Everything is J.K. Rowlings. I only claim the plot. Everything else is hers, all the characters and the magic, all of it. Please let me know what you think though, I encourage feedback of all kinds, just be nice about it!

So this chapter jumps around a bit. Lots of stuff is covered. It might be a bit disorienting, maybe? And I'm still not sure how I feel about the duel. I don't think I got the action-paced well enough. But I'll get better at it.

Again comments are always appreciated. And suggestions for birthday and Yule gifts for Harry to Marvolo and Marvolo to Harry are still welcome. Mainly for Yule, I think I have an idea for Marvolo's birthday.

Safety

Harry shivered as he and Remus stood in the open snow-covered field. He wore his thickest robes and brand new dragon hide gloves lined with fur, but the wind blew hard enough to make the layers feel nonexistent.

"Thanks for coming with me, Harry," Remus said softly beside him. Remus was equally layered with clothes that Harry had gifted him. Remus had tried to protest, but Harry had insisted. He claimed that the whole trip would be pointless if Remus froze to death, and Harry wouldn't be able to bear it if his last father figure died. A bit of exaggerated emotional manipulation, but Harry thought it justified if it meant that Remus accepted the warm clothes.

"Nonsense, of course, I'd come." At least it wasn't snowing, Harry thought, as he stared out at the field. The snow looked idyllic, covering the field like a blanket. If it wasn't so cold that he couldn't feel his toes, he might even enjoy it. Recasting the warming charm, Harry huffed. "When is he showing up? Wasn't he supposed to be here already?"

Remus glanced at his watch. "No, we are, admittedly, early. A few more minutes and it will be the meeting time."

Harry wasn't mollified with this knowledge and clung to his frustrated annoyance while he waited, letting it feed his fury. If anything, it would at least keep him warm. He tried not to let his anger show, though. It wasn't Remus' fault. Harry was just incredibly pissed off, had been since yesterday afternoon when the news broke that Moody and Shacklebolt had slipped their guards and escaped on the way to Azkaban. The guards had all been knocked out and had their memories modified, so there were no leads.

But Harry knew the truth.

Remus had confirmed it. Dumbledore had freed both men. Remus had been notified of the plan the afternoon after the trial and was supposed to participate — and subtly prevent the entire thing — but he had been contacted by Fenrir's pack and been delayed. Two of the men from Fenrir's pack had cornered Remus outside Diagon Alley to tell him of Fenrir's demand to meet.

So, not only was Fenrir late — but not really — it was also Fenrir's fault that Remus hadn't been able to go to the rescue attempt and ruin it, and it was Fenrir's fault that Harry was standing in the cold and snow. Needless to say, Harry was determined to dislike Fenrir Greyback. The fact that the werewolf and Marvolo had been corresponding far more frequently in recent weeks was another annoyance to add. Sadly, Harry wasn't allowed to stew much longer in his anger because a crack sounded, and Fenrir now stood a few feet from them.

Harry glared lightly, observing the Alpha. The wiry, greying hair was loose and brushing against the towering man's shoulders. The feral grin grew when Fenrir noticed Harry.

"Potter," Fenrir rasped. "So good to see you again. Thought about my offer any?"

"What offer?" Remus cut in with a frown.

"You'd make a fine wolf," Fenrir continued, ignoring Remus. "We can test that theory, eh?" Fenrir flashed a grin that showed his teeth, which looked oddly sharp.

"Told you before, try it and see what happens," Harry growled back.

"Your cub has spirit," Fenrir said, finally turning to Remus. Harry bristled at his challenge being dismissed. The desire to see Fenrir coloring the snow red with his blood hit him hard. Harry shook himself and sucked in a quick breath, a bit concerned and overwhelmed at the ferocity of the feeling.

Remus just nodded. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Actually, you wanted to speak with me," Fenrir said. "You wrote me the letter."

"A month ago."

Fenrir shrugged. "Been busy."

Harry nudged Remus when it was obvious that Fenrir wasn't going to say more. Harry might not like Fenrir, but he knew that Remus needed to do this. If that meant asking Fenrir, then Harry would still support Remus. Hands shoved into his pockets, despite his warm gloves, he wrapped his fingers around his wand. He might support Remus in seeking help and answers, but he still didn't trust Fenrir.

"I need help— accepting the wolf," Remus grit out.

"Bout time," Fenrir scoffed. "Seems you already are, though, if you thought to seek your Sire for help instead of another wolf."

"Sire?" Harry questioned.

"Aye, I'm his Sire. I bit him, see?"

"It's his fault I'm cursed," Remus muttered darkly.

"Cursed? Blessed Moon, it ain't a curse."

"How is it not a curse? I've been shunned my entire life."

Fenrir rolled his eyes. "That's only because you insist on associating with wizards. You should have come with my pack and me."

"You never offered," Remus spluttered. "Not that I would have gone with the likes of you," he added harshly.

"Tried, your folks said no and moved you off to the middle of nowhere."

Harry glanced at Remus and saw that this was new information. "How is being a werewolf, not a curse?" Harry asked while Remus processed.

"Eh, got you interested?" Fenrir grinned.

"Hardly. Just answer the question," Harry replied.

"Werewolves are superior. Why wouldn't you want to be one? Better senses, stronger fighters, don't have to worry about those nonsense wizard laws. I did Remus a favor."

"What about the pain of transformation?" Harry countered.

"Side effect of getting the best of everything else. It's not as bad with a pack, though."

"Why did you bite me?" Remus asked suddenly. The words rushed from his mouth, and if Harry had to bet, Remus had probably been wondering that his entire life.

"Part of it was to get back at your Pops. The other part was you. You had spirit, kid. A fighter even with your illness," Fenrir looked fond in remembrance. The look clashed with the man's rough and grizzled exterior. "Perfect material for a strong wolf, a good addition to my pack. Did you an honor, coming back to find you just to turn you. Saved you I did."

"Saved me," Remus seethed. "What illness? A normal childhood?"

Fenrir frowned and stared at Remus, his large hands shoved into his trouser pockets. Harry noticed the trousers were of lesser quality and wondered if the werewolf was freezing. "You were sick. Some illness. Heard your Pops talk about it. Couldn't be cured. Saved you by biting you."

"How would that save him?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking between Remus and Fenrir. Remus was scowling, and he kept swallowing — angry yet trying to sort all of this new information. Fenrir looked a little concerned, given his critical look not leaving Remus, but completely at ease.

"Werewolves are superior, told you that," Fenrir said. "Illnesses won't survive against werewolf blood."

"My parents didn't say I was sick before."

"Well, they wouldn't, would they?" Fenrir barked out a harsh laugh that grated at Harry's ears. "All those lies your Pops spread about werewolves, and then there it is, being a werewolf saved his son. Your Pops was a coward and refused to admit that werewolves were the superior race and hid you away."

Remus growled. "My father was a great man. He did what he could to raise my mother and me and keep us safe."

Fenrir growled in response to Remus and stalked closer. The at ease posture a forgotten memory now. The werewolf's body was tense and rigid, ready to attack at the slightest indication. Fenrir stood an extra three inches over Remus and snarled. "Your Pops should have given you to me and let me raise you with the pack. We would have raised you right. Raised you a proper wolf, not the lame bitch you are now."

Harry raised his wand in case a fight broke out. Standing this close, Harry noticed the vast differences. Remus, tall and lanky, but obviously tired, exhausted, and drawn. Fenrir, even taller and built like a boulder, looking wild but energized.

"You would have had me starving in the woods, living rabid and wild."

"I would have had you surrounded by the pack," Fenrir snarled, "by other wolves, by those who understood. Would have raised you as my Heir, given the spirit you showed."

"Is that supposed to impress me? Endear me to you?"

Fenrir snorted, still towering over Remus, their noses inches apart. "Don't need you endeared to shit. You're the one in the wrong. You would know that if you actually gave it a proper chance. None of that spy shit for the manipulative loon."

The snarling continued. Remus growled low, standing defiant for almost five minutes before something changed. It was like watching a switch flip. The defiance evaporated out of Remus like a deflated balloon, and he bowed his head, baring his neck. Fenrir snorted in approval and reached a hand to grip the back of Remus' neck, tugging him closer.

"Hey!" Harry shouted.

"None of your spells, Potter," Fenrir growled. His amber eyes flashed wildly. "Remus here is just accepting his place."

"His place!" Harry seethed. "Let him go."

"It's alright, cub," Remus said, his voice soft and gentle; he sounded tired and weary. His shoulders were hunched under the weight of Fenrir's arm. "You knew this might be a result of today. I'll write to you, but I need to go with Fenrir now. I need to learn my wolf. Fenrir is right. I've been avoiding it my entire life."

"How do you know he isn't lying?" Harry demanded.

Fenrir let go of Remus' neck and stalked towards Harry. "Fenrir - " Remus began, worried.

"I won't hurt the kid," Fenrir replied without looking away from Harry. "Unless he wants me too," Fenrir added lowly with a dark grin. Harry scowled. "Still not scared, eh, Potter?" Fenrir nodded approvingly. "Dark Lord did right in choosing you." Harry frowned, confused and thrown by that statement. Fenrir leaned closer and sniffed before smirking. "Well, once he finally gets on with it anyway. Don't you worry yourself about Remus, I'll teach him the way he should have been taught from the start."

Remus walked around Fenrir and pulled Harry into a hug. "Sorry, Harry, but I really do need to go to the pack. You even said so the other day. Plus, I need to see if what he says is true if everything I've ever thought was a lie. I just—" Remus broke off with a pained grimace.

"I get it," Harry sighed. "It's kind of like what I did when I got my Inheritance. I was Dark, so I sought the Dark. You're a werewolf, so it's time you spent time with the werewolves."

Remus pressed his lips to the top of Harry's head. "You're far too mature for your age, just like your mother."

Blinking his eyes at the comparison to his mother, Harry gripped Remus in a tighter hug. The memory of her hovering over the candle, her transparent eyes, and repeated assurances of love, flickered behind his eyes. "When you get back, I'll set it up so you can talk to them again. They miss you. Sirius even said for you to find your pack. I think they knew this was supposed to happen."

His eyes looked unbearably sad, but the smile Remus offered was fond. "I'd like that, Harry. But best not tell Sirius about this. He'll be insufferable if he finds out he was right."

Harry snickered. "Just think, at least now you'll actually be where Dumbledore thinks you are."

Winking, Remus backed away, and Fenrir gripped his arm. "Offer still stands, Potter," Fenrir said with a smirk. "You'd make a fine wolf."

"You couldn't handle me as a wolf."

Fenrir winked and tossed a lazy salute before both he and Remus disappeared with a crack. Harry was alone in the snowy field. He shivered as the snow began to fall. He pulled his wand and cursed. Marvolo still hadn't taught him how to apparate yet. Hot with the embarrassment of allowing himself to be stranded, Harry pulled out the portkey Marvolo had gifted to him that first breakfast together.

" Safety," he hissed and felt the tug at his navel.

"Harry, are you alright?" Marvolo asked, walking swiftly into the entrance hall moments after Harry arrived.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said, getting up off the floor where he landed. "You really need to teach me how to apparate."

Marvolo smirked. "I take it the meeting with Fenrir went well?"

Harry nodded with a slight frown. "I guess so. Remus went with Fenrir to his pack. But Fenrir mentioned how Remus had been sick as a child and that being bitten had actually saved Remus' life."

"Fenrir has claimed this as fact often in the past," Marvolo said with a nod. "Unfortunately, we only really have his word on it since there is not much research dedicated to the benefits of lycanthropy. Come, let's fit a quick apparition lesson in before lunch. What lesson do you have this afternoon?"

"Ancient Runes," Harry said, bouncing on his heels a bit in excitement. He was cursing his younger self for not choosing the subject back in Third Year. It really was fascinating. "I think after Yule, I'll start looking into the Necromancy Runes and the Hindi Runes."

"You gifted your friends a copy of your Hindi Runes book, did you not?" Marvolo asked as they walked towards the back garden.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, one of them. Apparently, Hermione and Daphne have already been able to use some of them to make a Legilimency block for Neville."

"I would be quite interested in glancing through this book as well."

"I know," Harry smirked. "I figured we could look through it together. Work together on it since I'm still beginning and you already know most Runes."

Marvolo was quiet for a few paces. "Yes, I would enjoy working on such an endeavor with you."

Harry felt his face heat up, grateful that Marvolo was opening the backdoor and wasn't looking.

Harry breathed deeply as he watched the candles stretch into thin white fire pillars while the room turned colder. "Master," Harry breathed when the dark shadow of Death coalesced in front of him.

"My Child, you have been busy," Death said. Harry let the blend of various voices overlapping and washing over him. "You passed your test and Claimed your first in my name."

"I almost didn't pass," Harry admitted quietly. "I didn't want to lose them again."

"It wouldn't be a test if it were easy," Death replied. The shadows stretched to fill the room. Harry could almost imagine the stretched shadows as comforting arms enveloping him.

"Will I only ever be able to talk to one group of people per night?"

"Yes. It would not do to abuse your gift."

"Another should be Claimed soon too, and then I'll be helping a friend speak with his family," Harry said, changing the topic. It still hurt to remember talking to his parents; his heart ached with the bittersweet reminder of his night with them. "Will it work? Will Neville be able to talk to his parents? Will they be sane?"

"Those Claimed are no longer plagued by the pains and sufferings as during Life."

It was the same thing that Death had said last month when Harry asked. Disappointed at not receiving a better confirmation, Harry just nodded. "Marvolo alluded to one of his cursed artifacts affecting Dumbledore's hand. Is this artifact related to his attempts to avoid you?"

"It is." Death pulsed rapidly, and Harry wasn't sure what emotion to equate to the action. "Not all of your partners' attempts are concerns. There have been three vanquished and rejoined. However, my second gift to the Peverell brothers, your gift by rights, is now also in the Tainted Light's possession."

Harry frowned, trying to piece together the riddle. It sounded like Marvolo had some of his pieces back — maybe that was why he was saner? — and the Peverell brothers... "Didn't you say last time that Dumbledore already had one of the gifts?"

"Yes. He now has two of them." Harry felt a hot wave of anger. Not only had Dumbledore confiscated his own Holly wand, but now he held two other heirlooms that belonged to him. "You shall not receive them until you Claim him. The Tainted Light carries them constantly. You will not reach your full potential until you hold my gifts."

Nodding, Harry stared at his lap covered in the simple white Ritual shift but didn't actually see it. His thoughts tossed about in his head. So Dumbledore held the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone and his Holly wand. Marvolo had made multiple things to prevent his death; three of them had been reunited. So how many more were left? Harry could feel a headache forming.

"How am I to face Dumbledore when I'm not at my full potential?"

Death pulsed, the shadows fluttering. "The Tainted Light does not equate your potential. You shall be my strongest Child, with or without uniting my gifts. My gifts will only see to assist you in your path."

"But after Dumbledore is gone, what more to my path is there?"

"NO!" Death thundered. The blend of voices shrieked and screamed at various pitches, shaking his bones and piercing his mind. It was the worst sound Harry had ever heard. The sound of nightmares and haunted nights. Harry sat paralyzed, unable to even try covering his ears. The candles went out, plunging the room into total darkness. The temperature dropped so fast that Harry choked on his breath. Fear tickled his spine. He struggled to breathe. "Your path is not dictated by the Tainted Light. The Tainted Light is merely an obstacle. Your path is my path. Your purpose is my purpose. And my purpose does not end with a mere mortal. You shall remain my voice in the mortal world until I allow your Life to end." Harry tried to swallow but couldn't. The cold grip of terror and panic wrapped around his heart. "You are my Child, but I am your Master. Do not forget so easily again."

Harry's throat convulsed, unable to breathe, unable to swallow, unable to speak. His eyes grew wet as his panic reached a peak he had never felt before. Just as suddenly, the candles flared to life, and the darkness eased. The temperature rose and the cold melted from icy to chilly. Harry gasped in his first breath, feeling like he'd never breathed before this moment.

"Yes, Master," he breathed out, his body trembling and voice shaking.

Death began pulsing calmly once more, and Harry wiped at his eyes, trying and failing to steady his breathing. "Oh my Child," Death crooned, and Harry shivered at the gentle tones whispering over his skin. "Do not fear me as others do, but never again doubt your purpose and your path. You are my Child. Do not pander to the whims of the rest."

Harry didn't bother trying to speak again, just nodded. Death pulsed in silence. "Was there anything else you wished of me?" Harry finally asked.

"Continue as you are. You are doing well, Child. Your endeavors are important to you but if they detract from my path they will be disbanded."

"Yes, Master," Harry breathed as the shadows dissipated.

Stumbling to his feet, blowing out the candles, he clutched at his arms, trying to fight the chill that refused to fade. Harry worried that he'd be unable to sleep with the memory of Deaths' anger clinging to his mind, but the exhaustion claimed him just as readily as any other time.

Standing on the dais, Harry watched the Death Eaters gather and form their ranks. None of them wore masks. Now that Harry thought about it, he hadn't seen any of them wearing a mask the entire time he'd been Marvolo's ally. Voldemort stood next to him, poised and straight and perfectly still. His skeletal form was no less unnerving to behold as all the other times Harry had witnessed it. His nerves raced as he stood above the Death Eaters. It was a strange feeling, being deferred to so obviously. The kneeling — while he knew was for Voldemort — made his head fuzzy.

"You!" The screech echoed around the Gathering Room. Harry cocked an eyebrow as he watched Bellatrix rush forward, giving no thought to the kneeling followers she knocked over in her haste. "You will die by my hand. You make a mockery of the name Black. When I destroy you, I shall reclaim the name Black."

Harry peered down at the deranged witch, her glittering dark eyes and wild hair. "Considering you aren't a Black in name or otherwise anymore, I don't really see how you can do that."

"You filthy half-blood, you taint the Dark with your presence."

Voldemort took a step forward to bring him next to Harry, and he too stared down his non-existent nose at Bellatrix. "You take issue with my choice of ally?"

"My Lord," Bellatrix said with breathless devotion as she lowered herself to the ground. "My Lord, please allow me the pleasure of killing the brat."

"Do not speak to the floor," Voldemort sneered and shot a curse at Bellatrix. It was orange in color, and the witch scratched at her skin as she screamed for two minutes. Once she stopped screaming, Voldemort continued speaking. "If you wish to disobey and question your Lord, do so to my face."

Panting heavily, Bellatrix rushed to stand. "No, My Lord, never. I am your most faithful, your most devoted. My life is yours, My Lord. It is merely the half-blood's corruption of my ancestral house. Allow me to exact my vengeance. Allow me to teach the boy his place. Let me do it, My Lord. I will make him scream so sweetly. Please, My Lord." She spoke in breathless pants, words rushing and stumbling over each other.

"He has been shown his place. It is above you," Voldemort replied. Harry wished it was Marvolo and not Voldemort standing next to him and saying that.

"Let him prove it!" Bellatrix declared, her eyes switching from rapt devotion to burning malice as she glanced between the two of them. "He makes a mockery of everything with nothing but a mark on his chest as allowance. Let him prove his worth. Let me kill him."

"You did say she was desperate to duel me," Harry hissed softly, staring at Bellatrix with a cocked head. He could feel the same anger flaring up at the sight of her, but he also felt a strange tendril of pity staring at the psychotic witch. "And I need to kill her for Neville anyway."

"Yes, I suppose. But she should know better than to interrupt me," Voldemort hissed.

Harry shrugged. "You place a lot of expectations on a deranged witch."

"You wish for a duel," Voldemort said aloud. "It shall be done. A duel to the death. Line the walls."

The Death Eaters scattered for the edges of the room like eager schoolchildren, some stumbling as they tried moving before they tried standing. Harry hopped off the platform. Bellatrix, chest heaving in anticipation, skipped to the opposite end of the room. Voldemort cast a dome over them, encompassing the majority of the room.

Harry drew his wand up and felt his magic bubbling and mingling with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His grin was bloodthirsty as he lowered into a fighter's stance. He had been waiting for this moment for months. Desperate to finally rid the world of the stain that was Bellatrix Lestrange. Had been dreaming of her death since June. Sirius would finally be avenged. Frank and Alice Longbottom would be avenged. Neville's suffering would be avenged. He felt his mind sink into an adrenalized focus.

Bellatrix cackled. "Itty bitty Potty thinks he can play," she cooed, her wand raised and her eyes unnervingly focused. "I will make you beg. I shall make you sing with your screams."

"The duel is to the death," Voldemort said, still standing on the platform. "Everything is fair game. Begin."

Neither bothered with bowing and immediately fired. Harry cast Stupefy, and she cast Crucio. Harry dodged and weaved, firing spells in a continuous chain. Cutting, blasting, stunning, disarming, and stinging hexes in a smooth and unending rotation, his wand movement never pausing. Testing and poking at his opponent's defenses, not rushing his spell choices yet. He kept it relatively easy in spell choice but made sure the power behind them made up for the simplicity.

Diffindo. Bombarda. Dodge. Stupefy. Protego. Dodge. Expelliarmus. Diffindo. Confringo. Bombarda. Protego. Reducto. Stupefy. Dodge.

Bellatrix wasn't pulling her punches, though. This was fine. Harry decided to cast a few simple spells to annoy more than anything. He added tickling, tripping, and dancing spells into his spell rotation.

Diffindo. Bombarda. Tarantallegra. Dodge. Rictusempra. Dodge. Dodge. Protego. Diffindo. Confringo. Stupefy. Protego. Dodge. Expelliarmus. Diffindo. Confringo. Bombarda. Protego. Dodge. Reducto. Stupefy. Tarantallegra. Rictusempra. Dodge. Expelliarmus.

Despite her mental state, Bellatrix was a fearsome dueler, but even the best made mistakes when their emotions took hold. He couldn't kill her with a spell, though. Her Life was Claimed, and he needed to Claim it appropriately. But he didn't want to jump straight into Necromancy. He actually did want to duel Bellatrix. It had been a long time coming, and just skipping to Claiming would feel cheap.

So he pulled on the Twins method of harmless prank spells, designed to humiliate the witch while he dodged and blocked her spells. There wasn't much for him to transfigure around him, so he settled on conjuring random objects to pelt her continuously. While the objects pelted her from all angles, he shot tickling charms and stinging hexes, buckets of water, allusions of swarming insects, and summoned snakes.

Currently, she only rotated between Crucio, Cutting curses, and the blood boiling curse. He wasn't sure if these were just the only spells she could still do given her time in Azkaban or if they were just the only ones she could do wordlessly because when she did try other spells, she shouted them.

Bellatrix danced and twirled out of the way of spells and cackled the whole time. It infuriated Harry. Her cackle had haunted his dreams for months. Memories of her cackling after Sirius fell behind the Veil on a repeat. Covering her in honey and feathers, he slipped in a handful of severing curses. One landed a hit-making him the first to draw blood.

"Stop playing Potter!" Bellatrix shrieked, vanishing the honey and feathers. Her arm was bleeding but not heavily.

"Could say the same for yourself," he jeered back and transfigured two of the summoned snakes into swords that now hovered and swiped at her in a rhythmic pattern. "Come now, Bella, have you no creativity?"

"You'll pay for everything, Potter," Bellatrix hissed. "You are corrupting My Lord, and I will no longer let it stand."

"Promises, promises. Do try to make this more interesting; I'm getting bored."

His taunting cost him.

A bludgeoning curse hit his knee, and he fell to the ground. Despite the intense pain, Harry rolled to continue avoiding the following spells. Cursing heavily, Harry transfigured the marble floor to melt and sink like quicksand around Bellatrix's feet, halting her progress. Sending a sensory blocking curse and a tickling hex, Harry risked the few seconds of her distraction to cast a few quick healing charms on his knee. He couldn't heal his bones, but some numbing charms and a temporary cast would suffice.

Limping slightly, Harry shuffled closer and didn't pause in his spell casting. Not allowing her a moment's pause. Unfortunately, she had freed herself from the floor quickly and was just as quick in her retaliation. He still sprinkled some prank hexes into his mix, but now he focused on the harder spells. He started using the blood boiling, knee reversal, and entrail expelling curses.

"So the ickle baby does know how to play," she cackled as she blocked his stomach bursting curse. He had to block her spells more than dodge them now since his knee hindered him. It slowed his offensive spell casting, putting him on the defensive. She pressed her advantage and stalked closer. "Welcome to the big boys club."

"Then why are you here?"

Both were panting now. Bellatrix no longer twirled and twisted. She conserved her energy by moving just the smallest inch possible out of the way and barely paused for breath between spells. She'd given up on wordless casting. He needed to wrap this up and quickly. He needed to throw her off guard. She was too quick, and his prank spells weren't working well enough as distractors. If he could surprise her and gain the upper hand... but what would surprise her?

"Expecto Patronum," he shouted with a random burst of inspiration. His silvery thestral burst from his wand and charged at Bellatrix. She screamed and raised her arms to protect herself. She hurled three curses trying to hit the spectral animal.

The spells went right through his Patronus; right to Harry who jerked to dodge and stumbled. His bad leg hit a conjured puddle on the floor from spells cast minutes ago. His balance thrown, Bellatrix pressed her advantage and his wand arm with a cutting curse. His hand spasmed on reflex, and his wand dropped. Forgoing regaining his balance, Harry fell into a roll and jumped to his feet. His knee buckled at the movement but he remained standing.

"No wand now, Potty," Bellatrix sneered, summoning his wand from the ground.

To cover his momentary panic over the loss of his wand, Harry smirked. Hoping that faking confidence would inspire it. And it did. "Who says I need one?" With a wave of his hand, he cast Incendio. Her guard lowered with him wandless; she didn't block the fire and screamed as her robes caught fire. Harry summoned his wand and hers with two consecutive wandless Accio spells. "Do you need yours?" he taunted, catching them out of the air easily.

Harry held both his and her wands now, and Bellatrix screamed as she tried fighting the fire burning her robes. "Potty, you'll pay for this. I don't need a wand to kill you. I'll kill you with my bare hands." Ignoring the flames surrounding her, she stormed towards him, her clawed hands outstretched. "The Dark Lord will see what a limpet you are now. He'll see how unworthy you are. He shall reward me."

"I don't think so." Holding both wands, he flicked them, and Bellatrix jerked off the ground, an invisible hand clutching her throat. It was the same spell Harry had used against Travers. Completely calm now, Harry strode forward, his entire focus on the witch. No more playing games. She kicked out at him when he got closer, but Harry easily swerved the flailing limbs. "I told you, witch. Death had a Claim on your Life. I've come to collect."

Sinking into the icy fire of his Necromancy, her Life came into focus. It flickered and pulsed rapidly, reflecting her accelerated state. Harry stood directly in front of her now, only a few inches separated them. But he didn't summon her Life immediately. Instead, he reached out his fingers. He hovered his fingers above the aura surrounding her body, not touching but feeling the low heat that the aura produced. He'd never actually felt the auras before. It was fascinating. Curious, Harry pressed his finger into the pulsing aura.

The aura separated at his touch, peeling into tendrils that stretched to remain connected while giving him space. Intrigued, Harry twirled his fingers into the stretched tendrils. His fingertips hovered over her skin, just barely brushing against her cheek, the ghost of an intimate caress. Her Life twined around his fingers like string. It was warm to the touch, and gently he pulled his hand away and watched as the tendrils clung to his fingers and pulled away with him.

"Can you feel your Life in my hands, Bella?" Harry asked, detached and emotionless. He flicked their wands, and she dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. She lashed out to strike him, but he fisted his hand around the tendrils of Life and tugged it sharply. Bellatrix froze mid-strike. Her eyes widening in panic. "Suppose you can," he mused. Experimentally, he moved his arm away from the witch and watched as she was pulled after his arm. "A little puppet now, aren't you?"

Shoving the wands into his robes, he used his other hand to grab another fistful of her Life and pulled in the opposite direction. Bellatrix whimpered as her body stretched in opposite directions, her arms spread as she remained on her knees in front of him. Harry smirked coldly. He watched as Bellatrix's dark hair gained grey streaks. He wondered what it felt like to have your Life tugged in different directions.

"You have a lot to answer for little Bella. You've been naughty, and Death is displeased."

Her eyes flashed savagely, and she tried to speak but couldn't do more than release a few squeaks of sound. She was completely at his mercy, and Harry reveled in the feeling. Roles reversed, the witch would have him writhing on the ground under the torture curse. He doubted he would have been sane by the time she killed him. His desire to see her dance under his fingers, his desire to humiliate and mock her, his desire to draw out her suffering for as long as possible, filled him with such intensity he swayed, lightheaded. It would be no less than she deserved. Detached and clinically observing, Harry debated this. He jerked his arms a few more times and watched as the witch spasmed, tugged across the floor. Her face grew wrinkled, and her hair was completely grey now.

Sighing, Harry released his hold on her Life and watched it snap back in place. Flung to her back at the force of her Life returning, Bellatrix blinked dazedly. Her hair black once more and the wrinkles gone, she lay limply on the ground. Weakly she tried to kick out at his legs. Kneeling by her head, Harry whispered. "I expected better. Your Death will be painful, I promise you. Those you terrorized will be avenged. I will see your name burned from your ancestral house records. You will be as insignificant in Death as you were in Life."

"The Dark Lord-" she began, her words a gasping breath. Her eyes were wet with burning fury. Her hand raised to claw him but not strong enough to touch him and fell to the ground limply.

"Will not mourn you," Harry finished. "You are nothing to your precious Lord." He watched her eyes flicker to where he knew Voldemort stood. Whatever she did or didn't see in Voldemort's eyes, Harry didn't know. He didn't look away from the witch lying at his feet. Harry watched as something broke in the witch's dark eyes. Despair and hopelessness overtook her malice, and Harry felt a small twinge of pity. It seemed the attention of her Lord was the thing to break Bellatrix Lestrange.

Satisfied that Bellatrix was well and truly broken, Harry stood and began to chant in the Necromancer Tongue. Distantly he heard Bellatrix begin to scream. It was easy to ignore, though, as he sank deeper into his magic.

He called upon the dead: the wronged, the ruined, the merciless, and the vengeful. He called to Death to judge the Life at his feet. Harry called for those beyond to seek justice against the tainted Life. He called for every vicious punishment to be granted and bestowed on the Life at his feet. He repeated his call and summons. He listed her crimes and her sentence: judge, jury, and executioner. He felt the magic flow through him — a simple conduit for the wishes of Death.

Harry felt himself slipping further into the blissful rush of Darkness. He was superior, all-powerful, invincible. The rest of the world would submit easily under his control. He would make everyone suffer and repent for their actions against him. His suffering would be theirs. No one would be able to stop him. Harry didn't want to be stopped.

"It is done." Harry heard the whisper inside his head and knew it was Death. Reluctantly, Harry worked to fight his magic back under control. He didn't just fight his magic, though. He fought the desires the magic inspired.

It took more effort than Harry wanted to admit, but finally, he had tamped down on the power flow enough to escape the detachment, to refocus on the world around him. Bellatrix's corpse lay at his feet, a husk of a body. Grey and deteriorated, her sagging skin clung to the skeleton, like a grotesque blanket.

Harry looked around and saw the shield dome had vanished. He wondered if he had done that or if Voldemort had dropped it. The Death Eaters pressed into the walls, terror evident in their eyes. His magic surged, and he sneered at them. He would show them something to cower at. He would show just how powerful he really was. He would show that he was not a simple child. He could still see each of their auras, despite no longer being in his detached state. He raised his arms, determined to turn them all into the puppets that they were.

"Impressive," Voldemort hissed, suddenly standing next to him. "I never expected you to be one to play with your food, though."

Harry paused but remained ready to dominate the trembling Death Eaters. "What?"

"Your pranks and puppetry. I quite enjoyed the demonstration and the show. Highly amusing. I just didn't expect it from you."

It was like a bucket of cold water had been tipped over his head. Harry swallowed and pushed his magic back down; it responded easily. His arms dropped. He glanced at Voldemort, who stared at him with a hungry intensity that made his throat dry. He had never seen Marvolo's eyes such a dark red before. "I might have got carried away, but it's no less than she deserved."

"I didn't disagree. Merely commented on the observation." Voldemort looked at his followers still pressed to the walls. "Dispose of the body. Stand back in ranks. We still have much to discuss."

Numbly, Harry trailed after Voldemort as the Death Eaters scrambled once again. He watched as Goyle Sr. and Crabbe Sr. levitated the corpse into the hall outside the Gathering Room before sliding into their spots. Standing on the stage once again, Harry felt cold and empty without his magic filling him. He could still feel the magic, hot and eager to please, to respond, hovering just under the surface. It would be so easy to call it forth once again, to subdue every single follower standing below him. Harry swallowed and ignored the call as best he could.

Growing restless as he stood there — his magic complying to his control but still too agitated to be completely calm — while Voldemort spoke, Harry absently began twirling his wand in one hand, and Bellatrix's in the other. He absently stared at both wands, watching them spin through the air, watched his fingers twisting around the sticks of wood as they had twisted around Bellatrix's Life. Exhaustion and energy swept over him in cycling waves, and Harry just wanted to be done. He didn't want to stand on the stage any longer.

"Come, little lion." Harry blinked. Marvolo stood before him now, and the Gathering Room was empty. "Let us try Fiendfyre once more, hm?" Marvolo's hand hovered over his shoulder, not quite touching him, and gestured with his other hand for them to leave the room.

Desperate for an outlet for his restless magic, Harry agreed without question. That night, thoroughly emptied of thought and emotion, Harry tore a parchment piece in half and wrote four words on both. He handed one to Hedwig and one to Dobby and then collapsed in his bed.

Curtains drawn and reading his Charms text by wand light, Neville Longbottom accepted a scrap of parchment from Dobby. He'd been studying for his upcoming Charms exam, but he pushed his books aside as he stared at the folded parchment. Harry rarely wrote him directly. Usually, it was Luna because she wasn't under as much suspicion.

Slowly, he opened the parchment and sucked in a breath.

Augusta Longbottom sat before her fireplace — a crocheted blanket draped over her lap, book in one hand and a glass of sherry in the other — the sound of tapping on her window pulled her attention. Spotting the beautiful snowy owl, she flicked her wand to open the window and let the owl in. It was rare that an owl she didn't recognize made it past the family wards. The owl dropped a piece of parchment in her lap and flew back out the window.

Thoroughly interested now, Augusta put her book and sherry down on her side table and drew her wand. After casting the necessary inspection charms and deeming the parchment safe, she opened it. With grim satisfaction, she tossed it into her fireplace and watched as the parchment edges curled and burned — the words disappearing into ash but forever imprinted in her mind.

The witch is dead.