A/N: Hello, everyone! The Phoenix King here. This plot bunny has been bothering me for a while, so I decided to spend a little time working on it. Fear not, the next installment of FotE will be coming within the next few weeks, depending on how my preparations for university go. In the meantime, take a gander at this fic. As always, all reviews are appreciated. (Except for Cho-haters. Don't want to hear from you.)
This is post-HBP, unlike Fury, so there are MAJOR HBP spoilers. Read at your peril!
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe is the product of JKR. I own nothing, save for the original plots and characters.
"It's time to prove to your friends that you're worth a damn. Sometimes that means dying. Sometimes that means killing a whole lotta people." Dwight, from Frank Miller's Sin City.
Dark Templar
Prologue: Angel of Death
London slept under a shroud of darkness, the inky black of night broken only by the glow of lights within towering office buildings. The streets were quiet, deserted of all life, a few scraps of paper tossed on the uncaring wind. In Surrey and Leeds and throughout every Muggle home, Londoners watched their television sets grimly, the dull voice of the BBC anchor reporting the latest tragedy, another gas main explosion in a suburban neighbourhood. Their faces paled as they heard the next story, a terrorist bomb in the Underground, and many wept as the names of the victims were listed by the blank-faced reporter, blue eyes surrounded by dark circles of fatigue. And across every household, Muggles of all races and cultures bemoaned the desperate fortunes of their country, their peaceful existences shattered by fear and hatred.
For England's wizarding population, however, the true circumstances of the growing violence were all too real. The Dark Lord Voldemort struck at will, his cruel plots without number, his power too great to comprehend. Night after night, Death Eaters attacked homes and settlements, killing with fiendish delight. Albus Dumbledore was dead, and the Ministry of Magic was powerless to stop the wave of black-robed terror from overwhelming the entire country. Far worse, Harry Potter, the so-called Chosen One, had disappeared without a trace.
That had been four years ago, and the defeats continued to pile up for the forces of the Light. Azkaban had fallen early; the Dark Lord's ranks swelled with new recruits and freed Death Eaters. Aurors had tried to stem the onslaught, but to no avail. The Ministry of Magic, unable to destroy the Dark Lord or his forces, fell back into decades-old habits of corruption and greed, buying off the enemy for protection and stealing from the people. The magical economy began to break down, and the black market flourished. Children disappeared without a trace, and formerly prosperous wizarding enclaves withered and died as a result of poverty.
Diagon Alley, once the centre of wizarding commerce, stood empty and abandoned, a shell of its former glory, populated only by the Dark Lord's Inferi and a few lonesome survivors. Knockturn Alley was no better, a seething pit of decay and hopelessness, where a single scrap of food was paid for in the blood of a dozen brawling men. Hogwarts was a barren shell, the sound of laughing students gone, the presence of eager young minds now sterile and lost. Slowly, magical England descended into a hell of its own making, devoured by fear, corruption and economic ruin. A civilization that had flourished and grown since the days of the Founders began to die, the mortal wound inflicted by terror alone.
Yet, the wizarding world was not without its defenders. The Order of the Phoenix battled on under the leadership of Remus Lupin, vowing to fight to the last man in the name of Dumbledore. Ronald Weasley stood within the ranks of the Aurors, a lone soldier struggling against external foes and internal decay. Luna Lovegood, daughter of publishing magnate Flintlock Lovegood, spoke out against the corruption that festered in the heart of magical society, her publications attempting to inspire the downtrodden and keep hope alive.
Occasionally, however, one must embrace the shadow in order to fight it…
And in this Second War against Voldemort, the greatest warrior of the Light will come from a most unexpected source…
Betrayal.
In truth, it was I who was betrayed…
The dark figure perched upon the highest steeples of Westminster Abbey, ignoring the pounding rain that drenched her to the bone. The biting wind lashed out with the fury of a demon's whip, and still the figure remained still as the gargoyles that adorned the cathedral. The figure brooded, her midnight-black cloak twisting and writhing about her like some great dark snake, rendering her nigh invisible against the shroud of storm-clouds.
Had any adventurous soul dared to climb the ancient Abbey towers on such a miserable night, they would have been both dumbstruck and terrified by the lone figure that maintained her stoic vigil over London's streets. The figure wore some sort of bodysuit, hugging her distinctly feminine form. A passing wizard would recognize the material as a variety of dragonhide, tough yet flexible, able to resist even the most powerful of curses. The woman's face was hidden by the hood of her cloak and a black ninjitsu cowl, revealing only chocolate-brown eyes, as hard and cutting as diamonds. Her wand was secured within a spring-loaded wand holster affixed to her right wrist, and a long, slim sword hung over her back. The dark figure's presence alluded strength and skill, her coiled muscles ready to spring into action on a moment's notice, able to deliver a precision strike with her blade or hex an opponent with lightning speed.
She was alone. No foe came to assail her, no unwary bystander dared to interrupt her musings. The night was dark, the streets were empty, and the dark figure thought of revenge.
Revenge. It was the one thing that sustained her, the one prospect that warmed the depths of her soul. It nourished her, like air or water or food, making her grow strong and giving her the power to overcome any obstacle. It was vengeance that set her on this dark path, and in the name of revenge she would complete it. She closed her eyes, imagining the slaughter to come, the blood of the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix running through the streets in scarlet rivers.
The Dark Lord would pay first, oh yes, he would pay. Voldemort was an affront to all wizard-kind, and his madness would doom them all to an existence of slavery and death. He had taken from her the only person who gave a damn, someone for whom she would eagerly give her life. There was no justification for what the Death Eaters had done, no excuse for the Muggle-borns murdered, the children tortured and the hundreds of people kidnapped and executed over the course of the war.
Scum. Murderers. Traitors. Death is too kind for their lot. They shall be culled like the vermin they are, and it will not be kind. It will not be quick. It will not be merciful.
Behind her cowl, a smile came to her full lips as she imagined the destruction that awaited the Death Eaters. Voldemort's forces were used to fighting terrified civilians, opponents half-drugged with sleep as they were roused from their beds in a panic. When it came to real warriors, the black-cloaked murderers were little more than helpless kittens to be defeated at her leisure. She was no fragile little girl anymore. That part of her died long ago, and she didn't have any regrets. Her former innocence meant very little to the shadowy figure that brooded on the storm.
While her innocence was unimportant, those that destroyed it would pay. She remembered their mocking laughter, their expressions filled with hatred and selfishness. They had scorned her compassion, her grief. They had spat upon her loyalty and her conviction, and left her to die upon the middenheap of history. Had she not trained beside them, taken the same risks? Had she not lost friends and more to their common enemy? They abandoned her, and for what? The fact that she mourned the loss of an innocent young man, his life taken away far too early? Was society so lost that it considered compassion and pity to be looked down upon?
Perhaps that is why Voldemort has been allowed to exist for far too long.
Potter. Weasley. Granger. They had nothing to fear from her innocence. It was dead now and deep down inside, she was glad. It gave her the courage to do what is necessary; it gave her the strength to endure all the trials the world had to throw at her. Most importantly, it gave her the conviction to obtain her revenge.
I am nothing more than what others have made of me.
The world abandoned her, and it would face her wrath tenfold. Potter and his ilk cast her out, and the girl they dismissed so easily had become the harbinger of their doom. She had been reborn in the ashes of their sins, a black phoenix, an angel of death come to claim their damned souls. She was strong now. Three years of constant training had given her the strength to gain her revenge, and she was ready.
And when it was all over and she stood upon the broken bodies of her enemies, perhaps then the girl she once was would return and savour the fruits of her victory. Perhaps she would see a new and brighter dawn, ushered in by a tide of death that would rock the Wizarding world to its very foundations…
No mercy. No ambiguity. No respite.
With deliberate slowness, the dark figure lowered her hood and cowl, arching her back and pointing her face towards the sky. Fat raindrops pelted her porcelain-smooth features, and she breathed deep of the cool night air. Free from its confines, her raven-black hair spilled out in a silken waterfall, whilst cold brown eyes looked upon the lights of London.
"I'm coming for you, Harry," Cho Chang whispered into the dark, her sweet honey voice laced with poison. "The Dark Templar are coming for you." Chanting an arcane phrase, Cho folded her cloak around her, and was gone.
A/N: So, how's that for a first impression? Successive chapters will deal with Cho's life after HBP, and how she has grown to accept a life of revenge. Hope you enjoyed, Please, feel free to review, but if you're merely going to explode into an anti-Cho rant, don't bother. I have not abandoned the H/C ship, or become a Cho-hater. This is merely a different take on the character.
Next chapter of FotE should be coming soon. So review!