Author's Notes: THIS IS A SEQUEL! The first book in this series is "The Shadow Lord." You will probably need to read that one to understand anything. ALSO, OBLIGATORY DRARRY SLASH WARNING/ENTICEMENT.

And before you ask, the magic history/magic system stuff in this story is NOT canon, though I tried to make it somewhat plausible. This is a full alternate universe, not just a canon divergence. I made most of this stuff up. I'm sorry. Don't attempt to connect it to canon.

Anyway, without further ado… welcome to Year 2. There is a lot of information at the start, but the action starts soon, I promise.

CHAPTER ONE

A SUMMER OF SYNESIS

o

A couple days into the summer holidays, Harry could be found lying awake in bed long past midnight, talking to a book. A book that also happened to talk back.

"I am not a book," insisted The Lost Artes of Summoning, sounding extremely put out. Harry had heard it speak several times by now, but he still couldn't figure out if the book was conversing with him inside his head or actually saying words out loud. Harry suspected he was the only one who could hear it, in any case.

The book had tried to talk to Harry at Hogwarts during the last week of school, perhaps in an attempt to help him, and had kept up a constant, annoying stream of chatter. Because he hadn't had much privacy to respond to it in either the library or in his dorm, he'd asked it to shut up. The book had been sulking since then, and Harry suspected it was hiding some, if not most, of its information from him in revenge for his rudeness.

"If you're not a book, then what are you?" he asked, stroking the book's tattered black cover like he would stroke a cat.

The book quivered in what was probably indignant fury. "I? I am Synesis, a Sapience demon of the highest rank. The man who wrote this book summoned me and trapped me within its pages, wanting to preserve knowledge on something more lasting than paper." There was a pause. "Does this mean you're talking to me now?"

"Yes. What exactly is a Sapience demon?" asked Harry, who was only mildly surprised by this newest revelation. What else could a talking book be, if not a demon? Of course, there were definitely some talking books in the Hogwarts library, and in other ancient archives, but none were as sentient as this one.

Harry flipped to one of the pages he had bookmarked. He had seen the word Sapience—written the demon language, of course—embedded in various descriptions. From context clues, he had determined that it was a type of demon, but the book did not clarify.

Whenever he opened the book, its telltale helix-shaped letters—it had taken a while, but Harry had finally found the closest English word to describe the look of the strange, inhuman language—rose off the page, glowing and pulsing. Harry could maneuver the floating, colorful letters with his fingers, and could scroll down to reveal more.

"Sapience," Harry muttered under his breath, seizing a group of green letters and shoving them aside. They spun rapidly in the air like tops for a moment, then disappeared, and the book slammed itself shut.

"No touching!"

Harry stared at the book, taken aback. Had he done something wrong? Failed to follow some secret demon etiquette? He'd been manhandling the letters for more than a week now, and the book had never thrown a tantrum like this.

"Let me talk!" said the book—or Synesis, Harry supposed he should call it. "You've been reading me for a while now, but nothing will make sense without me to explain it to you. Will you listen to me? Nobody ever listens to me, and they shove me in a bookshelf for hundreds of years, and then nobody picks me up until Abraxas Malfoy, but he can't even hear me speak!"

Synesis trembled again, pausing its rant, and Harry wondered if it was on the verge of tears. "And then another boy that looks like him picks me up, and then I find you, and you can hear me, but you don't listen to me and don't talk to me, and you tell me to shut up for weeks—"

"Okay, okay, I'll listen now. I'll listen well," said Harry, stroking the book's spine and trying to calm it down. This particular demon reminded him of a petulant child. It was nothing like the truly demonic Hunger he had faced in the Forbidden Forest last year.

He wondered how dangerous Synesis was, and decided not to invoke its fury any more than he already had, just in case.

"Good." Synesis wriggled in Harry's arms, making itself comfortable. Then it opened up again, and this time, the words hovering above its pages explained exactly what Harry needed them to.

"All Sapience demons," said Synesis importantly, as Harry read the words in the air, "are born with a vast collection of knowledge. Because I am a Rank Seven Sapience, I am one of the most intelligent beings alive."

In his studies, Harry had spotted the words "Rank" and "Mark" scattered over the book as well, often accompanied by a number. 'Rank' appeared to refer to a demon—and Harry supposed that Rank Seven was the highest, while Rank One was the lowest—while 'Mark' referred to the complexity of a particular summoning circle. The easiest circles to make were all Mark One circles.

"Sapience, Astral, Sisyphean, Pestilence, Templar, Psyche, and Leviathan," said Harry, reading the glowing words and mumbling to himself. "These are the seven races of demons. Each race has seven ranks, then?"

"Yes!" said Synesis. "You want to learn how to summon, don't you? I could teach how to do it, and show you everything in my book. But I don't like you, because you told me to shut up. I won't teach you if you don't talk to me every single day. Why didn't you talk to me before?"

"It would have looked weird," Harry said through gritted teeth, unable to believe the audacity of this stupid book…demon… thing, "if people saw me talking to a book. There are a ton of people in my dormitory. It's only been about two weeks since I found you, anyway, and I always meant to speak to you. We have the entire summer alone now, for me to talk to you and for you to teach me."

"I am not a talking book," said Synesis in a pompous voice. "I am a Rank Seven Sapience."

Harry resisted the urge to chuck the book into the wall. "Will you teach me? Please? I'm sorry."

Synesis hesitated, and Harry could almost feel the sadistic glee emanating from it. "Maybe. But why should I? I don't like humans very much. I haven't met many. But one of them trapped me in a book, the rest of them couldn't even hear me, and you ignored me. If I want to, I can just close this book forever, and you'd never, EVER learn anything from me."

Harry took a deep breath, praying for patience. Synesis might not be dangerous, but it could sure hold a grudge. Harry had never met anyone as infuriating as this book in his life, except perhaps Theodore Nott, whose face Harry regularly imagined punching.

Speaking of Nott, the boy had been exceptionally annoying the last month of term, always touching and talking to Draco and giving Harry smug looks over his shoulder in class. Harry had devised about twenty different ways to kill him, all of which involved ingenious torture methods that would make Dolohov beam with pride.

"Are you even listening to me?" said Synesis, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. "I said, what will you do for me in return, if I let you use my book and show you how to summon?"

A chill ran down Harry's spine. Give and take. The rule demons lived by. Each gift had a price. Harry had learned that firsthand when the Hunger had sucked out his magic.

"What—what do you want?" said Harry in a halting voice.

Synesis's pages fluttered in a breeze that wasn't there, and Harry shivered. "I want you to free me, and send me back home—to my realm. I'll teach you how to release me, and I'll teach you anything else you want me to, and I'll let you use my book. As long as you promise you'll let me go."

Harry wavered, staring at the innocent-looking book. He didn't trust it, not at all. It was most likely harmless when it was trapped in a book, but Harry had no idea what it would do once it was freed. What did demons even look like in their natural form? Did they drift around like ghosts? The Hunger had appeared to Harry as Draco last year, though Harry still wasn't sure if that was an illusion or the actual Hunger in human form—he suspected it was the former.

In any case, he had surmised from his reading that very few of them could survive for long on Earth without an attachment to a living creature or object. Oxygen was toxic to them.

"If I say yes, when do you want me to free you?" Harry asked, making it clear that he wasn't agreeing to anything yet.

Synesis was quiet for a while, and Harry supposed it was sulking again. "Free me on the summer solstice, Litha, next year. June 21st, 1993."

Harry was sure the room's temperature had plunged. His hands were clammy all of a sudden. The date felt ominous, foreboding, inexplicably wrong to him.

"That's not the way we're doing it," Harry said at once, and Synesis writhed in his hands, screeching like an angry cat.

Harry held it tightly, not letting it intimidate him. He was going to haggle with the damn demon until it gave him exactly what he wanted. He had been burned enough by the Hunger, and Synesis wasn't going to get a hit in too.

"I don't even care about summoning that much, not really. How do I even know it'll be useful to me? What if, by the time next year comes around, you haven't taught me anything good? What do you have to offer me? Without me, you're trapped in this book forever, with nobody to talk to and nobody to release you, so I'll be the one asking for things."

Synesis stilled, and for one horrible second Harry was certain it was going to start screaming again.

But it didn't.

"I'll tell you how useful I can be. I am the smartest demon, and demon magic is much more powerful than wizard magic. If you listen to me, and if you talk to me, I can teach you how to be the most powerful wizard in the world. So, listen."

Harry listened.

When our realm was first created, it was empty of everything but two eternally warring gods: Control and Chaos. For countless years, these gods battled, laying waste to the land. Finally, each dealt the other a killing blow, and both gods shattered.

The wind scattered the gods' remains through the skies, like plants scatter seeds, and on the day we call the Anthesis, or the Blossoming, our kind was born. We demons bloomed from the shards of Chaos, and the incredible magic that we wield arose from the shards of Control. We worship Chaos because it is what we are made of, and Control submits only to us.

We are not anything like humans—we do not have bodies, nor do we exist as mist. We are constantly in a state of motion and change, never staying in one form long enough to truly be anything. Our realm is far less than solid than yours, but it is beautiful. You humans don't see color and shapes like we do, so you wouldn't be able to appreciate it.

For years and years, we lived in harmony there. And then your kind came.

Wizards first discovered the existence of multiple realms in 4th century BC, Greece. Each realm sits on top of the other like the pages of a book, and the occurrences of one realm affects another. By observing and recording inexplicable phenomena, ancient wizards were able to trace the source of such phenomena to our realm. Desperate to have us, they dragged us into your world through summoning rituals. Such rituals tear holes into the space between the wizard and demon realms, allowing wizards to drag demons through to their side.

The reason?

Your kind was enthralled by our magic. Most wizards in this time period did not have wands, as wands were only developed in 382 BC, and not widely used until Hogwarts was established in 993 AD. In the early days, human magic was extremely volatile, and only through summoning, through our magic, could wizards ever hope to control theirs.

Because we do not have physical bodies, we can only exist in your realm if we are in a body or object, and a select, secret group of wizards took full advantage of this. They used their summoning rituals to bind our wills and our sentience, so that they could channel our magic through their bodies without risking being possessed by us. They fused our magic with theirs, and used us to wage their wars, to build their civilizations. Without us, the ancient magical world would have fallen into disrepair, though the majority of wizards never knew we existed.

Even fewer remember us these days. When wizards began to use wands, their magic began to change subtly. After a few generations, wizards lost the ability to tear holes into our realm, and the art of summoning perished in the tides of time.

But there are those who still know of us, hear the echoes from centuries ago—the man who summoned me in 1708 AD, for example. He was a scholar who spent more time digging into the past than living in the present, and he learned how to summon after a lifetime of study. I don't know what happened to him—my data is limited to everything that occurred before he stopped talking to me. People open this book, but nobody talks to me, and I learn nothing new.

But I still know nearly everything there is to know about summoning, because I am a Rank Seven Sapience. So, Harry Potter, if you listen to me, I can open a window to the past for you, and you can have access to weapons that other wizards can only dream of.

There are demons that can see a few seconds into the future—and if you summon and bind them, their power will be yours, making you unbeatable in battle. You will be able to foresee your opponent's every move.

There are demons that can enhance your intelligence, strength, and reflexes to superhuman levels for as long as they are bound to you.

There are demons that act as your hands, eyes, and ears, that you can control and send out to scout places you'd rather not go. You can make them possess other people, even.

And this only scratches the surface of what we can do. Sapience, Astral, Sisyphean, Pestilence, Templar, Psyche, and Leviathan—each race, and each demon within that race, specializes in a different ability. Wouldn't you like to see them all?

You ask, how are our abilities any different from wizard magic? Let's just say the havoc we can cause with our magic is far longer-lasting—and more devastating—than anything your magic can do. Think of how powerful you could be, equipped with both a wand and a demon, in a world that hasn't seen anything like you in hundreds of years.

So, do we have a deal?

Sebastian lay next to Draco in bed, propped up on his elbow. He gazed down at Draco, eyes dark, and his face split into a grin. Draco lay very still, feeling as though he had no limbs.

"I'll break you, Draco, until you can't do anything but cry and beg, until you're so broken you won't be able to take anyone but me." Sebastian didn't reach out to touch Draco, or move any closer. He just kept talking, and talking, telling Draco what he would do—

Draco jerked upright, gasping, sticky with sweat, then started flailing around in his sheets, sure that Sebastian was right next to him, just out of sight.

Nightmare—was only a nightmare—

Draco stopped his frantic thrashing and lay in bed, shivering. He was in his room, alone. Morning sunlight filtered in through the open window, letting in a cool breeze, sending the gauzy canopy of his bed aflutter.

Draco panted, his eyes unfocused, Sebastian's voice echoing in his head.

Then there was a loud crack, and Draco flinched and swore.

"Mistress is requiring Sir's presence downstairs for breakfast in thirty minutes," squeaked one of the house-elves with bandaged hands—Dolly? Dotty? Dobby? Something like that, Draco didn't really care. It stared at him, lower lip trembling, then disappeared with another crack.

Draco ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, gathered himself, banishing the stupid nightmare out of his mind, and slipped out of bed.

And, as it usually did, his mind jumped to Harry.

He stole my book. Draco had discovered it was gone when he'd been packing the last morning of term, and by then it had been too late to go find Harry and accuse him of stealing it. He was sure it was Harry, anyway. Who knew else about The Lost Artes of Summoning but the two of them? Why did Harry even need it? Why didn't he tell Draco why he needed it? How many secrets was he keeping, and for what?

Draco swallowed painfully.

It hurt that Harry had stolen the book from him, instead of just asking to borrow it. Draco would have given it to him immediately; his father had completely forgotten that Draco had even removed a book from the Malfoy library, and even if Lucius had asked, Draco would have probably come up with a good excuse for why he hadn't brought it back.

Why didn't Harry just ask me?

And then Draco answered his own silly question.

Because he doesn't trust me anymore, and he doesn't want to tell me anything, and he hates me.

After a good twenty minutes splashing water on his face, Draco padded downstairs. Malfoy Manor was always eerily quiet, but especially so in the mornings. The portraits of his ancestors gazed haughtily down at him as he made his way to the kitchen, judging his tousled appearance.

Draco didn't care. If his father was here, he'd be getting a lecture on how the Malfoy heir ought to look presentable at all times, but his father was off doing business in France and wouldn't return until later today. And Narcissa didn't care how he looked around her, in the privacy of their home.

The kitchen was bright with summer sunlight, and Narcissa's silvery hair made it even brighter. She was sitting at the little round breakfast table, a table Draco found much more welcoming than the huge glass table in the dining hall, and reading the Daily Prophet.

To an outsider, Narcissa Malfoy looked cold and unforgiving. She was tall, with hair that rivaled her husband's in length and luster, with an equal mix of soft and angular features that Draco had inherited. Her eyes were icy blue, small, and sharp, and her mouth rarely curved into a smile. But Draco knew better. Narcissa had different, subtler, ways of revealing her pleasure.

"You're late," said Narcissa with a sniff as Draco sat down and started digging into his sausages, which the house-elves had laid out for him a moment before. "Eat quickly. Mr. Dietrich will be arriving at nine on the dot, and your father will be back for lunch."

Draco sighed, daintily stabbing a sausage with his fork. "Sorry, Mother."

From ages six to ten, he'd been tutored in French, and was now fluent in the language. His father wanted Draco to learn German next, which meant long, painful mornings sitting with his German tutor Mr. Dietrich, attempting to pronounce words like behilflich and verstehe and entschuldigung without making a massive fool of himself.

"I don't even see why I have to learn German," Draco said, tapping his fork loudly against the plate. "Isn't it useless? Everyone speaks English."

Narcissa gazed at him, unsmiling, but Draco could tell she was amused. "Stop tapping, Draco."

Draco stopped tapping, but continued his rant. "He wants me to visit Durmstrang in third year or something as an exchange student, but I bet they'll speak English there for us. And I don't see why I can't spend a term abroad at Beauxbatons instead; I already know French—"

"Beauxbatons is still rebelling," said Narcissa quietly, catching Draco's gaze and holding it in her stern one. "It will be unsafe for you to study there for several years."

Draco frowned. Well, she wasn't wrong.

While Durmstrang had been under the Dark Lord's control for just as long as Hogwarts had, Beauxbatons' professors had only been replaced two years ago, and the French Ministry had fallen only last year. Draco supposed that the system of Skulls that was entrenched at both Durmstrang and Hogwarts had been a nasty shock to Beauxbatons, though it was difficult for him to imagine a rebellion.

Were there Mudbloods at Beauxbatons still, or had they been carted off? Draco didn't really fancy fraternizing with Mudbloods, so he could see why Durmstrang, where the Purebloods had reigned supreme long before the Dark Lord had taken over, would be the better choice for him.

"All right," said Draco. "But I don't even see why I have to go abroad. Most of the Elites do, but it seems like such a waste of time. Don't Durmstrang students come to Hogwarts for the Skull Games every few years anyways? What's the point of going there if they're going to come here?"

"Why must you complain about everything?" Narcissa asked, though Draco could tell that she was on the verge of smiling. Then her tone darkened, and Draco looked up, mildly alarmed. "You will learn German, and practice your French, and learn any other language your father deems is important for you to learn."

Narcissa said all this with an air of finality, and Draco finished the rest of his sausages in silence, scowling.

When he started on his milk, Narcissa added, "Your father wanted me to tell you that your Dueling training will begin tomorrow. I believe you will be training with Theodore."

Draco nearly choked. "Tomorrow?" He slammed his glass down on the table loudly, ignoring Narcissa's disapproving glare.

Lucius had been speaking to Mr. Nott lately, and the two of them had decided that Draco and Theo would begin training this summer, in preparation for the next phase of Trials, which involved intense Dueling tournaments and war games, none of which Draco was looking forward to.

And speaking of things he wasn't looking forward to, there was no way he was stepping foot inside the Nott manor to train. No way. If Theo wanted to come to Draco's house to practice with Lucius, fine, but he'd better leave his father and brothers behind at his own hovel, or Draco might just end up having a stroke.

"Isn't Father just getting back from France?" asked Draco. "I thought he'd want to rest for a while before training us. Tomorrow. Ugh."

"Don't make unpleasant sounds, Draco. And yes, but I doubt France was taxing on him," said Narcissa, dryly. "I daresay all he did was drink champagne with Minister Durieux for three days."

Draco snorted. "If he was just messing around, why couldn't he have taken me? He said he was on official business. I wanted to go to Paris again." Draco kept muttering, and Narcissa looked as though she was trying not to smile again. Draco always seemed to do that to her, he knew. She was wrapped around his finger.

"Mother, can we go to Paris next month?" he asked, smiling sweetly, and Narcissa blinked.

"Perhaps for a few days, if you behave yourself and train well," she said, standing up. "Get ready now. Mr. Dietrich will be arriving soon. Have you gone over your verb conjugations?"

Draco groaned at the top of his voice, and Narcissa's lips twitched.

"Where have you been these days?" asked Lily from across the table, watching Harry shovel oatmeal into his mouth at top speed. Her voice was emotionless. "I haven't heard a sound from you in weeks."

Harry paused. He'd holed himself up in his room for the entirety of June to work on perfecting his summoning circles, since a single wrong rune could mean being possessed and blown apart by the demon you summoned. He hadn't had much sleep, or much food, and perhaps by now Lily had noticed something was going on.

Harry hadn't even realized that she was paying attention to him, to be honest. She hadn't attacked him much this summer, since he no longer was able to use his wandless magic to aggravate her, but she was otherwise unchanged. Like Snape, she ignored Harry whenever she possibly could.

"I've been studying," Harry said, oatmeal dribbling out of his mouth.

"What?" Lily asked. "What have you been studying?"

Harry hesitated. "Just—you know, everything. Potions."

"You hate Potions," said Lily, without blinking.

How does she even know that? Harry thought with a scowl. Creepy.

"Well, I—I wanted to impress Professor Snape next year—"

"You hate Severus," said Lily, still not blinking, and Harry stood up in disgust.

"I'm just doing what I want, all right? It's summer. I can do what I want. Bye, Mum." He didn't bother to put away his plates, but Lily didn't say anything. She just stared at him as he stomped up the stairs, her gaze burning a hole into his back.

Crazy old hag, Harry thought with huff, slamming the door to his room shut behind him and throwing himself onto his bed. He immediately felt guilty for the thought, since it was his fault she was crazy in the first place, but smacked the guilt away. He could call Lily whatever he wanted to. Nobody would ever hear his thoughts, anyway. And if they did, well: She's a crazy old hag and I hate her, didn't speak to me all summer and NOW she's asking me—

"Harry? Which circle do you want to look at today? Sisyphean Mark Three or Astral Mark Two? I'm formatting both of them right now," Synesis piped up from Harry's desk.

"Sisyphean Mark Three," said Harry, burying his head in his pillow. After a whirr of movement, Harry's room was illuminated with green light from the glowing letters hovering above Synesis's pages. At once, the letters assembled themselves into a circle and began rotating slowly.

"Done!" chirped Synesis.

The stupid demon book had been annoyingly happy for the past couple weeks, ever since Harry had agreed to free it—though he hadn't specified the date. Harry intended to break his promise at some point, because he had discovered that he desperately needed Synesis for everything.

Each basic summoning circle—Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and so on—needed minor modifications depending on the type of demon Harry wanted to summon. And many of the circles, such as those that lacked a template, had to be put together from scratch. If that wasn't enough, all these circles were immensely complicated, and there was no way Harry would be able to remember them without Synesis's guidance.

In order to get around this, Harry planned to summon another high-level Sapience demon to put into his own body—a mute one, so he wouldn't have to hear chattering like Synesis's all day long in his head. If he picked the right demon, it would raise his brainpower greatly, allowing him to remember everything he read and solve puzzles with ease. Until then, he would need Synesis.

It would be difficult—not to mention dangerous—to summon such a Sapience, but Harry swore that he would. One day, he'd have several different demons in his body, each giving him a different ability, a different enhancement. The abilities would stack, making him absolutely unbeatable both inside of battle and outside it.

And the best part? Nobody would suspect a thing.

Well, except maybe Lily, if she kept being creepy and paying attention to Harry.

And speaking of Lily…

"Synesis," Harry began, "if there are demons that increase intelligence, is there a demon that could, I dunno, heal a person's mind?"

Synesis tittered. "It's not that easy! What, you think a mind can be healed by magic? You're talking about your mother, aren't you? You guys are always shouting at each other. Stop that."

"If her sanity was taken by a demon, couldn't a demon also give it back? My mother's sanity was 'taken' by the Seven Royal Demons, somehow," Harry insisted, sitting up. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It wasn't 'taken.' That's just a figure of speech," said Synesis with a huff. "The Seven Royal Demons are the most powerful demons in our realm, and they are practically gods. Few demons even know that the Royals exist outside of legend, but of course I do.

"I can guess what they did to your mother, and I'm always right. They must have unraveled her mind by cramming an eternity of death and pain into just one horrible second. On the outside, it probably looked like she went insane in one exact moment, but I bet that she spent countless years in her own head during that one second, slowly breaking down. That sort of damage is nearly impossible to undo."

Synesis's pages fluttered importantly. "Sanity isn't a physical object in the mind that you can just take away and replace at will, you know."

Harry was about to be sick. "Is there a demon that can help her, though—"

"No," Synesis interrupted. It almost sounded apologetic.

Harry sat on his bed for a good five minutes, staring at the opposite wall with blank eyes. He'd never let go of the hope that, somehow, his mother would be whole again. He'd always imagined that one day he'd figure out how to make her go back to the way she used to be, before Harry. He'd been sure that there was a spell, a potion, a quick fix, somewhere out there.

"Harry?" said Synesis, meekly.

Harry got up, shaking off his thoughts. Without a word, he stalked over to his desk and picked up both Synesis and a piece of chalk, then kneeled down.

"Harry?" Synesis repeated, sounding alarmed.

"I'm going to summon a demon. Today." Harry began to carefully trace the circle Synesis was projecting onto the floor, making sure to get every single line right.

"But—but shouldn't you practice a bit more? Have you already decided which demon you're going to call? I think you should wait—"

"It's been two weeks!" Harry practically roared. "How long am I going to practice? For what?"

He took a moment to thank Merlin that he'd purchased a privacy and silencing ward for his room, back when Snape had taken him to Knockturn Alley for school supplies a week ago. He'd blown most of his allowance on it, but it was worth it to make sure Lily didn't hear him screaming at a book. Snape had let him get the ward too, unlike most parents would have, though probably not out of the kindness of his heart. Snape didn't really care what Harry did.

"It's dangerous to summon!" wailed Synesis. "If you don't have everything exactly right, the demon will escape the confines of the circle and devour your soul!"

"Oooh, dramatic. You've told me this a million times," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "What's your point? You never want me to summon anything, ever?"

"That's—that's not true. I'm just worried. Which rank?" said Synesis, fluttering fretfully.

"Rank Three Sisyphean," said Harry. "The name of the demon is Kardin. It'll make me stronger, and give me faster reflexes, and I can easily subdue it. I think it's a good first choice."

There were potions and spells that increased your reflexes and strength, but those didn't last long, and had a plethora of side-effects. Harry figured summoning Kardin would give him an edge that no other wizard had, which was why he'd picked it for his first.

"Rank Three?" Synesis squealed, and Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "No, you can't. Kardin won't be as easy as you think. A man in 32 BC tried to summon Kardin and ended up exploding. Kardin increased the pressure inside the man's body, and—"

"Kardin's been summoned by more people than just that man," Harry retorted, finishing up his circle. "And most of them survived. That guy must've made a stupid mistake."

To get added to Synesis's lexicon of demons, a demon had to have been summoned at least once. Names were a human construct, and a demon did not have identification until a human had bound it and christened it.

Summoning an unnamed, "virgin" demon was a far more difficult and dangerous process than summoning a demon that had already been named, used, and returned to its realm, which usually happened when its summoner died or banished it. In fact, the more a demon was used, the safer it was to summon. Kardin had been used twelve different times, by twelve different people, and the last time had been in 754 AD.

For an extremely minor demon, this was the perfect amount of usage. Harry was sure he wouldn't have too much trouble with it.

"But Harry!" said Synesis in a shrill voice, and Harry wished he could murder it. "We don't even know if summoning's safe. You told me what the Hunger said to you—it said that 'the Dark Lord' tore apart our realm. If that's true, I don't know what it means. If you try to summon, maybe something horrible will happen. I've already strengthened the runes on the circle, but I still don't think we're ready."

Harry shook his head. Now he knew why Synesis was panicking so much. Synesis was absolutely terrified of what had changed during the time it had been trapped in a book. For the first time, Synesis didn't know everything, so it had to make do with guesswork, and it didn't like that at all.

In fact, Synesis didn't even properly believe that the Dark Lord had managed to conquer the Royal Demons, and kept repeating that it was impossible. The Dark Lord seemed to have stumped Synesis like nothing else had.

"It'll be all right," Harry said soothingly. "You accounted for anomalies in the circle, didn't you? The version I just made is the strengthened one, right?" He gestured towards the circle he'd sketched over the wooden floor, and Synesis let out a reluctant noise of assent. "And don't you want me to send you back to your realm eventually? If you're so scared about what's happening there, then do you even want to go back? Are you all right with staying in this book forever?"

"FINE!" Synesis screeched, hopping up and down, making a very bizarre picture. "Summon Kardin! And if you get blown up, see if I care! I'm not cleaning your guts off the wall."

"You're a book," Harry said, grinning triumphantly. "You can't clean anything up."

"I am not a book. I am a Rank Seven—" Synesis began, but Harry shushed it with a hasty wave of his hand.

"I'm gonna start now," Harry whispered. He walked over to the door, makings sure it was locked, just in case Lily decided to come up to check on him. Which she wouldn't. The silencing and privacy ward was on too, so she wouldn't be alerted by any sort of noise.

Satisfied, he turned back around to look at the circle, which was about the size of a small rug. The higher the Mark of the circle, the bigger it was, and a Mark Seven circle would nearly take up the entire floor of his room. Luckily, Harry didn't plan to tackle one of those for a while yet.

"When you suck Kardin into your body, before you subdue its sentience, could you ask it what's going on in our realm?" said Synesis quietly. "I just—I just want to know."

Harry stared at the book, and gave it a stiff nod. It wouldn't be too difficult to get a question in. Kardin might decide not to answer it, but it was worth a try, and it was the least Harry could do to ease Synesis's worries.

He too was somewhat apprehensive about the side-effects of calling demons from a torn realm, but he was reasonably sure there wouldn't be any. The process of summoning was the same, no matter how broken the demons' home was.

Hastily, Harry rummaged in his desk drawers and removed a small steel knife, which he'd stolen from the kitchen a couple days ago in preparation. He kneeled down next to the circle again, brandishing the chalk and making a few important adjustments, instructed by a constantly fretting Synesis.

Finally, it was done. He straightened up, taking a deep breath and gathering himself.

Now.

Harry stepped in front of the circle. He was barefoot, and the tips of his toes touched the outermost edge of the runes. He held one of his hands above the center of the circle, and slashed across his palm with the knife. A drop of blood fell onto the central and most important rune of the circle, which was the name 'Kardin' in the two-dimensional form of the demon language.

The circle glowed blindingly bright, and everything hurt.

Harry scrunched his eyes closed, feeling his blood burn in his veins. He doubled over, gasping, and Synesis started screeching unhelpfully and fluttering its pages.

"It's in the circle! Kardin is in the circle! Quick!"

Harry pried his eyes open through the pain, squinting at a shapeless mass of what looked like black liquid whirling above the circle, resembling a storm cloud. Though most demons didn't have true forms, they were forced to assume one inside a summoning circle, weakening them.

Then a second later, Harry sensed it, the tremulous thread of magic that connected him to the center of the circle.

Harry tugged, and Kardin was drawn through the invisible thread like water through a tube, out of the circle and into Harry's body. The runes stopped glowing, and Harry fell to the ground, clutching his head.

This was the most dangerous part of the summoning ritual. If he didn't beat Kardin in this battle, Kardin would take over his body, and that meant—well, it meant an explosion, going by what had happened to the poor man in 32 BC.

Who are you? said a voice in Harry's head, hoarse and pained, but Harry would not pity it, and he would not be distracted. He drove all his mental energy towards the source of the voice like a drill, feeling the demon's presence thrashing around in his body, his mind, under his skin—there was no way to describe it, but he and the demon were truly entwined around each other in that moment, sharing the same body and the same soul.

PLEASE—LET ME SPEAK—

Harry felt rather than saw another glowing thread, a thread of sentience, the thread that made demons able to think and act for themselves while they were in a human's body.

Harry snapped the thread, and Kardin went limp. It didn't say anything else.

Harry flopped to the floor and lay on his back, panting. The room was silent except for the fluttering of Synesis's pages.

"Was that it?" Harry whispered. "That was—that wasn't too bad. It hurt, but it was almost—almost easy, really."

Harry started laughing. He could feel the Sisyphean demon's power pulsing through him, spreading its alien strength throughout his body.

"My modified summoning circle made it easy. It already weakened Kardin, dulled its sentience, and bound it to you. Kardin had no chance. Did you ask it about our realm before you turned off its mind?"

Harry rubbed his forehead and groaned. "Shit. No, I panicked. I think Kardin wanted to tell me something, but I thought it was trying to trick me, so I just ignored it."

Unsettled, Synesis said nothing for a minute. "It might've been trying to trick you. The only way to find out what's happening on the other side is to summon a demon and conquer it without turning off its cognition. I'll come up with a circle that'll allow that for next time. Particular races of demons are more susceptible to it. Maybe an Astral would be best. We shouldn't try again for a while, in any case. Your body needs to get accustomed to having a Rank Three demon inside of it, and adding another so soon would strain it too much."

Harry got to his feet gingerly. He moved like he usually did; the ground didn't crack underneath his feet or anything. Everything felt normal.

Except that it didn't.

Harry seized the piece of hard chalk he'd used to make the circle, gently rubbing it between his fingers. Nothing happened. Irritated, he clenched his fist over it and squeezed.

When he opened his fist, there was nothing in his palm but white dust.

Harry's breath came out fast and uneven.

Metal, I need metal—

The knife. Harry had dropped it on the ground during his struggle with Kardin. He picked it up, his breath still coming fast, and carefully held the blade of the knife between two fingers. He pulled.

It bent like paper.

Harry grinned, ignoring Synesis's excited chattering, and grabbed a Knut from his desk. He threw it across the room. The coin seemed to spin in slow motion, and Harry's demon-sharpened eyes followed each rotation with ease. He knew exactly where it would land.

A split second later, the tiny coin was clutched safely in his fist. He'd crossed the room and caught the coin out of the air.

Harry started laughing. He was good at Dueling already, but this—this would make him incredible, and he hadn't even summoned all the demons on his list yet. He wondered what the Skulls would think when they saw him duel.

Right now, they saw him as the little dirty-blood boy Draco had humiliated on Walpurgis Night, if they remembered him at all. But one day soon, they wouldn't see him as half-blood or blood-traitor. He could almost imagine it.

In a few years' time, he'd be the new Skull King. He swore it. And when the Skulls were his, they'd be his to destroy.

Harry clenched his fist one more time, and the coin disintegrated.