Author's Notes: Thank you to my Beta Adele, who is a really cool person and was quick to beta this chapter. Thanks babe!

Warnings: Violence, Language, Supernatural themes, Necromancy, Non-con, Drug use, Angst, Cross-generation, Incest, Horror, Romance, Drama, Mystery.


Chapter One – Resurrect

By dented-sky


In my field of paper flowers
And candy clouds of lullaby
I lie inside myself for hours
    - Imaginary (Evanescence)

He can’t cry in his mourning
Then he hears the Mudblood say
‘Your Obsession is disturbing,
No knowing week from day’

Pansy Parkinson knew, even as her fist collided with a rough jaw, that there was more to it than wanting to see his father again.

It was about revenge.

Zacharias Smith did his trademark scissor-kick that Pansy easily blocked. The night was getting old and it moaned complaints to the intruders through the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Thinking Pansy was distracted, Zacharias attempted to kick her middle then punch her face, but Pansy was quicker and she high-kicked Zacharias, slamming him to the dirt. She crouched and spun-kicked him while he was down.

He groaned as the pain shot up his body, and Pansy jumped on him, straddling his waist. If your opponent is down for three whole seconds, you win. Three.

Draco Malfoy and his never-ending hate for Harry Potter, Pansy thought disgustedly. What a waste of good animosity that could be used for something more… like prize money for the Combat Tournament.

And all Draco could do was curse over his dead father’s grave, and spit, and wonder constantly why he had let Potter do it. He asked Pansy all the time: ‘Why, Pansy, why? What did Father do that was so bad?’ And Pansy had always answered: ‘Potter never saw a man, Draco, he only saw a Monster.’ Two.

Draco was elsewhere in the forest, no longer taking part in tonight’s game. The game was an alibi, and Pansy had promised to help him but she still hated to lose on purpose. And Padma will gloat again tomorrow. Damn.

Such a messy business: this raising the dead and all. Draco will not stop until Lucius Malfoy is alive again. One.

The timer stopped and froze in the air on “75”. Then it compressed itself (it was like a big floating blue neon light) into a ball and sped through the trees and away to the score board on the other side of the forest. Zacharias groaned and tried to lift himself up. “Good round…” he tried to mutter through bloodied lips.

“Stop talking,” said Pansy, but not unkindly. “Here, let me help you.” She checked her watch, ten minutes to go, then lifted her wand and performed healing spells on his bruised body. He stood up. “You can use your own Healing Salve.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said in his bored tone. “S’ok. I’m going in now. Good luck.”

“Yeah,” she said distractedly. Then she pouted. “You only have two?”

Zacharias was untying the red ribbons from around his right bicep and then he handed them to her. He shrugged and he walked away, disappearing through the trees. Pansy healed herself.

She stretched her limbs and strode through the trees to find the next clearing. She currently had six red ribbons. The game only involved the seventh years, it was only held on Friday nights, and it went like this: everyone starts off with one red ribbon, and when the first two people to collect ten come forward to the alter at the end, the game ends and those two have to fight it out for a point on the Ladder. Highest person on the Ladder by the end of the season wins two hundred Galleons, thanks to Theodore Nott’s Uncle, a lover of brutality, and scout for England’s Dueling Team.

Pansy entered the quiet clearing just as Padma Patil entered from the right. Padma smirked as Pansy nervously played with her golden blonde hair that she had tied into a tight ponytail. Shit, Pansy cursed to herself. Shit, shit, shit. The Ravenclaw was good, the best female combatant in the year, coming only second to Theodore. She had won last Tournament’s season. At least if Pansy forced herself to lose this round it would not look so bad…

“I haven’t talked to you in a couple of days,” said Padma happily as they got in to position. Stupid bitch.

“True,” drawled Pansy. “We’ll have to catch up tomorrow; can’t let Girls Aloud get neglected, now can we?”

They both laughed shrilly and exchanged smiles, but the gesture was not sincere. A bright blue sphere hovered above their heads and changed shape to show the count-down number “120”, just as Padma said quietly, “May the best girl win.”

Pansy suppressed the urge to snarl. They launched themselves at each other.

Padma’s first move was a high-kick, but she had missed as Pansy had crouched in to a butterfly squat, and then controlled her swift slaps on Padma’s lower body which Padma had not been ready to block. Padma did not lose her balance, however, instead back-flipped away then flicked out her wand from her sleeve. “Impedimenta!

Pansy dogged, of course, and sprung in the air, aiming to scissor-kick Padma in the head, but the Ravenclaw shot an arm out and hit Pansy hard in the stomach. Pansy crumpled to the ground. Padma never wasted time; she quickly ran to Pansy’s side and kicked her hard four times in the ribs before Pansy could roll away and get up.

They were both breathing hard. “Come on, old girl,” Padma taunted. Pansy had always hated it when she called her that. “You having one of your bad nights?”

Pansy had actually not been trying hard at all, because she had to lose this match without looking like she lost on purpose, but she hated Padma Patil and her gloating, even though they pretended to be really good friends. This time, Pansy sneered. “Don’t bet on it,” she panted. And they ran at each other again.

It was fast and fierce. They were close together in the clearing, and were aiming fast punches at each other, blocking most of the blows. Then Pansy kicked her foot out, tripping the other girl, then crouched and spun-kicked while Padma was down, but Padma got up immediately afterwards. Pansy kicked and hit, but then Padma gave her three uppercuts fast and hard, throwing Pansy in the air on the last punch. Padma flicked her wand out again and shouted, “Stupefy!” Pansy did not have time to block, and fell heavily to the ground.


She hated coming up from unconsciousness. It was like waking up from a too-deep sleep or being emerged in water and trying desperately to swim to the surface, though you have this vague thought at the back of your mind that you will not make it. The first thing Pansy saw when she came to was Padma’s triumphant, gloating and self-satisfied smile firmly placed on her stupid, pretty head.

“That was a really terrible Duel,” said Padma happily as if she was talking about the weather. “Try better next time.”

The only response Pansy could give her was a groan as she tried to sit up. Padma said no more and walked away with Pansy’s ribbons tied to her arm along with the others Padma had collected during the game. She already had more than enough to reach the final alter. Pansy grimaced.

After healing herself again and rubbing Healing Salve into her sore wrist, Pansy Disapparated.

She arrived to her destination: a clearing at the west side of the forest near the lake. Draco had already performed the first three stages of the spell.

Pansy opened her mouth to ask how he was doing, but it died on her lips when she saw what was lying, convulsing in the circle of candles. “Draco,” she gasped, before covering her mouth with her hand. She suddenly felt very nauseous. “What… who -?”

Draco rounded on her. He was flushed, his were eyes manic and his face contorted with his barely controlled anger. “You’re late!”

Pansy turned to stare at the young, pale boy who was shaking and shivering so much in his almost-death that the dirt on which he was laying upon was billowing up in clouds. “Draco, that’s a -“

“It’s just a Muggle, Pansy,” he drawled in a way that made it sound like it was just another dog or cat they were experimenting on. He looked at her stonily. “I want you,” he said slowly and deliberately, “to pick up the book and recite the words I told you to earlier.” She did not move, however. She just could not rip her eyes away.

“I - I can’t…

He stepped up to her, took hold of her shoulders and shook her roughly until she looked up into his eyes. She found that even in his strong grip she could not stop trembling. “Pansy,” he said loudly, “you have to do this!” A desperately strong emotion flickered across his pointed features. “You have to,” he hissed, “for my father!

Alright!” she hissed back. She took a deep breath. “Fine. I can do this.”

He let go. “Good,” he drawled before going over to the body and kneeling over it; one knee on each side of the almost-dead boy’s hips. He placed his hands on the Muggle’s throat. “Now!

She picked up the book and turned to the page she knew so well she did not even have to check for page numbers, then recited the words.

aqualis anima copulare spiritus, nomen Deus, accipere copulare corporalis anima spirius, humus rise, aqualis anima copulare…

The air crackled with the power and energy, blue and magnificent. It was loud, buzzing, and rose to surround the two boys like a whirlpool of pure liquid magic.

...nomen Deus…

Suddenly the Muggle threw his head back and let out keening cry. Pansy winced, and deep down she knew the loud crying of an almost-dead male would be forever tattooed on her mind. Many a sleepless night will follow…

The rainbow of shades of blue circled thicker and larger, and Draco held on, and then threw his own head back to scream in an almost orgasmic cry. The two boys were on the ground, screaming as magic air whipped their hair and clothes, and shadows played on their faces. Pansy did not stop chanting and her voice echoed throughout the clearing. The magic grew, then flickered slightly before a white ring of pure power shuddered, then expanded, before widening and pulsating through the trees of the forest in one big shiver.

Over in another side of the forest where the darkness was thicker and the trees taller, Hermione Granger felt the pulse.

She looked up from the clipboard, where she had been jotting down notes and gasped, “What was that?”

Harry Potter may have felt it too, but it seemed he had not heard her. “Hermione,” he called from the branch he was sitting on, examining a standing giant’s belly, “I think - I think she might be pregnant.”

“H - Harry…”

He turned to her, puzzled. “What’s the matter?“ But then something in the distance caught his eye, and he squinted.

Hermione looked to the sky, but the trees were too tall to see anything, yet she saw that the sky had suddenly lit up, as if it were the beginnings of dawn. She looked back at Harry, fear slowly making her body throb. “What is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, light, or something.”

Hermione looked up at the giant Grawp, whose face was twisted in an emotion that some would call apprehension as he watched Harry examine his mate. “Grawp,” Hermione called.

He looked down at her with his beady black eyes. “HERMY,” he grunted in acknowledgement.

“Hermy go up,” she shouted up at him, dropping her clipboard and raising her arms. There was a sudden loud groaning of muscles as Grawp bent over and held out his large hand. Grawp and his mate, Jom, had been trained by Hermione, Harry and Hagrid on a regular basis for the past two years, so they both knew some English, as well as the importance of being gentle. Hermione sat down on his hand, and he slowly brought her up to sit on his shoulder, before he stood up.

Hermione peered into the distance and gasped. There was a beam of blue light, raising itself towards the sky. She turned to Harry, who had gotten himself on Jom’s shoulder to see better. He looked over at her. “Do you think,” he asked, “it has something to do with the Tournament?”

Hermione shook her head. “No; it’s something else, for sure.”

They glanced back at the strange light, and then exchanged glances, and Hermione found her own expression reflected in his. They had silently come to an agreement, and together, they were lowered to the ground.

Hermione put her clipboard and pencil in the hollow of her usual tree. She and Harry said goodbye to the giants, and with a determined stride, they left the giants clearing together, heading towards the strange light.

They ran towards in the direction of the place they assumed the light was, branches and twigs snapped and tore at them angrily, but still the Gryffindors ran. Hermione knew they were close, because Harry had become a silhouette in front of her, his grand body was framed in the glow.

Harry and Hermione stopped in a clearing that was bathed such a bright and powerful light that they had to shield their eyes from it. When Hermione’s eyes adjusted, she saw two figures across the clearing, standing close together. She squinted to see who is was, but she could not make them out. Harry grabbed her arm.

“Hermione,” he said gruffly, then nodded his head to the centre of the clearing.

A boy surrounded by light, leaves and wax was lying on the ground, convulsing and vomiting blood.

Hermione screamed.

The two figures retreated, and she caught a glimpse of silver reflected in the light.


Later Hermione found herself at the edge of forest, screeching randomly and slipping on the frosty grass. If Harry had not been holding her arms so tightly, she would have slipped and fallen. “Hermione! Hermione, shhh, quiet don’t - Shhh please Hermione be quiet -“

She was barely coherent. “How could they how - fuck, that’s so, fuck how Harry how could they, he, ugh, he -“

“He’s dead,” Harry told her loudly.

“No, no, no let go of me how can - can they - he needs help we have to help him Harry -“

“No, Hermione, shhh -“

“Please Harry, please!

“HERMIONE!” Harry shook her until she was silent. She felt a hot surge of anger at the realization that his eyes were not even wet. “Everyone will be coming out soon and you have to be quiet!

“Please,” she sobbed, “please Harry…” He peered into her face from beyond his mass of black locks, and then very suddenly, pulled her into a hard and fierce embrace, rubbing a hand up and down her back until she was sure her flesh was red and sore.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll get them back, Hermione, but please sssh!

She pulled away, slightly. “You promise?” she whimpered.

He gave her a hard and determined smile. “I promise.”

Together, they walked back to the Hogwarts castle and to the Gryffindor Tower. Lavender Brown was the only one back from the Tournament and she smiled at them when they entered the Common Room.

“Hey,” she said lightly, and then bit her lip. They sat together on the couches surrounding the fire. “Guess what?”

Hermione said nothing; instead she stared into the roaring fire, unable to get the image of the boy out of her head, and his cries as he called for his missing soul. Harry responded to Lavender. “I don’t know, what?”

Hermione could hear the grin in Lavender’s voice. “Mutton,” she said.

“Mutton?” asked Harry. “You mean your kitten that was lost a few weeks back?”

“Yes,” said Lavender, giggling a bit. “He came back!” she squealed, happily. “He’s on my bed right now. I thought he might need some sleep but… oh, Harry, I’m so happy to see him again!”

There was pause, and Hermione looked up at Harry, who was frowning thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the rest of the seventh year Gryffindors who had burst through the portrait hole, talking excitedly.

“Aye,” said Seamus, “I kicked him hard, then he fell, and before he could get up I kicked him in the jewels!”

Dean, Neville, Parvati and Ron all laughed loudly. “Well that’s nothing,” laughed Parvati. “You should see Anthony’s face! I was able to perform that nail transfiguration while he was down, and scratched him to bits! He’ll have scars all over!”

They all noticed Lavender, Harry and Hermione, and then sat by the fire. “Where did you go, Lav?” asked Seamus.

“Forfeited,” said Lavender, grinning widely. “I found Mutton!”

Seamus looked at her quizzically. “Mutton? I thought he d -“

“Ran away,” Harry cut in loudly. “He ran away, Seamus.”

Seamus turned to Harry and stared. “But didn’t he -?“

“Nope,” Harry said too quickly, “ran away.”

Conversation quickly turned back to the Combat Tournament, so Hermione went to bed. She was tired, scared and chilled. As she got dressed into her nightdress, she caught on the eyes of Mutton, who was sitting on Lavender’s bed, staring unblinkingly at Hermione with cold grey orbs. She watched curiously as the kitten’s eyes followed Hermione wherever she moved around the room. A small bubble of uneasy fear burst inside of her and she realized that something was just not right.

Mutton’s eyes were not glowing. Don’t cats’ eyes usually glow?

Hermione lit her bedside lamp with a spell. She sat in bed for a little while, reading a textbook.

Minutes past, neither Lavender nor Parvati had come up to their dormitory, and Hermione could feel her eyelids getting heavy and drifting to a close.

When she woke up, her lamp had gone out, and it was dark. The other two girls were still not back yet, and Mutton was still sitting on the same spot, staring. Hermione stepped out of bed, hissing at the feel of the cold stone floor beneath her bare feet. She put on her dressing gown and slippers and walked out of the room.

The Common Room was dark and empty, the blue moon light through the window allowed shadows to still around the large room. Where is everyone?

Something moved. Hermione froze.

A boy made of shades of soft blue stepped out of the shadows. He stood, head tilted inquisitively and he was staring at Hermione with unnaturally large eyes. She told herself not to be scared, and why should she, if she saw ghosts all the time?

He opened his mouth, the movement not smooth but jerky, and he whispered something Hermione could not catch. Her eyes widened at the site of his breath: white smoke, as if he was a person talking on a frosty morning. She knew one thing: ghosts did not have breath, nor did they walk; they floated.

He whispered something again, and then stepped closer. Too close.

Hermione jerked awake, shivering.

Looking around the room, she noticed Parvati and Lavender were asleep in their beds, and still the kitten continued to stare. So cold.

Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, Pansy Parkinson was lying with Draco Malfoy in his bed, and she was stroking his hair.

Draco was smoking a cigarette, and he was in one of his moods. “We were so close,” he murmured, “so close.”

“Yes,” said Pansy, though she did not really agree. She watched the red light of the cigarette move through the darkness as he took a drag. She shivered, not liking the feeling of being naked beneath someone else’s sheets, even if it was her boyfriend’s.

He moved to pass her the cigarette, and she accidentally bumped his arm. The sensation of wetness grazed her knuckles. She gasped as she took smoking stub. “You didn’t -“

“Leave it,” he snapped quietly. “I don’t - I just don’t care anymore.”

Pansy muttered something; even she was not sure what it was. With the cigarette between her lips, she reached down to the floor, grabbing her nightshirt.

As she pressed it to his forearm to stop the bleeding, Draco said, “I’ll kill Potter. I’ll kill him.”



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