Disclaimer: As this story begins to come towards its end, I still do not own the rights to HP & Co. Another year, another birthday in the disclaimer of Paraselenic, and still nothing.

//This is Parseltongue.//

Paraselenic

Catharsis // a release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit

Tom stared down at the prone form, watching as a grimace crossed Potter's features. It was discomfiting, seeing the expressions cross his face without stimulus to produce it. The line of blood at his neck had dried, and his hand was now wrapped in bandages to stave the bleeding wound that sometimes cracked open. There were tear tracks dried on the young man's face, and Tom was uncomfortable looking at him.

But he didn't move away. Severus had left to assist Minerva in taming the student body, Pierce was seeing the Marquis off before getting some necessary supplies for the ritual and setting up for it in a suitable room. He had set the students who might have been prying about his business on finding the last three for the ritual, and Tom had nothing to do but wait.

Wait and watch Potter's eyes move behind closed lids, looking to be actively dreaming now instead of frozen in time.

It was an improvement.

Tom found himself dropping to the floor, gracefully of course, sitting near Potter's head and staring down at the familiar features. The force of the spell had shortened the life of the vampire's potions, leaving him in his natural form. How could everything have gone so wrong? They were on a path to something great, and now there was a chance he would have to follow it alone.

Since when had that idea struck foreboding into his heart? Tom clenched his hands irritably. He had been alone his entire life, surrounded by Death Eaters or not. There had never been anyone he could consider his equal, no one more intelligent or talented. And even Potter was neither of these things, still on the cusp of being a boy with a rash Gryffindor streak to annoy Tom further. But he was powerful, yes, and he had many qualities Tom saw in himself. And he was more.

When he had first accepted Potter's proposal, it was with glee. He'd had no wish to share his rule, but the idea of taking out Dumbledore and gaining Harry Potter all at once had been too much to pass up. How wonderful it would be, he'd thought, to present himself to the world after Dumbledore's fall, Harry Potter to his right, showing the world just how badly they'd lost? It was divine vengeance in an unexpected form, and Tom had been thrilled beyond anything to be able to achieve it.

But that had changed. Between power plays, dominance, and long midnight talks that Dark Lords should never admit to having, Potter had become more than trophy of war. More than a hindering ally. And Tom wasn't a fool. He hated himself for having fallen so far into this trap of humanity, but he had. Deeply. Irrevocably.

His fingers reached to Potter's neck, fingers working gently to pull a few stray near-black hairs from the scab formed. It would annoy Potter when he got up if his hair was being pulled by it. He'd been told explicitly not to use magic on Potter in this state, so he pushed down the urge to heal the mark, forcing his hand away from Potter's skin and setting it back in his lap.

He'd gotten only a barebones outline of the ritual. That annoyed him more than anything else, being left out of the loop as he was. Pierce knew more than he did, so did the Marquis. And the vampires were leaving him in the dark, only letting him know what they thought he needed to.

A ritual in a star formation, contradictory emotions standing opposite of one another. Potter in the middle. The emotions of the caster were what mattered, the higher the strength of the emotion the higher the success rate. A trial of some sort.

Tom's teeth clamped together and he glared at a wall, eyes narrowed. This was ridiculous, this ambiguity. They had no right to keep important information from him, not when Harry's life was on the line and time was of the essence! He stood and brushed off his robes, glancing once more at Potter before opening the door and observing the two Death Eaters on the other side. "If Potter so much as twitches, I expect to be made aware of it. Clear?"

He got fervent nods in return, and he brushed past them without another word. His eyes scanned the state of the Great Hall, taking in the despondent students. Their silence seemed to have broken them, worn them down. The whole atmosphere of the room was oppressive, dark and dreary. Staff were tense and anxious, students exhausted from fear and sorrow. Tom took all of it in and stalked towards a small table that had been conjured in his absence where Hermione Granger had collected a miscellany of people around her.

Five were students, besides Granger, the chubby Longbottom boy, and Lucius's progeny: two girls in Ravenclaw robes, a boy in Hufflepuff's, and one girl in Slytherin's. Lucius stood imperiously to the side with Severus at his left, Minerva in the back and watching the hall rather than the proceedings. The students were crowded around Granger's chair, occasionally pointing to areas of the long parchment she had in front of her on the low table.

"Right, that won't work then, will it? You're sure you don't harbor ill will towards Harry, Mister Malfoy?"

Lucius's eyes twitched as if he wished to roll them. "No, Granger. He is annoying but I am suitably accepting of his presence."

Granger scratched at something on her parchment, tapping the quill on the edge with a frown.

Tom stopped behind her, arms crossed. "You still have no solution, mudblood?"

She jumped, which was pleasing, but she scowled defiantly just after and ruined the effect. "There are kinks to be worked out. I have over half a dozen candidates for positions, but whenever they fall into place it leaves an opening unfilled."

He looked over her shoulder, sneering at her messy scrawl over the page. Names were listed in columns with comments beneath, many things scratched out in between the hardly legible ones left. Notations of 'Enemy', 'Hates', and 'Skeptic' were scrawled everywhere, some removed and some bolded with annoyed slashes made beneath. Tom held back a sudden exhausted urge to sigh.

"Granger, I cannot read this rubbish. Tell me what I need to know."

She sighed, ink-stained fingers coming to rub her temples. "How about I just tell you my thoughts on all the candidates? I would rather get a fresh opinion."

Tom scowled and summoned an empty chair from the staff table, seating himself imperiously and crossing an ankle over his knee. "Fine. Hurry it up."

The attention of the hall was on them, and Tom wondered if it was a good idea to hold this in public. He didn't see any real detriments, though, and he refused to be closed in the small antechamber, already half full of stored items, with eight of Potter's associates, Lucius, Minerva, and Severus. It was too much, and it was too close to Potter. It would only distract him.

"Right. First I had Draco written down. He seemed like a likely suspect when I started, and thought we might be able to slip him easily into some role. He's been Harry's rival for six years, and they've done a lot of rotten things to one another, but… well…" she shrugged. "He doesn't see himself as Harry's enemy, claims to not hate him, and doesn't really have any doubts."

Tom's eyes moved to the young Malfoy, raising an eyebrow. The blond was chewing on the corner of his lip, and Tom glanced to Lucius to see if he noticed the childish habit. The boy spoke with a frown, eyes lowered respectfully as he addressed the Dark Lord. "Maybe a few months ago, before I'd found out about him, I would have considered him my enemy. But now? No. This is dependent on how strong we feel, right? You don't have to like someone to be sure of them, but I don't hate him."

Tom's fingers tapped against the arm of his chair. "Obviously Lucius's boy isn't going to fit. Next, Granger?"

She pursed her lips, glancing at him with agitation. "Lucius was next, but as I just ascertained he does not fit, either."

Tom glanced to Lucius and back to the Gryffindor girl, sneering. "I might have told you that."

Granger threw up her hands, pushing back her chair and displacing the people around her. "I don't know what you expect of me, Voldemort. I cannot read peoples' feelings for Harry, and I do not know if their emotions would be strong enough to sustain the ritual. This is Harry's life we are dealing with, and I am not going to jam in puzzle pieces that don't fit! Professor Snape is too skeptical about himself to fit strongly enough in anything, both Malfoys are out, we don't even know how Ron is feeling and I can't find out because you've silenced everyone! I've been told Harry and Blaise Zabini had problems with one another, another thing I can't find out, and I certainly don't want to deal with Bellatrix to figure out her feelings on Harry."

Her lack of deference was annoying enough for him to Cruciate her, but he held back. She was needed for the ritual, after all. He glared darkly at her, a bare tensing of his muscles allowing him to transform into his affected form. Voldemort was pleased when she blanched and backed into her seat with wide eyes. "Would you like me to simply rip through the minds of those you are unsure of?" he said with a malevolent hiss, fingers rapping against his crossed arm. She went paler, and so did several of the other students.

"My lord…" Severus's voice was faltering, and crimson eyes cut to his face. The lines around his mouth were deepened drastically, making him look older. "Perhaps if you simply removed the silencing spell? I am sure, with questioning, we will be able to make more satisfactory progress."

Voldemort gritted his teeth. This incompetence was ridiculous. "There is little more than two hours until the moon is at its zenith."

"Yes, my lord. We are aware of the constraints on time and will not fail you."

"Pray you do not, because if Potter is lost, your lives are forfeit."

Half an hour later, Severus was glad he was not an emotional man. An emotional man would have screamed already, grabbed his students and shaken them until they couldn't think straight. Thirty precious minutes and still they were talking themselves in circles and toiling over semantics. Lucius had joined in at some point, shooting down observations and scoffing as Granger became more huffy than ever. Even his lord -- his lord! -- occasionally put in sarcastic jabs, drawing out the process further.

"What about an Order member for the enemy?" Longbottom's voice was hesitant and quiet, and Severus sneered.

"No, no, that would never work. Potter's only just been revealed; we need someone who has known. The shock of his identity and mixed feelings due to him being Harry Potter would ruin the effect and lessen the emotions," Zacharias Smith said, rolling his eyes.

"For a skeptic, then?" hummed Turpin, fingers moving over the parchment. "The conflicting emotions…"

Pansy Parkinson shook her head, speaking up from Draco's side away from the group. "The definition of a skeptic is of doubt, yes, but of someone who doubts accepted beliefs, not someone who just so happens to be in shock. A random person may be in doubt over Potter's identity, but I do not think that is what the spell means. We need someone who knows and has known who Potter is and still does not know what to think of him. I say Blaise is a good choice."

"Seconded," Draco said imperiously, smirking like his word should sway them all. Severus tried not to look exasperated.

"Zabini? I don't know, Parkinson. I was thinking that Professor Snape might work after all, if only because he never stops questioning Harry. He is nearly the ideal of a skeptic…" Granger had a large chunk of her fluffy hair twisted around her fingers. "He is unsure. Even if it is about everything else as well, he is surely the most deeply doubtful of Harry."

"I see your point, but I still don't think he would work. We should look into other options. Snape should be a last resort." Severus gritted his teeth, holding back an angry retort. He would not stoop to arguing with children, even if they were morons.

"But Zabini? What do we know about his motivations?"

"You are all useless," the Dark Lord barked. "Get the boy up here and perhaps you can stop asking the same questions again and again. Zabini!"

Severus wanted to groan as the Dark Lord glared towards the Slytherin table, waiting for Blaise Zabini to make his way forward, face drawn and steps hesitant. Severus didn't blame him for his caution, but he still wanted to order the boy to hurry up. He reached the front and stopped, bowing deeply before the Dark Lord. "Yes, my lord?"

"You want to be a Death Eater, boy?"

Zabini was shaking, though he hid it admirably. "Yes, my lord."

Severus's lord sat regally with narrowed eyes, reptilian face gaunt. It was truly a horrific sight, one Severus was glad to rarely see. His lord's mood was darkening with every passing minute, and Severus had seen his eyes cut more than a few times toward the open antechamber door. The blatant worry was more frightening than the Dark Lord's unnatural form, the humanization having proceeded at an alarming rate. Severus shuddered against his will.

"Do you doubt Potter?" the Dark Lord asked directly, fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.

Zabini kept his eyes on the ground, fists tightened into balls at his side. "Yes."

Crimson eyes narrowed further, mere slits in the reptilian face. "Explain."

"He killed a child. Perhaps it was for mercy as he told my mother, perhaps it was to rid himself of an obstacle. Perhaps it was for no reason at all. But he killed… he killed a child, and I can see him hover beside Potter every moment I am in the room with him, and it sickens me. He was my cousin and he was helpless. I… even if it was a mercy, I do not know what to think. What manner of monster kills a child?"

Everyone froze as Voldemort laughed, a high cackle that was the stuff of nightmares. Bald head tipped back, he howled in amusement, one hand sliding up to press to his forehead. Severus felt like every ounce of blood had left his face, his limbs. He was cold.

Voldemort's laugh stopped abruptly, head snapping forward and features clearing back to those of his more human form. His sneer was black, made disturbing by the shadows his fringe cast on his eyes. "Potter? A monster? You know very little, boy. That foolish brat is too soft for his own good. But for one who wants to be a Death Eater, you are quite willfully ignorant. Have you forgotten who left the scar on Potter's brow? Are you insulting me now, boy?"

Zabini's eyes were wide, and Severus was tense. This was very bad. The Dark Lord did not act amicably towards those who insulted his person. He didn't want a student killed, he didn't want that on his conscience. The students were annoying, surely, but he wouldn't have them struck down…

"N-No, my lord! I… I…"

"Stop your excuses, Zabini. You are lucky that I think you may be suited for this ritual, or you would be dead for your impertinence. Get out of my sight."

The boy nearly tripped over himself as he dashed away, leaving Voldemort with a callous smirk. He turned to Granger and raised an eyebrow. "One problem solved. I couldn't care less if you choose Severus or Zabini, but make your damned choice. Next?"

She was flustered, mouth moving without sound. Her quill shook in her fingers. Severus felt much the same. "I-I, umm, one who hates. One who hates and enemy."

"And the choices are?"

Her hands clenched into fists, eyes closing as she steeled herself. It seemed to help her, no longer looking into the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. "The only people suitable for the positions would be Bellatrix or R-Ron. I don't know how Ron is feeling…"

"Bella?" Severus shivered at the dull tone. "One of my Death Eaters?"

"Yes, sir. She hates him, doesn't she? According to everyone and to Harry himself, she's never accepted him as her lord. She hates him for the weakness she perceives in him, she hates him for…" Granger paused, and Severus willed her not to say it. She was bright, wasn't she? She wasn't nearly stupid enough to… "For being in a relationship with you when she couldn't be." She'd said it. Severus wanted to slap a hand to his face. Damned moronic Gryffindor…

Severus was nearly shocked when the Dark Lord didn't react but for a glare, long fingers coming to stroke at his lips. "She could fit for either, then. If she never accepted him, truthfully, and is against him, she might well see him as an enemy. And if her feelings are as strong as you say they are…"

"I wouldn't know, really sir. But from what I've seen and heard--"

"Do not interrupt me, mudblood." Severus cringed as the brunette seethed, brown eyes fixed in a ferocious glare. The Dark Lord, of course, ignored her. "It seems the deciding factor comes down to Weasley, then. Lucius, bring him up here."

"Yes, my lord." Lucius made his way down the tables, ignoring the students that cringed away in fear or glared in helpless fury. Ron Weasley was sitting despondent in his seat, unmoving even as Lucius flicked his wand and levitated him to the front of the room. He dropped him roughly at the Dark Lord's feet, moving back to Severus's side.

"Is he under an enchantment, Lucius?" the Dark Lord sneered, the pointed toe of his boot jabbing the boy in the shoulder.

"No, my lord, merely in some state of shock."

"Well, useless then, isn't he?" Zacharias Smith rolled a shoulder to pop it, expression supremely bored. "It doesn't really bode well for a shell to be placed at a cardinal emotion part."

Severus startled when Lucius snorted, glancing over to see the blond picking at his nails. "There is a vast difference between feeling emotion and projecting it, boy. This simply makes the matter of ascertaining his present state more difficult. It could go either way, really; Mylläkkä did, after all, hand over his blood-traitor father to be killed. It just depends on how betrayed he feels. Personally, I think he would be best placed as enemy, since he is on the opposite side in the war…"

Draco cocked his head, joining in the idle speculation. "Perhaps you're right, Father. He is a Gryffindor; the sentimentality with those lot is stifling."

"With an interview--"

"You morons!"

Severus's eyes swung with morbid fascination to Granger, who had stormed towards the Slytherin group without his notice. Before anyone could react she reached up and slapped Lucius Malfoy across the face, teeth bared. "He didn't know that until just now; have you no decency?"

Severus turned toward where Weasley was lying on the ground, taking in the sudden tenseness to his frame. He hadn't reacted since the incident revealing Potter's identity, staying sullen and silent with the rest of the hall. Severus had been surprised not to have to stun him, stop him from attacking whoever was near him or rushing the Great Hall's doors.

It was not surprising with the Dark Lord's eyes lit, a wicked smirk curving his lips. "You didn't know, Weasley? Poor thing. Having your best friend keep a decade's worth of lies from you, even going so far as to sentence your father to death."

Morbid fascination kept Severus watching, having already surmised exactly what his lord was doing. Drive the boy deeper, make the feeling stick. Even if it fell to pieces when the heat of betrayal wore off, it was only needed for the next hour. The Dark Lord was trying to send Weasley halfway to insanity, and by the steady dullness of the boy's eyes, Severus thought it might be working.

He hated the boy, but no one deserved this.

"Sweet Harry, your best friend for life, hmm? You must have been drawn to the power he had, the scar I left on his brow. Isn't that right, Weasley? And you were like his puppy, following him through every trial I laid. And now what do you see? Potter isn't against me at all, is he? Never thought to tell you that he'd stopped fighting me. You must have meant so little to him, allowing him to just forget your existence…"

Weasley's face was shadowed by his hair, but his body trembled. Severus tried to suffocate the rending pity he felt. He would not feel bad for Weasley of all people, even if it was Weasley subjected to the Dark Lord's smooth tongue, cooing words belied by the intent.

"And then he handed over your father to Lucius. Did you know that he cared more about the fate of the werewolf? He hardly blinked to send your father to death, waving Lucius to torture him with a smile. How little did you and your family mean to him, boy? How disillusioned with the wonderful Harry Potter are you now?"

The Dark Lord's wand was out before Severus even saw him move, a slash sending the boy into unconsciousness with a Stunner. Severus closed his eyes as the boy's body was ordered to be moved away.

The sooner this ritual was done the better.

Freedom was something often taken for granted. The freedom to act as one wished was something often given up with the conclusion of childhood, the freedom to do or feel as one wished was something most adults pushed down. But still they had freedom. Freedom to choose their own way, freedom to follow societal standards or to shun them. Freedom to live as they had chosen.

Minerva wondered about the last time she'd really been free.

She'd given up her freedom with adulthood, as many people did. Naïveté had fallen away with the realities of war, the Dark Lord Grindelwald's defeat not managing to end conflict. And Minerva had willingly shunned any vestiges of autonomy she might have had, choosing to follow after the young Tom Riddle. But she had never regretted her choice, not even when things had gotten their darkest and her lord had been defeated.

She remembered that night. She remembered the shock and fury that had lanced through her body, how glad she had been when Hagrid had run off to get the, now orphaned, Potter boy right after. The idea of killing the infant that had stolen away her lord had crossed her mind several times. She'd been furious as she'd left through Diagon Alley, seeing all the wizards whooping and cheering over her master's demise. Cretins. They'd had no idea of the Dark Lord's true power, or they would have too afraid to even whisper their gladness.

She'd taken off into the night immediately in her animagus form. Hagrid had only said that the boy was being taken to live with muggles, to protect him. Minerva sneered. Lily Evans had had family just outside of Muggle London, and if Dumbledore was taking the boy who'd defeated her lord to muggles, there were few more likely.

She'd arrived just before nightfall, shadows lengthening over the yard of 4 Privet Drive. Disgustingly muggle place for disgusting muggles, and there was nothing more to it. They would dump their supposed Savior there? Albus Dumbledore was a conniving, vicious man, no matter his public persona, but Minerva hadn't been able to fathom why he'd do such a thing. Surely not even a muggle-lover like him could think the place would be safe for the one who had managed to defeat her lord? Nowhere would be safe, let alone somewhere so ordinary. If she had to, she would kill the boy herself.

The idea had been so enticing.

She had thought to wait for Dumbledore to leave the boy. She could kill him, kill him for his very existence. Surely a cat nearby would arouse no suspicion?

Minerva shook her head, willing herself back into the present. Dumbledore had somehow known her animagus form, and it had been that that led her to register it. But regardless, learning of the Blood Wards had been fortuitous. Had she killed the boy, her cover would surely have been blown; she hadn't been working under Albus Dumbledore for so many years only to be ousted before her lord had need of her. Because she'd known he would return.

"I don't like Ron for the one who hates. Hate is a very complicated emotion, and I just do not think that such a strong friendship can be warped so easily! I know Ron better than all of you, and he just isn't that way. He's loyal. Even with betrayal, he won't be able to hate Harry without a more concrete reason…"

"This coming after the debacle in fourth year, Granger?" the young Malfoy sneered, rolling his eyes. "He turned his back on Potter with barely a reason at all. Are you willfully ignorant?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, I was not speaking to you. You have no idea what was going on then. You just don't. Ron has grown since then regardless, and I think it would be a huge mistake to force him into the hate position. Bellatrix is more suited. She has had years for her detestation of Harry to grow, from the boy who had killed her lord to the boy she perceived as weak at the Ministry. Even beyond that, her rage and jealousy fed how she felt about Harry, knowing it was him or not. Hate is a deep-seated emotion, and the longer it has been left to ferment the better."

Minerva canted her head, an eyebrow raising slowly. She'd kept out of the debates, more concerned with the state of her students than the plans for a ritual, but after seeing the depths of her lord's devotion she had changed her priorities. Anything that could make the Dark Lord so… so passionate had to be important. "If you do not think Weasley would be suited for a position of hate, why assume he would work for the enemy?"

Granger whirled at her voice, eyes searching Minerva's face. She'd not given much of a chance for anyone to acclimate to her allegiances, and she supposed it was rather shocking. She girl stared for long moments before she looked away, her lower lip was caught between her teeth. "The most commonly accepted textbook definition of enemy is that of hatred. But enemy means many things, and why would the ritual call for both an enemy and one who hates if they were meant for the same thing? I think the definition, especially in contrast with the role of friend, would be someone who would work against rather than for. A person whose goals are not the same, who is an opponent. As of a few hours ago, Ron and Harry no longer work for the same ideals. Even friendship cannot change that so quickly."

"The same could be said for you, could it not?" Minerva hummed, tightening her lips. "Surely a muggleborn like you isn't for blood supremacy."

Brown eyes narrowed in a glare before she seemed to remember who she was glaring at, a dull flush coloring her cheeks. "I'm not, but neither is Harry. Harry just wants what is best for the survival of the Wizarding world. Even so, I've had months to get used to this. It is Harry who I follow, even if our ideals are not the same."

"Would not Weasley feel the same?"

"Perhaps, but he doesn't know all that, does he? It only matters how the casters feel, and right now I will bet you anything that Ron feels like Harry is now his enemy." Silence was rapt as she turned back around in her chair, making a few marks on her parchment. "And there is no one I'd rather have as my opposing pole. I know it will work."

"You had better be right, Granger," Minerva turned toward her lord's voice, captivated again. So long she had waited to be beside him once more. It felt like eons, and the awe she felt had not diminished. "There is half of an hour left."

A scream rent the air.

Her lord's head whipped to the side and he stood, back straight and stride like a predator as he stalked towards the antechamber. Minerva fought down a chill. He was magnificent, his power so enthralling. The scream had yet to stop, Harry Potter's voice easily identified by the location. Her lord was barking orders out, sending Granger running for the Great Hall's doors and demanding Severus to his side. He gave her none, so Minerva contented herself with watching her lord snapping commands.

Her eyes moved against her conscious will to the staff table, seeing the top of Poppy's head. She was still bent over her arms, shoulders no longer shaking but an occasional shudder racking her. She must have fallen asleep, Minerva thought, since she didn't run to try and force her help on the situation. That was her Poppy. And Potter was a soft spot for her. Minerva forced down a sigh, wondering if the betrayal she doubtlessly felt would stop her from running to the boy.

No. Not her Poppy.

But as she forced her eyes away, Minerva couldn't help but wonder if she could accurately predict anything the matron would do in such a situation.

Nails dug into his skin, scraping it away. He could feel it under his nails, feel the blood running down the backs of his hands. He wanted to reach the source of the pain, rip it out and asphyxiate it, smother every last iota of existence from it. Perhaps then the pain would end. The flesh he tore away was hardly noticed; the roaring agony in his chest, in his head, in his gut and his limbs was the only thing he was conscious of.

A hand flew to his eyes, his burning eyes, hands like claws gripping at his brow. Blood, sticky and hot, seeped past clenched eyelids and trailed down his cheeks, morbid tears on tanned skin. He screamed and screamed, throat tearing.

"Oh, Angel. I wish it had not been destined to come to this. You should have made a choice while you had the chance. Did you think you could keep gaining all for nothing? You paid no price for your ability, your power. You were content to take and take, consequence lost in your need for more power. Ah, Angel… had you chosen a path, this might have been easier. Fate does not take kindly to having the order of things subverted."

The voice danced over his consciousness, drowned intermittently with the blazing anguish. He couldn't care any less about whatever the voice was saying; it was not there to stop the pain. It was extraneous.

Whiplashes like fire across his skin, splitting apart like the peel of a fruit. Lashes carved cleanly through skin and muscle, sending a vibrato through his bones in an ever-increasing tempo. In a rare flash of lucidity, Harry knew this was the end. He was being reduced to nothing. There was no way anything could survive this, Vampire or not. Immortality simply meant one could live eternally without nature's interfering -- it did not denote invincibility.

Harry wondered who would attend his funeral, even as a lash of pure agony struck across his throat.

"Mylläkkä will require those potions upon waking, Snape. Make the blood replenisher a double dose."

Severus was glaring, but Tom knew he wouldn't dare argue the point right now. Not with lacerations opening over Potter's skin, barely kept in check by the runic circle he'd been placed in. The Potions master made for the door with haste, robes snapping around him. Tom refused to look towards where Potter lay. He'd made the mistake once already and nearly lost control over his legs, and he would not do such a thing again. He had seen the torture of hundreds… thousands… and he wouldn't let the ceaseless screams affect his mind now.

"Zabini will take his place then, Pierce?"

The blond peered at him through golden fringe, blue eyes gone midnight. The man projected apathy, but he was even more distressed than Granger under the mask. He was a maelstrom of Dark energy, malevolent and pernicious. Tom got the distinct idea that the man was holding on by a thread, held together by sheer habit more than anything else.

"I was under the impression that either would work, Voldemort."

He inclined his head. "We shall see, won't we?" Tom wasted no time in flicking his wand toward the door, disregarding decorum as he Summoned the Zabini boy to him. He would not be too damaged from the experience to function, and Tom had little care for anything beyond that.

After discovering Potter bleeding profusely, Tom had ordered Granger to find the vampire, who had returned minutes later and demanded Potter be brought along. The man was unsurprised, which was suspicious, and that the inner runic circle had a regeneration function was even more so. The vampire had refused to answer Tom's questions about what was happening to Potter, simply pursing his lips and putting finishing touches on the outer circle. They'd organized in the room off the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, usually used for dueling. A six-pointed star was drawn in glowing chalk, made of tiny runes when one looked closely enough.

Dante turned away from him, surveying the cowering students with a sneer. So many children. "Take your positions." Tom reluctantly agreed with the disgusted expression on the vampire's face, uneasy that Potter's fate was being left in the hands of pubescent brats.

Tom moved to the head of the ritual circle. His wand flicked to bring the Weasley boy back to consciousness, not bothering to listen as he was instructed by a malicious Pierce. Bellatrix had admitted to hating the boy she'd deemed unworthy, and had capitulated to helping in the ritual while kissing his robes and proclaiming she would do anything her lord bade. Tom had had to force himself not to kick her. Tom considered letting Potter kill her when it was all over for her defiance. Zabini limped as he made his way to his place, a bleeding cut at his temple leaving blood to drip onto his shoulder. Tom threw a healing spell at it, not wanting to find out how the circle would react to blood dripping into it outside of Potter's inner circle.

"Close your eyes." said Pierce, voice tight and terse. "Concentrate on nothing but thoughts of Mylläkkä."

Tom did not look at the prone form, pushing away the echoes of his hoarse screaming; he was going to get Potter back. Even if he would soon after strangle him for all the trouble he'd caused.

His eyes opened to nothingness. It was not white, nor black, nor gray. It had no hue or shade. Harry felt like he was nonexistent.

"Mylläkkä."

A tickling sensation danced across his skin, the fine hairs on his body rustling in its wake. Warm fingers danced down the ridges of his spine. "Dante?"

A vague sound of confirmation and the tickling sensation became a bit more pronounced, but it was tempered by the warm lapping at his mind, like waves. "Yes, Mylläkkä. We do not have much time…"

"I died, didn't I?"

"Yes."

Expecting it wasn't enough. The truth was like a slap in the face. But Harry felt no despair, no anger, only the waves of content lapping at his mind and the vague tracing of warmth across his arms and back. He felt as if nothing negative could ever touch him again, metaphysical arms encircling him.

"Will you tell my friends I loved them, Dante? I think I'd like for them to know that, at least."

The tickling sensation magnified a hundred fold, making Harry jerk. Dante's voice held a lilt that Harry had come to associate with a held-back laugh. "You always think so linearly, Mylläkkä. You are not dead, you are merely no longer amongst the living."

Harry tried to understand Dante's logic, but even a decade as his student hadn't made him any more able to do so. "Stop being a vague git."

He felt those incorporeal arms tighten around him, and any annoyance that had tickled his mind faded. He floated. "When you accepted Valerian's blood, it gave you Vampiric abilities without the prices we vampires pay. It was something of a pledge, Mylläkkä. It was a given that you would not be able to have something for nothing forever."

Harry didn't understand, and he tried to find a way to voice that. "A pledge…?"

"Not in a literal sense, but yes. Nothing in this world is free, and it was only a matter of time before it caught up with you. It was a choice you had to make on your own, we could not have prepared you. Once your task was complete, it seems the magics saw fit to make the choice."

"If the choice was my own, why did I not get to choose?"

"You did. Perhaps not on a conscious level, but it seems there is enough keeping you in the world of the living to keep you from wanting to pass on once your task was complete."

"My choices, then, were to die or… to die? How utterly…" The sensations began to fade, and Harry suddenly felt panic clawing at his chest. "Dante! Don't go, please…"

"I cannot stay. I have played my role, Mylläkkä. You will see me once you awaken."

"How do I do that?!"

"Listen." The ghostly sensation of a hand patting his head, and Harry was left in the nothingness… cold and alone.

He soon wished he'd been left alone in the empty nothingness.

"Ickle baby Potter needs Bella's help, does he?"

Harry swore the muscles in his cheek twitched. Who in the hell had thought using Bellatrix for anything related to him was a good idea? "I really don't. In fact, why not just die and save me the trouble of being irritated at your presence?"

A gritty, suffocating fog rolled over him, Bellatrix's smug glee seeping into his pores. He was understanding the sensations better now. They were the emotions of the person addressing him. "The Dark Lord asked me specifically. Got yourself into a fix, did you Potter? And we know you just can't do a thing by yourself, no no. You are unworthy of my lord." The glee transformed into something dark and malevolent, pouring down his throat. "Who do you think you are to stroll in and ruin everything? You've warped him with your taint, haven't you boy?"

Harry tried to surface from the enveloping malice. "You're not very smart, are you Bellatrix?"

A lance of pain ran down his spine. "No, Potter, it is you who isn't smart. You were lauded as a savior for defeating my lord, but you're nothing but a child. I don't know what you did to him to make him take you in, but he'll soon get sick of you. My lord can do so much better than staining himself with your foul self, Potter, disgusting little halfbreed. Poor little orphan Potter, mudblood mommy died before his eyes…"

Harry pushed at the feeling, wrapping every ounce of will around it and throwing it as hard as he could away from himself. "And yet… who's got him, Bella?"

She screamed, but it didn't effect him anymore. He was thankful when the nothingness rolled back to cloak him.

"How could he, how could he? I don't get it. Wasn't I a good friend? Of all the things he could have done, why did he do it?"

Needles struck into him from all angles, tiny pricks of pain burrowing into his skin. He recognized the voice so well. "Ron?"

"All those years, I only wanted to be his friend. Just that. I was there for him, wasn't I? Sure I messed up sometimes, but didn't I try my best the rest of it? I'm not like him, I'm not so good. But he forgave me for it, I thought. Why would be do this to me?"

The needles felt like they were drilling to his very bones, and Harry was surprised how much it hurt. What was this sensation? "Ron… I can't say I'm sorry for the things I've done, but I am sorry it had to come down to this."

"All those years of following along in his shadow, thrown in my face. Told Hermione, told Neville, probably told everyone else, too. Not me, though. Never me. I just wasn't good enough for him, my family wasn't good enough. Why, Harry? Why did you do it? Why my father, of all people?!"

"Ron--"

The boy continued like he didn't hear, and Harry began to wonder if he really didn't. "He was a good man, a kind man. He never hurt you, he loved you like a son. Why would you let him die like he didn't matter? Why did you destroy my family? We were supposed to be Dumbledore's age together, and I was still supposed to be beating you at chess. You were supposed to marry Ginny and give me little nieces and nephews to load with sugar and Fred and George's prank items. We were supposed to be best mates forever."

The stabbing faded and was replaced by bone-chilling cold. Ice flooded his veins, solidified them and made him freeze from the inside out. But what hurt more was the overwhelming knowledge of how much he had hurt a person he truly did consider a friend.

"Forever. I guess it doesn't exist, though, does it? Remember, Harry? Remember what I said? I said I'd kill the person responsible. And if that's you… I won't ever stop until I do, Harry. Ever."

Warmth suffused him, melting the ice from his veins and soothing away his ability to feel pain. Ron had been painful to listen to. Between the emotional upheaval that had been going on for weeks in his mind, Bellatrix, and then Ron, he was worn thin. Harry wanted to sleep. He wondered if he could rip apart under the strain, fall into that darkness completely this time. He was a vampire now. Vampires were at home in the darkness, weren't they?

"Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…"

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but the warmth that cocooned him stayed his annoyance. "Hermione?"

He heard a squeak of surprise, a ruffled exhalation. The warmth had doubled in intensity now, and he was surprised that it wasn't uncomfortable. He felt serene. "Harry! Oh, Harry, are you alright? Well, this isn't really what I thought would happen…"

"What is going on, Hermione?"

"We're getting you out, Harry, but no matter." She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. When she spoke again her voice was quiet and sincere, but it quickly gained in intensity. "Did you know, Harry, that you are my best friend? I would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me to. I've killed… but so have you, haven't you? You understand this horrible wrenching, the sensation of the world falling away? I thought I would drown in my own misery, the knowledge of what I'd done. But you were there, Harry, you were there and that is all that mattered. You saved me, so many times over the years."

"You saved me too, you know," he said wryly, cutting into her rambling. "But honestly, what is going on--?"

"Don't interrupt me, Harry James Potter! I am far from done. I've had hours to plan what I would say, and I'll have you know that it is very deep and heartfelt and you are going to listen!"

Harry went quiet, if only to save himself from the girl's screeching irritation. It felt like someone was scraping nails down a chalkboard inside of his head.

She harrumphed in indignation, but Harry was compelled by the waver of her voice as she went on. "You're everything to me Harry, don't you see? You inspire people without even trying. I see the way you look at us sometimes, how you can't even figure out why we're still there. You never believed we would follow you. We're here though, aren't we? So… thank you, Harry. You've given us all something wonderful, even if times get hard. Neville and Luna, I know they think so too. Come back, now. Please, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes as her voice faded, basking in the warmth surrounding him.

"Potter."

The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. The shaking uneasy warped his perceptions, a constant feeling like there were accusing eyes on his back. "Yes?"

Irritation that was not his own danced across his senses. "You don't even know who I am, do you?"

"I know the voice, I can't place it," Harry said with blunt honesty, trying to pull away from the uncomfortable feeling in this place.

"I'm Zabini."

Ahh, well, that made sense. Harry shuddered as nails raked slowly down his back. "Right. Hello there?"

The nails dug in harder. "This isn't a game, Potter. If I had a choice in the matter, I wouldn't even be here. If I am a Death Eater, I will have access to the things I need to become a Necromancer. I need to become one. All that is standing in my way is you."

"You've already heard my explanation, Zabini. What do you want to hear? Do you want me to describe how broken that child was, sitting a foot away from the scraps of his mother's corpse? Or do you want to know about how he whispered 'thank you' as I snapped his neck?"

Harry was suddenly glad for his new Vampirism, as cold fingers wrapped round his throat and squeezed. Breathing was something he was used to and he panicked momentarily as the ability to was taken away from him.

"Don't speak of him like that! Don't, Potter, you have no right. Even if he begged you…" Zabini's voice broke, a sound of pain strangled from his throat. "Do you have no concept of how important family is to those of Necromantic blood? We are disallowed from speaking to anyone not related to us by blood once we start our training. I only had my mum, her sister, and my cousin. He was a light in my life, squib or not. So bright, so wise. You snuffed him out… and I never got the chance to say goodbye!"

Harry felt something nearly like pity. "I am sorry for your loss, but I didn't do anything you should hate me for. Would you rather he had suffered for your happiness? So that you would have one more person to speak to once you were embroiled in your studies?"

The hands around his neck shuddered. "You don't understand, Potter. How can someone who has never had a family possibly understand?"

The barb hit home as the sensations of Zabini's pain and anger left him, and Harry closed his eyes.

"Tom?"

Harry's breath caught, seeing the familiar face for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Tom was standing stiffly in the void, arms tight to his sides and his face stony. He gave a jerky nod.

Harry didn't know what to expect, not after the last few encounters. He took an aborted step forward, his arm moving up a few inches before swaying back to his side. None of the others had been like this. They'd been a presence, not a physical manifestation. He couldn't feel anything from Tom, but he could see the familiar lines of his jaw, the graying strands at his temples. The quirk of his stance when he was trying to look unconcerned but was terribly angry.

"I don't understand what is happening, Tom. Are you going to get me out of here or not?"

Crimson eyes closed, and Harry watched his lover's jaw clench and unclench. It was long minutes before crimson eyes opened, burning fiercely. "Potter, you will wake up this bloody instant. Do you know the trouble you've caused?"

Harry wondered if it was a rhetorical question, and saw it was when Tom continued ranting, stalking toward him.

"Bloody selfish brat you are, pausing all my war efforts and making all your little sycophants mad with worry. No more, Potter! You will wake up and we will get the hell out of this damned school. The Great Hall smells like a byre with all those quivering little morons, and I refuse to wait around any longer!"

Tom had stopped in front of him, entire frame shaking. Harry supposed it was with anger until crimson eyes finally raised to meet his, expression raw. A hand fell onto Harry's shoulder and tightened, a painful grip that was like agony to his overwrought muscles. He wanted to say something, anything to banish the uncharacteristic look from Tom's face. The look on Tom's face was too much for him. But Harry couldn't find words to speak, staring instead at the way finely shaped lips had parted as Tom panted.

When they leaned forward and crushed against his own, Harry couldn't move. He let Tom pour everything he couldn't say into him, tongue dragging across the roof of his mouth and Harry swore it was sucking out his soul. He keened in the back of his throat, not wanting to move and upset the way Tom was leaning into him, the way he could practically feel everything the Dark Lord pretended he didn't.

When he finally pulled away, red eyes burnt hotter than ever. "You… you…" Tom's face twisted and a long, sibilant hiss left his lips before his other hand gripped Harry's other shoulder. "Fuck, Harry, do you have any idea how worried I was?! Wake your pitiful Gryffindor arse up this instant!"

With eyes wide, Harry's hands flew up to clench around the ones on his shoulders, just as the world fell away.

A/N: OH HAI THAR! Wow. This… wow.

ANNOUNCEMENT!

The next chapter is the last, followed by an exceptionally long epilogue.

No, seriously.

I didn't think I was so close. Right now I am shocked beyond belief, and kind of freaking out. This chapter was almost the very last, but I ended up leaving off here at 10k and decided to extend the next part to a full chapter instead of wrapping it all up now. Wow. We're really almost there, guys. I wanna cry.

For my 24th birthday (September 18th, today, WOOT) I am giving you all the gift of this chapter. Because you all are my motivation. Thank you so very much.

Thanks go to every one of you, but a super-special thanks goes to Midnight Star 25 for listening to me ramble endlessly on MSN and really solidifying who would go where (a scene was much inspired by her review, too), Raine Ishida for doing a super typo check so I could post it on my birthday, The Silver Fallen for listening to me ramble and whine endlessly, and to Nimhotar, Itallia, Kamerreon, BeLlIxiEs, Nostalgic Beauty, ice-evanesco, Zauti, and everyone else (if you feel I missed you, I'm very sorry… I'm trying to hurry to get this chapter out XD) who took the time to give me such wonderful, thought-provoking replies to my problem. I was so touched, and I still am. I am sorry I stopped being able to reply to them; I've been sick as a dog for two weeks and quite pathetic to boot.

I also have the first chapter nearly done to my next HPTR project, but I'll tell you all more about that at the end of Para. ;)

THANK YOU ALL! I can never express how much I love you!

Extra note, OMG! Go to my profile near the top for a link to my rendition of Mylläkkä. -blows kisses-

EXTRA EXTRA NOTE AS OF 2/18/09!!!!!! -- This isn't abandoned. Please, loves, give me time. If you can hold on, I'll get a chapter to you as soon as I can. Writer's block eats me still. Check my forum on this site (on my profile) for more info, and until then, just think of me!

Revised: 3/21/09 (Wow, finally finished. Now to write the next chapter. Thank you all for sticking by me, and crossx your fingers for my inspiration to stay!)