Disclaimer: Refer to chapters 1-13.

A/N: Alright, this is it folks! We have finally, finally reached the end of the first part of the Destiny Arc! It's been a long road for me and I'm happy that so many of you have read and enjoyed this story. This chapter does have a short NC-17 smut scene which has been cut from the FFN version. You will find links on my bio to alternate sites where you can read this chapter uncut.

Thanks go to my good friend Akoya who helped me beta this chapter. She has also agreed to beta the re-vamped version of ID. Please give her a round of applause for her daring, as of this chapter, ID is 611 pages TNR font 12.

Parseltongue, foreign words, letters/articles etc.

Character's thoughts

Emphasized words, headings,

Irreversible Destiny

By: SheWolfe7

Chapter XXVII

Resolution III

Tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair,

but manifestations of strength and resolution.

-Kahil Gibran, Lebanese artist and poet in the US (1883-1931)

The Dungeons

Verity House, East Upper Valley, Dalhoor

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

11:20 AM

Kohinoor walked through the dimly lit hallways, seeking the room where the others were waiting.

Today was the turning point; she had seen it centuries ago and had worked diligently to ensure it happened. Fulfilling the Prophecy was the whole point of her existence and sadly, had been from the beginning even when she had denied it. The Chylla had lived to see this Prophecy brought to life and when it was over, their time on this world would pass as was meant to be.

Asadyl had asked once if they had erred and she had told him that they all bore the guilt of their downfall, even the Chylla. Yet she had never corrected him about who held the most blame.

It was a shameful secret but it was the most ancient the Chylla carried. They had seen what would be, but had been too arrogant and too selfish to avert it. When they would not heed the warnings, Razul had appeared and reminded them of their purpose. And again they had been too full of themselves to care and because of them the others had been imprisoned and punished, something which could have been avoided if the Chylla hadn't acted so foolishly.

Kohinoor wondered if Cyriacus knew of the Chylla's greatest secret. It would not have surprised her if he did; no it wouldn't surprise her at all.

And Morgan? Her granddaughter had been a key to 'forging the path' as the Chylla had dubbed the centuries of games and manipulations they had played to bring about Cyriacus's birth. Despite what Morgan might have thought, it was not just the lives of her children that had been sacrificed, Kohinoor and the other Chylla had sacrificed themselves too. Some had died; sacrificing their very essence to renewing the fragile bonds that would allow them to draw and harness the spirit of the kyndrak in mortal flesh and all of them had manipulated and destroyed the lives of thousands to achieve their goals.

Kohinoor was certain that Morgan would be struck speechless if she ever learned the true span of her sins. While creating what would be a thrice cursed Blood Child would be among the most heinous, it was at least only a crime she had committed once. Murder, torture, slavery, abuse, treason, those were all crimes she had committed again and again, time after time. How many lives had been destroyed to further their goal? How many spirits were crushed or oppressed? And how many of her own children had she sacrificed to forge the path? The answer was one she did not want to contemplate but it was one that she was haunted by regardless.

The blood that covered her hands should have sickened her but Kohinoor was more worried about the kyndrak. None of them had been certain that the taint of their crimes would reach him but they had. She had expected him to be strong it was unavoidable considering the number of the helpless victims that had been sacrificed to the blood altar they had built for him. Yet the first time she had meet him in the flesh, she had never been so terrified by the weight of negative energy he harnessed as a result of the lingering taint of the sins the Chylla had committed in manufacturing his birth.

Asadyl had said that Cyriacus was beginning to accept what he was and Kohinoor feared that things were proceeding out of control. It was too soon for the full potential of his powers to awaken but she had felt the changes and she had acted recklessly.

As Morgan had been a key, so was the Wizard known as Voldemort only the role he played was far more important. It was more than mere destiny that had led him on his path to change the Wizarding World and it was no coincidence that he was so deeply and intricately Bound to Cyriacus. It had taken her thousands of years to find Razul's legacy but what she had found had only reassured her that the future was secured and from there, things became simpler.

Everything had begun with Asadyl, Imryn and Razul so it had been little surprise that everything would end with their descendants.

It had been ironic to learn that said descendants had been drawn together inexplicably with very little guidance on the part of the Chylla. A little over a thousand years ago, the most powerful of the remaining descendants of Nazyh and Sapphra had found their way to Britain where Razul's descendants had long ago settled. Imyrn's line lived on in the descendants of Merlin, Asadyl's line in the descendants of the Necromancer Blaze Hawthorne and Razul's legacy lay in the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. And with the most powerful lines in one area, it had become easier to manipulate the bloodlines to insure purity later on when the time was right.

The end result had been clear. After careful evaluation of the situation and what their Foresight indicated, it was decided that Tom Marvolo Riddle was the best choice to not only be the mate of the kyndrak but to counterbalance the sleeping power the future Lord of Primordials would later wield. To assure the future, Kohinoor had carefully overseen his development and had one of her many descendants further his interest in the Dark Arts. Taliesin Arvell had become the young Wizard's almost-uncle and had taken care of him once he had received his Hogwarts letter. It was a hidden connection but one that had proved to be wise considering Dumbledore's later attempts to meddle.

Decades later Voldemort had been in the perfect position of power to initiate the next step in the Chylla's plans: insure the birth of the kyndrak, the connection between the two chosen mates and creating future bodyguards for both. From the moment Lily became pregnant, it became even more imperative that the remaining events fall out as Seen. At that point, half the remaining Chylla and their descendants had returned to Britain to personally oversee that the rest of the events leading to the fulfillment of the Prophecy came true.

Grimly, Kohinoor pushed open the doors to the room where the best of her descendants had gathered, awaiting orders. After today nothing would be the same and it was pivotal that everything proceed as planned. A mistake today would mean failure and failure was unacceptable.

There were days when Mehrdad wondered why things had turned out the way they had. If one believed his mother, what happened was destiny, inescapable and unchangeable. In addition to his mother's plots, his father had sworn the loyalty of the Red Dragon Elves to one Cyriacus Snape, in the name of the Covenant owed to the fallen Primordials. Yet he had to wonder what fate awaited him in the service of the Primordial's kyndrak and the wizard's Prince of Dragons.

"I wonder what his goal is," Justus pondered aloud from his seat at the table.

Mehrdad raised his white-blond eyebrows in inquiry. "He's said it often enough I believe, he's going to win and he's not going to let anyone or anything get in his way."

Justus laughed merrily, his copper hair falling into his dark green eyes. "That's true but that wasn't what I meant when I asked. He's plotted well ahead to get so far but I wonder how he intends to leave Lumen-Umbra?"

"There is always more to that one than what most perceive," Ulrich commented from his position leaning against the wall. "It's what will lead to their downfall, you realize?"

Mehrdad shrugged, "I suppose that we'll see for ourselves soon enough, it's not as though we have a choice."

The three men fell silent, engrossed with the bitter thoughts of choices or in their cases, the lack there of. Like Cyriacus, they too had been born to serve a purpose, one that had been chosen for them long before their births. Their lives were bound to his unwillingly and the best they could do was accept it and move on. Just as he had.

Mehrdad turned slightly, his sensitive hearing alerting him to the arrival of his mother. A few minutes later the doors at the end of the room swung open and she strode in gracefully. Kohinoor was a beautiful woman, eternally youthful and gifted with Foresight that outclassed any Gift a mortal could possibly possess. She was also the most ruthless woman he had ever met and the most domineering. Her life was dedicated to the kyndrak and she paid every price imaginable to bring him into existence and pave the path of his ascendance.

"How goes his progress?" Kohinoor asked as she approached them.

Justus shrugged, "It goes as well as can be imagined, grandmother."

Kohinoor frowned slightly as she watched the images. "There is still time yet. Are the three of you prepared?"

"Would it matter if we weren't? It's not as though we have a choice, mother." Ulrich commented darkly.

"Your attitude needs improvement," Kohinoor snapped. "Today there can be no errors Ulrich! If you are unprepared be forthcoming about it! If any of you make a mistake today, there is no telling what might result! I chose the three of you because you are the most gifted and skilled to handle this particular scenario, if you are unwilling to do your part, say so. It is not as though there aren't others who would eagerly take your place."

Mehrdad grabbed Ulrich's arm and shook his head once, this was not the time to be rebellious.

Justus glanced at the two and once he saw that Ulrich had settled, got to his feet. "We are ready."

"Fayruz is waiting at the stairs with a Portkey, she will guide you to Voldemort. I will be waiting at the Altar. Do not tarry."

Mehrdad nodded once. "We will not fail."

Artifex District, Lumen-Umbra, Unplottable

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

3:22 AM

Cyriacus cursed softly as he dodged quickly into the shadows to avoid yet another patrol of Hit Wizards. It was apparent they knew he was in the Artifex District, the only unknown factor was whether they were tracking him or simply following the disturbance he had made escaping from the sewer tunnels.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been willing to confront them but his body was beginning to tire from the constant strain of unleashing so much sealed power. It was clear he needed to exercise his powers more if such minor Summonings had tired him so easily. That and make adjustments to the various and sundry potions and runework he had poured so much of his time and energy into. If the enhancements had worked as well as he had originally theorized, he would have been barely breathing heavily. Figuring out where he went wrong would be a hellish couple of days but the improvements would be invaluable for later incidents.

Carefully checking to make sure there were no more enemies nearby, Cyriacus sprinted for the next alley. While he traveled from alley to alley, he wryly pondered what led him to this. It was true that he had wanted the Stormsinger's Mask and the Book of Omens but he could have easily taken them when the Medieval Magical Artifact Exhibit moved to the Parisian Museum of Magical Artifacts in late January. There had been many factors behind his choosing Lumen-Umbra as his testing grounds. But largely, he had allowed himself to be goaded by that immoral Chylla Queen bee, Kohinoor.


Cyriacus had had enough! He was a grown adult, with more than enough power to destroy any enemy that might cross his path. He was sick and tired of having the watchful eyes of a Chylla follow him.

Ignoring the fact that he was in the middle of Vitium Court, he twisted around, grabbed hold of the spy and demanded she take him to Kohinoor. Wisely, she had agreed and led him to Dalhoor. Somehow, Cyriacus wasn't the least be surprised…at least until she had led him to the front door of Verity House.

It all made such twisted sense that Cyriacus was surprised he hadn't seen it coming. While Arcanum had cast its shadow over the Wizarding World, the members of the Verity House had done the exact opposite. Where the Arcanum Alumni had used manipulation from the shadows, they had gone about their domination of the Wizarding World openly. Comprised of over forty individual Pureblood Families, the Verity House was not so much a household as it was a gathering of the most ancient Pureblood Families in the world.

Verity House was impregnable and spoken about in awed tones. To be a member was to be a Royal amongst commoners, even the oh-so illustrious Malfoys would have been seen as common riff raff. The Families that made up the Verity House dominated the Wizarding World socially and financially. Their power was absolute and their connections rivaled Arcanum in some matters. Yet the two grand powers had never once fought, as far as he recalled, which had always struck him as very strange.

Before he could ponder matters in greater depth, he had been guided through the exquisitely decorated hallways and led to a study. The room could have passed as a library, as the walls were filled with books that towered two stories high. Yet the centerpiece of the room was a large desk set near the back wall. Barely five minutes had passed before Kohinoor had entered the room, as infuriatingly blasé as normal. It was a sign that he attributed with Seers of great power and one that irked him to no ends. Namely because it reminded him so much of Dumbledore when he had been younger, always being vague and acting omniscient. It grated on his nerves even to this day.

"What may I do for you today, kyndrak?"

Cyriacus glared at her. "Firstly, you can tell your underlings to stop following me around everywhere! How you expect me to do what is necessary for my survival with them dogging my footsteps, I can't understand. Secondly, I know that you've been doing something of questionable nature and I know it has to do with that power hungry Lich Ascyltus. I don't like it when others play games with me, and I like it even less when people meddle in my affairs. You will either tell me what you've been doing or I'll use my Gift to find out…and then I'll unleash my displeasure upon you and yours twice fold!"

Kohinoor simply looked at him. "Your threats mean little to me; I've ordered worse things done to others than anything that you might dream up. I offered you the truth of what you were months ago and you dismissed it like the child that you are. Perhaps you are finally ready to see?"

"You think you know me, wretch?!" Cyriacus growled as he stalked over to her. "Just because you saw to my unnatural birth doesn't mean that you know who I am! How dare you treat me like some ignorant child! I don't need you anymore than I need Voldemort, despite what either of you may think, and I won't be a pawn in either of your games!"

"Until you prove your strength, your claims of maturity mean nothing. You will never overcome the obstacles that await you if you do not stop acting so foolishly!"

Cyriacus snarled at her. "No one can challenge my power and I'll prove it to you! I'll attack Lumen-Umbra and I'll bring the city to its knees!"


Unfortunately, he could not blame his short temper on allowing himself to be goaded into proving his mettle. It had played a part certainly but it had not been the key factor which, as he now knew, could be blamed solely on that meddlesome Chylla. Kohinoor had accused him of acting brashly well; he could say the same of her! She was the one who had panicked over him beginning to accept what he was and chose to begin an all or nothing campaign to get the Bond between Voldemort and himself permanently anchored.


Cyriacus found himself in a very familiar room. He watched silently as Kohinoor paced back and forth while several other Chylla waited patiently.

"He is already in Khanel and is quickly beginning to manifest brother traits of the Deviants, Revenants, Savages and even Razul's Gift. I worry his power is manifesting far too quickly." Kohinoor commented at last, stopping in front of the others.

Fayruz frowned. "What would you suggest? Once Khanel has begun, there is no way to slow the process."

"That is true but we can help him anchor his power."

"You're referring to the Bond? Are you certain that is a wise idea? The two do not even have a stable relationship yet." Nanaea pointed out, incredulous.

Kohinoor waved her hand. "If the development of his powers were not in such a dangerous stage I would not even suggest such a thing but as matters stand, if we do not do anything, I fear how things will turn out."

"Who will be our pawn then?"

"I have watched closely and the Lich Ascyltus would be our best choice. He desires the kyndrak's power and he would be more than willing to help ruin their budding relationship. Jealousy and loneliness will make them realize that they need each other, if only for comfort."

Cyriacus gaped at them, just barely catching Kohinoor's last thoughts on the matter before he was ripped away back to reality.

'I will make this work! They cannot afford to be weak and the darkness within the kyndrak needs to stay dormant for a few months more. The time is not yet right…'


Cyriacus shook his head; he needed to stay focused on the present. After he made his escape, he could ponder all he wanted about Kohinoor's goals and the situation with Voldemort. Stopping at the mouth of the alley, he spotted the towering mansions that dotted the Regalis District. Freedom was close.

"Use the detectors! He can't have gotten far!" Peter snarled at the Hit Wizard carrying the portable communication device.

Gabriel paced restlessly nearby, wand in his hand with his eyes scanning the shadows back and forth restlessly. They had set up a temporary base of operations at the intersection of Artifex block N-4 and Regalis block N-3. Squads of Hit Wizards had been sent out to comb the Artifex Blocks near the disturbance with Dark Detectors and communication pendants.

"Sir! We've locked onto the aura of the intruder; it has just crossed into Regalis block P-3!" One of the Hit Wizards shouted.

Peter's eyes flamed. "Good! I want all available forces outside the city stationed around the Regalis blocks P-3, P-2 and P-1 to push inward; we'll catch him in one of the Viridarium blocks. Any forces within the city that are not engaged or have subdued any hostiles are to flank the Viridarium blocks immediately! Captain Phillips you will stay behind and arrange the flanking, make sure to equally distribute the forces among the latter 7 districts and the rest of you mount your brooms, we're going to follow the bastard by air now that we have a lock on their position! We must not let the intruder escape justice!"

The Strategy Room

Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

8:25 AM

Heads turned away from the glowing images being displayed over the table top. Asadyl, having recognized the familiar aura of the one approaching, got to his feet. Voldemort looked up, curious at the sudden tension in the room.

Moments later the door opened and a gold haired Chylla entered, three strangers following her. The tallest, was an ethereal looking Elf who had pale white-blond hair and dark hazel-green eyes. To his right was a broad shouldered man with shoulder length copper ringlets and piercing gold eyes and the final stranger was a heavily muscled man with a broad shoulders, short cropped brown hair and dark blue eyes.

"Fayruz…what are you doing here?" Asadyl asked examining the newcomers behind her with suspicion.

"I have come to deliver a message to the heir of the Brykri." Fayruz answered with a Mona Lisa smile.

Asadyl wasn't the only Primordial present who hissed with surprise at the revelation. "The what?"

Without sparing the others a glance, Fayruz moved fluidly through the room and presented to Voldemort a scroll of parchment sealed with black wax. Voldemort looked skeptically at the scroll before accepting it wordlessly. After eyeing the image pressed in the wax, he broke open the seal and began reading.

Across the table, Lucius watched the flicker of emotion on Voldemort's face. First there was surprise, followed by caution and then rage which quickly turned into concern. Five minutes passed and then Voldemort got to his feet, face carefully blank.

"I have matters to attend to. Lucius, I leave you in charge of the others. Take no action without my written command. I will send a note later today."

Asadyl, who looked at Voldemort with not a little shock and some disgust, frowned darkly. Fayruz had already gone so there was no one to question and the three strangers had followed Voldemort out without speaking a word to anyone. Just what was Kohinoor plotting now? Was this just another facet to their grand plan or was she beginning a new game?

Regalis District, Lumen-Umbra, Unplottable

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

3:35 AM

Cyriacus twitched as he felt a familiar buzz against his ear. Ducking into the shadows against an ivy-covered wall, he reached up and brushed his finger against the earpiece.


"They've locked onto your aura and are closing in from all sides. Estimated time of interception at your present speed is five minutes."

Cyriacus scowled, "Sooner than I expected but I can handle it. Keep me informed."

"Will do."

"So they think they can catch me, huh?" Cyriacus murmured softly as he shed his cloak. "They'll have to be sharper than that to get me."

He had five minutes to get to where he needed to go and if they had already locked onto his aura, there was no need to be discreet. Besides that, today's battle would be pointless unless he tested the full capability of his powers. If they wanted a fight, he would give them a fight the likes which they'd never seen. With a feral grin, he reached down and unclasped the two tiny vials hidden behind his belt buckle. As he downed the noxious concoction, he removed the power limiting ring from his navel.

Pure energy poured through his body and his aura flared fiercely around him. Now it was time to show them what he was made of.


Peter turned to look at the Hit Wizard carrying the Dark Detector. "What's wrong?"

"Sir, the aura of the intruder just spiked to an unbelievable height. His presence vanished momentarily, it appears as though he Apparated directly to the Viridarium block N-2."

Gabriel frowned, "He's going to make his stand there."

"Relay orders to the other intercepting groups, I want twelve support groups surrounding the border of the block to prevent his escape and then I want another twelve support groups to form a perimeter two hundred feet within the block itself. I want all Hit Wizard squadrons to the front line; we can't let the intruder escape. I want him alive."

"Right away Sir!"

Lumen-Umbra was a disaster zone.

The communication channels were filled with myriad voices, reporting devastating destruction, heavy attacks or the number of dead and wounded found at sites devastated by the monstrous creatures set loose within Lumen-Umbra. The Order of the Phoenix had been one of many support groups assigned to destroy the creatures attacking the Vulgo district. It had been a horrifying battle, one they had barely managed to win and the casualties had been high.

In the attack they had lost Hestia Jones, Molly Weasley, Raphael King and Natalie Hooper. Karl Broadmoor and Amelia Chambers were badly injured and had been taken to the hospital by fellow Healer in training, Tyler Edgecombe. Karen Mourning had not been seen since they had arrived and the oldest Weasley brothers were being dug out from a building which had collapsed. Moody, Shacklebolt and Tonks were bandaging each other's wounds and taking Pepper-Up Potions.

Dumbledore had never felt so exhausted in his life and while this battle had been won, they had suffered heavy losses. When the orders came for all available support groups to move to intercept the mastermind behind the assault, Dumbledore had to leave behind a quarter of the Order to recover from their injuries. Fortunately for them, they had only to cross one block and were given orders to proceed forward to act as perimeter guard.

Even though he could not see the mysterious fiend who had plotted this grand attack, Dumbledore could feel their aura. It was powerful, that was undoubtedly true but what was even more intimidating was the sheer stain of Dark magic in it. Whoever this figure was, they had literally bathed their hands in the blood of innocents over and over again.

Could this be the mysterious Prince of Dragons? Or was it the terrifying Necromancer Ruin?

The Drawing Room

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

8:50 AM

The room was silent as everyone listened to the reports regarding the attack on Lumen-Umbra. It was unfathomable to hear that the greatest Wizarding city on the planet, had been brought so low.

Hermione tried to comfort Ginny who was sobbing at the loss of her mother. Ron, who sat with the other boys in his year, kept repeating "It can't be true," over and over again in disbelief. The Weasley's Grandfather clock did not lie. The hand with their mother's name was pointing to 'death', while the hands for Bill, Charlie, the Twins and their father were all pointing at 'mortal peril'.

Oliver Wood had been left behind to keep an eye on things and he did not know what to do. What do you tell someone who has lost their mother? How do you keep up the spirits of the others who don't have any clue how their loved ones are doing? Why had Dumbledore left him here in charge of them? He had never felt so helpless in his life and never so inadequate.

The Ritual Room

Verity House, East Upper Valley, Dalhoor

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

12:00 PM

Voldemort coolly followed his temporary hosts through the maze-like hallways of Verity House. It had been the first time he had been invited to the mysterious mansion but, he mused, it would likely not be his last. Like most family seats, Verity House was filled with priceless rugs, paintings, statues and miscellaneous object d'art. The marble floors shone and not a speck of dust resided within the cavernous hallways.

It was eerily silent, which was odd for a house of this side but likely the inhabitants had been asked to vacate the residence for the time being. Kohinoor would be monitoring Cyriacus's actions and would not want any outside distractions. Voldemort scowled darkly, if what was written in this letter was true, he too was nothing more than an elaborate pawn in her game.

Mehrdad opened a hidden doorway and they continued on their way, following the winding staircase down deep beneath the ground. The air became cooler and moist, light provided by glass lamps filled with Bluebell Flames. After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived in front of a set of stone double doors. Voldemort eyed the macabre carvings that decorated the massive doors; fiendish specters in elaborate hooded robes performed various Dark rituals. Ulrich and Justus each grabbed a door handle, which were shaped to look like a spinal cord, and pulled the doors open.

"This is where we leave you, we will wait here." Mehrdad said simply.

Voldemort nodded once and calmly strode through the doors. The room beyond was dark but unlike the hallways, it was not silent. It sounded like water dropping on a still pool but the scent in the air was…metallic. Warily, he passed through a narrow hallway and to his surprise, arrived on a landing overlooking a large Ritual chamber. He couldn't make out the room very well from his vantage but the moment he set his foot on the top step, torches began to light up from various positions around the room.

He gaped at the sight in front of him.

The chamber itself was not as large as he might have expected, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in appearance. Along the far wall was what appeared to be a narrow rectangular pool filled with a red liquid he guessed to be blood. Spiraling down from the ceiling were glass tubes which dripped drops of blood and a strange black liquid into the narrow pool below.

If that wasn't a startling enough sight, a strange crystal formation jutted out of the floor in the center of the room. It was multicolored and pulsed gently with ancient magic. Curious, he walked down the short flight of stairs and moved closer to examine the strange sight. As he neared it, he realized that the crystals all bore runes of a type he had never seen. He walked around it several times, examining the various jutting formations, taking in their appearance and the placement of the runes on each. It was puzzling, he had never seen anything like it and he was not new to the subject.

All crystals had the potential to be used as focal points in casting ritual magicks or holding and storing power and spells. There were even a rare few that could reflect, absorb and transmute spells that came into contact with them. It was a complex division of magic, one rarely taught in magical schools. He himself had only learned about the subject by apprenticing under a Master of the subject. From observing Cyriacus, he had learned a few new methods crystals could be used for but he had never seen anything like this.

"They are beautiful aren't they?"

Voldemort stiffened and turned around, glaring at the serene woman standing behind him. "What purpose do they serve?"

"We used these crystals as a template to etch the Blood Runes onto the kyndrak's shell. In essence, the runes that cover these crystals allow him to access and use his power. He has learned to see and modify Blood Runes on others but he cannot do the same to himself unless he comes here to this place and, even then, he is a special exception. Alterations can be made to better enhance his powers and the flow of his magic but he cannot erase any abilities we have given him." Kohinoor explained.

"And the blood?"

Kohinoor smiled mysteriously. "You will see what that is for later. Suffice to say, it is essential to his existence, although unnecessary as of yet."

Voldemort considered her words carefully. "Why have you asked me to come here?"

"You were chosen to serve a very important role. Through the Bond I created between the two of you, you will serve to anchor his excess power. When the Bond is completed, it will allow the two of you to share power and, in your case, it will awaken Razul's second greatest Gift: the ability to siphon magic from any plane of existence and store it within your Core or another vessel."

"But that…is impossible!" Voldemort exclaimed, shocked.

Kohinoor's eyes shone with amusement. "It is not impossible for those with Primordial blood."

Voldemort was silent for a minute, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. The Primordials had been the first beings able to use magic and through their mating with humans, the first Magical beings were born. Through the interbreeding between those magical beings and breeding with humans, wizards and witches had been born. All the Primordials save the Chylla had been banished to another plane of existence and the Chylla had banded together to fulfill a Prophecy to free their imprisoned brethren.

Somehow they had managed to track and manage the bloodlines of the key descendants of Imryn, Asadyl and Razul. When they saw that the time was getting closer to the birth of the kyndrak, they had implemented the next stage of the plan, which was to arrange for a suitable mate. The closer the time came to Cyriacus's birth, the more effort was expended to create future bodyguards and all of them would have Primordial blood.

Cyriacus was at present a twice cursed Blood Child and before the Primordials were freed, he would be thrice cursed. When Asadyl and Kohinoor both died, he would become the Lord of the Primordials. But something…didn't make sense. Kohinoor had said multiple times that he 'would become the kyndrak' and that the position had been created exclusively for him.

"What…does it mean to be the kyndrak? It is more than just a title isn't it?" Voldemort asked finally.

Kohinoor smiled, she had been waiting to someone to ask this question. "I do not recall how we came to be but Asadyl, who is eldest among us, recalls the presence of a being that was similar to us but…different. We believe this being was our…creator; a father perhaps would be a better term. It did not communicate with us but we could feel it observing us and a number of years before we met with our downfall, its presence vanished completely. Many years passed before we felt the presence return, this time in a mortal shell. It did not know us and now, I think perhaps, it had gotten bored of such a tedious existence. When it died, its spirit left behind the shell of flesh and bone and passed on into what is now the Celestial plane."

Voldemort gaped, "It gave up immortality?!"

"It is the only explanation we have for what happened. In any event, I remembered it and determined that perhaps if we could channel its spirit into a vessel that was a blend of all the Primordials, we could awaken its memories of what its old existence was. I believe I have accomplished what I sought to do. The body Cyriacus was born in is the closest re-creation of the presence that Asadyl recalls and the powers he is manifesting are very like those of the ancient being."

For the first time in a number of months, Voldemort was utterly speechless. All of this, everything that had happened was beyond his imagination and until he had seen it with his own eyes he would never have thought it possible. Were the Chylla geniuses or the greatest fools to live? The audacity to have done what they did was utterly shocking. If the story was true, what would happen if Cyriacus remembered his old existence? More importantly, would Cyriacus still be himself or would he be consumed by his past life?

Viridarium, Regalis District, Lumen-Umbra, Unplottable

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

4:04 AM

Cyriacus waited calmly, eyes closed in indifference as he was surrounded. Oh, they were trying to be subtle but they hadn't a hope in hell of sneaking up on him in this form. Biding his time, he amused himself with coating the vegetation growing within the block in a very fine dusting of his magic. It was a difficult task but if achieved correctly, would be very beneficial.

He stood in the center of a large botanical garden. In front of him was a white stone garden arch, around which crimson roses crawled along its surface. To the ignorant, it looked like nothing more than the focal point of what was known to be the largest wizarding botanical garden. This section of the two Viridarium blocks was for contemplation and relaxation whereas the other section was for games and exercise. Of course, there was a reason for this and it lay in that faux garden arch.

Another ten minutes passed in silence and finally he grew impatient. Honestly, did they think he'd simply surrender without putting up a fight? What fools had begun to populate the upper echelons of the American Ministry anyway?

"I tire of these games, if you will not make the first move, I shall be happy to do so." Cyriacus said rather suddenly, as he bit his left index finger and smeared blood on three of the runes tattooed to his chest.

"Stop him you idiots!" Someone shouted and suddenly a barrage of various spells was sent in his direction.

Cyriacus smirked as he coolly launched himself into the air. Drawing his legs to his chest, he wrapped his wings around his body and spun in the air, neatly deflecting the incoming attacks. Wordlessly, he cast a powerful Light Spell, blinding his attackers while he made last minute adjustments to stabilize the Doorway. As the Light dispersed above him, a glowing vortex appeared below him and sleek cat-like creatures fell through the open doorway, landing soundlessly on the ground. The Ravagers had the build of a cheetah, possessed glowing orange eyes, black furred bodies and teeth like serrated knives.

Chuckling, Cyriacus perched on the stone arch and cruelly waited until some of his attackers regained their sight. Frightened shouts and screams pierced the air, causing some to foolishly send Stunning Hexes in his previous direction.

"Sic 'em, boys!" Cyriacus commanded.

And just like that the supposedly master less creatures sped forward with frightening speed into the mass of Hit Wizards and wrecked devastation. Now the air was filled with the sounds of screams and Cyriacus calmly dropped down to the ground, a double bladed staff appearing in his hands as more Doorways appeared out of the sky. With this many adversaries, he had an abundant amount of offerings just waiting to be taken. As he fought off two Hit Wizards he poured more of his magic into the very air, stabilizing the Doorways.

He did not need to waste his time focusing his will to call forth specific Summons. With an open Doorway, the scent of blood and death, they would come freely of their own will. And with every death, he would come one step closer to awakening the dormant magic in the faux garden arch.

"By the Lightbringer…" Gabriel gaped as he saw the swarm of fiendish creatures rush forward, killing indiscriminately.

Around him, squadron leaders attempted to rally their squads while they began to make preparations to fend off the coming horde. Deafening screams and shouts filled the air and the sense of fear became stronger as more creatures appeared out of shimmering holes dangling impossibly in the air.

There was no time to think. It was all he could do to hold his ground, his body moving and spells rolling off his tongue as he dodged and shuffled through the battlefield. He was never any more thankful that all his Hit Wizards and Aurors had been instructed to carry short-range weapons. In a battle like this, there was no way to avoid close physical contact with the enemy.

A thrust with his sword combined with an Incendio did wonders for most of the creatures, mind you, it wasn't a completely painless endeavor. He was thrown, smashed, tripped, clawed and bitten before he had managed to wade more than ten feet into the war zone, heading to that winged monstrosity that was, without a doubt, the Necromancer Ruin.

"Maintain your formations!" Peter shouted as he decapitated a Spitting Lizard. "Someone relay for reinforcements and tell the outer group to put up a ward to keep the monstrosities inside this block! And where the hell are the damned squadrons with the explosives?"

"Sir, the creatures have broken through our lines on the west and the north-east! Receiving reports that the perimeter group is engaged with some unknown elemental creatures." One of the Hit Wizard's shouted as he helped the Head of Defense run through a strange centipede like creature.

A thunderous boom sent debris, body parts and blood flying in the air. Blinded by the cloud of dust, Peter was sent flying through the air as a spiked tail lashed into his side. The unexpected and jarring pain ripped a scream out of this throat and he lost his breath as he landed in an ice cold water garden. His body smashed into the bottom of the three foot deep pond and he inhaled water before flailing to the surface, coughing.

While he attempted to get his bearings, he realized grimly that he had dropped his broad sword.

Had he the time to catch a glimpse of Necromancer Ruin with his own eyes, Dumbledore would have done so. Alas, he was too busy trying to stave off a strange creature which shot poisoned needles with its tail. The creature had a hide thick enough to absorb most spells and most of those stung with its poisoned needles died within minutes. It was not a pleasant sight but then, this night had redefined the word horror.

This was, unfortunately, not the sort of battle for a wizard of his age. He could only be thankful that they still outnumbered the creatures or he would truly be in mortal peril. Teaming up with Moody, two Canadian Aurors and a trio of American Aurors, they managed to finally kill one of the needle shooting creatures. Unfortunately there were at least another dozen running rampant through the perimeter.

Cyriacus's Room

Argyle Tower, West Lower Valley, Dalhoor

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

12:40 PM

Nusayr prowled nervously back and forth in front of the obsidian arch set in the middle of Cyriacus's sitting room. Checking the time, he growled. Cyriacus was late! Making his escape shouldn't have taken this long and he was helpless, there was nothing he could do. Around the room, the others waited just as nervously. If something went wrong with the Avatar Projection Charm, Kohinoor would have their heads on pikes and he didn't even want to contemplate what Asadyl would do to them.

Iah walked out of the bedroom, looking drained. "How much time is left?"

"He has another twenty minutes." Baraz answered slowly.

Nusayr took a deep breath. "He'll make it. Iah, sit down before you collapse! Salil, go and bring Asaph, we'll need another donor since Mordecai is already taking his turn. I'll check the arch to make sure it's working."

The others did as they were told, their nervousness momentarily forgotten. Nusayr calmly stood in front of the arch and shuddered as he heard the faint murmurs of his dead wives and children. Closing his eyes, he stepped away from the arch. It was working fine, now they only had to wait.

The Ritual Room

Verity House, East Upper Valley, Dalhoor

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

12:44 PM

Voldemort was dizzy and weak. He was never, ever going to listen to a damn thing that Chylla ever said again!

Yes, he wanted Cyriacus back and yes he was willing to do a great many things in order to get his lover back. Donating blood had seemed like a small price to pay, especially as he intuited that the blood pool was very important. However, he had not expected Kohinoor to take four pints of blood in one session! Even with a Blood Replenishing potion, he still felt weak and it had been nearly an hour.

At the far side of the room, Kohinoor and Nanaea were busy arguing in hushed tones. They had been arguing for the past fifteen minutes and Voldemort was getting rather irritated. Observing them, he caught the words 'Razul', 'alteration' and 'memories'. Having come to some sort of agreement, the two women walked over to the fountain and emptied the bottles containing his blood into the pool.

Viridarium, Regalis District, Lumen-Umbra, Unplottable

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

4:41 AM

Amelia Bones was on a mission and nothing, not even that pathetic excuse for a Minister was going to stop her. All attempts at relaying the horrifying discovery she had made at Hogsmeade had failed dismally, there was simply too much magic in the air and all the communication channels were distorted and garbled with too many people trying to make reports. So she had done the only thing available to her, she had Apparated to Lumen-Umbra and undertook the dangerous journey that was traveling on foot through the besieged city. It had taken her thirty minutes to convince the guard force erecting a containment barrier to let her through and she had entered what surely was hell on earth. A wasteland of death awaited her, guarded by ferocious monsters and at the center of it all, the messiah of a new age.

There was no hope to win this battle, let alone the war. Not with an enemy like this, one who Merlin had prophesized would change the very world itself.

Amelia Bones was no one's fool and she knew very well that the war that was coming was unavoidable. It had festered for centuries and now the time had finally come to end the vicious cycle. In the beginning it had only been a war between the magical and the non-magical but with each century that went by the war had spread within their own ranks. Different magical beings began to war with each other just as the non-magical humans began to form their own nations.

War had raged without end for thousands of years, with the non-magical humans wiping out whole groups of magical beings. For the Wizards this had gotten worse after the death of the legendary King Arthur. It was at this time that an agreement was reached by all magical beings; all would erase signs of their presence from the non-magical and each group would ignore the presence of other magical beings unless a conflicting issue arose. From that point, the non-magical humans had remembered magical beings and creatures only as whimsical tales out of ancient legend.

Now it seemed that the time had finally come to break the ancient treaty. Merlin could not have referred to anything else as he had used the term 'mirror's spell' which was the first of the Anti-Muggle spells that had been developed. Many had thought that a day would come soon where it would no longer be possible to hide. The Muggles had made many advancements and it was quite possible they could inadvertently create a device that would allow them to see past Anti-Muggle spells. It was from this fear that the original debates about blood purity had developed centuries ago and it was the base on which many wars had been fought in the Wizarding World.

If Merlin had seen the end of the treaty over fifteen hundred years ago and predicted the result of what came after, to Amelia, there was no point in fighting the inevitable. Necromancer Ruin and the Prince of Dragons were not two people as many had assumed and after seeing Merlin's Lost Prophecy, she knew very well what he was capable of doing. This was what had brought her here, it was time to tell the others what she had learned and maybe…some of them would be wise enough to leave well enough alone.

Gabriel was fighting the most important battle of his life against the creature that had brought so much destruction and loss of life to the city he had sworn to protect. Neither had exchanged words as no words had to be said. They would fight until one of them couldn't stand at which point Gabriel would take the other into custody or he would be killed.

It was a dangerous dance as they exchanged blows. The other was particularly gifted in the use of the staff and he had long ago given up attempting to hex the other. For one, his opponent was gifted in wordless magic and secondly, the strange scale on the Necromancer's body repelled magic.

Gabriel blocked a thrust at his stomach and was surprised to have his legs swept out from under him as his opponent twisted around and knocked him over with his tail. Landing on his back he rolled to the side and avoided another stab at his chest. Clambering to his feet, he was surprised to see his enemy frozen in place, a spearhead sticking out of his left shoulder and a knife held to his throat.

"Drop your staff or I'll kill you." Peter growled, pressing the edge of the knife into Cyriacus's neck.

A flash of light erupted behind them and Cyriacus knew that it was time to end the game. Amused, he dropped his staff and quickly smeared blood on the Sealing rune on his chest. Immediately shrieks and howls of outrage poured across the battlefield and he watched with satisfaction as his creatures were pulled back through the open Doorways.

Most Necromancers wouldn't have tried something as daring as performing a Summoning like this without a salt circle but Cyriacus had cunningly dusted the entire block with magic from his secondary Orb of Stability. This had made every person who had come into contact with his magic a target for the Ravagers. And when blood had been spilled on the remaining magic dusted on the vegetation, he had opened the other Doorways. None of the creatures who had come pouring out of the Doorways had even attempted to attack him, they all knew what he was and that he could easily banish them so they had turned their attention to the helpless fodder around them.

A flick of thoughts and the remaining magic that had formed his Orb of Stability was drawn back together and easily sent back through the single Doorway remaining, the Ravagers following behind it eagerly. That one golf ball sized Orb had more power than all the wizards and witches on the battlefield combined and was a prize they would not forsake. The moment the last Ravager vanished, the Doorway closed.

Taking advantage of the momentary surprise of his two most immediate threats, he materialized a throwing dagger in one hand and a sword in the other. With precise aim, he nailed Gabriel in the thigh and thrust the sword through his stomach, impaling his would-be murderer.

"Well it was fun meeting you both but it's time I made my departure." Cyriacus smoothly commented and calmly cut all threads that held his Avatar form in the clay golem he had used to infiltrate Lumen-Umbra.

It was with much amusement that he stepped out of the clay body he had worn, idly watching it melt into a heap on the ground. Revealing what would later be confirmed as the missing heart of Roger Davies and various major organs of other missing spies who had infiltrated the ranks of Voldemort's forces.

Around them, the survivors had crept forward, awed to see the enemy up close.

Gabriel stared at the glowing form standing next to the kneeling form that was the American Head of Defense. "What are you?!"

Cyriacus, who wore the guise he had given himself the night he had first been summoned by Voldemort, grinned. "As you have no doubt guessed, I am Necromancer Ruin, Guild Lord of the Guild of Necromancy and Heir of Blaze Hawthorne. You might also know me by my other appellation the-"

"Prince of Dragons," Amelia spoke up, having finally arrived too late to have stopped the needless bloodshed.

"Amelia?" Dumbledore asked surprised.

Cyriacus tipped his head back and laughed. "Ah, so you found the gift I arranged to be dropped off at Hogsmeade! I'm very pleased to hear it, Madam Bones."

"What is he talking about?" Several different people asked, among them Gabriel Quigley, Alastor Moody and a bloodstained Peter Lowell.

Amelia took a deep breath. "We received notice of a security breech in Hogsmeade. I lead a force of Hit Wizards and Aurors to the site and was led to a Prophecy Crystal. It was positively identified by several Unspeakables as Merlin's Lost Prophecy. I read it and came here to warn you."

"Warn us about what?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes never leaving Cyriacus's glowing form.

"She came to warn you about me, probably." Cyriacus said interrupting the little inquisition.

"Yes," Amelia answered, unnerved.

Cyriacus laughed as he walked away from them. "Too late for that m'dear! I've already crushed Lumen-Umbra and showed you the futility of getting in the way of my plans. Tonight was only the barest hint of what I can do with my powers and I'll let you in on a little secret…my powers have only just begun to develop."

"No…" Gabriel gaped.

"I'll let you all familiarize yourselves with Merlin's Lost Prophecy; I have business to attend to. Merry Christmas and have a good New Year!" Cyriacus replied laughing as he strode through the faux arch and vanished.

Cyriacus's Room

Argyle Tower, West Lower Valley, Dalhoor

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

12:57 PM

Nusayr sighed with relief as he watched Cyriacus walk through the obsidian arch. Without a word, the Primordials gathered followed as Cyriacus walked through the open door and into the bedroom. Mordecai sat on the bed, straddling Cyriacus's body as he fed his blood to the barely living form underneath him.

"Get off," Cyriacus ordered.

Mordecai obediently got off and stood to the side of the bed. The Primordials watched as Cyriacus walked over to his body. To Cyriacus's frustration, he was unable to connect his Avatar form back into his real body. Checking the clock set on his nightstand, he began to worry. He had less than two minutes to get back into his body before the spells sustaining it wore off and his body died. Once the spells wore off, he would have, at best, another ten minutes to get back into his body before brain damage kicked in from lack of oxygen. Panicking, he used a little too much force attempting to get back into his body, as his body began to cough up blood. Cyriacus forced himself to calm down and pray that he hadn't given himself too much internal damage.

He really didn't want to die! It would save him a lot of aggravation but honestly, as much as he bitched, he really did like being alive! There was still so much for him to do, killing Kohinoor, getting back together with Voldemort, watching Fudge get kicked out of office and getting revenge on that manipulating Headmaster!

The moment the spell sustaining Cyriacus's body wore off, his Avatar form vanished.

He was not afraid of death. He was a Necromancer after all and he knew all the mysteries behind death and existence on other planes. Truthfully, he was not sure why some people feared death; it was only an altered state of being after all. Death was not a loss of being, if anything, it was the one place where a spirit could become whole.

Of course, he was not quite dead yet. Drifting in the barren outlands of the Celestial plane he was floating in limbo, the precarious stage between life and death. Cyriacus absently hoped this would be his first and only visit to the desolate place. There was something disturbing about this place, something that caused unease to bloom from within his very soul. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Time passed at a snail's pace, or so it seemed, for all he knew years could have passed since he'd appeared here. There was no guarantee after all, that he would pass on like a normal spirit even if his body had died. The Avatar Projection Charm was born from a rather unorthodox application of Necromantic ingenuity, delicate runic work and sheer belief. It began with creating a suitable golem, a task which tested both his ability in Potion making, blood magic rituals and runic craftsmanship. Once the golem was completed, the next stage was casting the Avatar Projection Charm itself. It was the magical equivalent of a machine-less life support and instant spirit ejection of the highest order.

In most situations when a Necromancer's Feint was used, the spirit of the Necromancer was entrapped into the Anchoring item used to sever the connection. Although with other preparations, it was possible to use the spirit form to travel to other planes but there was a limit to what could be done or could be learned in spirit form. Cyriacus had spent weeks creating the perfect charm which would allow him to retain full use of the power available to him and use them in an artificial shell.

That had been the master stroke of the Avatar Projection Charm. There was an extreme difference between a spirit and an Avatar. A spirit had no access to magic outside of their body but the Avatar did. And the charm was completely worthless to other wizards and witches unless they possessed the same Blood Gifts as he himself and the available power to fuel such a dangerous and complex spell.

Morgan had told him flatly that he was crazy to attempt such a risky spell but to Cyriacus, it had been the only acceptable solution. If he could get the Avatar Projection Charm to work successfully, it would completely eliminate the vulnerability of a Necromancer during an open battle. While things hadn't gone as well as he had hoped, he had noted several things that could be improved upon for the next attempt. The only issue now was that he was stuck here.

He had all the time in the world at the moment and knowing how valuable he was to the Chylla's grand scheme, it was only a matter of time before they figured out a way to bring him back. As much as the idea of depending on them irked him, he admitted with some resignation that they were good at what they did and were skilled in their Gifts. So the only option available to him was to wait.

The Ritual Room

Verity House, East Upper Valley, Dalhoor

Thursday the 25th of December 1997

2:15 PM

Voldemort sat on a chair next to the makeshift bed that contained his former lover, reading through the scrolls that detailed the theory behind the Avatar Projection Charm.

Well over an hour ago, Nusayr and the rest of the Carapace had come bursting into the Ritual Room, acting like headless chickens and carrying Cyriacus's, then lifeless shell. Kohinoor had lit into them with a fury that Voldemort hadn't imagined the normally calm and collected Chylla was capable of. While the Carapace explained what Cyriacus had done, Nanaea had simply removed a strange looking black worm from a jar and tucked it into Cyriacus's ear. Moments later, the younger man's body had begun breathing and the initial panic had died.

The room was filled with movement as Primordials from various sub-groups gathered in clusters, exchanging ideas about where Cyriacus's Avatar had gone and how to get it back. Although concerned, Voldemort was not as worried. Having read through the scrolls, he knew that everything had been done correctly and with Cyriacus's body working, it was only a matter of time before his spirit form found the connection back to his body.

Aside from concern, Voldemort was furious at the sheer stupidity of his former lover. What the hell had he been thinking trying something so dangerous with no one else around to offer advice or speculation? This idiotic maneuver was undeniable truth that Cyriacus did have some Gryffindor tendencies remaining. When the other was fully recovered Voldemort would be more than pleased to punish the younger wizard for being so fool hardy. Then, maybe he would take him out on another date as Marcellus Arvell. They always had such good times and it was relaxing being able to go out in public with Cyriacus. Of course, the sex afterwards was always something to look forward to.

Grinning lasciviously Voldemort fondly recalled the last date they had together. As the media knew they were dating, going out in public tended to ruin their fun but as Krum had been added into the equation, it was important that Marcellus be aggressive in his pursuit. So for this occasion, Voldemort had made good use of his connections as Marcellus Arvell.

To Cyriacus's surprise, Voldemort had rented out the large pavilion in the center of the park in Leisure Alley. It was decorated with fairy lights, and a multitude of vases filled with roses in every shade of the rainbow. They had a candle lit dinner under the moonlight with Celestina Warbeck singing love songs.

After they finished dessert, Voldemort had brought him closer to the pavilion and to his surprise Cyriacus saw that instead of Warbeck's usual chorus of Banshees, Voldemort had hired a famous choral group made up of Athenian Sirens. As they started singing, Voldemort led him in a dance. It may not have been as flashy as their first date but it was a great deal more romantic.

When their date ended, they had returned to Cannaid Clegr momentarily so Cyriacus could leave Dumbledore's Tracking Charm on one of the House-elves. Instead of returning back to Riddle Mansion, Cyriacus had suggested they go to Eagle's Spire instead. Voldemort had not regretted that choice.

(NC-17 cut)

"-mort? Voldemort!"

Jerked out of memories, Voldemort looked up into Nusayr's annoyed eyes. "What do you want?"

"You need to move out of the way, Kohinoor says we need to move him." Nusayr replied, glancing over at the eldest of the Chylla, who was over by the blood pool.

Voldemort followed the other's gaze. "She's going to put him in that is it wise?"

Nusayr shrugged, "I'm only doing as I was told. That blood is the blood collected from all the rituals they did so it has a very tangible connection to him, they hope it'll help him find his way back."

Voldemort simply got up and moved out of the way as Nusayr and the hulking Sargon lifted Cyriacus's body up. They rested him by the edge of the pool, stripping his clothes off before carefully lowering him into the pool of blood, careful to keep his head above the red liquid.

Minutes turned into hours and it was nearly dusk when Cyriacus's eyes suddenly opened and he began gagging. Nusayr helped him sit up and Cyriacus turned his head over the rim of the pool and spat out the worm Nanaea had put into him earlier. Kohinoor had been called over and was shooting numerous questions at her prized specimen. Cyriacus snarled and snapped responses at her as he was helped out. Once he was seated on the edge of the pool, he realized that he was completely naked and that he was covered in blood. Apparently the latter was the last straw.

Cyriacus staggered shakily to his feet, called Kohinoor a number of unflattering things in several different languages and abruptly collapsed as his body weakened body sought recovery in sleep. Amused, Voldemort took control of the situation, directing Nusayr and the rest of the Carapace to dress Cyriacus in one of the nightshirts Kohinoor had provided and calmly herded them out of Verity House.

Voldemort's Suite

Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, UK

Saturday the 27th of December 1997

3:09 AM

Cyriacus woke up in a very familiar bed, curled up against a familiar body. As he attempted to regain his bearings, he wondered how he had ended up here. The last thing he remembered was yelling at Kohinoor and then everything had gone black. Raising his hands high enough to rub his eyes seemed like a monumental effort and he had no sooner begun rubbing his eyes when he felt the heavy stare of crimson orbs.

"You're awake finally," Voldemort commented, his voice filled with a combination of relief and irritation.

Cyriacus blinked at him sleepily. "How did I get here?"

"I had Nusayr bring you back here after you collapsed in the Ritual room at Verity House."

"That…wasn't what I was asking. Why am I here in your bed?"

Voldemort contemplated him for a minute and then replied, "Because this is where I want you to be. Kohinoor she-"

"Drove us apart yes, I know."


Cyriacus smiled slightly. "I Saw it with my Gift and I know her motives too. She wanted us to strengthen the Bond…she's afraid that my powers are growing too fast."

Voldemort frowned. "How long have you known?"

"A few weeks."

"And you didn't say anything?"

Cyriacus looked into the angry eyes of his former lover. "I had something to prove to myself and it wouldn't have mattered. Kohinoor didn't stop her meddling until Asadyl caught Ascyltus and her red handed."

"That lich was involved?!"

"Very much so," Cyriacus answered, slightly amused.

Voldemort growled audibly. "I'm going to torture that lich within and inch of death and then I'm going to heal him and start all over again!"

"That won't be necessary, I have plans for him and he'll suffer more for them than he would under your torture." Cyriacus answered, eyes shining with vindictiveness.

"Very well," Voldemort yielded gracefully, still irritated but knew that Cyriacus was merciless when provoked.

They lay together in silence for a few minutes.

Tenderly, Voldemort caressed Cyriacus's face. "I want you back. I've missed having you with me…"

"I missed you too," Cyriacus admitted.

Voldemort kissed him softly. "This time, I want you to be mine only. No more sleeping around for the sake of proving your loyalties."

Cyriacus smiled slightly as he inhaled the familiar scent of coriander and cardamon, the scent he associated with his lover. "I can promise you that this time. I'm tired of playing those games and someday…you might finally convince me to be your Consort."

"Then I look forward to that day," Voldemort smiled and kissed Cyriacus again. "Go back to sleep you're still very weak, we'll talk again when you wake."

"Alright," Cyriacus agreed, yawning. "I want to know everything that's happened while I was unconscious."

Voldemort chuckled. "Fy draig…I will tell you everything later. I learned during our separation that the hardest thing was to live without you at my side. Have you not realized it yet? I would set the world at your feet if you asked it of me. I love you like I have never loved anyone or anything, being with you makes my life complete."

"That's good to hear because I feel the same way." Cyriacus murmured, closing his eyes. "Maybe I was a fool for completing the Christmas Attack on my own but I had to see how strong I was. Although I accomplished my mission, it would have been smoother had we worked together."

"Sleep," Voldemort urged, running his hand through Cyriacus's hair. "We will talk later about our foolishness."


Voldemort sighed, "Yes, as much as I hate to admit it."

Cyriacus snickered as he drifted off to sleep. Perhaps their separation had been for the best, now they were both willing to admit their mistakes.

To Be Continued in Precarious Destiny…

Final notes:

Viridarium- In this story, it refers to a large garden

Brykri- It's what the Primordials called Razul, it means 'Exile'

Khanel- the time when a Primordial's powers begin to mature

Kyndrak- A Primordial word that means 'Dark One'. As you now know, it is a reference to the being that created them.

Fy draig- Voldemort's pet name for Cyriacus, it's Welsh for 'my dragon'

In spirit of the season and desire to try new things, I am offering to write oneshots for the 1100th reviewer from FFN, the 150th reviewer from HPfandom and AFFnet and the 100th reviewer from Foreverfandom. Requested oneshot can be from one of my established fanfics or something new entirely. Gen or slash and I'm willing to try writing new pairings outside of LV/HP, beyond that I leave the rest up to the lucky reviewers.

I don't know when I'll begin posting Precarious Destiny but I am planning a re-vamping of ID. Please let me know about any scenes there were left out you would like to see added in or any scenes that you think could use more depth or detail and I'll see what I can do.

Thanks for sticking with me and please remember to review,

-SheWolfe7 (Nov 30, 2006)