Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Thanks for all your reviews, I promise to answer them in the next chapter, because I'm too exhausted and sleepy right now to reply anything coherent. But I will in the next one - promised!
I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that you review!
Chapter 2
"Happy birthday, Ron," said Orion as warmly as he could muster, when they were woken by Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas leaving noisily for breakfast.
He carefully stood up from bed, mindful of not wincing with each step he took, since his body was still recovering from the last lesson with Grindelwald, and he opened his trunk and took out his Durmstrang uniform, preparing to leave for Durmstrang for the weekend.
"Thanks, mate," said Ron, before he loudly yawned and stretched on his bed. "Though it would have been a much better birthday if they hadn't cancelled the Hogsmeade trip. I was looking forward to that!"
Orion nodded, and absently replied as he buttoned up his shirt, "Not a big surprise after what happened to Katie Bell, she's still in St. Mungo's, and the Daily Prophet has been reporting more disappearances."
The truth was that Voldemort was clearly stepping up his plans; the Death Eaters were frequently attacking some muggle town or other, keeping the Ministry busy in cleaning up after them, while other Death Eaters kidnapped targeted wizards or witches, who disappeared without a trace, including several relatives of students at Hogwarts.
But that didn't worry him much; he had enough on his plate to be concerned about how Voldemort was conducting the war, and there wasn't much of a war going on in England, yet. Only disappearances occurred, but there hadn't been any open confrontation between the two sides, and Orion knew that it was precisely what Voldemort wanted.
The wizard was busy planting Death Eaters in key Ministry positions, working on changing the current in the Ministry to one favorable for him, leaving all major attacks for the future. On the other hand, the Order of the Phoenix –according to what Severus told Voldemort – was simply working to protect key light wizards and witches. In conclusion, neither side had done anything openly offensive, yet.
Orion couldn't help thinking that they were in the calm before the storm, what muggles pegged as a 'cold war', each side readying themselves for the major confrontations, when everything would explode in a sequence of fierce battles. That would be the real war; and what mattered most to him was that he would be prepared for it, meaning that he would have already gathered the last Hallow and finished Grindelwald's lessons.
Furthermore, after the incident of the opal necklace and Katie Bell, nothing had happened in Hogwarts; which meant that Draco had heeded his advice of not doing anything foolish which could uncover what he was attempting to do. Nevertheless, that did little to assuage his concerns, since Draco refused to discuss how much he was progressing in his task.
Orion was becoming increasingly worried about the matter, not only because Draco had been given the deadline of completing his task before the school year ended, but also because he didn't know if he would be prepared to best Dumbledore in a duel, when the time came. Draco had until the end of the school year, but if the boy completed his task before then, will he have undergone enough of Grindelwald's lessons to be able to defeat Dumbledore? Even if the attack happened around the end of the school year, he wasn't sure if he would be prepared.
Moreover, Voldemort still hadn't breathed a word to him about the plan of breaching Hogwarts – which indicated that the wizard didn't know that Draco had told him about it- but it also meant that Voldemort had no plans of including him in the attack. And he had taken an Unbreakable Vow, promising to help Draco and kill Dumbledore if Draco wasn't able to –which he had to do regardless, because he needed to become the Elder Wand's master- but it meant that everyone involved in the attack would see him participating in it and helping Draco.
He couldn't help wondering how angry Voldemort would become when he was told that Dumbledore hadn't been killed by Draco, as ordered, but by him… What would Voldemort do to Draco? And more importantly, would the wizard already know how the Elder Wand worked, and thus, know that if he had killed Dumbledore it meant that Voldemort now had to defeat him in order to take the wand from him?
Orion inwardly shook his head. Voldemort would be furious, there was no doubt about it, but he would deal with it and protect Draco from Voldemort's 'punishment' when the time came. What concerned him more was that Draco finished the task of repairing the vanishing cabinet and that, by then, he would have learned enough in Grindelwald's lessons to be able to defeat and kill Dumbledore.
"But now all I've got to look forward to is stupid Apparition!" said Ron grumpily. "Big birthday treat..."
Orion was jerked out of his thoughts, and he nodded. Three lessons on, Apparition was proving as difficult as ever for the rest of the school, though a few more people had managed to splinch themselves. Frustration was running high and there was a certain amount of ill-feeling towards Wilkie Twycross and his three Ds, which had inspired a number of nicknames for him.
Due to his classes at Durmstrang during the weekends, he had missed most lessons, but that mattered little to him since he had learned to apparate, out of need, some while ago, when he had wanted to access Slytherin's chambers quickly and surreptitiously. Nevertheless, it was an inconvenience that he wasn't old enough to take the test in Apparation required by the Ministry, since without the license, he had to be mindful of apparating from where it couldn't be detected, and that was always a bother. Regardless, he had become accustomed to using Black Manor as a triangulation point, so he knew that neither the Danish nor English Ministry was aware of his moves.
"Oh, they're already here!" said Ron with a broad smile, jumping straight out of bed and excitedly reaching a small pile of presents, just as Orion finished dressing.
Orion grabbed a package from his trunk and he threw it across on to the small pile on Ron's bed.
"Have a present."
"Cheers!" said Ron, ripping off the paper from the package.
Orion nodded and started to prepare his bag with everything he would need for Durmstrang, his thoughts now becoming tinged with excitement, since tomorrow was the day that Loki would take him to the Necromancers Guild. He was curious to discover what they wanted, but most of all, he was eager to advance in his plan of resurrecting his father.
Given everything he had learned, and was learning, in Necromancy class and what he was learning from Cadmus' journal, he knew that the only way he could ever manage to defeat Cadmus was with the use of the Resurrection Stone –freed from Voldemort's piece of soul- and with the use of a Necromancer's Gate. His main objective for the visit to the Guild was to obtain the Guild's permission to use one of their Gates.
"Nice one, Orion!" said Ron enthusiastically, waving the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves Orion had bought for him by owl-post.
"No problem," said Orion absent-mindedly, as he continued filling his backpack, his mind focused with his plans for the visit to the Guild.
Ron did not answer; he was too busy unwrapping presents, every now and then letting out an exclamation of pleasure.
"Seriously good haul this year!" he announced, holding up a heavy gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands. "See what Mum and Dad got me? Blimey, I think I'll come of age next year too..."
"Cool," muttered Orion uninterestedly.
"Want one?" said Ron thickly, holding out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons.
"No thanks," replied Orion, side-glancing at him.
"You should stay here today, it's my birthday, surely you can skip one day of class," said Ron, stuffing a second Cauldron into his mouth as he started to get dressed.
"Can't do, sorry," said Orion, briefly glancing at him, before he decided to yield a bit to show himself more friendly. "I'll walk with you to the Great Hall, if you want, before I leave for Durmstrang."
"Alright, let's hurry, I'm famished," said Ron, before he looked thoughtfully at the box of Chocolate Cauldrons, then shrugged and helped himself to a third.
Orion finished packing his things and he slowly slung his backpack over one shoulder, mindful of the large, aching bruise he had there.
"Ready?" he said to Ron, a bit impatiently.
He was halfway to the dormitory door when he realized that Ron had not moved, but was leaning on his bedpost, staring out of the rain-washed window with a strangely unfocused look on his face.
"Ron? Great Hall. Your breakfast awaits."
"I'm not hungry."
Orion stared at him. "I thought you just said -?"
"Well, all right, I'll go," sighed Ron, "but I don't want to eat."
Orion scrutinized him suspiciously. "You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven't you?"
"It's not that," Ron sighed again. "You... you wouldn't understand."
"Fair enough," said Orion with an uninterested shrug of his shoulders, as he turned to open the door, impatient to leave for Durmstrang to attend the Dark Arts lesson of the day.
"Orion!" said Ron suddenly.
"What?"
"Orion, I can't stand it!"
"You can't stand what?" asked Orion, now starting to feel definitely short-tempered, his accumulated tiredness, and his impatience to be in Durmstrang, not helping.
"I can't stop thinking about her!" said Ron hoarsely.
Orion gaped at him. He had not expected this, didn't want to hear it, and didn't have the time for it.
If Ron had finally realized what everyone already knew –that he liked Hermione- he would definitely tell him to go to someone else with his proclamations; his cover as a friendly Gryffindor be damned. Honestly, he couldn't care less; he had much more important stuff to occupy his time with.
"Well, then tell her," said Orion shortly. "Now, let's go. My class is about to start."
"I don't think she knows I exist," said Ron with a desperate gesture.
"She definitely knows you exist," snapped Orion with exasperation. "You keep bickering with each other, driving everyone insane with it."
Ron blinked. "Who are you talking about?"
"Who are you talking about?" said Orion, frowning at Ron when he saw that he was rather pale and had a dazed look in his eyes.
"Romilda Vane," said Ron softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it, as though hit by a ray of purest sunlight.
They stared at each other for almost a whole minute, before Orion said disconcerted, "Romilda? This is a joke, right? You're joking."
"I think ... Orion, I think I love her," said Ron in a strangled voice. "Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky... and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her –"
"I don't have time for this," Orion snapped impatiently, "I have to get to class. Besides, do you actually remember the way she looks? Shiny and silky hair? Come on!"
He scoffed, and swiftly started to leave, in no mood to dally there longer.
He had got two steps towards the door when, abruptly, a crashing blow hit him on the right ear. Staggering, he looked around. Ron's fist was drawn right back, his face was contorted with rage; he was about to strike again.
Orion reacted without a thought; he flicked his wrist and his wand came shooting from its holster into his hand, and the incantation sprang to mind without conscious thought: Mordenta!
Ron yelled as his heel was wrenched upwards by a vine that had sprung into existence, winding around the boy, holding him upside-down, as it took roots on the ceiling; its sharp thorns biting into the boy's flesh as it wrapped tighter around him, starting to strangle him.
"Shit!" muttered Orion under his breath, as he realized that he had just used one of the nonverbal dark spells Rosier had been teaching Calypso and him during Dark Arts lessons.
Quickly, he flicked his wand, and the vine retracted its piercing thorns and relaxed its hold on Ron. But he didn't vanish the vine, since he didn't fancy getting punched again. His ear was still smarting from the hit, and it only added to the other aches spread throughout his body, which he had Grindelwald to thank for.
He glared at Ron, who dangled helplessly, upside-down, his robes hanging off him, and snapped angrily, "You idiot, what was that for?!"
"You insulted her, Orion! You scoffed about her shiny and silky hair," shouted Ron, who was slowly turning purple in the face as all the blood rushed to his head.
Orion frowned as he observed Ron's glazed eyes, and his gaze instantly zeroed in on the box lying open on Ron's bed, and everything clicked.
"'Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?" he demanded sharply.
"They were a birthday present!" shouted Ron, revolving slowly in midair as he struggled to get free from the vine. "I offered you one, didn't I?"
"You just picked them up off the floor, didn't you?"
"They'd fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!"
"They didn't fall off your bed, you fool, don't you understand? They were mine, I chucked them under my bed. They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas and Hermione told me that they're all spiked with love potion!"
But only one word of this seemed to have registered with Ron.
"Romilda?" he repeated. "Did you say Romilda? Orion, do you know her? Can you introduce me?"
Orion stared at the dangling Ron, whose face now looked tremendously hopeful, and fought a strong desire to laugh. A part of him - the part closest to his throbbing right ear - was quite keen on the idea of letting Ron down and watch him run amok until the effects of the potion wore off... But on the other hand, they were supposed to be friends, Ron had not been himself when he had attacked…
Abruptly, he shook his head, and smirked.
Who was he kidding? He wasn't Ron's friend, that was just a cover; that was he acting just like Dumbledore wanted him to, and he was tired of it. He didn't like the boy, he didn't have time to find a way to disintoxicate him –he had to get to Durmstrang- and quite frankly, he didn't give a damn about him. Furthermore, if he allowed Ron to declare his undying love for Romilda Vane, the Slytherin's would have a good laugh, and Draco certainly could do with one.
"Yeah, I know her," said Orion calmly, twirling his wand in his fingers. "I'm going to let you down now, okay?"
He flicked his wand, making the vine disappear, and sent Ron crashing back to the floor -his ear did hurt quite a lot- but Ron simply bounded to his feet again, grinning.
Orion inspected the piercing wounds the vine had inflicted on the boy, and swiftly cast a healing spell on him, before he repaired the boy's robes. At least, Ron didn't seem too aware of what had happened, so hopefully, the boy wouldn't tell anyone that he had casted a dark spell on him. And if Ron blabbed… Well, he didn't care either, let Dumbledore berate him for it, if the old wizard dared; the man knew what he was learning in Durmstrang.
"She'll be in the Great Hall," said Orion, doing his best of not sniggering as he lead the way to the door.
"Are you sure she'll be there?" asked Ron anxiously, hurrying to keep up.
Orion broadly grinned at him. "Of course, she'll be having breakfast, just like the rest of the school."
"Oh, yes," said Ron eagerly, "I'll tell her that I love her there!"
"Great idea," said Orion, shooting him a wide smile, as they entered the common room. "I'm sure your charms will do the trick and that she'll reciprocate your feelings. And girls adore public proclamations of love; the Great Hall is the best place for you to do it."
"You're right!" said Ron excitedly. "It's the perfect place!"
Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, a complication he had not foreseen.
"Orion, I've been waiting to catch you before you leave," she pouted. "I think we need to discuss where we want to take our relationship-"
"You're always trailing after him, leave him alone," snapped Ron impatiently. "Orion's going to introduce me to Romilda Vane."
And without another word, Ron pushed his way out of the portrait hole.
"I don't have time now, I'll see you Monday," said Orion sniggering, trying to make an apologetic face to Lavender, but it might have turned out simply viciously amused, because she looked more offended than ever as the Fat Lady swung shut behind him.
They made their way to the Great Hall, and Orion kept nodding in understanding while Ron yapped about Romilda Vane's perfect attributes.
Just when they reached the open doors of the Great Hall, hearing the buzzing of voices from inside, Orion halted and patted Ron on the back.
"Now, I have to get to Durmstrang, but you don't need me to introduce you to her. She knows who you are," said Orion, shooting him a supportive and warm smile. "Just go get her, lover boy!"
"Yeah," said Ron eagerly, sprinting into the Great Hall. "Thanks!"
"It was my pleasure," said Orion under his breath, sniggering as he turned around and speedily made his way to Dumbledore's office, in order to floo to Durmstrang.
It was a pity that he wouldn't see it, but he was certain that he would get a full account of it on Monday. And hopefully, he would have helped to inject some lightheartedness in Draco's life.
The instant he stepped out of the fireplace at the other end, he encountered Vagnarov seated behind his grand desk and Roman Komorov standing by his side, both obviously waiting for him.
Orion flicked his wand to dust off his robes from the floo powder, and he gazed back at them with an arched eyebrow.
"To what do I owe this reception committee?" he said coolly, addressing the Headmaster. "Usually, you're never here when I floo in."
"We want to discuss some matters with you," said Vagnarov calmly, though his dark eyes were scrutinizing him. "Please, have a seat."
Orion sighed and settled his schoolbag on the floor, against one of the legs of the desk, while he took a seat directly in front of them.
"Well?"
"Mr. Njord is taking you to the Necromancers Guild," said Vagnarov, "tomorrow, correct?"
"Yes," replied Orion nonchalantly. "You know this already. He gave me his father's note during one of your classes. We discussed it then."
"We did, briefly," said Vagnarov, entwining his fingers and resting his joined hands on the desk. "What do you expect to get from them?"
"You know this as well. I need one of the Gates they have, I need it to help my father," said Orion, gazing at him and seeing, for the first time, that the old wizard looked very pale and worn out.
"So you're going through with that plan?"
"Of course I am!" said Orion crisply. "I've told you already that I wouldn't give up on him. I can still save him-"
"How, by attempting to kill the Dementor?" interrupted Komorov sharply, narrowing his light blue eyes at him. "You'll only manage to get yourself Kissed!"
"That's my problem, isn't it?" retorted Orion briskly. "I'm not asking for your help."
"But you'll ask for the Guild's help," interjected Vagnarov, piercing him with his eyes. "And they won't give it lightly. Be careful of what you agree in return. Don't be fooled by the way they might seem to you."
"Point taken," said Orion coolly, though a frown had inevitably spread over his forehead. "Now, can I leave? I have class with Master Rosier and-"
"They don't want him killed," cut in Komorov, sternly gazing down at him.
"The spirits don't want Cadmus dead?" snapped Orion, glaring at him. "Well, I don't give a fizzing whizbee about what they want, do I? Why don't we get to the point of this ambush? You've said nothing to me since my confrontation with the spirits; you've treated me as you've always done during class." He glanced at Vagnarov, and added, "And I haven't seen you much outside class, since you're always absent from the Hall for dinner and lunch. But you've said nothing to me either. Why don't you just come out with it?"
A small, warm smile tugged Vagnarov's lips. "We have nothing to say to you. That decision was your own."
"But I can't count on your help anymore," said Orion, intently gazing at him. "Can I?"
"You can't," replied Komorov curtly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You decided to go your own way, disregarding anything the spirits had to say on the matter. Therefore, you're on your own until you decide to come back to us. The Aux will always follow Mordred and Morgana, we won't side with you unless you're with them-"
"Or until you become the Vindico," interjected Vagnarov, glancing at Orion with a small smile quirking his lips. "Don't worry about what we do, my boy, you'll have us supporting you in the end if you manage to become the VA."
"That's not your prerogative anymore, Vulcan," said Komorov sternly. "You aren't the Aux's leader any longer-"
"And you still count with my support," continued Vagnarov, his gaze never leaving Orion, as if the other wizard hadn't spoken. "I'll help you in anything I can, as I promised to you on the day of your Necromancy test."
Komorov drew up to his full height, gazing down at the old wizard, as he said sharply, "You're going against-"
"I'm going against no one," interrupted Vagnarov curtly. "I'm simply following my own wishes in this matter. My evaluation of the circumstances is different from yours, Roman, but I'm in my right to choose whom I help-"
Abruptly, the old wizard tightly clutched the edges of his desk with his hands, his knuckles turning white, as a violent coughing attack shook his body, his face dramatically paling.
Disconcerted, Orion jumped to his feet stretching out a hand towards him, but Komorov had acted faster, quickly conjuring a handkerchief and immediately handing it to Vagnorov, while he placed a strong hand on the old wizard's shoulder, steadying him in place.
Orion saw a flash of concern crossing Komorov's eyes, but it was gone as fast as it came, and to his alarm, he saw blood stains on the white handkerchief Vagnarov had used to cover his mouth, before the old wizard quickly vanished it.
Then, he saw Komorov shooting him a fulminating, dark glare, as if somehow he was to blame. He had half a mind of simply giving in to his darkest impulses and cursing his Curse and Ward Breaking professor into the next decade.
Ever since the wizard had become the leader of the Aux Atrum he had been cold and brisk with him, when before, as merely his teacher, Komorov had been friendly, even cool.
The wizard had helped him undo the non-removability spell from his Black Heir ring portkey, which had been a precautionary measure for the break in to Nurmengard - not that he had told Komorov that that was the real reason. But not even after helping him with the spell, had Komorov reverted to his friendlier attitude of the past. And this was a wizard he would have to deal with eventually, given that Komorov would remain being the leader of the Aux Atrum for the foreseeable future.
"It's nothing, nothing," said Vagnarov calmly, waving a dismissive hand as he rested his back against his ornate chair. "Just an annoying cough that comes and goes."
Orion sat back down, glancing away from him, his face turning somber and grim. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Vagnarov's declining health, but it was clear that it was much worse than he had thought; the old wizard's days were numbered. Suddenly, he felt a wave of impotent dejection swamping over him.
Vagnarov stood up, and patted Orion on the shoulder. "I was waiting for you just to tell you to be careful with the Guild. That's it, my boy, you can leave now."
"And why is he here?" muttered Orion, side-glancing at Komorov.
"He insisted to be present if we spoke," whispered Vagnarov conspiratorially, his face amused. "Don't worry about Roman, he's not as inflexible and cold as he likes to pretend. Given time, I'm sure you'll become good friends." His lips quirked upwards into a smirk, and he added almost inaudibly, "And I've heard that he's affected by you already."
Nonplussed, Orion blinked at him, before he realized that the old wizard must be referring to the time when he had touched Komorov's mark, infusing it with some of his dark magic, which had seemed to be pleasurable for the twenty-something-year-old wizard.
Vagnarov tightened his grip on Orion's shoulder, and said in a low voice, "My door is open to you if you need me. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, thank you," replied Orion warmly, though he knew he would never ask him for help, not to a wizard who was dying and couldn't be burdened with other things. Suddenly, feeling a strange urgency, he grabbed the old wizard's forearm, and said quietly, gazing up at him, "Thank you for everything you've done in the past, as well. I… I've never said it, but you've helped me a lot, and I appreciate it-"
Vagnarov smirked at him, shaking his head. "This isn't a good-bye, Orion. This old man will still linger for a few more months. No need to say your farewells to me so soon."
"Right," said Orion, wanly smiling at him. "We still have time."
Vagnarov's smirk widened and he nodded. "Off you go, Romulus won't be happy with your tardiness."
Orion quickly snatched his bag and glanced back at them; Komorov had a darkly irked and annoyed expression on his face, while Vagnarov simply looked amused about something as he side-glanced and smirked at the younger wizard.
"Finally," bit out Loki, scowling, just when Orion halted his trot in front of him. "I was about to leave. Took you long enough."
Orion simply nodded as he caught his breath. It was Sunday late in the evening, and they were standing in the path that led to Sølvanghøj, outside Durmstrang's wards. The weekend had passed in a flash for him, barely having time to attend class, study, and go to Potter Manor for Grindelwald's lesson. And he had just come from one of the DA's meetings, where he had taught them some of the useful spells Grindelwald had been teaching him, along with their usual battle simulations. He was quite exhausted, but excited, nonetheless.
"Let's go," he said, straightening up. "How are we going to-"
Impatiently, Loki grabbed his arm, without bothering to give any explanations, and Orion summarily felt a tightening squeeze of space as he was hauled along in the apparition.
Abruptly, his feet landed on a rocky terrain, and he regained his balance as Loki released him.
Glancing around, he suddenly gasped; nothing would have prepared him for the scene before him. He took every detail with wide, astounded eyes, feeling the intense magic sizzling in the air as a tingle caressing his skin, while the vibrant colors of the scene were reflected in his irises.
He didn't know if it was night or day anymore; the sky was a dark veil splattered with sparkling stars, they were so clear, that he distinguished many more stars than he had ever seen before. Yet, there was a bright orange disk on one side, the sun reflecting its luminescence across the sky, without dimming the other celestial bodies, while a silvery, smaller orb seemed to be suspended on the other side, the moonlight meshing with the sunlight, creating swirling waves of infinite, pulsating colors which streaked above him.
Orion's breath caught in his throat as he watched the vastness before him, feeling the magnificence of it, making him feel insignificant yet deeply reverential.
Under the strange, ever-shifting domed sky, they stood on a small inlet which seemed to be suspended in mid air, in the midst of an abysm formed by gigantic cascades of foam. They were surrounded by a great mass of viridian blue water, a dark turquoise ocean which stretched beyond the horizon, undulating all around them, and abruptly ending in enormous waterfalls, as if the Earth had been cracked open by a divine force and the ocean had plunged into the wedge, forming cascades which fell into an abyss with no end in sight.
Orion looked around him, breathless; there was nothing but ocean as far as the eye could see, and bellow them, nothing but emptiness as the ocean rolled into cascades and plunged into an infinite abyss. It was the strangest yet most beautiful scenery he had ever beheld.
Moreover, the atmosphere was vibrating with magic, with an intensity he had never felt before; he felt it in his skin, in his bones, in his very being. Slowly, he felt pleasantly detached and weightless, as if he was in a dream, while he felt a surge of his dark magic spreading throughout him, rising as if called, yearning to completely infuse him – it was his Necromantic powers, and never before had he been so tempted to allow them to utterly wrap him in its nestling mantle. Yet, he restrained himself, as much as he could...
He gasped and closed his eyes, breathing slowly, enraptured by everything he was sensing in and around him.
"You feel it, don't you?"
Orion dazedly opened his eyes, and even if Loki's face was shrouded in the shadows casted by his hood, he could see the smirk on his face, and he could see the boy's eyes, which were, suddenly, all-black pools.
"Let go," said Loki. "Let it fill you. Don't fight it."
Orion shook his head, before he glanced around, and said in a voice hitched with awe, "Where are we?"
"In the only place on Earth where all the planes converge in one point," replied Loki calmly. "This is where they all merge together. That's why it's saturated with magic, that's why your Necromantic powers feel it and want to take hold of you. This is where every realm comes together. We called it the Cross of Planes." He smirked, and added in a low voice, "This is what muggles call the center of the Bermuda Triangle. For them, it's nothing more than a strange zone where inexplicable things happen; where their ships and airplanes are lost and never come back."
"I've heard of that," said Orion, his eyes wide. "What really happens to those who venture here?"
Loki waved a hand dismissively. "They never reach the center, they never reach this far, there are powerful wards protecting this area; no muggle or non-Necromancer has ever seen this place. Regardless, the power of the Cross of Planes spreads throughout several miles, anyone who enters the zone disappears into one plane or the other, and inevitably, since they aren't Necromancers and don't know how it works, they get crushed when they're flung into another plane."
"Crushed?"
"Destroyed. Killed," snapped Loki impatiently.
Orion's eyes widened further. "You speak of several planes, you spoke of realms. Are you telling me that-"
"I'm telling you that there's much more to Necromancy than Vagnarov has ever told us," interrupted Loki sharply. "I'm telling you that there isn't only this mortal plane and the spiritual one. You suspected this already, you kept asking Vagnarov about it during class, don't feign surprise. Nevertheless, I can't tell you more; you aren't a Necromancer, yet."
"Are you?" demanded Orion, narrowing his eyes at him. "How is it that you know so much?"
Loki widely smirked at him. "As part of my training, I've had access to many of the Guild's ancient books. And my trials are coming up soon. When I pass them, I'll finally become one of them."
"But you just began their training a few months ago!" said Orion, gaping at him. "Vagnarov said it took more than two years, at least. How can you already be prepared to take the trials to become a full-fledged Necromancer-"
"Silence!" snapped Loki, craning his head around to look at the empty space in front of them, his eyes unfocused. He glanced back to Orion, and said sharply, "Save your questions for later. They're expecting us. Let's go."
Orion stood rooted in his place, uncertain of what he was expected to do, but Loki had already moved. The boy took something out of his robes' pocket –a ring with a crest, Orion saw- and he knelt on the rocky ground, just besides the edge of the small inlet they were in.
Loki pressed his palms together, his hands joined as if in prayer, though they were pointing downwards, and his gaze shot towards the skies, as he said in a low, zealous voice, "Homage to thee, let me arrive in the Land of Eternity, let me enter into the Land of Everlastingness. Thy beauties are before mine eyes, thy radiance is upon my body. Thou stridest over the heavens in peace, and all thy foes are cast down; the stars which never rest sing hymns of praise unto thee, and the stars which are imperishable glorify thee as thou sinkest to rest in the horizon. To thee I pledge my soul to discover the mysteries of the afterlife."
The reverently whispered words echoed in Orion's head, and he made himself memorize them, inwardly repeating them over and over again, to etch them in his mind, understanding, instantly, that they were part of the right of passage into the Guild.
And he knew immediately that the litany wasn't a prayer to a god, but to Magic itself, since that was what wizards believed in. Moreover, it wasn't to Magic in the whole, but to the force of Magic related to Death, a most peculiar concept about which Power really ordained wizarding kind's lives; a Necromancer's concept.
His gaze never left Loki as the boy pressed the ring unto the ground, and he inched closer to him, suddenly seeing a mark into which the ring had been imbedded. The symbol was quite simple; a triangle with the shape of an eye inscribed in it, an all-black eye.
Orion blinked. "That- that symbol is just like what muggles use to-"
"To symbolize their God?" said Loki, still kneeling as he turned his face to look at him, smirking. "Yeah, well, they must have encountered it in some book or parchment written by a wizard, and given it their own interpretation. Though their symbol is different, isn't it? Their eye is a normal one, it's a clear eye. Ours is all black, a Necromancer's eye." He chuckled dryly. "Quite a symbolism there; a clear, 'light' eye representing God, versus a black, 'dark' eye representing a Necromancer, representing the power of Death. This is the mark of a full-fledged Necromancer; you get it when you pass the trials. Though a Necromancer can turn his mark invisible, to protect himself from others knowing what he is."
Orion nodded in understanding, his gaze never leaving the symbol etched in the ground, but, suddenly, he gasped as it triggered something in his memory.
A sheen sheet of cold sweat covered his forehead, as he clearly remembered the VA mark etched on the wall of Durmstrang. The same mark on which he used a spell to drench it with his blood, in order to have access to Durmstrang's catacombs and the Crypt lying in the end.
He had done it several times, and always, his blood pooled around the center of the mark formed by the two superscribed Hallows symbols, one turned upside down, forming the shape of an eye in their center; an eye which turned all-black with the concentration of his blood, just before the wall split to allow him entrance to Durmstrang's catacombs.
He had been a fool to have never realized it before; of course it was on purpose that the VA mark also held the symbol of a Necromancer –however modified to fit the Vindico mark. Nothing regarding the VA was a coincidence; the spirits had planned for centuries every single detail.
Immediately, he understood, as if being struck by a ray of sudden clarity, that the Vindico was meant to be a Necromancer; that's why the spirits and Grindelwald expressed support on his idea of becoming one in order to save his father. Furthermore, that's why Grindelwald insisted that he should become one in order to be powerful enough to survive the VA test. And that's why he always saw himself as a full-fledged Necromancer in his dreams; his eyes all-black, his countenance cold, as he used a strange power to manipulate the souls of his enemies in the battlefield.
Strangely enough, the idea didn't scare or disgust him any longer… It felt inevitable, as if it were the logical progression after a sequence of events all driving him one step closer to becoming the VA… But he also realized that perhaps he felt so nonchalant about it because of where he was; because of the way the magic of the place seemed to be imbuing him with the relaxedness and detachment caused by the surging of his Necromantic powers inside him.
"Observe," said Loki sharply, pulling out the ring from the ground, staring straight ahead.
Orion was jostled out of his thoughts, and before him, as if it were a mirage slowly revealing itself to him, he saw small scaffoldings suspending in midair, crossing the abyss, leading towards something which hadn't been there previously.
They led to what seemed like a gigantic mountain turned upside down, with its crest going down into the abyss, with the splattering waterfalls at all sides. But the abyss wasn't empty anymore; there was a dense mass of smoldering lava filling it, surrounding the inverted mountain, casting swirls of smoke into the skies.
Orion inspected the sight with wide eyes. It defied all logic and law of nature; the blackened, rocky 'mountain' seemed to simply float amidst all the lava, surrounded by the masses of undulating ocean, while there were some scarce bushes and squalid trees rooted to its ground, having grown downwards, instead of upwards. The 'mountain' was the Guild, there was no doubt about it, and it seemed to have seven levels, each with a smaller circumference than the previous one, since the last level was the crest of the mountain, which sank into the lava-filled abyss.
"You won't be able to cross unless you're filled with your Necromatic powers," said Loki impatiently, scowling at him. "Do it and let's go."
Orion wrenched his gaze from the Guild, and briefly closed his eyes, swiftly calling forth his Necromantic powers, which easily rose and filled him, spurred further by the magic in the ambient in which he found himself.
He opened all-black glowing eyes, and instantly, he felt contently detached and aloof, though also buzzing with a potency of power he hadn't felt in a long time, since he rarely allowed his Necromantic powers to utterly take hold of him, always wary of what it might do to him. But now, he felt no concerns about it; he felt completely at ease, as if that was his true natural state of being.
"Good," said Loki briskly. "Now, follow me."
Swiftly, the boy turned around and took a step onto the first scaffolding, his long, black cloak flapping in the wind, and Orion followed immediately, feeling as if he was in a sort of peaceful trance.
With the liquid lava burbling under them, the grand, oceanic cascades surrounding them, and with a sky mottled with stars, the sun, the moon, and an aurora of striking colors, they reached the 'mountain' after stepping onto every scaffold widely spread and suspended in mid air.
Loki sunk his ring into a Necromancer's mark etched in the face of the inverted mountain they were standing before, and swiftly, a tunnel-like passage opened in front of them.
Orion followed the boy inside, his eyes observing everything as they entered deeper into the first and widest level of the Guild. The walls were made of rock and earth, and they were dimly illuminated with scarce torches here and there, while some drops of water rose from the floor and splat unto the ceiling, which made him observe them with fascinated curiosity.
The silence felt heavy and ominous, but Orion could hear eerie whispers breaking it, as if they were coming from far away. And his skin tingled as it was raised with goosebumps, feeling the same way he had felt around the Veil in the Department of Mysteries; entranced and transfixed by what waited in the beyond, his Necromantic and dark magic swirling animatedly inside him, imbuing and fueling him with power and a strange sense of belonging.
In the distance, he heard faint wails, whispers and howls, but they weren't human, they weren't of mortal beings; he knew that without a thought, for Loki had said that this was the center of the Cross of Planes. He still didn't know exactly what that meant, but he had a fair idea, given his long-held suspicions and theories.
Furthermore, from the periphery of his vision, he had seen strange shadows and whitish forms lurking around, never coming out in the open, yet trailing after them, unseen. And now that he was encompassed with his Necromantic powers, he could feel it too; he could feel the presence of things better left undisturbed, pressing on him.
They finally seemed to reach the center of the first level, and Loki once again pressed his ring into a Necromancer's mark etched on a rocky door. The door swiftly crackled and flung open, and Orion followed him inside, feeling detached and calm, though forcing himself to be alert and ready for anything.
And there, in the middle of the vast, circular chamber, he was confronted by a group of individuals who looked like grim specters. They were all covered from head to toes with black cloaks, their hoods shrouding their faces with shadows, only their glowing all-black eyes visible from within the darkness.
There was something eerie emanating from them, but he also felt a sort of strange belonging towards them, as if there were invisible ties linking them together.
Three of them took a step forward, and he could tell that one was a woman by the way the black cloak molded around a curvy figure. Without a doubt, they were the leaders of the Necromancers Guild, the three reigning Necro Masters.
Loki pressed his palms together, his hands pointing downwards, as he had done before, and reverentially bowed to them, as he said quietly, "I've brought Orion Black to you, as requested, Necro Master Njord."
Orion arched an eyebrow, glancing at him. If that was the way the boy addressed his father, it was clear that the Guild was run by a strict hierarchy. He had to be mindful of that, and deal with them carefully; after all, he needed them.
The central figure nodded and made the same salute with his hands as Loki had used, before he said in a raspy voice, hoarse due to lack of use, "Good, you can leave us now. Wait outside for Mr. Black, you'll need to take him back after our meeting is over."
"Yes, Necro Master," said Loki, respectfully bowing to them, before he briefly shot Orion an undecipherable glance and swiftly left the room.
Orion stood still and alert, gazing at them with all-black glowing eyes, expectantly; he wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, nor their mutual scrutiny of each other.
"Welcome to the Guild, Mr. Black," rasped out Necro Master Njord, his all-black eyes the only visible feature eerily glinting from within the darkness of his hood. He nodded towards his two equals in rank, and added quietly, "This is Necro Master Vresi and Necro Master Kreguil."
Orion nodded at them in greeting, noticing that they didn't make distinctions between gender, since the female Necromancer, Vresi, had been introduced as Necro Master – not Mistress.
It was quite telling about the way they regarded each other; not as men and women, but as individuals who were above considerations such as gender in their interaction, as if the lack of human contact had made that notion superfluous.
Though, he knew that Njord, at least, hadn't always been this way, given that Loki was his son. It was clear that the man had produced a son before undergoing the trials to become a Necromancer, and he had to be powerful if he had risen so quickly in the Guild's hierarchy, becoming a Necro Master in little more than a decade and a half.
"I trust you've found the Guild interesting, so far."
"I have," said Orion succinctly, intently observing him.
He caught sight of the Necro Master's left palm, seeing that there was a Necromancer's mark etched in the skin, as if done with black ink. And he realized that they must use their marks to enter the Guild and access its rooms, while Loki, not being a Necromancer yet, had to use a ring instead.
"You must be wondering why we wanted to see you," rasped out Necro Master Njord.
Orion smirked at him, purposely acting as if he held all the cards. "I have a fair idea why."
"Do enlighten us, then," said Necro Master Vresi, in a scraping sound which no longer held any trace of a woman's voice.
"Loki told you about the Necromancy test I underwent in Durmstrang," said Orion calmly, piercing his all-black glowing eyes into hers. "Our Headmaster Vagnarov modified some wards to allow Loki to tell you about it, since there are some wards in Durmstrang which prevent the students from disclosing certain information about me. It was done for my protection, because I'm… because Vagnarov felt it would be useful." He gazed back at Njord, and added quietly, "You know that during the test a Dementor appeared before me, when only a deceased relative was supposed to be summoned by me."
"Indeed," said Necro Master Njord, only a slight flexing of his hand revealing a hint of interest. "And do you know who the Dementor is?"
Orion pierced him with his eyes, scrutinizing him. "It's obvious to me that you already know. He was the first Necromancer to become a Dementor – he's the original Dementor."
"He's also the leader of the Dementors, Mr. Black," said Necro Master Njord, taking a silent step forward to be a little closer to him, his hoarse voice laced with a bare hint of excitement. "He's your ancestor. Do you know who he was before he became a Dementor?"
"I do," said Orion quietly, closely observing all of them. "And so do you, it seems. He was Cadmus Peverell."
A riffle of agitation rippled through the group of Necromancers, and Njord rasped out, "And do you know what he created? Do you have it with you?"
Orion narrowed his eyes at him, and said crisply, "Is the Resurrection Stone what you want?"
"Are you willing to hand it over to us in exchange?" countered Necro Master Vresi.
"No," said Orion bluntly, gazing at them with a hard glint in his eyes. "Never. The Stone is mine, rightfully so, given that I'm his last living descendant."
"But you want to save your father's soul, don't you?" interjected Njord, his all-black eyes piercing him. "We were told about that, as well."
"Yes, and I will need the Stone for it."
"You'll also need one of our Gates, Mr. Black," pointed out Necro Master Kreguil, speaking for the first time, his voice not as hoarse as the others. "All Necromancer's Gates are in our power, now."
Orion narrowed his eyes at him. "Indirectly, thanks to me, because I found one in the English Ministry of Magic, and Loki told you about it. And given that, you stole it back from them."
"Yes," said Necro Master Kreguil, with a hint of relish in his voice, "that we did." He bore his glowing all-black eyes into Orion's, and added unemotionally, "We are willing to allow you to use one of our Gates for your attempt to kill the High Dementor to rescue your father's soul, but you won't need the Resurrection Stone after that. It would be a fair trade if you would give it to us in return for our favor."
Orion snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do I look dumb to you? A fair exchange would be the Stone for one of your Gates, and even that isn't fair enough, since the Resurrection Stone is unique; there's only one of it, while Gates, there are several." He quirked a mocking eyebrow. "Tell me, would you give me a Gate in return?"
"No," said Necro Master Njord, his raspy voice curt.
"Precisely," snapped Orion, narrowing his eyes at him. "And I don't want one either. I only need to use a Gate once, nothing more. In your note, you said we would discuss matters of mutual benefit, it hasn't been the case so far; it's been nothing but a waste of my time if surrendering the Stone to you is your condition."
"There's only one other thing we would accept in exchange," said Njord, piercing him with his glowing eyes. "Only one other thing which interests us more – you."
"Me?" said Orion, blinking at him.
"Become one of us," said Necro Master Kreguil, "and you'll be able to use all the resources the Guild has to offer to its members."
Orion frowned at him. "What would that imply?"
"Undergoing the training here, in the Guild," replied Kreguil. "And passing the trials, after which, you would be a full-fledged Necromancer, part of the Guild."
"Why do you want me to become a Necromancer?" demanded Orion, intently scrutinizing them.
"Because there are very few of us," said Necro Master Njord, his raspy voice deadpan. "With each passing generation, the bloodlines with some Necromantic powers produce less and less children in whom the trait is strong enough to surface." He pierced him with his eyes, and added, "We want you to become a Necromancer because you carry the High One's blood in you; you're the only one who has a Dementor in his lineage."
"You are aware that I mean to kill him, aren't you?" interjected Orion sternly. "That's the only way in which I can rescue my father's soul, and thus, resurrect him."
"We know that," said Njord. "And if you agree to our new terms, we will teach you how to communicate with Him, but we won't help you in your attempt to kill Him. You'll have to do that before you're one of us, we don't want the Guild to be involved in the matter of killing a Dementor, if indeed, you succeed, and I must tell you that your chances are slight, at best, if not non-existent."
Orion's eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he took a step forward, getting closer to him. "What do you mean – communicate with him? Dementors don't speak, they don't-"
"They don't speak," interrupted Njord dispassionately, "but we do communicate with them." He pierced him with his eyes. "We are the only ones who can, and that's the service we provide, the only one we do to the outer world. That's where we get our financial resources from. How did you believe that the negotiations between the Dementors and some Ministries have been conducted?"
"You mean," said Orion, staring at him with marginally widening eyes, "that some Ministries, like the English, paid you to negotiate with the Dementors about their task of guarding a wizarding prison, like Azkaban? The Guild did that all those decades ago?"
"We did. And we are paid handsomely for a service only we have the ability to provide," replied Njord. "The Dementors depend on us to find them ways of satisfying their hunger beyond the souls they consume during the Ultimate Transcendences. We're their representatives in the mortal plane, if you will."
"But you've been helping Light Ministries, and you're dark wizards!" snapped Orion heatedly. Suddenly, he gazed at him with wide eyes, startled by a realization. "But no, not only them… Voldemort too! He hasn't any Necromantic abilities to speak of, yet he managed to enlist the Dementors to his side, giving them in return people to attack to feed from their souls!"
"Yes," said Necro Master Njord impassively. "We also provided our services to the Dark Lord."
Orion gritted his teeth together. "And the bastard never breathed a word about it to me!"
"He couldn't have," interjected Njord, piercing him with his eyes, "nor can the high Ministry officials to whom we provided our services. They're all made to undergo Unbreakable Vows to never reveal our existence to anyone. We value the secrecy of our existence. Very few, who aren't Necromancers, know about the Guild, and those who do, can never tell."
"Ah, alright," said Orion, assuaged, before he narrowed his eyes at them, angry. "So you've been assisting both sides. Why? You're dark wizards for Merlin's sake-"
"We're Necromancers," interrupted Kreguil, his detached voice carrying a hint of sharpness. "We do not care about the outer world, we don't have political views, we remain neutral and uninvolved –always."
"What do you care about, then?" snapped Orion, not understanding how it couldn't matter to them if the wizarding world was ravaged by wars, or if the Dark was defeated by the Light.
"Our aim is the study of the afterlife," replied Necro Master Njord serenely. "We dedicate our life to unravel the mysteries of how the planes work, of what happens in each one, of why they're produced, of how they interact. We care about the study of the soul, the way rebirth is determined, the soul's progress through all the stages until the Ultimate Transcendence. We care about the Balance between the planes-"
"Yes, that's all very interesting," interrupted Orion crisply, narrowing his eyes at him, "but you also care about there being more Necromancers after you. And you've admitted that few are being born with the ability, and you surely know that it's because the dark bloodlines are weakening! So how can you not care about what's going on right now between the Light and the Dark? You certainly realize that if the Dark is defeated, the number of Necromancers to be born in the future will decrease, since the Dark is the only side who cares about strengthening the bloodlines! If the Light won, the bloodlines would keep getting more muddled and weaker!"
"We are aware of that," said Njord impassively, "but we leave those matters to those who have the desire to get involved in the struggle for power." He pierced him with intent, glowing eyes, and added, "We are specialized in our own interests, as you are in yours. We could participate in the confrontation, but we're not warriors, we're scholars. If one of our Necromancers desired to use his abilities to help the Dark in the battlefield, we would allow it, but none of us do, and you can't understand why because you have no idea of how consuming and vastly gratifying our work here is. You can't grasp the vastness and profundity of knowledge each one of us acquires here. You're concerned about the struggles in the mortal plane, we aren't because we know that it's insignificant in the greater scope of existence."
"But you're affected by your diminishing numbers," insisted Orion gruffly, still not understanding their detached perspective of things.
"We are," said Njord calmly, "but we know that there're others trying to solve the problem. It would be disagreeable for us, but we would intervene, only if we saw that there was no one else doing it. But that isn't the case at present." His glowing eyes bore intently into his. "Currently, there's the Dark Lord, and also you, according to our information."
Orion deeply frowned at him. "But you want me to become one of you. I wouldn't be able to help the Dark if I was part of the Guild."
"As I said," retorted Njord, "our Necromancers are free to do what they want if they don't break our rules; if they don't reveal our existence or disrupt the Balance between the planes. After becoming one of us, if what we do here doesn't interest you enough to remain with us, then you'd be free to leave, and you could return to us later, if desired."
"There's something you're not telling me," said Orion, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. "I find your flexibility hard to believe. There's something else you want from me."
"The Resurrection Stone-"
"No," interrupted Orion sharply, "that's not it, because I already told you that I won't give it to you, and you easily offered to me the only other possibility in exchange for the use of a Gate; for me to become a full-fledged Necromancer. So why would you want that, if you know that I'm currently helping the Dark, and if that also works in your benefit?" He deeply frowned at them, his mind speeding. "You say you don't care about the tribulations of the mortal plane, yet you need to be rooted in this plane, or you would lose yourselves in the other planes during your explorations. And you need the dark bloodlines to produce more Necromancers, or your breed would die out, and all your accumulated knowledge would be useless if there weren't any more Necromancers to use it and expand it. You don't consider yourselves merely humans, but despite your best efforts, you have human needs. For instance, you have financial needs to keep this place running. It's impossible to permanently conjure or transform things, so you need to have capital to buy whatever you need; food, clothes, supplies for the summoning rituals… No, not even you are impervious to those considerations. And you need to remain unknown…"
He stepped closer to Njord, his face now inches away from the hooded one, and he breathed out, "That's what you want, isn't it? Someone who'll make sure that the plane in which you are inevitably rooted to doesn't come crushing down on your shoulders. Someone who will facilitate your existence by providing all the things you need to remain here isolated in your studies, without worrying what's going on out there. You want me to be one of you because you know that my main objective is to help the Dark, and if I'm part of the Guild, I'll want to protect it as well. You're counting on me to be your Necromancer out in the real world, making sure that no one finds out about the Guild, that you have financial means at your disposal, and that certain bloodlines are kept pure enough to yield more Necromancers. In short, you want me to preserve your way of life, because all of you are too enraptured by the other planes to bother doing it."
"That is, of course," said Necro Master Njord impassively, "what we would expect of you if you became one of us and then decided to leave the Guild."
Orion narrowed his eyes at him; that had been too simple, Njord's reply too casual.
"And how do you know that I wouldn't simply remain here with you, also more interested about the other planes than about the mortal one?"
"That would be your decision," said Necro Master Njord calmly. "I have no way of foreseeing what you would do, though I assure you that you would probably desire to remain here."
"Then, who would secure all those other things you want?"
"The Guild has always found a way to preserve itself," replied Necro Master Njord dismissively. "We don't need one of us in the outer world for it, but you'll be welcomed to do it if you chose so."
Orion sighed with exasperation, raking his fingers through his hair. There was something he wasn't seeing. It was clear to him, that if he became one of them, the Guild would allow him to go back to the real world, since it would benefit them as well. So they also had to gain something from him if he remained in the Guild. The Necro Masters were covering all their bases, depending on what he would decide to do; they expected to benefit no matter what his choice, of either staying or leaving, would be.
Then, suddenly, it hit him; that which distinguished him from them.
"This is about Cadmus," he snapped crisply, narrowing his eyes at the Necro Master. "You said you would teach me how to communicate with a Dementor, and that I would have to confront him before I became one of you, because you don't want the Guild to be involved in an attack against a Dementor, against their leader, no less! And that's because you've been helping the Dementors, and because they make sure that the Balance between the planes isn't disrupted, something you also want to preserve. So, no matter what I decide on doing after becoming one of you, you know that I will try to kill Cadmus beforehand. Yet, want it or not, the Guild will be involved in my attempt because you will be lending me one of your Gates. Cadmus will be aware of this the instant I use the Gate, and so will be the other Dementors when they perceive that their leader has been destroyed. But you're willing to let that happen, why? Why aren't you concerned about the Dementors' response?"
He paused, his thoughts rushing, before his eyes marginally widened, and he breathed out, "What are you planning – to oust them?! Have you become powerful and ambitious enough to want them gone, with only you to control the Balance? With only the Guild guarding the interaction between the planes? Is that truly possible?!"
A flicker of disturbance and agitation rushed through the congregated Necromancers, and Orion gazed at all of them with wide, unfocused eyes, his mind spinning with implications and wild theories, not quite able to keep up with his rampaging thoughts.
"Are you truly powerful enough?" he choked out, flabbergasted, perplexed. "Have you truly already accumulated all the knowledge necessary to understand the workings of the planes well enough to become their arbiters?" His gaze zeroed in on Njord, and he jerkily carded his fingers through his hair, as he said with a hitched voice, "This is all about a struggle for power. There's always a struggle for power, and there's no exception in your case… but – but what will you become?" He frantically shook his head. "Surely you don't want to become Dementor-like creatures only to have control over the planes! Surely you wouldn't-"
"We would remain as we are," said Necro Master Vresi, her raspy voice eerily calm and omniscient, as if she held the answers for all the mysteries of the universe.
Orion gaped at her, all measure of composure slipping away, as he tried to wrap his mind around what the Guild was planning on doing. "But for Merlin's sake, why do you want to do it?! Why do you want to get rid of them? For power? Don't get me wrong, I despise Dementors, but-"
"Tell us, then, why you despise them," interjected Necro Master Kreguil coolly.
Orion blinked at him, before he immediately replied, his voice hard, "Because no matter their role in the Ultimate Transcendence and how they guard the Balance, I don't think they have the right to consume souls in this plane. Because they shouldn't be allowed to Kiss wizards before they are dead, thus eventually consuming those souls until obliterating them. Because no soul should be destroyed, they should be allowed to go through the natural process in the spiritual plane, eventually going back to the Sources of Magic."
"Precisely," said Necro Master Njord, his glowing all-black eyes glinting with satisfaction, as his gaze measured up Orion with a hint of new-found respect and appraisal. "Dementors should have never existed; they are an aberration, a plague in this plane, derived from Necromancers who weren't strong enough to withstand the temptation that comes with our powers."
"Yes, yes," said Orion, jerkily nodding his head, "but they serve a purpose, they assist the force of Death when souls must be taken to the spiritual plane. They are the ones who, during the Ultimate Transcendence, consume souls in the spiritual plane, when the souls have gone through all their rebirths, to make them go into the Sources. Without Dementors, who would do all that?!"
"All that was done before Dementors came into existence," said Necro Master Njord calmly. "We merely want to fix it back to the way it was before Magic had to readjust the planes in order to fit a new type of being."
Orion fiercely rubbed his forehead, his mind spinning as he remembered what Morgana and Modred had casually mentioned once.
"But there were other beings who did that before the Dementors, and they were casted into another plane when Dementors appeared, as a way of fitting the Dementors to the new scheme of things." He looked up at Njord, adding, "Shadows, they were called."
The Necromancers before him stirred, and Necro Master Vresi said briskly, "And how do you know that?"
"That doesn't matter," said Orion, waving his hand dismissively, before he pierced them with his eyes, his voice turning sharp. "What I want to know is what you're planning on doing if you're successful. Who will take up the Dementors' duties? How will it work?"
"We still have to plan it further," replied Necro Master Kreguil, "but we're close to reaching a solution for that. Nevertheless, Magic always adjusts the planes and its own workings whenever a disruption occurs, and so will happen when Dementors cease to exist. We simply want to aid that transition."
"Magic," said Orion, frowning deeply. "To which Source are you referring? Which controls all this?"
"Which Source do you think controls the workings of Death?" said Necro Master Njord impassively.
"The Dark Source, obviously," said Orion, his frown getting deeper and deeper with each passing second. "But what about the rebirths? What about the creation and adjustment of planes?"
"It depends on the nature of the plane," replied Necro Master Vresi, her coarse voice curt but still aloof. "It depends on the soul to be reborn. There's no simple answer to your questions, the matter is very complex; it has taken the Guild centuries to unravel it. Furthermore, we've told you much more than we had intended to; only a member of the Guild has the right to learn this from us. You'll understand if we demand a Vow from you to never say anything of what you've learned here, to anyone."
Orion nodded in acceptance; he perfectly understood it, and he had no intentions of telling anyone, anyway.
Moreover, he knew that he could find a way to be free from the Vow; he knew this with the same certainty he knew that Voldemort could have broken the Vow he had made to the Guild after accepting their services, if the wizard had gained anything by doing so. If Voldemort was powerful enough to break whatever magical vows he wanted, as the wizard had proved countless times, then he was certainly also able to do it, if he ever needed to study the matter to find a way.
What mattered to him was that the problem between the Sources was much more complicated than blood, and he understood why the spirits and Grindelwald wanted him to become a Necromancer. Only a Necromancer could learn what each Source was responsible for, in the matter of the planes, and that was something to which he had to give serious consideration before attempting to meddle with the balance between the Sources.
Yet, both the spirits and Grindelwald believed that the best alternative was for the Dark Source to be the only remaining one; that was better than leaving the Light Source or the Neutral Magic as the dominant one. Not to mention the possible annihilation of the Sources if there was no buffering Neutral Magic to keep them apart in the short-run, or the extinction of both Sources if they kept weakening due to the muddling of the bloodlines with muggle and muggleborn blood…
But neither Grindelwald nor the spirits were Necromancers, so perhaps they didn't know everything that was in play regarding the Sources and their role in the workings of the planes and souls…
Orion fiercely rubbed his forehead. It was a mess, all of it was a convoluted mess, and he could barely think straight with all the issues which had to be considered. He felt the problem pressing in on him; knowing that he lacked the knowledge necessary to solve the matter.
No, nothing was a coincidence, not the spirits' encouragement for him to become a Necromancer, nor the way the VA symbol, in the midst of all its geometric forms, craftily hid a Necromancer's mark.
He snapped out of it - still being infused with his Necromantic powers helping him to swiftly clear his mind in a detached sort of way- and he glanced at Njord.
"Alright," he said curtly, "you want to dispose of the Dementors, and Merlin knows that I'm all up for it, but you also want to occupy the vacuum of power that they'll leave behind when they cease to exist-"
"It's not about power," interrupted Necro Master Njord, his deadpan voice holding a trace of sternness, "it's about bettering the way the planes work, about not allowing souls to be consumed before their time, as Dementors cause when they Kiss someone-"
"Yes, yes," snapped Orion, piercing him with his eyes, "that may be your main reason, but I'm not fooled about how much you'll gain if you're successful. You'll be the ones controlling the game! In the 'outer world', as you call it, wizarding kind is split into Dark and Light, each trying be the ones in control of the wizarding world, which is only a part of the mortal plane. And here you are, trying to be the ones in control of all the planes!" He frantically shook his head, agitated. "Such a coup! And the wizarding world none the wiser. I must congratulate you-"
"We don't want to do it for ourselves," said Necro Master Vresi, her glowing all-black eyes holding a bare hint of anger. "We don't yearn for power, Mr. Black, we yearn for the smooth workings of the planes and the fair management of souls. At present, the Dementors are the disruption, and they have been for far too long."
Orion studied her carefully for a long time. She was being sincere, and glancing at the others, he realized that so were they. They had said it themselves, they were scholars, yet…
"How do you know that you won't become corrupted by the power you'll wield?" he said, shaking his head. "After all, Dementors came from Necromancers! How do you know that some of you won't be too tempted, that some of you won't degenerate into something like them again?!"
"We are fully prepared to deal with those cases with a firm, unforgiving hand," replied Necro Master Kreguil calmly. "If one of us deviates, he will be swiftly killed by the rest of us."
Orion gazed at them, they were serious, they were fully committed, they had probably planned every single detail for decades. And by Merlin that he understood them; he had always wondered why nobody was doing anything about the liberty Dementors had in consuming souls from live wizards. The option they offered was at least better than the current state of things, even if something didn't work as smoothly as they thought…
"Furthermore," interjected Necro Master Njord, "our reason to offer you to become one of us, in exchange for the use of one of our Gates, is because we recognize the value you could have for us. By becoming a Necromancer, you'd be included in our plans, you'd be able to join us in what we want to do. After all, you're in the same mind as we are regarding Dementors."
Abruptly, Orion was thrown back to the point of the whole meeting, and something finally clicking in his mind.
"Yes," he said crisply, narrowing his eyes at them, "that's why you wanted the Resurrection Stone, to use it against them. But that's not all, is it? No Necromancer has ever killed a Dementor, and you know I will try it." His eyes narrowed to slits, and he snapped, "You want to see if I'm successful, since, after all, I am Cadmus' descendant, and that greatly interested you. You're offering one of your Gates because you want to see if I can use it, and the Resurrection Stone, to truly kill a Dementor. If I fail, you lose little; I'll simply be Kissed, and you can find a way of washing your hands from the affair by saying that I wasn't one of you. So perhaps the Dementors won't turn against you. And if I succeed, you will know how a Dementor can be killed, and you will use that knowledge to dispose of every one of them. In short, I'm doing all the bloody work for you! And you think this is a fair deal for me?"
"We are offering to teach you how to communicate with a Dementor," said Necro Master Njord, his raspy voice curt, "and that will be useful in your attempt. And we are offering you the use of one of our Gates, without which, you would certainly fail. All we ask in return is for you to become one of us, for you to undergo the training and the trials. Quite frankly, that interests us much more than the Resurrection Stone. The Stone is unique and it magnifies a Necromancer's power, but by uniting our powers we can do that ourselves without the need of any magical object. We're more interested in you becoming a full-fledged Necromancer, in you becoming part of the Guild; this has been what we truly wanted from the start. And this shouldn't even be considered as payment for our favor of lending you a Gate, given that, during the training, you would have access to all the knowledge the Guild has arduously accumulated for centuries."
Njord waved a hand, the first obvious sign of impatience Orion had seen from him. "We would be teaching you everything! All those questions which are bubbling in your mind, all those answers which you're evidently seeking, and which you'll find no where else but here! You should consider it an honor, and it has only been extended to you because of the Necromantic power we feel in you, which we don't want to see go to waste. We can't afford it; we're very precious few. Yes, our offer is partly because you're the High Dementor's descendant, and thus, his blood makes you powerful in Necromancy, and because you're willing to try to kill a Dementor, facilitating matters for us by allowing us to observe the attempt. We can't get involved, we can't help you, because we don't want the Dementors turning against us before we're ready; you surely understand our reason for it. Nevertheless, once you're one of us, you would count with our help in anything you need. The Guild always protects and helps its own, no matter if they stay here or not. And you would have the liberty to do whatever you wished, including helping us with our plan, seeing with your own eyes that we aren't doing it to gather power for selfish reasons, but noble ones!" He pierced Orion with his glowing, all-black eyes, and added, "We only offer our training once, to those we deem worthy, and it's time to decide, Mr. Black - Do you accept?"
Orion clenched his jaw, and said quietly, "For how long would I need to stay here? How long is the training?"
"Two years."
Orion curtly shook his head. "There's no way I can disappear from the wizarding world for two years. There will be a war going on, and I must be involved."
"Ah, I meant two years for us," said Necro Master Njord, his voice laced with a hint of smugness, "not for the outside world. Time flows differently here. We're in the center of the Cross of Planes, Mr. Black, time breaks all the laws it obeys on the outside. Here, the way time behaves depends on the level of the Guild in which you find yourself."
Orion frowned at him, realizing how Loki had been able to advance so quickly in his training, but still not understanding. "How's that possible-"
"You'll only be told when, and if, you undergo the training," interrupted Necro Master Njord.
"Then, how long does the training last, measured from the outside, if I want to do it in the least amount of time?"
"Two months for the outside world."
Orion gazed at him, his mind speeding a thousand thoughts per second, and he said curtly, "The deal is the use of the Gate and the learning of the way you communicate with Dementors in exchange for undergoing the training and the trials to become one of you?"
"Yes."
He eyed them critically, not thrilled about becoming the detached beings he saw. Surely, they held much more knowledge than he did, knowledge only available here. On the other hand, he didn't want to become what they were; aloof beings who didn't experience the warmth and pleasure of human contact, isolated from the outer world, only concerned about the other planes instead of the one they were rooted in, with no interests other than learning as much as they could about souls and planes…
His jaw tightened. At first, he had considered becoming a Necromancer as a way of controlling the inexorable pull of his dark magic, in order to remain sane, but that was when he was considering not attempting to become the VA.
He had already made his choice on that matter; he had resolutely decided to try to become the Vindico, so he didn't have to be concerned about the pull, since he intended to give into it. And if he failed he wouldn't go insane, he would simply die during the VA test. Given his resolve to become the VA, now his reasons to become a Necromancer were others, but they seemed much more pressing and important than before.
First, if he didn't agree to the deal with the Guild, they wouldn't allow him the use of a Gate. They had all of the Gates in their power, and he knew that without one he wouldn't stand a chance against Cadmus. That meant that if he didn't agree, he wouldn't be able to rescue his father's soul, and that was something he wasn't willing to forego.
At present, his father's circumstances were worse than death, since centuries from now, Cadmus would eventually consume all of his father's soul; meaning that his father's soul would never be reborn. That was something he couldn't allow; he wouldn't be able to live in peace knowing what was happening to his father's soul in the meanwhile.
He would attempt to have his father back, whatever it took; he had always known that.
Second, it was clear to him that the solution to the problem between the Sources had entered a new complicated dimension. The spirits and Grindelwald had encouraged him to become a Necromancer, and now he fully knew why.
The Vindico had to be a Necromancer, someone with the knowledge of what the Sources were responsible for, besides the whole issue of magical blood and powers.
And he had to admit to himself that he wanted to know all what the Necromancers of the Guild did. The knowledge they held was riveting, his mind couldn't help hungering for it.
It would provide him with so many answers; he would finally know if he was right in suspecting what was in those other planes besides the mortal and spiritual one, he would finally know if there was a rule regarding souls and the type of magical baby they were reborn into, he would finally know if Voldemort had reason to create horcruxes in the fear that, otherwise, his soul could have been reborn into a muggleborn or muggle, his dark magic gone.
Third, he wanted to kill the spirits. He would need to get from them information regarding the VA test and what to do with the Hallows, and he could only do that if he was a full-fledged Necromancer.
He realized that he could get the information regarding the whereabouts of the Archive, and how to access it, from Roman Komorov, since the wizard was the new leader of the Aux Atrum. Regardless, to kill the spirits he had to be a Necromancer.
Finally, he had to admit that there was a deep yearning inside him to fully master all his abilities. A desire which only grew stronger after every lesson with Grindelwald, where he was discovering how much more he could do with the power within him. It was a yearning which seared through him every time he woke up from his dreams, every single night, as he panted, feeling a wave of animated dark magic encompassing him.
It was the yearning to become all what he could be; regarding both his dark magic and his Necromantic powers. He wanted to see the extent of what he could do with them. He wanted to use them in battle. He wanted to be powerful enough to become the VA.
And as Grindelwald had warned him, if he wanted to spare Voldemort, he would need to gather power by other means, and becoming a Necromancer was a way, the only one he knew of.
But now, it went beyond sparing Voldemort; he wanted it for himself.
All his reasons were powerful ones, so much that he almost opened his mouth to agree and finally conclude the deal. But he saw them there, so detached, so dehumanized, and he snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head.
Orion glanced up at Njord, refusing to believe that there couldn't be a way around it, his mind thinking fast.
"How did you become like this?" he said, with no pretense of tactfulness; they knew perfectly well what they had given up and what they had become. "Is there some point during the training which marks a difference? Which changes you?"
Necro Master Njord pierced him with his all-black glowing eyes, and Orion could imagine a frown on his obscured face when he said, "The training involves interaction with the planes, that always starts to slowly change you-"
"I know, I meant a crucial change," insisted Orion, intently regarding him.
"I suppose you could consider the trials as the moment in which you're irrevocably changed, if you pass them."
Orion nodded pensively, before he said curtly, "Then I'll agree to your terms, if you grant me the possibility of refusing to undergo the trials."
"No, that's not possible," said Necro Master Njord, shaking his hooded head. "The trials are what finally turns you into a full-fledged Necromancer, into one of us."
"Exactly," interjected Orion, "and I don't want to commit to become one of you. I want to have the option open-"
"Then what would we be gaining with this deal?" interrupted Necro Master Vresi, her hoarse voice curt.
"I will still attempt to kill Cadmus," replied Orion sharply. "If I'm successful, I would have shown you a way of disposing of the other Dementors, not to mention that I would have already killed their leader for you. And I'm not saying that I won't consider undergoing the trials, perhaps I will. Regardless, whether I undergo the trials or not, I will still follow through all the training, because I want to strengthen my Necromantic powers, and I want to learn all I can from you. Moreover, I'll consider that I owe the Guild protection, and I'll act accordingly once I'm back in the outer world; I'll be able to supply you with all those things you need." He pierced them with his eyes, and added sternly, "Whether I undergo the trials or not, you still benefit. I also want the freedom to decide when to start the training, and I expect to have access to a Gate when I'm ready to use it to kill Cadmus. I won't budge from any of my conditions. This is a one-time offer as well, and I also want your answer now."
The Necromancers imperceptibly stirred, and Orion saw them briefly glancing into each other's eyes.
And his eyebrows shot upwards when he finally understood why their voices were raspy and hoarse due to the lack of use; they didn't speak with each other, they seemed to be communicating mind-to-mind.
Furthermore, he remembered the way Loki had snapped his head around as if listening to someone when they had been on the outside... So they didn't need eye-to-eye contact, and they could do it over distances.
It was clear that they used Legilimency and Occlumency, though not in a way he had seen before, and the unity amongst them had to be strong indeed if they could use that kind of magic so easily between them.
"Very well," said Necro Master Njord, piercing him with his glowing, all-black eyes, "but we ask that you let us study the Resurrection Stone in exchange for your new conditions. You're free to keep it, but you must allow us to study it."
"I agree if you share your research with me," interjected Orion curtly, "and if you study it when I'm here, since I'll take it with me every time I leave this place."
"Agreed," said Necro Master Njord instantly, his raspy voice sounding satisfied. "When should we expect to see you again?"
"To learn how you communicate with Dementors, and to use the Gate, in a few months," replied Orion pensively. "For the training, I'm not certain, but I'll let Loki know, so that he'll inform you in advance. I'll bring you the Stone then, when I start my training."
Necro Master Njord nodded, and he briefly glanced at Vresi, who swiftly swished one of her hands through the air, a piece of parchment instantly materializing in front of her, before she grasped it as it started to fly downwards.
The three Necro Master came together, Kreguil wandlessly conjuring a blade and slashing it across each of their fingertips, before each conjured a quill to sign their names with their own blood.
"We require that you sign this magical contract in blood," said Necro Master Vresi, approaching Orion. "It simply states all the conditions of our agreement, and we won't demand a Vow from you to keep silent about what you've learned here, since it's already included in the contract. This magical contract will be the bond between us, unbreakable, and it will only become obsolete if you decide to undergo the trials to become a full-fledged Necromancer, and thus, part of the Guild."
Orion nodded, grabbing the parchment she was offering to him, and his eyes carefully read each word. It was exactly what they had agreed on; no hidden trap, no covert manipulation or loophole, anywhere.
He had to recognize that whatever Vagnarov had said about them, they were fair and honest. Surely, they hadn't disclosed their real motives and plans in the beginning, and indeed there was much more to them than they appeared, but he appreciated the sincerity they had shown in the end, in the way they had openly discussed matters. Moreover, he could sense in them a real desire to set things right regarding the Dementors.
Nevertheless, he wasn't one to trust easily, not after the tough lessons he had learned through his experiences with the spirits and Voldemort; since however much he defended his spouse in front of Grindelwald, and however much he wanted to believe his own words, he knew that Voldemort would always keep him on his toes.
And now, for instance, he had to thank Voldemort for it, since he had become used to the need of thinking fast in sticky situations. His conditions had been accepted by the Guild in exchange for allowing them to study the Resurrection Stone. And that wasn't really a concession on his part, given that Cadmus' journal described in detail how he had produced the Stone, and how to use it. Those passages had been revealed to him after what the spirits had called his bonding with the journal; after empathizing with Cadmus whilst reading it.
Therefore, no matter what the Guild learned from the Stone, he would always know more than them about it thanks to Cadmus' journal. And if the Guild ever decided to create a Resurrection Stone for their own purposes, he would know how to destroy it.
Grindelwald did have a very valid point when saying that knowledge was better kept to oneself, not shared. The Guild was unaware of many things regarding the Resurrection Stone, but foremost regarding him, and he would do his best to keep it that way while also learning as much as he could from them.
Orion waved a hand, wandlessly conjuring a small blade and a quill. He slashed his fingertip with the blade, allowing his blood to drop unto the foot of the parchment, before he vanished the blade and took the quill in his hand.
He dipped the quill's point into the blood, and neatly signed his name underneath theirs; the dark red letters briefly glowing brightly, before the parchment rolled itself and abruptly disappeared from sight.
It was done, with his signature he had committed himself to the training, and all what it would imply, with the distinct possibility of becoming one of them.
Orion glanced up at the row of specter-like Necromancers, his glowing all-black eyes staring into theirs, so similar to his that he felt an eerie sense of belonging.
And what he saw reflecting back from their eyes was nothing short of respect and welcoming. It wasn't evident or blatant, but their eyes did hold a small hint of it, as if it were inevitably surfacing from underneath an unemotional thickness of detachment. What was more, he could feel it, even now, as if it was something they were unconsciously projecting into him.
Unexpectedly enough, he didn't feel as if he had just signed a pact with the Devil, as he thought he would have felt before, when he was plagued with doubts about his path, when he was feeling trapped in his choices.
Rather, he felt as if he had just taken not only one step further, but a leap in his path; feeling a strange, blazing certainty that this had always been meant to happen.
