I swear I would have updated earlier but my internet broke down. I think dealing with customer service is almost as worse as being deprived of wifi. I won't name any names but the company rhymes with tom fast.
Anyways, new chapter! More crafter action here too so I hope you all enjoy! Thanks to Roheryn's Knight for beta work!
Chapter Nine: Attack on Hogsmeade
When the sky turned dark, Harry found himself beside the Dark Lord by the main doors of Malfoy Manor. He had his golden mask fixed tightly on his face as he, along with his Master, looked down below.
On the grounds, hundreds of Death Eaters milled, their bodies thrumming with excitement and blood lust. More than a few fights had broken out and their voices began to chorus louder and louder. In the background were around thirty wolves, nearly half of Greyback's pack, their bodies already bloodied from the peacock corpses that littered the grass. They stood in their wolf forms, their enormous bodies flexing and coiling like dancing snakes under the moonlight. Lucius stood nearby, his hand clutching his cane so hard that his knuckles were white from the pressure.
Voldemort didn't need to give a command to garner their attention. There was a shift in magic—a call from the mark—and the clearing fell deathly silent. The Death Eaters formed ranks, turned, and kneeled in one smooth motion.
There was a pause, a rise in anticipation, before Voldemort lifted up one hand and pointed in the direction of Hogsmeade.
"Go," he ordered.
As the army slowly disappeared one by one, Harry made brief eye contact with Evan and gave a reassuring nod before the man too popped away to Hogsmeade.
Once the grounds were empty of everyone but two, Voldemort turned to Harry. "This will be a test to your abilities," the Dark Lord warned. "I have yet to see your potential as a crafter. I hope that I will not be disappointed.
Harry had no doubt that he wouldn't be, but kept silent.
The Dark Lord continued. "Your job will be to assassinate Aberforth Dumbledore."
Dumbledore? Harry mouthed incredulously. The brother of the infamous Albus Dumbledore? A challenge no doubt.
"Where will I find him?" Harry asked.
Voldemort smirked. "Ah. You are a crafter. Surely you can figure that out without me telling you. Be warned—the old man will not seem as harmless as he appears."
Nodding, Harry flipped his hood up and ran his fingers up and down the sides of his mask to ensure it was in place..
"It suits you," Voldemort said thoughtfully as he looked down at Harry's masked face. With a swirl of his robes, he turned and headed out the manor.
Harry was left in front of the empty grounds. A lone peacock survivor slowly emerged from the bushes and gave a shriek of dismay when it caught sight of the mangled bodies of his kind.
He hadn't been on a "hunt" in a while. During his training, Evan had taught him how to use his powers to track magical signatures of men and women around the world. His magic sensitivity and manipulation ability facilitated his ability in tracking both people and objects.
The only problem was the assassination. Harry had never in his life killed another human being. Animals were easy prey during the full moon but Evan had never brought a human being back to their cottage. He practiced curses on animals and at times on transfigured dummies, but never on a live human being.
Harry's lips thinned. It shouldn't be difficult. He was born to serve the Dark Lord, and if he was born to serve a sadistic, bloodthirsty man, he should be born to kill as well.
Ignoring the nagging sense of wrongness, Harry apparated to Hogsmeade.
The attack was already well under way when he appeared. Spells and curses flew overhead as screams echoed up and down the alley. The ghastly Dark Mark stood out starkly from the sky, its sickly green color slowly diffusing across the night.
Securing the mask on his face again, Harry strode forward and ducked into an alleyway. He found himself face to face with a witch, who clutched her robes in fright and was crying fiercely.
"Please! Don't hurt me!" she cried out. "I have a family. Two children!"
Despite his sneer, Harry felt something inside of him shift. "Get out of my sight," he ordered darkly.
The woman fled and Harry forced himself to concentrate. Clenching his fists, he conjured up the webs that were so familiar to him and used his nails to touch the edge of one. It whispered to him secrets of the village and Harry listened intently, leaning into the comforting magic to breath in the words of magic and people and spells.
Ducking a misfired killing curse, Harry strode from the alley way and up Hogsmeade. He kept his magic close to his body, which thrummed tensely and coiled up to strike. As wizards and witches fled past him, Harry briefly fought against the down flow of fleeing victims before his magic forced them to part by his sides like the Red Sea. Wolves were chasing the mob, their large furred bodies following at their sides and herding them to Merlin knows where.
Blood splattered the cobbled streets of the alley and bodies were a common sight, lying in grotesque positions of horror and pain. Harry found himself more than just startled. He hadn't been subject to anything quite as graphic as this. Violence against other human beings was something he had never witnessed first-hand before.
If this was what Lord Voldemort ruled by…
Wiping the thought from his mind with a disgusted snarl, Harry turned away from the sight of a Death Eater laughing manically as he tortured a screaming child. Storming into the shop whose magic sang the most of Aberforth Dumbledore's, Harry slammed the door shut and weaved together a solid ward that would impenetrable to anyone but himself.
There was heavy breathing inside of the bar. It took Harry a moment to realize that the ragged breaths were dragging from his own chest. Grimacing in disgust, Harry straightened as Evan had taught him and looked around his surroundings carefully.
It was a bar. By any sanitary conditions, it should have been shut down ages ago. Cobwebs and dust littered the corners and walls, and the mugs that hung from golden hooks on the ceiling were grimy and fogged. Barrels were poor excuses of chairs in front of ragged circular tables that wobbled with every step.
Eyeing the holey rag on the counter, Harry concentrated on his magic to trace Aberforth's signature. It led up a set of stairs in the back and probably to a small hiding room.
No matter. No one could hide from a crafter.
Gliding up the stairs, Harry spelled himself invisible with a whisper and waved his hand to make the rickety door in front of him to become transparent.
The room behind was simple. There was a small bed pushed in the corner with a desk by its head with nothing but a small lamp on its surface. The room was bare of any valuables except a heavily locked chest under the bed and a large portrait of a girl who held the hem of her dress nervously.
Harry frowned. Where was the old man?
"You might as well come in," a creaky voice spoke in midair. "I know you're there and you know I'm here. We should cut to the chase, Death Eater."
Impossible. Harry was untraceable and undetectable. Not using wand magic almost guaranteed that. Nevertheless, he entered the room, keeping his disillusion charm tightly against his skin.
"I wonder who has Voldemort sent to kill me now," Aberforth spoke. The voice was bodiless and Harry sought desperately to link it back to its owner. "You've gotten further than most, but I am yet to be impressed."
Remaining silent, Harry traced the webs with his nails. They twanged around his fingers but were oddly silent. Harry cursed. He had the man trapped in his own bloody house. Of course he had some sort of protection.
Luckily, most of the Wizarding World remained ignorant of his existence. To them, crafters were extinct.
Giving a toothy smile, Harry slid forward until he found a ball of magic at the corner of the room. Touching the withering strings with the tips of his nails, Harry pushed with his own magic and wrenched his hands apart.
Magic dissolved in the air and there was a sound of a stumbling foot and a curse behind the painting.
Whipping around, Harry narrowed his eyes at the panicking girl and set the portrait on fire. As an enraged scream erupted from the other side, Harry flung open the hidden entrance and folded his hands together to force a rock wall to bar the exit of the tunnel.
"Very clever, Aberforth Dumbledore," Harry sneered. "But hiding behind a painting is not going to hide you from your fate."
The man on the ground lifted his face. He had bright blue eyes that sparkled with fury and wild white hair that made his face look like a goat. But he looked unmistakably like his brother—a popular image in wizarding books.
But the man's eyes weren't on him. He had whipped out a twig of a wand and shouted an Aguamenti, spraying water on the burning portrait.
Harry blinked in surprise.
"You bastard," Aberforth coughed, struggling to get on his feet. The old man stood up straight, fury pulsing from his body in visible waves. "You utter bastard. How the bloody hell did you get the enchantments down?"
"A magician never tells his secrets," Harry sang, reaching forward so that the cold tips of his nails brushed the nape of Aberforth's neck.
"Then neither shall I," the old man snapped. He waved his wand around the room and yelled an incantation before Harry could stop him—
And promptly gaped at Harry's exposed figure. He raised a shaky finger at Harry's mask.
"You dare impersonate a crafter," he snarled angrily. "Have you no respect? Though I can't say you would if you're following that madman."
Harry pondered if he should reveal his identity. The man would die nevertheless, and he had done the impossible feat of unraveling his magic. Rolling up his black sleeves, Harry revealed his forearms which were decorated with the three black coils that marked him a crafter. His long, darkened nails glinted in the dark.
"I am no imposter," he whispered darkly.
Aberforth gaped. "Impossible," he breathed. "You're no Death Eater. You're a bloody crafter."
The word was spoken with reverence and Harry found himself recoiling from the tone of voice.
"Tell me," Harry cajoled. "Have you ever wondered how you would die?"
The man ignored him. "How can this be?" he asked in a dazed voice. "I suppose if there's any time balance needs to be restored, now could not be a better time. But that leaves the fact that you've a Death Eater mask on."
"I fight for the Dark Lord," Harry said stiffly. He twitched his hands and Aberforth fell to his knees, his legs and arms petrified to his body.
"You can't fight for a Dark Lord," Aberforth choked out. "You can't fight for anyone."
Harry felt confusion stir inside of him. "Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."
The old man gave a loud, mocking laugh. "Ha! I'm a hundred and twelve years old. If that's not wisdom, I don't know what is." His face twisted back into what seemed like concern. "Get out of here, crafter. If this is what you've been sent for, then so be it. Take my life and get out before You-Know-Who comes and takes you."
Harry opened his mouth to insult the old man but instead let out a loud shriek as the wards he had built tightly were snapped like a twig.
Albus Dumbledore apparated into the room, his wand raised high and his eyes darkened in fury. The wand the old man was holding caught Harry's attention; it sang of odd, powerful magic, much like that that surrounded an Angel. There was a strong smell of sulpher and death that sent Harry's own magic recoiling.
Was that what broke through his wards?
Harry knew he would be punished for his overconfidence. Albus Dumbledore was rumored to be the only wizard able to stand up against Lord Voldemort. He was barely past gaining his full powers as a crafter and even he could recognize a lost battle.
Albus took note of Harry's mask and exposed arms and his eyes widened comically.
Before he could say a word, Harry lunged forward and dug his nails into the neck of Aberforth. As he shot his magic down into the man's body, shutting down its systems and burning the body from inside out, Aberforth's eyes never left Harry's. They were dark but accepting, and before he crumbled into ashes, his eyes darted to those of his brother's his lips cracked open.
"Don't…" he forced out before Harry dragged his hands outwards, forcing the man's body to crumple and burn on the floor.
A wrinkled hand landed on his shoulder and roughly turned him around. Panting in exertion, Harry met Albus Dumbledore's eyes and let out a soft laugh. Dumbledore's eyes were pale in grief but intensified as they met Harry's intense green eyes.
"Crafter," the old man breathed.
Harry could hear a faint singing in the room. The wand that Dumbledore had pressed against his chest was wrapped in swaths of magic that were black in color and were ever shifting, slithering over coils and practically vibrating with power. In the distance, Harry could hear the faint song of a Phoenix.
Digging his nails into his palm until his skin broke, Harry wove himself under webs and webs and before Dumbledore could even twitch and bind him, Harry apparated back to Malfoy Manor.
His head spun as he landed roughly on the grass floor. There was something unnatural about Dumbledore's wand. The man's magic sang to him as strongly as the magic of the Dark Lord. It was bloody confusing. Harry thought that he was drawn to the Dark Lord's magic because he was to serve the Dark. But he was as drawn to the Light Lord's power as he was to Voldemort's.
And with Aberforth's submission and his plea, everything was becoming a nightmare.
He heard a crack of apparition beside of him and he was engulfed in a pair of enthusiastic, bloody arms.
"You did it, Harry!" Evan shouted in elation. His body was thrumming with magic and his eyes were bright with blood thirst. His robes were drenched in blood and gore and his mouth stretched in a dark smile. "You killed Aberforth Dumbledore—you bloody did it!"
"Well done," Lucius said as he apparated beside the two smoothly. Death Eaters began to reappear on the lawn, their shouts of joy and triumph lighting up the night. "Be proud of yourself, Mr. Potter. Many Death Eaters have been sent to penetrate the old goat's hideout and none have succeeded. Rumor has it that Albus Dumbledore himself spelled the wards. If you can get through Dumbledore's charms, then we are truly invincible."
Harry felt something tight grip his chest. Straightening in pride, Harry forced his wildly beating heart to calm.
"You killed him, didn't you?" Evan asked, still high on the excessive use of Dark Magic and bloodshed. "Tell me, child. Tell me how you ripped his body apart. How you cornered him and forced him cowering onto the ground. Tell me, Harry. Tell me."
"Tell us, tell us!" Bellatrix echoed him, her eye glinting with madness. Her hair was wild and matted blood, and she leaned seductively forward to whisper by Harry's ear.
"Yes, please do enlighten us," the Dark Lord's silky voice interjected.
The Death Eaters immediately quieted and bowed lowly in respect.
"You have finished your mission," the Dark Lord said in a low voice. "I had no doubts that you would, but you were overconfident and foolish. Tell me what Albus Dumbledore said to you."
The excitement died around Harry. "Dumbledore was there?" Evan asked slowly, his mind slowly calming and reforming his usual cold exterior.
"He apparated in when I broke through Aberforth's enchantments," Harry confessed. "I did not think the wards I erected could be that easily broken through, my Lord."
"Of course they were," Evan snapped harshly. "By Merlin, I thought I raised you better than this, Harry. You are a fledging. Crafter or not, you are but a play toy to Albus Dumbledore."
"Enough," the Dark Lord snapped darkly. His aura pulsed out dangerously and Evan stepped back with an apologetic bow of his head. "I will deal with him. The rest of you return to the Manor. I will summon you to gather a report and discuss the night. Send the remainder of the Death Eaters home. We have done what we wanted today."
Evan shot a dangerous look at Harry and an inquisitive one at the Dark Lord before turning around to follow his orders. Harry remained standing, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
"Your grounder is right," Voldemort said, his voice deepening at the mention of Evan's title. "You were overconfident and arrogant."
"I apologize, my Lord," Harry said with a shallow bow.
"Yet you fulfilled the mission perfectly without a hitch," Voldemort said carefully. "I know better than to look into your mind—I know well enough that your magic will not allow a foreign invader. Tell me about Dumbledore."
Harry sagged in relief. "He said nothing," Harry replied slowly. "He barely moved enough to protect his brother. I think he was in shock."
The Dark Lord remained impassive. It was obvious that he was thinking that there was no way Albus Dumbledore could freeze in shock. Harry didn't believe it either, but he also didn't want to tell Voldemort that Aberforth might have forbidden his brother from striking.
Don't.
Hoping to cover up the suspicious silent, Harry hastily continued. "He didn't stop me from leaving either. I could hear his phoenix somewhere in the background. I don't doubt that if he wanted to, I would be bound in front of him hands tied to ankles."
The show of weakness seemed to do the trick. The Dark Lord looked at Harry with smoldering eyes. "Perhaps you will need more training outside of Evan's expertise. Nevertheless you completed the mission, something that all of my Death Eaters have failed at. You are more than acceptable in your abilities as a crafter."
Harry could hear the unsaid continuation of the sentence.
"You are no regular Death Eater. But you are not my equal either. I have no equal."
"Of course not, my Lord."
"But you will serve me like my Death Eaters. You will not participate in raids, however, they are much too… crude for a person of your standing. Instead, you will be given missions by myself."
Harry scowled. He could stand the "crudeness" of raids but deep inside, something ugly coiled inside of him, shivering in disgust at the thought of the reckless display of torture and gore in Hogsmeade. Missions, however, he could do. Wards could be shattered with a flick of his fingers and necks broken with a snap.
"As you wish, my Lord," Harry bowed.
The Dark Lord raked his eyes over Harry's frame with a possessive glint. "Go back to the manor and rest. I will call you when you are needed next."
Harry watched as Voldemort left, his figure gliding confidently across the grounds and toward the manor. The familiar static and pulse of magic stirred in the air, and Harry angrily pushed the buildup of magic away. It was the common sign of a daydream and of the appearance of an Angel, both of which he was in no mood to deal with.
Harry looked down at his hands. The magic that wound around his fingers and concentrated at the nail tips were tarnished a light gray. His hands were stained with his first murder, but Harry couldn't find himself able to care.
This was what he was born for.
Evan Rosier was alone when he was summoned to the Dark Lord. Falling onto a knee in a sweeping bow, Evan felt his magic sing as it always had around Voldemort.
"You called me, my Lord?"
Voldemort did not answer. He raised one had to caress Nagini's head while he continued to stare at Evan's bowed hair in silence.
Evan took it in a stride. Silence was something he was used to and comfortable with. And he would wait for years for the Dark Lord.
"I want the boy."
The voice broke through the atmosphere like a knife poised and ready to strike. It was sharp, unyielding, and utterly unpredictable.
"He is yours," Evan agreed. "I have said so before, my Lord. Anything of mine is yours, and Harry will serve you faithfully. "
"No, you do not understand, Evan," Voldemort said in almost a gentle voice. "I want the boy to myself."
It took a while for the meaning to hit Evan, and when it did, he nearly staggered back in shock. "The bond is impossible to break," he said automatically. "If you kill me, Harry will be bound to retaliate."
The Dark Lord stood up in one fluid step. His bone white wand appeared in his right hand. "Crucio," he intoned lightly. As he held the wizard in front of him under the torture curse, Voldemort walked in a slow circle around his withering form. "You need to learn respect, Rosier. That six year… vacation of yours made you overconfident. I do not take threats kindly."
"I-I did not mean that as a threat," Evan stammered through pants of pain.
Voldemort knew exactly what Evan meant but he wasn't so inclined to do the man a favor. "I am not inept, Rosier. I know the permanency of the bonds between a grounder and a crafter and I know the vows you have made him swear. You are but an obstacle to my road of success, Rosier, and I don't intend to have you standing there for the entire time."
This time, it was Evan who felt the threat settle deep in your bones.
"You leave for France tomorrow," Voldemort suddenly said in a bland voice. "The French have been key supporters of Dumbledore since the beginning. I will be sending you to see how many black hearts you can turn around and shrivel to our cause."
"What about Harry?" Evan found himself asking. "The boy needs training—he's clearly become too sure of his abilities."
"He will get what he needs," Voldemort said sharply. He tossed a small figurine of a snake at Evan. "The portkey will go off in an hour. Take only what you need with you—I will send Lucius when you are ready to come home."
Evan nodded and left with a hidden bitter smile. He knew Voldemort was pushing him away so that he could be with Harry. The crafter was like a bloody siren, his magic calling out towards any respectable wizard be it Lucius or the Dark Lord.
Possessiveness rose within Evan and he found himself snarling at empty air.
Harry was no longer exclusively his, and Evan never hated it more.
In the span of minutes, Evan was packed and ready to leave for France. He walked over to Harry's sleeping form on the couch and watched the boy he had raised with cold eyes.
"Harry. Wake up."
The crafter cracked an eye open and let out a tired groan. "Evan? What's going on? Why'd you wake me at-" he summoned a quick tempus, "at one in the morning?"
"I'm going to France," Evan said in a flat voice.
That sent Harry bolting upward. "What?" he asked incredulously.
"The Dark Lord is sending me to France on a mission. I am… reluctant to leave you with your own abilities."
Abilities being his own powers. Harry needed Evan to pull him out of dangerous daydreams or to shock him out of the aftermath of casting powerful magic. To separate a crafter from his grounder was much like separating a mother from her newborn. It was cruel and petty.
"The bracelet will still work," Evan continued. "I will know if you are caught in a situation and I will apparate to your side as soon as possible."
Their exchange was oddly formal and edged. "Thank you," Harry said slowly, his mind racing to catch up with what was going on.
But by the time he gained the courage to open his mouth and speak, Evan had disappeared and along with him, the only security Harry had ever had in his life.
The room suddenly seemed so much colder.
DAILY PROPHET EXCLUSIVE
(9 August 1996)
THE DARK LORD RETURNS?
By F. Reneiz
An attack on the street of Hogsmeade struck fear deep in the hearts of witches and wizards.
At approximately eight in the night, a force of about two hundred wizards and witches apparated in Hogsmede and began setting stores on fire and attacking innocents. By their side was a pack of werewolves transformed in their lupine form and running rabid around the streets. The attack continued for an hour before Aurors arrived and pushed the invading force back.
Witnesses claimed to see a "legion" of dark wizards apparate in Hogsmeade and begin to attack nearby bystanders. The dark wizards were claimed to be Death Eaters, the followers of You-Know-Who during the First War. More than one finger was pointed up towards You-Know-Who's usual signature: the Dark Mark.
The Minister of Magic was not available for a comment.
The last casualty count was marked at 113 deaths with over 200 injured in St. Mungos. Mediwzards informed me that out of the injured, nearly half are in critical condition and are unlikely to survive. Of those 200 injured, nearly one-fourth have been either bitten or mauled by a werewolf. This is the largest casualty count since the First War. A sixteen-year long peace has done nothing to wipe the bitter taste of the You-Know-Who's wrath.
Among the casualties was Aberforth Dumbledore, brother of Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Dumbledore. He was found burned and mangled in his pub, Hog's Head, with the attacker or his brother not in sight.
"Aberforth had wards as strong as those around Hogwarts around his pub," Eleanor Charms, a friend of Aberforth, confessed shakily. "He boasted that his brother put them up himself. If the Death Eaters—assuming that they were Death Eaters—could get through Albus Dumbledore's wards, then no one can be truly safe."
The Ministry is still investigating the perpetuators of this attack. Whether it is the return of You-Know-Who or not, I think that we can all feel something different in the air. Take the Hogsmeade attack as an example that peace is no longer among us.
Merlin help keep us safe.
What did you think? Next chapter is going to be a short skip in time ahead. I can see Hogwarts creeping up very soon...
autumngold: I would like to point out that the Angels are more or less trying to suck out Harry's powers, possibly killing him in the process, so I wouldn't say that Harry's being saved oops. Think of it as the familiar phrase "for the greater good." Magic needs a crafter, but not a corrupt one. Sorry for ruining that for you haha thank you for the review!
Loveandpower: I appreciate the thought! That's certainly an interesting idea I would have played around with if I had not already written out the communication part. Hopefully it will be up to expectations-it will definitely add an extra spin on things. And Greyback is sworn to Harry so that would facilitate the alliance. Complications will, of course, arise. Thanks for your comments and review! (:
More thanks to the rest who reviewed and read! It's great motivation! The direction of this fic is starting to twist and turn, hopefully in the right way.
I'm wondering what all of your thoughts are on character deaths? Just for future references, of course (;
Well I'm off! My guinea pig is squeaking at me incessantly for food. Thank you all again!