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Chapter Two

From the Shadows Risen

The sky was grey, and the clouds dark, and oblivious, drifting slowly and without worry; so too had been Lily, before she was torn away from her mental haven, as though fished out from the peaceful depths of a sea finished finally with its wrath. And in the fallout she woke, only the sound of wind in her ears.

She coughed first, and then she sat up and took in her surroundings, heart pounding. Recognition broke through her mess of thoughts: this was the top of Dol Guldur, though dust-covered and the tallest tower no more. Rubble lay where it had once stood, long settled. Orcs and wargs were scattered about, some half-buried, most dirtied or coated in grey matter, but all dead.

Relief poured through her panic-stricken veins, and also confusion. She knew not how she came to be here nor what else might have happened between then and now, the collapse of her mind and her awakening. At least it was quiet; in Dol Guldur the best one could hope for was solitude.

A strange sort of headache came over her the more she thought, and the further she probed the more there surfaced memories of a sort — or rather feelings, distant and difficult to grasp. Middle-earth she knew of, though not much, and certainly not the geography; yet, now the name brought with it some semblance of the surrounding land.

West of Dol Guldur was dread, the home of something formidable and powerful. South there were barren lands, and in the North there was familiarity and something like comfort. But anything more was out of reach.

How these feelings came about she could only guess, but the guesses were disturbing. The Nameless Eye had wanted to make her as a Nazgûl, corrupted and devoid of free will. Had this happened? Had her retreat into her mental refuge allowed the being to use her and her magic? Perhaps the thing possessing her became learned in the world of Middle-earth, and now that Lily was back, once again in control of her body, some shadow of those memories remained.

Her senses returned to her, however, and she stood. Still a faint fear remained, though not of the confusion that comes with waking somewhere not wholly familiar, or not knowing how it is one got there, but of something sinister and unearthly.

They were coming.

Even from afar she could feel the Nazgûl and their unholiness. Perhaps their master was not here, likely not even amongst them, but she knew that without her wand she would be defeated utterly, and captured and cast into shadow again. At the thought she moved swiftly.

Nearly tripping on her black cloak, and then again on a body, she made her way through the maze of dead and stone, hoping none were still alive, waiting to suddenly attack. At the edge of the fortress she looked over the surrounding forests. The treeline below felt a mile away.

And the forest itself stretched on for what must've been hundreds of miles in all directions but one, the west, where great mountains stood tall and proud against rolling clouds.

Then a terror swept up the hill, up the stone, up Lily's body and into her very being. Four dark figures emerged from the trees. And they saw her, the Nazgûl, and her soul ached; it was unmistakable in its woe.

Shrieks pierced the air, and they wasted no time in rushing up and into some kind of hidden passages laid into the hill. Then she remembered: it was not the Nazgûl that had prevented her from Apparating before, but the magic of their master, who seemed indeed not there with them.

Before she spun on the spot, she looked down to the tree line and memorized it. She could not Apparate far, she knew no other land, but it would take the Nazgûl by surprise, and would let her flee into the forest before they realized she was gone. Once she was confident about it, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn't splinch herself, then spun and vanished into the void.

There came the familiar feeling of being squeezed through the smallest tube, but it wasn't only a moment as it should have been: it lasted far too long, and when it was done she did not land on dirt, or stone, or anything.

Instead she floated in nothing, as though suspended in space, unable to feel anything but herself, hearing only her heavy breathing. Panic rose in her, and this time nothing she saw held it down, for she could see nothing and that itself was a horror. She could not move from her spot, not even as she flailed her limbs. It was truly as though she was in space, but there were no stars, nor any light. Yet she did not feel alone.

Something else was near, something colossal lurking in the black, and she could feel it rising and rising, coming closer, curious, a kind of power that made the Eye's own power just that: a shadow of the full thing.

And then out of the pitch blackness there came something even darker in hue. Shaped like an enormous hand, each finger larger than her, though she could barely comprehend the color, for it seemed almost like one she had never seen before, something she shouldn't have been able to process yet was being forced through her eyes and into her mind, and if she saw any more she would surely be consumed in a despairing madness.

She disapparated before it grasped her.

Though eased of wherever she had just been, the old fear came onto her as she apparated back where she had left, and right by a figure in dark steel and black cloak.

It gave its terrible high-pitched cry as it swung around to face her, and her soul wailed in response, an agonizing feeling deep within her that she could not explain — or begin to process, for the Nazgûl went for its blade and so Lily was upon it before it could draw the sword, clutching at its arms with desperation.

Eyes closed tight from the torture, she broke out of the chaos of her mind just enough to scream, "Incendio!"

Flames sprang from her hands, setting the Nazgûl ablaze — and in the pain and confusion the two were unbalanced and pushed over the edge of where they stood.

Down they fell, like a screaming ball of flame, quickly extinguishing from the rushing wind. The ground rushed up to meet her first — Lily pulled herself around, arms burning — "Molliare! Molliare!" — but it was wandlessly and in the moment and on a Nazgûl and she had no idea if it would work —

The Nazgûl hit the dirt first. There was a sickening sound of a body breaking and before Lily could wonder if the Cushioning Charms had worked, they were rolling down the rest of the hill, together, each crying their pains in the other's ear.

Finally they came to a stop at the bottom, covered in dirt. Her body ached and her arms seared in pain. The flames should have torched only the Nazgûl, being of her creation and her magic, but now was not the time for seeking explanations. The Nazgûl beneath her still stirred. What these wretched abominations could be if they could survive such a fall…

So again she ignited her hands, and into the wraith's hood she threw them. Its screech was deafening; and as she dug her flaming fingers deeper into its unseen flesh, the greater the pain of flame was upon her. And when the Nazgûl grasped her wrists to pull her away, they too began to burn — and there Lily realized it was not her flames burning her but the touch of the Nazgûl itself.

She pulled back, unable to bear it any longer.

The stench of burnt skin was in the air. Quirrell swam to the front of her mind then, and she wondered briefly if her first and last kill would be by fire; she felt as though she might drop dead at any moment. Yet she stayed upright.

Instead the shattered body beneath her crumpled, and from its flattened robes rose a true wraith, as Lily had known them to be, black and eldritch. Its cry rent the air, heavy and shuddering, and then it faded and was lost in the wind and shrill wailing of the other Nazgûl.

They knew she had killed one of their own, and they were in a rage, ready to bring swift vengeance. If one had nearly defeated her, and victory came only by a fiery fall from a great height, then what chance did she have surviving the remaining?

Knees shaking, she stood. Her energy had already been drained from her, and she regained it only when the others went back into the tunnels in an attempt to reach her. With the stone and dirt between them, she found her courage and into the forest she fled, her soul weeping along the way.

Legs, lungs, chest, and soul burning, she ran — darting between trees — jumping over roots — ducking below low-hanging branches — and venturing further into the menace of Mirkwood.

Though she nearly collapsed a few times from the trauma of the roll down the hill, Lily didn't tire as soon as she would have expected. Lilith had kept her in shape, it seemed, and for that, at least, she could thank her corrupted self.

Only when she was sure the Nazgûl were far behind did she at last slow and rest, falling against a tree and panting. It had been a long time since she had run like this, and her throat begged for comfort. Sliding to her knees she brought her cupped hands to her lips, ignoring the greying blemish over her palms and fingers and wrists; a mark of the touch of the Nazgûl.

"Aguamenti..."

Water rose from her skin, fresh and heavenly to her cracked lips and dry throat. She took a moment to marvel as she drank, too, at how easily wandless magic had so far come to her. Perhaps another feat of Lilith the Black; Witch-Queen indeed. Or perhaps it was just her; she had practiced much wandless magic during the hunt for Horcruxes, when her wand had been broken and only Hermione's remained.

Oh Hermione. How Lily longed for the warmth of the Gryffindor fire and its crackling, and the ever soft cushions as she lay her head on Hermione's lap, and Ron studying the board of his chess game with Ginny, the one true home where all was good. How she longed for it to the point of excruciation.

In this dark quiet forest with no one and nothing, all she had was a hopeless loneliness, weighing so heavily on her heart she could hardly bear it. Alone and wandless and lost in another world, it made her want to both sob and vomit. But there was no time for it, nor any benefit.

Here — where there were odd noises from afar and beneath the leaves piled endlessly thick upon the floor, and the still and stuffy air made even Lily feel claustrophobic, who had grown up in a cupboard under the stairs — it would not do to be so loud. Mirkwood smelled something foul, felt fouler, and she had already made enough racket with her dash through its thickets.

Lily brought herself back to her feet, ignoring the aches and stinging of her arms and legs, and continued in a vague northern direction, making sure to keep as quiet as possible. At the very least it seemed her boots were already enchanted with some kind of sound-muffling charm.

The day wasted away, the few beams of sunlight peeking through the treetops dimming and then disappearing. Night came, and with it an oppressive darkness, gliding through the forest until she could not see even her own hands. The creatures became quiet, too. With the stale air and the heavy silence, it became altogether suffocating.

She cast a flame in her hand to illuminate the surroundings. The flickering fire just made the shadows move about, constantly tricking her, and thoughts of demons in the dark became difficult to banish. But after some time, with nothing jumping out at her, and weariness dragging her into the apathy that exhaustion often brings, the fears faded.

After a while her mind began tugging her toward sleep, but she wished to get one last look at her surroundings. So she raised her hand above her head and said aloud, "Lumos!"

Her entire hand blazed like molten metal, illuminating her immediate surroundings softly. She looked around, seeing nothing, until — cold shot down her spine, like an icy spider crawling its way down her back and leaving webs in place to straighten it.

For a brief moment there had been a set of eyes in the dark, reflecting the light of her hand. Then they disappeared. Lily crouched down beside a tree and prayed that nothing came rushing out of the darkness to tear out her intestines.

She kept her breathing slow and quiet, and strained every bit of her ears, but in the end there was nothing. The forest felt empty, eerily so.

Once enough time had passed she continued north, casting a four-point spell to tug her arm in the right direction. This didn't seem a safe place to sleep, so she wound in and out amongst the trees, never able to walk straight for any appreciable amount of time. Something trailed her, she was sure of it. No evil pulled at her senses, and the hurt of her soul lessened with time; it could not be the Nazgûl.

Then, beyond a couple of trees, her light began to fade into an impenetrable, blank black. For a moment it startled her, and she stood still awaiting malevolence. Again none came, and she entered through it; and then she saw the moon, and breathed in the fresher air. She had at last broken free of Mirkwood.

Above her were stars like she had never seen before. They shone in the deep dark, and a nebulous glow was spread across the night sky. It was beautiful. And she thought she recognized some of her world's constellations but they weren't quite right and there were other stars she had never seen before. It certainly wasn't the sky she knew like the back of her hand.

At this, Lily became dismayed, heartbroken, and she settled herself between two roots of the nearest tree — just in case the Nazgûl came, so she could disappear into the forest again if need be. Though she was fairly certain she would fight them to the death if they came, and be done with this madness, this world, this forest, the darkness of which somehow hung over the land beyond it.

A cushioning charm or two and her spot became relatively comfortable. Not like a proper wizard's bed, but good enough. She slung her cloak on top of herself, and muttered spells upon it as well: to repel the non-magical, to silence her, and impervious charms to save her from an attack while she slept.

She was fairly positive most of them hadn't worked too well, but it was all her tired mind could think to do now. If she hadn't been so exhausted, she might've been able to come up with more creative protections, but what she had now worked well — hidden partly in a tree, a charmed cloak over her, and that would, she hoped, be enough. When she woke, she would then further decide what to do regarding her whole situation. Sleep was needed now, though, and she swiftly fell into dreams.

Vague dreams, never showing her a full picture: she dreamt of a black tower, taller than any skyscraper she had ever seen; of blistering heat and old men in blue; of the sea, of a great ship and great winds, a long voyage across water; of an island and something like peaceful loneliness; of lands frozen and ruined, and a wearying journey across them; of the cries of eagles, the shadows of mountains, and that which loomed within.

And when morning came and she opened her eyes blearily, she found her cloak had slipped off, and standing in front of her was a man, the first she had seen in this world, old and odd, brown hair and beard greying, leaning on a wooden staff.

"Good morning," he said smiling, as though there was quite nothing wrong about it.

Lily accidentally set him on fire.