Reaching the Limit

Author's Note: Well, lookie here: the second chapter. *gasp!* Anyways, sorry for how short the last one was. I wanted to stop it at the appropriate point, and anything after that would ruin the effect. Yeah. So, hope you enjoy the second chapter. Reviews are always appreciated. And so is criticism.

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Morgliths are known for many reasons, all of them gruesome. They are beasts, constructed of shadow, the color of darkness. It is impossible to tell if one is a hundred feet away, or right behind you. They stalk their prey at night, and are seemingly invisible in the dark. They move like lightning, almost invisible except for the black streak you see only for a second. No-one know why they were created, and by who. Their number has decreased vastly in the past thousand years, to the point that one of this species is rarely seen, if ever.

The word Morglith is a mystery as well. It comes from no known language on the earth, and none have been able to decipher its meaning thus far.

There are rumors that the Morglith are a link between life and death, themselves. That they have to ability to reach both the living, and the dead, is coveted by many, and feared by even more…

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The old wizard looked sadly between the couple before him. “It's his destiny, Lily, James… It's what he has to do. All I could do while I was alive was help him along the path. He's destined to do a lot more than just defeat Voldemort. It's branded into his bones, in his flesh. He's called the Chosen One for a reason, and that's not only because of Voldemort.”

The two of them nodded. “Yes, we know. There are darker things going on in the world than his work. Voldemort is only an obstacle. We've been watching,” James replied, solemnly. He grabbed his wife's shaking hand, giving it a brief squeeze. It has always been hard for her to talk about Harry, her son.

“But we know all of this, Albus. So why call us now?”

The wizard smiled slightly, directing his gaze towards Harry's mother, the twinkle in his eyes regaining its strength, “Wizards don't lose their power in death, Lily. They only forget they have it.”

Both of their eyes widened at what he was implying. Use their powers? After death?

Lily suddenly stood up straighter, her piercing emerald eyes once again vibrant. “If it helps Harry, then I'm up for it. I'd go through death all over again, just to see him smile.”

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Draco sighed slightly as he watched the sun sink behind the horizon, taking with it the last rays of light. He was alone. He's always been alone. But it'd never been this horrible.

He's isolated himself from everyone since that night on the tower. He had run from Snape in the middle of the night, while the former Potion's Master slept. He shook violently, remembering the words whispered in his mind just before he saw the Headmaster's life taken from him.

This isn't over, Draco. This isn't the end. You can still help. You know what you have to do. You know where to go. You have to help, or he'll fail. Voldemort will tear you to shreds when he finds out what you know. He'll torture you, use you, and then kill you. If you submit to him, you'll have nothing left to live for. Help us, help Harry, and you will have a reason to live.

You know what you have to do.

Those words ran over and over in his mind, tormenting him. He did. He knew what had to be done. But could he do it? Would he find the courage? And would he be able to elude Voldemort long enough to finish this task?

He had to, that's all that mattered. He had to help Harry. Even though he hated him, he needed to help him. His life depended on it.

Draco smirked a little, thinking it odd how he would end up playing a major part in defeating Voldemort when all his family has ever done was support him, and submit to his whims.

He rose from the musty bed, its hinges creaking loudly with the shift in weight, and went over to the only window that existed in the small complex he now occupied.

Odd, indeed.

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Harry's breath froze in his throat as he looked at the beast. There was something… intelligent about it. Surely there couldn't be, though. It was just a monster, a dark animal.

Think again, Harry Potter, it spat.

Harry had been subjected to having someone speak in his mind before, and he never felt anything, only the warmth of a new presence. But this… this hurt. It felt as if he was being grated over the frozen rocks on the side of the mountain. The tone was cold, yet it burned his innards. He winced, and strained to keep his face straight. The pain was excruciating.

Harry remembered the entry about Morgliths in Acerbus Res Rei, the book written by Dumbledore himself, and several of his family before his time. Dark Matters. Harry shivered; he had read that book and liked nothing inside, nothing. It was wrong, and abnormal. Some of the things mentioned were beyond gruesome.

He turned his mind back to the matter at hand, thinking it better to escape with their lives, than to dwell on a book.

“How do you know my name?” He asked.

I know many things, but your name is mostly what is talked about between Morgliths. Don't you remember? You were the reason we were created.

“What do you mean?” Harry's defensive wall around his mind suddenly sprang up, pushing the monster out for only a second. It was insufficient against the Morglith's power.. How was it that he could enter his mind, and speak to him through it?

You are the Chosen One, the Servatrix.

“The what?!” Harry questioned. He didn't like this one bit. The last thing he needed was another title; that and getting ripped to shreds by this thing.

The Servatrix! Please tell me you are not ignorant of this!

“Well, I am. Sorry to burst your bubble…”

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione, who were hidden somewhat by Harry's form, were wondering who Harry was talking to. They're small peeks over his shoulders, and around his waist revealed nothing.

They couldn't see into the pitch black interior of the cave. What was it that Harry could see, and they couldn't? Why was he talking to himself? Or was he?

The Morglith let out an angry growl, frustrated that no one had told Harry. Not one person who had known all along had spoken to him of who he really was, what he really was. The Morglith felt a tremor run along his spine; someone was contacting him.

`It was supposed to be left up to you, dear Adeavox, you were supposed to be the one to tell him. I knew what I was doing.'

Yes, Albus, I should have remembered. You told me many years ago, excuse my failing memory. I am old.

He felt Dumbledore's light chuckle, `Aye, I know of what you speak. Age is a hindrance, no less. But you have eons before you pass, or at least until Harry fulfills his destiny. Good luck my old friend, and goodbye.'

Goodbye, Albus. Good luck to you too, with whatever project you and the Potters are working on up there.

We'll need it, Ade. Oh, and just to let you know, don't spook Harry. It makes him restless. I don't want his power unleashed yet. That could lead to disaster. It has to wait. This place is too rich with dark magic; you can't let him be exposed to it much longer. I already sense that it recognizes him, and seeks to taint him. Please hurry.

I will, I will.

Then get going, Dumbledore told him, somewhat tightly. An instant later, the connection was lost.

Adeavox turned his attention back to Harry, his green eyes the only recognizable part of him, for everything else was hidden to the untrained eye. It was then that he noticed the two others, of which Harry was standing protectively in front of.

When his gaze settled on Harry's two companions, his body was suddenly assaulted by what seemed to be thousands of white hot daggers. Pain was of no consequence to him, though. He had been through much more. The thought of what this could do to a mere mortal entered his thoughts; it would kill them.

He looked at Harry. The boy's face was twisted in anger, his lips pulled back from his grating teeth in a snarl. His emerald eyes, so much like his mother's, glinted with barely controlled power. He smiled to himself. He was indeed the Servatrix.

Are you going to explain? Harry asked, breaking his train of thought. This time, it was Adeavox's turn to be surprised. He shouldn't be able to contact him via thoughts; that wasn't one of the powers that had been described to him.

But then again, this was Harry Potter. He's always had a knack for doing the impossible.

Fine, Adeavox replied, I'll tell you.

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Draco's eyes squinted shut against the blinding sun, the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead to his chin. He wiped them off with an agitated sweep of his clothed arm, as he struggled over the rocky, desolate surface in the middle of nowhere.

Where was he going? He wasn't sure. All he knew is that he felt the place, the object, tugging him, calling him. He dreamed of the place, hidden in the stark nothingness of the desert. The building was constantly on his mind, it's wouldn't leave his thoughts for more than a minute. It was there, it needed him. The thing needed him. It needed it master, and he was the one to take it to him.

To take it to Harry Potter.

Malfoy wasn't all sure what he was supposed to find, or where it would be located, but he knew he could and that he had to. If Potter didn't have this… He shuddered at the possibilities. He would lose. Not only against Voldemort, but against the other forces that plagued the Earth. Draco, gritting his teeth, carried on, despite the pain wracking his body. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore down, not after he had given his own life to him.

He wouldn't let the Death Eaters take him again.

He felt his arm wrenched out of its socket as the two fled from the disastrous battle they had just come from. Snape's harsh grasp was cutting off the circulation in his arm as they leaped over fallen logs and stray twigs and branches dug into their flesh at regular intervals. Draco had become almost numb to the pain, his mind elsewhere.

He failed. He couldn't do it. He couldn't have killed the Headmaster. He didn't want to become a Death Eater. Not now, not ever. He didn't want to be like his mother, much less like his abusive father.

But Snape had. How he could kill the Headmaster, after all the risks the old man had taken to save the Potion Master's life, was beyond his understanding. Even after clearing his name of any charges related to his following of Voldemort and definitely turning the other cheek to his unfair bias towards the Gryffindors, he knew Snape felt no remorse.

He was a murderer; a cold blooded killer. And he had enjoyed it.

Draco could feel the smirk on the man's lips, feel the evil that boiled in his belly. There was something wrong here… he didn't want to be like this. He didn't want to be unable to feel, to love. He needed something to hold on to, to have meaning. Serving Voldemort had no meaning.

Death. Death was all he could see. All that awaited him in the future.

He was yanked back to the present by Snape's disgusting laugh.

Draco rested his hands on his knees, trying to compose himself. During the relapse, he had experienced every single one of the emotions again, and it made him sick. After he had finished retching, the last of the spasms that had consumed him gone, he trudged on, once more on the trail that could ultimately decide the fate of the war.

He had a job to do.

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Author's Note: Well, this is where it gets tricky. Remember to pay attention from now on. There'll be hints all throughout the dialogue. I may put a small amount of references in this area, but that would just spoil the fun… Well, hope you enjoyed it.

All reviews, good or bad, are appreciated.

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All signed reviews will be replied to. If you have any questions, and/or comments,

please contact me at verlisaii@gmail.com. I appreciate the feedback.

Most of the characters are © to the devious mind of J.K. Rowling.

Anything left is © to me.

Thank you for reading.