This story is one that my co-writer and I have been developing on and off for sometime. We're really excited about it and hope you will enjoy It! That said, there are a some disclaimers...
1. The creator of Harry Potter and all related media and content is JK Rowling. Any recognizable content, plotlines, dialogue, etc is her property as well as that of all related media entities.
2. While this is not a proper crossover, some themes and content will be derived from other fantasy media or books that we've read or watched. That may include but not be limited to: LotR, the Obsidian Trilogy, the Dark is Rising series, etc. Any recognizable content belongs to the respective authors and all related media entities.
3. Any original content, plot, storyline, theme presented in this fic belongs to we the authors (erikmichels1988/raf1988 & emf911).
4. This fic is rated 'M' for a reason! It will feature scenes of violence, smut, non-con, death, and a whole host of other things that might offend sensitive sensibilities. This is interwoven at times into the plot. By reading any further, you're acknowledging that you are willing to read such things and have only yourself to blame if you are offended by the content! You've been warned!
5. Reviews, comments, questions, favorites, PMs, follows...all of the aforementioned are accepted and happily appreciated. We even accept critiques, but we ask that you show respect when you do so. We know not everyone will like everything we write and that's fine! That said, using rude and offensive language to express your displeasure or express disagreement with how we write this story will not be tolerated! Respect us and we will respect you. Do the opposite...
6. We will leave Authors Notes at times if there is something we want to clarify or a question that a reader asks that we think should be answered and shared with all.
7. Ok, that's It! Oh yeah, this is also on Ao3 for those who frequent that site. Show us some love there too if you're enjoying this story! Happy Reading!
Chapter 1: A Complicated Inheritance (Something Wicked This Way Comes...)
o0o0o
Amba Hotel Charing Cross, Strand, London, U.K., July 9, 2003*
The filtered light of the sun's morning rays fell upon the slumbering figure ensconced under the velvet sheets of the spacious king sized bed that held pride of place in the executive double room that had been chosen as a temporary residence upon said figure's arrival in London hours mere hours before. The figure stirred with a groan of annoyance as the rays fell upon his skin, illuminating the rich caramel mocha skin tone. Snapping one irritable eye open, the young man, Alasdair Llewellyn heaved himself into a sitting position as he held one hand over his eyes to block the light striking his face. Rich chocolate colored eyes narrowed at the offending culprit and with a sharp gesture, rich burgundy curtains slid together and blocked the morning sun. With a huff, Alasdair threw himself back onto the bed and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to recapture the elusive delights of Morpheus. However mere minutes later, he stirred again and reluctantly sat up again. Leaning to his left, he activated the switch on the beside lamp which immediately emitted a warm glow that lit up the room.
Sighing, he swung himself out of bed and slipped into black velvet slippers. He stood to his feet, yawning as he stretched lightly. The light of the lamp highlighted the smooth skin of his toned arms and belly. Clad in only a pair of black silk boxers which rode low on his slim hips, he was, in spite of his bleary and vacant expression a tantalizing specimen of male virility...had anyone of interest been there to appreciate the sight. Scratching his short cropped hair, he ran a broad hand over his face and lightly slapped his cheeks in an effort to shake off the bone-weariness of his recent travel. Long fingers traced the light mustache and beard that was equally cropped very low, before falling to his side as the handsome man turned towards the bathroom and set about his morning ablutions.
Half an hour later, he stepped out of the bathroom dressed in what many would consider a vintage or steampunk ensemble. Alasdair decided to wear a black silk shirt that was fastened by silver buttons all the way to the throat, with a black lace cravat tied around the base of his neck. His trousers were also black, accentuated with velvet embroidery. It too differed from the typical men's trousers which normally boasted a zipper, having rather buttons up to the top of the trousers at the waistband. A departure from the look he was aiming for was the black jacket which he wore over his Victorian-era clothing, which did boast a zipper and contrasted with the more formal style of his dress. However the overcoat distracted the discerning eye from the more modern accent to his outfit, a dark burgundy velvet overcoat with black embroidery on the lapels and the cuffs, frothy black lace velvet accentuating the cuffs. It was currently open revealing the layers worn beneath although it boasted an ebony Celtic knot design that served as the main 'button' for the coat. Silver buttons matching that of his undershirt adorned the velvet overcoat, but were merely there for decoration. He wore ebony colored boots that would not look out of place on a portrait of a wealthy patrician of the 18th century or a pirate even. It was made of a material akin to leather, but not leather made from bovine skin. A matching dark top hat would have completed the ensemble, but that was where he drew the line: his aim in his chosen outfit was to intimidate, not look like an old-fashioned ponce.
His hands were bare, save for a silver ring which boasted no particular design save for a Celtic knot on either side of the band. It was inset with a dark stone which appeared to glimmer with an inner glow...to the discerning observer of course.
All in all, his get up would undoubtedly raise eyebrows among the thousands of guests in the luxury hotel located on Charing Cross Rd. However Alasdair had no intention of discovering the comments that would be whispered behind his back, or perhaps to his face. For the audience that he was about to face, this outfit was the outer armor that he required if he was to successfully accomplish the first step of his long conceived mission. Nothing could go to chance, for too much was at stake.
.Viewing himself critically before the full length mirror, he inspected himself to make sure that not a fold of cloth was out of place. Finally after several moments, he judged his appearance acceptable and taking a deep breath, pictured in his mind's eye the location where he wished to go. Turning sharply on his heel, the air throbbed with an unseen energy as the area around him twisted and spun until with a sharp crack, he disappeared into thin air.
Diagon Alley, Haringsdale, England, Albion**
With a sharp crack, the sharply dressed gentleman re-materialized a couple of feet away from the bricked up wall that sealed the gateway to the Leaky Cauldron, the designated entry point into the popular shopping district. The young man smiled to himself as he took in the sight of cobblestone path that meandered in zigzag patterns towards dozens of stores and stalls. It looked like something out of 17th century England, a snap shot of an earlier period. Very few mundane citizens of London had ever set their eyes on this place and no surprise.
It was meant for witches and wizards after all.
With a flick of his wrist, a long dark polished piece of wood shot into his hand. Raising the focus towards himself, he quickly and effortlessly set a mild Notice-Me-Not charm and aversion charm upon his person, before sliding the wand back into the carefully concealed wand holster that was strapped over his cloth covered bicep. Taking a few deep breaths to clear away any lingering anxiety or doubt, he pasted a haughty expression on his face and strode out of the shadowy alcove into the bright and slowly stirring shopping centre for magical practitioners, Diagon Alley, feeling quite at home.
And why not? For he was a wizard, connected to a long and illustrious lineage that had walked the streets of this Alley when it had first been constructed in 1346. And when he had been far younger, in happier times when his family was whole, he had often scrambled along these very streets running as fast as his little legs could take him to gawk at the newest collection at Quality Quidditch Supplies or sweet talk his father to buy him a sundae at Fortescue's. Alasdair eagerly took in the sights as he headed towards his destination. It was incredible how little had changed in the past fifteen years since his last visit to the enchanting Alley.
His dragonhide boots clicked harshly on the cobblestone pathway as he imperiously strode along the sparsely populated street of the Alley, heading unerringly towards the massive building that took up several blocks of the alley. He had an appointment that could not be delayed any longer than it had been. The step that he was taking was one that honestly he should have (and would have) taken years ago, were it not for the stern counsel of his appointed guardian pointing out the folly of a precipitous movement. He had acquiesced to the guidance he had been given and refrained from making this journey for years after he had passed the legal threshold to lay claim to what was rightfully his, but now he would not be denied, no not for one moment. It was high time a change was made.
The few people wandering through Diagon made haste to remove themselves from his trajectory as he surged past, frowning slightly at the slight disturbance before their attention were suddenly directed to another sight or object that suddenly arrested their attention. Full lips pulled into a smirk as he strode with an air of confidence. The charms were working as they should. While he did wish to make an impression, the less noticed he was, the better. If all went as planned, he would receive plenty of attention from many parties who would no doubt be reeling in shock or consternation when the time came for his eventual reveal.
But first to business. The young man's pace slowed as he found himself arriving only feet away from his intended destination. Halting for a moment, he directed his gaze towards the gleaming white marble and apparently haphazard facade of what was the heart of Britain's magical economy, and the most well defended building in the entire country with few exceptions.
Gringotts.
This ancient center of wizarding economy had held pride of place in the Alley for nearly a thousand years, after a particularly vicious and extended Goblin rebellion finally found resolve when the government of the time negotiated an armistice with the Goblin King in which the goblins agreed to restrict Goblin territory underground and in certain centers throughout the ancient territory of Magical Britain and beyond in return for receiving custodianship over the collective wealth of the magical nation. The arrangement had endured ever since and thus the Goblins, once vicious warriors became the chief financiers and investors of the magical world, for a large majority of nations quickly agreed to similar terms in order to quell future conflicts with the war-like race.
Yet even now, so long removed from that bloody history there could be detected visible traces of the formidable martial capabilities of the ancient race. At the gleaming doors of Gringotts stood a goblin clad in a crimson and gold set of armor with a lengthy halberd in his hand, keen eyes busily scanning the parties coming in and out of the hallowed halls of the wizarding bank. Those eyes now fell upon the young man striding up the marble stairs, willing the Notice-Me-Not and aversion charms to fall from his person as such enchantments would hardly fool guards of such quality and only engender suspicion that would only stir unnecessary strife. With a curt nod, Alasdair acknowledged the guard's presence before dismissing him from his thoughts and studying for a brief moment the gleaming bronze doors before the doors swung inwards. Walking through, again briefly acknowledging the guards responsible for securing the doors within the outer hall, he moved to a smaller set of silver doors and paused to study the warning etched into the doors in both the Latin alphabet and in Runes with pure gold:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
With a smirk, the young man acknowledged the subtle sensation of the curse settling upon him as it did to all who silently or verbally acknowledged the gleaming inscription upon the silver doors. A subtle, but powerful set of enchantments that this inscription activated should anyone dare to aspire to treasure that was not theirs. Shaking off in his mind the mechanics of their formidable defenses, the wizard moved forward as the doors swung inwards as well, admitting him into the extravagant lobby of Gringotts.
The tails of his overcoat stirred behind him as he swept off towards the central desk where those boasting significant deposits in the bank were expected to present themselves for meetings with their accountants or to request withdrawals. The vast hall bustled with the hundreds of goblins going about their respective tasks, but only a couple dozens of individuals lining up in various queues to speak to an attendant. It was early in the morning after all. As such, he was easily able to make his way to the towering central desk where a wizened and crafty looking goblin was sitting upon his boosted seat, silently perusing a ledger and ignoring everyone around him. The young man came to a halt and stood before the desk where he studied the goblin teller's profile silently for a couple of moments before loudly clearing his throat. With an irritated snarl, the goblin lifted his eyes from his work and fastened them upon the boldfaced wizard standing before him.
"This station is closed," he snapped. "Can't you see the other humans lined up at the available tellers? Make your way there if you please."
Returning to his ledger and numbers, he proceeded to ignore the young man before him. However that was a mistake. Alasdair's dark eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as a slow smirk formed. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the large loci of energy that dwelt below the foundations of the bank and drew on the tendrils that weren't already intertwined in whatever enchantments the goblins had invoked within these halls.
The goblin teller was busy making notations within his ledger when he felt the air about him grow stifling and charged. Beady eyes widened and his head shot up only to behold the same irritating wizard levitating until he was at eye level with the teller. Cocking his head to the side, the wizard presented his right hand for the goblin's inspection. The goblin's blood chilled as the human bared his teeth in a remarkably close approximation of a goblin about to skewer his victim.
"I wish to speak to the manager of House Llewellyn's accounts if you please." replied the darker skinned human. "I have business to conduct and you will not deny me."
Thrusting his hand out, the wizard's eyes blazed as he observed the senior teller realizing precisely who was 'standing' before him. Abashed, the goblin inclined his head low as he registered the ring and what it represented.
"Begging your pardon, young heir," he said at last, scribbling furiously on a piece of charmed parchment which de-materialized with a snap of his fingers. "Gringotts is honored to welcome the heir of House Llewellyn into our halls. I've notified Nogroth, the Llewellyn Account Manager. He awaits your presence."
Slowly the heavy weight of the conjured magic faded away as Alasdair settled back on the marble floor. He watched on with a bland expression on his face as the teller barked sharply in Gobblydook, a younger goblin drawing close to the pair.
"Kraiock will show you to Manager Nogroth's office, sir," said the teller, practically oozing polite deference. "If you'll follow him please."
Alasdair inclined his head in polite thanks and followed silently behind Kraiock who led the way towards a lavish hallway at the Northeast corner of the bank, where many of the elite families conducted their business (for a price, often substantial) with their Account Managers. He was tempted to threaten the cowed goblin, but he refrained himself. Goblins respected power and lineage, but regardless of how eminent one's family might be, push one too far and only misery would come of it. He was not in a position to alienate anyone or anything that could be an ally as he pursued his goals.
Several minutes passed as the goblin guided him down a long and winding hallway that twisted and turned unexpectedly until at last they stood before a door that bore the ancestral crest of his father's House, the Most Ancient and Royal House of Llewellyn. The breath caught in Alasdair's throat as he beheld the symbol of his family- a family that had been hopelessly fractured in the months preceding his father's suspicious death. A surge of emotion began to fill him, but he ruthlessly tamped it down. No, now was not the time to give in to that old, familiar grief. He needed to establish a power base first and set his plans in motion. There would be time enough to mourn what he had lost when he was aught but a child.
The goblin Kraiock pounded on the door to the office three times before letting loose rapid-fire Gobblydook. He paused, then withdrew his hand when a sharp bark of the same language was heard. Turning his head to face the wizard, Kraiock bowed low.
"Manager Nogroth will see you now, sir."
Alasdair returned the bow, an act which briefly startled the goblin before he shook it off and left the young man standing before the door, alone. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and proceeded to enter the room.
The room was, after the manner of the goblins rather sparse. There was a table, two chairs for manager and client to be seated in, a bookcase that boasted a great array of parchment, ledgers and scrolls, and a fireplace which had a small fire burning cheerfully. However despite the sparse settings, the few items contained within the office were far more than they appeared. The table was constructed out of a highly varnished Skalyfig wood, a magical wood that rendered objects constructed with it unusually receptive to the ambient magic of nature such as the ley lines. It had a rich mahogany appearance with various runes and sigils etched onto its surface. The chairs were lavish cushioned chairs constructed of oak wood and velvet. There were portraits hung on the walls of the office in frames of gold, depicted various battles among goblin-kind, and even what appeared to be a visual representation of one of the infamous Goblin Rebellions.
The wizard took in the room and found himself eyeing the sole occupant in the room. A single goblin, clearly of advanced years was seated behind the desk with sheaves of parchment and a large black leather bound ledger. He wore gold rimmed glasses and wore a business suit that wouldn't look out of place on Saville Row. An ornate gold pocket watch was affixed to his waistcoat. The goblin was eyeing the young human before him with a shrewd and piercing gaze. Silently they stared at each other, each one clearly taking the measure of the other. Several moments passed before the old goblin grunted and gestured towards the vacant chair set before the desk.
"Take a seat," he said. "Time is money and I do not wish to lose any of both." He watched as the young man accepted the seat, viewing his dress closely before baring his teeth in a goblin grin. Alasdair for his part took pains to bow before seating himself, an action that caused a pale eyebrow to rise in interest.
"Thank you for your time Master Nogroth," he said solemnly. "You have been a bulwark for House Llewellyn since the fall of our Lord. I seek to claim the seat which has been vacated for so many years by my father. To that end I present myself to you, seeking access to our vaults."
The goblin Nogroth leaned forward, his eyes sharpened with interest at the the wizard's mannerisms and speech. Far different than the manner in which he thoroughly disgraced Svenjar when the latter refused to acknowledge him only minutes before.
"You speak well for a human, boy," he said at last as he clasped his clawed hands together. "However I can not permit you access to the vaults or records of the late Lord Llewellyn. Not without proof, far more proof than the pretty ring that adorns your finger. Aye, the ring carries the magic of the House whose treasures and investments I protect and increase, however while such a token is a mark in your favor, it is not absolute proof. There are magics, proscribed and thrice-damned that can circumvent even the protections of an Heir's Ring belonging to a House believed to be extinct, long bereft of Lordship."
Alasdair frowned, but did not rise to the bait. The account manager had a fair point. While the protections imbued on the heir's signet was truly formidable, it was not inviolable.
"What then would serve as sufficient proof for you, Master Goblin?" he asked after a few tense moments. "I would see such proof furnished so you may rest easier."
Nogroth's smile sharpened.
"There is only one method that would settle any questions beyond all doubts. Blood, if it is pure, will never lie. As you might be aware, Gringotts possesses the resources to divine the truth that lies within your blood. Would you have us do so?"
Now it was the wizard who arched one of his eyebrows. He leaned back into the velvet backing of the chair he was seated in, as he considered the offer of Manager Nogroth.
"Are there any reprisals?" he inquired lightly. His response seemed to please the old goblin who shrugged his shoulders.
"If you are who you claim to be," he said evenly, "there is no reason to fear anything untoward happening to your person. However, if you are somehow mistaken...however unlikely...that would be a costly mistake. The results would be...severe."
At that parsed threat, Alasdair's eyes flashed with an indescribable emotion. Then he smirked.
"Were the protections guarding the treasures of my House any less," he replied dismissively, "I would be most displeased. By all means, Master Nogroth, let us proceed."
Nodding approvingly, Norgroth snapped his fingers. Before the wizard's eyes, a bowl and dagger materialized upon the surface of the table. The bowl and dagger appeared to be blackened with age, however the young man could discern several runes engraved on the metal of both objects. Holding out his hand, he was handed the dagger by the carefully observant goblin. Taking a deep breath, the wizard drew the dagger across his hand. Wincing at the sting of torn flesh, he clenched and unclenched his hand until the blood began to well up. Taking his hand, he held it over the ancient ritual bowl and squeezed his hand into a fist. Slowly the blood began to drip from his hand into the bowl. Seven times a drop of blood fell, upon which he withdrew his hand and concentrating, healed the cut with a wordless spell. Norgroth carefully took a black feathered quill and dipped it into the blood. Conjuring a sheet of blank parchment with another snap of his fingers, he barked an incomprehensible command as he set the quill upon the parchment. Alasdair's eyes widened briefly when the quill remained upright as the goblin drew the bowl over to himself and began sketching incomprehensible signs over the bowl with the dagger while chanting in Gobblydook.
As the aged goblin's voice began to assume a rhythmic cadence, the air snapped and crackled with conjured energy that began to coalesce around the bowl. Alasdair's hands clenched tightly on the armrests of the chair as the smell of ozone began to permeate the office. The bowl began to vibrate violently as it lit up an angry fire red. Finally, Nogroth uttered a stern Command and a brilliant flash caused both of the office's occupants to shield their faces and eyes from the blinding light. The flash lingered for a few seconds before it abruptly faded, the energy fleeing almost as fast as it had come. After about ten seconds, the wizard uncovered his eyes. Squinting, his vision slowly cleared and a small smile emerged as he beheld the ritual bowl...which now contained a ring. It was a ring forged from silver, it's thick band inscribed with the motto of his family's House. It was inset with a gleaming blood-red ruby with the Crest of House Llewellyn engraved on its face. The crest was that of of Sword with a golden dragon curled about the blade. A small coronet was affixed above the dragon's head and Sword's hilt, the motto of the House ascribed below the Sword's blade tip:
Igne conflavit...expertum bellis...
Draconis semper vincit
Alasdair's eyes glittered with something suspiciously like tears as he wordlessly held out his hand. Nogroth gestured with one long finger, and the ring floated into the air and swam through the invisible currents towards the only wizard within the room. As the ring settled in his grasp, the wizard closed his eyes as he squeezed the ring within a suddenly taut fist, his shoulders shaking with a unspoken emotion. It took several moments for him to regain his composure as for the first time in his life he grasped the signet worn by his father and his father before him. When he opened his eyes at last, they were glassy with unshed tears. Placing it on the third finger of his left hand, he slid the signet ring unto his finger. As he did so, the ring re-sized itself to fit his finger perfectly. The signet stone flared with a brilliant crimson light and he fell back into the chair as a fiery energy flared through his body and he connected to the many hidden properties accessible only by the Lord of his house.
Visions flashed through his mind, too rapid for him to make sense of. He let the images pass without any comment, content to let his subconscious mind absorb and catalog the images for his perusal later. For several moments he lost himself in the touch of the ancestral resonance, connecting to those who had gone before. At last however, he became aware of his surroundings once again. Blinking, he lowered his hand and smiled stiffly at Nogroth who was watching him with interest.
"My apologies Master Nogroth," he said tersely. "I seem to have lost myself momentarily. The union is...intense."
Nogroth nodded solemnly.
"That it is," he agreed. "Particularly when one has been so long sundered from his rightful place. It is an honor to continue to serve the illustrious House of Llewellyn. The loss of Lord Sebastian was deeply felt by those of us privileged with advancing the interests of your House. He was relatively young, but had large ambitions for the future of the House and its role within Great Britain and far beyond. The investments that he made were well chosen and have prospered in spite of his untimely death. I look forward to the advancements you will make in the near future. Would you like to view the investments now?"
But the newly instated Lord of House Llewellyn shook his head in the negative.
"There is much that I wish to see done with regards for my father's investments," he said, "but I think that such discussions should be held at a later date. What I do wish to confirm is the current status of any possible dependents who may be connected to my House. Is it possible to calibrate the inheritance rite to draw up a list of any surviving members from the primary and cadet branches of House Llewellyn? If so, I would be honored for your assistance in this matter."
"It can be done," replied Nogroth thoughtfully. "If that is your wish at this time."
Lifting up the dagger used to retrieve the new Lord's blood, Nogroth began to chant once more, his gravelly voice once again adopting the rhythmic cadence that bespoke a primal connection to the magic of the Earth itself, an art that most modern wizards trained in formal institutions no longer cultivated. This time there was no visual indicator that his adjustments were successful, but as he gave the word of Command once more, the quill trembled before it began to scratch out words on the enchanted parchment. Both occupants observed the quill closely as it detailed name after name until the quill slowed down, seconds before another tremor went through it and the quill dropped onto the parchment, drained of magical energy.
Carefully the Llewellyn Account Manager took up the parchment and began to read the writing on it. However as the young Lord watched him, the Manager blanched and did a double take. Drawing the parchment closer, he viewed it carefully before releasing a shuddering breath.
"I believe sir," he coughed delicately, "that this is something that you should read and acclimate to. It is most...unexpected."
Brows furrowed, the Llewellyn Lord accepted the parchment and began to read the names written on it only to freeze as his mind registered something that was impossible, that should not be:
The Most Ancient and Royal House of Llewellyn
Igne conflavit...expertum bellis...
o0o
Draconis semper vincit
o0o0o0o0o
Head of House:
HRH Alasdair Marius Steward-Llewellyn the Archduke of Albion and Ierne, Duke of Fèill an Gleann (Fairfield),
Marquis of Penderton, Earl of Taneth, Viscount of Amrendale
Lord of the Most Ancient and Royal House of Llewellyn
Extant Dependents of House Llewellyn:
Dionaghus Niall Steward-Llewellyn (Heir Apparent, Son of House Llewellyn)
Henry James Regulus Potter-Black (neè Evans/Ashcroft-Llewellyn)
(Son of House Llewellyn)
Stunned, Alasdair Llewellyn's eyes shot towards Manager Nogroth who despite the vaunted composure that goblins of his position and age were known for looked equally gobsmacked by what the parchment revealed. The newly titled Lord Llewellyn succinctly summed up their shared astonishment with an elegant expression of shock and surprise.
"Shit."
This definitely changed the political calculus, that he had been expecting though whether for good or ill...he couldn't tell. Nogroth's response was far less colorful, but equally succinct.
"Well. This certainly presents an unusual challenge. It appears that we have a fair amount of work to do."
"Indeed." concurred Alasdair as he prepared to dig deeper into the shocking revelations of his House.
A great deal of work lay ahead.
o0o0o
Pelagir Forest, Malfoy Manor, England, Albion, July 30, 2003
There's nothing like the thrill of the chase, especially when the prey has no chance at escape, thought Lucius Malfoy to himself, slowly whistling a haunting tune while taking slow steps through the massive and utterly still forest that was a part of his Noble house's ancestral estate. His ears, recently be-spelled to pick up a heightened level of sound caught the discordant sound of small branches, flattened grass and the intoxicating sound of his quarry's tearful gasps for breath as the vermin sought in vain for a path out of his forest.
It was a rather sticky July night, the last before the eve of Lughnasadh. Lucius had decided to celebrate early and since he was currently alone in his Manor, his wife and son away on holiday in France, he decided it was the perfect time to indulge in some of his more—exotic proclivities. It had been a number of years since he had dared to indulge his appetite in such a way, but to his pleasant surprise he found that it was a easy as riding a broom. One never truly forgot.
It had been a matter of moments to select his chosen victim and spirit him away to his extensive forest. The poor dear's family probably thought he was just out for an evening stroll along the depressingly plebeian Muggle neighborhood. Little did they know that they would never see their beloved little boy again.
Alive, that is.
He had richly enjoyed the chase he had engaged in for the better part of an hour. The child's terror filled his senses with something akin to Amortentia. He found himself bursting into rolling laughter as he heard the young teen boy trip over a root about fifty feet away. The boy was tiring. Perfect. Soon it would be time for his moment of destiny.
Drawing on his ample magical reserves, Lucius disapparated and reappeared a few feet away from the boy. He smirked as he ran his eyes over the ripped and dirty clothing of the brat. The child's face had been nicked by overhanging branches as he had fled witlessly in a vain attempt to escape from him. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the hazel-green eyes clouded with fear and pain, and the dark messy hair. He trembled with anticipation.
Wordlessly, Lucius extended his wand and pointed it at the unaware boy.
'Irretite', he breathed out into the air. He watched with dark satisfaction and a simmering hunger as his spell triggered some of the defenses of his estate and caused pairs of vines to shoot out of the earth and latch on to the boy's neck, arms and legs. His pleasure grew as the boy screamed in terror and pain as the enchanted vines bit into his skin, each vine liberally enhanced with thorns. He was pleased to see the young teen struggle furiously in an attempt to free himself before slumping over with a low moan. A few careless flicks of his wand soon had the boy gasping as he was forced into a spreadeagled position, his body stretched taut.
He listened a bit more to the curses that filled the air, shaking his head in dark amusement. It pleased him to know that the poor fool had a mouth as filthy as his blood. At last however, he was ready for the preliminary show. A wordless spell conjured the mask that he had not worn in many years. He quickly secured it to his face before he stalked out of the shadows and made his way over to his trapped quarry.
Slowly he began to clap, causing the teen boy to swivel his head as much as he could considering his bound position and look at the source of the noise. Behind the mask, Lucius' nose flared as he heard the garbled gasp of the boy as he took in his form and attire. He could appreciate the child's wonder, he was in the presence of his betters after all.
Lucius was attired in a gleaming dragonhide leather suit, his protective armor inscribed with a number of ancient magical sigils of protection. He was robed in black with the distinctive silver mask which denoted his position in the magical order to which he had once enjoyed a chief position below that of his illustrious and revered Master. He realized that the terrified child in front of him could not truly comprehend the magnitude of what he was witnessing. For that alone, it might have been better, though still extremely risky to have snatched a wizarding child. Still, regardless of the boy's ignorance, he knew how striking he looked to the child, who had filled his thoughts of late. He couldn't resist the shiver of anticipation and increased hunger as he saw that shivering form.
"Well, well. Whatever do we have here?" drawled the aristocratic wizard, as he circled the subdued form of his victim. "It seems to me that you are in quite the bind, if I may say so myself."
"Wh-what the bloody 'ell are you?" he heard the trapped boy say, once again attempting to wrest his way out of his bindings, to little avail. "Please, let me go! I don't know you, I don't even know where I am!"
"Why, you are a guest," replied Lucius indulgently. "It would be the height of rudeness to let you run off so quickly without presenting to you the wonders of my little forest. I simply must insist that you remain. This entertainment is in your honor after all."
"Look mister," gasped the boy desperately, "I won' say nuthin, I swear! No one will ever know I was here, not even the police. I'll keep quiet, just please let me go."
Lucius tutted as he reached out a gloved hand and gripped the boy's lower jaw tightly, inwardly amused at the pain-filled squeal that action provoked.
"I know you'll keep quiet dear boy," he said softly. "And rest assured, no one will ever know that you were here. Once I'm finished with you, you'll never tell anyone anything, ever again."
He chuckled at the groan of despair that his words conjured from the boy.
"I'm afraid that this will be your final moments here on this green earth," he continued, his amusement growing as the boy's attempts at freeing himself grew more frenzied. "You see, I'm going to kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way you fear the most. You'll give me such pleasure boy, I can hardly restrain myself. And your death will have even more value than your wretched life."
Releasing his hold on the boy, he toyed with the barbed vines that was wrapped around the boy's neck, arms and legs. A silent pulse of magic activated the special features of the vines invented by his grandfather in the early 1800s. He nodded approvingly as the boy began to groan in pain as small motes of dark crimson light glimmered along the nerves of the boy's skin.
"Do you like my vines?" asked Lucius, as he slowly circled the entrapped boy, admiring the lines of glowing crimson that were sweeping through his extremities. "My grandfather designed them nearly two hundred years ago. He had a rather, dab hand at growing the most delightful plants and so enjoyed experimenting with different cuttings and species. And these vines were his masterpiece. You might have wondered why these vines are full of thorns. Rather uncomfortable I suppose, and yet they serve such a noble purpose. Did you know, that each thorn is imbued with a special poisonous concoction that my grandfather invented himself? The effects are quite, sensational. Every nerve ending along your skin has now become extremely sensitized. It causes everything you're going to feel in the next hour to be magnified many times over."
Returning to face the boy, he was happily surprised to see tears streaming down the shaking form of the boy. Lucius could read the terror in those light colored eyes. The horrified realization of certain death. A rush of heat pooled towards his groin at the breathtaking sight. Inhaling sharply, Lucius withdrew his wand, noting the confusion that warred with the pain shining in the boy's eyes.
Grinning darkly to himself, the dark wizard flicked his wand towards the boy. His breath caught in his throat as the boy's rather common Muggle attire melted away, revealing creamy white skin. His eyes roamed hungrily over his prize. The boy was actually well along the path of maturation, boasting a lithe yet defined physique that hinted at the possibility of him being involved in some form of sports, assuming the Muggle animals had anything of course that could qualify as a suitable sport. Had the boy been of appropriate breeding, Lucius would have taken him to be a budding Quidditch talent. His nipples were a dusky color, and hardened due to exposure to the night air and of course, due to fear. His gaze lowered to the boy's lower extremities. He had a slight dusting of hair around his pubic area, and he was surprised to find that the boy's penis was missing the covering of skin that adorned his own genitals and was a typical feature of all male wizards. Were the Muggles so barbaric, that they would rip off the child's foreskin? He shook his head in disgust. How revolting. Still, the boy's genitals were rather appropriate for his age. Despite the unfortunate mutilation, it was still pleasing to behold.
All things considered, he was a fine catch. And Lucius had every intention of enjoying him thoroughly before releasing him to his unavoidable fate.
"And now, shall I give you a little taste of my art?" purred the older man, before he raised his wand once again. With a cruel smile, Lucius brought down his wand sharply, a wordless incantation echoing in his mind.
The boy's body jerked and he arched his back, his genitals flopping as a thin red cut blossomed across his chest. The scream that erupted from the boy's lips resonated throughout the clearing. Lucius flicked his wand sharply again and again, delighted at the way the poor child would wail in agony as the pain of each magically inflicted cut was magnified many times over due to the poison excreted by the thorn studded vines. As line after line of red began to appear all over his chest and arms and his upper thighs, soon the boy's screams morphed into mindless babbling, punctuated by shrieks as he yelled for help in one breath then begged Lucius for mercy in the next.
"Mercy?" mocked the older man as he continued to liberally add new cuts over the boy's body, slowly moving towards the rear of the trapped teen. "Oh my sweet boy, I offer no such thing as mercy. Only the pain that you and worthless creatures like you richly deserve for defiling the world with your filthy presences."
Like a pit viper, he struck again and again, crisscrossing the boy's back and buttocks with cuts and welts as he began to lose himself, the image of the boy wavering in Lucius' mind until it became that of another young teenage boy standing before him, sobbing effusively now due to the pain radiating throughout his body.
"Yes," murmured Lucius as he inflicted new cuts on the child's body, "this is what you deserve. This is your just rewards."
Finally, he lowered his wand, tiring of the work. Removing himself a step, he admired the shaking shoulders and strained muscles of the boy, eyes flashing as thin dribbles of crimson liquid began to trickle down the pale, lacerated body. With a low growl, Lucius drew closer and began to caress the taut muscles of the boy's back, gradually working his way lower and lower, delighted by the squeal of alarm that his movements evoked, the boy forgetting himself momentarily and renewing his pointless struggles. He stilled quickly though when Lucius gave a sharp slap on one of his milky buttocks.
Lucius began to breath a little bit more heavily as he drank in the heady scent of sweaty flesh. Almost without thought, he began to rub lower until he was palming the milky globes of the boy's derriere. Ignoring the breathy pleas for him to stop, he dug his fingers into the fleshy globes, feeling himself beginning to stiffen within his leathers as the boy sobbed agonized tears. Ignoring the mule's productions, he stooped and dragged his gloved fingers over the cheeks of the boy until he found his fingers probing the sweaty and puckered opening of the boy's anus.
Standing again, Lucius took hold of the boy's dark colored hair and yanked his head back, as he pressed himself along the boy's back, his leather-clad thighs between the valley of the boy's inner thighs. With a groan of delight, Lucius began to rub his covered hardness against his naked prisoner, reaching around with both hands. With his left hand, he clutched the boy's neck just above the vines wrapped around him and began to squeeze as his right hand pinched at the hardened nubs of the boy's nipples. He luxuriated in each yelp and howl that he elicited with each harsh pinch.
As he rutted against his much younger victim, he felt his blood rush even more as the boy, now nearly catatonic, kept on whimpering, "please, stop. don't do this, please. No more." The pleas of the boy were like ambrosia to Lucius as he closed his eyes behind the covering of his mask and envisioned another boy, one who had made himself his implacable foe after utterly humiliating him with a common, Muggle trick. He was soon fully hard and he tightened his grip on the boy's neck as he pumped his hardened length along the sweaty globes of his arse cheeks.
It was a wrench to release his prize, but Lucius forced himself to let go of the delectable morsel. However any relief, his victim might have felt was soon erased when Lucius came back around to face him.
Ignoring the sharp flinch and shaken sob that left the boy's lips as he withdrew his wand once again, Lucius wordlessly levitated a broken branch and transfigured it into a pair of clunky, thick glasses. Without a word he gently settled the rather hideous frames over the face of the teen. Stepping back, he groaned appreciatively. Marvelous, simply marvelous! Why, with those horrid things obscuring his face, the wretched beast was very nearly a dead ringer for the boy he truly envisioned standing here before him, bound and completely at his mercy. Lucius' hand lowered to his visible bulge and palmed himself as he drank in the sight.
Now fully decided, Lucius removed the hood and mask obscuring his patrician features and cold, grey eyes. Eyes narrowed, he concentrated on the space in front of himself and uttered an obscure summoning spell.
The air twisted as smoky vapor materialized into two objects that he would require for the night work ahead. He levitated them gently to the side for the moment, he wouldn't need them presently.
He stared into those haunted pain-filled eyes and saw the hopelessness written within them. This pleased him, immensely. Lucius moved forward, enjoying the flinch that shook the child's body, then the look of confusion that crossed his face as Lucius abruptly knelt down, before dawning comprehension moved the boy to give the strongest struggle he had throughout the evening against his enchanted bonds.
"I see you fear further pain my dear boy," purred Lucius, his hot breath stirring the air right in front of the boy's limp genitals. "Be at peace. I'm not a cruel man. I told you that the secretions of the thorns sensitizes your body. However, it doesn't just make you sensitive to pain. Oh no, it does so much more than that."
He made sure to modulate the speed with which he stretched his hand out to palm the boy's cock. As soon as he brushed against it, to his delight it hardened instantly. Despite himself, Lucius was quite impressed. For a boy his age, his maturing manhood was already quite impressive. Leaning forward, he softly blew on the hardened flesh, watching it stiffen even more, until it rose to full mast, an impressive five inches.
He watched as the boy bit his lip to repress the moan that threatened to erupt. But Lucius wouldn't allow that to continue. He bent forward and ran his tongue all along the turgid flesh, from root to tip. As he withdrew, he noted to his satisfaction the way the boy's hips bucked in an attempt to achieve what must have surely been a pleasurable sensation.
"Now wasn't that pleasant?" he asked conversationally, as if he was merely discussing the flavor of noon tea and not the compromised state that the boy was in. "I'm sure you enjoyed that very much, yes?"
A pale eyebrow was raised when no answer was forthcoming. Now, that was simply rude. He removed his gloves and faster than a snake poised to strike, gripped the boy's cock and dug his fingernails in, smirking at the cry that evoked.
"I believe I asked you a question, young man", said Lucius lightly. "You did enjoy that, yes?"
Frantically the boy nodded, his breath hitching at the pain emanating from Lucius' tight grip. Satisfied, Lucius relaxed his punishing grip and began to stroke the drooping cock, causing it to harden again. Very soon he was briskly pumping his hand up and down the teen's quivering shaft, rather enjoying the feeling of the heat emanating from the boy's cock as he stroked him over and over. Soon the boy's muttered pleas for clemency had morphed to broken groans and pants as he thrust into the grip of the older man.
Lucius' amusement and lust grew as he noticed a shining pearl of the boy's essence bud from the spongy pink head of his cock and dribble down the shaft. Soon the boy began to leak copious amounts of pre-ejaculate, and he realized that the child was well on his way to achieving his climax. Just smelling the musky scent of the boy's seed being rubbed into his skin as he pumped him, began to heighten Lucius' hunger. Deciding that it was time for him to indulge in his own pleasure, he elected to give the boy a sendoff he would never forget.
Dipping his head, the older man extended his tongue and lapped at yet another pearl of ejaculate that was oozing from the young teen's cock, delighting in the way that the boy twitched and arched his body as much as his circumstances could permit him. A breathy moan escaped the boy's mouth when he felt the hot and wet cavern of Lucius' mouth fully engulf his straining member. For his part, Lucius enjoyed the salty tang of the boy's essence as he bobbed his head over the boy's member. He could feel the boy's thighs trembling and noted absently that he was surely close to climaxing. Slowly running his hands up the sweaty thighs of the thin boy, he cupped the boy's sack in his left hand. He smirked as he felt the boy's bollocks begin to draw inward, preparing to release a torrent of semen. Hollowing his lips, he swallowed the boy's cock all the way to the root, sucking in the flesh tightly. He hummed as the boy made shallow thrusts into his mouth and then stiffened. Soon, salty spurts of semen were shooting down his throat and coating his tongue.
That's when he decided to raise the 'entertainment' to the next level.
As spurt after spurt of semen shot into his mouth and the boy was in the throes of absolute bliss, Lucius gripped the boy's bollocks and squeezed.
The sound of the boy's pleasure tainted gasps transforming into an unearthly scream of pure agony as his testicles were crushed within Lucius' iron grasp was intoxicating, the most beautiful sound Lucius had heard in years. He released the suddenly limp member of the boy as his tortured cries echoed throughout the clearing, and raised himself to his feet. A muttered spell had the boy's position abruptly change as the vines holding him captive shifted, placing him in a submissive position on his knees with his hands tightly bound behind him and his pert, upturned arse quivering in the air. His legs had been spread, fully exposing the dusky, pink rosebud that was the doorway to even greater pleasure and enjoyment. He sneered as the boy vomited violently into the grass, noting that the boy's cock was now leaking a pinkish-red liquid, no doubt the result of his testicles being crushed.
"There, there", crooned Lucius as he ran a hand down the sweaty rump of the boy as he continued to vomit and keen. "Did that hurt? Oh, but I have much more delightful pleasures waiting for you."
Now fully hard and throbbing, he trailed an inquisitive finger to the quivering hole in front of him. With a groan of delight, he sank his finger into the heated depths of the boy's body. It was so hot and tight! Roughly, he withdrew his finger then plunged it back into the boy's arse. Over and over again he stabbed into the boy's core, quickly adding two, and then three fingers. The ungentle movements elicited fresh howls of pain from the boy as he continued to weep, face down.
He couldn't contain himself any longer. Lucius withdrew his fingers from the boy's exposed arsehole, and standing up briefly, began to undo the fastenings of his dragonhide trousers. He lowered the material just low enough to set his turgid length, throbbing with need, free. Spitting into his hand, Lucius rubbed the saliva onto his straining cock. Without more ado, he knelt back down and rested the engorged tip of his cock at the boy's puckered opening. Leaning forward, he chuckled into the ears of the now severely traumatized boy.
"I've been waiting for this, for a long time." he whispered, before he stabbed forward, sinking himself into the warm depths of the boy's body in one fluid thrust. Both he and the teen boy cried out, Lucius with the pleasure that he had not enjoyed in years of sinking into the hot, silky walls of a young boy's tight, virgin arse, and the boy with anguish as he felt his anal ring tear as the large and thick cock forced it's way into his body.
Immediately, Lucius began to set a punishing pace as he began to hammer into the body of the boy below him. Mercilessly, he stabbed into the body writhing beneath him, groans of delight being dragged out of him as the boy's sphincter squeezed his length as he instinctively attempted to force him out. Gradually, he felt the boy's efforts wavering and he continued his brutal pace as he felt the hot walls squeezing his flesh grow more slick with what could be naught else but blood. He wrenched the boy's head back and bit deeply into his neck, ignoring the screams as he broke through the skin and traces of coppery liquid began to flood his mouth.
After a few minutes of delightful rutting, Lucius slowed his fast pace, unwilling yet to give in completely to his pleasure. He withdrew from the boy's entrance, ignoring the keening of the boy as his anal walls were torn further. Breathing heavily with exertion, Lucius stood up and stalked over to face the boy, his turgid length bobbing proudly in the night air, though stained with traces of blood and other, unsavory fluids. Grabbing a hold of the thick dark hair of his traumatized victim, he forced the boy's head up until the boy's tear-filled eyes are lined up with his cock.
"Open up," commanded Lucius tersely, a dark scowl forming across his handsome face as the boy frantically shook his head in refusal and mute appeal. He tightened his grip on the boy's head, and summoned his wand, aiming it just between the boy's eyes.
'Imperio'
He noted with satisfaction the way the boy's eyes suddenly turned blank as his mind was overrun by the Imperius Curse. This was one of his favorite spells to use in his 'play' with his favorite toys, for he knew that while the boy's body would now become completely compliant, the boy's mind would remain in a state of horror as it was forced to reconcile it's resistance with the actions that were happening in spite of his best efforts. Smiling indulgently now, Lucius tapped the boy's face with his wand.
"Open your mouth boy," he said, "And suck."
He groaned as that tiny mouth began to obediently lick at the straining head of his erection and little by little, take every inch of him within it's moist cavern. His hips rocking, Lucius lost himself in the sensation of pumping into the heated mouth of his toy. Inch by inch he sunk deeper into the boy's mouth until he found his leather clad hips flush against the boy's mouth, his cock fully submerged into the caverns of the boy's throat. Hoarsely, he shouted his pleasure into the night sky, even as the boy began to gag as he airway was blocked by the cock in his mouth and the body his face was crushed into. Heedless to the boy's discomfort, Lucius forcibly held his head still as he luxuriated in the wet heat he was filling. He remained that way until he was brought back to his senses when the boy's body could take no more and he began to retch, bile convulsively being ejected unto his length. Slowly, he withdrew himself, grinning as the boy continued to sick up.
In a matter of moments, he was behind the boy again. Spreading those plump cheeks apart, he briefly admired the swollen, torn flesh that greeted him before he lined his cock up with the boy's arsehole and thrust in, not stopping until he was fully sheathed in the almost too tight walls of the boy's arse.
As he began to resume his punishing thrusts, he envisioned the ecstasy of having another child's body under him, the boy screaming in abject agony and terror as he was forcibly raped.
"This is all you're good for, you worthless half-blood", he snarled inbetween thrusts. " You're nobody's champion, you're not fit to lick the dust up from my master's feet!"
Over and over again, he roughly plunged himself into the pliant body beneath him, trembling as he approached the edge of his long-awaited climax. He knew though, that for matters to proceed as he wished, he would need to control himself in order to fulfill the necessary task.
He slowed down his pace, thrusting shallowly into the boy's body as he once again summoned his wand, pointing it towards the objects he had laid aside earlier in the evening.
Wordlessly he summoned the items towards him, halting them just in front of the boy. A slight tilt of the wand had the heavy, jagged blade which glinted darkly with whispers of ancient rituals to Powers that were Ancient when the Isle was newly formed jumping into his hand. Another swipe of his wand had the ancient meteoric bowl settled just underneath the boy's head.
With a sigh, Lucius returned his wand and transferring the ritual dagger to his right hand, resumed his deep thrusts as he began to work his way towards his climax. With his left hand, he wrenched back the head of his little toy, revealing the reddened skin of his throat, his neck still caught in the vise of his enchanted vines.
Softly, he began to chant, a dark invocation that was almost a song, lilting and heavy simultaneously. As he chanted, he continued to rut into the boy, pumping his hips as the slammed into the arse of his prize. The sound of flesh slapping wetly was in sharp juxtaposition to the rhythmic chant. As he approached his climax, Lucius' voice faltered as he felt his testicles draw inward in preparation of releasing his essence into the boy. A haze began to fill his senses and soon he was lost to all but the rhythm of his fucking as he ruthlessly pounded the Imperiused child.
His pleasure reaching its crescendo, Lucius half-deliriously shouted the final part of his invocation as he snapped his hips once more and buried himself in the warm body. As he did so, he reached out with his dagger and sharply wrenched it across the boy's tender flesh.
He screamed in ecstasy as the boy's lacerated hole tightened impossibly around his cock as he exploded, filling the body beneath him with several spurts of warm semen while the boy jerked uncontrollably, hot crimson liquid arcing out of the sliced carotid artery, spilling into the bowl beneath him, the numerous sigils and runes etched on its surface glowing balefully as it received the consecrated offering.
Soon, Lucius was thrusting shallowly into the still-warm corpse of his twelve year old toy, until he groaned again as his cock spurted several more shots of his release as he climaxed once more. Boneless, he collapsed on top of the corpse, breathing heavily as he struggled to catch his breath. It took several minutes before he could raise himself and pull out of the lacerated hole of the now dead Muggle boy. Panting, he swiftly cast several cleaning charms on himself, re-robing swiftly.
Once he was presentable, he knelt beside the body and began to trace sigils of preservation and warding over the collected blood of his victim. Oh, how he had missed this! It was one of the greatest sorrows of his life since the fall of his beloved Master, having to wear the guise of respectability and civility. Unable to indulge in his fondest passions for fear of alerting the authorities to the lie he flawlessly weaved nearly eleven years ago, all in an effort to ensure that he remained in a position to render some aid to his Master, should he have survived what appeared to be certain death, at the hands of that filthy Halfblood spawn of a Mudblood bitch!
Once the bowl was appropriately warded, he rose with it in his hand and casting a contemptuous glance at the corpse at his feet, banished it with a sharp slash of his wand. It would find a fine home in the warded area of his cellars. He would figure out what to do with the remains of the beast later.
If nothing else, it would serve a fine morsel for his prized albino peacocks.
Triumphantly, he raised the shielded bowl before his eyes.
"The Dark Lord will rise", chanted the blonde aristocrat into the night air. "The Dark Lord will rise. He will rise, and then the world will bleed."
"Amen, Selah, So mote it be!"
And with that, the Baron Laurant twisted in place and Disapparated back to his family Manor. He had work to do.
Hours later as the ornate clock within his private wing struck its solemn tones announcing the Witching Hour, Lucius reverently entered the ritual space which had been recently cleansed and rededicated to his sacred vocation after a near decade of disuse.
He was freshly showered and scrubbed, fond memories of the evening's earlier entertainment the only lingering reminder of what had taken place within the forest surrounding his ancestral seat of power. He was now clad in a plain white silk robe, his hair flowing freely past his shoulders as he stepped into the large room that had once boasted near-daily rituals that advanced the cause to which he had sworn himself when he was barely more than a child. His feet was bare, and he was unadorned. His only accouterments were his wand, his ritual dagger and the bowl which contained the consecrated offering which he had procured earlier in the evening.
The darkened room brightened considerably as torches, each one carefully aligned alongside the walls erupted with a cold azure flame.
Lucius cast his gaze across the stone chamber. The vast space felt empty, long bereft of the brooding presence of the ancient spirits and mystical entities that the Malfoy family had long rendered obeisance to in the centuries since this land became part of their domain. Unfortunately, the unforeseen fall of their Lord had made the Manor the subject of numerous closely monitored raids by the Ministry of Magic. These raids, made at the direction of the wretched and accursed Mudblood-loving faction of the Wizengamot had become so constant, that Lucius had been forced to largely abstain from the rites and rituals of the Black Arts that were often performed in this profane space, all in the effort to keep his enemies flatfooted and preserve his carefully cultivated as well as ancestral political capital.
Unconsciously, Lucius bared his teeth in a feral grin.
It was fortuitous indeed that times were changing. If the intelligence that he had gleaned from his subordinate was accurate, then this house would once again host the Accursed Host, and someday—sooner rather than later—host the august presence of One to whom he had sworn undying loyalty since his early youth.
Walking over to the center of the ritual chamber, Lucius set down the ritual bowl and dagger and brandishing his elm and dragon heartstring wand, incanted a wordless summoning spell. A small, dark object streaked across from where he kept my of his more esoteric tools and lurched to a trembling halt centimeters away from his chest. Extending his left hand, he permitted the ritual tool to drop into his hand. Inspecting it for any flaws, he was pleased to find that the asperger that had been crafted from finely processed nundu spinal hairs and bound in dragonhide leather to an handle of black ash wood was in perfect condition, since his last use of it in ritual work. It was a rather valuable tool, considering the rarity and danger of collecting the spines of the nundu, almost universally acknowledged to be among the most dangerous of the many predatory magical beasts that still existed in the present day.
Taking a deep breath to center himself for the work that lay ahead, Lucius solemnly dipped the asperger into the bowl of consecrated blood. Once it had been fully immersed, he lifted it back out and raised it up into the air.
"The blood of life!", whispered Lucius fiercely.
Quickly and efficiently, he went about the work of inscribing intricate patterns of runes and mystical sigils into the stone floor about him. As he worked, his blood sang with the power welling up as he set the temenos, the ritual boundaries for his Work. Once the appropriate runic configurations were completed and the magical circle inscribed, he reverently set down the aspergillum and flourishing his wand, began to move in a clockwise direction chanting as he traveled the large circular space three times:
"I conjure thee, o Circle of Power to be for me a boundary
between the realms of man and spirit, for the great Working
within this sacred hour; In this place I offer all obeisance and
reverence to the Fallen Ones, and invoke their blessings and
protection in all that I endeavor to see manifest this night.
By the spirits of the land, I seal thee;
By the spirits of the skies, I seal thee;
By the spirits of the seas, I seal thee.
Thus the nemeton is prepared, as the Great Work now commences!"
At each revolution, Lucius could feel the air thicken with a heavy weight of protective magic, as his invocation drew ethereal forces to shape and complete his circle. Upon his final revolution, he noted to his satisfaction the way the demarcated space glowed a brilliant crimson and the air surrounding the space became a shimmering haze of tightly compressed energy before fading invisible.
The ritual space secured, Lucius once again centered himself before continuing with his rite:
"This is the hour appointed, the hour of darkness in which the walls
barring man from the sacred realms are torn asunder.
This is the hour of blood and discovery, uncovering that which was lost;
I call on all who hunger to come forth from the shadows and be present
at the feast!"
Lucius shuddered with ecstasy as he felt the pressure in the temenos grow more heavy, and saw the shadows in the room deepen in spite of the numerous torches whose baleful flames stood proud and stern. It was thrilling, once again to see the response his rite was provoking amongst the spiritual denizens whose presence and assistance he craved.
Encouraged by the early tokens of success, Lucius proceeded to assume a submissive, position of a supplicant. The next steps in the rite were critical...and incredibly dangerous. The Powers he now sought to summon were not to be trifled with. Experience informed him that They could be viciously capricious if one dared to approach them with aught but reverence. Lowering his wand, he lifted up his dagger and began to focus his intent on the Patron, whose power and influence he sought to be wielded on his behalf.
"I name this space a place of oath-fasting, sacred to the Gods Elemental.
Humbly, I acknowledge that this space is erected to honor Them;
and rejoice that They will not abandon this site for so long as the very stones retain their memory.
To quicken that memory, I invoke Earth in the name of the Callieach, Mother of All;
and Fire in the name of the Eate, the Ravager.
Water I invoke in the name of Shoney, Lord of the Western Seas;
but it is to thee Taranis, the Thunderer, Lord of the Air that I stand ready to offer sacrifice.
May this oblation be pleasing in your sight, that you may look with favor upon the petition that I bring!"
Solemnly Lucius raised the ancient dagger over the ritual bowl, filled with the blood of the child he killed in preparation for this rite.
"Behold dread Storm-Bringer, the instrument of sacrifice!"intoned Lucius breathlessly, trembling under the weight of Magic in the air. "Be present, Lord Taranis in this blade, crafted of a stone that fell from the void of the heavens. Taste and savor the blood I offer in token of my devotion!"
Earnestly he stabbed downward, immersing the ritual dagger into the viscous liquid. Immediately, Lucius was struck by a paroxysmal surge of energy; every part of his being seemed to be vibrating with an intensity that bespoke of certain dematerialization. In the next instant, he became aware of a brooding Presence, one that loomed over the lesser beings so far invoked in his rite. It filled the entirety of the temenos, and threatened to spill out beyond the boundaries. The dagger heated up with a fierce, searing heat and began to vibrate violently in his grasp. It was all Lucius could do to maintain hold of it.
Throwing all of the energy he could spare towards insulating himself from the maelstrom of Magic that he found himself immersed in, Lucius focused with all of his might to project his petition towards the Elemental Lord.
"Hear me, O Storm-Rider!", exclaimed Lucius rhapsodically, "Take my spirit aloft and by your tempests send me to the one I seek!"
Three times, Lucius repeated his petition. As he concluded his third repetition, his senses were overwhelmed by a deafening clap of thunder and searing bolt of light that appeared to strike from everywhere and yet nowhere, surging through his body.
Lost to the overwhelming sensations that burned through him, Lucius blacked out. As darkness overtook him, he felt the queerest sensation of what felt like a giant hand grab hold of him, rip him from the ground and then plunging him into a tempestuous void. What happened next, Lucius could not describe, even to himself. He felt himself hurtle through space, at what seemed like near supersonic speeds while lightning seared his eyes and thunder rumbled ominously. This went on for what seemed like an endless eternity until, with a deafening thunderclap, Lucius found himself prostrate.
Suddenly, everything stilled.
It was several moments before Lucius was able to collect himself and dared to open his eyes. When at last he did, he was startled to find himself in what appeared to be a dark and forbidding forest. When Lucius looked down to see if the oblation had been accepted, he was even more startled to be able to see through himself! For a brief second, an intense fear began to stir within him, but it quickly transmuted to cold triumph as Lucius realized that his petition had indeed been granted. He was on the Astral plane...
Resisting the urge to bellow his fierce joy, Lucius began to study his environment. The place seemed to be quite a desolate area, untouched by mortal man. The air was completely still; only the haunting cries of night owls as they left their nests for the hunt broke the preternatural quiet.
Cautiously, Lucius began to glide through the brushes and trees. Though devoid of human life, the air as he perceived through his astral form was alive with magic. Looking down upon his right arm, he focused his own magic towards the mark that glimmered a sullen black upon his pale skin. Casting his senses about, Lucius allowed himself to be drawn as by a hooked thread, using the Mark as the anchor that would guide him to the One he had pledged undying fealty to.
In a matter of moments, he found himself in the heart of the forest. A thrill went through the blonde haired nobleman as he found this inner portion of the forest alive with the writhing, dark forms of serpents. Triumph welled up within him as his wrist burned and he focused his attention on a patch of Shadow that was far more dense than what was naturally conceivable. It writhed almost impatiently as Lucius approached reverently, coalescing into a towering column of vapor and dark magic.
Lucius' breath caught in his throat as his arm burned more fiercely, as the Shadow appeared to detect his presence and flowed towards him. He stilled as he felt the encroaching tendrils of dark sentience probe at his astral shade. The Presence behind it was not as vast or all encompassing as that of the storm deity who delivered him here, but it was intimately familiar, for it was, he realized with a sharp burst of joy, a Presence that had been engraved upon his mind since his early youth. Trembling with a fierce joy, the normally proud man sank to his 'knees' in an act of utter prostration. Had he been a lesser man, he would have burst into tears. As it was, he found that he could not speak. He simply remained prostrated as he opened his mind eagerly to that of his long lost Master and awaited his acknowledgement.
For several long moments, nothing was said. Then softly at first, then more audibly, the Shadow of the man once known as Lord Voldemort began to laugh, his delight apparent in the sibilant hiss that permeated the sound.
Can this possibly be? hissed the shadowy being as he swept over the most unexpected discovery of recent days since his Vessel's untimely demise. Has one of my own, one who once professed loyalty to me chosen to seek his Master once more?
Lucius shuddered in rapture as the sibilant tones of his Lord fell upon his ear. He did not dare face his Master, but spoke towards the ground.
"Master," he whispered, "I rejoice to know that you once more walk within this realm. Long have I been bereft of your guidance and presence."
Pretty words, sneered the Dark Lord, and yet you have fared well enough. I see that your magic is whole and unblemished, and your positions of influence and power far greater now than at any point when you served me. And yet, you come to me only now? Why have you not searched for me? Why have you not sought to topple the political influence of my enemies? Is it possible that even my dear Lucius, my right hand has found me...an unwelcome blight on his good fortune? I confess myself...disappointed.
"I have searched for you!", retorted Lucius, lifting up his head at last to face the vaporous shade of the Master. "I have exhausted all of my resources attempting to discover what had become of you, my Lord. I have listened for the slightest whisper of your noble presence, and been prepared to act upon any intelligence that might have been uncovered. I have consulted countless shamans, sorcerers, and even necromancers in my quest to divine the truth of your disappearance. And I have never, never stopped planning a fit recompense to those who have dared to resist your glorious revolution! Search my mind, for it has ever been open to you. See if my words are true. I place myself under your judgement."
He bowed low again, consciously lowering all of his mental barriers, baring himself to His Lord. In an instant, he felt the touch of the Dark Lord as he delved into his memories spanning the decade since the Dark Lord's sudden disappearance.
It took only a few minutes for the Dark Lord to discover what he sought to learn, though it seemed like an eternity to Lucius. At last however, the Dark Lord withdrew. Lucius did not move. He would not refuse even death at his Master's command. It was only right after all, since he had failed to discern the truth sooner.
The sentence of the Dark Lord fell swiftly.
Rise, my own. You have proven your words true.
Lucius lifted himself up, his being suffused with joy. He kept his head lowered however, as he awaited his Master's command.
My attempt to harness the power of the Philosopher's Stone has failed. My servant was less than equal to the task, and offered the greatest insult in humiliating me before Dumbledore's pet.
Unconsciously, Lucius bared his teeth in a snarl.
"They will pay dearly for their crimes, my Lord." vowed Lucius vehemently.
I will see to that, dear Lucius, said the Dark Lord, in a soft hiss that sent thrills of anticipation through the aristocratic wizard's being. but first, I must be restored to my former strength. I must attain a corporeal form, if I am to prove my supremacy.
"What do you require of me, Master?" inquired Lucius, anxiously. "Any resource I possess is of course at your disposal."
It is imperative that Dumbledore, that old fool gains nary a whisper of any of my plans, declared the Dark Lord. He will now be fully aroused to his danger, and will keep a close eye on affairs in Britain. He must be distracted, kept focused on his precious school. If he directs his energy in a vain attempt to prevent another attack, he will be completely ignorant of my true aims and methods.
His vaporous form darkened and solidified until it was at eye level with Lucius. The younger wizard held his breath in anticipation of what his Master was plotting.
I have a very important assignment for you, my faithful Knight. It will be perilous and carries heavy risk of discovery and thus a preemptive strike by the Fool's followers, however if it is executed correctly, then the potential gains would be considerable indeed. Listen closely, my own. This is what I want you to do...
As the Dark Lord described the parameters of his plot, shock at the sheer breadth of his proposal and the audacity of it all, for a brief moment robbed Lucius Malfoy of speech, particularly when his Master detailed an outline of the tasks that would be required of Lucius. Such a thing had never been attempted before! It was ludicrous to the extreme, it was impossible, it was...
Ingenious.
A cruel smile began to widen across Lucius' face, as the full implications of what the successful execution of his Master's plot would mean for the balance of power within the Wizengamot as well as Hogwarts itself dawned on him.
And the best part of it all? With a sufficient distraction, the Old Fool and his fawning sycophants would never see it coming! And he had quite a few ideas on a sufficient distraction that would roil the entire realm...
With growing excitement, Lucius then offered to his Lord a possible means to set the stage for the greater plan to be launched, completely undetected. The Dark Lord listened on in silence. Then, just as Lucius began to fear that he had overstepped his bounds and made to offer his apologies, the Dark Lord began to laugh.
Oh my dear Lucius, hissed the chilling tones of the Shadow, as it abruptly began to expand and writhe, You have reminded me of why I chose you as my right hand. If even half of what you propose can successfully be implemented, it will prove a glorious boon to my plan. You may proceed, with my blessing and most eager anticipation...
Lucius bowed low.
"It will be done."
* 2003- For the purpose of this story, the events of Harry Potter canon takes place ten years further than mentioned in the books. Everything up to the graduation of the Marauders' generation is the same as the books, however the war lasts ten years longer than canon. During this time the resistance to the Death Eaters train and gain advanced skills abroad while building an international buffer around the Dark Lord. The Potters then die on Oct 31, 1991. Why? We chose to do so because it seems off to me that the world's deadliest wizard at that time could be staved off not once, not twice, but three times by two teenagers just out of Hogwarts, especially if Hagrid is to be believed that Voldemort killed some of the greatest witches and wizards of the age.
** Albion vs. Great Britain- We decided to try and emphasize the separation of the Muggle and Wizarding worlds by differences in the name places depending on which side one is on. We are imagining that much of the wizarding world is on an alternate dimensional plane, kind of similar to the Tor vs the Isle of Avalon in the book The Mists of Avalon. It's in the same geographical area but they don't intersect. So don't be surprised if you see new names of states, cities, regions, etc on the wizarding side.