Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Bloody Skies	By : TokiMirage Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 44836 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: JKRowling owns Harry Potter. Everything else is mine. I do not make any money writing this fic.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Bloody Skies
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As you may have noticed, ‘Suspense’ has been added to the list of warnings in the summary of this story, and is now in the Genre as well. So, if you do not like suspense, the author and her muse kindly request that you click the little X in the corner of your window, and not read this story. We thank you for your consideration. : )
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Chapter Thirteen:
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McGonagall was waiting for them at the entrance to the grounds when the apparated in, and Cyrus, having changed his appearance back to that of Harry Potter, tried to keep the scowl off his face. He’d always liked McGonagall. She was strict, but fair, and as far as he knew she had nothing to do with Dumbledore’s… obsession with Harry, as Rivehn had called it.
She looked surprised to see him for a moment before she smiled, her eyes tired but displaying pleasure at seeing him. “How are you doing, Mr. Potter? Are you enjoying where you’re staying currently?”
Cyrus’s respect for her went up a notch. He didn’t have to try all that hard to smile. “Yes, Professor. It’s been very… educational.”
She nodded and introduced herself to the ‘guests’. “I am Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall.” She inclined her head to both Rivehn and Yankovich before motioning towards the school. He wasn’t sure if she realized what they were, as Yankovich had glamoured his wings and tail, but she was polite and neutral as she had always been. “Shall we go?”
Cyrus glanced at Rivehn and Yankovich before following her. “I’m curious, Professor, why were you waiting for us at the entrance to the grounds? We didn’t send an owl ahead to announce our arrival.”
“I was merely informed that some guests of the Headmaster would be arriving in an unknown amount of time. I hadn’t expected it to be you, Mr. Potter. I admit, it’s good to see you in good health. At one point no one was sure whether you had been kidnapped or left by choice.” She looked like she was dying to say something else, but decided not to.
“I would think that after Dumbledore’s allegations concerning Mr. Potter that you would be less than pleased to see him,” Yankovich commented, no emotion revealed on his face.
Cyrus scrounged through his mind for context. Oh, right. The dead basilisk. How had he forgotten that? He inwardly cringed. Yankovich must have found out about it from the Prophet… or heard about the dead basilisk and then read the paper.
McGonagall looked highly unimpressed. “I do not form an opinion on a matter until I am in possession of all the facts. The Headmaster has been very tight lipped about the situation, and as such certain… questions are brought up that cannot be discovered from anyone but the source.” She looked at Cyrus.
Eugh. This was a tricky situation. Did he want to clear his name and reveal he was a necromancer? Or did he want to make up some lie to get the ‘truth’ out? It wasn’t like anyone would believe him. Dumbledore was held into high of standing in the wizarding communities. Anyone trying to run a smear campaign against him might be either gunned down by the wizard himself or by his half-witted ‘followers’. There was a reason why Fudge feared him, after all.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Professor,” he finally decided to say.
They had reached the castle at this point, and as McGonagall pushed the door open for them, she fixed steady eyes on Cyrus. “Whatever threat you perceive here, Harry, I would have you know that if you need someone here in the wizarding world, I am quite capable of keeping secrets.” She smiled mischievously, and for a second she seemed to emulate her animagus form before it disappeared again into a stern disposition.
Cyrus inclined his head in acknowledgement of the offer.
It took them around ten minutes to make their way to the Headmaster’s office. It was almost ten o’clock at night at that point, but Yankovich hadn’t been willing to wait until tomorrow, understandably. They ran across one prefect during the walk, but Yankovich made quick work of him with his angry scowl. Cyrus would have felt bad for him if he’d recognized the face, but as it was he could care less. Yankovich had every right to be pissed. If the necromancer hadn’t given Voldemort his army of inferi by midnight tomorrow, his niece’s hand would be gift wrapped and mailed by owl.
The password for the gargoyle was a something Cyrus had never heard of. With Dumbledore’s track-record, though, it was probably another muggle candy. McGonagall left them there with a word of goodbye and a slight smile for Cyrus. He smiled back before entering the gargoyle after Rivehn and Yankovich.
When they entered Dumbledore’s office, Cyrus couldn’t help the shiver of fear that raced down his spine. Whereas before he had associated disapproving gazes and detentions with this room, now all he felt was the restraints tying him to that chair and the cold metal on his wrists that kept his magic at bay. Making his expression as blank as he could, he didn’t meet the twinkling blue eyes of the Headmaster sitting behind his desk.
“Good evening, gentleman! Harry, my boy, it’s good to see you well.” His smile was so jovial and grandfatherly that Cyrus wanted to puke. ‘I’m nothing but an old man. Not dangerous, see? Flash of teeth before he eats you alive,’ Cyrus mentally mocked to himself, and the speck of humour made him feel a little better under the glare of the full-watt Dumbledorian Twinkle.
“Good evening, Headmaster.”
“Would you like some tea? Rivehn? Yankovich?” Dumbledore asked as he motioned for them to sit down.
Two sets of eyes narrowed. “Professors Rivehn and Yankovich, as you well know from our last visit, Headmaster.”
“Of course, of course. I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it used to be.” He twinkled and turned to Cyrus. “And you, Harry, my boy? Tea?”
Cyrus narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“Lemon drop?”
“No.”
The old man pouted. “No need to be so rude, my boy. I was merely extending courtesy.” He proceeded to pop one of the candies into his mouth.
Cyrus refused to look at his professors to see if they were watching disapprovingly, instead staring stubbornly at one of the bookshelves, trying to make out the faded titles.
“Have you been enjoying yourself at your new school, Harry?”
Cyrus’s head snapped to the old man so fast he almost got whiplash. “How did you know I was in another school?”
Dumbledore smiled that all-knowing smile, and it set Cyrus’s teeth on edge. “After that display of power a month ago, I would be surprised if you weren’t, Harry. But thank you for confirming it for me.”
He felt his face flush with anger and embarrassment at having been played. Fucking old man. He was pretending ignorance with every other line of the questioning the old goat pulled out of his arse from that moment on.
“What else have you been learning there?”
“None of your business.”
The twinkling blue eyes wilted, and the wrinkles around his eyes seemed to be emphasized. He played the ‘I’m-an-old-man’ card for a few minutes filled with ‘I’m-so-disappointed-in-you’ atmosphere before deciding it wasn’t working. He let out a sad sigh and sat back in his chair. “That’s too bad, Harry. I had hoped we’d be able to overcome our past misunderstandings.”
Cyrus snorted. “Not going to happen.”
“Then you won’t tell me why you became a necromancer, Harry? It is a Dark path, and I fear that it is one more similarity between you and… Tom.”
Cyrus resisted the urge to scoff and widened his eyes slightly in innocent surprise – just enough to be believable and not so much that it was fake. “Necromancer? What are you talking about, Headmaster? I’m not practicing any dark magic.” Which was a lie. He was practicing the Dark Arts, but in relation to this conversation, necromancy wasn’t a Dark Art. He didn’t know what stupid books Dumbledore was reading, but death magic was nothing like dark magic. They were completely different arts, and only the ignorant bigots of the wizarding world put them both under the same label of Dark.
“Don't try to deny it, Harry. After your departure you left an animated basilisk terrorizing the students of the school.”
Cyrus narrowed his eyes and thought of a way he could twist this to his advantage. Playing verbal chess with Dumbledore wasn’t something he’d tried to do before, so he wasn’t sure how successful he’d be. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Headmaster, but I had nothing to do with the dead basilisk. The blame for that lies completely on the associate of mine that busted me out of your dungeons.”
He caught sight of his professors turning their heads to look at him out of the corner of his eyes, but he paid them no mind, his eyes fixed firmly on the old man’s face. He didn’t like meeting the twinkling blue eyes, but with his mind compressed and sunk in his magic, there was no way for Dumbledore to read his thoughts through his eyes with Legilimency. He saw the exact moment of realization on Dumbledore’s face when the twinkle hardened slightly.
“Harry,” Dumbledore said, and it was layered with such disappointment and sorrow that Cyrus almost believed it for a millisecond. He would have bought it if he weren’t so very familiar with the old man’s manipulations. “It was a precaution, for your safety.”
Yeah. Cyrus wasn’t buying it. “I highly doubt it is standard procedure when protecting someone to put magic suppressing cuffs on their wrists and throw them in a cold and musty dungeon with no food or water.” At a surprised sound from one of his teachers, Cyrus turned to see Rivehn’s eyes glowing violet with ire.
“You are the one who put those cuffs on him?”
The disappointment-o-meter went up a few notches. Dumbledore kept his attention firmly on Cyrus, dismissing Rivehn as if the vampire hadn’t said anything. “It was only done out of concern for your safety, Harry. There are Death Eater children in this school, and I can’t protect you at all times.”
Cyrus snorted. “Give it up, Dumbledore. The only one believing the shit coming out of your mouth is you.”
For a moment the façade cracked, and those twinkling blue eyes turned on him like daggers before the old man forced them to twinkle again.
“It’s unfortunate that you see it that way, my boy.”
‘I’m not your boy,’ Cyrus growled in his mind, but stubbornly kept his mouth shut. “How about we stop playing games, Dumbledore? You know what we’re here for. Information on Voldemort.”
Dumbledore smiled. “Are you going to return to Hogwarts, Harry?”
Rivehn cut in before Cyrus could respond. “That was no longer in the stipulations, Headmaster, as you well know. Your demands were that we bring Mr. Potter with us, no more than that. And we have. You will uphold your end of the bargain and tell us that which we wish to know.”
Cyrus could feel the vampire’s aura seep into the air around them, and he fought off the pleasant haze. He needed to be sharp if he was going to get out of this encounter relatively unscathed.
Dumbledore frowned. “I believe I never agreed to share the information with you, Professors, but Harry. And the only way for Harry to receive the information is in the event of his return to Hogwarts. It would be dangerous for him to be outside the protective wards of Hogwarts with this information.”
“Dangerous? You openly admitted a moment ago that you had the children of Death Eaters running amok in your school. Why would he wish to return to this place?”
Cyrus resisted the urge to smile. Rivehn was on a roll. And Cyrus had seen him have debates with the other teachers at the head table. He nearly always won. He just knew more than everyone else. Cyrus didn’t know how old he was, but he did know that Rivehn probably studied more than any other vampire.
“His education here at Hogwarts is invaluable,” Dumbledore parried back with a jovial smile.
Rivehn raised an eyebrow. “From what I have seen, I highly doubt that. Your professors and curriculum are severely lacking.”
“That is an opinion that many do not share, Professor Rivehn. Hogwarts has been named one of the top schools in Europe. Does your school boast the same?”
The look on Rivehn’s face was amused. “Nice attempt, Headmaster, but you will have to play the game for many more centuries before you can weasel information out of me.”
Dumbledore looked positively innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Professor. I was merely attempting to compare the merits of our respective schools.”
The vampire looked entirely unconvinced. “Regardless of the dubious quality of your institution, Headmaster, we are here to discuss the apparent immortality of one Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
The elderly man just smiled. “And that information will be available to young Harry when he returns to Hogwarts.”
Rivehn’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “And when that flesh eating curse on your arm reaches your brain, and Mr. Potter has still not returned to Hogwarts, how then will he get this information?”
Dumbledore adjusted the robes on his right hand, as if to assure himself that it was still hidden. “I have contingencies in place. It would be best for those involved, however, if Harry would simply return to Hogwarts.”
Cyrus glared at him. “I’m never coming back, and if you doom the wizarding world with your stupidity it’s no skin off my back.”
Dumbledore adopted a look of disappointment. “How can you say that, my boy? Of course the fate of the wizarding world affects you. You have friends here, a home, and a history. Are you prepared to throw all that away?” The blue eyes twinkled sadly, and Dumbledore looked older than he ever had before.
Cyrus glared at him. “It’s not me who’s throwing it away, it’s you. Contrary to what you’ve convinced yourself, Dumbledore, it is not my life’s purpose to be firmly entrenched under your thumb.”
The Headmaster sighed as if the world weighed too heavily on his shoulders. “I’m sorry that you see things that way, Harry. I wanted you to return peacefully, but it seems I have no choice.”
Cyrus tensed, his phoenix wand snapping out of its holster and into his right hand. Rivehn and Yankovich were eyeing Dumbledore warily. He hoped Rivehn would keep his promise to protect him, but with Dumbledore, who knew what could happen? He had a stunner on the tip of his tongue when the old man spoke again.
“It seems I’ll have to let you go, Harry.” Cyrus relaxed minutely, but Dumbledore wasn’t done. “I just hope that some day you will see the error of your ways, my boy. The Order cannot win this war on its own. It has always been the greater good that we strive to protect,” he smiled sadly, “no matter how the shadows may cloud our way.”
It was like a switch had been flicked, and Cyrus blacked out momentarily, his neck going slack, his chin falling to rest against his chest, his wand dropping from numb fingers. When he blinked and raised his head a moment later, he stared around himself in confusion.
Seeing Professor Dumbledore behind his desk, Harry smiled. “Hello, Professor.”
Dumbledore practically beamed. “Hello, Harry. Would you like some tea?”
Harry nodded. “Please.” He saw the guests that where with him in Dumbledore’s office and frowned slightly at how they were staring at him. He hated people staring at him.
The tea was poured magically and floated over to him. “Lemon drop?” the Headmaster asked, holding out a tin hopefully.
Harry laughed, deciding to ignore their odd company. “No, sir. Thank you.” It was funny how no matter how many times Harry refused the candy, Dumbledore kept offering.
“What did you do?”
Harry continued to sip his tea, as the question had obviously not been aimed at him. He watched Dumbledore as the elderly wizard turned his attention to the visitors. Harry was unsure which had asked the question.
Dumbledore was understandably puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor Yankovich.” He turned to Harry. “Would you like to return to the Griffindor Tower to sleep tonight, Harry? I’m sure your friends will be eager to see you.”
“Of course, Professor.”
Yankovich stood, his plush chair slamming back with the force of the movement into one of the tables holding peculiar trinkets and baubles. Some fell to the floor and broke with a crash. Harry watched him with confusion and some trepidation. Something told him this man could be very frightening when angry.
“I don’t know what kind of sick fuck you are, but all we wanted was information on Voldemort, and you-“
The other man placed a hand on his elbow and forced him back into his seat. Harry stared in awe as the chair was maneuvered back into place beneath him wandlessly by the man with the violet eyes. Feeling the anger and tension pouring off of the blue-eyed man, Harry stood up in fright and moved closer to Dumbledore. The guests turned their attention to him and were watching him, the blue-eyed man with confusion and anger, and the other with a blank expression. Harry moved closer to his Professor until his hip hit the desk.
Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Harry. They were just leaving.” He turned ice-cold eyes on the intruders in his office. “Weren’t you, Professors?”
The blue-eyed man was scowling something furious, hands clenched into fists and trembling with anger. The violet-eyed man, however, kept his restraining hand on the other man’s shoulder and kept a placid expression.
“What did you do to Mr. Potter?” Violet Eyes asked, his tenor voice smooth as silk as it cut through the air.
Dumbledore sadly shook his head. “I have done nothing. Don’t you see? He doesn’t want to leave Hogwarts. Do you, Harry?” He smiled at Harry, eyes twinkling merrily.
The teen frowned. “Of course not!”
The Headmaster turned back to the Professors. “You see? Now, if you would kindly leave the premises, before I have Hogwarts eject you from the grounds.” His eyes were ice again. “It is within my power as Headmaster.”
Then the oddest thing happened, and Harry had never seen anything like it. One instant the violet-eyed man was sitting inconspicuously in his chair, and the next a chain of odd shapes started growing around him at an exponential rate. As soon as the first chain was complete, a second started growing out of thin air. Within ten seconds Harry had lost count of how many chains were in the air, and he couldn’t help but stare in awe at the beautiful and tantalizingly familiar sight.
Why did they look so familiar?
“What are you hoping to accomplish with this show of magic, Professor Rivehn?”
RivehnRivehnRivehn
Violet eyes quiet voice floating runes classroom-
Harry brought a hand up to his head, puzzled. What in the world was that? When he turned his attention away from his head, he found those violet eyes – Rivehn – fixated on him. He stared back, confused.
“Do you recognize these symbols, Harry?”
He opened his mouth to say no when-
Floating globe of light shattering glass cruciatus runes breaking symbols on test pap-
He blinked, and whatever it was faded again, this time leaving a dull ache in his head. Why was he getting a headache?
“You are not Harry Potter. You have another name. Can you remember it?”
Harry frowned. What was Rivehn talking about? He knew he was Harry Potter. Whoever else could he be?
“I’ll have to ask you to stop confusing my student, Professor, and for both of you to leave immediately. If you do not, I will have the Hogwarts wards remove you from the premises.” Dumbledore was more emphatic this time, and Harry turned to look at him in confusion.
“You-“ the blue eyed man began, but Rivehn squeezed his shoulder and he cut himself off, shooting an angry glare at Dumbledore as if the Headmaster were the most despicable man he’d ever met. Why was he so passionate about… whatever it was that was going on?
A small smirk spread across Rivehn’s face. “You may ask the school’s wards to force us to leave, but it will do you no good.”
The Headmaster scowled, and Harry found himself frightened at the angry visage on the normally kind man’s face. “Really. And why is that, Professor?”
“Surely you realize what I am?” Rivehn looked highly unimpressed. “Perhaps the wizarding world really has degenerated to the point where the Headmaster of such a fine school, as you say, couldn’t recognize a Rune Master if he was creating wards right in front of him.”
“No wards you could create would fool this school’s. The wards of Hogwarts were created a millennia ago by the founders, an incredibly powerful-“
“They are out of date, Headmaster. And the group of people who warded this school was not the founders. They were in fact a group of Rune Masters, most of whom I trained myself.”
Harry watched as the anger on Dumbledore’s face increased ten-fold, making the normally twinkling blue eyes burn the hottest fire. He couldn’t help but take a step away at the magic he could feel in the room, and this magic didn’t feel pleasant like Rivehn’s, it felt… like worms under his skin.
Suddenly, the blue eyed man disappeared with a loud crack of displaced air, but Rivehn remained behind. The purple chains of runes that had disappeared as soon as the man – vampire – made them, reappeared once again. Harry watched, fascinated, as the chains began to disintegrate one at a time, but were replaced just as quickly by new chains. Behind the glow of magic, Harry could barely make out Rivehn’s expression.
“You cannot force me out of these wards as you did Yankovich, Headmaster.” Before Harry could react, the vampire had moved faster than he could see and had taken Harry by the arms, pulling him through the swirling chains of runes to the eye in the center, where Rivehn stood.
The violet eyes burned with power, and Harry could feel the pleasant fire of it lick along his skin, eliciting a soft sigh of pleasure as his eyes half-lidded.
“Do you not remember us, Harry?”
He frowned. “No, should I?”
“UNHAND MY STUDENT THIS INSTANT!”
Harry jerked in Rivehn’s hold, turning to where he knew Dumbledore was but not being able to see the Headmaster. He turned back to Rivehn, completely confused. What was the vampire doing?
“Do not worry. While I weaved the wards to counteract Hogwarts, I activated my personal wards. No spell he casts can reach us. However, I do not wish to delay, so you must fight the compulsion he has on you.”
CompulsionsCompulsionsCompulsions
Gold brambles graveyard pain vines roots scars memories mind pain control mind sunk mind-
He screamed and would have collapsed to his knees as pain split his skull in half if Rivehn hadn’t been there, holding him upright. What was happening to him? What were these flashes? Why was his headache getting worse? Was it Voldemort?
“You are hurting him! Release him at once!” Dumbledore’s voice boomed, and Harry watched as the purple runes began to bend under the force of the Headmaster’s attacks. Why was Dumbledore casting these spells when Harry himself was inside?
“Ignore the old fool and focus on me. Look into my eyes.”
Harry met his eyes, and after a moment the vampire’s eyes darkened with some sort of emotion. “Where is your mind, Obsidian? I cannot help you fight these compulsions if you don’t lower your Occlumency shields.”
Harry frowned. “B-but, I don’t have Occlumency shields. S-snape tried to teach me, and I cou-“
Silver web graveyard shattered stone damaged node gold brambles cruciatus magic sunk-
He screamed and tried to grip his head, but his arms couldn’t move because Rivehn was holding him in place. Oh god it hurt! What was happening to him?!
“You must either fight the compulsions, Cyrus Obsidian, or-“
But Harry didn’t hear the rest, his eyes widening and a scream tearing out of his throat as the world disappeared into painpainpainpainpain-
Black-marbled hallway, lights floating near the ceil-
Stone corridors and armour statues and red and-
Orange hair and laughing red eyes, flash of fa-
Bushy brown hair is this compartment tak-
Graveyard, covered in brambles, writhing branches and painpainpain
Flicking the clasp, exploding, drowning in magic, brambles growingrowingrow-
Sinking, sinking out of the burning fire and into coolcoolcoldcoldnumbness
Relief, gold dimming and fading to gray, breaking slowly into dust
Roots snuffed of light, fading fading, graveyard melting and web shimmering silver strings
Gold seed shriveling and dying web completely submerging into black
Peaceful, cold black…
Awareness came to him with a snap, and he opened his eyes, the silver web in his mind’s eye superimposed on his sight for a moment before fading away. Burning violet eyes were staring into his own, and he blinked. “Rivehn?” he breathed, his voice rasping and hurting and he coughed and god it hurt.
The vampire nodded. “I am glad you are aware again, Cyrus. I was afraid the change would be… permanent.”
Cyrus was about to ask what had happened when he heard Dumbledore’s angry voice shouting spells. He looked around in confusion, and his head swam with the movement. He groaned and fell boneless in Rivehn’s hands. The world rolled and spun as he was picked up the vampire’s arms. His head lolled backwards and he choked back vomit, lifting his head and resting it upright against Rivehn’s chest. That was better. He peeked his eyes open and saw the purple light show fade, but Dumbledore’s spells continued to bounce off the now invisible shield.
“You are a manipulative, evil little man, and I can see why he didn’t want to come back here. He knew you would do something like this to him, didn’t he?” Rivehn said, and Cyrus closed his eyes as he caught sight of the fury on Dumbledore’s face. Why couldn’t they just leave? He didn’t want to be here anymore. He buried his face into Rivehn’s robes as if they would hide him from the fury of magic he could feel radiating off the Headmaster. Rivehn’s aura protected him for the most part with a pleasant haze, but he could still faintly feel the worms of Dumbledore’s magic writhing against his skin.
“You will return him to me this instant, Rivehn! Or I will hunt you down and make you regret ever going against me,” Dumbledore bit out, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.
Cyrus could feel Rivehn’s chest shake slightly with his amused chuckle. “An old human dying of a flesh eating curse? I feel so very threatened,” the vampire said with a cruel sarcasm Cyrus had witnessed before. “You would never have won this little game, old man. You never realized exactly what you were dealing with.”
Rivehn must have done something, because Dumbledore gasped.
“Vampire…”
The light from beyond his eyelids disappeared behind a black curtain. After a few disorienting moments where it felt like he was falling into nothingness, the world righted itself again and a faint light warmed his closed eyelids to red.
“-mean you came back with nothing?!” Vladovich was yelling.
Cyrus moaned softly as the loud voice sent reverberations of pain through his head and buried his face farther into Rivehn’s robes. Oh Merlin, he just wanted the pain to go away.
“It’s complicated, alright?! He-“
Vladovich interrupted. “Rivehn! Finally, you’re back!” There was a pause and Cyrus could hear steps growing closer. “Who the hell is this?”
“This is Cyrus Obsidian. He’s wearing… a disguise.”
“Oh. What’s wrong with-“
“Oh shut up,” Yankovich growled. “Rivehn! Is he… normal again?”
“Yes. He has returned to his senses.”
“Do you think… it was like what happened… that time?”
There was a very awkward silence for a moment, and apparently even Vladovich could respect the tension that had grown in the air. “I do not think it is the same as what happened in the past, no. However… it is something similar.”
The demon let out a shaking breath, and Cyrus wondered what that was about as Rivehn started walking. Before Cyrus could open his eyes and ask what was going on, he was placed gently on what felt like a couch. He curled up in a fetal position and pulled one of the large, velvet cushions on top of his face to cut out the static noise. His head still hurt as if it had been pulverized with a bludger.
He felt a tug at the cushion and held onto it more firmly.
“Cyrus-“ Rivehn began, but was interrupted.
“Can someone tell me what the hell happened? Yankovich just popped in a minute ago, without you two, and I don’t understand what’s going on! Did you find out anything that could help my daughter?” Vladovich asked impatiently, and Cyrus tightened his hold on the cushion in an attempt to block out the loud voice.
“No, we did not find anything of use. D… our source would not tell the information to Mr. Obsidian unless he stayed, and as he refused, we did not get any information.”
“’Stayed? What are you talking about? If it could have gotten us the information, why couldn’t he have just-“
“You do not understand the situation, Vladovich,” Rivehn’s voice snapped out, for the first time belying his ire. The room seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature. “This man activated a long term compulsion in Mr. Obsidian that was so absolute his personality, memories, and behaviour were completely shifted. It was only through much luck and Obsidian’s tenacity that he managed to overcome it.”
There was silence for a moment before Vladovich whispered, “What?”
“You heard me.”
“B-but, he’s only a child. Who would…”
“You consider him a child, now? He was a child when this compulsion was woven into his mind, Vladovich. That is the only way it could be so complete. Even Yankovich-“ He cut himself off, and a very tense silence spread though the room. Cyrus frowned from under his cushion. ‘Even Yankovich’ what? Finally, Rivehn continued. “An adult would have more success fighting something like this. There would be inconsistencies. Memories and personality cannot be completely manipulated that way unless you begin when the victim is young.”
Cyrus heard a thump and the creak of a chair. “I… I had no idea that this would…”
“None of us did, Vladovich,” Yankovich finally said, his voice quiet and bitter. “If we had, we wouldn’t have gone.”
There was silence for a moment before Rivehn spoke again. “If you are done bickering and questioning, I will begin the arduous task of bringing Obsidian’s mind to rights.”
The cushion was yanked off Cyrus’s head and he moaned, covering his eyes with a hand to block out the light that sent prickles shooting through his head. It hurt. When a hand touched his shoulder, he flinched and tried to get away.
“Breath, Cyrus. Slow, deep breaths,” the tenor soothed, and Cyrus obeyed, having not realized he was so close to hyperventilating. He relaxed when a cool cloth was gently laid on his forehead, sighing in relief as the pain was dulled a fraction. His mind was still a fucking mess, and his brain felt like it had been boiled like an egg. After thorough shaking.
“Are you still aware, Cyrus?”
He ‘hmm’ed and tried to nod his head, but stopped when the pain increased at the movement.
“You seem to be in a great deal of pain. I am… sorry I was unable to keep my promise.”
Cyrus frowned. Promise? He thought about it. Oh right, protection. “S’okay. Got out… in th’end.”
“Nevertheless, I wish to help you repair the damage. I am experienced in mind magics, as well as healings.”
“Okay,” Cyrus croaked. He tried to clear out some of the fuzz between his ears with no success. Speaking was hard enough, and his throat felt sore. Had he been screaming? He couldn’t remember… it was all so confused. He forced his eyes open and took a breath to try to quell the nausea as the ceiling tilted and swirled above them.
Rivehn made a thoughtful noise. “Can you send your shadows for some food and water?” he asked someone softly.
“Of course,” Yankovich said, and Cyrus could hear a snap of fingers. He craned his neck curiously and saw three black blobs draw themselves out of the ambient shadows in the room. Cyrus watched, fascinated, as Yankovich ordered them around in that other language. One by one, they vanished back into the shadows once again.
“What… those?” Cyrus asked curiously around his too-thick tongue. He winced as he heard his own voice crack.
“Yankovich is a shadow demon. He can control shades, which are a form of lesser demon,” Rivehn explained softly, putting the cloth back on Cyrus’s forehead as it had fallen off.
One shadow reappeared, its blob-like ‘hands’ holding a glass of water. Yankovich picked it up and handed it to Rivehn, who helped Cyrus sit upright enough to take a few drinks from it. Cyrus smiled dopily from the pain and said, “Thanks for being so nice.”
The vampire stared down at him with a blank expression. Cyrus closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at it. What the vampire helping him because he felt guilty or because he cared? The logical part of his brain said the former, but… the other part of him wished it were the latter. Rivehn was a cool teacher, and… Cyrus pushed his confused thoughts from his mind. He didn’t want to be thinking such heavy thoughts when he felt like his brain was about to ooze from between his ears.
There was something that had been nagging at him for a while, though. “Professor Rivehn?” he asked, keeping his eyes closed.
“Yes?” the vampire asked, helping him to take another sip of water.
“Are you and Yankovich… together?”
Rivehn snorted softly, and Cyrus opened his eyes in surprise. “We haven’t been together in two hundred years.”
Cyrus was confused. “Then why did you…” he blushed at the memory of Rivehn and Yankovich making out against the wall.
“That is not something I am care to share with a student, Mr. Obsidian,” Rivehn said smoothly as he moved the human back into to lying down. Cyrus nodded and averted his eyes. “Now, we must heal your mind before the damage becomes permanent. I will heal the physical damage first, and then we will move on to your mind.” Rivehn placed a hand on Cyrus’s forehead and the human sighed as the pain eased from ‘my-brain-just-got-pulverized-on-an-anvil’ to ‘who-hit-that-bludger?’ with a gentle surge of healing magic. He ‘mmm’ed softly and tilted his head into the touch.
“How… do you heal a mind?” Cyrus asked. At least now he could think a little clearer.
“It depends on the nature of the damage. If you are concerned that I will be perusing your memories, I assure you that is not the case.”
Cyrus swallowed before nodding slowly. He stared up at Rivehn for a few moments, waiting for instructions or the vampire to say something.
“Obsidian, I have tried enter your mind before. I couldn’t then, and I cannot now. Would you care to drop your shields?” the vampire asked, a hint of amusement curling his lips.
“Er, sorry.” Closing his eyes, Cyrus sank into his magic in search of his mind. He found it open and floating halfway in his magic and halfway underneath, right on the edge of his death magic. It was difficult to move the bulky structure without compressing it into a ball again, but he managed after a few moments. It sank into the space it normally occupied like a water balloon, shifting around and hitting the ‘walls’ before finally stilling. He opened his eyes and looked at Rivehn. “It’s there now.” He wished he could get that water, his voice was still rough and sore.
The vampire raised one eyebrow before his eyes half-lidded in concentration. The other eyebrow went up when he apparently found what he was looking for. “Very well. Meet me inside.”
Cyrus closed his eyes and the world fell away. The next thing he knew, they were in the graveyard. He could see some of the damage in gaping tears in the ground, and fractures in the headstones and trees, but he knew most of it was superficial damage. The largest scar would be wherever that giant golden seed he remembered was.
Rivehn was looking around curiously. “This is your mind? It’s rather… simple. Most often occluded minds are mazes or castles, or another structure that allows for intruders to get lost.”
Cyrus rubbed the back of his hair sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t exactly learn Occlumency the normal way.”
Rivehn raised an eyebrow. “No? How do you protect your mind if you don't have shields? At least, any shields that I can find. Unless they were destroyed… earlier.”
Cyrus shook his head. “No shields. Sn- Severus couldn’t get me to learn Occlumency no matter what he did, so eventually I had to get creative.”
The vampire raised an eyebrow. “Care to share?”
“Y-yes, of course,” he murmured, letting the colours and tombstones melt away into nothing but empty space and the elaborate silver web. He didn’t know how to talk like this, but he could see Rivehn as a purple ball of light, and it was spinning around and through his web with apparent curiosity. He felt Rivehn touch a few of the nodes and the connecting threads, and Cyrus shuddered as he felt the touch. It was… uncomfortable. Especially since he was still in pain. He stayed where he was, waiting for Rivehn to finish his apparent exploration.
After quite some time, the purple light finally came back and floated in front of him. When he didn’t hear or ‘hear’ anything, he brought them back to the graveyard.
“Sorry, were you trying to say something?” Cyrus asked.
Rivehn was staring at him. “Show me how you occlude. Or, protect your mind.”
The human blinked and shrugged. “Okay.” He bled out the colours again and exited the web, the purple light following him. Once he was on the edge of the web, he ‘reached’ out and started compressing it into a ball. Once he had it as small as it would go, he hit the ‘clasp’ and it stayed locked. He dropped it into his magic and followed it as it floated into his core. The purple light followed him. He grabbed the web again before it could go to far, and dragged it back up to the empty space. Once there, he unclasped it and the web sprung back into place. He changed the scenery back to the graveyard.
Rivehn stood across from him, a very odd look on his face. It almost looked… pensive.
Cyrus got concerned. “What, is there something wrong? Am I going to go insane or something one day? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Rivehn finally blinked and let his lips twitch upwards slightly in amusement. “You are something else, Cyrus Obsidian.” When Cyrus just stared at him in incomprehension, he continued, “You are what is known as infractus mens. It’s Latin for ‘broken mind’. It’s a condition that occurs most often in minds that are very young and underdeveloped. This… disability can be caused by numerous factors. It could be caused by improper use of magic on a child, or an accomplished legilimens. It can also be caused by traumatic experiences during the child’s earliest years. The amount of trauma would have to be substantial, however, for this kind of damage.
“Every mind takes on a different metaphysical structure and appearance as a direct result of the trauma. Yours happens to be a web. I’ve seen a few of these minds over the years, one of them was completely made of a substance that mimicked water, and another never completely adapted to the condition and grew up mentally disabled. He was incapable of all but the most simple of functions.
“You, however, have not only adapted to the web-structure your mind has formed, but it now works to your advantage. Whereas before it would be easy for a legilimens to rifle through your memories, with your mind hidden in your magic, so to speak, it is completely protected as long as you have magic in your core.”
At this point, Rivehn’s hands were moving expressively through the air, his eyes glittering slightly with academic passion. The vampire’s face was more animated than Cyrus had ever seen it. “It’s fascinating, really. As a result of the trauma, you have an incredibly strong magical connection, and a very strong grasp of wandless magic. However, one of the limitations of such a mind is that you will never be able to organize your thoughts like an occlumens, so you will never be able to manipulate your mind to remember things more easily by cataloguing the information.”
Cyrus stared at the vampire lost in his thoughts, a ball of iron sinking to the bottom of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. He supposed… there were pros and cons to every situation. He’d been functioning just fine so far, so what was the problem? There wasn’t a problem. At least, not yet.
And then curiosity got the better of him. “So, what do you think may have caused my… unique circumstances?”
Rivehn made a thoughtful sound. “I would think it was the casting of the Avada Kedavra on you as a child, or Dumbledore’s mind snare. It depends on how young you were when he cast the magic on you.” His brow furrowed into a scowl. “It could also be a combination of both.”
Cyrus frowned. “So, am I going to go crazy or not?”
The vampire looked taken aback before he actually chuckled. “You are in no way mentally unstable, Obsidian. Your mind has been settled in this state for many years. It would not cause psychosis of any kind.”
The human sighed in relief. “Well. That’s good. How do we go about healing the damage, though? Is it different than healing someone else’s mind?”
Rivehn looked thoughtful. “It may be. It depends on how your web responds to the healing. It may respond well to your methods and badly to mine, or it may accept my healing more easily than your own. We won’t know until we try. Can you emulate movement of magic merely by watching, or do you require me to explain the process to you?”
Cyrus blinked. “Um, well, how about you just show me, and if I don’t get it we’ll come back here and you can try to explain it?”
The vampire nodded, and made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand. Cyrus nodded and the world faded around them.
He wasn’t sure how long they spent healing each and every fracture and gash in his mind, but with both of them doing the work, it probably only took three hours instead of six. By the time they were done, his stomach was calling him back to the real world.
Yankovich was sitting alone in the room, a book in hand, when they came out of it.
Rivehn sat back in his armchair and glanced around the room. He frowned. “Where is Vladovich?”
Yankovich looked up from his book with a scowl. “We had another fight. But he refuses to leave until we’ve come to a decision regarding our next course of action.”
The vampire just shook his head. “That is no surprise.”
“Yeah. Well. How’d it go?” the demon asked, changing the subject.
The corners of Rivehn’s lips curled slightly in satisfaction. “He’s an infractus mens, I’ll have you know. It was no simple matter to heal all the damage.”
Yankovich’s eyebrows rose. “That’s what that web is? I wondered about that. However, I don’t make it a habit to go poking around in other people’s heads, but I was sure you would know what it was.” When Rivehn shot him an annoyed look, the demon just smirked. “Food?”
Rivehn’s ire faded. “Please.”
The demon waved his hand and two trays of food floated towards them, along with a bottle and a wine glass. Rivehn’s eyebrows rose at the sight. “You still have Talgrise? You haven’t sold it yet?”
Yankovich shrugged. “I figured there might be another vampire I could offer it to as refreshment. Magic-infused faerie blood is hard to come by, after all. It wasn’t like I needed the money.” The silence was slightly uncomfortable as Yankovich levitated one of the trays to Cyrus, who at this point had sat up and removed the cold compress from his forehead. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and dug in. He was ravenous.
He tried to ignore the awkward silence that settled in the room for a few minutes before Vladovich came back and thankfully shattered it.
“Well? Have you come to a decision yet?” the demon asked, throwing himself down in one of the plush armchairs.
Yankovich scowled, looking up from his food. “No. In fact, we haven’t even discussed it yet, as you ran away like a child throwing a tantrum.”
Rivehn sipped his Talgrise.
Vladovich glared. “It was pointless trying to talk to you before. I was hoping with Rivehn back in the real world, you would be less likely to pick a fight, brother.”
Yankovich opened his mouth to shoot off another insult, probably, but Rivehn interrupted. “Yankovich, enough. His daughter, your niece, is in danger. Decide what you’re going to do so I can get back to my life and work. I do not have any more patience for your petty arguments.”
The demon snapped his mouth shut and glared at Rivehn, who seemed completely unaffected. Cyrus glanced curiously back and forth between the two. Rivehn had said that they hadn’t been together in two hundred years. That was a long time to be having a… fight. He wondered what separated them in the first place… And if they often engaged in angry… um, well. He blushed in embarrassment at the thought and turned his attention back to his food.
“Fine. We are running out of options. If we can’t kill him right now, we are going to have to give in to his demands.” He glared darkly at the wall, fists clenched on the arms of the chair he was sitting in. “I hate acquiescing to a human like this. I hate feeding the ego of that…” He muttered something darkly in the gutteral language that had the drink that Vladovich had poured for himself spraying out of his mouth.
Rivehn looked amused. “You always had a way with words.”
Cyrus couldn’t help but think of the other way the vampire could have said that. ‘You always had a talented mouth,’ repeated like a broken record in his mind in Rivehn’s smooth tenor, and he couldn’t stop the blush that heated his face when the image of the vampire holding Yankovich against the wall flashed through his mind… again. Was he ever going to be able to look at these two again and not think of that sinfully hot kiss??
“So what are you going to do then? Give him his army?” Vladovich asked.
Yankovich leaned back in his chair with an angry breath and waved the decanter sitting by Vladovich over to him, along with a glass with wandless magic. He poured himself a drink as he spoke. “The Guild refused to help him last time. I’m not sure if they’d be willing to rescind their decision, even though one of their own has now been threatened. I don’t have the sheer volume of death magic that is required for raising the number of zombies he specified, so I will have to bring it before the council.”
Vladovich didn’t look happy. “And if they refuse?”
The necromancy teacher drank from his glass thoughtfully. After a moment, he looked at Cyrus. The human blinked and stared back. “If they refuse, I have enough dirt on two of them to blackmail them into helping, and if we take full advantage of our assets, we should have no problem.”
Vladovich frowned, confused. “I don’t understand. Assets?”
A slow smirk spread across Yankovich’s face, and he was still staring at Cyrus. The human felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise ominously. “We have ourselves a death magic battery, why not use it?”
Cyrus blinked. “Are you talking about me?”
Yankovich raised an eyebrow. “Who else has the power to nearly destroy half of Switzerland? There’s a reason I’m going to be giving you lessons in control.”
Cyrus stared. “And who’s to say I want to be your battery?”
The demon raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t do as I say, I will tell every person in this school that you are Harry Potter, and I will tell the wizarding world where you are.”
His jaw dropped open. “That’s blackmail!”
Yankovich shrugged. “So?”
Vladovich blinked and looked back and forth between Yankovich and Cyrus. “He’s Harry Potter? Marianna mentioned his disappearance a few months ago.”
Cyrus was paying more attention to Yankovich. “You could have just asked me! You didn’t have to blackmail me!”
The demon just shrugged again and took a sip of his scotch. “Yes, I could have. But you could have said no. This way, I’ve guaranteed your co-operation.”
Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest and glowered, unimpressed.
“When will you be leaving for the meeting?” Rivehn asked.
Yankovich hummed thoughtfully to himself. “It’s almost midnight, and while a few of the Guild are night owls, most keep somewhat regular hours. I’ll send out a notice and schedule the meeting for early in the morning. Probably seven, so I’ll catch the night owls going to sleep and the others waking up.” He reached into his robes and frowned. Realization crossed his face and he looked at Rivehn. “Can I borrow your magi-com? I left mine in my office.”
The vampire raised an eyebrow. “You left it there on purpose, didn’t you?” he asked, reaching into his own robes and pulling out a small object that he tossed to Yankovich.
“Guilty,” the demon said as he opened what looked like a… phone?
Rivehn looked amused. “You’re texting them to set up an important meeting?”
Yankovich snorted. “We have a code, Rivehn. And when I send the message, I’ll use a top priority notice. They’ll be there on time.”
Cyrus just couldn’t get over the fact that demons had apparently copied muggle technology. “Since when do demons have phones?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Rivehn’s lip twitched in amusement. “It’s all the rage, apparently. Why invent a different form of communication when non-magical humans have come up with a brilliant solution? They adapted a magical version of telecommunications a few years ago, but it hasn’t really hit off until recently. There are a lot of old-fashioned demons, vampires, and other species that are nonconformist. They stubbornly stand by mirror, water, and fire communication instead.”
Cyrus stared. “And why do you have a phone?”
“All teachers at Shikaan must have one. It makes it easier for the Headmistress to contact us for meetings or in the event of emergencies during our time off.”
“How does it work with the whole… alternate dimension thing?”
“The demon inventors who created the magi-coms worked around that. There are what you could call… towers, that transfer the signal between Human Realm and Other Realm.”
Cyrus frowned. “Why call it ‘Other Realm’?”
Rivehn looked amused. “Aren't you full of questions. The demons wanted it named after them, and most of the other species felt the same way. They couldn’t decide on any other name.”
Cyrus shook his head in disbelief. How had he never noticed before? Was he really that unobservant?
“Anyway, you should be going, Obsidian. You need to get some sleep before tomorrow’s raising,” Yankovich said, pouring himself more scotch after he tossed the magi-com back to Rivehn. “Meet me at my classroom tomorrow morning at 6:30. I’m planning to meet with a few people before the meeting.”
Cyrus nodded, stood, and put his tray on one of the nearby tables. He kept his mouth stubbornly silent, as he was still mad at Yankovich for forcing to do something he didn’t want to… Again. What was it with this family taking advantage of him?
Before he could apparate out, Vladovich intercepted him. When the demon held out his hand, Cyrus stared at it in incomprehension. The demon spoke, not discouraged by his lack of understanding. “I wanted to apologize for what happened to you, Obsidian was it? I appreciate that you were willing to help my daughter.”
Cyrus stared at the hand for a few more moments before cautiously taking it. Vladovich’s grip was firm, but not tight or uncomfortable. He nodded jerkily in acknowledgement of the thanks before changing his appearance back to Cyrus Obsidian and disapparating.
oOo
Tara was in his room when he appeared next to his bed, and he nearly let out a groan at the sight of her. He wanted to go to bed. Why couldn't the world just bugger off for a few hours? He wanted sleep.
“Cyrus! Finally. I’ve been in and out of here for the past couple of hours waiting for you,” she complained, hands planting themselves on her hips.
The human glared at her, feeling all his annoyance over all the shit that had happened that day bubble to the surface. “Well sorry,” he began sarcastically, “but not all of our lives revolve around your schedule. I’ve been through a lot of shit today, and I really don’t want to deal with your fucking attitude, too!”
Tara looked ready to explode. “Well you’re not the only one with a lot of shit happening right now! So stop being so goddamned selfish!” At this point she was in his face and hissing.
She slammed him against the wall and he’d just had enough. With a burst of wandless magic, he sent her flying off of him and brought out both his wands. He was casting spells before he knew what the fuck he was thinking, thankfully having enough frame of mind not to aim at his less-used bookshelves. They still had some important stuff on them even though they weren’t part of his mother’s collection, which was in his trunk.
Tara hissed, eyes glowing red. Before she could attack him again, Cyrus cast the full-body bubble spell that protected him from all attacks as long as he had the power to fuel it. Just in time, apparently, because Tara threw herself at him and sent them both crashing into the wall. She punched at his shield and he threw her off with a spell from his death wand. The power of it sent her crashing into his kitchen. When she’d pulled herself out of the destroyed cold box, she looked pissed, but didn’t attack him again. He glared back stubbornly, staying in a defensible position. If she wanted to kick his ass, he bet she could do it, but it would take her a while to get through his shield spell, and he knew he had more magic than she did. He’d been casting wandless spells for a month without any obvious fatigue, and Yankovich himself had called Cyrus a battery of death magic. The amount of his death magic was directly equal to that of his normal magic, so he bet he had quite a bit than was normal for a human.
Tara pulled herself to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. She glared at him hotly for a few seconds before shaking her head and relaxing her posture slightly. Cyrus watched cautiously as she uncrossed her arms and threw herself onto the chair that hadn’t been destroyed.
“Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. But if you’re waiting for an apology, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” she bit out stubbornly.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Alright. So what brings you to my corner of the world?”
“I need you to come to another meeting at Shelby’s Blood Bath.”
The human frowned and remained standing, not bothering to take down his full body shield as he sheathed his wands. He’d take it off later. “When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Cyrus snorted. “Well, I can’t do tomorrow night.”
Tara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you can’t do it? What the hell are you doing on a Saturday that means you can’t come? I need you to come to this meeting, Cyrus. There is no ‘I can’t come’.”
“Are you not hearing the words coming out of my mouth? ‘I can’t be there’ means I can’t be there.”
“I don’t think you understand the severity of this situation, Cyrus.”
“What situation? You haven’t told me a fucking thing since you came in this room. You threw a fit because I have a life, started making demands, and then got pissed off at me when I told you I can’t do it. You haven’t told me a single. Fucking. Thing. About this so called ‘situation’. So enlighten me, Tara. What is this situation that is so very ‘severe’.” There was so much sarcasm layering his words he wouldn’t be surprised if he could scrape it off with a butter knife and put it on his toast.
“You remember Dalesh, right?”
Oh right. Shit. “What about him?”
“Akkad, his vampire clan, has been making enquiries and doing some investigation during Christmas. They wanted to find out why one of the direct descendants of Akkad died the way he did. If he were anything but a direct descendant, they would have just left it alone as a blood feud, but as it is… I’ve been approached and questioned about it, and they want to question you as well.”
“Fuck.” Cyrus ran a hand through his hair and glared at the wall. “How serious is it? Are they going to kill us or something?”
Tara bit her lip. “Well, I don’t know. I’m a vampire of the Bast clan, so they have to take it up in court if they want my head. You on the other hand… are only under the protection I can provide you, as you are my donor. If you were to die in an ‘unfortunate accident’…” She stopped right there.
The human snorted. “So, you’re saying I could be completely fucked? Why the hell didn’t you mention this sooner?”
Tara scowled. “Because I didn’t think they were going to involve you when I last saw you. But today I was contacted and… well, they want to question you.”
Cyrus threw himself down on his bed, tired of standing. “Question me about what? What am I supposed to say?”
“The truth. They’re trained at what they do, Cyrus, and they will be able to tell when you lie. If you tell the truth, they have less reason to kill you.”
Cyrus started cursing under his breath. What… “What the hell are they looking for? Didn’t you have plenty of reason to kill him? I mean, not to bring up bad memories, but he insinuated that he had a part in the death of your girlfriend, and he threatened to kill me.”
She nodded. “And normally that would be enough for the clans to sweep it under the rug, but he’s of Akkad blood.”
“So what, they could just decide that it’s not a suitable enough reason and kill us both?”
Tara frowned. “Well, they could kill you whenever they wanted. But like I said before, they’d have to take it up in court in order to get the right to execute me.”
Cyrus felt like tearing out his hair. “This is ridiculous! How the hell do we get out of this situation?”
“Prove that there was sufficient reason for Dalesh’s death.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Prove he killed Amelia.”
Cyrus’s eyebrows rose. “Didn’t they do an official investigation on that? Didn’t they find anything?”
Tara scowled. “They had no idea who was involved last time. No evidence. Now we have reason to believe Dalesh was involved, and if he was involved, then it’s likely that someone he knows was also a culprit.”
“Well, why don’t you tell these Akkad investigators that? They could look into the death and…” He trailed off as she shook her head.
“The Akkad investigators would never look into something that would sabotage someone from their own clan. They’d be more likely to cover it up. The onus falls to the outside clan affected to look into that kind of information. But who knows if the Bast clan investigators will be able to find anything to prevent our execution…”
Cyrus scowled. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. And we can help, right?”
She frowned. “As long as we didn’t tamper with evidence. If we found the evidence, it could still be valid. We would have our memories to protect our authenticity, and the validity of the evidence. It’s a tricky line to walk, though.”
Cyrus ran a hand over his face. This was too much to deal with right now. He… he had Voldemort to think of, the niece, Yankovich black-mailing him, Dumbledore mind fucking him… Did it never end? Why did all this have to happen at once? It was… it was just too much. He felt like his brain was going to explode.
“So, as you can see, I need you to come with me tomorrow.”
Cyrus was already shaking his head even before she finished. “I already told you, I can’t. Tomorrow, er, ‘today’ if you take into account that it’s after midnight,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “has already been bought by Yankovich. I’ve been black-mailed into servitude.”
Tara frowned. “Well, can’t you get out of it? This is really important! Tell him to reschedule.”
Cyrus shook his head. “Are they going to kill us tomorrow if I can’t make it?”
She paused. “Unlikely.”
“And are there any other lives at risk if I don’t make the meeting tomorrow?”
“… No.”
“Then they can fucking reschedule. It’s none of your or their business what Yankovich and I are doing tomorrow, but if we don’t do it a little girl is going to get her hand cut off. Got it? So they can reschedule to Sunday, or something. Because tomorrow, or today, or what-the-fuck-ever doesn’t work!” He angrily scrubbed at his scalp. God. He needed to take a shower. He felt like shit, and it was only fueling his discomfort and anger at the whole fucked up situation he was in. It was times like these he wished he smoked… or something.
Tara bit her lip as she watched him get up and pace for a moment before going over to his half-destroyed kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. He chugged it.
“When will you be in tomorrow night?” Tara finally asked.
Cyrus put the glass down. “I have no clue. Maybe dinner time, maybe midnight. I have no idea how long this is going to take. Why?”
“I need a feeding.”
Cyrus’s eyebrows rose. “What? Already? It hasn’t quite been a week yet.”
She scowled. “Well, you’re not going to make the meeting, and I’m tired and cranky. Your blood has the highest magical content, so it gets me on my feet faster than my other donors, and I really need the shot of ‘caffeine’ at the moment.” She started massaging her temples as if to stave off a headache. “And if I get into a fight with the investigators, I want to be in top form.”
The human let out an annoyed breath and popped one of the blood replenishers out of his potions bracelet. “Okay, how much do you need exactly?” Tara wasn’t the only one low on energy, and Cyrus really didn’t want to be feeling like shit tomorrow.
“A little more than usual, but not so much you’ll notice it.”
He nodded tersely and tilted his head to the side and frowned as she sank her fangs into his neck and started feeding. When he grew out of his current armour, he was getting Flander to design a new outfit that went up his neck. As it was, vampires had far too easy access. But then, ever since he’d worked out this… symbiotic relationship with Tara, he hadn’t had any vampires sneaking into his rooms for a midnight snack, or drinking his blood in the hallways. Apparently Tara was a vampire you didn’t want to piss off, and if you took into consideration the fact that she was actually graduated from Shikaan and studying with three different masters… well. He was glad that he’d managed to manipulate her into taking him on as her donor. He just hoped that she wouldn’t be running out of books to read in his trunk any time soon, or at least until he was more confident in defending himself.
Maybe he could get Yankovich to teach him that life-sucking thing he’d done to Vladovich’s vines. That would be a useful defense…
Finally, Tara finished feeding and the pleasant haze disappeared, leaving Cyrus feeling very drowsy and dizzy. He almost dropped the replenisher on the ground trying to get the lid off, but Tara was there and watched with a careful eye as she helped direct the vial to Cyrus’s mouth. He swallowed the potion and instantly felt a little better, but still tired and a bit dizzy.
“Tara, I dunno if I’m gonna be able to stand straight,” he mumbled, blinking slowly and staring into her red eyes.
She frowned. “Sorry, I took a little more than I should have. The blood replenisher’s taken care of the red blood cells, but you need some sugar and nutrients. You might want to consider getting a potion for that.”
“I have a potion for that… somewhere.” He looked at his potions bracelet and turned it around until he found the green one. He pressed it and the vial popped out. He took off the lid and downed it. He’d decided that nutrient/energy potions were an important thing to have in case he found himself without any food for days, so he’d bought some during his last potions trip to Gemini Square.
He should ask Snape if he could brew Cyrus’s potions for him. It would probably be cheaper than going to a middle man.
Cyrus started stripping out of his armour without bothering to check if Tara had left. He was so out of it, he probably wouldn't have noticed if a pink rhino had taken up residence in his room. He left the clothes on the floor and crawled into bed, taking his bubble shield down. Merlin, was he tired. He barely remembered to set his alarm before falling unconscious.
It had been such a shitty day, and tomorrow, or ‘today’, wasn’t going to be any better.
-Toki Mirage-
Lots of shit hitting the fan in this chapter. If you haven’t read the little note at the start of the story, go check it out.
And I’m never writing stuff out of chronological order again. . Editing this chapter was annoying and took forever, even though I like how the Dumbledore scene turned out. I swear I edited it 3 times to make Roos happy, and then to make it all it all cohesive every time I changed something. X.x
Roos: Anything I say, goes. (cracks whip) I’m a demanding Mistress. (laughs)
Yay! I have reached over 2,000 reviews! (celebrates) Woot! Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing and otherwise showing your support for this story! : )
Chapter 14 is going to be the confrontation with Voldemort, or the beginning of the confrontation with Voldy depending on how long the scene goes for, for those of you who have been anticipating the clash.
Oh, and I’ve started posting BS on affdotnet, just so I won’t have to do it all at once later. Please note! Nothing has changed from this version yet, and when a chapter is different, I will provide you with the proper link at the beginning of the chapter! :) – It was really annoying figuring out how to post with font types and stuff on aff. Thank god ffdotnet lets you get copies of your stuff in html in document manager. Otherwise I’d be sooo screwed. (phew)
Thanks for reading!
Edit Aug 16/09 – Clarified a bit of the legal procedure concerning Tara and Cyrus.
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Bloody Skies