Lazarus

"I'm as blue, I'm as blue as the ocean stream,

just reflections of the sky.

I'm as cold, I'm as cold as the stories are told,

But never sick enough to die.

Note to Self: Don't change for anyone,

Note to Self: Don't die.

Note to Self: Don't change for anyone,

Don't change, just lie."

Ryan Adam's Note to Self: Don't Die

"As I was walking among the fires of hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius..."

William Blake

"Yet not rejoicing in his speed, though bold,

Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast,

Begins his dire attempt, which nigh the birth

Now rolling, boils in his tumultuous breast,

And like a devilish Engine back recoils

Upon himself; horror and doubt distract

His troubl'd thoughts, and from the bottom stir

The hell within him, for within him Hell

He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell

One step no more than from himself can fly

By change of place: Now conscience wakes despair

That slumber'd, wakes the bitter memory

Of what he was, what is, and what must be

Worse; of worse deeds, worse sufferings must ensue."

Milton's Paradise Lost

"The strong take from the weak; the smart take from the strong."

The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason

"Let me explain: in this instance the pleasure stemmed directly from being too clearly

aware of one's own humiliation; from the feeling that you've gone too far; that it's foul but that it can't be otherwise; that you've no way out, that you'll never change yourself into another person; and that even if you still had enough time and the faith to change yourself into something else, you probably wouldn't want to change yourself; and that if you did want to you would still do nothing because in the end there's maybe nothing to change yourself into." Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky

"Where is it I've read that someone condemned to death think, an hour before his death, that if he had to live on some high---on such a narrow ledge that he'd only room to stand, and the ocean of everlasting darkness, everlasting solitude, everlasting tempest around him, if he had to remain standing on a square yard of space of his...thousand years, eternity, it were better to live so than to die at once...to live, to live, and to live. Life, whatever it may be!"

Actions are sometimes performed in a masterly and most cunning way, while the direction of the actions is deranged and dependent on various morbid impressions-it's like a dream." Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky

Chapter 7: One's Nature

"W-what are you going to do?" she croaked out.

He didn't answer, seeming to debate that question with himself. She could see it flickering in his eyes. Although he desired deeply to make her pay for her previous comment, he would defeat his purpose. Whatever that might be...

He unclenched his hands, letting the gathering black substance drip to the floor.

Elizabeth watched in a morbid fascination, biting her lip in concern.

Forcing herself to glance upward, she observed that he was gazing over her head, lost in thought and talking to himself slightly. She couldn't catch the words which sounded foreign and almost like a hissing. A vague look of worry mixed with bitterness, disbelief, and possibly fear was etched on his face...although the worry was over nothing in the present flow of time. He seemed to be reliving another experience entirely.

He's crazy! I-I shouldn't have come here at all! I should have gone to Dumbledore! WHY DIDN'T I?!

She had made a mistake, maybe her last. The door was only a few feet away...

Elizabeth moved slightly, trying not to make a sound. To her horror, the rustling of her cloak pierced through silence and his thoughts. He gave a start and jerked his eyes to his present prey, his mouth forming a snarl.

Before during their encounters, he had no emotion...this sudden change was...he was going to kill her. That's what this change meant, her end. So...all her words, designs, and oaths had been in vain...like words alone were enough to protect her from death...

Elizabeth curled herself into a ball and broke eye contact. No matter what she was not going to cry. She was fed up with crying. I won't give him the satisfaction! Clenching her jaw fiercely, Elizabeth prepared herself for the inevitable...which never came.

"You're not worth...you useless...even if you are..." He seemed to run out of steam. She heard him walk away.

Opening one eye, she saw that he taken a seat in one of the chairs by the bleak fire with one hand over his mouth in the attitude of intense thought. As she allowed her thoughts to wander to the door...

He sighed in evident disgust and with a wave of his hand, the door slammed shut.

~~~

Percival Ignatius Weasley was on top of the world. He was part of something for once, something only he and a few others knew about.

Cornelius Fudge had been a fool. He hadn't seen the possibilities...Dumbledore had accused him of cowardice. If only the old man knew what I have accomplished!

The first person Percy had truly respected had been Albus Dumbledore.

For, you see, Percy believed he saw through Dumbledore. His eccentricity was an act; his wisdom only stretched so far. He was just like everyone else around Percy, exactly like the people with no control and no real authority. Indeed, the old man inspired chaos rather than order in Percy's opinion. He had no reason; he sprouted only ideals that were absurd and formed from a day-dreaming mind with no grasp of reality! The students and the adults...the general mass actually abided by his words and bought his crack-pot ideas!

Of course, not everyone did... but no one dared to question his folly directly for a long time. Why? They feared him and what he could do. They feared him more for what he would not do. He kept control and gained respect without resorting to what they had to. His real powers always lurked out of sight; that made Dumbledore seem invincible, the fact that he didn't have to get his hands dirty. The key was in not letting anyone get past the act and that infuriating calm. Dumbledore had taught him both the true meaning of facades and the obvious cult of personality that consisted of all the worthless beings he had 'helped'. Percy had seen that mask of calm and kindness slip off...conveniently enough.

In the year 1980, Dumbledore had met with his parents. The air was warm and humid during the onset of June; he woke up with his glasses falling off his nose, and the new baby of the family was crying somewhere in the house. Miraculously, the twins were asleep.

Percy had noticed that the tag-team had already picked up the habit of pranking...him. He had become paranoid; he never knew when the chair leg would suddenly disappear or when unidentifiable objects would suddenly appear in his food or bed or when his glasses would suddenly become adhered to his face with Zonko's permanent glue or when his broom and wand would...The list was endless.

His mother adored him. Molly Weasley was tired over having to clean up a mess and having to lecture on studies and/or personal hygiene. Not that she found the flying Puffskeins not amusing or the explosions for the shed outside annoying. In fact, she would find the silence lonely. But her Percy was always helpful and set a great example for his younger brothers. He was such a reserved, sweet child. Molly needed a balance between loudness and gentleness; she hadn't had the girl she prayed for yet so she turned to her third son for support, rational conversations, and a thorough de-gnoming of the garden. Arthur would never do it properly because he found the gnomes funny.

Sometimes, Percy felt like he was being smothered. He could never make a mistake and walk on his own two feet because his mother would always look at him differently from the others. Her disappointment was on another level. If Percy failed, then...

The crack from downstairs startled him from his sleep that night. Percy was about to cover his ears in order to get some sleep when he recognized that voice.

The voice of Albus Dumbledore was downstairs in his house! Percy sprang up from his chair and rushed to the mirror to smooth down in hair. He must make a good impression! Dumbledore was the most respected wizard in the world! That's what his father said anyhow.

Percy remembered his first Famous Witches and Wizards card; Dumbledore had been on the front...the most powerful wizard, a hero. A man whom everyone admired...

Deep down, he was terribly embarrassed about what Dumbledore must think about the size of their home and the chickens in the front yard. He could waste away in humiliation.

Breathing deeply, he sneaked calmly to the stairs

"The Potters have been targeted by You-Know-Who! That can't be...What are we going to do, Dumbledore?! Lily's with child!" his mother wailed below. She felt for the Potters.

Percy stopped. Perhaps he should go back to bed. His mother had never sounded like that before. He didn't want to be caught eavesdropping by his parents in front of Dumbledore. Then again...he was feeling rebellious.

"They have gone into hiding with their Secret Keeper. No harm will befall them. But the Order must act on the offensive. We must draw attention away from the Potters with every means necessary. And...I fear we might have a spy in our mist."

His mother gasped.

"The both of you must not discuss this with any other member. I hope my fears are misplaced."

His father spoke thoughtfully. "How else could You-Know-Who know about the James and Lily? We all go into our missions with our faces concealed. There's no other way that monster could know. Who...who do you think it is?"

Dumbledore didn't answer. Molly Weasley grew frightened.

"Well?! We must find them out, or we could be next! You-Know-Who could come here!" She sounded close to hysteria.

"Molly, go tend to Ronald. He's been crying for ages."

There was a deep silence where tempers almost erupted. Then he heard his mother's pounding steps. Percy dove quickly behind a door as Molly huffed by. Muttering, she climbed the stairs towards the old nursery room covered in a ghastly orange.

Percy breathed a sigh of relief. Now he should go to bed. Now...

Dumbledore had begun to say something else but was cut off when a huge bang sounded outside. Lights from a great number of illuminating spells danced in the window. Percy scuttled to window and peeked around the patch-work curtain. That's when he saw them, the mass of black cloaks and white masks of Death. That's when he saw Him.

"ARTHUR!" His mother had begun to scream. The baby started to wail anew.

He heard the twins running down the hall in their pajamas to get a good look outside. His mother pounded back down the stairs with a quilt wrapped protectively around the newest Weasley. She roared at the twins, grabbing them both. They started to cry as well.

"ARTHUR! ALBUS!" His mother was out of her mind, and all her children were crying.

Except the one near the window who was captured in his awe of the tall figure standing in the middle of the circle in the yard...

"MOLLY, USE THE FLOO POWDER! GET THEM AWAY FROM HERE!"

He vaguely heard his father's voice and his mother's entrance in his room to find that his bed was horrifyingly empty.

"PERCY! OH, GODS! PERCY, COME HERE NOW!"

For the first time in his life, he disobeyed his mother. He remained quietly by the window. His mother ran past with the crying children in tow and missed looking into the room altogether. If she had only looked...

"MOLLY, GO NOW!"

"BUT, PERCY-MY PERCY--M"

"Molly, go now. They won't take the house."

Dumbledore spoke in that calm voice, that unthinkable calm voice in such a time. His mother went, vanishing in the fire. Silence downstairs...

"Come out now, Weasley. If you do, perhaps I'll allow you to die quickly."

A terrible voice, a cold voice, a powerful voice came from outside. Percy was glued the spot. Such power radiated from that man! Was he even human? Dumbledore didn't have that power! To bring fear! To control all those Bringers of Death! To be Death!

There was laughter from the masked men. They knew by now that their Master would show no mercy to the Muggle-lovers. The cackling continued until the door opened.

Several Death Eaters Dispparated away without hesitation...

Percy was infuriated! How dare they back down from such a pale imitation of true power!

Percy hadn't seen Dumbledore clearly in the dark. The tall man, V-Voldemort (Percy forced himself to utter the name under his breath), remained where he was, though out of confidence or surprise, Percy didn't know.

Dumbledore came into view. The old man had changed! His eyes radiated ferocity that rivaled the Dark Lord's. They seemed to be of the same sort in that instant made up of raw power. Not made of wisdom, kindness, or reason but magical superiority! They were above...

"Dumbledore..." The voice was hungry sounding. "You are eager to meet your end as well, I see." Such confidence! "You once told me...that Death was the next 'adventure'. I shall help you along, you Muggle-loving fool."

At this, Percy could barely remain upright. He had called Dumbledore a fool! Albus Dumbledore...

"You've always feared death, haven't you, Tom? I pity you. To be so brilliant and so limited... You wish to fight the natural cycle of things?"

"Don't you realize, 'Professor'? I'm above Death, I'm above Life. You never could understand that," Voldemort hissed with his eyes flashing murder.

"You're not, Tom. You and I both know that, soon, you'll meet your end. It's written in the stars, the moon. You are ensnared in your fate, and you are afraid. Fate controls us all. I can not escape it, and neither can you." Dumbledore had begun to approach his nemesis in a very casual manner that enraged the Dark Lord. "Yet...fate only works half way in life. The person makes the journey; though the end was finalized, the scenery along the way was your choice. You must see that now, Tom...you must see what you have done to yourself...with your 'power'."

The Dark Lord was radiating hatred now. Percy was wrapped up in the hatred. It was palpable in the air. He trembled. But Dumbledore seemed unaffected; he studied his former pupil thoughtfully like the Dark Lord was a child. He had his mask on again.

In his blue eyes, that was where the power lurked. Then Percy knew that the Dumbledore he had once known was gone.

It was a shame that the third Weasley child had not been truly listening to the old wizard's words. He only seen and heard what he had wanted to. The most important lesson in his life was the one he had misunderstood. Percy Weasley wouldn't realize this for a long time.

Ministry wizards began to Apparate everywhere around the house. Again, for the first time, Percy cursed his mother. He had wanted to see the duel between the two Great Ones. Before his very eyes, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters vanished from the scene, and he was left in a dark room. Dumbledore looked regretfully at the place where Voldemort had stood...where all the grass growing had been turned black.

From then on, whenever Percy passed by, he would notice that spot where nothing grew. His eyes flashed to it as a reaction and as proof that he had changed.

The old wizard had looked up to see the red-headed boy in the window. They made eye-contact, and Dumbledore felt a loss in his heart for reasons he didn't yet know. Seconds later, the boy ducked out of sight.

~~~

Percy remained the same in his family's eyes; he was good in his role. Percy himself did not know he had changed. He had only been a witness to power and had not been a part of it. But that night had planted a seed in the child's mind.

When Percy had put the Sorting Hat on his head, it had whispered of ambition. In fact, it whispered only of ambition. It really didn't go into much detail about honesty, brains, or bravery. Percy had begged fervently, promising all sorts of things in his panic. A Weasley couldn't be in Slytherin! Percy cursed the hat afterwards. Anyone could be brave, daring, or smart!

He had tried. He had been the best in his classes. He had stood up to the Slytherins when they threw their insults about his family status...which he knew, on some level, to be enforced by his father's acceptance of his low position in the Ministry. Percy defended the half-bloods and Muggle-borns endlessly like the broken Muggle records his father was always tinkering with. He had always followed the rules and told the complete truth.

Where did all that get him? Percy was not popular among his peers because of his truthfulness and adherence to the rules. They saw him as boring and not to be compared to his older brothers. In every respect, he should have been the ideal Gryffindor and admired by everyone!

But...the Gryffindors liked pranks, liked the unpredictable, loved to break the rules, and loved to test the limits. When he thought on it, the Gryffindors weren't necessarily nice or honorable. He had seen many older students form groups among themselves and poke fun at the first and second years...and him. They waged prank wars with the Slytherins gratuitously every year, sometimes for no reason at all. In some memorable disasters, their pranks crossed the line in his opinion.

One Slytherin girl, after saying something snotty to a Gryffindor (nothing that bad, honestly, just the usual Slytherin banter), had been covered in boils, and in a moment of foolish pride, she tried to heal herself. Now she was covered in lasting scars, and Percy only saw her in long clothing. He saw her isolated among her own House. The girls didn't want to be seen with someone covered in sores. It was beneath them and besides, if she had been a true Slytherin, she would have caught on to the Gryffindors sooner. No one among the Lions had been expelled or punished as far as he knew.

He knew nothing else but to be the best. If he was the best, then eventually his peers would see reason and acknowledge him like Harry Potter.

The second person Percy admired had been of a younger age than him. The Boy Who Lived...

Percy had tried to slide himself into Harry Potter's favor. To his chagrin, Potter seemed to want to keep his distance from the fanatic Prefect. Well, that was fine. Percy could still observe the boy whom everyone acknowledged.

At first, Percy believed it was simply his fame that made Potter noticed, simply that horrid scar on his forehead that earned him several double-takes. If he was honest, Percy would say the boy was average and unremarkable with no real magical skill or power. Percy knew power for he had seen it. The boy could hardly look anyone in the eye when he talked!

Percy was certain the boy was nothing but an image...a name the masses clung to. To the desperate and nervously inclined, his name was a promise of better things to come. Potter's parents were probably responsible for the defeat of the full-grown wizard.

Harry Potter went to Hogwarts for his first year.

Everyday that summer, Ron regaled the family with numerous versions of his adventure with Potter and that Granger girl. How they figured out You-Know-Who's scheme and thwarted his attempts to obtain the Philosopher's Stone. It burned him inside; the fact that his youngest, stupidest brother would have figured it out before him. It burned him to see his father's eyes sparkling with pride. He hadn't even noticed a single thing wrong with Professor Quirrell.

No, he was lying to cover his...mistake.

There was that time after Percy went to turn in an extra-credit report, precisely a hundred pages long on the controversy of the Dark Arts. He was quite offended when he didn't receive his grade or even a comment on his efforts for several weeks.

It was almost Christmas and the grounds were white with snow. His parents had just written that the family would be visiting Charlie in Romania. It was funny that no one had asked him if he had even wanted to go to Romania for the holidays.

Muttering, he was storming around the halls in search for his text book that the twins just happened to misplace. He eventually found it in Moaning Myrtle's toilet. Unfortunately, that was after the examination. In his wild search, he passed by Quirrell's office. Percy was almost around the corner when he heard what sounded like someone whimpering from behind the door. Curiosity got the better of him.

He leaned against the door, listening hard.

"I beg of you...forgive me. I am not worthy...please let me have another chance! I will succe--!"

Percy felt the door give way, and quite suddenly, he stumbled into the room. Red-faced, he recovered himself and expected to see two people in the room...perhaps a student who was failing or something. There was only Quirrell who looked very odd indeed. Something was not right. His face was tear-streaked yet his expression was quite composed. It was almost smug. The professor was smirking at him.

This wasn't the insecure man who taught D.A.D.A.

"I-I'm sorry, Professor. I was looking for-my book! Yes, you see my brothers...hid it from me as a b-bit of a j-joke." Percy wished he hadn't disclosed that last bit of information revealing that he couldn't even control his own brothers.

The professor stared at him. Growing uneasy, Percy pardoned himself and was about to leave.

"Think nothing of it, Weasley. Oh, I forgot to tell you...I found your report to be quite enjoyable. I even shared it with an acquaintance of mine, who is very well...informed on the subject."

Percy swelled with pride. Another in his place might have been severely suspicious. The timid professor had not stuttered once. But Percy was still processing the well-deserved praise.

"Thank you, Professor. I enjoyed writing it immensely."

The turban-clad professor tilted his head slightly.

"I see myself in you, Percy. Thirsting for knowledge...full of questions...But with one difference. I use to have a black and white, somewhat naïve view of magical usage. Thankfully, I'm free of that rubbish now...experience has enlarged my mind. You, on the other hand, already see the concept clearly and logically...your mind isn't clouded by your emotions. You are far above your classmates because you discard folly and see the necessities. You could be great."

Percy started to smile but faltered. Could be?!

"Um, t-thank you, sir. I really must find my textbook." He felt he had overstayed his welcome.

"It's a pity."

Percy froze.

"Sir?"

"That someone with your potential for greatness is overlooked. That can be expected in this deluded environment. They do not understand you, do they, Percy." Not phrased as a question, the professor smiled knowingly with false sympathy.

"W-who?"

"Your Housemates, the other members of this 'esteemed' faculty...your family. They don't understand what drives you and what you are looking for. They don't understand why you won't settle for less than perfection, why you don't desire to be burdened by those...who are your inferiors. They only want to hold you back because they are weak. They don't know what you and I know, Percy...that true power is not found in the throes of emotion and morality...in absurd dreaming and ideals. It is found outside these limitations...the knowledge you seek...and how you use it."

Percy gaped.

"But I suppose...you are not ready for such an experience. You'd best find your textbook. Exams are only a week away. It would be a shame for your brothers to cause you to do poorly."

Percy hurried out, feeling shaken. With his 'logical' mind, he realized the strangeness of what had taken place. The man had transformed in front of his very eyes. It was as though he was conversing with someone else entirely. It was though he was being challenged. How did this someone know...

Percy had a terrible feeling. He wanted to mention the incident to McGonagall or even Dumbledore. But the hidden truth behind those words...those words confirmed what he had suspected. No book on Earth would grant him power. No rule abiding would give him skill or respect! These things and his acceptance of them were his limitations! All this time, he had been lied to. He had been going down the wrong path. He should walk into the unknown...he should pass those limits. Then he, Percy Ignatius Weasley, would become great and use his knowledge to correct and lead.

Harry Potter had been the one to face the Dark Lord directly.

Percy had talked with a servant of the Dark Lord.

Quirrell had dropped his pretences entirely in that moment. In reality, he knew that...You-Know-Who had talked with him. And Percy had agreed whole-heartedly with Him!

You should be in Slytherin.

The Sorting Hat told him so! It saw his true nature...the one that he had been battling since he was born into this family of idealists and Gryffindors. Was he so transparent that someone who was disembodied could see through him?

Percy didn't understand.

His mind was tricking him. Whenever he looked back on that cold day and turben-clad, smug Professor Quirrell, the matter in the conversation would change slightly until it began a work of fiction. Percy wasn't to blame for not telling the professors. He was misled. Quirrell had put up a remarkable act that fooled him entirely. He hadn't suspected a thing.

It was unthinkable that a first year took on the Dark Lord a second time and walked away. The two were incomparable in power: You-Know-Who who burned with power and Harry Potter who could barely pass Potions. The boy was merely average in his classes! The only thing that boy was good at was staying on a broom.

Potter had hid something from his sight. Potter had something that Voldemort didn't possess. Potter was like Dumbledore who kept his true powers out of sight. How clever...Percy wasn't fooled by Potter, not for one instant. He had to know what Potter's power was and where it had come from.

Percy overheard his parents talking that night. HE almost came back...bless Harry Potter...Thank God for him.

The conversation continued on this track before his mother cautiously questioned the wisdom in allowing Ron to befriend Harry Potter with all the trouble brewing ahead for the boy. Arthur Weasley spoke in the harshest voice Percy had ever heard him use.

That boy...needs friends, he needs a family! Imagine being all alone to face a life like that...full of hardships. Friends and kindness are the only things that will get him through it. Without our friends, where would any of us be?

Percy pondered this for awhile.

In his memories, in a house full of bodies and laughter, he was alone. His brothers wouldn't give him the time of day. His little sister only put up with him! His father seemed to see qualities in his son he didn't care for. Of course, his father loved him! Percy knew that, he also knew his father just didn't like him. The oldest Weasley saw him as someone who was simply part of his life and who had to be tolerated much like the ghoul in the attic.

Now his mother found a new son to care for and fret over...Harry Potter.

In a moment of heart-wrenching panic, Percy needed to talk to his brothers. He was afraid of his isolation. He had believed his siblings were only jealous of his honors. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure that was the reason for the state of his relationship with them. He barged into Ron's room and was blinded momentarily by the clashing shades of orange. Then, when his vision cleared, he saw his three brothers and younger sister sitting in a circle in the middle of the room. They seemed to be caught in various positions of surprise with their mouths open. They didn't speak and just looked at him questioningly.

He heard them whispering before he had opened the door.

Fred voiced the question first.

"Yeah? What do you want, Perc?"

"I-I just...I came to...what were you talking about?" He should have phrased his response differently.

"What do you care? You're usually to busy prancing around to bother with us. What, having a hard time eavesdropping through the door?"

Percy grew scarlet.

"I was not eavesdropping! I have the right to know what you're talking about! I am your brother, you know."

He whispered the last part, realizing the truth of those words.

"Oh, really? I didn't notice that. If you must know, we were talking about what a humungous arse you are. There, happy now?"

Percy felt a sharp hurt. For a moment, he couldn't breathe nor gather his thoughts to retort.

He simply left.

"Okay, he's gone. Start again, Ron. You know, at the bit about the three-headed dog..."

~~~

Oh, how the tides turn.

His little sister clung to him during her first year. It seems her favorite brothers had left with their friends to avoid 'putting' up with her. Sure, she had turned on him during the summer. But she was young. He could forgive her for her misjudgment and allow her to sit with him on the train. He was doing Ginny a special favor. Percy was actually supposed to be sitting in the compartment with the other Prefects. But he had yielded when he saw how upset she was that Ron and Harry hadn't gotten on the train. Percy reasoned that they must have wandered off somewhere to commit general acts of stupidity to get attention. He didn't tell his sister that theory.

Some small part of him had hoped she would talk with him during the ride, but she was preoccupied and kept writing continuously in her battered diary (funny, he hadn't know she owned a diary, but it did look like a hand-me down typical of their family judging by its filthy state) while giggling and blushing here and there.

~~~

The writing in blood on the wall...he had come some days after to study and admire the words. The writing was bold...the words meant terrible things were about to happen. Percy knew that. The writing was a threat. Percy knew that. The writing was jagged and swerving in such a poisonous manner that the author must be mad...or just driven by bouts of emotion, a shameful thing in Percy's eyes. This person had no control over himself.

The whispers in the corridors murmured that Harry Potter was the Heir. Potter had a run in with Filch. Then Filch's beloved cat was Petrified. Although he didn't voice his opinion, Percy was glad that Filch had gotten what was coming to him. Filch always gave his ugly looks in the hallways and had taken to following him around recently as if Percy was about to break a rule. Of all people, that filthy man had the gall to bother him.

He was genuinely surprised at himself.

Some nights ago, he had realized that he liked the environment this chaos had produced. Several of his peers had undergone a serious change in attitude. There was no yelling in the Common Room when he was trying to work out a particularly nasty Arithmancy problem. No first year smarted off to him because they were too petrified (he chuckled to himself at his cleverness) to even leave Gryffindor Tower. Indeed, the school had had a particularly heavy flood of Muggle-borns into the school this year.

He wondered at the order this chaos had produced.

Potter did not have the ability to do such advanced magic, that was a given. Percy had seen the look of bewilderment on the boy's face when he was caught red-handed (he couldn't help but laugh at that memory). Harry Potter had resembled a House Elf with his hand caught in the clothing drawer. No, whoever had done this had extreme magical abilities at his disposal. And even Potter wouldn't have been stupid enough to remain at the scene of the crime while poking at a stiff cat.

Whoever this Heir was, Percy could bet that he was one who was not disrespected often. It was the mystery of the entire thing that amazed him.

He could only imagine what it must feel like to commit such acts right under Dumbledore's crooked nose and gloat about it later free of all consequences. Knowing that it is your work that has produced a massive change and that it was you who suddenly became a god.

There's the only word for how the lives of everyone at Hogwarts had changed under the influence of one person. Godhood...

With their fear, they had created someone great. And the fact that they didn't know who it is was even more brilliant. Friends had looked at each other with suspicion and false smiles.

This unknown person had escaped being classified as human and had become all-knowing. All these little minds built the Heir up with no limitations. Even Snape tiptoed around glass because that greasy git didn't know if the dark god would strike him.

In great times of darkness, people in general, if they have a slight sense of justice and honor, judge their own person harshly. The slightest offense becomes a fierce beast in their memory. They see, with superstition inherited from the beginning of time, their own reasons to justify swift-footed bad ends to come to them.

Imagining would do...not that he'd ever commit such acts.

They don't understand...

He didn't understand either. Percy shook his head and leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling exhausted. The words were now his enemy and were more jagged and threatening than ever. They seemed to become an entity of malevolence, ready to attack. He saw his shadow on the wall.

For the life of him, he could hardly stand the sight of it.

Why had he had such strange thoughts? This whole business scared him yet thrilled him. It was as if the words had woken up some side of him that he had kept under control until now. The worst part was he felt sick with himself. How could he be like this and lead the Gryffindors successfully?

~~~

Percy had been pouring over his Transfiguration book in preparation for his O.W.L.'s. It was never too early to start being properly prepared as Professor McGonagall had said. Besides, he wanted to finish his book 1001 Steps for Success: The Prefect Form. The caption had read Instant Respect Guaranteed! Be a Smash among Your Peers! He sighed and closed his eyes again about ready to call it quits for that night.

He couldn't concentrate at all. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly-Headless Nick had been Petrified. Fear had run rampant through the halls. What could do that to a ghost? He loved it and loved being unaffected by the fear. He was a Prefect! Nothing was about to harm him. Seeing others, even his younger brothers, nervous was humorous to him. His senses buzzed. Perhaps he would find out what was going on around here this time. Not his brother, Ron, and not Harry Bloody Potter.

Tapping his fingers thoughtfully, he wanted to laugh at a future with everyone's eyes on him. But with the way things were preceding...very nicely, actually...such a future might come to pass if he handled it with care. Percy didn't feel guilty about his thoughts this time because no one had died yet.

The empty Transfiguration room was starting to bore him. Percy rose to leave but heard someone enter the room as well. A very frizzy headed someone...

"H-hi, Percy. I was hoping to run into you...um, the-it's your turn to patrol the halls, I guess."

"Oh. Yes...thank you, Penelope. I lost track of the time, I suppose."

"Do...you think Hogwarts will be shut down, Percy?"

OF COURSE NOT! I'll draw out the Heir before then.

"Of course not! I'm sure Dumbledore will use his best judgment in the matter. Really, it's up to the Prefects to keep up the morale."

"You aren't afraid?!" Penelope exclaimed in awe, her eyes widening.

"Don't be ridiculous. Whoever it is...wouldn't dare attack a Prefect. We have considerably more magical experience than the ones this fiend has been targeting."

"I think I haven't learned that much at all. I try to keep repeating all the Defense Spells I know, but my mind just goes blank. I just wish...last night, I wanted to go home. I don't want to have to walk the halls alone, not knowing what might pop out at me. And I'm...I'm a Muggle-born. I think...I feel eyes on me all the time! I think I'm next, Percy."

Before his very eyes, she began to sob. What in the world? Honestly, how was he supposed to deal with this?! She was being a foolish, emotional girl. He would have liked to walk around her, but her sobs tore at him and tugged at his heart in a strange way.

He approached her cautiously as this was a very fragile situation and patted her on the back awkwardly.

"There, there, Penelope. I'm sure nothing will...um, I-look, from now on, I'll escort you when you have to patrol."

"You would do that? For me?" She smiled through her tears rather craftily. Percy failed to notice.

"Yes, I would be glad to-!"

He was very surprised indeed when Penelope Clearwater leaned up and kissed him. He didn't resist, and she moved closer to him.

At first, he was disgusted by her coyness. He wasn't sure this was in the rules. But, then, he realized that this was a pleasant sensation. He realized he was kissing her back. Someone wanted to be around him...

Percy grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer. Blushing, Penelope pushed on his chest to end the kiss and breathe. He tightened his grip and his hands started to...

Percy let go when she started to struggle frantically. The girl was actually backing away from him! After she had...What had he done wrong?! He had done nothing wrong at all!

Suddenly he was angry. More angry then he had felt for a long time.

Before she could create more space between them, Percy had captured her in his arms and kissed her fiercely, maybe spitefully. The door swung open and light flooded into the room.

Percy jumped away from the temptress in a flash. Is it McGonagall? Or worse, Dumbledore?!

The figure in the doorway was too small and too impish to be either of the suspects. For a moment, his eyes tricked him and his heart stopped. For a moment, the light burned behind the figure, making it seem on fire as if something had come to judge him. A smile slashed through the darkness. A giggle emerged from the figure, and he realized it was his sister Ginny clad in her pajamas of all things. Like that, she looked even more unnatural.

Not in the sense of worldly unnaturalness...she was even more impish and seemingly contemptuous than ever of him. It scared him out of his wits.

He was about to shout at her when she giggled again....no, that wasn't...the tone was different and full of menace. Wrapped up in something, it was transforming into a full-fledged cackle. Penelope, still not recognizing the figure and only processing that horrible laugh, began to sob out of true fear and babble nonsense.

"N-no, you...can't, please, I don't...please don't, I swear I'll..."

His sister face was not her face. It was a mask, and expressions of madness seeped through. Her eyes danced with contempt at the frightened girl. Then their gaze turned on him. Yes, their gaze...

One eye was honey-brown, and in this eye were tears. Such fear and misery! That side of his little sisters face twitched spasmodically. If he believed in such things, he would have sworn that he could hear her voice in his head that screaming and begging for help. Screaming 'Why...what have I done?".

Self-loathing....she hated herself.

In the other eye was fire. It was judging him and sizing him up. All he could do was gape. The mouth sneered as if pulled by a string and then let go. The quivering, small, cupid mouth of his sister moved at an unbelievable rate as meaningless gibberish poured from deep within her. It was the rambling of a mad-man or a demon.

His mind stopped and started with the flow and the murmuring of the words as if he was fish on a hook. Something was rising to the surface beneath and was biting the threads of rules. The sight before him defied all pretence of order; this adult, malicious madness emerging from the little girl whose eyes were wide and flickering with her own awareness. She was fighting but losing...

The words were madness but something in him rejoiced. Something in him pounded at the sight of the puppeteer and his rag doll that was still withering but helpless. That process...it was the process of control that amazed him with its cruelty. No emotion and no pity!

Something burned behind his eyes in sync to the lyrical murmuring. He drowned. The last words were foreboding and hinted at the something even the speaker of those words would fail to realize. The hearth behind the façade of innocence didn't realize that he was writing his own fate.

"Thy hand in mine, bound in blood and skin..." The fire died.

His sister was back in full, and she shrieked. It chilled him to his marrow and pierced his mind. Sometimes, even in his golden age of power, he would hear that horrible cry full of despair echo in his dreams. Then he would wake up and forget.

Ginny grabbed her hair in her fists violently and threw herself to the unwelcoming stone floor. The foor met her body with such a crack that Percy was jolted to his senses, believing that surely the little body had sustained a broken arm or that the little girl had been knocked unconscious. That was not the case. Once on the floor and not satisfied with the bruising, the little figure pounded the stone furiously with her petite fists with unthinkable force. The snarling and wailing emerging from her mouth now was even more violent and animalistic than the flow of words before. She scratched at her own china face with a dark intent, and the growls reached such a pitch unimaginable from a child.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! NO MORE! PLEASE NO MORE! I HATE YOU! I SWEAR I HATE YOU MORE THAN I HATE MYSELF, I SWEAR IT! LIAR! I HOPE YOU GO TO HELL!"

Penelope was against the wall, still babbling a line of 'wh-wh-wh'. It pounded on his nerves.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the sobbing was overpowering. This was out of control! It was devouring him. He hated her. He hated them both. He imagined grabbing the tiny figure and shaking her into silence.

His sister fled from the room, wailing like a banshee down the hall. Heaven knows how she avoided being caught...What a sight she was with wild hair and as pale as her white night gown. She could have been an actual banshee, mourning a foreseen death of a loved one.

And Percy knew that the sickness that was hovering over Ginny like a cloud was in reality guilt! Of course! Of course...he clenched the quill he had grabbed in defense so hard it broke. His sister was the heir. How could it be his sister?! Anyone else...please let it be anyone else but Ginny! Why had she inherited such a power? Power from that fire...if he was honest with himself, deep down, he realized that he didn't have such potential...such magical focus with innate talent and control.

Penelope's repeated litany burst though his thoughts like a trampling Hippogriff. He diligently Obliviated her memory and quickly pursued his wretch of a sister. How could she...withhold this? Yet it wasn't his sister.

Percy's pulse quickened with fear. He was afraid of that thing behind her eyes, the thing with a thousand burning flames of magic. Was it even human? It gave human expressions like sneering and laughing. Strangely enough, he felt he had sensed that power before somewhere in his life.

Even more strange was the fact that he didn't want it to be human. Percy had seen men fail and prove to be imperfect. He wanted it to be something else entirely that he had stumbled on to. Something that could control his sister like a simple toy...amazing! Percy had heard of pure-blooded lines that could transmit such undiluted magical power that it became an entity itself. In order to harness the immense energy, the vessel of the power would inadvertently create another self, another personality to contain the magical bursts. But such power was rare, and he seriously doubted his sister of the Weasley line would have inherited any such thing.

Shaking slightly with anxiety and excitement, Percy straightened his glasses outside the sleeping Fat Lady's portrait. Percy frowned in annoyance and then confusion. If the Fat Lady was asleep, then how had Ginny gotten back into Gryffindor Tower? Her appearance alone would have been cause enough for the guardian of the Tower to question her and deny her entry.

"Oh wake up!" His sister would have made it to her room by now!

The Fat Lady almost fell out of her chair.

"Oh, preserve me!" she cried out a short prayer in alarm. "Oh, it's you...Charlie. You almost scared the paint off me. I'm much too old for--."

"My name's not Charlie. It's Percy, a Gryffindor Prefect mind you, and you are holding me up from important business! The fate of the school rests on my shoulders!" Percy declared heroically.

"I'm sure it does, dear," the portrait said dryly. "But there's the small matter of the password...if you have time."

"Balderdash."

"No, I'm afraid that's not it. Perhaps, if you had been paying more attention, you would know the correct word, Mr. Prefect."

Of course. He had forgotten the password had been changed that afternoon but to what?!

"You-let me in. You can tell I'm a Prefect. You may be dooming the school by not letting me into the Tower!"

"Not letting you in would doom the school? My, my, it's not going to be standing long, is it?

Percy racked his brain frantically, driven by the image of his sister out of his reach for tonight. Then it came to him.

"Leaping Leprechauns." Hah! He remembered thinking some Muggle-born must have thought that one up.

The Fat Lady seemed disappointed but resigned to swinging open and allowing the pompous boy through.

"Ah, yes. Did anyone get in before me tonight?"

"Only the entire House...it happens every night, you see, after the feast in the Great Hall."

"No! I didn't mean that! Of course not! A few minutes ago, I thought I saw someone."

"No," the portrait said curtly, signaling an end to the unpleasant conversation.

Halfway in, he hesitated with suspicion.

"Are you positive?"

"YES!" she hissed, and Percy quickly got in the entry way.

Once inside, he surveyed his surroundings suspiciously. He imagined an ambush from the giant chairs. Peeking around the largest one, Percy spotted a note written in an elaborate hand. Eyeing the letter and imagining the consequences of picking up strange pieces of paper, he gripped it cautiously.

In brownish ink...looks funny...liked dried blood...there's some splotches near the corners...

Now, any sane person would have dropped the letter in disgust or would have gone to fetch a professor like any good Prefect. But he wasn't disgusted at all. It almost seemed dramatically done for him. The way the letter had been placed like that...waiting for him.

The emerald green

Washes the red away.

Anew...

Thy hand in mine,

Bound in blood and skin.

The oddness of the passage startled him. He chortled. Then he recognized the last words as those that thing had uttered from his sister's mouth. Alarmed, he stared at the girl's dormitory staircase as the creeping darkness promised harm.

What on Earth was he supposed to do with this rubbish?

He scanned the letter further down to see a side note. Tomorrow night.

Percy would wait until tomorrow night.

He went throughout the day completing his routine and accompanied various groups of frightened children.

His sister...

Ginny had light bruises on her arms in the shape of hands like someone had gripped her in a rage. Judging by her behavior last night, she probably did it to herself. Percy glimpsed them curiously when she had removed her cloak to eat breakfast. No one else noticed. She had light scratches on her face. Her hair, once a vibrant red, was straw and made up of cypress-like tendrils. Her skin was so pale that light seemed to soak through her skin and her freckles looked drawn on with ink. Under her eyes were purples circles, and her brown eyes were fading into a sickly- looking pool of yellow. She seemed in a trance, a puppet going through the movements.

Her hands shook. She would grimace out of the blue, gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes in resistance. She would look around in surprise as if awaking from a dream. Her eyes would drift to Harry Potter. But not in the way before...Something would flicker, and she would look away and cling to her seat near the end of the table. Those sitting by her ignored the display. She bit her lip so hard it bled. As she moved to dab her lip on a napkin, her left hand shot forward and grabbed her right hand hard. Percy's breathing hitched as this same hand gripped a knife on the table. Ginny mouthed something with panicked eyes, and the hand replaced the knife with mock delicacy...then it retrieved her wand. The harrowed Ginny pretended not to notice, and she continued to eat one-handedly. Luckily, the rest of the first years were far away from Ginny, having already decided she was a little strange.

He couldn't believe how obvious that his sister was...what, mentally unstable or under some malevolent force...that he, his siblings, or the great Dumbledore hadn't noticed this behavior before.

Ginny, like Percy, possessed the unfortunate ability to be invisible. Thus, her problem had gone unnoticed. Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George had it easy. Bill was the brave adventurer. Charlie was the dragon tamer, a position that couldn't get more intense. Fred and George...well, enough said. The only reason that Ronald wasn't completely invisible was because he had latched on to the Potter boy.

Percy was starting to wonder about his theory that whatever had infested his sister was not human. That kind of spite and maliciousness...that kind of need for control was purely human.

That night he sat up under the pretence of studying. He almost fell asleep until he had heard a small step from the darkness of the stair.

She came down almost floating.

Her eyes were soulless, her face a blank doll. She was a mockery to anything sentient. He sat frozen in awe. One could have mistaken her for the walking dead. Her small bones were showing in her neck. There was the blood that wrapped snake-like around her fingers. The river seemed to spring from her wrists. Her wand was drenched in blood.

The words...

Trembling, Percy raised the crinkled, marred paper to his face and cleared his throat.

"T-the e-emerald green washes the red away. Anew--!"

His sister collapsed and clung to a chair desperately. Her rigid limbs became rubber, and she didn't have the energy and will to support herself. She was broken...her pools of eyes surrounded by dried blood dulled like a cow confronted with a slaughter house. She whimpered.

"Please...stop...Tom..." she rasped.

She whispered and rocked back and forth, pinching her china skin into an angry red sore. Then Ginny saw Percy. Her mouth opened. Her eyes brightened through suffering. Hope bloomed in her face like a flower.

His little sister lifted an arm pleadingly in his direction, making her blood flow down now. It seemed like her last bit of energy was used to speak. Percy fought away memories of his childhood with her and the feeling of holding the new baby in his arms. Such a vivacious girl reduced to a shell.

"Pe-Percy...hel-lp me....it's H-Him, Percy...please, t-take me...to Dumbledore...quickly. I-I...need h--!"

Her hope was crushed. She crumpled in disbelief as he stood with the paper in hand. He looked back at her coldly. His mouth slightly open, Percy took time to study her helplessness, her lying on the floor at his feet. And she knew...

"Thy hand in mine, bound in blood and skin."

"Well done, Percy." The murmuring...a voice full of authority emerged as the girl's body rose from the floor.

"I knew...I saw it in you, Percy. That's why I showed you...what control is."

"W-what are you? Speak now while you still have the chance. Your end is near, fiend."

The face behind his sister's was amused. The posture became masculine. She seemed to sprout up with a burst of height. Percy assumed his name was Tom.

He leaned against the chair mockingly. It was ethereal, this combination of masculinity and femininity, of greatness and weakness. This figure could exist somewhere on a temple of ancient times where such a combination was deified.

"You must be joking. 'Your end is near, fiend'. And I thought you were intelligent, Percy," he laughed a high laugh that withered Percy's spine, and the eyes burned. His voice lowered to a hiss.

"You can't hide from me, Percy. I know you."

Percy paused at the words.

"Y-you haven't answered my question. What are you?"

His sister moved by the hearth in a bored position. Percy watched as an expression of distaste formed on her face as she studied her bleeding arm. Her cupid mouth smirked as she held her hand to the wound. The bleeding amazingly stopped. In fact, the blood started to seep back into the wound. You won't escape me like that, girl.

The talent...the focus required to heal without a wand...all the magic flowing through this being...Percy wanted to have that ability! Even in the midst of his fear, his soul was a storm. Every display of magical superiority was a gift. Someday, he would understand and possess it. He would find a way.

"I am. That's all you need to know right now, Percy." He laughed again. "I am what you want to be and can never be."

What... Percy's right hand started to tremble, making his stance not intimidating at all.

"I was going to kill you, you know," the boy commented, casually. "In front of this brat...to make her realize what her position was...and what she was. I thought the murder of her beloved brother would be her breaking point. I've waited so long for that...the shattering of her mind after enduring her for so long. Something so fragile yet vibrant with naivety...it would be like creating a universe. Then I saw you, Percy, and I changed my mind. I can break her pitiful excuse for a mind any time I wish. And it would be a waste to kill you."

Percy was so shocked at this declaration he lowered his wand.

"Why...why wouldn't you...why would it have been a waste?"

The phantom indulged him with a smile like Percy was a rather stupid creature.

"I think you know what I saw. Don't deny it. You enjoyed seeing your sister like this, didn't you."

It was not a question. But, of course, Percy had to deny it. He couldn't allow that thing to know it had scraped the surface of the truth. Truthfully, he had enjoyed the method of control and the display of control.

"No! I absolutely do not enjoy seeing Ginny in such torment, you...monster. You are wrong. I DO NOT!"

"Silencio." In his triad, he hadn't noticed the creature had raised Ginny's wand. Percy voice caught in his throat. He fumbled for his own wand.

"Expelliarmus." His wand was knocked from out of his hand with ferocity, and Percy fell backwards over the table.

"Locomotor Mortis." The next thing Percy knew that he was bound.

His sister's wand was waved, and he was lifted into the air and placed into a chair nearer to his foe. Percy glared. After Tom had made sure no one would come to investigate the shouting, he turned his attention back to Percy.

"You know what they say, Perc. Denial always comes in threes. And since you denied it thrice, I know I was right. Your expression said it all last night anyway. Perhaps I should rephrase it though. You enjoyed how I controlled the brat. And you wish you could control. But, right now, you are weak. I can show you true power, Percy. You have potential...for a Gryffindor."

Percy had begun to mouth something. After receiving a warning look, Percy found he could speak again.

"You lie. Want to know how I know? You said that Ginny would be broken by my death. I believe your description per verbatim was 'beloved brother'. No matter how you look at, Ginny would never think of me in that way. So...you are a liar. Every single word you say is a lie. You can't teach me about power. Yes, you have ability. You are unlike anything I have ever seen. But I doubt even you know what you possess. It can't be understood. It can only be experienced."

When Percy had first begun speaking, the figure grew tense with anger. Apparently, even though lies bled from his voice continuously, Tom (Percy had been repulsed by the mundane nature of the name; he wished his sister hadn't uttered the name as it had broken his own hope) did not appreciate being called what he was. Then, Percy talked about power. His sister's face cleared of the strangely animalistic snarl it had acquired.

Percy knew about the essence of power, the constant quest for perfection, and the convoluted a creature it was, always sliding out of reach.

Something like curiosity appeared in his sister's burning gaze. It almost seemed liked Ginny was back, but she had never gazed with such a hunger.

"You're right...about your sister. In fact, she's a lot more like you than she'd admit. Her mind is full of ugly ideas and ambition. Though a child's ambition, it consumes her thoughts. And those ugly ideas concern everyone, her family in particular. She'd like to see you thrown off your high horse. She'd like to see your head flushed down a toilet. She'd like to see you trampled by a hippogriff. She'd like to see you transfigured into a puffskein and used as a Quaffle. She'd like to see you disappear. I wanted to grant her wish to make her realize what she was, a bundle of ugliness. For, you see, she is a petty, cruel, insecure, little thing of no substance. She is weak...that's why she resents your developed ambition. You are petty as well. But the difference is that you wish to evolve from your insignificance and become something. You wish to understand greatness and the meaning beyond the mundane and accepted. That's why I spared you. I meant what I said, Percy. You are right that I can't teach you power. But I can offer you the experience of power. You've already accepted my offer by meeting me here tonight and reading those words aloud."

Percy Weasley gaped because he realized that was exactly what he had done. He had willingly walked into this trap because of his desire to harness such magic. In his desire to know, he turned his back on everything that had been shoved at him. All those lessons and limitations about morality and honor when in actuality, such things did not exist. People hid behind these facades to disguise their weakness and to form chains around those who could be above them all and who actually could think and drive towards order and structure. This whole school was a façade made to cover up the inner chaos of emotions and false idealism. Tom was right...his sister like Harry Potter, Dumbledore, and the rest was petty, stuck in her position, and unable to evolve. He was petty as well...until now.

Percy nodded silently, meeting the boy's gaze fully for the first time. However, the person he was talking to wasn't satisfied with just a nod. Yes, Percy knew he was fully human but one greater than any he had dealt with.

"What do you want, Percy?"

"I want to experience power. I don't wish to be...limited any longer."

"Would you obey me and never question me?"

Inside, Percy burned at the lot this person had handed over to him. Was he to be always lower?! Tightening his jaw, Percy nodded.

His sister hissed and aimed her wand in his face. The tip burned a poisonous green.

The voice had changed in anger again. Percy wondered for a moment how evolved his mentor was if he was still enslaved with the disease of excess emotion. This person seemed to be about his age, judging by his voice and lack of composure.

But he was the closest thing to Percy's goal. Percy smirked inside. Yes, this was merely a stepping stone. Once Percy witnessed everything this boy knew about magic and manipulation, he would top him. This boy was a vessel housing great power, but he didn't acknowledge it fully. He didn't understand his power, but he could help Percy see past engrained restrictions. He could show him power, and Percy would acquire it somehow. Or so Percy thought...

In History of Magic, Percy had read about wizards who gained their foe's power by complicated spells, sometimes even by magic-absorbing rune cards. The ancients had used these cards to hold their most extreme magical powers, so their own powers wouldn't fragment their minds. The law prohibited such magic, viewing it as theft and of the Dark Arts. Moreover, the tools he'd need would be almost impossible to find.

If Percy could just have time, he would find those spells and wield them against this fool.

"I want you to say it...that you will serve me with your entire being, that you realize I am your superior. Say it now...or your silence will speak for you, and you won't leave this room alive."

Percy could have laughed out loud. How very juvenile...how impulsive. I will gain his power and leave him to rot.

"Yes. I will serve you with my entire being. I acknowledge you as my better. And my hesitation was due to my pride in having that privilege."

For a tense few seconds, Percy thought he had laid it on too thick. Although Tom's burning gaze now seemed to be blinder and caused from confusion in the midst of his extreme magic than from an all-knowing force, Percy feared for his well-being.

Tom looked closely at him, processing the red-head's proclaimed commitment to being his follower. He lowered his wand and looked satisfied.

Percy felt his limbs un-tense and moved his arms. He was not immobile any longer. Yet he remained where he was. This was not a time for sudden movements. He hoped his stillness would translate into credible humility.

"I hope for your sake that your words aren't empty, Percy. I show no mercy to traitors."

After a moment of thought, the boy laughed that laugh of death tolls, and Percy's confidence wavered. It seemed the boy was laughing at how many ways he could destroy him.

"No, you don't seem too humble, Percival the Prefect. Nor very truthful, for that matter... But I will show you humility. You will be satisfied with your place when you realize my strength. Now...hold out your left hand."

Percy did so as passively as he could. His sister stepped closer.

"On your knees."

The position could remind some of the process of knighthood where the knight is acknowledged by the king and pledges his eternal loyalty. Except it was a perversion of loyalty, and the knight was hiding a dagger up his sleeve. The king himself was an entity of chaos and cruelty, not order and kindness. Personally, Percy resented the fact that he was kneeling in front of his little sister, no matter if she was just a shell or not.

As Percy looked at the floor in pretence of servitude, he felt his glasses slide to his nose. The he felt a small hand take his own with surprising harshness. Then he felt the burning...

He tried to jerk back as pain inflamed every nerve of his body, but his lord did not release his hand. Percy bit his lip to stifle the screams that welled up inside his mind and were trying to force their way up his throat. He knew that if he screamed out his pain, it might lead to a very messy end. He couldn't show weakness. How he hated himself when tears slipped of his eyes...

Then he felt it, burning alongside his pain but distinctively different. Power...that boy's magic...it swallowed him...it attacked his mind, and it burned him. His consciousness failed him in its vastness. He fell, and the magic inside mingled with his own powers. A fire blazed in every cell. He was nothing compared to it. Percy whimpered because he felt like his nerves would burst. His mind wouldn't function because it was suppressed.

His hand was released, and he fell to the floor, gasping. The magical force had vanished, and his nerves ached in the aftermath. He heard the laughter again above him, and his sister, the puppet, kneeled to allow her master to observe him.

"My true power often has that effect. Now you know, eh, Percy. That was just a fraction of my ability."

His sister's scarred hand floated into his view as an offer to help him to his feet. Percy ignored it, still embracing his pride, and pushed himself upright.

As he gazed down at the boy in his sister's eyes, he knew he had to be cautious. But, now more than ever, he desired to own that power. He had felt it; he was drunk on what it was. He had to be careful when he stole this boy's powers because there could be the possibility that that power would take him over. The boy himself was naturally suspicious, so that made Percy's goal almost unreachable. But somehow...

His hand pounded with pain. His hand was marked with...his heart stopped. Like a skull...like a snake. He's...this boy is...that figure at his home so long ago...

His sister's eyes turned a blood red as the face underneath seemed to read his thoughts. A huge, insane grin lit her features into a ghastly madness, transforming her face completely. Through her pallor, he saw another face, skull-like and endless.

"Y-you're...Him, aren't you?! But h-how..."

Percy felt his knees almost give out in their trembling. He had no idea that he was dealing with the Dark Lord Voldemort, the cruelest Dark wizard ever to rise to power, when he agreed to this.

"My business with your sister...and Potter is nearing its end. When I regain my physical form, I expect you to be prepared to do whatever I ask of you. You will know when to act through my Mark. And don't bother with your fellow Gryffindors any more. I suspect I'll be forced to eliminate most of them...as well as a few Ravenclaws," You-Know-Who said curtly, and then his sister made her way back up to her dormitory.

Percy felt like crying, but he regained himself and yielded to sitting in the chair by a fire a little longer. It seemed like in only a few seconds the sun was filtering through the window.

He didn't bother to go to class that day. He declared he was sick and remained in bed.

Percy underwent several phases of mind before he resolved to continue with his plan. He had seen Potter's lack of ability and foolhardiness enough times to decide that he had chosen the winning camp. As for his main goal, it was more possible than ever. In the act of giving his sister as a sacrifice, Percy believed he had proven to be loyal. If he played his 'cards' right and remained in good graces with his 'master', Percy would conquer Him. It was like Wizarding Chess, all strategy.

Percy smiled. It was turning out better than expected by far. If he saved the Wizarding World, the majority would accept his story...that he was acting in the best interest of everyone...that he was keeping a low profile by obeying the Dark Lord until he gained the necessary means to defeat Him. He would gain all of the wizard's powers and be a hero.

He knew certain sacrifices were required for success. When Penelope Clearwater turned up later Petrified, she sealed the deal between his master and himself as he kept his mouth shut.

He fought back the rage at the offered challenge, fought back the image of Penelope smiling through her fake tears, and fought back the realization that she did so only to be close to him. She bound him to the Dark Lord, fully and completely. He allowed the pawn to be taken.

When the news was spread, Percy made sure to wear a stunned air, and he retained it even when he thought he felt cinnamon eyes burning into his back.

He restrained himself when he felt those damn eyes burning...

The worried professor with circles under her eyes...

"I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

I know about the attacks, Professor.

For one inane moment, he felt like leaping to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at the innocent mask in the corner where the gaze was originating, and screaming the truth for all to hear, damn the consequences. He wanted to scream YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME! WELL, HOW ABOUT THIS, MASTER!

His master knew him.

All for the greater good...

~~~

Damn Potter. Damn him...

Harry Potter had ruined everything, and Ron, his damn brother...who would have thought that that insignificant, sniveling boy would be a match for the power Percy himself had felt. That such greatness would be brought down by a nothing with a name.

Hate...it was personal. Harry Potter, the conniving sneak, was playing the game as well. The boy hid his powers just like the old man, Dumbledore. Percy's opportunity to possess true power was gone...unless he grew desperate and used Potter himself.

Wouldn't that be fitting...a fitting punishment?

He worried about his sister and her knowledge of his pact with the Dark Lord.

Percy had feverously awaited his master's call that night when the brat finally disappeared into the Chamber. How he had waited in vain.

How he missed that call where a distinct sense of importance was granted to him and his blood burned, instantly missing the memory of that power. He had experienced it only once before when his sister had gained enough presence of mind to struggle and almost tell Potter everything.

With the whispering in his head and his blood burning, Percy had strolled into the Great Hall while trying to keep his cool with his newfound importance. Percy had admired his little sister a bit. She was a good warrior...though every living thing, when close to the end, fights uninhibited for Life. He was a better warrior than that bubbly twit could ever be.

Stop her. Shut her up! It's not time...I-I won't let you hurt H-Ha...I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER FOR...

The argument in his head was so colorful he had to chuckle. Oh, it seemed that his mature, evolved, and in-control master was losing his cool. Beautiful...the struggle for existence was beautiful and fierce with such fire on both sides. A deep voice and an elfish voice rolled up into one big mass of screaming...Percy was above such madness, and he listened and fell into the deep amusement that charged his very soul. He was above it.

If anyone in the Great Hall had been studying Percy and had glimpsed the fight behind his eyes and unfathomably large grin, they surely would have been hit with the irrational fear that he was the Heir and would have yelled out in alarm.

Ginny was rocking back and forth at full tilt with her mouth forming silent words through her oppression. Percy loved it, the futile struggle. It put a bounce in his step as he approached his targets. Potter and his brother, Ron...oh, his younger brother had the stupidest look on his face with his mouth hanging open like an oafish giant and...

Neville Longbottom suddenly appeared in his way, an obstruction to his goal.

"Hi, Percy! I-I wanted to talk to you about this new amulet I bought. You know, for protection. I know it's usually not allowed, but I saw Professor Trelawney with one on, and she is a Pure-Blood!! I think... So, I supposed I'd better get one. She said it was from Romania or something. Yeah, it's supposed to be made from werewolf hair, and that's a dark creature, so do you think that..."

His words were cancelled out by the turmoil in his head.

I've got I to tW ell ILL you some- KILL YOU thing FOOL, YOU LITTLE BITCH, WHO

Spit DO it YOU THINK YOut ARE-

"Percy? DON'T HURT Are I BEG You okay? DAMN You look TO sick. HE WhILL DIEat'SLOW-."

The maelstrom in his head was turning out to be not so amusing at all. His head felt too full, and he was losing track of-

WEASLEY, WHERE ARE Is it some YOU thing about the Chamber of S-DON'T LOOK AT MEcrets LITTLE HARRY! NOTHIN ActinG od COMPAREdly KI-PLEASE! SHUT UP I'm so ugly-horri BREAK YOUR MIND INTO PIECES!

Percy had the distinct impression that the last threat wasn't just directed at Ginny.

"Per-?!"

"Not now, Penny! Move!"

Neville was left holding his amulet in confusion. Penny?!

"But-But I'm..."

With the obstacle removed, Percy hurried over, almost bent over in pain because the burning had set his nerves on fire. The Dark Lord would do it, Percy knew. He would break him into pieces if things did not go as planned. Percy tried to beat down his fear that he was poisoned and quite dead before he started.

He forced himself to stay in control!

"If you've finished eating, I'll take that seat, Ginny. I'm NO, PERCY! starvIng, THOUGHT HE I've WAS LIE onlNy just come off patrol duty."

I told you the truth...how people really are and what their true natures are...your brother is the perfect example, and he doesn't care about you...you are nothing to him...

The fear of him that cooled her warm eyes made him strong. The being sharing her soul was in her head, but the fact that something like that being could materialize in the form of her brother broke her. She ran from her fear and disappeared from view.

Percy sighed in relief and sat down to eat. The whole business made him starving. Nothing like a cup of tea to calm one's nerves...

"Percy!" his brother growled in annoyance. "She was just about to tell us something important!"

He almost choked as the tea he was drinking went down the wrong way. Damn, he hadn't realized that they actually realized Ginny might know something, that the little brat was about to tell them everything about You-Know-Who...and his involvement. Usually, Ron didn't concern himself about their stupid, little sister. He riffled through the barge of thoughts, and he grew cold as he heard Potter. Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? He had to find out what they thought she was going to say, and he might have to...Do nothing, Percy. Let it play out.

He hesitated. The Potter boy was looking at him suspiciously, and he couldn't stop coughing from that damnable tea. The Potter boy was looking at where his sister had run witht a slow dawning of thought that could lead to the realization that Ginny was involved. His green eyes sparked and his mouth opened as he looked at the place Ginny had been seating...he was looking directly at Percy.

"What sort of thing?" Percy tried to act casual and perform damage control. His hand was trembling, and he hoped he could hold on to the mug. The boy is nothing, the boy is NOTHING! JUST A NAME!

"I just asked her if she'd had seen anything odd, and she started to say-," Harry Potter muttered thoughtfully with a concerned look on his face.

"Oh--that--that's nothing to do with the Chamber of Secrets!" he squeaked nervously.

Ron looked at him curiously, raising one eyebrow dramatically.

"How do you know," he scoffed.

Percy's thoughts were flying on Nimbus Two Thousands. What could he say that was believable? Something about him! Yes, yes, but what?! What could she have told his brothers? How about you and that filthy Mudblood of yours? Percy thankfully seized the suggestion.

"Well, er, if you must know, Ginny, er, walked in on me that other day when I was-!"

Then it occurred to Percy exactly what he was saying. He flushed with humiliation at the insinuation that he willingly...Potter and Ron were looking at him eagerly, their interest showing to the extreme on their faces.

Percy coughed again and placed the mug down so hard some plates rattled. Potter was listening... Go on, Percy. Tell them how you just can't stop thinking about Clearwater...

He bit his lip angrily at the laughter of death tolls and struggled onward to change to subject.

"Well, never mind--the point is, she spotted me doing something." Damn it all! "And I, um, asked her not to mention it to anybody. I must say, I did think she'd keep her word."

That's it, aim fault on Ginny, distract them. "It's nothing, really. I'd just rather--," he finished in an offhand voice and picked up his fork.

His brother had a wolfish grin on his face.

"What were you doing, Percy. Go on, tell us, we won't laugh," Ron coaxed in what he clearly thought was a winning voice.

Sometimes he really disliked his brother. It was for the best, though, that the little git thought it was something humiliating, and he wasn't that far off. Let his brothers believe what they liked. Since he was part of something greater, he didn't really care. They'd see...he'd take great pleasure out of laughing at them. Course, he would spare them once they learn their place. One deceased family member was enough for now. Too bad for Potter...what did Potter believe? Percy didn't care for that look he had received for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Percy tested the water, looking for giant squids and grindylows.

"Pass me those rolls, Harry, I'm starving," he said in a friendly voice.

To his relief, the boy did so and smiled that reserved smile of his. He didn't suspect a thing. For a minute there, Percy had thought Potter was intelligent. Percy smiled back at the boy, thankful for proof of the opposite. Thank Heavens that Potter is just as simple-minded as Ron.

Put at ease, Percy continued to eat ravenously and ignored the cries of pain in his head. Apparently, his sister had committed her last act of rebellion.

~~~

No one suspected Percy of anything less than grief when he vanished into his room at the news that his sister had been taken down to the Chamber. The Dark Mark on his hand was well concealed, faded to a light brown where anyone who gave notice would believe it was a bruise from writing too much.

He had heard the entire fiasco in the Chamber. Not exactly heard it...but saw it and saw the boy defenseless and unarmed.

When Percy saw the breaking of his sister and heard the death of her spirit, he was transfixed. It was a strangely beautiful process. You-Know-Who was right. Percy always saw Ginny as the happy one. But now she was changed so much past recognition that Percy realized what true godhood was. His master had formed a new being. He was a god among the weak.

In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king...

The last spark in her eyes and the tears were the best part. It seemed that little Ginny had formed an attachment to her master...as pathetic as it was. She pleaded with Him, told Him that she cared for Him, and claimed He was her best friend at one point.

You have some good in you, Tom, I know it. You let me see that once. You couldn't have pretended...you couldn't have faked that. Please, please don't do this. Because, deep down, I really don't think you want to.

The Dark Lord turned all her words back on her and made her hate herself. That was the beauty of the process. Her will to exist was extinguished, and she fell.

Angor animi...

Then Potter, the naïve, stepped right into his nemesis's trap. Percy couldn't believe that the boy would risk his own life to rescue his insignificant sister. What a fool...what a card to play.

Percy had to give Potter his due. He was a brave, little moron. He was a ded man walking, but he continued to defy his fate. It was really quite cute actually.

Percy knew Potter's secret. Potter always had help. In his most famous moment, it was his mother who did the deed of defeating the Dark Lord. This time around, Dumbledore's bird had blinded the Basilisk...Potter just ran around in fright.

Dumb luck...no real skill at all...

In the aftermath, Percy had contemplated fleeing. If his sister told Dumbledore about his involvement, then Percy should be packing for a trip to Azkaban. His head burned and so did his hand. It seemed the Mark hurt worse now than before, and blood poured through the skull now.

He wanted to run, but his head hurt dreadfully. Tom Riddle's screams had torn through his head and still ricocheted around, numbing his thoughts. It felt like his ears would bleed. In his room, he began to pace like an animal feeling caged.

This can't be! This can't happen to me! I CAN'T DIE!

The boy in his head screamed thrice and with fear...of the unknown.

Percy had locked his door and stood by the window, prepared full well to do what he must. The door was the key to his life and his possible death. He stared at it until he began to see faces in the pattern.

His old Shooting Star was clutched in his hand. He knew he wouldn't make it past the barrier, but it was the only thing he could think of. Percy felt like a fool; he should have had an escape. He was prepared to turn his wand on himself.

No one came for him.

When he finally saw his sister in the Hospital Wing, Percy knew she was washed clean of her memory of her experiences under Riddle's control. Anew...She was herself again, she was even laughing at the jokes Fred and George bombarded her with. The creation forged in the Chamber was gone, and Percy hated that. Luckily for him, most of the attention was on Ginny.

How could she forget?

Percy couldn't fathom it. She was a vessel to the greatest magical force in history yet she forgot. Or so she said...

Of course the little wretch remembered her conversations with him but only through the diary. Percy suspected His occupation of her body and soul was another matter. Maybe it was just denial. The girl denied awareness three times.

Dear little Ginny probably didn't want anyone to begrudge her. Percy had heard everything she said in the Chamber. He knew the truth.

She was not worthy.

During Harry Potter's third year of infesting the school, Percy had felt Riddle's power again. It had happened near the girl's lavatory on the second floor. Percy had been walking by when he was crushed by that burning of fire inside him. It was all around him and then it was gone.

Pity...

The only benefit from the encounter in his view was that his own magical skills were increasing ten-fold. When Riddle had allowed him to taste his power, the fool left some of his innate ability in Percy. Percy was sure this wasn't his intention. In his final moment, he had clung to Percy.

Percy resented his master for that...trying to drag him down into death as well. Yet Riddle vanished into a memory again, and his some of his magic had been severed...some remained in Percy. That was quite excellent. Things were proceeding brilliantly. Percy would find another way to gain more power.

In a way, Riddle's fate had sealed Percy's. He was high on power now, having obtained it so easily. Now nothing would satisfy his hunger.

He was happy that he had seen his master's defeat. Riddle was afraid. Such a powerful thing felt fear. That convinced Percy that he was better than Riddle could ever be. Riddle hadn't been cleansed of his humanity as he had claimed. He practically handed Potter victory by running his mouth. When that bloody bird entered the fray, it brought numerous threats with it. Percy knew he should have destroyed the bird first, then the boy.

Percy could see...

Riddle gave Percy the sight with his death. The tie between power and master is a strong one made of blood and soul. Each power was unique to the individual just like every wand is unique to the wielder. When Percy gained Riddle's power, he was splintered inside because it did not belong to him. He existed on two levels of consciousness, one of familiarity and another of trees of Mourning and yew and bogs where hinkypunks led with falsity. That power was always branching out, lurking in his veins and hiding in the crevices of his mind.

Always stay on the outskirts and never trust any inkling...

With that energy in him, Percy quickly learned to separate his mind from it and distinguish it as a foreign thing. Thankfully, that power didn't harm him or attack him like the immune system would attack a disease.

Though, sometimes, he would fear when he felt a start in his system, a skip of the heart, and when a strange thought would jump into his mind...and the dreams where...he would lay awake at times scared to think or move. He feared being ripped apart.

Percy knew he was strong. He learned to see it separately. He learned to see all types of magic separately. Percy had gained the ability to see his fellow wizards' magic in the literal sense. He could sense what burned inside them and could judge if they were worthy.

Percy had started the path correctly...

He lost most of his emotions except for hate and greed. He had sacrificed his only sister; he had thrown her away. Percy had crossed a threshold, and there was no going back.

Excitement...the thrill never left him and was engrained deep within his soul. That was intoxicating. He was involved with the ultimate icon of Darkness, and there were no consequences. Percy had gotten away and fooled them all. They were idiots.

So...he set his aims high. He had done well in school and had achieved most of his O.W.L.S which guaranteed him a position in the Ministry.

~~~

Percy loathed his job.

Bartemius Crouch was one the most influential figures in the Ministry, and the fact that Percy was his apprentice was beyond his wildest expectations. It should have been helping him to reach his goal. Right...

His name was not Weatherby. His continuing humiliation from that man drove him nutters. Every time that man uttered that debasing word Percy mentally swore payback. For Merlin's sakes, he almost broke his hand writing that ridiculous cauldron bottom report that took for ages.

All he did was push paper across a desk in a closet-sized office that would have even shamed Argus Filch. He hated himself for all the rubbish he had to take daily with a grin. He almost felt like throwing a few Unforgivables or at least starting a fire when his twin brothers sent him some dragon dung. Thought they were funny, did they...

He was beginning acquire claustrophobia from this room.

Percy didn't see much hope for his future until his mentor stopped coming to work.

For awhile, he was grateful to get a reprieve from seeing the man's ruler perfect mustache that he felt like ripping off with a Severing Charm. He had free reign not to do his work. Instead, he used the time to think about his goal concerning Potter. The little bastard was the Triwizard representative for Hogwarts along with that Diggory fellow. Diggory was just a favorite among the professors and basically a pansy golden boy who never got his hands dirty. But Potter was greedy. As if that little runt needed any more fame...

Percy had to see that snot-nosed face every time he read the Daily Prophet. Still cries at night...what rubbish.

When weeks turned into months, Percy began to worry slightly. He was still receiving letters with instructions like clock-work. Sometimes the words would appear messy, very un-Crouch. But that wasn't what had him concerned. If Crouch was on his last breath, he would be in this office. The man had given up his own son, thus Percy reasoned he would be here after he had sacrificed so much.

The rest of the Ministry staff seemed relieved to be rid of the tyrant. Percy saw an opportunity there. If he went to visit the man and showed some concern, maybe he would gain some favor and some step up in the ranks. He would kill to get out of the Department for International Cooperation and into a seat in the Minister of Magic's advisory committee.

~~~

Bartemius Crouch lived in a mansion. It was the largest house he had ever laid eyes on. Percy supposed Crouch gained a lot of his wealth during the famous Death Eater trials. The Ministry confiscated much of property the accused possessed. Curious indeed...

As he walked up the pathway, he didn't spot a gnome or pixie of any sort. The ferns were behaved perfectly and moved their tendrils out of his way. The face of the house was perfectly square and sort of resembled Mr. Crouch himself.

He knocked on the door softly, and it swung open to admit him with no one behind it. It was pitch black inside. Crouch must be upstairs...

It was strange that no servant or House Elf had come to greet him. Percy fished out his wand in case he found he needed it.

"Lumos," he whispered, for he felt some instinctive fear welling up inside him.

Something was not right here. Even with the Illuminating Charm, he could barely see his hand in front of his face. The light at the tip of the wand threatened to fade.

Very strange...

Percy reasoned it must be due to his nerves.

Then he spotted a bit light from a fire upstairs. As he had suspected...

Percy tried to make some noise as he ventured upward; he didn't want to give Crouch a heart-attack or get himself cursed. An angry, red glow was seeping ominously under an ornate door in the pitch black.

Crouch was lying in a heap in the corner with his usually luminous eyes glazed over; his superior was so pale and gaunt he resembled the dead except for the ragged movements of his chest.

A wand dug into Percy's neck and a sweaty hand twisted his arm behind him, and Percy yelped in protest as his wand was snatched from him.

"It's you..." a quivering, meek voice exclaimed in surprise.

Percy didn't recognize the voice at all, but the speaker/attacker seemed to know him. He knew that he was dead. He was defenseless, and Crouch wasn't able to offer assistance. He didn't tell anyone he was coming here, so that his associates wouldn't arrive here before him and steal his glory. The brilliant idea didn't seem so appealing now.

"Why was the door not barred, Wormtail?"

Percy felt like being sick, so powerful an effect that voice had on his insides. It was so cold and lifeless like the tolling of a graveyard bell. It struck him that something not meant to be was behind that chair. Percy had interrupted some form of Death that had come for Crouch! Yet...the question itself was a human/earthly-sounding inquiry. Death would know why the door wasn't barred. Percy, fighting the urge to faint, regained his awareness.

Then he saw the aura in the room, and his heart skipped. It was massive...the sheer immensity was enough to push him to the edge. He wanted to run, oh, how he wanted to run, oh, how he wanted to die just to escape.

"I-I'm-forgive me, my lord. I j-just stepped out...f-for a min-minute."

Silence grew threateningly.

"Who is it?"

"It's P-Percy Weasley, Arthur Weasley's son," the voice whispered in fear of what was to come. Death would know who he was.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here, Weasley?"

"YES! I was sent by the Minster of Magic himself who is very concerned about the well-being of--!" At first, he thought he was clever, but he felt something in his head. What was...

"There is no one who knows that you're here. Foolish boy...I always know...Lord Voldemort always knows the truth. Kill him and give what's left of his body to Nagini."

The balding man placed his wand to the back of Percy's neck.

"W-wait! I-I was your servant at one time. When M-Malfoy gave my sister your d-diary in her first year...I became your servant." It burned his tongue to give respect to a Malfoy.

Please, I can't die like this. I don't want to die!

There was a pause, and Percy felt the wand remove its pressure from his neck.

"Prove it."

"I b-bear a shadow of y-your Mark on my left hand," Percy choked out. "My lord."

Deep inside, in the forest of cypress and yew, a light appeared...what was inside of him had recognized its master.

"Wormtail."

The squat man jumped at the name as if he had been dozing the entire time, then he scrambled to examine Percy's hand after removing Percy's best gloves harshly. Percy allowed the disgusting creature to do so passively, all the while trying to glimpse the person in the chair without looking at that terrible aura. It was quite a task, and he failed.

"H-He's telling the truth, master. It is your Mark."

The voice laughed that horrible laugh that had attacked his spine in his Hogwarts days and still tolls in his nightmares.

"So...my other self took it upon himself to recruit you. Tell me, Percy...what did you do for me during your servitude?"

"Er," Percy stammered with his eyes closed in frantic thought. The statement I secretly plotted against you and planned to steal your powers in due time didn't seem appropriate.

"I keep my knowledge of your...other self's dealings with my sister and awaited his command until he regained his body. After he had accomplished this task... I intended to support Him fully."

"Not much then. I see..."

An icy feeling started to seep through his body. He felt Death gripping him tightly. He should have made something up.

"You dare...to lie to me a second time. That was a mistake. Perhaps, Weasley, you would know better...if your tongue was cut out. Don't you think so, Wormtail?"

The wand returned to his neck, and Percy felt his tongue tingling in fear of its departure.

"But it would be boring, not to be able to hear you scream after awhile..."

Tears were pouring freely down his face. Was this where all his ambitions led?

"Fortunately for you, Percy, I am feeling unusually merciful tonight. I will give you one last time to prove yourself. Crouch."

At the name, the shell of a man in the corner suddenly sprung to life. It reminded Percy very strongly of his sister that year.

Bartemius Crouch wasn't the same person who had bossed Percy around all year long. His appearance was ragged, and he sported deep scars that bled freely from recent abuse. Apparently, Percy had interrupted the dark wizard's fun. Salvia dripped from his mouth which fell open and seemed unable to close. His usually composed eyes of coal were wild pools of pain and regret. Then that familiar look of hope lined his face when he laid eyes on Percy...so much like before...and Percy was prepared.

Percy dried his face with his robes quickly. Death had passed him by, but such a thing wasn't finicky.

He motioned for Wormtail to give him back his wand; with his beady eyes narrowed in suspicion, the slob hesitantly placed the weapon in Percy's outstretched hand.

Stepping closer to the figure on the floor, Percy made sure that Crouch realized his intent by arranging his face in an expression he had seen once before Tom Riddle's face...in his nightmares where he had...received his master's judgment. He was being judged right now; this wasn't a dream but reality.

The aged man's eyes filled with terror and disbelief. He began to mouth something frantically to Percy who promptly ignored him.

"What do you wish me to do, my lord?" He made sure his voice was meek, maybe even meeker than Wormtail's.

Crouch finally found some vestige of his own destroyed voice in his desperation to live.

"N-n-no. P-please, Weath-!"

"My name's not Weatherby, you arrogant bastard! It's Percival Ignatius Weasley! And I will make sure you won't ever forget it!"

His lord seemed amused by his outburst and began to cackle. For a terrifying moment, Percy thought he had brought his end, but then...

"I want you to perform the Imperius Curse. It is very telling about the caster's nature."

"No," Percy blurted out. Wormtail squeaked in the background.

"What did you say?" The cold voice grew even more frigid with menace.

"Please...my lord. Allow me to cast the Cruciatus Curse, then the Imperius Curse. I have desired to know what it felt like...to perform that curse for a very long time."

He was telling the truth. He had often wondered what it would be like to cast that curse on a certain, green-eyed someone who had taken his place among his own flesh and blood. And Lord Voldemort knew...

Mr. Crouch dug at the unyielding floor with his ruined hands in a weak form of protest. His damp eyes darted to the figure sitting in the chair, for Mr. Crouch had a very clear view of the wrecked monstrosity. Perhaps the victim wished for Percy to be smote before he would be forced to endure that curse again. His own son had already performed the very same Unforgivable numerous times before he had left for Hogwarts. Crouch knew another dose of pain would break his mind.

"Very well. Continue."

At this sentence, Crouch pushed back against the wall, his eyes dulling in preparation for the pain that would wreck his nerves and once-brilliant mind.

"Crucio."

And with that magic word, Percy created a universe.

The light burned while the cypress trees grew into skeletons and graveyards.

~~~

Percy did not know loyalty. The Sorting Hat had been right about that facet of his character, Percy accepted that fact now. In fact, he embraced that part of him now. It meant that he was not made to serve. He could not be satisfied, and his thirst could not be slaked.

He looked down on his master. True, he was good in his role and was an exceptional spy in the Ministry. Since Crouch had been disposed of, his absence left an imbalance in the staff. Out of pity for the entire Crouch situation, the Minister allowed Percy to become his assistant.

The Minister knew of entrances to the Ministry that not even the Aurors traveled...

Cornelius Fudge was quite paranoid. He believed half his staff was infested with Dumbledore worshippers, and he was right. At the beginning of his career, Fudge had clung to Dumbledore due to his own insecurities and the fact that most of the community had preferred Dumbledore to be their leader. The Minister reasoned that if he mimicked the popular man, then he too would become loved. It never turned out that way.

Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, and Harry Potter defeated Voldemort. There was nothing he could do to change history, but when Cedric Diggory turned up dead on the Quidditch field during the Final Task, Fudge saw an opening to change the future.

Of course, Fudge's mind could not accept the return of the Dark Lord; if he did...

During the years of his career, Fudge had spotted many plotters. He spotted plots that didn't even exist. Every insult published in the Daily Prophet slandering his method of running things engrained more paranoia in his system. At night, he couldn't sleep, and in the morning, he couldn't wake up. Fudge was not fighter nor a champion but an intellectual. Fudge over-thought every political move and dissected every person around him. He realized he was just a figure in a golden age of prosperity after the Dark Era, and he wore the suit well. Therefore, there would be no return of Darkness...not during his term as Minister!

It was easy to turn the majority against Dumbledore and Potter. They were the type of people everyone claimed to love but really disliked. Dumbledore and Potter were simply too perfect, too good to be true. In politics and daily life, fairly average individuals loved to see the fall of a hero. Cedric Diggory's demise and Dumbledore's blatant overconfidence sealed the deal. Fudge was flooded with owls from angry parents who accused Dumbledore of trying to stir the pot and scaring their precious children. And, of course, Dumbledore was in a downward spiral in his logic. Hiring a werewolf and a half-giant who was still under suspicion for the death of a girl during his school days...

Dumbledore had set the stage for his downfall quite well as someone who just couldn't exist but in a time of turmoil.

And Potter...

Harry Potter was a Parseltongue and a trouble-maker...the boy had turned on his own relatives one night. During his second year, students had been Petrified, and most had suspected the boy. Fudge had suspected the boy though he didn't voice his opinion to Dumbledore. Either the culprit was the half-giant or the Boy-Who-Lived through quite an experience. Who knows how an infant defeated that powerful of wizard? Some dark undercurrent brewed around that child who would have to possess some lingering aftereffects of the Killing Curse. Surely, the half-blooded orphan would have some defect in his mentality. If it had been Fudge in Potter's position, he would have wanted to see what his powers consisted of if he had been the one to survive the Killing Curse.

Potter was a loose Bludger, and Dumbledore was protecting him out of weakness. Fudge suspected that Potter in his need to win had killed Diggory.

Now was the time to act...but with Dumbledore's followers still lurking around him, Fudge needed solid people he could trust. That Percy Weasley had the right ideas about rules and order...even if he was from a less than reputable family. That worker knew what it took to get to the top through diligence and loyalty. When Fudge had asked him to be his assistant, he knew there was the possibility that the young man might be hesitant due to his connections with Dumbledore. But Percy Weasley proved himself beyond a doubt. He even severed ties with his family and dedicated himself whole-heartedly to the good of the Ministry.

The world would be a more orderly place if there were more young men like that around...

Percy figured Fudge out. Although Fudge was very intelligent, he was enslaved by his own inner demons. He was irrational, power-hungry, and insecure, an unstable combination.

Granting Fudge continuous praise would avert the foolish man's suspicions.

So Percy knew every tunnel, secret chamber, and hasty escape throughout the whole of the Headquarters. He served his master well until...it...came to him that warm August night...enlarging his mind and feeding his hunger...

They said: "She dwelleth in some place apart,

Immortal Truth, within those eyes

Who looks may find the secret of the skies

And healing for life's smart.

~~~

A full-fledged power struggle had erupted in front of the remains of St. Mungo's.

St. Mungo's had been deserted early on in the War, so it was a desolate, pitiful structure of what was. Yet, in a time of desperation, the first Potter child was to be born in this place of decay and graveyard of order.

Molly Weasley kept writing to Percy secretly throughout the years even after he was shamed by the Fudge who had made peace with Dumbledore. After Dumbledore had faced the Dark Lord in the Ministry of Magic, the old man made everything that Percy had earned fall to pieces. He was shunted far down in the ranks after he had clearly expressed his disproval to the Minister.

Percy almost died during that time because he was proving to be worthless to Lord Voldemort.

His mother saved him.

At first, she only wrote to a bare minimum, asking about his health. When he pleaded forgiveness, Percy found she wrote much more about his family and, more importantly, Harry Potter. Although Percy didn't dare come back and face his father, he had his mother snared. The Dark Lord was interested...so interested that he had spared Percy and showed him a spell to place on the next letter he Owled to his mother. This spell would cause her to write down every bit of information that she possessed in her head; then, after she replied, she would fail to remember what she had written.

And so, Percy told his lord of his sister's pregnancy and when and where she was to give birth to Potter's child.

The Dark Lord had stormed the weak fortress with his army of Death Eaters, traitors, Dementors, and half of the Giants that had sided with him. Potter was standing outside, waiting for them to draw close. Just Potter...

This duel was different from all the rest that had occurred between the two fated enemies.

Because of what was at stake for the Boy-Who-Lived, the life of his unborn daughter, a power awoke in him that had been buried under years of sorrow and suffering.

Percy watched from the forest...

He had taught himself how to sense the capability of the magic that resides in others by practicing his technique on the Dark wizards around him. He mastered his technique on Malfoy Sr. who had been freed from his holding cell in the Ministry's dungeon.

The Ministry had resorted to using the few Dementors left to guard the Death Eater. The said Dementors were under supervision by Aurors of questionable sanity; the majority had lost loved ones to the Death Eater raids. These men and women were responsible for the safety of a representative from their tormentors.

Lucius Malfoy's mental health had been stretched on a thin line by his incarceration.

He was of little use. So, during a battle between Aurors, Percy had turned on his comrade and had stolen his magic. It wasn't hard to do at all. One just had to combine the right rune cards in the proper pattern and encircle the victim.

It was the look of surprise on Malfoy's face that had made his blood flow. The utter disbelief that someone like him, a Gryffindor and such a meek one at that, could be capable of such a feat of skill and betrayal. It was such a cold and an underhanded act.

Losing one's powers can destroy a wizard, especially a proud, anti-Muggle, pure-blood like Lucius. He was no better than a Muggle. Percy allowed that message to sink in before he disposed of the older man. Malfoy should have known better than to ever look down on him because of his family.

Lord Voldemort never seemed to acknowledge his faithful follower's demise. As for Draco Malfoy, Percy filled his head with lies about how Potter had assisted in the death of his father.

Percy watched...

Harry Potter rivaled the Dark Lord in pure power. Perhaps he even overshadowed the aged wizard. That boy...that man held a well of magical fortitude that was unthinkable. It hurt...

Percy's eyes and ears began to bleed in his attempt to measure Potter's ability.

The Dark Lord's magic mixed in the air with the Boy-Who-Lived's, and everything else was immaterial. Then Percy saw the most beautiful thing...when the two's magic combined, it was dark yet light, radiating with sparks of differences that created a new type of magic. He saw the Universe in that moment with the new flow of life and the old hold of death. That cyclic magic fit with the world and flowed everywhere...even in the Death Eaters, Aurors, and Percy. Everyone...even the Muggles...

Those two wizards created a world between them.

Then he felt it...inside him and around him.

The birth of magical energy was forgotten because quite suddenly, it was nothing compared to what was here now with him on this hill near the lake.

Percy felt such a terrible fear that the world around him would collapse if he breathed. Something was behind his eyes again, except that something belonged to some-thing-else. Such a terrible, white face...behind his eyes...

Percy was blinded; he fell to the damp grass in a panic that overwhelmed his reason and ate him alive. He was yelling or trying to yell. Then he just couldn't. The forest had grown so dark and so immense that it was another being from some corner of the world that Percy didn't dare imagine existed because if it did, it would crush him, and he would cease to be. Any person on earth that could think and reason would cease to be. It was watching him through the trees; it was in the trees and crept closer under the blanket leaves covering the ground. It was in his heart, pumping his heart, in control.

He was by the lake, and he didn't remember how he got that close to the water. He saw his arms jerking and flopping without his control like lifeless things pulled by a string. Not human...He was a puppet.

He was being pushed through time as images crashed through his mind, and if he tried to back up, he would break the same way that Mr. Crouch had broke before his eyes. He would become a weak thing with no purpose.

The water was still, too still. Something was holding the water still. He moved and moved until he could see something. He had to see himself, something other than nothingness that held a monster. He wasn't himself inside. Something was tugging at the fabric of his mind. Something was eating at his veins and at his skin. The darkness underneath the water seemed to see him and laugh, a swirling maelstrom. His mind slipped and was pulled under. He screamed as he glimpsed his face rising like a dark fish from the depths of the moon-lit mirror.

That was not his face...

White...it was so white that it could not be human. His eyes were dark, all-seeing; it saw him, and he saw it in him. His mouth and his face were still, but his eyes flashed like the sway of a pendulum. The blood in the corners of his mouth moved. He saw. He experienced. He was everything...the leaves, the trees, the night, and the moon.

He was the wolf.

Inside, the grounds held something unspeakable in the catacombs...

It came to him in the form of a child...an ash child made of the moon and dead leaves, a child of snow.

Like a child, it waits.

In a little make-shift room in the remains of St. Mungo's, a little, red-headed girl with green eyes and a curious mark on her left hand entered the world without crying. The battle outside raged on.

I sought Her in loud caverns underground--

On heights where lightnings flashed and fell;

I scaled high Heaven; I stormed the gates of Hell,

But Her I never found.

~~~

Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort before the birth of his second child, the child who was born in a time of peace.

Potter almost ruined it unintentionally.

He had taken away one of the two which the force underneath wanted the most, Tom Marvolo Riddle.

It had entered the forest and tasted a bit of that memory, wanting more...

At first, Percy wondered if Potter himself would be suitable. No. Potter was tainted now; he had defeated his opposite life force, his opposite in the natural order. The desired other remained out of his view, hidden behind a veil in his head.

Percy wept. He still didn't understand.

Potter disappeared into the night. The second child of peace disappeared.

What was Percy to do?

The first child disappeared into the Muggle World. He didn't sense what was in the child then. He was still burdened by emotions. Percy had seen his little sister in the girl. His little sister was dead now. For some reason, Percy collapsed. He felt a constant pull on his heart which he so sought to ignore. The little girl was irrelevant. He sent her away into a world of order.

He forgot about her and about the fate of the Potters. Something helped him...a voice of wisdom constantly whispered in his ear. He knew the right cards to play in order to gain his way up. The ideas that popped into his head were always the correct ones. From the ashes of the old Magical World, he built a new one. People listened to him. They couldn't help themselves; they were drawn to him. Dumbledore and his Order feared him and what he could do. But he didn't do what they thought he would. Percy believed that was they feared him so. For awhile, his emotions ebbed. He never shouted and never showed any doubt. His prejudices vanished, and his thirst to test his limitations died with the changing of the seasons. He was above human in the eyes of most of the community.

Then she came back and broke it again.

It saw her.

Percy saw the girl with a face of the moon and hair burning with the sun. She was so much like that beautiful thing created in the duel between the Greats. Such a balance between earth and the heavens, between nature and soul...Her power was unbelievable. He couldn't look directly at her, or he would hurt in his head.

She had turned the Muggle city of Bristol into a place of chaos by piercing the sky on wings of rags and wood. She was blending the two worlds together and fooled with the nature of things in a way unheard of though history. She was just a child. Then it looked through his eyes.

It roamed through the grounds and sat on the limbs of the Mourning trees, waiting...

And Percy Weasley finally understood what was needed, and if he didn't obtain it, he would be thrown back in time and destroyed. His heart would stop.

When he laid eyes on her, Percy became human again. Anger and his greed returned worse than ever. She carried a universe within her. He had to have that power!

Elizabeth Faye Potter is the desired other.

Now, for the cycle to be complete, Percy needed to find that power he had sensed in Hogwarts, roaming around the halls. Percy suddenly knew what had become of that memory.

With their powers, Percy would create life. He would create order.

He is the wolf.

I can see you...

He didn't see her now in the Great Hall. She was supposed to be here during the Halloween Feast. Percy had addressed the students about their Headmaster's absence; he told them that the ancient wizard had simply been taken to the Ministry for questioning.

You can't fool me, Potter...you can't cheat me...

He should have seen her. As he excused himself and allowed Draco Malfoy to speak, he started to search.

Till thro' the tumults of my Quest I caught

A whisper; "Here, within thy heart,

I dwell; for I am thou; behold thou art

The Seeker--and the Sought.

*James H. Cousins

The Quest

~~~

The worn shade in the chair refused to look at her. Instead, he did the most offense possible thing. After fishing through his cloak, Tom had brought out her mother's golden necklace and began to examine it in the firelight with a strange look on his face. The blood on his hands began to gather on her treasure. This sight of obvious defilement made her get to her feet.

Elizabeth was not going to show fear. But the time for battle had ebbed. She was furious that he was in control of the situation. Her wand was useless in this realm. It was merely a shadow.

"Give me back my mother's necklace. Give it back now," she said in the most threatening voice she could muster with her teeth bared for emphasize.

"It belonged to her? Curious trinket...a phoenix, how perfect is that..."

The boy paused and looked at Elizabeth, amused again by something beyond her. If she could have read his mind, she would have understood why he believed she belonged to him. After all, if it hadn't been for his involvement, a life debt would not have been forged between Potter and his Ginny. Therefore, he had a hand in the birth of the little girl before him.

His nostalgic tone made a sharp feeling rise in her heart...as well as a need.

"You...knew my mother? How...were you able to?"

"I knew of her. I have been in this place...for a long time. I've witnessed many people come and go through those halls. She was one I noticed."

"W-what was she like? Can you tell me?"

Elizabeth felt ashamed that she had asked such a question to this person who was so capable of cruelty. It seemed like almost an insult to her mother. She could have asked her uncles, grandparents, Tonks, professors, and Dumbledore. Yet she was asking him of all people. Tom looked thoroughly caught off guard but recovered quickly. After hesitating, he began to speak carefully.

"She had this...life about her. Her naivety and innocence were in every word she uttered. Her eyes held a sincerity that I had never encountered before. Everyone around her wanted to watch her because she was the opposite of them. She never...wanted any real harm to come to anyone. She was a mystery, someone that good...you could never figure out why..." A hungry look grew in his eyes. "She looked alot like you in the beginning, except you are more petite. Then her innocence began to fade as she grew older. It was frustrating, really...seeing your father change her, for him to be the one to change her...but she never lost her charm."

This would have been a great time to cry...his words made her emotional. But it was not the time for that...

"I really look like her when she was my age?"

"I suppose so...yes."

"And my father? Did you know him?" she prompted eagerly.

The boy looked away sharply and glared into the flames. She stepped back even further...his reaction held restrained violence.

"Not really...I did not know him," he muttered fiercely. "Though I've heard enough about him to last me a few centuries..."

Something akin to jealous reflected heavily on his face.

"Why? Why can I see you? And...what are you?"

It sounded hideously rude, but she couldn't phrase her inquiry any other way.

"You can see me because we are the same, you and I."

Elizabeth stiffened in shock and anger, but he continued in a casual voice like she should feel the same way he did.

"You look like your mother on the outside, true. But you are different from her. I can see that you give the same look out of your eyes that I do. As for what I am...I exist through a memory preserved in these very walls. My magic was engrained in the stone where I was..." he trailed over, his eyes burning at the injustice of his fate. "I exist as a memory."

Elizabeth finally gained her voice.

"How can you say that we are alike? You don't know me! You can't just...you're wrong. You aren't telling me something, I know it! You know the real reason, but you're misleading me on purpose! What's the point of that, hmmm? You'll still be in-between either way, so why not just try telling the truth?"

The way his face hardened, Elizabeth prepared herself if he decided to take her lure and attack. She had decided to fish out his true nature early on. Right now, he looked like he wanted to hurt her very badly. She didn't care. She was trapped here, but she didn't want to play games. Then he smiled, and she knew she was really in trouble.

"Fine. I marked your mother on her left hand. I had that ability at the time, and I wanted to glimpse her soul and see who she really was. Even though she was unaware at the time, she was bound to me through our magic and that brief connection. As her child, you were born in such a condition to be even more connected with me. Even if your mother couldn't sense me throughout the rest of her years at Hogwarts, you can very strongly."

What does he mean by that, marked her?!

He tilted his head as if deciding to impart some revelation, his eyes at half-mass.

"I was with you when you were born. I was reborn with you. My memory began more potent, and I regained a higher awareness although some parts of my life remain barred from me. For awhile, I lost sight of you, and I grew weaker...so weak that I thought I would fade away forever. Then you called to me. I found you again in the Orphanage, huddled up in a dark corner, in a filthy room with spider webs in the altar and those marble figures...I felt your deep fear of the darkness; you kept seeing shapes in the dark, and you thought something was coming for you. Your crying reached me through my own darkness, and I realized that...when you started to grow up, I saw myself in you. You don't remember, do you? When I came to you..."

What is he on about? No one ever...

Then she remembered her worst beating ever and what had caused it.

~~~

She was crying in pitch black while huddled against the wall, watching the patches of deathly pale statues flicker in the dark.

This side-building used to be a church during the war in order to give refuge to the grief-stricken civilians. The statues became alive in the dark and gazed at her with their hands reached up ready to snatch her away with them. No kindness was etched on their faces, only judgment, and they judged her harshly. Westley had said so...that those statues of the saints knew what an ugly thing she was, and if she wasn't careful, they would get her.

Like an animal, she crept under the altar as far as she could go and watched wide-eyed and alert. There was a rasping...the cobwebs moved and formed hands of solemn ghost. The darkness watched her. Something moved behind the statues, and it was waiting for the right moment. Something danced behind the statues. She knew it wanted her.

The faces would move with predatory speed. If she blinked, she realized that the statues would change subtly. Hands...hands reached out. The silk of the ghost-like insects brushed against her face, touching he

She began to cry for someone to come, for anyone to come. Then she began to wail. She lost herself in her panic. Her crying was waking the statues up.

Fingers brushed her cheek...except this time it wasn't a cobweb. She clawed at the nothing that had touched her. Warmth was on her cheek, and a fading memory of the comforting touch lingered. But she was frightened...it was mocking her by showing her it could touch her before it pounced.

Her eyes darted to the one patch of light that was stained red by the glass. She saw a...shadow. She began to whimper.

It was a boy; he was watching. He was so pale that he was a statue of a saint that moved. His face was so young, he was innocent. He was so pale that he looked lonely and in eternal martyrdom, but his eyes, shaded red by the glass, showed curiosity and a determined intention. He was inky from the darkness that had formed him. It was a glimpse of someone beyond; his outline was hazy as if he was behind a thick fog or underneath a mist of blood.

She was suffocating...it came! That something that danced behind the statues had formed him to fetch her! The cry that rose from her throat woke up Westley who slept on the second floor.

Elizabeth had rushed through the statues into the darkness that wanted her, but she broke through and scratched blindly at the door, embedding the wood under her nails.

Westley had been furious that she had woken him up.

~~~

It was strange to remember something so horrifying after all this time; it made her feel weak. She had blocked out the memory of that night when she had believed...

"I remember thinking I saw the angel of Death waiting for me. But it was you," she whispered in amazement.

That this memory, entwined with magic in the foundation of Hogwarts, could come to her in the Muggle city of Bristol...She felt a horrible embarrassment that someone from this world had seen her hardship, her weakness, and her fear that closely.

What kind of connection do I share with him?

"Even I do not know the extent to which we are connected."

Obviously, mind-reading is one condition...but why can't I read yours?

He didn't respond by thoughts or words.

What about your control over me in the library? What of that?

A smug smirk was swiftly covering his face as he still didn't respond, but amused himself by twirling her necklace around his finger. She had to clench her fist to restrain her urge to run over there and hit him. Her terror of him was abating now that she figured out he wasn't as supernatural as she had originally thought.

"If you aren't going to talk to me anymore and tell me what you want, you should just give me what is mine and let me leave," she declared. "You're acting very childish."

He paused and raised an eyebrow.

"You're not the timid, little thing you pretend to be, are you..." He gave that horrible laugh that make her stomach knot and rose from his seat, seeming to have made up his mind. Against her will, she backed away until her back was at the wall once more and closed her eyes tightly.

He seized her left hand, placed the well-sought necklace in her trembling palm, and folded her small fingers to clasp the tiny figure with mock gentleness. Opening her eyes, Elizabeth bit back a gasp at her fear of him being so close.

"It is because of me that you are alive right now, Faye."

She started at the unfamiliar use of her middle name.

"I have saved you three times. You are indebted to me."

"But why did you save me?"

His face grew dark with anger again, and she winced at the increase of pressure on her hand.

"You stupid--didn't I not just explain my actions to you? Your life is the only thing keeping me as I am...as worthless as your life undoubtedly is." Hissing those words, he pushed her hand away sharply and stepped back.

She glared at the darkness his self-inflicted wounds had left on her.

Ink...it is most definitely ink. Elizabeth realized she had asked a very stupid question but grew angry anyway.

"If that is the case, Tom, shouldn't you say instead that you are indebted to me?" she asked in an innocent voice and then ducked as his fist hit the place above her head with a crack.

Feeling that she had gone too far, Elizabeth lunged to the left in an attempt to run to the door. He grabbed her hair and yanked her backwards. She shrieked as he pushed her back to the wall, now closer than ever.

"Don't you get it?! Are you that dense that you really believe you will escape me by going out that door? You belong to me, and you will never be free of me for as long as you breathe."

Blinking back tears of pain, she snarled at him, "I belong to no one, and no mark will ever change that!"

"You sound like..." he backed away for a second time in some display of disgust.

Elizabeth knew she had to get out of here before his mood changed again. She felt her arm began to bruise where he had gripped her. But she was still curious; perhaps, if she distracted him, she could convince him to let her return to reality instead of this mockery...or better yet, unhinge his mouth.

"Who do I sound like?" she asked in a less than steady voice. She had an idea who...

He glared at her with fierce dislike and curled his lip.

"Please don't be like that again. You obviously want to say more."

Nothing...she felt like she was running headless around in a circle.

I'm indebted, but what do you want me from me?

Her shoulders stung. She decided to be unpredictable. Elizabeth bent down and picked up the necklace that had slipped from her hand in the scuffle. Curious...this is the actual necklace and not a shadow. How can that be?

With as much snobbery as she could muster, she waltzed past him with a smile and took his place in the green abomination that looked like a chair. He watched her in some amazement, his mouth slightly open.

She sat on that chair like it was a throne and casually re-clasped the phoenix necklace around her necklace. She studied the fire as if it was the most fascinating thing she had ever come across. Elizabeth let the silence grow heavy. She noticed that he started fidgeting.

She had his number...he was desperate for her to pay attention to his presence. She kept her thoughts as blank as she could and used a technique she had picked up in Westley's hell. Just picture something else and wait.

His body language radiated hatred. How he wanted to hurt her...she knew that now. But he couldn't really. She felt like dancing around the room in victory or just mimicking his laugh if she could, but she found some restraint in the strange humor that arose from the situation. He couldn't throw her off a balcony like he did Smith. He hated her much, much more, but he couldn't do anything but glare. It was beautiful.

"I know what you're doing, child. I warn you, do not anger me any more, or you will suffer. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

Nothing...she felt him scan her thoughts, and she gave him absolutely nothing. She fought back a smile.

He stomped up to her and grabbed her shoulder again, intentionally digging into her skin with his fingers. His eyes were so red now she was sure that he was an inferno inside. Like I haven't felt pain before...she ignored him. He released her in fury, and his face was unrecognizable.

Tom seized her face and forced her to look at him, surely bruising her or hurting her neck. What he got in return was the most glazed look in the history of mankind. Never had he expected that kind of reaction! Never...

He began to circle around her chair but stopped suddenly. It was his laughter that broke through to her and sent an instinctive fear of an impossible death to her heart.

"You are a strange one. I like that."

He chuckled and reached down to pat her head condescendingly.

She burned and lost her grasp on her plan that would have worked in time like the slow siege of a castle. Elizabeth opted to make a face at him. His eyes glowed with pride at his successful manipulation until...

"Oh, I'm the strange one here? How about you look in a mirror...if you can, that is!"

Instantly, she found the chair on top of her while she made contact with the floor for what had to have been the billionth time tonight. Well, one can't ignore that...

Again, she was yanked up by her hair and thrown across the chair. She recovered and quickly rushed to the other side of the room by the window. He wasn't...he appeared in front of her, twisted her wrist with his hand, and brought her close to him.

"You dare..."

Yeah, I do!

You dare defy me! If only y-

"So why don't you tell me? Who am I dealing with?"

This was starting to wear on her, and she was growing more fearful despite her bravado. This was a very violent person who was teetering on the edge, and if she pushed too hard...The hand used to grip her started to shake slightly.

Uh-oh...

He was gazing past her once more, confusion in his eyes and that fear. He looked so uncertain about...oh!

"You mean who don't know who you are? You're kidding...you seem to know quite a bit for someone with memory loss...I don't believe it."

He still had this lost look on his face. How can this be?!

"Listen...you told me about my mother and that you created some connection with her somehow. How would you remember her and then not remember your own identity?"

The trembling in his hands increased. Oh for...

"Haven't you been yelling that I don't know who I am dealing with?! What did you mean by that, then, if you don't even know yourself?!" she hissed in disbelief.

He released her passively, and she had to wonder how many mood swings he would have before this night was over with.

"Yes...I see the irony of my fate very well."

His eyes were glazed, and his smile made some instinct inside of her fear him. His smile was unrestrained and full of ugliness yet drenched in desperation and a slow unraveling weakness against his fate. It was so ugly to witness that it made her cringe and feel the small beginnings of pity.

"I know I am something...terrible, but it is out of my grasp...at the moment."

Elizabeth was still very confused. She squinted up at him and to read his expression. His face was blank.

"How do you know you were something terrible?"

That smile...of that something he thought he was...spread over his face...

"I remember how they looked at me, the two of them...I remember...a boy before me. So much fear in his eyes...I remember all their looks, and I feel what's inside me. I know enough about myself to realize what I am capable of. You've seen what I can do. I remember what caused me to be here and what blood flows through me...But that is not enough."

She was now truly frightened, but she couldn't show it because if she did, he would sense it and react. His words indicated that something was amiss with him inside, making him very unpredictable.

"Do you regret that you might have been terrible?" Elizabeth wanted to keep him focused on himself rather than her.

He looked genuinely surprised at the question.

"What makes you think that I would?"

"I-I don't...your words seemed to...you used the word terrible. I thought that if you were satisfied with what you were, you wouldn't have used that particular word. Many wouldn't describe themselves that way even if they were the most terrible people ever. I know quite a few people who could be called terrible, and they never see themselves like that. That's all I..." she trailed off uncertainly.

"I am what I am. I do not seek to change that," he said with a new found confidence. He sneered. "The terrible things are usually the greatest things. What is terrible is above limitations. That's why the average notice the terrible before the good...it is what they all want to be but can not be."

What kind of twisted ideology is that?!

She had forgotten he could hear her very well. He took on a condescending smirk.

"You don't understand because you are too weak. You haven't experienced enough to realize the truth. Or perhaps...you can feel it inside of you as well...that something that makes you capable of whatever you desire."

Elizabeth knew that...

Her emotions made her capable of anything like he said. But she was in control of herself, and she refused to become like them...like Westley, Malfoy, Smith, or this guy. Look at what happened to Smith when he crossed the line too often. Elizabeth had experienced too much; this lost boy was wrong. She understood that once you crossed the line, you dared to be something more than what you were meant to be. Most of the time, your actions come back to haunt you.

She grew calmer with her knowledge.

"It is you who don't understand," Elizabeth whispered so low that he had to lean forward to hear her. "I have experience enough...hurt to know that I wouldn't want to inflict hardship on others. Yes, sometimes, I feel as if I could...You contradicted yourself earlier, and you probably don't even realize it."

"I contr-nonsense! With what I know, that is not possible."

"Then why, pray tell, did you notice my mother? If good was never to be acknowledged, why was she the one you remember?! Why did everyone watch her if she wasn't this terrible and great person?"

His eyes grew wide with disbelief as he realized that this child...was right about...she had cornered him with his own words.

"You...little fool! You-I watched her because she was destined to suffer in this world, and she wasn't intelligent enough to see that she was digging her own grave!"

Elizabeth shook with rage.

"You have the nerve to insult...my mother is dead, and you still think you have the right to say such things about her?! You know what?! I think you deserve to be trapped here, something as horrible as you," she growled.

He paused in thought, an action that threw her off guard.

"Yes, by your sense of justice, you're correct. To you, I probably deserve this purgatory...but your justice is misguided. You believe that there is some higher force out there keeping score. If so, why does someone like me exist? Why would your dear mother be allowed to suffer? Why would you be forced to rot in a Muggle hell? Did you deserve that? I tell you now...such things occur because there is something out there. But it's not what you think. It's the thing that wants you to fail, but if you are strong, you will not. As for morality, it is a farce created by those who cannot defend themselves...If I am here, it is by fault of my own skills and a mistake I made...and I will find a way out..."

"You are the most...arrogant person I've ever met, Tom...you're trapped and still..." she murmured in awe that someone with his mentality could be connected to her.

That is not my name! His hissing filled her head like a disease.

"Yes, it is. Sorry, but I saw it in the yearbook." Despite the sickness she felt at his presence, she laughed. "Whoever you were, you weren't very popular. Your picture was defaced, but I could read you first name."

"That is not my true name. I know it is not!" He didn't sound human now at all, just like some animal. The pangs in her heart grew sharper with her pity.

"What do you want from me? Just tell me and let me leave. As long as I'm alive, you're in the clear right. So what else do you want?"

A horrible coldness was weakening her bones, and she swore the room was growing smaller. His presence was making her tired. Tom seemed unable to respond, and he looked suddenly tired as well.

"You are the one person who can see me. I only want...to be able to converse with someone."

Talk about the biggest mood swing in the history of the world!

Elizabeth held up her fingers and began to count off all the reasons that his request was completely insane

"You-you harass me, throw glass at me, threaten me, steal from me, kill somebody in front of me, possess me, insult me, try to beat me up...no, actually pummel me, insult my mother, and then you ask me to-what?! Be your friend? I-I-you-you're confusing me on purpose, aren't you?!"

"You don't understand what it's like. If you did...I cannot remember who I was before the moment I was trapped here. You must help me remember more."

"How exactly would I do that?" she asked, crossly.

"Your life helps me remember. When I saw you in the Orphanage, it helped me remember. Even with you now, I am starting to recall...events from my past. I can't stand feeling barred from my own mind. Besides, if you walk away from me now..." His eyes flashed with a silent threat.

Trapped...Elizabeth felt torn. She was confused on how he truly thought she owed him that much, but she felt pity as well because she knew what it was like to have your past hidden from you. She also knew that, regardless of her decision, he would haunt her as long as he could. As long as she lived, he would exist as well. She knew without a doubt that he was very close to insanity. Elizabeth questioned if he hadn't already lost that small bit of rationality and had fallen into an abyss.

The image of his eyes burning into her eternally made her ill. A sharper image followed hand-in-hand with the first...an image of her raising her wand to someone's throat and just...her body shook in terror. He looked bored now. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had placed that image in her head. He was very terrible yet...

"I have some conditions before I agree to help you. First of all, I don't want you following me everywhere like my shadow or something. I don't care if we're connected or not. Secondly, only talking to you tonight has been the most exhausting experience I've ever had, and I'm sure you agree. From now on, you won't try to hit me, pull my hair, or anything like that. And thirdly, the most important condition is that you won't get into my head anymore and try to control me. You must swear to me that you will never do that again. And if you go back on your word, the deal is off. I don't care if you glare at me for the rest of your existence. I will ignore you completely, and it will be like you don't even exist."

"If I hadn't seized your arm today, your body would be a soulless shell this very moment, you ungrateful, little-."

She held up her hands quickly to prevent him from coming closer.

"Okay, okay. This is-er-true. Thank you for helping me...even if it was just really to save yourself. But! From here on out, you may only do so with my permission!"

She grew red when he shrugged half-way in a careless manner as if he really didn't plan on doing what she asked.

"Agreed," he muttered with darkness in his eyes.

Elizabeth struggled to hide her immense surprise.

"Okay then..." Now she didn't know what to do. "I-I'm glad it's settled. I guess I'll be...going."

The door opened slowly. She took that to be a positive sign.

"I will take you back. You'll get lost," Tom said in a condescending voice, and suddenly, he was by the door.

Elizabeth fought the urge to scream in frustration. She could find her way, she wasn't stupid! He didn't have to walk with her. All he had to do was let her out of the in-between, but no, of course not. That would be too easy.

She gritted her teeth and tried not to stomp to the door in order to maintain dignity. He smirked. How she loathed that smirk...she wished she could wipe it off his face, but it wasn't worth her time. What have I gotten myself into...She had planned to march past him with her head held high, but she ran into the darkness that she had forgotten lurked behind the door.

"After you..." he drawled in a strangely-Malfoyesque manner, and she was pushed forward. He had to be a Slytherin.

She fell to the stone and was completely numbed by the sudden transition of light into dark. An arm slipped around her and pulled her up roughly.

"Lumos."

Despite the fact that she found he was already breaking condition two, she was impressed that he could do wand-less magic. She tried to step away from him as the problem concerning the pitch black was resolved, but he kept his hold on her. She yielded and allowed him to drag her downwards. He obviously was a control freak of some sort, and she was very tired and cold. She just wanted to be in her warm bed where the air wasn't as strange as the sort she was breathing now.

She gloomily looked ahead at what was to come and stifled a haggard sigh.

Yet she didn't see everything...

Outside, the Dementors were acting very unusually. Normally, they would have infested the rest of the grounds when they discovered that their previous victim was out of reach.

They massed at alert, watching the tower that other eyes could not see. They watched hungrily.

It watched hungrily.

~~~

"You didn't have to kill him, you know," Elizabeth said in an almost whimsical tone and quietly asked herself why she liked punishment.

He didn't answer, and she talked on.

Wants to converse, huh? Well, that's a load of dragon dung.

"His name was Zacharias Smith and-!"

"Smith, was it? Well, good riddance...I knew he wasn't worth keeping alive."

Elizabeth stiffened...such a casual attitude to have about taking someone's life! He was terrible.

His grip tightened unbearably, and yet she forced herself to bear it. Her protests would only fuel him on.

She distracted herself by pondering the name Zacharias Smith.

Zacharias sounded like a prophet of some sort and a bringer of new things...well, he certainly brought her something in the form of nightmares. Smith is a forger. It was half because of him she was in this predicament. The yellow-toothed man had connected the layers of the world, and that is why she was in the in-between, being drug around by the oh-so-terrible king of mood swings...which were not of the good sort.

Then again...

"What do you think he wanted with me?"

This time, she really wanted an answer. She hadn't realized how much the unknown had been bothering her.

"Oh...the possibilities are endless," he sneered. "With a useless thing like you."

"Then, in other words, you don't have the faintest...you know, I would have really appreciated it if you had kept him alive. Then we would know something, wouldn't we? But no..."

"Ignorance is your problem, not mine. You figure it out," he quipped.

"Hold on! If something bad happens to me, it is most definitely your problem," she said, sarcastically with a bit of satisfaction in her voice.

"Nothing happened, and nothing will. I'll see to that. Now shut your mouth."

She gasped at the offense and tried to wiggle free but to no avail. He kept looking straight ahead.

She was in hell...if she went to hell like Westley had promised, she would be stuck with this guy for all eternity, and sadly, it seemed as if that fate was the most probable reality at the moment.

Elizabeth made a vow that she would get him back for every horrible thing he says to her, starting as of now with the useless comment.

They were weaving down so many corridors that she was starting to get quite dizzy. She wouldn't have been surprised if the stones around them had suddenly sprouted legs and were running past at lightning speed, and the little she had eaten made her stomach churn. Elizabeth clung to his robes to keep her balance. He took on this annoyed expression like she was the one who wouldn't leave him alone! She marveled at what a complete and total...

Then she felt something different in the air...something around the next corner. Chills raced up and down her spine, and the intolerable fear of the next turn made her mind numb. She was helpless. Near the window...she knew it waited with its fingers against the glass. As a matter of fact, it was already inside.

Elizabeth placed all her weight in her feet and began to drag them against the stone with all the might that her little body had, almost making her shadow fall flat on his face. A worth-while sight if there ever was one but now wasn't the time. It was everywhere, permeating every inch of the castle...except for shadow boy and her. How she knew she could not say, she just knew.

Her friend stood to his full height, a very intimidating sight mind you, and judging by the look on his face, he seemed prepared to curse her into oblivion.

"Wait. Don't you...sense it?" Elizabeth whispered while trying to carry the full impact of her fear in her voice to make him pay attention and focus on what she knew was around the next bend.

She feared the very worst because never had she felt that sense of someone watching her as strongly as she did now. That mark on her side gripped her tightly, and the pain grew exponentially. She wanted to run but could not because she knew it could run faster. Dread bloomed inside with a poisonous touch.

Tom glared at the quivering girl with cold suspicion and deep dislike.

"No-I-Do-Not," he growled out each word slowly like she had no brain.

He didn't expect her to start to cry hysterically and cling to his arm. Didn't see that coming at all...He tried to knock the fool girl away, but she held on tenaciously.

"YOU H-HAVE TO! IT'S RIGHT THERE! ALWAYS WATCHING! HERE! IT'S...right there..."

Her glazed eyes focused on something up ahead, and he turned quickly.

The moonlight glinted off the horned glasses on the shadow figure's face, making the eyes appear to glow mercury. And there was the flash of white...as the wide grin appeared. And there was the slow humming of an unknown tune...

"It can see us...you see..." she muttered in a sing-song voice due to her hysteria.

Without thinking, Elizabeth quickly stepped behind the one she distrusted so while still clutching his cloak with her trembling hands. At least, she wasn't alone when it finally came.

"No," Tom hissed back. "No one can...he can't see us!"

He sounded pretty sure of himself. She almost believed him until she saw that his hands were clenched and trembling as well.

"Oh, but I can."

That voice...that whiny, pompous voice...she had heard it before.

The figure crept fully into the light, and she recognized her uncle...but he wasn't her uncle. Something was darkly different in the face and in the eyes. His eyes were never that dark color of dead, mossy leaves. He was holding his body strangely, leaning to one-side as if he was weighed down.

The hands flitted into sight spasmodically like moths, each finger having a mind of its own. She couldn't look away.

Elizabeth felt herself being pushed back, and she realized that shadow boy was pushing her further back behind him.

When I say to, run back towards the tower.

She looked at him tearfully.

What about you? I can't just-

LISTEN, YOU-

Percy Weasley laughed heartily.

"Oh, come now. And here I thought you were intelligent. She won't escape me that easily, and neither will you...really...I must thank you...for making this so easy."

In his unnatural hands, he held a card of some sort with...the Thorn engraved in red.

"So very easy..."

k