Sin City
Breaking the law has never been so electrifying until Auror James Potter is hunting you down. Then it's irresistible. A story of love and redemption of a criminal and an Auror.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine!
Since I've been becoming obsessively, dangerously obsessed with Alias, you may see some influences in this plotline. Other influences include places I've actually been in the world and things I've noticed there.
Furthermore, this story will incorporate all sorts of characters, styles, themes…thus making it extremely long – About 30 chapters in length. It's primarily action/adventure with some romance on the side, and some things require angst and drama. The love formations come about strangely, but will never be obscene or tasteless. I'm much too embarrassed and probably lacking enough talent to do that.
I want to write realistically. If it seems slightly evil or disdainful, it's because I believe there is a very fine line between good and evil, and that's only assuming that all other things are equal. (Kohlberg, anyone?) Basically, I'm testing moral boundaries of people in certain situations. Therefore, don't be surprised if rating may increase due to later chapters. Most stories only cover the humane side during Voldemort's reign; however I plan to cover both. If rating does go up, it will be for violence and the politics of Voldemort, but not for hanky-panky or anything of the sort.
I've really never tried this style of story before and I wanted to see if I could make it work. So, please give me feedback on this story. I am very nervous about it, but I love the idea.
Enjoy :D
"There surely is in human nature an inherent propensity to extract all the good out of all the evil." – Benjamin Haydon
'Venice'
The city on water is always alive. People bustle along its close cut walkways, bartering for their futures and some measure of greatness in fluent Italian. The air smells of sweet salt and damp stone, as clear as wine glimpsed through priceless Venetian glass.
For all her bouncing womanliness, there was a hint of a twelfth year in her cheeks, a ninth in her jade eyes, and the fifth year sometimes swooped over her mouth. She weaved her way in between them, the people, like a stroke of red on grey canvas. Her booted feet rapped a monotonous cadence that spoke for her red-headed temper.
Click. Click. Click.
Many passing her grew momentarily entranced by her freshness, and wondered if they would ever see her again; but to everybody she was a picturesque British girl lost in a romantic place, and no more.
She hailed a longboat at the nearest dock. The gondolier bowed, and she gingerly stepped into the boat, being careful not to slip on the curling tendrils of moss upon the dock. Then she floated as the angels do through the channels of Venice, her hands clasped themselves about her firmly as she watched lovers pass her by. The longboat passed through the ancient structures like a journey through time. When the girl passed by a rosebush growing by the water's edge, she absentmindedly plucked a bloom.
She fingered the lovely red petals, caressing the life-force rippling veins of the rose, until the gondola docked at a staircase at the canal's right flank. The stairs led to a dismal grey door, nestled among ageless statues and carvings laced with the legacy of the Renaissance. The head of a stone-faced being watched valiantly from above, ready to descend on any unsuspecting pretty face who should call upon his house.
The House of Casanova.
The lady slipped the slim stem through the door handles and smiled smugly. She made to return to the longboat, until a young man's tenor pipes halted her. The doorway was now occupied, and the rose captive in his fingers.
"You know I prefer lilies."
She turned to face him with a straight face. Her ruby lips pursed in concentration, until friendship warmed her person, and pearls flooded her smile.
He bent his head with dignity to sniff the rose, then took its stem between his fingers and began twirling it idly. His index finger traced the edge of a thorn as if it were inferior, yet with all the fervor as if the seduction of a goddess depended on that single gesture. He retreated between the doors, yet left them slightly ajar with invitation and promise.
The woman quickly paid the gondolier, and slipped into the mansion. She walked confidently along the corridors, as if she were tracing a pathway of old memories. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she confidently entered the lounge.
The man rested in a velvet arm chair with the easy grace of a lion. A cigar hung between his sensual lips, yet left a terrible odor in the woman's opinion.
"We've got to get out of here." The woman demanded, her voice laced with a British accent.
"What is the rush? No lady comes to the house of Casanova and leaves empty handed." The man teased and took the cigar between his fingers.
The woman blushed as she examined her peregrine thoughts in her mind. "Sirius, be serious!" she scolded. She was not intimidated by his dark curls, dark eyes, or the looks that Witch Weekly claimed belonged to the most handsome man alive. "It wasn't a clean getaway."
Sirius's smug grin melted away. "Talk. Now."
Flashback to Heist in Verona
'Verona' (a few hours ago)
A flashy sport-model Ferrari purred until it was intervened at the cast iron gates of the simply magnificent L'Emporio Di Mago. A host guard approached the vehicle with all the caution one would use if he or she were to be blinded by his or her reflection in the car's glossy hull.
"Nomina, per favore?"
"Paris DuBois." A woman's voice purred. Her lustrous green eyes did not dart, nor waver from their gaze upon the Emporium. A smirk crossed her lips. The lavish eccentricities of the museum reminded her that money never bought good taste.
Worry creased the guard's brow when he saw the check next to her name. "Signorina DuBois? It appears you have already arrived." He showed her the list.
"I left to acquire an aspirin. This crowd gives me a headache." She said with nasal pride.
The guard smiled approvingly. It was such a pity such a nice man was a halfwit and obviously could not comprehend the subtle differences between herself, Lily Evans, and the superstar Paris DuBois. Yet these rapid expeditions, unbeknownst to her, began to work in her favour. It provided her with a guarantee that most could not look beyond the fake smiles to find a world of seduction, betrayal and intrigue. Her operation was crucial to the stupidity of others.
The Ferrari rolled through the gates. Before disembarking at the valet, Lily assessed her flawless complexion, rosy cheeks, and ruby lips in the mirror. She was never dissatisfied with what she saw. With manicured nails, she primed her ruby hair, and grinned as she caught sign of the gemstones glistening in the comb that held her hair in an equally flattering up-do.
On the red carpet, the rose red satin of the dress seemed to hug her every curve. The front dipped a fraction lower than what was strictly deemed appropriate; a small ostentatious decoration of black lace lined the front and the hem. A choker of gossamer and ruby encircled her neck, but to the woman this was not a collar of limitations.
Oh, not at all! The possibilities were endless.
She gripped a black clutch bag and stepped into the museum confidently. Her back was regal and her strut oozed with sophistication and confidence. The British dialect was on her tongue, despite her university, yet these subtleties were as rich as any utterance of human speech.
Yet, in all Lily's glamour, she was alone in this operation. Many of the party-goers spared her a glance, but did not pursue her further. This was mostly due to the irritated look Lily wore.
Honestly, she hated these apathetic people. They cared nothing for the troubles of others, nor anything but the numbers of their bank accounts and the price of make-up and Versace. Speaking of make-up, the gunk smeared on her face was equalitive to soot. Lily would have not recognized herself in the mirror had it not been for her eyes.
She hated perfection.
She hated vanity.
This was not her.
Lily popped out her compact and made to powder her nose, but instead she eyed a computerized blueprint of the museum where a mirror should have been.
Unbeknownst to Lily, Bellatrix Black weaved her path amongst the lavished guests. Upon superficial judgment, many assumed her to be a waitress, carrying fine chardonnay and champagne on her platinum tray. But it one looked closer, he or she could see her uniform was made of fine Italian silk, and her long curly black ringlets were oiled with the finest of products, and her dark eyes, calculating cruelly. She not only seemed to have cat like grace, but an overall feline quality to her.
Her cold orbs pranced through the hall. As always, she was searching for betterment of her own finances by means of pawning from these people who hardly notice a trinket missing without a trace. The most detrimental moment of her career came this night in the form of ruby hair, a burning mirage of all the passion she had to possess.
Lily's locks stuck out to Bellatrix like a sore thumb. As she watched the sassy superstar powder her nose, she couldn't help but roll her eyes exasperatedly. Bellatrix decided she herself was pretty enough not to need any enhancement, and that was true enough; therefore there was nothing to be gained from...well….Bellatrix guessed her name was Paris DuBois. The woman held a positively pretentious air, and Bellatrix needed no further encouragement to resent it.
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed and sneered when the woman's eye darted her way, then returned to her compact. Something was amiss, but maybe the woman had more plastic surgery as of late. Faces of celebrities change with the age. She shrugged the woman off.
As she scoped her prey, she couldn't help but notice another ruby haired lady across the room, flirting with a group of waiters. The woman delicately placed her hand on her abdomen and chuckled charmingly at one of the waiters. Besides the vixen's familiarity with the waiters, the raven-haired waitress was strikingly aware of her own familiarity with such a woman. A courtesan, perhaps? Bellatrix scrunched her nose disgustedly.
The woman led the waiters to a sitting area, and began cooling herself with a fan she had removed from her cleavage; the movements were slow and rhythmic, and drooled sensuality. Bellatrix nearly stumbled over herself pining for a closer look at the woman's face hiding behind the fan. What she saw shocked her.
It was Paris DuBois!
Her cold eyes darted back to the other woman, who was striding with determination towards a large corridor flanking the ballroom. The ruby haired double did a quick double check over her shoulder, and then disappeared through the doorway.
Bellatrix's eyes narrows viciously as she made to follow the double. When a middle-aged man asked her for a drink, she merely shoved her tray into his hands and stormed after the woman, privately planning the "interrogation" of the double and the downfall of whatever agency sent her.
On the other hand….
Lily proceeded with constant vigilance. Her heels made no noise along the rich red carpeting of the luxurious hall and for that she was grateful. She reached the south wing of the hall and, only after a calculating and thorough check that she wasn't being followed, hastily threw open an industrial-looking door.
Beyond the door, luxuries did not exist. She stripped off her shoes to avoid attracting attention to herself before she intended to be seen. The white walls, fluorescent lights and greenish-white tiles made her eyes dilate painfully.
Quickly, she hiked up her dress and removed a small hologram map and her wand from her thigh strap. (think Marauders' map pop-up)Navigating by the nifty wizard-enchanted map, she sprinted through the underbelly of the Emporium.
Her first obstacle was a young guard with curly blonde hair, no more than nineteen. She tucked away her effects and sauntered saucily up to the boy, who quite obviously was as dumbfounded as an ostrich as to why this beautiful lady was here nor did his protocol remind to him that she wasn't supposed to be there.
She pressed her body curves against him, and wrapped her arms around his neck and fingered his hair. The guard remained stiff in her arms, but she quickly rectified that with her advances. Once the guard was engaged in an intimate embrace, her hand found its way to his neck, and with a simple contraction of her hand, was able to force the man into unconsciousness.
What a fool, she thought.
With a quick spell from her wand, the door behind the former "guard" was open, and the frantic red-head was moving with deadly speed. She carefully disabled any further guards along the way, either with feminine deception or sheer violence. Her fervor somewhat clamed, not because breath flowed rapidly between her ruby lips, but because she had reached a dark room filled from floor to ceiling with wooden crates. A small path snaked through the mess.
She advanced through the maze, wand at the ready. Sometimes, Lily would duck behind a crate when an echo was too loud from a small creature, pretending that some undisclosed individual was about. Awhile later, she encountered her target – a grand, fancy staircase ascending to some contrived heaven. Eerie, dancing light from torches poured through the shaft, as if outlining the movements of a dancing heavenly being. It took great concentration on Lily's part to remember how to breathe.
Her feet padded deafly upon the marble staircase, until she emerged in a gold-encased room. Relics – well passed their prime- stood splattered across the room, each encased in a glass box surrounded by red laser beams. Piles of gold and artifacts were archived on the cold checkered floor. The grand ceiling banners cast strange shadows upon the treasury along with curious pieces of architecture, and beautiful mosaics of stained glass lined the walls and shone a rainbow of rays.
Lily mentally identified the relics, until her eyes fell upon a majestic sword at the foot of a stained glass window, the white light of the blade gleamed and the rubies of the handle were as red as blood. Her emerald eyes analyzed the situation, and with the heated tip of her mind, she began extracting the sword around the security. She worked painstakingly with the precision of an avid perfectionist, until she could barely see through her watering eyes.
"Don't move." A sultry voice bellowed.
Lily felt a wand tip on the back of her neck.
"And who do I owe the pleasure of acquaintance to?" Lily made no effort to hide her British accent as her voice dripped with mock and scorn.
"Remember, the Order of Protéga."
Lily stared at her the object of her duress through the glass. She was not surprised to see a woman, clearly disguised from her true nature, nor was she shocked she did not recognize her. Her skin was that of a woman who spent luxury time sprawled under a Greek olive tree, and her black ringlets were oiled with the finest products southern Europe had to offer. Cynicism thrived in her posture and pragmatism was laced in the air spent through her nostrils. Her eyes were too worldly for Lily's comfort.
"You will open it as-"
Lily gave her no time to gather supremacy. With a rough foot sweep, she had upset the woman to the ground. Kicking the wand out of the woman's hand, she viciously broke the glass with a sharp elbow to the casing. Alarms sound and red lights began to flash as she seized the sword.
A sharp pain coursed through her skull as a hand grabbed a fist full of her hair. The sword and her wand clattered to the ground. Lily shrieked and blindly began fumbling for something by which to free herself as she was wrenched to and fro by her head. Her fingers curled around a shard of the glass casing, and she firmly planted the sharp edge into her attacker's forearm. A bloodcurdling scream, and Lily was released.
The red-head clawed the ground for her necessities, blinking the tears out of her eyes. She grabbed what she needed, and broke into a run. She could hear her attacker following her; the woman's movement was obviously labored with pain. A moan of frustration escaped her lips when she ran into a pair of doors, no doubt with guards on the other side waiting for her emergence.
Unwilling to stop, she muttered a spell; within seconds, a flanking wall exploded with her alternative escape. Careful not to ruin her means of escape, she tiptoed though the rubble, occasionally turning around to hurl pieces at her attacker, until she felt a heavy piece of brick crash into her cranium.
She fell hard to the ground. The Sword was missing, and the woman was standing over her menacingly with a large piece of rubble raised above her head for a killing strike.
In one desperate moment, Lily muttered "Ascendio!"
By an invisible catapult, the raven-haired woman had been launched through the air, and only ceased when her body had rammed into the ceiling, then tumbled to the floor below her.
The yelling of guards tolled like Christmas bells in the hall. Lily swore and made for the nearest window; it was a beautiful stained glass of Salazaar Slytherin. Without a second moment's thought, Lily hurled a piece of stone through the glass. It shattered in a kaleidoscope as brilliant and fleeting as a flash of lightning. She swiped the blade and refastened her heels as to not slice her feet open on the glass.
As she mounted the window ledge, guards burst into the room. However, buildings are tight in Italy. With barely a moment's worth of respect and acknowledgement, Lily threw herself from the window and latched onto a small overhang upon the next building. Her weight proved stronger than the adhesive of the overhang, which snapped, and Lily screamed as she began falling. A red striped awning broke her fall, but like a trebuchet she was lightly bounced onto the ground, where she landed harshly on her shoulder.
The pain was definitely a hindrance and her mind was becoming foggy.
A bewildered, elderly Italian shopkeeper rushed from his business to her side, but halted at the sound of "Polizia!"
Lily quickly scrambled to her feet and snatched the sword. Her breath quickened as she broke into a breakneck run, using the hustle and bustle of the pedestrians to her advantage. She ran through many alleys, until she found a gated way. She swore quietly. Emeralds fell to the sword in her hand, then back to the lock. To the sword; to the lock.
She raised it above her head and with a yell brought it down between the two gates. The gate snapped, and Lily passed through, then sealed it with heat from her wand as the Polizia turned the corner.
They seemed astonished that she was able to pass through that sealed gate.
With a cocky salute to the baffled unit rattling their cage, she turned and walked arrogantly into Verona, sword at her side.
No one seemed to think anything of it.
present
"Annndd… that's it?" Sirius twirled his cigar lazily between his fingers.
"There's more"
'Adriatic Sea'
Lily's small but powerful motor boat cruised toward the city on water. She had traded her dress of vixen for something more appropriate of one with a job such as hers. The lights of Venice grew in twinkling diamonds of white and gold. It was so silent that Lily could hear herself breathing under that layer of ash and dust.
The silence was eventually broken by the sound of another boat. Lily thought nothing of it until she realized the boat was directly behind her. Only an idiot would drive in wakes.
The red head squinted to see the driver in the late dusk atmosphere. She made out black robes and a hooded face, but there was absolutely nothing to identify the driver. Only the name of the boat, actually yacht now that she looked harder, – Nagini – gave her any leads.
Standing on the bow, the pursuer pulled out a shiny black tube with a relatively wide diameter, that which could pass a small fruit through the open barrel. Lily's eyes quickly widened in horror. She violently tilted the boat, testing and teasing the boundaries of death as she threatened to tip the small craft. The reaper released his shot. He had missed, but subsequently triggered a powerful geyser to shoot up and spray Lily's boat with angry white water.
Lily vainly tried to shield herself but never availed. For minutes this game of hit and miss continued, until a snag in Lily's boat's propeller caused the boat to cease movement. Without another thought about value, Lily darted into the cabin and snatched the sword as the reaper launched his final grenade.
The adrenaline pumped through Lily's veins and every molecule of oxygen in the air was throbbing at Lily's skin. Every lurch of the boat reeked of the anticipated explosion. Lily quickly blasted a hole in the hull with her wand and met water just in time to save her from the unbearable heat and carnage that would result from the weapon. She swam to her self-made salvation, but the force of the reaction sent her sailing like a torpedo from the accident.
She surfaced on the other side of the boat to avoid being seen. The searing heat made her squint and eyes water painfully. The fire burned paradoxically against its bane – water – while wistful powdery smoke and embers drifted into the atmosphere, burning the navy of the night sky with orange wounds.
With a quick bubble-head charm and propulsion help from her wand, Lily safely headed towards Venice, while all else was blind to her nautical movement.
Present
"Who did you say it was?"
"The Order of Protéga"
"But, you have the sword, correct?" Sirius asked rudely with no consideration or sympathy for Lily's plight.
Lily removed the steel from her coat and placed it on a glass, red Venetian glass that is, covered coffee table. Sirius walked to it with impatience, thankful for the momentary reassurance. He fingered it lustfully, but his joy could not last. This was not the sort of success he had expected. "The sword cannot stay here. Venezia is too easily compromised." He said with disappointment.
"What do you propose we do?" Lily asked, her frustration was not masked.
Sirius grabbed a bottle of strong whiskey from an ornate round table. The dark glass nearly shattered under his brutal hold. He poured the liquid roughly, not caring if the alcohol dripped onto the expensive rug. The contents were utilized quickly and he relished in the burning sensation that ran down his throat.
"Turn it over the ministry." He said as if it were written on his forehead.
"You are joking? Give it back to the people we stole it from!?" Lily exclaimed.
Sirius began to pace, scowling profusely. "The Ministry is ridiculously uninformed. They had no idea it was in danger. We can return it to them and educate them; it needs protection. I have a good friend, an Auror, that can help us. He can provide sanctuary without turning us in."
"And just who is this saviour?"
"Potter."
"Potter! That family has the longest and most impressive record of apprehended criminals. You're going to give it to THEM? Do you have a death wish?" The woman exploded.
"Dammit Lily! You know everything, don't you? James has been my friend for a long time, but your knowledge just renders that pointless, doesn't it? You don't even know the man, yet it is so easy to judge him, isn't it?" Sirius seethed.
"I absolutely will not condone this. Do you know how much I went through to get this?!" She pointed to the sword. "I am never ever going to cooperate with an organization that under any terms lets a Death Eater walk free."
"Sometimes, to get greater justice, people have to compromise justice."
"They were – no, are murders! They murdered people who didn't stand a chance! Their victims know nothing nor how to combat them: people like my parents! Damn them to hell."
"Lils – "
"No. I will have absolutely nothing to do with this Potter. I hate his existence if he helps the likes of those who trade the guilty for favors." Lily choked.
She charged from Sirius's presence despite her longing for the sanctuary Sirius spoke of.
Respectfully, Sirius did not stop her as she departed in her gondola.
Life was a series of bitter trade-offs. Only in fairytales do the noble ends justify the immoral means.
'London' (a few days later)
A door slammed from somewhere in the vicinity of the office. The swishing of fine robes and the clatter of other workers diving ungracefully out of the way resounded off the white-wash walls. Angry footsteps were approaching.
James leaned back in his mediocre desk chair within the solitary walls of his cubicle. He shook his head, wryly amused at the Minister's childish behaviour. He counted to three and on cue the door was thrust open exposing a tall man, his face beet red with oxygen deprivation. Normally James would take great humor in observing the Minister of Magic, but on this occasion his attention was more concerned with the folder in his hand.
"What is the meaning of this? An appeal? You know the laws of this world; testifying in exchange for – "
"Sir, this is a man that has been tried and found guilty for sixteen accounts of murder, especially the famous Evans case. You want him to walk free because he gave you some names and agreed to spy on Voldemort? These Death Eaters are not stupid and I highly doubt he will compromise the Dark Lord; even if he was genuinely willing to help you, fear is a powerful agent and Voldemort knows it. You're confusing salvation and massacres." James argued.
After wincing at the vile name, the Minister threw the files down on James's desk. "Last time I checked, I was Minister of Magic, not James Potter. Burn these. I want Lestrange released within 48 hours." The Minister practically yelled.
"You are fully capable of bur-"
"Do it. I want a contract from you that there will be no more silly interferences from this office. If you burn it, it's as good as your word." With an angry nod, the insufferable man left.
James pursed his lips in frustration. He weighed his choices and was unable to come up with a better reason for destroying the papers than the fact that he wanted to keep his job. He couldn't do much good if he didn't have the Ministry as a supplier. With an anguishing yell, he chucked the folder at the wall and seethed while the papers twirled to the floor.
A knock at the door startled him.
"I'll destroy the papers, now go stick your head back up your ass." James spat.
"That is hardly the way to speak to an old friend." Then he paused to think for a moment. "We are friends, right?"
Sirius spoke with such utter assurance and with more than a mocking tone. James was stunned to say the least, but his smooth and beautiful exterior showed none of it. Potter was undeniably a sight for sore eyes. His skin was a medium tone that seemed to be flexible enough to assume that he either was of luxurious southern Europe origin or that his complexion was as fragile, but not sickly, as winter crystals. His warm hazel eyes were the opposite of Sirius's dark stormy ones.
The most delicious thing about James was the fact that he was a "good guy", yet posed no damnation on those who skated around certain laws.
Those like Sirius.
"It's very unusual to see the reigning Mars in these parts. What brings you to my door?"
"Good to see you too, mate." Sirius drawled sarcastically. "I have procured something of obvious interest to this operation."
"Shut the door."
Sirius complied, and then from his robe, unveiled the sword. "I have the sword of Godric Gryffindor."
"I heard that was missing. But, Black, that's not my department. You're better off taking it to Level 8." James crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair.
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." He placed it gently on James's desk. "One of my agents had quite a fiasco with the Order of Protéga over this sword. It would seem they have an interest in this. Since we don't know what it does, it needs the utmost protection. Last time I checked, it was your department that dealt with organizations such as the Order."
"The Order of Protéga? They have never targeted the Ministry before. They are vigilante, something like a counterpart for the Order of the Phoenix. They don't associate themselves with jobs that the government is involved in."
"You know of them?"
"Never really acquainted. They are in cahoots with Voldemort's politics, but too afraid to join. We haven't really bothered them because our primary concern is Death Eaters in this age." James said boldly, making sure that Sirius understood his meaning.
"Then take it home with you, or just keep it somewhere no one can find. We were compromised and will be hunted. It cannot have the same fate."
"I can do that for you, but I don't think it necessary. Bring yourself and those in danger to London, and perhaps I can arrange for a small security detail so that you may sleep peacefully until this blows over. You have done good work for the Ministry. It is the least they can do for you. "
The reaction on Sirius's face was instantaneous and uncomfortable. It took all of his self control not to roll his eyes. "I'll have to check with my partner. I really do not want to proclaim my association with the Ministry either."
"The way I see it is: you are hunted and killed for the item you carry, or you are killed when you are found as a double, Sirius Black. I won't take this sword without a yes." James said.
A long, uncomfortable silence passed before Sirius grudgingly spat, "I'll be back in a few days."
With that, he left.
James eyes' prowled the steel of the sword. His heart pounded against his chest, part anticipation, and part guilt for deceiving Sirius. He knew very well the significance of this sword yet shrugged it off in hopes that he could have some experimentation time with it before turning it over to level 8. Then again, he knew Sirius kept his secrets well as a member of the Casanova line. Turning in an item like this without question and investigation could be catastrophic. He knew the Ministry was far too careless with superstition and prophecies.
Of course, James was never supposed to know any of this.
Meanwhile...'Helsinki'
"I thought the Dark Lord made it very clear that you were to steal the sword. You could not do even that!" An angry Malfoy screeched as his cousin. He glared at his kin, and was even more infuriated to find her expression as one of absolute boredom.Idly, her head bobbed to the pumping music in the underground hell-pit of drunken youth and bad taste.
In truth, Lucius hardly recognized Bellatrix beyond her attitude in the flashing coloured lights of the club. She had disguised her unique looks behind short, white blonde hair and a strictly inappropriate black dress. "Oh, it won't be that hard reclaiming it. Though trained, the girl had multiple moral conflicts with her profession. She didn't kill or vegetate a single person, and injured herself escaping without harming them when the easy thing to do would have been simply to eliminate all in her way. When she finds out what the sword is really used for, it will weigh on her conscious until she is destroyed."
"Is this your idea of making your failure acceptable? The Dark Lord has no tolerance for failure. He will certainly come find you." He glanced conspiratorially at the crowd surrounding them in the club. "They say you feel like a sinner in the hands of an angry God. I hear he looks like an angel."
"Never." The reply stirred Malfoy's curiosity and caused his anger to be momentarily discarded. He raised an eyebrow and motioned for her to continue.
"There is nothing angelic about his deeds. The man seeps sin from the beds of his toenails to the corners of his eyes."
Malfoy tittered at her description. "That is hardly a worthy description of his greatness. How would you label him?"
"The devil resurrected." When it looked like Malfoy was about to contradict her statement, she held her hand gesturing she was not finished. "No one ever said the devil was ugly. Evil is beautiful too."
Malfoy's eyes glittered with pride, but it soon melted off his face as he looked beyond Bellatrix. The young woman seemed to take no notice of this. To entertain herself, she arrogantly downed the contents of a small champagne glass.
"My my, aren't we arrogant." A raspy, yet husky voice hissed from behind the woman.
Malfoy's already rigid posture straightened. She woman looked at Malfoy inquisitively, then her eyes widened in horror. Her heart began to pound against her chest, and she did not dare turn around.
"Is this how you rationalize your failures? Or do you simply put more fervor into your other sinful amusements when off duty? I think I have seen someone that looks like you at that house on-"
Bellatrix's face scrunched in rage before it became disturbingly serene. "Perhaps you would like to come find out?"
To the woman's distress, the unknown man chucked at her biting comment. "It is most astonishing, is it not, that the most loyal followers possess the vilest manners."
She swallowed the lump in her throat but did not ask questions. Whoever this man was he was clearly very persuasive, to the point of being deadly. She bit her lip to prevent any outward signs of fear from surfacing.
As if taunting her discomfort, the man spoke, "You are not scared of me?"
Malfoy paled, but Bellatrix remained as cocky as ever.
"I appease one, and unless you can provide substantial evidence that you are powerful too, I shall not bow to you either." No sooner then the words left her mouth, her wrist was seized violently. The empty glass shattered against the floor and she was rudely dragged by her wrist from the room.
The pain of his grip brought Bellatrix back to reality. The figure was cloaked, and moving at a pace in which Bellatrix stood no chance of maintaining in her short dress. She tripped a few times, and was painfully drug until she regained her footing.
The duo passed through a door to a secret passage. The doormen bowed elaborately as they passed through the threshold. The figure led her through an elaborate set of hallways. Few candles had been lit and thus the walls danced with eerie shadows. The lack f pictures, furniture and statues along the passageway seemed ominous. Bellatrix could feel her heart beating ferociously against her chest. Her breathing was becoming hitched. Fear replaced blood in her veins, and her muscles were screaming at her to run, to flee. However, the power of the person dragging her would not allow it.
The man stopped at a set of double doors, each engraved with world symbols of snakes. He released her arm, then faced her.
"Get up."
She quickly obeyed.
The man removed his hood. Underneath, was a man of dark pearl-black hair. His skin was pale, slightly unhealthy looking, but far from sickly. His glare was so sinister that seemed to have the power to scorch Bellatrix's skin.
"I am flattered with your loyalty, but your awareness needs work, Miss Black. You asked for a demonstration of my power, and a demonstration of Voldemort is what you will get." His smooth voice had left, and was replaced with a voice so low in octave it could only be the devil's.
Bellatrix whimpered like a kicked puppy. He moved behind her and began twirling her fake blonde hair idly between his fingers. Bellatrix stood stick-straight, and shuddered involuntarily at each of his movements.
Suddenly, his hands grabbed a fistful of her hair violently. An involuntary yelp escaped the woman's ruby lips. He forced her head to remain forward while the doors began opening by themselves.
Bellatrix screamed.