Author's Note:

To my readers,

I apologize for the unintended hiatus. I would like to say that something exciting and noteworthy happened in my life to have caused such a long break, but that would be a lie. Unfortunately, I got hit with a bad case of writer's block as well as a lack of motivation and plain ol' laziness. I'm hoping with the stay-at-home order in place, I might be able to get back into the groove of writing again, fingers cross. Anyhoot, without further ado, shall we begin?

Chapter 76

The heavy English-oak door slammed against the stone wall of an ornate office, startling the occupants in living portraits as well as an imprisoned phoenix. A lone figure in ghastly colored robes stormed into the office. His magic barely contained and threatened to destroy his office. The only sounds that echoed within was his heavy breathing; a poor attempt to regain his calm. However, nothing seemed to work; then suddenly, he felt a sharp pain rip through him, starting at his knee and spreading up along his leg.

His legs no longer were able to support his weight, causing him to crumble and giving a startled gasp as he fell. A bit dazed from when his head hit the stone floor; it took him a few moments to get his baring. When he did, he had the overwhelming urge to gag. The air was whelmed with odors of rotten eggs and ammonia. He also felt an oily substance beneath his hand as he propped himself up. He brought his hand to his nose, causing another urge to gag at the realization that the putrid scent was coming from the strange liquid on his hand.

He attempted to stand, only to realize that he could not get to his feet. His eyes grew wide as he frantically clawed at his robes, pulling them up to reveal his left leg had fallen off at the knee and that his stub was leaking blood and other bodily fluids. Horrified, he turned his gaze to his right leg, which was swollen and discolored with marbling; ready to rupture as well.

"ELF!" He bellowed in a blind panic.

A tiny little house-elf appeared and let out a horrified screech at the sight of the rotten leg. Before it could do anything more, it was hit with a hazy purple light. Slowly the little creature became a grotesque husk of its former self, leaving behind a mummified corpse. The elf's body dropped like a puppet cut from its strings, and hovering above the collapsed shell was an orb, weaving about itself like a nest of snakes. Then the orb flew into the decaying wizard.

Instantly, the stolen life rejuvenated the old man, healing the discolored, swollen leg. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done with the limb that had already rotten away. The most the stolen life did was heal the stump. Enraged, the deranged wizard bisected the elf's body; using one half to create a stiff prosthetic leg and the other half a cane.

He stared at the prosthetic leg with a sneer. Transfiguration was not his forte. While the prosthetic looked like the lower half of a leg, it was obvious that it was transfigured from an elf's corpse, especially with the shrunken face of the mummified creature around the shin. Throwing his robes over his legs, he stiffly stood up and hobbled to his desk. As he sat down, he banished the rotting limb and stench, and thought back at to what caused the sudden increase in decay in his body. The only thing came to mind was his magic, which was currently fueled by his anger. He knew it was bound to happen, that his magic – his soul – would begin to reject the body he currently possessed; however, his magic was rejecting his body at a faster rate than he had anticipated, meaning that he would be needing a new body sooner than he had planned.

He reached over to the candy dish filled with lemon drops. Picking one of the sour candies, he stared at it. Truth be told, he did not even liked lemons, but lemon was the only flavor that could mask the scent and taste of the Level IV Calming Draught within. The Calming Draught, in general, had a unique scent and flavor that anyone can identify without being a Potions Master. While a Level IV Calming Draught is not a Class A potion per se - a potion that was regulated and monitored by St. Mungo's - it would still raise suspicion if it were known that a person was regularly taking the draught. After all, Kief - one of the active ingredients in the draught - had an addictive property, and if one were not careful, it could be easy for an individual to overdose on a Level IV Calming Draught.

As he mentally calculated the adjustments needed to make the potion effective again, he froze as he had come to a horrified conclusion. He had become too tolerant of Kief; meaning he would need to increase the amount of Kief in the potion. He already had done so before; nearly doubling the original amount in fact. Knowing he would have to double, or even triple, the amount of Kief in order for the potion to be even slightly effective, he had to make a decision regarding to his little pawn and the unknown Darkling, and make it quickly.

He could not wait for the brat to defeat Tom; not with how quickly his body was decaying. He estimated that he had less than a year before his body would be beyond use.

Clutching at the lemon drop, he felt his anger rising when he thought about the damned brat. How and when did the brat gained the Black Lordship?! He had been careful in keeping his pawn isolated from the Wizarding World, preventing his pawn from discovering his own political worth. After all, why allow a weapon to form a political opinion or even give a weapon political power, especially when said weapon will no longer be as it once was?

It had been his plan to take the boy's body as his own – much like he did with his current body – and use the brat's frame as means to stay in power. However, now that the trice-damned hell spawn knew and held one of his many titles, it was going to be near impossible to impersonate the little shit. It did not take a genius to realize that there would be a drastic personality change once he took over the whelp's body.

He frowned as he thought about taking the impudent child. Did he genuinely want the body of an unruly urchin when there was a Darkling roaming about? True, the boy would have significant political clout once properly cultivated, but a Darkling, whose powers – although unknown – would make him powerful beyond his imagination. However, a Darkling would be a political unknown in the Wizarding World and therefore politically useless, not like the thrice damned hell spawn.

Political currency or untold magical powers? He could not decide.

Closing his eyes and leaning back into his throne, he had to calm his mind and emotions. He would have to push his plans for his weapon aside until he had better hold of his emotions. He could not afford to make any mistakes now that his body was decaying faster than he had calculated. Without much of a choice, he reached into the candy dish once more, grabbing a handful of the sour treat then stuffing the whole lot into his mouth. He was aware that he ran a risk of overdosing on the Level IV Calming Draught laced treats, but he needed the moment of bliss that came with the following sense of oblivion… at least for a little while and then he would be better focused to properly plan.

~o.O.o~

Richard had just finished his rounds among his fellow refugees… refugees… that was a word he never thought would ever be associated with him and yet here he was, a refugee. He and his fellows were being hunted from all sides: The Ministry, the Light, and the Dark. Outside of the Grotto, they had lived in constant fear of prosecution for either being Light, Dark, or not even fully human even though they were law-biding citizens. He found it interesting that when they had been rescued and were brought together, he had assumed the old prejudices would rear its ugly head again, but that was not the case.

Perhaps it was because they were all just tired of the senseless killings for reasons that no one could really understand or perhaps they were afraid of being kicked out of their sanctuary – something Richard doubted that Lord Potter-Black would do – either way, they were able to put aside their prejudices and work together; even creating something resembling a government. Of course, he had to question his group's sanity when they elected him as their leader. So, what if he was the one who spoke with Lord Potter-Black as an equal. It did not mean he knew how to lead! His wife and their mutual friend both took great pleasure in his bemoaning at being elected leader of their motley group.

"Hello, Mr. Clarke."

Richard jumped, turning around, and stared at Heir Longbottom, who at least had the decency to look sheepish upon his cherub-like face.

"Sorry."

Richard just waved at the young man then paused.

"It's a school night."

"Yes."

"Why are you here?"

"We had to get away from the castle."

"Did something happen?"

"Hmm." The teen acknowledged then proceeded to walk away, instinctively Richard followed.

"What happened?"

The Longbottom heir side-glanced the older wizard. Richard felt he was being evaluated and assessed; for what, he did not know.

"There was a threat to our Pack. Our Alpha had to reveal his status as the Black Lord earlier than he intended to."

Richard cringed at that bit of news. Richard might not know what creature blood flowed through Lord Potter-Black's veins, but he could hazard a guess that if the young Lord's creature side reared its head then the situation was dragon dung hitting the ceiling.

"Hmm, I agree. Although I'm surprised that Harry showed such restraint. If it were me, I would have probably used their corpse for fertilizer in my garden."

Richard gulped in fear; wondering how it was always the quiet ones that were the most vicious ones.

They continued through the tunnels of the Grotto, eventually leaving the Grotto itself. Richard paused as his eyes adjusted to the natural light of the setting sun. He was surprised to discover the existence of the exit. He immediately noticed Heir Longbottom climb down a set of stone stairs. The stairs lead to what looked to be a well-traveled path with pine trees lining either side. Richard continued to follow the younger wizard, who seemed to know this otherly valley. It simply amazed him that this place was so hidden. He wondered what charms and wards were protecting the valley.

"None."

"What?" Richard jumped again in surprise. He had not realized that he had spoken out loud.

"No charms or wards were used." Heir Longbottom explained.

"But then how…"

"How come no one knows about this?" The teen asked to which Richard nodded. The younger wizard shrugged, "I think it's because no one could access this part of the Founders' Estates."

"Wait? What?!" Richard blinked in confusion, "What do you mean 'no one could access his part of the Founder's Estates'? What Estates? They didn't have an estate."

The young man just nodded.

"That's what everyone believes and knows, but the truth is all of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and the surrounding lands are part of the Founders' Estates. If Hogwarts stays a school, the Founders' Heir will leave the Estates in the hands of the Board of Governors; of course, back then they were called something else.

"As for how no one could access this part of the Estates… well, the entry to the tunnels are in Slytherin's Chambers and needed a Parselmouth to open the gateway. A bit short-sighted to have the access of an escape route password protected by a language only a select few could speak… but then again, I don't think the Founders believed anything would cause such a rift in their family lines…"

Richard just stared gob-smacked at the information that younger wizard just dropped so casually.

The teen shrugged once more and completely unaware of the crisis he had created within the older wizard.

"I mean can you imagine how the Wizarding World would react to know that Slytherin was not a Dark Wizard but a Light Wizard, and that Gryffindor was a Dark Wizard."

"Wha… wha… what?!" Richard shrieked out in shock and disbelief.

Heir Longbottom turned around, arching his brow very reminiscent of a certain Potions Master.

"How do you know this?!"

"Sir Edwin de Prince."

"Who?!"

"You know him better by his birth name."

"Which is?!" Richard begged, getting the feeling his worldviews was going to be effectively obliterated.

||:Are you teasing the human, Heart of Mine?:||

"Sirius!" The teen greeted with a shy smile as he approached Lord Potter-Black's bodyguard. The pair greeted each other by touching forehead-to-forehead while cupping each other's cheek with the left hands.

Richard noticed movement behind the pair. His eyes grew wide at what he saw.

The first thing that drew his attention was the giant but not like any giant they were taught in Hogwarts. This giant was almost ten feet tall, slender framed and blue! This giant looked like a giant blue humanoid-shape cat person! And based on the small swell of the creature's chest, Richard assumed the giant was female. As he turned his eyes away from the blue giant's chest, he noticed the putto resting in the giant's arms. They looked such an odd pair: a blue she-giant and a cherub looking boy.

"Master Storm Wing, Mistress Pahhur Wing," The Longbottom Heir greeted with a respectful bow, "thank you for coming."

||:Well met, Beta Ne-Vel.:|| A deep baritone voice coming from the putto, surprising Richard that such a deep voice could come from a tiny, chubby body.

"Mr. Clark, they are the Wings." The young wizard introduced, "Master, Mistress, this is Mr. Richard Clark."

||:Well met, Rich-Ard Clar-K.:|| An alto voice greeted.

Richard looked to his younger counterpart for help.

"They're greeting you."

"Oh!" Richard replied then attempted to perform same bow as the teen.

Translations:

whelmed - to ruin or destroy (obsolete); engulfed

cherub - winged creature attending on God

otherly – pertaining to something or someone else; different

putto - a small, naked, often winged (usually male) child; a cherub