Chapters 231-240

Blood Magic, Death Magic, Life Magic

‘What have you done?’ Severus panted. But he could feel the answer. He could sense how magic writhed around Harry’s hands, how it grew, how it moved, how it surrounded them, a living, loving shelter filled with warm liquid—like a womb. And although he couldn’t see it, he was almost certain that something was moving on Harry’s hands, on the hands that pressed against his chest. Something alive…‘Blood magic!’ he gasped. ‘What have you done?’

‘Blood of the mother, blood of the sister, blood of the wife—well, fiancée. Though the spell didn’t seem care about the small print. Seemed more concerned with the heart, the intent. Molly donated the mother’s blood, Hermione the sister’s, and Ginny…well.’ Severus could feel a vibration against his back when Harry cleared his throat. ‘It’s the tattoos,’ he explained unnecessarily. ‘Madame Dubois’s idea. Inspired by what my Mum did. Blood magic, women’s magic. It’s the magic of life. Seems men’s magic’s more suited to killing and death. Who’da thunk?’

Severus concentrated on swimming. In a distant corner of his mind he was surprised that he still knew how to swim at all—he hadn’t swum after that incident in Fifth Year…But his body remembered movements learnt in the dirty waters of a mill river long ago.

‘That spell won’t last forever,’ he wheezed after a while. ‘And I doubt that I have the strength left to get us to the Fourth Precinct. Apart from that, this spell cannot erase whatever changes the waters of the Fifth Precinct already effected.’

‘It’s a chance.’ Harry’s lips moved against his back. ‘Better than nothing.’

Severus didn’t reply, but struck out towards the distant roar of the waterfall that separated the Fourth from the Fifth Precinct of Death.

oooOooo

‘I just don’t want them to die,’ Alina said in a very small voice. ‘I only wanted to help.’ The cold silence that filled the room weighed her down. Her shoulders slumped. A great help she’d been, killing herself off in private and not even ending up beyond the Veil.

‘I know, Little Necromancer, I know.’ Death’s voice soothed her with a sigh. ‘But do you know what that means, child? To touch Death like this—untaught, unprepared—will leave a mark on you that not even the most powerful magic can remove. Are you willing to sacrifice so much?’

Alina gasped. That sounded as if he’d help her! Her heart beat faster, and some of the chilling, bone-deep fatigue lifted. She squared her shoulders and thrust out her chin. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? Obviously, I’m willing to die for them. How much worse can your mark be?’

The fabric of the invisibility cloak rustled in shimmering ripples of silent laughter.

‘Very well, little one,’ Death murmured. ‘Take my hand.’

Woodstock chirped, a piercing, clear trill that Death obviously understood, as he inclined his head a little. ‘Yes, you should take the other hand.’

The claws of the phoenix clutched Alina’s wrist almost painfully. The crimson tips of Woodstock’s wing feathers seemed to fly with sparks of fire, the colour dazzling in the dim twilight of the room.

Alina took a deep breath and reached for the shadowy hand extended towards her.

The moment she touched the hand, she could hear the voices.

Soft sighs and muted murmurs that seemed to come from the other room, or just beyond the window. To her surprise the hand felt just like an ordinary hand—a man’s hand. Strong and a little cool.

The fingers tightened around her hand, around her wrist, in a vice-like grip. The volume of the voices increased. Sighs turned into screams. Murmurs into moans.

Alina flinched and shook her head. But the voices didn’t stop. The noise grew until her skull echoed with it. A thousand, a million voices were inside her head. They sighed, murmured, groaned and moaned. They cried and sobbed and wailed, until Alina wanted to scream with agony. But she couldn’t. She could not only hear their voices, she could feel their suffering. Pain constricted her throat and her lungs until she couldn’t breathe, much less speak or scream herself.

Darkness flowed from the corners of the room until she was floating in a fathomless, lightless space.

A voice cut through the torture that engulfed her. It was a harsh voice and a cold voice, but strangely gentle at the same time. ‘They will have changed. You may not recognise them at once. What you see may not be what it seems to be. Now let go.’

oooOooo

Severus could feel how Harry’s strength was waning. The water inside the magical bubble that kept them safe from the metamorphic floods of the Fifth Precinct was growing colder. No longer turquoise, it now reminded him of the grey-blue floods of the Atlantic ocean. Each time he extended his arms and ended a stroke in streamline position, he could taste the salt of the sea stronger. He could already hear the roar of the waterfall that formed the connection to the Fourth Precinct.

He wondered if Harry would last until they reached it. Even if they made it that far, he had no idea how he could open the Fourth Gate from the water. The only thing that Harry’s spell accomplished was prolong the inevitable. But he had sacrificed so much to keep Harry alive…just as that idiot boy had done so much to save his sodding life by now…well, the least Severus could do was hang on just a little longer. So he kept silent—and swimming.

oooOooo

One second Alina was blindly falling through the darkness, the next she was dangling from the claws of the phoenix over a murky stream.

The River of Death. At last.

She wondered which Precinct of Death stretched out down below. The water was very dark and it looked very deep. Alina craned her neck and narrowed her eyes, focusing on the river.

Where were Professor Snape and Harry?