Title: L'Amore Di Ombra
Author: Brytetwilight
Genre: Incorporates a bit of everything.
Ships: Albus/Minerva, Ron/Hermione, Tonks/Lupin
Summary: People are disappearing. Fudge is out of it. Hogwarts isn't safe, either. Who is around to save the day? Pfft, you don't really think they'd let students handle it! AU, I suppose, because I'm setting it during fourth year.
Disclaimer: Only doing this once~~I own nothing~~don't sue, 'cos you won't get much.
Author's Note: Will someone help me figure out this HTML business? Like, how to italicize things and such? I feel really stupid asking, but. . .yeah.
Reviews are welcome :-) Praise is appreciated, but putting the whole warm- fuzzy-feely thing aside, it doesn't make me any better.
A cookie to anyone who can spot the Matrix reference.
And the title's in Italian. Because I like Italian.
Now that that's all out of the way, shall we begin?
** *** **
Chapter One: Give Unto Me
[Give unto me your troubles
I'll endure your suffering
Place onto me your burden
I'll drink your deadly poison]
It was a dark and stormy night.
A cloaked figure smiled slightly as the old quote ran through his head. That was the way he liked it, of course. Any other sort of weather and he wouldn't dare to leave the castle walls. Come to think of it, on normal circumstances, he wouldn't even be out now.
But, these circumstances were not normal in the slightest.
He cradled what appeared to be a torn, ragged pile of robes to his chest. It was amazing, he mused as he gingerly set the bundle on the ground to unlock the gate, that such good fortune had fallen to him. And a pub-what an unlikely place for a treasure! He reflected.
It had been all well when he reached the bar. The rough wooden smell combined with a mixture of blood and alcohol to produce something putrid, but that was no matter. He had stepped right to the front of the line without bother, for the name of Armando Gryffin was nothing short of king in this land. Immediately a rough bottle of Triple AO+ had been thrust in his hand without a price. Yes, being him did have its uses.
He had settled himself down in the far corner table, pulling his hood down over his eyes as to not be disturbed. After uncorking the bottle by the tooth he had leaned back, fully prepared to be hung over within minutes, when he was quite rudely interrupted.
"Damn. . .a bottle o' that stuff free o' charge?" A silky, yet drunken voice had penetrated the shadows.
"Excuse me?"
"You 'erd me," the speaker had said as he slid into the chair across from Armando. His hood shadowed his face as well, but that was nothing unusual; one might go as far as to say it was a fashion, along with long black cloaks and the sort.
"I do not tolerate being spoken to like that."
The hooded man chuckled. "A bit high an' mighty, are you? Well, I'm sure we can fix that."
Armando was growing even more irritated by. "And just what do you mean by-" he began, but choked in mid sentence. The stranger had leaned back in his seat as he spoke, and a mass of long, tangled blonde hair had slid out from beneath his hood.
"You're-you're-not from around here, are you?" Armando stuttered as a vein popped in his neck. His disdainful tone vanished immediately and his face grew paler; this was not something he was used to doing. "You're-you're-"
The faint smile on his face grew wider. "Yeah, I know I'm a wizard."
"You don't belong here," Armando spoke with an edge to his voice as he rose to his feet. "Goodbye."
"Aw, come on, don't leave yet! If you must know, I have some info that might be of interest to you."
Aldebrand had hesitated, but in the end decided to stay put. He pulled out his chair again and sat back down
"That's better." His voice had dropped its rough quality the moment he found that Armando was going to listen.
"What was it you wanted to tell me?"
"If my sources are correct, people in this country have a lot of sense when it comes to choosing sides."
"Power, of course."
"Precisely. You undoubtedly remember the power the Dark Lord had twelve years ago. What if you could help to restore that--?"
"Why should I?" Armando interrupted, but he was ignored.
"-power? You lie in the shadows of the mountains, unnoticed, ashamed. What if your people could be restored their former glory? The Dark Lord can do that, Armando. And he will help you if you want him to," the stranger gave him one last look before standing and leaving him alone.
Armando had hesitated-taking orders from a wizard?!-but still caught up with the man right outside the door. The rain beat on their cloaks, soaking the pair of them, forcing Armando to raise his voice if he wanted to be heard.
"What must I do?"
The man had raised a hand over his shoulder, motioning for him to follow, and continued on, into the woods. For twenty minutes they walked until they reached the heart of the forest.
"This," he spoke, "is where the Dark Lord lies."
A small gasp fought against Armando's closed mouth; it was certainly apparent. The absolute silence overwhelmed him; no creature stirred within his hearing. On the ground in front of them, a twenty-foot circle was cleared of all snow, grass, and earth-a miniature wasteland. Trees around them stood as skeletons.
In the center of the circle lay a heap of black robes, tattered, worn, and as they would be in the eyes of a Death Eater, priceless.
The man looked at Armando in the eye. "This is all that remains. Find a way to restore his power, and yours shall be returned as well."
Armando was brought to his knees. "I. . .I'm not worthy of this."
The man cocked his head to the side. "No, perhaps not. But. . .you cannot die again."
Armando nodded. "So, then. . .any instructions?"
A smirk flickered across the man's face. "He will know what to do."
Armando had nodded faintly but hadn't really paid much attention, overcoming the invisible force pressing down on his back and rising to his feet. "And who are you? In case I-" He almost said "need help" but decided the better of it; why would he need help from a wizard? "In case I complete the task, or. . .change my mind."
"You won't be changing your mind. And the name is Lucius Malfoy."
Yes, what a twist of the fates-in his favor, of course. It was also amazing how he had managed to get it all the way up here. He had made sure that the Gryffin Bastion was quite unreachable by anyone but himself; an old friend of his, now long dead, he was sure, had been secret-keeper for the correct pathway, as well as casting multiple charms on the house itself. Of course, if made more difficult for others to access, the rules never broke for the owner. What a pity it was, he thought. An hour and a half wasted for rugged, snowy mountain trails without use of his arms.
Now, however, he faced the tall, iron-wrought gate. Five minutes it took him to undo the two hundred locks, and not long after that he sat in front of his fireplace, flames dancing in the gothic-styled frame.
Piece by piece, he began to unwrap the bundle of cloth and rags. A faint whispering ensued as he removed the first layer, growing louder and louder as more were unwrapped.
Minutes passed. The floor was now strewn with multi-sized sheets of fabric, and Armando was beginning to feel exasperated. What sort of trick was this? Oh, this was what he got for trusting wizards. . .he would get that Malfoy back, he would. . .
So he thought as he held what had to be the last covering in his left hand. Slowly, tenderly, he pulled it off. Three more inches to go. . .two. . .one. . .
A bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence of the mansion as the flames were extinguished. Armando writhed in the floor in pain, in the darkness, twitching. It was a seizure, it had to be. . .he couldn't think. . .
A mind was invading his own.
Then a voice, so silent outside his mind, but so unexpected, sending chills down his spine.
"Hello, Gryffin. Meet your new master."
Author: Brytetwilight
Genre: Incorporates a bit of everything.
Ships: Albus/Minerva, Ron/Hermione, Tonks/Lupin
Summary: People are disappearing. Fudge is out of it. Hogwarts isn't safe, either. Who is around to save the day? Pfft, you don't really think they'd let students handle it! AU, I suppose, because I'm setting it during fourth year.
Disclaimer: Only doing this once~~I own nothing~~don't sue, 'cos you won't get much.
Author's Note: Will someone help me figure out this HTML business? Like, how to italicize things and such? I feel really stupid asking, but. . .yeah.
Reviews are welcome :-) Praise is appreciated, but putting the whole warm- fuzzy-feely thing aside, it doesn't make me any better.
A cookie to anyone who can spot the Matrix reference.
And the title's in Italian. Because I like Italian.
Now that that's all out of the way, shall we begin?
** *** **
Chapter One: Give Unto Me
[Give unto me your troubles
I'll endure your suffering
Place onto me your burden
I'll drink your deadly poison]
It was a dark and stormy night.
A cloaked figure smiled slightly as the old quote ran through his head. That was the way he liked it, of course. Any other sort of weather and he wouldn't dare to leave the castle walls. Come to think of it, on normal circumstances, he wouldn't even be out now.
But, these circumstances were not normal in the slightest.
He cradled what appeared to be a torn, ragged pile of robes to his chest. It was amazing, he mused as he gingerly set the bundle on the ground to unlock the gate, that such good fortune had fallen to him. And a pub-what an unlikely place for a treasure! He reflected.
It had been all well when he reached the bar. The rough wooden smell combined with a mixture of blood and alcohol to produce something putrid, but that was no matter. He had stepped right to the front of the line without bother, for the name of Armando Gryffin was nothing short of king in this land. Immediately a rough bottle of Triple AO+ had been thrust in his hand without a price. Yes, being him did have its uses.
He had settled himself down in the far corner table, pulling his hood down over his eyes as to not be disturbed. After uncorking the bottle by the tooth he had leaned back, fully prepared to be hung over within minutes, when he was quite rudely interrupted.
"Damn. . .a bottle o' that stuff free o' charge?" A silky, yet drunken voice had penetrated the shadows.
"Excuse me?"
"You 'erd me," the speaker had said as he slid into the chair across from Armando. His hood shadowed his face as well, but that was nothing unusual; one might go as far as to say it was a fashion, along with long black cloaks and the sort.
"I do not tolerate being spoken to like that."
The hooded man chuckled. "A bit high an' mighty, are you? Well, I'm sure we can fix that."
Armando was growing even more irritated by. "And just what do you mean by-" he began, but choked in mid sentence. The stranger had leaned back in his seat as he spoke, and a mass of long, tangled blonde hair had slid out from beneath his hood.
"You're-you're-not from around here, are you?" Armando stuttered as a vein popped in his neck. His disdainful tone vanished immediately and his face grew paler; this was not something he was used to doing. "You're-you're-"
The faint smile on his face grew wider. "Yeah, I know I'm a wizard."
"You don't belong here," Armando spoke with an edge to his voice as he rose to his feet. "Goodbye."
"Aw, come on, don't leave yet! If you must know, I have some info that might be of interest to you."
Aldebrand had hesitated, but in the end decided to stay put. He pulled out his chair again and sat back down
"That's better." His voice had dropped its rough quality the moment he found that Armando was going to listen.
"What was it you wanted to tell me?"
"If my sources are correct, people in this country have a lot of sense when it comes to choosing sides."
"Power, of course."
"Precisely. You undoubtedly remember the power the Dark Lord had twelve years ago. What if you could help to restore that--?"
"Why should I?" Armando interrupted, but he was ignored.
"-power? You lie in the shadows of the mountains, unnoticed, ashamed. What if your people could be restored their former glory? The Dark Lord can do that, Armando. And he will help you if you want him to," the stranger gave him one last look before standing and leaving him alone.
Armando had hesitated-taking orders from a wizard?!-but still caught up with the man right outside the door. The rain beat on their cloaks, soaking the pair of them, forcing Armando to raise his voice if he wanted to be heard.
"What must I do?"
The man had raised a hand over his shoulder, motioning for him to follow, and continued on, into the woods. For twenty minutes they walked until they reached the heart of the forest.
"This," he spoke, "is where the Dark Lord lies."
A small gasp fought against Armando's closed mouth; it was certainly apparent. The absolute silence overwhelmed him; no creature stirred within his hearing. On the ground in front of them, a twenty-foot circle was cleared of all snow, grass, and earth-a miniature wasteland. Trees around them stood as skeletons.
In the center of the circle lay a heap of black robes, tattered, worn, and as they would be in the eyes of a Death Eater, priceless.
The man looked at Armando in the eye. "This is all that remains. Find a way to restore his power, and yours shall be returned as well."
Armando was brought to his knees. "I. . .I'm not worthy of this."
The man cocked his head to the side. "No, perhaps not. But. . .you cannot die again."
Armando nodded. "So, then. . .any instructions?"
A smirk flickered across the man's face. "He will know what to do."
Armando had nodded faintly but hadn't really paid much attention, overcoming the invisible force pressing down on his back and rising to his feet. "And who are you? In case I-" He almost said "need help" but decided the better of it; why would he need help from a wizard? "In case I complete the task, or. . .change my mind."
"You won't be changing your mind. And the name is Lucius Malfoy."
Yes, what a twist of the fates-in his favor, of course. It was also amazing how he had managed to get it all the way up here. He had made sure that the Gryffin Bastion was quite unreachable by anyone but himself; an old friend of his, now long dead, he was sure, had been secret-keeper for the correct pathway, as well as casting multiple charms on the house itself. Of course, if made more difficult for others to access, the rules never broke for the owner. What a pity it was, he thought. An hour and a half wasted for rugged, snowy mountain trails without use of his arms.
Now, however, he faced the tall, iron-wrought gate. Five minutes it took him to undo the two hundred locks, and not long after that he sat in front of his fireplace, flames dancing in the gothic-styled frame.
Piece by piece, he began to unwrap the bundle of cloth and rags. A faint whispering ensued as he removed the first layer, growing louder and louder as more were unwrapped.
Minutes passed. The floor was now strewn with multi-sized sheets of fabric, and Armando was beginning to feel exasperated. What sort of trick was this? Oh, this was what he got for trusting wizards. . .he would get that Malfoy back, he would. . .
So he thought as he held what had to be the last covering in his left hand. Slowly, tenderly, he pulled it off. Three more inches to go. . .two. . .one. . .
A bloodcurdling scream pierced the silence of the mansion as the flames were extinguished. Armando writhed in the floor in pain, in the darkness, twitching. It was a seizure, it had to be. . .he couldn't think. . .
A mind was invading his own.
Then a voice, so silent outside his mind, but so unexpected, sending chills down his spine.
"Hello, Gryffin. Meet your new master."