Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Bloody Skies	By : TokiMirage Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 44832 -:- 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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Bloody Skies
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WARNING: This chapter contains content that may turn the stomachs of some readers. If graphic, non-consensual sexual acts squick you, you may wish to stop reading this story. Or scroll through the questionable parts. Please be reminded that this is a story Rated for Mature audiences.
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Chapter Fourteen:
oOo
“I was beginning to think you’d be late,” Yankovich said when Cyrus finally arrived at his classroom.
Cyrus frowned and cast a tempus charm. Two minutes early. “I was double checking that I have everything I need.”
Yankovich raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you need to prepare? I’m the one doing all the real work.”
The human gave him a look. “We’re going to be seeing Voldemort today. I’ve planned for everything I can think of.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole ‘giving Voldy his army thing’. On one hand, they were saving a girl’s life. On the other, many more people were probably going to die. He scowled. “I really do hate that I’m helping Voldemort of all scumbags,” he muttered under his breath.
Yankovich snorted. “Oh, we’re not helping him as much as you think.”
Cyrus frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Patience. You’ll find out soon enough. Why are you wearing your armor? Are you particularly paranoid today, or is there another reason?”
The human scowled. “Voldemort is a back-stabbing bastard. I doubt everything is going to go smoothly and according to plan.”
The demon made a dismissive noise. “I’m going to side-along us, alright?” he asked, unconcerned. Cyrus frowned, but nodded, and the demon’s hand landed on the human’s shoulder. They disappeared with a squeezing sensation.
When equilibrium returned, Cyrus couldn’t help but stare at his surroundings. The building they were in was huge and looked like it must have been built during the Roman Empire. Either that or someone did a really good job copying the architecture.
Yankovich had started walking as soon as they appeared, so Cyrus hurried to catch up with him, eyes wide and curious as he tried to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. They passed many doors as they walked down the high-ceilinged hallway, some of them open and some closed. He peeked inside some to see classes, and others seemed to be full of nothing but piles of papers and arguing people.
Finally, they reached the large set of doors at the end of the hallway, and two more halls broke off to the left and the right. Yankovich turned around to look at him. “This is the library. I want you to keep yourself entertained until I come and get you.”
Cyrus nodded cautiously and watched as the demon walked down the left hallway without another word. Cyrus glanced after the demon before looking the other way. He was in a T-shaped hallway, with the library doors in the middle. The two smaller hallways that broke off from the main one they had just walked down appeared to be smaller and shorter. He could see a few people milling about, but either most people weren’t up so early in the morning, or there weren’t that many necromancers in the world.
With a shrug, he slipped inside the doors and nearly gaped at the sight before him. The library was huge. Actually, huge didn’t even begin to cover it. He looked up and saw the ceiling. It looked almost like a hole had been punched through all the floors, letting you see every one of them. He could count… seven floors. Seven bloody floors of books at his disposal, and he had no idea where to start. Heading over to what looked like ‘the counter’, he spotted a girl with multiple piercings and tattoos sitting behind it, writing furiously on a sheet of paper. An open book sat next to the paper, and he could see her look back and forth between them a few times before she went back to writing.
Cautiously walking forward, he glanced around himself to see if there was anyone in the immediate vicinity. He could see a couple people sitting at desks in the middle of the circular library, but aside from them he saw no one else. By the time he was done looking, his feet had carried him to the desk.
“Excuse me, miss, but could you provide me with a… map of some sorts, of the different sections of the library?”
She looked up from her writing impatiently, reaching under her desk for something. She scrambled around blindly for a moment before having to get off her stool to look for it with her eyes. After a few more seconds, she popped back up again from behind the desk. She shoved a piece of paper in his face. “Have nice day,” she said in a heavily accented voice before proceeding to ignore him again.
Cyrus blinked and looked down at the sheet. Well, he’d gotten what he came for at least. Taking a quick glance over the subjects (not all of them were related to necromancy in any way that he could see), he decided that he was indeed going to go with the necromancy section, which happened to take up most of the top floor. As he started looking for the stairs, he wondered why they put them way up there when the entire building was for necromancers.
When he finally reached the top floor, he saw three more people than he’d seen on the bottom floor, which added up to a total of six. He frowned. Was he here during a not-so-busy time? Or was this place usually nearly deserted?
He wandered over to the ‘soul’ necromancy section. After hearing how Malfoy Sr. had met his not-so-unfortunate end, he’d been curious. How did one rip the soul out of a living person? And how had Yankovich done that life-sucking thing? Even if Cyrus didn’t learn how to do it from these books, it would still be interesting to know. He pulled out one title at a time, making sure that a gap was left so he could put it back in the same spot. He wasn’t sure how they worked the whole librarian thing here, but he didn’t want to pull out a bunch of books to find out he had to put them back, and then have no idea how the sorting system worked. That would be… tedious. And he needed to be ready to leave whenever Yankovich got back.
He must have been reading the same book, having found an interesting section, for nearly an hour when a tap on his shoulder startled him into dropping the book. He caught it with his magic before it could hit the floor while turning his head to see who had disrupted his bubble of personal space. He mentally cussed to himself. He needed to be more aware of his surroundings. If he didn’t figure out how to sense people soon, he was going to get a knife through the chest.
As the book floated back into his hands, he examined the face of the person whose eyes were trained on the book. Was wandless magic in this place abnormal or what?
“Can I help you?” Cyrus asked succinctly, annoyed that this person had both made him loose his page and managed to sneak up on him.
The guy smiled, and Cyrus blinked at the sheer… whiteness of it all. Had this guy cast reflective spells on his teeth, or what? Cyrus looked up from the glaring white to a pair of ice blue eyes with a darker ring around the edge of the iris. The guy’s wavy black hair, cut to shoulder length, seemed to have a mind of its own. Whether it was as wild as Cyrus’s own hair by nature, or the guy styled it that way, Cyrus had no clue. What he did know was that this guy probably turned female heads no matter where he went.
“I just noticed that you’re an unfamiliar face, and I wanted to know if you were a new apprentice.” His warm baritone sent a tingle racing up Cyrus’s spine, and blood rushed to his face as he recognized the feeling.
Oh god no.
“My name’s Ashawyn. Ashawyn Thalla.” The guy held out his hand.
Cyrus blinked and looked down at the proffered limb. Moving on autopilot, he gripped it and shook, trying to ignore the heat that spread through his arm at the contact, even though the guy’s hand was cold. “Cyrus Obsidian.”
Ashawyn smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cyrus. May I? Call you Cyrus, that is?”
“Um, sure. Cyrus is fine, Ashawyn.”
“Perfect! So, who’s your Master, Cyrus? If I may ask?” The guy was so congenial it was off putting.
“Well,” Cyrus began awkwardly, “I don’t have a Master yet. I’m only in my first year at Shikaan.”
Black eyebrows rose as ice blue eyes looked him up and down, bringing a flush to Cyrus’s face as well as sending another tingle up his spine. Maybe he was getting a fever…
“You don’t look like a first year at Shikaan. You look old enough to be graduating.”
Cyrus smiled hesitantly. What do you say to that, exactly? “Thanks?” The guy laughed. Cyrus mentally scrambled for a way to change the subject. “So, who’s your Master? And how old are you?”
“Mikhail. He’s one of the more powerful and old necromancers. And I’m 22-years-old. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
Two dark eyebrows rose again. “Oh my, you are young.” He smiled, as if to convey that he didn’t mean anything by it. Cyrus returned it and tried to ignore him by searching for his lost page. He wasn’t sure how long Ashawyn was planning on sticking around, but Cyrus hoped he would leave soon. He felt so awkward around the man…
“I’ve read that one front to back, what section are you looking for?”
Cyrus blinked and looked up from the book. Ashawyn had moved right into his space, and was peering over his shoulder at the book. Cyrus could feel a chill, instead of the usual body heat a person would give off. He frowned. How odd. So it wasn’t just cold hands. He kick started his brain to answer the question. “Um, the section about ancient blood rituals and how they were used to increase the power of death magic in order to complete a raising.”
Ashawyn took the book from his hands and started flipping. “Oh, that’s interesting. Yes, they used to think sacrifices were necessary in order to raise the dead from the ground. They also thought that it needed to be at a certain time of night. It wasn’t until Yenna of Lockshire Hill accidentally raised a graveyard behind a church in broad daylight that they realized this wasn’t true. Of course, they ended up killing Yenna because they thought he was monstrous. Or it was because he was too powerful for them, and they were jealous. As there are no eyewitness accounts or journals left behind, it is mostly through speculation and supposition that we have pieced together Yenna’s tragic death. Ah, here. This is the page.” He handed it back with a smile, and Cyrus couldn’t help but be dazzled by the knowledge of this man.
“Wow. You certainly know a lot about Yenna.”
Ashawyn chuckled, abashed, reaching back with one hand to ruffle his hair nervously. “Well, really it’s just that I know a little bit about everything. I prefer it that way, in comparison to studying deeply only one topic. If you have a broader band of knowledge, you know where to look for the stuff you really need.”
Cyrus nodded. That made sense. “What else do you know about Yenna?” Picking a person’s brain was, after all, far more interesting than reading the monotonous, old writing of scholars hundreds of years old.
“Well… Rumor has it that he came back from the dead the first time the Neromancer’s Council of the time killed him.”
Cyrus’s eyebrows shot up. “Rumor? Really? Do you think it actually happened?”
“Well, there’s evidence pointing in both directions, so no one really knows. It is speculated, however, that someone with enough death magic could avoid death altogether. It’s never been proven, though.”
Cyrus made a thoughtful noise. Voldemort would love to get his hands on something like that. Or maybe it wasn’t something you could ‘get your hands on’ in the first place? After all, you had to be born with necromancy. So maybe that was one thing on the list of ‘things-Voldy-would-do-to-become-immortal’ that Cyrus could cross off. After all, if Yankovich had tried to rip his soul out and had failed… Well, Cyrus needed to figure out how Voldemort managed to keep himself from kicking the can if he was ever going to kill the bastard. He didn’t really want to fight Voldemort, but with the prophecy hanging over his head and the possibility of a zombie army-
“So, I never went to Shikaan. I went to Lestralis instead,” Ashawyn interrupted his thoughts. “What’s it like? I’ve heard that it’s the best of all the schools, but has the highest mortality rate. My mother didn’t want to send me there, but I always thought it might have been a better choice than Lestralis.” Ice blue eyes watched Cyrus’s face.
The human twitched. Why was he staring at Cyrus like that? “Well, I’m not sure which is better. I’ve only ever been to Shikaan. I didn’t know about the other schools, to be honest.”
Ashawyn’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Your parents sent you to Shikaan without checking out the alternatives? They must have been very sure you would survive.”
Cyrus looked away from that stare and down at the book still in his hands. He put it back on the shelf where he found it. He didn’t want to be having this conversation anymore. “My parents are dead. My guardian went to Shikaan for a year before deciding not to continue. He thought I wouldn’t have that same problem,” he said, flat and uninterested as he moved to walk away.
A hand grabbed his own and he stiffened. A stupefy formed under his skin in less time than it took him to think it into existence.
“I’m terribly sorry,” that baritone said softly, but Cyrus refused to look him in the eyes, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the bookcase in front of him with as blank an expression he could manage. “I had no idea that… anyway, I’m sorry. And if I’ve offended you in any way, with something else I said, I’m sorry for that too.”
Cyrus frowned. Ashawyn was being far too understanding. It wasn’t normal. He looked up and met those ice blue eyes. He had motive. There was something he wanted. He wouldn’t be standing here talking to Cyrus of all people otherwise. The question was… what was it? “It’s fine. I should probably be-“ he moved to walk away again, but the hand tightened its hold. He frowned.
“Please, just wait. I’d like to give you a tour of the library, or the rest of the Guildhall.”
Cyrus frowned. “I’ve been told not to leave the library, so no, you can’t show me the rest of the… Guildhall.” He pulled his hand away, trying to forget the feeling of that thumb stroking along the back of it. His awkwardness-o-meter had jumped up to a seven.
The man frowned. “And you don’t want a tour of the library?”
Cyrus opened his mouth to say a firm no when a familiar voice came from behind him.
“Obsidian! About time I found you. Should have figured you’d be with the necromancy books.”
Cyrus turned around with a relieved smile. Finally! He walked towards his necromancy teacher. “Professor Yankovich! How did the meeting go?”
But the demon wasn’t looking at him. He had turned his attention to the man standing behind Cyrus, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “Making friends with the enemy?”
Cyrus blinked. “What?”
“He’s Mikhail’s apprentice. He and I are… rivals, you could say.”
The human turned around and frowned at Ashawyn. “Oh. So, is this some sort of guild-speak for ‘do not talk to him’?”
The smile on Yankovich’s face grew teeth. “Well, you’re not my apprentice, so I have no control over who you associate with.”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. Really. He totally believed that. The demon was practically radiating vibes.
“Master Yankovich,” Ashawyn said with a polite bow at the waist. This seemed to mollify the demon somewhat. “It’s a pleasure to see you again under neutral circumstances.”
Yankovich snorted. “Yes, I suppose it is. Mikhail’s looking for you. I suppose you might as well come with us, since we’re going to the same place anyway.”
Ashawyn frowned slightly before nodding his acceptance. When the demon started walking away, both students followed.
Cyrus frowned. What in the world? Did this have something to do with the blackmailing that Yankovich had said he was going to be doing? Did the council meeting not end favorably? He wanted to ask the demon, out of sheer curiosity, but he wasn’t sure Yankovich would answer with Ashawyn standing right there, so he decided to just wait and see what would happen next.
oOo
They ended up portkeying to what appeared to be a restaurant, and Cyrus couldn’t help but stare around himself in awe. There were demons and other magical beings everywhere! He couldn’t even recognize most of them. Occasionally he’d catch sight of a werewolf by the flash of their eyes, or a vampire by their fangs, but he had no idea how to pick them apart from humans otherwise. He frowned. He wondered if this ‘magical sensitivity’ of his could help him with that. And could help detect people sneaking up on him. So far, he knew he could feel… er, good, in the presence of powerful magical people, he could reach inside that snake and do something – he had no idea what – to help her young be born, and… Occasionally he could pick up auras on his skin, but that was only when the source was actively giving it off. He mentally shuddered at the memory of Dumbledore’s magic on his skin.
He needed to ask someone or do some research.
“Ah! Yankovich! I was wondering how long it would take you. Mikhail said you were bringing his student?” The man who had called out was sitting in a corner around a circular table. Each table was separated by beautiful stone walls and plants to create a feeling of privacy. Next to the more ‘jovial’ man was a white-haired, grey-eyed man who was watching them with a haughty attitude that reminded Cyrus of Malfoy.
Yankovich walked forward and gripped the jovial man’s forearm in greeting. “Sandaman! It’s good to see you again. We didn’t really get to chat much before the meeting.”
The dark-haired and dark-eyed man raised an eyebrow. “No, we didn’t. You were too busy blackmailing me into submission. It’s too bad my vote in your favor didn’t end up making a difference during the council meeting. But aside from that, I would have helped you myself if you’d just asked, my friend.”
The demon just shrugged. “This was too important a venture for you to have the choice to back out.”
Sandaman nodded and sat back down, glancing at the fair-featured man sitting next to him nervously. Cyrus watched the byplay with interest. But before he could contemplate the significance of that nervousness, Ashawyn had walked forward and bowed to him. “Master Mikhail, I apologize for my tardiness.”
Mikhail paused before giving any acknowledgement. “I tried to contact you on your magi-com. Did you turn it off?”
“The energy was low, Master. I was going to change the battery after I finished in the library.”
Mikhail nodded. “Very well. It is fortunate, then, that Yankovich saw you.”
Ashawyn bowed his head and sat in the empty seat next to his Master. Cyrus watched the whole exchange with curiosity.
“Mikhail,” Yankovich inclined his head stiffly, and the other necromancer returned it with just as much resentment. When Yankovich sat down, and there was one chair left for Cyrus, the human tried to sit as inconspicuously as possible. This didn’t stop everyone from looking at him, though. “This is a student of mine from Shikaan. Cyrus Obsidian.”
Sandaman nodded his head and smiled in welcome. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Obsidian. What, may I ask, is your role in this endeavor?”
Cyrus turned to Yankovich, not knowing how to answer that himself.
The demon had a small smirk on his face. “He has very little practical experience. However, he will be acting as a channeler in this particular raising.”
Sandaman’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Fascinating.” He turned to Cyrus. “How many times have you channeled in the past?”
The human bit his lip. “None?”
Both Mikhail and Sandaman turned to Yankovich with accusing expressions. “You want a raising this large to be his first? Are you mad?” Mikhail asked derisively, his grey eyes beginning to glow.
Yankovich just grinned. “He’ll do just fine. He has a remarkable intuition.”
Sandaman’s eyebrows rose incredulously. “‘Remarkable intuition’? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Yankovich, even you cannot be this crazy. He has never channeled before! So many things could go wrong!”
Cyrus wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. The only person who didn’t seem to be arguing now was Ashawyn, but the apprentice was watching him with an intensity that threw Cyrus. Was it because of jealousy, or something? Cyrus hadn’t thought that it was such a big deal, before. Yankovich thought he could do it. He wouldn’t risk his niece’s life if he thought Cyrus would fuck the whole thing up, right?
The three masters were still arguing. “There’s no way he has that much death magic! And that he’ll be able to channel it safely! You just admitted it yourself that he’s inexperienced! That means he has no control!” Mikhail was arguing vehemently.
Cyrus wondered if they’d put up privacy wards.
Yankovich, for once, was the calm end of the argument. “He is very intuitive, Mikhail, and I will be guiding him the entire way. So stop picking a fight. Together – even with your apprentice – we don’t have enough collective death magic to raise a thousand inferi. You know that.”
Mikhail crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Luckily, at that moment a waiter came with food and floated it onto the table. Cyrus watched, confused for a moment until he realized that they must have ordered ahead.
Some of the dishes were things he’d never seen before, and Sandaman was the only one with bacon, eggs, and pancakes sitting in front of him. The man, who had merely observed during the fight when Mikhail got on a roll, started cutting into his pancakes as he said to Yankovich, “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered what you usually get. I didn’t think to get something for your… student, though.”
The demon nodded and turned to Cyrus. “Did you want something to eat? We’re going to be busy with preparation for most of the day, so you’ll need your energy.” When Cyrus nodded hesitantly, Yankovich turned to the waiter who was still standing there. “Whatever he gets, put it on my tab please.”
The waiter nodded with a smile and pulled out a small pad and pen. He turned to Cyrus. “Did you want a menu, or do you know what you want already?”
Cyrus blinked. “Er…” He looked around at the odd dishes on the table. Even Mikhail had ordered something for his apprentice, so it seemed. Ashawyn was digging into some melon-shaped fruit that looked like it had been baked and stuffed with… he didn’t want to know what that was. “Can I get eggs, bacon, toast, and some fruit please?”
The waiter wrote something down. “Did you want human fruit, fae fruit, demon fruit-“
“Human fruit, please.”
Yankovich smirked. “Not feeling adventurous, Obsidian?”
Cyrus raised an eyebrow at the demon and said flatly, “Decidedly not.”
Ashawyn smiled and covered it by putting another fork full of fruit in his mouth. While Cyrus waited for his food to arrive, so he could pretend to be suitably distracted, he tried not to look like he was listening to the masters’ conversation. He was therefore understandably surprised when something brushed up against his leg under the table. He jumped in his seat and looked at the people sitting at their table. None of them looked the slightest bit guilty. His eyes narrowed. The only person he could logically see doing that was…
The thing brushed his leg again, and this time Cyrus knew it was no accident. He stared at Ashawyn and shifted his legs back and wrapped his ankles around his chair legs. What was the apprentice up to?
Finally, his food came. Ashawyn gave nothing away, and Cyrus began to doubt himself. Perhaps he’d just imagined it? Shaking his head slightly, he dug into his food. Everyone else was either done eating or almost there. Having plenty experience of shoveling his face while not actually looking like a pig (after all, Petunia had removed his plate for smaller offences than improper decorum at the dinner table), Cyrus proceeded to inhale his food. The current company didn’t seem like the type to just wait for an inexperienced student to finish eating.
When he finished in two minutes, he ignored the way Ashawyn was staring at him, again, and sipped at his water. Lucky for him, the waiter came with their bills less than a minute later. The masters left varying sums on the table before getting up to leave.
“So, of the locations discussed, which have you decided on, Yankovich?” Sandaman asked.
“The landslide in the mountains. Less likely for muggles to discover us. We’ll have to put up a ward, as well. It could be disastrous to get interrupted in the middle of the raising.”
The two nodded and disappeared, Sandaman with the telltale crack of disapparition and Mikhail without a sound. Ashawyn disappeared with his master.
Yankovich turned to Cyrus. “You ready to take off?”
The human smiled weakly. “I hope so. I just hope my inexperience doesn’t fuck anything up.”
The demon laughed. “Don’t worry about Sandaman and Mikhail. They haven’t taught you like I have.”
Cyrus shrugged and Yankovich placed a hand on his shoulder for side-along apparition. They disappeared with a squeezing sensation.
oOo
Cyrus sat on his conjured stool like he had for the past couple hours. He officially had no fucking clue what they were doing. He’d been watching them weave spells over the surrounding area for hours. He’d even checked surreptitiously with his rune sight to see what they were, but the only spells he recognized were the wards on the area that made sure muggles turned away and that other magical beings were warned to ‘stay away’. He wasn’t sure exactly how the latter worked, but since Yankovich had been the one to cast it, he figured it must work.
But the runes for the spells that he didn’t recognize looked very… odd, to his rune sight. Whereas natural magic glowed with bright colors, the other spells seemed to… Suck it in. In the darkness of his sight, they shimmered an even darker blackness, something he hadn’t thought was possible. And the runes that he could make out in the blackness he didn’t recognize. At all.
It was all both intriguing and boring as hell at the same time. He could only sit on his chair with his eyes closed for so long before he started to look like an idiot, and he couldn’t exactly break out his runes textbooks and start studying empty air. Though, if this took any longer, he was seriously considering starting to do his homework or studying. He was getting to the point that he didn’t care if the other two masters gave him dirty looks. They hadn’t exactly been smiling warmly at him from the get go.
He was just about to pull out one of his textbooks when Yankovich finally came over to him with a smirk. Cyrus frowned. There was something about this picture that was entirely not smile worthy… so what was the demon so happy about?
“So…” Cyrus started curiously, raising an eyebrow.
The demon’s smirk widened. “All the spellwork worked out. Voldemort is going to have a very nasty surprise in store for him, the sick bastard.”
Now Cyrus was even more curious. “What did you guys do, exactly?”
Yankovich looked entirely too pleased with himself. “We managed to create a self-destructing spell with a built in timer. After twenty-four hours of the spell in his hands, his controlling matrix will collapse and the zombies will immediately turn on him and try to eat him.”
Cyrus’s eyebrows rose. “Eat him? Why would they try to eat him? I mean, zombies don’t really have enough presence of mind to choose who they munch on, right?”
The demon’s smirk widened into a grin that showed off his sharp canines. “Ah, but that’s the beauty of it. The control matrix will basically be booby-trapped to draw zombies to it with the death magic stored inside of it.”
Cyrus frowned. “Aaand what if he just drops it and disapparates? That’s a lot of work for him to just run away.”
Yankovich smirked. “And that would normally be the case, except the type of death magic we’ll be manipulating into the matrix will taint the bastard like catnip. Once the zombies have consumed the death magic in the matrix, they’ll search for Voldemort until they find him and eat him. The only way for him to escape a gruesome fate would be to destroy every last inferius, and keep in mind, he has us raising a thousand self-sustaining inferi. So the only way to kill them is to use a necromancer or fiendfyre. And fiendfyre is notoriously difficult to control and drains a lot of magical power. The cat and mouse will last at least a week, I’ve estimated.” When Cyrus just stared at him, the demon frowned. “What? You don’t like it? I thought it was rather ingenious myself…”
Cyrus snapped out of his daze. “No, no, I like it. I think it’s fitting. I was just… in awe of your… deviousness.” He mentally winced. That so didn’t come out right.
The demon looked unimpressed. “Really,” he said, not sounding all that convinced.
“No, seriously, I think it’s brilliant. I just had no idea that you could do all that with death magic.”
Yankovich raised an eyebrow. “Really? I need to assign better reading material.”
“When do we start learning stuff like that?” Cyrus asked curiously.
The demon laughed. “Not until you’re studying for your mastery, and then even after that. You never stop learning. A mastery just indicates that you’ve reached a level that we can leave you alone and expect that no major cities will be destroyed. The average necromancer may stop there, satisfied with their level of knowledge and experience, but others decide to keep studying and experimenting. It’s like any profession, really.”
Cyrus nodded in interest. “So you become a master by becoming an apprentice, right?” The demon nodded. “And there aren’t any standings above master?”
Yankovich grinned. “No need for it. We’re a small enough community that everyone is well aware of how powerful everyone else is. In some of the larger fields, like potions, they start giving special names and awards to measure progress or advances in knowledge, but in necromancy it doesn’t really matter. We’re all very aware of the pecking order.”
Cyrus’s lips quirked. “So how powerful are you?”
The demon looked amused. “Already scoping out competition?”
The human shrugged nonchalantly. “Not so much. I just figure that if I’m going to do an apprenticeship, I should find the best teacher, right?”
A slow and predatory smirk spread across the demon’s face. “Oh really? You considering a necromancy mastery, then? You’re not going to go with runes instead?”
Cyrus shrugged. “Ideally I’d like to do both, but things like that don’t always work out. I’ll have to wait and see until I graduate anyway.” He raised an eyebrow. “And you still haven’t answered the question.”
Yankovich nodded. “Yes, sometimes it’s better not to worry about things until you have to. And to answer your question, sheer power doesn’t always matter. I actually have very little death magic in comparison to some of the other necromancers, or yourself, but I have such a highly developed control that I can often achieve better results than those with all the power. Over a thousand years experience helps, too.”
Cyrus choked. “O-over a thousand years? You’re over a thousand years old?”
Yankovich smirked. “Demons live for a long time, like vampires.”
The human just stared at him.
“Yankovich! Are you done with the lecture yet?” Sandaman called from a few yards away. “We’ve finished the last touches on the matrix. Mikhail’s apprentice is just finishing putting up the salt circles in case the shit hits the fan.”
The demon nodded and motioned for Cyrus to follow as he walked towards the other necromancers. The human did as directed, his brain still overwhelmed by the knowledge that Yankovich was as old as Hogwarts. He had to snap himself out of it quickly enough, though, as he was ordered to stand in the middle of the smaller salt circle that Ashawyn had probably made. It was just big enough for them to stand in. “Is the circle in case the raising doesn’t work?”
Mikhail was the one to answer. “You didn’t think that we’d have enough confidence in your amateur ability not to use one, did you?”
Cyrus turned to the white-haired man, repressing a glare. He’d just asked an innocent question. Mikhail didn’t have to be a complete asshole about it.
But Yankovich answered the question as if Mikhail had never opened his mouth. “Salt circles are often used in the more dangerous raisings or rituals. They don’t impede the flow of death magic into the ground, but they keep the zombies out until we can deal with them accordingly if the raising fails. That’s why Ashawyn has been making a salt circle around the entire site as well.”
Mikhail rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you insist in calling them that muggle word, Yankovich. They are inferi.”
Sandaman looked amused.
“Well not all of us are stuck up elves, Mikhail, and even though I have little respect for the human race, I do respect the invention of television.”
This time Cyrus had to bite his lip to hold back his grin, as the look of disgust on Mikhail’s face was too funny to not laugh. Sandaman apparently had no such reservations, however, as he started chuckling softly to himself. The elf shot him a dangerous look.
“Careful Yankovich,” Sandaman said with an amused smile. “I might think you’re insulting me again. You remember what happened the last time you did that, no?”
Yankovich grinned. “I was hardly insulting you, my friend. You know you don’t fall in with the rest of the pathetic human race.”
The master laughed. “Well, I’m glad we’re still on the same page, then.” Black eyes flashed dangerously, but the human did nothing threatening.
Luckily, the impeding fight was delayed when Ashawyn finally returned, his cheeks a rosy red and looking like he’d just gone for a run. For all Cyrus knew, he probably had.
“The mass salt circle has been finished, Master. Where would you like me in the circle?”
Mikhail turned to Yankovich, still angry. “Where do you want him? This is your little ritual, after all.”
The demon looked unaffected by the burning glare of the elf’s eyes. “Apprentice Thalla, if you could please stand in the center with Obsidian? You will be channeling today.”
Ashawyn nodded and walked carefully over the salt circle and into the center. He smiled at Cyrus as he came to a stop next to him. The human gave him a brief smile, but couldn’t devote much of his mind to think about the way that Ashawyn was watching him again. This was it. The raising was finally going to start, and Cyrus still had no fucking clue what he was supposed to be doing.
“Obsidian, I want you to observe the way Ashawyn channels his death magic and follow his lead, understand?”
Cyrus frowned. “How am I supposed to do that?” He tried to ignore the scoff of Mikhail and the way Sandaman brought a hand to his forehead.
Yankovich looked at Mikhail for a second with a very odd expression before turning his attention back to Cyrus. “Do you remember the first Necromancy class we had?”
The human blinked. “Yeah?”
“That is how you will observe.”
Cyrus frowned. What was the demon talking about? And then it clicked. The first class had been when Yankovich revealed to the class that he had magic sensitivity. But why hadn’t Yankovich just come out and said it in front of these masters?
Cyrus snapped himself out of his distracting thoughts. He needed to focus. He had to somehow figure out how to sense the way that Ashawyn manipulated his death magic. Wincing internally, he bit his lip in concentration. This was either going to go well or blow up spectacularly in all of their faces. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried to… open himself.
“This human had better pull it off, Yankovich. I’m leaving at the first signs of explosion,” Mikhail said derisively, but Cyrus ignored him. Yankovich thought he could do this, so he could do it. He just had to trust his own capabilities.
“Ashawyn, I want you to create the channels slowly, one by one, so Cyrus can see every step of the process. Understand?”
The apprentice made an affirmative noise, and Cyrus tried to open his mind even further in preparation for whatever it was that he was supposed to be sensing. All of a sudden, the cold feeling that he hadn’t realized he’d been feeling at all seemed to turn to ice to his right, and he nearly took a step back in surprise at the feeling of snow brushing against his skin. He focused on the area where he now knew Ashawyn was standing, and ‘watched’ incredulously as the freezing energy drew itself together and slowly stretched out a tendril of energy beyond what Cyrus was currently sensing. He followed the magical arm until it connected with another energy that felt dark and powerful. He watched, fascinated, as the arm seemed to cautiously brush up against the power before being welcomed inside. With a nearly audible click, the channel settled into place.
“Do you need to see it again, Cyrus?” Ashawyn’s soft voice asked.
The human hummed thoughtfully to himself. “I don’t know. Is that Yankovich you attached it to?”
He felt a startled movement beside him. “Y-yes. How did you know?”
Cyrus shrugged. The energy had felt dark and powerful. That seemed to match up with what he knew of Yankovich so far. The demon claimed he didn’t have much power when it came to necromancy, but he seemed pretty powerful to Cyrus. Maybe thousand-year-old demons had different measurements of power than humans did.
He mentally shook himself. He needed to get back on track. Focusing on his own death magic, he suppressed his natural magic and drew the other to the surface.
“Careful, Obsidian! You’re giving off power like a torch. You need to focus it into yourself and then into creating a channel, not outside of yourself like you do during a raising. Otherwise you waste it,” Yankovich’s voice instructed from what sounded like a place far away.
Cyrus nodded and snapped the power back into himself with an iron fist. He gasped as he felt it push his natural magic out of his channels and back into his core, taking its place inside his body. His limbs felt cold, but not uncomfortably so. It was the oddest feeling.
Bringing himself back to the real world, as he had been reveling in the feeling of his own power, he tried to focus the death magic into a channel, but didn’t know quite where to attach it. “Yankovich,” he began hesitantly, “do I attach the channel to my core or somewhere else?”
“Never attach it to your core. It’s easier to control your own output when it has to make its way through your channels first. If you attached it to your core you could swamp us with power and burn us up.”
Cyrus’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Well, that’s not good.” He focused on attaching the channel to his right arm, as he wanted to keep his hands free in case he needed them for something else. The channel grew where he specified it to, and he stretched it out to the demon with little hassle. The channel weakened the farther it got away from Cyrus, but the moment it connected to the demon it strengthened and hummed with the energy he was holding back.
“Good. Ashawyn, connect to Sandaman next. Cyrus, connect to him right afterwards.”
Cyrus watched as the freezing energy of Ashawyn did as ordered. When the channel was strong, Cyrus did the same. It was easier the second time. This one he attached to his left arm, leaving him to ponder where he was going to attach the third. Probably to his leg. It would make no sense to have enough energy to power two necromancers flowing into one limb. He wasn’t sure if his channels could take the strain, either, as he’d never done something like this before.
When Ashawyn quickly moved to connect to Mikhail, not needing Yankovich’s direction to do so, Cyrus followed and connected right afterwards.
“Thalla, start channeling your energy. Obsidian, we’re using you for the actual raising itself, Thalla’s energy is for the preparation. Most of our own death magic has been used up casting the spells earlier for the matrix, so when we call on you for power you’re going to have to keep the flow as steady as you can, alright?” Cyrus nodded. “Good. Thalla, start channeling enough to raise a ten year old zombie into each channel.”
“Yes, sir. If I channel that much, though, I’m only going to last for a few minutes.”
“That’s fine. When you’re out of energy, cut the channels and don’t leave the circle.”
Ashawyn made an affirmative noise, and Cyrus watched curiously as the ice cold power started flowing through the three channels as if a faucet had been turned. He watched as the energy flowed into the three masters, and then they distributed it into the ground below. Cyrus followed the magic as it began to feel out the dead that had been buried in a landslide. They were quite a ways down, and there was far more than a thousand. He watched, curiously, as tiny embers were placed in each of the dead, and the masters did it one at a time almost as if they were… counting?
A few minutes later, Cyrus felt Ashawyn’s connections snap and heard the apprentice collapse to the ground beside him, heaving in air.
“Obsidian! We didn’t finish. Start channeling the same amount of energy as Ashawyn. Can you measure that?”
Not bothering to answer the question, the human released his hold just enough for the right amount of energy to sneak by. Now that death magic was practically bulging in his inner channels, he found the war to use his death magic was much less fighting to pull the energy out of the core and more holding it back from leaving his body in a gigantic flood.
“Perfect. I’ll let you know when we’re going to do the actual raising, just hold the power output as steady as you can.”
Cyrus wasn't sure if their eyes were open, as his own certainly weren’t, so he muttered a quiet affirmative, trying to keep an iron grip on his power.
It was a minute before Yankovich spoke again. “Alright! We’re ready. Obsidian, we’re going to need to you increase the output of your energy to ten times what you’re doing right now, okay? This is going to be the fast part of the raising, so we need that exact amount of energy, and we need it as evenly channeled as possible. If the amount changes too radically, it could compromise our concentration. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Cyrus took in a deep breath. Increasing the speed of the energy was probably not the best idea, as he wouldn’t know how to measure the energy he was giving in terms of how fast it was moving out of his body. He figured the best way to measure it would be to just change the size of his channels. He’d fashioned them after Ashawyn’s, after all, so he didn’t think they’d be able to stand up to the strain he was about to put them under. Cutting off the flow of his death magic, he sent a pulse of the energy to his channels and widened them to ten times the size they were before. Opening the floodgates a bit, he tried to measure the speed of the magic to what it had been moving at before.
“Obsidian, that’s too- wait. A little bit more… Perfect. Keep it steady right there.”
Cyrus nodded, not trusting himself at that moment to speak and not break his concentration. He didn’t think he’d be breathing right now if the act were conscious. As he was focused entirely on the channeling of his magic, he didn’t feel the zombies as they were raised. One minute he was channeling magic and the next Yankovich was telling him to stop.
Cutting the channels with barely a thought, Cyrus let himself collapse onto his ass with a heaving breath. Rubbing his head, he wished he had a glass of water.
“You alright, Obsidian?” a familiar voice asked from in front of him.
Cyrus opened his groggy eyes and saw Yankovich’s face swimming in front of his own. “Headache,” he croaked out.
The demon grinned. “You’re not used to controlling that much death magic all at once yet. I’m not surprised you have a headache.”
The human scowled. “Thanks,” he grumbled to himself, letting his body lay back against the ground. Frowning at the rocks digging into his spine, he sucked his death magic back into his core and let his natural magic fill him again. With a discharge of magic into the ground below him, he conjured a mattress under himself. He sighed. That was better.
Yankovich chuckled. “How much death magic do you have left, Obsidian? I want to see how close it was.”
Cyrus grumbled. “How ‘m I s’posed t’ tell?” he slurred, bringing his fingers up to his temples and trying to massage the pain away with a little healing magic. It didn’t work. Apparently dehydration couldn’t be cured with magic. He was storing emergency water supplies from now on. He had enough nutrient potions to carry him over for a month of starvation, but did he have any water? No. ‘Idiot,’ he thought disparagingly to himself.
“Well, you have the same amount of natural magic as you do death magic. Compare them.”
Cyrus frowned and did as requested. He didn’t really care to see how close it had been himself, but it was probably best that Yankovich know. The demon was his teacher, after all. Ignoring his headache the best he could, he tried to get a feel for the magic inside him. He frowned. “Half,” he muttered, not quite believing it himself.
“Excuse me? Did he just say half? Now we know the boy is lying, Sandaman. After that raising, it would be impossible for-“
“Shut up, Mikhail. I’m sick and tired of your bitching. You finished the ritual for me, and now we’re even. Go back to that hole you call an office and get yourself out of my hair.”
The elf glared and grabbed his apprentice, disappearing without a sound.
Yankovich let out a relieved breath.
“Thank the gods he’s gone,” Sandaman muttered under his breath from where he stood next to the demon. Yankovich snorted in agreement. Cyrus watched the interaction curiously. Sandaman was actually Yankovich’s friend, it seemed. He hadn’t thought so with their bickering earlier, but the demon seemed to be genuinely at ease in the human’s presence.
It was an interesting, to say the least. That a demon as prejudiced as Yankovich could have a human friend… Well, Cyrus would ponder it when he had less of a skull-splitting headache. “Do either of you have water?” he asked curiously after clearing his throat.
Sandaman raised an eyebrow before reaching into a bag at his waist and pulling out a plastic bottle of water and handing it to him. Cyrus blinked, sat up, and took it. Sandaman had a muggle brand of spring water in his bottomless bag? How very odd. Twisting off the cap with a thought, he chugged half the bottle. It would take a while for the headache to go away, but he felt better with his throat no longer dry. Screwing the lid back on, he put it in his lap and lay back down.
Yankovich snorted. “You don’t want to look at the fruits of your labor?”
Cyrus blinked before finally taking a look around himself to see the army of inferi. Both eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of so many dead bodies in varying states of decomposition. He couldn’t help but whistle appreciatively. “I wish I could be there to see it blow up in his face,” he said with a rueful grin.
Yankovich smirked. “While amusing, that would be dangerous to your health. Even with the spells the zombies are under, if there was a powerful enough necromancer nearby they would inevitably be drawn to him.”
“Oh.” Cyrus shrugged. “Well, that’s too bad. I’m sure it’d be quite the show,” the human commented, thinking about the fits of anger he’d witnessed through the curse scar.
Yankovich made an affirmative noise and turned to Sandaman. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
The human shrugged. “I don’t have anything of particular interest to get back to, but if I’m not home in time to cook dinner… Well, you know how Carla gets.”
The demon shuddered. “Yeah. I swear she has harpy blood in her.”
Sandaman, amazingly, only looked amused rather than offended. “Yes, well, her blood lineage is a sensitive topic. For all know she does have harpy blood.” He let out a sigh. “But yes, it would be best that I return. Good luck with this ‘Dark Lord’.” He disappeared with a quiet pop without waiting for an answer.
Yankovich snorted. “Voldemort will get his due.” He turned to Cyrus, who was still lying down on his conjured mattress. “You ready to go?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Cyrus nodded and pulled himself to his feet with some difficulty. He felt remotely better after drinking the water, but he still felt sluggish. Blinking as the world tilted for a moment, he probably would have fallen over if Yankovich hadn’t grabbed his shoulder. Cyrus blinked up into blue eyes, dazed for a moment before he managed to catch his balance. “Thanks,” he muttered softly, embarrassed.
Yankovich’s face gave nothing away as he nodded in acknowledgement. The hand that had braced his shoulder squeezed slightly before letting go. Cyrus stared after the demon as he walked away, confused as to what that had been about. Brushing it off, he walked after the demon. They were still inside the salt circle, but Yankovich stepped over it instead of breaking it, so Cyrus followed his example. When the zombies didn’t converge on them and try to consume their flesh, the human let out a sigh of relief. There was always a chance…
He watched curiously as Yankovich conjured a long rope and cast portus on it.
“So, where exactly are we dropping off the zombies? I don’t remember Voldemort’s letter giving any… details.”
Yankovich tossed the portkey over the army of inferi, and Cyrus watched as the undead seemed to follow a command that Cyrus couldn’t hear, because they slowly moved to grab a piece of the rope. “The details were in the first letter. The one that you heard was… after I tried to kill him. Apparently his army was more important to him than revenge.” The demon shrugged.
Cyrus frowned. Revenge… A stone of dread sank in his stomach. What if… Voldemort wasn’t exactly the forgiving type, so what if… what if he’d already killed Yankovich’s niece?
“What’ll you do if Voldemort backstabs you?”
Yankovich seemed surprised by Cyrus’s question for a moment before he smirked viciously. “That is why you and Vladovich are coming with me.”
Cyrus blinked. “Wait. What?”
“Vladovich wants to see his daughter safe as soon as possible, so he made me promise last night that I would phone him before we left for the drop location. Speaking of which…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red stone. When he tossed it to Cyrus, the human would have dropped it in surprise if not for his seeker reflexes.
Turning the stone over in his hands, Cyrus frowned. “What is it?”
“Rivehn made it for you before I left last night. It’ll keep you invisible to nearly all methods of detection, even a werewolf’s nose.” He smirked. “In case Voldemort doesn’t keep his end of the deal, you’ll be hiding in the shadows searching for my niece. With your rune sight, it should be easy for you to locate wards and tear them down.”
Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest. “Why didn’t you just get Rivehn to come with you?”
Yankovich scowled slightly. “He is… busy. Something came up that required his attention.”
Cyrus nodded slowly. It must be something important if Rivehn couldn’t make it. Cyrus was hardly a replacement for the vampire’s incredible abilities in rune magic, after all. He hoped, again, that he didn’t screw it all up.
oOo
“Good evening, Necromancer Yankovich,” Voldemort said with a mocking smile on his serpentine face. From where Cyrus stood at the edge of the clearing, he could just barely see the red of the Dark Lord’s eyes before he activated his rune sight and started searching.
“Voldemort.”
“I trust everything is in order?”
“Yes. You will be easily able to command the inferi with this. Now where is my niece?”
“The stone, first,” Voldemort said authoritatively.
There was silence for a moment as Cyrus assumed Yankovich had given over the stone that held the matrix. Cyrus caught sight of a medium-sized dome some distance away, and turned off his rune sight for a moment so he could navigate the zombie army he’d portkeyed in with. It was very distracting to see the pitch-black halos of runes floating in midair tied to the matrix.
Hearing a crack, Cyrus glanced over to the confrontation to see that Vladovich had apparated in. The demon glanced at Yankovich in concern.
“Now give me my niece,” Yankovich ordered, eyes flashing to his brother for a moment before focusing their attention back on the Dark Lord.
Voldemort ignored him, examining the fist-sized precious stone in his hand. Cyrus absently wondered if it was real as he watched the inferius army jump, probably at Voldemort’s order. The human reached the end of the line of inferi and activated his sight again to check that he was heading in the right direction.
“Thank you for making the inferi for me, Necromancer.”
There was a pause, and then Vladovich shouted, “What about my daughter?!”
“I decided not to return her to you.”
Cyrus swore under his breath and broke out into a sprint.
“Excuse me?”
Cyrus had never heard Yankovich’s voice sound so cold.
“Well, I do thank you for the army. However, I hardly think impertinence such as yours deserves to be rewarded.” Cyrus turned his rune sight off for a moment, just for a glance, and stared when he saw that the inferi had disappeared. What the hell had Voldemort done with them? Giving himself a mental shake, he turned his attention back to his mission.
“What have you done with her?!” Cyrus heard Vladovich’s voice growl angrily in the clearing as Cyrus came to a stop in front of the ward.
“I’ve decided to reward Macnair for his good behavior. Macnair, why don’t you take down the invisibility wards and show these… demons who they tried to kill.”
Cyrus could feel the burst of angry magic even though he was yards away. Frantically, he started examining the wards to see if they would backlash if he tore them down.
“We had a deal, human. No one in Other Realm with work for or with you if they find out your word is worth less than monkey piss.”
Drawing both his wands, Cyrus mentally scoffed at the wards’ design. How juvenile. With a thought, he snapped the elementary execution sequence.
They broke just like the wards at the Dursley’s had – in a rain of shards of light. Turning off his sight, he ran for the little girl he saw being held by the hair by another man. His vision turned red at the sight of the sick bastard’s hand under her skirts. Dodging the spells sent his way by the confused Death Eaters with instinct derived from months of drills and obstacle courses under the hellacious eye of Welkins, Cyrus brought both his wands up and started hammering off spells. While his phoenix wand was incapable of casting Dark Arts, he made up for it with creativity.
He’d managed to take down ten of the more stupid Death Eaters in the first thirty seconds, but after that they started getting smart. Waves of Dark curses were sent in his approximate direction, and Cyrus swore as he stopped casting and had to jump and roll to the side. He let out a relieved breath when they didn’t seem to notice that he had moved. Taking a quick glance while maneuvering around the Death Eaters to hit them from behind, he saw the duel between Yankovich, Vladovich, and Voldemort. It just as amazing as Dumbledore and Voldemort’s battle in the Department of Mysteries. Plants Cyrus had never seen before were writhing all over the place, and while Yankovich had little death magic left, he was ripping up the landscape with his wand.
Turning his attention back to his own battle, Cyrus started picking off the Death Eaters from behind with a quick volley of curses. Unfortunately, only two fell before the last three had turned around. Before Cyrus could throw more curses, Macnair laughed and grabbed the girl, holding his wand to her head.
“Come out from under your invisibility, or I kill the girl.”
Cyrus swore under his breath, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to take Macnair and the other two out before the killing curse was cast.
“You’ve managed to kill off many of the lesser Death Eaters, but we won’t be so easy as them. Take off your invisibility and surrender your wands, or this girl will suffer a very painful death before moving on to the next world.”
Biting his lip, Cyrus floundered. He could hide one of his wands, but which one? His death wand was powerful and rare, but so was his phoenix feather. Cursing mentally, he sheathed his phoenix wand and cast obscuring charms all over it. After the shit he went through to get this feather, he’d rather lose his death stick. Reaching into his pocket, he grasped the ruby and deactivated the spells, leaving it in his pocket in case he needed it again.
A grin spread across Macnair’s face. He was the only Death Eater without a mask on. “Well looky here. The demon sent a boy to do his dirty work.” He motioned at one of his fellows and he or she took up position behind the girl so Macnair could walk forward.
Cyrus distinctly felt like he was being stalked.
“Throw me your wand,” Macnair ordered, holding his own wand in front of him.
Cyrus tossed it with an angry glare. The Death Eater caught it easily and slipped it into the folds of his robes. When he walked even closer, Cyrus tried to take a step back.
“Don’t move, or Rookwood kills the girl.”
Biting his lip, he tried to relax his body in case he needed to move suddenly. Knees bent, hands aching for his wands, he was totally shocked into stiffness when Macnair trailed the back of his hand down Cyrus’s cheek. His mind froze on what what what-
“You have a very pretty face, boy,” Macnair said softly, his dark eyes looking Cyrus up and down with a hungry glint in their depths. Cyrus felt a shiver of revulsion and a hint of fear race down his spine. “You have Potter’s eyes.” His own verdant eyes widened as full-blown fear had his magic churning under his skin and his heart hammering in his chest. “You must be part demon, or something else,” the Death Eater murmured thoughtfully as his fingertips gripped Cyrus’s face and turned it to one side. “No human but Potter has eyes this green.”
Cyrus’s relief at his averted discovery was short lived when Macnair’s hand started trailing down his neck.
“Walden! We don’t have time for your perverted desires. We’re unprotected with the wards destroyed.”
Macnair didn’t even glance behind him, his eyes locked on Cyrus’s own. “Then put the them back up, Rabastan. And don’t make them so easy to tear down this time. I’ve been promised my allotted fun, and this boy will do nicely.” Those dirty eyes looked Cyrus over again, and this time the hands followed as well. Cyrus was beginning to think wearing tight basilisk skin when his musculature was more defined like this was a baaad idea. He hissed when he felt the hands run over his pectoral muscles and stopped where his nipples would have been if the basilisk skin weren’t so thick. Thumbs ran circles over chest for a moment, managing to hit the sensitive nubs a few times before trailing down farther and over his budding abs. When they moved farther south, a horrified noise escaped Cyrus’s throat and he tried to step away. Macnair grabbed his arm, just missing his phoenix wand’s hidden sheath.
“Didn’t I tell you not to move? Do you need Rookwood to cut off her arm before you realize how serious I am?” Macnair squeezed, watching Cyrus’s face.
The green-eyed adolescent looked at the girl who was sniveling and crying, bruises littering the skin he could see and blood covering her torn blue skirts. She looked at him with teary eyes, and he could see such hopelessness in them. She thought she was going to die.
Biting his lip, Cyrus took back the step he had taken, refusing to meet Macnair’s eyes. He didn’t miss the perverted smirk that spread across that face though, as the hand resumed its trip south and gripped him through his pants. Closing his eyes in humiliation, he tried to ignore the way it massaged him, how he could still feel the fingers through the thick basilisk skin. He had to figure out a way to get out of here, with the girl.
“These are some very tight pants, little boy. And basilisk skin is pretty expensive. But they can’t protect you now, can they?” Macnair demonstrated his words by hitting the clasp that had his pants unzipping themselves in a smooth motion.
Cyrus’s eyes flew wide open when he felt that hand slip under his boxers and grip his member. Nausea had bile rising in his throat at the feeling of that calloused hand touching him in such an intimate place. He needed an out. NOW. Frantically, he tried to ignore the way his blood rushed to his extremities at the kneading hand, instead focusing on how to get himself and the girl free. He needed to-
“You like that, don’t you?” Macnair said softly, and Cyrus’s eyes flew back to the Death Eater’s face. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks in humiliation at the knowing smirk on the man’s face. The wizard did some sort of twist with his hand, and Cyrus’s knees weakened at the sensation, his lips parting at the pleasure racing up his spine. No no no-
“You’re beautiful, did you know that? Perfect skin, features of a boy reaching manhood, wind blown dirty blond hair… Those eyes. They’re so expressive,” Macnair said, his voice breathy with awe. “I can see what pleases you. They glow, you know,” he said as he did the twist motion again, and Cyrus’s knees very nearly collapsed.
‘I’m going to puke,’ he thought faintly to himself as the bile and nausea seemed to grow.
“I’m going to have you begging for me to fuck you.”
Oh god no, please no please no please-
“I’m going to sink my hard cock into that gorgeous little ass of yours, and you’re going to come so hard you won’t be able to see straight.”
No no no no-
“And you’ll like it. And you’ll hate yourself because you enjoyed it, and you’ll never be able to touch yourself again without feeling my hands on you. You’ll never be able to have sex again without feeling my dick inside you.”
No no no no-
“And you’ll hate yourself because you were never able to save the little girl, were you? But at the time you’d rather she have a quick death than suffer the fate that you did. But afterwards you’ll wonder, was it worth it? And you’ll guiltily wish that it had been her, because you can still feel my hands, can still feel me slamming into your hot. Little. Hole.”
NO!
Magic burst from under his skin and sent Macnair flying away from him. Cyrus ignored the pain of that hand being torn away from his most sensitive area, fury burning under his skin and clearing the nausea from his head. With a wave of pure power, he sent Lestrange and Rookwood flying into the ward. He stalked towards the wide-eyed Macnair, eyes narrowing in irritation when the wizard cast a shielding spell around himself.
Activating his rune sight with a thought, he destroyed the spell and sent a wandless curse to shatter Macnair’s wand into little pieces. Scrambling backwards, the wizard reached into his robes and pulled out Cyrus’s own wand. With a devious smirk, he sent an Avada Kedavra in the terrified girl’s direction. Eyes narrowing, heart jumping in his chest, he reactivated his rune sight and destroyed the spell before it could reach her. It dissolved into a green mist before disappearing.
Macnair looked terrified now, but before he could cast another curse Cyrus had conjured a dagger and sank it into the man’s heart. He watched through an angry haze as blood seeped from the wound, and Macnair’s eyes widened as he gurgled. The Death Eater was dead before the blood had time to fill his mouth and drip down the side of his face.
Breathing hard, Cyrus pried his fingers from the hilt as he realized just what it was he had done. Stepping away from the cooling body, he pushed down the nausea that threatened to have him spilling his stomach’s contents all over the ground. With a thought, he vanished the blood from his hands and clothes, picked up his wand from where it had dropped on the ground, and turned to find the girl. He saw her watching him with wide eyes, tears streaming from her face. Seeing the last two Death Eaters stirring behind her from where they had been knocked unconscious, he walked towards the girl without bothering to assuage her fear of him. Grabbing her and pulling her, struggling, into his arms, he glanced over at the battle between the two demons and Voldemort just in time to see Voldemort scream furiously and send an Avada Kedavra his way.
He let the world disappear around him as he disapparated to the only place that felt even remotely safe in that moment.
oOo
He reappeared in his room and the girl tore herself away from him and hid under his bed. Letting out an angry breath, he reached down and closed his pants. He could still feel Macnair’s hands on him, and the feeling of warm and slippery blood covering his hands…
“What the hell happened?”
Cyrus spun around to see Tara sitting at his table, a pile of books and paper covering its small surface.
The girl was still crying under his bed and oblivious to the world.
“She was… kidnapped.” Cyrus grimaced, purposely omitting what had happened to him as well.
“That doesn’t explain why your pants were open.”
Cyrus glared at her, reining in his magic to prevent it from destroying anything. He felt… unhinged. “It’s none of your fucking business!” he shouted, ignoring the way blood rushed to his cheeks at the memory of those hands on his chest and trailing down his stomach and touching-
“Well fine, sorry for caring enough to ask.” Tara slammed her book shut and gathered up her things with angry movements. “Get a magi-com so I won’t get my head bit off every time I have to tell you something. The meeting is rescheduled to Sunday night at seven. I’ll pick you up a bit before then. I trust you can make it this time?” Her red eyes glowed with her ire, and her fangs glinted from between her lips as she spoke.
Cyrus scowled. “I can make it.”
She glared at him and disapparated with a loud crack. Cyrus, who had never seen her disapparate before, let out another angry noise as the sound scared a whimper out of the girl hiding under his bed.
Getting down on the floor, Cyrus peeked underneath to see a pair of blue eyes glittering at him with tears. Sighing, he conjured a ball of soft light and put it off to the side, trying to make it so she didn’t feel threatened by him. When she didn’t try to run away or attack him, he let out a relieved breath and laid flat on the floor, putting his chin on his crossed arms and trying to appear as unthreatening as possible.
Getting tired of the staring contest, he said as softly as he could, “Excuse me, miss, but I won’t hurt you. You’re safe now. Yankovich sent me.”
She sniffled miserably and wiped the snot from her nose with her sleeve. The blank and frightened look in her baby blue eyes changed to one of hope. “Really?” she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.
Cyrus nodded, or at least did the best he could with his chin on his arms. “Yep. I don’t know how long it’ll take for him to find us here, but you’re safe under my… bed. We’re in my rooms at Shikaan. I didn’t think of a better place to take you in the heat of the moment.”
Her eyes widened, and Cyrus felt his heart break a little at the absolutely adorable expression of fascination on her face. “Really? I’ve never been to Shikaan before. Mother wouldn’t let me. She went to Shikaan, you see, but she never really liked it. She said I would like Beauxbatons better. Which do you think is better?” Her voice slowly grew louder with her enthusiasm.
Cyrus smiled. “I don’t know, as I’ve never been to Beauxbatons.”
She blinked. “Silly. Of course you haven’t been to Beauxbatons. It’s a girls school.”
He chuckled. “Then why did you ask my preference if it was impossible for me to have ever been there?”
She pouted and looked away. “What are your favorite classes?”
“Well… so far I like Runes and Necromancy.”
Her eyes lit up again. “Necromancy? That’s what Uncle Yankovich does! So, does that mean you’re taught by my uncle?”
Cyrus nodded. When silence settled for a moment, he dared a question. “So, what’s your name?”
She stared at him. “You rescued me without even knowing my name?”
The human was beginning to find her newfound attitude rather annoying. “I’m sure your uncle or father mentioned it, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”
She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes, probably to remove the remnants of her tears. “Well. Marianna’s my name. Marianna Farley.”
“Farley? Is that your mother’s last name?”
She nodded, but before Cyrus could continue with another line of questioning, he saw Yankovich walk out of the shadows of his room out of the corner of his eye. He stood up and greeted the demon with a nod.
“Where is she? Where’s Marianna?”
A loud squeal came from under his bed, and Cyrus had to dodge to the side as she wiggled out from under his bed and ran to a brightly grinning Yankovich.
“Uncle!” she shouted as she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Yankovich ran his hand over her dirty blond hair with a tender expression that Cyrus had never before seen on the demon’s face. “Where is father, Uncle Yankovich?”
“He was following me through the shadows. You know he’s slower because he’s only half shadow demon.”
She blinked cutely up at him. “Oh right.”
At that moment, Vladovich stumbled out of the shadow created by the edge of the bookshelf. Seeing his daughter, his smile lit up with happiness. “Marianna!”
“Daddy!” she squealed, detaching herself from Yankovich and jumping at her father.
Vladovich took her into his arms and swung her around in a circle before holding her to him tightly. “Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re alright.”
She squeezed him just as tightly, breaking out into quiet sobs again. Cyrus watched as Vladovich hushed her softly and kissed her forehead, running his hand over her dirty and tangled blond locks. He looked away, embarrassed, when he saw the demon shed a few tears as well. Meeting Yankovich’s eyes, he tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The demon nodded his head gravely. Cyrus didn’t know whether it was thanks, or just acknowledgement for what the human had done, but he didn’t really care. He just hoped they hadn’t seen… that.
“So,” Cyrus began awkwardly and quietly, “what happened after I left?”
Yankovich scowled. “The bastard ran off when he saw all his dead Death Eaters.”
“Didn’t want you ripping his soul out again or what?” Cyrus said, trying for a joke.
The demon’s lips twitched. “Perhaps. Though, it didn’t work last time, so I doubt it would have worked again.” His brow furrowed again in consternation. “I wish I knew the mystery of his ‘immortality’ so I could rip his head from his shoulders,” the demon growled. “It’s going to bother me for months.”
Cyrus made a thoughtful noise. “Are you still dead set on killing him?”
The demon nodded. “I’ll find a way to kill him. Especially after the last stunt he pulled.” Suddenly, a smirk spread across his face. “I do wish I could see the look on his face when his little army of inferi turns around to gnaw on his ankles.”
Cyrus couldn’t hold back his snort of amusement at image. “I can see the headlines. ‘Snakeman dodges the teething undead chihuahuas with surprise his lack of eyebrows can never show. Back to you, Todd.’”
Yankovich started laughing, and Cyrus couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “‘Thank you, Steve,’” he mockingly continued with a shit-eating grin. “‘It looks like once again Snakeface has been fooled by the underdog. After his last grueling defeat by the Boy-Who-Refuses-To-Die, will he save face? Will the Flaming Rubber Chicken find his underground lair? For answers to these questions and more, never read the Daily Prophet.’”
Yankovich chuckled. “Yes, do not read the Prophet. It was torture forcing myself to look through it for information this past week.” The demon shuddered. “What’s the chicken reference?”
Cyrus smiled. “The Order of the Phoenix.”
The demon looked amused, so Cyrus took a mocking bow. A very female voice giggled.
“He’s funny, father. Can we keep him?”
The human blinked, straightening from his bow and looking over at Marianna with an odd look on his face.
“No, sweetheart,” Vladovich said with a grin, petting her hair again. “Are you feeling better now? I can imagine you were quite scared. Did he… did he touch you?”
She sniffled and scrubbed at her eyes. “No, but he touched… he touched the guy who saved me.”
Cyrus felt blood drain from his face as both Yankovich and Vladovich looked at him with wide eyes. He crossed his arms defensively across his chest and stubbornly stared at his kitchen. Oh, his cold box was still broken. He needed to fix that.
A hand landed on his shoulder and he found himself flinching away, immediately cursing at himself afterwards for it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to decipher the look on Yankovich’s face at that moment, so he kept up his mask of anger. It was better than admitting even to himself how he felt about what had just happened.
Vladovich approached him slowly, with his hands open at his sides. With an innocent smile, he held out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for what you’ve done to return my daughter to me, Mr. Obsidian. It will never be forgotten. Our family owes you a debt of gratitude, so if there is anything we can do for you, please let me know.”
Slowly, Cyrus uncrossed his arm and let his hand settle into the light grip. Vladovich’s smile widened before he let go, and Cyrus mentally thanked the demon for not holding on for too long. His hand tingled as he returned it to his side.
Vladovich turned to Yankovich. The two clasped forearms roughly before breaking contact. “Are you going to give Obsidian anything? I know you blackmailed him into going, but he saved Marianna.” He gave his brother a look.
Yankovich scowled. “What? I’m already going to be giving him extra lessons. That’s payment enough.” The demon crossed his arms over his chest.
Vladovich glared at him. “That is a pittance, Yankovich. You were going to give him lessons before all this happened, weren’t you?” When Yankovich’s scowl deepened, the other demon grinned. “I thought so. I’ve known you for a long time, Yankovich.” The herbologist turned to his daughter and gathered her into his arms. Marianna waved at Cyrus shyly, and he smiled half-heartedly and waved back. She flushed pink, and the two disappeared with a quiet crack.
Cyrus’s stomach growled at the same time a yawn nearly split his face in half.
“If you hurry, you may be in time for dinner,” Yankovich said awkwardly, walking to the shadow next to Cyrus’s bookshelf and pausing. “I’ll talk to you after next class about the extra lessons. We have to figure out what time would work.” Without another word, he walked through the wall.
Cyrus let out a sigh and wandered into his kitchen to grab one of his protein bars from the cupboard. He scowled at the sight of his still-smashed cold box and started stripping as he walked to his bed, the protein bar sticking out of his mouth. He finished the bar, kicked his armor and clothes into a pile on his floor, and collapsed into bed.
Sighing tiredly, he sank his face into his pillow as if that would shut out the world around him. Thoughts of vampire interrogators picking apart his mind could wait until tomorrow. His daily dose of ‘shit’ had been reached.
-Toki Mirage-
IF YOU’D LIKE TO READ A RIVEHN/YANKOVICH SMUT FIC THAT IS THE ‘CONTINUATION’ OF THIS CHAPTER, THE LINK IS ON MY PROFILE. :D
Or this link: http : // toki-mirage. livejournal. com/ 7509. html
Wow. This chapter got long. (whistles) It started at 9,000, and after we edited it like 5 times it got to 13,300 words. Egads. And so much shit happened! O.o To quote Roos, because we were bitching, “It’s like, the more complicated we make it, the more shit we have to edit.” (nods) Yep. Every time I write stuff, we have to consider the consequences and realism, and many things get cut or morph into monstrous subplots. (sweatdrops)
And I’d rather not hear about how much Cyrus’s life sucks, thanks. I wrote it, so I know. Flying crap is what makes stories interesting, people. If you wanna bitch about it, go talk to my muse, Roos.
And lastly, I’m getting into a groove! Woot! Thus ends the Zombie Army Arc, and so begins the Amelia Arc. For those of you who have been waiting to see the fallout of Dalesh’s death, the beginning of it will be in the next chapter.
Thanks for reading!
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