Death's Other Kingdom

Death's Other Kingdom

Chapter I:

A Child Born of Violence

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

She stood on the street in London, unsure of where to go or what to do. Her leanly muscled arms held a small rucksack that held everything she would need for the present. She had already sent her trunk, which contained the rest of her earthly possessions, to her uncle for the time being - he would get it to her as soon as he could, she was sure.

She was an interesting looking girl. Her blond hair hung at the moment in tight, minute waves, surrounding a oval-shaped face with high cheekbones and a small delicate nose. Her jaw made a delicate, discernable line, and her lips were of a beautiful, full curve, which were usually seen either smirking or pursed while she studied something intently. Her lashes were long and dark, fringing the violet eyes that were one of her most recognizable features.

She wore a long black leather coat, baggy black pants, and a red and black corset-like top. On her feet were a strangely delicate cut of combat boots, which laced up midway up her strong calves. The black coat, however, hid the majority of her garb, as it may have been considered odd on a London sidewalk so early in the afternoon. As it was, she knew nothing about London, and felt a bit suffocated by the city. She had always hated cities, and found herself longing for the sight of a single huge oak tree, covered in Spanish moss. She wished she could walk down one of the primitive dirt roads on which she was most at home, shaded by those oak trees, their huge, mossy limbs blocking out most of the sunlight, shielding her from the hell-hot southern sun. She wanted the algae-filled, stagnant lakes, and the broken old swamp houses, with a line of brick dust spread over the doorstep and very white eyes in dark faces peering at her from the shabby gray porches.

Here, on the busy sidewalk of London, with no idea where she was or where she was going, that place she called home seemed a lifetime away.

When he first saw her watching him, Ron immediately fell under the impression that it was only because she wished for it to be so. Feeling as if he had been summoned by those weird-colored eyes, he got up and walked to her table, sitting down across from her. She glanced at him knowingly, a strange, slightly sinister smirk creeping into the full curve of her lips. The encounter felt natural, almost planned, and he felt for once that he was doing what he needed to do when he needed to do it. Somehow it was stronger than a compulsion. It was a command.

As a last-ditch attempt to make everything return to normal, he volunteered, "I come here every Friday."

"I know," she said in a husky voice, destroying any hope of traditional conversation. "I've been watching you for a long time now." So much for normalcy. She was blunt, honest, and quite to the point. In fact, there was something about her that downright scared him, but fascinated him at the same time.

"I believe I've put you a bit out of your character," she observed.

"Things like this don't happen to me," he said. "They happen to Harry."

"It's you I need to speak to," she said.

Ron was confused, and for good reason. There, at least, was an emotion he was familiar with. "I shouldn't have walked over here," he muttered. "I knew it when I saw your face."

That little smirk came back to her mouth again. "I know. If it makes you feel any better, I assure you that your own intentions had nothing to do with it." She leaned over, her lips nearly touching his ear, and whispered, "This is bigger than you are, Ronald Weasley. This is bigger and more powerful than either of us, and that's saying something."

"I'm hardly powerful."

"I am."

He caught a hint of a rising storm on her breath.

Remus Lupin knew the name as soon as Ron described those words. He became certain when he described the face (and the eyes, of course). She would find him soon, he knew. He hadn't seen her in six years, but it felt like longer. He glanced out the window, seeing the flash of lightening and hearing the rumble of thunder, with the rain pattering endlessly on the roof of 12 Grimmauld Place.

It was two in the morning, and everyone else was in the bed, before the knock that he was expecting came. By that time, he was half-drunk off of the firewhiskey that he had been drinking to calm his nerves. Waiting for her had always been like this.

He opened the door and made her usual dramatic entrance, although it was really nothing more than just walking through the door, her curly hair soaked through. He cast a charm on her coat to dry the leather and sat her down beside the fire, pouring her a glass of the firewhiskey. He had never known another girl to prefer firewhiskey straight. She was like that, though - everything had to be straight and direct. No sugarcoating and no euphemisms.

"Waiting up for me, Remus?" she asked satirically, with the first real grin she had displayed since she had come to London.

"Well, what did you expect, Elektra? You can't come to England without me knowing sometime." She chuckled lightly. "Oh, and by the way - could you try not to scare the hell out of half the Order before they meet you?"

"Come on now, Remus - that would mean there were only two of you. I think he's quite an interesting human being."

Remus was incredulous. "Ron?"

"Is that his name?"

"Ah, something you don't know. Yes, that's his name, although I can't for the life of me see why you think he of all people is particularly interesting. I mean, Ron's likeable enough, but. . ." he finished his sentence with a frustrated gesture of his hands, assuming that she, as always, didn't need it.

"I think there's more there than meets the eye, my friend." She took a sip of the whiskey with a grimace. "Interesting alliance we are, eh?"

"I suppose. You're interesting enough by yourself." She chuckled again. He wondered why Elektra never really laughed aloud. "But let's not worry about that for the moment. I'm guessing your uncle sent you."

"Correct again, Remus. You're getting better at this."

"Not everyone's a natural, Elektra dear."

"Yes, my uncle sent me. Every time I think men can't possibly get more desperate, I get another letter from him." She sighed. "I still can't believe he killed him."

"He's a depraved human being, my girl."

"That he is." They sat in silence for a few more moments, until Remus asked the question he'd been dying to ask since Ron had described her. "Are the Morrígan behind us, Elektra?"

"To a point. They're hesitant about joining such a fight. It would bring them out, and you know we can't have too much attention."

Remus shook his head. "Girl, you're a true mystery." She smiled at him, somewhat pityingly, as if thinking, you poor young fool. Somehow it always seemed that she was thinking that, even though he was much older than she was.

"Is it hard, Elektra?" She looked up at him with those astounding eyes, puzzled at last. "Is it hard, being a damphir? Holding complete power to win or to lose? Being the judge of the universe?"

She sighed. "I'm not omnipotent, Remus. Just immortal."

"You could win this fight for us. You could be the final thing that pushes us to the edge. Don't you see. . ? What? What's wrong?" Elektra was sadly shaking her head.

"Until the Morrígan joins us, we're equal. My twin sister went with the Death Eaters. My uncle can't try to dissuade her, because he knows it will just get him killed. It would reveal that he was the one who brought me over, for you. Most of the Order won't take him anymore, and he wanted the fight to be fair." She got up, as if to leave, and Remus pointed to the stairs.

"He sent your trunk to me earlier. He will be cleared, Elektra - but until then. . . you should stay with us."

"Fair enough," she said, her face impassionate.

Go upstairs, turn left, and go to the far end of the hall. The last door on the right is for you. It's not much, but it's a place to sleep for the night, and no one here will. It's Sirius' room." Responding to the puzzled draw of her brow, he volunteered: "Sirius is Harry's godfather. Bellatrix Lestrange killed him about three years ago now." Elektra nodded.

"I see." Then she inclined her head slightly and started up the stairs with a mischievous grin.

The room was simple and austere, with a small desk, a closet, and her trunk in the corner. She opened the closet and found a battered trunk, and assumed that someone had moved all of Sirius' worldly belongings to that trunk - or else Sirius had kept them there. It was more likely the latter of the two.

She extracted her robes from her own trunk and hung them in the closet, next to Sirius' robes. Then Elektra proceeded to open her trunk, which was crowded with various odds and ends that only she could know the meaning of. A large jar of brick dust sat snugly in one corner - Elektra picked it up and did the first thing she ever did upon reaching a new place - scattered a thin line of the dust over the threshold of the door and the windowsills. Despite her growing up in modern surroundings, she still retained some of the Southern hoodoo that her abuela had drilled so into her head. She wasn't sure if the old woman was actually related to her in any way, but as she had spent the majority of her life hiding in the woman's home, she deserved some sort of title.

She sat the jar carefully back in her trunk and pulled out a thick, woven blanket, a product of many alliances with the now-dwindling Native American tribes - while many of them had modernized, some of the older citizens still held secrets of the earth that she had traveled to learn. Even with magic, she had always felt that learning was important -- potions seemed to be the family's area of major, and she was no different. The different cultural cures for things fascinated her, and the Indians had just about everything one could ever need. The blanket, given to her by a tribe in Arizona, was warm and heavy on her shoulders, and it smelled like incense or marijuana. One of the two.

She quickly spread out her potions materials on the desk - glass vials of every shape and size, containing dried herbs, tinctures, crushed minerals, roots, and other miscellaneous materials. Her mortar and pestle went on the desk in front of these, as well as a stone burner that burned a candle under a domed top, which held whatever material was being heated at the time. Elektra threw her mother's scarf over the lamp beside her bed, and placed the only picture she had of her mother behind a small candle on her bedside table. Beside that picture, she placed an old black and white print of abuela. Then she crawled into the bed, wrapped the woven blanket around her body beneath the covers, and slept.

Ron awoke to a bright morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains and falling onto his face. He groaned and rolled over, but the thing that had awoken him from his blissful sleep was still standing there and refused to go away.

"Hermione. . ."

"Get up, Ronald! You can't sleep all day!"

"Why not?" he asked grumpily, but sat up nonetheless.

"Remus wants to see us all. He says he has something to tell us, and that it was important. And when Remus says it's important, Ron. . ."

"I know, I know," he grumbled. "I'll be there in a second." She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "I promise. Now, go away." With a sigh, Hermione withdrew from the room.

When Ron got downstairs ten minutes later, the rest of the household was crowded around Remus by the fire. The werewolf's face looked strangely aged and tired, but somewhat hopeful. Fred and George sat at the table; Hermione on the couch, a book in hand, and Harry leaned against the kitchen door. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were together on the couch with Hermione, and Ginny was half-asleep by the window. When Ron finally sat down, he said:

"All I want today is to introduce someone new. She's going to be staying here from now on, because she wishes to join the Order of the Phoenix. But before I let you all meet Elektra; there is something you should know. Since I know you all and I know that you're unnaturally observant people," his eyes rested on Hermione, "I'll get right to the point. She's a damphir."

For the people who knew what this meant, it was apparently shocking. Ron's mother gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth, Hermione stopped everything she was doing and stared at Remus with wide eyes, Fred and George were ominously silent, and Harry had the same look of puzzled apprehension that he supposed he did. At last, Mrs. Weasley broke the silence:

"Well, at least she's on our side."

"Is she?" Arthur inquired suspiciously.

"Yes," Remus assured them. "I understand not trusting her completely, but I've known Elektra for a long, long time and I assure you she's quite trustworthy. Over time you will come to know her as I do."

"How do you know her?" Hermione asked innocently; but there was a dark air of suspicion in her eyes.

"She's related to an old schoolmate of mine," Remus replied coolly.

"Who?"

Ron saw Remus' eyes flit away evasively at Hermione's question. "He died. Years ago."

"Oh." She sat back, momentarily silenced, even though he was certain she didn't believe him.

Ron knew the question would make him sound like an idiot the second he decided to ask it, but he had to know. He had actually been relying on Harry to ask the question, as Harry was generally considered more naïve and it was acceptable for him to not know things of this nature; but Harry volunteered nothing.

Frustrated, he forced out the question: "What's a damphir, exactly?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Remus chuckled lightly. "Something most people never hope to come into contact with, Ron. A damphir is a half-breed vampire. Half vampire, and half human. Some say it's a fifteenth generation vampire who mates with a human, some say it can happen between any vampire and human. The vampires don't offer much help in the matter, so we don't know which. What we do know is that if a vampire has a damphir child, he or she kills the child. Usually the vampire is the father - almost always, actually. Damphirs are much more powerful than vampires, so therefore they are a huge threat to them.

"Elektra and her twin sister were hidden away by their mother, Elektra in Louisiana, the United States, Eris, the twin, in Ireland. For ten years they have hidden there. Elektra was under the care of an old medicine witch, but no one really knows about Eris."

"So, wait - is she a witch in any way?" Hermione queried.

"Yes. Her mother was a witch. It's a nasty combination, Hermione."

Hermione frowned. "I see that. She's very powerful, then."

Remus sighed. "The worst part is that Eris has joined the Death Eaters." Everyone in the room seemed to gasp simultaneously. "That is why it's so important to have Elektra on our side. . ."

A small but somehow imposing figure suddenly stalked boldly into the room. Ron recognized her at once as the girl he had seen and, to no one's notice, he found himself backing up a bit. She was scary looking, he thought, but still beautiful, like a jeweled dagger of expert craftsmanship with a sharp blade.

"Remus," she grumbled in a husky and frustrated voice, "It's boring as hell up there, I'm coming down here and if they don't like it then that's too bad." She glared out at the Order, as if daring one of them to oppose her. They stared back with shocked faces.

Then she smiled and shrugged. "Glad we got that over with."

They stared in amazement as she walked across the room and sat down by the fire, next to Remus. As if someone had prompted her, she looked out over the room, clearly studying each face, her eyes lingering a second too long on Ron's face. Then she said, as if making a speech:

"My name is Elektra Nizhoni. That's not my real last name, but I don't go by it, and I'm sure you can understand why. I am rather new to England, so bear with me. As I'm sure Remus has told you, I am a damphir and a witch. As he probably hasn't told you, I specialize in the black magic and potions. . ."

"Sorry to interrupt," Hermione said, her voice shaking a bit, "But what is black magic?"

Elektra looked a bit bewildered, and then something seemed to dawn on her. "Oh, right," she muttered. "The dark arts. We call it black magic back home. Anyway. . . where was I? Oh, yes. My parents. I killed them both."

Remus flinched. "Could you not be so blunt?"

Elektra sighed. "Fine. I murdered my father because he was a vampire and he was trying to kill me. Self-defense, you call it. My mother was turned into a vampire, and she was no longer my mother to me, so I killed her, more out of mercy than anything else. Happy, Remus?"

"I wish you wouldn't say it was mercy, Elektra. I love you, but you are unfit to use that word."

"I'm aware, Remus. But that's what it was. Mercy and protection. But anyway, as you can guess, perhaps, my father's cronies were furious at me, as he was obviously rather important, and when it got out that such a powerful vampire had a powerful daughter, I had to hide. My uncle hid me in Louisiana." Something dark and painful flitted across her face, an inexplicable emotion that none of them could identify. It was gone as it appeared. "I was eight at the time. It was emotionally scarring, but I've gotten over it with time. My uncle wrote me quite often, telling me how things were in England. He wrote to me about war, and a man, named Voldemort." Again, that emotion. "He wrote about a boy, named Harry Potter, and his efforts to win the war at the age of 11." Her eyes rested on Harry, almost respectful. "About his friends. . ." they traveled to Hermione and Ron, ". . . who never left his side, no matter what. I wanted to help then, but I couldn't. Then the chance came, so I took it. Here I am, now. I know the consequences and I know that there is great danger involved. But I am a child born of violence, my friends - as I shall come to call you - and I know danger. Danger and I are very close."