature the Ministry regulates like Vampires and Werewolves, they do have rights you know!"

Illyria radiated annoyance for the Hermione-creature. The blue goddess had seen this before, during her reign. In the beginning, some foolishly denied her, confusing greatness with impossibility. Back then, the God-King drove home her point with glee. Those that disagreed quickly yielded to Illyria's rule - or died most horribly. For Illyria destroyed what was not utterly hers. Yet the times had changed, and so changed the world.

"I know nothing of your Ministry. However, if they think such creatures can be controlled by their ineffectual laws, then clearly they are fools." Illyria pointed at Hermione. "You, on the other hand, are no better than the rest of your species. You blind your eyes and cut off your ears. Humans see and hear what fits conveniently into your narrow understanding of the world and discount the rest as rumors and lies. Your kind ignores what goes on beneath until it rips you apart, and still you would deny its existence."

Hermione raised her voice in defense. "That's not true! I'll have you know I can hear and see just fine, thank you very much. It's just that… just most likely… I haven't read the right books. What went on the other night was - it was tragic, but - a rare occurrence, I would think. Likely, the Ministry doesn't think we need to worry about them."

"Believe what you will. It does not concern me. If you wish to follow me, then follow. Your understanding is not required, only your obedience." Illyria stalked out of the room. She paused just outside. "Are you coming?"

Hermione took a moment to realize Illyria meant to follow her, literally. Their conversation had left Hermione with more questions than answers. She had wanted to ask Illyria about that night the Death Eaters captured them, what she was and what made even You-know-how fled in fear of her power. Hermione never got the chance. The entire conversation irritated Hermione. Although Hermione didn't like Illyria's condescending tone, the Gryffindor also knew she wouldn't get far without that overbearing, self-important, egotistical… Hermione could go on, but said woman was waiting for her.










Illyria took them around London, when they finally arrived at their destination it was almost midnight. The warehouse district, near the docks. Hermione sensed something foreboding in the area. The last time she went trespassing… Hermione nearly broke down at the painful memory.

"We shouldn't be here, it says 'Do Not Enter' on the gates," she said, pointing out the sign to Illyria. Illyria just walked ahead, heedless. Or maybe Illyria simply didn't care.
Hermione followed and soon Illyria led them to a weather-worn warehouse, one among many others. This building's rusted walls shook with the gently blowing breeze. Looking through the broken windows, it looked abandoned inside.

A door was opened and the two entered. The door had rusted hinges and creaked terribly.

"I was wondering, do you own this building?" Hermione knew it was a stupid question but felt she should ask anyway. Again, Illyria ignored her.

Deep inside the warehouse was another door to a smaller room. This door locked from the outside, not meant to keep people out. The lock kept whatever was inside from getting out.

Illyria opened the door for them. Just as Hermione had thought, something was inside the small room. The demon, Prisck, chained to the walls by a leather collar around the neck.
Looks rather odd, Hermione thought. Then she noticed it was missing two arms. His arms, seemingly torn cleanly out of their sockets, left behind a bloody mess. It was not human; obvious from the loose skin and large floppy ears.

Prisck was still alive but bleeding from his wounds. He was in terrible pain but even then he growled threateningly.

"You will kill this creature," Illyria directed, referring to the bound Prisck.

"What has he done? It's not right to kill him if he hasn't done anything evil." Hermione, determined to have her way, stared Illyria in the eye. It was a subconscious action, almost an instinctive response, but the Gryffindor recoiled from Illyria's gaze, fearing those cold and pitiless eyes.

"It matters naught. Kill or be killed. That is your choice," Illyria said, contempt clearly in her voice. "However, choose quickly. The creature will fully regenerate at the stroke of midnight."

Hermione heard the door close behind her. Trapped in a small room with an angry monster. This is bad, she thought. A little like the troll incident, only Harry and Ron wouldn't be coming to her rescue, and no wand this time around.

"W-We don't have to do this, you know." Hermione tried to reason with the chained demon but nervously gripped her sword. "I'm not going to hurt you if you don't try to hurt me."

Prisck heard her but he wouldn't have any of it. "Just stay where you are," he growled angrily but weakly. Then it was midnight, and he screamed as mystical energies erupted from every cell in his body.

"Are you…"

"Stay right there!" Prisck said again, howling with the pain of regeneration.

Hermione backed away in fear. Before her eyes, bone and muscles spawned seemingly from empty joints. Prisck's missing arms grew rapidly and Hermione could only watch and dread what would come next. She trembled; both arms fully formed within minutes save for the skin.

Even with every cell burning, Prisck reveled in euphoria. "The goddess has promised to take me as her servant if I kill you." He wrenched at his leather collar with the partially formed hands. "The honor will be mine!" He cried out, but couldn't get the collar off yet.

Hermione fumbled the handle of her sword, which she barely held onto. Something took over her body, a pure survival instinct. She blinked for one second, and then the next time she looked, she had buried her sword in Prisck's chest.

Prisck's efforts to remove the collar distracted him at the critical moment. He felt something in his chest and looked down. The girl… had stabbed him. Angrily, he batted her aside, satisfied by the limp body that hit the solid steel wall. Prisck reached to pull out the sword.

"Oh, bollocks..." He couldn't get a handle on the sword because his hands had broken down into protein goo that dripped on the floor. With the sword in him, the mystical energies shifted to keep him alive. The energies stubbornly tried to heal his damaged heart which had a sword stuck in it.

His arms, only partially formed, lacked the mystical healing powers. The new cells couldn't sustain themselves and quickly disintegrated. Prisck fell on his knees. He tried to curse one last time but midnight had come and gone, the healing energy exhausted.

Hermione woke up an hour later to find Prisck dead and Illyria standing over her.

Hermione stood as quickly as she could. "Tell me, was that fun for you? You set me up to kill that poor creature, and for what? It was helpless! You may have the emotions of an ice block but the rest of us don't particularly enjoy indiscriminate killing," she shouted angrily.

Illyria, angered by Hermione's words, her voice would shake the heavens had it not came from the thin and frail frame of Winifred Burkle. "If you cannot move yourself to take advantage of your enemy's weakness then it is you who deserve to perish." Illyria pointed irately at Prisck's body. "The enemy is ruthless - do you think they care if you're sick or feeble - they will kill you given the chance. You are bound by an insane construct… This thing you call morality. You must rid yourself of it. If you cannot learn this lesson then you can never hope to defeat your enemy."

"If that is what you are teaching me then I don't want to learn it!" Hermione turned away abruptly.

"I should kill you where you stand, but I will abide by that promise. We are done. Tempt my wrath no longer. Begone." Illyria feared she might break her promise to Wesley had she suffered Hermione's presence one minute longer.

"Fine!" Hermione stamped off, kicked the door open and never looked back.










TO BE CONTINUED...