Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am only writing this story for the enjoyment of the readers and myself.
A/N: I promise not to do too many of these long notes. I never liked scrolling halfway down a chapter just to read it. Canon Harry Potter has been thrown out the window for the most part. This will be a Harry/Fleur story, but may not focus too much on their relationship. I have not decided yet. Harry was born in July, 1976 and Voldemort in December, 1932 (he is a bit younger than in the books). Harry will be insanely powerful and cunning, but so will Voldemort. I just hope my ideas are somewhat original. As a side note, the magical world is MUCH bigger than in J.K. Rowling's world. In the 1970s Britain's population was around 55,000,000 or so. I am thinking Magical Britain alone should have somewhere closer to 500,000 witches and wizards in it. This would still be less than 1% of the entire population If you see things you recognize I have probably read that story, but I will never intentionally steal an idea without asking for permission to use it. With that said, enjoy!
Harry Potter and the Vizard of the D'yavol
Prologue: The Vizard of D'yavol
It was a series of unfortunate events that had led Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore to walk the path he currently trod through the inhospitable Siberian Mountains. He had spent years deliberating his actions since that fateful night on October 31, 1977. He had made mistake after mistake over the past two decades. Some were small, but most were significant. Since he was a person who held many important positions within not only Wizarding Britain, but the Wizarding World as a whole, his mistakes tended to have far further reaching consequences than the average witch or wizard.
The failures he deemed most tragic and devastating to the world as a whole centered around two people: Tom Marvolo Riddle and Harry James Potter. Both wizards had been dealt a poor hand by fate and had changed the culture and state of the whole of Magical Britain, one for the worse and one for the better. Or so most believed. Some good and much bad had come from both. The difference lied in the timeline.
Tom Riddle, also known under the pseudonym "Lord Voldemort", had almost immediately caused Magical Britain to suffer a decline not seen since the days of Gellert Grindelwald during muggle World War II. Riddle had grown up in an orphanage during the blitz of London. This, along with his treatment by the other orphans and orphanage staff, had likely shaped his vision of muggles into being brutish, violent creatures that were only capable of causing suffering to all who crossed their path. Yes, Dumbledore had studied Riddle's past as meticulously as he possibly could. One must know their enemy, after all.
The boy had always known he was special. He had an uncanny ability to shape and use the large amount of magic inside of him as well as the limited amount around him. It had taken him years to learn how to properly control his wild magic. When he finally did he launched a stealthy campaign of assaults and torture against his tormenters. The staff and other children feared him, but they could never prove he was involved, and he took enjoyment from their pain and fear. As an orphan he was well adapted to live and attack from the shadows, just outside of a person's perception.
Albus remembered well teaching the boy of the magical world around him the summer before his twelfth birthday in July of 1943. The boy had not been impressed with simple uses of magic such as the levitation charm or the summoning charm. In fact, Tom had shown him that he could also use those charms without a wand or incantation. The boy had seemed charming, but that veneer slipped the moment Dumbledore had shown him more powerful magic. He had seen the desire and lust for power the boy possessed. He had heard the rumors surrounding the boy in the orphanage.
Try as he might over the course of the next seven years, he could not dissuade Tom from his path toward darkness. He had failed, but he had tried so hard. Albus had kept watch on him as much as he could without being the headmaster at the time, but the boy had been cunning and slippery. By the end of Riddle's third year he had gained a following within all four houses. His natural grace, charm, and power had aided him much with that.
Dumbledore had tried to speak with Tom on several occasions, but he had never gotten through to him. He had failed each time. By Riddle's fifth year he had opened the Chamber of Secrets and gained not only a basilisk, but a horde of dark knowledge left by Salazar Slytherin for his heir. Ten students, all muggleborn, had died that year and Tom had left the blame at Rubeus Hagrid's feet when the school governors had threatened to shut Hogwarts down. Albus could still see Hagrid's tear streaked face as he looked upon the mutilated corpse of his dear friend Aragog. Headmaster Dippet, who had a soft spot for Tom, readily agreed that Aragog had been the cause of the deaths of the students even though there was no proof of poison in the three bodies that had been recovered. Albus could not blame the man for his choice, though. If he had not agreed with Riddle then the school would have been closed indefinitely.
The man who would soon be known as Voldemort quietly built a power base over the next two school years. He went on to be the Head Boy and was much loved by the student body. Few saw him for who he actually was.
After Tom graduated in 1950 with top marks and setting many N.E.W.T. records he surprised all who knew him by taking a job under Caractacus Burke of Borgin and Burkes'. He could have had nearly any job his heart desired. Instead he had taken a menial job and spent those years learning more of dark artefacts whose knowledge was not available at Hogwarts. He had long since discovered his blood family, and Albus suspected their deaths were by his hand. Burke had little useful information on Riddle. The trail nearly went cold with the death of that man in early 1954. His distant cousin of the relatively unknown House of Borgin took over the store after his death.
The rest of Riddle's history until his reemergence in Britain in 1971 was virtually unknown. Albus had scoured news reports from around the world to even catch hints of Tom's whereabouts. The Ministry had listed him dead by 1961. Albus suspected that Voldemort, as he was later known, was the cause behind the overthrowing of many dark lords throughout the American and European continents. He had likely used the various dark lords to expand his knowledge of the dark arts before ultimately killing them in combat. Tom had used these dark lords to also amass a large number of international dark wizards under his cause. They had laid in wait until he decided to take Britain. Those who had not joined his cause had surely been killed. Lord Voldemort left no witnesses to his history.
Voldemort took Britain by storm. He had started by using his band of fighters, who he dubbed Death Eaters, to kill and maim muggles to build his force's confidence. Though he had large numbers he always operated using simultaneous guerilla strikes with small teams. This continued for only a year. His next target was muggleborns. Many were slaughtered. The Ministry was not prepared for the backlash from both the magical and muggle communities. Minister Bagnold had not been prepared to be a wartime minister.
Attacks became more common in an attempt to distract the muggle and magical governments over the next two years. By January of 1974 Voldemort had fully integrated his most cunning and powerful followers in both camps. Two weeks later most important government officials, including both muggle and magical ministers, had been killed. Both governments were in complete disarray. This was when Tom had decided to wage all-out war against both governments. He'd amassed well over one hundred thousand followers by that time. His time abroad had bore much fruit.
Muggles were either slaughtered or sold to fund his war effort. The muggle military could not retaliate as they could not see wizarding areas and Tom's forces always cast powerful muggle repelling wards around any area they attacked. Those inside were affected, but could not overcome their confusion before being taken or killed. Muggle government officials and military leaders were continuously killed to further disorganize their attempts to retaliate.
Magicals fared better, but that was only because Voldemort's forces could only fight using surgical strikes against Magical Britain. Most of his efforts were spent slowly killing the much larger muggle population. He had learned that the new Minister of Magic had been trying to ally with the muggles to fight him. This went against the wishes of the International Confederation of Wizards who were worried about the already nearly failing Statute of Secrecy.
The war was waged, and the side of light was losing badly. Hundreds of old and new families alike, regardless of if they were muggleborn, half-blood, or full-blood "blood traitors", had been completely wiped out. Even though Magical Britain had suffered at the hands of World War II it had hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards. It had been thinned to just over one hundred thousand by March of 1976.
Dumbledore was given a prophecy in mid-March of 1976 that prophesied that one who could destroy the Dark Lord would be born at the end of July. It was foretold that his parents had defied the Dark Lord three times. This applied to two families who were with child at the time: the Potters and the Longbottoms. Unfortunately, a follower of Voldemort had been listening in at the time and reported part of the prophecy to his master.
This was ultimately the reason behind the Dark Lord's first downfall. While his followers slaughtered the last of the Longbottoms the Dark Lord Voldemort turned his attention to the Potters. The attack was over in less than five minutes, much of their house in Godric's Hollow destroyed. The Potters' own friend had betrayed them to Voldemort.
Albus had been on the scene just minutes after the attack. He may have arrived in time to save the family had he not been attending an emergency Wizengamot meeting that evening. He had fought Voldemort to a draw on several occasions. Voldemort was more powerful than Albus, but the Elder Wand more than evened his odds against the dark wizard.
Very little was left to aid Dumbledore's investigation of Potter Cottage. James he found dead in the sitting room a few yards from the staircase. Lily he found dead beside Harry's crib next to Voldemort's still smoldering robes. Albus knew that without a body to be found that the Dark Lord was likely somehow still alive, but he had never solved that mystery. What was worrisome was the fact that young Harry was completely missing from the home.
Albus had frantically checked in with every person who knew the Potters. None of them had seen Harry. A nationwide search had been initiated for the infant, but it was only carried out half-heartedly. Magical Britain was too busy dealing with the aftermath of the First Blood War to search for its hero. The Ministry claimed him as being dead two years later and the search was called off. He had failed Harry Potter.
Britain had enjoyed its time of relative peace. Minister Bryce had been elected as Minister of Magic after Bagnold's death and had used the six remaining years of his term to round up as many Death Eaters as he could. Tens of thousands of lives had been extinguished by use of the Veil of Death. In 1982 Minister Bryce stepped down as minister to enjoy his remaining few years of life with his family.
Minister Fudge took his place. The public had expected him to continue the Ministry's hunt for Death Eaters, but the man instead took bribes and let many escape justice. Because there had been no attacks against innocents for the past two years the public largely did not care. Most of Voldemort's followers had fled Britain by then anyway. The ones who remained after Fudge's election were either sent to Azkaban or came out of hiding and bribed their way to freedom.
However, Britain once again saw war on their footstep in December of 1992. Riddle had somehow taken possession of Ginerva Weasley and stripped away her soul and magic in a dark ritual to resurrect himself. Albus was unsure of the details, but Severus Snape, his longtime spy within Voldemort's ranks, ensured him that the Dark Lord had used several witches along with Ginerva in order to return.
What Voldemort had lost in his followers' numbers was more than made up for by their cunning, skill, and tenacity. His war over the next two years was not as brutal at the first, but he did not fight the Second Blood War on two fronts. He focused entirely on Magical Britain.
By June of 1993 he had completely infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. His forces fought from the shadows. Their most common tactic was to use the Imperius Curse to turn friend against friend and brother against brother. Families were once again disappearing left and right, mostly muggleborn families, but Fudge refused to believe Voldemort was back. Magical Britain was on the brink of a civil war, and Fudge's place in office hung by a thread. The only safe haven left had been Hogwarts.
Students were forced to live there year around in order to better protect them. Once they graduated they were conscripted to fight against "Pettigrew's Militia", as Minister Fudge called them. The Ministry had even changed the Hogwarts curriculum to focus on nothing but offensive and defensive magic. Parents were none too pleased, but Fudge had to be seen as doing something.
Magical Britain was on the brink of destruction from within when all attacks ceased in June of 1994. Trelawney had made another prediction. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on a person's view of such things, she had delivered the prophecy in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron during peak business hours. The prophecy was printed in full in the next morning in the Daily Prophet.
Albus thought over the words for what seemed like the hundredth time that day as he trudged through waist high snow on a mountain ridge.
Britain's Son shall be returned by the fall of the Seventh Month
Lands afar will he have travelled and learned
His power shall be unrivaled by all but one
Through hardship and pain he prevailed
The D'yavol was his teacher
He will be the Dark Lord's equal
The Vizard of the D'yavol will force the Dark Lord to kneel before him
Or the Dark Lord shall make the Vizard dust beneath his feet
Britain's Son shall be returned by the fall of the Seventh Month
Minister Fudge had been sacked the next day and was replaced by Amelia Bones, the previous head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Voldemort had stopped his plans to ponder this latest prophecy. Thankfully, this had given Albus enough time to attempt to find out more about this "Vizard of D'yavol". It had taken some weeks to find any information regarding the prophecy. His first clue had been the Russian word D'yavol. It translated to "Devil". His second clue, besides being Britain's Son, was the word Vizard. It was a mid-sixteenth century word that later changed to mask or disguise. He was hiding or was hidden from the world. Albus highly doubted the Devil had actually trained "Britain's Son", so it must have been the name of an institution of some kind. The esteemed headmaster hoped he would find Harry at this D'Yavol, but he doubted he would.
Albus had first searched every archaic book he could find for any mention of a place called D'yavol, but it had been fruitless. There was no mention of any D'yavol beyond ancient Russian wizards attempting to find parallels between magic and the Bible. It was not until he ventured into the seediest parts of the international wizarding society that he heard whispers of a place called "The D'yavol". The men whom he had overheard had instantly died the moment the words left their lips.
He had been given two choices as dozens of wands turned toward him: Die or take a very specific oath. He had of course taken the oath after he had found out as much as he could about The D'yavol. He could speak of it with no living person who did not know the code phrase except in very specific situations. The wizards around him had freely answered his questions since he would either die or never speak of it with someone who either did not know or had actual need of the place's services. Even then he had to speak to a counsel who had to approve of the person who had need of The D'yavol. His trip to the hidden magical part of the Vatican had been interesting, indeed.
His trip to the Counsel of D'yavol had not been nearly as interesting. Once they had heard the prophecy they had approved of his trip to The D'yavol.
Dumbledore shivered as he crossed yet another set of powerful, archaic wards. He could see the colors, but paid them no mind as he had no hope of deciphering what they would do to unwelcome visitors. His mind instead turned to The D'yavol.
It was, simply put, an institution which trained the world's most skilled and deadly assassins using archaic magic, modern magic, muggle weaponry, and hand-to-hand combat. They were said to be unstoppable killing machines with no semblance of humanity left in them. Hence, The D'yavol. Assassins of D'yavol did not discriminate based on being muggle or magical. For the right price they would kill anyone asked of them, but they still only took on clients who truly needed their services. This resulted in them only going after high profile targets. It was a wonder that Voldemort had never heard of them.
Dumbledore's last thought before blackness consumed his world was his wonder at who the prophesied one would be and if he had correctly interpreted the wording of the prophecy.
"Welcome, Master Dumbledore, to The D'yavol."
Headmaster Dumbledore's eyes slowly came into sharp focus and immediately took stock of the situation he found himself in. He was sitting in a plain wooden chair that was located a small room made of obsidian stone with no decoration to speak of. The only source of light came from torches which were meticulously placed along the wall in obsidian sconces.
Across from him were two men, also seated in plain wooden chairs, which looked to be in their mid-fifties and were dressed in blood red robes. The robes seemed lighter than standard wizarding attire and completely hid what was underneath them. These were battle robes. They allowed far greater freedom of movement than standard robes.
"My brother, Alexei, and I apologize for our most rude greeting, Master Dumbledore," the man on the left said with a feral grin. Albus knew the men held no sympathy within their words, despite them being said believably. Alexei pulled the Elder Wand from inside his robes and held it pointed up. "My name is Vadim. I am sure you can understand our caution in your being here even though your arrival was announced to us many days ago. One can never be too cautious in our…profession."
Albus knew he was in a precarious situation. He knew he would not leave with his wand unless he was allowed to leave peacefully. Even then that was a stretch. He knew his next request would likely get shot down, as well. He was in no position to request anything. "May I perchance have your surname since you seem to know my own? It would be rather presumptuous, and not to mention, rude of me to call you by your given names."
Both men laughed deeply at him. They were completely at ease. There were other people in this room that Albus could not see. His eyes darted around quickly to see if he could see signs of any other people.
"I see you have figured out that we are not alone," Vadim continued. The feral smirk never left his face. He completely ignored Albus' inquiry. "You are as sharp as your reputation had us believe. I am interested though…in how you came across the legendary Deathstick? Yes, I know what this is. Tit for tat, as our American brethren would say, Master Dumbledore."
Albus sucked in a breath. He was in a most precarious situation. He saw few ways he would leave here alive.
"Worry not, Master Dumbledore." Alexei had finally spoken. It was odd that neither man had a Russian accent. They had no accent whatsoever. "You will receive everything you arrived with when you leave The D'yavol so long as you are peaceful and cooperative throughout your stay. Assassins we may be, but we are also men with a strong code of honor."
"I won the wand from Gellert Grindelwald in a duel in 1944," Dumbledore replied. He saw little other choice than to play along with these men.
"Very well, Master Dumbledore. Tit for tat." Alexei had a warm smile on his face, but the older man had his doubts about its sincerity. "We had heard rumors of Gellert Grindelwald's wand and of course your eventual victory over him. To answer your questions, we have no surname. We had no given names until ten years ago."
"Let us get to the point, Master Dumbledore," Vadim cut in. He looked to have already lost his patience. "My brother and I know why you are here. We have heard of your prophecy. You hope to find the one who is to defeat Tom Riddle here. My question is what do you think you have to offer us in return?"
This question forced Dumbledore to think on what he truly had to give them. He could not hope for kindness for kindness sake. Such was not their kind. These men were assassins. There was little to no kindness in them. But what could they want? Surely these men had all the gold they could desire. What did he have? The Elder Wand? No, they did not seem too interested in it. They likely knew the troubles the fabled wand could bring them, and they preferred to stay a relative unknown.
His family had few heirlooms to give. Perhaps he could convince Sirius to part with some of his family heirlooms. The Lord Black had little attachment to his family's precious treasures. These men likely had little use for such things, however. He could not give away Hogwarts… Wait… Surely not!
"You want more people!" Dumbledore was aghast. He saw the desire in their eyes. That was the true resource of a place such as this. "How can you possibly expect me to do, or even provide, such a thing?!"
"You are a smart wizard, Master Dumbledore." Vadim's face shifted into a mien of complete neutrality. "We run a business that offers many services, Master Dumbledore. Most witches or wizards who come through our hallowed doors merely wish to rent our services for a small time. We all know that is not what you are here for. For such services we would merely require gold, sometimes blood. We all know, however, this would not suit your purposes. We merely propose bodies for a body, blood for blood you see. We assure you that even our least powerful member is worth a large number of normal witches and wizards. Nobody has sought to buy one of our own for many years because they either felt the price was too steep or they had no way to pay us. But we know you are a well-connected man, Master Dumbledore. What is your answer?"
Albus could hardly believe he was even contemplating this course of action. It was deplorable. "Your price is high, Masters Vadim and Alexei. Before I agree I would first see your most capable fighter. It would do little good for me to have anything but the best."
Alexei turned to Vadim. "Do you suppose we should show him number 01A770357?"
"I believe that would be the best, Brother," Vadim replied smoothly before turning back to Dumbledore. "We will show you our best assassin, Master Dumbledore. Be aware, however, that even here the Vizard of D'yavol is considered to be a very special specimen, a wizard amongst children. If you would please follow us."
As the three men stood as one Alexei looked to no place in particular and gave a singular, nearly imperceptible nod of his head. These men were in absolute control. As they walked out the door, Albus found himself standing in a hallway which was also constructed completely from obsidian. Were it not for the torches placed strategically along the hall he would not have noticed the faint outline of doors every twenty feet or so. He could feel the magic in this area. It was oppressive, powerful. Death stained the magic of this place.
As they continued to walk in silence, Albus was able to pick out a few hallways that branched from the path they were taking. It seemed this place was even more of a maze than Hogwarts. Everything looked exactly the same. The D'yavol was built to confuse both its enemies and any new recruits who found themselves here past the ward line.
"We have a few minutes before we reach our destination, Master Dumbledore," Alexei said calmly while staring straight ahead of him. "Despite how distasteful I know you find us, I know you must have some questions for us."
"Since I may not speak of it with just anybody because of my oath," Dumbledore easily replied, "Perhaps you could tell me a bit about your…institution's history and how it is organized."
"That would be most agreeable." Alexei gave a small smile at the simple query, though he never shifted his gaze to Dumbledore. "The D'yavol was first constructed in 1422 B.C. by our forefathers. Many would call it a family business, but that would not be exactly true. The D'yavol has always been an institute for magical assassins. It was easy to find recruits in those days. You know as well as I the hatred muggles harbored for magicals."
Dumbledore nodded, though he felt no actual need to. His attention was partially on the subtle shifts in the magic around him. He knew them to be assassins following his every move, but he still had no idea as to where they actually were.
"Our assassins seem to even have fuddled even your legendary ability to sense ambient magic," Vadim said smugly. "I shall have to commend them tonight when we break bread. To continue where my brother left of, The D'yavol is a kind of family business. However, the succession of ownership is not exactly familial. Every head, or in this case heads, of the D'yavol were once recruits just like any other. We were the very best. Once recruits become full members of the D'yavol they are part of a family, a violent family to be sure, but family nonetheless."
"Once the current heads, or masters, see an assassin with the potential to be the next master, they more or less adopt them as their son or daughter." Alexei had a calculating look on his face. Albus felt that he was about to witness their 'son' in action. "The masters then train their son in the art and science of being a master of the D'yavol until they reach the age of ninety. At that time their son can challenge them to a duel to the death for the right to rule."
"This is the way it has been for as long as we have recorded the history of the D'yavol," Vadim continued as he almost negligently took a turn down another seemingly endless hallway. "Influence from the outside has been kept at a minimum since the institution's inception. We take small children, orphans usually, who have large amounts of magical power to become our assassins. We also breed our own to ensure we can continue in the event we cannot find many orphans. Many die from our training, but that is our way. Only the strongest survive being assassins."
Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly at the implications. How many had been stolen? "Why would you do such a thing?"
Alexei smiled, though Dumbledore's question could have easily been perceived as an insult. "Do not thing too ill of us, Master Dumbledore. How else are we to continue? Our assassins have shaped the world into what it is today." Alexei continued as if they had never been interrupted. "The wards have kept us safe for many centuries. We teach our recruits many things here which are not limited to the use of arcane magicks and muggle weaponry. We do not only make assassins here. Each recruit, when they come of age at fifteen, is evaluated for any open positions within our ranks."
"Of course we have assassins," Vadim picked up where his brother left off, "But we also have spies, researchers, healers, guards, scouts, and of course instructors. However, the bulk of our forces are made up of assassins. Each recruit, if found worthy of fully joining us, is given a number instead of a name. They may have an alias if they are deemed worthy, but that is rarely given. The first two numbers are the member's rank within their Division, the highest being 01 and the lowest being 20. All other use two letters of the alphabet and are considered unranked for all intents and purposes. Number one is the leader of their Division.
"Number 02 is given to the First Regimental Commander of each Division's most elite members. Each Regiment is composed of twenty members. The letter in their name denotes which Division they belong to, Alpha being the most prestigious and its leader leads all Divisions as well as their own. Upsilon is the last Division at the moment. At higher numbers we will create more Divisions.
"The next two letters are the year they were taken to be recruits of the D'yavol. The last four numbers denote the amount of confirmed kills and successful missions they have had. Names change constantly, but the members never choose their places. We, along with the instructors, choose which position they occupy. The only exception is when a named individual with the first two numbers being 02-20 challenge any of the other 01-20 for a right to lead. These are duels to the death. The rest of the duels are merely to incapacitation, but they are still allowed to mutilate their opponents."
The trio walked in silence for a few more moments before Vadim spoke up once again. "This is as much as we care to tell you, Master Dumbledore. Even should you choose to purchase one of our assassins they will be able to tell you no more than this. Number 01A770357, also known as The Vizard of D'yavol, has been the leader of Alpha Division since his fifteenth winter. He has never been defeated and has failed no mission. He is our prize, and as you must have guessed, our intended son. He will cost you much if you wish to have him. We are not so willing to part with him. We have arrived."
Albus Dumbledore took in the rather large courtyard he stood in. It was devoid of any natural life beyond the assassins which stood silent vigil. The ground was only a large flat patch of dirt covered mostly in a thin line of snow. Two young men stood in front of all the gathered Divisions facing one another. One had his wand out and looked confident in his posture while the other merely stood as if completely uninterested in the happenings around him. Both wore matte black robes designed similarly to the Masters' own robes. The only difference was the hood which was pulled over their head and completely hid their countenance from view. The only thing adorning their robes were their names stitched in dull grey thread with below the Greek letter that designated their Division. The one who stood in disinterest had blood red piping around his hood and the ends of his sleeves. He was the only one who stood out at all.
"Assassins of The D'yavol!" Vadim's voice was amplified as he spoke to the assembled witches and wizards. All of them had their faces hidden by their hoods. None of them dared to move or even make so much as a sound. They were well disciplined. "We are assembled this day to witness another challenge for the leadership of Alpha Division. Number 02A690422 has challenged 01A770357 to a duel to the death. As is custom, the leader of Alpha Division cannot issue a challenge, but must accept any given to him. Let us see who is fit to command the elite Division of our fine institution! BEGIN!"
Dumbledore watched in confusion as neither opponent made a move to begin. The only sign that either had heard the start of the duel was from the Alpha Division Commander. Albus could barely make out a glow that seemed to resonate from certain points on the Commander's skin from beneath his cloak.
The First Regimental Commander took this as his sign to begin. His opening salvo should not have shocked Albus, but it still did. The challenger fired a killing curse bracketed on all sides by an organ liquefying curse with two bluish-black spells he could not identify quickly following behind the others. The speed at which the spells were cast were terrifying. He could cast faster than even Albus, himself!
The defending Commander made no move to dodge or shield himself in any way. He merely stood with his arms held loosely at his side as if he were bored. The glowing effect that seemed to come from his skin brightening slightly was the only sign that he would react at all. Albus watched as time seemed to slow down in front of him. The spells were a mere meter away from the defender and he had not moved.
Albus opened his mouth to yell to the defender in warning, but was immediately quieted when the deadly magics merely passed through him. There was no waver that would indicate an illusion, nor was there any smoke that would signify that he had broken himself apart at the atomic level as Voldemort was fond of doing. That should be impossible! What magic was this?!
"You will find, Master Dumbledore," Alexei said, smiling warmly, "That The Vizard of D'yavol is capable of things even we thought impossible. Both is command over magic and his immeasurable power is so complete that it is impossible for him to use a wand in the traditional sense. He has burnt out every wand he ever attempted to use even when casting something as simple as the Lumos spell."
Albus, openly gaping at this point, turned his attention back to the battle. The challenging Commander was still attempting to curse his opponent while using deadly transfiguration spells that even Albus had difficulty controlling. The challenger's movements betrayed his frustration at his lack of ability to harm his target. Every spell and physical object merely passed straight through the Alpha Division Commander.
A slight pause in the battle caused the Hogwarts Headmaster to remember to breathe once more. The defender's head tilted slightly as his attacker began what seemed to be a long incantation, but still made no move to defend himself. Albus could only wonder if it was curiosity or insanity that caused the man to behave this way.
The incantation lasted nearly ten seconds. Surely the defender could have struck down the man across from him in his seemingly defenseless state. Suddenly the attacker disappeared. Albus quickly looked around to try to identify the shimmering outline of a disillusioned wizard. He found none, but what was more surprising was that the attacker had completely disappeared from all of his senses. Even his ability to easily see and sense magic could not help him find the invisible man.
Albus Dumbledore, Leader of the Light, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W. was surprised by the magical ability that was being shown in the duel. He could not comprehend what was taking place before him. He, a man who had devoted his life to studying the little known magics of the world and the seemingly arcane, was at a loss. He, who was regarded as the most powerful wizard in the world, felt increasingly insignificant in the courtyard of The D'yavol. Surely, one of these two men were the prophesied Son of Britain. Had fate finally smiled upon him after one hundred thirteen years of life and hardship?
The powerful wizard turned his gaze back to the defender after a few seconds of vain search for the attacker. He was surprised, yet again, to see that the Alpha Division Commander had yet to move. He was not looking for the other wizard at all!
Silence permeated the courtyard. It was thick and seemed as if it would never be broken. The witches and wizards formed up in their various companies and divisions never stopped staring straight ahead in what seemed to be a morbid vigil for the dead. After several dozen seconds of uncomfortable silence an impermeable fog quickly settled over the battlefield. Albus switched to his Mage Sight that would allow him to see the various magical signatures within the fog. There was nothing!
Suddenly, the only sound heard was a wet squelch and a long, garbled moan that broke through the oppressive fog. As the fog slowly evaporated Albus nearly lost the meager contents of his stomach at the sight before him. The defender's back had been run entirely through by a large spike of stone protruding from the ground. His shredded innards and blood coated the ground in front of him and his slumped form ensured that they were the last sight he would ever see.
Not a sound was made as the Alpha Division Commander calmly walked over to his victim. The man seemed to bow his head as if in prayer before the still warm corpse. After another minute of silence the wizard saluted his opponent by placing his right hand over his heart before bending over and taking his ex-comrade's wand from his still clenched fist. Once the victor turned around to once again take his place amongst the ranks the body of the contender immediately burst into white flames, his ashes floating amongst the still living assassins. Nobody moved, nobody made a sound.
Once 01A770357 had made his way back to stand in front of all the assembled divisions Vadim broke the tense silence. "01A770357 has persevered!"
The assembled masses finally broke their silent vigil by screaming, "D'yavol pity the living! Honor the dead! Our rest lies in Death's embrace!"
"Let us all be witness to the honor shown here today," Alexei replied solemnly. "01A770357 shall now be known as 01A770358 until the day his name is once again erased from our tomes in order to be honored with a new name! 01A770358, your Divisions have much work to accomplish. Take command of them and immediately join us in the customer lounge. We have need of you."
01A770358 bowed to his two Masters before turning around and yelling orders to his subordinates in a language Albus could not identify. The masses broke apart in an orderly fashion to follow his commands, as large a juxtaposition as possible when compared to his own students. Albus marveled at the power he could now feel rolling off the Commander in waves. This was the one he had searched for these long seventeen years. Albus knew it in his old bones. Fate had certainly smiled upon him.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the prologue to this story. The rest of the story will mostly be told from 01A770358's POV. Though I'm sure you all know who he really is. Updates may be sporadic over the next few months as I am currently abroad for my job and spend most of my time working. This story will use many elements from the canon, but will usually be altered to fit correctly. Let me know how much you liked, or disliked, this story! Constructive criticism is appreciated!