Harry Potter and the Descendant of the Magi
I own only Markus, all other characters belong to JK Rowling.
-Moro
Things had gone all wrong. Nothing else could be said about what had begun in the small American rural town. The day had started so normally for Markus. He went to school, hung out with his friends, and then walked home. That was when everything went to hell. He walked up from the back yard to find the house flashing. At first, he thought it was just their TV flashing, but the screams of his mother told him otherwise. He panicked, rushing into the house. His mother lay on the ground writhing in agony, surrounded by men wearing long black robes. They took turns waving a slender stick over her, renewing her agony. They had yet to notice him. He grabbed the nearest thing he could use as a weapon, the sword his father had prized, from its display. He struck the nearest with it, not even bothering to draw the ancient blade. The man went down like a sack of potatoes, much to his companions' amusement. They shifted their attention to him, and one shot a ball of green light at his mother. She screamed as it took her life, her face wrought with unmentionable horrors. It was then that the pain struck him. It was unimaginable. It was worse than the time he had tripped with a pair of scissors and stabbed himself in the arm, worse than the time he had been hit by a car and broken seven ribs. It seemed to go on for eternity. He wanted nothing more than to die, but they relished his pain, and it continued until he blacked out.
When he woke, the house was in shambles. Fires burned sporadically through the house, and his mother lay eagle spread on the floor, her face contorted in fear and agony. He cried, as was to be expected. In the sky, some horrid sigil was burned into the sky. In the distance, light flashed against the horizon, like lightning, but from the earth instead of the heavens. More of the hellish signs were burned into the sky toward the lights. Panicking, he realized that his friends lived that way. Solemnly, he closed his mother's eyes and calmed her features before standing and pursuing those monsters. He knew he didn't stand a chance. He picked up his weapon and began his hunt.
It wasn't long until he came across the next of their victims. They seemed to be attacking at random, some houses ravaged by their brutality, others left unmarred. He hadn't known the elderly couple. They shared a look of bliss as they looked into each others eyes. They had stabbed each other through the heart. He cursed, closed their eyes, and then returned to his pursuit.
He thought that he had cried all his tears over his mother's corpse. He was proven wrong when he found Jonathan. His friend was barely clinging to life, but the football player did not go down alone. Beside him lay one of the cloaked figures with his neck snapped. "Damn, Markus, you look like hell," he joked, coughing up blood.
"Try not to talk," Markus pleaded. "I'll go get."
"Help?" Jonathan finished for him. "Don't kid yourself. I'm done for. Take this, please." He pressed something into Markus's hand.
"Your ring? I can't," Markus began, but then realized that his friend had already gone. He pushed the ring onto his finger, vowing to somehow avenge his friend. He hardly felt the tears as they ran down his face.
He gained on them, despite that he took time to check any of the victims. Some he knew, others only by sight. Some were friends, some rivals, but all of them good people. Hatred burned within him. By the time he caught up to the monsters, he burned, an inferno of hatred, anger, pain, sorrow, but most importantly, vengeance. They were in the middle of their "sport". When he saw who they were using for their game, his prior emotions were pale in comparison. Sera was disheveled, and only just barely clothed as they took their turns using various hexes and curses to bludgeon, whip, and scourge her body. He drew the blade that was now sheathed on his back. One heard the scraping of the blade against the old tooled, but well maintained leather. "Look who pulled himself out of the wreckage boys," he jested.
"Well, back for seconds, boy?" another sneered. " Come here, I'll be happy to indulge your masochistic desires." He shot a ball of blue light at a discarded soda bottle. Several others stepped forward to help the sadist. There was a bright flash of light, and then the rest stepped forward. They surrounded him, like before. Once again, they shot balls of light at him. This time he was ready, though. He sidestepped most, swinging the sword that a Roman commander had once wielded as he led his legion into battle.
The storm of emotions he was feeling shook as he fatally wounded the nearest cloaked man, but there was no time for regrets. He danced, death amongst the condemned. It was a battle against the odds though. One against twenty, sooner or later he knew that he would be hit, and hit he was. He went down as agony took him again. Those he couldn't injure seemed enraged that he had injured some of them. They were merciless. The pain from before was ecstasy compared to what he now suffered. Several of the balls of light struck him simultaneously, and they seemed to amplify one another. "So this is it," he pondered.
The light began to fade, and the pain began to cease. He saw the deceased that he had seen that night flash before his eyes. His mother, tortured and murdered before his eyes. His friends left lying in pools of their own blood. The elderly couple who had been forced to murder each other. Finally his mind turned to Sera, the girl he had come to care for, though he had never been able to tell her. Now he would never get a chance.
Someone screamed in the distance. The world came back into focus, and Markus realized that it was he himself who screamed. He felt alive, as though he had never truly been alive. The flames that burned within him raged, and he let them loose, continuing his bestial scream. Heat radiated off of him. The monsters around him weren't spared any part of the agony. He could even feel his feet sinking into the road as the tar began to melt. When all of those around him were no more, he blacked out.
Griphook was having a good day until one of the subordinates brought a letter to his attention. He had finished the paperwork to gain access to one of the old vaults that no longer had anyone with the bloodlines to inherit it. Inside had been several goblin wrought treasures long since considered lost to his people, as well as quite a high amount of wizardly treasures and an ungodly amount of gold. This letter though, was completely mood shattering. In fact, this ruined the whole acquisition, as well as the week.
On very, very seldom occasions had notices of how to run the affairs of vault 0 come to the light. This was above his status, he rushed into his superior's office. He handed the envelope to Holdfast, and turned to leave when the goblin motioned for him to sit. "Troubling events happen when He contacts us. The last executor we appointed has long since died. Are you up to the task, Griphook?" Holdfast asked him. "It would mean seeing to all of the new heir's needs, escorting him to the vault, and utter discrepancy, beyond normal expectations. This is a great opportunity for you to rise through the ranks."
"And what of young Master Potter's affairs? Would I no longer oversee them?"
"No, but these would be the only two vaults you would be expected to manage. Be warned, though, the contents of that vault are far more dangerous, and quite maddening, compared with anything else in any of the vaults."
"Very well then. I accept," Griphook answered. "What is kept in vault 0, that is so dangerous?"
"Not even known to many of our kind, this establishment was built atop of an ancient vault that was sealed to all except for the one who last sealed it. It was said that the witch Nimue had sealed her lover inside it."
"And her lover?"
"You don't know? Almost everyone, muggle or not, has heard of Merlin, said to be the only begotten son of Satan himself."
"You mean, Gringotts was constructed?"
"Yes, upon the cave that serves as the tomb of Merlin Satanspawn, and the many curiosities he kept there. Every once in a while he notifies us of one that can access the vault, with instructions on what should be done with them."
Griphook was dazed by this revelation. "But, how? Surely he perished long ago?"
"We find that it is best not to ask, even when given the chance."
"And the successor?"
"An American. Merlin sent orders for him to be brought to Hogwarts to be trained. Toss the parchment into the fire on your way out, Griphook."
The letter read:
Dear Master Goblin;
Today, one who can open my vault awakens.
The child, or perhaps, young man would be more appropriate,
dwells within the small American town of Coriander. Please contact Albus Dumbledore and have him bring the child to Hogwarts.
The magical world will need be in grave need of him in times to come.
A/N: This is my first published work, so if you don't like it, don't just rage. Send any comments, thoughts, questions, complaints, etc., and i'll try to answer them. Hopefully the chapters will get longer, but I felt that this was a good intro.