Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Forty-Three | Do Not Fear The Dark

"Helene!"

I turn to Fleur, who looks towards me, wet hair clinging to her bare shoulder, a towel wrapped around her body. She frowns.

"That wasn't me."

I squint in response, looking about the room. "Helene!"

"Where the hell is that coming from, and who the hell is speaking?" I grouse, following the sound to my trunk.

Throwing it open, I shuffle through the trunk's contents – pushing article after article of clothing aside as I dig. I purse my mouth as I grab onto something cold, and hard like stone.

Prying the object from the embrace of a sock, I find myself holding onto a small, rectangular mirror.

"Helene!"

I jump, nearly dropping the mirror when it – an inanimate object – screams at me.

Realization floods through me, and I nearly smack myself on the head. "Sirius!" I cry, flicking the mirror once when it doesn't work. "Er- answer!"

My reflected face shimmers, disappearing in a whirl of magic as Sirius' appears in its place. His eyes light up immediately, and I can't help but notice how wet they look. "Helene! My god, it's so good to see you," he effuses, a grin threatening to split his face in half. "I knew you wouldn't go down so easily."

I hear voices in the background, Terra's unmistakable lilting tone piercing through Sirius' voice. "Is that Helene? Is she alright?"

Her face pops into the frame, Sirius grunting loudly as he's knocked aside. "Watch it! I nearly dropped the mirror, and then we wouldn't be able to speak with her!"

Ignoring him, Terra begins to needle me. "Where in the hell have you been? You stupid, stupid girl, running off and disappearing like that. Then we hear about an attack in Diagon Alley of all places, with you two being spotted there! We thought- we thought you were- "

She chokes loudly, her hand covering her mouth. "We thought you were dead."

I find myself tearing up, distraught to see the state my family is in. "I'm so sorry." I bite my lip, taking a deep breath. "I… there's no excuse for me not coming to see you immediately."

"Just get over here as soon as you can, we need to see you."

"You've had us terrified," Octavius interjects, his head appearing near Terra's – face stern, deep bags around his eyes. He glances upwards slightly, taking in my damp hair. "Come over as soon as you're ready."

I nod shakily. "I won't be more than a minute."

As I cut off the call, Fleur places her hand on my shoulder. "I can't believe we forgot to visit your parents," she mutters, taking her wand with her other hand as she removes her towel, spelling herself dry.

I repeat the gesture, the familiar heat of a warming charm passing over me, lingering as I grab the first clothes I can out of my trunk and throwing them on.

As soon as Fleur is dressed, I take her hand and blink us to my home, appearing in the sitting room of Greengrass Manor.

I'm immediately swept up in a bone crushing hug as Terra bowls into me. She buries my head in her shoulder, arms held round me as if I'm about to dragged away from her.

"I'm fine mum, I'm safe," I whisper, my own arms wrapped around her waist. "I'm safe."

She cradles me, her body shaking. She pulls away, hands pressed against my face, looking as though she can't believe I'm there in front of her. Her bottom lip quivers as she lunges forward, pressing kiss after kiss against my forehead. "Don't ever do something like that again," she exclaims, her voice hoarse. "Don't you dare scare me like that."

"I'll do my best."

Her eyes narrow sadly, but she nods. "Do your best. That's all I ask."

I nod sullenly, walking over to Octavius and hugging him tightly. "Hey Dad."

He rubs my back softly. "Hey you," he replies, his face drawn. "Are you hurt at all?"

"No." I shake my head. "But you should see the other guys."

He snorts reluctantly, a glint of amusement passing over his eyes, before it disappears just as quickly. "Always with the gallows humour… you'd let us know if you were hurt, right?"

I let go of him, jabbing my thumb towards Fleur. "I've got my own resident healer, not to mention I'm a dab hand at it myself," I say, slowly feeling the tension begin to leave the room.

"You can, quite literally, raise the dead. I think you have me beat," she retorts.

"That's a party trick at best," I argue, Sirius laughing loudly at our exchange.

"Hey kid," he says, patting me on the shoulder. I can't tell if he's oblivious to the shadow that seems to hang over the room, or if he's just being him. "It's good to see you."

I pull him into a hug. "You too."

Smiling reassuringly, he pats me on the shoulder once more, waving for the two of us to sit down. "Come on, you must be exhausted."

I smile thankfully, sinking into the couch in an instant, Fleur quickly following suit as she tucks herself into my side.

"So… what happened?" Sirius begins, evidently the only one in the room willing to breach the topic of the third task, judging by the uncomfortable looks on my parents faces.

I can feel as my face twists up against my will, unsure of what to say. "I uh… Fleur?"

She places her hand on mine, sending a calm smile my way. "We were close, very close, but unfortunately we didn't succeed," she says, the disappointment in her voice clear. "It turns out that Voldemort has taken… precautions against the inevitable. Even if we did succeed in killing him, it would have only been temporary."

Octavius takes a seat across from us, his hands resting on his knees as he leans forward. "How is that even possible?" he asks, glancing towards me. "I thought that only, well, you would be able to do something like that."

"Let's just say that it's magic that even I wouldn't dabble in."

"Helene," he states forcefully, leaning even further. "Please, we may be able to help."

I share a look with Fleur, who shrugs. "You told Iolaire."

Sighing, I press my hands to my legs. "He's torn his soul to shreds, placing the pieces of it into – presumably – six different objects, two of which have already been destroyed." I glance in Sirius' direction. "The Diary was one of them."

Sirius' eyebrows raise dramatically. "What?" he gasps, appalled, eyes flitting towards his hands as if they may burn him for having come into contact with a sliver of Voldemort's soul.

I wonder what he would say about me having housed a portion of it.

"That book was… it contained a piece of him? How?"

I shake my head, even the concept of tearing a soul apart making me feel disgusted, some intrinsic part of me in perfect understanding of the depravity of such an act. As someone who's being is so deeply intertwined with life and death, the idea of quite literally mutilating ones entire, well- everything, is one of the most utterly horrific things I can think of.

How could one go on to whatever afterlife exists – be it good or bad – incomplete?

Could they even pass on?

Would they go to some place even worse than any hell imaginable? Would they simply cease to exist? Disappearing into complete and utter nothingness?

I can feel a headache coming on just thinking about that deep, confusing rabbit hole of questions, and push myself to reply to Sirius.

"I don't know the exact details, but I do know that it involves cold-blooded, deliberate murder, and I imagine there to be an extensive, equally terrible ritual."

He nods solemnly, noticing my – albeit mild – discomfort, probably shocked to see me unsettled by anything, for once in my life. Necromancers don't tend to be a squeamish bunch I imagine. Something either brought about from the standard experiences that come with a passion for corpses, bile, and all things unsanitary, or whether it's a quirk that one develops from dying and being miraculously resurrected by a primordial, eternal being.

I'm getting distracted.

"Because of his having hidden away pieces of his soul, we have to search for, and destroy them before he can be finally, truly killed," Fleur states, continuing my explanation.

Sirius can do nothing but gape. "That's…"

"Absolutely, utterly disgusting," Terra curses, finishing his thought. "That fucking madman."

"What about the other day, in Diagon Alley?" Octavius interrupts.

I find myself yawning before I can answer, resting my face on one hand. "Death Eaters decided to begin their revelries before we thought they would, so we killed them while they thought I was dead."

He blanches at my straightforward answer, and curiosity gets the better of him. "How… how many of them?"

"Quite a bit."

His jaw clenches. "Ah."

And the tension returns, just like that.

I think it scares them, to know how ruthless I can be. Octavius had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that I'm a time-traveller, but I don't think any parent can reconcile the image of their own child and that of a soldier, let alone a seasoned killer.

I think he's just begun to recognize which of the two I am.

An uneasy smile creeps over my face, some sort of attempt to ease the sudden discomfort of my family. "I… we've got to get going, got a war to win, you know?"

Terra shares my tentative expression, her lips pursed tightly. "Yes. But… please, don't be afraid to come by. The wards are always open to you two, you should have no issues getting in."

"I don't think many wards could keep us out," Fleur laughs.

Sirius chuckles in reply. "I don't think they would, but it's the thought that counts. Wouldn't want to accidentally fry you two on arrival."

I bark out a laugh of my own, Sirius' easy humour once more breaking the awkward tension of a family unsure of how to act around one another.

Just as I stand up, I'm drawn into another hug from Terra, this one much more subdued, less desperate than the one before.

"We love you. We will always love you, just remember that, okay?" she whispers.

I pause, before nodding, relief washing over me. "I love you too."

She nibbles on her bottom lip as she lets me go, the worry on her face – on all of their faces – clear.

"We'll be safe, don't you go worrying," I boast, Fleur nodding her agreement.

"I don't believe that any Death Eaters outside of the inner circle will be of much worry to us," she adds.

Octavius nods uncomfortably, his shoulders tense. "If anyone can end this war, you two can."

"Thanks dad."

He smiles, a small thing, but smile all the same. "No problem sweetie."

I scoff, waving ineffectually. "Sweetie?"

Laughing loudly, he smiles wider. A proper one. "Look at that," he says, elbowing Terra in the side playfully. "I can embarrass her."

She shakes her head, waving her hand in goodbye. "Keep in touch, okay? I don't- I don't want to be worried sick over whether or not you've not come out of one of your… skirmishes safely."

"I promise."

She breathes in deeply, her jaw tight. "That's all I can ask for."

Fleur puts her arm around my shoulder and nods at me meaningfully. "We're to visit Wool's, yes?"

"Yeah… yeah we are."

She kisses me on the forehead. "Then we'll be off. It was good to see all of you again," she says, bowing her head towards my parents.

"You as well," Sirius answers. "Go out there and kick some ass for me."

"That's our job," Fleur jokes, taking us away in a flash of light.

-::-

"So… where the hell is this placed actually supposed to be?" I ask, looking at the map for the umpteenth time. I turn it sideways, glaring at the thing as if it'll suddenly reveal its secrets to me.

I've come to the conclusion that I hate maps.

"It's supposed to be somewhere around here, near Wilkinson Street," Fleur explains, pointing at a miscellaneous line that's supposed to mean something important to me.

I frown. "I haven't a clue where we even are to begin with."

She sighs patiently, finger placed over the map on top of yet another meaningless line. "We're right here," she says, dragging her finger to the left and tapping at the paper. "And we're supposed to be looking around here."

I put the map down, looking around the neighbourhood we find ourselves in. Vauxhall is… dull, to say the least. Heart of London, and it still manages to be as plain as humanely possible. If it wasn't for the lack of screeching, I'd have thought myself on Privet Drive.

Fleur continues to lead me patiently through the winding streets of the city, and I find myself realizing that I haven't spent much time anywhere apart from Hogwarts and home.

Bit sad, now that I think about it.

I'm not the type to really want to go running around the city doing anything specific, like hunting out a restaurant or finding a shop, but I haven't even spent time around London just for the sake of it like someone else my age would.

It makes me realize how terribly odd my life has been.

We wander past the same brickwork homes, only broken up occasionally by offices, small corner stores, and the rare paint job; a multitude of equally boring shades of eggshell and cream.

Apparently, there's a difference between those two.

"Look, here we are," Fleur points out gesturing towards a sign, plainly reading Wilkinson Street.

"Well, it should be over here then, right?" I ask, pointing down the lane.

She shakes her head, hiding a smile behind her hand. "No, this way."

I glare as she points in the opposite direction.

"Shite."

Laughing loudly, she laces her arm through mine and begins to walk down the street, taking me with her. "You really are hopeless when it comes to directions, aren't you?"

Shrugging, I reply, "I can somehow find my way to the Shetland Islands on my own, but I can't make it through London. I don't get it."

She pats me on the shoulder condescendingly. "I imagine it's quite a bit easier to find an island, over a specific building."

"You're feeling awful cheeky today, huh?"

"Well, no one has tried to kill us yet, so things are going well."

"Didn't people try to kill us just this morning?

She rolls her eyes. "Minor details."

I snort, Fleur grinning at me as we carry on.

After another few minutes, we finally find Wool's Orphanage.

It looks even worse than anything I could have imagined, and I find myself hardly believing that the building is still standing, let alone still functioning as an orphanage.

It's old, probably made some time just before the war, all weathered brickwork and industrial windows, a crumbling tower jutting out of the top of the building. The orphanage itself is contained within walls, not unlike that of a prison, with sharp, jagged spikes arrayed overtop the wall like some sort of hellish barbed wire.

In all honesty, the whole place looks like Azkaban's younger, somewhat better-behaved younger brother. And that whole fortress was built by a Necromancer.

"Nice place," I mutter, unable to wipe the frown off my face.

"This place looks… horrible."

"I actually thought it looked quite lovely, don't you?"

Fleur raises one eyebrow at me. "It looks like a psychiatric hospital for serial killers."

I nod meaningfully. "Yes. Perfect for a Dark Lady such as me."

She grins widely. "Of course, but what about your Albumancer girlfriend, should I not have a cottage in the forest? Something perfect and idyllic?"

"I prefer the doom and gloom myself. Maybe we could take over Azkaban some day?"

Laughing, Fleur swings open the gate, ducking underneath a clothesline laden with laundry, most of which looks like it once was white, but now a muddled gray.

"Maybe some day."

We walk up the door, Fleur knocking against the faded wood. We wait for a few moments, before the door swings open, an elderly woman with a messy gray bun and a simple brown dress staring at us in confusion, brushing a thin lock of hair out of her eyes.

"You two with the city?" she asks, eyeing us curiously.

"The city? No, we're just here to ask about someone who lived here a long time ago."

She frowns, confused. "How long ago?"

I look to Fleur. "Er- sixty odd years? Something like that?"

"Lord, it's been a while since then," the woman says, more to herself than us. She nods hurriedly, waving her hand and beckoning us in. "Come on, no need to mind your shoes, we're getting torn down soon anyways."

"Torn down?" I ask, stepping into the foyer, which is no less depressing than the exterior.

She waves her hands over her head, gesturing at the building around us. "We haven't had proper funding since the fifties, and the council isn't changing that any time soon."

We follow as she leads us through to the back into a large kitchen, and I nearly stumble as two kids run past us, giggling loudly. I dodge quickly and end up spinning into the kitchen, quickly noticing the cracked floor tiles, the grooves between them thick with grime that I think may be older than me. I glance up, equally ancient cast iron cookware hanging from rungs on the ceiling. I pause, wondering how long the orphanage has been functioning on what could only amount to a stipend, if it hasn't been that way since it was built.

"Tea?"

Fleur shakes her head, subtly eyeing the kitchen with disdain. "We're fine, but thank you for the offer."

The woman nods, humming quietly as she turns on a burner and sets a kettle atop it. She nods towards a small table, inviting us to have a seat.

"So, is this for a school project of some sort? Old family?" she asks as she settles down, leaning forward on the table. She pauses for a moment, blinking. "God, I've completely forgotten to introduce myself." She sticks her hand out. "I'm Martha."

I shake her hand briskly. "Helene."

Fleur repeats the gesture. "And I'm Fleur."

"Lovely names," Martha states drily. "So, who were you two young ladies wanting to ask me about? I don't know if I can remember everyone who's been through these doors, especially such a ways back, but as you can see, I haven't much to do." She rolls her eyes, looking around us, before tapping the side of her head. "Anything to keep this old mind of mine ticking."

"We were wanting to ask you about a boy who must have gone here some time in the late thirties, maybe his childhood. He was an orphan, Tom Riddle."

Martha breathes sharply through her teeth. "Could you repeat that for me?"

"Er- Tom Riddle?"

"Of all the children who've been here, that… boy-" she practically spits the word, gnawing on her bottom lip. "That boy terrorized the other children, me and the other workers… old Mrs. Cole." Martha clenches one hand into a fist, skin stretching over the knobbled bones in her fingers. "If any child was ever a monster, that one was." She looks up at us, lips pursed dramatically. "What could you ever want to know about him? Doing a project on serial killers?"

I look at Fleur, not quite knowing how to respond. Thankfully, she seems to know just the thing.

"We're actually with the Met, and are looking into recently re-opened cases, one of which concerns Tom Riddle," she explains, surreptitiously waving her hand over the table.

I watch as the subtle confundus charm hits Martha, her eyes glazing over for just a brief moment, before she nods acceptingly. "Didn't know they hired so young now." She shrugs lazily, clasping her hands together. "So, he went off and became a killer then?"

Fleur nods. "Yes, although his name was never released to the public as the killings couldn't be directly pinned on him, mostly due to the technology of the time."

Martha hangs her head back and sighs. "I knew that boy was trouble from the start. Stealing from the other children, hurting them… we never managed to catch him in the act ourselves, but we always knew it was him. The children were terrified of Tom, wouldn't go near him if they had the choice. Any of the new arrivals… well, they learned quickly not to step within a few yards of him lest something happen.

"We never could do anything about him, but then one day an old man just showed up at the doorstep and asked for Tom. After that things were easier, for a time at least, when he was gone to boarding school most of the year." She rubs her eyes, before pinching the bridge of her nose.

"When he came back? Things were worse. Somehow, some way, he managed to become more and more sadistic. Oh, sure, he was better behaved, on the surface at least. But behind closed doors? Some of the children started to worry for their lives… I worried for my life. Dead animals in the yard, children hiding bruises from us." She scoffs, shaking her head. "Even broken bones. He was… he was a monster."

Fleur leans forward, eyes flicking over to the kettle as it starts to hiss. I barely notice as her fingers dance, the dial on the stove turning off and the water inside the kettle most likely frosting over. "Is there anything specific you can tell us about him? Places he frequented, any sort of patterns or rituals he may have followed?"

Martha nods slowly, her face pinched. "We used to take them to the ocean, on trips. A way to get away from the city and the war, before it got bad. Mrs. Cole, bless her soul, the woman who used to be in charge before me, had family on the Isle of Wight. We'd take all the children, pack them up on the trains, ferry them over to the island… it was always supposed to be a good experience for them. Give them a taste of what it's like to be with a family.

"First time we took him on that trip two of the other kids came back traumatized; looked like they had shellshock, like the soldiers coming back home from the Great War." Martha looks towards Fleur, staring into her eyes – her own shining with long forgotten anger. "They were never the same after that. Amy and… God, I forget the boys name. Something to do with the clergy. They stopped speaking, didn't eat at meals. We nearly had to take them to the hospital and put them on a feeding tube. They just… I'd never seen someone so broken before. Children, too scared to speak, too scared to eat. It was horrible."

"Where was this beach exactly?" Fleur asks, her voice kind, yet strict.

Martha runs her hand over her face, closing her eyes. "It was just west of Totland, but he had snuck off with the two of them and taken them south, to the cliffs near the Needles."

Fleur nods, turning her head towards me. "That matches with what we've been told."

"Y- yes. Yes it does," I reply shakily. "We have to get going now, but you've helped us tremendously."

"Best of luck to you two," she responds, her voice dropping as she fiddles with her thumbs. "Is he… is he still alive?"

"Yes. He is."

Martha looks down at her hands, seeming much older and wearier than before. "If you get something to stick, let me know. I've got an old bottle of double malt tucked away, and I've been waiting for an opportunity to crack it open."

Fleur smiles at her. "We'd be happy to. Take care of yourself Martha, and I apologize for bringing up any bad memories."

She waves us off. "Nonsense, I was happy to help."

As we get up to leave, I stop. "Fleur, one moment please."

"Yes?"

I flick my wand out, pointing it at Martha, who looks stunned. She eyes the wand with a sense of familiarity, her gaze flicking upwards to meet my own. "You two are-"

"Obliviate."

The spell strikes her in the chest, her eyes glazing over. "We were never here. You went to the kitchen to make some tea and ended up nodding off after forgetting to turn on the stove."

Martha seems to nod at my words, head bobbing lazily from the force of the obliviation.

Fleur looks at me curiously, a small frown on her face. "If Voldemort came here, something I have no doubt he will do, he would question her. We can't let him find out what we're after. What we know."

"That… yes, that makes sense," she admits, glancing towards Martha. "I'm glad you realized that." Placing her hand on my shoulder reassuringly, Fleur squeezes it once. "Come, we've got work to do."

-::-

The crisp sea wind rushes through my hair, causing it to flutter angrily, tangled strands of red flicking over my nose.

Fleur leans on the railing beside me, enjoying our brief moment of relaxation.

It was her idea to take a ferry, travel the muggle way. Said it would be good to have a second to ourselves before the madness that we know is to come.

"Do you think someone else in our situation would fare better?" she asks, turning towards me.

"What do you mean?"

She gestures slowly with her hands, sorting out her thoughts. "This war, Death, Life… it's all insane, yet here we are completely unaffected."

I wrinkle my nose, squinting against the summer sun. "I wouldn't say we're completely unaffected. We've adjusted quite well, all things considered."

"That's exactly my point." She sighs, gazing off into the distance towards the Isle of Wight. "I remember how you and I used to be, before our… second chance. You were a shy little thing. Brave to a fault, but terribly shy, and too kind for your own good." Smiling, Fleur reaches over and runs her thumb along my cheek. "You're still kind. So kind I can't believe it myself, but that kindness isn't the endless fountain it once was. There's a merciless, dangerous side to you. To me." She pauses, tongue poking out from between her teeth. "What I did to Bagman, it should frighten me - both of us - but it doesn't. I just find myself wondering why."

"I slaughtered three dozen prisoners in the span of fifteen minutes at Azkaban just last year," I say, clenching my jaw. "For a moment there, right after killing Bellatrix, I felt powerful. I felt like nothing could challenge me, the world at my fingertips." I turn my head towards Fleur. "I turned her blood to mud, tearing her apart from the inside out. I thought it would be fitting for her to die like how she imagined the countless muggleborn and halfbloods she'd killed."

I wring my hands together, turning back towards the ocean, short waves bursting as the ferry cuts through them like a knife. "That feeling left me as soon as I realized what I'd done. I was sick to my stomach, but I wasn't disgusted by myself. I was… disgusted by the situation, to be surrounded by so much depravity. I think we… I think power like ours does something to people. Maybe we become distant because of it, unable to fully connect with what happens around us - at least, in the same way that someone normal would. Maybe distance breeds power, and people like us just end up this way." I wave my hand. "Not… emissaries of primordial beings, but terribly powerful witches or wizards."

Fleur frowns thoughtfully, her fingers tapping across the railing. "Sorry for bringing up such a morose topic," she apologizes, and I wave her off.

"It's not morose. Honestly, I think it would have come up eventually."

She shrugs. "I just haven't thought about it much until now. I thought I was changed because of my last life. Dying in a war and coming back to life would change anyone, but I don't think I realized how much I'd changed until I came to England." Her face contorts into a thin smile. "Not much conflict to be had in France, just a return to school and years spent learning what I was capable of. In fact, the first fight I'd gotten into was the one at the World Cup, where I met you in the forest."

"Huh. I never really thought about that. Guess I've been enjoying all the excitement without you, haven't I?"

Fleur laughs, Nudging me with her shoulder. "I wouldn't necessarily call it excitement, but I believe 'complete and utter catastrophe' doesn't have the same ring to it."

"Oh hush you," I chide, rolling my eyes.

Pointing towards the Isle, Fleur cocks her head. "I think that's been enough relaxing. Shall we?"

"We shall," I reply, letting her take my arm and apparate me to the coast.

Silently, we disappear, reappearing on the beach and startling a couple passing by, the presumed boyfriend shrieking in fright and yanking his girlfriend into the sand, the two of them tumbling over one another.

Laughing, Fleur apparates us again, my vision spinning, yet stomach calm as we head westward, dashing across the coastline like a blip on the radar.

The fluttering glimpses I catch of the town of Ryde quickly make way for shorn grassland and distant farms. Unfortunately, there's no time to admire the scenery. We do have a bit of Voldemort's soul to find and destroy.

Within a matter of minutes the small town of Totland greets us, the only place on the western side of the isle one could consider a town at that, rather than the sparse hamlets and villages that populate Wight - if one ignores Newport, that is.

"We're close," I say, feeling out with my magic and detecting a shimmer of something dark in the distance.

"South?"

I nod. "Off in that direction," I explain, pointing past the town and towards the shore. "It must be nestled in the cliffs."

We apparate once more, caught staring over a sheer drop, sharp craggy rocks lining the side of the Isle like wicked teeth. I push one hand forward, the stone of the cliff punching outwards and forming a makeshift staircase that leads down towards the thick concentration of magic I detected a moment ago.

We descend tentatively, each step careful as we tread towards a sheltered opening in the cliff face, the cave practically screaming out at me. I can see thick tendrils of dark magic wafting out from it, tickling at the open mouth of the cave like smoke pouring from a smoker's mouth.

I doubt anyone other than Fleur or I could even perceive such a thing.

"This is definitely the place," Fleur murmurs, frowning. "It feels sickening."

"It's a bastardization of Necromancy," I state, reaching out and flicking away the immaterial magic, watching as it recoils at my touch. "It's almost sentient… it feels like it knows it's wrong."

She eyes the smog with distaste, her fingers lighting up with raw White Magic, shining out across the cave entrance. The tendrils scatter like cockroaches, shrinking into cracks in the stone and hiding away from the glow that pours out from her hand.

I stroll forward and place my hand against the rock the smoke emanated from, a sense of broken familiarity tickling against my palm.

I scoff.

"He locked the door with blood magic. It feels like a… cheap imitation."

Fleur pats me on the back. "Enough with the ego, love."

"What, you can't tell the difference?" I ask, almost offended. "This is… this is- it's embarrassing. It's as if he drew out the enchantment in crayon with his left hand."

"Just because you're innately gifted with an understanding and familiarity with blood magic doesn't mean everyone is," she jibes.

"It really isn't all that difficult," I grumble, running my finger across the stone. I reach out, grabbing a hold of the ramshackle chains that tie together Voldemort's enchantment. With a swipe of my hand, I tear them to pieces, the stone crumbling to dust. "See?"

Fleur laughs, shaking her head. "Yes, yes. It's very impressive."

I puff my chest out dramatically. "Told you."

Humming appreciatively, Fleur takes a step past the remains of the door and into the greater cave itself. She raises her wand over her head and incants slowly, a smattering of magelights shooting out across the cave and lighting it in its entirety.

It's bloody massive.

A sheer black lake reaches out to what must be the other end of the isle, only a faint glow marking its walls. I can make out a miniature island in the middle of it due to my enhanced senses, the only thing on it a stalagmite that juts out towards the ceiling, a crystalline bowl carved into its peak.

"I assume that's where we need to go."

Fleur squints, leaning forward somewhat. "That little island?"

I nod. "Seems to be the ca-"

Suddenly, I crumble, clutching my head as a thousand voices scream out in pain. At least, I think it's the voices in my head. It just as easily could be me.

Eyes screwed shut, I'm helpless as magic radiates off my body and pours into the still waters of the lake, nearly vomiting at the abomination that reaches back out of the depths.

Thousands of dead, their voices stilled but their minds awake, shrieking in everlasting agony. Ghostly fingers scrabble at my mind, scratching and tearing and begging for release. They can feel the presence of Death, his paragon, and they revel in it.

Just as quickly as it occurred, it's gone, and I'm left staring out at the cavern, panting.

"Helene! Helene are you okay?" Fleur shouts, grabbing a hold of me.

I clumsily lay my hand on her arm. "Yeah, I'm alright. I just… this cave, there's something wrong with it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's filled with the dead," I gasp, head still packed full with the shouts of the damned. I point towards the lake. "They're in the water."

"Inferi."

"They're still aware Fleur. They still feel."

Her fingers dig into my arm. "What?"

I look up, her horrified face lit eerily by the reflections cast off the water. "Their minds are whole, but they're trapped."

She grimaces, brow furrowed in thought. "We can't save them, not at this moment. Maybe… we can come back, after all this is over,' she adds, noticing my expression.

"We can't just leave them. This place is a blight, it shouldn't exist."

"Helene, we've got our priorities right now. We need to end this war as soon as we can," she reasons, cupping my cheek. "I promise, we will come back and fix this."

I nod against her hand, shakily getting back to my feet. "How are we supposed to cross over?"

"Do you not sense it?" Fleur asks, reaching forward and grabbing hold of thin air. All of a sudden a glowing green chain appears in her hands, as if it were soaked in magical brine.

"Huh," I murmur. "I do now."

She yanks on the chain, and I watch as the water bubbles, the crest of a simple rowboat peeking out of the lake and nestling against the shore.

Beckoning for me to get in, I join her, and we begin our short voyage to the island, the boat ferrying us along.

I can't help but gaze into the water, unable to find any sign of the countless undead that I know are just below the surface.

"Don't think about it."

"Kind of hard not to, when I can feel each and every one of them," I retort, frowning.

"Just… they're a trap, you know that, I know that. We don't want to set it off."

I nod sheepishly. "I know. I just hate that I can't do anything right now."

It takes everything in me not to trail my fingers along the water, apart from the very clear assumption that if I do, we'll be in immediate danger.

The dinghy sidles up to the shore, its hull grinding against the stone.

We climb out, trudging up the shale rock and trying not to slip over it as chunks of the stuff slide out from underneath our feet.

The crystal bowl shimmers eerily, the inky black liquid within stock still, like the surface of a pensieve. There's a glimmer underneath, the outline of a piece of jewelry - a grand locket.

"This doesn't look very promising," Fleur grimaces, staring at the cup that lies beside the bowl.

I attempt to twist the bowl, to tear it out of the rock and turn it upside down, but it doesn't budge an inch.

"It's not actually stone," I add, peering at it curiously. "I can't use my powers on it."

"Do they work on crystal?"

I nod. "If there's any impurities in it, I can mould it. This is made to look like stone, probably so no one could spell the liquid out of it."

She waves her wand over the bowl, frowning. "Whatever that liquid is."

"Some sort of terribly evil potion, I imagine." I reach out and grab the cup, Fleur snatching my wrist as I bring it to the liquid.

"What are you doing?" she hisses.

"We obviously have to drink," I say, gesturing towards the bowl. "We don't have the decades of magical knowledge to create this trap, let alone dismantle it. And bruteforce would just attract the Inferi." I kiss her softly. "Let me do this. If any of the two of us could deal with whatever this potion is, it's me." I tap my chest with one hand. "Chock full of blood magic augmentations here."

She kisses me once more. "Don't you dare die."

I dip the cup into the potion. "Not in a million years."

Bringing it up to my lips, I nearly flinch at how cold it is, instead sending a sly wink Fleur's way.

"Cheers."

I take a deep drink of the liquid. The cold smoky potion trickles down my throat, burning every nerve ending along the way.

Spluttering, I reach forward and refill the cup, taking another swig. My eyes screw shut of their own accord, flinching against the fiery substance.

I feel as if smoke has begun to settle over my vision - despite my eyes being closed - apparitions claw in the dark.

I drink, and I drink, and I drink. The cold weight of the realm of Death settles over my mind like a silk curtain, enclosing me, trapping me.

The walls press in - my thoughts spin just as the world does. Voices reach out to me, and my own cries out in response. Their pain and suffering is a dirge, a cacophony of interstellar proportions, whittling away at my mind like steel burrs.

I open my eyes to the nether, the endless, infinite nothing that makes up the world below, beneath, and all around us. The inevitable is stifling.

Death is in every corner, a trillion corners that make up every crystalline facet of time, its currents flowing like a waterfall; and time- time makes up everything, all of it, a living breathing essence of everything and nothing. The walls of this world are mourning given form, the sprouting of a seed that withers away into dust and ash, only to rise again and recommit itself to the endless cycle of its forebears.

A being of pure nightmare walks by me, feet crunching against a forest of bone as it snatches up skittering, spider-like monsters, the creatures shrieking as it devours them. Whole universes make up the lifeblood that dribbles down its chin, the substance glittering like a thousand dying suns.

In the distance, the exhumed corpse of a dead god bows towards me, its slumbering mind singing dreams of hellfire and conquest, waiting for the day in which its followers raise it once more so that it may pillage the worlds beyond.

I look up to see our own - my own - realm above, wrapped around the darkness like a child clinging to its father's leg, and Life itself stands behind it. The mother of all that Is- Was- and Will Be- resting its hands proudly upon the shoulders of the material. It forms an effervescent barrier of joy and life, so bright I fear I may go blind, yet I know somewhere deep down inside that it is but my parallel, the final piece to the metaphysical puzzle that makes up existence.

For all that is, there is not - and there is nothing strange about it.

I step through the darkness, a road of emptiness so dense I can walk upon it, driving myself ever forward on the path.

Creatures line the cobbled shadow of the road, chains made up of the essence of a metal I will never know the name of tying them to the idea of a universe, the mere representation of its fingers splayed out across the landscape and capturing all that dare tread near - binding them to itself and the forces that guide it.

I fall through a hole in the darkness, past dragons crafted from tempered obsidian and a being the size of a continent as it battles against a horde of shapeless, nameless entities that wish to feast upon its corpse.

The world disappears before me, and I'm tossed unceremoniously back into our world - my world - gasping at the sights I was forced to witness: the death of a universe displayed before me in the span of a moment, and a moment taking millennia to reach its peak.

Fleur's garbled voice reaches my ears, but I don't understand it, not after hearing the singing of a dead god and a drumbeat that drives legions of the nameless dead.

"I'm… I'm fine- I'm fine," I choke, spitting out a wad of living darkness, which shrieks and scuttles into the water. "Just give me a moment."

I stand there for a while, gazing off into the Dark- the Light- the Wrong- choosing to ignore everything that I just saw. I reach into the empty bowl and grasp the frigid chain that lays within. Throwing it around my neck, I pull myself to my feet, Fleur staring at me with fear in her eyes.

"I… I'm fine, yeah?"

She nods shakily, hand resting on my arm, her eyes somewhat wild. "Are you… are you sure?"

"Sort of," I grumble, balancing myself against the pillar. "Should we get out of here?"

"Yes, yes, we should."

She turns, crying out in anger to find the rowboat a ways back in the lake, having fallen back in while I was witnessing complete and utter madness.

"How the hell are we supposed to get back now?"

"Like this," Fleur says decisively as she takes a chunk of stone from the ground, waving her wand over it. I watch as it turns into a miniature row-boat, before she sets it back upon the floor and enlarges it. Another flick of her wand sends it into the water, which immediately begins to roil like a boiling pot.

Her eyes widen and she turns towards me, shock clearly written over her features.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" she curses, dragging me into the dinghy and casting her arms forward, pushing the boat across the lake as fast as she can, scabbed, spindly hands bursting out of the water and reaching towards us.

I jab my wand into the water and freeze the lake behind us.

The warbled screeches of the Inferi are suddenly muted as we continue to speed over the water, crushing misshapen bodies beneath us as the boat rocks against them.

"I didn't think they would attack so quickly," Fleur bellows, her hair now wet, clinging to her neck.

"It doesn't matter now," I answer, trying not to speak in the language of a long forgotten civilization as I slice away anything that gets too close with paper thin gusts of air. "We're getting close! Brace yourself!"

Fleur flinches just as we crash against the shore, and I'm tossed into her, sending us sprawling over the jagged stones.

My head crashes against the rock, shocks running down my spine as my cheek is ground against thin chunks of shale.

Cursing in frustration and no small amount of pain, Fleur and I haul ourselves to our feet, and I can feel the cold chill of cavern air against the open wound on my cheek.

Before we can even check over our wounds, the ice shatters, thick chunks of it flying through the air as rotten gray masses of flesh climb over one another, chittering and shrieking as they race towards us.

I glance towards the entrance to the cavern from the bit of rocky shore we find ourselves standing on, attempting to blink the two of us over.

That method of attack is quickly brought to a halt as I cry out in pain, terror running through me.

"This isn't good," I mutter, watching in horror as the horde climbs out of the deep. "This isn't good at all."

"Merde," Fleur groans, a slice across her forehead trickling a thin stream of blood over her face.

"I can't blink Fleur, there's something here that's stopping me."

I can hear her gasp beside me, as she attempts to flash her way over to the other side. "Me neither," she groans, looking completely bewildered. "What could possibly stop us?"

"Blood magic, probably," I think aloud, looking around us at the walls and only for the first time noticing how the shadows cling much too tightly to the stone. "Definitely blood magic, something close to our own powers, a much better imitation. I don't think it could be anything else."

Cursing loudly, Fleur begins to attack.

Teeth gritted, she sends a gust of shining, holy fire across the cavern. The water it strikes instantly flashes to steam, making it nearly impossible to see; and just as suddenly as the steam appeared, it disappears, Fleur drawing the moisture out of the very air itself and fashioning it into thousands of jagged icicles that she sends careening back into the water.

I pull up shards of stone and form a makeshift palisade around us, making sure that it's as sharp as possible. Hopefully a few of the Inferi manage to slice off their limbs trying to climb the damned thing.

Shutting my eyes, I attempt to reach out and turn the Inferi into something more manageable, or to even coax them over to our side. Jaw clenched, I twist and shape their magic as best as I can before my own magic is suddenly torn away, whatever runes used to bind the Inferi rejecting any outside influence.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, shooting a salvo of different Necromantic curses towards the encroaching wall of dead that just spatters uselessly against them. "I'm useless here!" I shout, hoping Fleur can hear me over the endless, ear splitting screams.

She must have heard me, as the water explodes with oversized lichen, thin tendrils of the fungus wrapping around the Inferi and dragging them back down into the depths. Just as that's happening, roots hanging from the ceiling enlarge, rushing down and spearing the water, drawing out whatever they happen to latch on to. The captured Inferi twist madly, hissing like feral cats.

The palisade begins to crumble, a wall of grasping hands tearing the stone apart piece by piece. Frustrated, I pull a chunk of stone from the ceiling, shattering it and crushing the Inferi underneath.

Dredging up the power deep inside me, I let a pure unholy fire wash out from my wand, tearing apart the Inferi - the water itself- ignore the screams- in a burst of terrible, sickly green. I hold the spell, letting the creatures burst into so many clouds of ash, boiled alive in a sea of fire.

Their shrieks are endless, the voices of the people they once were crying out as they're torched by the flames of the underworld, purifying their bodies and their souls.

The spell ends as my feet are yanked out from under me, slimy broken fingers tearing through my trousers and scraping away the flesh underneath.

Crying out in pain, I blast the Inferi away with a gust of air, impaling it on the remains of the palisade. The stone bursts through its chest and peppers me with chunks of flesh and bone, the Inferi clawing madly at the bloodied rock and attempting to drag itself towards me.

Disgusted, I immolate the creature, ignoring its pained wails as emerald fire licks at its bones and melts the stone it's mounted upon.

The Inferi are upon us now, and there seems to be no end in sight.

They're like ants as they pour over themselves, one single being made up of hundreds of rotting souls.

The drums beat louder, the damned grow closer.

An impenetrable wall of flesh bursts across the cavern like a tidal wave, the glowing eyes that peek out from between thrashing arms and broken legs are the only thing that remind me that these were once people.

They're nothing compared to what I have already witnessed.

Fleur and I continue to lose ground, and I throw up a wall of stone beside us that reaches towards the ceiling - fusing with it and fending off any potential attacks from our flank.

"Any good ideas?" I pant, back pressed against the wall and visions of infinite, sentient fire swimming past my eyes.

She continues to douse the Inferi in fire, and I can see the sweat dripping down her brow. "Haven't a clue," she grunts, letting the fire drop and pushing the creatures back with a sheet of rapidly formed ice.

I shout in surprise as I'm grabbed by one of the Inferi and dragged with them, Fleur screaming my name as I'm pulled into the water.

Kicking and fighting with all my strength, I try desperately to pull myself out of the Inferi's grasp, air bubbling out of my mouth towards the surface.

I cough and choke on the water as a chunk of my shoulder is torn off, my muffled screams trapped by the twisting bodies that surround me, mixing with the misty blood that slowly ebbs from my wound.

My vision dims to a complete and utter black, yet I can still feel the hands ripping away at my skin, trying to tear me in two.

Pouring my magic into my body, I attempt to regenerate it, to hold it together against the constant onslaught of skin split by bone and gnashing, crumbled teeth. The muscle and flesh knit together rapidly, but I can feel myself becoming more and more exhausted as I attempt to hold back my imminent, grisly death.

Suddenly, time freezes, and I find myself face to face with Death, who is completely and utterly dry, seemingly ignoring the fact that he's submerged twenty feet in an underground lake.

"In a bit of a bind, are you?" he asks in a nonchalant manner, brushing a spec of invisible dust off his lapel.

It takes me a moment to collect myself, before I eye him curiously, wondering why he chose to show himself now.

I mean, apart from my imminent grisly death.

"Yes, I am."

"A shame," he muses, tilting his head to the side. "And you have no idea how to save yourself from this situation, do you?"

I look down at myself, arms and legs still bound by Inferi, their mouths held wide open in some twisted form of joy, the shreds of their cheeks revealing barnacle encrusted tongues and teeth thick with blackened slime.

I wonder for a moment if that's what my cheek looks like, torn to shreds on jagged rock.

"Not particularly."

He taps me on the forehead. "Don't be daft. You're a Necromancer, my champion," he admits, brow furrowing. "You control the essence of death. You live it. You breathe it. Let that power suffuse you, let it drive you, let it guide you."

"How?" I ask, attempting to gesture towards myself with my chin. "Kind of trapped at the moment."

Rolling his eyes, Death cradles my chin with his thumb and forefinger. "Let the power fill very nook and cranny of your being, and then, you will find yourself free." His eyes seem to swallow me up, impossibly cold and so terribly familiar. "You saw it earlier… the Abyss. The Underworld. My realm." He pinches my jaw, his eyes glimmering with the cries of creatures whose very existence is pain, the flap of a birds wings that sweeps away whole worlds and creates new ones in their place, a god made of dreams that burns millions in its name.

He jabs me in the chest with his finger, leaning closer. "That potion shows something deep down inside you. It showed you the core of your being. Where one would see their nightmares, you instead looked into the deepest, darkest depths of existence. You gazed upon the unending nothingness of shattered time and lost dreams, and you came out unscathed. You have seen the Infinite."

I stare into the void.

"Use it."

Shadows explode off my body, tearing through the water and ripping the Inferi asunder, their very existence being shredded by the palpable death that seems to emanate off me in sickening waves.

They scramble to get away from me - from tentacles that shouldn't exist that erase their very being.

I push myself out of the water, using the shadows like limbs, standing tall and proud over the Inferi, watching as they scatter like rats.

With a sweep of my arm, they're demolished, chunks of rotten flesh spattering against the walls with a series of heavy thuds, one after the other.

Reaching down, deep, below the surface- the world- I root up the fleeing dead like a gardener tears out a weed, crushing them beneath my grasp.

Before the power can leave me, I creep back towards Fleur on a thousand jagged legs made of the death of a civilization, setting myself down in front of her.

"Got 'em," I choke, collapsing against the stone.

I feel as she pulls me into her arms, clutching desperately. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," she repeats, fingers digging into my back.

"I'm fine," I cough, the words clumsily spilling out over my lips.

She kisses me deeply, and I can taste the salt on her lips, finding myself wondering if it's the water or her tears.

"I'm fine."

She looks at me, into my eyes. "What happened there? You… you changed."

"Death," I state, still trying to catch my breath. "He showed me what my powers are, what they can be. I… I saw his world. I can't- no words can describe it. It defies all… all everything." I close my eyes and breathe once, twice, three times before I feel myself beginning to calm down. "I saw it all."

She looks a mess, a heavy frown on her face, blood caked around her nose and forehead. "The underworld."

"The Underworld." I correct her, and I know that she can hear the force contained within the word.

"Do you think… do you think I'll see it?" she asks, partly excited, partly fearful.

I answer her, somehow knowing the answer deep in my soul. "Yes, but not after you visit Life's domain."

She lets out a shaky, breath, pressing her forehead against mine. "Let's… let's go. Do you have the horcrux?"

I reach around my neck, fingers skimming across the icy metal. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

Fleur kisses me on the forehead as she transfigures another boat out of the rubble.

"Do you hear their voices?"

I stop and listen.

"No, I don't."

Got two long weekends in a row, so I decided to finally, finally get some writing done. Hope you guys enjoy.