*Author's Note* A quick word... This story has been stuck in my head for a very long time, and I've finally decided to write it out. It revolves around a Muggle-born witch named Amy, nineteen years after the downfall of Voldemort, as well as the rise of a Dark Wizard, originally thought to be forever defeated, and forever dead. Not to mention Amy's unusual sorting at Hogwarts...
Enjoy! I greatly appreciate any comments or critique.
The Other Mark
It was one of those nights where the dark eclipsed all—where the sky was hidden from the world, and the world was hidden from itself. Most people on Earth despised these sorts of nights, but there was one crowd, one that normally hid themselves away from the ignorant eyes of the average human being, that liked to take advantage of this darkness, and make the most of such a time.
It would be true indeed that if there was even the slightest shed of moonlight, the several women and their dates sitting at the windows of a lonesome tavern, located somewhere in the woodsy countryside of Switzerland, would have been quite bewildered and alarmed to see a peculiar, unusually-dressed man appear completely out of thin air only several yards in front of the entrance.
Even more bewildering to them would have been what he carried in his hand—a large, ratty tin can, with dirt and rust crusted along the edges, which the man shook off as quickly as he arrived. They would have seen him fix his untidy appearance, as he brushed back his black hair and straightened his vest. They would have seen him straighten up, as if he wanted to appear intimidating, before stepping towards the pub with large, stilted steps.
Instead, all they noticed was the door opening, and the entrance of a pale and exceptionally gaunt man into the establishment. Most people did not stop talking, as it was a Friday night many were too busy relieving themselves after a long week of work, but some did stare with wide eyes at the man so tall, he looked as if he were walking on stilts. He stepped over to the bar and sat down awkwardly, his spindly hands coming together on top of the table, as he surveyed the room he had just entered.
Aside from the couples sitting at the windows, and a woman laughing heartily to herself down the table of the bar, the tavern was relatively empty, at least after quick inspection. But soon after the man finished searching did a booth in the corner catch his eye, and he raised himself up even taller so as to get a glimpse of the five or so men situated around the table. They talked in low voices amongst themselves, heads bent towards each other, conspiratorially. Each of them bore a very similar resemblance to the man who had just walked in; not in physical appearances, but rather, in the way they held themselves, and in the dark sort of look in their eyes. Keeping his expression blank, the tall man turned to the owner of the pub and ordered a drink.
"Right away," said the owner in German, but he gave his customer a funny look, no doubt wondering why this strange person was sitting alone at the bar, and not over with the men who he very obviously belonged with. The tall man ignored this and continued to study his fingernails. The owner, meanwhile, slipped down the bar a large glass of butterbeer, which the tall man stared at with thinly-veiled disdain. Regardless, he thanked the owner and took a small, hesitant sip from the glass.
The men in the corner continued to talk on; they hadn't seemed to notice the tall man yet, and although the tall man made no effort to conceal himself, he seemed to be rather cautious of the men in the corner, and peered at them suspiciously out of the corner of his narrowed eyes. His expression, however, remained severely blank, and after a few moments of passed, everyone in the tavern—including the owner—seemed to have forgotten he was there.
After a few moments of listening in on the conversations around him, the tall man heard the door to the pub open, and the distinguishable clunk, clunk of something wooden hitting the floor. He turned and found himself face to face with a very exhausted and very squat old man, with squinted, beady eyes, and gray hair falling from underneath an odd black hat. He wore the same sort of clothes as all the others in the pub, and when the tall man came more into his view, he stared at his acquaintance's suit of off-white and dark gray pinstripe with a look of deep distain.
"You know better than to go wearing something like that, Lorenz."
The tall man, Lorenz, stared back at him for a long minute, before giving a small smile that seemed unsuited for his somber face. "Didn't have much time after you sent word, Albert. Had to come straight from the Ministry—and trust me when I say that was harder than it sounds."
Albert raised his eyebrows and took and seat at the bar, the hem of his trousers sliding up to reveal his left leg to be no made of flesh, but instead, made of wood the same color of Albert's tanned and beaten skin. It was fake—a replacement, and obviously, rather new. Lorenz raised his own eyebrows at this, and nodded towards the leg, but Albert ignored him and continued to ask his own questions.
"Visiting, someone…? Or did you get into a spot of trouble? I wouldn't put it past you either way."
Lorenz straightened himself up, even more so than before, and smiled slightly, again, this time in a more wicked fashion. "No trouble… Actually, quite the contrary."
He put his hand on his waist and inconspicuously revealed the underside of his jacket, where a hidden pocket housed something long, thin, and dark brown. Albert's eyes widened in shock.
"You've got a wand again?" he asked, his slightly-accented voice rising slightly in excitement. Lorenz quieted him and with a subtle gesture, drew his eyes over to the table in the corner, where the men still sat and talked, oblivious to Lorenz and Albert.
"When did they come in?" Albert asked, his voice thick with contempt. Now that he was aware of their company, he seemed to have sunk into a sour mood. Lorenz shook his head, as if to say they should forget it. Albert, who seemed to catch on, nodded, and the two leaned in so as to talk in lower voices.
"Perhaps we should get to the point of this meeting. Although, before we do, may I ask you what happened to your leg?"
Avoiding Lorenz's eyes, Albert screwed up his face and whispered, "Damn batch of English Aurors I met on my travels a few weeks ago. Camping out, waiting for giants or werewolves, or whatever it was they were hoping to catch. They got me instead."
"You're getting old, Albert… I hate to sound grim, but those potions won't last for long."
Albert glared at Lorenz, and gave a small growl. "I've survived a century of war, in both your country, and my own, and I came out of those hundred years with no scratches to speak of. My luck was bound to run out someday, but if you think a missing leg will stop me from fighting, you should think again."
Lorenz nodded, but said nothing more. In a flash, he had pulled out a small piece of wrinkled parchment, and began to smooth it on the wooden bar, until it no longer had as many wrinkles and creases as before.
"In your note," he began, staring at the miniscule and neat writing on the yellowed paper. "You mentioned… carvings, randomly appearing around this area?"
Albert nodded solemnly. "This batch of woods, and the small town a mile or so down the road. The people in that town, they've been complaining about it. At first they thought it was the kids or something, but now it's starting to scare them a bit."
"And you've contacted me because of my connection with the Ministry of Magic…" Albert nodded again.
"Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, if I remember correctly?" Albert sniffed, as Lorenz gave him a testy sort of look.
"You do understand it's not the Swiss Ministry of Magic, don't you?"
Albert paused, uncertain how to proceed, but eventually settled with, "Yes, but I know England's Ministry of Magic involves itself often times with worldly affairs. And I wouldn't trust anyone more than Kingsley Shacklebolt—he makes a greater Minster than half those in the rest of Europe put together!"
As Lorenz still looked unconvinced, Albert barred his teeth and spoke once more. "These carvings, these marks… They represent something that's far larger than the German Ministry of Magic. It's far larger than anyone, really could handle." His voice was rising now—drawing the attention of the rest of the pub. Lorenz heard the voices from the corner suddenly ceased, but did not look over to check. Instead, he gave Albert a skeptical look, which was promptly returned by Albert with one of absolute seriousness.
"Lorenz, I believe you're familiar with the Dark Mark?"
Lorenz went quiet. For a moment, there was only the sound of murmured conversations from the others in the tavern, and the heavy breathing of Albert, who now wore a slight "I told you so" sort of smile, despite the fear in his eyes.
"Even if these markings were, Albert, related to the Dark Lord… He is dead. There is no threat to the Magic community at this point in time, by anyone. You know this. These carvings, as you say… If they do exist, they're probably a joke… A prank—"
"There is too much dark magic behind them to be a prank," said Albert gravely.
Lorenz gazed at him skeptically, but eventually nodded.
"Show me."
The two stood, Albert, with a bit of trouble, and Lorenz put a hand on his shoulder to balance him. Lorenz then snuck a glance at the corner of the room where the men were now staring at him with narrowed, contemptuous eyes.
"Are they looking at us?" muttered Albert, as the two headed for the door. Lorenz placed a few euros on the table to pay for the barely-touched drink, before following him.
He made a noise of discontent, and replied, "At me. Just keep moving."
But it did no good, for the moment they reached the door, a loud and commanding voice erupted from the back corner.
"Lorenz Kruger!"
A man, as tall and as gaunt as Lorenz, stood in front of the booth from which he had just stood. He smiled, but it was a sarcastic sort of smile, and Lorenz and Albert knew better than to take it well. All the other men from the corner stood slowly from the booth as well, obvious to back up the man who was their leader. The rest of the tavern now watched with alert eyes and ears, although many of the regular Swiss customers could not fully understand the English being spoken.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" The man spoke with a thick Germanic accent, and spat with nearly every word that came out of his mouth. His smile had widened to reveal a set of very crooked, and very pointed teeth. This man wasn't pleasant to look at, but then again, neither was Albert with his wooden leg, weathered face, and stringy gray hair.
"Julian," Lorenz replied stiffly, but said nothing more. Albert stood, his head held high, right beside him, but the thought of having such an experienced companion did little to ease the feeling of dread that came over Lorenz when he met the eyes of this Julian. It was true that they had met before, and it would be true to say that little good had come from that past meeting.
"Where was it, do you remember? The Black Forest? And you were with your Ministry friends?" Julian snickered and spat particularly hard at this, although if his goal was to make Lorenz flinch, he didn't succeed. Lorenz only gave him a blank stare, unmoving to Julian's taunts.
Although Julian looked rather old—he had gray hair and deep lines covering his face—he suddenly sprang forward, with the speed a man his age could never have accomplished. He stopped in front of Lorenz and raised his eyebrows, almost daring Lorenz to do something.
"I don't have time for your dramatics," said Lorenz, icily. "I'm here on…"—he paused—"Ministry business, and my time is very valuable, and very limited."
Julian chuckled. "Ironic, isn't it? That you'd be on good terms with the Ministry. If they only knew who you really are… You belong with us, Lor. You may be able to trick all the… others, but I know, as well as you, where your true loyalties lie."
Silence from everyone in the tavern followed this speech, and it was only broken by a dark chuckle and a smile from Lorenz. Julian smiled back, and beckoned his followers forward, apparently happy with the meeting. Albert and Lorenz parted to let them pass, but as Julian reached out to grab the handle to the door, he turned, and gave Lorenz one last, long look.
"I think you'll find that the time to take sides is near. Things are changing, Lorenz. Things beyond our control."
Something clicked in Lorenz's head, but before he could say another word, the men had exited outside and disappeared into the night, down the long country road. No sound was made in the entire tavern, as the Swiss residents, who had just come for a night of drinks, looked unsure of whether to stay or not after the trouble that had just been stirred up. It didn't help that the owner had disappeared shortly before this performance.
Albert glanced at Lorenz out of the corner of his eyes, and smiled. "Interesting meeting, that was."
Lorenz only shrugged his broad, thin shoulders, a frown spreading across his face. "Perhaps we should continue?"
Albert nodded curtly, and the two headed for the door again, this time making it outside without any more confrontations. It was still pitch black outside, and as the door to the tavern banged shut behind him, Lorenz removed something from his suit jacket and muttered a single word under his breath. A single point of light ignited, lighting up the woodsy area around them. They began to trudge forward, taking a different route than the one chosen by the others in the tavern. In the meanwhile, Lorenz began to speak.
"Sometimes I regret ever involving myself with that… type."
Another pause. Albert did not respond, and Lorenz seemed unsure of what to say. The simply looked up at the stars and marveled at their brightness on such a dark night; and yet, at the same time, they seemed so distant.
"And sometimes, I don't."
They didn't speak at all after that, and after several minutes of walking, Albert stopped Lorenz. On the side of the dirt road they had traveled down stood a small grove of odd-looking, and peculiarly-shaped trees. Their bark was dark in color, and their leafless branches twisted up into grotesque knots, barely reaching the heights of the regular trees around them.
Down the road from them, the lights of a village were visible, but neither paid attention to this. Their focus was entirely on the grove, which they both stared at with caution; it was rather obvious to both of the men, at this point, that these trees were far from ordinary.
"There are more in the town—on every surface you can think of. They're obviously done by wand; if they were done by knife, they'd be a lot cruder. This one is the first, I think… It doesn't look older but there's a feel to it."
Lorenz squinted into the small grove. A shape was engraved into one of the tree trunks, but it was hard to make it out. He stumbled a bit further, until he could see the thing up close.
He was silent as he studied the mark. No sounds came from that part of the woods—Lorenz quickly realized that the reason the trees looked odd and out of place from all the others was because this small patch was dead.
"What do you think?" asked Albert, although he sounded a bit more fearful now, as if the meaning of these carvings were suddenly fully dawning on him. And indeed, their meaning was grim, and it was obvious from not just the faces of those studying it, but from the atmosphere that surrounded it, and made up that little grove of ruined trees.
"What are you playing at?" Lorenz asked slowly, although there was a tone of foreboding in his voice. "This is not the Dark Mark."
Albert gave him a dark and low look. "I'm sorry. Perhaps I should have been clearer. I forgot that… it was not your time."
Lorenz gave him the usual blank stare, and Albert looked back at him with something that could almost be described as pity.
"This is not the most previous Dark Lord's mark, Lorenz. This is the other Mark, the Mark of the wizard who came first."
Lorenz's expression still revealed little, but Albert could tell Lorenz knew exactly what he was talking about. A gust of wind suddenly burst from the direction of the village, shaking the leaves of the trees around the grove, but the grove itself remained unwavering, as if it were protected by magic. And as Lorenz reached up to touch the eye-like triangular outline that had been carved into the bark of the middle tree, he could indeed feel something strong and powerful pulsing beneath it, despite the tree's dead appearance.
"This is the Other Mark," Albert repeated. The dull bit of light the two men had was starting to fade slowly, with Lorenz's lack of attention to it. But before it could disappear altogether, the carving glowed blue—or so it seemed to the men.
"This is the mark of the true Dark Lord. This is the mark of Gellert Grindelwald."