First-Person Necromancy
The Hogwarts Samhain ritual, the Dance of the Dead, is relatively simple. Most high ritual is, honestly. Sometimes you have to brew a potion or gather certain elements of the sacrifice ahead of time, but the actual invoking gods part is usually pretty straightforward. Even more so when it's a legal holiday ritual, just calling on the Power and recognising its influence in our lives, not actually trying to get it to do anything for you.
Which isn't to say that nothing happens, just, it's between the ritualist and the Power, there's no external subject or object. There are plenty of illegal holiday-related rituals that do have an external element, of course. The Black Samhain ritual — the oldest one, at least — is sympathetic magic intended to wreak destruction on our enemies, whoever that might be at the time. Capture one of them, kill them horribly, corrupt their spirit and through it their Family Magic. (It hasn't been used in centuries, of course, but there are reasons it's a terrible idea to get into a serious blood feud with a Dark House.) External subject/sacrifice; external object/target. The one we used when I was a kid was much tamer — sacrificing a trio of ravens, remembering the members of the House who had passed beyond the Veil, and "laying to rest" the spirits of those killed by still-living members of the Family over the past year (i.e., summoning any lingering, vengeful shades and placating them by spilling the blood of their killer(s) (usually Bella) and letting them torture said killer(s) in their sleep in a secondary ritual). External subject; internal object (because wrathful dead are still part of Death).
Though that's still far more involved than just lighting a candle for your lost loved ones and speaking to them from across the Veil, which is what most Samhain rituals come down to.
The Hogwarts ritual is somewhere between those latter two examples, in terms of how...involved it is, but it is legal (even in Britain) — i.e., between the ritualists and the Power they're invoking, with no long-term costs or benefits for the ritualists. Rather than just speaking across the Veil, the Veil is pierced, allowing the spirits of the Dead to possess Witnesses and share memories of their lives, celebrate the cycle of life and death, dance with the Living on the border between them. It's much more about the nature of Death itself than the ritual I grew up with, which was more about...redress, I suppose.
Death is counted among the Dark Powers by the Light, but it's not dark in the same malicious, anti-social sense as the Dark. It's far more concerned with balance, equilibrium. And there are certain times when people are "meant" to die. Like Dumbledore's sister, Ariana, would have died on the day of her mother's funeral regardless of whether Dumbledore, his younger brother, and Grindelwald got into a duel or not. And (apparently) like I wasn't meant to die when Orion cursed me in the wake of my first Yule ritual. That doesn't mean they can't die at other times, just, it's far less probable that they will. I'm not honestly sure how low the probability of dying without conscious external interference at any given moment has to be to count, but whatever it is innocent people who are murdered simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time and caught the wrong person's eye, or people whose lives are sacrificed for rituals or "for science" rather than from misfortune or age or illness or some other natural cause, are considered to have died "early". And that annoys some incarnations of Death.
Not really sure why, maybe something to do with temporo-spatial canalisation? Subtly un-balancing the potential futures of a universe? Asphodel would probably know...
It's because Death encompasses the future as well as the past, everything which has been and will be, which means it has certain..."expectations", you might call them, for the experiences a soul it will eventually absorb will have had. From some perspectives, those experiences are already a part of it because the Dead know all and time is not linear for Death. Which is fine, until someone comes along and kills a particular soul early, and those experiences suddenly vanish, because they will never have happened. Paradoxes are not any less of a pain in the arse when time is simultaneously a river and an ocean, okay? The least you can do if you're going to go around murdering and/or sacrificing people is acknowledge that you're a pain in the arse, and make some gesture of apology.
I presume Aster was planning to explain, generally speaking, a Witness's perspective of the Hogwarts Yule ritual, which is really very limited. Basically, just skipping over everything from the Sacrifice of Feeling until the Fire wanes and Death recedes, because most people don't remember anything of the Dance and the memories they shared with the Dead. Kind of like a really good, vivid dream which you forget as soon as you wake up. And then skip to whatever she and Potter talked about afterward. But that would mean skipping over what I honestly think is the most entertaining part of the whole evening.
(And yes, Thom, this is necessary to the story, don't you dare vanish it!)
By the time everyone was in place and Evan had called the Witnesses to order, Lily had given up. Rather than continue to fight a losing battle against gravity, she was kneeling, brilliant phoenix skirts pooled around her, earth cool and moist against her knees, far too close to the fire — her face and chest were almost painfully hot — but moving would mean standing, so. The heat would go away soon enough.
The magic, too.
Or rather, the magic would move, flowing through and around Lily, rather than pooling in her head and making it hard to think, hard to focus, little bits and pieces of thought and memory leaking into her consciousness from the much larger (infinite) presence she could feel pressing against her almost physically (far more real than the physical world). It was — She was — right there, separated from this plane, from Lily, by the Veil, grown so thin it was barely there at all, so close!
So close, so close to being here, to reaching Her, to– to losing herself in the magic— It was calling to her! She needed it, desperately, or at least, a small corner of her self did, the part which was just Lily, and not already feeling the presence of the goddess, burying her under timeless patience and inevitability (and sometimes telling her — not telling, but — things like that Ariana missed her brother); rising up to overtake her entirely, just for a moment, just to get rid of that last annoying impediment for her (her finger throbbed — she was probably going to care about that, stepping aside to let Her run Dumbledore off, in the morning, or eventually, in a few days, whatever, but not now); surging as Evan called the Witnesses to order.
She felt them take their places in the outer circle, magic growing heavy in the air, responding to their anticipation even before the ritual itself began. She couldn't focus enough on the real world to listen to his words, but they didn't matter anyway. She felt the circle carved into the earth, drawing on the strength of the Woods and the Forest beyond, the cycle of death and life which was the natural world, magic — energy — drawn in, streaming toward the fire as they made their offerings, swirling around her and through her—
Florence — water.
Thaddeus — bread.
Fundamental necessities of life, sustenance. Simple, bland, but essential, meeting the barest animal needs of survival.
Evan — the ability to create, to build, which defines sentience — dozens of hours of work shaping clay and carving tiny, intricate runes to form a simple, elegant vessel which perpetually refilled itself with pure, clean water.
Narcissa — wine.
Dierk — meat.
Lettie — honey.
The fruits and richness of the world. Exploiting the world around us and embracing the sweetness and savor of life to truly live rather than to merely survive.
Amy — the awareness and expression of self which defines sapience, shaping the world to reflect oneself not for function but for beauty — a set of panpipes made, like Evan's perpetual fountain, by the girl herself, simple and crude, the sounds produced haunting, hinting at pain and fear and hope and beyond, with no purpose save to give voice to them.
Nic — life. Power, and the exercise thereof. The blood of an innocent creature, spilled simply to lend weight to the ritual. Meaning. Potential. Acting with consequence.
And then, finally, Lily. Feeling. Joy and loss and love and hate (or as close as she knew, anyway). Pain and pleasure. The heart of humanity, her experience of the world and her reactions to it.
She dragged the blade of her athame across her forearm — too deeply, probably. It didn't hurt as much as she knew it should (was that a bad thing? that might be a bad thing...), but blood welled forth immediately, trickling down, around her wrist, dripping from her fingers. "I dedicate to Death my pain — my pleasure, my joy, my guilt and my sorrow! Let the Dead recall passion, the loves and hatreds of their lives! Let them recall what it is to feel, and in so doing, be drawn to Life, to live and feel once again!"
Not her actual words, of course. The incantation was actually in Ancient Egyptian, Lily had memorised the syllables by rote. But that was what it meant, or what she meant, in any case, even if her pronunciation might have been a bit off in the particulars — none of the organisers actually spoke the language of the incantation, after all — and that was what mattered. Death knew as well as she did what she was offering and what she wanted in return.
The magic in the air around her circled ever-faster in excited anticipation, drawing in more power, and more yet, expanding well beyond the Circle of Witnesses, pulling from the eternal cycle of life and death throughout the Forest, from the lowliest lichen to the wisest of centaurs, they were all a part of it, she could feel them, she could—
Asphodel, focus, a foreign not-voice whispered at the back of her mind (surprisingly familiar given that she'd only met Thom a handful of hours ago).
Calm. Vaguely amused. Not truly concerned that she might let the power continue to grow until it completely overwhelmed her, though that was why he had spoken up. If the ritual destabilised and collapsed on them, he would be fine. Bella too, probably. But everyone else would be fucked.
Yes, including two people you so recently claimed as your own. And yourself.
Right... She shouldn't actually die again, Persephone would be annoyed with her. And if she were annoyed with Lily, she probably wouldn't let her resurrect Sev and Aster if she killed them with her overconfidence.
Okay, showtime, she thought, pitching the bloody knife into the heart of the flames.
It sliced through the Veil as it fell, transforming the fire itself into a portal to the Void, the circling magic streaming into it, through it, the energy of Life breathing itself into Death, creating a conduit and an imbalance — the flames burned blue, drawing in all the heat they'd been throwing off and more—
The Witnesses, behind her and all around the edge of the circle spoke as one: "We bear witness!"
The nine Participants, Lily included, responded similarly in unison. The words fell from her lips without any conscious effort to match the others, prompted by the momentum of the ritual, Magic saying as much as any of them, "Let it be so!"
The balance of power in the ritual stabilised after a moment. Lily couldn't really say how long, but the feeling of energy streaming past her, out of the universe like air into a vacuum, ceased. The space within the circle began to change, itself drawn slightly out of sync with the rest of the mundane world. Lily wasn't sure how other people perceived it, but to her everything became a little sharper, a little more real. More immediate. Time had less meaning, maybe none at all, and she could feel the voices of the Dead whispering all around her, a soft susurration of not-sound, calling to her, stronger than usual — come to Us, Lily, you belong with Us...
She'd felt it last year too, known in the same peculiar way she knew how to design any ritual, that she was meant to do this, that this was the next step — standing out there in the Circle of Witnesses, it had hurt not to do it, not to be in a position to take that step, almost physically. She had been out of place, almost in the same way she had been earlier, when they'd been late, and she hadn't been able to fix it.
Tonight, though, she was exactly where she was meant to be.
As the balance of power reached the turning point, the moment when Life ceased to flow into Death, but before Death began to seep through the Veil into Life, she stepped forward.
Evan saw her move. She felt him respond, too full of magic to really focus on his words, his hand on her arm or the look on his face, but she felt his fear, his concern. She pushed him away. Gently — it wasn't his fault he didn't understand, this was part of it, but it was a new part, he didn't know, yet.
"Trust me," she whispered, the shadows echoing her all around the clearing.
He didn't, but he did stop trying to stop her, held himself back, still uneasy, still concerned. Not that she was going to mess up the ritual, but for her — how peculiar, she hadn't thought Evan liked her enough to care if she lost herself on the other side of the Veil...
Not that she was crossing over entirely. Just...standing in the doorway, sort of. On the threshold. Surrounded by fire no longer hot or cold, the chill of Death on her face and the warmth of Life at her back, making herself as much a part of the conduit as the flames. She repeated the invocation — all of it, not just her part.
Come join us! Remember life! Dance with us! Feel the warmth! Share in our celebration! Recall sating hunger and thirst, indulging in sweetness and savor and merriment! Remember potential fulfilled, and that left unawakened! Recall the ways you changed the world — your accomplishments, your art, your passion! Remember who you are, remember life, and join us here, at the border between our realms! The Veil is parted! Thrice now we entreat you — come, join us, to dance and remember, and share that remembrance with the Living!
The cold of Death began to spread, spirits materialising from it as the Dance began, choosing their partners. The Witnesses began to move to the unheard beat, the Dead joining them, possessing them and sharing memories, changing partners as the Dance progressed. By the end of the evening most Witnesses would have relived bits and pieces of a dozen or more lives — the most important memories preserved in each spirit, those which shaped the essence of who they were.
Now.
I offer myself to Death, to the face of my Lady Persephone. I offer not only my passion, my feeling, but all that I am! I give myself over to Her, body and soul, that she too might walk among the Living tonight, and join us in our celebration!
She responded, of course. She was already there, in Lily and in everything, but Her focus grew sharper, narrowing in on the foolhardy young girl, already standing as close as she could to Death without actually joining it, and still longing for more. A favoured child, conceived in Death and so drawn to it, her soul reflecting that of the goddess who had intervened, who had revived her mother and ensured her life would come to be.
Wait, really?
Amusement shivered through her, deep and overwhelming, the familiar image of a young woman coalescing in her mind's eye. She was a few years older than Lily (she was always a few years older than Lily), her hair light, eyes dark and sardonic. A little curvier than Lily, and a little taller, wearing a simple chiton — dark, heart's-blood red. (She always wore red, too, Lily didn't know why.) Yes, of course. And I like red. Do I need a reason?
She supposed not. Hi. There really ought to be more to say here, she thought, but she'd already said it, inviting the goddess to live through her tonight.
She could ask whether Persephone had ever been planning on telling her that she was adopted, but she assumed the answer would be something like no, what difference does it make — families were one of those things gods tended not to understand in the same way humans did. Their idea of family was something along the lines of having overlapping areas of interest and/or effect. By that measure, Lily was hardly related to her mum and dad, or even her biological mother, at all. (She presumed, she didn't really know anything about Matilde.) Thom...maybe — she had the impression that he was much closer to Destruction than Death, but they shared a fascination with Mystery that was probably enough to consider them some degree of family. But by that measure, she was much more Persephone's daughter than even Tom's. Or possibly Hecate's. But then, they were really just two different names for everything...
Someone's a bit more distracted than usual tonight, the goddess thought at her, light and teasing, but still almost overwhelming in the sheer weight of her presence.
You're very distracting, she thought back mimicking Her tone. ...She hadn't meant that to sound nearly as flirty as it had... Not that she had a problem flirting with Death, just, she hadn't been intending to. Especially not so soon after thinking that Kore was probably something like her mother by godly standards.
What part of offering yourself to me, body and soul, wasn't flirting? The goddess's amusement shivered through her again. And incest is also one of those things that doesn't really make sense from my perspective. We are, after all, everything.
So...more like really complicated masturbation, then? Wait, no, I'm supposed to be focusing. It's just kind of hard when You're here, and— And I want You. I want to be Yours. It's— I'm supposed to do this, aren't I? It feels right. And You're here, but You haven't said...
She hadn't said whether she was taking Lily up on the offer. And Lily needed her to. She needed to know...
Hmm...well, I suppose that depends...
Now She was just being a tease. Depends on what?!
On whether you're just offering tonight, or whether you were thinking of something more...committed. The image of the goddess raised an eyebrow at her, a smirk accompanying that insinuating tone.
Which... Oh.
Did Lily want to dedicate herself to Persephone? Yes, of course she did. She'd considered it before, when Kore had been telling her off for accidentally killing herself and why wouldn't you just ask, stupid girl?! But if she did, she would—
Well, the reasons that had seemed so convincing for her to say no then seemed somewhat less convincing now. And not only because it was hard to think in a straight line at the moment — standing here, now, on the very edge of Death, with Persephone's teasing smirk lingering in her mind's eye, Her presence making it hard to breathe, almost—
The goddess pulled back a little at that thought.
I didn't want You to go away, Lily complained. It's not a bad sort of hard to breathe...
Persephone, of course, found that rather amusing, but She kept Her focus more generalised anyway. Poo.
Lily wanted nothing more than to be as close as possible to her Lady — it felt right to stand in Her presence, more right than anything — but she'd decided before that she couldn't. Everyone knew black mages (or white mages, she still didn't really think there was a difference) were a bit odd (er...everyone who knew anything about black mages, which was really...not many people, probably), and given that Lily was already a bit odd and barely passed for normal most days, becoming a bit odder seemed likely to draw unwanted attention down on herself (regardless of whether most people knew why she'd become even weirder). But, well. She'd already kind of cursed herself in the foot there, telling Dumbledore that Thom bloody de Mort was her sire, and all.
And, well...the other, more important reason, or maybe the bit that followed on the first, was she had known she would have to live in Britain for at least a couple more years. Dedicating oneself to the Powers was Anathema, full stop, and it was much more difficult to talk your way out of a death sentence for becoming a black mage than it was to pretend ignorance about the legality of certain books or journals you happened to have in your possession. But she didn't, now. Not really. Like Bella had said earlier — she had options. If Dumbledore (or anyone else) made a stink about it, she could just run off and claim sanctuary in New Avalon. (At the moment, New Avalon was only Ancient House, the Black property Bella occupied, but still, she was pretty sure that Thom and Bella wouldn't let her be kissed by a dementor and chucked through the Veil.)
Honestly, it was kind of tempting to do so anyway. She'd only spent the one afternoon with Thom and Bella, and — all murderous tendencies aside — she could already tell she got along better with them (and Aster) than anyone else other than Sev. And if she was being really, really honest with herself, she didn't actually care about them torturing and killing people she didn't even know. She knew she should, it would break Mum's heart if she admitted she didn't, but there were reasons she always put on at least a bit of a show. Yes, it would be better if they didn't, but she wasn't going to convince them of that from the opposite side of a war, was she? So there was really no reason not to just give up on the whole trying to fit in with the Light thing, was there?
Not that she was going to just walk away from the principles she'd tried to live by for the past sixteen years (even if she had trouble really embracing them), but if it came down to being ostracised or her life being in danger for doing something as absolutely right as giving herself to Persephone, she did have somewhere to go.
Which meant there was no reason at all not to admit, I'm yours, completely and forever. I'm pretty sure I always have been...
Just a bit. Pleasure radiated through her as the goddess came back — focused more on Lily again — her soul thrumming, resonating with Death, though...
What happens now?
She knew that dedicants often offered their service in exchange for some favour or gift, but she knew, instinctively, that this wasn't like that. This was a calling, not some sort of transaction — all she really wanted was to be as close to her Lady as possible. (If what she felt for Sev wasn't love, maybe this was...)
Kore giggled, high and light, like the girl she might have been before descending to Hades that first time. Though if Lily's soul really did reflect hers, she probably never had been as innocent as the stories made her out to be. (The goddess found this even more amusing, probably because Lily was completely right. She never had bought that whole kidnapping line.) This is why I like you, you know. You have the right attitude about these things. And nothing more needs to happen now. After all, your Dedication is little more than formally recognising the way things already were between us.
(Implying, Lily thought, that for other people there probably would be more to it. Which was...probably not as weird as it felt like it should be, if Persephone had laid claim to Lily's soul before she was even born.)
But that doesn't mean I don't have a gift for you.
Her teasing tone practically begged Lily to ask, What is it?
It's a surprise. And also likely to be rather painful. Metamorphosis does tend to be. So run off and explore the Infinite, I'll let you know when it's time to come back to your body.
Wait...what?
Persephone's response was to reach out to her, the image of her in Lily's mind taking her by the hand and tugging her forward, out of her body with an odd pop more felt than heard, and into what she had, until that very moment, thought was just an imagined mind-scape-like dream-space — and not a very complex one at that, just Kore's form surrounded by swirling mists of light and wisps of shadow, standing (or apparently standing) on nothing.
Well, it is, I'm just much bigger than you.
So...she was...in Death's mind?
No, you're just in Death. Magic. Everything. Mind implies a body, and such physical constraints are entirely foreign to a metaphysical consciousness. What did you think was on the other side of the Veil?
She turned back, almost startled (she thought she would have been startled, if everything weren't so...distant, today) to see her body smirking at her, wreathed in blue flames. She couldn't feel it at all. Are you possessing me?
Yes, rather like you possess your little Nyx. Nyx finds her namesake adorable, by the way.
Well, of course she would, kitty-Nyx was a cute fucking cat. And Lily was pretty sure that meant she didn't have any connection to her body right now, but Persephone was keeping it alive in the absence of even a trace of Lily's soul to animate it. Are you also sustaining kitty-Nyx? Because Lily was going to be kind of annoyed if her little foray into Death ended up killing her familiar more permanently this time.
Exasperated amusement surrounded her. "Yes, Lily, I'm keeping your cat alive," Persephone said — aloud, with Lily's lips. That was just bloody weird. Hadn't she just said that bodies were completely foreign to gods? Lily's own face laughed at her. "I've been around for a long time, silly girl. You're hardly the first mortal whose body I've borrowed for a night or two. And you did offer."
Well, yes, but she'd kind of thought that they'd be in Lily's body together, not...switching places.
"We haven't switched places." Your body could not possibly contain all that I am. "And in the context of this ritual, only as much of me may cross the Veil as the energy of Life you gave to me."
So, in order for you to take my place, in my world, I have to come here?
Lily's head nodded. "An equal exchange, your soul crossing over, and so allowing an equal part of me to do so as well."
...Oh.
You'll just have to spend time with me in my world, rather than your own — how disappointing.
Wait. Did that mean... I get to explore Death, while you do...whatever you're doing to me?
Kore sniggered. "Unless you wanted to watch me and make sure I don't get up to anything you don't approve of in your body."
No, I trust you. She just hoped Persephone didn't do anything that would get her arrested or something. Or, if she did, that she would somehow prove to the authorities that she wasn't actually Lily before they switched back and Lily had to deal with the consequences.
Good choice. I mean, people would kill for the opportunity to flit around the Void for a few hours, form a first-hand impression of Infinite Eternity. (Ooh, good point...) And no, I was thinking I might go introduce your face to a handful of people I've been meaning to have a chat with for some time now.
...Right. Can you at least make sure I remember whoever you end up threatening while using my face? You know, so I know why they hate me if I ever run into them as myself?
"I suppose. Now, go on, have fun. I'll send you home when it's done." She stepped away from the hole in the veil, disappearing from the flickering blue flames with a wicked grin. So, my little priestess. Is there anything in particular you want to see? Anywhere you want to go?
If Lily had had a physical body at the moment, she would have been grinning, she thought, and bouncing on her toes like a small child as possibilities began to occur to her. All that lives is yours, right? And the Dead know all? Is that just human dead? Or can we go see what happened to the fae? Or, could I be a dragon? I always wanted to know what it felt like to fly on my own. Or we could visit other versions of me, right? In other universes and timelines? Or, ooh! The moon! Muggles have been to the moon! Or we could go to the future! Do we ever figure out flying cars? I bet there are flying cars...
In all honesty, I don't remember much of that night. Much like the Witnesses dancing with the Dead, it all seems like a dream, or a series of them, half-remembered flashes of images and feeling.
I know I did step foot on the moon, heart pounding, breath loud in my ears, so excited — Armstrong couldn't stop grinning, taking those first careful, bouncing steps — almost the exact same feeling I had realising that I could go anywhere, see anything, in fact. Awe and delight, all the more brilliant in the wake of the fear that was something going wrong as they landed.
And I did see the far-off future of a world — not this world, I don't think — entirely covered by an enormous city, sky-scrapers so built up it was hard to imagine there was anything left of the planet beneath them, hovercrafts zipping around at a dozen levels, while the person — not human — simply went about his daily business, every bit of it perfectly ordinary and unimpressive to him.
I didn't get to be a dragon (I don't think), but I did echo the memory of a little winged fae girl, leaping into the air on her first flight, her wings fluttering desperately to catch herself, exalting in her success when she caught an updraft, raising her back into the sky, sun hot on her back and her family all around her cheering her on, recognising her as an adult.
I watched the Wizengamot vote to enact the Statute of Secrecy from the eyes of my many-times-great-uncle, a William who was, at the time, the head of the house of Gaunt, and lived through the terrible, bloody war that followed — far more families than I had ever imagined died resisting the division between their mages and everyone else.
I tried very hard to grasp how Death experiences time, and all the dimensions beyond my own, and failed miserably.
And my memories of what Kore did with my body while I was out are similarly vague and fuzzy.
I know she popped down to Cokeworth and paid Tobias Snape a visit — it was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, keeping my mouth shut about that until Sev got a letter from home breaking the news that his father had died of a heart attack. (What a pity.)
She stopped at the Bookshop to have a drink and play a game of chess with Anomos. The look on his face when he realised Death Herself was visiting him is one I will never forget — not fear, or awe, just surprise, maybe a little gladness for the company. He invited her in and they caught up on what had to have been the last century or two, Persephone taunting him with hints about the future as he played her to a draw. And then as she was taking her leave, "Penelope's still waiting for you, you know," which has one very specific implication that Odysseus never has confirmed or denied, at least to me. ("I'll see you when I see you, Kore. Safe travels.")
She spent an hour or two at St. Mungo's, meandering through the rooms of those caught in the Veil and suffering, easing their passage, the staff apparently blind to her presence. (Though they definitely knew something was going on — half a dozen patients, even critical cases, dying within an hour of each other simply isn't natural.)
She answered the call of three different necromancers — traditional ones, their faces hidden by funeral veils, calling out to her with sacrifices and begging her favour — mostly to tell them they were trying way too hard. Only one of them recognised her immediately. The others were furious to have their Samhain celebrations ruined by some random girl wandering into a place she really shouldn't be, as though the wards they'd set were of no consequence at all. (They weren't. She might not be able to just walk through them in a human body, but Death is perfectly capable of circumventing mortal magic by mortal means, and I didn't need to know how to crack their wards for her to use me to do it.)
The one who recognised her she granted a boon — that I don't remember at all, because it's none of my business, just that she did something before she called on the third one.
But before any of that, she had a little chat with Thom, and that I remember much more clearly.
Death stepped out of the fire, throwing a smirk across the circle to the spot where she knew he stood, the arrogant arse who had the temerity to not only attempt to hide from her, but then to brag about it, boasting to his followers that he was able to defy her with impunity. The Bones girl hurried toward her, around the circle — she and the other anchor, the Rosier boy, had resisted being pulled into the Dance in their concern for her newest priestess. Sweet, if entirely unnecessary.
Little Amelia hesitated as she came close enough to see Lily's face, coming to a halt beside Evan. Her eyes would be glowing, Death expected. They did have a tendency to do so, instinctively bleeding off power to avoid overchannelling when Lily accidentally pulled more magic into herself than she could easily control. It was actually a bit of a problem, the girl's innate expectations for her own abilities being so out of sync with her actual abilities. She simply felt, on a very fundamental level, that she should be able to channel more magic than she safely could. Especially since that ridiculous dedication of hers — giving her soul a greater affinity for polarised energy, making it easier to pull magic into herself, did absolutely nothing to improve her body's physical tolerance to such power.
That was the sort of thing which required a much deeper alteration of one's fundamental identity — there was a reason excess metaphagy was dangerous, and so few humans chose to do as the Blacks had done, asking for power beyond any they were ever meant to hold in exchange for their service. It was impossible to change the human body to accommodate that wish without causing some degree of physical brain damage, which underlay the traditional sacrifice of their "humanity" — that was literally the least destructive way to alter them. (Of course, the Dark hadn't told them that, and even if it had the particular Blacks who had made that sacrifice likely would have considered it a fair trade.) Most humans, when told that, yes, I can give you inhuman power, but I'm going to have to literally melt part of your brain and restructure it, said never mind.
Metaphages could do something similar slowly enough that they had time to compensate and recover, but they often didn't realise the necessity of doing so and ended up self-destructing, making too many deep changes to their fundamental selves too quickly. Tom Riddle, still alive and as sane as he ever was, even after putting himself through a series of such rituals as a young man, was an exception, not the rule.
Re-making Lily's body enough that her channelling capacity actually matched the power she felt she ought to be able to wield, though, wasn't nearly so extreme, especially since she'd already come into her power. After all, she only acted as though she should be capable of channelling slightly more power than the average mage in this day and age. Not, say, a seven-year-old saying oh, yes, I'd like to grow up to be a sorceress with enough power to match any other mortal in Britain, and in the meanwhile would you mind putting me on even footing with the average adult in my House, please and thank you with a cherry on top. (Young Eris was an impulsive little twit, she was lucky none of her Bellatrices had died when she altered them.) Lily didn't even feel as though she ought to be able to channel as much magic as Aster over there — definitely doable, with no long-term damage.
It did kind of hurt, but there was no cause for Amelia and Evan to be so concerned.
"Lily...are you okay?" the girl asked, only to be corrected by the boy immediately: "Apparently her name is actually Asphodel. Er...what she said, though?"
"You know she doesn't want you to call her Asphodel," Death informed him. "Not yet. And she's fine. She's currently on the moon. She'll be back by morning."
The Bones girl gave a tiny eep — not surprising that she'd put it together more quickly, her family did stand a bit closer to Death than most. "My Lady! I, um, we didn't expect you to, er—"
She stuttered to a halt, allowing the boy, his fear tamped down under a sanguine façade, to greet her as well. "My Lady. Would you mind telling Evans for me that she's a twat, and it's poor form to alter a ritual like that without even telling us what she's planning? Cheers."
"I'm sure it will be much more satisfying for you to tell her yourself, tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bone to pick with a certain Dark Lord over a certain nom de guerre." She slipped past them before either could respond, making for the trio of Witnesses — Riddle, his pet Bellatrix, and Lily's little mind mage — who had likewise resisted the ritual, instead simply observing from the edge of the trees — out of the way, but still close enough to talk to the occasional spirit meandering out of the Dance.
They fled at her approach, leaving the humans to face her wrath alone. The only one of those who apparently found her presence in any way threatening was the little mind mage — Severus. He turned to face her, bowing slightly jerkily. "My Lady Persephone."
"Percy! How are you? It's been ages! I would say I'm surprised to see you, but you always did have a thing for redheads, didn't you?" the witch teased, grinning like the lunatic she absolutely was.
Death sighed. "Bellatrix." Even the ones who were only distantly in contact with Eris were annoying. No, strike that, those Bellatrices were especially annoying — Eris herself had far more respect for Death, it tended to carry over to the ones she was closest to.
Riddle gave her a far politer greeting: a more confident bow and the words, "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, my Lady?"
She clicked Lily's tongue impatiently. "See, I don't get that. You, unlike your pet, make an effort to be polite to me in person, but otherwise insult me left and right. And I'm here to have a word with you, Tom Marvolo Riddle." She conjured the letters of his name in the air as she spoke, rearranging them as he had done as a schoolboy to invent the phrase I am Lord Voldemort.
"Ah," the man said, swallowing hard.
"It's a bloody anagram?" Bellatrix laughed. "Well. I'm sure that seemed very clever when you were twelve. No wonder you don't like the Knights to use it."
Riddle glared at her briefly, before attempting to excuse himself. "It's true, my Lady, I did invent the name in a fit of youthful fancy. I have never intended any offence by it and, as Bella says, I've since come to see that it's a ridiculous name, born of childish fear and hubris. I most humbly beg your forgiveness for my slight against you and your realm—"
"Oh, stuff it, Tom. Do I look like I'm buying it?" she snapped, assuming a disdainful, cross-armed pose. "If you truly regretted your hubris, you wouldn't still go around telling your people that you've made yourself immune to my touch. You do realise that every day I don't smite you for that heresy is another day the idea that such a thing is possible is allowed to take root and grow in the minds of your followers and foes alike, do you not?"
"I— Surely the pitiful boasts of a single human man are as nothing to the Ultimate Inevitability," the idiot said, looking entirely nonplussed about her annoyance.
"The most dangerous strangling kudzu vine grows from a single seed, Riddle, especially when you go using mind magic to make them believe your pitiful boasts! I will not have you undermining my authority in this matter regardless of how impotent you believe yourself to be!"
The infuriating legilimens looked to be suppressing a smirk. What the fuck was so funny?! "Yes, my Lady."
"You do realise that he's only going to be more insufferable now that you've pointed out that he has even greater influence on the universe than he thought, right?" Bellatrix asked, through giggles she entirely failed to suppress. She probably hadn't even tried.
"I really don't care how insufferable he is to the rest of you. Either you stop the spread of this madness, or I will. Terminally. By which, to be abso-fucking-lutely crystal here, I mean your newly discovered daughter — the one whose birth I arranged specifically to be the instrument of your destruction, should you force my hand — has just dedicated herself to my service. I can and will use her to destroy you, horcruxes and all." The little legilimens made a sort of gak sound, choking on his own fearful intake of breath, but Riddle and his Bellatrix sobered significantly. "Yes, that's right, I know about the horcruxes. And the rituals to make your body impervious to mortal damage. And those to protect it from the natural corruption of age and illness.
"I don't give a fuck! I'm warning you now because there are parts of me that like you, but if you don't knock it off, I will knock you off."
Bellatrix snorted. Riddle glared at her. "What? It was a good pun, you know it was."
"Excuse me if I can't take the threat of my imminent demise as lightly as you."
"Oh, calm down, my Lord. If Death actually wanted you dead, you would already be dead. I mean, I'm good, but not good enough to stop an assassin tasked by Death Itself to take you out. So, you stop compelling people to believe you're immortal, maybe even make them forget you ever said as much, she lets you live, and all of your precautions serve to protect you from mortal threats, and you get to live as long as you want to, in spite of everyone else's attempts to kill you. We don't need the Immortal Dark Lord propaganda that much...or at all, really. I mean, your reputation is already sufficiently well-established that losing this detail is hardly likely to impact it. Yes?"
Death nodded. She would give the Blacks this much: they were at least very rational, when faced with the sort of situation which would make even the most cool-headed of ritualists falter. Give them a problem, they would find a solution. In this case, giving Death exactly what she demanded of them, because what other reasonable alternative did Riddle have? "He will be mine in the end, of course, but I can wait. I have all the time in the world. What are a few centuries, or even millennia, compared to eternity?"
Honestly, she kind of appreciated having a few so-called Immortals around. The spark of an average human soul was so brief and fleeting, they hardly had any time at all to develop their stories, instead just living variations on the same few themes again and again... But that wasn't at all the same as allowing them to — consciously or not — affect the collective perception of Death and its role in Life. Some things needed to remain constant, and Death was one of them.
To give Riddle his due, he did manage to recover fairly quickly. "Of course, my Lady. I understand. I will endeavor to right my offence at once."
She took another step toward him, close enough to jab him in the chest with one of Lily's long, thin fingers. "See that you do! Or else!"
Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "So, what are you giving our little Asphodel in exchange for her acting as the metaphorical knife at Thom's neck?"
Death grinned at her. "Ah, well, seeing as you're so very set on making her a member of your House, I thought I'd stick with something traditional. Though not, perhaps, so extreme."
"Oh! Speaking of which, come here a second!" the Black demanded, slicing the tip of her index finger with a silent, wandless charm.
Death sighed at her, but moved near enough to let her sketch a few runes on Lily's forehead. "You know, there's a fine line between prepared and paranoid."
"Yes, well, we mere mortals don't really have the perspective to see which side of the line we're on, and besides, extending legal protection to your idiot daughter when she outs herself as the child of the greatest mortal enemies of the most politically powerful man in Britain is not paranoia. It's insurance."
Death gave her a slightly amused snorted. "Uh-huh. Well, go on, then. I do have places to be tonight."
"Tch, so impatient..."
(Cheeky brat.)