Harry Potter and the Champion of Darkness

Chapter 7: The Essence of Terror

The trip back to Sean's house was pleasant and uneventful, after Sandy and Janus had taken their leave. How strange people in America were, realized Harry. Is that how wizards here proved themselves... challenge others to duels and win? It seemed backwater and almost primitive to the way Hogwarts taught magic. Harry wondered what the limits would be to this duel. If the duel followed anything like the dueling club rules at Hogwarts, they would set the terms before the fight.

Now, the hardest part was to convince Draco to be his second. Harry knew that Hermione would never be in support of a duel for money, so he did not even bother asking her. He knew, however, that Draco would be game, most likely.

With a jingle of metal, Sean pulled the keys to his house out of his pocket, his silent smile as bright as ever. There was no doubt in Harry's mind that, if Sean had a shred of magical power left, that Sean would have been his second in a heart beat. However, with the death of Narhassa, all of the descendents of Salazar's cult could no activate their dormant powers. The power of Narhassa was no longer available; it was within Harry.

Suddenly, a thought hit him that surprised him, why hadn't he thought of it before? If the essence of Narhassa was within him, what stopped him from igniting the dormant energies within Sean and giving him his Narhassa powers back? He thought about his dream, where Voldemort and the strange voice talked about how with every use of his powers, his soul would become consumed by evil. But, wouldn't using Narhassa powers to give Sean back his voice be a noble enough of a cause? Besides, it really wouldn't be 'using' them... it'd just be allowing another's potential to ignite.

"Hey Sean," asked Harry, as the smaller boy turned his key and opened the door. He looked up to Harry with questioning emerald eyes. "... if you had the choice... I mean..." Harry trailed off, weighing his words carefully. "... if you could get your Narhassa powers back... would you want them?"

Sean blinked questioningly at Harry, clearly not understanding what he was insinuating. He shrugged, holding his arms wide. He began to speak slowly with his hands, as well as lips, keeping his words very basic so Harry could understand.

I don't know if I would want them after what they did to Alex.

Harry thought again, and looked at Sean critically. "I... think I can get your powers back, if you want them."

Again, Sean stared at him dumbfoundedly, his expression showing complete and total bewilderment. Harry walked into Sean's abode and lowered his voice, for no doubt, his parents, as well as Draco would be still asleep.

"When I killed Narhassa," explained Harry softly, "I... think the reason why everyone lost their power was because the essence of Narhassa was trapped... inside me."

Sean continued to wear a stunned expression, but nodded at him, prompting him to continue.

"I think..." continued Harry, 'that I can maybe give you just enough of Narhassa's essence to activate power in you... you could talk again, and use your powers once more."

The red-haired boy frowned, scratching his chin with careful consideration. Harry could see the look of conflict within his eyes. Part of him wanted to reject this gift, for Sean was one of the only Narhassa wizards who did not care much about having power. Sean had an amazing temperament that Harry was only beginning to understand. It was as though the boy was superiorly arrogant in a very modest way, at the risk of contradiction. Unearned power was not something that excited Sean. Everything the boy did... every action that characterized him as the young man he was... had to be a challenge to him. Narhassa powers had made everything so easily and accessible. Against all odds, he went to England specifically to pursue the girl who had stolen his heart. The fact he could hurl lightning and fire magical missiles did not interest him. Love was what drove his heart, not lust... neither for power, nor for Hermione.

Sean quickly turned and raced over to the kitchen counter, grabbing up a pen and withdrawing a piece of paper from the door. He began to write quickly, with Harry looking on.

Having my powers back would make mom very happy. She was so happy when she heard me speak, and it made her feel so bad when I was mute again.

Sean looked up at Harry sincerely, taking a pause while he wrote, to give the illusion that he was speaking these words, not just writing them.

Also... I don't know what's going on, but when Dumbledore talked to my mother about letting Malfoy come, I could tell there was a sense of urgency about him. I guess maybe its because I'm a good listener, but I know that you and him are in some kind of danger. If something comes to hurt any of you, I want to have my powers to help protect you all.

He glanced up briefly from his paper, and Harry nodded, feeling an emotion creeping into his chest. He was torn between doing what was right for the wrong reasons, and what was wrong for the right reasons. If he gave Sean back his powers by tapping his Narhassa energy, he would bring himself one step closer to becoming the next Salazar. On the other hand, if he denied Sean this chance to live a normal life with speech, as well as defend himself should Voldemort or his Dark Champion came calling... would he be any better than Salazar, holding his power above everyone else's head?

I don't want to be unarmed again when someone needs me ended Sean as he dropped his pen back to the counter.

Harry nodded and put his hand on Sean's shoulder, guessing that he was eluding to Cody, who died in the bus Sean should have been riding as well. Sickness had kept him at home that day, however, and Cody had died. There was no reason to consult Hermione, Draco, or anyone else on this, Harry realized, for his mind was already made up. If it was within the realm of possibilities, Harry would tap deeply into himself and allow Sean to drink from the fountain of power he carried within.

"Alright then, Sean," nodded Harry solemnly as he released his shoulder and closed his eyes. How, exactly, did he go about channeling power from within himself... power he wasn't even sure he had? He rolled his eyes against his lids, searching deep within himself for something he was not sure he'd be able to find.

It jumped at him at once, almost as if he had opened the cage to a tiger's pen. A green light blared against his eyelids, causing Harry to open his eyes from the blinding pain. Sean gasped and took a staggering step backward. His lip was trembling as he continued backing away from Harry, all the while pointing at him.

Harry blinked again and realized that much of the room was bathed in a green glow. He glanced around, trying to find the source of the light. Strangely enough, the green glow shifted and moved with his eyes, as if the very source of the light was himself. Harry rushed out of the kitchen and made for the bathroom, pushing the door opening and flinging himself at the sink, pressing his hands against the basin and staring into the mirror. His fear was confirmed... like one time before, when Slytherin had possessed him, his eyes were no longer visible. They were now light green without any visible pupil and glowing brightly, casting everything around him in a neon light.

He looked so unbelievably evil that it chilled him to the bones.

Sean, who had recovered from his surprise, joined Harry in the bathroom, standing in the doorway. He quickly signaled to him, concern having taken the place of fear.

Are you alright?

Harry nodded slowly, taking his flashing eyes off the mirror and looking back at Sean. Again, the boy cringed, but this time held his feet planted resolutely. "I think so," said Harry, though his voice was tremulous. It unnerved him how quickly the essence of Narhassa had jumped out at him... almost begging to be used. "I guess this confirms that I have Narhassa's essence."

Sean nodded slowly, the look of trepidation on his face making the show of affirmation appear rather condescending.

"You still want to do this?" asked Harry, who could not help but feel like he was making a bad choice.

Sean winced and shrugged, clearly the same hesitations were crossing his mind too.

Harry frowned and glanced back to the mirror, again to see his evil and possessed look. He truly hoped this would not prove to be a mistake. He looked back at Sean, biting his lip. "Ready?"

Sean shrugged weakly, but in the ended nodded.

Not knowing exactly what to do, still, Harry closed in on Sean and thought for a moment. He had drawn out Narhassa by doing something that had made sense. Searching his soul had worked for finding something inside of him. Perhaps, he would be able to give Sean back his powers by doing something that made sense.

Harry hesitantly reached up with both his hands and touched the sides of Sean's head, his fingers pressing into the boy's soft hair. The shorter boy swallowed once, nervously, and cast his eyes downward. Harry then thought about energy, churning within his chest... a green flow of power just waiting to be used. He envisioned a small bit of that power flowing from the source, traveling up his chest and to his shoulders. They rolled down his arms like water, dripping and trickling into Sean's head. After a few seconds of this, Harry imagined the power backing off, heading back up his arms.

Only there was a problem... his own imagination wasn't cooperating. The power continued to trickle into Sean's head.

Why stop there? asked a voice within his head... the soft purr of a female. Make him our servant. Let the powers consume him.

Harry heard Sean yelp in protest, (he did indeed make a sound) but Harry's hands were clamped tightly to his head, the power no longer trickling from his fingertips. Heavier and thicker surges coursed from the infinite source within Harry, gushing forth from Harry's fingers. He felt Sean trying to pull away... he wanted to let him, but his hands were clamped tightly to his temples, and refused to obey his own commands.

Let him be your death knight... let him make the way for Dark Lord Harry Potter. Kill him, Harry... kill him.

Harry's hands shook against Sean's head as his yelping grew louder... into shouts of protest. Harry also bit hard into his lip, forcing his resolve to release Sean. His hands continued to refuse to obey, as if glued to Sean's head. In desperation, Harry forced himself to imagine the flow of power cut off from his arms. The sudden barrier that sprung up reversed the flow of power, and sent it shooting out of his own skin, into the air around him, like a water balloon about to burst. And suddenly, he lost his focus, the power source of green liquid fading away into the blackness of doubt.

Harry forced his eyes open. Little did he know that both him and Sean had collapsed, his face was embedded in Sean's shirt, while Harry's hands still clenched Sean's head in a deathgrip. The boy was no longer yelling, however, he was gasping and wincing. Sweat steamed off both boys from the sheer, trying exertion. It was then that Harry realized they were not alone.

"Wow, Potter... Camaradi... I never knew." commented the owner of two pale feet that Harry saw, after he lifted his head from Sean's chest. He feebly withdrew his hands from Sean's head; his nails had dug in and drew a small amount of blood. "Just wait til the Mudblood hears this one. Her best friend and her ex... think it'll end the poor girl?"

Draco rubbed some sleep sand from his eyes as he stared down at the two boys who were practically interlocked in a strange sort of embrace, Harry on top of Sean.

"Harry..." stammered Sean, glancing up as Harry began to detach himself from him. "What... what did do you do?"

Harry blinked his eyes, realizing that the room was no longer bathed in a green hue. He felt drained and weak and was unable to rise. He collapsed against the wall of the bathroom, groaning.

"I... I don't know," he replied, "I... lost control. Are you alright, Sean?"

Draco had been stunned to silence by hearing Sean's voice. Sean put his hands to the side of his head, feeling the small drops of blood stemming from his scalp. He grunted and took a few breaths. "I don't know... I think so."

"Potter, what did you do?" demanded Draco, his voice no longer sarcastic, but quite serious.

Harry bit his lip, glancing up at Draco. The sounds of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, as well as the door slamming from the porch told Harry that Sean's parents, as well as Hermione, had been awoken by his screams, and were rushing down to investigate.

"I tapped the powers of Narhassa..." echoed Harry faintly. "Her essence is inside of me - it happened when I killed her..."

Draco scowled deeply and rushed at Harry, grabbing him by the collar of his white t-shirt and pulling him up to his feet. "We need to talk... now."

Sean scrambled to his feet as well, his eyes wide with fear. "What's going on?"

Draco turned, and without a word, shoved Sean out of the bathroom. The smaller boy, taken completely by surprise, fell out the door. With a wave of Draco's hand, the door shut behind him and locked itself.

"Potter... you didn't just use Narhassa powers, did you?" demanded Draco firmly, staring at Harry long and hard.

Harry winced and nodded. "I wanted to give Sean back his power..."

Draco shook his head and closed his eyes, as if something truly vexed him deeply.

What was going on? Harry cocked his head in confusion, staring at Draco with a serious expression. "You know something I don't, don't you?" Draco turned and looked at the mirror, blowing air out of his mouth in such a way that it trickled up his face and swayed the bangs over his forehead.

"I didn't even want to mention it... I probably should have, but I thought that if you didn't know you had Narhassa's essence, you would never be tempted to use it. If I had known that you knew you had it..."

Harry blinked and approached Draco, his eyes intense and focused. "Had what?"

"That you had Narhassa's essence," continued Draco, glaring at his own reflection forcefully.

The sound of Sean explaining something to his parents, and their sudden gasps of joy and astonishment echoed through the closed door, for a moment, making Harry proud of what he had done, until Draco spoke again.

"You might have..." trailed off Draco, as if trying to find words that were just eluding him.

Harry rolled his eyes, not wishing to hear anymore of this. "Look, if you think Voldemort will get a track on my power usage or something..."

Draco slammed the palm of his hand on the sink, shaking his head. "You don't get it, do you? Don't you remember what Slytherin did with the powers of Narhassa?"

"Well..." trailed off Harry uncertainly. "He..."

"He rallied together the followers of Narhassa!" exclaimed Draco forcefully, "by rekindling their power..."

"But, for a completely different reason!" protested Harry vehemently. "He wanted to kill them... I wanted to help Sean!"

Draco simply stared at him. "I'm not talking about the ends justifying the means or any of that garbage, Potter. I'm talking about the means itself! When Slytherin used the powers of Narhassa, he turned into a Dark Champion..."

"What?" gasped Harry, his jaw falling open with disbelief. "What does this mean!"

Draco sighed and shrugged. "Well, it could mean nothing... maybe you didn't use it enough... but..."

Harry frowned deeply and stomped his foot. "Spill it, Malfoy."

A moment of silence passed between them, as if Draco was finding a light way to say something. In the end, however, he just blurted it out. "You might have just forfeited your life, turning into a creature of the undead... a Dark Champion, just like Slytherin."

There was a horrible silence that passed between the two boys. Draco frowned and shrugged, as if trying to back off somehow after landing a mortally terrifying blow. Harry took a few deep breaths, not really to calm himself... but to make sure he still could. The oxygen continued to revitalize him, and he continued breathing out of necessity.

Nonetheless, Harry felt an undeniable chill. He hoped to any higher power that Draco was wrong.

* * * * * *

Little did Harry know that somewhere else in the world, another being was saturating himself with unearned power at that moment. While the sun had just finished rising over Sean's home in California, it was just setting over Malfoy Manor, in Land's End, England... not that Lucius could have seen it, given the severity of the blizzard that raged outside. The wind could be heard, howling through the Manner, wailing a forlorn yet familiar song.

The man dared a glance from his feet. A black hood hung over his eyes, hiding his own rebellious glare as Dark Lord Voldemort strolled into the center of the circle composed of his Deatheater followers. The ballroom of Malfoy Manner had served well for this meeting, for it was grand enough for the purpose of holding several dozen children, in addition to Voldemort and his thirty-one Deatheaters... as well as his new Champion of Darkness.

"Anut Behahat!" chanted Voldemort in a deep, rolling tone of voice. The low-hanging chandeliers overhead rippled and hissed, turning from glowing white to vibrant green, to red like blood at the completion of Voldemort's spell.

Lucius bit his lip and lowered his eyes, as his Lord had demanded of all his followers. The middle-aged man did everything in his power to mentally remove himself from his present situation. Standing bowed, next to Crabbe and Goyle, he never felt more like a number at that point... a lowly, concealed outlaw about to partake in the unimaginable.

At the bidding of a silent cue, Wormtail broke from the circle, half-marching, half-waddling his fat rear to the large wooden doors that connected the ballroom to the rest of the Manner. With a clench of a his metallic fist, the door swung open inward. A draft blew over the room, prickling Lucius' sweat-laden face. Wormtail vanished out the door for a moment or two, before reappearing, at the head of a group consisting of more than fifty children. Lucius' stomach turned inside out as he watched the children follow Wormtail through the ballroom. The circle parted to accommodate the children, who followed the fat man like docile sheep into the center of the circle. They wore indifferent expressions upon their faces, all rebellion driven from their minds by the Imperius Curse.

From the folds of his robes, Voldemort produced a small, round object, about one foot in diameter. It was a brown and shiny and struck Lucius as some kind of chrysalis, containing a small but no doubt hideous creature within.

Voldemort took up the chrysalis in both his hands, hoisting it above his head. Lucius glanced up again, watching the looks on the childern's faces as their innocent, young eyes followed Voldemort's arms and beheld the brown, slimy cocoon within the Dark Lord's hands.

"Anut Behahat Nu Drathnamohi..." continued Voldemort, as the children watched with amazement, their faces begging their master to show them more. Most powerful wizards could not resist the Imperius Curse... these muggle children from the Dark Lord's former town of residence were all but consumed by it. They would do whatever he wanted without thinking twice.

The wind howled through the Manner, reaching Lucius' ears with startling vigor. Outside the driving snow was complimented by a streak of lightning, crackling and shaking the Manner to its very foundations. What a dark, dismal night it was, perfect for this night of shameful slaughter.

His thoughts turned to his son, Draco, whom he could see in the eyes of the gathered boys and girls before him. It was not that any of these young people bore a physical resemblance to Draco, to compare his son to Muggles was an insult. It was the way their eyes were glazed over in the spectacle of something they did not understand, and were begging their father... their master... their enslaver for answers. Draco was never one to find answers out for himself; he always looked to end of a road, but strayed from it, in a way that fit his own needs.

So much like him when he was younger: young and dumb. Lucius had chosen his road now and it was too late to backtrack.

"Anut Behahat Nu Drathnamohi Shumart Stratheim!" Voldemort's voice rose with anticipation and quickened, his rumbling tone echoing off the very walls of the ballroom, vibrating them with its ferocity. He released the cocoon in the air above him; it remained suspended perfectly over his head. With the poetic grace of a fencer weaving an invisible sword, Voldemort began to gesticulate broadly. Like a conductor, animating a silent orchestra, tangible and visible forces of magic began to ripple from his hands. His fingers flirted with them, wrapping the swirling tendrils of green power like strings around his fingers. The howl of the wind began to press on the windows above, and the flash of lightning momentary played off the faces of the children, all lost within the throws of the spell.

"Anut Behaht Nu Drathnamohi Shumart Stratheim Bathekahem Anudderi Tacksu!"

And the arms of the children rose, as one, their mouths opening wide with a silent song to Voldemort, their master. As the spell continued to approach culmination, Voldemort began to rise from the ground. The cocoon slowly drifted forward, as his spidery hands took hold of it once again, twisting the flows of magic around it. Ropes of lime-green power enveloped the chrysalis, turning it about in tune with his powerful incanting voice. Steadily, the cocoon began to pulsate, shooting flashes of green power from small emerging cracks in its shell.

"Magus Avadas Kedavras!"

Voldemort's voice ran down Lucius' spine as the windows of the ballroom imploded. Lightning streaked into the room, striking the chrysalis with three deafening booms that sent every Deatheater to the ground. The children remained stationary, protected by the Lord they served. Lucius grunted as he pushed himself up, his eyes fixed to the spectacle.

The children's mouths continued opening as the cocoon shot forth a large green beam of light. It fell upon one girl of no more than nine, who did not even blink. The child's body instantly fell into ashes, disintegrated mercilessly by the power of the Dark Lord and his Dark Champion. Lucius wanted to close his eyes; he wanted to block this vision from his mind, he wanted to dismiss this as a horror story that he would eventually applaud the conclusion of, and put back on his bookshelf. This was no book, however... this was real.

The beam moved methodically down the line, falling upon a boy of ten, and then to a boy of five. It feed ravenously on their lifeforce, sucking them dry and leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Lucius reached up desperately to his face; if his eyelids were unable to block his vision, his hand would do it for them. He clamped his hand over his eyes, feeling watery tears of shame beneath his fingertips. How could he lay here... why did he ever become a Deatheater? Cheating, lying, stealing... murdering... all of these were acceptable in the search for power, but how could the genocide of nearly three score children bring about power?

Meanwhile, Lucius could sense Voldemort directing his ballad of butchery, his hands still moving and directing the beam from child to child with a psychotic calm. Power flared and crackled from the chrysalis as it fed ravenously. The air became thick with the smell of burned flesh as the increasing amount of ashes blew in the torrents of wind admitted by the shattered windowpanes. The cold became oppressive, though it didn't much matter to Lucius, who could not find it within him to draw breath.

Half of the children still remained blissfully unaware, oblivious to the fates of their friends. The Imperius Curse held them steady with an ironclad reign, neither allowing flinch nor flight. The beam of light continued its slaughter, drinking deeply, passing over a blonde haired boy, and moving to a black-haired girl. Their faces, a mockery of innocence, stared unblinkingly as the light fell upon them and stole their lives as well as their souls.

Lucius was not a religious man, but he prayed for the end. He begged any divine power that was listening to let this display end. It would not bode well for him if he rushed from the room to the nearest window to loose the contents of his stomach.

At last, it was over... nothing remained of the children of Little Hangton save ashes, already dispersed and lost in the driving wind. Lucius sucked in his lip and furiously wiped his eyes as His Lord suddenly drove the palms of his hands into the side of the chrysalis.

"Avada Vivara" cried out Voldemort, finalizing the tremendous culmination of his magic, as if the events of this day had driven him to the very edge of madness and ecstasy itself.

Without any further magic, the chrysalis hatched.

* * * * * *

Not long before the struggles of Lucius Malfoy, Ron was enduring a particular struggle himself. His inner warrior raged heroically against the surge of depression he felt upon hoisting up Harry's Invisiblity Cloak, taken from his possessions he left behind, and wrapped about his body. His emerald green eyes glazed over with reflection as he soft, liquid-like substance enveloped his body and concealed himself from view. It smelt like Harry, sending him back to the nights, just weeks ago, when they snuck around Hogwarts with the authority of kings. Under the folds of this robe, nothing could hope to threaten them.

How much more vulnerable and lowly he felt now, sneaking around alone. His destination was no less painful; he realized upon entering the library that this place smelt like Hermione. Making the conscious choice not to look at Hermione's table, he passed it on by. Not that this act of rebellion made any difference what so ever. A part of him just felt as though it were missing, torn from him by an assassin he could neither see nor feel.

He made his way for the Restricted Section, the stifling and enveloping presence of books mocking him cruelly, and whispering the name 'Hermione' at every turn. Finally nearing his desired row of books, Ron pulled free his nine inch mahogany wand and breathed out the word "Lumos." Without delay, a light blossomed from the tip of his wand, casting wavy patterns of light in the oppressive shadows that surrounded him. He turned down a row of books, his fingers over ancient, leathery spines as he went, knowing specifically what he was looking for.

He knelt down to the floor, the hard wood digging into his knees uncomfortably. This was it, this is what he had come for. His hand slowed to a crawl, carefully considering the titles of each text before him, until he finally made his choice. Unlike most wizard tombs, flamboyant and catchy in their titles as well as authors, this book was named for the severity of the topic, its no nonsense name prepared Ron for the reading ahead.

Maldaras: The Essence of Terror

It was no surprise to Ron that this dark druid Maldaras had an entire area of the Restricted Section devoted strictly to him. Most of the books in this section documented druidism, both light and dark. Any book that touched on the topic of Druidism talked about Maldaras at length, Ron had noted from his studies earlier that day with Seth. Ron was not out to learn about how to perfect his body, mind and soul, though he could not miss the allure that some druid powers offered. He had learned much of the basic practice of Druidism. To perfect the body, Druids would often learn a form of unarmed combat, known only as Claw. The focus was to attune the body to the presence of soul and mind, and make willing the muscles to carry out this form of magic. In Claw training, druids learned to do amazing feats of strength, dexterity and endurance, such as race across a tightrope, climb a sheer wall of ice, and lift boulders over one thousand pounds. It fascinated Ron to think that the human body only worked at a third of its efficiency... and should mind and soul become unified, one could be reinforced three fold.

But, for now, further indulgence into the way of Druidism was to wait. Tonight, Maldaras was the topic, not the druid, not the power, but the man... the thing... itself. Instinctively, Ron took the book to Hermione's table and sat down, his thoughts of his best friends taking a momentary passenger seat, while he prepared his brain to soak in the one who was after Harry, the one in Harry's dreams... the one Seth believed to be driving Voldemort's moves, the reason why Voldemort came back to Hogwarts.

Maldaras, the Essence of Terror.

The hours lengthened, but Ron did not tire as he turned page after page of the text. The words were almost spells themselves, weaving an enveloping aura that kept Ron's eyes fixed to the page. He felt his world fade behind as his life became one with the Essence of Terror himself. Their lives became intertwined by the ancient text, and before long, Ron felt himself living the words he was reading, placed into the shoes of a fifteen year old Maldaras.

* * * * * *

"Ease up," coaxed Ron's dearest friend, Felmarth, a druid his elder by two years, gifted and famous across all of the jungle for his amazing power at such a young age. "You know not your own potential."

Ron turned back to regard Felmarth, a small young man with long, wild black hair descending down the length of his back. The air was thick with moisture, pressing in on all sides like an oven, heating Ron uncomfortably. He blinked the perspiration from his eyes and looked back the way he was heading. He saw first the rope, made of vines and no more than two inches thick, suspended in the air over a cliff. The rope, tied by a master druid and stretched before an amazing waterfall, threatened to prove to Ron what he knew in his heart might not be true. He might never become a druid.

"Easy to say such things from your perspective, Felmarth Ne'rathka," murmured Ron, who chanced a tentative toe out onto the rope, pushing down and affirming its durability.

The older youth laughed once and strode to Ron's side. "Know yourself, Maldaras. Know your own spirit, know your own body, and know your own mind. The masters seek not the result of your trial, but the attempt itself."

With that, Felmarth rushed forward with a great sprint, his feet touching down upon the rope and moving with amazing speed, his balance never questioned. The rope hardly swayed at all under the surefooted druid, his hands outstretched and maintained a perfect center of balance as he ran. More than body kept Felmarth from tumbling below, for his mind, body and spirit were in perfect harmony, allowing the phenomenal druid to do great things.

Before Ron know it, Felmarth had crossed to the other side of the roaring, watery ravine, his eyes smiling from even that distance as he waved to his friend, beckoning him. "Come now, Maldaras... know yourself!"

Ron closed his eyes, and rolled his shoulders. He felt his own long, red hair tickling the nape of his neck as he began to hum. He allowed the vibrations of lips to guide him as they slowly filtered down the length of his face and into his body, unifying him. Ron parted his lips calmly and began to speak, his voice a low whisper lost in the roaring of the waterfall.

"Ximitxith... Xoxmomox... Ximixomx... Ximzoaxix,"

He felt his inner energy mounting, he saw the shadow of Felmarth, running the rope again, showing him the perfect and flawless pattern. But yet, as his mantra continued to unify himself, he saw something else... an alternative, a simple solution to a complex problem. Ron saw a shadow, the shadow of himself, floating across the chasm effortlessly, held in the air by unearned power, just waiting to be grabbed.

"Know yourself, Maldaras."

Ron knew himself... he was the shadow of Felmarth, his sidekick, defended from the skeptical and shielded from the hostile by the silhouette of a stronger druid. His own power could not measure up to Felmarth, nor could it to many other druids. The choice was clear, and Ron embraced it wholly. His body, alive with an unknown power, took off at a sprint and leaped out over the chasm, with no intention of finding the rope. He opened his body to the outside shadows, embracing the power offered to him... the power that would insure his flight across the chasm.

Without any delay, Ron plummeted down toward the raging water below.

* * * * * *

Harry sat in stunned silence, long after Draco's words had been spoken. Hours had passed, though Harry was too lost in his own thoughts to pay time much heed. Draco, after parting those words upon him, told him he was sorry, and left the bathroom, just like that. Hermione and Sean, convinced the early morning had taken its toll on their friend, went out roller-skating, while Draco was upstairs, doing something in Sean's room. Sean's parents had left for work in amazing spirits, finding out Sean was once again able to speak.

Harry was alone... Truly and utterly alone.

Harry stretched out with his feelings, trying so hard to find Ron. He knew that was of no use, however, for their bond had been weakened by distance. All magic had terms and rules, and being across half the world broke the rules for both of them. His expression remained cold and his eyes were fixed to a television screen that was turned off.

Had Draco's words been spoken with truth? Had he crossed a threshold with his willingness to tap into Narhassa's essence, spelling a point of no return? The way Draco had confronted him had been unlike any confrontation he had had with the boy on previous occasions. For the briefest of moments, Harry forgot exactly who Draco was and thought him as Ron, telling his best friend that he had screwed up. Whereas Draco Malfoy, in the past, had always laughed at Harry's misfortunes, this time, he had been dead serious and sincere, maybe even deeply bothered by Harry's situation.

The realization hit him with the force of a hammer, driving a nail into a plank of wood. Draco had not been kidding... for all the other boy thought, Harry was now a Dark Champion, a creature no longer alive. Indeed, his own skin felt could to his touch, though whether it was a true assessment, or panicked nerves, Harry could not tell. He had examined himself in the mirror, long after Draco had left. Draco had not seen the glowing green eyes that Sean had, for they had vanished with the conclusion of the transfer. Nonetheless, his face had paled over and the black bags under his eyes had been glaring back at him, as if threatening to consume his sockets entirely, transforming him into a skeleton.

Harry was roused from his contemplations by a knock at the door. It was not forceful by any means, merely more than a weak rap. Harry rose from his chair and made his way to the front door. Constant vigilance, he considered, before he grasped the handle of the door. Peering out the peephole, Harry was amazed by the person he saw. He truly could not place the middle-aged woman, however, he had seen her before, somewhere. While the glass of the peephole distorted her body, her face was rather clear. Pale as sugar, with a pointed nose and blonde hair, she was peering around awkwardly, as if concerned someone might be watching her.

Deciding she meant no harm, Harry opened the door, feeling a bit out of place, opening the door to a house that did not belong to him. Upon seeing the woman without any distortion, Harry immediately placed her. The way she glanced down on him, the way she held her nose high... the way she resembled Draco... he remembered her at once from the Quidditch World Cup. This was Narcissa Malfoy, mother to her son and husband to a Deatheater.

"I am here to..." is all the words she got out before Harry yelled with shock and slammed the door in her face.

Wasting no time, Harry slapped on the door bolts and rushed to the rear of the house, locking the back door. After he sprinted around the house locked all the windows on the downstairs floor. He could only pray that Dumbledore had placed wards of protection around the house, or she would be Apparting through the windows within moments to claim both Harry and Draco in the name of Lord Voldemort. It was only blind luck that she did not recognize Harry in his Muggle clothing.

Harry raced up the stairs, only hoping that Malfoy hadn't somehow left the house. Sean's door was shut, and as he grabbed the doorknob and furiously tried to turn it, he realized it was locked. Wasting no time - this was indeed an emergency - he withdrew his wand.

"Alohomora!"

The door clicked and Harry barged into Sean's modest and small room. Draco was indeed there, sitting at the desk, in front of Sean's computer. He appeared to be playing some kind of game, and he did not give Harry any look.

"Draco! We have to leave!" cried Harry, his voice cracking with panic.

Draco held up the finger of his right hand, trying to silence Harry, his eyes not leaving the screen while his left hand continued to work the mouse. Sounds of heroic music, the clashing of metal, and the call of: "We are Under Attack", only made Harry even more impatient.

"Malfoy!" exclaimed Harry, even louder. "This is no joke!"

"Silence, Mr. Potter," drawled Draco, with a very keen Professor Snape impersonation. "I'm busy."

Harry, with a rush of anger, pushed the power button on the computer, bringing Draco's game to a crashing halt. Draco's eyes turned to Harry with the hellfire of a fifteen year old, who had just had his computer game turned off.

"You unimaginable..." began Draco, affronted by Harry's unfathomable sin. "I have been playing that scenario for the last bloody hour!"

"Your mother is here! She... she knocked on the door... and asked for you!" exclaimed Harry breathlessly, pointing out the window. "Your family knows where you are; we gotta get out of here!"

Draco stared at Harry for a moment, his eyes as unreadable as a closed book. He rose slowly to his feet and moved to the window, glancing down with all emotions sealed from the surface. At last, Draco swallowed once and left the room in a hurry, apparently seeing his mother below.

"Wait a minute..." protested Harry, following Draco's quick pace. "What are you doing?"

Draco dismounted the stairs with a short bound and began to unbolt the door.

"Surely you don't mean to go out there?" Harry continued to press as he followed him, pushing on the door as Draco proceeded to open it.

To Harry's amazement, Draco looked over to him with a rather amused smile. "Potter, you're as stupid as you're ugly... you realize this, right?"

Harry had to admit, he was expecting Malfoy to resist his attempts to keep the door shut, but he didn't expect such a simple, amused quip. "Huh?"

With a roll of his eyes, Draco grabbed Harry's wrist slowly and proceeded to lift his hand from the door. "If my mother had wanted to capture me, she wouldn't likely go about it by knocking on the door, under the cover of broad daylight, wearing high-heels."

Draco's logic relaxed Harry enough for him to take a step back, allowing Draco to open the door. Narcissa Malfoy still stood at the door, with the same sort of look Draco had worn when Harry turned off his computer game. Her thin hands were at her hips, but her scowl fell upon seeing her boy. Draco swallowed hard, showing the first sign of true emotion Harry had even seen him show.

"Mum," he affirmed quietly, his gray eyes deepening and ringing with moisture. Before she was able to speak, however, Draco drew his wand from beneath his orange t-shirt and pointed it at her. "Finite Incantium!"

The spell that would have negated a Polyjuice Potion or any other sort of magic hit Mrs. Malfoy with a white zap, neither harming her nor changing her in anyway.

Smiling with relief, Draco rushed to her and threw his arms around here. "Just... had to make sure."

"I understand, Draco," she said with a choked sob as she grabbed him up tightly in her arms.

The sight of Malfoy showing such emotion nearly jerked the tears from Harry's own eyes. He smiled faintly and had half a mind to leave them alone for some privacy. Yet, Harry kept his feet planted where they were. Perhaps it was the emotion that Harry liked, or the fact that, after so many years, Draco turned out to be a human being capable of emotion. In fact, Harry could not help but feel relieved. Perhaps Draco had also been wrong, for the scene emotionally touched Harry; certainly this lessoning the chances he had become an unfeeling, undead beast.

"It was foolish of you to come after me," stated Draco flatly, as he released his hold on her and forced the moisture from his eyes with a quick wipe of his sleeve. "If the Dark Lord ever..."

"The Dark Lord is indisposed, as are all of his agents," sighed Narcissa, who had no doubt pondered the very same concern at length. Visiting her son, or even hiding the knowledge of his location was a dangerous play, and naturally, Harry realized that if the Dark Lord were seeking out Draco, he would first look to his parents for answers. "The chances were minimal that I have been followed."

Harry did not miss that touch of arrogance in Draco's mother that was so clearly handed down to her son. It was the way she trivialized a potential disaster was so clearly a Malfoy trait... either Narcissa had it before she married Lucius, or developed it after the union, Harry was left to wonder, but it was clearly there.

Finally, Harry decided to speak. "Sorry for... er... slamming the door in your face."

Draco's mother parted from her son's embrace, staring at Harry with mild amusement. "You needn't worry about that. I have to admit, it was a bit of a shock, but you were looking out for the best interests of my son. I ought to thank you."

Harry allowed himself a moment to chuckle at the irony of that statement. If he knew a Malfoy correctly, that was where they always stopped, as if 'oughting to do something' was the end all conclusion. Indeed, he was not disappointed when Narcissa spoke no more to Harry.

"I'll... go find Sean and Hermione," concluded Harry, decided now was the time to take his leave.

Draco and his mother had already begun talking about his father, however, and his voice went completely neglected. With a shrug, Harry passed by the other two and left, strolling out the door. He would just have to tell Draco about the duel a bit later.

It was far too nice of a day to be indoors any longer anyway. Despite it being three days before Christmas, it had reached into the high seventies, and the sun was out in full force, hidden not by cloud cover of any kind. As Harry started down the sidewalk on a walk that would take about twenty minutes, he distinctly heard the screeching of tires sounding from the end of the block. With a curious expression, Harry looked to see a Jeep skid to a stop right next to Harry. Harry was not too concerned when he recognized the driver. Alex Guardings hopped out of the jeep, his thick bushy eyebrows narrowed tightly. What did concern him was the way he was looking at him, with more than just passing familiarity.

"Harry Potter..." hissed Alex, as he strode up to him, his fists clenched and an expression of rage clearly dominating.

Harry stared at Alex, refusing to be intimidated by this boy. "What do you want, Alex?"

"An interesting thing happened a few hours ago, chap," hissed Alex, his voice dripping with venom. "I was on the toilet, reading a magazine... and suddenly, lo and behold, I remembered everything... from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry... to Seth's failure on Ben Nevis... to you somehow beating me in our little one on one match..."

Suddenly, Alex extended his hand in his direction, fingers of lightning coursing from his outstretched hand. They struck Harry hard, blinding him with pain as the current coursing through his spine and staggered every part of him. He lost his footing under the impact and fell to the ground, the lightning surging and snapping with Alex's fury. Harry was too surprised and shocked to think.

"... and I don't like losing.."

* * * * * *