Assignment #8 - Games Development: Assassin's Creed; Task #2 Write about an assassin. Written for the forum Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Assignments).
Dean slips out of the dark alleyway, turning towards the corner that marks the border of Harry's territory. The darkness is easy to hide in, and Dean is comforted by the thought that somewhere on the rooftops Seamus watches his back. He's about to head back to the group, when he spots someone else camouflaged by the darkness.
Dean's been a scout and a messenger for the mafia for much of his life, working his way up since he'd been born as a street kid rather than born into one of the main mafia groups. Still, he's worked hard, and he likes to think he's somewhat better than some of the Purebloods—kids born into crime due to their parents both being in the mafia. Wealthy and spoilt brats for the most part.
"Zabini," Dean says as he approaches the other scout. Blaise Zabini isn't part of Harry's mafia or any allied group—although that might change shortly—but Dean's worked with him from time to time, and also against him.
"Thomas," the darker boy murmurs, not moving away as Dean stops beside him. "I am unsurprised that you're here."
"Likewise," Dean admits. Zabini is one of the best scouts Malfoy Junior's group has, even if he also has expertise in other areas. "Your lot coming?"
The other boy grins, teeth pearly white juxtaposing the darkness. "Yeah. Not much longer."
Dean nods and shifts his weight, rocking backwards on heels. "Not much longer," he agrees as he spots Harry and the others turning around the corner. He leaves Zabini's side, settling into a position near the back of the group.
At the front, Harry watches impassively as Zabini straightens, just as Draco Malfoy and his group exit a nearby side street. On Harry's left, Hermione stands, whilst Ron stands on his other side. They make up Harry's second in commands, with Neville and Ginny standing on either side of them due to their own position of power in the group. "Malfoy," Harry greets coolly. "You proposed an alliance?"
Malfoy stops a few metres away from Harry and his group. Zabini takes up a position flanking Malfoy on his left with Pansy Parkinson on his right. There are a few others at Malfoy's back, but what catches Harry's attention is the lack of bodyguards—where there had been two, once, there's only one.
"Yes," Malfoy finally says. "My people may be few in number, but there's enough of us to help you with your cause—if you go after, you know, then we'll create a distraction and ensure the fall of the Death Eater Mafia."
"Aren't you part of that group?" Harry asks, voice careful and cruel.
"I was," the other mafia leader answers. "But clearly I am no longer, since I am here instead."
Harry tilts his head in comprehension. He could be harsh here, call on the name of the person who no longer exists, but Harry—despite being a mafia leader—has never been overly cruel without reason. They all have their causalities from various encounters with different groups, yet that doesn't mean it gets easier.
"Can you get one of my people to Voldemort?" Harry asks, ignoring the flinches of Malfoy's group—his own had gotten used to his tendency to refer to Voldemort by his name.
Despite flinching, Malfoy meets Harry's gaze evenly. "Yes," he says simply. "But it will have to be soon before anyone catches wind of this." Because that's the way their world works, even if they trust those around them and try to keep secrets, somehow something will always get out.
"Two days," Harry decides, because he's ready to attack Voldemort, because they've systematically managed to destroy other sources of Voldemort's power and influence, continuing work of others from past decades, that of Albus Dumbledore, of Regulus Black and so many others.
"Two days," Malfoy echoes in agreement.
Two days, and then their worlds will all change once again.
Harry creeps down the short hallway, sticking close to the wall where the floorboards are less creaky. He could have asked any of his people to do this for him and they would, and it's not like he doesn't trust them—but this is something he has to do, for himself and also because he wouldn't put anyone in the same amount of danger. Besides, his skills make him one of the best matches for this assignment.
There are safer ways to do this—sniper guns, for one, but Harry knows that Voldemort's defences will be many, and even a gun might fail. No, he knows it's better for a closer, more personal attack. Dumbledore taught him that much—even if the older man had been useless and torn so many apart, he had been powerful and knew many things. Harry learnt as much as he could, and left as soon as he could. He had never been in a position of power in that criminal group, only a figurehead for a cause his parents died for.
A cause he shouldn't have to fight in. He could have had a normal life! But he doesn't. He's here now and he's made the best of it. No one could say he doesn't thrive in the criminal world.
The door opens noiselessly, and Harry steps through. Voldemort sleeps, unaware, and Harry grins, steps forward and raises his knife.
Minutes later, one person walks away from the room—dark-haired, green-eyed, with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. In the bedroom behind him, the leader of the most feared mafia in recent history lies dead, throat cut open, eyes unseeing.
When morning comes, no one will know who killed Voldemort, they will only know that the man is dead. When morning comes, there will be strife and there will be violence, because only a leader has fallen not a whole group. When morning comes, people will band together and fight for power once more. When morning comes, the whole world will move on.
Right now, though, Harry leaves Voldemort behind him and thinks of the opportunities ahead of him. He's been dragged into this life and can't leave it, but maybe now he can choose the direction he and his move in.
It's not very long, but whatever, it's the best anyone's getting right now. I hope you enjoyed! There's definitely more I could've done with this, and it felt a bit abrupt, but you know, it's written and it's done, and here we are.
Kismet, for those of you who don't know, means fate or destiny. I fell in love with the word earlier today and thought it worked quite well.