Chapter 11

Plans in motion

Kingsley nervously toyed with his wand, such an unsavory habit. The cause of his nervousness was the person he sat beside in the darkened room with magical windows which had their blinds shut to keep out the light. Perks of magic making even underground livable.

Harry Potter slept soundly on the bed right next to Kingsley, black and blue from the bruises that marred his face and body. The healers said they were fairely recent and brutal. It didn't really fit the Death Eater torture MO and Kingsley suspected but wasn't confident enough to entertain the thought of another party acting behind the curtains of this entire cold war.

Strangely though, one of the few remaining Aurors found Borgin when there was a commotion amidst a dozen or so corpses of torn apart Death Eaters. They could have been holding Harry in Borgin's shop hostage. However keeping Harry there didn't strike him as really smart and Kingsley doubted Voldemort would risk to lose Harry Potter so easily, or leave his own wand there.

Harry Potter was an enigma like always, his sudden reappearance which almost caused Scrimgeour a heart attack baffeled them all. The news spread like wildfire and lined the exclusive editions of every newspaper that ever existed in Wizarding Britain with huge headlines. The nation was ecstatic and roaring in renewed mirth and hope.

But that wasn't enough to entirely remove the paranoia that has been spreading like cancer along with its best friend corruption. The Ministry had been reduced to barely holding any right or power during the last year, and Kingsley hoped Harry Potter's return would repair some of the damage.

Kingsley then remembered what Dumbledore said just the other day when he returned back to Grimmauld Place from the clutches of Voldemort. Harry Potter tried to kill him when he was kidnapped from Hogwarts. A preposterous claim were it somebody else but Dumbledore. He was shocked by the mere fact the old wizard was among them again and was horrified to hear Harry tried to kill him of all people.

He wanted to believe Dumbledore, he really did. But only a glance at the battered face spoke that he couldn't have tried something like that. Just by thinking Harry was alive after that fall was amazing in of itself and had Kingsley's mind boggled.

The boy beside him stirred and Kingsley quickly turned to face the bed. He remembered the Healer-In-Charge shove a Dreamless sleep potion down his throat a day ago and Harry hasn't woken up until now.

Harry's eyes flittered open and a dim glow escaped the confines of his irises and slightly illuminated the dimly lit room. Kingsley stood up so fast the chair fell over behind him.

Those eyes, that glow. The wails of the many widows the knight with those eyes caused were still painfully fresh in the black Auror's mind. His focus shifted then to the shifting knob of the room's door and quickly locked it with a flick of his wand. The silhouette of Arthur Weasley shifted in the draped window of the door.

"Kingsley? Everything alright?" Arthur fiddled with the knob some more.

"Yes, everything is fine, Arthur. I just fell asleep for a second and fell of the chair." Kingsley responded and hoped that Arthur won't question the fact the door was suddenly locked. Thankfully the silhouete nodded and returned to its post beside the door.

When Kingsley turned back to the bed he found Harry rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and yawned, slightly wincing with every move.

"Ouch." Harry groaned. He lifted himself up into a sitting position and inspected his surroundings. Sterile-looking room with white walls and floor along with furniture suprisingly the same colour, he was in a hospitall. St. Mungo's, probably.

What Havoc didn't expect though was Kingsley staring death at him. It didn't take long for him to realize in what a dangerous situation he was in and decided to play it cool.

"Umm, hi? Where am I?"

Kingsley didn't reply and flicked his wand all over the room. Havoc slightly winced in reflex, expecting a spell coming his way but was not happy that the man was putting silencing spells all around the room with intensifying degrees of power. Havoc was afraid that Kingsley figured out what he was and was confused how.

He glanced at a green light reflected in the mirror and saw his eyes staring at him.

"Fuck."

"Indeed." Kingsley spoke in a quiet tone that was murderous at best. "Dumbledore's words were true. I never imagined you would become such a potent killer."

"How hypocritical of you, Kingsley. You all expected me to kill Voldemort eventually, didn't you?" Kingsley saw Harry tense up in the shoulders and the sheets were gripped tightly in his small hands.

"Yes. The Minstry doubted Voldemort would listen to reason, and I share that opinion. But, are you aware how many widows you left alone when you murdered the entire Auror office?" Kingsley's voice was betraying anger.

Havoc's stare glanced at Kingsley's hand in the sling. "I was defending myself. If I was arrested they wouldn't even give me a fair trial and execute me because I am a Pristi. Few people would submit and I am not one of them, Kingsley."

Havoc now stood up and was glaring up into Kingsley and didn't even blink. Kingsley was having a hard time in maintaining eye contact with the Pristi, some because of the glow, some because of the cold stare which were distinctly described in many books his family owned in their secret library.

Few pureblood families truly knew that the Pristi existed, and those that knew were extremely powerful. Many of them had several creatures in their family tree, ensuring their magical superiority. They cared about the purity of blood but not to a degree of madness that Voldemort showed.

"You would have done the same thing. Be it right or wrong, I want to live and I will do anything to keep it that way. I will get my revenge on you, wizard. Putting so much expectation on a mere child, a child who was abused and left to be abused and expected to save you all." Havoc broke eye contact and sat onto the bed, slightly relaxed.

"You would never kill me. You wouldn't kill a defenseless boy and you most likely believe in that I shouldn't be summarily executed just because I am what I am. I have a knack for figuring people out, and I don't see a killer here 'cept me." Havoc slightly smiled at the black Auror, glad to see the shocked expression on the man's face.

"I killed many! And you would be just like one of the dark wizard scum me and my former colleagues have been hunting!" Kingsley roared. He lost it at the smile and was even more frustrated when the teen wasn't phased by his outburst. "Have you ever seen and heard a woman's cries as she tried to claw her way into her husband's coffin?!"

"I am not responsible for their actions." Havoc simply said and expected a bolt of magic fly at him. Nothing came and Havoc was surprised to see the man held his temper with patience and will of great magnitude. Something rare in a pureblood. "The Ministry has been infiltrated by Voldemort's lackeys, probably alot of them Imperioed and you guys are too blind to notice. With your help, hunting down the traitors would be a breeze."

"And why do you care the Ministry is corrupted?"

"It is in my interest to have no dirt inside my office, or near it." Havoc rubbed his jaw and winced as he passed a particularly sore spot. He was afraid it might have been broken before getting here.

"The happenings back in Diagon Alley was all a charade?" Kingsley calmly asked but it was evident that he was seething. "You guys really bought it."

"Why are you answering all my questions? Wouldn't I be a thorn in your side?" Kingsley was now genuinely curious, unpleasantly surprised by the deviousness the teen possessed.

"If you did, you wouldn't be alive right now. I would rather have you just observing or as an ally." Havoc found it rather strange discussing his plans for the Wizarding world with one of the enemy, in the middle of a wizard hospital, and him being a Pristi.

Of course his status as the BWL defended him from most wizards now but that didn't stop them from doing something to him from behind the scenes. Havoc had a feeling he would hate those battles led by smart talk and parties. With Voldemort coming into his plan soon enough the only enemy left would be Dumbledore, who, as of yet, left no tracks, and the Ministry which shouldn't pose much of a threat.

"Anyway, you can remove all those wards you put up, I think your partner is getting restless." Havoc slightly yawned and winced again and settled in the sheets before instantly falling asleep.

Kingsley was horrified how confident the teen was. And the problem was that Harry had every right to be so. He belonged with the most powerful beings on the planet to which dragons kneel. Kingsley's hands were tied in every way. The Ministry couldn't execute him because the fact Harry was alive became public and would cause a massive uproar and total chaos. Voldemort would take the chance and truly take over.

"You planned this very carefully," Kingsley grumbled as he left the room and slightly hit a woman in black robes with her hair tied into a ponytail with his shoulder. She looked like she came from the Mediterranean with her tanned skin and a fresh sea scent.

He failed to apologize but the closely following Arthur Weasley gave a low bow "I apologize for my colleague, madam."

"Oh, you needn't worry," the woman flashed him a smile and it took Arthur's brain a second or so to catch up with what just happened. But by that time the woman was already gone.

Arthur soon caught up with his wayward coworker and patted him on the shoulder in worry. Arthur expected Kingsley to cheer up atleast slightly by seeing Harry well and good. It wasn't the result he expected.

KIngsley turned to face Arthur and found an apology to be stuck in his throat by rising anger he hasn't felt since he was a child.

"What is the matter, Kingsley? You are angry at something, and I know it is not those funerals." Arthur looked Kingsley in the eye. He saw within them anger that really terrified the red head and caused him to step back.

"Sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to be rude. I have a lot on my mind right now, and this new information is a bit overbearing," Kingsley cradled his arm and averted his gaze. ""But be wary of Harry, Arthur. He is not what he seems, not anymore. I beg you to consider what I said."

Arthur confusedly looked at his superior and was given no explanation for the strange behaviour Kingsley was exhibiting. The pleading look on Kingsley's face was enough to stall any and all questions that quickly rose inside Arthur.

Without a word more, Kingsley turned and left Arthur alone in the corridor, confused and slightly terrified because the doubt he was harboring about Dumbledore's words rapidly diminished.


Draco paced back and forth time and time again with his hands in his hair. On the floor beside him were pieces of his armor which he managed to take off before losing it to worry. He was glad his father wasn't here to see his reaction because he feared he would die of shame if he was seen like this.

A brooding Rex sat in his throne, not responding to anything around him. He didn't change clothes and posed a look of an enraged pureblood who plotted world domination from his throne.

The reason for his brooding? His own doing, his own backlash, lost control. He didn't truly mean to cause that much damage, that much pain and the reasons why he didn't relent at the struggling commands to stop. He caused so much hurt to the only person who really mattered to him in this world. Was it because of Rose? His old self refused to be snuffed out?

Rex wasn't sure. It was shame and regret that brought him down and slowly crushed him with their combined weight. He shouldn't have had a reaction like that. He did say to hurt him but he lost control. He didn't mean it, he didn't mean it.

"I know you didn't mean it." Havoc's voice came inside Rex's troubled mind like fresh air that erased the embers of his anger and deepened the regret. "You are as forgetful of our bond as I am. I didn't feel malice in your punches or cuts. You were sad and simply retaliated on someone."

"That does not excuse my actions! I hurt you more than requested and caused unnecessary suffering to you." Rex heard Havoc mentally scoff, "Please, I asked you to beat me up. I wouldn't have looked good for the press when I made my big unveiling yesterday. How is Draco by the way?"

Rex glanced at the frustrated blonde. "Rather worried after seeing you black and blue." Havoc cooed. "My poor Draco. Let him worry a bit and then tell him what happened. I hope you won't have much trouble keeping him off you." Havoc sniggered.

Rex slightly chuckled, starting to leave the shell of shame and regret. "Don't worry." Then he wondered where Havoc was taken to be so comfortable in contacting him. "Where are you?"

"In St. Mungo's Hospital."

"Hospital?" Rex frowned in confusion whether Havoc could see him or not.

Havoc didn't respond immedately. "A place of healing. But they can't heal as good as your touch..."

Rex coughed and found his face to be burning hot. He hated to have such a reaction when teased by no other than a teenager. To which he was bound to nonetheless.

The bond went quiet, both of them had nothing more to say since their emotions that flowed through it like a conduit conveyed the rest of the conversation. Rex found it rather soothing, Havoc was in cozy content and a good portion of it flowed to Rex and the man couldn't help but relax.


Kristina checked if the robe was inconspicuous enough. One could never knowwhich wizard or witch would notice what on a person and Kristina didn't like unnecessary risks, restricting her apparel to a simply decorated black robe with silver edges and small symbols. She kept her hair in a ponytail, the rubber that held her hair was the only thing keeping it from bursting all around her head.

Carlyle uncomfortably sat in his chair and waited for Kristina to come out of her room, which seemed like it took forever. The pair took up residence in one of the shops deep in Diagon Alley that probably went out of business due to the poor location or the cold war, either way, it didn't make a profit but made a good hideout.

The healer still wasn't over the fact he was having a half-decent relationship with a woman who could easily kill him without any doubt or remorse. How she drew her sword without even blinking told a lot about her. Maybe too much.

Finally Kristina entered the small office from the bathroom she declared absolute possession of and spinned. The robes slightly rose up as she did.

"What do you think? Will it attract attention?" She asked and caught Carlyle off-guard. Carlyle slowly turned his head, not expecting to see Kristina out of her leather jacket obviously taken from a muggle shop along with her jeans and found it a welcoming change. Kristina looked rather harmless, if you stayed away from her line-of-sight.

"Y-yes. I don't think you will rise any suspicion." Carlyle said, a bit shakily. Kristina frowned at him and leaned forward. "You still scared of me?"

Carlyle averted his gaze. He hated being such a coward, he wasn't made for combat or physical action. He felt strangely nostalgic of the good old days when the only thing he needed to care about was his patients. This kind of constant adrenaline pumping wore him out.

"Good." Kristina spoke coldly and set off for the backdoor leading to the back of the shop. Before leaving she shot a glare towards Carlyle. "You stay here."

Carlyle nodded. Kristina didn't even look at him a second longer and slammed the door shut. Carlyle felt various locking spells and silencing wards surround the room. Carlyle could siphon the wards, easy. But dared not to and also found them a bit comforting.

He ran a hand through his spiky hair that was always like that for some reason. In what a mess he stumbled into. All because he was clumsy and stupid not to hide his residue after doing experiments.

Carlyle tried to find a way to bring someone to life, probably because of his late mother, and he saw remarkable potential in the magic he wielded without a restriction such as a wand. He had one but rarely used it since he could do all of those things wandless.

The research ended up in a dead end. He had no way of manipulating the magic within someone except draining them, and that had the opposite effect of dramatically reducing lifespan or outright killing them. And Carlyle had no intention of killing anybody.

That was the problem. He needed subjects, people or creatures on whom he could experiment in finding that one object or spell. If he found one, it would be the greatest breakthrough the world would ever see.

Carlyle was quite sure that the wizarding community would find it a great discovery. The medical and ethical societies, however, would most likely consider it an act against nature. But who gave a shit for nature when you had a set in stone goal that you would pursue until you died?

Healing people had been a goal for Carlyle at first. To keep the tradition going. Carlyle did go in his fathers, and his grand-fathers footsteps and graduated to become a Healer. Being a Pristi made it a lot easier to heal curses and other long-lasting effects from spells.

When his mother died from an ailment neither his father nor him could heal did Carlyle vow to his father to bring back his father's wife and his mother. How their race was close to extinction made his cause all the more important. His father told him even though they were the first, they weren't omnipotent.

Carlyle was a young lad when he promised, when he scoffed at his father for saying such foolishness. Now he was smarter and had a bigger picture of the world that one couldn't learn in a sheltered life in a manor. Living in the manor and leaving the house into their personal small wood did little to strengthen him.

The room was silent and Carlyle found himself wishing Kristina had stayed.


Kristina apparated to the front of an abandoned warehouse and causally spoke with the mannequin before entering into the lobby. The strong energy she felt yesterday in Diagon alley radiated from this hospital. She managed to pin-point it in the middle of the hospital just below. The source was meshed by various other magical energies she reocgnized as protective wards.

Getting in there would be a bit of a problem, that amount of wards surely meant good security. Did the man, or woman, have the alliegence of some wizards? Perhaps.

The nurse behind the reception desk read a long scroll of parchment and if anything her frown had to say, it looked like she hated it. Kristina saw the two doors on each side and read the directions. The source was a floor down and that meant she needed to go to the 'Shock rooms'.

The Pristi glanced at the nurse to see if she wasn't looking, she wasn't due to the impossibly long scroll and seemed that she won't be rising her head anytime soon to see if anyone is here.

Kristina slowly opened the double-doors and snuck into the stairwell. It was empty and Kristina descended down to the first double door that had 'Shock rooms' written above. Behind them stretched a long hall that resembled muggle hospitals. Kristina remembered the look when she visited one once.

She started down the corridor, zeroing in on the magical source as she rounded a corner and was roughly hit in the shoulder by a passing man. If Kristina didn't have to keep a low-profile, the man would have been slain on the spot.

"I apologize for my colleague, madam." a redheaded man dressed in worn robes slightly bowed before her in an apology. Kristina gave the man a fake smile and replied, "Oh, you needn't worry.". The man was stunned and Kristina took the opportunity to quickly walk to the next corner and disappear.

The two men were talking and soon after dispersed with the red-head standing there for a minute before he left, too. With the hall empty, Kristina could see who was this powerful England Pristi she had been sent to stalk, and possibly assassinate if ordered.

The door was firmly closed and had more spells on it than her paranoid father put up around his own door. These were weak wizard wards that didn't have the protection from siphoning and were easily drained. Pristi were actually much like wizards and witches when it came to fighting against other Pristi. They easily died.

The door slightly creaked as Kristina opened it and slowly entered the dark room. She used her magic to make her footsteps absolutely silent and walked over to the front of the bed. They always had a patient record or something like that attached there and Kristina hoped wizarding hospitals had those too.

Her eyes glew yellow in the darkness and she easily saw in the dark. The hoped patient record was indeed attached to the front of the bed and Kristina almost dropped it when she saw the name.

Harry Potter

It wouldn't have been so shocking if the person before her didn't radiate such a large amount of power. Coupled with the fact this person's surname... No. It couldn't be true. The Potters were dead for half a millenia. And if they did, they couldn't be Pristi and still live with such a surname.

Potters the Immortals. A ridiculous name, sure, but it sowed fear in every Pristi that was raised properly by their parents. They were almost legendary even among the Pristi, thanks to their resilience and tenacity. In the Ritus Regulae tournament every ten years, the Potters were the last standing. The English branch of the Pristi nation was the strongest one, only rivaled by the ferocious Skandinavian branch.

The rulers, the Immortals. Figulus Immortales.

The person on the bed shifted in the covers and rolled to his other side and revealed a young face. Kristina gasped. It was just a child. It was obvious that this was one of the last descendants of the Potter line.

A dilema sprung up in Kristina's mind. Between cutting the sleeping boy's throat or leaving him be, which her father would surely find the biggest mistake of her life. But did she really want to listen to her horrible father? She didn't really care what he had to say nor would say.

The Pristi numbers were dwindling, the Concil keeps failing to keep the nations together and sooner or later, without a firm rule, they would disperse and be divided. A ruler. An Immortal.

The Ritus Regulae hasn't been respected ever since the Great Hunt that decimated the Pristi population to a mere half milion across the globe. The number kept going down since then.

If this Harry was a true Potter, he would win in the Ritus and possibly ensure that the Pristi race survived. A lot would be at stake if she spared the child and gave him her support to renew the tradition of Ritus Regulae. And Kristina wasn't certain if she could decide right now, she needed time to think things through, she needed to tell Zoran and ask what he thought of it.

Then would she make a decision.

As silently as she came, she left and Havoc woke up with a strange trace of magic fill his room like a scent. "Someone was here." Havoc mumbled, slightly confused and a bit scared.


Zoran grabbed and pulled onto the seabed as he inspected the sandy floor. Shells and various debris from ships, animals and other things littered the seabed. Stripes of soft white moved like waves on the surface as the sun shined from above.

Soft and regular breathing filled the bubble Zoran kept up around his mouth to breathe. Zoran felt like he was alone with only his breathing to hear. That was the reason why Zoran ever dived, to get away from things, especially his father. When his sister forced him to come back 'home' two days ago Hrvoje, their father, gloated constantly how he returned despite his promises to never see them again.

"Gad jedan." Zoran muttered to himself and looked at the shell which caught his interest. It was as colourful as it could get and large as Zoran's fist. He tapped it and it opened, leaving the huge pearl inside vulnerable. Zoran easily took out the pearl and closed the shell.

Last one.

Feeling the need to get out of the water, Zoran swam in diagonals upwards and after a minute or so broke the surface of the water. He was surrounded by a vast expanse of water with two land masses on either side while he faced the open sea. He turned and spotted the mansion he so dearly didn't want to go back to. Zoran felt like prolonging as much as possible before facing his father again and decided to swim there. It took him a good hour to reach the beach right below the small cliff on which the mansion sat on top of. The beach was made out of fine sand and slowly turned into round stones.

Stone steps flanked by reed on each side and it led up to the driveway far above. On them sat the familiar forms of his sister and mother, chatting. Zoran approached them and Kristina didn't smile at him. Something was wrong.

"Hello Zoran" Kristina greeted and gave a faint smile. Zoran raised his eyebrows when he saw his mother shared the solemn mood. Her name was Vedrana and had long flowing blonde hair. The hair framed a very young face with lines that told her true age. She was a very beutiful woman and Zoran didn't have to ask his father why he married her.

Too bad he was such a bastard.

"Hello, Kristina." Zoran replied with an equal smile. "Kristina has told me something disturbing, my son," Vedrana spoke softly, "But equally heartening. An Immortal has survived."

Zoran didn't at first react, he had to shift through his memory and knowledge to understand what his mother meant by Immortal and realized when he finally found it. "An Immortal?!"

Kristina and her mother shushed like snakes, "Quiet! We are keeping this from your father. He is too brash and impulsive to be confided in with this kind of information. Kristina has proposed something that could benefit us all."

Zoran had few memories when his mother showed her Pristi side. It disturbed him immensly. He expectantly looked at Kristina.

"Ritus Regulae." Kristina said. Zoran frowned. "Who is he? Or she?"

"Harry Potter. A sixteen-year-old." Kristina said, doubt obvious in her words. She wasn't even sure anymore if the boy would be able to win the rite at all.

"A sixteen-year-old? You've got to be kidding me. He won't last a second against any of the opponents." Zoran looked at his sister incredeously, baffled that she would recommend something like that.

"But if he is an Immortal then he will win. They always win." Vedrana nodded in agreement at her daughters words. "I am still skeptical about all this. What if father finds out?"

"When he finds out, it will be too late. You have my full support in this, Kristina. If our race is to survive it needs someone with a firm fist, we are too wild without it." Vedrana wisely said and her age became apparent. It would be hard to believe she was 100 years old. Pristi aged alot slower than normal humans and wizards.

Vedrana stood up and looked at her daugher and son, feeling a mother's pride in her children. She had a good feeling about this, and hoped her senses held true. "Now go, help the Immortal onto the throne."

Zoran and Kristina looked at each other and then at their mother before nodding and small confident smiles fell on their faces. Kristina was already heading up the steps. "Oh, here's that last pearl for your necklace." Zoran said and put the pearl he had almost forgotten about and put it in his mother's hands. Vedrana smiled and held his hand for a second before letting her son go.

Vedrana followed them with her gaze until they went out of sight. Maybe this was the chance to redeem the family's honor they have been waiting for. This was now beyond the family, this now encompassed the entire Pristi race if an Immortal has been found.


"Now." Rex woke up to Havoc's voice in his head with a start. His mind was still steeped inside the confines of his dreams and had a hard time thinking straight. With a shake of his head, he cleared his mind and finally understood what Havoc said. 'Now'. The plan was to be set in motion now.

Rex stood up out of his bed and put on his armor, the evil visage back in place. He left the room and banged a door as he passed to wake up Draco, and descended into the throne room. Rip was there inspecting yet another mess that looked like fried meat on the floor with a shrugging Red minion close by.

"Rip, bring out the prisoner and put some armor on him." Rex said. He had his helmet under his arm and put it down on the table so he could eat properly. Rip was quizzical at first before nodding, "As you wish, Sire."

Draco entered the throne room with an annoyed expression on his pinched face. The teen sat opposite of Rex and wondered why Rex put on his armor, and realized only now how big and intimidating the armor made him.

"We going somewhere?" Draco asked disdainfully. "We are going to St. Mungo's, and give our prisoner a surprise."

Then Rex fell silent and Draco doubted Rex would say anything else. He was pissed, not by Rex's lack of explanation but because of yesterday. Rex told him that Havoc was okay after knowing it for a good hour and left him frett over it. The bastard.

They finished their breakfast when an imposing knight walked into the room from the dungeons. Chains rattled as it was pushed forward by a group of minions. Draco stood up in alarm but Rex placated him.

"What is this?!" Voldemort's familiar hissing voice bellowed from within the helmet. It was a rather polished suit of armor. Draco asked the same question.

"Sire Havoc had a bright idea to use Voldemort as a patsy, master Malfoy." Rip, always quick to connect the dots and that just made him such a good advisor and servant. Draco's eyes widened in surprise and then delight. He ran off upstairs to put on his armor, following Rex's example.

Rex stood up and put on his helmet. With a flick of his hand, chains erupted out of his gauntlet and attached themselves to the chains that tie Voldemort's hands. A forceful pull made Voldemort follow to the basin. His eyes couldn't be seen inside the helmet and took solace in that. They couldn't see the fear in his eyes.

Draco ran to their side and transported with them into what seemed to be a rather large closet filled with potions and other assortment of ingredients. Draco and Rex took of the chains and pushed Voldemort through the door.

The door fell of its hinges from the force a body of metal could exert on one surface. They got out and inti an empty hallway with doors on each side. Draco saw Rex nod and push Voldemort to one of the doors.

"Go and wait in one of the empty rooms there." Rex pointed in the direction of the exit while he went to a room two doors away from Havoc's. The door to Havoc's room clicked opened and a rather happy Havoc greeted the armor-clad Voldemort. The second they made eye-contact, Voldemort lost all control and found his body to invouluntarily step into the room.

What was happening? Why was his body moving out of control? Voldemort now stank of fear and he returned to the orphanage where he expressed his fear through harm and evil. He never wanted to feel that emotion ever again.

"You must be getting used to being a puppet, aren't you? Either way, you are done for." Havoc stated and pointed his open palm to the wall beside Voldemort. The wall was torn apart by a pulse of energy and sent shards flying all around.

"I will kill you Harry Potter! You can't escape from me for long!" Voldemort roared despite himself, his lips moved on their own and his voice which was his; wasn't his. Two more walls burst into shards. Voldemort saw Havoc put on a terrified face but he knew it to be fake. He couldn't do anything about it, he had been used, and he will be discarded. Ironic.

Both of them heard the hall outside fill with footsteps from hurrying mediwizards and witches. Voldemort felt his hand reach out for his wand and cast Avada Kedavra at Havoc who was ready with his trademark spell Expeliarmus.

The green and red beams connected and formed a huge ball of golden energy that sprayed sparks and what seemed to be molten magic. A crowd appeared around the demolished room and gasped at the display.

"Surrender, Potter! You are no match for me." Voldemort exclaimed. "No!" Havoc theatrically shouted with his face scrunched up. Voldemort put every fiber of his being to wrest control back from Havoc, however it was a losing fight. The Pristi had complete diminance. This was the end and Havoc could clearly see it in his eyes.

Then his hand slackened and the golden ball of energy started to slide down his beam. The heat became unbearable as it engulfed his arm and soon would swallow his body whole.

The ball of molten light began to break him down. The armor around him squealed as it was melted and torn to shreds until it left his body at the mercy of the rampant energy. Excruciating pain flared all over as his flesh peeled away layer by layer. When it reached his most lower level of muscle and sinew did his body lose every sensation.

Voldemort felt his consciousness leave the confines of the now-destroyed body and was about to flee when lashes of energy latched onto him. He wanted to scream in indignation but had no mouth with which to do so. Then he felt himself being sucked by a vacuum out of the ball and saw his a wretched skeleton fall limply onto the floor. His vision was then obstructed by a flesh hand and the magic hooks held him in place inside the fist.

"That was...He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" one of the wizards struck up the courage to make a sound after a duel of seemingly epic proportions. Havoc panted and fell onto the bed and covered his face. The room was silent when the Aurors decided the body should be removed and Harry Potter left alone.

The destroyed walls were repaired and back in place, leaving Havoc in the darkness. Alone with a still alive Voldemort enclosed in his fist. Havoc started laughing into his hand and laughed like that for a full minute.

The plan worked out splendidly. Havoc didn't expect it to go so well. Another victory, and a big one at that. Now he had the path to the ministry and Dumbledore open. It will finally begin.

"What do you think about the name Slithery, Voldy?"


Updated and revised, 07.13.2018