Irreversible Destiny

A/N: Well here it is, another chapter done and possibly another two or three to go and then the rest of the story will be continued in Precarious Destiny. 29 uncut pages for you to enjoy!

Thanks to Emerald_snape for the beta and those of you who gave me opinions about other scenes, I appreciate it.

Parseltongue, foreign words, letters/articles etc.
Emphasized words, headings,
((d)) dream ((d))

Chapter XXIV
Mistakes

Every great mistake has a halfway moment,
a split second when it can be recalled and perhaps remedied.
-Pearl Buck, US novelist in China (1892-1973)

---

The Dueling Hall
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Sunday the 26th of October 1997
10:00 AM

Voldemort stood in the back of the room, watching as Cyriacus drilled the other Elite in preparation for their ‘Initiation’ on Friday. It had been decided that along with Cyriacus the other Elite would also be ‘Initiated’ and Cyriacus would be placed as their Squad Captain. Taking his role seriously, Cyriacus had begun sneaking his fellow Dragons out of Hogwarts on the weekend so they could improve their spellwork. Their training sessions had begun to draw more and more Death Eaters of various Tiers. Voldemort was beyond impressed with his lover’s dueling skill; it easily overshadowed even the most experienced Wizards and Witches present. Moving with remarkable grace and agility, Cyriacus would be a dangerous threat on the battlefield.

Finishing his demonstration, Cyriacus stalked off the dueling platform and took a seat on the sidelines. Nusayr, disguised as one of Cyriacus’s trainers, handed him a goblet which he drank readily enough, watching the others as they practiced the new dueling style he had finished showing them. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed when he saw Nusayr rest a hand on Cyriacus’s leg, whispering in his ear. The younger man sighed but nodded and once everyone had finished practicing, called an end to the practice session. Stepping away from the wall, Voldemort made his way over to his lover who was discreetly being helped by Nusayr into a standing position.

The closer he got, the more he noticed Cy’s ghost-like pallor and the glaze of pain in his dark green eyes. Voldemort paused, all jealousy fading as worry crept over his face. Every time he attempted to speak with Cyriacus in private, the younger Wizard had managed to either put him off or was escorted away by Nusayr or Scourge to rest. Voldemort, not wanting to stress Cyriacus who was already looking and working himself to near collapse, decided it would be better to wait until after the very strategic Samhain Attack was finished before pressing for more details about Cyriacus’s illness. Cyriacus was led past him, managing a nod before he was swept along. Voldemort watched them leave, wondering and worrying.

---

North Hub
Vitium Court, Unplottable Unknown
Thursday the 30th of October 1997
10:00 PM

“Are you sure this is a good idea, my lord?” Nusayr asked nervously.

Cyriacus glanced at Nusayr coolly. “No one said you had to come along, Nusayr. Kieran is more than an adequate guard for this place.”

Kieran and Nusayr glared at each other and all of Nusayr’s protests immediately died. Cyriacus smirked and led his guards through the bright lights of the Luscinia (Nightingale) Haven. Loud music poured out of doors, laughter and jokes were exchanged by the groups of Wizards and Witches wandering from one establishment to another.

Cyriacus was surprised to find that he had missed the atmosphere. Though no one outside of Arcanum knew, occasionally the students did get leave to enjoy the delights of the outside world. By using a combination of Human Transfiguration and undetectable Potions or Glamours, they had all enjoyed the brightly lit streets of Luscinia and enjoyed all the decadent and deviant delights offered.

Dodging a pair of very drunk Witches, Cyriacus grinned as he headed to tonight’s meeting place. Tomorrow he’d be fighting and killing to fulfill something out of his control but tonight was his to spend as he pleased and getting drunk off his ass with his friends sounded just about right. With a grin that put Nusayr on edge and made Kieran smirk, Cyriacus threw open the door of Deadly Sins and glided into Luscinia’s most notorious strip club/brothel.

Loud music barraged them as they entered the dimly lit foyer. Glass doors separated the entertainment rooms from the foyer hallway and simple black lettering named each room. Cy looked in each room as he passed by. The first room was decorated to look like some sultan’s harem room, gauze clad strippers danced and writhed amongst the pillow seated guests. The door across the hall was decorated to look like a forest and inside, several Half-Veelas danced and swayed, entrancing their all male audience. Another room contained Metamorphmagi, who entertained their guests by changing forms as they had sex live on stage. This room, Cyriacus knew, was very popular.

“They changed the layout from when I was here last.” Kieran commented.

Cyriacus paused, caught off guard. “And when were you here last?”

“About five months ago.”

“Oh, then you wouldn’t have seen the new room yet which is where we’re going.” Cyriacus said with a slow smile as he led them down the hallway and to the last door on the right.

Kieran frowned at the title on the door as he followed Cyriacus into the room, Fontaine da vie (Fountain of Life). Nusayr hadn’t even glanced at the title of the room as he quickly followed his charge into the room. Kieran’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t like this one bit.

The room was decorated in black and scarlet, the tables and chairs all made of dark cherry wood. Lit by candles, the room was filled with guests who all turned to see the newcomers. A plain stage stood at the back of the room, two white pillars set in the middle front part of the stage.

“Cyriacus!” A familiar voice called out, rising from a table near the front of the room.

Whispers started as more and more people recognized him. Cyriacus didn’t pay it any attention as he joined his friends at their table.

“Anthony, good to see you!” Cyriacus greeted, exchanging a friendly backslap with his friend.

Anthony smirked. “’Bout time you decided to stop acting like a married man! Arvell and Krum may have been Courting you but even a bachelor is entitled to a bit of fun on his own every now and then.”

Hotaru rolled her eyes. “Leave Cy alone, Anthony! Unlike certain men we know, he’s moving forward with his life.”

“Good to see you too, Hotaru.” Cy grinned, kissing her on the cheek.

Leah mock scowled, hands on her hips. “You haven’t seen me since August and I don’t even get so much as a hello?”

Laughing Cyriacus leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, playfully. “Hullo Leah, you’d never believe who I ran into a few weeks ago!”

“Granddad I heard, Castor mentioned it he saw you that night.” Leah said a bit soberly.

Cyriacus shook his head and patted her shoulder. “You’re better off without an old Traditionalist like him, Hellion.”

“I guess.” Leah said and then perked up. “So, Arvell eh? You’ll have to tell us all about him.”

“Maybe later,” Cyriacus said dryly as he turned to exchange greetings with Sigurd and Ransom. “How’s life?”

Ransom shrugged and took a drink from his shot glass. “Busy but that’s nothing new. You?”

“Same old, same old with a few new things thrown in,” Cyriacus agreed.

Sigurd snorted. “You were always good at making understatements. I have been busy, more practice and more games but thankfully we have moved to our Wintering field in Greece.”

“Yeah, Quidditch in this weather would be horrible.”

Anthony glanced at Kieran and Nusayr curiously. “Who’re they?”

“Watchdogs, you can call golden eyes Eagle and the other Char.” Cyriacus said taking a seat at the middle of the table so Nusayr and Kieran could sit on both sides of him. “Where’s Sunan at?”

“He can’t make it, a big dealer wants to sell to him and he’s got to check the authenticity of the goods. Supposedly it’s Sui Dynasty and you know Sunan, can’t resist anything that old.” Hotaru explained pouring Cyriacus a shot glass filled with Douceur de Vivre. (Sweetness of life)

Cyriacus snorted as he accepted the drink. “That is like him, oh well; I’ll catch up with him sooner or later.”

“I imagine you two would pass up my offer of a drink?” Anthony asked, glancing at the two.

Kieran and Nusayr both nodded and then glared at each other before looking around the room.

“The show didn’t begin without me did it?” Cyriacus asked jokingly as he took out a pack of cigarettes and offered them to the others. Sigurd and Anthony accepted a cigarette while the others passed up his offer.

Leah laughed, “As if they could begin without the guest of honor!”

Cyriacus lit his cigarette and took a long drag. “Far too many people are put out with me at the moment so don’t be surprised I asked about Castor and Pollux.”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “They love you.”

“More like they love the revenue this particular little show brings them,” Cyriacus clarified with a slight smile.

Nusayr didn’t like the sound of this at all. “What precisely, is so fascinating about this show?”

“You’ll see soon enough Eagle,” Anthony replied with a smirk and a wink. “May I have last dibs?”

Cy winked, “Surely you may!”

Anthony smirked as he leaned back his chair. “You are the best friend a guy could ask for!”

They chatted for a few minutes, exchanging anecdotes about work or mutual friends and debating about current events. After twenty minutes, the room was filled and Kieran couldn’t help shifting nervously. He hadn’t noticed right away but the majority of those in the room were Vampires. He even recognized a few as guards and attendants of the Vampire Council members. The soft noise of chimes alerted the room that the show would be beginning in ten minutes. Cyriacus finished his drink and put out his cigarette before excusing himself from the room.

Entering the hall, he opened the door into the brothel and nodded a curt greeting to the smiling Castor and headed down a narrow hallway. Opening a door on his right, he found himself in the backstage of the room he had just left. Stripping out of his clothes, he slipped on a black g-string and then struggled to pull on a thin leather bodysuit. Once he was dressed, he slipped on the soft velvet blindfold and waited for Pollux.

A door opened and soft footsteps approached, Cyriacus was calm, he recognized the footsteps of the intruder. A hand traced the muscles on his abdomen and then a husky voice whispered in his ear.

“You’ve barely changed at all, if anything you look better than when I saw you last.” Pollux murmured, hands trailing up his chest and shoulders. “Taller, broader and more muscled if that’s possible…”

Cyriacus smiled. “So nice to know I please you.”

“Oh you’ve always pleased me…and Castor too for that matter.” Pollux replied brushing a soft kiss on Cy’s neck before stepping back and away. He rummaged around, opening some drawers until he found what he wanted. A soft padded collar was locked shut around his neck and then padded shackles were locked onto his wrists and ankles. Pollux hummed tunelessly as he looped chains through the collar and shackles.

Turning Cy this way and that, Pollux nodded to himself pleased with Cy’s look. “Are you ready for your eager audience?”

“As ever, I aim to please.” Cyriacus murmured, softly.

Pollux smirked as he toyed with the key to the collars and shackles. “Who gets the final honor?”

“Anthony asked ever so nicely and since he’s never had the pleasure…”

“I see,” Pollux said chuckling as he cast a quick Chilling Charm before Banishing the key.

Cyriacus squeaked as he felt the cold key pressing against his cock. “Fuck!”

“Gladly,” Pollux said with a grin as he quickly pecked him on the lips before taking hold of the chains and leading him away.

Pollux led him across the narrow room and through a door, onto the stage. The noise level had dropped dramatically; the only sounds were soft murmurs of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Stopping in the middle of the stage, Pollux arranged Cyriacus between two pillars near the front of the stage, attaching the chains to the rings.

“My dear guests tonight I have arranged for you to sate your eternal thirst on the glorious blood of Zoticus (1)!” Pollux proclaimed loudly.

Thundering applause and cheers reverberated around the room, the audience excited at the chance to feast on the blood of the famed Zoticus. Those who had been to a previous set with Zoticus began chanting.

“The Bite! The Bite! The Bite!”

Pollux clapped his hands to get the attention of the audience. “Alas, Zoticus has already chosen one among you to receive the honor of a Bite!”

Unhappy murmuring filled the room, along with an eager tension.

Zoticus, for that was who Cy was at this particular time, smirked. “Make it memorable and perhaps the next Bite will be yours.”

Chuckles and whoops filled the room and Zoticus grinned.

Pollux winked as he drew a sharp dagger from the belt on his waist. “Enough talk, raise your glasses in the air and let the Feast begin!”

The room as whole raised their glasses up and peered at the bottom of their glasses, looking for a number and letter. Sigurd quietly explained to Kieran and Nusayr the purpose of the numbers and what they were used for in this skit.

Pollux grinned. “Zoticus, our first number please!”

Zoticus licked his lips. “17D.”

A short blond man whooped. “That’s me!”

One of the security guards checked his glass to make sure it was the right person.

“What say you, 17D?”

“Right thigh!”

“Zoticus, next number please!”

“23B.”

This time a black haired woman squealed with joy as a guard checked her glass before escorting her politely to the stage.

Pollux handed her the dagger. “Alright, right thigh but first we need to find out what the design is.”

The audience started shouting out ideas while Pollux listened, trying to find the best. Laughingly, he clapped his hands again.

“A golden snitch, I like it. Zoticus is all yours, sweet lady.”

The woman made quick work, cutting off the leather covering Zoticus’s right thigh and tossing the leather into the audience. Smirking, the woman sank to her knees and began work, deftly carving a gold snitch onto Zoticus’s exposed thigh. Standing perfectly still, Zoticus waited patiently for the woman to finish, mentally grumbling about the few perfectionists that occasionally managed to get onstage. Grinning triumphantly, the woman handed Pollux the dagger and then began to lick the streams of blood trickling from her design. Once she had cleaned up the spilled blood, she began to lave the design with her tongue, swallowing every drop of that oh so addicting blood. By the time the design had healed, the woman was giggling drunk on the power of his blood.

The next hour and a half passed on as various lucky patrons got to carve all sorts of designs on Zoticus’s body and then lave up the blood spilt. Most were very careful not to cut too deeply and Pollux had only had to give Zoticus three doses of Blood-Replenishing Potion. By the time the last patron had finished, Zoticus had been stripped of the leather bodysuit standing only in his g-string.

Pollux was grinning, the price of admission alone was enough to cover the club/brothel’s bills for the next six months easily! “Now the time you’ve all been waiting for, the Bite!”

Letting out a whoop, Anthony got out of his chair and easily sprang up onto the stage. “About damn time!” Grinning, he began pawing at the blindfold, looking for the key and then he began checking the shackles and the collar itself. The audience was shocked, this was the first time Pollux had hidden the key in the g-string! Leering at the audience, Anthony stuck his hand down the front of the g-string and pawed around before victoriously pulling out a key. Quickly unlocking the shackles and then the collar, he shoved Cyriacus up against one of the pillars, grabbing his hands and holding them above his head with one arm.

Licking and kissing Cy’s neck, Anthony murmured softly. “I’ve wanted this for so long…”

Cyriacus shuddered slightly his other senses heightened to recompense for the blindfold. He gasped, feeling the prickle of sharp fangs and then he was swept away by a wash of pain and pleasure. The audience was watching raptly as the two writhed against each other, grinding their hips together. Cyriacus moaned as a hand snaked down between their bodies and wrapped around his cock, roughly stroking him. Clawing at Anthony’s back, he started muttering incoherently as he thrust his hips into the hand grasping him.

Anthony was drowning, the power of the blood and the fact that he was finally, finally allowed to work off the mutual lust between them was overloading his brain. All he was aware of was the taste of Cyriacus’s blood and how each thrust of his hips against Cyriacus, felt like heaven to his enflamed senses.

Pollux watched them and could taste the lust in the air as coins were thrown into the collection bowls on the tables. This was the hottest thing ever and if he could convince Cyriacus to come and do this regularly, Deadly Sins would reign over Luscinia!

Cyriacus stiffened and slumped against the pillar, his cum spilling all over Anthony’s hand. Anthony on the other hand, growled before releasing the Bite, his eyes closed in bliss and he thrust one final time against Cy’s hip and then froze. The two of them were oblivious to the rest of the room, even though the noise had quadrupled. Slumping together, they slowly slid down the pillar limp and exhausted. Anthony from drinking too much blood and Cy from loosing so much blood and having the most lovely Bite-induced orgasm.

“Thank you for your patronage, I hope you all enjoyed tonight’s show!” Pollux shouted, to be heard over the racket.

---

Once Cyriacus had cleaned up, got dressed and collected his share of the entertainment fee, they left Deadly Sins. Nusayr and Kieran both glared at Anthony who was practically glued to Cyriacus. Their next stop was Corruption and the club was packed. The line to get in was long but as Cyriacus was the darling of Vitium Court, they easily gained entrance. Music blared throughout the room and people danced, drank and generally, did whatever the fuck they wanted. Couples danced, kissed, and a few too far gone fucked in the shadows of the dance floor.

Anthony and Cyriacus immediately headed to the dance floor where they proceeded to grind against each other and kiss each other senseless. Hotaru and Leah both shook their heads and headed off to get some drinks while Ransom and Sigurd also joined the mass of dancing, writhing bodies. Nusayr and Kieran glared at each other and kept any eye on things from the outskirts of the dance floor. Throughout the night, they would take turns telling off Cyriacus’s more…persistent admirers.

Knowing he was being photographed, Cyriacus did his best to enjoy himself and was caught in several highly compromising situations. Fortunately, Anthony was more than willing to go along with him. The inevitable tide of disapproval would wash over both of them but as they got to work off that mutual lust, neither cared as much as they should have.

It was well after dawn when they group of friends broke up for the night. Hotaru was disheveled but happy and Leah was telling crude jokes, complete and utterly drunk off her ass. Ransom and Sigurd were grinning, rather happy with the night’s entertainment and Anthony was clinging rather childishly to Cyriacus, not willing to let go of the younger Wizard.

“We should do this more often!” Hotaru exclaimed, smiling brightly.

“Damn right!” shouted Ransom.

Anthony pouted cutely, face flushed from too much drink and blood. “But I don’t wanna let you go Cy! Come home with me instead, I’m sure my dads won’t mind.”

“If I didn’t have to go to school and get yelled at by my dad, get interrogated by Dumbledore and then skive off school early to go to my briefing about tonight’s ‘festivities’ I’d consider it.” Cy explained as Nusayr grabbed him when he began swaying dangerously.

“You’re no fun!” Anthony replied as he staggered off to Floo home.

Cyriacus shook his head and promptly regretted it as his vision blurred. “Whoa…”

“Take it easy,” Kieran murmured.

“Well anyway, see you around Cyriacus!” Leah said as she and Hotaru departed.

Sigurd grinned. “Excellent night out, we should do it again!”

“See you soon.” Ransom called out.

“Bye.” Cyriacus replied, waving as he was led to an alley.

---

The Strategy Room
Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton UK
Friday the 31st of October 1997
7:25 PM

The Debriefing had already begun by the time Cyriacus entered the Strategy Room. Voldemort paused in the middle of his explanation, turning to meet his lover’s blank eyes. Heads turned and whispers began as people spotted Cyriacus. The Wizarding Media had had a field day and practically all the magazines and newspapers had printed a story about Cyriacus’s Pre-Halloween celebration. Voldemort had been in a foul mood all day and Severus, unsurprisingly, was in a horrible temper.

Cyriacus was calm as he strode to take his place at the table. “My apologies, it took longer than I believed to make the proper arrangements for the transport of the Ouroboros Squad and the transport of my Summonings. Fortunately a permanent Necromancer’s Gateway has been established from the Summoning Circle located on the grounds here and the first completed Necromancer’s Spire located in Devonshire.”

“How many days have passed since the Spire has been completed?”, Voldemort inquired, eyes narrowed suspiciously. It would not do for his lover to overwork himself in so delicate a condition, even if he had not admitted to being pregnant yet. Voldemort shoved down the possessive overprotective feelings their bond was constantly flooding him with, there would be enough time to chastise his lover for his foolishness after their business was taken care of. And then Voldemort would have his young lover and his child to himself.

Cyriacus raised his eyebrows. “It has been barely six hours; I had to sacrifice a few personages to get the Spire completed in time to begin transporting the Summonings.”

“I see,” Voldemort replied slowly, once again fighting the urge to carry the younger Wizard off to some inescapable tower and lock him within until after their child was born. Sparing his lover a concerned glance, he turned his attention back to giving the rest of the Debriefing.

Cyriacus listened intently to the plans and was relieved to find that he had Summoned creatures that would work well with the overall plan. Tonight, Voldemort would make his presence felt. All fifty five First and Second Tier Death Squads, along with the six Death Eater Trainee Squads and the Inner Circle would all be engaged in the attack.

Ten Squads would remain within Britain to attack Ministry or Wizarding owned businesses, another ten would remain to attack the large Samhain gatherings spread throughout the countryside. Five Squads were assigned to attack Hogsmeade and another five would attack gatherings in Scotland. Ten Squads were assigned to attack various targets in France, Eight Squads assigned to attack Ireland and another Ten assigned to attack targets in Spain. The final three squads, the Inner Circle and Voldemort himself, would target first Azkaban and then the Ministry of Magic itself. All Squads had been given instructions to make quick hit and run attacks, their goal was to cause as much damage as possible and to move to as many targeted areas as possible before two o’clock. None of the attacks would begin until ten o’clock, giving Cyriacus enough time to bond his Summoned creatures to specific Death Squads.

Voldemort turned his attention back to Cyriacus, who was seemingly lost in thought. “Cyriacus, how many Summonings have you made?”

“Thirty one,” Cyriacus replied, shaking his head a little. “There are eight dozen Chimeras, four dozen Gaganas, six dozen Hydras, four dozen Raichos, four dozen Simurghs and four dozen Spitting Lizards.” (2)

The room was utterly silent as everyone stared at him in obvious shock. Even the Primordials were silent, unable to comprehend how much power he had in order to have been able to do so many mass Summonings.

Voldemort was the first to recover. “And how would you suggest assigning your Creatures to squads?”

“To make things simple, I would suggest assigning one of each creature to the fifty-five formalized Death Squads. The remaining thirty creatures can be assigned to various Inner Circle members or yourself, Ouroboros will take none.”

Lucius looked curious. “And Ouroboros will fight alone?”

Cyriacus smiled coolly. “I never said that. Ouroboros will have the services of six recently summoned Primordials, along with Scourge, Nusayr and Asaph. I have spoken with Asadyl and he has graciously agreed to guard the Dark Lord from any serious threats.”

Voldemort nodded. “Well planned.”

“I live to serve,” Cyriacus replied sarcastically as he got to his feet. “Captains, be so good as to rouse the Second Tier Captains and bring them along with yourselves to the Summoning Circle. Voldemort, establish which of your Inner Circle will be bonded to my pets. Ouroboros, follow me, we should have enough time to have a quick final lesson before the scheduled battles begin.”

---

Cyriacus finished bonding his pets to their respective ‘Masters’ for the night, it was slightly exhausting work and he excused himself the minute he was done. He returned to his rooms on the fifth floor and swiftly changed into the gray Battle Robes Mephistopheles had created for him. The material was soft and maneuverable; the gray robe was a patchwork of muted camouflaging grays which would allow him to blend into shadows. Spellwoven with various Protection and Detection Charms and Spellproof to all but the Mephistopheles and himself, the robes were exquisitely made, clinging tightly to his body and covering him from the chin down. Underneath the robes, he wore a thin spidersilk undershirt and trousers made of the same material as his robes. Hungarian Horntail scaled boots and gauntlets protected his legs and arms.

Resting for a few minutes, he idly looked at his body guards to see how they were adapting. Kieran, Nusayr and Asaph were ready, all clad in the strange silver-black battle gear the Primordials favored. Most of the recently freed Primordials were slightly on edge. Salil, Baraz and Iah, his newly appointed bodyguards who like Nusayr, had been trained to serve him, fidgeted. They checked and double checked their weapons, pestering Nusayr for details about how best to protect him. Sargon, a giant of a Savage with piercing black eyes, was utterly calm and unlike the others, very assured of his abilities. The slim and silent Mordecai was equally assured in his skills but then, all the Wraiths he’d met so far were like that.

“Stop worrying,” Cyriacus said at last, tired of the worried babble of his new bodyguards. “The battle we will walk into is of no consequence, there is no one capable of harming me and even if I am injured, I am a Necromancer. If I am fatally wounded, I will but kill myself and arise anew, whole of body and healthier than when I fell.”

Iah, a tall tanned man with glorious golden hair and vivid quicksilver eyes, frowned. “But my Lord, your survival is of the utmost importance!”

“My survival is assured and has been insured by more blood than I care to think about,” Cyriacus replied sharply. “You are the Fourths of your kind; have you so little faith in your own skills?”

“No!” Baraz protested, his fiery orange eyes narrowed. “We have spent thousands of years training to serve and protect you.”

Cyriacus snorted and closed his eyes, reaching down and pressing a ‘gem’ on his bracelet to release a Migraine Potion into his blood stream. “Then there is nothing to worry about! My abilities are higher than most of my kind, I will have no problems during this battle that can be attributed to my enemies. However I cannot say the same of Razul’s Twice Cursed Gift!”

Nusayr shot his fellow bodyguards a glare to keep silent. “Calm down my Lord, you will master the Gift sooner or later.”

“One hopes,” Cyriacus snarled, rubbing his temples. “Though useful, his Gift is most debilitating. It seems all I have done recently is lay abed drinking Primordial Blood to sustain my health or slay countless of healthy mortals and use their life energy to sustain my own.”

Scourge smiled slightly. “At least you don’t have to go to classes, you said that their Seventh Year is an Arcanum student’s Fifth didn’t you?”

“Yes, most pointless.” Cyriacus replied, relaxing as the Migraine Potion went to work.

“The classes are rather interesting,” Asaph commented. He would know, as he had been masquerading as Cyriacus on the days when the Necromancer was too ill to leave his room.

Salil frowned. “Are you certain you are well enough to join the battle, my Lord?”

“It would matter little if I wasn’t, my presence is needed and so, I must fight.” Cyriacus said wearily. “My health should hold out for the rest of the evening. Just be prepared to remove me to safety should I falter sooner than expected.”

Nusayr nodded. “It will be done.”

---

Cyriacus dodged a Reductor Curse and with a twist and spin, shot a spell at the Auror’s barricade, smashing the Aurors hiding behind it into the stone wall. Everything was chaos, as spells and curses were shot seemingly from every direction. They had stormed the prison, less than ten minutes ago and were now engaging the Aurors. Voldemort had led two squads made up entirely of his Inner Circle into the Prison to free any supporters or Death Eaters present. That left the Ouroboros and a squad of Inner Circle and lots of creatures to handle the onslaught of Aurors coming from within the prison and those Apparating in.

They were holding them off well enough, his pets easily taking care of the Wizards and Witches holding off on destroying the building until given the order. A Blasting Hex hit him between the shoulder blades, sending him skidding forward a few feet. Twisting, Cyriacus responded with a simple Bad Luck Hex and then turned his attention to looking over his subordinates. The others had taken to battle fairly well, some handling things better than others. Kieran, Asaph, Sargon and Mordecai kept an eye on them while he himself was being guarded by Nusayr, Salil, Baraz and Iah. The Primordials had relished being able to fight once again and had taken it upon themselves to do as much damage as they could.

Voldemort and the others emerged from the Prison and the signal was given to begin destroying the building. Cyriacus smirked and gave the Ouroboros the signal to retreat before whistling an Order at the Raichos. As they began to Disapparate, the shrill screams of the Raichos blasted into the stone prison and the building began to crumble in on itself.

Cyriacus was unsurprised to find a plethora of Defense League Wizards and Hit Wizards awaiting them as they arrived in the Ministry Atrium. The Spitting Lizards instantly went to work, spraying their sticky saliva over as many as they could while the huge winged Garganas dived and clawed at them.

“Ouroboros, left flank G2 formation!” Cyriacus shouted turning his squad to face the oncoming rush of Order members. Forming two rows, one row fell down to their knees wand at the ready while the other stood directly behind them, wands out. Cyriacus drew an extra wand, though he didn’t need one, and quickly cast a powerful Shield before giving the order to begin shooting.

A barrage of Blasting and Cutting Hexes felled the number of Order Members. Cyriacus smirked as they were five feet away from his shield and then cast a Shatter Hex on his shield. A loud explosion was heard and shards of power flared outward, cutting down the remaining Order members.

“Open range!” Cyriacus called out, scattering his Squad which then began to attack wherever was necessary.

The attack was going smoothly fifteen minutes later when Cyriacus felt the first inklings of the warning pain that alerted him to a Vision. Cursing he reached towards his bond to Nusayr and urgently called the Wraith to his side.

“White Ouroboros!” Cyriacus called out, looking for Draco somewhere in the crowd of allies and enemies.

Draco heard his name being shouted and quickly finished off the duel he was engaged in and rushed over to his side. “Your orders Jade Ouroboros?”

Cyriacus pulled the other boy closer to him. “I’m giving you control of the squad, I must leave now. Scourge, Asaph, Sargon and Mordecai will remain and help you as needed.”

“Are you injured?” Draco asked worried as he looked over him.

“Not quite but I’m going to be useless in about ten minutes and need to get out of the fighting. Can you handle this or should I call one of the others over?”

Draco stiffened. “I can handle the situation, Prime.”

“Very well then, carry on. If things get too hard, retreat no one will question it.” Cyriacus instructed, gasping with pain. “I’ll be waiting in the Throne Room.”

“As you command, Prime.” Draco replied turning around to join the others.

Nusayr had already gathered the rest of Cyriacus’s bodyguards and together the four of them broke through the line of enemies and vanished through a shadowed doorway. They emerged in the darkened Throne Room, which began to brighten at their presence. Quickly, Nusayr picked up the weakening Necromancer and set him on a freshly conjured divan. Nusayr quickly began stripping Cyriacus of his Battle Robes, while the others began removing their own clothing in preparation to Feed the kyndrak. Cyriacus stiffened, his eyes widening as they began to lighten until they were the pale green of limestone.

---

VISION

---

Cyriacus found himself standing in the shadows of a very familiar garden. Looking around the courtyard of Eagle’s Spire, he spotted himself strolling the cobbled paths lost in thought. As he joined his Vision-self, he could distantly hear the sounds of celebration taking place within and as he caught up with the Vison-self he could hear his thoughts as clearly as though he were speaking them instead of thinking them.

‘…stupid gathering, as though we truly needed a party to celebrate the success of the Easter attacks. I’m running out of time, I can feel it and I’m no closer to finding a way to fulfill both Prophecies as I am to winning this War! Gods of my cursed ancestors, I need a bloody drink!’

The soft rustle of clothing had both of them spinning around and his Vision-self calmed as he spotted Voldemort walking over to join him.

“Why am I not surprised to find you out here, fy draig (my dragon)? Within your Great Hall we are having one of the most lavish celebrations of our recent victory and yet here you are, wandering your garden in the dark like a melancholy ghost waiting for their lost lover to return.” Voldemort commented, slowly embracing the Vision-self.

“What is there to celebrate, Anwylyd (beloved)? More time passes but I am no closer to finding a way to survive both Prophecies and I have no intention of giving into madness.” His Vision-self replied depressed.

Voldemort sighed, ‘Why do you insist on working yourself to an early death, my love? Your every waking moment is consumed by finding an answer and it weighs so heavily on you that even I can not make you forget if only for a few hours.’

“The answer will come but in the meantime all your searching is doing is deteriorating your health and we would not want a repeat of what happened after the Christmas Attack, now would we?”

Cyriacus frowned slightly, what pray tell had happened after the Christmas Attack?

His Vision-self frowned slightly but leaned into the embrace. “It was necessary to test my skills Voldemort, even if I did spend the rest of the holidays regaining strength from a Resurrection.”

“You could have died.” Voldemort replied, holding the younger Wizard tighter in his arms.

“My death is never permanent, and neither is yours.” His Vision-self murmured, kissing the older wizard gently. ‘Thanks to this bond which ties us closer than any bond I’ve seen, we are destined to stand together through life, death and eternity itself.’

Voldemort deepened the kiss. ‘Now you are mine forever, beloved. No one can stand between us again and no one will ever fulfill your deepest desires but me. You are my lover, my Consort and later, the bearer of my children.’

When Voldemort pulled away, he murmured softly. “You are never alone; together we are stronger than either of us is apart. We will find a way, I will not loose you to insanity or worse but you must be patient. My sources are close to finding the location of the Wyvern’s Lair and soon we will see what Razul has left for you. One as cunning as he, would have left something if his Sight is as great as yours.”

‘I hope you’re right…for both our sakes.’ His Vision-self thought.

---

END VISION

---

Cyriacus gasped as the Vision left him, pain pulsed throughout his body until it seemed as if every cell in his body was on fire. Biting back a scream of pain, he felt another tingling pain lance through his body before he was dragged away by yet another Vision.

---

VISION

---

Stumbling, Cyriacus tripped over a set of trash cans in an alley. Cursing as he dusted himself off, he headed out of the alley and found himself next to the Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. Looking around, he guessed that he was Seeing the current battle taking place there. As with Azkaban the streets were teeming with dueling Wizards and Witches, buildings were burning or crumbling and the Dark Mark sat proudly in the sky. As he moved closer to the moving crowd of bodies, he clutched at his head as the thoughts and intents of those present began to overwhelm him.

Falling to his knees, he attempted to desperately shut out the voices and find the reason why he was Seeing this. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but after some time the voices began to dim until they were nothing more than a whisper of sound. Slowly, he managed to stagger to his feet and look around. So far both sides were evenly matched and it seemed that it was his Summoned Creatures which might prove to turn the tide in this particular battle. Moving slowly, he wove his way through the crowd, listening to the soft murmur of sound and finding nothing out of the ordinary.

The Death Eaters fought in Voldemort’s name, some still stupidly misguided by the supposed superiority the Purebloods spouted and others to change the way of the Wizarding World. Others fought for family, for loved ones who had been lost to the Ministry’s stupidity and some fought for power, for the prestige long promised them by Voldemort.

The thoughts of their enemies were unsurprising to him at least. Many fought believing they served the Light and would die to preserve the ‘good’ of the Wizarding world. Others fought because it was their duty; and a few aspired to be great heroes and to be lauded by Historians as someone as great as Dumbledore or even the poorly understood Harry Potter.

It was the latter fools that made Cyriacus’s stomach twist with disgust. This was War, plain and simple. People would die, lives would be destroyed and the innocence of many would be lost to the cold brutality that was, at its basest, a prime example of Darwin’s Theory of Natural Selection. The War would weed out the weak and leave only the strongest, most cunning to thrive in the aftermath.

Moving through the main street, walking past the injured and dying, seeing buildings devoured by flames, Cyriacus found he was numb. He had helped sow this destruction and he would continue to destroy all those that stood in his way. Power did not tempt him, greed did not touch him but it was survival that would see him through even the darkest most heinous crimes and actions.

Blood Child that he was, he was something not of this world. From his very conception, he had thrived on the spilled blood of others and so he was damned to live, feeding on the blood of his enemies, the blood of the innocent and even the blood of his own kin. He was Death incarnate and his very presence cast an ominous shadow on these weak and paltry mortals. He had been born to live to see the end of eternity, sired by the offspring of Immortals and acknowledged as a Lord above all others by beings more powerful and terrible than Muggles could dream of.

And he had asked for none of it, and had desired nothing more precious than his freedom and the ability to make decisions that would impact no one but himself. He hadn’t wanted to be the catalyst of change; he hadn’t wanted to be the Blood Child of a ritual that had spanned thousands of years. Most of all, he didn’t want to be the one whom everyone looked to for salvation. How does one save others when you yourself are damned beyond what is fathomable to a mortal mind?

Despair washed over him, until he was drowning in the bleakness. Why had he been brought to See this? It was not as though he hadn’t acknowledged the fate dealt to him, was not as though he did not know his time was running out and that insanity loomed on the horizon if he failed to fulfill both Prophecies. Turning around, he walked down the main street of Hogsmeade, aimlessly wandering until he spotted something that seemed too out of place.

Looking through a window at the Post Office, he saw an unmasked Death Eater madly scribbling a note and attempting to find an available owl to attach his missive to. Cyriacus studied the face intently as he caught the whisper of thoughts coming from the Death Eater.

‘…get it to the Minister! By Merlin it was Snape’s son all along, Cyriacus Snape is Voldemort’s Necromancer!’

Cyriacus’s eyes widened, how did the fool find out?!

Before he could wonder if it was possible to wake from a Vision, a perfectly wonderfully timed Incendio smashed into the side of the building. The owls fled and Fudge’s vaunted Spy cursed vehemently and scrambled out of the burning building. The last thing he was aware of was the shout of the Squad Captains as they broke off the attack.

---

END OF VISION

---

This time when Cyriacus came out of the Vision, he didn’t dare to open his eyes. His body ached with pain and he could smell blood dripping out of his nose. A wet cloth was placed on his forehead and another cloth wiped up the blood on his face. He groaned and someone helped him into a sitting position.

“Slowly my Lord slowly,” Nusayr murmured softly as he pressed a cold compress over Cyriacus’s closed eyes.

Cyriacus groaned again and blindly began pressing the ‘gems’ on his bracelet. “How long have I been out?”

“I’d say almost two hours,” Voldemort commented his voice filled with tightly reined in anger.

“Damn,” Cyriacus cursed as he took a deep breath and then reached for Nusayr. His Wraith guardian was already ready and helped guide Cyriacus’s mouth to his wrist. Cyriacus felt his fangs sliding down and once they finished moving, he sank them into Nusayr’s wrist and began sucking up the blood.

Voldemort watched with a mixture of anger, worry and jealousy as his lover drank the blood that he most likely needed as much as the sex that Voldemort was more than willing to provide the quarter Incubus. The ache in his body began to dull with each swallow of blood and after a few minutes, he was as recovered as he ever got. Moving with slow deliberation, he pushed aside the compress and stared. It seemed as though the attacks had finished, considering how many Death Eaters were staring avidly at the divan he was sitting on.

“How are you feeling?” Constance asked as she stepped around Iah, who glared at her darkly.

Cyriacus managed a wry smile as he motioned for Baraz and Salil to help him up. “I’ll live.”

Constance frowned at him. “Have you been to see a Healer yet?”

“There’s nothing a Healer can do for me at the moment.” Cyriacus replied sharply, taking a few tentative steps away from the divan. Salil and Baraz steadied him, their hands on his arms. “My illness will pass on its own, given enough time.”

Voldemort finally had enough of staying silent and being patient. “I don’t suppose it will take say…eight or nine months?”

Cyriacus turned around so fast that Salil had to catch him when he lost his balance. “What do you think you’re implying?”

“I think you know very well what I’m implying!” Voldemort snapped even more irritated seeing the strong arms of the light brown haired Revenant wrapped around his lover’s waist. “Do you think that child is yours only? It’s mine too!”

The silence that statement brought was deafening. Cyriacus felt all the remaining weariness in his body melt away as rage flowed through his body, rejuvenating it in a way nothing else had. Severus felt as though he’d been hit with the Killing Curse he was so utterly shocked! His son and Voldemort? Oh dear Merlin!

Cyriacus growled as he stepped away from Salil and Baraz’s helping hands. “What did you think you’re saying?! I thought we agreed not to say anything about our…arrangement!”

“Do you think I’m just going to remain silent about our relationship? You are pregnant and that child is mine, stop trying to deny it!”

“I’m not pregnant you idiotic man!”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “How can you be anything but pregnant with the symptoms you have? You wake up every morning throwing up, you’re always tired or dizzy and your bodyguards have been keeping me away from you every time I attempt to speak with you!”

Cyriacus clenched his jaw and without looking pointed at Asadyl and Kohinoor who were leaning against a nearby pillar on the right. “Are you suffering from memory loss? You know those two did far more than arrange my birth, I’m about as human as a real dragon! If you had put the symptoms and clues about my illness together you would have realized that I’m not pregnant but that my body is attempting to adapt to a new Gift.”

Voldemort was silent as he put the clues together, Cyriacus meanwhile glared at him

“I haven’t spoken to you because I had more than enough things to deal with and I knew that it’d be better to save whatever discussion you wanted to have until after the Attack. Business comes before Pleasure as you often like to inform me, so don’t get angry with me about keeping quiet about my illness! As a Necromancer I’m vulnerable enough because of what I can do, I’m hardly going to admit to a crowd of concerned Death Eaters why I’m as sick as a dog all the sudden. It’s no one’s business how I deal with my emerging Blood Gifts.”

“You could have at least told me!”

Cyriacus growled, “You wonder why I haven’t agreed to be your Consort? It’s because the bond between us has more control over you than you have over it. Do you honestly believe I haven’t felt it either? I’m not constantly jealous like you but since we began our arrangement, I’ve only had sex with two others and both times were to keep my cover.”

Voldemort’s eyes widened with surprise. “Two others? I know about that Bancroft woman but the other?”

“Does it really matter who it was?”

“Who was it?”

Cyriacus sighed, knowing there was no way of getting out of admitting who the other person was and the inevitable argument that would follow. “I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures of us last night, everyone has by now.”

“Arrington?” whispered Voldemort, eyes narrowed. “You and Arrington?”

“Well what else was I supposed to do? Consider my position if you will! Krum’s Courtship attempt went down the drain and if you’ll remember Arvell hasn’t spoken to me since Krum and I went on our first and last Courting date together. I made a bit of a reputation for being a bit…reckless; of course I would have reacted as I did if this whole thing weren’t an orchestrated farce! ”

Voldemort scowled. “I have a role to play as much as you do and it wouldn’t be done for me to continue pursuing you immediately after finding out I have a rival!”

Once again the others watching were frozen in shock, Voldemort had just admitted to being Marcellus Arvell who was well known for being Cyriacus Snape’s first and most ardent suitor.

Severus, who was standing next to Lucius, was even more baffled now than he was a few moments ago. The man who he had pledged his loyalty to was not only fucking his newly found son, but courting him as Marcellus Arvell?! Then there was the pregnancy scare and the elder Snape’s face paled, if Cyriacus had been pregnant that would have made it Voldemort’s child!

Cyriacus snorted. “If you haven’t noticed, our Courtship was hardly conventional or traditional for that matter. You can’t be upset with me for simply continuing the ruse that I’ve been forced to live out. It’s rather ironic how being Cyriacus Snape was supposed to save me from living a life of lies. It’s not much easier than life as Harry Potter, which I thought was chaotic enough!”

Severus nearly moaned at the shocked murmurs that raced through the crowd of Death Eaters. What in Merlin’s name was wrong with those two, blurting out the most highly kept secrets due to a…a lover’s spat!

“What would you have rather done then? Neither side is prepared to move forward to all out War yet!”

“It would matter little what I had wanted to do, very few decisions in my life are mine to make without having to carefully plot how my choice affects the cursed Prophecies hanging over my head!”

Lucius frowned as he watched Cyriacus and Voldemort argue in front of the entirety of the gathered Death Eaters. Though he hadn’t known about their relationship before this sudden, angry revelation, he supposed this explained many of the strange looks the two had been exchanging the last two weeks. This, however, was not the place to be arguing about the obvious impediments in their relationship. A glance at his nearby comrades showed that they too realized this was not the place for such a discussion. However since no one was willing to interrupt, and have the wrath of two very angry Wizards directed at them, the two would likely continue arguing until they ran out of things to rant about.

A movement by the door caused Cyriacus to stop in middle of his rather loud rant, twisting around a ripple of power lashed out from his hands, warding the room and preventing anyone from leaving. Discarding his argument with Voldemort in favor of taking care of some loose ends, Cyriacus’s eyes darkened and a slight shimmer of energy began to seep from his skin. Stalking forward with the grace of a predator, Cyriacus turned his attention to the suddenly paling mass of Death Eaters.

“Morgan always told me I had a bit of a temper and when my Incubus heritage began to emerge, it got worse.” Cyriacus said conversationally as he began to unbutton and shed the rest of his clothing. “Eventually I learned to control it; after all I got tired of having to cast Reparo to fix the empty classroom that always got the brunt of my temper. Yet I find these days, I have so little control over my emotions now so I have to take new steps to find safe outlets for my anger. Some of you already know what I am and those that don’t are about to find out…”

Voldemort’s eyes widened with comprehension. “I do not think this is the time to-“

Cyriacus smiled in such a way that even Voldemort fell silent. “They will find out sooner or later so it might as well be now.” With a few Wordless spells, Cyriacus stood in nothing more than his boxers. Grinning viciously he Transformed and stood in all his Hybrid glory, quite amused by the reactions of the Second Tier Death Eaters. With his wings fully opened and his heavily muscled arms crossed over his chest, he looked like a dangerous nightmare brought to life.

“I am the Prince of Dragons, better known to most of you as Cyriacus Snape and to a special few, I am also known as Necromancer Ruin. To one of you, I am going to be the last thing you are going to see before Death takes you into its cold embrace.”

And then in a motion that was blinding to most he waded into the crowd, picked up his prey and threw it across the room effortlessly. Sneering, Cyriacus jerked the mask off his prey and smiled down into the familiar face he had seen in his last Vision.

“Why look at what I caught, the spy that’s been telling the Ministry all kinds of secrets! You’re going to regret what you’ve done Mr. Davies. Betraying the Dark Lord’s secrets will earn an instant death sentence but betraying my secrets will lead to a fate worse than death.”

Roger Davies spat out, “You’re nothing more than a monster, Snape!”

Cyriacus laughed darkly. “I’m an abomination Davies; if you’re going to insult me at least have the courtesy to get it right.”

Grabbing the front of his robes Cyriacus slammed the older man into the wall behind them and then chained him to the wall with a few spells. Moving back a step, Cyriacus turned and looked at the crowd watching him.

“Let him be an example of what happens to those that would betray us! Death is not the worst fate!”

Turning back to his prisoner, Cyriacus stripped Davies out of his robes and shirt and with a smirk began carving runes all over Davies body using his talons. Focused intently on his task, he was unaware of the rest of the room watching him. Ascyltus entered the room in a cloud of chilling gray mist, attracted by the powerful stirrings of Necromantic energy. The crowd parted to let the Dementor Lord through and Cyriacus glanced up from his work as that ever so familiar chill washed over him.

“What are you doing?” Ascyltus asked in Necromancer’s Cant, his breath rattling.

Cyriacus smirked slightly at the Dementor. “Making an example of him, I don’t suppose you’d like to help?”

Ascyltus bowed, “I would be honored.”

“Excellent!” Cyriacus murmured savagely and then quickly explained what he was planning.

Ascyltus was surprised at the younger Necromancer’s ingenuity but was more than pleased to help; this was the perfect chance to capitalize on the current discord between the Dark Lord and the Necromancer. After giving his approval, Cyriacus quickly turned back to his work finishing the last of the minute ring of runes that formed a circle directly above Davies heart.

Finished at last with his preparations, Cyriacus shared a look with the Dementor Lord and then began chanting in a complicated Essence Transferring Spell while writing a chain of runes, connecting the array of runes together. Working in a counter clockwise pattern drawing the runes towards the circle of runes over Davies heart, a bright blue energy began to form from Davies body channeling inward towards his heart.

Cyriacus smiled with anticipation as he came closer and closer to finishing the spell. Meanwhile, the Dementor Lord had pushed back his hood and moved into position, ready to give Davies the Kiss the moment Cyriacus plunged his hand into that trembling body and ripped out its heart. The air around them was potent in energy and both pounced at exactly the same time.

As Cyriacus said the final words of the Spell, he lashed forward with his hand burying it below the sternum and thrusting upward until his hand reached the heart. Ignoring Davies scream and the blood dripping down his arm, he grasped the soft organ in his hand and pulled, ripping it free.

Ascyltus had moved at the same moment the Necromancer had finished his Spell, latching his mouth over Davies’s and began sucking out his soul. Drawing out the fool’s soul as quickly as he could, he finished just as Cyriacus had jerked the heart free, pulling his arm out of the limp, corpse. The organ was dripping blood and glowed with the channeled life energy of its former host.

Another hurried chant to catch as much of the remaining energy as possible and Cyriacus was slowly restored to glowing health. If one hadn’t seen his earlier condition after waking from his Visions, no one would have guessed he had been ill at all.

Discarding the organ at the feet of the body it had originally come from Cyriacus smirked and looked up at the Dementor Lord. The attraction which was ever steady between them had flared to unbelievable proportions and before either was aware of it, they were kissing hungrily drawing out and sharing the power they had both just claimed for themselves. Feverishly they pressed their lips together, tongues moving against each other’s lips until their mouths opened and they twined their tongues together. Cyriacus could almost taste the residual energy of Davies’s soul in Ascyltus’s mouth and the Dementor Lord, who was steadily turning into a Lich, could taste blood and the slightest hint of wine.

Completely oblivious to the horrified crowd around them, Ascyltus trapped the Necromancer between the wall and his body, pressing the younger man against the wall. Once again they exchanged energy through their Kiss, both producing something within that was invaluable to the other. Moments passed and then they finally broke apart, bodies flaring with strange energy, causing chills to pass over the helplessly enthralled crowd.

Voldemort had seen enough. “What in Salazar’s name do you two think you’re doing?!”

Cyriacus couldn’t move and he wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he was leaning against the wall, or that Ascyltus was holding him upright that kept him on his feet. For a few moments he was completely lost to the wondrous sensation of being extremely fit in body, mind and spirit. It had been weeks since he had physically felt completely healthy and well over a month since his mind was unburdened. The feeling though did not last long, but the memory would stay with him for a time and hopefully it would be enough to combat the sheer weight of what was coming.

Voldemort had jerked the Lich out of his way and shook Cyriacus sharply, calling out his name.

Glowing, reptilian eyes snapped open. Voldemort’s eyes widened and he took two instinctive steps back. Those eyes…the power that waited to be unleashed! He shivered slightly and was thankful that Cyriacus seemed to be fully aware of the world around him.

“Are you well?”

Cyriacus blinked slowly, “I’ve never felt better.” And it was true, he felt as though for the first time in years he was truly alive and aware of the world.

Ascyltus moved into his line of vision and he was aware that there was still something missing, something he still needed from the Lich. They shared a look that spoke volumes and the Lich smiled slightly before leaving the room as swiftly and silently as he had arrived, not even disturbing the wards.

Voldemort touched his arm briefly and jerked back, shocked at the amount of power that was coursing through Cyriacus’s body. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Cyriacus asked sharply. “I was born to be a weapon Voldemort! You know it, I know it everyone in the Inner Circle and hell even the First Tier knows it! But the thing so few of you realize is that I am not, and never have been human. You created the Ouroboros Squad to be your finest commanders, your battle field generals if you will, and I was to be the best among them.”

“But what you didn’t know was that you weren’t the only one who wanted to create a weapon. The Primordials spent thousands of years waiting, watching and manipulating more lives than I can fathom, until a very powerful being, one that could rule all of their kind effortlessly, was born.” Cyriacus said, watching Asadyl and the other Primordials, who shifted restlessly under his gaze.

Slowly Cyriacus began to move, circling Voldemort with liquid grace and gazing back and forth between the Dark Lord and the watching Death Eaters, as he spoke. “Now I’m here and I’ve finally come to the most astounding realization. Despite the two Prophecies that may or may not be conflicting and even with all the trouble that dogs my footsteps, I’m going to take all the shit Fate deals me, work with it or around it and do whatever the hell’s necessary for me to come out on top.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe.

Cyriacus smiled coldly as he slowly scanned the crowd of black robed figures. “What does it mean?” he said softly at first, his voice growing louder as he spoke. “I’ll kill who needs to be killed, torture whoever needs to be tortured and generally crush anyone who gets in my way. I’ll even finish the rest of the Blood Ritual and thrice damn my already cursed self some more! I’m beginning not to care who gets hurt and who has to die. Everyone’s officially expendable in my frame of mind and the next person that irritates me, or even contemplates betraying my secrets, is going to be the star sacrifice during my next Summoning.”

Satisfied by the fear he could smell in the air, Cyriacus smoothly wrapped his wings around his body and began walking towards the door. The Death Eaters shied out of his way, scrambling over each other in their haste not to touch him or garner his interest. The glowing wards surrounding the room shivered and then melted away as Cyriacus shoved open the massive double doors. Pausing in the doorway he looked over his shoulder at Voldemort.

“Leave the body; I’ll deal with it when I get back. No one will speak of what they’ve seen tonight; I have already taken care of that with a Mind Web.”

Voldemort nodded and Cyriacus walked away the doors slamming shut behind him. Stepping into the main hallway of Riddle Mansion, he looked to the right of the door and saw Ascyltus casually waiting for him. Smiling, Cyriacus joined the Lich and took hold of his hand and pulled them through the shadows into the Chaos Plane.

As they moved through the Chaos Plane, Cyriacus Transformed back to his human form. They stepped out of the shadows of a huge four poster bed in his room at Eagle’s Spire. Words were not exchanged as they gave into the attraction that had drawn them to each other over and over the past month. Pushing the younger man down on the bed, Ascyltus joined him licking and nipping at Cyriacus’s chest while his hands pulled away the one remaining article of clothing on the Necromancer’s body. Hissing softly, Cyriacus pulled the taller man down for a deep kiss and thrust his hips upwards.

Ascyltus growled softly as their erections rubbed together and broke the kiss, turning his head and latching onto Cyriacus’s neck. Moving his head to give the Lich more access, Cyriacus moaned softly his hands clawing at Ascyltus’s strong back.

“Just fuck me already,” Cyriacus grumbled as Ascyltus kissed and licked his way down his chest.

Ascyltus looked up at him, eyes bright. “All in good time, I have not had the pleasure of enjoying the pleasures of the flesh and I intend to fully…enjoy…myself.” Each pause had been accentuated by swift, firm licks on Cyriacus’s straining erection.

Cyriacus closed his eyes, unconsciously holding his breath. “Why…do I always get a tease?”

“You have such a high threshold for pain,” Ascyltus commented, pausing to mouth the head of Cyriacus’s cock. “Surely you can withstand a bit of foreplay?”

“I’m a quarter Incubus,” Cyriacus answered, teeth gritted. “First time’s a fuck and then you can do whatever the hell you like second, third or fourth time around.”

Ascyltus laughed, “It’s a wonder the Serpent Lord has kept you in his bed all this time! Someone like you surely lived to have dozens of liaisons but no single lover.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No,” Ascyltus breathed; blowing softly on his saliva covered cock. “I will give you what you need now but then, I will get my due.”

Cyriacus nodded. “Sounds splendid, fuck me already!”

Ascyltus sighed dramatically. “Ah the patience of youth…and those with Incubi blood!” Smirking at his glaring lover, Ascyltus re-applied his attention back to Cyriacus’s neglected cock. While he kept the younger man pleasantly occupied, he softly murmured several charms on himself. Cyriacus had his eyes closed as he lazily shifted beneath the Lich’s talented mouth. Without warning, the warm mouth that had been bringing him closer and closer to the edge abruptly vanished. Opening his eyes, he stared in surprise as Ascyltus carefully lowered himself on top of his rigid shaft.

“Fuck!” Cyriacus exclaimed, nearly spilling himself as his cock was engulfed.

Ascyltus smirked down at him and then began to raise and lower himself, gently at first and then faster and deeper with each stroke. Cyriacus attempted to match his rhythm, feeling his inner Incubus take over. Grabbing the Lich’s shoulders, he rolled them until he was on top and then slid the Lich’s legs higher up around his chest and began to thrust almost viciously. Ascyltus had barely a moment to be surprised before a thrust against his prostate had him moaning.

The two quickly adapted to the faster, harder rhythm and it wasn’t long before Cyriacus stilled, spilling himself inside the Lich. With a muttered curse, Ascyltus promptly followed suit, his inner muscles clenching around the softening shaft. He spared the Necromancer a slightly irritated look at having slightly ruined his plans. Cyriacus however, was too sated to notice the sudden devilish smirk the Lich graced him with. The Necromancer had said he could do anything after the first time…

---

Diagon Alley, London UK
Saturday the 1st of November 1997
5:01 PM

It was as the last streaks of light faded and darkness began to cover the land that it appeared. Amid the startled shouts and screams of cleaning crews, a horrible sight appeared in the middle of Diagon Alley. Nearby patrolling Aurors rushed to the scene of so much drama and stopped dead in their tracks.

The body of Roger Davies, Undersecretary to the Head of the Auror Department was tied to standard, bearing the crest of the Slytherin Arms. His left arm bore the Dark Mark and had faded to a dull gray. It was obvious to all that he had died in great pain. Covered in runes, with a puncture wound in his chest cavity there was little doubt how he had died…a Ritual Blood Sacrifice.

Yet the most chilling thing was yet to happen. As true night fell, the standard began to shudder, causing the body to sway in a sickening parody of living motion. Wands drawn, the Aurors had stared wondering what to do. Suddenly there was a loud explosion as the tip of the elaborate steel standard shot into the air. There was a thundering explosion and crimson sparks shot into the sky above Diagon Alley, forming eerie words.

By tomorrow, every newspaper and magazine in the Wizarding World would be speculating about it.

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The Parlor
Fudge Mansion, Pennine Hills, Durham UK
Sunday the 2nd of November 1997
8:10 AM

Iphigenia carefully cut out the front page article of the Daily Prophet and carefully added it to her scrapbook. She had been searching through every piece of paper media for the slightest clues about Harry Potter and Cyriacus Snape but now she had the one piece of evidence that she had spent months looking for. The mystery that had begun the night of the long remembered Summit Attack had now been solved ironically enough, the day after the Samhain Attack.

Now it was only a matter of writing a simple invitation and then all her plans could finally be set in motion. Smoothing the wrinkles off her newest scrapbook page, Iphigenia smiled and stared at the flickering words that would lead to her own ambitions finally being fulfilled.

TO THE DENIZENS OF THE WIZARDING WORLD,
I OFFER MY SINCEREST GREETINGS!

WAR IS UPON US AND THE ROOTS OF A NEW AGE HAVE BEEN SOWN.
WHO WILL LIVE TO SEE THAT AGE IS ANOTHER MATTER ENTIRELY.

TO SERVE THE DARK LORD IS TO WALK THE PATH OF REVOLUTION
AND JOURNEY TO ITS END. IT IS NOT A PATH FOR THE WEAK WILLED NOR THE FOOLISH IDEALIST.

BELOW IS MERELY A SMALL EXAMPLE OF WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THOSE WHO WOULD BETRAY THE SECRETS OF
THE DARK LORD, VOLDEMORT AND THE NECROMANCER, RUIN.

THERE ARE WORSE FATES THAN DEATH, REMEMBER THAT.

WE WILL MEET AGAIN SOON,
THE PRINCE OF DRAGONS

TBC in Chapter Twenty-five…

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(1) Zoticus- Greek for ‘Full of Life’

(2) Those Beasties mentioned above:

A Gagana- is a bird of Russian myth with an iron beak and talons.
A Raicho- is a Japanese Thunder-bird
A Simurgh is a winged creature shaped like a bird, it is a Persian Legend.

All these beasties were found on Encyclopedia Mythica (an excellent source for all things Mythological).

Well there it is one chapter done and possibly another two or three to go and then the rest of the story will be continued in Precarious Destiny. I won’t make my end of the Year deadline so my new deadline is my birthday, January 31st. If you’re a member of my Group, expect some new polls soon about story updating and PD in particular.

As it will likely be after Christmas before I post again (ahem, unless I get lots of inspiration /hint/ reviews /hint/), I’d like to wish you all a Happy Holiday. I hope everyone has a wonderful and safe Holiday season!

Read and Review please!

-SheWolfe7 (12/11/05)