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SD: CH76 - Necromancy
🕑 Added 2023-08-02 15:04:06 +0000 UTCThe entire room was saturated with pungent, necromantic energy.
Hermione was down, breathing soft, heavy breaths, her body poisoned by the aforementioned necromantic burst. She might as well be injected with a mild version of Draught of Living Death.
Hestia and Emmeline Vance were about to enter the room any moment.
And I just had a Necromancer Path slapped upon my very existence.
I felt a little sad that this wasn’t the most surreal or overcomplicated mess I had found myself in.
Honestly, it was times like these that I wondered if I should just drop all my self-imposed constraints and embrace the Path of Incubus Lord completely. Be the sexual demon that Amelia wanted at her side. Be the ruthless bastard that would fit right in place beside Narcissa, once we got rid of her pesky, irritating and obscenely influential husband. Maybe I should have just forced the Devil’s Charm on whatever pussy-on-legs came on my path and gained that 300 units of anchorage as quickly as possible, and activate Lecherous Shrine, the Incubus Lord's domain. And yes, my Incubus brain was already licking its chops at the idea of ensnaring Emmeline into my web. Penelope was already in, but I was saving her for a rainy day. Between the two of them, and maybe Nymphadora Tonks, who Hestia had told me would be meeting me for a date shortly, I could gain my anchorage and successfully infiltrate the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry on a level that neither Albus fucking Dumbledore nor Cornelius Fudge would see coming.
It would have certainly made things convenient, even though I didn’t do it, because of ‘morality’. My past life was proof that my efforts to follow ‘morality’ completely sucked, but it wasn’t until now that I came to fully understand how much. Really, if not for me having to stick to playing Harry Potter the Boy-hero, things would have been so much faster.
Instead I was limited to playing chess when all I wanted to do was to bulldoze my way through.
The worst part about all of this was the swirling abyss of hunger I felt within me. Sure, the Incubus Lord was a being of hunger as well, but that Hunger was limited to Lust. Manipulating the victim’s perceptions was just a side-effect of overwhelming them with my aura. It just wanted sex, and fed on others' sexual desires. It wanted me to live my life with an ever-increasing coven of females participating in an orgy at least thrice a day. It was a being of lust, and there was nothing more life-affirming than sex. For all the mind-fuckery it did and could unleash upon the world, it truly didn’t want to kill anyone.
The Necromancer didn’t want anything else.
I know that fantasy fiction often makes Necromancy look like an absolutely cool thing. And I’d be a hypocrite to claim that I didn't. The sheer idea of being able to bewitch dead bodies to do your bidding, and using the powers of Death itself to attain all kinds of esoteric powers was wildly enthralling. But take it from someone that actually had Necromantic affinities, it really isn’t all that glamorous.
Honestly, it felt like… nothing. Not the absence of sensation, but I truly felt Nothing. There was no connection with the world around me, no sense of feeling my senses, of establishing my own hold upon the world and becoming something in it. Instead I found a numbing, empty void that seemed to make the world smaller just by existing in it. Every single affinity I had opened vistas of new possibilities, and each of them went just that extra mile to reject the world. Necromancy was not just a mockery of life, it was everything Life wasn’t. It didn’t just want to exterminate life, it thought of that to be common sense. Like a black hole, this emptiness would swallow all life into its dark, primordial pit and unleash something alien and taboo and wrong and mutate this world into a twisted caricature beyond one’s worst nightmares.
Tom Riddle had actively walked that path. He truly believed in the logic of Necromancy. No, he made it his common sense.
That I, his prophesied equal, was an Incubus, a creature of Love and Lust and Life, was not lost on me. Maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore was onto something when he claimed that Love was the power the Dark Lord knew not.
“Merlin’s Beard, what the hell happened here?” came Emmeline’s voice from the doorway.
I turned around, and saw her and Hestia stand in the doorway. Hestia was already blue and looked like she was about to fall sick and throw up. Emmeline was in the middle of casting some kind of preventive charms to keep the distorted necromantic energies from affecting them like it did Hermione. Hestia tried to cast the general counter-spell, but it did nothing. Emmeline had a little more luck, but it only got rid of the stench and nothing else. I could still feel the energy saturating all over the room, and I knew exactly what I’d need to get it out.
Well, two ways really.
“Harry,” Hestia whispered. “What is happening to you?”
I gave her a lopsided grin. “You still think I was overreacting?”
“But — this—”
“It’s necromancy!” said Emmeline, her disdain colouring her face. “I didn’t know the Boy-Who-Lived was experimenting with Necromancy in his spare time.”
“Yes, because it’s such a fantastic option to make one calm and feel better, isn’t it?” I snarked back, despite my inner turmoil. “This isn’t me, genius. It’s from my scar.”
“Your scar—”
“Hermione—” Hestia screamed. “What happened to her? Is she—”
I shook her head. “Not dead if that’s what you’re asking.”
I couldn’t give a fuck that I was standing naked in front of both ladies, and there was an equally naked Hermione Granger on the bed. Necromancy has a way of flushing one’s libido out of the driver’s seat. Take my word on it.
“She got hit by the blast head on,” I said. “She’s still breathing. I guess if I can flush the entire thing off, then she’ll be fine.”
“Flush it off?” Emmeline scoffed. “That’s necromantic energy, Mr. Potter. I doubt a third-year passout can —”
“You forget that this third-year passout was also the one that caused it in the first place.”
“And you did it intentionally?”
I shook my head. “But I can take it back.”
“How?”
I smiled. It didn’t reach my eyes. “Boy-Who-Lived secrets. Not to be shared with his adoring masses.”
“Harry,” Hestia snapped. “Hermione’s in serious danger. We need to take her to St. Mungo’s. She needs to be given a transfusion right away. Who knows how it might affect her lycanthropy?”
It was a valid question. Even if I was able to extract the residual necromantic energy out of her, there was no saying what kind of taint it’d leave behind on her already corrupted body. Lycanthropy was a dark curse with spiritual ties to Hemomancy, or blood magic in layman’s terms.
“Won’t know for certain unless I try.”
“Harry, please don’t do this. We need to take her to St. Mungo’s and bring Professor Dumbledore into this. This is… this is above my paygrade.”
Of course it was. I knew I was about to do something utterly reckless. I was about to intentionally activate the Necromancer Path again, and use its powers. There was no saying how it would affect the Horcrux or what kind of feedback loop it might generate. But the horcrux was a soul shard of Lord Voldemort, a Master of Necromancy, and unless I was wrong, it was syphoning off Voldemort’s affinities into me, only it was doing it in the most unpredictable way possible. Was this Destiny’s way of ensuring that I was His Equal? Was that what the Horcrux was doing? Creating a duplicate of Voldemort’s magical constitution within me? And if so, how long before I succumbed to that power?
No. I needed a game changer, and its name was Incubus Lord. I needed to activate the Domain it had given me. That would be the best way to counter Necromancy’s influence on me.
I closed my eyes.
“You guys should stay away. Something might happen.”
“Harry—” Hestia began, but I beat her to it.
“In case I go crazy and attack you, don’t hesitate to fight back. If stunners and petrifaction don’t work, go for the hard hitters.” I paused again. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t kill me.”
“We’ll do our best to remember that,” said Emmeline drolly.
Switching Paths…
Activating Path NECROMANCER
Registering Affinities…
Binding
Welcome, Necromancer!
There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to fully explain what happened next. The room just… got darker. I don’t mean the lights went off or anything, but everything got darker. There was this low, trembling sensation that made my eyeballs jiggle a little, and the shadows simply expanded up out of the corners and slid over portions of the room, carrying that nasty, greasy, pungent stench of necromancy with them. Hestia was shaking like anything, and even Emmeline was twitching, her wand all but slipping through her fingers.
The only place the darkness didn’t spread was over me. Instead the shadows stopped in a circle all around me, maybe like six inches away.
This… wasn’t the kind of power I had felt before. Normally when someone that can sling major mojo around draws their stuff up around them, it becomes tangible. For Dumbledore, it was like being in the vicinity of an earthquake, filled with the assurance that the man before you was a walking-talking calamity that could unleash the power of the very world to ensure your destruction. Compared to that, Narcissa’s aura was cool, wet and poisonously lovely, like belladonna. Something was both beautiful and exquisite and would most definitely kill you in your sleep. I had experienced Amelia’s power, a cold and crystal silhouette of pure determination that could stand against an unforgiving tide.
But this was different. The power of necromancy didn’t fill up the room. Instead, it emptied it in a way that I didn’t think I fully understood. And I was the one casting it. An utter stillness spread out of my body, not peace, for that would be something tranquil, soothing, accepting. This stillness was a horrible, hungry emptiness, something that drew its power from being not. It was a power so wholly different from the burning fire of life that was the Incubus Lord, and the power of magic that I could use, that fueled my patronus.
And it was strong.
In fact, the closest I had ever felt something like this would be…
Would be when I put on the cilice for the Black Ritual under Walburga’s tutelage.
I began to tremble as I realised how great a power I was about to stand against, if I wanted to fight the Dark Lord. In that one moment, I fully understood why Lord Voldemort was feared as the Darkest Wizard in British history.
My mouth opened, and I spoke with a familiarity that I did not possess.
“Come.”
There was a whirling sensation, like the world around me had been caught up in a gale, only there was no wind. The books on the shelves were not stirring, and neither were the curtains blowing. Instead the hideous vacuum kept gathering the power splattered all over the room and pulling it all back towards me.
Into me.
I could faintly hear Hestia saying something, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted. Hermione’s body spasmed, as the corruptive powers erupted out of her body like blackish, sludge-like fumes, coalescing and fusing into me. Fumes that would take over me, devour my sanity if I let it, so I focussed on the image of a granite wall to keep myself from them.
It barely halted their movement. I could mentally feel the stones cracking, the wisps of black power trickling through the holes, come to corrupt my mind and make me just as twisted and alien as they were.
This power… it was too much. I couldn’t control it. If I kept absorbing it, this power would erode my sanity, and if I let it go then, it would kill Hermione and the others. I needed — I needed a vent. A sink. Something that could—
“DOBBY!”
With a pop, the faithful elf appeared in the room. “Great Harry Potter has called for — Great Harry Potter is doing NECROMANCY! Accursed magic!”
Great! Even the blasted elf knew better than to touch this power. Guess what that says about me.
“Dobby! Go to Grimmauld Place! Get me as many goblin made weapons as you can. Quickly!”
“But Harry Potter sir —”
“NOW!”
Dobby popped like a balloon, and just then, my knees gave out, but I somehow managed to keep Hermione’s body from falling off. Her skin was returning to its normal colour, and her lips were slowly shaking, her eyelids flickering…
Just a little more. I told myself. Just a little more.
My mind wall was crumbling. The power was pouring in, the first trickle from a dark sea.
If I wanted to live, I needed a sink. Really, really fast.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” I heard Emmeline scream, and blind white light exploded into the room, revealing a swan of pure happiness. The darkness hungrily encroached towards the ethereal creature like wolves surrounding an injured lioness, snapping and taunting from every direction. Emmeline snarled and thrust her wand, and after several precious seconds, Hestia’s patronus — a parrot, joined the fray. The darkness hissed and frothed and spat as the two patronuses exuded pure, bright light at them, valiantly pushing them away, but even I could see that it was a losing fight.
“Let go!” I screamed. Hestia was already down to her knees and Emmeline wasn’t faring any better, the patronus charm sucking their magic dry as it relentlessly fought against the dark.
“No!” said Emmeline. “If we give up, it will take over! We have to stop it!”
“You cannot hold it for another minute without succumbing to exhaustion!” I screamed at them. “Let go of your patronuses. It will give us some time!”
Hestia met my eyes, and let go. Emmeline followed a moment after. The two patronuses let out a strange, piercing wail as the darkness surrounded them and devoured them whole, until nothing was left of the two ethereal manifestations.
They’re not real. I told myself. Just patronuses. Just patronuses. It could be Hestia and Emmeline instead. Focus, Harry. Focus! Keep them contained. You’re the Necromancer! They’re shadows of Death. Use them! USE THEM!
If I wanted to live, if I wanted the others to live, I had little choice.
I let Hermione’s body slide off my hands to the floor, and stood up.
I raised my hands.
“COME!”
The darkness hissed and frothed, and rushed towards me, not to embrace but in rage. It didn’t want to be controlled, it wanted to be in control. It wanted to take over my mind, my magic, and for all I knew, my fucking soul. The hideous pressure began to surge against my thoughts but this time, I was ready for it. I let out a hollow gasp and directed the power into the emptiness between my palms.
I was the Necromancer. I was in charge. If Magic was all about faith and imagination and willpower, then Necromancy would be no different.
The shadows began to coalesce into a sphere between my palms.
A shadow-ball of swirling, potent energies that was the antithesis of Life itself.
“HARRY POTTER SIR!” Dobby bawled as he popped into the room, dropping a miscellany of various antiquites that could only have existed at Grimmauld Place — swords, daggers, brass knuckles, you name them. I could spot an European cutlass next to a japanese dao, with a pair of basket-hilted great swords next to them. A bunch of claymores and scimitars lay fallen, as did several misericordes attached to iron chains. Clearly the elf had taken my word at face value and gotten as many as he could have.
Without a second thought, I poured the coalescing power at the weapons, bathing them with pure, corruptive power of necromancy. The weapons shone with a bright, blackish aura as the goblin-forged weapons greedily drank into the taboo power and amalgamated it into their very constitution. The more I kept pushing, the more the weapons kept imbibing it, like a thirsty traveller drinking from an oasis until the darkness was all but gone, and the normal illumination was back.
And then it was done.
Would you like to revert to Path INCUBUS LORD?
I would have laughed if I could. Instead a raspy ‘Yes’ escaped my throat.
Adding +7% affinity for Incarneum
Adding +13% affinity for Death-force manipulation
Assimilating newly gained magical constitution…
Establishing parity with existing magical affinities…
Enacting…
Perk HORCRUX deactivated
Sense of Self reverted
Responses Active
Establish modified Reality Foundation
Welcome, Incubus Lord!
I fell down on my knees. Utterly wasted. Every part of me was screaming in pain and wanted to do nothing but embrace sweet oblivion. Instead I looked down and focussed on Hermione. Hestia and Emmeline rushed in, the former grabbing me, as she pulled and dragged me to the bed, casting diagnostic charms all over me.
“She’s fine,” I heard Emmeline say. “Heartbeat normal. Colour is returning to her face. She’ll need some pepper-up and maybe take a day or two lightly, but she’ll be fine.”
“Thank goodness,” I murmured.
“Now you on the other hand…”
I closed my eyes, not wanting to deal with her at the moment.
“He’s fine, just magically exhausted. I think,” said Hestia.
I wasn’t. Magically exhausted that is. Now fine? That’s relative.
“Oh, I’d imagine so,” said Emmeline with a blandness that concealed the shock and concern in her eyes at witnessing my earlier spectacle. “Absorbing unfiltered demonic magic, controlling shadows, coalescing such dark magic while maintaining your sanity… I’d doubt anybody would believe me if I told them what occurred here.”
“You’d be surprised,” I told her with a weak laugh. “The public are suckers for anything related to the Boy-Who-Lived. Even better, go to Skeeter. She’ll probably paint me as the Dark Lord Reborn.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t pull off that stunt already.”
“Not for the lack of trying,” I told her. “She had a serious chance of pushing that back in my second year. But then Hermione got attacked, and she’s my best friend. One can only write so much bullshit before people lose interest.” I began pushing myself up, but Hestia prevented me again.
“Don’t,” began Hestia.
“Get me a pepper-up and I’m ready to continue.”
“Harry,” Hestia pleaded. “You need to rest. You’ve been through a lot and you—”
“Need this memory,” I finished for her. “Resting can wait. Have you seen my pants… I can’t be seen like this before guests.”
“Oh, don’t exert on my behalf,” said Emmeline. “I’ve already seen what is there to be seen, and you’ve got nothing to be shy about.”
I arched an eyebrow. Even Hestia eyed her at the odd statement, before fetching my pants as she began to put my legs through them. I could feel Emmeline’s eyes on my cock, and at the absolute nonchalance with which Hestia did her work, until she met my eyes again.
“So, I suppose you and Hestia share quite an intimate relationship. Perpetuating the Boss and Secretary stereotype, I see.”
“It’s a bit cliche, but it works. Plus, I’m a known playboy. For more information on my glorious and casanova lifestyle, check Witch Weekly. They ran a full three-page article on it this month.”
“You forgot ‘magical kung-fu artist’,” Hestia added drolly.
“Yeah, that too,” I said, wondering in which universe were my little takedowns of Malfoy and his goons equivalent to kung-fu, magical or otherwise.
“I’m aware,” Emmeline drawled. “There has been quite a buzz in the pureblood ladies circle ever since you bedded Breanna Vane’s daughter.”
Romilda again? Seriously, what was wrong with that girl? At this rate, it was only a matter of time before that girl showed up in a Witch Weekly article giving a thorough and first-hand scoop about what it’s like shagging the Boy-Who-Lived.
“A known playboy that dabbles in necromancy,” Emmeline murmured. “I doubt even Witch Weekly would paint that in a positive light.”
“I told you,” I snapped. “It’s not me. It’s the scar.”
“Mr. Potter, with all due respect to your 1981 miracle, I should tell you that curse-scars don’t work that way. I understand that you want to hide your leanings in the subject, but I suggest you find a better excuse.”
I muttered expletives under my breath.
“He isn’t lying,” said Hestia. “I’ve watched him train every single day and night in this apartment. He practises a wide variety of curses, hexes and martial magic, several of which skirt the legal lines, but never more than that.”
“Not in your presence,” Emmeline threw back.
“No,” Hestia countered swiftly. “I know him. Harry’s perhaps one of the most committed, idealistic, talented, charming, insulting, bold, incautious, arrogant, short-sighted and ruthless motherfucker I’ve ever met, but he’s not someone that’ll dabble with something that dark. Yes, he loves to skirt into areas of ‘politically grey’ magic and has caused more headaches for me in this one summer than I have had in my entire life but trust me, Emmy, Harry isn’t one to dabble in Necromancy.”
Emmeline gave me a worn smile. “That’s high praise coming for her.”
I shrugged.
“But even if I believe her, I’ve just seen you perform something that only someone adept at Necromancy can think of doing. Even accomplished necromancers would think twice before using themselves as a sink for the dark power like that. I’m not sure whether to call you brave or stupid.”
“Go with stupid,” I said, with a lopsided grin. “You can’t go wrong with that.”
“Stupid and reckless and insane,” Hestia spat. “What were you thinking? Soaking yourself with that energy like that?”
“Clearly I didn’t think ahead that much. Luckily, I’m better at improvisation.”
“Yes,” said Emmeline. “Using goblin-forged weapons was genius. Goblin-silver contains ancient magic, imbibing all that strengthens it. I imagine you have for yourself an armoury of some of the most lethal weapons known to wizardkind. I imagine a single scratch from any of them would be enough to kill a person.”
“Pretty sure It will come in handy sometime,” I said, inwardly wondering if these weapons would work against horcruxes. Much like basilisk venom, Necromancy was horribly anti-life. More so, in fact. And just in case it wasn’t, I was planning on saving a couple of basilisk fangs and coating some weapons with basilisk blood anyway.
“I’ll admit this,” said Emmeline. “You’re not quite the third-year pass out that I imagined.”
Hestia laughed. “That’s what I told him the first day I met him.”
“So did Tonks,” I said, before turning to Emmeline, and meeting her eyes. “So, you’re a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I take it?”
She regarded me coolly. “You are aware.” Her eyes flickered to Hestia. “I suppose it was a little too much to expect Hestia to maintain her secrecy.”
Hestia laughed. “Hardly, Emmy. Harry’s just that smart. He caught me the very first day. And honestly, I prefer it that way.”
Emmeline gave me a sceptical look. “You’re okay with your secretary spying on you?”
I gave her a half-shrug. “Shows how little I have to hide.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re… something else, Harry Potter. An enigma, but I’ll crack you soon. I always do.”
“Amelia said the same thing.”
“Amelia?”
“Bones.”
She grew thoughtful. “First name basis with the DMLE Director, are you?”
I smiled. Let her chew on that for now.
“This scar…” I told her. “It connects me with Voldemort.” I smiled when she didn’t flinch at the name. “It lets me sense him if he’s nearby, though mostly by giving me a paralysing headache.”
Which, come to think of what I know is in the scar, does make it sound terrifying. Every single time Harry Potter came within Voldemort or another horcrux’s vicinity, a resonance happened. Canon Voldemort probably was none the wiser, which was weird, since he was the Dark Arts expert. He of all people should have investigated the nature of Harry Potter’s scar, and explored the nature of the lightning-bolt scar.
Instead he was perfectly happy to brew stupidly over complicated plots all over the fourth and fifth year, and then totally forgot about the connection or worse, actively avoided it.
Knowing my luck, this world’s Voldemort wouldn’t likely be that stupid.
“That power you saw, those skills I drew… they weren’t mine. They were —”
“The Dark Lord’s…” Emmeline finished.
“Yes. Or at least, that’s what I think. In my dream, I was connected to Voldemort. I was hearing him talk to Pe… to some people.”
“Talking to whom?”
I smiled. “I recognized one of them. You want the name? Help me uncover the entire dream. Then you can see the full picture.”
Emmeline scowled. “If it is really what you say, then this is a situation far more serious than either of us can manage. I say Professor Dumbledore should be brought in and—”
“No.”
Emmeline paused and looked at me sharply. “And why not? Surely you do not think that you know more than one of the most accomplished wizards on the planet?”
I shook my head. “I’m just not certain Professor Dumbledore will take any action on this. And if he does, he will keep me out of it. He always has.”
She narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms. “What do you mean?.”
I exhaled. “First year. I tried to save the Philosopher’s Stone from Quirrell. Granted, I was a stupid brat with barely a year of education, but somehow, I immolated the possessed professor. I asked Dumbledore, and he told me that it was because of my mom’s protection. Protections that supposedly exist but didn’t do shit when the Dursleys abused me while growing up. Protections that haven’t stopped me from nearly getting killed by the basilisk in second year, or having my soul sucked by dementors in third year. And as you’ve just watched, it did jack to keep Voldemort’s darkness from erupting out of me. Whatever this scar is, my mom’s protection does nothing against it.”
Emmeline stayed silent.
“I asked Professor Dumbledore again back in my second year. After the event in the Chamber of Secrets, He told me that the night Voldemort gave me this scar, he transferred a little bit of his powers to me.” I met Emmeline’s hesitant gaze. “According to Dumbledore, that’s how I’m able to speak Parseltongue. Because Voldemort can speak Parseltongue. And now I did this… because He can do this.”
Both Hestia and Emmeline were exchanging nervous glances.
“I’m not crazy, Emmeline,” I said, “neither am I secretly practising Necromancy. I knew something was wrong the moment I had the dream, and when I woke up, something felt super weird. I couldn’t focus. I wasn’t myself. And then when I was having sex with Hermione, something in me just exploded, and the next thing I know, I have all these powers brimming within me, with not an ounce about how they got there.”
“If that scar really connects you to Voldemort and gives you his power, does that mean it’s trying to…”
“Make me into a copy of him?” I asked. “I dunno. It probably could, unless I’m strong enough. That’s why I practice every fucking day, preparing to face Voldemort when we meet next. And knowing him, it will be soon.”
Emmeline frowned. “I guess I can see where you are coming from, Mr. Potter. But I cannot, in clear conscience, dismiss this. A curse scar that connects you to the Dark Lord, and channels necromantic energy like that? I’m sorry, Potter, but Dumbledore has to know.”
I frowned. Emmeline was an Obliviator, and obviously quite skilled in Occlumency and Legilimency. And unlike Amelia, she didn’t have any personal history with me or my family for me to build a bridge past her defences. And as I was now, my Incubus powers were at a minimum, probably an aftereffect of channelling that much necromancy. Still, she had definitely shown some sexual interest, if her comments were any clue. There was a possible chance, but I couldn’t fight her into submission.
No, I needed her to see things for how they were and drop her defences. Even if that meant bringing Albus Dumbledore into this.
“Fine,” I said at last. “You can call Professor Dumbledore, but on a condition.”
Emmeline cocked her head.
“Hestia will be the one calling him, not you. I’d rather not have Professor Dumbledore know you are here.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. And yes, you are welcome to listen to our conversation, so long as he does not sense your presence.”
