A Pale Shade of Night

A Pale Shade of Night

Chapter 6: Translator Extraordinaire, Not Quite Dead Warlords, and Insane Death Eaters

Over the next several days, a calmer Arcana poured over the old fae texts, extracting all potential clues that could possibly lead to the immortality that the Dark Lord craved. He had been right, she grudgingly admitted. The books were fascinating. The elven book had been written, surprisingly, in this world and covered philosophy, magical theory, and spiritualism, all interwoven with the life of the forest. A stack of parchment lay upon the table, full of translations and detailed notes, just for the Grove.

Unfortunately the faerie book had been much more difficult to work with, as she had predicted, and had given her a horrendous headache at the end of a second straight day of translation. Adding to her exasperation, this book was much less interesting, and it was doubtful that she could dig anything useful out of it. In the end it would all be for naught since the Dark Lord's search for immortality would never succeed, but she had to put on a good show at the very least, unless she wanted to get cursed again.

Arcana had moved back to the more comfortable living room when it was clear that neither the elven nor faerie texts would pose a danger during translation. The old snake-adorned dinner table had made a decent desk, and it was large enough for her to spread out parchment and reference books while leaving room for the occasional meal brought by Shelly. With the aid of food and healing potions, Arcana was feeling much stronger. Soon she would be able to hunt again.

Arcana shoved the vexing faerie text away. It was very difficult to resist the temptation to simply toss the book in the fire and be done with it, but her imagined reaction of the absent Dark Lord was enough to stop her. Obviously needing a break, she left her work in favor of a walk. At this late hour, it was unlikely that she would run into the Dark Lord or his foul Death Eaters, which was something she almost always aimed to avoid.

She wandered through the corridors, letting her feet take her where they would. She knew her way around much of the castle, mostly from other midnight wanderings. After a time, Arcana's feet took her up to one of the tall towers outside of the cliff face. The night was warm and humid, the sky filled with oppressive, low hanging clouds threatening rain come daylight. Grey fog drifted through the deep valley below her, lending it additional menacing mystery. She leaned against the stone, yearning to walk between those tall trees and touch the damp grass, but they were beyond her reach unless she dared to defy the Dark Lord.

A prickling energy filled the air, and the rumble of distant thunder rolled across the valley. The sky was impatient tonight. She remained still until the first few drops fell, and then sought shelter under an overhang, listening to the pattering rain. Tonight it reminded her of tears.

Arcana continued her roving trek, letting all thoughts of the crying clouds fade, until her feet ran out of ideas. Mind slightly clearer and headache gone, she turned down the passage that led back to her rooms and the work that sat there waiting.

When the echoes of footsteps and low voices reached Arcana's ears, she grimaced and cautiously peered around the nearest corner. A group of bedraggled Death Eaters was entering the hall she had planned to walk through. Not wanting to take the long way back, Arcana decided to wait, hoping they would leave after a few minutes.

The Dark Lord must have commanded a second break of Azkaban. Arcana recognized all of the unmasked wizards in dirty prison robes. The long, blonde, and now matted hair of Lucius Malfoy stood out against the dark wall that he was now leaning upon. He looked quite bad. A few dementors must have stayed on at Azkaban to give him such a haunted appearance.

"Just put him down, Jugson," an exasperated Bellatrix Lestrange ordered a younger Death Eater, who had been struggling to support the heavy weight of what appeared to be either Crabbe or Goyle. The witch's harsh voice grated on Arcana's ears.

"The oaf should be used to sleeping on a cold floor by now. Keep them alive while I report to our Master," Bellatrix said, voice laced with fervent obsession. Obsession that was powerful enough for her to have survived fourteen years in Azkaban and still wield magic. While the witch's power was still potent, Arcana could sense a weakness, a brittleness in her.

Bellatrix strode out of the hall, black robes billowing, and removed her mask with a flourish. Though her black eyes still glittered malevolently, they shone with a gleam of true madness now. Deep, spiteful lines had etched her once confident and handsome face, and dark circles hung beneath her black eyes, a harsh contrast to her sallow skin.

Weakened power and mortal aging did not change one fact: Bellatrix Lestrange was a dangerous woman. Now she was also surely insane, which made her quite a good match for the Dark Lord, in Arcana's opinion.

To Arcana's annoyance, the Death Eaters appeared to be settling in, laying the former inmates and the injured on the floor, as the cracked Lestrange had ordered. If Arcana waited, she would risk meeting the Dark Lord. She had experienced several nice Voldemort-free days and was not eager to bring attention to herself prematurely. With a sneer, Arcana turned around to take the long way back to her quarters. She would have to backtrack halfway to the tower to avoid walking by the wizards.

When Arcana, feet sore from the long walk, slipped back inside her rooms, she felt magic stir. The Dark Lord was casting, welcoming his Death Eaters home. Soon he would start in on the rhetoric, the rallying of his troops. Backtracking had been worth it, if just to avoid that. Arcana had lived through enough fae and Wizarding wars. She refused to get involved in this one.

OOO OOO OOO OOO

It took another two full days to finish with the faerie book. Arcana closed it with a sigh and bound together her second stack of note-filled parchment with a flick of her wand. While it meant no more faerie-induced headaches, she was not overjoyed at completing the work. When her mind was at rest, her thoughts would turn to the future, to the war, to a fleeting wish for revenge, and then always they would return to the Dark Lord.

To suppress her dark musings, she had taken the time to slowly kill several doxies that the normally fastidious house-elves had somehow missed. The first expired after she had carefully torn off most of its limbs, the second was burnt black by the time she was done, and she had reveled in counting a remarkable forty three sharp cracks of bones snapping in the third before it spit up watery blood and died.

Surprisingly, that session of barbaric torture had taken the edge off Arcana's frustrations. Maybe it was just pathetically easy to sate the Wild in her old age.

She chuckled darkly. It had helped to glamour the doxies to take the appearance of miniature Death Eaters. She would have magicked them all to look like the Dark Lord, but she dared not go that far in his lair.

Having no more pests to kill, Arcana would have gone walking again, but the Dark Lord had called yet another Death Eater meeting. Arcana had felt the brand burn nearly three hours ago, but it had not seared sharply, meaning that she was not required to attend. Since wandering the castle would probably mean running into one or more of the Dark Lord's extremely unpleasant servants, Arcana opted to make a second attempt at reading the Arithmancy journal.

She had read half of the abstract before there was a knock on her door. Apparently the meeting was over. Arcana grumbled, set the journal aside again, marking her place this time, and let the Dark Lord in.

"Good evening, my lord," Arcana greeted him with a slight bow. Her anger toward the wizard had dissipated somewhat over the past few days. Despite her genuine concerns regarding the potion, Arcana grudgingly recognized now that she would not have cooperated without it. It was good to be herself again, whatever that really meant in the end.

"Indeed, my hunter, it is a good evening," the Dark Lord replied smoothly as he entered, looking pleased. The meeting must have gone well.

Arcana shut the door, relieved that his proximity no longer left her shaking. Dark power flowed about him, darker than the blackest of his robes.

"You are looking much stronger," the Dark Lord said as he led Arcana to their chairs by the fire. His magic brushed against hers, and she did not pull back, letting the Dark Lord assess her health and disposition. He probed deeper, only to encounter Arcana's impenetrable shield.

"I admit," he continued in dangerous tone, withdrawing the magic probe and taking his seat, "I had begun to worry . . . that perhaps I had permanently damaged you." He gave her a strange look. "And we cannot have that, can we, my hunter?"

"I would prefer to avoid such things, my lord," Arcana carefully replied, thoughts racing, worried that he somehow knew the truth of his words.

"Good," the Dark Lord said coldly. "See that you do."

"I have finished with the two books, my lord," Arcana said, discreetly steering the conversation in a safer direction. "The notes are bound," she offered, "if you wish to take them . . ." Her words trailed off, unsure of the Dark Lord's agenda.

"Ah." The Dark Lord's eyes shone with eagerness. "I am glad you've been productive. I will take them when I leave." Arcana nodded, urging him to hurry up and do just that. "And the last book, my hunter," he questioned with a hiss. "Have you looked at it yet? That one, more than the others, has promise." A manic, power hungry look flashed in his eyes.

Arcana held back a frown; sometimes the wizard had no patience. "No, my lord. I just finished with the faerie book. I also thought it would be," she said, and then paused to choose the right word, "prudent not to open it alone." No matter what the Dark Lord thought, there was something wrong with that book.

"Really, my fae," he scornfully chastised. Arcana hated it when he addressed her that way. "I thought you were powerful enough to handle it." He smirked, twisting his features frightfully. "It opened for me with little complaint."

He was goading her, Arcana realized angrily. She refused to rise to the bait. "If you have the time, my lord," she managed without disgust, "we could open the book now." She would have rather waited, but if she did it now, the Dark Lord would stay out of her hair for a while.

"Yes, my hunter," the Dark Lord hissed and stood, black robes flowing back into place. Arcana stood as well, wary of his haste. "Come," he ordered, and strode off toward her workrooms, leaving the scowling Arcana to hurry after. She followed the eager wizard, knowing that something was not right.

The Dark Lord opened the locked and warded room with a wave. Aggravated, Arcana snarled behind his back. No matter what she did, the Dark Lord easily overrode any spell cast upon his castle. The jade patterns on the floor glowed eerily as he stepped over them. Strange, Arcana nervously thought, she had done no casting in the room since warding the stone box days ago. Perhaps she really had just become paranoid.

With the dangerously impatient Dark Lord at her side, Arcana released her wards on the box. She felt it coming a moment before a wave of power vaporized the stone lid.

"Get back," Arcana yelled over the magic's swirling fury. She thrust her wand into her belt, hoping the Dark Lord heeded her warning, and then drew upon the depths of her inner strength to weave a protection around herself and the wizard. He would only get in the way if he tried to fight the fae magic.

The book struck, its old, corrupted magic pummeling against her shield. Ancient words of power flowed from Arcana's lips, countering the attack. Through the storm of magic, she could see the black book hovering before her, open and whispering. Fresh blood graced the yellowed parchment, tracing runes that Arcana had not seen since the last great fae war.

It should have been impossible, but the terror was plain before her eyes. She had no time to call out to the Dark Lord for help. The runes disappeared in a flash of light, and the magic hit.

Strands of red light pierced Arcana's barrier and wrapped about her. She screamed in pain and heard the Dark Lord casting something from behind her.

The old grief and anger ached. Arcana remembered the deaths and the pain. Kalrash's hideous laughter echoed in her ears. The threads of light began to tear at her, trying to rip her soul from her body. Arcana desperately cried out in agony, but she refused to accept defeat. She had won before. She would not lose now.

Arcana rose above her anger, honing her will diamond-bright. The words flowed without thought as her power burned. The red threads shuddered at Arcana's rising voice, but then retightened. The words caught in her throat as she choked and the world wavered around her.

A powerful spell flashed before her - the Dark Lord's spell. The threads wavered again, open to attack. She struck the spark, igniting her magic and freeing the silvery flames to lick the air. A terrible scream echoed through the room as the red threads shriveled and then dissolved into glittery dust.

Arcana straightened, one hand outstretched toward the book, seeing only the writhing angry magic. She spoke in a fae tongue, as if the words sprung directly from her fiery soul. "I bind you, Dark book of the old warlord defeated. You have failed!" Arcana announced victoriously, engulfed in the fury of her power. "Yield to me, Arcana, High sorceress immortal!"

The book shook, screamed in fury, fell to the floor with thud, and then was silent.

Arcana gasped and sunk to her knees, drained. She had not performed such powerful magic in many years. She closed her eyes, feeling the old scars on her magic throb painfully, rubbed raw by her exertion, reminding her that they would never truly heal. If luck was upon her, the Dark Lord would have not understood her final incantation.

"Arcana?" The Dark Lord's hand fell upon her shoulder.

"Kalrash," Arcana quietly replied, eyes still on the fallen book. "She must still live." Arcana remembered the flash. If the Dark Lord had not been there, the battle might have ended quite differently. "Thank you, my lord." She shakily stood, still feeling dazed from the expenditure of power, but refusing to stay on her knees with him there.

"The book, Arcana," the Dark Lord insisted, catching her eye. Something burned within those crimson eyes; she hated those eyes.

"Oh, yes," Arcana said in a steely voice. "Of course, my lord."

Arcana summoned the book, catching it in both hands. Script the color of old blood now flowed across the once blank cover. "Lost grimoire of the warlord Niemore Kalrash," Arcana said woodenly, unable to fully hide the emotions that the name invoked. "I have bound it. It has little power now."

She set Kalrash's grimoire on the room's lone table. "My lord," Arcana frowned darkly, "Kalrash-" she stopped. "I do not wish to open it alone." She dearly wished her past would stay in the past.

The Dark Lord's keen eyes gleamed with dangerous interest in the dim light. "And you will not, my hunter," he commanded. With a snap of his fingers, Shelly appeared.

"How may Shelly serve you, Master?" the house-elf asked with a bow.

"Tea, for myself and my hunter," he hissed.

Shelly bowed again and then, with a crack, was gone.

"Leave it," he ordered, gesturing to the book, "for today, my hunter. I can't have you exhausted." His words nettled Arcana, for both their truth and for their role in the Dark Lord's never ending manipulation. He looked down at her shrewdly, taking full advantage of their height difference. "You have much to explain and I find that a story is always better over a cup of tea."

The Dark Lord's spidery hand came to rest on Arcana's back. She resisted the urge to retreat from the uncomfortable contact. She did not like the look in his eyes, even more so than usual. But if the Dark Lord wanted a story, she would give him one.

OOO OOO OOO OOOO

The rain fell, gently pattering against leaves and running down tall twisted tree trunks to the soggy forest floor. It always rained here, and Arcana reveled in the cleansing renewal it brought. The night had been long, especially for the summer. Dark clouds and misting rain had blended twilight with night, giving the soul hunter ample time to work. It was good to hunt again.

Arcana had been out nearly every night gathering enough souls to meet the Dark Lord's increasing demands and to complete a disagreeable duty. Many of the Death Eaters had not returned from Azkaban intact, and the Dark Lord had ordered her to see that they were sane and fit for battle. It kept her busy, but it meant she needed to collect many souls to repair the dementors' damage and forced her to deal with each of the vile witches and wizards personally. Arcana had started with the easiest case and progressed from there. There was only one Death Eater left, and she was not looking forward to that meeting.

It had taken several headache-filled weeks to slog through Kalrash's work. The book was not cooperative, and, because of the danger, Arcana had been forced to read in the Dark Lord's laboratory while he worked. At least the book only spoke in fae, Kalrash never having heard any form of English.

The grimoire finally ceased uttering its string of unending insults when Arcana realized that Kalrash had made a huge mistake that appeared to be perpetuated throughout the text. Arcana silently gave thanks for that miracle, as it had probably saved her life. She mumbled to herself, seeing how the error had arisen, and the book heard, immediately beginning to berate Arcana, insisting to be told where the error lay, so it could, of course, laugh at Arcana's misunderstanding of fundamentals. She finally managed to silence the book, vehemently hissing that she would never reveal her findings if it did not shut up. Needless to say, the Dark Lord was pleased that quiet had been restored to his laboratory.

Arcana continued wading through the tall rain-soaked grass, and, upon entering the castle, went directly to the Dark Lord. Others now occupied the castle; she could sense their minds whispering in the dark. Many Death Eaters had nowhere else to go after being identified by the Ministry. When Arcana knocked on the door of Dark Lord's study, it opened, and she stepped inside. The Dark Lord stood with his back to her, leaning over a large table that was completely covered with an enchanted map. Many floating candles hovered above the table, casting strange shadows upon the shelves that lined every wall, except where the fireplace lay. As usual, the room was stifling.

"My lord," Arcana greeted the Dark Lord. He turned away from the map. She could see he was still deep in thought about his plans.

"You know I do not like you hiding from me, my hunter," the Dark Lord admonished.

Arcana gritted her teeth, but removed her hat and glasses. "Forgive my forgetfulness, my lord."

The Dark Lord gave Arcana a pointed look. "Watch your tone, hunter, or I will think you need a reminder."

Arcana sighed and nodded. He was not in a very good mood. "Here, my lord." She handed him the soul holding box. "Tonight's catch. Apparently the fates like the rain."

They sat by the fire as Dark Lord inspected the phials. "Yes, perhaps they do, my hunter. Or at least, you do." He stood and set the box upon a shelf, watching Arcana with a suspicious glint in his eyes.

"You have not yet seen to Bella," he hissed accusingly, stalking back to Arcana to glare down at her. Arcana met his gaze steadily, refusing to cower before him. "Why is that, my pet fae? You know I need all of my Death Eaters ready."

"I needed time to prepare, my lord," Arcana attempted to explain coolly whilst her anger burned, wondering what had set off the Dark Lord. "She will be more difficult than the others, and I wanted plenty of souls." Arcana had seen Lestrange earlier that day, agitated and muttering madly to the air, trying to convince herself that she really did understand that the Dark Lord was busy, but clearly desperate to see him.

"There is a lot of damage to repair," Arcana said darkly. While the dementors had not broken Bellatrix, the cracks were worsening each day. Arcana hoped she was up to the task. She was no miracle worker. She had left that job behind long ago.

"You will heal her tomorrow, Arcana."

"But, my-"

"No more delays, hunter," the Dark Lord cut her off. "My apprentice will be strong again."

"As you wish then, my lord," Arcana conceded with a frown. She would need to go to bed early instead of working on her own project. At this rate, she would make no progress. Arcana stood up. "If that is all, my lord, I will leave you to your plans."

The Dark Lord held up his hand. "Wait, Arcana. Your impatience is intolerable," he hissed. "There is one more matter to discuss."

Arcana sat back again. "My notes?"

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Yes, my hunter. At least you are perceptive tonight, if not well behaved." Arcana seethed at his words. "I have noticed something," the Dark Lord continued without pause. "A single similarity, merely a phrase in each of the three books. 'Knowledge of the deep,' a 'dark path,' and 'demon wisdom.'"

"Referring to the same thing," Arcana continued for him. She tapped her chin with one sharp claw. "I remember those." Her mind began to work, thinking back, thumbing through her accumulated knowledge. "Yes," she said distantly. "Curious, but possible." Running out of ideas, she muttered, "I will need to do more research," and then trailed off, lost in deep thought. This was an interesting problem, even if it had no solution, Arcana was forced to admit.

"Worry about Bella first, hunter," the Dark Lord interrupted Arcana's ponderings. She always wondered at the wizard's fond nickname for one of the most brutal killers in Britain. "After that, I give you free reign. My libraries are at your disposal, of course." The corners of his thin lips pulled upward. "And I will open the storeroom to you as well."

That got Arcana's attention. She sat up straighter, thinking of the treasures she could uncover.

"As long as you don't awaken any more long-dead warlords," the Dark Lord finished with a barb.

"Kalrash is not dead, my lord," Arcana coldly responded. "The book is proof enough of that."

He waved Arcana off. "Yes, I remember your story. Still," he hissed dangerously, "it's merely a technicality." There was nothing 'mere' about it, but Arcana kept silent, not wanting to be cursed for impertinence that morning.

The Dark Lord glared coldly at the pile of parchment containing Arcana's notes on Kalrash's grimoire. By now he must have read through the section regarding Kalrash's theory of enslaving powerful human wizards and transforming them into pseudo-immortals, helplessly bound to their fae master. Arcana believed that the book had been attempting to ensnare him for its own experimentation, and judging by the Dark Lord's expression, he was thinking the same thing.

"You may leave me now, hunter," the Dark Lord dismissed her abruptly. "I have work to do."

"Good night, or rather good morning, my lord." Arcana rose and bowed quickly, retrieved her things, and stalked out. She would not argue with leaving.

The Dark Lord must have been plotting all night, Arcana thought as she walked to her rooms. It was no wonder he was in a rather bad mood. The notion that something must not be going well made her smile bleakly. It would keep him occupied, leaving him little time to bother her and even less time to work out how to break her. For if he learned of that-

Arcana stopped that train of thought, shaken by her reflection on her impending death. She squashed the fear down hastily. She would not be weak.

OOO OOO OOO OOO

Arcana was rudely awoken by Shelly's insistent prodding. "It's morning, Lady fae."

Arcana groaned. Morning had come far too soon, even though she had slept solidly though the night and half of the previous day. She was getting too old for this.

"Master wants you up, Lady," Shelly continued in a tone much too perky for that hour. "Time to see Mrs. Lestrange."

Arcana's lip twitched in a sneer and then her eyes slid shut again, dark hatred swirling with half-sleep. She loathed that woman and her feelings were returned in full. The Black family was notorious for their hatred of the fae, Bellatrix included. They had even gone so far as to acquire fae artifacts just to destroy them. In response, Arcana had often acquired things back from their clutches over the years. If she left a wizard or two dead in her wake, all the better.

Shelly began to poke at Arcana again.

"I'm getting up, Shelly," Arcana grumbled, slowly sitting up. She let go of her loathing, saving it for the one who deserved it. House-elves could be very irritating, but Arcana simply could not bring herself to despise them, even when they stole her from sleep's embrace.

All too soon, Arcana found herself in the room she had appropriated to repair the damaged Death Eaters. Like all rooms in the castle, the walls, floor and vaulted ceiling were black stone. The room was nearly bare of furniture, having been left unused for centuries. Her box was already sitting on a table, full of crystal phials. She had told the Dark Lord that she would need plenty of souls, but this was pure overkill. Maybe he had just given her a large selection to choose from.

Everything was ready. The only thing missing was Lestrange. Arcana waited, face impassive, watching the ticking hands move on an old magical clock that no longer told time properly. She should have brought that Arithmancy journal. Flexing her left hand to relieve the tingling Dark Mark, her eyes wandered to the dancing flames in the fireplace. Vague images and half-realized visions weaved through the fire, but nothing was clear.

Suddenly, the door was wrenched open and then slammed shut, loudly announcing the arrival of Bellatrix Lestrange. Arcana turned her head toward Lestrange, quickly adding up the witch's disgusted sneer, livid eyes, and angry stride. Clearly Lestrange was no happier about this arrangement than Arcana.

Before Arcana could speak, Lestrange stopped, still several meters away, and angrily hissed, "Keep your foul fae claws away from me. One word to my lord and you will scream again." A deranged smile twisted her face, and Arcana wished to have the pleasure of tearing it off. "Maybe he will even let me curse you this time," she whispered, relishing Arcana's vulnerability.

"Lestrange," Arcana replied coldly, dousing her burning shame and ire, refusing to allow Lestrange to goad her into angering the Dark Lord, "neither of us wants to do this, but it is what your lord wants." The witch faltered and looked at Arcana suspiciously. "He needs you able to fight for him," Arcana continued, hoping that she was taking the best approach.

"I know," Lestrange said uncertainty, brow furrowing. Her eyes flashed. "But you have no right to even speak of the Dark Lord, abomination of magic," she bit out. "We should have wiped out you disgusting monsters when we had the chance."

Arcana's eyes narrowed in anger. She was sick of witches and wizards, sick of their loathing, sick of their ignorance, sick of their mortality. In other times, it would have been the Dark Lord cowering when rumors of the fae were whispered. That ignorant witch knew nothing about the fae.

Lestrange drew her wand and leveled it at Arcana. Arcana prepared to cast a shield if Lestrange struck, not daring to take an offensive position. Frustration welled up inside. She knew something like this was going to happen. The Dark Lord was a fool to think otherwise.

The witch snarled. "If you- "

Lestrange was cut off when the door opened again, revealing a frowning Dark Lord. Arcana glanced at him in surprise. He must have known there would be difficulties. Still, this was the first time he had shown any interest in the treatments Arcana gave his Death Eaters, which in itself was surprising given that it indicated a certain amount of trust on his part, though it was more likely he believed that her fear of torture would prevent any "accidents." It also sent a clear message to his Death Eaters that they were not worth his personal concern.

"My lord!" Bellatrix exclaimed, falling to her knees. Arcana bowed cautiously, all too aware of the Dark Lord's piercing red eyes following her every move.

"Stand up, Bella," he commanded softly. "I see you have left my fae in one piece." He turned to Arcana, "I assume you are ready, hunter?"

"Yes, my lord," Arcana replied, observing Bellatrix's unsteady reactions.

The Dark Lord led Bellatrix to a raised pallet, whispering words Arcana did not care to decipher. While he was plainly admonishing the witch, the lack of irritation in his voice was telling. She supposed that even the Dark Lord would develop an attachment to his one apprentice. If this went badly, Arcana would be the one who would pay.

Arcana stripped off her gloves, stuck five of the phials in her belt, and then carried the box over to the still whispering pair. The Dark Lord leaned over Lestrange, blocking Arcana's view of the fidgeting witch. Arcana hoped that she would not need more than five souls, but it was best to be prepared, especially with the Dark Lord watching over her.

"My lord," Arcana acknowledged the Dark Lord as she approached. He caught her eyes, conveying a stern and silent warning. Arcana understood and inclined her head. Her emotions melted away as she began slipping into the mental state necessary to repair the dementors' damage.

"I will observe your work, my hunter. You are usually so secretive, and," he paused mid speech to look down at Bellatrix, who had calmed down with the Dark Lord's presence, "Bella will not be harmed."

Unperturbed, Arcana briefly explained the process, warning Lestrange that it might be uncomfortable at times, but reassured both the witch and the Dark Lord that there was little danger unless Arcana was disturbed while weaving new energy about Lestrange's soul.

Throughout Arcana's speech, Lestrange tried to hide her hate and fear, but the fae saw through her mask, just as the Dark Lord surely did.

"I have done this many times, Lestrange," Arcana spoke seriously, "and I have seen full recovery in those damaged much worse." The casualties of the last great war were not limited to physical injury. Many souls had been twisted to dark madness, and Arcana had managed to pull a few back from the edge of the abyss.

"Your magic will return to full strength," Arcana continued, "and your heart will be clear." Lestrange sneered at Arcana, who felt nothing and simply observed the witch's reaction passively. High magic could not be touched while troublesome emotions churned. A word from the Dark Lord and Lestrange stilled, willing to do anything for the wizard.

The Dark Lord's eyes burned into Arcana as she prepared. Arcana had not told him everything about Kalrash and the war that terrible fae had spawned. She had not spoken about her painful past. She had glossed over everything, and the Dark Lord knew it.

"Would you please step back, my lord? I need a clear focus," Arcana explained emotionlessly. The Dark Lord took two steps back. "Thank you, my lord." Arcana closed her eyes and felt the magic patterns separate. "That should do." She slid deeper, falling into the altered consciousness where thoughtform could touch the soul. The fae had shuddered when they first saw Arcana accomplish it. Only Kalrash had done it before.

Silvery eyes slowly opened, causing Lestrange to start. High magic visibly burned within them now. All thoughts of the nearby Dark Lord faded. Mind to mind, Arcana spoke without words. Concepts and images flowed quickly. Lestrange resisted at first, but soon relaxed, becoming comfortable with the strange communication. The witch's unblinking dark eyes locked onto Arcana's as the fae smoothly took control. Arcana gently placed her left hand upon Lestrange's chest and traced the witch's soul, sensing weaknesses, finding the brittle cracks where the foul dementors had done their harm. Lestrange's eyes fluttered closed and her body went limp. Arcana opened phial after phial, weaving and blending her given souls into Lestrange. When she had emptied the fifth, she summoned a sixth and then seventh to her hand. The witch's will was impressive if she had survived so much.

Having repaired all she could, Arcana debated her next move. She had a chance to make her life more peaceful and please the Dark Lord, but it would require Lestrange's cooperation. Even with a healed soul, Lestrange's mind and heart ached; another legacy of the dementors.

Will you allow me to help you? Arcana asked Lestrange. The witch flinched away from Arcana mentally. I can show you what is real and what was distorted by their evil.

Lestrange shuddered and managed a half-coherent refusal, fear staining her thoughts. Blurred visions of black robed specters flitted across Arcana's sight.

Nothing to fear Bellatrix, nothing to hide, nothing to judge, nothing to lose, Arcana calmly continued in thought. Nothing he will condemn you for, no disappointment. Nothing to use against you; just one more secret held in my heart as I have for the others.

Lestrange wavered, hopeful. Arcana knew what to say.

He wishes for you to be strong. A sharp mind, a clear heart is what he needs, Bellatrix. He wants you well.

With that thought, Lestrange opened her mind, desperate to please the Dark Lord, ecstatic for confirmation that he had not rejected her, dispelling her greatest fear. Arcana let the witch's pain wash over her, letting it seep into the forgotten place deep in her own mind. Reflecting back the patterns of twisted thought and emotion, Arcana showed Lestrange what was false. The confusing looping traps within the witch's mind were unraveled. Arcana pulled back when Lestrange began to understand. She would have to finish the work. Arcana could only reveal what was wrong. It would take time, but the Dark Lord's apprentice would be whole, as he had commanded.

Arcana took a deep breath and stepped back from Lestrange, the light fading from her eyes. Physical reality intruded and she smoothly slid back to normal consciousness. Lestrange opened her keen black eyes to look up at the Dark Lord. Her voice held a confidence Arcana had not heard since before the witch went to Azkaban.

"My Bella, my apprentice," the Dark Lord hissed softly in reply, power wrapping around each word. Lestrange gave the wizard a cold smile.

Arcana quietly waited until she was sure Lestrange had come out of the trance. She then gathered up the empty phials, leaving the Dark Lord and Lestrange to converse. At least with the witch relatively sane, Arcana would not have to worry about fighting impromptu duels with her while the Dark Lord still needed souls. With the number it took to heal Lestrange, Arcana would need to hunt again that night.

"Arcana," the Dark Lord called.

Arcana slipped the last empty phial into her robes. "Yes, my lord?"

"You may go. You have done well, my hunter." The Dark Lord's voice betrayed nothing, but Arcana felt something through their connection.

"Thank you, my lord," Arcana responded evenly, High magic still affecting her, numbing her to the worry she normally felt when he looked at her like that. "I will be on the grounds this afternoon and will hunt tonight." The Dark Lord nodded in recognition. Arcana bowed regally and then glided out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her, heedless of the Dark Lord's gaze on her back.