A.N. General disclaimer for all things copyright. I do not own the characters, setting, or lore utilized in the creation of this piece. My work is inspired by the creative thought of the original authors.
Introduction: The Calamity
She hated the rain.
It fell, endlessly, cleansing all things. It brought a frigid cold, a chill that cut through fabric and flesh, settling deep into the bones. It was a relentless force of nature, a power that not many could fully appreciate. The rain cut a swath through the city, washing away all things that did not belong.
The filth, the weak, and the forgotten.
She blinked and watched as the water railed against the window, carried aloft by powerful winds. The gusts howled through the city streets, as the dark mass of the storm loomed ominously. It came upon them suddenly, arriving from the east at the twilight hour, and had been unrelenting in its attempt to drown the city. It was late and hours after its arrival the storm was unabated in its downpour.
She hated the rain.
Turning, she left the thunder and rain, favoring her desk instead. Her office was spartan and ergonomic. Everything had its place. A set of shelves lined the walls, packed with dozens of large binders. A short filing cabinet sat against the far corner, its drawers ajar with various folders and case files. Her desk supported a plethora of mixed papers, a half filled "In/Out" tray, and a coffee mug that showed a quiet picture of the Thames. She sighed, a cloak of weariness falling heavily upon her. This case was complex, a series of falsehoods entangled with grains of questionable half-truths. The reports coming in were not helping. Every acolyte captured either provided nothing of valuable intelligence, or died during interrogation. The Ministry seemed at a loss of how to effectively combat this menace, and her own investigation was being hamstrung because of it.
A hand rose to her temples to soothe the pounding headache, just another cost in this underground war, as the other reached for the mug. The caffeinated beverage did little to roll back the pain. She had been at this for months, combing through dozens of leads and reports. The instigator of this conflict rose to prominence quickly, proclaiming cause of blood unity and bigotry with the force of a sledgehammer. Despite being little more than a terrorist, he has been meticulous about covering his tracks and ruthless in his ambition for dominance.
She turned her attention to a copy of last interrogation of a captured acolyte. She had no other moniker to describe them. They followed this madman with unparalleled zeal, their eyes manic with belief in their superiority. Any attempt to at forced coercion always resulted in the death of the acolyte, by way of their unique magical brand shared by all members.
The woman closed her eyes, willing back the pounding in her head and the heaviness of exhaustion. That damnable mark was the cause of more deaths than the Aurors themselves. It was a kill switch and mind control device all rolled into one. While under the mark, a person cannot release information deemed "protected", under any circumstance. If forced by magical means, then the mark forcibly separates the host's soul from their body, instantly killing them. Meanwhile, it performed a far more subtle task. She had studied it, done tests on some captives, with the discretion of the Ministry. It was insidious, playing on the desire to be accepted, to have purpose. It targeted loyalty, morals, self-worth; everything that could be twisted to make the bearer into little more than a servant.
It subtly subverted the will of the bearer, made them more accepting to the extreme and radical choices of the organization, of their master. It bent their soul, by imperceptible degrees, and eroded away the will of the servant to fight back, to choose a different path. To all but the strongest it resulted in an unknowing slave to the master's will.
Worse of her discoveries were the ones that she did not share with the Ministry, the ones that initially brought this whole event to her attention. This self styled Dark Lord was considered terrible, a being who knew no bounds and sought to burn the civilized world. In reality, he wanted to bring about radical change to the system, something different, something exclusive. He used his mark to ensure that those who survived would follow his design, his image of how everything should function. The mark was so unique, so subtle, that she barely would have seen it if not for her own training. It permeates the soul of the bearer, twisting it, degrading it. Over time it destabilizes the soul, strips away recognized emotions, and reduces it to something basic, so primal, that the bearer becomes little more than putty in the hands of the master.
Reports had suggested that those most heavily indoctrinated felt a calm serenity in the presence of their master, as it everything was right in the world, that nothing could possibly be wrong.
The Ministry condoned it as magic of the darkest degree.
She only half way agreed with their assessment.
That discovery triggered her investigation into the Dark Lord. If he really was the originator of the mark, then it raised a number of uncomfortable questions that needed answering.
She sighed and laid the report back in the jumbled pile. She was getting nowhere. Everyone had shut down on her. What contacts she had among the sympathizers of this death cult had disappeared. The Ministry was turning itself over with conspiracy and fear as the discovered how deep treachery ran. Even the Order had gone dark on her months ago, though she suspected that to be something of the old wizard's doing. She never really had a good handle on him, given his penchant for playing things close to the chest.
Even her contacts in the rest of Britain gave little. It did say something that the Ministry had subtly reached out to its non-magical counterpart to brief them on the civil war, but little else was known. This instigator, this Dark Lord, had no known identity, no alias he used to walk in public. He owned nothing, was no one, and appeared as a force to be reckoned with in the blink of an eye. He seemed to crawl out of a deep, dark crevice with the sole intent of discord. He was an enigma, an echo of darkness that desired control and power, and offered to promise of peace after too much bloodshed.
She shook her head. Those thoughts were not going to help. She needed to focus, to concentrate on what mattered. After a glance of her mug she came to one solemn conclusion
She needed more coffee.
Grabbing her mug, she left her office for the adjacent waiting room. She operated out of a two room office space. The main office room was hers to work with, while a reception area functioned as a waiting room for clients. A couch lay against a wall, a three seated thing that cost more than it should. A small table sat nearby with outdated magazines. A desk was positioned next to the corridor to her office. It had a similar set up to her own, with the exception of a phone, a couple of framed photos, and the saving grace of her night.
The coffee maker.
She smiled, once again thankful to find an assistant with some taste in hot beverages.
A few minutes, and one full mug, later she found herself sitting on the couch, reflecting on the day. The weather had turned foul this late into Fall, forcing her to dress warmer. She wore a plain dark green sweater with a navy blue long sleeved top. A simple pair of jeans rounded off with a pair of functional, form fitting boots. Her hair, usually down and lose around her shoulders, was pulled back into a simple braid. She had received quite a comment over it, being a unique snow white despite her age, but nobody ever questioned it to much. Subverting conversations was something she was decent enough at, especially for her profession.
A frown crossed her face and she shook her head, pale eyes closing as she forced thoughts of work away. She needed to just relax. Just five minutes and she could worry about it all. Just a small break.
Maybe that really was too much to ask for.
Suddenly a loud click rang out across the room, followed by the front door being shoved open. A figure quickly stumbled in, leaning on the door as she wrestled with her key, dripping from the storm. The woman looked in a panic, eyes wide from some unknown fear.
The investigator looked on from her couch, an eyebrow raised. Her young assistant presented a curious sight. She was shorter by a few inches, but made up for it with a fiery temper. Her short midnight hair was plastered against her skin, evidence of her time in the torrent overtaking the city. She wore a gray wool coat over a ruby sweater, a gold locket hanging from her neck. A pair of faded jeans supported a simple belt with a slender holster attached. Finally, she wore a pair of converse sneakers, which had become drenched from the downpour.
The woman freed her key from the infernal lock, silently cursing her stupidity for not just popping the mechanism with her wand. She turned, catching sight of her friend, and exclaimed, "Aurelia!"
Said woman raised her brow higher, quietly sipping her drink.
The shorter woman quickly pulled her coat off, haphazardly tossing it to a nearby coat rack, and reached for the holster. She withdrew a curious piece of wood, roughly a foot long, ornately shaped with a simple handle at one end. A single, casual wave toward her clothes and the water disappeared, the fabric spontaneously drying.
Aurelia frowned. She never agreed with the using of magic for small things. It was too potent a force to wantonly use for simple activities. She gave a short sigh before asking, "What has you so worried, Anna? Did something happen at the party?" It was Halloween, a day of superstition and mysticism. The magical community treated it with the enthusiasm of a second Christmas.
Anna nodded, holstering her wand, and moved for her own coffee mug. "Something happened." she said, as she poured her own cup, "I was at Hogsmeade, visiting friends for the holiday, when a story started going around."
Aurelia gave her a dry look. "A story?"
"Yes, an important one started by the grounds keeper of the school. Do you remember the Potters?"
The name rang a bell. She had met them briefly at one of the few Order meeting that she had been invited too. The were polite and courteous, denounced the blood purity supporters, and did what they could against the rising threat of the Dark Lord. The husband was a well-known wizard of some pedigree, while the wife was born to a non-magical family and did not discover her hidden potential until later in life. Aurelia had conversed with her on the subject of magic in everyday living, and they shared a common irritation at its pervasive use.
"It has been many months but yes, I remember them."
Anna took a breath, held it, and slowly released. She didn't really know how to get all this out, but she had too. She started, her voice a little shaken, "Something was going on that we did not know of. Something involving the Potters. I think its why the Order went dark on us. You operate on the fringe, and the Order didn't want something getting out."
Aurelia furrowed her brow. She expected as much, but she did not know where her assistant was going with this. "Anna, what happened?"
The younger woman shook her head, took a breath, and spoke, "They're dead."
The investigator blinked.
"Excuse me?"
The assistant continued, "Something happened. They were sought out, tracked down to their home, and attacked. The Potters were killed but brought their assailant down with them."
Aurelia grimaced. It seemed that family had attracted the wrong kind of attention in their dealings with the Order. It was a shame that they were gone, but it did not explain Anna's frantic entrance. "Do we have an I.D on the attacker?"
Brown eyes sought her pale orbs, worry and a bit of fear dancing within. The crux of the matter had been brought up.
Anna steadied a breath, gripping her mug like a life line, and whispered out a single word.
"Him."
Aurelia felt herself stop breathing. Her assistant did not have the courage to call the Dark Lord by his true name, but it was all the same. The Potters had obtained the dubious and lethal attention of the darkest magic user in the country, a man who Aurelia was beginning to suspect knew far more than he ever should about the nature of such power. Her assistant was right. The Order would never have been able to hide whatever had dragged that monster's attention to the Potters. She would have found out, would have moved to interfere, but it would have been on behalf of the small family.
Wait. The wife, Lily, she had mentioned a son when they had last spoke. He had been the source of some conversation.
"Were there any survivors?" In war people died, but that did not mean that a child had to suffer so.
Anna paused, taking a drink of the beverage. "Yes," she said, "the Potters had an infant son that survived."
Aurelia felt a small bit of relief, and regret. The child lived, but was now an orphan. A sad fate.
"They say that it was the child that defeated Him."
The investigator blinked. That was not possible, should not be possible. The thought of the Dark Lord being gone was troubling enough. She had theories about him, about the extent of his abilities. She did not believe that Death would claim him as easily as it would others.
With a start she realized a very important detail in this story. Anna had heard this from the grounds keeper of the school, a large man with an equally loud mouth.
Within hours all of magical Britain was going to know of the event.
"Where is the child now." She stood, quickly making her way to the office. Time was ticking away. Time they did not have.
Anna was startled by the other woman's actions, and stood to follow. "I don't know. Hagrid didn't say, only that he was the only survivor in the attack."
Which likely meant that the half-giant already absconded with the boy, who was now almost certainly in the hands of the old wizard. She silently cursed. She was never getting to the young Potter then. He would certainly keep her away, use his own influence to muddle her contacts. The child would disappear off the map entirely, whether she liked it or not.
To much had already happened. To many events already catalyzed. She was playing catch up in a game that had already ended.
"What are you doing?"
Aurelia blinked as she shuffled through papers. The child had survived an attack from the Dark Lord, a creature that was known for terrible power and magic. Something happened, she was sure of it. Something that should not have. An infant does not just obliterate a being of that potency. She had already lost the child, but she would have the rest.
Anna looked on worriedly as her friend rifled through the various papers. Each one offered only a momentary glance before being thrown to the floor, forgotten. She was animated, engrossed in her search. The younger woman didn't know what to do. She was at a loss now that He had been defeated. All the work and effort put into her employer's investigation would be for naught.
At the thought a paper was roughly shoved into her hands, the culprit quickly move past her, coat in hand. "Call this individual and tell him its on my behalf. Find out everything you can on the Potters' assets. Where they lived, what they owned. The mother had numerous non-magical connections. I want to know where this event took place, the site of the murders."
The assistant blinked before turning to follow, her mind a flurry with the order she had just received. She turned, following the rushing woman. "Wait what's going on!?"
Aurelia finished shrugging her coat on as she reached the front door. She turned, noting the wide eyes and flustered appearance of her assistant, and spoke, "Time is not on our side here. We need to move swiftly if this investigation is to survive. It will not be long before the public learns of the Dark Lord's demise which will only complicate things. Even if he is gone the basis of the investigation still remains."
Anna nodded. She understood, in theory, the ramifications of what He knew. Her time at Hogwarts had taught her that knowledge was a powerful tool. It was pervasive and spread like a pox. If He had an apprentice to carry on His work, or some form of record of what he accomplished, then the magical world may be plagued with this darkness for years to come.
The white haired woman continued, motioning to the paper, "Use that information. Find out where the attack took place and investigate it. By morning the site will be buried in red tape and Aurors. Use the cover of night and find out what you can." She finished and turned to the door.
The young woman nodded, accepting the mission as it were. She asked as the other opened the door to leave, "What about you? Where are you going?"
Aurelia paused, considering her answer. She frowned as she replied, "To Hogwarts."