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It hurt. It hurt so much.
Amelia screamed and screamed as her entire body was engulfed by an unyielding tide of energy. Fires roared within her, seeping from the pores of her skin, while an arctic tundra threatened to submerge her beneath the weight and all-consuming coldness of a glacier. Her eyes burned and shrivelled in her sockets, only to heal almost instantly, and be burned again. Her entire body flailed like it was being crushed from all directions, her soul screaming to leave this wrongness that was the body and yet something wouldn't let it pass. For a split-second, the little semblance of conscious thought that Amelia had idly noted that if the afterlife was really so bad, it definitely explained why witches and wizards went out of their way to avoid it.
Something cracked within her, and Amelia Bones knew the true definition of the word agony.
Her world, her entire existence was engulfed by massive black tendrils, ripping through her heart and her mind and her soul, her fragile psyche unable to do anything save bearing it impotently as the darkness took root deep within her. There was no explosion, no light, no sound, or force. Rather, it was a mad outpouring of raw power that tore the vicinity apart like a gale of fierce wind, except there was none of it. Blood coated her mouth and back thickening, congealing from liquid to something jet black and semi-solid that began to squirm, turning in on itself and digging into her flesh. Amelia tried to scream, but nothing emerged from her mouth save the same writhing black tendrils that fell from atop and coated her entire form. Her skin wrinkled and dried in seconds, desiccating and invigorating her at the same time, her veins pumping unnaturally and in the wrong direction and then —
Assimilating newly gained magical constitution…
Establishing parity with existing magical affinities…
Enacting…
Adding 21% affinity for Incarnaeum
Amelia didn't know what she was seeing, or why, but she knew one thing. Somehow, Harry Potter was responsible for whatever was happening to her. Her dying in the explosion, she could digest. Her coming back from the dead? She definitely had a problem with that.
Merging innate 61% affinity for Organic Transfiguration with newly added 16% affinity for Hemomancy
Merging Complete
Adding 41% affinity for Fleshcrafting
Adding 29% affinity for Osteomancy
Parity Established
Thousands of questions rushed into her mind. The power that was flowing in was unknown as well. It was strong, stronger than anything she had ever felt within her. Like a part that was always there but she hadn't been able to access.
Her body felt like it was at war with itself. It was an odd sensation, as if two parts of her being, which were normally perfectly compatible with one another, were now fighting to overcome the other simply because the other existed.
Death. Life. Taking. Giving. Darkness. Light.
Conforming with Tether System with established 100% World Anchorage
Configuring Spiritual Baseline for LYCTOR Amelia Bones…
Preconditions Set!
Rendering Complete.
And then the words vanished completely. Amelia Bones opened her eyes.
"Welcome back," said Harry Potter.
She woke up with a raging headache, and a body that throbbed with every breath. Her mind ached, her muscles felt stuff, and groaning in pain, and her body felt like someone had reforged it with lead. She half expected to see herself tied in bandages and lying in some hospital wing, but instead her eyes welcomed her to the macabre vision of a burning and smoky stadium in the aftermath of the explosion. And Harry Potter was….
He was floating in mid-air, cross-legged, his hands fixed in a particular gesture that reminded her of mudras of Ancient India, while energies that felt both detestable and familiar at the same time swirled around her. Energy that she recognized as Dark beyond comparison and yet utterly right, like they were just as much natural as the air she breathed in and out.
And then it hit her.
"Harry —"
"I told you, Amelia," said Harry softly, and despite the screams and yells outside, she could hear him without any issue. Like he was something more than human. "I won't let you die alone."
"But I — I died. I died, didn't I?"
"You did."
"And then… you brought me back."
"Well technically I wouldn't call you dead. I mean your soul had departed from your body, but it hadn't truly crossed the threshold. Getting it to reconsider coming back would be tricky, what with your Scandinavian ancestry."
None of his words made sense.
"Harry, if I died —"
"Yes, Amelia. I resurrected you. Merlin's Beard, any dimwit can see that."
Amelia was caught up between digesting the ludicrousness of what he had just said; the memory of herself fruitlessly attempting to shield against the explosion, before a massive piece of rock from above crushed her body before the flames overpowered her; her pristine looking body that was bereft of all injuries; the idea that she had been dead, and most importantly, that Harry Potter had been the one to resurrect her.
Finally, she exhaled. "You used… dark magic."
"Technically, that's Necromancy, though I did bypass several of the steps."
"Harry, Inferi Creation is against the law."
Harry gave her a flabbergasted look. "Are you seriously threatening me with prison-time over resurrecting you from the dead? If it helps, I certainly didn't raise you as an Inferius or apply fleshcrafting to clothe you with a flesh mask. Your body is alive and pure, well, relatively speaking. Now get up, we've got work to do. Your little international cooperation event is in shatters, and before you yell at me, I had no idea they were going to pull off something like this. A bit of fire here and there with spells going around, maybe, but detonating the freaking stadium? Clearly someone's been aiming to be an overachiever in Malfoy's little group."
He was telling the truth. How she knew that, she had no idea. But she did. The stench of his magic was anything but the darkest of its kind. Every single time she had met Harry Potter, the power within him was warm and bright and blazing. Now though, it was imploding into itself, like a self-devouring hole that would suck the entire universe inside it if allowed the chance. How the person she had met just moments ago could alter his magic into something this twisted she had no idea, but she knew that the reality was most possibly stranger than anything she could imagine.
Instead, she glanced at the bodies strewn apart and dead all over the floor. She recognized several of them as her own juniors. Michael Proudfoot — he had been looking forward to a promotion this Christmas. She herself had filed the form. Kingsley Shacklebolt, his skull cracked open from one side with a large metal apparatus tearing through the middle of his body, severing him in half. She had been grooming the man to be her replacement when the time came. David Savage; younger brother of Senior Auror Cornelius Savage - the elder had always hated that he shared his name with the incompetent Minister of Magic — so many dead, so many of her men and women , hit-wizards, Aurors, civilians, all of them dead.
Fury rose within her. She turned to Harry, the dark power within her seeking vengeance. "You knew! You knew something was about to happen! If only you —"
"Nothing would change!" snapped Harry. Something about his voice made Amelia flinch. It was less human and more like metal grating on glass. "Nothing… look, I know you've questions about all this, and you are upset about whatever's happened, but trust me, I only had one shot at saving your life over others and I chose you, Now you can either call me selfish and a dark wizard for performing Necromancy, or you can use this opportunity to seek vengeance on those that have killed all these innocent people."
His eyes dared her to challenge him.
"Go on, Choose."
When Amelia didn't speak at all, Harry said. "Look, I need you to listen carefully. Malfoy and the other Death Eaters have planned something really big."
Amelia let out a hollow laugh. What could be bigger than literally crippling the DMLE in one single strike?
"I'm not sure what it is," said Harry. "But there are a lot of people out there in Death-Eater masks, hurling killing curses. Oh, and they've brought werewolves with them. My secretary Hestia Jones is out there fighting them, and Emmeline Vance is with her. You know her, right?"
"Head Obliviator. But how do you —" she paused at his glare. "Go on."
"They'll need help. Hit-wizard help."
Amelia didn't need telling twice. She stood up, and wandlessly summoned her wand from the debris around. Her body felt perfectly fine, with absolutely zero injuries, something that would no doubt change soon. She reached out into herself and felt some tiny relief to find her magical reserves there, pulsing and strong. However, unlike the metaphysical ball of solid power that was ready to be used whenever needed, the reserves felt larger, restless and agitated. It no longer sat there, ready and humming inside her contently as it waited to be used. Instead, it practically surged out of her with an almost conscious predatory desire to be unleashed.
"What about you?" She asked. "I might be the DMLE Director, but there's just one of me here. Your skills could come in handy now."
"They could, and they will," said Harry calmly, and for the life of her, Amelia couldn't bring herself to interrupt him. "But it doesn't solve the problem, Amelia. It's a full moon night, and there are werewolves out there. Auror Tonks is out there protecting Susan, and as useful as I would be in a spellfight, I think I can contribute to more by being here."
"But —"
"Trust me, Amelia."
Amelia scowled at him. "You know you're lucky I love you?"
"Oh please," said Harry, smirking. "You only love me because of life-affirming sex."
Amelia snorted. Life-affirming indeed. "I'm going out. Don't keep me waiting out there, Potter. I want to see exactly how you fare compared to this old lady."
"Old lady my arse," grumbled Harry. "Now go. Also, don't go after Lucius Malfoy. He's mine."
"Can't guarantee that. Finders, keepers, as they say."
"Amelia!"
Smirking, Amelia quickly summoned her spare copy of protective gear she had kept in the Bones tent, and adorned it, activating the protective enchantments within. It wouldn't save her from the Unforgivables, but it would deflect most hexes and redirect physical damage so long as it wasn't overwhelming.
"Lucius is mine. You can have the rest." There was no negotiation in his tone.
…finally, something she could understand. A mutual distaste for one of the Death Eaters that bordered on irrationality. Then again, he had promised her back in her manor, that he planned to take care of Malfoy for good before the summer vacation was over.
"Pending that the bastard doesn't get in my way on his own merit, or has his face hidden with a Death-Eater mask, I'm willing to accept that."
"Don't tempt the world," he said. "It will probably take your words as a personal challenge."
This time Amelia smiled lightly. She couldn't tell if he was truly being serious, or just worried about what would follow if she did steal his prey from his hands.
"Good hunting," he told her.
Amelia opened her mouth to say something, but instead she just nodded and left, leaving Harry Potter free to wrought whatever madness he had in mind next.
The moment Amelia vanished into the woods, I exhaled and allowed myself to let go of the breath I was holding. As a child, I had read that no plan ever survives the enemy. With Lucius Malfoy deciding to literally bomb the fuck out of the DMLE's core strength in one single cataclysmic explosion, I now know it's true.
Clearly if anyone up there was trying to teach me a little humility, they were getting it right.
Closing my eyes, I mentally reviewed my next great bout of insanity. Being an Necromancer was unlike anything I had ever experienced. At least there I knew and understood the nature of the creature that I was, the instincts it operated on, and given the teenage propensity for lust, it was all too easy to pretend that I just had a superpower to get women's panties wet, instead of being a wholly different creature that operated on the fabric of emotions in the same way a tailor did with cloth.
But the necromancer? That was another thing entirely. Even if I tried, I couldn't really explain to you what it felt like. The moment I switch gears into Necromancer mode, I don't just gain Tom Riddle's affinities for the various strata of Necromancy, I become Tom Riddle. Okay, I don't necessarily have the homicidal glitches he thinks is part of his winning personality, but I believe in what he does. In what every necromancer does.
It's like, I can actually experience my brain working differently. Working faster. Operating from a perspective that's absolutely alien yet intimately familiar at the same time. It's not only about a different sort of power, no. I also have a lifetime of knowledge, of his knowledge. And most of it is so intertwined with the horcrux that it's part of me.
And that knowledge was currently telling me of all the fascinating and terrifyingly brilliant things I could do right now. The massive detonation, the shock, the deaths, the ambient magic arising out of helpless of the people that were about to die, the anger, the rage, the fear of never seeing their loved ones again, the hatred against those that shattered their happy lives — the sheer amount of emotion was saturating the atmosphere, making it alive of sorts, the way you have in a haunted house in the movies? But to a necromancer, that's me, it felt like sitting in a well with a ton of dark spiritual energy all around me.
Energy that I could use for a number of very exciting applications.
So I called them in. The necromantic energy that I had called upon. The raw emotions lingering around the corpses and manifested shades. The predatory spirits set free in the moonlight outside. All the fear and trauma that had been skyrocketing since the explosion. The turbulence caused by the explosion itself. I gathered it all, and got it swirling together in a big circle, crafting a vortex of sorts. In the right conditions, I could have drawn it all into myself, altering my own magical constitution to become something more. With so many people dead and the DMLE crippled, it would be exceedingly easy to draw off the life of every living being within a vicinity, and use them to elevate myself into some kind of Necromancer demigod.
Necrolord Primus
I blinked, surprised at the suggestion from the Screen popping up. No surprises there. If upgrades for the Incubus existed, the Necromancer should be no different. On second thought, Necrolord Primus was way cooler as a title than Incubus Lord. For a moment, I wondered what conditions I needed to set off before achieving that particular title….
CONDITION FOR NECROLORD PRIMUS
Activation of Title — The Road Not Taken
Creation of 7 Lyctors (Current Lyctor Count: 1)
OR
Create 7 Horcruxes
That was… illuminating.
I had already created one Lyctor, which I assumed was the Necromancer-equivalent of Lilim, so I needed to perform six more. With so many dead bodies around and such intense negative emotions running rampant in the air, perhaps….
I was tempted. I was only human.
But I didn't.
Because as much as the current 'Me' wanted it, I wasn't just a necromancer. I was an Incubus Lord too, or close to becoming one, once I activated Lecherous Shrine. While Incubi fed on emotions and used the magic of life, love and lust, necromancers delved deeper into the path of Death, not just making a mockery of life, but also attempting to go against the Order of the Universe. The two paths were not just different, but complete and utter opposites, and the only way to travel between both and craft a path where opposites converged into one, where Life and Death co-existed within one entity, was to activate the Title the Screen had granted me — The Road Not Taken.
One that would take me considerable time to fulfil first.
I glanced at the Screen again.
CONDITION FOR NECROLORD PRIMUS
Activation of Title — The Road Not Taken
Creation of 7 Lyctors (Current Lyctor Count: 1)
OR
Create 7 Horcruxes
Tempting. So very tempting.
A part of me pointed out that if I was feeling queasy about my chances, afraid that things would go wrong and the backlash would kill me, I could always go for a safer alternative. I could gather all of the swirling energies and use it to fashion an artefact or relic of great power — the necromantic equivalent of Gryffindor's blade or Ravenclaw's Diadem or perhaps, to use a relatively modern example, the Philosopher's stone.
It was a valid option, and yet, what I was attempting was something that was both greater and lesser at the same time.. A feat that would turn any self-respecting necromancer green with envy, and yet sneer at me with disgust and disdain for using something so spectacular for something so… pedestrian.
With a flick of my finger, the Peverell Cloak of Invisibility — Death's Cloak, rose out of my mokeskin pouch, and settled over my shoulders and back like a loved one hugging me from behind. As an Incubus, I had never quite felt anything significant arising out of it, but now…
Now I felt its power echo through my mind, like a song forever being sung without anyone to hear it.
I raised both hands, and cast my first rune.
"EIHWAZ!"
The rune of Death. It represented a Yew tree, associated with death, balance and enlightenment. Death was the opposite and balancer of Life, while Light was balanced by Shadow. For Necromancers that travelled the path of shadows, and sought enlightenment in Death, Eihwaz was the go-to rune for majority of their rituals.
I raised both hands, and a massive runic circle began to form, the gathered energy cumulating above me, spinning in the form of a vast mandala above my head.
"PERTHRO!"
The sigils of a dice cup formed in the air before me. Perthro was one of the more abstract runes out there, symbolising Fate, Chance, Mystery and Destiny. None of the people that had perished within this stadium had died magical deaths, like say, by the killing curse. The explosion had killed them in an otherwise mundane method, which meant that the raw emotion of shock, fear, agony, suffering, helplessness… all of it was still there, lingering around their bodies. For those sensitive to such things, it was like being in an oppressive, malevolent, and stagnant atmosphere. The entire zone would probably become a haunted zone, if not properly sanctified. Come to think of it, I could bind all these leftover remnants of desires and emotions, and thus magic, and confine them within an even smaller area. It would be no different than a facsimile of Azkaban prison and ideal for breeding demen—
I shook my head. The toxic energies and the necromancer's mindset were messing with my thoughts.
I focussed on the Perthro rune again. Like I said, the people here had died natural deaths. Their souls hadn't suddenly sundered away, like they would have, had they been killed with the killing curse, or stabbed with one of my Necromantic-energy imbued blades I had stored up in the Potter tent. The souls were still around, floating in Limbo, the shock of their deaths still restraining them from Passing On. And that was what I intended to use in my favour.
Algiz came next, the rune of Defense and Group Effort. Sowilo, to grant them power. Ehwaz, the rune of transportation. To facilitate their shift from the Limbo world to the mortal one, using their emotions to find a way back. I wasn't attempting to bring them all back. Oh no, just attempting to resurrect Amelia had required me to kill dozens of others that were close to dying but technically alive. Attempting to summon all these souls would not only require a threshold that was impossible for me to supply, it would also create a spiritual vacuum of sorts that would implode, taking myself and every single Life within a radius of a mile or more.
No, what I was attempting was something similar to the Brother-Wand Effect between Harry's holly wand and Voldemort's yew wand, which caused the losing wand — Voldemort's, to temporarily regurgitate the memories of the last spells cast by it, resulting in summoning of shades of Harry's parents, Cedric Diggory and the others. Only there was no regurgitation this time. I was attempting to use those lingering emotions to craft a temporary facsimile of the original personality, complete with memories, a transient shade that could possess their own dead bodies, after I raised them as Inferi.
It was terrifying. Dangerous. Enthralling. The power to infuse Unlife into a dead body, to not create a sock-puppet inferi, but an actual consciousness, however temporary, and have it behave like a living, breathing person….
This was the power of a god.
A god of Death.
If a Necromancer could do this, just what could a Necrolord Primus do? And….
And if I could gather the other two Hallows then…
A humm of anticipation echoed into my very soul, one that had arisen not from my own thoughts, but from the Cloak on my person.
Oh yes, very exciting possibilities, indeed.
It was time to cast the final rune.
"DAGAZ!"
The results were absolutely spectacular.