A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 5: Aftermath, Snape, Books, and Mind Messing

Arcana shut the door to her rooms and leaned back against it. She finally let her legs give way and slid down to the floor, wrapping her trembling arms tightly around her knees. She sat there for a time, perfectly still, trying to blank her mind.

The conversation with the Dark Lord had been trying - too trying. The floor, though smooth and cool, was not as soothing as she had hoped. She wanted to fade into the stone so she would never have to face him again. Arcana closed her eyes and sighed. At least she had one thing for which to be grateful. He still did not know. The Dark Lord showed no indication he realized that Arcana was weakening, that she was dying.

A single tear slid down her cheek. In anger, she wiped it away, knowing that she should have finished grieving long ago, but she could not stop the ache in her heart. To die in peace, she needed to accept her fate, but fae were not meant to die this way. Fae were not meant to die at all.

The Dark Mark, by binding her to the Dark Lord, bound her to this strange mortal world as well. The fae were never meant to live in such a magically barren place, and always had to return to their own realms where magic saturated the land so fully that it took precedence over the physical forces that ruled this mortal world. Time moved differently in the fae realms, blown about by the currents of magic that also sustained the immortal lives of the fae races. If Arcana was unable to return home, her magic would fade, and then she would die - a fate most unnatural to the fae, who normally lived countless years.

Arcana knew that she had to pull herself together, and quickly. If she could not even speak with the Dark Lord without an emotional collapse, it would be impossible to hunt, and then the wizard would discover that something was amiss, thus gaining the key to breaking her. As much as she feared death, it would be preferable to absolute slavery.

Although a host of worries twisted Arcana's heart, it was time to go back to bed, or else just pass out on the floor. Trying to make decisions regarding her murky future now would only lead to folly. She carefully unfolded her limbs and tried to rise, but she was struck down by a wave of nausea and forced to crouch on her knees. She remained motionless and concentrated on not retching. Not that there was much in her stomach to throw up. Having no other options, Arcana called for Shelly in a harsh whisper. The house-elf immediately appeared next to Arcana. Shelly swiftly stepped closer, wringing her hands worriedly.

"My poor Lady," Shelly said quietly, very distraught. "Shelly will take care of you, Lady," the house-elf continued to ramble on. "Shelly should never have let you see the Master so soon. Lady needs to sleep. Lady needs to get strong again so," the house elf-stuttered, "so, so she can hunt."

Shelly gently pulled on Arcana's arm, urging her back toward the bedroom. Arcana refused to budge and felt a cold sweat break out on her brow.

"Shelly, please," Arcana bit out.

"Oh Lady! Forgive Shelly," the house-elf wailed, causing Arcana to cringe at the dissonant noise. "She didn't realize!"

"It's all right," Arcana hurriedly interjected, hoping to prevent Shelly from rambling on again. "Can you ease it so I can stand?"

Shelly nodded vigorously. "Yes, of course, Lady!" She then placed a hand on Arcana's forehead.

The nausea faded, and Arcana took a deep breath, thankful for the magic of the house elves. "That is much better, Shelly," Arcana said and slowly stood, keeping a steadying hand against the wall.

Shelly took Arcana's other hand to lead her to the bedroom. Arcana stopped, remembering the ring. She looked down to see it lying close by on a rug, glimmering in the candlelight. With a thought, Arcana Summoned the ring back to her. The steady hum of power emanating from it was an empty comfort.

Shelly's eyes lit up with awe. "The Master has given you a great gift, Lady." The house-elf tugged on Arcana's hand. "Time to get Lady Arcana back to bed."

Arcana relented and let Shelly lead her by the hand. The house-elf sat Arcana down on the bed, which seemed awfully comfortable to the fae at the moment, and then found something more comfortable for Arcana to sleep in. Arcana's mind drifted while Shelly continued to flit about the room and fuss over her. A few minutes later, the hunter barely noticed that she was out of her robes and back into a light shift. Arcana would have fallen asleep right there if Shelly had not prodded her. At the house-elf's reminder, Arcana sleepily drank down the unpalatable healing potion and a night's worth of Dreamless Sleep. She did not want to relive today's trauma in her nightmares.

Shelly gently tucked Arcana into bed, fastidiously arranging the covers and pillows to keep the fae warm and comfortable. A wan smile touched Arcana's lips before sleep took her once again.

*** *** ***

Arcana woke early the next morning, having slept soundly during the night and half of the previous day. She cleaned up and dressed simply, forgoing robes, and then drank her potions, glad that Snape had at least one redeeming quality. Hopefully the Dark Lord had ordered him to brew the potion to counter her nausea.

Still barefoot, Arcana wandered out to the main room and lit a fire. She enlarged an academic journal that she had bought and shrunk during her last trip to Diagon Alley. It had been stuck in a pocket of her hunting garb when she returned to the Dark Lord. Sitting down by the fire, she grimaced at her aching body and flipped open the journal, ready to pursue the latest findings of a group of Arithmancy researchers. The idiots might actually be onto something this time, though, as an experimentalist, Snape would probably detest their methods.

A knock on the door interrupted Arcana before she found the article. Resigned, she sighed and set down the journal, glad that at least it was not the Dark Lord. She was getting very adept at sensing his presence. Reaching out with her mind, she felt the antagonistic presence of Snape waiting, quite impatiently, at her door. The fae chuckled. 'Think of the devil and he shall appear' was the human saying. Though if Snape was the devil that human Muggles feared so much, she wondered what they would think of the Dark Lord.

When Arcana opened the door, she was greeted with Snape's scowling visage. He had aged since she had last seen him, but dealing with human children, especially trying to teach them anything, might even add wrinkles of frustration to a fae's ageless face.

Snape stepped inside without invitation and thrust a steaming goblet toward Arcana. "Drink before it cools. I will not waste any more of my time making a new batch."

Arcana's anger prickled at Snape's belittling tone, but she grabbed the cup and drank. It tasted as foul as most wizard potions. "You would do well not to speak to me that way, potion maker," Arcana hissed in warning, shoving the goblet back at him.

"You are out of favor, soul hunter," Snape growled back with a malicious gleam in his eyes, "and I am tired of playing nursemaid to an idiot fae!"

He had gone too far.

"How dare you--"

"Or did you think," Snape continued sarcastically, raising one dark eyebrow and glowing down at the short fae, "that the Dark Lord spent all his hours watching over you?"

"What?" Confusion cut through Arcana's ire.

"Ah, so he did not mention that, I see," Snape joyfully announced.

The man's vagary was really beginning to wear thin. Arcana's patience was running low and she scowled at the tall wizard.

"Though I suppose you wouldn't remember much," he continued with a disgusted sneer. "You were either drugged or screaming. Or rather, I should say you were trying to scream since your vocal cords were nearly shredded."

Arcana's blood ran cold. Memories of pain flashed across her mind's eye. She quickly she shoved them away, preventing her emotions from running wild.

"Someone had to keep you alive."

Arcana shuddered. It could not have been.

"My lord did not want you--"

Snape broke off when Arcana stumbled backwards. She remembered strong hands and soothing potions that took away the pain -- Snape's hands and his hands. It was too much to take in.

Irritated, Snape reached for her, clearly not wanting to be on the wrong end of the Dark Lord's wand because of breaking his soul hunter.

Arcana hissed in warning and bared her teeth, "Stay back!"

Snape took several wary steps back from the wild fae. Arcana eyed him suspiciously, watching for any sign of threat. She would defend herself. At a soft scraping noise, her head snapped toward the door.

"Ah, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed calmly as he strode inside. He looked between Snape and Arcana and frowned darkly. "What is this?"

Arcana shrank back from the Dark Lord's sharp tone. His piercing red eyes held her for a moment before turning to Snape. She desperately grasped for control over her own traitorous mind.

"She is not stable, my lord," Snape told the Dark Lord. Arcana's lip curled at the farce of an impartial statement that was colored so richly with distain. The world would be better off if the Dark Lord simply chained Snape to his lab.

"Yes, Severus, I know. She will not be so quick to maul you after today."

The wizards continued to speak, unconcerned with Arcana's presence, as if she were merely some ill-trained animal. It was unnerving. It had always been unnerving. She briefly wondered if they knew the humiliation they caused, but of course they did. They simply did not care. They had no reason to care.

Not again.

The thought continued to desperately echo inside her head. Instincts screamed for her to run, but the fear had caught her and prevented her from taking a single step. She withdrew into her own mind, wanting to escape the pain that had haunted her for as long as she could remember. Only within was she not some creature. Only there was she more than some tool for others to use for their own ends.

The confused fog cleared, and Arcana, dazed by her brief loss of reason, rejoined reality just in time to watch Snape bow low to the Dark Lord and then walk out, hopefully to return to his lab where no one else would be plagued by his foul company. The door closed behind Snape, and the Dark Lord turned back to Arcana. Three large books floated near his shoulder, reminding her why he had come.

"My lord?" Arcana asked, unsure of the wizard's mood. She felt weak. Controlling the Dark Lord's projected emotions was becoming increasingly taxing.

"My Death Eaters are still more comfortable thinking of you as my pet," the Dark Lord said with cruel joy, "and I find it quite useful. Do try not to shatter that image, my hunter."

A few threads of the Dark Lord's intertwining schemes wove before Arcana's eyes, but they faded before she could discern a pattern. It would be nice if those plans did not happen to make her life more difficult for once.

"As you wish, my lord," Arcana replied coldly. At the very least it meant that the Dark Lord's servants still knew to fear a free-willed fae, especially one with her skills, though that did not mean she would enjoy it.

"I am glad you see reason so easily today." He motioned toward the hallway that led to her workrooms. "Time to make yourself useful."

Relieved he did not ask about her confrontation with Snape, Arcana bowed her head and then led the Dark Lord through a narrow stone passage. She stopped at the fourth door and placed her hand on one carved ebony panel. It opened smoothly, revealing a spartan room. Torches flared to life, their light reflecting off the polished floor.

The floor appeared to be made of an unbroken slab of black marble, inlaid with green jade. It was a relic from a time well before the Ministry of Magic, when even the most experimental spellwork went unregulated. Only the wards around Slytherin's Valley, as Arcana had taken to calling it, allowed both she and the Dark Lord to work undisturbed. The chamber also had the added benefit of being the most protected of all her workrooms, and she was not about to leave unfamiliar magical texts lying around unwarded.

"Feeling cautious?" the Dark Lord questioned. Curiosity tinged with menace edged his words.

"Yes, my lord," Arcana replied evenly, all too conscious of the power radiating off of him. "Any book that warrants your notice is probably dangerous, and may have a mind of its own."

The wizard chuckled darkly in response. "We both understand that the knowledge I seek will not be left unguarded, but this," he said, gesturing to the room, "is rather extreme."

"I've learned that, for fae works, the true dangers often lie deeply hidden," Arcana said with concern. She glanced worriedly at the smallest of the books, "And that one bothers me."

The books floated over to the one table in the room and gently settled upon its stone surface. Malevolent, smoky energy trickled from the small black book as it sailed past her. How he didn't see it was a mystery to Arcana, but maybe she was just hypersensitive to magic, as sometimes happened when she was injured. It was not comforting to know that the Dark Lord had access to an entire storeroom filled with similar artifacts. The fae may have left them hidden here for a good reason.

The Dark Lord looked down at Arcana. "It is, by far, the Darkest of the three and the most powerful," he said, directing her toward the table, "but I sense no harmful intent."

The book gently settled to the stone surface, and Arcana's instincts whispered that it should be burned. "I may be mistaken, my lord," she said, eying the book cautiously, "as I am not healed." She looked up at the Dark Lord. "Or perhaps it just has a soft spot for Dark wizards."

An odd expression crossed the Dark Lord's face, and Arcana's lips quirked in a crooked smile. She sighed, "Snape was right. I am unstable." She turned back to the books, slightly embarrassed, not wanting to see the Dark Lord's reaction. "May we begin with the other two, my lord?"

"Yes, for today. I told you before that I am willing to show mercy," he reminded Arcana. The hard tone warred with his words, making her doubtful he would grant the leniency he promised. She nodded though, as expected, still not meeting his eyes.

The Dark Lord placed a hand beneath Arcana's chin and lifted her face to him. "Follow your instincts, my hunter," he hissed menacingly, "but I expect results and will not tolerate delay based on meaningless fears."

Arcana's fingers twitched, but she did not pull away. Whenever those crimson eyes burned into her, piercing and probing, the painful emotions awoke. His touch only made it worse.

"Ah yes," he hissed softly. "So Severus was right after all." He leaned over her. Arcana's breath hitched, and she backed into the table. The Dark Lord closed the gap, his proximity causing Arcana to freeze, as if caught within an invisible trap. "My touch, my power, you fear it," he whispered, eyes alit with glee. "Don't you, my hunter?"

"Please," Arcana rasped, afraid. Sight blurred as flashes of half-remembered horrors passed across her vision. Stop, she silently pleaded, scrabbling for a hold on reality.

"What, my hunter?" The Dark Lord demanded, grip tightening.

"It hurts," Arcana whispered weakly, nearly blinded by roiling emotions.

The Dark Lord did not release Arcana. "Yes, I suppose it does." He held her a few seconds longer before letting her go and stepping away from the shaking fae. Arcana closed her eyes with a shudder and controlled her floundering mind. She truly hated this.

"Sit," he ordered, returning to the business at hand. "I will show you what I have found. Once you determine whether these two books have promise, we will move on," he hissed, bending down to her level and whispering, "to the other reason I am here."

Arcana complied silently, suppressing the chill fear of opening her mind in any way to the Dark Lord. She needed to be strong if she was to stand against him.

Arcana closed her eyes and held her hands above the two texts, searching them for traps and dangerous independent intentions. While they were both warded, they were clean, lacking the evil she felt coming from the third book. The tome under her left hand beckoned.

Arcana carefully lay her left hand down on the book. It whispered a soft song and granted her access. Elvish script wrote itself across the cover. "Lluenyth Resoliin Qwevne," Arcana whispered, and then translated, "Ancient Hidden Grove, in the mage tongue of the forest elves. Probably refers to a metaphorical grove of knowledge." Arcana thought back to days long past. "They live as one with the woods," she murmured.

"It must require a fae touch." The Dark Lord scowled.

"It is a learned skill, my lord," she replied distractedly, attention focused on the book. If this was new to the Dark Lord, Arcana wondered how he had opened the books earlier.

"How so?" The Dark Lord demanded.

"Some books may even open willingly for a wizard," Arcana explained evenly, "if control of intent is learned, and the mind is clear."

"You sound like a teacher, hunter," he said curiously.

An old ache surrounded Arcana's heart. "I have taught before, my lord." She sighed and then whispered, "In another life."

The Dark Lord did not press her further, but Arcana knew it would come up again. He directed Arcana to the passages he had partially deciphered, and she took note of where to begin her study and translation. The process was repeated for the second book, though it went slower, as this one was written in an old faerie dialect and was much less cooperative, the scrawled text tending to shift about as if it were fidgeting. When the Dark Lord was done with the faerie book, Arcana leaned back and rubbed her eyes.

"Now I remember why it is useless to argue with a faerie," Arcana grumbled. "Most of them are so capricious that they cannot keep track of their own moods, let alone the subject at hand, and they flit around enough to give even a High elf a headache." Arcana hoped that this book would not give her a permanent headache by the time she was done with it. The Dark Lord had given her very thorough instructions. It would take days to go through only the two texts they had just perused.

"While your anecdotes can be amusing, I do not yet have the luxury of immortality to waste on them," the Dark Lord interrupted Arcana's thoughts. "Leave the books for tomorrow. You will need to rest after I remove the bound emotions."

She stood to leave, nodding in acquiescence to the Dark Lord's words despite her irritation that it felt like her existence had been reduced to pain and rest lately. Arcana's glance fell upon the third book, and she felt a fresh wave of ill will. "My lord, I think it would be best to store the black one more securely." Arcana frowned at it again. "I do not trust it."

"If you must, hunter." The Dark Lord patience was dangerously thin. "Though do hurry."

Arcana gestured at the book, unwilling to touch it, and tome lifted off the table, bucking once in her magical grip before resting still. She lowered it into a heavy stone box and closed the lid with another wave. She hesitated, nervous, and drew her hand close to her chest. Performing the complex warding spell she wanted to place on the box would be difficult without a wand.

"Arcana," the Dark Lord called from behind, voice laced with irritation. She turned to see him offering her wand in one outstretched hand. "If you insist on this paranoia, I will not have you strain yourself."

Arcana cautiously took the wand, closing her slim fingers around the smooth wood. It felt very good to have it in hand again. "Thank you, my lord," she said, genuinely grateful.

Arcana cast the powerful wards. The cracks around the box's lid glowed brightly, and then vanished. Even with the wand, the spell had still been difficult. Her magic was concentrated on healing her body. Arcana reluctantly offered her wand back to the Dark Lord, figuring that he wanted to maintain a degree of control over her spellwork.

"You may as well keep it," he said with slight annoyance. "Though if I learn that you have been overtaxing your magic, I will be most displeased."

That was a pleasant surprise for Arcana, and the Dark Lord's warning was not too bothersome, as she had no intention of casting enough to exhaust her magical reserves.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, crossing the center of the jade pattern on the floor to join him. "I will be careful."

"See that you are, my hunter," the Dark Lord warned, and then led Arcana out of the room. She resisted the urge to check the sealed box one last time, and closed the door before following the Dark Lord back to her main living chambers.

As Arcana walked, she watched the Dark Lord's heavy black cloak drape across his thin shoulders. He did not look as skeletal as Potter had described in the Quibbler article from earlier that year, but he was frailer than Arcana remembered. Despite his physical appearance, he was still magically strong; even stronger than before, if that was possible.

It was not surprising that it was taking him so long to regain his physical strength, Arcana mused. The ritual he had used to build a new physical form was crude from a fae perspective. Even after spending a year in that body, he was probably expending a fair amount of energy to strengthen it. A weak body could expire from performing powerful magic. She had witnessed more than a few, both human and fae, perish while casting, because their bodies could not take the strain. She doubted the Dark Lord had such a self-sacrificing bent.

When the Dark Lord stopped, having reached Arcana's main room, she nearly ran into his back, having become lost in thought. He looked down at her, thoughtful. Arcana began feeling anxious while his piercing red eyes bored into her.

"While I would prefer you kneeling at my feet for this," the Dark Lord hissed softly, making Arcana twitch. "I think it would be best to lay you down somewhere more comfortable," his continued, his eyes glinting dangerously, "this time."

Arcana cursed the Dark Lord's manipulations. She saw them clearly, but his words still tightened the knot of fear in her stomach. He could force Arcana to kneel with little effort, highlighting her helplessness, but instead he would be subtler. He wished to bend her, to gain some sort of twisted fearful trust and dependency. Arcana would go along with his game, but he would not lull her into false sense of security. She had made that mistake once already.

"If that is what you wish, my lord," Arcana replied in a subdued manner, openly showing her anxiety. She hoped it would convince the Dark Lord to be gentle, if such a thing were possible. She could play these games as well.

He chuckled, understanding her tactics. "Perhaps it is unfortunate that I cannot leave you this way, my hunter," the Dark Lord hissed, relishing every moment. "You would fall at my whisper." Arcana tensed as his magic tightly wrapped around her limbs, binding her in place. "But," he continued, his magic loosening slightly, allowing Arcana to breath, "I cannot afford to have you weak or insane. If I did not need your services," he said with a cruel smile, "it would be a difficult choice indeed."

He was a monster. Arcana glared up at the Dark Lord, anger and pride reawakening. She bitterly hoped the Seelie Court would be happy if they ever learned how she finally died. At the least, they would say it was justice: death of a monster at the hand of another.

"So you are not totally lost," the Dark Lord hissed coldly. "The embers of your bright spirit still lay within you, waiting to be fueled." He gripped her chin once more and stroked her cheek with his thumb. Their magical connection flared to life, and Arcana gasped in shock.

"Yes, this may be easier than I expected," the Dark Lord mused.

She was helpless, overwhelmed by the power of the Dark Lord and the rushing magic. Panicking, Arcana tried to break away from the link. The Dark Lord only tightened his magical and physical grip, eliciting a whimper of pain and fear from Arcana. It was too much.

"I figured as much," Arcana heard the Dark Lord murmur.

"Relax," he commanded, slowly pulling back from the link.

Arcana shuddered and tried to do as the Dark Lord ordered.

"Good," he said gently. "I will need to use the Mark to remove the emotions."

Arcana's eyes widened in fear. So much for being gentle. He may as well just use the Cruciatus Curse instead.

Seeing her reaction, the Dark Lord calmly explained, "It will not be painful, if you relax." He frowned slightly. "And I have something that will help with that."

Before Arcana could ask what the Dark Lord had, he released her from the magic bonds. He gripped her arm, preventing her from stumbling or retreating.

"Don't fight me, Arcana," he reminded as he walked her to the bedroom, pulling her along when she had trouble matching his long strides. "If you relax, the Mark will not burn much."

Still reeling from the activation of their magical bond, Arcana hurried to keep up with the Dark Lord. She did not understand why it had grown so strong. How much had he been changed by the years in shadow? How much had she weakened since the first war?

"Lie down," the Dark Lord ordered.

Arcana sat on the edge of the bed to remove her shoes, only to be perplexed when confronted with bare feet. Realizing that she had never put them on, she wondered why the Dark Lord had not said anything.

"I thought you had enough to think about," came the Dark Lord's sardonic voice from her left.

"Oh," Arcana replied quietly, looking away to hide her embarrassment. It was disturbing to realize just how mentally incompetent she had become.

Arcana lay down near the center of the bed, feeling a frown crease her face. The Dark Lord sat at her side, looking slightly awkward. He removed a crystal flask from his robes and activated the contents with a short spell that was unfamiliar to Arcana, though she noted it was not Latin based.

"My lord?" Arcana asked hesitantly, uneager to consume a strange potion, especially if the Dark Lord was holding it.

"It is an old predecessor of Veritaserum," the Dark Lord explained with a glint in his eyes.

Arcana's frown deepened. The Dark Lord was not helping.

He chuckled darkly. "Ah, I see that is not what you wanted to hear. It should comfort you to know that I have tested it." He smirked. "I use it to break down the mental resistance of prisoners I wish to interrogate when I do not have time to torture them."

Arcana paled. She could not drink that. He could never see what she was hiding, what she was protecting. Arcana tried to bolt, but the Dark Lord was too quick. Terrified, she struggled violently against the magical bonds he had cast. He reached for her, and she growled in warning.

A wand touched Arcana's skin and she panicked, shrilly screaming, "Let me go, you half-blood bastard!"

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord cast furiously.

Arcana cried out in agony.

The Dark Lord lifted the curse only a moment later, leaving Arcana whimpering and shaking in the aftermath. Memories of her last torture flitted through her mind, threatening to overwhelm her consciousness.

"Never insult me again, hunter," the Dark Lord said coldly, causing the horror-wracked Arcana to flinch in her bonds. "Or I will tear your mind apart using this potion."

The Dark Lord uncapped the flask and lifted Arcana's head with his free hand. She did not have the strength to fight back.

"A dose this small will simply relax your will enough for me to work," he said soothingly. "You will remain aware enough so that you can know I have not breached your precious shields," he hissed and looked at Arcana darkly. "If I ever desire to learn your secrets, I will not employ trickery. I will simply take what I want."

He was going mad, Arcana thought wildly. He had always never been quite sane, but now his behavior was violently unpredictable and without reason. They both knew he could not break her mental shields unaided. Or could he? Or perhaps his unchecked experimentation had simply gone too far.

The pitiless Dark Lord lifted the flask to her lips. Having no other choice, Arcana obediently opened her mouth. He tipped the flask, letting several drops of the potion fall on her tongue before pulling away.

The effect was immediate. Arcana cringed as the potion burned in her mouth and then seeped throughout her body. The Dark Lord released her bonds as her muscles relaxed involuntarily. Tumultuous emotions were muted, as if behind a thick grey fog, and through the mist she realized she had no reason or desire to resist.

The clouds cleared as her awareness increased, now unimpeded by conscious thought. She could sense everything. It was actually quite pleasurable.

The Dark Lord took Arcana's left arm. To her distant dismay, it hung limp in his grasp. She could do nothing but watch as he made quick work of her buttoned cuff and pulled up her shirtsleeve to expose the Dark Mark. He wrapped one long fingered hand tightly around her forearm, but did not touch the Mark. Even without direct contact, it tingled disconcertingly. The Dark Lord's other hand came to rest on the side of Arcana's face, cold fingertips pressed firmly to her skin.

A petrified voice in the back of Arcana's befuddled mind started to scream, and she could not quiet it. Cold dread returned, and her breathing quickened in response. The potion had stripped her of all control.

"Relax, Arcana," the Dark Lord said softly, shifting approaches again. Her body and mind obeyed, but that one voice just screamed louder.

The Dark Lord caught Arcana with his intense red stare. "Relax," he commanded.

The voice was silenced.

Arcana's conscious thoughts faded completely, leaving her as an observer. She barely recognized the slight burn of the Mark when the Dark Lord began to work. He kept at it for some while, though, since Arcana had lost a clear sense of time, minutes or hours could have passed. All she remembered was a strange ripping-tearing within her link to the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord withdrew from the link when he finished. Arcana gasped, feeling lost and exposed, but sighed in relief when no panic followed.

The Dark Lord caught Arcana's gaze. "Come back to me," he commanded sibilantly.

Full consciousness came back in a rush, causing Arcana to gasp again in shock. She concentrated for a few seconds, trying to assimilate what had happened, and then turned her focus on the wizard sitting over her. She felt nothing. There was a blank spot, a hole in her mind.

She stuttered in confusion and found the name. "Voldemort?" Arcana asked, her own voice sounding strange to her ears.

The Dark Lord blinked, taken aback. Arcana watched him expressionlessly, not comprehending his reaction.

"I am your lord, my hunter," he said warily. The slow words washed over Arcana.

Memories and emotions came rushing back. She remembered the wizard, the Dark Lord. She remembered what he had done to her.

Icy bitterness settled over Arcana's heart. "I have no lord," Arcana said softly, "my lord." The soul hunter was back.

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed in anger, but Arcana was not cowed.

"Watch your tongue, hunter," the Dark Lord warned. "I will not tolerate your insolence."

Arcana held back a sneer and reined in her temper. It would not do to infuriate the Dark Lord now. "Forgive me, my lord," she managed to bite out in a reasonable tone. "My soul burns," Arcana explained fervently. "It burns cold and bright, in need of release." In need of life and of revenge, she continued silently.

"I want to kill something," she added darkly, dearly wishing that 'something' could be the Dark Lord.

"You will rest now, my hunter," the Dark Lord commanded. "When you are well enough," he continued, taking on a patronizing tone, "perhaps I will give you someone that has outlived his usefulness," he finished with a cruel smile.

He stood, watching Arcana with a scrutinizing gaze. She saw one wizard that had long outlived his usefulness standing before her.

"Ah yes, this," the Dark Lord hissed, a glimmer of a cold smile touching his thin lips, "is the Arcana that I remember. You may have free run of the fortress while you continue the translations. But," he warned, "do not leave the castle, even to wander the grounds, without permission."

The Dark Lord stalked away before Arcana could reply, which was probably a very good thing for her. She closed her eyes in frustration and waited until she heard the door shut with a solid click. The urge to swear, to curse something, to escape this horror was unbearable. He had turned her into a weak, frightened youngling, simpering and starting at every shadow. And damn him, he was right: she would have fallen at his whisper. How could a few projected emotions have had such a profound effect?

The urge to kill was strong. She did not desire to hunt, but just to kill. She wanted to smell the blood in the air, to see the fear in their eyes, to feel the power over life. It had been so long. And now that vile Dark Lord was keeping her cooped up, unable to release her tension, unable to quench her thirst for death and for life.

The Dark Mark was reddened again. At this rate, Arcana figured, the brand would be in a constant state of irritation. Sore or not, she was tired of looking at it. After trying several times to pull her sleeve back down, she growled weakly in frustration. Her muscles refused to cooperate. The Dark Lord only freed her mind, not her body, clearly not trusting her to rest as ordered. She would be stuck there until the potion wore off.

With a thought, Arcana yanked her sleeve down by magic in an act of rebellion.

That potion posed a problem. If the Dark Lord had such an easy way into Arcana's mind, why had he not used it before? Could he force a binding oath out of her while she was under the potion's influence? It reminded her strongly of the Imperius Curse. She would have to be careful.