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.
Chapter 27
Orion hadn't even paused when he saw a new stone coffin -which undoubtedly contained Vagnarov's ashes- in one of the niches along the walls of the sinewy corridors of Durmstrang's Catacombs. Loudly panting, physically tired and increasingly ill, he stumbled his way through as fast as his wobbly legs allowed him to, until he casted a cushioning charm on himself and jumped into the opening which led to the Crypt.
With an echoing splash, Orion's feet landed on the liquid-covered stone floors, and his gaze immediately zeroed in on the ice-like pillars before him. Shimmering in a pale blue light, like a glacier sprouting from the stone floors, the Spirits' bodies were contained in two pillars. Floating in the midst of glowing, swirling liquid, dark magic humming around them, their bodies aged and wrinkled beyond recognition, yet still 'alive' by magical means, in order to anchor the Spirits to the mortal plane.
Suddenly, he felt a headache, a strange, relentless pounding in his head… but, it wasn't strange at all. Orion groaned and gently massaged his aching temples. It was Voldemort, who had undoubtedly opened their connection from his end, and was pushing through it; surely wanting him to lower his Occlumency shields a bit so that they could communicate. Well, not bloody likely. At least not at present. Indeed, even his scar was starting to prickle painfully – Voldemort was getting impatient. But he simply made sure that his mind shields were fully raised, as always.
And as he reached the ice-like pillars, Orion's hand twitched and he swiftly aimed his wand at it.
"Have you come here to dispose of us?" said a jeering voice, snorting. "Now that you've become more powerful after killing Grindelwald, you think you don't need us anymore?"
Not at all startled, Orion slowly turned around to eye Mordred, who was floating a few feet away from him, a nastily satisfied expression spreading on his ethereal face as the spirit's gaze roved over him. In the next second, Morgana shimmered into existence before him, and she silently inspected him, a content glint sparkling in her ghostly eyes.
Orion gazed back at them in silence. He did not feel the way he had so often felt before, when confronting them; angered and burning to get to the bottom of a mystery. He was already quite sure that he knew what had happened and why. And he simply thought that the task of having his suspicions confirmed had to be completed before he could move a little further along the dark and winding path stretching ahead of him, the path that he and Grindelwald had set out upon together, and which he now knew he would have to journey alone.
"I don't need you for anything," he said at last, flatly. "Gellert told me what I needed to know, before I killed him." He shot them a nasty smile. "And I could easily force you to go into the spiritual plane if I destroyed your bodies. Or I could obliterate your spirits directly, by using Necromancy, and thus truly kill you. Do you think I wouldn't do it?" He let out a harsh chuckle. "I've been waiting for this moment for a very long while."
Mordred laughed, the sound coming off as vicious and snide, before he narrowed his ghostly eyes at him. "So the old man finally told you that you were his grandson, and you think you have everything figured out?" His eyes narrowed to slits, and he spat, "You know nothing! Perhaps you have your hypothesis of how it was accomplished, but you're completely ignorant regarding-"
"I know that my mother was Gellert's daughter!" bit out Orion, his fingers tightening around his wand. "Gellert told me that I had his mother's eyes, Antigone's eyes, just like my mother's. That's why he told me about his mother, so that I could piece it all together. All your manipulations have been centered around the Peverell brothers. All those crosses between bloodlines were for the sole purpose of producing someone who had in him the blood of all three of them! Cadmus' from my Black bloodline, Ignotus' through the Potter bloodline - because surely you've realized at some point that I have that blood in me, haven't you?" He narrowed his eyes at them, and added without a pause, "And Antioch's through my mum, am I right?"
"Yes," said Morgana calmly, her phantasmagorical lips stretching into a small smile. "Inadvertently, Lily ended up doing what we wanted her to do; to join her bloodline with the Potter one. In the end, your mother couldn't struggle against the compulsion mind web casted on her by Horace Slughorn. Though she was carrying the child of Sirius Black, she married James Potter, and James adopted you by means of a magical blood ritual. The latter became evident to us, not very long ago. We didn't expect that the crosses of the three bloodlines would happen so early. But, nonetheless, despite that you came before the time planned, you are, indeed, what we've been waiting for-"
"Spare me your self-congratulatory platitudes," snapped Orion angrily, still gazing at them through narrowed eyes. "I know now that I'm the result of having crossed the Peverell bloodlines through the ages, added to other powerful and important bloodlines - like Slytherin's, when Ignotus' descendants married with his, or like the Black's, when you made Cadmus marry Ursula in order to have Sextus. And all this time, my mother was Antioch's descendant, because Grindelwald's mother was as well. Antigone, the last, unknown descendant of Antioch Peverell, correct?"
Morgana's smile widened, and she gazed at him fondly while she nodded.
Orion jerkily carded his fingers through his hair, wand still aimed at them, and he chuckled harshly under his breath. "I should have realized it before now - that you wouldn't allow one of the Peverell brothers to die childless. Oh, the Tale of the Three Brothers says that Antioch was killed before he married anyone, but he surely had a bastard child with someone – you made sure of that!" He eyes glinted with fury, and he bit out snidely, "You didn't want to lose the magical power carried in the blood of your precious Peverells, did you? So through all your centuries, you've worked and manipulated minds, ensuring that bloodlines crossed as you saw fit, all to produce someone who is the direct descendant of the three of them."
He nastily grinned at them, and added sharply, "Now that I finally know this, what do I need you for?"
"Who can herald you as the Vindico Atrum, if not us?" snarled Mordred, floating forwards to be inches away from him.
Orion scoffed, and said crisply, "I can manage that on my own-"
"Who will tell you," interjected Mordred angrily, shooting him a snide glance, "how to use the Hallows in order to undergo the Vindico test?"
Leveling the spirit with a loathing gaze, Orion clenched his jaw, remaining silent.
"Put that away, my child," said Morgana quietly, pointedly glancing at his wand, "and let us tell you what you came here to discover-"
"Oh, I know how it was done!" snapped Orion heatedly, furiously gazing at her. "Grindelwald was Antioch's descendant, you didn't want to lose that bloodline so you made him have a child with some witch. He was locked up in Nurmengard, and before my Elite and I broke him out, there had only been one previous attempt – Dietrich Emmerich's! You used that wizard, probably making one of the Aux implant the idea in his mind, and he-"
"There was no need to implant anything in Emmerich's mind," cut in Mordred, a devious twist curling his lips. "The wizard was more than willing to rescue his 'Gebeiter', his beloved Lord. Surely, he didn't know that the purpose of the endeavor was not to break out Grindelwald but to slip someone inside his cell. Nevertheless, Emmerich played into our hands and he organized and led the whole thing for us."
Bristling, Orion bit out incensed, "Many dark wizards died in that attempt, Mordred. Emmerich blamed himself for failing, and because of it, he thought it was his duty to sacrifice his life when I started breaking the wards around Gellert's cell-"
"All of those who died, did it willingly, knowing beforehand the danger involved in the attempt," interjected Mordred sharply. "And the only death which was a real loss, was that of one of Grindelwald's Hauptkommandanten. He was an Aux, our spy in Grindelwald's ranks, the only one from the party who knew the real purpose behind Emmerich's attempt to break out his Lord. He was the wizard who was trusted by us, and who succeeded in executing our plans. He was the one who imperioed the woman, who cast glamours on her so that none of the others would know who she was, and he was the one who managed to temporarily disable the wards around Grindelwald's cell so that the woman could be thrown inside, and do as commanded. Once she was impregnated, he was the one who safely took her back to her home. Regrettably, he died from the wounds inflicted on him during the incursion-"
"She was under the Imperius Curse?" hissed out Orion furiously. "Then she was practically raped-"
Mordred let out a bout of loud, sniggering laughter. "Raped? The one who surely considered to have been violated was Grindelwald himself! Do you think he took pleasure in bedding a woman?" He shot him a nasty smirk. "Surely you were aware of his… 'inclinations'. Indeed, we had some trouble convincing him to do his duty. Nevertheless, Grindelwald knew that it was imperative for his bloodline to continue, and he did as he was told, in that regard."
"Fine," snapped Orion crisply, narrowing his eyes at him. "Who was the witch then?"
"Who said anything about a 'witch'?" interjected Mordred, his smirk widening. "I said woman, not witch."
A frown spread over Orion's face, and he demanded sharply, "What do you mean? It's clear that my mother wasn't a muggleborn. She had to have been adopted by the Evans, after the woman that Grindelwald was forced to bed gave birth to her-"
"Your mother was a half-blood, yet, in many ways, still a muggleborn, given her upbringing," interrupted Morgana calmly, piercing him with her phantasmagoric, large eyes. "She was not adopted. Rose Evans, your muggle grandmother, was the one we chose to bear Grindelwald's child. She was the one who was kidnapped after leaving her work, who was imperioed, taken to Nurmengard and slipped in and out of Grindelwald's cell, whilst Emmerich and the others fought against the prison guards. Slipping someone in and out from the cell wasn't impossible, as you already know, since a portkey took you there once. Obviously, taking Grindelwald out was something the wards would never allow to happen, if there wasn't someone breaking the wards from the outside, with the same powers as Grindelwald's and with the use of a life sacrifice willingly given up out of love - what you and Emmerich respectively managed to do, and precisely what Dumbledore never thought that would be done for someone like Grindelwald. Therefore, since his task was much simpler and undoubtedly unexpected by Dumbledore when casting the wards, the Aux we sent with Emmerich's group succeeded. And Mrs. Rose Evans was obliviated and left on the stairs of the home she shared with her husband and her little daughter – the one you once called Aunt Petunia."
"I don't believe it," said Orion crisply, leveling her with a hard gaze. "Why would you choose a muggle woman to carry Grindelwald's offspring?" He frowned musingly, and added bitingly, "Rose Evans had to be more than a mere muggle. Oh, I don't doubt that she was magicless, that she mostly had muggle blood in her, since I know that one of the reasons why you wanted my mother to have James Potter's child was so that her muggle blood would weaken the light magic in the Potter line. I also see now, that since my mother also carried dark magic -through Grindelwald's and thus Antioch's line- she was also infusing the Potter line with dark blood, strengthening what it had from Ignotus'."
"You are quite right," interjected Mordred, superiorly smirking at him. "We didn't simply choose any muggle woman we came across. Mrs. Rose Evans had an ancestor, the only one with magic, who had been a powerful, dark wizard who… amused himself by bedding anything female and beautiful." He quirked an eyebrow, and added pointedly, "Doesn't it ring a bell? After all, light wizard historians love to mention that it was rumored that this wizard was an infamous womanizer, whose blood purity convictions didn't apply when choosing something as unimportant as bed partners."
"The rumors…" breathed out Orion, staring at the Spirits with wide eyes. "Light wizard historians wrote about that to discredit Salazar Slytherin! You expect me to believe that it's true? That Salazar bedded muggle women and had bastard children with them?!"
"He only bedded one muggle woman, of extraordinary beauty, who lived in a nearby muggle town," said Morgana tranquilly, wearing an expression of infinite patience. "When it came to satisfying his lust for carnal pleasure, Slytherin's high standards for his lovers only demanded beauty and a pleasing and willing disposition. His wife had already given him the pureblooded heir he needed and wanted, thus, he was free to do what he liked."
Her whitish lips stretched into an amused smile. "And, given that the witch he had always loved and coveted, Rowena Ravenclaw, wasn't remotely interested in him or any other male, he took pleasure in countless of other witches, and more importantly to the issue-at-hand, in one muggle woman-"
"What you're telling me is that my muggle grandmother came from the line of Slytherin's bastard child with the muggle woman?" murmured Orion faintly, flicking his wand to conjure an armchair, plopping down on it as he felt his knees wobbling and a rush of pain thundering throughout his body.
He slowly shook his head, groaning as the aches intensified, and he tightly wrapped an arm around his midriff, before he glanced up at them, and breathed out, "Say, for the sake of argument, that I believe it. Then you chose Rose Evans because, even though she was a muggle, she had a bit of magical blood in her…but…" He frowned, and added musingly, "Why didn't you simply choose a witch? A pureblooded one-"
"Are you daft?" interrupted Mordred sharply, staring at him with an impatient scowl on his ghostly face. "You've said it yourself, we needed someone with muggle blood, so that Grindelwald's half-blood child could be crossed with the Potter line, thus, weakening it's light magic with the injection of muggle blood, and also fortifying the dark magic that lingered in that line from Ignotus, by injecting into it the blood from Antioch's line. It was the perfect mix. Your mother was the perfect creation, and tool, for our aim to strengthen the Potter bloodline. Moreover, we didn't want anyone to suspect who she really was, that's why we left her to be brought up by those muggles, the Evans, who never discovered the truth of what had happened to Rose."
The spirit widely smirked at him. "Everyone always believed that your mother was simply a mudblood, inexplicably powerful for someone of that kind, but she unwittingly played her part to perfection. Enrolled in Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's watchful eye, becoming a Gryffindor –of all things!- thanks to how her upbringing molded her personality, and then becoming the wife of James Potter! By all accounts, she was nothing but a mudblood who had been schooled to be a nice, tolerant light witch! And in the meanwhile, nobody ever suspected who she really was. Don't you see the genius of it?"
"Dumbledore must have sensed it," interjected Orion sharply, slowly shaking his head. "How could he not? If Lily was Grindelwald's daughter, and also had some Slytherin blood in her, then her magic had to be dark! Dumbledore must have-"
"There are very few wizards who have the power to directly sense the type of magic contained inside someone's magical core," interrupted Morgana calmly, "but I agree that Albus Dumbledore could be one of them. Nevertheless, you of all people should realize what happened. Lily Evans never found out who her real father was, she was brought up as a muggle, schooled as a light witch, and thus, she never had a reason to become fully aware of the type of magic she carried - partly neutral due to her muggle blood but also partly dark. You very well know that the first years in the life of a magical child are crucial for the development of his or her magic. Your very own father never developed his dark magic as much as he could because he resented it, because he didn't want to be a dark wizard. Thus, he's much less powerful than he could have been. The same happened to Tom Riddle himself."
She floated to be in front of him, and pierced him with her eyes, as she continued pointedly, "Tom Riddle became powerful because he discovered his true Gaunt, and therefore Slytherin, ancestry. Thus, he knew he was dark and he worked hard to develop his magic. However, he never became aware of the unique, raw dark magic contained in his inner magical core. We didn't want him to. That's why it's so weak in him, that's why he never developed it, and thus, why he isn't capable of detecting or using it. Nevertheless, once you absorb it, it will thrive in you, since it would be joined with your own, highly developed raw dark magic." She waved a hand dismissively, and added quietly, "But you know this already, my child. My point is that the first step to develop one's magic, is one's awareness of it. Lily Evans never had that, and she grew up believing she was merely a muggleborn turned light witch. Indeed, it could have been your case as well."
She arched an eyebrow, and added rhetorically, "Do you think that you would have ever discovered and developed your unique dark magic if you hadn't found out that you were a Black by birth and not a Potter, and thus truly a dark wizard? And if you hadn't attended this Institute? Furthermore, do you think that Dumbledore would have allowed you to become aware of your dark magic, and develop it, if you had attended Hogwarts?"
"No, I don't think I would have. You're right," murmured Orion, sighing as he rubbed his pounding and aching forehead. "I remember how it was when I first discovered my raw dark magic. I understand what you're saying, but…" He frowned and glanced up at her. "But I believe that Dumbledore must have realized my mother's true parentage at some point. He even hinted in numerous occasions that I reminded him of Gellert. He knows that I'm Gellert's grandson, Morgana. So he must have known about my mother-"
"He does," interjected Morgana coolly. "Lily had a striking resemblance to Antigone Grindelwald, in beauty and in their features, foremost due to their eyes, though she certainly was nothing like Antigone in personality. Albus Dumbledore must have probably come upon a wizarding picture of Antigone, or some such thing. He has known for many years, I believe. Maybe he even knew during your mother's years at Hogwarts."
She shot him a large, wicked smile. "And I'm sure that he was very pleased when she proved to be a Gryffindor light witch through and through, and when she married James Potter, an upstanding light wizard in the eyes of many. Indeed, Albus Dumbledore must have felt redeemed in how Grindelwald's child turned out. And that's exactly what we wanted all along; secrecy regarding Lily Evan's true parentage, if possible, and if not, then to give no one any cause for concern or suspicion. In that, as in many other things, we succeeded."
"I see," said Orion grimly, spearing her with an incensed gaze. "And Gellert never met his daughter, did he?"
"No, he didn't," replied Morgana quietly, softly smiling at him. "But he was very satisfied with you, my child. Fond of you as well, I dare say, just like I am."
Orion grunted, before viciously amused, harsh chuckles sprung from his lips. "Then, Petunia Dursley had some bits of Slytherin's blood in her. Oh, Salazar must be rolling in his grave!" He sniggered, and added acerbically, "Though it's obvious that she had inherited some of his nastiness."
"I'm glad you're amused," sneered Mordred, ghostly arms crossed over his chest as he leveled him with a short-tempered glare. "Now that my mother gave you the answers you wanted, just-"
"Amused?" snapped Orion heatedly, glowering at him as he slowly stood up. "Do you think I'm really amused after finding out just how much you've manipulated everything that has to do with myself? I already knew how you had manipulated my mum, and now, I know that not even Gellert managed to be spared." He narrowed his eyes at him, and demanded crisply, "So everything has to do with the union of the bloodlines of the three Peverell brothers. Tell me, is that also the reason why you've always wanted me to be with Draco and have a child with him? Just how many times did you make the two Black bloodlines cross? How much of Cadmus' blood does Draco have?"
Mordred arched an eyebrow and shot him a nasty smirk. "So you finally think about that, do you? It was about time, boy. And you can surely answer that yourself."
"I can't," bit out Orion, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Not even the tapestry with the Black tree line goes as far back as that. It doesn't even have Ursula Black's and Cadmus' names on it. No pureblood family registry accounts for the crosses during those ancient times. But it's obvious to me now, that Draco has to be more than simply the Malfoy Heir from the secondary Black line. And the Blacks have a tradition of intermarrying with cousins, to purify and strengthen the bloodline. So it's pretty clear, given your interest in Draco and your insistence that we pair up, that he must carry some of Cadmus Peverell's blood, through the secondary Black line."
"True," said Morgana placidly. "He does. And that's exactly why we chose him for you, since your child with him will be powerful indeed, the result of a cross between Peverell lines, once more." She pierced him with her gaze, and added sharply, "And it has to be Draco Malfoy, and not Voldemort, my child. You know why. Voldemort, as a Gaunt, comes from Ignotus' line, but there's an element of instability in the Gaunt bloodline that must not be passed on. Furthermore, it's your duty to preserve the bloodlines in you-"
"Why should I?" interjected Orion crisply, crossing his arms over his chest. "The three Peverell bloodlines are in me, that's what you've wanted during all these centuries. So there's really no need for me to have any children, is there? I'm the… 'thing' you've always wanted to create."
"All our work cannot end with you!" snarled Mordred enraged, swiftly floating to be nose-to-nose with him, as he pierced him with a furious, narrowed gaze. "Even if you become the Vindico, at some point you'll die, and your child with Malfoy will have to take the mantle of leadership and continue your work. He or her will also have to undergo the VA test, to become the new VA once you pass away. You not only owe it to us, and to dark wizarding kind, but also to your bloodlines! Will you leave Black House without an heir? Will you leave your beloved Gellert without any descendants?! Do you think he wants that? He did his duty by having a child, however distasteful it was to him, and so will you, boy."
Orion clenched his jaw, a mutinous and angered glint sparkling in his eyes, before he dropped his arms to his sides, and said sharply, "I will have children, but it will be in my terms, with whom I choose, and because I want it, not due to any consideration to your 'plans'. And they certainly will not be involved in any of your machinations."
He shot the spirit a nasty smirk, and added mordantly, "I came here with the intention of disposing of you, after you confirmed my suspicions. But, as you said, I still need you for when I have the three Hallows, so that you can tell me what to do with them. However, I have no problem in honestly revealing to you that I'll kill you once that's done."
Mordred snidely scoffed, shooting him a superior smirk of his own, just at the same time that Morgana sighed, and said quietly, "You will not get the chance, my child. As we have told you before, our magic has been weakening bit by bit through the ages." She turned to a side, and gestured at the ice-like pillars containing their bodies. "And it will completely fade away once someone undergoes and survives the Vindico test. The power of the magical ritual we underwent will expire when the Vindico arises." She turned her face to gaze at him, and continued softly, "In that precise moment, we'll die – definitely and irreversibly."
Orion gazed at her in complete silence, and finally stiffly nodded at her, as he said curtly, "Good."
And without another word, he swiftly transformed into Firebreath, flying up and out of the Crypt, into the main corridor of the Catacombs, wanting nothing more than to muse about everything he had learned and to decide on the next steps he should take – and, above all, to rest and sleep for a long while.
A startled and frightened squeal woke up Orion from his uneasy and restless sleep, and he groaned as he slowly opened his eyes with great effort. Everything in his body ached, cold and hot waves flared and trembles surged through every fiber in him, his mind felt foggy and feverish, and he could feel his body dewed with perspiration. To make matters worse, he had had his usual nightly visions –none about Arian, thankfully, since he didn't want to see the light wizard in his current condition- and his head hadn't stopped pounding until it was late at night; undoubtedly when Voldemort temporarily gave up in order to go to sleep himself.
Without being able to lift a finger without the action hurting, he merely rolled his eyes to one side and discovered that early sunlight was filtering through the curtained windows of his bedroom at Potter Manor.
After quickly leaving the Catacombs, he had immediately flooed away from Durmstrang, without a word to Komorov and Sebastien, just completely ignoring them as he used the fireplace in the Headmaster's office. And once he had gotten back to Potter Manor, he had used the last amounts of strength in him to write two letters, before he had crawled into his bed.
One letter was addressed to Loki Njord, hoping that the owl he had used would find its way to the Cross of Planes and the Guild, amidst what the muggles called the Bermuda Triangle. He had one favor to ask of his former schoolmate, and he hoped that the young Necromancer would drop by soon, since he had written the precise coordinates of Potter Manor and had also adjusted the wards so that Loki could pop directly into his bedroom.
The second letter was addressed to Rita Skeeter, finally putting into action a plan that had been on his mind for a long while – that to discredit Albus Dumbledore. Since even though everyone thought that the wizard had been killed by him, there was no doubt that the old goat would publicly reappear at some point, as Snape suspected.
The missive had been short, to the point, and obviously unsigned:
'You'll discover that there're many juicy secrets in the late Albus Dumbledore's past. If you're interested in writing an article –or, why not, perhaps write a book, dear Rita? – which will cause much controversy, and thus make you famous, then I suggest you talk to Bathilda Bagshot. She'll be able to tell you, if properly motivated, about some of the skeletons in Dumbledore's closet. I'm sure it will satisfy your unique journalistic quest for the truth.'
And with that, he was sure that in a few weeks, the witch would splatter Albus' and Gellert's past relationship all over the wizarding newspapers. The final step would be to point her to the right direction so that Albus' Treatise could be dug out and widely made public, with all of the man's conclusions regarding crosses between light, dark and muggle blood – exactly the same as Slytherin's. But, for now, this first step was enough to unsettle light wizards and to weaken the old coot's base of worshippers and followers for when the old man decided to pop up in the open.
Abruptly, another squeak reached his ears, and Orion groaned as he rolled to a side, to eye its source. One of his eyebrows quirked upwards when his gaze landed on a very disheveled and scorched Dobby, and then he frowned when he realized the cause for the house-elf's anxious squeals.
Frowning, Orion gazed down at himself, seeing his dark magical aura flaring outwards, jerkily and unsteadily, though it was thicker and denser than he remembered. Furthermore, one of its tendrils had undoubtedly lashed out at the poor creature. He sighed and grumbled under his breath, since he knew that there wasn't much that he could do at present. He knew that he was losing control of his magic due to his weakened state caused by the potion-withdrawal symptoms, and also because he hadn't had much time to work in completely controlling his powers, which had been augmented after taking in Grindelwald's dark magic.
With another slow sigh, Orion's gaze flickered back to the house-elf, and his other eyebrow arched when he finally discerned that Dobby was also covered in boils, pus-oozing sores and nasty burns, with a fetid odor coming off him.
"What's happened to you?" slurred out Orion, grimacing in pain as he slowly managed to sit up against his bed's headboard.
"Dobby did as Master Orion asked, sir," said Dobby, wincing as he stretched out a hand grasping a stack of letters and papers. "I is to Black Manor, opened howlers and other nasty packages-"
"And you got the full brunt of what was meant for me," interjected Orion slowly, eyeing him with a hint of concern. "I see. Well, you can go to Daisy before coming here. In the future, first make sure that she heals you, Dobby. There's no need for you to suffer because of me."
"Thank you, sir!" blubbered out Dobby, gazing at him with grateful, watery eyes. "Master is good and generous-"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Orion impatiently. "Leave the letters on the nightstand and go to Daisy, Dobby." He shot him a warm smile, and added more softly, "Thanks, and do take care."
Dobby flashed him with a beaming smile, and was gone with an eager snap of his fingers. It didn't escape Orion's notice the blush that had spread on the house-elf's greenish cheeks when he had mentioned Daisy. There was no doubt in his mind that Daisy wouldn't be thanking him for having sent her love-struck admirer to her. Well, now he rather liked the idea of the two of them together, so he simply smirked unrepentantly as he slowly stretched his hand towards the stack that the house-elf had left on his nightstand.
Abruptly, as he snatched the letters and papers against his chest, he hissed under his breath when he felt a pounding hammering in his skull. Voldemort was up and about, and once again relentlessly pushing through their link. With a stubborn grimace on his face, he strengthened the Occlumency shields around his mind, forcefully slamming them up and hoping that it would send a piercing stab of pain through the connection. He was starting to get fed up. They had much to discuss, and he indeed wanted to see the wizard, but certainly not at present, given his current, weak condition.
Darkly cursing the wizard under his breath, Orion slowly started to open the letters that Dobby had deemed 'safe'.
About thirty minutes later, whilst deeply musing, he settled them once again on top of the nightstand, seconds before a tray popped into existence, carrying what unmistakably was supposed to be his breakfast. He eyed the bowl containing some type of steamy broth with a distasteful grimace on his face, the smell of it alone causing a sickly twist to churn in his stomach.
Orion utterly ignored it and went for the large glass of cold water, gulping down half of it with a sigh of contentment, since his throat had been dry and he had indeed been parched and thirsty. He unceremoniously emptied the rest of it on top of his head, sighing as the cold water seemed to cool his feverish and hot forehead, rubbing his hands on his temples and through his drenched hair.
Then he proceeded to slowly nibble on a loaf of bread –despite that even his gums seemed to ache- while he burrowed into his bed, and mused about what he had read. Two letters addressed to him, in particular, seemed vital and very telling. One was from Blaise Zabini and the other from Pansy Parkinson, both asking what he knew about what had happened to Draco, though their inquiring manners were as dissimilar as could be.
He had always liked Blaise, and he knew that the young wizard was very close to Draco in private. And he suspected that both of them had indulged in something more than mere friendship, though without any serious intentions, knowing them. In the letter, Blaise's manner was subtle, secretive and undemanding, simply stating that he believed that Draco was in his company and that he would like to be assured that his friend was well. Also, in Blaise's sly and subtle ways, the young wizard insinuated that even though he was remaining neutral in the war, like his mother, he was willing to help Draco as much as he could.
Pansy, on the other hand, angrily demanded to know where Draco was, while straightforwardly accusing him of being the sole culprit regarding her future fiancé's current predicaments. In her letter, she was as harpy-ish towards him as ever, but her worry concerning Draco was heart-felt, he knew that. And given that she hadn't detected the blotch of a tear on the letter before sending it, she must have been in quite an anxious and frantic state of mind when writing the missive.
In the end, he decided to only reply back to Blaise, with the short sentences: 'He's as well as I could manage. I'll tell him to contact you when he can.' He had absolutely no doubt that Blaise wouldn't breathe a word to anyone, but Pansy was another matter entirely.
It hadn't escaped his notice that Draco's best friends in public, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, hadn't written to him. It could only mean one thing; many in Slytherin House were turning their backs on Draco after Voldemort had issued the order to hunt him down. And the lack of their letters, also meant that Crabbe and Goyle already had the Dark Mark or that they would very soon become Death Eaters. That was also why he wouldn't reply to Pansy, because even though she truly cared for Draco, she was the daughter of a Death Eater and would soon have to decide if she would take the Dark Mark, and he was almost certain that she would.
What were even more interesting were the articles in the Daily Prophet. None of them said anything about Grindelwald's statue; obviously it hadn't been found yet. Though he was sure that it would be and the news would be splattered in every single wizarding newspaper, tomorrow or the day after. What had captured his attention the most was the front page of the Daily Prophet, with an article telling about a funerary ceremony which had taken place at Hogwarts, for Albus Dumbledore. A large white tomb had been placed at Hogwarts' grounds, to contain Dumbledore's body when it was found and retrieved by a small group of Aurors who had that duty.
Of course, he knew that the latter was pure rubbish, since he was fairly certain that Dumbledore had contacted Scrimgeour at some point, and thus, that the Minister was aware of the truth. Nevertheless, the charade was on, and he had closely inspected the moving picture which accompanied the article, which showed who had attended the 'funeral'.
He had recognized the members of the Order: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the twins, and Bill Weasley, scarred in the face but not disfigured, with Fleur Delacour by his side, and with Sirius on his other side. It hadn't escaped his notice that, in the picture, Moody's magical roving eye landed on his father quite frequently.
There had also been Percy Weasley, accompanying Minister Scrimgeour, who looked stern and grave. Even Fudge had been there, looking slightly gaunt and miserable. Among that party was one he recognized as Dolores Umbridge, since Draco had told him so much about her. And he had wondered about her presence among the Ministerial group, since he knew that she had done a terrible job when she had been Hogwarts' DADA teacher, and he was quite sure that the witch had been in Lucius Malfoy's wealthy pocket.
Another one he had recognized was Madame Maxime, right next to McGonagall, which the article had revealed to be the new Headmistress – though it was hardly surprising, and the old witch had to be the new Order leader as well. It was Madame Maxime's presence which spoke volumes; the French were certainly Dumbledore's most important allies.
And among the throng of professors, he had discerned the centaur Firenze, while the heads of merpeople could be seen by the edge of the lake. What was most telling, in his opinion, was the lack of any other centaur by the border of the Forbidden Forest. It was clear that they knew that Dumbledore was still alive; with their unique abilities, they had possibly read it in the stars. And he wondered that no light wizard had taken notice of their absence. Though, admittedly, most light wizards didn't think too greatly of centaurs. Regarding creatures, many light wizards were as prejudiced as dark wizards were on matters of blood purity.
Other articles completed the panorama for him. He, Snape and Draco -in that order- were now at the top of the Aurors' Most Wanted list, along with the usuals, such as Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.
On another note, there was currently a heated debate of whether Hogwarts should open its doors for the next school year. Many said that it wasn't safe for students, now that the school didn't count with Dumbledore's protection, and many parents had already hurried away their children, a day before the funerary ceremony was held, and with obvious intentions of keeping their children to be educated at home. On the other hand, McGonagall was trying her best so that the school would remain open, and the matter was now in the hands of the Board of Directors and the Ministry.
Furthermore, the Ministry had launched a one-month training program for light wizards who wanted to fight, with the possibility of becoming prestigious Aurors later on. Orion had to admit that it was a smart move on Scrimgeour's part; a way of inflating the Ministry soldiering ranks by tantalizingly promising the title of Auror to those wizards who would have never, otherwise, passed the examinations to be trained as such.
Moreover, from what he read, he could see that the Order wasn't that much of a secret society anymore. They weren't openly recruiting like the Ministry was, but there were tidbits of information pointing towards Moody, for anyone who was interested in joining the group.
Those were the most important pieces of news he had found, the rest of the articles merely talked about him, his darkness, evilness, and traitorous ways. His father was also widely discussed, and he had found out that Sirius had indeed been interrogated by Aurors with the use of Veritaserum and had come out of it smelling like roses, just as he knew that would happen, given the mind web he had casted on him. And the fact that Sirius Black had passed the interrogation with flying colors, had certainly been the main force behind the light wizarding community's current opinions regarding his father.
The general consensus was the Sirius Black was a martyr of his circumstances: a dark wizard turned light due to his undying love for Lily Evans, who was still held as some sort of saintly victim, much to Orion's satisfaction; a redeemed man, despite his dark family, who had once been an Auror and member of the Order, who was the best friend of another victim and hero, James Potter; a man who was unfairly carted off to Azkaban without a trial, since it was widely known by now that Sirius hadn't betrayed the Potters but that Pettigrew had; a man who had escaped to find the son he had known nothing about, only then to lose everything again when unrightfully sent to Azkaban once more, suffering a Dementor's Kiss; a poor wizard whose son had managed to bring back to life by using dark and evil Necromantic abilities, and who then, after being resurrected against his will by evils means, went back to the Light just to lose his traitorous son to Voldemort and Darkness once more; in the end, a wizard who had suffered numerous injustices during his life, whose own son had betrayed him, and who was doing everything possible to bring his son to justice and to the Light.
In short, the light wizarding community regarded Sirius Black as a martyr, a victim of his own son, a man who despite his evil roots had turned to the Light. An article even said that the Witch Weekly magazine had priced Sirius with the Most Charming Smile Award of the year, along with ranking him as the number one in the Most Handsome Wizard category. And it was clear to Orion that light wizarding kind was currently adoring the whole romanticized and heroic light in which they were now portraying his father. Though he knew very well how fickle their opinions were. Nevertheless, at present, Sirius was a hero, and it suited his plans perfectly.
Orion fiercely rubbed his increasingly aching and pounding forehead, and muffled his groan of pain as he sunk his face into his plush pillow. He curled under his bed sheets, arms tightly wrapped around himself, while his mind slowly spun with countless, feverish thoughts.
Grindelwald's voice seemed to relentlessly echo in his skull, like had happened during the night. The old man's last, gurgled out words –'Make me proud!'- reverberated constantly in his mind. Memories of the wizard, images and sounds, unveiled and dizzily sprung forth, accompanied by a painful twist of sorrow and grief which pierced his chest. But unwilling to go down that somber tunnel, Orion forced his mind to think of pertinent matters, to think with a cool-head and collectedness.
The point was that Grindelwald -the grandfather he never had the time to intimately know, since they had always been more worried about training- was gone. Though he had moments when the horrible fact of it threatened to overwhelm him, there were blank stretches of numbness as well, when he felt absolutely nothing.
Moreover, he couldn't stop thinking about Grindelwald's strange suspicion. Was it possible that the old man was right? When he had been ten years old, had he acted unnaturally mature for a boy his age?
He remembered that he had wanted to know as much of the Dark as he could, that he persuaded his father to allow him to read the Dark Arts tomes at Grimmauld's Place's library, that he emphatically defended the views of the Dark's side, and that Voldemort had been, admittedly, an obsession of his. But how could he know if that was strange?
Only by comparing it with the behavior of others at that age, he supposed. He had met Draco, Calypso and the others when they were ten years old as well, and some of them had discussed matters of Dark vs. Light, they had their solid ideas… but, admittedly, they had expressed the views of their parents. He didn't think that any of them, at that age, had been reading tomes and tomes of books to form a judgment and opinion of their own. But he had.
On the other hand, it was understandable since he had been new to the whole wizarding world, so of course that he had been thirsty for more information… But again, if someone had been influencing him, then he was the last person who would realize it. After all, he knew that when he casted a compulsion mind web on someone, that person would never be aware that his actions were being influenced by a spell…
Orion frowned in pensiveness, as he rubbed his aching forehead against his pillow. And Grindelwald suspected that he had been influenced after leaving the Dursleys, so perhaps he could discover if his behavior had significantly changed by comparing his attitude before and after he escaped from his muggle relatives... Had that hunger for knowledge and learning had been a constant in his life, even back then when he had lived with the Dursleys?
He remembered that he had liked to read; fantasy books particularly, and science books as well, since what could be accomplished with 'science' had always seemed like something magical to him. And he remembered that it had all started when he had made a habit of hiding in his muggle school's library, where Dudley and his chums would never enter. And he did moderately well in his classes, always taking particular care of not outmatching Dudley in tests.
But he had to admit that he hadn't been singularly studious back then. He had not been a Calypso Rosier, that's for sure. That phase in his life, when he had committed himself to be one of the best students, had started at Durmstrang. Unlike Hogwarts - were only Ravenclaws had the pressure to be academically outstanding, and Slytherins because many demanded it from themselves- at Durmstrang it didn't matter in what Order one was sorted, everyone was expected to do his best, and academic competition was fierce.
But, perhaps, Grindelwald was right. Maybe that hunger for knowledge had started when he had discovered he was a Black. And maybe it was due to that strange maturity and conviction in the Dark which Grindelwald believed to be unnatural in a ten year old. So, perhaps, there was indeed more to it. Nevertheless, he decided to leave it at that, hoping that someday he would discover something that would shed some light on the matter, since he was utterly clueless at present.
And there was another issue which now sprung forth in his feverish mind: the Peverells. He believed what the Spirits had told him, he was certain they had been honest in that regard. Therefore, he was thrice a Peverell, what the Spirits had always wanted and what they had been waiting for. But why were they so obsessed with the Peverells? What was so extraordinary about them that the Spirits had focused all their efforts in crossing and molding those three bloodlines as they saw fit? Why such obsession to make the three bloodlines as powerful as could be? Surely, the Peverell brothers had to have been astoundingly powerful and highly versed in the Dark Arts, since they had managed to produce the Hallows from the scarce instructions that the Spirits had given them.
However, something niggled in the back of his mind, telling him with certainty that there had to be more to it. The Spirits always had deeper and obscurer motives for everything they did, and they certainly never told him outright...
Orion's mind foggily trailed off the thought, much against his will, and looped back dizzily to his first thoughts… Grindelwald… Now, without Grindelwald by his side, he felt as if he had entered a new era in his life. Indeed, he could classify the time periods in his life with 'before Grindelwald' and 'after Grindelwald', since the German wizard had left such an indelible mark in his life. He thought the same applied to locket-Tom and to being Voldemort's spouse; the latter would be something like 'before a catastrophic marriage' and 'after stupidly spouting an I love you'.
Orion grimaced, groaned, let out a whine of exasperation with himself, and rolled restlessly in his bed, praying to whatever forces in the world that he wouldn't be like this during the whole bloody week. He didn't know if he could survive it with his sanity intact, if his mind kept leaping from one thought to the other without any considerations to what he actually wanted to focus on. And the painful aches were getting worse, and he could see his dark magical aura becoming even more uncontrolled, though it didn't look as if it would do any damage to his surroundings or others. It simply looked as restless as he felt, and it was certainly becoming denser and more visible. He wondered if after the ordeal was over, he would have to walk around looking as if he was smudged by blackness all over. He would definitely need to learn how to tug in his magical aura; he wouldn't strut around like a peacock showing off his feathers of powerful dark magic. That would only happen when it served a bloody purpose!
Abruptly, a cold chilliness seemed to spread throughout the room, seconds before a monotonous voice drone out, "Aren't you a sight to behold, Black. You look like a weak, baby pixie, groaning, whimpering and nestled under bundles of bed sheets. What's wrong with you?"
"Many things," said Orion wryly, slowly rolling on his bed to face the young Necromancer, shooting him a wan smile. "Long time no see, Njord. How are you?"
"Peachy," said Loki flatly, his all-black eyes inspecting him from under his cloak's hood.
Orion, in return, trailed his heavy-lidded gaze over him, noticing that the young wizard hadn't changed much since their last encounter. Loki was exuding an eerie aura, his eyes all-black, his movements fluid, his long black cloak covering every inch of his skin, he looked much thinner than Orion remembered him to be, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't had a natural sleep in ages, and his skin was almost translucently pale, certainly haven't been touched by sunlight in a very long while. And Orion also caught sight of the black symbol in the young wizard's left palm; an all-black eye inscribed in a triangle – the mark of a full-fledged Necromancer, what Loki had become a long while ago, after leaving Durmstrang without completing his studies.
"It's about bloody time," said Orion, slowly enunciating his words with some difficulty. "I've been waiting for you to pop up during the whole morning. I thought my owl would find you hours ago-"
"Not the case, We found it," interrupted Loki blandly, his voice much raspier and hoarser than Orion remembered from their last encounter, undoubtedly due to disuse. "The wards around the Cross of Planes detected a disoriented bird fluttering insistently around the area, and one of Us finally decided to check it out. I got your letter, though. What do you want? Have you finally decided to undergo the Necromantic training? The Argonaut will be glad to hear it, he isn't a patient man."
"No," interjected Orion, swallowing a groan of pain as he sat up against the headboard. "Not ready for that yet. I asked you to come here to ask a favor from you… Well, two favors, actually."
Loki stared at him, his face expressionless and blank, as he said tonelessly, "Why would I do you any favors, Black-"
"Let me finish," interrupted Orion shortly, "before you start voicing your refusals and complaints."
"Then get on with it, Black," said Loki detachedly, glancing around with a distasteful twist of his lips. "I don't want to stay in the mortal plane for too long - ghastly and uninteresting, if you ask me."
Orion grunted, and asked crisply, "Is the Guild still summoning Morgana?" When Loki curtly nodded, he continued, "Then you must be up-to-date with current affairs. You must know that England is going to have a war and I need to… fix matters with Voldemort as much as I can, even if the solution is only temporary. That's the reason for one of the favors I'll ask from you. The Guild currently has the Gaunt ring, and I don't really need it until I also have the Elder Wand, so if you want to study it for a bit longer, then I need a replica of it, so that I can give it to Voldemort, who has been demanding the ring for a while."
"A replica?" repeated Loki unemotionally, slowly arching an eyebrow.
"Yes," said Orion, nodding at him. "I would do it myself if I could, but given my present conditions… Well, I'm not strong enough to go traipsing around muggle London. That's where I want you to go, once you fetch the ring from the Guild." He pointed at the lower drawer of his nightstand. "In there, you'll find my money pouch, which is directly linked with the main Black vault in Gringotts. Convert all the galleons you want into muggle pounds in any Gringotts branch, and spend whatever is needed so that the best muggle jeweler in London creates an exact copy of the Gaunt ring, with the inscription of the Peverell crest included in the gem. I'm sure they can manage that, and quickly too, if properly motivated by money. Spend whatever is needed, money is of no concern."
"I don't like to go into the wizarding world anymore, and the muggle one even less," interjected Loki flatly, his pale face revealing a slight hint of his repulsion at the idea. "And I don't see why I should do this. Ask some of your friends-"
"I can't, not for this," pressed on Orion sharply. "And the Guild wants to keep studying the Resurrection Stone, don't they? If you don't help me with this, then I'll have to take the ring now, and none of you want that. I think it's only fair that one of you did this small favor, which also benefits you. When I give the replica to Voldemort, he'll obviously find no magic in it; precisely what I want, and just what he would expect if the ring was nothing more than a Gaunt heirloom."
Seeing Loki's blank expression, he explained further with a bit of impatience, "When he was Tom Riddle he never detected any magic in it before turning it into a horcrux, and he simply thought that the symbol in the gem was the Peverell coat of arms, nothing else, certainly not the representation of the Hallows. And Voldemort doesn't know about them yet, only about the Elder Wand, but he hasn't linked it to the Tale of the Three Brothers. And maybe he won't for a while, since a wizard like him would pay no mind to stories for children. So the solution is perfect, as long as the muggle jeweler does his job impeccably." He gazed at him expectantly, and asked quietly, "Will you do it?"
A distant expression spread on Loki's face, his glowing, all-black eyes looking as if they were becoming unfocused, as if he was listening to voices far away. Or, as Orion very well knew, to voices in his mind; the Guild-mind, as Loki had once called it, meaning that the young Necromancer had a direct connection with the minds of all other Guild Necromancers, and the young wizard was certainly discussing the matter with them.
"We will do it," said Loki at last, his hoarse voice sounding as if it was coming from the furthest recesses of some dark corner.
And without another word, the young Necromancer swiftly opened the nightstand's drawer, pulling out and pocketing the money-pouch in his black cloak, in one fluid movement.
"What's the other favor you want to ask of Us?"
"Well, I rather say the second favor benefits you more than it does me," said Orion slowly, trying his best so that his words wouldn't come out sluggish and slurred. He stretched out a hand, tearing a small piece of parchment from one of the papers on his nightstand, as well as grasping a quill, before he jotted down the address, as he continued, "I have a friend who has some Necromantic abilities. And since I don't know if Hogwarts will be opening for the next school year, it would be best if you visited her now. Without her father finding out, mind you. Her name is Luna Lovegood."
He handed the piece of parchment to Loki, and added pointedly, "I've told her the little I could about the Guild, given that I can't say much after the magical contract I signed with your lot. But I want her to see the Guild and know what she would be getting into if she accepted to be trained by you. And also, given that she's in her summer holidays, she could invent some excuse to disappear for a few hours, during which you could take her to the Guild to be tested as well, to see if she has enough Necromantic abilities. If you accept her, it would still be her choice, but I ask you that you don't admit her if Hogwarts remains open. I know how much you price and need new Necromancers, but if you deem she's good enough, then wait until she graduates from school. Is that acceptable?"
"It is," said Loki tonelessly, "and We thank you for notifying us about a witch with Necromantic abilities. We're always glad to accept more of our kind in our fold, to bestow upon them the learning their Necromantic abilities entitle them to."
Orion eyed him with satisfaction, and finally shot him a small smile, as he said slowly, "Thanks, Njord. And when you have the replica of the ring, please send it, and the pouch, by owl. I'm sure it will be done in a few days."
The distant expression partly cleared off from Loki's face, and he said unemotionally, "Very well. I guess I won't see you in a while, then. Next time you ask me to come, make sure that it's because you're ready to undergo the training with The Argonaut. He's expecting it and The Argonaut will not wait forever, Black."
"Alright," said Orion, wanly smiling at him. "I'll write to you again when I'm ready for that."
Loki curtly nodded at him, and with a swirl of his black cloak, he disappeared from the room, as silently as he had come, like a spectre vanishing into thin air.
About an hour later, Orion was still muffling groans of pain into his pillow, since Voldemort's attempts had reached a new height of insistent and unmercifully painful stabs through their connection. Not only did his skull seem about to split open, but his scar incessantly prickled with sharps bouts of pain; the wizard was certainly becoming more furious by the minute.
At last, as another wave of trembling aches spread throughout his body, one of the potion-withdrawal symptoms, Orion finally decided he had had enough.
He lowered his Occlumency shields a bit, and roared angrily in his mind, 'What the bloody hell do you want? I'm trying to rest, Tom!'
'You dare ignore me since last night?' hissed an enraged voice into his mind, the pain in his scar spiking and flaring out. 'I've been summoning you through your Black Heir ring-'
'I'm not wearing that anymore,' spat Orion impatiently, 'and you know perfectly well why.'
'I demand to know where you are and what you've been doing!' snarled the hissing voice. 'I've been feeling your pain since yesterday, most particularly during the late evening, and I want to know precisely why. And you will come to me at once and explain.'
'I'm not going anywhere,' groused out Orion sharply. 'I'm resting and I don't intend to move a muscle-'
'Resting, why? And where?! I know you are not in Black Manor, boy-'
'Don't you 'boy' me,' interrupted Orion incensed. 'And where I am is my own business, Tom. I'll see you when I feel better-'
'Don't you 'Tom' me, either,' hissed Voldemort's furious voice, 'we're long past that stage, Orion. You're not my spouse anymore, and I will allow you no such lax and informal manners. So watch your tone and learn to address me respectfully, before I have to teach it to you by force. Now, answer my questions before I decide to use Legilimency on you-'
'From a distance?' snorted Orion acerbically. 'Try it and you know what will happen. I will counterattack with the same, we'll end up in pain and in a stalemate, as always.'
A harsh laughter reverberated through his mind, and Voldemort's hissing voice said viciously, 'You don't feel as if you're very strong, Orion. Indeed, even your mind shields feel weak. I'm giving you three options: you answer my questions now; I rip them from you through Legilimency, and I'll make sure it's as painful to you as possible; or I give you the chance to come to me and explain in person.'
Orion frowned angrily as he burrowed into his bed, knowing that he hadn't much of a choice. He doubted if he could fight off Voldemort's Legilimency attack through their connection. In person, he could easily defend himself with his dark magic. On the other hand, he didn't want to meet him so soon, and much less in his state. He had expected to be recovered from his week of torture before facing Voldemort again, and before explaining some matters to him. But, perhaps this was for the best. Grindelwald's statue would soon be discovered, and it was better if he told Voldemort about that before the wizard found out by reading the newspapers.
'Fine,' he said bitterly. 'I'll see you.'
'Good,' hissed Voldemort with satisfaction. 'I expect you in a few seconds. Use your Black Heir ring-'
'Not a chance,' scoffed Orion rebelliously. 'Through it, you can control when I portkey and you can also sense other things, like when I'm with someone intimately, or you think I have forgotten about that? No, I will never wear my ring again if there's an alternative. Tell me where you are-'
'That would take too long,' hissed Voldemort with angered impatience. 'Lower your shields further down and let me see where you are through your eyes, and I'll come and get you.'
Orion made sure to send him his snide chuckles, and he bit out mordantly, 'How stupid do you think I am? Think of something else.'
Piercing pain stabbed his scar, before Voldemort's hissing voice spat enragedly, 'Then apparate to the alley of the Leaky Cauldron, and I'll fetch you there.'
'Alright,' said Orion tartly. 'I'll be there in an hour.'
'You'll be there right this minute!'
'I said in a bloody hour!' snapped Orion heatedly, before he slammed up his Occlumency shields, breaking off all further communications between them, and slowly rising from his bed.
He stumbled on his steps towards his bathroom when another wave of pain flashed from his scar. Cursing Voldemort under his breath, he weakly made his way to the tub. He would, at least, take a bath and be somewhat presentable when meeting the odious man.
About forty-five minutes later, he was inspecting himself on the full-body, gilded mirror of his bedroom. And he had to admit that he looked awful, even in one of his most rich and elegant dark blue robes. His face was pale, dark circles were already forming under his blood-shot eyes, his wet hair was spiked messily in every direction since he didn't feel as if he could exert himself to use a comb -the whole dressing part had already tired him greatly- and he even thought that he looked a bit gaunt and sickly thin.
The lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead was red, and seemed to pop out from the pale whiteness of his face. And through the parted lapels of his shirt, he could see part of the scar from which he had removed the glamour spell. There was no point now of covering up the traces of the almost-lethal injury caused by the Manticore's poisonous dart, during the break into Nurmengard.
Orion was deeply unsatisfied with his appearance, since it was one more proof of just how weak he felt, and he certainly didn't want to see Voldemort looking as such. Nevertheless, he had decided that it was best to get through with it once and for all, to be able to get back into his bed as soon as possible.
He tucked his two wands in the respective wand-holsters strapped on his forearms, and finally rolled down his sleeves and wrapped himself in a hooded cloak, before he left his room as quickly as his legs could carry him. On his way out of the Manor, he utterly ignored Daisy's reproving demand, "Where is Master Potter think he going, in his condition, sir!" And once he was in the middle of the rolling, green hills of the area, he scrunched his eyes shut, and used every ounce of dizzied concentration he could muster to apparate away.
He let out a pant of exhausted breath when his feet touched solid ground again, and he slowly opened his eyes as he steadied his wobbly knees by slapping a hand on the dilapidated stone walls of the seedy London alley. The entrance to the Leaky Cauldron was a few feet away from him, but he hardly paid any attention to it. His gaze fixed upon Voldemort, who had evidently been waiting for him.
The wizard was draped in a long, black cloak as well, his face partly concealed under the hood, but there was no mistaking those crimson eyes which narrowed as they inspected him. There was no mistaking, either, the insanely furious and murdering glint which now sparkled in them, and Orion automatically tensed when the wizard took a step forward.
"What have you done to yourself?" hissed Voldemort in a low, enraged voice.
Orion didn't have a chance to bat an eyelash when Voldemort swiftly leapt at him, painfully wrapping his arms around him as the wizard pulled them into an apparition. The last thing Orion saw was a wizard stumbling out from the Leaky Cauldron, and freezing in abject horror and fear as his gaze landed on them, the wizard's pipe falling from his gaping mouth.
And as Orion felt his body being uncomfortably squeezed, he dearly started to regret his decision. He had a very bad feeling about how things would end up between Voldemort and him, during this meeting.
