Chapter Three.

Blinding golden light filled the corridor as a howl of pain issued from the fleeing wraith.

Denevan growled as he sent forth another sizzling bolt of golden light, he had grown lax in recent years. He had allowed the enemy into his home, willingly if not knowingly.

How the Dark Lord had known of this meeting was beyond him, but he assumed the Shadow still had his eyes and ears within the Ministry. His own list of friends and contacts within the accursed Ministry were few and far between, he again cursed himself for letting his web of influence wane in recent years.

For now, he focused his mind on the matter of cleansing his home of the Shadow of Lord Voldemort.

A commotion up ahead had him rounding a corner to see Isson Gravius and Jastor standing before the shadowed figure of the Dark Lord. From Jastor's hands spread a web of pale green flame that had ensnared the Shadow and held it firm, while Gravius batted away the spearing thrusts of dark energy that made it through the fiery bars of Jastor's cage.

Drawing deeply from his Reservoir, Denevan began to weave a spell that he had not used for decades. He had discovered it in the derelict ruins of a Conquistador Carrack in the Gulf of Mexico centuries ago, thankfully the preservation spells had held and he was able to learn of what the Spanish War Wizards had called the Hammer of Light.

The Spanish had met many dark creatures in the vast expanse of their new lands, and the Wizards of that time had worked on spells to combat their vile existence. The Wizards of the day had learned how to harness light in all its forms to become their weapon, learning how to imbue it with Magic that was anathema to the Darkness inherent in creatures such as Lethifolds and Dementors. The Hammer of Light was the work of generations and when cast by a spell-linked party of Magi had been reported to have eradicated small nests of Dementors.

He had to severely limit the strength of the spell lest he injure his Apprentices, but he smiled grimly as he knotted the Weave about the Shadow.

About them, the corridor began to darken as all sources of light began to be pulled into a single dense point of coalesced energy above the fiery cage. The trapped wraith began to scream like a banshee from just the sizzling glow that forced it to its knees, before the spell reached critical mass and unleashed its potent fury downwards in a furious torrent of scorching light.

The Shadow screamed.

It was a primal thing, full of unimaginable agony as the very fabric of its being was slowly being burned away.

Denevan just hoped the Hammer of Light spell in its weakened state was enough to put an end to the wraith, but he could already see the intensity of the light beginning to lessen.

Suddenly the Shadow exploded in a miasma of raw energy that nearly swept Denevan from his feet, Gravius managed to weather the onslaught but Jastor was suddenly hurled backwards as a stream of shadows bowled the man over.

He did not waste any time and launched several more lances of light towards the Wraith, only now the shadows were fighting back.

He felt several complicated spells issue forth from the mass of shadows who batted away his spears of light with powerful bursts of shadows. Voldemort's Weaves seemed to sink into the very stones of his home and he bit back a growl as he felt the ancient wards of the castle buck and heave as whatever Magic the Dark Lord had enacted began to take effect.

Slowly, what little light remained to them after his spell faded until they were swallowed by the darkness of the night. Yet it did not last long as sudden silver light bloomed into being as Jastor fell into step beside him, his oldest Apprentice had several deep scratches across his face but he seemed not to pay them any heed as he waved his hand and conjured a blade of hissing green flame. The man had been at his side for nearly twenty years and had long passed beyond the point of needing him to further his own skill in the Arcane Arts. Yet, he had remained, a constant and often welcome if chaotic presence that he had come to rely upon. He had also entrusted the man to help in Callian's education, something that had earned him a few choice words from his daughter, but his grandson had taken to Jastor like a moth to a flame and the two were often up to some mischief in the bowels of the castle.

Now however, the oddball and tatty Wizard had disappeared and in his place stood a man that radiated a sense of power that was equal if not greater than Gravius' own and the Italian Wizard had spent the last decade further in his battle magic.

A sudden lancing blade shot out of the darkness only to skitter off of his shield, he returned with a salvo of flaming, buzzing motes that disappeared into the all-consuming darkness that surrounded them. A shriek of pain echoed out of the darkness and a savage grin split his face only to fall as a shadowy figure lunged out of the darkness with a blade of rune-etched steel in its hand. His shield shattered as if made of glass as he caught sight of the runes glowing a sickly green, only centuries of experience saved his life as his left hand rose and knocked the shadow's arm up and away allowing Jastor time to bury his flaming sword into the shadow's chest.

Like water, the shadows fell away to reveal the youthful features of a young woman. A face gaunt and ashen with eyes so vacant they appeared glassy as she fell backwards, her body hitting the floor with a dull thud that seemed to echo loudly in the sudden silence that had fallen about them. The stench of charred meat filled his nose as he stared at the possessed body of one of the Thirteen.

This young woman, only a few years older than Callian, had been taken by the Dark Lord. Corrupted and bound to him by Magics so foul he knew that even death would not free her from his control.

As if in answer the body jerked as if someone had plucked at the strings of a puppet before it flipped itself over and scurried back into the darkness.

Behind him, he could hear Gravius give a curse as he fended off his own quarry, yet before he could turn to aid his apprentice the shadows came alive once more. This time there was not one but three members of the Thirteen, each wielding those accursed rune blades that shattered his shield with ease.

Retreating into the Void of thought, he stepped towards the shadow-clad former students and unleashed another torrent of flaming motes.

They tore through the space between them with a sizzling hiss and all two of his attackers fell with a dozen holes bored through their bodies. The last, however, flicked its hand up bringing forth its wand, a shield of purple light appearing that absorbed the barrage with ease.

Denevan was not done however, and just as the possessed student reached him he seized its wrist in one large hand, his other shooting forward a scintillating aura of golden light covering his rigid fingers as he buried his hand up to the wrist in the shadow's chest.

A shriek issued forth from the former student as the golden light spread outwards, arcing bolts of golden light spilling from the wound that fell upon the surrounding shadows of its form like ravenous beasts. With his hand still buried within the child's chest he drew deeply upon his Reservoir, as he began his next Weave. Jastor had already moved forward to cover him as several more shadow forms came charging towards them.

He barely paid attention to the jarring movements of Jastor's swordplay as he hacked away at any thrusting arms as he held the shadows at bay, but Denevan knew he had to move quickly or they would be overwhelmed.

Reaching outwards with his Magic he sent his power into the child, searching for the connection that bound master to servant.

With a physical connection with the possessed student, there was no hiding from his second sight and the foul Magics of the bond blazed like a sickening rent in the tortured flickering of the child's soul. He shaped delicate threads of power into a complex Weave of light imbued Magic that he wrapped about that connection and in the darkness, the Dark Lord howled. He pulsed torrents of searing light along that bond, and the blanketing darkness about them simply ceased to be as he sent several searing lances of light towards the mass of shadows that was Lord Voldemort.

With his Magic singing in his veins and seeing his enemy wavering Denevan unleashed his fury upon the Dark Lord.

Golden flames and searing bolts of light sallied forth, covering the wraith like a second skin. He conjured several Patroni, silver wolves as large as horses bowling the shadow over as they sunk insubstantial fangs into the flickering form of its being.

Again and again, he assailed the Dark Lord until he felt the sharp stab of agony slice across the emptiness of the Void.

At his feet, a shade had half-formed from his own shadow and he stared at the silver knife that had been embedded into his thigh, a lance of light ripped through the shade head and he watched as it fell away dragging the blade with it. He collapsed as he clamped his hands about the wound, he was already Weaving spells of healing into being about the wound but he could only watch as the scattered remnants of the Thirteen slowly faded into their own shadows before hurrying back to the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord Voldemort turned eyes that blazed with hatred towards him, but Denevan could see the pain that still wracked whatever remained of the Dark Lord's soul. He bared his teeth at the Shade, as he climbed back to his feet with a grunt of pain. The wound in his leg was already nearly closed but it would be several hours before it could put his full weight upon it, yet, he was not going to let a simple stabbing stop him from forcing this Wraith from his home.

Golden light bloomed into being as he raised his hand towards the Dark Lord, and he saw the crimson flames flinch before Voldemort fell back. The mass of shadows threw themselves towards one of the large arched windows seeking to flee only to be halted as the very Wards of the Castle battered it away as if it was nothing.

With a howl of rage, the Shade of the Dark Lord tried again and Denevan reached out to the Castle, allowing the Wraith to flee as the window opened before the Dark Lord had even reached it.

He had won this contest with ease, and the Dark Lord would think twice before trying again.

Yet, Denevan knew that unless they found out how the Dark Lord had escaped death then Lord Voldemort would never rest until all who opposed him were dead or subjugated.

In the morning he would send for Albus, his former apprentice knew more about the Dark Lord than anyone living.

For now, he needed to check on his family and find a pain-relieving potion for the ache in his leg.

Callian groaned as he hit the floor, yet, he refused to allow himself to fall into the black abyss of unconsciousness. His mouth was filled with the coppery tang of blood and he found himself needing to spit out a mouthful of the scarlet fluid, his tongue throbbed and he realised he must have bitten it when the Dark Lord had sought to break his mind.

A shudder ran through him at the memory of the pain of Voldemort's mental assault and he jumped as he felt a hand gripping his shoulder.

"Cal! Are you alright?" Harry's concerned voice had him turning and he squinted as the bright light of the room sent stabbing pains into his already tired mind.

He could do little more than nod and blindly reached for his cousin's arm as Harry helped to haul him to his feet.

His knees wobbled dangerously and threatened to drop him back to the floor and he found himself leaning on Harry just to upright. He stared blearily at the destruction of the room and a frown twisted his already pained expression into something altogether darker, a growl grew in his chest at the damage wrought to his home and his anger gave him a sudden burst of strength as he with help from Harry and stumbled towards his mother.

Callian could see that she was still working desperately over the downed form of Elsbeth as she hastily wove spell after spell into the woman's body.

He could see the wound was slowly closing but for all her efforts his second sight revealed something foul and tainted lingered in the wound.

"Poison." The whisper escaped him as he fell to his knees beside his mother, he barely saw her nod before he looked up as a sudden realisation dawned.

"KEEKY!"

His cry was answered with an almost instantaneous pop of displaced air as the young House-Elf appeared at his side.

"Master Cal-" Her small squeaky voice cut off as she took in the devastation with wide eyes.

"Keeky!" His call snapped her head around to look back up at him. "I need you to get a Bezoar and get back here as soon as you can, it may slow the poison."

With a timid nod, the House-Elf vanished and Callian shared a quick nod with his mother before he, with Harry's help, moved towards the still and broken form of Croaker.

They said nothing at first and Callian thought the man was dead as Harry leaned him against the upside-down legs of the oak table, after a quick look from his friend to make sure that he was not going to fall down if left alone Callian watched as Harry moved to check on the Unspeakable.

Harry gently nudged the man and when he got no response leaned over to listen to the man's chest. A look of relief split the raven-haired boy's face as he looked up at him.

"He's alive. I can hear a heartbeat."

Callian just nodded tiredly, hopefully, the man if and when he recovered from his wounds would be able to provide some insight into why the Dark Lord had attacked his home.

As much as Voldemort had sought the answers to how he had survived in the forest, he felt there was something more to the Dark Lord's intentions.

The crunch of stone under a heavy boot had him looking up to see his grandfather standing in the doorway of the dining room, the man looked a fearsome sight covered as he was in dust, sweat and blood.

From where he was leaning against the table he could not see if the man was injured, but judging from the slight limp he walked with it would seem he did not escape unscathed.

Denevan was quick to his side and after being smashed to the man's chest in a fierce embrace, was hurriedly checked over to see that if they were not exactly hearty they were somewhat hale of body.

Without further ado, his grandfather handed both of them a familiar potion and Callian winced at the memory of the Pepper-up potion he had taken during the Christmas holidays. He was pleasantly surprised not to find his orifices being scolded by the addition of steam venting from his body, he looked at the bottle appreciatively and knew that it was one of his mother's or Tyrna's creations.

Once he was able to stand unassisted, his grandfather all but ordered them to follow Jastor, as the Wizard led them not to the family residences but into the bowels of the castle and to Jastor's own work chambers.

Callian found himself staring in alarm at the serious and stormy face of one of his oldest friends and mentors as the normally carefree wizard took them to stand before a portal circle inscribed into the floor of the chamber.

It was not often that he got to see the man's workspace much anymore, but the usual clutter of countless books, scrolls and loose sheaves of parchment cluttered the work tables set about the edges of the room. Yet, the neatly arranged work tables set at the heart of the chamber were laid out with such care and organisation it was a stark contrast to the rest of the room. Upon each sat various works or strange objects that Callian could only guess at, twisting spears of metal-encased crystals glowing a sickly green and stone as black as pitch with odd hieroglyphics laid upon the two nearest tables. As always the sight of something new and arcane stirred to life his inquisitive mind and he wanted to ask Jastor about his latest projects, when a scream of terror had him spinning to see Harry scrambling away from a tall figure clad in robes of blue so dark they were nearly black.

He could not blame his friend as he too felt his skin crawl at the sight of the figure. Flesh the mottled greyish-green of rotting meat and covered in an oily sheen that reflected the flickering candlelight adorned long-fingered and webbed hands that poked out of the voluminous sleeves of its robes. Those fingers looked frail and thin, but he knew from experience they had a grip like iron. Yet, it was the grotesque and wobbling appendages that fell from the deep cowl of the robes like the writhing tentacles of an octopus that truly made him want to run away from the creature that stood like a man, yet nothing remotely human lingered in the glowing amber eyes that peered out of the shadows its hood.

Jastor spun at the cry from Harry, his hand aglow with golden light before the Wizard let his spells fizzle away as he noted the familiar figure.

A guttural warble issued from the alien being as Jastor moved towards Harry, hauling him to his feet before pushing him towards Callian.

"There was a sense of urgency to the Wizard as he leaned close as he began to talk quietly with the hooded figure, the odd tentacle flicking out to brush the older man's face.

Harry grabbed his arm as he continued to stare at the strange eldritch creature before them.

"What the hell is that?!"

His voice held a terrified warble to it and Callian could not blame him.

"That is Sargh' Zhulish. As to what it is, we do not know. It never speaks of its people. Jastor has been trying to learn more for years, ever since his failed improvements to the portal circle pulled Zhulish from wherever it called home. We have only ever managed to learn a few tidbits that it has let slip in all that time." Seeing Harry's confusion and fear of the strange being before them, he was quick to reassure his friend. "It is friendly enough, or my grandfather would not allow it to remain here. The few times I have spent any time with it, I mostly get a sense of profound loss. Occasionally, when the moon is full it will sing of its home, it is a haunting thing to hear."

Harry did not seem to find solace in his words and instead continued to stare in horror, as the hooded form of Sargh' Zhulish turned to stare at them with those unblinking glowing amber eyes.

It glided towards them on silent feet, its twitching facial appendages tentatively reaching out to probe the air about it.

It did not bow as Callian had often seen it do towards his grandfather, the only one he had ever seen it show any signs of servility towards. Even Jastor, whom the creature spent the majority of its time with, was treated as an equal of sorts. There was a feeling of inherent position about the Chthonic creature, almost as if it held itself above them. Instead, Callian received a slight nodding of the head, the motion sent its twitching facial tentacles bobbing before he winced as the gurgling, phlegmatic voice spoke into the quiet that had fallen over the chamber.

"Be at peace, child of man. I mean you no harm."

The words may have been meant to calm Harry, but the closeness of the otherworldly creature seemed to have struck a discordant chord in the Potter heir.

Callian gently nudged his friend's shoulder as Harry looked like he wanted to bolt from the chamber, he found it funny that a young boy who had stared down death and the Dark Lord and his servants shied away at the alien being before them.

"Relax Harry, Sargh' Zhulish will not harm you. I promise. Besides, Jastor brought us here for a reason."

He looked at his friend, but the Wizard had already turned towards the door of his chamber and was hastily casting powerful Weaves that made the very Magic of the room tremble in an uncomfortable buzzing that made Callian's eyes water.

After several minutes of constant Spellweaving, he was done and turned back to the rest of the room as he ushered them towards the Portal circle once more.

"I am to take you to Kar Zurant, and keep you safe while Denevan is going to cleanse the Castle. Your mother is travelling with your friends and the Unspeakables and will meet us there. Your House-Elf has been given a message for the Dwarves and if they are lucky your mother and Lady Tyrna will be able to help them."

Sargh' Zhulish looked forlornly at the oily black stone and glowing crystals, Callian was able to sense the profound sadness as its tentacles flicked in their direction.

"Am I to leave the last vestiges of my people to be purged from these halls?"

Callian winced once more at the otherworldly voice of the being next to him, but Jastor merely shook his head.

"Relax my friend. The work halls are safe behind their own wards and I have added more about this chamber, our work here will not be lost."

Callian grimaced at the thought of the Magics within the work halls of his grandfather's apprentices being messed with, his own failed enchantments and spells had been unpredictable; the thought of the energies that could be unleashed by the half-finished projects of masters of their craft did not bare thinking of.

The relief that issued from the strange being was apparent to all and Jastor wasted no time in opening a portal to Kar Zurnant.

Far above the Castle, atop the shattered remnant of the tower that had claimed his beloved wife Denevan Blackwood began his work.

Weaves of Magic so powerful that they distorted the very air began to issue from him as he began the cleansing of his home. He felt the wards ping, as Amerytha let him know she had departed with the last inhabitants of the Castle. Knowing that the Castle was free of living souls he began the effort to cleanse his home in earnest.

The Darkness that he had sensed at the heart of the Dark Lord was a foul and corrupting thing, and while he had chased the Wraith from his home he would not be surprised to find that some taint of the fallen wizard to have found a dark hole to fester and grow within the Castle. He felt a shiver creep along his spine at the thought, he was also quick to remind himself that he and his apprentices had not fought all members of the Thirteen.

In the sky above him the very air began to churn as a point of pearlescent light began to form that quickly grew until it appeared as if the moon itself had descended from the heavens to hover above the Castle.

He felt the sweat dripping from him as he held hundreds of individual Weaves together in complex webs that fought him every step of the way. He desperately wanted to stop. Workings such as this were incredible to enact, his Magic sang about him like a humming chorus that lifted his spirits and urged him to draw even deeper from his Reservoir. Yet, they took their toll, he could already feel his body shivering as if a fever racked his body, his mind throbbed as a searing lance of agony threatened to send him sprawling onto the sundered floor of the tower. It took every ounce of his control to fight through the ever growing pain as he brought the last vestiges of his Weave together as he set the last trigger commands into his spell.

With a gasp he collapsed to his knees, the pulsing sphere of Magic was finally released from his control. Breathing heavily, he watched as the sphere pulsed once more. The pearlescent glow bloomed as wave after wave of what looked like silvery moonlight rippled outwards.

Stone proved no barrier to the cleansing light as it swept through the thick walls of Castle Blackwood, shadows ceased to be as its light, similar to that of a Patroni, would allow nothing to hide from its touch.

He fell back as he let the pulsating waves of his own Magic wash over him, his reprieve did not last long as he suddenly jerked upright once more as hundreds of screams of unbearable agony reached him. The shrill sounds were like knives of hellspawned ice to his already wounded mind and with an effort he managed to look up to see an image out of a nightmare playing out in the skies above him.

Dementors. Hundreds of them were swarming at the borders of the castle wards, yet he found some solace as he watched scores falling from the sky with every pulse of his cleansing Magic pushed further and further outward.

Silver fires consuming the rotting flesh of the foul creatures with a hunger like that of a living thing, leaving only powdery white ash to fall across his lands.

A sneer graced his face as he stared at the now fleeing beasts. Half of their number were now gone, never to return to haunt the realms of the living and a feeling of profound joy filled him at the sight. He had had to purge his lands of the monstrosities during the last war, and it seemed they had forgotten the damage he and his apprentices had wrought among their numbers.

Why their kind was allowed to exist he could not fathom, they were far from invincible and lived only to hunt the living.

Although he had to question why the Ministry would send their foul guards to his had been more than willing to harvest souls among both sides during the War with the Dark Lord.

Has the Ministry lost control of the fickle creatures already?

He could only shake his head at the thought, he would not put it past those fools to have done so without even knowing it.

Reaching into his robes he pulled forth several potions that he downed in quick procession, immediately he felt strength flood him and the throbbing pain that had plagued his mind faded away. Returning the now spent restorative potion vials to his robes he was about to descend from tower when a jubilant howl split the night. Hurrying back to the edge of the tower, he stared past the blasted walls of his wife's former private workroom towards the narrow bridge that connected the castle with the hill proper.

He could only stare in disbelief as a large wolfhound bounded across the bridge, its long legs flying across the stone as it made a beeline for the great gates of the Castle as if all the devils of hell were chasing after it.

Drawing his power to him he disappeared in a flash of purple light only to reappear before the gates of the Castle an instant later.

A sudden flaring of power above him signalled the next phase of the cleansing was beginning and a pulse of Magic rippled outwards.

Denevan grunted as he felt the Magic strip away all of his enchantments, but that was quickly swept aside as the canine howls abruptly became a wild scream of startled pain, before several choice curse words had him raising an eyebrow in wry amusement.

However, the gaunt, ragged, filthy and utterly naked figure that stiffly climbed back to their feet stole what little amusement he had found in the situation.

A growl escaped him as he stared at a man that he had spent the last twelve years of his life despising as the ragged man raised his hands in surrender.

"Sirius Black."

The name escaped him like a bile filled curse, but his anger swelled to near blinding rage at the man's next rasping words.

"I want to see my son."