A Song of Fools and Magic, Chapter 3. (Patreon)

Stygai, Shadow Lands, 278AC

Once the rainbow-hued flames thinned and vanished they revealed both magicals to be unharmed, neither reduced to ash in the wind nor a burn on their bodies. Instead the stone around them had slightly softened and melted, leaving both standing in a puddle of liquid stone up to their ankles.

Thankfully their clothes had suffered the worst of it. Harry's makeshift plate was melted, running down his form like melted wax, leaving him standing in his enchanted Basilisk armour. Hermione was more affected, only left with her underwear and their Blood-Oath hanging around her neck. Even that would've burned away if it had not been made from a rather expensive, rare and alchemically treated silk that made it flame-proof.

Both turned around swiftly, Hermione being faster due to still retaining some vampiric strength. Entirely unwilling to give the dragon another opportunity to attack without reprisal. After all, they did have extensive knowledge about the beasts, as well as some experience. More so in Harry's case. Though, most of the spells used to combat dragons effectively were unusable right now, limiting their choices somewhat.

Luckily, it's most potent and effective weapon in form of its fire-breath was neutralised by the Ice Potion, for now. Normally one would then go for the beast's eyes, its most prominent weak point. Sadly, without wands the appropriate spell in form of a Conjunctivitis Curse was unavailable to them, having tried casting it on the way here. Which left limiting the dragon's options, but due to how cumbersome the beast was – as well as being weakened by Harry's death curse – that was a rather straightforward affair. Outside of not being backed up by a score of witches and wizard to overcome its natural resistance to spells.

Namely to bind it to the ground as best as possible, and hinder its mobility. Removing both of its greatest strengths and turning them into weaknesses.

“Deprimo!” The witch intoned, the correct somatic components intertwining with the verbal ones. Her mind aware that magic came easier with the proper procedures, even if they were normally not required back home with enough experience. Here it seemed more fixed, the rules different than back home but familiar enough.

A wave of pure kinetic force rushed out from Hermione, punching a hole the size of a giant's fist into the cloud of dust and pushing away the small debris made by the dragon's impact as it travelled towards their foe. A loud but dull impact was heard, eliciting a roar of what might've been annoyance.

§Die!§ A hissing voice demanded, making Harry perk up at the use of Parseltongue. Though it was swiftly followed by a pearlescent wave of flames that once more came rushing towards them, dispersing the concealing dust entirely.

The pair felt the heat grow stronger as the fiery death came rushing towards them, but not unbearable, all while it left a squishy and muddy stone in its wake. Neither of them did dodge, for it would do as much damage to them as before. The Ice Potion flowing through their veins keeping their bodies from being incinerated by magical or mundane flames.

After a wordless conversation Harry stayed in its line of sight and Hermione ran through the flames towards the dragon's maw. Expertly using the momentary opportunity to disappear from view and splitting up from her lover in opposite directions. Careful to keep the beast from facing the tower, behind which Tommen hopefully was keeping Delphini safe.

Hermione slipped under its massive belly, – seemingly as expansive as Hogwarts' Great Hall – and began to mould the Earth underneath the massive dragon now sitting in a perfectly circular indent. The stage set by her previous spell, which was primarily used to move earth or to dig holes.

A slight and familiar sensation of grit fell over her, as if she were within the dirt itself, giving her a feeling of relief as it evidently still worked in this world. While she no longer was a Vampire, Hermione still kept many echoes of that state within her. Like her unnatural vigour and that deep connection to the earth itself, which had previously tethered herself to her homeland. Though, only her aptitude in Vicissitude or Blood Magic mirrored Harry's proficiency with Necromancy.

She looked at the loose and viscous earth upon the ground and moulded it at a whim. It eagerly obeyed, made all the easier by its current semi-fluid state. Instantly the dragon's massive leg sunk slightly into the ground as if in quicksand. The mass of earth rolled, crawled upwards, compacted and took shape to encase the dragon's limb. Binding it to the earth in an obsidian sheath, all done with the mere thought to restrain the massive beast.

Thankfully the dragon didn't seem to notice, and why would it? With its weight and size, sinking into the earth was expected and familiar. Nor did it feel much of anything with essentially a coat of steel around it in form of its scales.

Following its attack the dragon did not see what it had expected initially, that being a patch of molten flesh and ash. The beast's fury grew as the little insect refused to perish to its flames. Yet it would try once more, its mind and body sluggish from age, and weakened altogether by the powerful initial necromantic spell of the Wizard. §Burn already§

Suspecting it might be futile, but needing to try anyway, Harry spoke to it. §We're not here to fight, Albion!§ he implored, hoping beyond hope that the use of its name would at least make it hesitate. Even if talking didn't work all the other times he had tried it on dragons, be it during the Tri-Wizard or during the war. Oh, they understood him perfectly well, but were too prideful to accept a truce.

§Yes, you're here to die, insect!§ it shrieked, preparing another gout of flame in its gullet, its breast glowing from within so strongly it could make a blast-furnace jealous.

Harry prepared his next cast quickly, pumping as much power into the spell as possible. Extending his hands forward, he exhaled and cast. “Glacius!” his breath plumed like the gale of a snowstorm. An unnatural chill – especially in this place – permeated the air and emerged as a blue-white ray from his fingertips, emitting a crackling sound exactly like a frozen lake trod upon in the dead of winter. The stark difference in temperature created a white mist in the air.

It hit the massive creature in the chest with the force of a blizzard, the flame in its throat guttered as rime and frost expanded. Though it melted just as quickly from the sheer heat emanating from the beast. Harry knew it wouldn't damage the creature much or at all, but that wasn't the intent behind the action. Rather it was done to prevent it from breathing fire and distract it from Hermione, who laboured to bind it to the earth.

While Harry continued to do just that, the witch was busy slowly encasing the stationary dragon's limbs in earth and hardening it. By now finished with its hind legs the size of mammoth trees. Both were sunken below their hocks and encased up to the stifle, which were the dragon equivalents to its ankles and knees.

Irritated at the frost, Albion used its long serpentine neck to block the assault and tried to reposition. Only to notice that it couldn't, and seeing no reason as to why through the white mist. With a growl of rage the pearlescent dragon prepared to unleash a firestorm below, despite the cold prolonging how fast it could do so.

Seeing the danger, and obviously not having the luxury to repeat the same long method of ensnarement with its wings, Hermione decided to speed up. She clasped her hands as if in prayer briefly, gathering magic and will and force, followed by raising them up in the air. The world beneath answered her command with a roar of exploding earth. Jagged pillars of stone erupted from the ground like the stretching fingers of some long-buried god. They rose nearly a dozen paces, piercing the wing membranes of Albion between each finger and hooking around the bones themselves as she clenched her fists.

Hermione pulled both hands down with a swift motion. In response the bones of the earth retreated back down, slowly pulling the dragon with them before groaning to a halt. Unfortunately, the beast was evidently too massive for the witch to fully immobilise. Its titanic frame and muscles working against her, just so able to keep it where it was. Utterly enraged, the beast decided to aim at the ground and spit fire, spreading its fury equally in all directions below it.

Once more Hermione was bathed in its magical nacre flames, slowly sweating more and more. “Hurry!” she shouted, feeling her protection expire slowly as it reached its limit. Not to mention the dragon potentially melting his earthen chains down.

“Coming!” he responded in a gasp, dismissing his spell and running towards the beast with his argent blade in hand. Through rainbow-hued fire and flames he scrambled, now feeling a slight increase in heat. With the sword's tip pointed at the massive skull, Harry thrust as powerfully as he could manage. The enchanted blade thankfully parted the scales of its head as easily as anything else, eagerly sinking past bone and into flesh, drinking deeply of its boiling and shimmering blood that spilled forth.

The beast did not roar out in pain, presumably due to it not even registering more than a pinprick. Understandable, considering that the sword was probably not even scratching its brain. Neither could he really wait for the Basilisk venom to do its sinister work, due to the beast's size making that a matter of hours. As such Harry was forced to change his tactics. Instead of carving a steaming wound along the beast's skull, he concentrated to cast a spell through the sword, knowing it was conduit enough to manage it.

The world grew quiet, aside from a single heartbeat in his ears – the heartbeat of the dragon, slow and lumbering. He clasped both hands around the sword's ornate silver hilt and felt the heart pounding more surely by the second. His lips parted and Harry spoke – though his voice sounded unfamiliar to him – guttural and abrupt. “Avada Kedavra!”

Immediately power surged once more from himself and through the impromptu focus. Emerald light flashed brightly, black smoke caressing along the sword and sinking into the beast; completely bypassing the protection its hide offered against magical attacks. Immediately his draconic foe seized up briefly and violently, nearly throwing Harry off if not for being restrained. Only to finally sag completely, its life ripped away in an instant. The flames first slowed and then stopped completely, extinguished like the dragon's life.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” he shouted in-between gasps, looking at the puddle of molten stone that spread under the corpse. Despite still feeling her life through their connection, making sure was a habit he couldn't nor wanted to break. He pulled the sword free, noticing how the blade of shimmering nacre now was warm with a gentle heat.

Harry heard her coughing on smoke as he removed the sword from the corpse, granting him some relief at the sound. “I am!” she confirmed, ducking out from underneath. Hermione only wasn't squashed due to the body being held up by her earthen handiwork. Now making the beast look like it was impaled unto the fingers of a god.

“Good.” the wizard sighed before sending her a smile. They met Tommen, who had come out behind his cover, halfway to the tower. Hermione swiftly taking Delphini from him, checking the child over for non-existent injuries.

Once done Hermione, still only clad in her underwear, gripped the rippling barrier of blood in her free hand not holding her child. The former Vampire's proficiency with Blood Magic was such that it proved no hard task to remove the crimson obstacle. For she simply gripped tight and ripped a hole in it, done like ripping a hole like in a curtain.

Inside, the base of the wizard tower was spartan, with only a few unremarkable chairs and a sideboard. Upon the sideboard sat a crystal decanter full of some amber liquid left out for invited guests, as if any of those would show up regularly. A tasteless painting of the tower's surroundings presided over the foyer from its place above the blazing hearth, which emitted unnecessary heat into the room.

Haphazardly strewn about the room were floating Trapezohedrons made of Obsidian, each emitting a not so gentle heat. They caught Harry's eye immediately, clearly able to feel the souls imprisoned within. He had to stop himself from doing something foolish, like storming ahead to confront the perpetrator of such vileness recklessly, but the feeling of madness born of excruciating pain was hard to ignore. At least they found the stones binding Tommen's men relatively quickly.

Wasting no time at all, Harry marched up to the vile blocks of black stone. None able to withstand his shimmering argent blade, which had much experience with disposing of such junk. Each one slashed in twain released a ghostly sound between a scream and a sigh of relief. Each time an apparition briefly appeared before fading away like morning mist. Finally released from their torment after centuries of agony. Somewhere in this land their corpses animated through vile magic seized and collapsed.

Tommen saluted each of them solemnly, sending them off to the afterlife with as much honour as he could give them in this paltry state. His eyes were unable to shed tears but they held a relief now that was palpable.

Then Tommen growled a series of words none of them understood, butchered by his animalistic vocal cords. As soon as that was over, it seemed like permission to enter deeper was given by an invisible guardian. A winding staircase wide enough for three humanoids suddenly appeared from nowhere, as if it had been there all along. Harry noticed that with every new stair they climbed as they ascended to the top, a series of pale blue runes on the steps themselves continued lighting the way upward to the master’s laboratory and the mysteries within.

Once they drew nearer to the top the sounds grew louder, most distinct a sound reminiscent of heels on hard floor. In truth Harry recognized the soft clack, clack, clack of bone-on-stone that echoed through the room and down towards them. A sound no necromancer worth their salt would ever not recognise.

Soon they had ascended fully, revealing an equally spartan room as the one before. The only difference being its lone occupant, tapping their fleshless wrist as they paced around the room, obviously waiting. A sense of timelessness emanates around the robed person, as if they had been waiting this way for millennia and would wait forever for the perfect moment. A long slow hiss escaped its slowly parting mouth, revealing teeth with no gums left. With a sharp jerk and a nasty cracking sound the being turned towards them, a flaming eye washed a cruel light over its rough, decomposing face and exposed bone, painting it a sickly yellow.

It had once been a woman, Hermione reckoned by her bone structure, now barely able to be recognised as such outside of her face. Most prominent being the broken crown of horns growing out of her forehead, breaking dessicated skin.

Age lined one half of the woman's once beautiful face, greatly diminishing her once remarkable splendour. Robes of moth-eaten black velvet bordered by elegant golden designs draped her slender body, and her withered hand clutched an ornate silver staff. Her silvery hair long since faded to grey and her once smooth skin nothing more than dessicated leather. Only when she turned to face them did the true horror of her being become apparent. Maggots feasted on decomposing flesh, writhing about her elegant visage like worms through a rotting apple.

A gaping socket aglow with witch-light yawned wide in place of one eye, and she regarded them with highborn contempt. A smile – once enchanting – spread languidly across her mouldering lips as she approached to greet them with unsettling hospitality.

Worse were the many corpses strewn about the room in various positions. Some sat at tables in a slump, staring lifelessly at plates only filled with dust. Their utensils either rammed through the back of their hands so they didn't lose them, or held in a death grip. Others leaned on walls, while some rare few were held up by spikes impaling them in positions of dance. Why they weren't animated undead was anyone's guess.

“Oh, our guests finally arrived.” she proclaimed joyously with open arms, a stark contrast to her demeanour from before. “Welcome, welcome, my dear friends.” A moth-eaten cloak of deep purple dragged on the floor behind it, once more kicking up centuries of dust that had lined the floor for countless years.

Her good mood evaporated as fast as a drop of water in the fiery caverns below upon focussing on Harry with her eyeless sight, as if just now remembering the events preceding this one. “You!” she gasped half in fear and half in outrage, taking some steps back before deciding to let the coin land completely on fury. “Who are you? How did you get here? What are you doing here, Kindled?!”

Hermione just looked confused, not understanding a single word she said, for obvious reasons. Harry on the other hand was lucky enough the woman counted as an undead, and as such understood her perfectly well through the Language of the Judged. More importantly was the fact that he could perceive an aura of smoky darkness clinging to her like a shroud.

'What's a Kindled?' he briefly thought in the time it took him take the scene in, but he discarded that line of thought in favour of more pressing matter. 'Strange. That never happened before quite like that.' he thought in the back of his mind. He could see magical auras if he concentrated on it, sure, but never was it a natural state of things for him to just perceive them simply by looking. So it stood to reason the Lich could do the same and perceive his own aura.

Her manic face then fell on a rapidly charging Tommen, who intended to exploit her apparent distraction. The undead leonine pounced forward with greatsword in hand. Ready to cut his enslaver in twain with a bellowing roar of rage tearing out his tattered throat. However, the futility of his actions soon became apparent as his body grew slack, imitating a doll with its strings cut. The woman simultaneously proved her proficiency in Necromancy and surprising agility as she sidestepped, letting the corpse crash against the wall behind her with a sickening crunch.

Though, before either Harry or Hermione could unleash any spells on the Lich she conjured a blinding wall of fire around herself, buying herself enough time to turn to Tommen's corpse, point at it and snarl. “Get up!”

Dark energy flowed from her hands to the remains of the fallen, and – to the horror of those in her presence – immediately the corpse of Tommen began to rise once more, limbs twisting and contorting like a puppet dancing on strings. Tireless and once more completely in her thrall, already griping Brightroar tightly to dispense violence in the name of his unholy mistress. Even though the spirit of the man evidently fought against the magic animating him, it was for naught in the end.

“Vlaakith!” Harry intoned, passing a hand over his silver weapon and using it as a focus once more. Instead of black tendrils of necrotic energy, this time he opened a void in space along the blade. Next he unleashed his spell with the precision of a surgeon, and the crescent arch of his sword now left a visible trail in its wake: an ink-black void, pierced with the light of distant stars. It jumped from him towards the Lich, dancing between them in a dazzling curve and extinguishing the conjured flames.

As the attack came all too close, the Lich scowled, but made a hasty gesture and simply shouted “No!” the air between her and the assault shimmered and murmured as the starry eldritch energy tried to cut through. However, it dissipated harmlessly, dispersing into a nebula of stars while a barrier of protective or dismissive force remained for but a single moment.

Hermione's nostrils flared defiantly as she weighed the situation before she finally made a decision, biting into her own wrist and drawing blood. The next words uttered were quick and guttural, calling upon her own unnatural strength to aid the one she was bound to. The blood grew hot between her lips as the magical energy built to instil Harry's muscles with heightened potency – briefly transferring her own incredibly physical might on her love through their connection.

Wiping the blood away with two fingers Hermione quickly chanted words of warding, making signs of protection on all sides to carve glowing script into the air. Her miming created luminous sigils or silver and crimson in the air around Harry. These runes hovered and glowed for an instant, then sank into his body, giving his garments and skin an argent cast before fading.

Having to protect Delphini in her current state left her unable to fight properly anyway, and so instead she decided to support Harry as much as possible.

The next moment Tommen was upon Harry, pouncing on the wizard with all his undead might and trying to cleave him in half. Harry braced and met him head-on, argent blade in hand. Upon their clash the metal screamed its song, and continued to do so as they fought.

'It's damn hard to cast spells in this situation.' Harry thought with a frown, for it was quite difficult to concentrate on the sword fight and have enough focus left over to form spells. He only knew to stick 'em with the pointy end, unfortunately. His saving graces being fast reflexes, stubborn endurance and, using his prowess of divination to peek seconds into the future to anticipate and counter his enemy's actions.

The screech of their clashing weapons rung in his ears and sang in his nerves. They were locked together – both blocking one another’s advance, and neither of them dared to retreat. The face of the undead loomed over Harry, closer than he ever would have wished. Its poisonous eyes gleamed with a malignant hatred for him and everything he held dear, and as Tommen leaned in, his wretched breath steamed over his face, reeking of corrupted flesh and poisoned blood.

The Lich scowled fiercely at that, rotten lips twisting into something even uglier. Suddenly there was a slight rustle in the air as energy swirled around the undead mage, building toward a powerful spell. The Lich's dead and empty eyes became the vacuous black of the Outer Dark, and alien babble spilled from her lips with the distaste of a suppurating wound. Soon the Lich was hacking and coughing, a bulge slowly crawling up her dry throat.

Hermione saw their opponent begin to cast her rather unusual spell and decided to take no chances. So, she twisted her hand and crushed her fingers into a tight fist. At the same moment it was unleashed she hoped it worked. “Finite!” she cast and the spell snuffed the magic of their foe.

However, the energy wasn't gone in an instant, and instead it felt like the air pressure had suddenly changed. Many slight pops were only the beginning of it as steam the shifting colour of magic rose from her dessicated body, the energies she had failed to summon began tearing her apart. Undead and waxy flesh sloughing off her bones like goo as black bile ran out between her remaining teeth.

“You're not the only one proficient in countering spells!” Hermione sneered, looking down at the fumbling Lich, now stumbling down against the wall behind her. She took down a wooden table as she fell, spilling its vitreous contents onto the floor to smash and shatter against the uncaring stone.

“Master, aid me!” the undead woman rasped out her plea, voice weak but full of hatred, spite and fury. Eyes afire with livid flame directed at Hermione, as if cursing the witch. The words causing Hermione to stiffen due to the implication.

Suddenly there was something else in the room, stepping from out of Hermione's shadow. That very same choking shadow took on horrifying form as the demon emerged from behind the witch, dripping with dark, inky rivulets as if it were birthed from tar. They felt it looming behind her before it manifested in truth. A giant shadowy thing, like a travesty of nature cut out of the heart of night, a black shapelessness in which only the staring eyes and gleaming fangs were distinct.

The familiar sensation of dread from premonition and exposure to Dementors settled in Harry's gut. Not that such a thing was able to stall him for longer, by now long since used to it. Still, a heartbeat was all it took for the wizard to glimpse the grisly scene properly through the battle, – a monstrous black figure, outlined against the hell-fire glare from outside – Hermione impaled by a knife made of shadow from behind through her heart. Thankfully missing Delphini by inches.

“Yes, yes!” the wretched witch cackled in mad delight. “Kill them all!” she shrieked in a voice made of dust and centuries.

“No!” he cried out in a dismal snarl, distracted beyond belief. Nor able to keep his defence up as echoes of pain wracked his body, their connection for once not beneficial. For his trouble Tommen went for a decapitating strike, judging by his body's motions. Only in the last moment to divert course and instead try and impale him much the same way. Brightroar, the enchanted blade, able to pierce his basilisk-hide armour above his hip and slide straight through out the back. Hopefully not damaging too much.

Still, Harry used the rage it elicited from him to his advantage. “Incendio!” he screamed out in pain and rage, and immediately flames roared outward in a great stream. They started inches from his fingertips and shot over a dozen feet, igniting a yowling Tommen before vanishing into thick smoke. Harry followed it up with a decisive strike of his blade, causing the undead and burning leonine to turn to ash swiftly. Followed by removing Brightroar from his chest, from where it clattered to the ground. A mournful and apologetic yowl escaping him, as if apologising for something that was not his fault.

Instead of pondering on that for even a second, Harry instead rushed to Hermione's aid, and ignoring his own wound in the process. Nor wondering why he didn't currently lie on the ground bleeding out, despite the intense pain.

The blade of shadows sunk into the flesh of Hermione's back and out her breast, eliciting a pained, gurgling growl from the witch. It was a certainty that the demon took some perverted delight in her suffering, wanting to prolong it as long as possible. Despite having no idea how she or himself were still alive after such blows, she had some ideas. Though, right now there were more important things at hand. So with a protective fury growing inside her, Hermione endured, having unfortunately grown used to pain over the years. Her patience was soon after rewarded as Harry cut the demon's arm off at the elbow, causing the appendage to fall to the floor and taking the immaterial blade with it.

Once the blade of shadows was wrenched free, Hermione used the opportunity and momentum to turn and deliver a vicious backhand to the stunned demon's face, surprising it with the sheer strength behind the blow, but not more so than with her survival.

The being dropped to one knee, its good hand wrenching the blade from its severed one, which was slowly turning to ash. It was just fast enough to prevent its head also being taken by Harry in a single clean stroke. It's body dissolving into black smoke shortly after, that flew to the Lich's side and leaving the hand behind.

With a scowl on his face, Harry took a slow, deep breath before he spoke. Carefully preparing mind, body, and soul for the coming surge of power as he completed the somatic components – then he uttered the spell. “Expecto Patronum!” the words said with such force it was a command forced onto reality. His Patronus in form of a Phoenix sprung forth with an exultant cry of joy. It was incandescent and iridescent and glaringly so, like a silver sun reappearing from behind rain clouds to form a rainbow. The radiance burned Lich and demon both, forcing the latter back into the corporeal world with a scream.

The demon's silhouette became vaguely human then after losing its concealing shadows, but only after the black monster reared up, looming large against the Lich and its now single great arm spread wide. A dim face glared through the drifting smoke its body emitted, semi-human, demonic, altogether terrible – the duo glimpsed the close-set horns, the fanged mouth and the peaked ears.

Though, if the Lich's magic seemed corrupted than the demon's was positively putrid, as if oil or pure corruption was dripping from its very soul. Something the Patronus seemed to notice and take exception to, already on the offensive with talons outstretched. The demon snarled and battled to defend itself from the summoned spectral guardian.

Yet Harry only briefly paid attention to that before tending to Hermione. “Stay with me!” the wizard begged as he knelt beside her to inspect the damage.

Hermione was as calm as ever, or maybe simply bewildered. A slow blink all the reaction she gave to the mortal wound in her breast. “I'm fine.” she said, sounding as bothered as someone expecting a slight drizzle to ruin an afternoon. Instead she inspected Delphini and was glad to find no mark on her outside of some blood, followed by frowning at her bleeding wound as if it had insulted her. “Besides, it's not like you can talk.” Hermione noted, looking at his own bleeding injury.

When he was about to object, Hermione looked behind him at the fiend battling the Patronus and apparently gaining the upper hand. “We can worry about that later.” she waved his concern away, her words all that was needed to get him to agree. For if she was telling him investigation a phenomenon of such a nature could wait then it was just so. Not to mention that it could have many causes, most prominently in her mind the previous state of her body and the ingredients used in her rebirth. Unicorn blood, the Philosopher's Stone and some Elixir of Life were a potent brew, after all.

She had at first hoped and assumed one had simply coloured her teeth and the other her hair. Seemed she was rather horribly and obviously mistaken.

Now being on the opposite end of his own words and deeds, Harry found he didn't much care for it. To this day the wizard did not know if his pattern to put himself last in dangerous situations was born out of altruism, a need for danger, simply ascribing no value to his own life or a combination of it all. Luckily he was adept enough at ignoring that particular thought and decided to take her words to heart and focus on the situation at hand.

“Of course.” he agreed, but not before doing his best to tend to her wound. Unsure if a healing spell would even work, he instead turned to a more primal method.

At once magic wormed its way through his body, delving through vein, bone, and muscle. A sickly, bright-green orb of pure life-energy appeared before his now slightly sallow face, with tendrils – wispy, transparent branches – connected to his body. The wizard trembled, but he knew the pain was temporary. Though, things would've been worse without the Invigoration Draught in his veins to keep himself upright. Without pause Harry directed the orb at Hermione with a sombre but swift motion.

A gasp escaped the witch, followed by a sigh of relief as the wound slowly knit itself closed. “You fool.” she sighed with a mix of fondness and exasperation. Only the knowledge of a possible loop preventing herself from doing the same.

It was overshadowed by the bellow of triumph erupting out of the demon's throat as he managed to squash the Patronus into silver mist. New wounds from spectral talons littered its hideous body from head to toe, bleeding a rotten ichor or oil.

“What an unwelcome surprise.” the demon let loose a deep threatening growl, a numbness creeping up his severed arm. Its voice was grating and sounded like stones breaking against each other. Most surprising was that it spoke Acheronian, once more highlighting the connection between this world and their own. Though, who spoke it first was up for debate.

Its monstrous head turned to the pair of magicals then, a hideous frown manifested on its thin lips. “How ever did two of them come to be here?” it demanded sharply, voice threatening violence for all around. Poisonous eyes flickered to the glimmering sword held in Harry's hand, briefly showing wariness and cowardice in them.

“I don't know, master.” the undead woman simpered, all but supplicating herself before the vile being. “I only saw them arrive from the Door of Death. However, my divinations did not detect him in any way. Only the girl and woman.”

A rumble made its way out of the demon's throat, the remaining clawed hand laying on the undead's neck as if in consolation. “I see.” the hand caressed the dead flesh, a flash of disturbing tenderness coming from the demon. “So excited were you that you forgot the tribute you owe me for my presence, slave.” it said almost warmly, but the mocking smile on its hideous features was indicator enough. Not giving her enough time to reply or even think of one, he was squeezing the neck tightly. “As such, consider our agreement null and void.”

The Lich's eyes widened in alarm as a searing hot spike of pain lanced through her being. A previously invisible brand of incredible magical potency flared to life on the Lich's forehead, eliciting a wail of brief agony followed by flailing limbs as she struggled to escape the prison she built herself.

Empty eyes gained a wild manic potency as they flickered around the room before meeting Harry's own mismatched ones.

A crawling sensation prickled over Harry's scalp then as if he had suffered a mild shock, but instead of the tingling subsiding as one would expect, it grew more and more insistent. Soon the familiar feeling of dark fingers pushing their tips down into his skull was evident, pushing against his very mind. 'Again?!” he thought, recognising the intrusion as an attempt to usurp and subsume his soul.

The touch was cold, dark and something like ice, but tainted and thoroughly alien. A normal wizard would've opened his mouth to scream, or to howl, or to somehow give protest, but all Harry gave was a grunt of suppressed pain as he felt the eldritch presence push its way into his consciousness. With experience and ruthless aggression he thought back, marginally aided by Hermione through their connection and once more supported by the protection given by his mother.

Overwhelmed and unprepared, the Lich's paltry soul was instead being consumed now. Piece by piece it was absorbed by her enemies' souls, and with it were lost her general knowledge of the world and proficiency in Classical Valyrian. Even worse was that her desperate gamble was backfiring rather horribly, now essentially being attacked on two fronts. As such, instead of being completely consumed the undead's paltry soul was rather painfully torn apart.

And not just spiritually, either.

“Trying to escape? How droll of you, slave.” the black fiend chuckled, the sound enough to make babes wail or wake the dead. He slammed her skull harshly onto the ground, cracking it and breaking the Lich's concentration. Followed by kneeling onto one shoulder and squeezing tighter with his remaining hand, as if holding tightly onto what passed for her soul. “But I'm not so easily denied.” then he began to bend the head backwards and pull as if opening a zip.

Harry instantly felt the pressure ease, and that clear, cold, alien sensation lessen. Now unfortunately able to see what the cause was.

In a gruesome display brittle bones slowly cracked and broke as waxy flesh gave way. Normally dismemberment wouldn't matter much to a Lich, being undead and immortal. However, only the distraction gained by ripping out her rotten spine was enough to end this struggle as the Lich let loose a last gasp mingled with surprise. With another jerk and a gory flourish the spine was ripped out completely, the jaw hanging open so wide it seemed dislocated completely, the witchlight in her eyes flickered. A black vapour reminiscent of Voldemort's shade left her mouth, flowing out before being breathed in by the demon like smoke.

The abomination chewed a bit before swallowing, giving its eyes an infernal glow. Somewhere in the distance a shrill scream of glass could be made out before it shattered into a thousand pieces. Presumably having been her Horcrux or Phylactery to bind her to the material realm.

Next the demon's hand tweaked, pulled and elongated the spine, which became the shaft, twisting uncomfortably. The deathly visage of her gaping horned skull at its end was contorted into a perpetual howl. Limp tangles and clumps of leftover hair hanging down, still glowing with remnants of green and purple magic from the eyes and mouth. The black fiend twirled it twice, holding it like a mace in one hand before being satisfied.

Only to then grow translucent and immaterial, beginning with his severed arm. Slowly fading away like mist or a mirage in the desert, back to where it was summoned from. “My time is up, but I promise you we'll see each other again, Kindled.” its eyes glowing with hellfire promised a future of agony for all before him. “I'm gonna enjoy devouring your soul.” its malevolently glowing eyes flickered behind him to Hermione and Delphini. “Followed by feasting on the flesh of your mate with cutlery made of your brat's bones.” it serpentine tongue flicked out between the sharp teeth of its wide maw to lick its lips.

The injured wizard growled at that, mismatched eyes narrowing, drawing the scarred skin around his slitted crimson eye tight. “We'll see about that.”

“Indeed, we will.” it's words mocking them as it slowly dissolved into a vanishing mist, rejected and erased from reality's tapestry.