Ashes and Dust

Pain.

There was screaming in the darkness. Was it her screaming? 

Pain.

She knew pain. Pain had been her companion her entire life. This was no different. 

She took pain's hand and let it guide her, towards that voice seeping into the corners of the darkness. 

There was an unlocking in her mind. 

And light. 

Her eyes snapped open, and the world rushed back in a disorienting swirl of sensations. The acrid scent of burnt flesh, the cold, hard ground beneath her, and the overwhelming taste of copper in her mouth. She blinked, her vision wavering, then sharpening into focus as the heavy darkness dissipated.

Above her, an enchanted ceiling, sky blue, speckled with stars. Where was she? 

Flashes of memory assaulted her. 

What had she done? Oh gods, what had she done? 

What had they done to her?

Everything hurt. She could feel the remnants of agony, like hot embers in her veins, but there was something else—something that had been lost to her for far too long.

Her name.

Ash.

The realization struck her like a blow, and she gasped, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. Free. She was—

Almost free—

She was burning— her throat, her wrists— her head—

Her body trembled as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, her fingers clawing at the marble. She looked at the glinting sliver at her wrists and felt the seared flesh underneath. She brought a blood caked hand to the manacle and tugged roughly. Nothing. 

She let out a sob and squeezed her eyes shut. 

She tugged again and again and when it didn't work, she brought her hands to the collar at her throat and pried at it, scratching the burnt skin with her jagged nails—

They were her hands, but they felt alien, like they belonged to someone else. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the images that threatened to overwhelm her—the faces of those she had killed, the screams that had echoed in her ears— the children—

She sobbed again, her chest heaving as she brought her bloodied hands to the thorned crown digging into her brow. The magic inside her was writhing. With no direction, no bond, the silver was leeching it from her faster than before. And when her magic roared in defiance, the silver heated and burned and burned and—

"Ash."

The voice was soft and hoarse, laced with tears. It came from the darkness, from beyond the light that had pierced her mind. She opened her eyes again and turned her head, her gaze falling on the figure kneeling beside her. She hadn't seen him until then, hadn't noticed the boy caked in blood. He was watching her, his face etched with sorrow and relief and anger and—

Sebastian.

The name came to her like a long-forgotten memory, familiar yet distant, like the echo of a dream she had once had. She tried to speak, but her throat was dry, the words caught in a tangle of emotion and confusion and pain.

"Get it off..." Her voice was a rasp, barely more than a whisper. Months of abused vocal cords, shredded and healed in a repeated form. 

"Get. Them. Off." She sobbed, staring at him as she scratched and tugged and beat at the silver around her throat, and brow, and wrists.  "Get them off!"

Sebastian was there, hands on her own, and she tensed, her body shaking. He gripped her fingers, holding them away so she could do no more damage to herself. She flinched at the contact but didn't make to pull away. Touch was bad. Touch was pain. Sebastian's eyes flickered, panic and heartbreak and longing shining there. "I'll find a way to get them off. But you have to be still, love. Just for a few moments."

"Get them off." Her sobs trickled into something broken and raw. Sebastian ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping at the tears streaking down her pale skin. His hands were soft, calloused in the right places. Familiar. He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't, and yet she couldn't relax under the contact. Slowly, her shaking subsided. She knew pain, had walked beside it her entire life. She embraced the burning, forcing herself to stillness despite the tears tracking down her cheeks. 

Sebastian began murmuring spells, incantations that tickled the edges of memory. Nothing budged. She let out a quiet whimper, curling her fingers into fists. He looked up at her, brown eyes flecked with gold. His eyes were sadder than she remembered. Did he have freckles once? She thought so. It was hazy. Everything beyond The Wraith was muddled. Like swimming in mud— thick and unrelenting in its murkiness. 

"Do you remember what he used to put them on?" Sebastian murmured softly, fingers tracing patterns over her bloody hands. So much blood. She was drowning in it. He has asked a question— she forced herself to think, to not yank away from his gentle touch. 

Did she remember how the silver was locked onto her skin? Yes. No. She remembered a table, and lightning racing down her veins. She remembered burning alive. She remembered brown eyes looking away from her, not the brown eyes she saw now. 

Shakily, she brought a finger to the dried blood at her feet. Blood. There had been so much blood. A bond was made— a tether that locked her away in her mind— but that came after. Blood begot blood. The burning silver came first. And there had been symbols, carved into the metal and traced in blood. 

Sebastian looked at where she pointed. At the runes under her fingertip. He let out a breath, bringing his hand to the wound on his arm. Had she done that? Ash's throat tightened, a muffled cry falling from her lips. 

He hissed as he gathered blood on his fingers before bringing them to her manacles. She watched as he worked. A sideways slash, two semicircles at the top and bottom. 

Vahrun. 

Unlock. 

She felt a squeeze of pressure at her wrists before they fell away, one at a time. Cold air met burned flesh, and she wept. 

Sebastian moved to her throat, shaking fingers  releasing her from the collars confines. She could breathe again, could stretch her neck without the tightening pain. 

The crown was last and she braced herself. She felt his fingers brushing softly over the hot metal and then the release. It would not fall on its own however. Ash reached up and gripped the edges, before tugging it forward and up. The jagged thorns pulled from her skin, leaving pinholes behind in her seared brow. Blood flowed freely, dripping into her eyes. She didn't care. She wasn't burning. She wasn't cold and frigid and burning and burning—

Free. She was free. She didn't know how long it had been. Months? Years? 

Her skin leapt in temperature, no longer icy. The heat no longer stolen and used against her fragile skin by the infernal metal now at her feet. 

Her magic swam through her veins, suppressed only by the runes at her feet. She looked at Sebastian as he yanked his satchel over his head, tearing through it for something. She reached for him but hesitated—

Her ears twitched. A sound. Feet, rushing up the stairwell far in front of them. Heavy boots, leather, and hide. 

"Remove the runes." She rasped, pushing herself to her feet. The leathers wrapped around her body squeaked as she rose, the blood— both hers and not— causing it to rub. 

Sebastian looked up, eyebrows pinched. He pulled a vial of green liquid out of his bag, standing to full height as well. "Take this first—"

"Remove the runes." Her eyes were locked ahead of them. Magic pulsed greedily inside of her. She could feel the veins around the thin skin of her eyes, flooded with the red writhing power. 

Sebastian stared at her, waiting only a heartbeat before vanishing the runes with his wand. He moved to stand at her side, wand raised without needing an explanation.

The moment the runes vanished, magic leapt to her fingertips, crackling and wild. She tilted her head back, breathing in the cold air— letting the magic rush through her like adrenaline. There was no time for panic or guilt, no time to think. Weapons didn't think, wraiths didn't think.

Footsteps pounded, closer now to the atrium. 

She had spent so long hating the magic. Fearing it. And when she had finally grabbed its reins and taken control, she had been leashed and collared like a dog. But she had no master now. And she had learned so much from her time trapped in silver and darkness. 

She lifted a hand towards the opening near the elevator.

She had learned that the magic she had taken required strength of will. That fear was her undoing. She had nothing to be afraid of anymore. An awful rage filled her, consumed her entirely. She needed revenge like she needed to breathe.

Silver animal masks came into view, searching for their Master's pet. Four stepped through the archway—

Ash squeezed her fist, feeling her eyes burn red for only a heartbeat— 

Bloody mist rained down onto the marble; Their gaudy masks clattered to the floor. 

They had made her a weapon, had honed her like a blade. Let them feel her edge, sharp and unyielding as she cut through their ranks. 

She stepped forward, forcing her aching muscles onward. Sebastian was beside her, shoulder brushing hers. "We can leave." He said simply, passing over the Wiggenweld. No command. No anger. No fear at the power she wielded unrelentingly. No, he watched her like she would disappear any moment. She watched him back, her very soul aching at the loss of him. 

She took the potion and gulped it, turning her face back towards the stairs. "I have to help them."

There might be some innocents left. Some good she could do. Not that any amount would ever balance her soul now. Whatever was left of it was blackened and shriveled, stained with the blood she bore on her hands. 

The potion soothed her aches. Staunched the bleeding at her brow. But the burns remained, tender and sore. Sebastian took one of his own, stitching the skin at his forearm back together with spiderwebbing scars. 

He looked towards the stairs himself, letting out a slow breath through his nose. He straightened, eyes hard. A soldier in his own right. "I'll be with you. Whatever you need to do."

She reached out towards him, hand trembling at the contact, and gripped his wrist before she let the smoke of apparation take them. 

She had learned, had been taught, to feel the wards with her magic. She didn't think about who had taught her. Or his lifeless brown eyes. She forced any thoughts away, focusing on her training. How to touch the intricate webbing, and slice through it. To glide through warding like a ghost. Pulling one other through was no different. The squeeze of apparation pushed and pulled at them in that in between place, and then with a shaking boom, they were in the basements. 

There was still screaming. 

Swirls of smoke lingered around her, clinging to her like a second skin as she gently released Sebastian's arm and faced the courtroom. Beyond the doors was a slaughterhouse. One of her own making. Few people remained, hiding or fighting back. A handful of Ashwinders stood in the middle of the room, casting spells not just meant to kill— but to prolong death, to torture and maim. 

She had no time to take in the horror. The blood, the smells, the choking dark magic. 

She stepped past the threshold and began. 

She ripped a dagger from her thigh holster, feeling the coolness under her fingertips, the weight of the blade, before she spun and sunk it into the nearest enemies back— one who had his wand raised at a bloodstained and crumpled witch barely older than herself. 

The silver masked men did not expect betrayal. 

Ash yanked the blade free, not bothering to soak in the man's gargled cries. She threw up a shield over the woman lying on the lowest bench. She was barely breathing, and trembled in what looked like the aftereffects of the cruciatus. 

Ash turned, eyes blazing crimson once more, and faced the others. 

Sebastian was dueling an Ashwinder near the dais, sending bolts of red and purple and dodging reds and greens. The deja vu nearly knocked her from her feet. Her last memories of him, still hazy, were so similar. 

Three other Ashwinders turned to face her, ending whatever torment they were causing at the sight of their monster, uncollared. She saw their fear flash through the holes in their masks, could smell it rolling off of them in waves. She gripped the dagger in her hand, and cocked her head. 

The one to her left made a break for it, and only got three steps before she launched the blade, embedding it in his windpipe. He died, choking on his own blood. The other two dropped to their knees, as if worshipping some god. 

She was no god. Gods displayed mercy. 

And she had none to give. 

She twisted her hand, pushing it forward in a burst of flames, and consumed them. Suffering was her curse, and her gift and suffering had been her close friend these long years. 

They screamed, a high pitched keening sound like pigs as they roasted. 

She turned towards the dais to see Sebastian tackle the remaining dark wizard, and begin pummeling him with his fists. There was so much rage and sorrow written in his features, so much tension in each blow he landed. When his punches sounded less like fists on bone and more like fists in gelatin, Sebastian stopped. 

His breathing was ragged as he stood, not bothering to vanish the blood on his hands. 

Silence filled the room, broken only by the whimpers and cries of those left. Ash could barely stand it. She should heal them. Should fix the damage she had caused. But when she looked up from where she stared at the husks she had burned, all she saw was fear and anger. 

Sebastian moved to her, sensing the shift in the room. She was the enemy to these people, and staying would result in nothing but more death. He gently reached out, and brushed his fingers over her knuckles. She flinched and she watched his eyes gutter. He dropped his hand to his side, flexing his fingers. 

"We can leave." He whispered for the second time, eyes locked on hers. 

She nodded, glancing back only once at the people left in the room. She didn't look at the bodies. 

Some were unconscious, but alive. Others were awake, hands trembling as they attempted to help those beyond saving. Few more watched her and Sebastian, wands twitching in their hands. She should let them curse her, should welcome their vindictive justice with open arms. But Sebastian would be hurt. 

And she had one thing left she had to do. 

She grabbed his hand before she could change her mind and whisked them away, ripping the wards wide open as she went so no one was trapped in the cage she had made. 

They were in the in-between for what felt like ages as she thought of where to go. There was no home. No school to welcome her. Everywhere she had been was soaked in blood. 

A boom cracked through the air as they landed on a red rocked cliff. The smell of the sea assaulted her nose and she dropped Sebastian's hand, bringing her bloodied fingers up to wrap around her shoulders. She had needed somewhere to go, a place of stillness between battles. 

This place was among her muddied memories. They had come here, often, before she had been collared. But it had been cold then. Did she hate the sea before? She didn't now. Not with the sun warming the leathers strapped to her body. She hadn't been warm in so long. 

Sebastian watched her, hands tense and shaking at his sides. 

"You came for me." She whispered to the wind, voice cracking as sorrow and relief lodged in her throat. 

"I'll always come for you."

Her breathing faltered, and she forced her legs to stay upright, to not give out under the exhaustion, the pain swimming through her veins. Screaming assaulted her memory. Witches and wizards begging for their lives. A little girl eating breakfast as she blew the place into pieces. Brown eyes staring up at her telling her it was okay—

She didn't deserve this mercy. Didn't deserve to be saved after the atrocities she had committed. 

She forced her hands back to her sides, curling them into fists to stop the trembling. She couldn't look at him, not yet. Not when she needed to hold it together for a little while longer. 

"My mast—" she choked on the word, swallowing it down. "He will have felt the bond break." She said, unable to voice his name. "He planned to arrive at the ministry two hours after the attack. But he will know." 

"What do you want to do, love?" 

The tenderness in his voice caused her lip to wobble, but she bit into it, stopping herself from succumbing to the tears building behind her eyes. A choice. He was giving her a choice. 

But there was no choice here. 

"I know where he'll hide." 

"I can take care of him, Ash." He murmured, stepping up beside her. She didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her. Could sense the barely concealed rage writhing under his skin. "I can take you to Anne and Ominis. You don't have to."

"Yes I do." She whispered back. 

It had to be her. She wouldn't risk Sebastian. And she needed it. After everything, she needed this. 

She took in a deep breath through her nose, letting the briny ocean calm her frazzled nerves. Just a little longer. 

Ash reached a hand towards him, letting him gently thread his fingers through hers. She clenched her jaw, holding still instead of pulling away, and wrapped them in shadows as she apparated them away. 

___•___

They landed in an empty park, shaded by overgrown trees and laden with thick grasses. Sebastian glanced around, wand in hand as he looked for signs of life nearby.

"It's abandoned." Ash murmured, keeping her gaze on the borough of houses a block away. "Warded to repel the muggles that live nearby."

"Where are we?" Sebastian watched the townhouses, taking in the dark greyish brown stone and the empty street surrounding them. 

Her memories were wrapped in gossamer, there but shadowed. If she pushed, the haze would clear long enough for the memories to ring through her ears. There had been conversation— to her, over her— when she was strapped to that table. Ramblings and musings from the one who had taken her.

There were other things she didn't push to remember. Not yet. 

"Islington. Grimmauld Place." She said, hands brushing the dagger still strapped at her leg. "One of his ancestral properties. I was here once or twice, but he rarely used it. He preferred the manor. He'll be here to regroup and leave. His family...they had been planning this for centuries, waiting for the right time. He will likely try to flee as opposed to fight."

Sebastian's jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he looked over at her, "I should've found you sooner."

She didn't look at him, she couldn't. Not at the guilt lacing his features. She didn't deserve that guilt. "You saved me."

He watched her, and she watched the street. This conversation wasn't over, she knew, but it had to wait. She shifted, rolling her neck before taking a step forward through the bramble. She should tell him to stay behind, but that selfish part of her, the part that had missed him for so long, wanted him at her side. "He will know I'm coming."

"Will he be alone?"

"Unlikely." 

Her boots met cobblestone, and she heard Sebastian's shoes clipping behind her, protecting her back. Ash felt torn between two worlds. Two bodies. Two lives. One from before, with Sebastian at her back; and one from after, with a sword strapped to her back and burns on her skin.

She didn't bother hiding, didn't use a disillusioned form. With every step, Ash let that ancient rage flow through her veins, let the burning fire of her magic writhe unchallenged under her skin. She could be a monster, one more time. 

They reached the tangled web of warding at the edge of the sidewalk now visible at their proximity, only three feet from the stone stairs leading up to the door. Sebastian stepped to her side once more. Prepared to face whatever was beyond, together. 

She reached her hands up, brushing gently over the glowing orange weave. 

He had taken everything from her. Had begun her path of descent the moment she stepped foot into Hogwarts. Before maybe. He had broken her, shackled her, and rebuilt her into his perfect weapon. 

Black would regret that. 

She gripped the warding with her fingers, baring her teeth before ripping through it, her muscles straining under the effort. These were harder to break than those she'd faced before, made to fight back against her— her blood. Black had melded her life source into the wards, a blockade if he willed it. 

But she was the wraith. And wraiths were beholden to no earthly force. 

Ash dug her nails into the magical barrier, and growled as she tore a hole downwards through the forcefield. She slipped through, ensuring Sebastian stepped in behind her.

Sebastian turned back to the wards, and raised his wand. He murmured incantations under his breath, running the tip of his wand over the seams of magic, sewing them together once more. He faced her when he finished, eyes filled with a longing for revenge. "Anti-apparation and anti-portkey."

She didn't respond verbally, just gave him a nod as she faced the doors ahead of them. Up the stairs they went, side by side. Sebastian looked down at her when they reached the landing, as if he were taking her in every chance he got. She met his eyes with her own burning irises, red once more with the pulsing magic she let flow freely. She felt darkness leak from him, heavy and thick. It did not scare her. She held his gaze as she raised a hand, palm splayed to the wood, and pushed. 

The wood exploded inwards, the blast echoing through the entry hall like a cannon shot. The force of the explosion sent wooden shards flying, embedding into the walls, and taking down an Ashwinder who hadn't even seen it coming. The dark wizard crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him, a lifeless puppet cut from its strings.

Two others stood in the hall, shields up as they began shooting spells left and right. Ash let out a hiss as a spell grazed Sebastian's arm, slicing the flesh, and she turned back, snarling. She snapped her neck hard to the side, and the men's heads twisted backwards with a sickening crunch. 

Sebastian stride ahead of her, checking the open doorways to their left and right for more men, eyes scanning the shadows for more threats. The mansion was silent, but it was the heavy, oppressive kind of silence.

Silence only lasted a moment.

Men in black robes and silver masks burst from the dining hall at the farthest end of the hall, not wasting a moment before sending bolts of green and red their way. 

Ash and Sebastian moved in tandem, weaving past each other— side by side, then switching, ducking, crossing— over and over in harmony as they cast waves of magic at the hoard. When Sebastian went on offense, Ash covered them with an electric crackling shield; When they switched, and Ash unleashed herself on them, Sebastian ensured no spells reached her.

They pushed deeper into the hall, felling men with every step. She had never seen the full numbers of Black's men, his followers. Only pockets of them— was this even the last of them? Or were there more in the world waiting for a single command? It didn't matter. All that mattered was those in her way. 

She was brute rage, surges of magic rolling from her. Sebastian was precision, shooting spells that landed between their masked eyes. 

Sebastian kept pace with her, covering their flanks as they made their way through Grimmauld Place, the old, dark manor that had become their battlefield. There had to have been twenty men when they'd first opened the door. Now there were less than six ahead of them. 

They reached the staircase, the creak of the old wood under their boots unheard over the shouting of spells and crashing of bodies to the floor. She looked up, through the blood coating her eyelashes. She could nearly feel Black. Could feel the magical signature that had plagued her. 

Sebastian held their rear, fighting off the few remaining men on the first level. He sent spells of purple at men, ripping them open with fire; and spells of pure white electricity that turned men to carbon. They were both breathing hard by now— even Ash who held more power than she'd ever contained before. That chasm of writhing magic felt near bottomless, but exhaustion was something mortals could not outrun. 

She reached the third step, and a cluster of five Ashwinders rushed from the level above, barreling down the stairs towards them with blasts of green towards her—

Ash flung out her arm, sending a wave of destructive magic at the ceiling above them. The ceiling cracked, beams groaning as the magic tore through the house. The wizards barely had time to scream before they were crushed under the falling debris. She caught a glimpse of their terrified eyes behind the masks, then they were gone, buried in the rubble.

A quicker death than they deserved. 

She forced pieces of brick and shattered wood out of their path, using magic and her bare hands to clear the way. She ignored the twitching limbs that stuck out at odd angles from the heavy debris under her as she climbed over larger sections. 

She reached the landing as Sebastian downed the last man, a bombarda to the chest. He was breathing raggedly, face coated in blood and dust. His bangs hung limp over his forehead, and he had cuts spanning his forearms. There were bleeding patches through his battered clothing, places he'd been nicked by stray spells. But his eyes gleamed, burned with hot rage as he made his way up the destroyed stairs to her side. 

Their eyes both landed on the heavy door at the end of the corridor. Black's study, she knew. Ash didn't need further prompting. She moved ahead, every step sounding like thunder through the now barren hall. They neared the door, and she gritted her teeth, feeling the weight of the silver as if it was still chained to her. She reached for the handle—

Sebastian surged forward and grabbed Ash's arm, yanking her back just as a glowing pattern of runes flared to life on the door and the surrounding walls. The ancient symbols pulsed with dark energy, forming a deadly barrier that crackled with magic. 

"A trap," Sebastian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he studied the runes.

For her. A trap for her, to catch her again. She stared at the runes, the same that had marred the metal that had encircled her body and mind. She would have walked right into it, lost in her bloodlust. 

Sebastian's grip tightened on his wand as he quickly began to trace the patterns, trying to decipher the spell. It was old and malevolent, designed to ensnare. His own runic circle had been easy enough to banish— it had been his blood, his design. This would be different, cursed. Even if she blew the door from its handles, the surrounding walls were marked as well. She'd have to take the entire building down to get past Black's little trap. 

Ash stood beside him, her eyes glowing with the same deadly light as the runes, but she didn't lash out immediately. She waited, trusting Sebastian. The moment stretched, the air thick with tension, as Sebastian muttered incantations under his breath, his wand tracing counter-runes in the air.

Finally, he let out a dark chuckle, "Only death can open the door. How clever." With a sharp flick of his wrist, Sebastian yanked on a body downstairs, pulling it with his magic and sending the corpse sailing between the two of them—

Directly into the heart of the rune circle with a crash that rattled the walls. 

The blood from the impact splattered across the surface, and the body slumped into a heap on the floor. The barrier flickered, the runes pulsed dangerously, but then—one by one—they dimmed and shattered, dissipating into nothingness.

Ash didn't hesitate. She stepped forward and kicked the door open with a resounding crash.

The study was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the flickering fire in the hearth and a single lamp on the grand desk. And there, sitting in a high-backed chair, was Phineas Black. He was not dressed in his usual ornate robes but in something simpler—a dark, unadorned suit. His yew wand sat at the far edge of the desk, away from his hands which were crossed on top of the polished surface. 

Sebastian sent a quick accio, ripping the wand off the desk and into his awaiting hand. 

Black looked up at the movement, his expression calm, almost welcoming. His dark eyes, however, were sharp and assessing, lingering on Ash for a moment longer than necessary before shifting to Sebastian. For a heartbeat, the room was silent, the three of them locked in a tense standoff. 

Her breathing was ragged as she stared at him, each inhale irritating the burns that stretched along her neck. 

"Dearest pet," Black finally spoke, his voice smooth, laced with the confidence of someone who believed themselves still in control. "You've been busy. Slipping your leash, and digging up trash, it seems."

Sebastian said nothing at the cheap barb, his wand still trained on Black, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. She could feel the barely restrained rage roiling through him, could see it in the shakes of his fingers, the clench of his teeth. Ash knew if she gave the command, he would make Black suffer. He would do anything she asked. 

But Black was hers. 

Ash lifted both hands and yanked them towards her stomach, baring her blood smeared teeth—

Black was ripped from his chair and sailed across the desk, landing in a heap at her feet in a similar fashion to the dead body outside the door. He let out a grunt at the impact, his knees and knuckles taking the brunt of the hard wood floor. He pushed up, back onto his haunches in front of her. His hair was mused, disheveled, but the man didn't bother to fix it. Even bowed at her feet, he acted the picture of poised control. 

"So, this is how it ends?" Black asked, his tone almost mocking. He gave her a sharp smile, one she had seen time and time again when she had been strapped to that table. "There will be another. Another power-filled child ripe for the taking. Another you. And there will always be another me. It is my family's destiny. A destiny started by my ancestors when they discovered the properties of goblin silver and even more than that, the raw power of ancient magic. They had found Isidora. And I found you. This is our birthright. A descendant of mine will find another touched-starved child with more magic than they deserve, and leash them like the dog they are."

Ash's gaze was cold, ice, despite the churning magma of power, of rage, flowing through her. "Your family's name, your blood, will die out; fall into disarray and despair. Your descendants won't even remember your name, let alone your mission. You will die in this house, and it will mean nothing."

His umber eyes filled with hatred, with untempered fury. His hands clenched at his sides, the only sign of his unbothered facade cracking. "You think you can kill me, after everything we've done together? After everything I've made you? You would be nothing without me. Some forgotten child quivering at the power held in your hands. Instead, I made you a queen. A soldier by my side in the new world order."

Screaming filled her mind, torn and twisted sounds that rang in her ears as she reached a hand behind her back and unsheathed her sword. The Sword of Gideon. A made-up group of muggleborns plaguing the wizarding continent with their wrath. 

Except her sword was very real, glinting in the lamplight. And she— she was very real. 

And her wrath—

"I don't care," she whispered, pointing the sword right at Black's breastbone, "You killed my brother." 

She shoved the sword forward, savoring the bulge of Black's umber eyes and the gurgling sound that accompanied the piercing of flesh and bone. 

Black choked up blood, grabbing the blade with trembling hands as if to stop what had already begun. "You once asked me if monsters were born monsters or were made." She pushed the blade further in, her own hands steady at the hilt. He made a pitiful noise, a cross between a cry and a gagging sound. Blood poured from the wound, and dribbled slowly from the corners of his mouth. 

She leaned over the sword, bringing her face level with his as she thrust the sword home, bringing the crossguard flush with his cracked-open sternum. "I don't think it matters the origin, when you are bleeding out beneath them." 

Black gasped, a ragged, wet sound as his lungs filled with his lifeblood. His eyes flickered, arrogant no longer in the face of his rapidly fading mortality. He tried to speak, but only a gurgle escaped. The hands gripping the crossguard went limp, and fell to his sides. 

Ash held his gaze as the light drained from his eyes. A man so obsessed with power, with grace. A self-made king. A dark stain spread across the front of his trousers. 

Death made fools of even kings. 

Black let out one last mewl, and slumped forward against the blade. 

Ash held him there, propped up on her blade for a heartbeat. And then another. Only the soft breathing of Sebastian caused her to release the man's body. 

Black, the one who had tormented her, broken her to pieces, and rebuilt her in his demented image, collapsed to the floor; his blood pooled around him, his purity spilled across the dark wood like a mockery of his bloodline. 

Ash stared. Stared and stared until her breath hitched. Until the screaming in her mind reached its summit and she could hear nothing but the death she had issued. Her knees buckled, and Sebastian grabbed her, falling to the oak floor with her wrapped in his arms. 

There was screaming in her mind. But the darkness could hide it no longer, and the gossamer hiding her memories began to tremble without the adrenaline holding them back. 

And as Sebastian held her tightly to his chest, and Black blood seeped into the leather at her knees—

Ash began to weep.