A/N: Alright everybody, here's the First Task. To those who were thinking that I haven't put in another Dresden, here's a little twist you might not have seen coming. This chapter's a little short, but I had to split it up into two because this is maybe 1/3 of my chapter plan- it would have been too long otherwise, and this was a good place to leave it at. Plus, there's a small omake at the bottom written by my good friend Jon (Surarrin), so make sure you check it out.

Although Harry wouldn't have believed it a month ago, he had comfortably fallen into a little routine here at Hogwarts that made time seem as if it were flying right past him. In the mornings he would usually sleep in, although his wand was always placed under his pillow and Meciel was always conscious in his mind, monitoring his perceptions when he could not. When he woke up, which was always after breakfast, he would come down to the common room with sleep tussled hair and sleep eyes and eat from the small tray of cold food that Amanda would constantly leave in the corner for him. The girl may have been annoying, but she made for a good servant.

After breakfast, depending on the day, Harry would attend one of his few classes- namely Defence against the Dark Arts, or seek out the small unused classroom where he did most of his practise. Step by step, Meciel would take him through the various basics of Transfiguration and slowly, Harry was becoming a lot more confident in withdrawing the continuous flow of Hellfire that seared through his body, allowing him to preform simple Transfiguration. Of course, it wasn't easy. A single day didn't go by when some poor and innocent inanimate object (or animate, if you wanted to include the small mouse that Harry had vapourised) didn't burst into hellish flames, and there was still the task of actually learning the material. Transfiguration wasn't an easy branch of magic and even Meciel, in her ignorance, seemed to be puzzled over some aspects of it.

After his class of study session, Harry would waltz into the Great Hall for lunch, make a few snide comments to Amanda and spend the rest of the time trying, and succeeding, to irritate Hermione. The bushy haired girl seemed to find something offensive about his mere presence and never held back when she had a chance to tell him exactly what was wrong with. According to her, it varied from being spoiled, arrogant, conceited, disrespectful and rude, and not necessarily in that order. After lunch was Harry's free time, where he would generally lounge around in the Common Room, talking to Meciel about the upcoming First Task and mentally categorising a list of powerful curses and spells that could come in handy. When the sun fell, it was time for dinner and then Harry went to bed again, ready to repeat the procedure all over again. All in all, it was a good couple of weeks.

The First task loomed up and suddenly it was the 24th of November. Harry found himself sitting at the breakfast table with bleary eyes and an annoyed scowl on his face at the absurd early hours of 8:00 am, crunching a piece of bacon in his mouth thoughtfully as he sat at the Gryffindor table. Around him, the other Gryffindor's were chattering away with excitement, many of them glancing down towards Harry every few moments. Harry, for one, seemed to be totally at ease but Amanda, who sat next to him, had a worried expression on her face as she sat there, her breakfast untouched.

“Are you sure you're ready?” She whispered to him anxiously, her grey eyes shining with concern. “Are you sure that there's no way you can get out of this? I heard that people have died in these tournaments before!”

“Amanda,” Harry said impatiently and squeezed his fingers together, giving her a pointed look. “I have two words for you. The first word is shut. Do you want to guess the second?”

Amanda gave him a withering stare but Harry ignored it as he turned back to his food. A frown appeared on his face as he once again ran through a mental checklist of spells and strategies through his mind. He wore his customary casual clothes, although his overcoat was bundled over his lap. In that bundle, Harry had hidden his sword of evocation. Dumbledore may have said that he was only allowed to bring his wand, but he hadn't said anything about summoning other items to him when the task had started. This might have been a loophole or a technicality, or it might not even become a problem- either way, Harry didn't care.

Harry had done quite a bit of preparation for the task, spending the last few nights with Meciel in the disused classroom practising the deadliest evocation and wand spells he knew of. Meciel had recently taught him a powerful pulverising spell, which was capable of completely grinding up small rocks and human limbs. He had done another search of the library for the ever-elusive unforgivable curses, but he hadn't found anything aside from historical tomes and brief references in other books.

Still, although he looked at ease, Harry could feel a coil of nervousness in his stomach as he ripped his way through breakfast. He let out another scowl, annoyed at himself, and slammed his fork down on the plate with a loud clatter. Despite his practise, Harry knew that somebody had put his name in the Goblet of Fire for a reason and he doubted that it was to let him obtain glory and gold. The First Task wasn't going to be easy, especially if somebody was trying to kill him.

It was at this point that a hush fell over the table. Harry blinked and looked up, seeing McGonagall walking towards him briskly. Her face flickered with disapproval and even anger when she spotted him- she never had forgiven Harry for his first display in her class, and when she spoke to him it was with an icy tone and a curt voice.

“Mr Potter, it is time,” She said briskly and gestured Harry to follow her as she spun around and started to walk out of the hall.

Harry didn't say a word as he stood up, clutching the bundle to his side. From the table, Amanda leaned forward, her face solemn and her eyes worried.

“Good luck,” She whispered softly, giving him a weak smile.

“I don't need luck. I have arrogance,” Harry stated boastfully and narrowed his eyes. “And there's no need to get all emotional on me, or is it your time of the month already?”

Amanda rolled her eyes as he strolled away, aware of Hermione's outraged gasp and Ron's reflexive chuckle at Harry's not-so-quiet comment. For a moment, her eyes tracked the Denarian leaving the hall and a worried frown came over her face. She turned around, barely aware of Dumbledore's approving smile from the Head Table or Molly's disapproving frown as they both watched her interaction with Harry.

His eyes strangely intent, Harry reached into the bad and pulled out a tiny, moving figurine of an elaborately carved dragon. He gulped, a flicker of fear flashing across his face as the small dragon paced on his palm and his head shot towards Bagman.

“This isn't real, right?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“I'm afraid so, Harry,” Bagman said with a beaming smile and turned back to the rest of the champions. “Now, to pass the First Task, all you have to do is take the golden egg from a nest of real dragon eggs. Be careful, these dragons are mothers, so they will attack you if they think you're going to harm their nest.”

Harry blinked, ignoring Fleur's condescending smile and Krum's amused head shaking as they eyed him from the corner of their eyes. Bagman left the tent, clutching a folder to his chest and left the champions alone. The Denarian frowned and cocked his head, his mind seeking out that of Meciel's.

'I didn't think the Drakon laid eggs,' Harry thought in puzzlement and he could hear Meciel's amusement as her voice filled his ears.

'I do not believe that this is a true Drakon,' Meciel responded and Harry could feel her carefully analysing the small model in his palm, which let out a silent hiss. 'This is merely a beast drake- a common dragon, in other words.'

“Well, that's a relief,” Harry muttered out loud and let out a huge sigh. The tension suddenly left his body underneath the curious stares of his fellow champions.

“What's a relief?” The Salem champion, Richard, asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“It's not a real dragon,” Harry said and gestured at little figurine.

“Er…it looks like a real dragon,” Cedric said slowly, peering at his little dragon in confusion, and Harry couldn't help but notice that the figurine looked a lot smaller than his own.

“Of course zat is a dragon,” Fleur said crossly in heavily accented English, her beautiful face reflecting disdain as she gazed at Harry crossly. “What else could it be?”

“It's a beast,” Harry said scornfully and threw his little figurine to the ground, where it scuttled off towards his bundled overcoat in the corner. “It's not a true dragon. Trust me, we'd all become very, very dead if it were a real dragon.”

“We are talking about the fire-breathing monsters, right?” Cedric asked slowly, looking at Harry with puzzlement but Richard suddenly let out a dawning sigh, comprehension flashing on his face.

“You're talking about those…um…what did Professor Carpenter call them?” He murmured, furrowing his brows. “The ancient dragons...er…the magical ones…”

“Drakon?” Harry supplied helpfully with a cocked eyebrow.

“That's the one,” Richard said, snapping his fingers and after seeing Cedric's puzzled gaze and Krum's brooding face, turned to elaborate. “In my Alternate Magics class, Professor Carpenter told us about the real dragons of the ancient world- the ones from all the myths and that, hoarders of wealth, consumer of virgins, powerful magicians, and all that.”

“Shape shifting,” Harry supplied and a dark smile crossed his face. “They can look like us, you know, just like any other human. You'd never know about it until it was too late and they had consumed your entire family…alive.”

Fleur made a scoffing noise and flicked her hand through the air as she dismissed his words.

“Zere is no such zing,” She said crossly.

“Where do you think these dragons came from?” Harry asked in annoyance. “Do you think one day a lizard thought to itself, “Hmm, Johnny from up the road has grown a wicked new tail, so why don't I grow some wings and fly over to his house so I can roast the little bastard alive?””

“Huh?” Cedric uttered.

“Let me put it another way,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Why do you think there are tales of Drakons- dragons- wanting virgin girls, hmm?”

“Oh,” Cedric said with dawning understanding, and frowned, shaking his head. “Er...are you sure? I mean, wouldn't we all know if there were these things walking around?”

“A drakon is a very powerful creature,” Harry muttered darkly. “I doubt any wand-wizard who has met one ever got away from it alive. Their magic is strong, potent and far beyond any of you.”

“But not you?” Krum spoke up for the first time in a heavily accented voice, watching Harry closely with brooding eyes. “You think you could destroy one of these creatures, yes?”

“In the right conditions,” Harry said thoughtfully and gave a cocky smile. “Yes.”

Krum inclined his head and looked away as Bagman burst into the tent, a beaming smile on his face.

“Alright Mr Krum,” He said cheerfully. “You're up.”

Krum merely gave a grunt and stalked from the tent without another word, leaving a silent group of champions behind him.

As a loud blaring voice boomed over the commentary, Harry leant against the wall and blocked it out as he sought out Meciel within his mind, finding her blazing warmth close to his consciousness.

'I am here for you.' Meciel said firmly. 

'You're still willing to help me?' Harry thought in surprise. If he had asked his question out loud, the other champions would have showed surprise at the hesitance in his voice, Harry sounding more like a worried child rather than a scathing bastard.

'Of course!' exclaimed Meciel, her tone almost reproachful and Harry felt her presence flash across his body, sending blazing warmth through his veins. 'Despite out arguments and disagreements, you are my beloved host. Besides, this is the downside of unions such as ours. I sometimes wonder how the other Fallen with such arrangements solve such situations.'

'We can always call up Nicodemus as ask, right?' Harry thought sardonically. 'I'm sure there's some kind of Denarian union that takes on equal opportunity cases such as these.'

“You're funny, beloved,” Meciel deadpanned and a grin curved Harry's lips as he leant back on his chair, idly noticing a nervous and shaking Richard leave the tent as his name was called out.

'So, what do we do about the dragon?' He asked.

'From what I can recall, the offspring of the Drakon were large reptilian creatures,' Meciel said thoughtfully. 'Many of them had the ability to wield fire as a weapon and tool. There were very few of them that had the magical skills and abilities of their sires. Do keep in mind that it has been over two thousand years since I first heard about these creatures, so I cannot account for any changes that evolution may have had.'

'So, we have a big fire-breathing lizard to kill?'

'Very over-simplified, but yes, beloved, you have to kill a big fire-breathing lizard,' Meciel said dryly, making Harry let out a soft chuckle. He ignored the stares he got form Fleur and Cedric and shifted in his seat, closing his eyes and appearing to be asleep. 'Apparition would be a very good tactic to avoid anything the dragon throws your way. I can keep your mind clear and focussed and allow you to move without losing any important limbs. However…'

'The school is warded,' Harry finished flatly. 'And Apparition is illegal to those under the age of seventeen. See Meciel, this is why I don't like fair fights.'

'Indeed,' Meciel agreed. 'Now, I believe a powerful spell to the dragon's head may cause some damage. The original Drakon were very powerful and resistant to many forms of magic but they had vulnerable areas around their eyes. Their descendents may have inherited this same weakness.'

'So, go for the eyes,' Harry repeated, nodding his head. 'Got it.'

'I suggest a mixture of slashing attacks and physical bashing attacks- spells that do not totally rely on a manipulation of the brain. We cannot be sure of how powerful the brain of a dragon may be- it could resist a stunning charm or a tormentean hex, even if you did strike it towards its eyes,' Meciel informed him briskly. 'I know fire is your preferred weapon of attack, and magical fire will burn through most magical protections, but Drakons were immune to the greatest heat. I suggest you avoid any fire-based attack unless you empower it with Hellfire.'

'Does that mean that steam trick of mine won't work?' Harry thought. 'Damn. It took me a while to think of that little combination.'

'It will not work, beloved.'

'Hmm,' Harry frowned, his brows furrowing, and he barely noticed as the fourth champion left the tent, leaving Harry alone. 'I have the sword in the tent; I could summon it to me and use it to channel some evocation through it.'

'If you pour enough power into the sword, it should be able to slice through a beast-dragon's hide,' Meciel advised and a note of pride entered her voice. 'A crafty move, beloved, well done.'

Harry felt a brief flash of pride at her words and smiled widely, a grin of affection lighting up his face and casting away the dark shadows that always seemed to hide under his eyes. For a moment, Harry sat in his chair, content as he listened to commentator shout something into the microphone in excitement.

“I'm still annoyed at you,” Harry said out loud, but there was no heat or anger in his words, just a simple fact.

'And I with you,' Meciel admitted. 'I do hope you will come around to my way of thinking.'

“Not as long as I can help it,” Harry said cheerfully and he felt a pang of Meciel's resigned, but amused, exasperation. “Hey, you'll probably be able to influence and tempt me into later on- I mean, you are a fallen angel, right? But for now, I'm going to remain the funny bastard I always am and insult everybody with two legs and a few things with four.”

'Very well,' Meciel agreed, but there was a note of amusement in her voice and Harry could feel that she was satisfied with his response. She had all the time in the world to convert him to her thinking- and he would eventually fold, whether it was tomorrow or one hundred years from now, even if it was just to get her to shut up about it.

Suddenly, Harry heard the commentator call his name. He took a deep breath, a steely look of determination appearing in his eyes as he stood up. With one last glance at his coat and the hidden sword bundled underneath it, Harry pulled the flap to the tent and stepped outside.

“Harry,” Somebody said quietly and Harry stopped with a frown on his face as he turned around.

Ludo Bagman stepped inside the tent, a beaming smile on his face as he approached Harry. Despite the man's cheerful demeanour, Harry could see that the man seemed to be quite nervous, and his eyes were darting left and right as he approached Harry.

“Do you have any ideas on how you're going to get past the dragon?” Bagman asked quietly. “Because I noticed you seemed to be a little nervous earlier and you are the Boy-Who-Lived- you have to have some power behind you. I mean, I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you.”

“I have a few ideas, yes,” Harry said carefully, eying that man carefully, and watched as the Bagman gave him a relieved it somewhat conspiratorial smile.

“Would you like some, ah, advice?” Bagman asked delicately and hurried on. “Not that I'm cheating or anything. I know that you don't want to be here and it isn't fair that a Fourth-Year should face this task without even a little but of help.”

'Well, it seems as if somebody is quite eager for you to pass,' Meciel said carefully, and a note of speculation entered her voice. 'He would be a likely candidate to have put your name into the Goblet of Fire.'

'He seems to want me to pass the task,' Harry disagreed silently. 'Not die a horrible and painful death.'

'Just because his motives aren't clear doesn't mean he is innocent,' Meciel warned.

Harry nodded, partially to himself and partially towards Bagman, who leaned in, his voice dropping to something below a whisper.

“One of the dragon's only weak-points is around its eyes,” Bagman said quietly. “A Conjunctivitis Curse would blind it long enough for you to run forward and steal the egg. It's been spelled to resist summoning charms, so don't waste any time trying those.”

Harry stared at Bagman and a small and secretive smile came over his face. Bagman let out a beaming smile of his own and silently tapped his nose, before whirling around and disappearing back into the tent.

'Useful information,' Meciel said. 'If only to confirm my hypotheses. I suggest that you watch out for that man, beloved. There are ulterior motives at play here.'

'Despite our arguments, you've already dragged me into politics,' Harry grumbled as he made his way through a darkened tunnel, approaching the bright sunlight at the end, and it was to the sound of Meciel's tinkling laughter that Harry stepped out into the arena.

For a moment, he simply stared at the surroundings in front of him. He had heard bits and pieces of the weird wand-wizard game that was played on broomsticks, which in Harry's opinion, wasn't helping the Wizarding World to move away from the stereotypical view that most non-magical people had on witches. He knew that this arena was normally used to host these games, which would explain the looming large circular stands that rose up above him, filled to the brim with cheering students, wizards and witches.

However, Harry doubted that this game was played over an arena of sharp, jagged rocks, which jutted from the ground menacingly. Harry also doubted that there was usually a gigantic and fearsome looking beast standing in the middle of the arena. For a moment, Harry just stared at the dragon with something like reluctant awe on his face. It was a huge beast- a massive black lizard with gleaming animalistic yellow eyes and two large bat-like wings spreading out from its back. Rows of dark scales gleamed on the dragons back, and its huge tail flicked languidly through the air, layered with hook-like spikes, crushing rocks and leaving yard-long gouges in the hard ground. The beast stood over a small clump of wood, most of it still littered with green leaves, and on that small pile Harry could see a mound of dark-shelled eggs. Amongst the eggs lay a shining golden orb, and Harry eyed it carefully.

“Accio!” Harry called out, his wand whipping up in a quick flicking motion. He could feel the magic pour into the wand but the golden egg remained where it was, firm and unmoving.

'Didn't Bagman tell you that it had been spelled to resist summoning charms?' Meciel asked him.

“Like I was going to believe everything he said,” Harry muttered under his breath and he took a deep breath, a determined glint appearing in his eyes. Around him, the crowd roared with noise- some of it coming in the form of a series of boos, most of it coming in a roar of loud cheers and calls of encouragement. Harry let it all bounce off of him as he took a step forward, his wand rising as he focussed his mind and channelled in Hellfire. A dark blazing rush of power roared into his body, sulphur and brimstone filling his nostrils as he carefully levelled the wand at the dragons head.

But the creature had suddenly stopped moving as soon as Harry had lifted his wand and turned its head, its gleaming yellow eyes staring directly into Harry's and suddenly he couldn't move. Something powerful, something tremendous struck at his mind and both Harry and Meciel, surprised by the sudden mental intrusion, froze on the spot. For a moment, Harry's eyes bulged, panic rushing across his body as he strained to move his muscles. His arm and hand shook with effort, his wand clambering unsteadily in his hands and he glared at the dragon, an orange and red tint the whites of his eyes.

'A trap!' Meciel hissed coldly, her voice reeking with sudden anger and malevolence. 'Find them, beloved! Find them and crush them!'

'What a good idea,' Harry thought with a great deal of strain as he fought against the unknown petrifying magic. 'I'll get right on it after I've had my coffee break, okay?'

The audience had seen the sudden stiffening and halting of his body but most of them must have attributed it to fear or panic and Harry could faintly hear a loud roar of jeering laughs, which complimented a sudden wave of boos and drowned out the yells and screams of encouragement. A small group of dark-cloaked wizards, who seemed to be the owners or keepers of the Dragons, moved forward, their wands up as they eyed Harry carefully, waiting to see if the teenage boy would move or if they would have to subdue the dragon themselves. However, from the corner of his eye, Harry could see Dumbledore watching with a frown on his face, the old man's face devoid of twinkling eyes and benign smile, as if he sensed something was not right.

Suddenly the dragon shuddered, its scales rippling and its eyes bulging, and the audience suddenly quietened. The men and women in the dark robes halted and Harry could make out the expressions of confusion and dawning horror as the dragon changed before their very eyes. The dragon seemed to shrink as the dark colour of the scales melted away into a blend of dark grey and white scales, which shimmered and stretched as the very pattern of the dragon's hide distorted and changed. The wings collapsed in on themselves, replaced with wings that were more bat-like than bird-like. The tail seemed to collapsed into itself, the rows of dark spikes disappearing as the tail lengthened out, a single sharp blade growing out from the tip until it resembled something a scorpion would have. The biggest change to the dragon was its head, which shrunk in on itself. Large rows of rippling spikes sunk back into its thick skull, its snout shrunk down in on itself and its nose flattered out until it resembled something that was more human than animal.

The dragons eyes were the last to change and gleaming yellow shimmered as its eyelids shrunk back, replaced with malevolent fiery yellow and orange eyes that glinted with an ancient malice and hunger. For a moment, Harry could feel the true power of this creature and felt fear. Luckily, the act of morphing back into its true form had broken the spell the creature had put on Harry, who was able to jerk his eyes away from the mesmerising stare of the fiery eyes, blinking rapidly.

'By the eternal fires of Hell,' Meciel swore quietly, her voice quiet and shaky. 'It cannot be! Why would one of them be here?'

But it was and Harry, along with the rest of the audience, could only watch with stunned eyes as the dragon opened its mouth, revealing a deep inner glow- as if a thousand furnaces burnt in its stomach. A strong smell of burnt wood and smoke filled the air as Harry quickly avoided the creature's eyes as it looked at him once more, and then it spoke.

“FOR THE KNIGHT TO DIE, SO MUST YOU!”

The words shot around the stadium like a wave of rippling force and Harry saw wizard and witches being flung from their chairs by the mere presence and sound of the voice. The words slammed into his head like a sledgehammer, striking at his very mind with a great deal of force but Meciel was ready this time and Harry could feel her close his mind off, creating something akin to a large brick wall around his consciousness that blazed at the cracks with the dark flames of Hell, and the spell- for it was a spell- shattered apart.

The crowd buzzed and cried with surprise, shock and panic as another roar echoed around the stadium, an ancient and horrifying roar that sent fear into the hearts of everybody present. Of the few people that were watching Harry, only a small little deaf girl who could read lips was able to make out the words that left Harry's lips as the creature- not a mere dragon beast but a mighty Drakon, one of the most powerful magical creatures in this world and the next, one of the most ancient and terrifying powers of all history, turned back to Harry, malevolence gleaming from it's eyes.

"Oh Fuck!"

Now I have a special treat for all of you. Jon (Who you may know as Surarrin) wrote a small omake about this story. I forget to put it in last chapter, so I'll add it here. If you want it to continue, you had better ask him- because this is all of his work.

Harry quickly staggered forward, approaching the taxi as he saw the well-dressed man pay the driver, and limped his way up to the black taxi as the well-dressed man walked off. His veins were on fire, there was something hot, far different from his power, burning into his veins like acid, and his pain must have shown on his face as stumbled into the taxi, dropping the sword to the ground, because the driver peered into his mirror and frowned. 

“You okay, kid?” The man, a small-bearded man with blue eyes, asked in concern. “You don't look so hot? 

“I'm fine,” Harry said and reached into his pocket, pulling out a fifty-pound note and clumsily threw it at the driver, who snatched it from the air and nodded with a look of skepticism on his face as he turned around, placing the note in his money tray and clicking down the metre. 

“Drug-users sure are getting younger these days,” He muttered, before he raised his voice and spoke in a slow, loud voice, as if Harry were hard on hearing. “Where would you like me to take you?” The driver accentuated carefully. 

'I can heal your wounds, beloved, and help you counter this spell,' Meciel said softly. 'But you need to find a place to rest, somewhere where you will not be disturbed. Perhaps, a motel' 

“Hey, kid! Where to?” The driver demanded impatiently, tapping his fingers on the driving wheel in irritation. “I don't have all day here. Get off your high and give me some directions!” 

“A motel,” Harry said between soft, pained gasps. “A cheap motel, anywhere away from here.” 

Chapter Four: The Denarian Renegade

By Shezza88

"That won't be necessary," a woman stated from just outside the thin metal door beside Harry. 

An abrupt feeling of dread tore through Harry's body; he didn't dare look up to the window. 

"Who are you lady?" the Taxi driver demanded to know. 

"I'm Harry's... mother," she explained calmly, "I was taking him to the hospital, because, as you can see he is dreadfully ill, but he ran away from me," Deirdre lied smoothly. 

Harry winced as he felt a cold chill enter the cabin of the Taxi, and a slightly warm hand grip him, and pull him out of the Taxi. 

Harry franticly reached down and grabbed a hold of his sword- he managed to, but it was snatched from his hands almost instantly as he brought it close to the female Fallen carrier. 

"Now, now, don't be rude to your mommy," Deirdre chided Harry lightly as she, with care that Harry had doubted she would normally be capable of, picked him up from within the Taxi and cradled Harry up against her. He struggled as much as he could, but his weak and battered body wasn't capable of anything besides pain. 

"You should stop that, unless you want to die," Deirdre hissed out, tightening her grip upon Harry's body. 

"You're going to kill me anyway," Harry managed to spit out before a gasp of pain silenced him. 

Deirdre tutted Harry lightly as she walked away from the main road and back into the dark alley that they had battled in. 

"I was going to kill you before," Deirdre agreed soothingly, "But I can't just allow such a talent to go to waste when Daddy would love to meet you." 

"Daddy?" Harry asked Meciel in his mind. 

"Nicodemus, one of the most powerful of the Fallen," Meciel murmured, her voice void of all emotion. 

"What are they going to do to us?" Harry asked weakly as his struggles ceased. 

"They will most likely kill you and seal the coin I reside in away," Meciel said, her voice melancholy. 

Harry whimpered against his captors shoulder, panic started to rise up within him. 

"Still such a child," Deirdre murmured in distaste. 

"Shut up, you stupid bitch," Harry spat out as he bit down on Deirdre's shoulder through her blouse. 

Deirdre smiled amusedly. 

"Is that supposed to hurt, little boy?" she asked mildly, "I'm afraid I find it lacking in that department," she whispered out huskily, her voice laced with something Harry didn't recognise, as she nuzzled up against Harry's ear. 

"You sick freak," Harry managed to say through a shudder as he pulled away from Deirdre as much as he could. 

"Daddy doesn't say that," Deirdre said with a small pout, before her face gained a hard edge. 

Without warning she threw Harry to the ground, into a shallow puddle of water. 

Harry grunted as he felt his side hit the concrete which covered the alleyway. 

"You have two choices," Deirdre explained casually as she pointed Harry's sword at him, "You can either die right now, alone in this alley, or you can co-operate and come with me, and perhaps live to see another day." 

Harry's heart thudded within his chest. He had two options then, Die with Meciel by his side. Or Live without her. He closed his eyes tightly. 

"What should I do Meciel?" Harry asked shakily in his own mind. 

His call went unanswered. 

But he already knew what he was going to say. 

"Go to hell," Harry said without feeling. There was no hatred, or discontent in his voice, only a tone of resignation. 

Deirdre snorted. 

"I was kidding about you having a choice," she stated mercurially. 

It was the last thing Harry heard, before a sharp pain on his forehead caused him to black out. 

--------------------------------

A soft scent in the air was the first thing Harry noticed as he became conscious. It was a sweet fragrance, like flowers, but it was tinged with something else, it was comforting. Harry let out a soft groan as he rolled over onto his back. Whatever he was laying on was soft and warm, a bed, he realised idly. He considered just staying still and drifting back off to sleep. 

"Meciel, what happened?" Harry murmured groggily as he rolled onto his side and snuggled down against his pillow. 

"Deidre knocked you unconscious," Meciel's voice whispered into his ear tenderly. 

Harry sighed contently as he felt a hand rub against his cheek. 

"So they left you with me?" he asked as he leaned into the soft warmth of Meciel's palm, "Why would they do that?" 

Meciel didn't answer, and her hand stopped moving, Harry quickly noticed. His eyes cracked open slightly, the light momentarily blinded him. 

"Meciel?" Harry asked worriedly. 

The Fallen smiled down sadly at Harry. 

"They have taken the coin away from you," Meciel explained calmly, her lips tilted up in a sad smile. 

"But you're still here," Harry murmured his voice filled with relief. 

"No," Meciel said softly, shaking her head, "I'm but a shadow of the real Meciel, who placed me in your mind the moment that Deirdre knocked you unconscious." 

"Why? What happened to her? Where is she?" Harry demanded to know in quick succession, quickly sitting up and staring intently at the shadow of Meciel. 

"She placed me here to help you, however I could," the shadow told Harry as she reached up to his head against and gently cupped his cheek, "She was sealed away, as Nicodemus does to all the fallen who do not follow him, I do not know where, and neither did Meciel." 

"I have to get her back," Harry said to the Meciel in front of him, "I need her." 

"Nicodemus won't release her, her crimes against him and the other Denarians are too great," she smiled tenderly, "She wasn't sure that they would let you live, she'd be glad." 

"Can we escape?" Harry asked quickly, "If we escape and manage to get something that they want then maybe we can get Meciel back." 

"You don't get it," the shadow murmured sadly, "They won't give her up, not after it's taken so many thousands of years to get her." 

"Why won't they give her back to me?" Harry demanded to know angrily. 

"Because," a male voice rang out from out of Harry's view, "There is nothing in this dimension that has the same value as her to us." 

Meciel's shadow vanished. Harry's head snapped around to face the voice. A man of medium height and build, with short, dark hair streaked through with an off-center blaze of silver. He wore a simple black silk robe. 

"Nicodemus," a voice whispered into Harry's ear. 

"You're that bitch's father," Harry said quietly. 

Nicodemus smiled amusedly. 

"That bitch was supposed to kill you, but apparently you made an impression on her," the older man said smoothly as he stared at Harry, who subconsciously slipped beneath the covers of his bed again, "Meciel left an imprint on you, didn't she?" Nicodemus asked with a smile. 

"No, I'm just talking to one of the many voices in my head," Harry retorted sarcastically. 

A rich laugh left Nicodemus's lips. 

"You see, Harry, you're operating under the assumption that you have nothing to lose," Nicodemus explained as he stepped into the room. 

"I'm pretty sure you've taken the only thing I've ever cared about from me," Harry said through a scowl. 

"Now there is where our opinions conflict," Nicodemus stated calmly, "I'm of the philosophy, that as long as someone is alive, they have something to lose." 

"Yes, yes," Harry snapped, "As long as you're alive you can still die," he snorted lightly. 

"No," Nicodemus disagreed, "You still have the ability to choose what you can do, you still have some standards of innocence yet, and most importantly to you," the jovial spirit in Nicodemus's voice vanished, "You still have the remnants of Meciel left within you, the memories of her, the traces of power, I can take that all away from you," he finished in a matter-of-fact voice. 

----------------------------------- 

A chill ran down Harry's spine. 

"Could he do that?" Harry asked the shadow in his mind. 

"Yes," Meciel answered simply. 

"What do you want from me?" Harry demanded to know, "Meciel said you would kill me, why haven't you?" 

Nicodemus let out another laugh. 

"I did tell you, did I not?" the man stepped into the room, past the doorway, "My little Deirdre found you interesting, unfortunately, without giving you Meciel back, I'll never find out exactly how interesting," Nicodemus murmured, a light frown appearing on his face briefly, before disappearing. 

"Not interesting enough," Harry grumbled to himself lowly. 

"Interesting does not necessarily mean strong," Nicodemus explained casually as he advanced towards the bed, "There is more interest to be had in an event where the outcome is decided by more than power. Something which you know shall come to pass is not interesting at all," he explained as he sat down at the end of the bed. 

"So I'm alive because I couldn't kill your daughter," Harry asked perplexedly, "That's stupid," he said bluntly. 

A light yawn of a laugh echoed from the doorway. 

"If that is stupid then I should just kill you right now to correct my mistake," Deirdre yawned from the doorway. 

"Go ahead," Harry challenged, before he redirected his attention to his mind momentarily, "What kind of help can you give me, enough to escape?" 

"You do not understand," Meciel's shadow murmured softly within Harry's mind, "I hold none of Meciel's power, only her personality I might be able to give you access to hellfire, but without anyway to channel it properly you'd kill yourself," 

Harry's eyes widened slightly and a second chill ran down his spine. 

A sadistic delight registered in Deirdre's eyes a moment before her tongue swept over her lips, in an almost reptilian fashion. 

"You finally understand your position," Nicodemus stated calmly as he regarded Harry.