I really must say that I enjoy your story as much as I enjoy the real thing, and frankly, it is torture to wait in between posts. I just want to take this story, print it out, bind it like a book, and read it over and over. In other words, keep it up! Your faithful reader, Shaylily :sorcerer:

I'm very flattered! :flowersmile: I printed out my 'Return of the Necromancers' story (all 119 pages of it) and got that bound by the university binders so I'll always have a hard copy of it- 'A Very Wicked Weasley' is much longer, and I'm fairly sure it will hit 200 pages by the time I've got to the end of Sam's story! Although it has to be said, that's not too far away now :whisle:

Having made an early start that day, Sam, Quirrel and three donkeys had already travelled several miles away from the village by midday. Quirrel had stressed it was important to be as far away from anywhere during the harvest, as the principle targets would be the villages.
“The vampires won’t waste their time looking for odd travellers in the woods,” Quirrel explained as he stirred up more stew. “It’s far too much effort, especially when there are large groups of prey in the villages.”
“Do you have to call them prey?” Sam moaned. “I mean, you and I, we’re good duellists, we could-”
“No, we’d be hopelessly outnumbered and besides, the locals will hardly appreciate assistance from outsiders.” Sam didn’t reply, but she didn’t like the situation. She couldn’t help but think that if her parents had been there, they’d have done something rather than hide in the woods.
Quirrel insisted the slept throughout the afternoon and then kept moving at night. Due to their lack of guide, they were reluctant to move too far from the road, though it would make them easier to find if vampires picked up their trail. Sam’s sixth sense was still failing her, and this caused her to become nervous. She knew that she would have only a few seconds’ warning if the spirit was following them- a statistic Sam didn’t like one bit. She now kept Scabbers in the front pocket of her camera bag, hoping that the small animal would spot something before she did and, as the rat was following them anyway, she saw no reason why the poor thing should exhaust itself trying to keep up with them.
The first few stars were shining brightly as Sam and Quirrel continued their trek into the night, but as soon as the sun went down, wisps of fog began drifting through the trees and overhead, soon thickening to tendrils, reaching fingers of thick mist that obliterated every landmark from view. The donkeys refused to carry on and they were forced to count footsteps from the road before hiding light and firelessly in the woods. Not long after, they saw a procession of grim, pale figures walking by silently in the night. There were hundreds of vampires walking past on the road. Sam took out her camera and began to take a few, sneaky, long-lens pictures of them. One of vampires must have caught a glimmer off the camera because she looked right at Sam, making her jump. The vampire smiled, and carried on with the others.
“Quirrel!” Sam hissed. “They know we’re here!”
“No sleep tonight,” Quirrel whispered back as he tried to steady the donkeys. “They might consider us attractive snacks.”
After what seemed like half the night, the last vampires passed them by. Sam took out a pack of playing cards and she and Quirrel kept themselves awake by gambling Knuts. They said nothing all night, not until the first grey rays of light began to seep through the fog. The vampires’ return to their lairs was rather more hurried, and no one paid Sam or Quirrel the slightest bit of attention. Sam laughed as the last one vanished from sight.
“He wasn’t there!” she breathed with relief. “Razekiel isn’t here!” She laughed again and took her very first celebratory sip of alcohol since leaving Hogwarts.

The next few days and nights followed a similar pattern. Until midday, Sam and Quirrel would sleep in their tents, and then travel on the road until dusk. As the sun set, they would move off the road and make slower progress there as the vampires moved around them towards various villages. Sam took a few photos at a couple of villages the night after a harvest, but after that, refused to go anywhere near the villages. It wasn’t so much the fact that the ground was stained with blood in these places that got to Sam; it was the way the other villagers would quietly clean it all up and look at Sam resentfully for taking those pictures, as if all they cared about was covering up what had happened and pretending it never had. They wouldn’t fight back, even if they could.
After three days of travelling, they finally reached a small, secluded city overlooking a beautiful river valley. If ever there could have been a real place that fairytales were based on, Sam knew this was it. The first time she set eyes on it, she used up half a film taking pictures of it. The city itself was kept in permanent shadow beneath a larger mountain than the one it was built into, but the very stones it was built of seemed to glow like marble in sunlight.
“Furimi,” Quirrel breathed, gazing on the city in awe. “I never thought it would be so… so… beautiful.” He turned to Sam, grinned with delight. “This city was built as the throne of Duke Zadrin, five hundred years ago.”
“That’s a good three hundred years after Razekiel’s first recorded appearance as a vampire,” Sam commented, disappointed that such a jewel of a place was filled with murderous creatures. “It’s a fairly new colony in that respect.”
“New, but powerful,” Quirrel replied. “Apart from the yearly harvest, they preserve the mountain villages, protecting them from feuding gangs. You’ve seen their numbers, but for every vampire, there must be twenty villagers.”
“That’s much higher than in other colonies. I’m amazed they sustain it,” Sam replied, all liking for the place vanishing as rapidly as the morning mist in the bottom of the valley. She sat down on a rock and held her head in her hands. “How do you suppose we’ll sneak into a party of vampires, then?”
“Sneak?” Quirrel looked as though the word was completely unfamiliar to him. “We’ll be invited, don’t you worry about that. That’s why it was imperative I chose a new colony, one that’s eager for fame. They WANT us here, they WANT to answer our questions-”
“They want our blood,” Sam replied flatly, before snapping a small piece of mint cake off the block she carried and chewed on it resentfully. It wasn’t a throne, as Quirrel had put it, it was a lure. The vampires weren’t so much protectors as they were farmers of ordinary people.
That day, they headed down into the valley to find a suitable place to leave the donkeys, and soon came across meadowland where they seemed content to stay. Taking as much as they could carry alone, and leaving the rest in an empty walkers’ refuge, Sam and Quirrel began to make their way up the steep but wide road to Furimi. The closer they got to the city, the more aware Sam was that it radiated weak mesmers, which battered against Razekiel’s within her like moths against a tiger. She commented on this to Quirrel, who made several hasty notes about the nature of mesmers.
“Not many people under a mesmer survive long enough to feel the effects of another trying to replace it,” Quirrel said. “There’s very little documentation on the phenomena.”
“Thanks,” Sam replied humourlessly. “I feel very special.” She looked up at the city, frowning. “It’s clever, though. Mesmers have been woven into the city’s structures. Enough to lure the weary traveller in.” She looked at Quirrel meaningfully, and she saw his first flicker of doubt. “What do we know about the Zadrini?” she asked him.
“Not much,” Quirrel conceded. “Not much at all. Apart from the harvest, who knows their preferences for hunting down prey?”
“Slatero,” Sam said, using his first name only as a way of securing his full attention. “I get the feeling this is going to be a trap.”
“You can fight?” Quirrel asked her.
“As well as any Blade.” To emphasise the point, she patted her necromancer’s blade in its scabbard at her side.
“Then there’s hope,” Quirrel told her. “The two of us together should be able to clear a path back out to the meadows. I doubt they’d follow us there, unless under the shadow of a conjured fog, which only occurs on the nights of the harvest.”
“How many more nights, Quirrel?” Sam asked, staring up at the city now with a determined glare.
“Two, and then the ball.”
“Right,” Sam said. “Let’s go.”

Great Post. Still can't believe that Sam went with Quirrel. Anyway, Can't wait to read more.

Really like how you bring in Scabbers. Is the "spirit" Voldemort?

It is indeed, though Sam has never encountered him personally up to this point, so she's unaware of that.

The road up to Furimi was cobbled with blue-white stones that had been worn down smooth by many hundreds of years of vampires parading down them to feast on nearby villages. As such, it was easier going than most of their journey had been so far, but the constant battle of wills between Razekiel’s and Zadrin’s mesmers was wearing Sam down. She kept glancing back at Quirrel, wondering just how much in the city’s thrall he was, but he, too, seemed to flagging a bit. He was trying to concentrate and remember his questions, Sam knew, so at least he was fighting it too. For once, Sam had it easier.
The gateway of Furimi consisted of a gigantic arch stretching over the road; there was no gate. It figured that the vampires would hardly be trying to keep fresh meat out, particularly when that fresh meat wandered so foolishly into their midst. Not for the first time that day, she asked herself why she was prepared to walk under that arch and into vampire territory. She sighed.
Because I have nothing more exciting to do, she told herself. She waited for Quirrel under the arch and surveyed the wide, well-lit streets ahead of her. Furimi was a welcoming place, and almost looked purpose-built for tourists. When Quirrel caught up with her, they only had to take six steps into the city before someone was hailing them.
“Greetings, Professor Quirrel!” A handsome, dark-haired man in a royal blue tabard came walking towards them, grinning toothily. He had fangs. He made no attempt to hide them. He also carried a gleaming sabre at his side, which brought Sam some consolation as she felt more confident in her own sword’s abilities than that of a glorified piece of wire. His accent was strongly Albanian. He took Sam’s hand and kissed it. “And you must be Professor Quirrel’s most charming assistant, Samantha Weasley, though I take it you prefer to be called Sam?”
“I’m impressed,” Quirrel said cheerily. “You’ve certainly done your research. Might enquire as to who you might be?” The vampire grinned more widely.
“My name is Althosi Zadrin, the younger son of Duke Zadrin who is most eager to meet with you both. Might I be so bold as to direct you to one of our finer hotels for your stay?” He attempted to hook his arm in a gentlemanly way around Sam’s, but she slipped out of his grip.
“I can walk,” Sam replied, glaring at him.
“A mere courtesy, I did not mean to offend you. It would seem,” Althosi added, staring not so much at her but into her. “That you have received the attentions of a vampire before. You are under a mesmer.”
“I have been,” Sam replied coolly. “I’m all right now.” Althosi raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, but Sam didn’t feel like telling him more. There was an awkward pause which might have lasted longer had Quirrel not interrupted.
“Shall we go, then?” he asked Althosi. The vampire renewed his smile and turned to Quirrel.
“But of course, Professor,” he replied. “Please, follow me.” Althosi led them through the fairytale streets of the city, passing pubs and theatres, fine restaurants, market stalls selling just about anything anyone could want, and old-fashioned shops with smiling keepers ready to cater for any taste. “Furimi is a large place, and easy to get lost in without a guide, but of course, that is how we prefer it. The both of you are invited to dine at any restaurant you so wish or, if you prefer, food can be brought to you in your rooms. Tomorrow, you will be met by two guides. Professor, you will be met by my cousin Darzien, who will be most happy to give you a tour of the city and answer your questions. Miss Weasley, you will be met by Rodia. There is nothing about clothing she doesn’t know about, and will take you to the most spectacular locations for your photography.”
“Why separate us?” Sam asked suspiciously.
“If you would prefer, you could both travel with Darzien, but I had thought you would find much of what he had to say uninteresting, Miss Weasley,” Althosi replied smoothly. “But I shall not stop you.”
“Go with Rodia,” Quirrel told Sam. “We can compare notes later.” Sam shrugged sullenly as they reached a white, marble-fronted hotel which a large, crimson canopy over its gilded and glass doors. Two vampires pulled the doors open for their guests, and Sam noted they wore the same blue tabard that Althosi wore. A lady vampire, whose wavy, golden hair had been tied into a neat bun behind her head, waited for them at a mahogany reception desk.
“Good day,” she greeted them. “Here are your keys. We’ve been expecting you.” They had been given separate rooms, though Sam was quietly glad about that. Althosi first took Sam to her room, which was lavishly decorated in various shades of pinks silks draping over almost everything. It seemed a bit much to Sam, but the bed was big and looked comfortable, so she thanked Althosi and watched him take Quirrel to the far end of the wing they were staying in.
Large, white double doors with many panes of glass in them opened out on to a balcony over-looking the part of the city they had just walked through and provided Sam with yet more glorious pictures of Furimi. After taking the pictures though, she closed the doors firmly, grabbed the chair from the vanity table and wedged it under the door handles. She had seen far too many movies to fall for that trick.
Of course, considering the vampires owned the hotel, they could have probably just unlocked her door whenever they wanted, but Sam chose to believe that these modern vampires had a sense of style that Razekiel certainly didn’t. Razekiel could go so far as being bestial in his pursuit of prey at times.
She walked into her bathroom and found a large, sunken white bath already filled with warm, bubbly water that smelled of vanilla and was, much to Sam’s dismay, also pink. She peeled off her walking clothes and sat in the warm water with a tentative sigh. After a few moments she ducked under the surface and began to wash her hair. Her eyes kept flickering to the mirrors in front of her which showed her empty room behind her.
And yet, that may have fooled the ordinary tourist, but not Sam, especially now that the presence of the spirit seemed to have faded now.
Without turning round, she spoke to the vampire she knew was already stood behind her.
“I don’t need anything,” she told the maid.
“As you wish,” came the reply. The vampire didn’t leave.
Sam groaned. They were going to be keeping a very close eye on her indeed.

By six in the evening, the maid hurried Sam into smart clothing and ushered her into the foyer of the hotel. Sam had protested, but the made had been very insistent and the only control Sam had been able to exercise was on ignoring the choice of dress the maid had chosen, and quickly slipping on a simpler grey one. As she waited in the foyer, she could hear Quirrel arguing with the man sent to his room, before finally, the vampire came down the stairs alone and offered his arm to Sam.
“Professor Quirrel has decided he would rather eat alone this evening,” the vampire said. “If you wish, you may have your food brought to your own room, or I will accompany you to the restaurant.”
“Quirrel doesn’t want to leave his room?” Sam asked suspiciously.
“He was quite sure of that,” the vampire replied. Sam felt another wave of unease run down her already tense spine. She excused herself briefly and hurried up the stairs towards Quirrel’s room. She knocked on the door.
“Quirrel?” she asked. She waited a moment, and then bashed her fist as hard as she could against the door before shouting, “SLATERO!” The door opened only a couple of inches. Quirrel peered out at her.
“Samantha?” he asked. “You l-look b-beautiful.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you stuttering?” Sam demanded, putting her hands on her hips before swiftly folding them instead as she reminded herself horribly of Aunt Molly. Quirrel opened the door a little wider.
“I d-don’t feel very well,” he replied a little more firmly. “B-but if y-you l-like, you c-can join me in here.” He opened the door wider to reveal that he was wearing a threadbare, green, towel dressing gown.
“Not until you’re dressed,” Sam replied firmly. Quirrel’s face flashed with anger and he slammed the door shut again.
“GO AWAY!” he yelled at her. “HARLOT! WENCH! JEZEBEL!!!” Sam jumped back as the edges of the door flashed with a curse thrown at them. Sam felt her own temper boil over.
“YOU’RE AS DELUDED AS SNAPE!” she yelled, feeling hot, angry tears starting to run down her face. She stormed back down the stairs and the vampire waiting for her there offered her a white handkerchief to wipe them away with. “Ugh, men!” she sniffed. “One minute, you think you know where you are and the next-” She let out a small cry of rage while the vampire watched her patiently, waiting for her to calm down.
“With vampires, it is easier. We are always courteous,” her new companion told her, smiling and showing off his pearly fangs. “Or else, the prey will stay far away from us.”
“Razekiel’s not like your lot,” Sam commented as the vampire took her gently by the arm and led her out into the cool, thick fog outside. “He’s very single-minded. Only really pursues one prey at a time, and is an opportunist for the rest of it.” Sam stopped. “It’s another harvest night, isn’t it?”
“It is,” the vampire replied.
“One sec,” Sam said, pulling herself free of the vampire and pulling her wand out of the sash tying her dress. “Accio sword!” she called. A couple of seconds later, the sword and scabbard came flying out of her room and she fastened them around her waist.
“I assure you, you aren’t on the menu tonight, Miss Weasley,” the vampire told her kindly. Sam scowled back at him.
“Not any more, I’m not.” They walked on in silence for a bit. “So… do they bring you back… um… food?” she asked, not really wanting to talk about ‘prey’ so soon before eating.
“Yes,” the vampire replied. “It would be foolish to leave the city unattended. Who knows how many people would then sneak into the city and set an ambush for us?”
“Zadrin’s quite a strategist then, is he?” Sam asked humourlessly.
“Oh yes, he likes things to be organised and ordered. It is very rare we engage in any sort of hunts these days.” The vampire sighed mournfully. “I rather miss it, the chasing through the woods, real prey that could fight back. We have become little more than farmers.” Sam tried to swallow away her growing sense of nausea.
“Tell me, this restaurant you’re taking me to,” Sam said. “Does it serve desserts?” The vampire grinned widely.
“Oh yes, marvellous desserts,” he replied. “Dark chocolate especially.” Sam nodded. After hearing about the hunts, the harvests, and Quirrel sudden outburst, Sam didn’t really feel like eating anything but desserts. She and the vampire walked alone to the restaurant, and ate alone together, or rather, Sam ate and Pathos, her companion, watched and talked to her. She made notes occasionally about what Pathos said, but more often than not was taking down the recipes of whatever it was she happened to be eating. By the time Sam had finished, she knew a great deal more about desserts, and enough about the Zadrini to know that her stay in Furimi was welcome only until after the last dance of their ball.
Sam returned upstairs to her room alone, but hesitated before going inside. She decided to check on Quirrel first and walked up to his door. She was about to knock when she heard him speaking.
“…don’t need her, not really. She’s a meddling necromancer. She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. Can’t she see all the things I’ve done for her? But no, no, she’s a heartless, cruel user, that’s all. You’re right, I don’t need her, I don’t really need her at all.”
Sam backed away from the door, her hand clamped over her own mouth to stop herself from saying anything. She stumbled into her own room, locked the door and collapsed on to the floor.
It wasn’t the vampires she should really be afraid of.
It was Quirrel.

“Good morning.” Sam’s response to this began with a startled ‘nya-ha-wo?!’ before she realised that the immaculately dressed vampire sat demurely on the end of her bed was holding a gilded tray with breakfast on it. “My name is Rodia. I believe you were told to expect me.”
“Not on the end of my bed,” Sam replied, wrapping the covers up over her, though a small voice in the back of her head told her that her modesty had been violated already. She ignored it desperately. “Have you heard from Quirrel? Is he all right?”
“He left early this morning with Darzien,” Rodia replied. “You will meet him back here this evening, I suspect, in time for the ball.” Sam reached across to her bedside cabinet and picked up her camera.
“Do you mind?” she asked. Rodia smiled like a supermodel as Sam took a photograph of her. “Thanks,” Sam told her, before taking the tray from Rodia and helping herself to warm croissants and far too large a choice of things to put on them. After finishing breakfast, Rodia took the tray to the door, where the maid from the day before was waiting to take it down to the kitchens. Sam got out of bed and went into the bathroom, examining the door to see if it had a lock on it. It didn’t.
After getting dressed, she packed up all her belongings into the pack she had brought with her. Rodia still watched her.
“Why are you packing? You’re not leaving here tonight, surely? You’ll miss the ball!”
“No, I won’t,” Sam replied shortly. “I just want to leave early tomorrow morning.” She could remember her parents saying things like that to her. They would pack up everything, as if ready to leave in a couple of minutes, but insist they were not planning to leave ahead of schedule. Then, in the middle of the night, they would wake Sam up and they’d flee from wherever it was they were staying. Sam knew she couldn’t stay another night in the hotel. It simply wasn’t safe.
Having finished packing and dressing, Sam had her arm grabbed by Rodia and she was led quite forcefully into Furimi’s markets. Too many of the stallholders and shopkeepers kept fussing over her, insisting that THIS design would suit her, that THIS fabric was better, and that THESE shoes were ideal. Sam pretended to listen, but as Rodia was supposed to be the expert, she trusted her guide to choose… but only to a point. Sam was trying on a particular type of dress that Rodia had claimed was absolutely stunning, which, it had to be said, it was. When Sam caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, she’s been amazed to see that there was no trace of tomboy left in her.
Nor she could move faster than a slow walk.
“I can’t r… dance in this,” Sam said, hastily correcting herself. The shopkeeper had seemed most offended by this comment, but Rodia grinned and laughed.
“Of course, you’ll want to dance, won’t you?” she replied, her laughter sounding as musical as bells. “Perhaps this one, then?” Sam looked at. Oh yes, she could DANCE in it, but she wouldn’t be able to run. She shook her head, and then spotted a dress which looked as though it had been designed for the purpose.
“That one,” she said, pointing at a black and purple dress. The skirt was made of some kind of stretchy velvet, and was completely train-less. It would be ideal. Rodia looked very pleased indeed, while the shopkeeper tutted and walked into the back of his shop to sulk.
“I expect you’ll want boots like this to go with it, then?” Rodia asked mischievously, picking out a pair of black, chunky boots. Sam folded her arms.
“You want to me to escape, don’t you? There’s something about this ball which even Quirrel doesn’t know, isn’t there? So why is it no one knows what happens the night after the ball?” Rodia tried to look innocent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.
“I’ll bet,” Sam growled. She tried to find money to pay the shopkeeper, but Rodia dragged her out of the shop before she could.
“It’s a gift,” Rodia said, smiling. “Duke Zadrin has said that you and Professor Quirrel are here as his honoured guests. He’ll be delighted to meet you tonight.” Sam didn’t reply, but she disliked being referred to as an honoured guest.

As the day wore on, Sam saw the whole of Furimi with Rodia as her guide. The way Rodia acted was half way between being as delighted as someone who had found a new best friend, and making it very clear that Sam belonged to her, and no one else. Just as evening began to fall over the city, Rodia took her to a balcony which overlooked the gateway into Furimi so that she could see countless, beautiful, fairytale coaches arriving, drawn by the most wonderful horses. The people who got out of these coaches were dressed expensively.
“Local nobles, that sort of thing,” Rodia told her. “We don’t eat them, fortunately.” Rodia escorted Sam back to the hotel and left her to get ready alone. Sam acted very quickly. She grabbed her pack, stuffing her normal clothes in on top, and left the hotel early, telling the vampires that she wanted to see the horses, which was only partly true. It didn’t take too much flattering conversation to convince one of the grooms to loan her a horse for an hour, and she rode out of the city and back towards the donkeys. She was shocked to see that only Maja remained out of the three. The others had fled, but they hadn’t gone far. It looked as though some of the vampires had snacked on the way back to Furimi from the Harvest. Maja was shaking and nervous at Sam’s approach, but as Sam put her hand on Maja’s nose, the donkey calmed. Sam put her pack on Maja’s back, and then drew her sword as she muttered a few of the Old Words under her breath.
The small lights that had served her so well at Hogwarts returned, though they seemed highly agitated. There was more trouble about than just vampires. Perhaps it was the spirit that had possessed Alfred, or perhaps it was Razekiel… Sam shuddered, not willing to consider either.
“Guide Maja into the woods. When I call for you, bring her to me,” Sam commanded the lights. They immediately started to swim around Maja’s head. She snorted, before following them obediently into the woods. Sam buckled her sword to her side, got back on to the horse and rode at a gallop back to the hotel. As she had hoped, Quirrel had not yet made his appearance in the foyer. She had only enough time to tame her hair again before he did appear, however.
Sam’s eyes widened as he appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked grim faced, his skin a shade less colourful, his eyes fixed for a moment before he walked down towards her, but he didn’t even acknowledge her presence. The most startling change, however, was that he now wore a turban. It was green, to match the billowing, regal robe he wore- and beneath it, Sam couldn’t see any sign of his once curly hair.
“Slatero?” Sam asked him. He turned at the sound of her voice, and looked her up and down in crude way that made Sam immediately recoil in disgust.
“Shall we go, then, Miss Necromancer?” he asked her in a cruel, oily tone of voice. For appearance’s sake Sam hooked her hand through Quirrel’s arm, but inwardly, she felt utterly repulsed. They walked up the steep hill towards Duke Zadrin’s palace, following in the footsteps of nobles and vampires, the latter of which kept staring at Sam as though evaluating her appearance.
“Yes, this is certainly going to be an exciting evening for all of us,” Quirrel said cheerfully, but there was something so dark in his smile that Sam nearly let go to walk in the opposite direction.

I shan't disappoint you, I hope!

Vampires lined the great stairs leading towards the mighty door of Duke Zadrin, currently thrown open to allow a wash of golden light to cover every approaching guest. As Sam and Quirrel approached, Sam was given a card with all the dances written on it. It was comforting to her to realise she knew them all, except for the very last one entitled “The Duke’s Waltz”- her dance teachers had never let her down. She looked at Quirrel.
“Did you-” she began, but he snatched the card out of her hand and wrote his name beside the first dance.
“I wouldn’t miss th- this for the world,” he replied, suddenly looking nervous again.
“Are you all right?” Sam asked him, staring into his eyes, but they seemed to have glazed over, and the response almost seemed to come from somewhere else.
“I’m fine, my dear,” he replied, smiling broadly.
Someone else was at the controls.
Sam sighed and allowed Quirrel to walk her into the hall. The first thing she noticed as she stood on a raised section of tiled floor above the dancers was the enormous chandelier above them. It was easily twice as large as her, but only its size impressed her. Beyond that, it seemed to be too much, an effort to overwhelm by grandeur. However, then she looked down into the throng of dancers below her and had to grab the balustrade as a wave of giddiness swept over her.
It was the same scene she remembered from her dream. With each step of the dance, she expected a gap to reveal Razekiel’s leering face staring back at her. Any ability to feel any necromancy was long gone, there were other things at play here.
She looked at Quirrel.
He was watching her, amused.
“Shall we?” he asked, and before she could argue, had dragged her down amongst the dancers and started swirling her around the dance floor… except Sam could never remember Quirrel ever saying he could dance. The other dancers, most of them vampires, were watching her as they passed with their own partners, and every face she saw, she tried to recognise, but none of them were Razekiel… yet.
Part way through the dance, various vampires came to sign her card, though when they reached the final dance, nobody would sign, and they would all turn away, rejected. They were saving it for someone.
And over and over in her head, she saw herself at Razekiel’s mercy.
The dance ended and everybody started to laugh and clap as they dispersed and went to find refreshments before the next dance. Quirrel left Sam alone, and followed a few vampires away from the dancers, talking animatedly to them about clans and turning and other things for his research. In a way, it was a relief to hear him talking about his research, and not anything else. At the same time, she couldn’t help but think of the time she’d first realised that every time her parents wanted to study the serious Dark Arts, they would send Sam to dance classes just to keep her occupied. Someone was keeping Quirrel occupied, so occupied that he wouldn’t notice if Sam got into trouble.
“Hello again!” Sam turned to see Rodia stood next to her. “I almost thought you’d run away before this evening.”
“Hm,” Sam replied, just as Quirrel moved out of sight.
“Oh, don’t worry about him, there’s nothing you can do now, anyway,” Rodia told her sweetly. “The master has him.”
“The master?” Sam asked her hurriedly. “Zadrin?” Rodia laughed.
“No!” she replied, before lowering her voice to a dark whisper. “Zadrin is getting old now, he can’t hunt like he used to,” she said. “A few of us are interested in following someone more powerful.” She looked from side to side, conspiratorially. “Voldemort.” Sam let out a yelp and bashed into a noble behind her, causing him to spill his drink. He shouted at her in Albanian, but Sam neither understood or cared. Dancers began to congregate on the floor, but Sam didn’t want to stay a moment longer. She made a run for the stairs, but a large vampire in a blue tabard stopped her.
“Duke Zadrin has requested you stay for the last dance, Miss Weasley,” he told her, pointing towards the far end of the hall, to where Duke Zadrin himself was sat upon a wooden throne overseeing everything. His booming voice announced each dance, and during each, he was speaking to a large crowd of nobles in turn. “So you’re not going anywhere.”
“Besides, I believe I asked you for the next dance,” Pathos said, arriving behind her. Sam hadn’t even noticed who had signed her card. She reluctantly followed Pathos on to the dance floor, and she danced, but while he feet walked the steps, her thoughts were elsewhere.
Voldemort was supposed to be dead, but Rodia claimed he wasn’t, so where was he, then?
“You seem a little distracted,” Pathos said, before snapping her out of her thoughts by nearly dropping her to the floor in an effortless move which showed off his strength.
“What do you know about Voldemort?” she asked him as he righted her again. Pathos pulled her in close to him and muttered in her ear.
“Don’t speak of him here!” he hissed. “There’s a great many here who will tear us apart if we so much as mention his name!” At the end of the dance, he marched away from her, looking around at his fellow vampires worriedly.
For a few more of the dances, Sam kept quiet, just hoping the time would pass quickly. Eventually, Althosi went with her for the penultimate dance.
“There seems to be a bit of a power struggle,” she commented to him. “Your father… is he all right?” Althosi’s face darkened.
“A foreign wizard seeks to use vampires as a force to get him back into your country,” he told her, neatly stepping with her in what was quite a complicated version of the Stepstone Witches’ Foxtrot. “The older vampires turned him down, we’re loyal to my father, and he has brought us greatness. The younger ones… they are impatient, bloodthirsty and violent. They have no sense of honour, or of contracts. I should warn you, Samantha-” He held her so intimately close that, for the briefest of moments, she felt Razekiel’s mesmer shrink away a little. “This wizard has no solid form at the moment. He is a spirit walking between planes, forced to possess bodies in order to survive. A master necromancer must seem like a most terrible foe to him.”
“I’m no master,” Sam replied. “He completely overwhelms me.”
“That is… unfortunate,” Althosi said regretfully as the dance began to draw to a close. “They will come for you tonight. They care nothing that another vampire has claimed you. They will hunt you down, and they will make your death painful and slow. The moment you leave my father’s palace, he can not protect you. No doubt those loyal to my father will try to stop the rebellion, but the presence of yourself and Professor Quirrel has proved a catalyst to the cause.
“Tonight will be a night of bloodshed.” Sam looked at Althosi for a moment, and then stopped dancing, putting her hands on her hips.
“Not. Mine.” Althosi grabbed her again and they continued to dance. He was grinning madly.
“That’s what I like to hear!” he laughed as they raced the other dancers around the hall. The Zadrini vampires couldn’t protect her, but she knew that Voldemort would be in trouble if he ever took on a corporeal form in Albania.
The dance came to an end, and Althosi moved through the hall towards his father. There was an excited air in the hall, and when Duke Zadrin got to his feet and made his way down the stairs, the crowd parted before him. His eyes were fixed on Sam’s, but she could detect any attempt of a mesmer now- he seemed to know it was pointless.
“A dance?” he asked her, bowing low before her. Sam took a deep breath; every eye in the hall was on her.
“Of course,” she replied slowly. Duke Zadrin led her to the dance floor, where a large space had been cleared for them. The orchestra began to play a slow tune, and they began to dance together in a graceful, dreamy waltz.
“I must say, you’re something of a curiosity,” Zadrin told her. “A mesmerised woman, apparently left to her own devices. This Lord Razekiel doesn’t want you dead, that much is apparent. Why does he want you?” Sam cocked her head on one side and smirked at him. Zadrin looked back at her innocently. “I ask out of curiosity, of course,” he continued.
“I bet you do,” Sam replied sarcastically.
“Very well, have your secrets- they are the sword you will fall on,” Zadrin told her, before suddenly looking very distant, and missing a step in the dance just as the music exploded into a racy, fast, wild dance as everyone shrieked and laughed around them. “How strange…” he breathed.
“What is?” Sam asked his quickly, nervously looking around at the other guests. Zadrin looked her in the eyes sadly.
“I once, I’ll admit, killed a seer. Ever since then, I have suffered the effects of occasional, reversed deja-vu. You, Samantha, would be wise in seeking out a seer.”
“I have a close friend who’s a seer, but he refused to tell me something years ago. I haven’t really spoken to him since, too much has been going on,” Sam added, her voice trailing off regretfully as she thought of Segur. Duke Zadrin looked at her with studying eyes.
“You have to leave. Now, before the end of the dance, or Voldemort’s followers will kill you! Go!” He insisted, pushing her in the whirling, frenzied throng of dancers. Sam almost fell to be crushed under foot, but she stumbled through them. The guards already seemed to know Zadrin’s wishes, as they let her pass, but just as she reached the door, she heard screams from the dance floor below. The rebellion had begun. Vampires were fighting vampires and the nobles were getting caught in the middle.
Sam burst through the doors of the palace, sprinted down the steps and into the dark streets of Furimi. She had only desperation on her side- somehow, if she reached Maja, everything would be all right.
Somehow.
She had to believe that to live.

Woah...good post! Run Sam Run! :sorcerer:

She's running! She's running!

The streets appeared to be empty as Sam ran past closed shops and restaurants and stalls. She made it as far as the gate before looking behind her to see if she was being chased. There was… no one? She leaned against the arch and tried to catch her breath. All was still in Furimi, peaceful, sleepy, nothing sinister whatsoever.
“Hello.” Sam let out a yelp of shock as she realised Rodia was stood right behind her.
“Rodia! What’s going on?!” Sam demanded. “Zadrin said-”
“Zadrin doesn’t control us any more,” Rodia purred, moving ever closer. “We… are… free.” Her hand touched the side of Sam’s head and gently pushed so that Sam’s neck was revealed.
But she was watching Sam’s eyes, and Sam was only under one mesmer, and it wasn’t Rodia’s. Sam drove her fist as hard as she could into Rodia’s stomach, making her double up. Sam quickly pushed her away and sprinted down the cobbled road towards the woods where Maja would be waiting, but she dared not call for her yet. From further up the slope and pouring out of exits in Furimi that Sam could have sworn had not been there before, came the rest of Voldemort’s vampire followers. They grinned and hooted and laughed and jeered as Sam found herself being driven into the woods. They wanted her to go that way. She should have stayed in the open! She still could! She veered off the road and started to scramble up the grassy verge instead, hoping to take a short cut over the top of the hill, but she was scrambling up a slope, while her attackers were running down it.
One suddenly leapt up in front of her that she blinded with a ‘Lumos Solem’ curse that sent him screaming away from her, hands clamped over his eyes and smoke leaking out from between his fingers. As he staggered away, three others rose to take his place, but Sam wasn’t willing to hang around until they reached her. She was too exhausted to stand at the top of the hill, and as such could barely shout one of the most powerful Old Words she knew, sending the spirits of all the vampires who heard flying out of their bodies and shrieking into the night before dissipating. Having cleared a path ahead of her, Sam forced herself on to her aching legs and ran down the other side of the hill. The other vampires were being more cautious now in approaching her, but the act of clearing a path had drained Sam’s already depleted necromantic skills. Not, of course, that the vampires realised it yet.
She knew she had to get into the woods to escape the valley, that was the fastest way. Once out of the valley, she would be safe- the vampires wouldn’t chase her out of a place where the sun really didn’t shine. She did almost a tight U-turn to flee into the woods, but instantly, she discovered why she had been sent this way. More vampires awaited her in the woods, hiding behind trees and in their branches. As she ran past, they tried to grab at her, her clothes, her limbs, even her hair. Each time one got a hold, she cast the ‘Peruro’ hex, burning them until they let go with angry snarls of pain.
But each grab required another burst of strength to free herself from it, and Sam’s energy was all but gone. She forced herself to continue further and further into the woods, but her vision was clouding over. She began to feel giddy and light-headed. She started to slow, before stumbling right into the waiting arms of Pathos, who shoved her up against a tree.
“Good night, Miss Weasley,” he hissed. His teeth were the last things she saw before slipping into a moment of blackness, accompanied only by a sharp pain in her neck. A desperately conscious part of her mind in the back of her head told her grimly that she had been bitten. That was it. She was dead.

There was a howl.
A howl that could only be made by human vocal chords, and yet still so bestial that in its wake, large animals of the forest stampeded past. There were distant shouts of alarm, followed by screams of terror. She could feel death after death after death.
And she could do nothing about it. Not even her own.
Sam’s eyes flickered open again just as Pathos released her and she slid down the tree on to the leafy earth. He was calling to the others in Albanian. Sam didn’t understand. It didn’t matter.
You’re dead, said the voice in her head.
YOU’RE MINE, said another.
Sam swore with her last breath and passed out for a final time.

“Samantha?”
Now THAT was strange.
For some reason, Zadrin’s words came flying back to her.
You, Samantha, would be wise in seeking out a seer.

Why isn't Sam dead? What stopped Pathos?

Well, anyway, wonderful as usual. keep up the good work.

Sorry about the long delay- work tires me out so much I can barely hold a conversation, let alone type up parts of my story. However- why isn't Sam dead? Who stopped Pathos? Read on to find out...

A large fire was roaring in a cavernous fireplace as Ostheim slowly crossed the library floor to where Sam was sat in an armchair. At least, Sam had made an attempt to sit in the armchair, which had been built to Lord Segur’s proportions, but it was more accurate to say she was balancing a fine line between staying visible and being swallowed up by massive cushions. Khyath, on the other hand, sat in his own chair, looking calm and collected as ever, though even he tried not to smirk as the butler handed Sam a large, yellow mug with brown bunnies on it to her. He held it as though at any moment the bunnies would leap up and overwhelm him.
“Ist there anything else, sir?” Ostheim wheezed.
“No, Ostheim, you may go,” Khyath replied. There was a moment of comfortable silence as they waited patiently for the butler to creep out of the library, and then Sam sat upright again, almost fast enough to fall out of the chair. She winced and rubbed the large bandage on her neck.
“If you think that for one moment I’m going to believe that you ‘just happened’ to be in Albania, you’re very much mistaken,” she told Khyath, scowling at him.
“Samantha, please,” Khyath replied smoothly, smiling the winning smile that was currently carrying him on some very popular teen witch magazines in Germany. “I vas just in the right place at the right time.” Sam glared at him more ferociously. “A little bird told me vhere to find you?” Khyath tried, unsuccessfully. “Ah, you vin, this time only!” he replied, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Your mother had the exact same stare,” he added, shuddering.
Khyath got to his feet and wandered nearer to the fireplace, staring into the less intense heat of the fire rather than Sam’s furious gaze.
“I did not go to Albania for you. I vent for Razekiel,” he said, in one, hastily drawn breath. As if stopping now would hurt him terribly, he continued before Sam could interrupt, and she knew better than to try. “I… I saw something most terrible. I saw Razekiel leading vampires and necromancers across your country. You vere not his target anymore… perhaps you vere dead. I know I vish I had seen you, perhaps then I could say how long it vill be before he unites these forces, but you did not feature in this vision.
“And vorse vas yet to come,” Khyath continued, his voice cracking slightly. “Razekiel vas only a part of a much larger force- many, many people followed him… not Razekiel-” he added, shaking his head angrily. “Another. Somevon Razekiel obeyed. A boy, a mere boy! That is vhat I saw! Such intense eyes, that bore into my head… all I knew vas that I had to stop this dream in any vay I could. I only knew Razekiel, but he vould not be hard to track. The Segur family are not ill prepared for vampires, and a team, headed by myself, set out to destroy Razekiel once and for all.
“Vhen I got to Albania, I heard stories from locals that described you in all too familiar detail. I knew ve vere on the right track then. For days, I believed I vould arrive too late, that Razekiel’s victory depended upon you dying in the forest at his hand. As ve approached Furimi, ve heard screams the like of which I hope never to hear again!” At this, he stared Sam in the eyes. “You! You necromancers are numb to the shock of death! How could you understand vhat mere mortals vould make of those screams?!” Sam got to her feet and marched towards Khyath.
“Whatever you heard in the woods, don’t take it out on me,” Sam snarled. “I saw things much more frightening than death. Quirrel is not himself! He’s been taken over by the spirit of Lord Voldemort! Don’t you know what this means?”
“How vould I know?!” Khyath barked back. “Agh! Sam, Quirrel is not who I saw, I know that much, and nothing beyond. I saw a boy.” He sighed deeply. “Please excuse my frustration. I sought to change the future by saving you. Sure enough, you vere in the hands of a vampire vhen I arrived, but not Razekiel. Though there vere many vampires, their attention vas not on us. They vere far more concerned vith Razekiel, who vas tearing through their number like an enraged beast tears through grass to reach its prey. All who stood in his vay vere torn apart, limbs wrenched from bodies, heads from torsos. Most of my team fled at the carnage, but you vere still in danger. I myself wrestled you avay from the vampire holding you, but you vere already out cold, and losing blood fast. I dragged you avay, I thought that simply by saving your life, I could prevent a horrible future.
“But it has changed nothing, Sam. Razekiel vill still live to raise his army for the boy. Soon after I reached you, the sun rose, and ve vere suddenly alone in the forest. All vas far too quiet. I took you back to a large town, and there they saw to your vounds. That is it.”
Sam took a deep breath, sighed, and returned to her chair.
“What did the boy look like? Shouldn’t we kill the leader?” Sam asked him. Khyath shook his head.
“Don’t ask me any more, Sam,” he begged her. “Ve Segurs have a talent for directing the future as ve vould vish to see it. Ve vill not the kill the boy. But ve should have killed Razekiel.”
“And left me to rot? Thanks, Khyath,” Sam replied, laughing, but Khyath was all seriousness now.
“No, I saved your life and lost the chance to make the future right, so it is now your responsibility to make things right,” he told her.
“Since when?” Sam squeaked, feeling woozy again and having to sit down. “I can’t fight Razekiel, you know I can’t fight him!”
“But there is another-” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Weasley necromancer who could stop him, and cease the duality of the Matteus and Pax lines, yes?” Sam scowled. Oh yes, there was another Weasley necromancer all right, but he would never be able to take on Razekiel. He didn’t even know he was a necromancer. As for the duality of the lines, well, of course it had been a blot on the history of the two ‘ravens’ that currently dwelt with Madame Beauvarisse- Razekiel continued a dead branch of the line that should have been snipped with his death. As a result, the power of the Matteus and Pax lines was caught in a tug of war between the two and was never concentrated enough to challenge the other lines. Matteus and Pax had lost leadership over the circle of necromancers in France because of this.
“Khyath, I can’t,” Sam pleaded. “Ron is my cousin, and my cousins are all I’ve got. I’m sorry, but you’ll find a way of stopping Razekiel without him.” She finished the hot chocolate and, feeling strengthened at the thought of her family, got to her feet. “Good night, Khyath,” she told him.
“There is very little that is good about it,” Khyath replied.

Great post. :flowersmile: can't wait to see what happens next.

Sorry for the l-o-n-g delay- I blame work (no holiday at all, oh no, none whatsoever :whisle: )

Sam slept for most of her journey back to England, and she was met outside the airport by Arthur and Charlie in the Ford Anglia. She barely said a word as she lugged her suitcase into the deceptively cavernous boot, because one of the very first things she had seen upon her arrival had been Quirrel’s face on the cover of Witch Weekly.
A hero, they were calling him. An amazing pioneer in vampire research. How tragic that he had lost his assistant! How happy he was to hear that she’d been found in the nick of time!
“I take it you read Witch Weekly, then,” Charlie said to her from the front of the car as they pulled away from the airport. Sam scowled at him. “It’s not that bad, is it? I mean, the magazines have printed loads of your pictures.”
“Not that I got paid for them!” Sam snapped. “I don’t care, anyway! Hasn’t anyone noticed, yet? Quirrel’s not Quirrel anymore!”
“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked her warily.
“He’s been taken over by Voldemort! Didn’t you get my letter?”
“Oh.” There was a terrible, all-knowing, resigned tone to that ‘Oh’ that made Sam’s blood run cold.
“You [i]do[i] believe me, Uncle, don’t you?” Sam asked him.
“Well, after everything that’s been going on, and the state Khyath found you in… don’t you think you’ve maybe made a mistake?” Arthur asked her gently. Sam’s face fell slack.
“Drop me off in London,” she growled.
“But Molly wants you-” Arthur stopped, slowed the car, and changed direction. “Sam, please think about this,” he sighed. “Quirrel let you down, I understand that. He left you in Albania on your own, and I can’t tell you how worried we’ve been, but that’s not to say he’s been possessed by a man who died years ago!” He looked at Sam pleadingly for a few moments in the rear-view mirror. She refused to even blink.
“Uh, Dad,” Charlie asked cautiously. “Maybe you should just drop us off here, okay?” Arthur slowed the car to a halt and Sam and Charlie got out of the car. Charlie kindly grabbed Sam’s bag and they watched Arthur’s car pull away into the traffic and vanish. At that moment, Charlie whipped out a letter from inside his jacket.
“We got this a couple of days ago,” he said, grinning widely. Sam tore apart the already-opened envelope and started reading the letter as Charlie continued: “I know it’s a pain not getting paid but-”
“Brilliant,” Sam interrupted, grinning widely.

[i]FROM THE OFFICES OF ‘VIGILANCE’ MAGAZINE
Knockturn Alley, London

Ms. Weasley,

We had your work brought to our attention by a photo printed on the cover of The Daily Prophet (15th Nov 1984), and we have decided to offer you the post of photographer for our magazine.

As with all our photographers, you will only be paid for work done, but we are sure that you will have no problems finding appropriate photographic opportunities. Photographers’ fees range from 200 to 500 Galleons for each roll of film submitted, depending on quality and relevance.

Your parents did fine work for us too; you should know they would have been proud of you.

We look forward to seeing you in our offices ASAP to collect your first assignment.

Yours sincerely,

Theodolphus Smale[i]

“I’ve got some other news,” Charlie told her. “Well, there’s a few bits and pieces really. Percy’s started Hogwarts and is a Gryffindor; Fred and George ended up in St Mungo’s after they hexed each other’s limbs to fall off, but they’ve all been reattached; and, uh, I’m working for the Ministry, Magical Creatures department.” Sam hugged him tightly.
“Charlie, that’s great!” she laughed. “Isn’t it?”
“Oh, you know what the others are like. They think I’ve sold out to the new Minister for Magic, Fudge.”
“Fudge? I thought Crouch was tipped for it?” Sam asked, frowning. They started to walk towards the Leaky Cauldron. Charlie whistled in awe.
“You [i]have[i] missed a lot,” he said. “Crouch’s son got done for torturing the Longbottoms, along with Rabastan, Rodulphus and Bellatrix Lestrange.” Sam stooped in her tracks.
“The Longbottoms?! Are they all right?” Charlie shook his head sadly.
“They’re not going to recover,” he told her. “They seemed to believe Vo- You-Know-Who was coming back too, and they thought Frank and Alice, as Aurors, would know where he was. They had a little boy, you know, Neville. He’s gone to live with his grandmother.” Charlie shuddered. “[i]Scary[i], that one.”
“But he [i]is[i] back, Charlie!” Sam exclaimed desperately. “He’s taken over Quirrel!” She kicked a wall angrily and let out a small cry of rage. “AAAARRRGGHHH!!!! That’s why this country needs necromancers! They’d have found him the moment he came back here!” Charlie put his h