Hey guys, its been a long time since I've posted but I'm back now (for the moment, anyway). Super busy at the moment so I'm not sure how regular the rest of this is going to be (not like it has been for a while anyway, mind you) and frankly its a little hard to stay motivated to finish this off at the moment. Still, all the heavy lifting is pretty much done so I'll try my best to get it all done.
Also translations:
Pugna= fight
Nex=death
Victoria=victory
...
{Enochian Prophecies}
...
Hogwarts was under siege.
Peace and order lay burning, little more than ashes to the whims of yesterday.
Dumbledore stood with his Order, the remaining Aurors and the citizens who agreed to fight beside them. Their numbers were few—and Voldemort's were not. Albus didn't know how the Dark Lord had managed to bulk up his ranks so thoroughly, yet somehow, there he stood, amidst thousands of warriors, witches, wizards, werewolves—all snarling and spitting. Only the figure of Tom Riddle stood still within the restless waves of moving monsters.
Red eyes glowing, the Dark Lord stood out from the group like a true leader, an intimidating opponent, a worthy adversary.
How had this happened?
Not in all his years, all that time spent visiting Seers and listening to prophecies had he heard one that spoke of an alliance against the Light.
Feeling ill prepared and faint hearted, Dumbledore allowed himself a moment to wallow, closing his eyes. His ears picked up the cacophonous sound of the Dark's leering chants.
"Pugna, pugna, pugna.
Nex, nex, nex ut Dumbledore.
Victoria, victoria, victoria ut Voldemort.
Pugna, pugna, pugna."
Dumbledore shuddered because of the words, the immense sound and the nerves of the oncoming battle. He felt naked there, somehow, at the other end of the battlefield, facing his old student and without his trump card.
Galor Palun was not there as he should have been.
The man had a plan. He had said as much. Dumbledore was a witness to his immense power after a demonstration when they had first met some years ago. He had guaranteed the victory of the Light.
But he was missing and had been for many days.
In fact, Dumbledore had not seen him since that day when they had lost Sasha Kamenev.
Speaking of the boy, where was he?
Dumbledore could not see him. He would have imagined Sasha Kamenev would be with his master, standing to Voldemort's right had side, but he was not there. Eyes running along the whole area below, the headmaster could not spot the boy.
He could not say what was happening, but judging from Voldemort's arrogant smirk; Sasha was either hidden behind someone or placed somewhere else for an unknown strategy. He assumed it was the latter.
But what could he do?
He had wizards and witches manning the other entrances of the school, all he could do was wait for them to make the first move.
Feeling a presence suddenly at his shoulder, Dumbledore turned to the appearance of Galor Palun. It was unsettling that a creature could approach without as much as a disturbance of air.
Galor floated over to his side. Somehow, he looked sinister, like a monster about to dislocate his jaw so he could swallowing some unsuspecting victim whole. The man's eyes had darkened to the point of being likened to two gaping black holes; it was so much so that they seemed to take light from the area around him. Bruises and long black veins ruined what had once been a handsome face. He now looked like a terminally ill poison victim.
For more than the first time, Dumbledore doubted his alliance with this man, this creature.
"Do not fear," Galor Palun said in a voice that was not altogether human—and barely his own. It reminded Dumbledore of glass crunching underfoot. "There is a plan."
Blue eyes searching the face of Galor, Dumbledore tried to hold his tongue—and failed, "What is it? How can this be salvaged."
The response was immediate. Galor's head snapped in his direction as if he was possessed by an evil spirit. His eyes didn't seem to take in the face in front of him, rolling sightlessly in his head. Body swaying in jerking movements Galor snapped,
"You do not need to know!" He snarled viciously, spittle dripping down the side of his lip. "Just continue what you are doing. I will do what needs to be done."
Dumbledore thought he smelt blood on Galor's person but could see no evidence of injury. Slowly, he nodded. "Very well, I have faith in you." He said quietly.
An evil smirk appeared on Galor's face, full of deranged knowing. Without a word, he turned and disappeared with a flutter of his cloak, sounding more like the flapping of avian wings.
Ignoring the ominous feeling in his heart Dumbledore turned back to the army ahead of him.
The army of the Dark chanted deliriously.
"Nex, nex, nex ut Dumbledore!"
Death to Dumbledore lowered his eyes with weariness.
Voldemort's followers were salivating at the prospect of killing the man. Dumbledore felt bad that he would have to deny them that pleasure.
"Magic be with you friends." Dumbledore addressed his allies. "Let us stop the forces of Darkness from taking Hogwarts."
The Light cheered and gave their own glorious battle cry.
Wands at the ready, they advanced.
...
{Enochian Prophecies}
...
No one knew exactly who threw the first curse.
Afterwards, the survivors of the battle would just remember a ripple of action, a splash of adrenalin and then a river of gore.
Werewolves broke away from the hulking mass that was the Dark army and sprinted towards their enemies in a frenzied blood lust. Wizards rushed and dodged and fired their own spells as they all tried to tear through each other's defences.
Comrades and opponents fell, dying in screams and gurgles and gasps.
Sasha watched the beginning of the battle from the safety of the mountains at the edge of Hogwarts wards, now lying in tatters at his feet. It had not been Bellatrix to break the wards finally, but him.
Bellatrix, by all rights, should have been there; it was her triumph after all, but she did not wish to miss the start of the battle and asked that Sasha be the one to pluck the final strand instead. Sasha had agreed and could have sworn that he heard her voice above the others as the fighting commenced.
Glad that she could have her fun, Sasha turned to his other Death Eaters.
Lucius was there, but he was the only other main Death Eater to follow him. Avery had chosen to stay behind with the others. The rest of his small band of followers were relatively new, skilled but not yet proven. Sasha had chosen them from the ranks personally.
"Lucius," he said, "this is where we part."
"Indeed." Lucius said with a nod. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Sasha didn't give him the chance.
"You know what to do; good luck." He finished.
Lucius hesitated, but then nodded, "Good luck to you too. I will see you after this battle has finished."
Sasha nodded and watched patiently until the Malfoy patriarch disapparated.
Sasha gazed at the small group of Death Eaters. There were seven in total. It was a small group, but Sasha didn't want a big one. He would rather have a small, efficient group that he could easily control than one that was chaotic.
His role would be easy enough anyway.
Dumbledore was on the field and most of the Order were too. There would be some Aurors and maybe a professor or two straggling behind, but Sasha was confident that they would meet with little resistance.
"Ready?" He asked the small group. The question made the Death Eaters snap to attention, standing straighter and stiffer and looking ready for battle.
Sasha sighed at the overly eager expressions on his team. Their enthusiasm was tiring. For many of them, this was only the first real battle. Sasha had watched them train and had chosen accordingly. He hoped they had enough decorum to act professionally; they were representatives of Voldemort's army after all.
He walked past them, eyes on the vanishing cabinet that they had brought up with them half an hour ago. The old cabinet had been bought from Borgin and Burkes. Draco had fixed its counterpart and had arrived in the base unharmed and excited—breathless with the pride of his achievement, at which point Lucius had admonished his son for being so transparently happy.
Opening the cabinet doors, Sasha walked through, arriving with a jerk in a very different place.
He stepped further into the Room of Requirements, looking around in case of an ambush. Behind him, his followers stumbled inside as the cabinet spit them out and slammed its doors shut with a strange amount of haughtiness for a piece of furniture.
"Draco." Sasha said, looking to the boy who was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. He had seemed worried, nervous. Now that Sasha was there, he made an effort to look blank and unreadable. A shadow of his father.
"My Lord," Draco said, "has the fighting started?"
Sasha nodded. "Just now."
"Let me help you. I want to fight."
Sasha looked at Draco. He looked determined and more than a little scared. There was truth in his expression though. He didn't know what it was about Draco that softened him. Perhaps it was the father-son dynamic that was so dysfunctional. Either way, Sasha sighed.
"You've done your part, Draco," he said gently, "it's thanks to you we're here at all. Nothing more is needed of you."
"But I want to—"
Sasha shook his head. "No. Go home Draco; your mother is worried about you. You have succeeded in your mission. You've done your father proud."
"My father..." Draco muttered. "Where is he?"
"Playing his role in this war. You will be reunited soon enough. Get ready to celebrate our victory. A new day is dawning."
Draco looked reluctant but he nodded anyway and made his way to the vanishing cabinet and left Hogwarts.
Sasha watched him go and waited a moment before addressing his followers.
"Once we step outside this room, we are on the battlefield. You will act as I tell you, and only as I tell you. If you do not; I will have you executed for insubordination. We cannot afford to fail—not now, not so close to the end. Is that clear?"
They all nodded furiously.
Sasha gave a curt inclination of his head, pleased with the response. "Let's go." He said.
Striding towards the door, Sasha threw it open, wand ready and eyes searching.
Taking a quick look around, Sasha took off at a jog down the corridor, seven pairs of footsteps following him.
They hurried down the corridors, noting the empty quality of them. So deserted, were they, in fact that Sasha was beginning to wonder if anyone was actually there. They travelled for a few more minutes before he was proven wrong.
Sasha skidded to a halt. He scowled when his small group of followers stumbled behind him noisily.
"Sasha Kamanev." Sirius Black had his wand out and pointed at him. He stepped forward in his most impressive Auror stance. Sirius was a master duellist—even Bellatrix had grudgingly admitted it one day. He wasn't to be taken lightly.
Sasha had his wand down by his side, but that didn't mean he wasn't ready.
"Sirius Black," Sasha greeted with a respectful nod of his head, "and Alice Longbottom."
Neville's mother looked at him through eyes hardened with determination. She didn't speak, only thinned her lips and raised her wand higher.
Sasha sighed. "Look, I've no bad feelings towards you. Surrender and we can spare the theatrics; you cannot win this war, but you can spare yourselves."
"We'll never submit to you!" Sirius spit hatefully.
They appeared to be a united front; Mrs. Longbottom nodded curtly beside her ally.
Behind him, the small group of Death Eaters shuffled restlessly, prepared to fight and eager to start. Sasha didn't particularly think fighting was the best option. He didn't think he had to.
"This is unnecessary. Whatever about Mr. Black not willing to save himself, I would have thought more of you Alice; you have a son to look after. He doesn't need to be orphaned by Dumbledore's futile struggles. Yield and no harm will come to you or your family."
Sasha had thought he was being the voice of logic; it made sense to him that Alice should think about her son before her duty to Dumbledore. Apparently, however, it hadn't been the right thing to say.
Alice yelled suddenly, and spit out a violent curse. She was certainly showing the fiery spirit that had been laying dormant since her husband had succumbed to insanity. Sasha quirked his head to the side in curiosity, moments before he had to slash his arm down to repel the attack.
"So be it." Sasha muttered, firing his own wordless spell.
Behind him, more spells rushed towards the two Order members, shifting them to a defensive position of setting up shields and taking a few staggering steps backwards.
Sasha didn't let up. He fired a quick succession of curses, all silent, all ferocious and all aimed with deadly precision. Shields barely holding, the two Order members were hardly able to avoid being hit, let alone even think of switching their tactics.
Feeling magic swell and boil over from a place that was both deep inside of him and somehow completely seperate, Sasha grabbed hold of it and used it to the fullest extent against his opponents.
Some days, wordless magic was easy for Sasha, some days a wand was more of a hindrance than a help. On those days, Nature was with him, standing by his shoulder, close enough to brush a stray strand of hair behind his ear. On those days, Sasha felt the magic in the air around him, he saw it glitter in every single thing; as light in a person's veins, strength in a stone wall, the crispness in a blade of grass, the darkness of a starless night. It was beautiful. And tangible.
Today was one of those days.
Sparks that may or may not have been visible to everyone else jumped from the Order's shields and fluttered to the ground before extinguishing themselves on the cold stone. Their magic flickered and fluttered like a distressed bird, flapping its wings against the confines of a cage. Sasha found himself stopping his onslaught to gaze at the strange anomaly.
Idiots that they were, his Death Eaters took it as a cue to cease their own attacks, giving their opponents the much needed opportunity to change tactics.
"Confringo!" Sirius cried, firing straight for Sasha.
Pivoting out of the way, the curse flew past him, rippling the air beside his cheek. One of the Death Eaters yelled in surprise but otherwise seemed unharmed.
"Defodio!" Alice Longbottom flung the curse to Sasha's right, not hitting—or intending to—hit him, but one of the others.
A strangled growl alerted Sasha that the curse had found its mark.
Grimacing, Sasha spared a glance out of the corner of his eyes. "Heal him." He ordered sharply. "I won't accept the death of subordinates."
Knowing that things could not improve from this point unless something was done, Sasha did what was both the most stupid and most natural thing he could have done. He called to Nature and, assured she was with him; he tensed his muscles and rushed his opponents.
Surprised by his actions, both the order members retreated a few steps.
Sasha flung random magic at them. It hadn't been moulded into spells; it was just static energy that he took from the area and charged, pushing at his opponents. It wouldn't cause pain; only a dull beating throb, but the force was enough to push anyone back and keep them off balance.
Waving his hand, Sasha disarmed both of them with a wordless, wandless Expelliarmus. He was right on top of them by the time they could figure out he had gotten close.
Sliding to a stop in the space between them, Sasha grabbed both of their robes. Just as they were about to react, to pull back or even attack him, Sasha muttered, "Depulso..." and with a puff of white light, they had vanished, their wands clattering to the ground a heartbeat later.
Sasha stood in the quiet aftermath that always seemed so profound moments after a fight ended. He hadn't killed them, though by all rights he should have. Voldemort certainly hadn't given orders to spare them, but Sasha imagined Azkaban was punishment enough for now. If Voldemort so wanted them dead, he could do it himself afterwards. And besids, Sirius' head had Bellatrix's name on it.
Walking over to their wands, Sasha picked the two discarded weapons up. In one hand he held them, tightening his fist and snapping the wood easily. Nature sighed happily as the magic was released from their cores and returned to her.
Sasha turned back to his group. The injured member looked pale and shaken, trying to stand up while shivering and wheezing out pained gasps. Unimpressed by the attempt to heal him, Sasha turned to the healer. He raised an accusatory brow.
Without having to voice his distaste, the healer shuddered and quickly defended himself. "It was the best I could do on field. If I had my tools I would be able to do a better job. There's nothing else that can be done."
Sasha wasn't about to take pity on the man for something that may or may not have been true. "Leave then." He ordered coldly. "Both of you. If you cannot fight—or otherwise do your job—you're useless. I don't need dead weight. Go back the way you came, return to the camp and your... tools and help the wounded there. Bring him with you."
After a brief hesitation, both the less-than-adequate healer and the wounded man nodded and began a slow, shuffling retreat back the way they came.
"Anyone else want to tell me they can't do their job?" He asked, looking to the now five man group.
"No, my Lord." The said in unison.
"Good." Sasha said with a pleased nod and spun on his heel, taking off down the corridor.
He heard his little minions hurry after him.