I'm sick. Why am I updating so soon? I have no idea, but being ill seems to make it easier to write insane characters.

…I hope these chapters make sense when the fever disappears.

Also, I know this is kinda, really different to what I usually write (and I swear I will write a funny Harry/Zarek someday) and it's probably going to get a little weird/creepy/tragic, but I hope you'll stick with it and read until the end.

I wanted to try something new – expand my horizons as it were. When I was planning this I could either go this route or the superficial funny route and…well…I've never tried to write an insane character. This story seemed perfect as an opportunity.

It will get a little funnier soon. Sort of. And it will get finished! No need for any hunting or anything! I've even planned most of it out :)

Every where I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded.
I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.
Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.

~ Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

Chapter 3: Zarek

1999 – Summer – Alaska

He could hear them, tapping at the walls. Zarek tightened his grip on his hair and curled tighter into himself.

He wanted it to stop. The tapping, the tapping.

The incessant tapping.

But it wouldn't. It never did. It was always there, always heard. Sometimes he managed to drown it out, could pretend that it was the rain of his youth tapping on the wooden overhang by the slaves quarters.

Could fall asleep and get away.

But not now. Lately the tapping had become louder, more insistent.

It had gone from a pattering to a constant drumming on his walls. He couldn't even sleep easily anymore as, whenever he managed to drop off, the noise would follow him into his dreams.

And then, when he woke up, the tapping would be louder. Would be faster.

Would be that much harder to escape.

In the beginning he had thought that it may have been a problem with his generator. He had worked and worked on the machine but it hadn't helped. In a fit of frustration he had taken an axe to it – but the sound hadn't stopped. In fact, it had become louder, like it was mocking him.

When he had realised that it was nothing in his small shack that was making the annoying noise, he had thought to outrun it - escape for a few hours.

As soon as it had fallen dark he had left, not to do anything but stand in the middle of nowhere and let the silence consume him.

It had worked. For a time.

Then it turned to summer. He was lucky to get enough darkness to safely go out and do needed repair work on the outside of his house to keep the sun out for one more day.

He certainly didn't have enough time to travel away from everything, to find a place that was barren of everything to give him the silence he craved.

It had almost driven him mad, those months. And then it was winter again. Winter – with its darkness and ice and the ability to make even him fear death.

The first night he was able to he dropped any plans of repair work or thoughts of food and slogged his way to the place on the tundra he had found. Desperation making him half run, half stumble the entire way there.

He needed the silence. He needed it.

And when he had arrived there? The tapping had followed him.

He had fallen to his knees in the biting snowstorm and wept, his tears freezing on his cheeks.

That night he had debated staying out there. Let the darkness and purity of the snow carry him away unto death. The only problem, and the problem that had him staggering to his knees and then his feet, was that he wasn't sure whether the tapping would follow him into the afterlife.

Shadedom was horrific enough – always thirsty, always hungry – without adding the constant, inescapable noise.

No, if he was going to spend eternity trapped in this hell, he was going to do so alive.

He'd fought to live. He'd damn well not let a noise drive him into eternal damnation.

If only it was so easy.

The tapping became louder and Zarek tightened his hold even further, beginning to rock back and forth. He could feel his fingernails digging into his scalp; feel the blood trickle through his hair. There was a coppery explosion on his tongue and it was with absent minded shock that Zarek realised that he had bitten through his bottom lip with his fangs.

He let out a small whimper against his will.

At the small emission the tapping stilled.

After a few seconds of silence Zarek opened his eyes and cautiously looked up. Stiff fingers unclenching from his hair.

It stayed silent.

His eyes darted around, too jaded to think that it was over with such a small concession but with just a small enough spark of hope to think that maybe…

Something pounded at the door, causing it to shake on its hinges.

With a short, sharp scream, Zarek scrambled backwards, horror painting his face as he held up his arm in a futile attempt to ward off the nightmare.

The pounding stopped – but it wasn't over. Zarek's attention was dragged to the floor and the shadows that were puddling under the crack.

It should have been impossible. The door was airtight. Nothing should be able to soak its way through once closed.

The darkness didn't seem to care and Zarek felt his heart beginning to pound in his chest, his breath coming faster as the shadows grew denser, grew larger, spreading across the floor and up the walls, reaching for him.

He pushed himself back, until he was pressed against the wooden walls furthest from the door.

"No." His voice came out a croak.

The shadows ignored his protest, clawing their way to him, swallowing everything in darkness. Zarek felt a terror he had never experienced before.

Then the pounding started up again from within the blackness. He couldn't see it, but he could hear the hinges rattle, could hear the wood start to splinter and give way and, with the clarity of the dispossessed, knew that whatever was on the other side of the door could not be let in.

"No."

He pushed himself back further, his feet scrabbling across the floor as he tried to pull them underneath his legs to protect them against the questing tendrils.

His hands scrambled around him, searching for a weapon, and he almost jumped out of his skin when his fingers struck ice-cold metal.

He was hyperventilating now, not wanting to look away lest the darkness overwhelm him. Grabbing hold of the object, he raised it to his face so that he could see it without taking his eyes off the shadow.

Silver shone in the darkness - cutting through it like a magnesium flare.

The shadows seemed to rear back and hesitate, the pounding on the door ceasing for the moment.

Zarek gripped his silver claws tighter, slipping them onto his hands he felt something tight in his chest relax. This was good. This was right.

The claws shone brighter as he stood.

He could beat this.

Filled with a sense of completion, he took a challenging step forward, watching with satisfaction as the shadows retreated.

"That's right." He said, tilting his chin in challenge. "I won't run."

The shadows gathered themselves, drawing down from the walls, becoming a towering pillar of black. Zarek faced it without fear.

After years. This was his opponent. And he would defeat it just like every other opponent he had faced.

Time froze then, without any warning, they both sprang at each other. The shadow with a silent roar, Zarek with a wordless snarl of rage.

His blades slashed through the air and he felt a savage glee at the thought of finally killing his tormentor, when he seemed to freeze in mid-air, his body trapped.

"No!"

The shadow was not restricted in such a way and Zarek felt helpless as it rushed towards him, unable to stop it. Unable to look away from, what was certainly, oncoming death.

Then, without warning, two silver coins of light pierced the darkness, causing it to freeze as well.

Zarek, his heart pounding at the near miss, could only stare at the small, perfect disks.

What was this? He had no clue. All he knew was that they had stopped the shadow and that he was still trapped, unable to move.

The lights disappeared and reappeared in quick succession. It took Zarek a moment to work it out, but the lights were blinking.

With that realisation, the shadows shifted. Zarek had the throat-tightening fear that they were going to strike at him. But no, they seemed to suck in on themselves, tightening and moulding.

It was with a jolt that Zarek realised that he could feel a hand gripping his wrist. But he was more distracted with the two lights and what the shadows were doing.

It wasn't until Zarek could make out a nose that he realised that they were taking the form of a face.

A familiar face.

"A-ash?"

Ash titled his head slightly and opened his mouth.

Zarek knew that Ash was speaking. Saying something to him, probably something important. But for the life of him he couldn't hear what he was saying. He dragged his gaze down to his lips but, as Ash was still made entirely out of shadow, they were impossible to read.

There was the beginning of a whisper. It was so far from the tapping that Zarek wanted to weep.

As it was, he closed his eyes tight to keep the burning at bay. He would not show weakness. Not now, not when his enemy had turned into an ally.

"Zarek." It was said quietly. Not whispered, just muffled.

"Zarek." It came again, more insistent this time and Zarek gathered the strength to force his eyes open.

The shadows had completely disappeared and Ash was back to his original colouring, looking at him in concern with those soul-saving silver eyes. Zarek stared at them, fascinated despite himself.

Ash also seemed to be the one holding his arm in place, the tips of Zarek's silver claws bare centimetres from his face.

"Zarek."

Zarek jerked. Or would have if he wasn't still frozen in place.

"Are you with me, Zarek?"

Pressure he hadn't even noticed eased off his jaw and throat, Zarek licked his lips.

"Yes." He croaked.

Ash stared at him for another moment, measuring his answer, before nodding and releasing his wrist. As soon as he let go the rest of the pressure disappeared and Zarek almost fell to the ground, only catching himself at the last moment.

As it was he staggered heavily and had to rest his hands on his knees as the room span around him.

"Wow. You were right, Ash. I see what you meant."

Zarek's head shot up and his gaze landed on a short man, peeking around the back of Ash's stiff form.

"Who the fuck are you?" He spat.

Poor Zarek is a whole different barrel of crazy :P I hope it was believable though...

Review?