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

Chapter Forty-Six | Monsters in the Dark

"Oh… fuck," Amelia groaned, marching up the former steps of what remained of Greengrass Manor.

The once flourishing estate had been reduced to charred rubble – if they could even find rubble at that.

It had been doused in Fiendfyre multiple times, every trace of it destroyed apart from the burnt dregs of foundation and cindered walls that lay scattered; the skeleton of what used to be a lavish mansion.

"Shack, please tell me that I'm not about to find a pile of bodies," she said, announcing herself.

Kingsley span around and raised his chin at her, a scowl on his face. "Not a pile exactly…" He pointed at the ground, directing her attention to what looked like an obliterated human body, a mess of gore left untouched by the flames and framing the bloodied lower half of a wizard.

"Fuck."

He nodded contritely, unable to tear his eyes away from the desecrated corpse.

"Who was it?"

His mouth opened and closed a few times as he attempted to phrase it lightly.

"Just tell me Shack, this morning can't get any worse."

"It's Octavius Greengrass."

Amelia rested her head in her hands, a low sigh escaping her. "Fuck."

"Do you always have to curse like that?"

"Shacklebolt, you're the only person in the entire force who doesn't curse like a sailor," she argued, turning herself away from the pulped mess that once was her friend. An old friend, one she hadn't spoken to in years, but a friend nonetheless.

Shacklebolt grunted noncommittally. "We couldn't find any other bodies, traces of them or otherwise. Either they got cooked in the Fiendfyre, or they managed to escape whoever attacked."

"Voldemort."

He blanched. "What?"

"Voldemort," Amelia repeated. "I have reason to believe that he's returned."

"Potter?"

She nodded once. "I don't think she's lying, but I don't think she's telling us everything either."

He seemed to fall into himself at her words, defeated. "But if Voldemort is back…"

"Then our only hope of killing the son of a bitch is her."

"Are you sure she's on our side?"

Amelia grumbled something under her breath.

"What?"

"No. Not entirely. She's got her own agenda, there has to be more to it."

She had thought long and hard about what was happening with that girl, the mayhem she had surrounded herself with.

Helene Potter knew far more than she let on.

The spells she seemed to know were a major part of that; ones not even recognized by the Department of Mysteries.

Amelia had asked them over and over if they had an inkling of what type of magic the girl was using, but the only reply she managed to squeeze out of the Unspeakables was that it was 'highly dangerous.'

Like she didn't know that already.

She had no idea how Helene had managed to teach herself the long-lost arts of Necromancy, the evidence of which even she couldn't refute.

Twisted bodies mid-crawl, their crumbling mouths latched onto bloodied limbs were one of the few mindboggling things they had found in the graveyard but a few weeks ago. Although, the decayed vegetation they found strewn about was nothing in comparison to a chunk of stone that seemed to be hundreds of years older than the gravestone it fell from.

Amelia tried to push away the fear that threatened to creep up whenever she thought about how terribly powerful that girl was.

"I need the Unspeakables here."

"When?"

"Yesterday," she growled. "We need to know everything that's going on with that girl."

"What about the Greengrasses? They're either dead or missing."

She waved her hand. "Put out missing posters, but don't prioritize finding them."

"Why?"

Amelia stared him down. "Because if Helene Potter doesn't find them, we never will."

"But she's just a girl."

She spread her arms out, gesturing at the devastation around them. "A girl who caused this. Someone is out to get her, and they wanted her bad enough that they tried to kill her entire family."

Shacklebolt rubbed the back of his head. "Are we sure Potter didn't do this herself?"

Amelia snorted. "You believe the rumours that she's a Dark Lady? I expected better of you Shack." She pounded her hand into her fist. "No. The Graveyard… Dumbledore dropping dead, a swarm of Dementors tearing the soul out of a man we thought we buried? There's no possible chance that it's just her. She's not stupid enough to draw attention to herself like that."

She paced the floor, boots kicking up ash with every step. "Shack, you better be sleeping with a wand under your pillow. Start a meeting with your old friends."

"I don't know what you're talking about- "

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Amelia spat, hands behind her back. "Get the Order back together."

"What are you saying, Amelia?"

She pointed at Octavius' corpse, a sense of finality about her. "Someone wanted to send a message… and I think we're looking at it."

"What?"

Amelia paused, tasting the words as they rolled off her tongue. "Get ready for war."

-::-

I hiss loudly as Fleur coats the stump of my arm in a burn salve, the blistered skin stinging painfully as it makes contact.

"Are you okay?"

I grit my teeth. "Yeah, I'll live." The muscles in my neck flex dramatically as I try to stop myself from flinching against her touch. "I can do it."

"No." Fleur swats away my hand. "Let me. I promised."

I shut my mouth, allowing her to continue lathering the charred remains of my arm with the magical paste. "Gonna' be a bit of an issue, getting used to this," I mutter, inclining my head towards it. "Feels like my balance is all off."

"Why don't you just do a ritual to grow a tail then," Fleur offers, frowning as she continues her work.

"Seriously? I don't want to go cutting holes into every pair of pants I own just so I don't stumble around for a week. Anyways, it'd probably throw me off more than losing the arm."

"True." Fleur screwed the cap back on the jar, placing it on the dresser. "We need to sit tight for a couple of days and let you rest. You said this has to heal naturally, right?"

"Yeah, regeneration doesn't do a damn thing to it."

"So.."

I sigh. "It's gone. Permanently."

Fleur places her hands on my knees, a serious look on her face. "I'm going to look through the tome and see if I can fix this."

"Fleur, trust me. There's nothing we can do."

She curses under her breath. "I know how much you need your arm. How are you supposed to fight if you can't use magic and your powers at the same time?"

I stare down at my stump, attempting to flex a phantom limb. I can feel immaterial fingers curl, forearm tense.

"Wait…" I murmur, eyes alight as a ridiculous thought suddenly flits through my mind.

I grin.

"I think I might have an idea."

"What?" Fleur tenses. "What are you doing?"

"Just watch," I murmur, channeling magic into my arm and watching as wisps of shadow burst from the stump.

Fleur's jaw drops as an arm begins to form, fashioned of thick smoke. Thin darts of black smog twist and curl as the limb extends, my teeth clenched as I force the magic to take form.

Fingers burst into shape, thin and dangerous. They extend a few knuckles longer than my old flesh and blood, tipped by wicked claws that curve towards the smoky palm.

I wave at Fleur, grinning at her awestruck expression.

She purses her lips. "That is not going inside me."

"Jesus Fleur!"

She puts her hands up. "What! I'm just saying."

"I know, but… Jesus. I just performed an incredible piece of magic and all you can think about is sex?"

A blush paints her cheeks. "I'm Veela." She shrugs emphatically. "It's something we think about. Creatures of love and all that."

"Love wasn't exactly what we did last night."

She slaps me on the shoulder. "Shush."

I shoot up as there's a knock on the door. "Be right back, must be Iolaire." I dash out of the bedroom towards the entrance, swinging it open and peeking through the crack. "Come in Io- Severus?"

The dour man stands in the doorway, his normally patent scowl deeper. Angrier.

"What are you two doing here?" I ask, frowning.

"Can we come in, Helene?"

I nod shakily, waving the two in and directing them towards the sitting room. "Fleur!" I call. "Sitting room!"

I hear her grumbling through the door as she gets off the bed. "She'll be right here," I say, pulling out a chair. "Sit down. You've obviously got something important to say if you've brought Severus." I study the man for a moment, his face pale and thin. "You don't look well. I know it's been a little while since I've seen you, but have you gotten sick?"

He opens his mouth to reply, but stops, his eyes locking on my arm. "Helene!" he shouts, eyebrows shooting up. "What happened?"

I flex the shadowy limb experimentally, fingers twitching. "Took out one of Voldemort's horcruxes. There were traps."

Severus curses. "Horcruxes?"

"What? Dumbledore never told you?"

He shakes his head, waving half-heartedly at Fleur as she sits down beside me, draping an arm over my shoulder. "No, he didn't tell me anything. I don't know too much about them, but the little I do know left me disgusted."

"Well, there was one in my head, so I imagine he didn't want you to know."

"What!" he roars, turning towards Iolaire. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Iolaire put his hands up, palms to the air. "I thought you already knew."

"Of course I didn't know!" He slams his hand on the table. "We could have done something about it!"

He snorts loudly, red moustache bristling. "What, shoot her in the face with a killing curse? There's not exactly a ritual we can use to destroy those things. It was going to take care of itself on its own."

"By Helene taking a 'killing curse to the face?' That's insanity!"

I put my hand up. "Well, I sort of already did that."

Severus throws his head back, groaning loudly. "How are you still alive?"

"Oh, there was this whole thing- "

He cuts me off. "No, I was being facetious." He blinks slowly, looking dazed. "You're going to turn my hair gray."

I stop myself from pointing out the few gray hairs I can notice peeking out his mop.

"What brought you two over?" Fleur interrupts.

"We came to see how you were-"

Iolaire places his hand on Severus' shoulder, looking at him meaningfully. "You haven't heard the news?"

"Not yet. The radios are running but it's all been talk of what a nightmare we are."

Severus swallows heavily, faltering. "Helene, your father is dead."

"What?"

"Your family was attacked last night by Voldemort. I only heard about it this morning from someone I know at the Ministry… Octavius was killed."

The world crawls to a stop.

I can feel myself breathing heavily, a shrill ring buzzing in my ears. If I had a working heart it would be thundering against my rib cage, tearing a hole in my chest.

The chair beneath me cracks under my grip, shadowy fingers scoring holes in the surface.

I hear shouting, and it takes me a moment to realize that I've risen off the ground – spiderlike limbs made of pure darkness clattering noisily against the stone floor.

A thousand dazzling corpses hang in the corners of the room, crying out their sorrow.

He's dead, he's dead, they sing, tears of blood running down their sallow cheeks. He's dead and gone.

I stamp them out, crushing the shadows with pincers of the deepest, darkest black, sending the creatures of the deep scattering – back to their homes of fire and crystal.

A choir of the dead rings in my ears, their screams high and strong, a chorus of pain welcoming the newest to join their ranks.

I push away the darkness, immaterial fingers clasped together and holding back the waves fear and sorrow that lash out from the void. With deep breaths I pull away from the abyss, focusing on the here and now as I calm myself, hand pressed against my chest as I force breath after breath in and out, eyes swimming with tears.

With a clatter I collapse, spectral legs disappearing in a puff of acrid smoke. Fleur catches me as I crash to the ground, a heavy breath escaping her as she buckles under my weight.

"Helene, talk to me," she whispers, running her fingers through my hair.

I cling to her, jaw clenched. "He's dead?"

"Everything is going to be okay, Helene."

"But he's dead." I pull away from Fleur, hands shaking. "I could bring him back."

Severus clears his throat loudly, sounding shaken. "Helene, you can't."

"Why? Why can't I bring him back? I brought Dumbledore back, I can do it for him!"

"There wasn't enough left!" Severus shouts, looming over me. "And he wouldn't want that anyways."

"What do you know about him?" I growl, getting in his face. "Stop acting like you knew him."

"He was your mother's friend, and therefore one of mine, a long time ago. Trust me, he wouldn't want you to bring him back. Not like this."

"I could make him a body- "

"Helene!" Severus lays his hands on my shoulders. "You're not turning your father into a goddamn Frankenstein's monster. You think he'd enjoy that? Living a half life? Let him rest."

Fists clenched, I swallow my anger. "What did they do to him?"

Severus glances towards Iolaire, lips drawn tight. "I don't know, but he went down fighting."

I can feel my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand as I draw another slow, measured breath. "I didn't know he was a fighter."

"He lived through the last war, all of us were to some degree."

"Makes sense."

I fiddle with the cuff of my shirt, drawing it away from my wrist and letting it snap back into place. "Where are some of Voldemort's safehouses?"

"What?"

"Boltholes. Some place that he would have Death Eaters hidden away. Hell, even a pub that they frequent."

Fleur places her hand on the small of my back, leaning towards my ear. "Do you want to…?"

"Yeah. He wanted to get at me?" I ask, looking to Severus for confirmation.

"I would imagine so," he agrees.

I nod. "Good, then I imagine he wouldn't be too surprised if I killed a few of his men. Do you know if he's already begun recruiting?"

"Absolutely." Severus runs his fingers over his left arm, tracing the outline of the Dark Mark beneath his robes. "I would imagine he's already seduced a healthy number of purebloods to his cause with the help of Lucius and his compatriots."

"Malfoy Manor was his base of operations in the last war," Fleur interrupts. "Even when he controlled the Ministry, he always stayed at the Manor. Kept gloating about it, letting people know where he was after…" her fingers scratch at my back. "After you died."

I raise my shadowed arm, inclining my head towards it. "I don't feel comfortable attacking Malfoy Manor when I'm still recovering from this, but I can't imagine we'd have too much difficulty laying waste to a hideaway meant for his foot-soldiers."

Iolaire raises his hand. "Are you sure that's a wise choice? He could be called in at a moments notice."

"He can't kill us in an instant," I argue, Fleur nodding her agreement. "He had enough trouble with us in the Graveyard, and while he did get the better of Fleur and I, we can hold our own against him for a good while. Enough time for us to escape."

"Helene…" Severus sucks on his cheek, hand raised awkwardly. "Be careful."

"Aw, Severus. It's almost like you care."

He scoffs. "Highly unlikely. I'd just rather not see the post-apocalyptic waste that Voldemort would turn this world into if left unchecked."

"Keep telling yourself that," I retort, smiling.

He returns the gesture with a smile of his own, the expression crooked. "There's a pub that Voldemort once recruited from in Knockturn Alley, called the Banshee's Cradle. It's very likely that he'll be looking for new blood there now." Severus pauses, smoothing out his robes. "Don't go dying on me."

"I'd like to say the same," Iolaire adds, gesturing to himself. "I quite enjoy having a body. I'm not sure it would stay… alive, without you."

"Oh, fuck off."

I throw my arms around Severus, bringing him into a hug. He freezes up, arms jutting over my shoulders and held rigid.

Slowly, he brings them down, patting me lightly on the back. "I'm not exactly a hugger," he drawls, the word falling from his tongue like venom.

"Just shut up for one minute and let me hug you, you prick."

His hair tickles against my shoulder as he nods, letting me go after one more pat on the back.

I turn to see Iolaire with his arms crossed. "Not a chance in hell."

"Wouldn't want to anyways. You look like you haven't combed your beard in days."

"Only to avoid moments like this."

I smirk. "Good seeing you Iolaire, and… thanks to both of you for letting me know about my father." I swallow heavily, pushing away the pain and the tears that sting my eyes. "I'm glad I got to hear it from people I care about."

"If you're in need of a chat, you know where our offices are," Severus says. "Just pop on by if you'd like."

"I'll keep that in mind. I'd like to be with Fleur now if you two wouldn't mind."

"We won't keep you."

They both step out, shutting the door quietly behind them.

Just as it closes, I feel Fleur's arms wrap around me from behind, her hands resting on my waist. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm not okay. But… I don't really have time to grieve, do I?"

I can hear the sadness in her sigh, lips pressed to the skin just behind my ear. "There's always time to grieve."

"Not in a war, there's not."

She squeezes me against her, peppering my neck with kisses. "There will be time, when all this is done."

I shut my eyes, basking in her warmth. "One day."

"One day," she repeats, placing a final, lingering kiss on my shoulder. "One day."

-::-

Fleur and I make our way out of the Leaky Cauldron, hooded robes coupled with a discrete illusion easily allowing us to pass through unmolested.

Or in our case, not terrifying everyone in the pub.

"No Aurors guarding the alley yet," I mention, glancing towards her.

"Fudge must not want to start a panic."

"Idiot."

I can practically feel her grinning next to me, face shadowed by magic. "That's awful kind of you."

"Better than calling him a cunt all the time. Takes all the fun out of it."

Fleur's takes my arm and points at a wanted poster, finger tracing along the text.

Our own faces stare back at us, the slight fogginess of the pictures telling me they were taken from a pensieve memory.

Our pictures are of us during the fight in the Graveyard, and I can't help but find it slightly ironic that the memory that created these pictures came from one of the people who's most deserving of having a bounty on their head.

Fleur's is magnificent. Her hair is a mess, matted with gore and mud, thin strands of silver plastered to her ashen face. I watch as it loops over and over, her face twisting into a scowl as the blinding light of spellfire illuminates her.

Mine is… well it's a bit scary, to be quite frank.

I'm surrounded by corpses, hand raised as I tear them from their slumber. My face is spattered in blood, clothes mangled by our previous run-in with the various monsters that populated the maze.

"Ten thousand galleons each," Fleur mutters. "Wait, scratch that. Twenty dead."

I start laughing, scaring off the scattered crowds braving Diagon Alley after the Death Eater attack. "They really want us dead, huh?"

"Is it bad that I'm flattered?"

"Not at all. Actually, I'm quite offended. I would have assumed we were worth fifty at least."

Fleur drags me away from the poster, directing us towards Knockturn Alley. "You make a good point, but I'd be very happy if you were a touch quieter. I'd rather not have a squad of Aurors on us before we even make it to the pub."

"Fair point," I acquiesce, allowing her to take me along.

We duck into the alley, ignoring the street merchants and other peddlers of trinkets as we head deeper and deeper into the district.

A minute after passing Sayre's the street grows worse, the stone cracked and mossy, bricks from spindled chimneys laying broken on the ground. A deep, acrid stench stings my nose as we turn the corner past an apothecary, its windows shattered and walls black with wood rot.

"You think that's the place?" Fleur asks, pointing towards a sign hanging from a single rusted chain, the image of a skull with long, ragged hair painted onto it haphazardly.

"If that's not the place I'll eat my shoe."

Fleur hums, the two of us stepping up the creaking stairs and swinging the door open.

"Definitely the place."

The inside is dark, and I try to stamp out the incessant singing of the monsters in the deep. I focus on the light, stacks of candles placed here and there and a large wrought iron chandelier hanging over the room, layered thick in wax. My nose crinkles at the stench of mildew and dried blood that seems to permeate the building, and I find myself cursing my decision to augment my senses so many years ago.

Not to mention the Banshee's Cradle is loud. Very loud.

It's packed full with denizens from all walks of life. I can see a host of vampires in the corner, their red eyes glowing softly in the darkness as they nurse tall glasses of blood, their crimson stained lips standing out in sharp relief against pallid skin.

A hag sits off on her own, fiddling with a thin silver dish covered in knucklebones and herbs, a curious patron resting on their elbows as she tells them their fortune.

It honestly doesn't seem all that bad. Well, as long as I avoid looking at two ghouls dining on what looks to be a human thigh, or the posters nailed to the wall bearing the unmistakeable sign of the Dark Mark.

"Where do we look?" I ask, leaning towards Fleur.

"I'm not sure. Let's grab a drink and see what happens."

I follow her to the bar, Fleur quickly ordering two neat glasses of firewhiskey from the ancient bartender and seating us at a relatively clean table – at least, compared to the rest of the pub.

We sip at our drinks, watching and waiting for any sign of Death Eaters.

I find myself entertained as a half-giant gets into an argument with a wizard over a game of cards, slamming her hands against the table and breaking it in two.

"Oi!" the bartender shouts, banging a stick against the countertop. "Take it outside!"

The half-giantess stands up, marching towards the bar. "Or what?"

I flinch as the bartenders face opens up, four triangular jaws dotted in crooked, barbed teeth lashing out towards the giantess.

She leaps back, shouting. "A fucking shifter!?"

The bartender cackles, skin turning blue and a second pair of arms sprouting from his back, flexing dangerously. "Rakshasa, my dear. Now if you would take it outside?"

The giantess hurries out the door, slamming it behind her to a chorus of laughter.

"Bakasura!" the vampires cheer, raising their glasses to the sky.

He waves them off, reverting to his image of a wizened old man. "Let that serve as a reminder to all of you," he says pointedly, directing his attention to the rest of the pub. "No fucking around, or else."

"Damn," I whisper, watching as he returns to his post behind the bar, grabbing a stained washcloth and wiping down the counter. "I didn't even know those existed."

"They're really only found in India," Fleur mutters, sipping at her drink. "Rakshasa don't tend to travel outside of the country."

"Why?"

"Man-eaters," she explains, inclining her head towards the bartender as he pops a severed finger into his mouth.

"Ah."

Fleur taps me on the shoulder. "Look over there," she says, pointing surreptitiously at an especially dark table, two hooded figures sitting quietly in front of a stack of papers.

I squint.

"Dark Mark on the parchment."

"Looks like those two are our ticket."

We finish off our drinks, lacing our way through the crowd towards the table.

Standing in front of it, we wait for the two to gesture for us to sit.

"Are you here to change this country?" one of them asks, a man; voice deep and gravelly.

"How?" Fleur asks.

The man grabs a leaflet and pushes it across the table, tapping it once. "This is how."

Fleur takes it, holding the parchment up so I can read it.

The Dark mark is emblazoned across the top, followed by a short paragraph detailing the 'horrors' that plague Britain.

Mudbloods, half-breeds, and economical stagnation, amongst other things.

"You're out against half-breeds, here?" I ask, gesturing to the pub around us.

"No half-breeds here," the man growls. "Except for that giantess bitch that got landed on her ass."

Fleur laughs, playing up the joke as much as she can. "I was happy to see her gone."

The figure next to the man nods. "Just as we were," she says, quiet and reedy.

"So." I lean forward, resting my elbow on the table. "He's back?"

"Our Lord has returned," the man effuses, joyous. "And he's looking for… volunteers."

"Volunteers?" Fleur echoes.

"Yes. There's a raid planned this evening for the new recruits. We have room for a few more."

"Is that so?"

The man nods. "We'd just have to be sure of your… how should I say it? Interest, in the cause." He reaches into his pocket, drawing out a small vial.

Veritaserum.

"A few drops and a few questions, and you two can be off."

Fleur turns to me, leaning forward. "Imperius?"

I nod. "You get the left?"

"Sure."

Pulling away, she leans back, hands in her lap and wand at the ready.

"Now."

The Death Eaters are under our thrall before they can so much as flinch, shoulders sagging as the spell washes over them.

"Tell us where the raid is."

"Outside Kettering," the man drawls. "A town called Rothwell."

"How are recruits to arrive?"

"We apparate them."

"Good. You two will follow us outside to the apparition point and take us to the raid."

The four of us stand up, leaving the papers behind as we exit the pub. We lead the two imperiused Death Eaters through the Alley and out towards the Diagon apparition point, grabbing a hold of our brainwashed tour guides.

"Take us now."

We disappear with a pop, reappearing in a field outside a small village and surrounded by Death Eaters to be.

"Macius, Dorella, good to see you," a clean-shaven man says, stepping forward. "These two are eager to join us?"

"Act natural," Fleur whispers.

"Yes, we picked them up at the Cradle."

"Good, good." The man claps his hands, rubbing them together eagerly. "And you two are?"

"Fleur and Helene."

"Excelle- "

He freezes.

"Excuse me?"

I grab him by the neck with a hand made of pure shadow. "My name is Helene," I growl, throwing back my hood.

His eyes widen in fear, and he lets out a strangled cry as my claws tear through his jugular, spilling his blood onto the grass.

The recruits shout in horror, a few of them apparating away. The others stand there dumbstruck.

"I assume you all know me as well," Fleur announces, revealing herself as well.

The imperius breaks in an instant, the shock of our appearance returning control to Macius and Dorella.

"Oh, fuck!" Dorella shouts, stumbling backwards as Macius tears into a sprint. "Avada Kedavra!"

I duck under the killing curse, spearing her through the gut with a pillar of stone.

She cries out, dropping her wand and coughing out thick globs of blood, painting the spear.

"Go!"

Fleur doesn't need to hear me twice, her wand tearing furrows into the ground as she dashes out a series of runes, jabbing it once and cheering when the sigils flash a bright white.

Anti-apparition ward.

I can't help but grin at her skill, punching the air with a closed fist and drawing up a canopy of earth around us, fencing the Death Eaters in.

One man tries to attack me, but I dispatch him with a rotting curse to the shoulder, watching in glee as his skin melts off his bones.

The others freeze, horrified by his screams.

Taking advantage of the moment, I place wand against my throat and shout, "Was anyone here aware of the attack on my father?"

Fleur bats away an exploding hex sent towards my back, and I repeat the question. "Anyone?"

Macius slowly raises his hand, face still hidden.

"Get over here… and take off that hood."

He trudges towards us, throwing back his hood.

I stare at the man, his hazel eyes sunken and cheeks gaunt, skin clinging to the bones. His blond hair lies thin around his face, unwashed and ragged. "I… I was there."

I grab him by the chin, and he winces as my claws tear thin furrows in his skin. "Who killed him?"

"What?"

"I said… who killed him?"

Macius swallows heavily. "He- he did."

"Who?"

"Your… your father did. He killed himself."

I punch him in the gut, blood and spittle flying from his mouth as he doubles over. "Say that again?"

Macius staggers, before falling to his knees. "He- he killed himself rather than be taken."

"Looks like I don't have anyone to hunt down," I snarl, turning towards Fleur. "How do you want to do this?"

She shrugs, still looking quite pleased with herself. "Messy?"

My lips curl into a smile. "I can do messy."

"Please! Please! I- I wasn't involved!"

I kneel in front of Macius, jabbing my wand into his gut. "You've taken the mark?"

He nods frantically, pulling back his sleeve.

"And who did you kill for that?"

"Just- just a muggle, ma'am."

"Just a muggle," I echo, tilting my head. "Just a muggle he says! Why, isn't that just delightful! What did you do to them?"

His breath grows ragged, blinking furiously. "I… what?"

"What did you do to them?"

He shrinks back. "Well, he was… I- I put him in his place."

"Oh? I want to hear the details Macius, come on! How did he die? Was he screaming? Did it hurt?"

"T- tore him to shreds, I did."

"So, he suffered?"

He nods. "Yes. He- he did."

I tap my chin. "How badly do you think he suffered?"

"What?"

"Come on, just answer the question Macius. You're a smart guy." I grab him by the collar, smiling as he lets out a fearful gasp. "Scale of one to ten? Do you guys use that? Might be a muggle saying."

He blubbers, tears streaming down his face. "He suffered a- a lot, ma'am. Crucio'd him a few times, then I… I ah- transfigured a flock of birds, pecked him to bits."

"Well, isn't that awful creative. Isn't that creative?" I ask, turning towards the other Death Eaters. "No? No one? Macius, I think it's terribly creative and we're all awful proud of you."

I kick him in the crotch, sending the man sprawling. He rolls onto his side, vomiting onto the grass.

"Fleur, you've always been fantastic with conjuration, you think you could help me here?"

"Helene?"

I grin at her, watching as the shadows play off her face, dancing against the moonlight. How the creatures of the abyss sing her name just as they sing mine.

"I think crows would be fitting."

Her mouth opens slightly in understanding. "Ah."

With a wave of her wand, a flock of crows materializes in front of her. She clenches one fist, the grass thickening rapidly and wrapping around Macius' limbs, binding him to the earth.

"What are you doing?" he howls, staring at the birds in horror.

"You gave me an excellent idea, poetic really." I point at the crows, as the circle over us. "See them? Doesn't it remind you of something?"

He stares up at me. "Please, please don't do this."

"Is that what that man said to you? The muggle?" I step back, running a hand through my hair. "Did he beg and plead? Scream for mercy?"

"Please!"

"I'll see you in the pit, Macius."

Fleur throws her hand down, the crows descending on the man in a cloud of frenzied black.

His screams ring out across the field, echoing off the walls of stone erected around us. I watch as blood pools on the dew-soaked grass, mingling with the earth.

I can hear the sound of a few soon-to-be Death Eaters emptying their stomachs, others mumbling in horror.

I ignore them, instead focusing on the rasping shrieks that can just be barely heard over the scratching of wings and tearing of beaks.

Just as suddenly as the crows fell upon him, they disappear in a flash of smoke, leaving behind the twitching, bloodied body of Macius – the skin hanging off his body in strips and his eyes running down his face as he moans pitifully.

"So!" I call out, hands held out in welcome. "Who's next?"

Many of the recruits shirk away, while others step forward, the tips of their wands lit up in a myriad of different, equally lethal colours.

I rise up on crooked limbs of shadow, thick spines jutting out from too many joints as they tear up the dirt.

Fleur begins with a volley of blindingly white curses, lances of gold pinning recruits to the wall and causing their veins to light up like a firework display as they're cooked from the inside out.

I stomp forward, shielding against the various hexes and curses that come my way and lashing out against the Death Eaters with my arm, fashioned into the shape of a massive scythe.

Fitting.

One of the men is hewn in two, his innards spilling out onto the grass as he wails into the night, trying and failing to stuff his intestines back into his chest.

I move forward.

We tear them to pieces like rats in a cage, leaving smoking corpses and puddles of flesh in our wake.

I spend my time playing with them, letting the fear fill their hearts and send them sobbing, cheeks stained with tears and the blood of their friends dripping down their face, screaming for their mothers.

Not like they could save them anyways.

I stab the ground, sending spikes of stone blasting through the earth and crushing a duo running towards the barrier, a comically sized splatter of blood shooting out and painting the wall.

"Why are you doing this!?" someone howls, and I turn to face them, gore dripping from my hair.

"You didn't plan to massacre this village?" I ask, pointing towards Rothwell.

"It's not the same!" the woman screams, her hand trembling as she points her wand towards me. "They're animals!"

I slice her arm off with a curtain of air, the appendage striking the ground with a wet thud. "And what does that make you? They think and feel, just like we do. They're human."

She cries out, clutching the stump of her arm. "You're a monster!"

Scowling, I cut off her head, watching as it rolls across the ground, her face frozen in pain. "If that's what it takes."

I turn to Fleur, admiring the array of various plants and pyres that surround her. "Done?"

She wipes the sweat from her brow as I return to standing on two feet, banishing the shadowed limbs that carry me. "Yeah. You?"

I jab my thumb behind me. "Think that sends a message?"

She nods, surveying the carnage. "Messy."

"Very," I mutter, plucking a glob of rubbery flesh off my robes.

She places her hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay? That was… grim, even for us."

I grit my teeth. "They weren't deserving of it?"

"Helene… you, you played with them. Like a child with an anthill."

"Do you think they'd offer us any mercy? Like they wouldn't torture us with glee? This was a mercy, Fleur."

"I just…" she sighs. "I don't want to see you like this. I don't want us to be like them."

I screw my eyes shut, ignoring the stilted poems that ring in my mind – written by the tortured souls of an undead covenant.

"I've… the Darkness, it's changed me."

"I know." Fleur looks me in the eyes. "I… I'm afraid to see the Light."

"Because you'll end up like me?"

She chews her lip. "No. I'm afraid it'll ruin us. What if I… it- "

Fleur lets out a strangled breath. "I can't lose us."

"Do I scare you?"

She shakes her head, adamant. "No."

I place my hand on her cheek. "And you will never scare me. We're in this together Fleur. Sans toi, je ne suis rien."

She kisses me, soft and slow. "I love you."

And we're back with another, gory update.