Disclaimer: I disclaim everything.
I Am The Night
01 – In Which Someone Was Supposed To Die Tonight
Dammit.
The house was empty. No souls, least of all the target, stood within its walls. The man scowled and sat at the kitchen table, fidgeting with his gloves. Focus. Think.
The car was gone from the garage. Wallets and purses and the like – gone, but nothing larger. There were still backpacks and suitcases lying in place. They hadn't gone far. Probably just a surprise trip to the store, or something.
Neighborhood talk just wasn't what it used to be anymore.
With a sigh the man stood, making sure nothing looked any different to when he had arrived. No need to arouse suspicion – the job could be done later, or tomorrow. Or something. Either way, he'd gain nothing just waiting here. He took a few steps.
A cry shattered the silence, making him drop into a defensive position. It sounded close, within the house itself. An alarm? A guard? Melting into the shadows he drew a blade and glided slowly forward, eyes peeled from beneath the hood. The cries continued, albeit softer. He followed them down the hallway. In front of the living room lay a door, and from here the noise originated. The man, dagger in hand, grasped the knob and took a deep breath.
He turned it.
Albus Dumbledore was a patient man. He'd seen many years, and hoped to see many more. The wizard was a great believer in allowing things to come to pass, in planting seeds and leaving them to grow with little more than the occasional sprinkling of water on hot summer days. Needless to say, he wasn't one to fuss.
Minerva McGonagall was not a patient woman. She had far too many young charges to fuss over for that.
"It's been a month Albus! The least we should do is check on him."
"I'm certain young Harry is adjusting just fine for a one year old, Minerva. Lemon drop?" She shot him a scowl.
"It's the middle of December! What if he's caught a cold? We could slip him a Pepper-Up. Or if there's been an accident? I don't trust those people, they're the worst kind –"
"My dear, please, calm yourself." The old man treated himself to another drop, carefully busying himself with the Ministry notices he'd been so determinedly ignoring minutes ago. "If the boy were in any danger, I would know. I won't allow harm to come to him." He gazed at her through half moon glasses. "Don't you trust me?"
She glared back. "It's not you I'm worried about."
He chuckled and held out some more candy. "I think you worry too much."
It. Wouldn't. Stop. Crying.
The man had been all over the kitchen before finally finding appropriate nourishment for the… thing. That hadn't been enough.
He'd tried shushing it, singing to it, threatening it, even going so far as to sniff that disgusting piece of fluff wrapped around it. Nothing smelled off, so he sighed in relief (once he was a good distance away) and retreated to a corner to think.
He could always bring his dagger back out again.
Right, because that worked SO well earlier.
He still didn't know where that shield-bubble-thing that protected the… creature from his dramatic strike upon opening the cupboard door had come from. So now he was stuck with a monster inside an empty house in the middle of winter, and he couldn't even kill it.
Dammit.
The man sighed again. He'd acted on instinct earlier, but even he wasn't so daft as to intentionally disobey the Rules. Or the Tenets, or whatever the hell they were called now. This was an innocent, beastly as it was, and he would never take the life of an innocent.
Even if the cursed spawn of demons wouldn't shut up.
What was a… baby, fine, I'll call it a baby even doing in this empty house? He knew his target had a child, but the impression he'd gotten of it from last night's stakeout was… fat. And violent. And icky. And greedy.
All this one did was cry.
It was small, and pale, with a mop of dark hair and a cut on the forehead. What he'd seen of the watery eyes was vivid green. It didn't look like either of the adults in the house. It had been lying in a basket in the cupboard under the stairs, like it had just appeared there and the residents never even knew.
Well, this sucked.
The cloaked individual dangled a throwing knife over the kid's face. It reached up to try and touch it, only to resume wailing when it couldn't reach. With a growl, the elder dangled his own fingers instead.
A tiny hand grasped one.
"There," he muttered as his pinkie was played with and the kitchen became quieter. "Shut up now while I try to figure out how to kill you." It didn't seem to mind.
There was a letter tucked in the folds of the ratty blankets that swamped the infant. From up close, he noticed how it had been ripped open, and then stuffed back into the envelope with fervor. Using his free hand, he opened it.
"Potter, huh?" The thing gurgled and gnawed on his nails. He set the letter – didn't feel like paper – down on the counter and looked the beast in the eye. "Any clue who this Dumbledore guy is?" No (legible) reply. "Right, well, I don't think that your," he glanced at the flowing green ink, "aunt is treating you like her own or whatever, so maybe you should write back and complain or something." He stepped back and glanced out the window. No cars rolled down Privet Drive at this late hour; the target still hadn't returned. Oh well, that Miles guy could take care of this. He was leaving.
Now.
A choked sob captured his attention, and he glanced back at the counter. It was crying again! God, he was glad he didn't have one. But now the kitchen was no longer quiet, and he'd have to deal with it till he got it back to that hole in the wall it presumably called home.
He sighed.
"Hey, shut up." Didn't help. Neither did "I'm going to plunge this knife into your eyeball and twist it so that your brains come out like spaghetti." And "Stop crying before I tear your limbs off ligament by ligament with my teeth" just got it thrashing around in its blankets. Finally, he huffed.
"Fine. You asked for it."
The man melted into the shadows between the fridge and the oven, drawing his sword and holding up his cloak. His brown eyes glinted dangerously in the darkness, outshining the streetlamp in the window with ease. They narrowed at their adversary.
"I am darkness." He took a menacing step forward. "I am the end. I am your doom," he loomed ominously over the bundle, eyes and blade catching the dim light. His cloak flared about him, and the creature stared with wide eyes, fists clenched.
"I am…"
Pause for breath. And dramatic effect, of course.
"Theodore Jenkins."
Somewhere, rocking a crying Dudley whilst Petunia made their quick purchases at the only corner store still open, Vernon frowned and glanced at the sky.
"Huh," He murmured. "Looks like rain."
It giggled.
Theodore glared at it.
"Yeah, sure, laugh at someone else's name, why don't you?" He grumbled, sheathing his sword. "'Harry Potter,' right, well, your parents weren't any better at naming than mine, obviously! Kids these days," with a snort he turned, ready to stalk out – intimidatingly, of course – and was halfway to the door (like hell was he using a window again) when he caught sight of the mantelpiece.
There was a family of three in those pictures: two fat whales and a horse. At least, that was all he bothered to gather from them. No sign of the mouse or squirrel or whatever scrawny thing he'd just left behind on the counter that obviously didn't fit in and was barely deemed worthy of an actual bed. According to the letter, it had been here a month now. That was plenty of time to get a crib, right? Hell, to clear out one of those extra rooms upstairs even.
Theodore stood there a while longer.
Then he swore and stalked back to the kitchen. He already had 'breaking and entering,' along with 'premeditated murder,' 'assault' and a side of 'vandalism' on his criminal resume.
May as well add 'stealing a baby' for good measure.
A/N Greetings all! Trying out something a little different here. Don't have an update schedule yet, but I'll see if I can commit to one. IATN will mostly focus on Harry's version of events, with very little of the actual Assassin's Creed plot (mostly just elements of the series) thrown in. Two big warnings: this story will be dark, morbid humor (death, mostly. What? They're assassins), and the 'humor' part may occasionally wander into crack territory. Read at your own risk.
SO, assuming I haven't scared you off... Review so I can get to the next chapter already! :)
