AN: If you haven't guessed from the title, this is going to be the first of a series of plot bunnies I'm going to be putting up, some longer than others, also some written with more effort than others. Oh, and just in case the separating lines don't appear again I've bolded the first bits of certain sections.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.
Plot Bunny #1
Dark Marauders
Summary: One event spurs time to shift; history to change… Four lives are altered, setting each of them down the path of Darkness… A legacy is born, a legend set in motion…
"Shut up! You guys are just stupid idiots! How can you hate someone 'cause they're different?" instantly the boy regretted his words, looking at the surrounding adults fearfully. That fear, however was meshed together with a clearly apparent rebellious anger. Deep black bangs covered the revealing eyes, hiding the flashes of emotion. A moment of silence stretched for centuries, the atmosphere dimming as the sudden shock from the outburst faded. Tension seeped into the air, suffocating any and all polite talk that could have been said to cover up the recent events.
"Mrs. Black, your child is quite frank," the words were spoken smoothly, almost questioningly. Raising an eyebrow an in almost impossibly aristocratic way, a tall man gazed at the boy's mother.
The effect of his gaze was immediate. Mrs. Black quickly adopted a sickening smile on her face, obviously hoping it would help her out of this crisis. "Oh Mr. Malfoy, surely you do not believe this child is mine?" Her voice contained such a noticeably false sense of incredulity that it was hard to believe she was ever known to be cunning. "He is merely…" here she glanced at the boy, her voice filled with disgust, "my nephew. Took him in after my dear sister perished from that mysterious fire… Yes, only my nephew… Are you still interested in agreeing to have your son marry my eldest daughter?" Satisfaction filled her eyes as she convinced herself to believe her own words, denouncing her eldest child all for the sake of an arranged marriage.
Sneering at the boy standing next to his mother, the pureblood replied, "We shall see, Mrs. Black, we shall see," looking at the female Head of the House of Black he nodded once, tapped his ebony cane on the ground, and with a sharp 'crack' disappeared.
Another moment was pulled taut, lasting as long as it could before it snapped. A dark look entered the older woman's eyes as she glared down at her oldest child. For eight years she had raised him, watched over him, tried to make sure he would be the perfect heir for the Black family, especially after her husband died three years ago. Her insufferable brother, however, saw fit to unravel all of her careful machinations and had started to mold her son into another Light rebel. She would not let it happen, though, and quickly thought of the perfect solution to her problem. Her younger son was showing signs of being a much better son than his brother and would replace the rebellious child quite well. Already her little Regulus was following orders perfectly and hating all that was against the Black family well. All that needed to be done was to get rid of the unwanted being that would ruin her family's prosperity.
A dark smirk appeared on her face, her thoughts flying through her mind as she planned out what to do. "Yes…" she said, a manic gleam shining in her eyes, "you are not my son, only… an impostor. The Black family knows exactly what to do with impostors, don't we, son?" Taking out a foot long stick from the sleeve of her robe, she waved it at her son, placing a body bind on him and transforming his features to be paler, more angular, and making his hair silky and slightly greasy. Cutting a small slit in her finger with a conjured dagger, she drew a small design on her son's forehead. The image glowed then disappeared, sinking into his skin. Snapping her fingers she called out, "Kreacher!"
With a 'pop' a small wrinkled creature appeared at her side, long ears erect and alert, eyes wide with admiration, thin, bony fingers fidgeting with its rags. "Yes mistress? What is Kreacher to do for mistress?"
Mrs. Black grabbed her son by his shoulder and pulled him toward Kreacher. "Take this boy and replace his clothes more fitting for the vermin he is…" She threw her son to the House Elf. "And be quick about it. I'm taking him to the Ministry in three minutes." Without another word or glance, she walked off to her room to dress in clothes that suited a Head of House making an appearance at the Ministry of Magic.
"But- Mrs. Black, I-"
"Yes, I'm perfectly aware that minors are not presently allowed to be sent to Azkaban, Minister. However, you can certainly change that, right? As the Minister, surely you have the power and influence to change such a law."
"I do have that power, but-"
"Then I see no reason why it cannot be done. My son has been murdered and his identity stolen by this pathetic being who tries to call himself human. How appalled I am to know that for who knows how long I've been living with this disgusting thing I do not know…" sniffing, Mrs. Black let a fake tear slip from her eye. "I do hope you would not let such a crime go unpunished, Minister."
"I'll see what I can do, Mrs. Black…" looking resigned and forlorn, the Minister called on a small group of Aurors to take the eight year old child away. For the first time in the countless centuries of its existence, Azkaban would house a child.
"Is that a child?!"
"Here, kiddie kiddies… Here, kiddie kiddies!"
"Ooh, someone's come to play!"
"Heh, he heh, ha hah, HA"
"The demen-tees should love him…"
Numerous yells, shouts, and other mutterings could be heard as the Auror walked through the cells of Azkaban, leading a young child to his cell. 'What the Ministry has come to,' he thought, 'for children to be convicted and sent to Azkaban…' However, looking at the boy walking behind him and seeing no fear, no sadness, just about no emotion at all the Auror could almost believe such a child could kill another boy. The goodness within him called out to reject such thoughts but it could not fully succeed. Reaching the cell the older man took out a key and unlocked the door, the magical wards recognizing the object and opening the old rusted bars. The boy calmly walked inside and the door shut itself, the wards reasserting themselves along the exterior of the cell. Shaking his head sadly, the Auror left, leaving the young child to its fate.
Soon the Dementors arrived, eager to inspect their new prey left by the arrogant humans who thought they could pass judgment upon their own race. Their blind faces looked for the new source of happiness and warmth that was supposed to be now locked within the cell, their new source of food to live off of. Thin, bony, withered hands reached through the bars, disabling parts of the wards and allowing the dark creatures to float into the cell. Unfeeling fingers felt for that common pool of positive feelings that all humans possessed. Long, dark, ragged cloaks covered their forms and rippled as more Dementors arrived, causing a small gush of wind to flow by.
However, none of them could find that pool of happiness. None of them could sense that warmth even the cruelest of their prisoners held. The cell was bursting with Dementors, raspy clicks, sighs, and hisses filling the air as they communicated with each other, confusion and frustration filling their senses. There was no food in this cell where there should be, no light their darkness could extinguish. It was stressful and curious at the same time, the creatures assaulted with a situation they had never faced before. All the while the child sat in the corner of his cell on the ratty mattress he was given, watching the huge beings swirl around him with something akin to curiosity in his eyes though it was considerably dimmed by the unfeeling emptiness that prevailed his being.
Suddenly, silence filled the cell and half of the Dementors flew through the walls and left. A pathway was left, from the door to the child, and the other Dementors seemed to almost kneel along it as they floated in the air. The child looked down the pathway, through the bars of his cell to see another Dementor approaching. While obviously a Dementor, this one was different. The robe was clean and pure black, unlike the ragged dark grey of the others. This Dementor floated like the others, but with a grace instead of the eerie suspense the others gave off. Lastly, the biggest difference between this Dementor and the rest was that while it wore a hood, this Dementor had a face that could clearly be seen. At least, the child could see it. He had only vaguely heard of Dementors before, but he had never heard of a Dementor with a face, nor had he heard of a Dementor with a female face like this one had; long black hair, slightly angled eyes, long eyelashes, a thin mouth and pale skin… The eyes were pure black and contained no white, the lips were pure black as well, and the only white on her being was her skin. The image captured the boy's attention and he found himself unable to keep from staring at her. Her mouth opened, no teeth but a deep black hole, and the same raspy sounds came out like the other Dementors, but in his head the boy heard a voice calling out to him,
"Child… child…"
"…yes?" he replied, hoping his thoughts would travel back.
"Young child, I sense no warmth within you, no happy memory to call your own. Inside your soul I sense a deep darkness filled with frustration, anger, and despair… It is beautiful and alluring to find such a soul in one so young. Tell me, will you be my child?" The Dementor reached out a smooth, pale white hand, and caressed the boy's cheek. Her touch was like ice; painfully cold yet it burned at the same time. A tear fell from the boy's eyes and as it reached her hand it froze.
Staring deep into the Dementor's ebony eyes, the boy whispered, "Yes."
"What? Another child? You want me to bring another little boy to Azkaban?!" the Auror was overwhelmed and practically threw his disbelief at his superior. It had only been a few months since the first boy had been taken in.
"Sadly, yes, but this child is definitely a murderer. Found right in the middle of the crime scene and confessed right away,"
Looking down at the small child standing next to his superior, the Auror was surprised to find the boy looked a lot alike the other boy. He had the same pale complexion, the long black hair with a slightly greasy look, thin fingers and dark eyes. In those eyes, however, was not the emptiness of the other boy's eyes, but a deep sadness and guilt that stabbed the Auror's heart. The small child looked up at the older man, and the Auror was surprised to feel tendrils of natural Legilimency. Suddenly, an onslaught of memories struck his mind.
A woman smiled sadly down at him, a tear escaping her eyes. "Honey, your father is not the same one you have right now. Mommy made a mistake and left your real father for the one you have now. Your real father was… special and it seems you're special too. Don't let your other father know, okay?"
The scene changed, the same woman hugging him. "It's okay, everything's okay, honey," Over her shoulder he could see the corpse of a dead rabbit, torn into pieces. "It's not your fault, honey, you're just special…"
Again, the scene changed the corpse now a dead woman, her brown hair spread out across her face and her body torn like the rabbit's. Bloody hands were held up to his face. They were his hands. Soon, the hands began to shake. Suddenly, he looked over his shoulder and saw the other woman again. For a moment she was shocked, and then her face turned to the same sadness he had seen multiple times before. She slowly walked up to him and hugged him like she had before, tears streaming down her face.
Then, the scene changed another time, this time crashes being heard. He was in a bedroom of some sorts, the crashes coming from a short distance away. He left the room, following the crashes. Soon he entered a living room, the woman from before cowering on the ground. Towering above her was a man with light brown hair and light eyes darkened with anger. "How dare you trick me you piece of filth!" he bellowed, "All of these years I've been raising some beast that's not even mine? How could you?" He took a nearby vase and slammed it down on the woman. The broken pieces of the vase scattered around the woman, joining other pieces of wood and glass mingling with the woman's blood. Seeing the blood sparked an odd feeling within him, urging him to let it out, let it loose on this mortal who dared to harm his mother.
Abruptly the Auror was back in his own mind, suddenly aware of his superior worriedly asking after his condition. "I'm okay…" he said, his voice shaken and disconnected. Shaking his head he cleared his mind, looking down at the child with pity in his eyes. His pitiful look seemed to have the opposite effect he was hoping for, however, as the child's eyes turned dark with some negative emotion the Auror could not name and the boy looked away. Sighing, he took the boy's hand from his superior and headed out to the dark prison that could turn the strongest minds insane.
Once again walking down the small dark hallways, the yells and mutterings were fewer as the Auror brought the new child into Azkaban to join the other one. Surprisingly they both had the same calm demeanor even as the soul-and-happiness-sucking Dementors floated by them. The Dementor-repelling Patronus the Auror had cast might have helped, but he suspected the child would have been fine without its Light presence. He was still dazed from the memories that had been thrust at him, still shocked that the young boy walking next to him was a natural at using the Mind Arts only a few adults could claim to have mastered. Not only was he still marveling at the boy's unconscious skill, he was still overwhelmed by what he had seen. All of the various murders… and only one had been discovered by the authorities. That one brunette woman looked familiar to the Auror… He made a mental note to find out who she was and tell her family members of her death.
At last the Auror and the small child had reached the cell of the Black 'impostor', and the older man was glad he could finally get away from the horror of murderous children. The thought, no, the fact that the supposed embodiments of innocence that were children could turn out so dark was tearing at the Auror's mind, adding to the inescapable guilt at leaving mere children here. Opening the door of the cell the same way he had just a few months before, he let who he now called the 'Mind' child into the cell. In the back of the cell, like how he had left him months before, was the 'Black' child, sitting quietly on the tattered mattress. The 'Mind' child stayed right inside the doorway, the two children staring at each other silently, almost intensely. After standing outside the cell for a few awkward moments as the two children assessed each other from afar, the Auror sighed and left. As he left he noticed that no Dementors were in the children's hallway, much less near the cell.
Back in the cell the two children were still staring at each other, the 'Mind' child standing near the cell door, the 'Black' child sitting on the old mattress. The 'Black' child wore his ever present emotionless face, and the 'Mind' child had subtle traces of surprise throughout his features of blank, impassive apathy. As the 'Mind' child lifted his foot to take a step forward he abruptly halted, feeling the presence of the cold, consuming fear the Dementors emanated. Frozen in place, the newest member of Azkaban waited as a dark robed figure floated into the cell and circled him. Tendrils of pure cold seeped into the child's skin, the other boy calmly watching from a distance. Not outwardly showing any difference in emotion, the child gazed at the Dementor that was now floating right in front of him, seemingly gazing back. The Dementor lifted its hand, moving it towards the child's face when a small, quiet, practically nonexistent whisper echoed throughout the cell.
"Wait," was all that was said, and all that needed to be said for the Dementor to drop its hand and move to the farthest corner of the cell. Getting up from his perch on the mattress, the 'Black' child slowly walked toward the other child. As the boy approached the slightly younger child, a sad look entered his eyes. He could sense the small amount of fear the child was unwilling to show due to the first of many later 'gifts' his new 'mother' had given him. Standing where the Dementor used to be, the boy said "You're safe,"
A short, calculating look was given in reply, and then the 'Mind' child asked, "Why?"
"Because… you remind me of me,"
"Do you know what I am?"
"Does it matter?"
Here the 'Mind' child gave a small smile, and the 'Black' child had to remind the Dementor in the cell to stay way as the child was giving off a small amount of pure happiness. The child was reminiscing about one of the last things his mother had told him.
"Honey, you have a… guardian inside of you, a sprite that is a part of you and is you. It's what made your real father and you special. The sprite is there to protect you, and to protect the one you care about most. Right now it wants to protect me, but soon it will have to find someone new to protect. Be careful, honey, and make sure you choose a good person for it to protect for your sprite will be bound to protect that person as long as they live with you bound as well. That person will help you teach the sprite right from wrong, and I'm sorry that all I've shown your sprite is violence from your other father. I trust you to be smart, honey, and I know you will take care of your sprite. Just remember, the sprite is not you, so don't let it rule your mind, but at the same time the sprite is you, so don't neglect it either. You are a Prince, in more than just name and blood. You are a Prince of the Fae of Fate, the son of Eileen, and I know the Lords of All are with you."
When his mother had died from that blow his other father had dealt her, he fully realized what his mother had meant. Something inside him had cried out, pulled at his soul to avenge her and he had been too weak to control it. His sprite had awakened with no leash to rein it in and had uncontrollably sought revenge. The result was the decimated body of his father, which he had yet to regret, and his current residence in Azkaban. Now, however, he had found someone that he felt a connection with, a familiarity none had ever possessed. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were both children in a prison for murderers and worse, or maybe it had to do with their eerily similar looks, but either way he had found someone like him who would understand who and what he was and not fear him for it, and not resent him for it either.
Taking a chance for the first time in his as of yet short life, he knelt down on one knee and looked up at the other boy. "May I be your guardian?"
"She's… She's dead?" the Auror regretted volunteering to be the one who told this man his wife was killed by a child, but being the only one alive who saw what happened through that child's memories he had felt he was obligated to. The sadness and disbelief in the man's eyes were almost too much to bear, but he could handle it after bringing two children to a place worse than the Devil's lair itself. He felt a pang of sadness shoot through his heart as he saw the man collapse into a chair, a dejected look in his eyes. What hurt the most was see the man's son, the same age as the other two boys, standing in a doorway across the room, shocked and speechless. The deed being done, he opened the door to leave, saying "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Lupin" and left the famed Werewolf Hunter to mourn the loss of his Muggle wife.
Crash! Another bottle thrown at the wall, the broken pieces of glass joining the growing pile on the floor. "Boy! Come bring me another beer!" Ever since his mother's death, 'boy' had become his name, his sole purpose in life to bring his father more beer for him to drown his sorrows in. Everyday was the same, so was every night, and every afternoon. Another bottle thrown at the wall, another bottle brought to his father, and the cycle repeated itself. The renowned Werewolf Hunter brought down to lowly alcoholic who could no longer recognize a pillow from a bear, much less recognize his son. Every day he would bring his father his hourly beer and then escape to the surrounding woods, running away from his miserable life for at least a while.
That night, unbeknownst to him, was the night of the full moon, the night his father would lock the windows, the doors, would even lock the chimney and pipes. However, the boy did not remember what night that night was, did not know its importance, and had gone out to the woods to celebrate his eighth birthday beneath the stars and with the trees. Traveling to his favorite spots, climbing trees, exploring caves, and following streams, the child visited all of his friends that came out at night. He visited the owls of the area; he saw the snakes and the mice. But tonight, he could not find the coyotes that often played in the small meadow near the square boulder, or the foxes that ran through the brush under the pine trees. In the air the wind rustled the branches, and a still silence overcame the forest. It was then he knew something was wrong.
Above the trees and along the breeze a howl rang through the air. A gripping fear clenched the young boy's heart as he remembered all of his father's tales. All of the stories of the days when he would search for the canines that enveloped human forms, those beings that morphed beast with man, all of them came back to him. Off to the south he could hear the rustling of leaves and the snapping of branches. Werewolves; the word reverberated throughout the child's mind as he began to race back home, following every shortcut his frenzied mind could think of. He jumped through trees, shot through tunnels, and raced along the foliage, hoping to reach home. Behind him, following him, approaching closer and closer were the sounds of a predator hunting its prey. The familiar view passed him by, and he ran and ran until he could finally see his home out in the distance.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and he shot out across the last meadow in front of his home. As he reached the center of the meadow the full moon shot a spotlight down upon him, then his world shattered. An explosion of colors invaded his vision as an enormous shot of pain erupted from his right shoulder. Flashes of his vision came back to him but it was full of a deep, dark, red that he knew sprang from the source of his pain. He could feel something spreading throughout his body, battling for dominance and sovereignty of his consciousness. The very blood in his body boiled and froze at the same time. Deep in his core the biggest battle in this war of self raged on. The boy could sense his very soul dueling for its existence and his magic struggling to survive. Crying out in a primitive yell of pain, the world turned black.
Opening his eyes, the first thing the boy noticed was that the full moon was no longer in the sky and he was on the ground. Smells rushed into his nostrils, sounds crowded into his ears, and everything looked so different it was like he had been reborn. There was strength in his limbs not even his extensive training as Hunter had given him. He could sense a speed his legs would give him if he sprinted right at that moment that would let him outpace all of his forest friends, even the deer. Of all the new things he was experiencing, he heard a confrontation going on near him.
A blow was heard hitting flesh. "How could you, you mongrel!" the voice almost growled the words, a fierce anger ringing through the yell.
"Forgive me, I-" the voice sounded quite like a dog's whine.
Another blow, "I don't want to hear your excuses! You never, and I mean never turn children! Especially unwillingly,"
"He just, he just smelled so good! Plus he's that Hunter's son…"
There was the sound of something flying through the air, slamming into a nearby tree. The boy was sure he caught the sound of several bones breaking. "Didn't I tell you I didn't want to hear excuses? It doesn't matter whose son that boy is. You've passed judgment on his life and gave him ours, acting like some God! Look what you've-" At that moment the boy couldn't help the sound of his stomach growling. That sound, however, caught the attention of the two other men, beings, whatever they were who had been fighting earlier. The larger of the two, a dark brown haired man (if he was a man) was holding the other, a blonde, and promptly dropped the blonde to rush to the boy's side. Dropping the blonde had also knocked the blonde out, though the child could hear his breathing. The onslaught of smells, sounds, and sights, was soon becoming a little too much to bear.
Right in front of the boy, distracting him from his new senses, was a pair of strikingly amber eyes filled with worry. "Oh, poor cub, are you okay?" The previously growling voice was now velvety and smooth. Silently, the boy nodded. "Where's your home, little one?" Lifting one arm with a grace that almost startled him, he pointed at the lodge that was at the other end of the meadow. Swiftly the large brunette man picked him up, a sensation the boy had not felt since his mother died, and carried him over to the lodge. Several feet away from the lodge the man set him down and told him to go on home.
Still slightly disoriented from all the various events that had just occurred, the boy obediently walked towards his home, still not realizing he had just been attacked and then helped by Werewolves. He reached his home, and tried to open the door. However, the moment he touched the doorknob he felt his skin start to burn and jerked his hand back. His fingers were green for a moment and then returned to their normal color, the pain fading away. Faintly, the boy could hear an alarm going off and was startled when he heard glass breaking, a rustling of clothes, and then the sound of his father's rifle being loaded. Dread began to fill the boy's soul as he started to understand what had happened. Silently he prayed to whatever higher power existed out there that his father would recognize him and let him inside.
The door burst open and he saw his father standing there, a drunken stupor in those dark eyes and a fully loaded rifle in practiced hands. The boy's heart began to race, and he warily eyed the rifle, scared at how he could sense the potent silver in each bullet. "Father…" he said nervously, "it's me, your son. Remember?" He knew his skin looked white as snow when he saw his father glare.
"I see no son of mine! I see a beast!" Cocking the rifle and drunkenly trying to find the trigger, the boy saw his father aim the gun straight at his heart.
'Boom' and the gun went off.
The boy could feel the wind in his hair and felt calm warmth surrounding him. His eyes were closed and he felt like he was awake and sleeping at the same time. 'This must be what death feels like' he thought to himself, sighing sadly.
"Are you okay, little one?" the voice startled him, and he opened his eyes. There, holding the boy in his arms was the large brunette man, a bleeding scratch across his right cheek. The scratch was ugly, blackened and slowly oozing blood. "Those bullets are packed with silver, aren't they? I'm lucky you did some accidental magic there 'because you made the bullet go astray. Which is actually quite fascinating as most werewolves don't keep their magic after being turned, and I'm babbling again," the man, wolf, whatever gave a small laugh. Around them the boy couldn't recognize his surroundings, having never gone too far away from home before. Noticing the boy looking around, the werewolf said, "I'm taking you to my pack, little one. You're one of us now, I apologize for that, and I can't leave you alone now. I especially can't leave you with a father who would abandon his son so." All of the recent events came back to the boy and a tear left his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry! Are you okay?" He nodded, burying his face into the man's chest. "Don't worry, little one, you're safe. No more nasty humans to hurt you here. My name is Gaius (guy-us), and you will be my heir."
"My lord, a missive has arrived from Alpha Gaius."
"Really? That werewolf hasn't contacted me in years, not since he decided to make a bet on how many people Grindlewald would kill until someone killed him. I'll bet he has some other trivial contest he wishes me to engage in," the vampire lord sipped his wine, freshly boiled with serpent's blood and cooled to perfection. Opening the missive the lord's sapphire eyes sped across the crudely written words becoming increasingly interested in his immortal friend's news. As he finished the missive and his wine he snapped his fingers, allowing the two servants who appeared to take away the paper and his cup. He leaned back in his soft, lush, throne-like chair, and stared at his sharp nails as he thought about what he had read. It seemed Gaius had picked up a magical werewolf as his heir, and that would certainly raise his pack's status among many werewolf circles. While werewolves did go on a strongest-is-leader-type hierarchy, most Alphas had the power and resources to train their heir to inherit their role as Alpha, and most succeeded. However, what the vampire lord cared about was a century-long, (possibly longer) 'game' he and Gaius were playing with each other, seeing which of the two could rise higher in their circles and which could possibly even usurp sovereignty over their kind, even if neither kind had a monarchy to speak of.
"I will not be outdone," the lord stated, and set off to find himself his own magical heir.
Traveling through the shadows of Magical Britain, the vampire lord searched for a child powerful enough to be worthy of a place as his heir and with a strong enough will to survive that could help the child retain their magical ability. As he passed through London he sensed it. He sensed the perfect child to be his heir. The right amount of pure power and enough life that will grasp the child's magic. Now all he had to do was convince the child to be his heir… This was going to be interesting.
Materializing out of the shadows in a dark alley, (a skill only Lords possess), the vampire lord walked out into an equally dark street. Cloaked in a thick, dark robe he hid his face and dimmed his aura so as not to frighten any of the mortals. If any of them would actually be able to sense him, that is. Looking around the street he saw beggars, hoodlums, pathetic forms of human life that was dreary even in non-magical terms. That such beings existed in Magical Britain was saddening, but that was reality. Again, inspecting the street that seemed void of that spark of life he was looking for, he wondered where he would find his heir. Letting enough of his aura seep out so that the mortals around him knew to back off he began his search.
First he browsed each store, hoping that he wouldn't take too long and miss his heir. As he reached the entryway to the street it got brighter and the vampire lord could see a bright, lively street just yards away. He was about to enter one of the last stores he had yet to search when a small figure brushed past him, running out the door towards the brighter street. He found him. The moment the small figure, a mortal boy, had touched him he had known it was who he was looking for. The telltale purity of childhood innocence couldn't be faked, nor could you fake an unbreakable will to live that prevailed over all emotions. Swiftly, he moved to follow the boy.
Carefully adjusting his robe to block the sun from reaching his eyes he stepped out into the brighter street. As a vampire lord, the equivalent of a wizard noble in mortal terms, his skin was not as sensitive to the sun as other weaker vampires were, but his eyes as all vampires' eyes were severely vulnerable to the sun. Of course he was immortal to physical realms of injury and disease, but it didn't make the burning of one's eyes any less painful. Slipping on mortal sunglasses, a humorous but useful gift from Gaius a few decades ago, the vampire lord was able to gaze out at the bright street without worry. The street or 'Diagon Alley' as he just discovered it was called was teeming with mortals, and it took quite a bit of effort for the lord to refrain from both wanting to suck some of these mortals dry and annihilating them from his presence. Ignoring the mass of walking food before him, he looked for his heir and easily found him. Amusingly and irritatingly at the same time his heir was being scolded by his parents.
"What were you doing, young man?" admonished the boy's mother. The boy gave no reply, instead opting to stare at his shoes, a book clutched in his arms.
"James Potter you better answer your mother right now," warned his father. At this silent threat the boy slightly flinched, barely noticeable even for those looking for it.
'So James was his heir's name…' thought the vampire.
"I was just- I wanted…" he trailed off, still not looking at his parents. "I wanted to get a book," he answered weakly.
"So you went into that nest of darkness for a book?" his mother asked incredulously, staring at her son with obvious confusion and frustration in her eyes.
His father snatched the book out of the boy's arms, proclaiming, "Well you are surely not going to keep this," without further warning the older man made the book disappear, glaring at his son. "For your punishment you can do the rest of the shopping yourself." Putting a small clinking bag into the saddened boy's hands, the two parents left. As soon as they disappeared the boy shoved the bag into his pocket and stalked right back towards the dark street.
The vampire lord stepped back into an even darker alley, the entrance of the alley near the entrance of the dark street. As his heir passed the entrance he reached out and brought the boy into the dark alley. The boy had quick reflexes, possibly from training, and had flipped out his wand almost immediately. However the lord was faster than the mortal boy and had snatched the wand away, one arm wrapped around the boy's waist, the other closing his mouth. He could have easily immobilized the boy with his own powers, but he wanted the boy to still believe he could escape. Using the hand around his heir's mouth to lean the small head back he let the boy see his smile, revealing a two pairs of exceptionally long and sharp teeth. The amber eyes of his heir widened. "Ah, so you know what I am?" the boy nodded, though the lord knew that even the non-magical mortals would have guessed what he was. "Then you should know better than to struggle," purposefully he loosed his hold on the boy's mouth.
Predictably the boy maneuvered his mouth free from the lord's hand. "My parents will come and save me, you monster! They're the Lightest and strongest Aurors around," instead of fear, defiance flashed in the boy's eyes. The vampire loved those with a strong will, and he also loved breaking false ideals about those mortals called 'Light'.
"I am the monster, you say? How about we have a bet?" he also really loved bets, "I will make you look, smell, practically make all of you seem like a vampire and send you on home. I'll let you run back to your mommy and daddy with a little disguise any 'strong' Auror should be able to get rid of. I won't actually turn you into a vampire. You understand so far?" his heir nodded, though his eyes held traces of confusion and distrust, "Then, if your parents get rid of the disguise and take you in, you win. You'll never see me again." Hope entered the boy's eyes, "However," the hope dimmed, "if your parents don't see through the disguise and reject you, I win. You'll never see your parents again and you will become my heir. Deal?" Watching his heir, the lord was amused to see a calculating look enter the child's eyes.
"How will I know you won't actually turn me?" Ah, so his heir was smart too.
Without replying the lord took one of his sharp nails and cut his finger. Using a single drop of blood he used his magic to turn it into a ring. "I swear on all that I am that I will not fully turn you into a vampire until our deal is settled." The ring glowed for a moment, and then solidified to resemble marble. He held out the ring to his heir, "Satisfied?" The boy thought for a moment, weighing the chances of accepting the bet and possibly turning into a vampire and leaving his parents, or immediately being sucked dry. Nodding, he took the ring and placed it on a conjured chain, hanging it around his neck. He wouldn't trust the ring enough to actually put it on his finger. The lord nodded, accepting his heir's caution, and held out his arm. "Grab my arm and I'll take you to your home. Your little disguise may take a bit of power out of me so it's best I transport you first." The boy grabbed his arm, and imagined his home.
James looked up at his house, wincing in slight pain as he craned his neck. The vampire had cut him with one of his sharp nails and whispered some words in a language the boy couldn't understand, but he believed whatever the vampire had done had worked. On the inside he felt exactly the same, sensing the presence of his magical core and could still hear his heart beating, still feeling the warmth it spread throughout his body. On the outside, though, he knew he looked and felt completely different. His hands were pale, almost as light as his house's white fence, and were thinner than before. He had wanted to look into a mirror and see what his face looked like, but no reflection had appeared and only the fearful hammering of his heart had reassured him that he was still mortal. The slight, coppery taste of blood lingered in his mouth from when he pricked his tongue with his new sharp canines. Small cuts were on the palms of his hands from his now sharpened fingernails. It was dark that night but he could see an ethereal glow coming from his skin and everything was clear to his eyes, not a single shadow hiding something from his view.
With each step he took along the pathway to his door, doubts began to creep into his mind. He had been so sure, so certain when the vampire had suggested the bet to him, had complete confidence that his parents would see through the disguise and welcome him back home. After all, his parents were known as very powerful Light wizards. They were both Aurors and as such had captured many Dark Wizards when Grindlewald had threatened the European magical community. There was no way a mere disguise would cloud their strong magical senses. All of those labels and titles had been placed upon his parents, and in turn been placed upon him, and had reassured him every time he had a nightmare when he was little. Even as he was older those same titles had made him secure of his safety. Now, though, now he was beginning to doubt that certainty. His extremely Light parents had always been exceptionally intolerant of anything darker than a unicorn, and had drilled that into their son. Whenever he would ask about why werewolves were called evil or ask about why Black Magic was called 'Dark' he was quickly interrogated on his reasons for such a question and told not to talk about such 'bad' things. Each time he did something that wasn't something the 'perfect child of the perfect Potters' would do his parents would look at him with a well of disappointment in their eyes. Fear started to gather in his mind as he got closer to the front door.
Steeling his human emotions for the upcoming confrontation, his mortal heart once again hammering at his chest, the wizard knocked on his front door, knowing he would be severely punished if he entered the house unannounced; even if it was his own house. Each second that passed as he waited tore at his resolve, nervousness causing sweat to gather at his brow. If he wasn't so scared he would have laughed when the sweat drops began to freeze upon his skin. Anxiously he brushed away the cold sweat, fighting the urge to fidget in front of the door. Then, nearly stopping his heart, the door opened, revealing the sight of his mother. His heart did stop when her worried gaze turned frightful, a shrieking yelp escaping her lips and causing her to clutch her own heart. Amazingly he could hear her frantic heartbeat, see each of her frenzied movements as she stood frozen in the door way.
A short distance away he heard his father inquire after his mother's condition, footsteps following his mother's and reaching the doorway. Unlike his mother, his father's worried eyes turned hateful, and the larger man gently pushed the shocked woman behind him. Grabbing the smaller boy's shirt and yanking him forward, almost lifting him off the ground, his father's hateful glare caused his world to freeze, the following words to shatter it. "Who are you and what have you done with my son, beast?" the last word was spat in his face, the spit almost immediately starting to freeze.
"I, I am your son, father," the words were stuttered weakly, fear running through his mouth, eyes locked on his father's angered ones.
Surprisingly, his father gave a short, bitter laugh, "No son of mine is a monster, a vampire! Get out of here!" without any further comment his father threw him back onto the pathway and shut the door. The fallen boy could practically feel every locking spell that was shouted at the dear, obviously meant for him to hear.
His mind reeled with the betrayal of his father and the lack of protest from his mother. Pulse still racing through his veins from seeing his father's eyes so full of hate directed at him, he thought his heart would never slow down. 'This couldn't be happening,' he thought to himself. Everything he had done in his life, from the moment he was born, no, even before then, was for his parents. His whole life bent on being molded into his parents' perfect, little Light soldier. All of those lessons focused on pureblood etiquette, politics, even war strategy. Each and every single grueling dueling lesson that included weaponry, martial arts, and magic theory (not old enough for a wand yet) that he labored through, gaining various cuts, scars, and bruises he knew no other normal child supposedly loved by their parents would ever have. Every ball he had ever attended meeting boys who would be future allies and girls that may be his future wife, all of those balls that annoyed him to no end but suffered through for his parents, all was for naught. The foundations of his life were crumbling down around him, and the mounting despair was quickly reversing into anger, into a hate for every memory of every hurt he had endured to be all his parents wanted, each pain he lived with to fulfill every one of their wishes, all the sacrifices he had given to succeed in every task they gave him. He had no childhood to remember except the faces of all those he knew did have one.
A rustle of wind behind him told him the vampire lord had arrived. Getting off the ground with as much grace as he could, he brushed the dirt off his robes and walked down the pathway past the edge of the house's grounds. Just outside the white picket fence that he had painted for stamina when he was six, he reached the lord. Looking up at the vampire, he said, "You win," and exposed his neck for the vampire.
The vampire lord chuckled, "No, little one, I already did my part of the transformation. For it to be complete you have to bite me," then, he kneeled down in front of the smaller boy. Looking straight into the boy's eyes he asked, "Are you sure about this?"
He started to nod, but stopped. "I have one question," the lord nodded at him, "may I call you Father?"
For the first time something other than calculated amusement entered the vampire lord's eyes, something the boy knew was surprise. Then, the amusement returned, lined with an emotion he had never seen in his parent's eyes but in many others'. It was pride. "Yes, you can."
With that admission he grasped the lord's broad shoulders and bit down on the lord's neck, entering a new life as the heir to a vampire lord.
A man entered a stone-walled room, his clean black robes standing out in the room's dreary gloom. "My lord, the British Minister has sent some of his personnel to speak with the Mistress."
"Thank you, Steward Bones," answered a substantially younger voice, "you may escort them here," concluded the soft, flat voice.
As the steward left another soft voice erupted through the room's silence, carrying a tinge of negativity in its tone. "Master," the question was stated, not asked. A nod followed, "the British Minister's cowardice is insulting."
A pause, "You may elaborate,"
"By deciding not to arrive in person the Minister is revealing his fear, a fear fueled by an ignorant prejudice aimed at any and all other sentient beings that aren't called humans. However, the Minister is justifying his fear by trying to portray that we are not worthy of his presence. Each reason is just as insulting as the other, to both you and Mother." Deep black eyes glittered with anger at this slight to his superiors. While the Mistress was only the mother of his Master, as his master's servant he was allowed to address the Mistress as Mother. He knew his Master didn't view him as a servant but as something more and less at the same time. He would always disagree with his Master on that issue but he would never protest either.
The Lady Dementor's heir nodded to his pet. In truth, that was what the other boy was to the Black child. The other child contained less worth than his new Mother but was much more than a petty servant. Also his pet was very similar to what a pet would be to someone. He was loyal to the extent of his care and skilled to the extent of his training. Unfortunately his pet could only train himself but was quickly coming along. He could already read others' minds through eye contact, and was fast mastering reading others' minds through their words and actions. Pet, as he was called by the Dementor heir, was also learning what emotions were and how to portray them, even if he wasn't feeling them himself. Black Death, as his Mother had dubbed him, was more familiar with some of the emotions but neither had experienced nor faced most of them before. Now both knew how to fake them. Pet could also project images into another's mind, but this was, at the moment, limited to his pet's own memories, altered in various ways. Pure conjured images were as of yet beyond him.
It was interesting to watch his pet practice on the various prisoners here; most of them very willing as it gave them a break from the Dementors. The 'volunteers' had given the two boys nicknames in return, Pet called 'Death's Serpent' and the elder boy called 'Grim' and 'Life Eater'. Both of Black's names were equally common, but the latter had struck insane laughter from half of the prisoners and had since then become the favorite nickname.
At the prison's entrance Steward Bones had reached the visitors. There were three people there: two Aurors and the Minister's assistant. The assistant, a small, frail looking man, was trembling in fear. It was a miracle his legs hadn't given out on him or that he hadn't fainted yet. The two Aurors were perfectly calm, even though both had their wands out and the elder one was glaring at everything he saw.
"Gentleman," the steward called out, "welcome to Azkaban," he waved out an arm to the general surroundings, all of the Dementors having been sent to higher floors so as not to bother today's 'guests'.
As the guests turned to look at the steward, the Auror's expressions turned to incredulity and disbelief. "Mr. Bones?" cried out the young Auror, her voice practically shrieking with how it echoed off the walls.
"Steward Bones, actually, now let us move on as my Mistress is waiting," he turned around back toward the other room, moving to leave. It was expected for the Aurors to recognize him; after all, he had been one of them himself two years ago, and a pretty good one at that. After he had sent two young boys to suffer at the dark, wrinkled hands of Dementors he had lost his drive for his former passion. He had spent a whole year slowly losing the novelty of catching 'bad guys' and throwing them in jail. He had lost his love for being a 'hero' for the Wizarding world. His girlfriend didn't even notice the change in him, and any chance of her noticing vanished when her sister died, leaving behind a young daughter. Right after he had a fight with her about taking care of the child he received a letter inviting him to become a steward for the very same boys he had sent to Hell on Earth, to live in the very same place they were in. He had accepted mindlessly, wanting to get away from everything and hoping to see the two children. Over the year of growing gloom he had begun to worry more and more about the boys, and was surprised and unexpectedly happy to learn they were both perfectly fine in Azkaban. The steward's wandering thoughts ended abruptly as he noticed he hadn't moved anywhere, the female Auror's hand grasping his shoulder.
The Auror's fury laced her every word, "Wait one second, Mr. Bones. For two whole years you've been missing. Everyone's about to believe you're dead if they haven't already decided you were. Amelia –you remember your girlfriend, right– nearly killed herself since you disappeared after you two had a fight. Did you hear me? Almost killed herself and you've just been playing Butler to Dementors?" Again, shrieking. He wasn't even sure if this girl was an Auror when he was still in the service; he surely didn't remember her at all.
He gave an exasperated sigh. "Again it's Steward Bones, miss…" he looked at her Auror badge, "Abbot and I'm saddened to hear about Amelia. However, we can talk about my past later as I have said before, my Mistress is waiting," Steward Bones repressed another sigh as the older Auror stopped him, again, from leaving.
"Now John –I won't be using none of that 'Steward' crap either– before we go anywhere, who exactly is this 'Mistress' you keep on yapping about? The Minister told us to just get some Dementors and go. I knew it wouldn't be that easy, you can't exactly go ordering Dementors around, but what in Magic's crap are you doin' here callin' yourself some Steward-whatever?" the Auror who had spoken was a grown man, though slightly short and stocky. On his face and unseen under his robes the man was well on his way to smothering his skin with battle scars. One of his eyes had a patch on it; having recently lost the eye subduing one of Grindlewald's last lingering followers even if it had been decades since his reign.
"Ah, Alastor, ever the cautious one… Well, you see, my Mistress is the mother of all the Dementors in Azkaban," with those last few words the Steward stalked off toward where his lords were before any of the visitors could resist.
When the four people reached the chamber Alastor was the first to speak.
"Well, John, I never knew you had kids…" Death and Serpent, the names Steward Bones had penned on the boys after hearing one of the various nicknames the prisoners were throwing around, were at a desk at the far end of the stone room. Granted, the room wasn't that large, but was large enough so that Death could be sitting at the desk, Serpent sitting on the floor in front of the desk, with a considerable amount of space for the adults to stand in comfortably. Death hadn't even spared the guests a glance yet, writing on a piece of parchment transfigured from a rock found outside the prison. Both boys had been intelligent enough before their arrest to know how to read and write, but both skills required practice and further training, something some of the prisoners volunteered to help with to gain more time away from the Dementors. Most of the prisoners were starting to like the boys' presences, barring the insane, the halfway dead, and the incredibly cruel people who actually deserved the excruciating torture they received each day.
Quickly Steward Bones conjured up some chairs before addressing Alastor's statement. "Please sit. I assure you, Alastor, that neither of the boys is mine. Guests, please allow me to introduce to you my lords Black Death and Serpent," he opted not to use Death's name for Serpent, as a name like 'Pet' might cause alarms to go off for the Aurors present.
Abbot was not impressed. "What are children doing in Azkaban, Bones?"
"I'm sure if you look through the poorly organized records you'll find two accounts of arrest for a minor, the sentence ending in a life sentence in Azkaban." He was smiling at Abbot, though the smile was a grim, dark one, "Black Death is also my Mistress' heir," he further explained.
"And why isn't he a Dementor, then?" stuttered the assistant.
"That happens after death, if he fails to become the next Lord Dementor." What was lovely about this whole encounter was that nothing the visitors would learn here could ever be revealed to anyone who didn't already know what they were going to tell them. That included speaking, writing, and even through their thoughts and memories. All courtesy of a special ward he had helped his Mistress design that was powered by the prisoners' bound magic. In short, unless all the prisoners died, left, or were stripped of their magic, everything that happened here, stayed there. That is, unless he let them tell someone else… though that person would automatically be put under the same restrictions. The shock and anger on each of the visitors' faces would have been priceless if he had told them about the ward but that wasn't as funny as letting them be oblivious until later.
"So where's this Mistress of yours?"
"Since your Minister decided not to grace us with his presence, the Mistress will not grace you with hers," comically the visitors, bar Alastor, were stunned when Serpent had spoken, as if surprised the boy knew how to speak even if both boys looked to be entering their adolescent years. The words he had spoken were filled with ire and tinged with anger, a mix of annoyance and anger showing on his face. The anger was real, but Serpent expressing it through his face and tone was false. He had also deemed calling the Lady Dementor 'Mother' in front of these people would have thrown off part of the affect he was hoping to cause.
Before Abbot could burst out with an angry retort Alastor replied, "Fine, we would just like to request a couple of Dementors to borrow." The assistant looked liked he'd rather be on the other side of the planet, and gave a relieved noise when Alastor did his job for him.
Frustrating Abbot further, the Dementor's heir stayed silent as Serpent spoke again, the older boy still not giving the visitors any acknowledgement of their presence. "And what exactly will you do with these Dementors?" Now Serpent's tone was cautious, his expression showing a lack of trust in the visitors.
Unable to stand it any longer, Abbot burst from her seat. "Just give us the Dementor's already, you insufferable–" abruptly she stopped, Death having looked up from his work. There was a dark look in his eyes, and a striking cold had suddenly engulfed the room. Silently Abbot fell back into her seat, her face pale as she locked eyes with Death, the unintentional pun causing her to feel an added amount of fear instead of hilarity. Just as suddenly as it arrived, the cold left, Death returning to the paper he was writing on.
Pretending as if that last outburst had never occurred, Alastor answered the young boy's inquiry. "The British Ministry has recently captured a vampire and a werewolf in close proximity to the Wizarding Academy of the Dramatic Arts and wishes to eliminate them immediately."
"I believed both races were immortal, Alastor."
"To physical injury like cuts or disease, yes, but their souls are mortal, John."
"Bring the prisoners here." For the first time Death addressed the visitors. Steward Bones knew it was the Mistress who had decided on that solution, as she usually preferred to only communicate with Death in whatever way she communicated with him. The visitors didn't know that, but the two boys probably had fun twisting the circumstances to insult the visitors, testing their reactions. Prisoners were only as diverse with their emotions as a locked up person daily assaulted by a Dementor could be, after all.
Alastor nodded to the Dementor's heir and left the prison, wisely deciding not to argue when in the lair of powerful creatures and talking to their leader. Abbot and the assistant followed close behind, both silent and full of fear.
"My lord, there's an emergency!"
"What is it now, Willkins?" the vampire lord was quite done with his messenger's 'emergencies' which happened to range from fallen dishware to a ruined rose bush.
"Miss Julia has been captured by the Ministry!"
This proclamation almost went sailing over the lord's head until he registered just what had been reported. "Wait, my niece Julia?" the messenger nodded, "By the British Ministry?" again, a nod. It was quite unusual for his niece to be caught so unaware she was unable to defend herself. However, he was pretty sure his niece was far from capable to escape the clutches of wizards. He needed to make sure of something else first, though. "Was anyone else captured?" even though he asked he was rather certain someone else was captured.
"Yes… it was Alpha Gaius' nephew, Rock Tail." That darn wolf and his family's spawn, causing nothing but trouble… How his niece could fall in love with a mutt was beyond him.
"Has something happened that has caused either of them incapable of rescuing themselves?" After all, both races were practically immortal. It was true that Werewolves were particularly weak to silver, but that only caused the pain to intensify and the wound twice as hard and long to heal. The couple should be able to escape unscathed. Unless…
"The Minister is planning to use Dementors, my lord." Damn.
"Has Gaius sent someone already?"
"Yes, he sent his heir to the Dementors' dwelling." Well then, if Gaius felt his heir could handle the situation of coursehis own heir was past able to help.
"Son, come here." The request was spoken to the air, his son not in the room, but just a moment after the vampire had spoken his heir arrived in the room, having heard the request through the wind. Apparently his son had an affinity to the wind. Though most vampire lords had an affinity towards a certain skill, practice, or art, it was uncommon for the affinity to be directed toward the wild, untamed elements. No matter, it made his son special, and on top of his magical abilities it made his heir coveted. That was a pleasant bonus he loved shoving in others' faces.
Predictably his heir had a broom in his hand, the boy having a natural ability and love for flying on the magical object though he was unintentionally and obliviously showing off to the surrounding vampire community. "What is it, father?"
"Cousin Julia and her lover Rockwell," his son rolled his eyes at the deliberate contortion of the werewolf's name, "has been captured by the Ministry and is under the possible harm of losing their souls. "Your Uncle Gaius has already sent his son to Azkaban to negotiate with the Lady Dementor for Tockrell. I'm sending you to go negotiate for Julia's life."
"When do I leave, father?"
Seeing the notorious Azkaban, the vampire heir flew down to the dark island and landed on an equally dark shore. Looming boulders surrounded part of the island, another bit of the shore consisting of steep cliffs and the last bit crashed with waves. Ignoring the stormy atmosphere the boy walked into the gigantic prison. Curiously none of the Dementors were anywhere he went, and he quickly found himself in a small chamber after following the werewolf's muddy footprints that told him the wolf had already arrived. In the chamber the wolf was sitting down in a comfortable looking armchair, a small table of snacks nearby. The snacks were mostly raw meat and the sight of blood caused his hunger to spike momentarily. Not soon after he entered the chamber another armchair appeared next to the wolf's chair, on the other side of the snack table. A small glass of what he knew was most likely blood appeared on the snack table and a man entered the room. Remembering his manners of Wizarding etiquette from his youth he sat down in the offered chair and sipped the offered drink, not caring where it came from.
"Welcome," said the mortal who had entered the room, "both of you, welcome to Azkaban. I am Steward Bones and my Mistress will be arriving soon." With that he promptly exited the room.
The silence that spawned from the steward's exit grew, and irritated the two heirs as both were used to living amidst their people. The werewolves were always loud in the respective dens of each pack, and the vampires were quieter yet not completely silent. Not able to take the silence any longer, turning to the werewolf the vampire asked, "How long have you been waiting here?"
"Not long, really. Why are you here?"
"Same reason as you; cousin got captured and now father sends his eleven-year-old to save the day."
"Hmm, my father hadn't told me Julia was captured as well."
"Your messenger probably didn't even tell him, seeing as our fathers have that love-hate friendship going on."
"That's true."
The two then lapsed into a calm silence, peacefully enjoying the other's presence after breaking through the previously tense atmosphere. Both knew each other well considering how close their fathers were, and were like each other's brothers. Their similar backgrounds also helped to solidify their friendship with each other. After being 'saved' by their fathers, the wolf in a literal sense and the vampire figuratively, they both were able to start living happier lives and gained an actual childhood to remember. However, both still reacted strongly to anything 'Light' or 'good' in the sense of the general mortal populace. Especially after living with 'Dark' creatures for three years the two's hatred of the mortal world's hypocritical justice dealers grew. Even now as their relatives were facing death due to their race their resolve to despise 'Light' wizards and 'Dark' hunters, suppressors, police, etc. strengthened.
As the silence began to stretch again, the steward returned to the room. "Forgive me for the wait, but now may I introduce to you my Mistress Lady Dementor and my lords Black Death and Serpent." Into the room glided the Lady Dementor and behind her walked two young boys who looked to be the same age as the werewolf and the vampire. The Lady Dementor was as splendid as rumored to be, with an almost ethereal grace to her movements, her pale face, and pure black lips and eyes. Following her were the two 'lords', both looking as if they could be brothers or cousins. The one the steward had pointed out as Black Death had medium-long black hair that reached the small of his back, a slightly long nose, and strikingly bright blue eyes that resembled a shattered mirror reflecting the sky. Death had the same pale skin as Serpent, who had equally black hair that was shoulder-length, an angled nose, and deep black eyes that didn't to seem to reflect anything they saw; a deep, dark, nothingness that had settled in the middle of the boy's eyes.
The four that entered were quick to settle themselves. The steward stayed near one of the multiple exits, watching to make sure nothing untoward happened and to make sure he could replenish any of the snacks if they ran low. Across from the two heirs two similar chairs appeared; Death and Serpent silently slipping into a chair each. Behind them floated the Lady Dementor, obviously not needing anything to sit upon but air.
"Again, welcome," stated Serpent, "may I ask as to who you are and why you are here?"
Across the room, the werewolf nodded. "Of course; I am the heir to Alpha Gaius of the Western European werewolves." While mortals would normally state their given names, in the world of creatures it was custom to state your status first; given names were something that the owner withheld until he/she deemed someone could use it.
The vampire decided to cut in before the werewolf clarified their purpose for being there. "And I am the heir to Lord Akrim (A as in at, and krim rhymes with grim) of the Western European vampires."
Here the werewolf continued, "We are both here as each of us has a relative who was captured by the British Ministry. The Ministry is planning to use one of your children to kill our relatives and we request that you stop the execution."
Serpent nodded, not surprised in the least. "It had been expected that representatives of both races would arrive to negotiate the execution, but having the heirs themselves arrive was admittedly a surprise. Nonetheless, the Ministry's prisoners have already been ordered to be delivered here. However, that does not mean they will be immediately released."
If the statement had surprised or angered the heirs they didn't show any of it. Instead, the werewolf simply asked, "What do you want?"
Suddenly, the Lady Dementor's voice rang throughout the minds of all the beings in the room. "Contact your fathers; this negotiation will deal with more than you young ones are allowed to barter with. Both know me well." Everyone in the room turned to the floating Dementor in surprise; none of them had expected her to speak.
Knowing when not to argue, the two heirs nodded to her command and pulled out various items. The werewolf pulled out a pendant and the vampire summoned a dagger from the palm of his hand. On the wolf's pendant there was a piece of ivory shaped like a fang. Both heirs stood up and turned around, their backs to the others. Each of the two took their item and pricked their finger, pulling away the sharp object in a circle. A thin line of blood followed the path of each of the objects, forming a floating circle in the room. Black filled the circle and then a face appeared in each circle. Behind the werewolf was his father, Alpha Gaius, and behind the vampire was his father, Lord Akrim.
Lord Akrim was the first to speak. "Well hello, my Lady, my heir wasn't charming enough to convince you?"
"Forgive his rudeness, but I believe you know Krim's nature," Gaius cut in.
"Again with the nickname! I swear it's as if you're taking revenge for something!"
"It is only a nickname, Krim."
"I just know that you want to call me Krim so you can call my son Crimson. What did I ever do to you?"
"Your son has a perfectly fine name."
"Says the one who gave it to him; don't you think a name like Ares is a little… boring? You didn't even give him a middle name!"
"It is a sophisticated name, unlike the one you placed upon my son. His wolf name will always be Shadow Paws, but I still can hardly accept you giving my heir the mortal name of Krad Serum. How in the world did you come up with such a name? And the werewolves are supposedly the barbaric ones…" the last bit was muttered but clearly heard by all the occupants of the room.
"Oh stop complaining. I mean, Krad likes his name! He wanted to have a new name but still sort of keep his old one."
"So you write 'dark' backwards and then rearrange the letters of his name?"
"Exactly!"
Just as the Alpha was about to retort, both heirs yelled, "Shut up, father!" Immediately both of the elder creatures quieted.
"The Lady Dementor would like to negotiate the situation with Julia and Rock Tail before they have to die," Krad's words held a tinge of slight irritation, though Ares was clearly trying to hold in his laughter at his father's antics. Truthfully both did like their names, and knew their fathers weren't really as upset as they made themselves out to be.
"Oh, right! So how about this; you let my niece Julia go, and then you can keep the mutt. We both gain something, right?"
Ares' eyes widened, not completely certain of Akrim's seriousness, exclaimed, "Father!"
"It's okay, Ares, their numbers are greater than ours anyway."
This time it was the Lady Dementor who cut in. "None of your relatives shall die by the hands of my children. In return, I wanted to discuss the future."
Gaius turned his attention to the floating creature, his eyes slightly widened in surprise. "My Lady, this is a surprise. What would time not yet spent matter to one who has been given all of time?"
"I have chosen an heir, Alpha Gaius. You know what that means for me and my children. But that is not what I have called you for. Deep in the underground there is a powerful darkness stirring, soon to break free into the light."
Losing his playful nature, Akrim gazed at the Lady Dementor calculatingly, as if trying to find her reasoning for bringing up the subject in her face. "We have heard of such darkness," the vampire claimed.
"Then you will understand when I say this darkness will possibly revolutionize the magical community. At least, it will in Britain, whether or not this darkness is successful in its task."
"What are you asking of us, then?" Gaius had a pretty good idea what the Dementor was asking, but wanted to make sure.
"I would like to request that your heirs go out and see if this darkness will better the races or not."
"Am I to assume that your heir and his companion will be joining them?"
"Yes."
Lord Akrim felt he should interrupt, "Wait, so you want our kids to go out testing potential allies? Why them?"
"Father, I sometimes worry about your lack of intelligence… Obviously if this darkness is going to affect the magical community the main target will be the Wizarding community. If I am assuming correctly, all four of us are eleven," at the nods of Death and Serpent Ares continued, "and are thus now eligible to enter a magical school. Krad and I are the only magical ones of our kind who are this young. No other race would give up their children as they do not want to reveal their existence nor risk the death of one of their youth during their endangered status. I do not know why the Dementors will be offering their youth for this task of alliance, but it is not my place to pry. Which school is a tad obvious as one of Britain's magical schools is currently led by the symbol of all that is Light, though how is beyond me."
"The little vampire is correct. Why my heir is going along will only be revealed if he so wishes it to be revealed. Everything else will be taken care of by my steward. Do either of you mind having my steward act as the legal guardian of your heirs?"
In the circle of magic Gaius' image nodded. "That's understandable and I do not mind. Do you agree, Akrim?"
The vampire lord nodded in reply and then the group began mapping out the details of their plan.
"Transfer students, Albus?" the question was asked by a short man, possibly part dwarf, who was currently sitting at a large, square-shaped table. Along with the short man there were others sitting at the table. The man who was being addressed sat on the opposite side of the table. It was a staff meeting for the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all of its teachers gathered to discuss the upcoming school year. This year's meeting was supposed to be like every other staff meeting that had been held before the school year; an update on each teacher's developing syllabus and a collection of bets on how many students would be sorted into which teacher's house.
However, this meeting the Headmaster had announced there were going to be transfer students. They wouldn't be announced as transfer students to the student population, as they were going to be first years and just look like any other entering first year, but the professors were to be told in case the professor felt the need to change anything in their syllabus to accommodate a foreigner. Transfer students were simply those who had not been automatically recorded in Hogwarts' list of students. The list would usually write itself; magically knowing which magical child lived in the school's designated country even when the children moved recently. Other schools had their own designated areas as well, and more than one school could occupy a certain area. Then Hogwarts would magically write and send out the invitation letters out to the children it had written on its list. Transfer students were usually children who lived in a different area governed by a different school who decided not to attend the school of their area.
Transfer students were very rare, as most children who knew of magic were raised knowing of the school of their area and children who didn't know of magic only knowing about the school of their area. Teachers were sometimes troubled by transfer students as how they were raised in a different country of region may differ considerably from native students and as such may require a different style of teaching to cater to the student adequately. Some professors taught the same way for everyone, but teacher's like the short-possibly-dwarf man had a certain style of teaching for each year and house for his classes and was somewhat troubled by the sudden announcement so close to the start of the school year.
After a pause Albus replied, "Yes, Fillius, there will be first year transfer students this year. I apologize for informing you all so late, but I only just received news of the transfer."
"And who, may I ask, are these children that have been so fickle as to decide just a few weeks before term that they don't want to go to the school they've been assigned for since birth?" asked a man with a dark complexion and even darker hair. "I do not wish to have indecisive idiots in my defense class, Headmaster."
"Oh, don't worry about it, Slater!" exclaimed an obese man a few seats away, "The more the merrier, eh?"
"And you have no worries about indecisive students possibly harming themselves during your potions class?" asked a thin woman incredulously, "I agree with Mr. Slater."
Before a wide debate could spring to life, the Headmaster called for the teacher's attention. "These transfer students had only learned of their magical powers a few years ago, and were adopted by the Head of the Prince family. The Prince Head is still in hiding and sent his children with his steward, the previously missing John Bones. He has requested that no one bother Mr. Bones. It is safe to assume that the father wished for his children to choose a school of preference instead of being assigned one due to their childhood of being assigned places to live multiple times until they had been adopted." Seeing some of the looks on some of the teachers' faces, he continued, "Now this does not mean the students are muggleborn nor should that matter. All four were adopted by the pureblood Prince family anyway. They will be arriving with all of the other first years and will be sorted like all of the other first years. Any questions? Good. On to the class schedules…"
On the night of September the first, the Great Hall doors of Hogwarts swung open, a crowd of eleven year olds streaming through. They walked into the hall, in between the two long, center tables of four that were in the hall. Other children were sitting at the four tables, each table dominated by certain color schemes. Two of the tables on the left of the children contained some of the more subtle and darker colors, and the children sitting at those tables were substantially quieter and more subdued than the children sitting at the two tables to the right. At those tables there were the brighter, more striking colors and children settling in very boisterously with great noise. Amongst all of the children, various conversations were taking place. In the center of the group of children who had entered the hall, a whispered discussion was taking place.
"Can you explain to me just why our last name is Prince? It's practically screaming that we're heirs to someone!"
"Again, Ares, it's because that's Serpent's real last name and it's easier for us to remember precisely because of its synonymous nature to the word 'heir'."
"But don't you think-"
"Quiet, you two, the Headmaster's going to speak."
As the Headmaster gave his welcome speech, the four 'transfer students' stood calmly in the center of nervous children. Serpent and Krad were standing in front of Death and Ares respectively. While one may assume there was some ulterior motive behind this stance, the reasoning was actually very simple. Krad and Serpent preferred to be in front and thus be shields to whatever was behind them, a quirk in their personality that resulted from their loyal, guardian-like natures. Also, Death and Ares preferred to be in the back, staying in the shadow of whatever was in front of them as their natures disliked light whether it was physical light or something as abstract as the lime light. They all 'shared' the same last name in the sense of Wizarding Britain's legal system, but they still had no idea in what order they would be called up for the sorting. Logically it would be Ares, Death, Krad, and then Serpent, but in each of their minds they were all wondering if the list would magically know their former names.
Near the middle of the sorting all four felt relief subtly fill them when the name "Prince, Ares" was called out. Some snickering was heard in the crowd of students, some gasps also mixed in. The snickering was from those who thought the sound of "Prince Ares" was funny; the gasps from those who knew the Prince line had gone into hiding during the first years of Grindlewald's reign.
A courteous pause followed the moment Ares placed the Sorting Hat upon his head like those before him. During the silence some people started whispering, losing interest in the sorting quickly especially as the sorting was about halfway done. Soon, the Sorting Hat opened its brim, yelling out the name of a House,
"Hufflepuff"
Accordingly Ares took off the hat and went to the named table.
Next, "Prince, Death" was called out, and the reaction was quieter than the one Ares received. Some children out in the crowd were muttering about the odd occurrence of a child being named 'Death' and some of the teachers were looking at Death in surprise when the said boy walked up to the Sorting Hat. Just like the vampire he sat down, placed the hat on his head, and sat still as the hat decided which House to place him in.
"Slytherin" was yelled out to the Hall, and only a few were surprised. Throughout the Hall whispers broke out in relation to the boy's name and House, many immediately proclaiming him as dangerous and firmly deciding to not associate themselves with him. Some were confused as to how two boys with the same last name looked so different and were put in practically opposite houses.
Then, "Prince, Krad" was called. Again, more mutterings and whispers over yet another boy with the name of Prince, and wonder where he'd go. Some joked that there might be a Prince for each House, but were disappointed when "Hufflepuff" was again yelled out by the Sorting Hat.
Lastly, "Prince, Serpent" was called and in the minds of all the students in that Hall, and even most of the teachers, the boy's house was predicted to be Slytherin. The logic was sound; the boy's name, his uncanny resemblance to Death, the pattern the Princes seemed to be going through, and also the way Serpent glanced at Death just before placing the hat upon his head signaled to those in the Hall that this boy was definitely going to Slytherin.
They were not disappointed and "Slytherin" was called out by the Sorting Hat. Swiftly Serpent left the stool and sat next to Death, the pair almost looking like twins. A brief silence fell over the Great Hall, and the next name was called out. When the first word wasn't "Prince," the normal noise and lack thereof throughout the various parts of the Hall returned to the way it had been before the Prince children were sorted.
Several pops and cracks were heard through the air, the scent of the ocean colliding with the scent of death. With the noises people appeared, shrouded in darkness with thick black cloaks encompassing their forms. Upon their faces were strikingly white masks that were smooth except for two holes for the eyes of the people to see through. Dozens of people turned to a hundred or so as more sudden sounds ripped through the roar of the ocean's waves and the rustling of many cloaks. No one spoke or moved after they appeared, all standing on a darkly colored sediment that may have been sand. An ongoing torrent of wind swept through the ranks of people, their cloaks somehow staying on their rigid forms and their hoods firmly placed around their masked faces. The only pieces of clothing that moved farther than a ripple were the sleeves of the cloaks, revealing arms ranging from extremely dark complexions to the lightest skin imaginable. Upon the left forearms of all those present was a tattoo; the image of a mortal skull embraced by a serpent, the same creature impaling itself through the skull's empty eye socket and through its jaws. White, black, and green made up the image, standing out amongst the otherwise bland, grayscale look of the mass of people.
Suddenly, a significantly louder pop than all the others occurred, urging all those gathered to fall to a knee. The blank masks faced the ground at their feet as a figure appeared before them. That figure exuded a powerful darkness none of them had met before. The new figure stood facing the crowd of people, an ominous atmosphere filling the air. Just like the other people this being was clothed in a thick black cloak, a hood up over its head. This person didn't wear a mask, though, striking red eyes gazing out from the darkness of the hood. The hood shifted as the figure raised its head, a voice erupting through the surrounding quiet.
"My followers," the voice wasn't all that loud, but held a commanding presence that firmly grasped the attention of all present, "we are here today to take back our people. People of the Dark; people whose views are parallel to ours that cannot stand the presence of abominations in our world… those are the people we are here to seize. Those people will add to our forces and help us rid our world of the vile creatures that dare to call themselves magical when stagnant blood runs through their veins, threatening the future generations to be contaminated with non-magical filth. Our numbers were low to begin with, this world dominated by primitive beings that would destroy us with their clouded minds. Once those things discover our existence jealousy, greed, pride, even curiosity would overflow and transform into something dangerous. Preventing any of those beasts from being produced by our own kind will be the first step in achieving that goal. After today more people with the ancient and pure blood of those who contributed to the foundation of our world will be free to increase our numbers and bring our world back to its former glory. We will succeed. Lord Voldemort will succeed." At the end of the speech no one spoke; a speechless awe and zealous vibe coming off the crowd in waves. Turning away from the mass of people, the Dark Lord took a step toward the grand fortress that was Azkaban.
Suddenly, a man appeared before the fortress' entrance, standing halfway between the prison and Lord Voldemort. He had opened his mouth to speak but didn't have the chance to say anything before a plethora of bright streaming lights came shooting towards him. Just before the harmful spells could reach the man, another figure appeared, holding up the edge of his cloak like a shield. Surprisingly the spells veered away from the cloak off into the distance. A male voice came from the figure's mouth and addressed the other man curtly, saying, "Leave; your presence is not required here." Immediately afterward the man disappeared, leaving the figure by himself.
Some of the masked people raised their wands to strike again but stopped when the Dark Lord raised his hand. One of their ranks stepped forward quickly, just shy of running. Kneeling down at the Dark Lord's side the person said, "Forgive me, my lord, but I know him. May I deal with this?" Luckily the dark wizard was feeling generous that day and didn't immediately kill the person, allowing him to address the new arrival. The person stood, addressing the figure from afar. "Serpent? What are you doing here?" the one who had spoken was masked, but his voice revealed him to be male and possibly not yet an adult. His voice indiscreetly said 'You're not supposed to be here; go away'.
Seemingly not getting the message the other person only inclined his head slightly, the action causing his hood to fall off. The person looked to be in his late teens, with long, slick black hair and equally dark eyes. "Is it not customary to come to the defense of one's steward, Mr. Malfoy?"
The named teen raised an eyebrow, the only indication of his emotions. It was quite odd for one's steward to be living in Azkaban, plus he found a tiny bit amusement in the fact that the other teen recognized him and didn't find it surprising to see him. Knowing he wouldn't get any other answer for his initial question, he settled for a different one. "Where is your Master?" Malfoy could practically feel the curiosity that sprang to life behind him, especially from the dangerous being standing next to him.
"At school studying; I did not deem the situation to be serious enough to risk my Master getting anything less than perfect on his NEWTS tomorrow," the blonde knew Serpent was saying something else behind those words, and was quite certain it was insulting and purposefully to be seen as such. Predictably he felt tension flow through the air as some of the people behind him bristled in slight anger. He left his thoughts as the dark haired boy continued, "May I ask why you are here with such hostile people?" the word was spoken with only a minor emphasis, but the emphasis was there.
"My…" after thinking for a moment Malfoy decided to speak in terms the other would best understand, "Master, would like to have some of the prisoners that are kept here."
Serpent glanced at the Dark Lord, but the other gave the boy no acknowledgement. "For what purpose?"
"To punish those who are ruining the Wizarding world, those without proper magic running through their veins," was the blonde's reply.
Slowly the dark-eyed teen smiled, reaching into the inside of his cloak and pulling out a wand. Again, the crowd of hooded figures prepared to strike but this time it was the blonde who stopped them, looking at them with barely concealed annoyance. Serpent conjured a piece of parchment, holding it out to the Malfoy heir. Taking out his own wand Malfoy spelled the names of the prisoners to appear on the parchment. The parchment was rolled up and, with a snap of Serpent's fingers, disappeared. Almost instantaneously a loud rasping sound rang out through the air and large groups of Dementors flew out of Azkaban and into the sky. The entrance to the fortress opened and out came dozens of people, looking like they just visited Hell. When those gathered turned to where Serpent had been they found the dark haired boy had disappeared.
"Crucio" the word was hissed in a language none present could understand but the effect was obvious. A shot of red light hit the Malfoy heir and his screams ripped through the air. Once released from his punishment the Dark Lord hissed in English, "I demand an explanation"
Several pops and cracks were heard through the air, the scent of decaying foliage colliding with the scent of blood. The atmosphere was as silent and dark as the forest surrounding the rapidly arriving mass of people. Hooded figures appeared in the outer rim of a small clearing in the midst of tall trees forming a circle. A mutilated corpse was lying in the center of the growing circle and was the center of attention. Whispers threatened to break out over the sight but the immense fear of the consequences of speaking out of turn overruled the urge, holding voices captive. The only defining feature that could be discerned from the destroyed body was the black hair lying in disarray at one end of the mass of flesh. At the back of one side of the circle two figures dared to whisper.
"And why are we here again?" whispered one of the two, the voice laced with anger.
"To watch," replied the other, as if the answer was obvious, "don't worry; it'll be fun,"
"Oh of course," sarcastically remarked the first, "the decimated pile of flesh is certainly an indication of just how much fun it'll be,"
The second scoffed, "you can't possibly tell me the sight doesn't excite you in the slightest,"
"I'd rather not have us make a spectacle of ourselves by running over and devouring the thing, Ares," golden eyes glinted dangerously in the darkness, filled with frustration. Deep in the background if one was looking for it they could see the hunger just waiting to burst free. The canine soul of the werewolf was begging the human soul to let it free; allow it to feast on fresh flesh.
The vampire smirked back at his childhood friend and sort of cousin, "Well then its good we know how to control ourselves, isn't it, Krad?" in his dark red, almost black, eyes was also a growing hunger, reined in by years of tolerance. A vampire's hunger was released if blood was spilt only until the vampire reached maturity, about a decade after being turned, and so was easier to control. This natural part of a vampire's first few years also helped the vampire to build up control over his hunger. Ares was just a year away from reaching maturity and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep hold of his hunger, especially when near his 'preference'. All vampires each had a 'preference', or a certain type of blood that was practically irresistible to the vampire. Only decades of control could contain the beast's hunger if the creature was past maturity. Before maturity there wasn't too much of a risk for the vampire to lose control, so they didn't have to worry that much though it was still hard to control the hunger. In Ares' case he had delightfully discovered his preference was Light wizards who had tainted their soul with the act of killing another human being.
Before the werewolf could reply to Ares the atmosphere of the room changed; the last person had arrived.
In the middle of the circle, standing by the dead body was the Dark Lord, the Lord Voldemort that was striking fear in the hearts of everyone witch and wizard in Britain. His power was suffocating all who opposed him and his reign seemed to be perfect. However, his enemies were starting to seek help from the magical creatures in Britain. Though they were the same creatures the Light had scorned previously, and obviously not going to likely become allies, the Dark Lord still felt uncertain and threatened. Thus the powerful wizard was desperate, though he would never admit it, to have the creatures on his side. If they refused then he would just force them to choose him or death. The other magical races were too unpredictable and dangerous to leave alone at this point of his developing reign. He had not informed anyone of his newest resolution, to seek out the beasts of magic, but even if telling someone might help him it would just be intolerable for anyone to know the Dark Lord could not find them. That wouldn't do at all.
Looking around at the people standing around him the Dark Lord was satisfied. Tonight was an initiation ceremony for those who recently graduated from various magical schools throughout the United Kingdom. Each initiation ceremony held more and more people, many realizing that the Dark would win this fight; not the Light. What pleased him more was the growing number of youth wishing to join his cause. Joining so young gave the Dark Lord more years to influence them, to mould them into perfect followers and warriors for his forces. Sadly there were still those who had that thing called a conscience, causing some of his followers to become traitors.
Seeing he had everyone's attention, Lord Voldemort began to speak, "Welcome, welcome all of you. You are the youth of this nation, and thus the future of this nation. You are here tonight to join a cause, a cause that aims to purify this nation of the filth that threatens to ruin it. As the future of this nation you are providing the first essential step to cleaning this nation, no, this world. All around you are those that should never have been here; those that, due to the inadequacy of the generations before you, have been given the opportunity to corrupt everyone and everything they come in contact with. You know who I am talking about as that is why you are here. I am talking about the mass of non-magical beasts that have invaded our world with the permission of even worse people; traitors. Those traitors of magical heritage have opened the gates and flooded our world of people who will destroy us. Non-magical people that contort bloodlines, resulting in the mutilation of our genes and create multiple hereditary diseases that will punish future generations for their idiotic mistakes. It's disgusting and it cannot be tolerated any longer. The last line has been crossed with this insane notion of actually revealing our world to more of those beasts out there. You cannot imagine the chaos that would erupt if that occurs. Those pieces of filth won't see us as humans gifted with power; they will see us as abnormalities in their ignorantly perfect world. We will be attacked; we will be hunted down and subjected to multiple horrors history should never repeat. This should not and will not happen with your help. Are you with me?"
In response to the question a unanimous cheer rose from the gathered people, the sound roaring through the dark forest. Raising his hand the Dark Lord quieted the now excited group, bringing their attention back to the corpse on the ground. "No doubt you have all noticed the mass of flesh at my feet. This here is a warning to all who bare even the slightest inkling of a thought to betraying this cause. The human at my feet used to be one of my followers but he decided to become a traitor and almost caused the deaths of many of his former comrades. Of course that could not be tolerated and he was appropriately punished not by my hands but by the hands of the people he had betrayed," the Dark Lord took a moment to look at the people gathered in the circle, looking into their eyes. He did not notice a pair of golden eyes nor did he see the pair of dark red eyes as both had hidden behind people. "It seems," Lord Voldemort continued, "that we have yet another traitor amongst us tonight," without warning the Dark Lord waved his hand, a person flying from the circle to the forest floor right on top of the still wet corpse, the smell starting to grow.
Immediately the person who was brought forward tried to defend himself, but the Dark Lord had silenced him. "Don't even try to speak," Voldemort said, "I will know when you're lying and the filth that would spout from your throat would only anger me into killing you myself," a deep glare was sent towards the figure on the ground. "You think I wouldn't know you were sent by that old fool Dumbledore? Don't make me laugh."
Despite his predicament the person continued to try to speak, panicking, fighting against the magical bonds constricting his voice. Hands were clawing at the flesh of the man's throat, as if he could physically remove the silencing spell. Soon the nails of his fingers broke through the skin and blood seeped out. The moment the first drop began to trail down the person's neck a scuffle erupted at the far edge of the gathering. Angry whispers and labored breathing could be heard from the scuffle and soon everyone's attention was on the conflict, people parting so that Voldemort could see what was going on.
"What is going on?" questioned the Dark Lord. He could see that two people were involved in the conflict, one of the two seeming to, oddly, be restraining the other. The one being restrained was trying to break free towards the still panicking person in the center of the circle, dark eyes seeming to glow a deep red.
The one restraining the other looked at the Dark Lord with golden eyes, "I'm sorry, it's just-"
"Release him,"
For a split second the golden eyed figure smirked, but only slightly and the Dark Lord believed he was the only one who noticed. The dark eyed figure was released and in a burst of supernatural speed he was upon the person on the ground. The hood of the dark eyed figure had fallen back with the movement, revealing black hair and contrastingly pale skin. Standing right in front of the pale figure, the Dark Lord could see that the dark eyes of the person were closed, his mouth clamped on the traitor's neck. Not long after he had pounced on the traitor the pale figure let go, another corpse joining the mutilated one underneath. Standing, the figure wiped his mouth. A small, dark smile stretched the bloodstained lips, the point of a fang slipping out with the word "thanks".
The other figure had walked up behind the vampire while he had been feeding and tore off one of the traitor's fingers. Nonchalantly chewing the torn appendage he asked, "You full now?"
"Never, Krad," at the mention of the name some of the people in the circle gasped, "You should know that, wolf," the last word caused more gasps, noise erupting when the two disappeared, fading away into the shadows.
Whispers of "the Hufflepuffs?" and "was that really them?" and "that Krad and Ares?" soon filled the air.
The Dark Lord was annoyed; no he was pissed. A werewolf and vampire were here, right under his nose, and they had just disappeared. He got rid of the bodies at his feet and then brought one of the whispering figures forward. "Who were they?" he interrogated, letting his anger seep into his eyes, making them flash dangerously.
The person he had dragged forward was shaking with nerves. Stuttering, the person answered, "They're Krad and Ares; they went to Hogwarts and are the adopted sons of the Lord of the Prince bloodline. There are two others, Death and Serpent, who are their adopted brothers. Death and Serpent were sorted into Slytherin and Krad and Ares were sorted into Hufflepuff. All four of them are smart but never really act like brothers. Serpent treats Death like a god and Krad and Ares never talk to them or anyone else, only to each other."
Stopping the boy from babbling further, the Dark Lord asked, "Were you aware one was a werewolf and the other a vampire?" The boy stuttered a negative response and the Dark Lord took a moment to think. He recognized the names Death and Serpent from what the Malfoy child had told him earlier that day, but the blonde had not mentioned their foster father or their adopted siblings. From the earlier report he knew that Serpent called Death 'Master', guarding him with the strength and loyalty of a trained bodyguard, and the two had some sort of power over Azkaban, Death seeming to be half Dementor himself. Now he had discovered they had brothers, one werewolf and one vampire. Something was going on and Voldemort despised not knowing everything. "Do you know anything else?"
"Everyone calls them the Dark Marauders," the boy supplied weakly.
"The Dark Marauders… perfect."