Author's note: Greetings to all! I'm an aspiring writer and this is the very first thing I'm publishing here on this website, so any and all forms of reviews are welcomed.
Now as for what this one-shot is; it's just a little experiment so that I can get used to the updating system on this site. As you may have noticed, it's a Harry Potter fic, and it contains no true purposeful plot. It's something that came to me in a dream, and I decided to write it down. Now without further ado, please enjoy it and express whatever you think if you wish!
Disclaimer: Anything related to J.K. Rowling's works on this fic isn't mine. I only claim ownership to four original characters and the additional plot.
The Darkness…
The ever eternal, damnable darkness…
How long, this time? That was a stupid question; what is the point in asking about the moment that is 'Now' if there is no way of telling time itself apart? What purpose is there in glancing at hope if it is impossible to so much as twitch not one single atom in the body? As far as he was concerned, he no longer had a 'time' to call his own. No past, no present, and certainly no future to be marked as his own. In fact, since as long as he could remember, his life had been claimed from his clutches; he was no different than a dead body standing on its feet, with the source of mobility being the determining will of others.
That will was Darkness. He couldn't help but chuckle at the treacherous, but poetic irony. Here he was, right under his enemies' turf, chained to absolute darkness, unable to so much as flex a single finger. Darkness had been his Creator, his Master, his Educator, his Parent, his Everything. No matter how much he struggled before Hell, he would never give them the submission they expected from him.
Tch, get real. Compared to Master's punishments, this is but a measly slap on the hand. Hmph, and they said I'd be begging for a Dementor's Kiss to be put out of this miserable state. What fools.
A scowl of utter hatred and contempt, aimed at the dark ceiling.
What fathomable, impertinent fools.
The dungeon suddenly quakes and shivers as though a dragon is roaring from the distance. The chains that bind him to the wall rattle with fury, sadistically shaking his arms, held above his head in a frozen position for an untold amount of hours. The pain from his muscles, his every atom which had been held compacted still, is indescribable. It's like every nerve in his body is being pulled apart at a molecular level, his bones bended past breaking point, and his muscles stabbed with knives. And yet he refuses to yield; he was not going to fill the dark room with his screams. No, he would never give them the satisfaction of so much as thinking that they had broken him. It would take more than a mock earthquake to break his will.
Suddenly, he feels a wet substance moist the bottom of his legs and boots. No; the substance increases in width and begins to cover his entire lower body in a wet blanket. This is no substance; it's a body of water.
Behind the blindfold, his eyes narrow, his countenance one of grim comprehension. So this is their final solution.
The water is rising fast. By now, his entire lower half is submerged, and within minutes his chest will follow.
The assassin drowns in his cage once the Ministry has realized that he does not intend to open his mouth. I must say this is a bit cliché, even for them.
He craned his head down just as the water was rising past his stomach area, smiling mirthlessly. Of all the bloody ways to go down….
Looking back on his life, it was no surprise to him that there was not one single memory or moment he could hold in fondness. Well, there were the past memories of when his masters taught him the dark arts and trained him to be a feared weapon of the Darkness. All those years of grueling training, torturous education, and scarring teachings; his life was not full of happiness, to say the least. However, while he couldn't say he had moments he could look back fondly, they were still something. And by that it defines that those dark times in his life, while they shaped him into the hateful being he was now, were the closest thing to a memory he could hold dear. It didn't matter how horrendous they were; they still counted as something because he had lived through them.
His smile was now one that indicated a slight twinge of remorse. Great. Now I get all damn sentimental. Just what was missing in the picture of my death. I'm such a disgrace.
Just as it seemed that he would drown in darkness, fortunately for him, it was not to be. Fate had other plans, and they came in the form of a ray of light suddenly illuminating his visage.
Despite having a blindfold wrapped around his eyes, he could still feel the illumination on his face.
"Diffindo!"
He had no time to process the feminine voice that had commanded the incantation, for the next thing he knew the blind fold was severed in half between his eyes. His pupils shrunk and he shut his eyes quickly, rearing his head back as he sighted light for the first time in months. After releasing a grouchy snarl, he opened a single eye and tried to identify who was standing high above him in the light. To his frustration, he could only make out a blurry silhouette; as stated before, his eyes were still adjusting and regaining their function after months of forced disuse in the darkness. Despite this, he persisted in looking at the individual who seemed to have the intention of freeing him. Either that or she is just another interrogator the Ministry has sent.
"Who is it…?" He asked in a baritone with a deadened edge; besides being sealed away from the light, he hadn't eaten or drank a substance in his time as a prisoner (excluding the filthy slop the interrogators offered him in exchange for his secrets, which proved to be a futile bargain).
He narrowed his eyes and was able to see a little clearer. His eyes widened slightly. He was neither surprised nor shocked. He had seen her before; in fact, she came to him quite often (and "often" being a single visit with a head-to-head conversation, and some instances of her sneaking to his jail cell, but not being able to get in due to a lacking in keys). It was still a bit amusing that someone he hardly knew was probably here to kill him or rescue him; he heavily doubted the latter. After all, she was one of them. And she was a close friend of his target, too.
"You…" he uttered.
His supposed female rescuer gave no reply besides her breathing; she was panting hard, giving the impression that she had been running a dozen laps around a football stadium and then ran all the way down here to the dungeon without taking a break. While the prisoner could not say he knew her, she could say he was as familiar as a friend from long ago.
In fact, at this very moment, she was reminiscing about the past. About what tied her to this prisoner.
I look at him now, and can't help but feel like it's the first time I meet him. There were other instances in the past in which I'd seen his face, but never had the chance to interact with him face-to-face. Well, only one time, but it was under irregular circumstances. I still remember the first time, almost like it had just taken place yesterday even though it hadn't.
I was twelve. He was maybe a year or two older than me. I always wondered how someone like him could be one of the many obstacles my friends and I would face; the proposed "Dark Stalker", said to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's perfect counter to The Boy-Who-Lived. He was our enemy; he was trained to be Harry's killer should Voldemort demand it.
We were twelve. It was during the end of our second year at Hogwarts. It all started on the train ride back home.
Once we had arrived back to Platform 9 ¾, Harry, Ron and I would have let out long, exaggerated sighs of relief. After the recent perilous events that transpired all year long thanks to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, we were somewhat happy to be away from Hogwarts for the end of the year. I can imagine how especially relieved Ginny was, considering how she was the unwitting pawn in the whole episode. Harry was not exactly as happy as one can imagine, given that end of year means he has to go back to those horrendous relatives of his. As for me; I was just as relieved to be back home, and I shamelessly admit that the major part of that relief comes from the fact that I was petrified by a basilisk, and I couldn't be happier to be back home even if it means not seeing Harry or Ron until the coming months. Sue me.
Anyway, any real plans we had now for the pre-next term break were brought to a screeching halt at what unfolded next. The Hogwarts Express arrived back to Platform 9 ¾ just like it always did, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Well, the only thing new we noticed were these three people sitting by a table in the middle of the platform that had never been there before. The aforementioned individuals were unique, each giving off an aura of great mystery and wonder. They were one adult and two children who were in mine and the other's age group.
The adult was a slim, towering man dressed in a brown traveler's cloak and army pants and boots. His hands were coated with black fingerless gloves that had the army camouflage theme. His most intriguing features were his amethyst-colored eyes, which gleamed with softness but were firm at the same time, and his dark red hair, which was so long that the ponytail in which it was tied in fell down to near his ankles.
Sitting cross-legged on the table was a girl with long raven hair and blue eyes. She was dressed similarly to the red-haired man, except that her small body was nearly completely obscured by the cloak. She was looking down at her feet with a rather anxious look, as though she was expecting for something ominous to happen.
Standing near the table was a boy with bushy brown hair who was dressed just like the other two. His eyes seemed to be looking around for someone, evident by how he would glance from his soda can to the crowd of parents throughout the platform.
My attention shifted back to where I was after hearing Harry and Ron walk past me with a "see you next year". I smiled, waved them bye, and ran off to where my parents were waiting for me.
What happened next could be best described as the twisted turnout to a film.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I excitedly ran toward my parent's waiting embrace, Harry walked begrudgingly to where his muggle relatives were waiting for him, and Ron and his siblings approached their awaiting parents. Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw the bushy-haired boy stand up, point at the Hogwarts Express, and shout something.
Then the most surreal thing happened. An explosion rocked the entire station. Everybody fell to the ground; all except the three individuals who were by the table. I remember hitting the ground hard and a deafening sound breaking the sound barrier. I couldn't hear a thing; not my parent's cries, not the screams around me, and not the scrambling around me as everyone in the station panicked and ran around in hysterics.
I got up slowly, surveying the area around me and gawking as I looked back from where the explosion originated. The Hogwarts Express Train…
….had been blown apart in half.
I didn't have time to look for long. The raven-haired girl was running to where me and my parents were, shouting at us to get out of the area. I couldn't understand a word she was saying; the explosion had left quite the impact on my ears.
Glancing over, I saw the bushy-haired boy rushing towards Harry and helping him stand up. He looked at the Weasley's and shouted orders for them to get clear. I could see Mrs. Weasley shouting back at the boy in protest, but then the tall red-haired man jumped in front of her and barked at her to not argue and get her family to safety. Ron's mum was stunned, but followed the man's orders without haste.
It was then that he looked over to where the boy was helping Harry, and the man looked like he had seen a ghost. He came running at them, and his words were suddenly clear.
"HECTOR, DROP, NOW!"
The boy did as he was told and hit the pavement, dragging Harry along with him. They fell down just in time to avoid being skewered by what looked like to be a flying motorcycle.
A figure cloaked in black jumped out of the motorcycle as it flew into the damaged Hogwarts Express. In the blink of an eye, the hooded figure brandished a sword that seemed to be made out of pure energy; the red blade glowed with such a scarlet color that I thought for a brief moment that it was a sword made out of plasma.
The red-haired man reacted quickly, and pulled out what seemed to be the hilt of a sword with no blade. A blue light shot out of the handle in time to block and parry the first strike from the cloaked figure.
"HECTOR, TAMARA!" The man cried as he pushed back the dark figure. "GET THEM TO THEIR HOMES!"
The raven-haired girl grabbed me by the hand and helped me to my feet. She led me over to where my parents were. As the girl readied an incantation, I took a moment to look back, and couldn't help but be stunned by the swordfight taking place. The man seemed experienced and fought bravely, but he was being pushed back by the smaller figure's furious assaults. In fact, the man had no chance to attack; all he could do was defend. I was simply mesmerized by what was taking place before me. Never before had I seen two figures locked in such furious sword fighting.
The next thing I knew my parents and I were back at our house, my luggage intact. The girl disappeared before we could so much as much as look at her again.
It was only after the term restarted, and we were transferred back to Hogwarts via a new method, (much to Ron's chagrin; he was hoping no express train meant no school for an extended period) which was by a ferryboat, that we were informed that the cloaked assailant was what was known as a Dark Assassin, a warrior trained to be You-Know-Who's legacy and Hand. We were told that his purpose was, most likely, the execution of the Boy-Who-Lived.
From that day on, I was curious as to who was that assailant. Mostly because we were informed, to our great shock, that he was no older than us, maybe a year or two older. The thought of someone as much a child as us being bred for killing at such an early point in life…..it was just inconceivable.
When we next met the assailant, it was under hectic circumstances. We also caught our first glimpse of his face.
Not long after the business in the Shrieking Shack, I assumed that the trip to Hogwarts would be relatively calm. We found out Sirius Black had been an innocent man, Ron's pet rat Scabbers was the true betrayer of Harry's parents, a man named Peter Pettigrew, and now we were on our way back to school to conclude this episodic night.
Of course, none of us counted on the fact that there would be a full moon tonight. And I of course did my homework in figuring out Professor Lupin's secret.
In short, things went from calm to chaotic.
Professor Lupin transformed into a werewolf right before our very eyes, and Pettigrew escaped by transforming himself back into a rat and fleeing the scene. Sirius had been knocked aside by the transformed Lupin, and now Harry, Ron, and I were at the mercy of the werewolf. Just as he was about to pounce on us, something unexpected happened.
The werewolf froze, his claws just inches from reaching us. He trembled, as though fighting against an invisible force that was holding him compacted to the spot. Then, he was flung away, down the plateau's cliff edge.
We stared at where Professor Lupin had been for what seemed like hours even though it was just a few seconds' time. What had just happened was simply spellbinding; we hadn't even heard someone shout an enchantment!
I looked to my left, and felt my breathing stop dead in my throat.
There he was again; the black-cloaked figure who indirectly attacked us nearly half a year ago. His hood still covered his face, but as we were treated to a direct view we could make out some features, such as bangs of silver-ish hair and gaunt cheeks; made me wonder if he had been underfed throughout his life, much like Harry.
It was there that I regained enough senses to process the thought that he had just saved us. I quickly discarded that positive outlook; he just wanted to kill Harry himself, and was not going to let some werewolf rob him of his destiny.
My answer was confirmed when he drew out his red sword and pointed its tip at us, as though passing the silent message of "You're next".
My eyes moved over to Harry, and I was shocked to see him put himself between the assassin and me and Ron.
"It's me you want, right?" Harry spoke to the hooded figure in an even tone. It was as though he was glaring defiantly at Death itself. "Don't get near my friends, or I swear, I will make you regret it."
The assassin was silent, sword still aimed at us. Then, to our great surprise, he sheathed away his sword, craned his head up and down to nod, and vanished in what I could perfectly identify as an apparition.
As his body faded away, the wind blew by, and along with it came two ominous words.
Next time…
For reasons I couldn't understand until now, I felt the heat rising on my cheeks as I heard his voice for the first time.
He would not appear again for what seemed like a long time. If Harry hadn't been plagued by bad dreams all year round as the tell-tale signs indicated, I knew I was having dreams about our mysterious enemy. I don't know for sure if Harry had the same dreams. Even if he did have them, he didn't seem intent in speaking about them. Neither was I.
Every night it was the same dream. I wake up in a room that looks like the Gryffindor common room, except that it is flipped upside down, the portraits are constantly floating around in random disarray, and something red drips from the ceiling. In the center of the room is him. He sits in the middle of the room, face concealed by his dark robes, and his head buried in his arms and legs.
Every time I'm in the same position. I'm standing just ten feet from him, and every time I try to get closer, an invisible wall stops me. I gently place my hand on the invisible wall and he raises his head.
I cannot see much because of his hood and cloth that conceals the lower half of his face, but I can see his eyes perfectly. Eyes as crimson as blood; eyes boiling with anger and hatred; eyes with such palpable malevolence that I'm amazed I don't drop dead on the spot. His eyes are simply ferocious. Purely and simply feral; the eyes of an animal…
However, there is also sadness and bitterness reflected in those eyes, made even more evident by the tear strains on both sides of his face.
I can feel his pain; it eats me at the chest, and my heart throbs and bleeds the more I stare into those eyes. I reach out to him, and then….
….I wake up in my bed, glancing around as I find myself back in reality. I then reach over to my night desk for a tissue to wipe away the tears that inexplicably roll down my face every time after that dream.
Who is he? Why does he appear before me in my dreams? Why do I even think of him?
Even now I don't know the answer to those questions. And I did my best to shake them off; another year was about to pass and this time he hadn't appeared before me, or anyone else, including Harry.
Then fourth year came, and along with it the Tri-Wizard Tournament.
It was an event which I grew to hate. It put Harry in great danger; it got him shunned by everyone around him; it strained the friendship between Harry and Ron; it put a great deal of stress on me as I worried over my friends; it got someone, Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff, killed; it brought the assassin to Hogwarts.
Yes, you heard me; it brought the Dark Stalker to Hogwarts; to Harry; to me.
After the final event Harry had returned to Hogwarts thanks to the Goblet of Fire. Along with him were a corpse and a dark-robed individual. The celebratory music and cheers stopped dead once the assembly had processed that a complete stranger who casted a menacing aura was present.
Time seemed to have frozen. I can still hear Fleur screaming as she noticed Cedric's lifeless form. I can imagine the growing horror as they assumed that the dark figure standing a mere five feet from Harry was the killer.
People recovered quickly from their shock. They screamed and backed away, literally crying bloody murder at the assassin, who stood still from where he was. They all looked at him with terror and anger, none more so than Cedric's father.
Dumbledore immediately grabbed Harry and pulled him away from the corpse. Hagrid stood as a wall between them and the assassin. Just then, Hector and Mr. Daidouji jumped in front of Hagrid, staring at the assassin grimly as they readied themselves for what was an inevitable duel; Hector drawing his wand, and Mr. Reno igniting his mystical blade of light.
"We've got this," Reno said to Dumbledore even though he was focused on the assassin. "Get everyone out of here!"
No one needed to wait for Dumbledore to repeat the command. Everybody turned and ran, exiting the area just as the assassin himself prepared himself for battle.
My breathing stilled as I saw his gloved hands reach for his hood and pull it back, revealing a handsome, youthful face with shoulder-length silver hair, pale skin, and scarlet eyes. Next he removed his cloak, revealing a black robe reminiscent of a martial artist of the dark side.
[Quick Author's Note: Think of Darth Maul's outfit.]
Finally, he drew out his own weapon; his sword with a crimson blade, which curiously had a long hilt, which he was holding sideways. Then, by some magic or simply something that was part of the sword, a second red blade shined through the other end of the hilt.
Just as he was twirling the dual-bladed sword in his hands, Ron seized me by the shoulders and pulled me away. I resisted and managed to witness the outbreak of the duel. Then, I finally gave in to my instinct to run and allowed Ron to pull me away.
Moments afterward I would be pondering what became of the duel with great anxiety. I ignored the glances Ron was giving me; I paid no mind at all to what was going on around me. All I wanted was to know how Hector and Mr. Reno were doing, and what would be the assassin's ultimate fate. Would his death liberate me from him plaguing my thoughts, my dreams? I wasn't sure, but thinking of his death sent an unpleasant shiver through my core.
Ron approached me, hands buried in his pockets. I didn't even turn to look at him. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, as though he was actually thinking of what to say before blurting it out.
"Suppose they get him, what then?" he inevitably blurted out, trying to start small talk as casually as he could.
"What?" I still didn't look at him. My mind was finding the doorway of the Great Hall so interesting, for some reason. It's like I could tell the answer to my anxious pondering would come bursting through those huge doors.
"The killer," Ron elucidated. "What do you think they'll do to him if they capture him?" He was looking at me expectantly, studying closely how I would react.
I inwardly fumed at his quick acceptance to what could be a false conviction. How could he be certain that the assassin had killed Cedric? While I won't deny that he is trained to be a killer, it has been proven that he prefers the use of swordplay over magic as his primary stance. And Cedric's body, from what I could tell, had not one slash on it that denoted he'd been struck down by a blade.
But I digress. I'll just pretend he didn't accept the first thing that was presented to him without looking it over first. "I don't know. They catch him, put him on trial, and from there on the Ministry decides his fate."
I flinched inwardly at how cold I sounded. But on the other hand, I was proud at the good performance I put up. Hopefully it'll convince him that talking about this is pointless.
But of course, Ron had to be stubborn. "What's there for a trial? He killed Cedric and he's been after Harry since, what, since the day he was conceived? If you ask me, I say he's guilty enough already."
I finally looked at him, not liking one bit where this was heading. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that, well…." He hesitated, and then let it out bluntly. "By all accounts they should throw him in Azkaban. Feed him to the Dementors, while they're on it."
My hands flew to my mouth. "Ronald!"
He blinked, startled. "What?"
"That was just dark, and senseless!"
"What do you mean?" He looked at me accusingly. "You saw it with your own eyes, didn't you? He's a killer, and he's been after Harry before! Blimey, he might as well have come here to finish the job!"
"All right, now you're just being delusional!" I snapped.
"Delusional?! The bloody bugger carries a sword with him and has a history of being You-Know-Who's successor!"
"Did you forget that he saved us from Professor Lupin when he turned into a werewolf just a year ago?" I angrily retorted. "And did you forget how he had the perfect opportunity to attack us and yet he chose to leave?!"
"So he could get us next time! He said it himself as he disappeared!"
"Oh, cryptic words can mean anything Ron! I certainly didn't see him armed when he followed Harry here! Did you see something? Because I didn't!"
"Maybe his sword doesn't leave slash marks whenever it strikes! It has to be enchanted somehow, I mean, you saw how it just grew a second blade!"
"Rubbish!" I unwittingly and without thinking spat that single word out.
Ron stared at me, along with everyone else who was looking over to the argument that was rising in volume. Then, Ron's face became as red as his hair.
"WHY DO YOU JUMP TO HIS DEFENSE?! YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S CAPABLE OF AND WHAT HE DID!" Ron roared at me.
"WHY ARE YOU SUCH AN IGNORANT GIT?!" I shrieked at him, losing all patience.
Then, I realized what I had just said. My hands flew to my mouth as Ron simply stared at me, too shocked to say anything. I looked around and couldn't help but feel small as everyone stared at us. I tried to apologize to Ron, but no words came out.
Ron simply looked at me, his shock slowly melting into a cold countenance. Then, he turned away and started walking away from me.
"Ron…" I finally found my voice again. "Ron, wait. I-"
"Piss off."
I stopped dead, staring at his retreating back with widened eyes. Every student watched him go, and then looked at me. I felt so small that I lowered my head and closed my eyes, biting back the tears that threatened to escape my eyelids. I walked over to the wall, sat down against it, and buried my face into my arms and legs. I could still feel people staring at me, but after a while they returned to their own business.
Two hours passed and the Great Hall had been neatly assembled as Dumbledore addressed the entire school. He revealed that Cedric had been killed at the hand of Voldemort, not the assassin. That confirmation released a weight from my shoulders, but I still wondered what became of Hector and Mr. Reno.
As though to answer my question, the doors to the Great Hall burst open and in walked Hector, who was being supported by Tamara, and Mr. Reno, who had a figure dressed in black thrown over his shoulder.
Everybody seemed to be holding their breath, none more so than me as I identified the figure tossed over Mr. Reno's shoulder as the assassin. Mr. Reno approached Dumbledore and whispered something to him. After what seemed to be a confirmation from the Headmaster, Mr. Reno left, Hector and Tamara following after him.
A million emotions swirled over my being, especially now that the assassin had ultimately been captured. He was taken to a private room for interrogation. Harry was brought along because he was a witness to the whole ordeal that Dumbledore confirmed to us all; the Dark Lord had risen again. Ron and I were brought along merely because Harry requested it.
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge had heard about the incident and, in a paranoid delusion, came to Hogwarts with a Dementor. Barty Crouch Jr. was reduced to an empty shell, and the assassin would have suffered the same fate had Mr. Reno and Dumbledore not intervened. Instead, he was hidden from the paranoid Minister, where he was interrogated under Mr. Reno's terms.
What I saw unfold horrified me…
"What happened at the graveyard?" Mr. Reno asked the assassin, who was tied to a chair at the opposite end of a table.
"…."
"Silence won't get you anywhere. I'll ask again, what happened at the graveyard?"
"…The most miraculous thing."
"Miraculous as in anarchic," Professor McGonagall scoffed.
"Who killed Cedric Diggory?" Mr. Reno asked.
"A spineless worm," the assassin snarled.
"Where is the Dark Lord hiding?"
"Far beyond your reach."
"Who sent you?"
"I work alone."
Mr. Reno frowned. "It's only a matter of time before we stop the Dark Lord. Make this easier on yourself."
The assassin tilted his head. "What are you going to do to me, Jedi? Crucio me? Feed my soul to a pack of Dementors?"
Mr. Reno glared at him.
"If I were to take a notation from what I've observed," Dumbledore intervened. "I would conclude that your fear of your master far outweighs the intimidation we attempt to bestow upon you."
The assassin leaned back on the chair, looking down with a scowl. "This conversation is over."
We watched as they emerged from the interrogation room.
"Well he certainly isn't going to crack anytime soon," Mr. Reno grumbled.
"So what do we do then?" Professor McGonagall inquired.
"Sir, if I were to make a suggestion," Harry piped up. "Why not use the truth serum that was used on Crouch?"
"Veritaserum isn't as helpful in all situations," Reno explained. "And on a strong-mind like him, it would do little effect. If he truly has been trained by You-Know-Who, then it's likely he's already taken preparations for this sort of situation. Namely having chugged down an antidote to Veritaserum."
"Then, Teacher," Hector spoke up. "Why not use….'that'?"
'That'? I did not like the sound of that. (No pun intended).
Tamara looked at him. "Isn't that going a bit too far?"
"'That' is used for special occasions," Reno commented with a grim look. "Never thought I'd have to resort to that once more… I honestly wanted to put it behind me after the war."
Okay, if I hear another sentence with the word 'that' one more time…
"What are you referring to?" Professor McGonagall inquired again.
"Will Bending," Reno said, his countenance ever grimmer. "I can bend his mind around to make him spill even his darkest secrets. But to apply such pressure on his mind…it could easily break him on a colossal psychological level."
"So what?" Ron's placing of his two cents earned him odd stares. "I mean, this is a cold-blooded assassin who's been trained by You-Know-Who we're talking about, for Pete's sake! He wants to kill Harry no matter what. Personally, I don't give a damn what's done to him. Could be justice, by all means, I mean, can you imagine how many other people he's killed?"
With every word he said, I wanted to slap him with all my might. But I bit back the rage that threatened to overwhelm me. I didn't hide my look of disgust, though.
Mr. Reno was silent. And then, after releasing an exasperated sigh, he went back into the room, motioning for me, Harry, and Ron to follow him. Hector and Tamara didn't need any confirmation from their teacher to let them through, so they just followed along.
The assassin still had his head down, but he immediately looked up upon noticing us enter the room.
Mr. Reno approached him, raised a gloved hand, and held it in front of the assassin's line of sight. A star-like marking formed in the palm of his hand, stretching to cover every inch of his open palm. Once the pentagram was finished, the assassin frowned, suddenly looking uncomfortable.
"What are Voldemort's plans?" Reno questioned coldly.
"….That old mind trick doesn't work on me," the assassin replied, glaring at Reno in the eye as a show of defiance.
"Tell me all you know about Voldemort," Reno's tone was a bit more forceful.
"Fuck off," the assassin spat, but his whole body trembled, veins becoming visible through his forehead.
"Answer me when I speak to you!" Reno's tone was now commanding, full of authority and power.
"N…Never…!" the assassin shook his head to the side, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth tightly, as though he had been suffering a grave migraine and a hangover all at once.
"Reveal your secrets to me, NOW!" Reno pulled his hand back, and then pushed forward to the assassin as he bellowed the last words.
The assassin looked down with a dazed look. "I…I shall tell you everythi-….no….NO…!" He jerked his head up, and I silently gasped at the pained expression on his face. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"
The assassin then shook and moved like he was convulsing. It looked like he was trying to get away from Mr. Reno's glowing hand. Failure to do so would cause his head to explode.
My eyes widened and I furiously discarded that scenario from my head. But it was hard not to; the more I looked at his agonized countenance, the more the surreal image seemed bound to happen.
The more he thrashed around, the more bereaved I felt. As odd as that sounded, my heart simply broke at the torture he was being put through. Then, I just couldn't take it anymore.
"STOOOOP! CAN'T YOU SEE YOU'RE KILLING HIM?! STOOOOOP!"
Reno's eyes widened at my outburst and he seemingly snapped out of a daze. He looked at his hand in horror and immediately reeled it back.
The assassin slumped onto himself, panting as though his lungs had ceased functioning during the torture.
The silence was tense. I could feel a few stares on me, none more so than Ron's scowl. But I didn't care, not now; if I hadn't said anything, chances were that the assassin would have suffered a hellish death. I did not want to see that.
Looking back at the chair-bound youth, he raised his head to look at us. I grew increasingly alarmed at the blood trailing down his nostrils. The cloth that served as a mask for his mouth was tainted red at the bottom; he had been biting his lips during the whole ordeal as a way to resist Reno's Will Bending magic. That tore at my heartstrings even more; did Voldemort really train him to inflict such pain on himself no matter the cost, push himself to his very limits just to be of service? But then, only the darkest wizard ever to live would be capable of such abuse.
The assassin's labored breathing penetrated the silence barrier. He looked at all of us with such animosity, clearly conveying the message that he was not going to give in. Never…
Reno looked at him with an unreadable look. He seemed frustrated, but at the same time remorseful, ashamed at what he came close to doing to the youth.
I looked over to Hector and Tamara and saw that they were as equally disturbed as Reno was. Harry seemed shocked at the power presented, and Ron looked like he was in awe.
The silence was broken by the assassin, whose labored breathing turned into a nihilistic chuckle.
"I'm impressed…. You actually did it…. You nearly killed me…."
Mr. Reno seemed to be struggling to look strong, given by the way his eyes seemed to be quivering with emotion.
The assassin chuckled more, apparently pleased with his attack on Reno's conscience. "Compared to my master's punishments, that was almost on the same level of cruelty…. Almost…."
Reno clenched his fists, pivoted around, and walked out of the room. Hector and Tamara followed after their master. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall left as well, and before long Harry and Ron were gone, too. Now it was just me; me with the assassin bound to a chair just mere feet of me.
We stared at each other for the longest time. I couldn't tell what was going through his head, and I wasn't thinking much about it. I was too busy being lost in those crimson eyes of his.
Those eyes… They were the same as the ones in my dream; full of anger and bitterness, and yet also filled with sadness and conflict. His general countenance was one of indifference, but I could tell that he was wary of my presence. He was as interested in me as I was in him, but he appeared to be more cautious. In fact, his unblinking eyes seemed to be sending a subtle message; it was as though he was trying to communicate with me through just a look. The look he had….it was just taking by breath away the more I stared at it.
"You blinked," He suddenly spoke up. "I win. Now get out."
I blinked two times and stared at him, a bit miffed by his blunt tone. "Excuse me?"
"From the way you were staring at me, I assumed you wanted to play a game with the bad guy. Judging by the long stare you focused on me, I deduced a staring contest and decided to indulge you. You blinked, so I won. Now that your duty as the entertainment committee is over, take a hike. After what I just went through, I prefer to be alone, tied up to a chair-which should be thrown at the carpenter for not putting cushions on it, by the way—and meditating my screwed up mind, which just went through a rush," A long pause. "And I'm not talking about the good kind of rush."
I stood there, completely floored. I would have been laughing had his baritone voice not be dripping with vehement sarcasm instead of normal sarcasm. I processed his words, and couldn't help but fume a little.
"Entertainment what?" Okay, maybe more than a little. "Where did that come from? And here I assumed you were the silent-type!"
"You look like the type that likes hearing reason from just about anyone, including a killer," He scoffed. "So I wasted a good deal of my breath explaining my point, on the account of the lost look on your face."
Ooh, the nerve of him! "Well I wasn't looking for something as silly as a staring contest, thank you very much!"
He arched a silver eyebrow. "And you were staring at me because…?"
Any words I had at the tip of my tongue were lost, so I looked down, feeling that heating sensation go to my cheeks again. My heart was beating fast, too; so fast I felt as though my chest was being penetrated. I looked at him, and felt my legs start to quiver as he stared at me curiously.
"Your face is bloody," He commented. "Metaphorically."
I wonder if that was his way of addressing a blush on someone's face. Wow, Voldemort certainly went out his way to make this young man a tool of death. It made me feel even more sympathetic towards him.
"You are ill?"
I snapped back to reality at his curious query and stared at him. For someone who had been trained to be an unfeeling murderer, he knew how to communicate with society. Looks like barbaric training wasn't the only thing injected into his head, and I felt somewhat glad that he had been educated to a certain degree.
"N-No…" Damn it, now I'm stuttering; why do I suddenly feel funny around him?! "I'm just….." I was at a loss.
"Leaving," He stated bluntly. "Don't you have somewhere to be right now?"
I would have snapped at him a rude remark if his question at the end didn't bring something to my mind; I was still in here, and the others had already left. Oh, god…! What if they were still waiting outside? It was bad enough that I gave Ron a bad impression of my sentiments towards this assassin. Now what if Harry and everybody else start getting bad thoughts into their heads?! Strangely, that didn't bother me as much as I thought it would.
I immediately turned around and darted towards the door. Before opening it, I glanced back at him. "I'll see you again." It was both a statement and a promise.
I didn't have time to absorb his reaction because I left in a hurry. Once I was outside, I noted with relief that there was no one present. It was a really good thing too, because right now I couldn't bear to look anyone in the eye.
Things seemed to be running smoothly towards the end of Fourth Year and the beginning of Fifth Year. I hung around with Harry and Ron, got to know Hector and Tamara better, and would often sneak off to the dungeon just to sneak a glance at the young prisoner. Talking proved to be difficult, especially as I just didn't have it in me to steal the keys to his cell. If I did that, then I officially had enough evidence to check myself into a psychiatric ward. I would get increasingly horrified as I came to the realization that such a thieving act wouldn't disturb me that much in the slightest!
Luckily, we were sent home as the year concluded. It was a good thing too; if I had lingered any longer around Hogwarts as I was now….urgh, I don't even want to think about it…
All the more reason why I was eager to go home; maybe some time away from Hogwarts and with my parents would lessen the stress I'd been feeling as of late. Of course, I had no such luck as I was plagued by dreams about the boy again. One time I woke up with a very deadened look and my mother instinctively inquired about my well-being. I gave her a gruff reply and served myself breakfast. Really, what I had done to be placed on Fate's bad list? It was either that, or it was all just a really big, dumb, fucking joke from the Universe.
Great, now I'm cussing like a sailor. Things just get better and better; and by that, I mean things are spinning around, and falling out of place. And I'm at the center of it all!
Time flew by and before I knew it, it was the beginning of Fifth Year. Things got to a wonderful start; Harry had been tried before the Ministry simply for defending himself against a Dementor which had unexpectedly attacked him and his cousin during the break before Hogwarts resumed. He got an innocent verdict thanks to the testimonies of a squib, Professor Dumbledore, and Mr. Reno. Next we knew, we had a new member in the Hogwarts faculty; a toad-like woman from the Ministry; Dolores Umbridge. Otherwise known as a demented, sociopathic old bag whose sickenly sweet disposition should win her an Oscar for Best False Honey Queen Tone.
…Okay, an Oscar is a good thing, so how about a Golden Raspberry for Worst Mug Casted to Other People? All right, this is getting ridiculous; she's simply a very bad woman, and virtually nobody in Hogwarts likes her, and with damn good reasons, too! I mean, she enjoys giving everyone detentions just to "sink" a message into our bodies; quite literally! I still remember that scar on the back of Harry's hand; a hideous, bloody scar carved with the words "I must not tell lies". Worse yet was that she was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and, as she didn't believe Voldemort had returned, didn't give us a proper education. In fact, she treated us all like a bunch of non-comprehensible first graders! Umbridge, that foul, loathsome, conniving bitch!
Of course, it only seemed to get worse from there. With every passing day, Umbridge seemed to be rising to power in Hogwarts. With the Ministry backing her fat hide up, she became the "High Inquisitor" of the school, to the point that she forced Dumbledore to retreat from the castle. She even dismissed Mr. Reno upon discovering the assassin's location. We could tell she had been disappointed at not having been told of a valuable prisoner we had living under Hogwarts; a crime she considered worthy of "expulsion or execution" for harboring a "lunatic fugitive on school grounds". But that wasn't the reason she forced Mr. Reno into leaving that department, no; it was because she found Mr. Reno's calm and peaceful interrogation tactics sloppy and useless. She tried to show us how it was "really done".
She got more than she bargained for.
"CRUCIO! This can all stop if you just confess who you are really working for! Come, come, sweetheart! You're well-deserved suffering can end here if you just speak the truth!"
"FUCK YOU!"
Umbridge ceased the Crucio, looking down at the panting assassin with that false, sickenly sweet smile on her face. "I'm sorry, what was that, dear? What do you have to say for yourself?" She made the mistake of leaning close to the assassin's face.
"CUNT!" The assassin roared to the Heavens, swinging his head forward and sinking his teeth (she had lowered the cloth that covered his mouth under the excuse that she wanted to see his lips curled into a pained outline) into Umbridge's nose.
From our hidden positions we all watched in pure awe as Umbridge recoiled with a horrified shriek. She desperately tried to break free, but the assassin maintained his hold, sinking his teeth deeper until he was sure he had broken her nose and was drawing a good line of blood. When he finally let go, Umbridge's nose was literally a bloody wreck, broken and twisted.
To add insult to injury, the assassin spat the blood to her face in utter contempt and managed to raise his foot high enough to kick her away from him. That simple kick was enough to send her flying out of the cell, where Reno stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed and an unreadable expression on his face.
"Not so easy now, is it?" We could definitely detect a tone of smugness in those simple words.
(Insert collective maniacal giggle here).
After that incident, Umbridge deemed the young man an animal who only thinks of blood and violence, and thus decreed that he be transferred to the lower levels of Hogwarts, where she used some spell to create a dark prison room reminiscent of a torture chamber during the Inquisition. The chamber had a strange mechanism which would trigger within thirteen days, and would, as Umbridge put it, "take care of the mongrel".
I was worried. With each day that passed I became more and more curious, as well as anxious, in regards to what was going to happen to him. Eleven days passed and I couldn't find anything in books, Reno couldn't divulge any information as he had suddenly disappeared from Hogwarts, and it was impossible to sneak into Umbridge's personal quarters without being caught.
Then, as the thirteenth day was only five minutes away, I did the unthinkable; I stayed awake past curfew, snuck into the boy's sleeping quarters, rummaged through Harry's stuff until I pulled out the Invisibility Cloak, draped it over my shoulders, and ran off, not caring if I woke somebody up. Inwardly, I was filled with such tremendous guilt that I thought it would eat me from the inside. I made sure to firmly tell myself that I would only use the cloak to sneak into Umbridge's office, and then return it to Harry immediately after that.
I snuck into Umbridge's office without any real obstacles. Really, she should learn to lock her door more often. Anyway, I went inside and had to stop on the spot.
There she was, sitting in her chair like it was some sort of throne. Looking at her, I could honestly imagine a fly with an overgrown bottom sitting arrogantly in the middle of a pond flower, oblivious to the predatory, intimidating eyes of each frog assembled there. She was leaning unto her desk, humming a tune to herself as she scribbled something on a piece of paper. I simply stood there, breathing as shallow as possible so as to not catch the hideous woman's attention. But then my curiosity starts to get the better of me; what could she be scribbling down that makes her so giddy? Anything that makes this toad of a woman smile widely cannot be far off from sinister. So I do the natural thing to do when you get curious; I tiptoe ever so carefully over to the desk and crane my head a bit forward, careful as to not cause the Invisibility Cloak to slide off from my head.
Umbridge stops her scribbling, pulls herself out of the desk, stands up, and walks over to the fireplace, for purposes I don't know and don't bother to ponder on. Instead, I just focus on the piece of paper she was scribbling on. Turns out she wasn't scribbling words down; rather, she was doodling something.
Dolores Umbridge has drawing as a pastime. Interesting.
Ah, no time to be slightly surprised. It's just a simple drawing, nothing special or artistic for that matter. But I can't help but be curious as to what a sadistic warden like Umbridge likes to draw in her spare time; especially at five past midnight. And Umbridge is the type of woman who keeps everything together and goes to bed at a specific time. So for her to be up even at midnight is highly suspicious.
And what's she so happy about the drawing anyway that makes her hum? It's just a little doodle tied up to a wall with X's for eyes and submerged in water.
…Okay, for a real sadist this would be a pretty normal. But I can't help but be bothered by the image; the doodle is tied to a wall that sort of looks like a torture chamber. And then there's the matter of the doodle being underneath an ocean line. So the figure is supposed to be drowning, but why does the doodled figure seem familiar? It's not a good drawing, but it sort of looks kind of like….
…
I walk out of the office as quickly as a quiet pace can allow. I approach the Fat Lady's portrait, utter the password, and enter the Gryffindor common room. I walk up the stairs at a very stealthy pace, taking off the Invisibility Cloak and putting it back in Harry's trunk. Then, I head back down to the common room and sit down on the couch closest to the fire. I think back on the drawing, which I at first dismiss as only a simple coincidence to what might come to pass.
A figure chained to a wall, drowning in a body of water… But how is that even possible? If it's meant to represent the young man in the dungeon, how does the body of water even come about? What could be the link…?
A yawn escapes me. It is, by now, fifteen minutes past midnight. But I can't let myself fall asleep now. No. I get up and walked out of the common room, beginning a long journey to the depths of Hogwarts. I must hurry down to the dungeon; if that bad drawing is supposed to be some kind of omen to what's going to happen to the assassin today, then I don't want to take any chances. While I haven't gotten to know anything personal about him (have you noticed I don't even know his name?), I've gotten to see him plenty, both in reality and in fantasy. His eyes are the same as in my dreams; full of anger, but also sadness.
He's only a year or two older than Harry, Ron, Hector, Luna, Tamara, and me, and yet he's had no life of his own from what Mr. Reno elucidated. He's been captured by those whom he has been lead to believe are his enemies, but he was still treated like a guest; his original cell was more of a suite. And now he's trapped deeper underneath the castle, doomed to a watery grave at the age of sixteen or seventeen.
All that I know about him, whether too little or just enough, flashes before my mind several times, and my mind is set on one thing. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing; it's crazy and might get me hated by everyone I've gotten to know, but I cannot allow such injustice befall someone who had no say in his life course.
I cannot allow him to die…
My walking increases in speed and I'm no longer walking; I'm jogging down the many stairs of Hogwarts. Before long I'm running deeper down, my baggy sweatpants billowing slightly with the increase in speed, along with my buttoned pajama shirt. Running around in slippers isn't really a good idea, especially when there's a lot of stairs, but right now I simply don't give a damn.
I must hurry! There's not a minute to waste; I cannot look back; I have to make it on time!
Time seemed to have stopped moving, before resuming again.
The assassin narrowed his eyes. "What…are you doing….here?"
Hermione was breathless. Her mind was in a daze, unable to believe what she was about to do, but perfectly satisfied with whatever she could achieve. As long as it meant saving his life, she would have no regrets. She might get more than a few nasty stares, jeering and snarls, but it was worth it.
She finally calmed herself; she found her inner peace within her conscience. She was no longer tired despite it being twelve-thirty in the morning; she was no longer exhausted from the long run down here. She was ready.
"I'm here to rescue you."
"…."
The silence was suspenseful. The only sound breaking the ice was the rippling of water as it continued to flood the chamber. By now the assassin's head was all that was still on the surface; his neck was being swallowed by the water, inch by inch.
"Well," the assassin began, his tone dry. "Nice to see you decided to amuse me just before the very end. A very bad joke, but it's the thought that counts, I suppose."
"I'm not joking," Hermione affirmed firmly. "I'm here to rescue you."
"Oh please," the assassin smiled mirthlessly. "Surely you jest. Why would you, the brightest witch of this generation, go out of your way to save a lowly Dark Sider such as me, hmm?" His eyes hardened, his smile fading altogether. "I'm after your best friend's life. I'm a Hand of the Dark Lord. Are you sure you weren't dropped on your head as an infant?"
"It's insane," Hermione admitted slowly. "It's insane, it doesn't make any sense, and by all means everyone's going to hate me for it. But I just don't care anymore!"
He blinked, now looking fully interested. "Come again?"
"I don't care how crazy this looks! I don't care what others think! You shouldn't have to die just because some demented old hag deems it so! It's unfair!"
"That's the Ministry of Magic for ya," the assassin grumbled. He sighed. "Look, flattered as I am that you would pay much mind to a lowlife such as me, that's how the world works. What, you think I'm getting killed in a humiliating way just for the heck of it? No. It's because the world needs a scapegoat for their problems. The world needs someone they can look at as the cause for their cataclysms. The world needs someone they can point their fingers at and say, "That's him, that's the bad guy". And for what? For what people define as justice."
Hermione was silent, staring at him in mute shock. The assassin sighed again, glancing down; the water was getting closer to his chin. Not much time left.
"The world is a cruel, cruel place. It would condemn an innocent soul just to put every cocksucking pansy at ease. Why do you think someone like me, despite not even being twenty yet, is tied to the wall like a dangerous animal that needs to be put down? Because once people like me are erased, the ignorant and stupid can sleep in their beds with not a fucking worry in the world. People can walk around the streets without having to worry about some lunatic stepping on their sunshine," He leaned his head back just as the water touched his chin. "Do you understand now?"
Hermione was still, tears streaming down her face.
His ears were getting submerged. Time to use up the final breath of fresh air.
"Don't be a heroine, young one," the assassin said quietly. "You are a bright, beautiful, caring, and virtuous young woman to care for someone such as myself. That's why I'm asking you, no, telling you. Don't waste your time trying to give a nobody like me a bit more time. It's not worth the trouble. It isn't-"He had to spit out water as it began to envelop his head. "Thanks for the consideration, though. No one has deemed me important enough to save me from a cinch such as this-"
He stopped abruptly and lowered his head, completely submerged now.
Hermione stared.
And stared.
And stared.
And then, she reacted.
She unbuttoned her pajama shirt, removing it with much haste, revealing a pale tank top underneath. She kicked her slippers off. She took a moment to brace herself. For a brief moment she questioned her sanity for what would be the umpteenth time. She held no regrets.
And then, she dived in.
"Foolish, foolish brat!" He snarled. "Of all the stupid things to do, making me use up what I thought was my last breath, and you insult me by not….! If I could move my arms, I'd be snapping your pretty little neck…!"
"I'm sure," she puffed, panting heavily as she supported him in walking and catching her breath after the ordeal that just took place.
They were out of the dungeon at this point and were walking on a grassy prairie just outside the walls of Hogwarts. The moon was full and illuminated the whole field.
"You put every damn thing at stake, break all my chains underwater—and nearly drown yourself along the way—and then what? You pull me up the surface and…and…and throw yourself onto me as though I'm a fucking life buoy! I mean, what the hell, you crazy witch?!"
She responded by breathing heavily again, paying no mind to his angry ranting or to how he was purposefully making sure she had difficulty supporting him by leaning down to the right.
"I…couldn't…"she struggled to breath. "Let….you…..die….!" She winced as the sole of her bare foot landed on a spiky, wooden surface. She yelped and fell back, dragging him along with her. "Owww…"
Now this is just the missing touch. He sighed in exasperation. "What happened?"
"I stepped on a splinter…"
"Oh."
"Yeah…"
They sat still as silence reigned between the two, which was cut by the girl's small whimpers of pain as the bottom of her foot stung.
He sighed again.
"Well then, show me."
She turned to look at him. "What?"
"Show me."
She blinked twice. Then, getting his message, she positioned herself so he could get a good look at her foot.
He stared at the small wooden splinter embedded in her sole. Slowly extending a gloved hand, he pinched the splinter and removed it quickly. He made sure to clamp his thumb to the wound to stop the small amount of blood that would come oozing out.
"Ouch!" Hermione yelped.
"Calm down," he said nonchalantly.
"You just pulled out a splinter out of my foot!"
"So I did, missy. Now quit fretting about it…"
She looked away with a pout.
They were silent for what seemed like a long time. Then, they stared at each other quietly.
Wordlessly, Hermione sat up and positioned herself next to him. Then she allowed herself to collapse onto him, her head resting on his shoulder.
Without being aware of what he was doing, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and brought her closer. He leaned back, taking her with him to the grassy prairie. They stared at the full moon in silence.
"You're really something," he broke the ice. "The most brilliant witch of our generation and you do something as stupid as give a fallen one like me a few more years. I don't know whether to be insulted, or astounded at how stupid even the most brilliant mind can be."
"You're welcome," she smiled. Then, something very important came to mind. "By the way, we haven't been properly introduced."
"Yes we have. You're our generation's Number One Brilliant Witch, and I'm the Dark Lord's Hand."
Hermione laughed. "Those are monikers. I meant by names."
He blinked and tilted his head ever so slightly.
"I'll go first," she offered. "I'm Hermione Granger. What's your name?"
He blinked again. "My…name…? I…haven't had to use it in such a long time. The Dark Lord said it's meaningless-"
"A name is never meaningless," Hermione affirmed gently. "It denotes who you are. It's your identity. So I'm asking you, what is your name?"
He stared at her, and then looked down, feeling uncertain. He perked up when she clasped her hand onto his. Looking up, he saw her giving him a warm, patient smile befitting of an angel. That made him feel assured and confident. And for the first time in his life of power and survival, he smiled genuinely.
"My name is…."