Chapter 49: Weakness
2nd year of Hogwarts, 2nd semester
The sun was barely rising when Dumbledore entered the Great Hall. Early morning fog covered the windows and the shawl covering his shoulders was not enough to keep the cold out. He looked up to admire the ceiling of the Great Hall. Half was in darkness with stars still visible and the other half bathed with the first rays of light. The tables were empty except for a boy sitting in the Slytherin table. It did not take more than a glance to identify him as Charles Winter. After a moment of pause, Dumbledore headed there.
As usual, Charles Winter sat surrounded by newspapers, letters and plates of barely-touched breakfast that smelled of eggs, meat, and oats. It was a meal that was too rich for the war and famine that the Wizarding World was experiencing and not many had such luxuries anymore. In spite of the veritable feast, a deep frown marred Winter's face as he looked at the paper in front of him. It looked like he has been there for a while.
Before sunrise? Dumbledore wondered, maybe he did not even sleep.
Dumbledore was not a stranger to the custom of assigning work to an heir in-training. It was very common tradition amongst the upper class. But in the privacy of his mind, he thought the amount of work the child's uncle gave him was unreasonable. But then again, it kept the Winter boy busy. And if the family had learned to deal with the boy by drowning him in work, who was he to judge? The school had taken a similar approach after all.
The first time Dumbledore had seen the boy in the Great Hall with no less than twenty newspapers and his fellow professors surrounding him it had surprised him; now it was a common occurrence. No explanations were given for the sudden change of routine. The boy had said something about the lack of light in Slytherin common room and left it at that.
In these early moments of the morning he and Mr Winter had a sort of truce that did not extend to the rest of the day. Dumbledore could read the impossible to obtain newspapers if he did not take them out of the table or talked too much. The boy had a terrible temper early in the morning. It seemed he hated getting up at 'indecent' hours of the morning to work on 'bloody nonsense'. Yet, there he was every morning without fail with a discipline that was unseen in children his age.
Dumbledore often wondered how the boy obtains advanced copies of newspapers but the boy had never disclosed his method. Dumbledore assumed it was the work of obscene amounts of money and inside connections. As always, the child's letters were protected by magic to be blurred and unreadable, leaving no clues for Dumbledore to know what the boy worked on so early in the morning.
"Mr Winter," Dumbledore greeted calmly, sitting down in front of the boy. Immediately a cup of hot tea appeared in front of him. The House elves tried their best, but with the money shortage there was little they could do. His tea was a muddy brown colour of poor quality with no sugar or cream. He sighted in disappointment.
Overall, Charles Winter was not someone Dumbledore liked and many times he spared himself the headache by avoiding the boy. To a small degree, Dumbledore understood. The boy was twelve and the castle could be stifling place, especially in the cold months when they were all trapped inside by the fierce snowstorms.
"Professor," the boy acknowledged without looking up. At best, Charles Winter tolerated him. The rest of the times the boy did not try too hard to hide his contempt. Even the hateful caretaker received a more cheerful, sincere greeting.
Without looking up, Winter took his wand, a frail looking thing with no handle, and with a swish passed a plate of biscuits, cream and sugar. Dumbledore was positive that the wand movement was only for his benefit. While the brothers hid it very well from the other professors, Dumbledore was aware that both of them excelled at wandless.
The boy was not malicious and usually demonstrated compassion and kindness towards others. Even to him, a professor he did not like. With a happy smile and twinkling eyes Dumbledore thanked the boy and dragged the plate of biscuits closer. His favourite, he was unsurprised to notice. Dumbledore took the Daily Prophet, a newspaper he knows Winter will not read until the end, if at all.
Minister denies allegations of infidelity read the cover, underneath was a moving photo of the Minister of Magic covering his face with one hand and pushing the cameraman with the other. Dumbledore shock his head in exasperation and delved into the paper. In the fourth page on the corner he found a small article that read:
Jim Ross: The Representative's representative in London!
It has been confirmed that Jim Ross, previous head of the Auror Department, is the representative of The Wizard Representative of the treaties of 1938 in surprise conference last week…
"Jim Ross?" Dumbledore gasped in surprise. Charles looked up from his paper at the noise with a frown and glanced at the article Dumbledore was reading.
"That's old news," Charles mused, his eyes going back to his own article after a brief moment of glancing up, "The French published that news the day of the event, a week ago."
"A week ago? How is this possible?"
"It's the Daily Prophet," he said without looking up. 'Incompetent morons' was what Dumbledore heard.
Dumbledore stood up abruptly and gathered the paper with him. He had to go to the ministry immediately. He had to talk to Minister Nott and then get in contact Jim Ross. Dumbledore was sure that he could set up a meeting by the end of the week. Jim was an old friend.
"Don't bother," Winter said. Dumbledore hesitated in his forward movement and looked at the boy with some surprise; he was a second away from telling off the boy for his rudeness but held his tongue. The biscuits might or might have not influenced that decision.
"He's not in London," the boy offered as explication.
"Jim Ross?" Dumbledore asked to confirm they were talking about the same thing. The boy nodded. After a moment of indecision, Dumbledore faced the boy, doubtful but wiling to listen. Dumbledore was acutely aware of how well informed the boy was.
"What do you know?" Dumbledore asked seriously.
Charles tossed the newspaper he had been reading. It smacked loudly on the table close enough for Dumbledore to reach. Big, bold unintelligible letters and glossy moving photos stared back at him. He took out his wand and cast a translating charm.
The letters scattered and re-formed until the front page read:
China's Emperor, Qin Shi Huang, threatens to declare war on The Representative.
"Jim Ross is most likely in China right now," Charles said, "And I think you have other problems right now." Charles passed a German newspaper. Dumbledore did another translating charm on the paper.
Grindelwald sets his sights on England. Troops have been spotted in the coast of Northumberland! the cover read.
Stunned, Dumbledore simply stared at the paper blankly.
"That's one quick portkey away from Scotland," Charles commented as if he was commenting on the weather, Quidditch nationals or something equally unimportant. Dumbledore almost glared at the boy but after a moment of fearful hesitation he sat and read the entire thing. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach because as much as he hated it, the boy was right. Hogwarts and Hogsmade were just one short trip away from Northumberland and the border was never heavily monitored. Halfway through the paper the door opened again and Dumbledore didn't have to raise his eyes to know that it was Tom Riddle walking in. The oppressive magic cackling in the air was enough.
"Mr Riddle," Dumbledore greeted, his eyes briefly glancing up to meet cold, dark eyes that reflected nothing, the eyes of a lifeless doll.
"Professor," Tom Riddle murmured and sat besides his adopted brother. A feast of breakfast foods appeared in front of Tom Riddle, courtesy of his adopted family's fortune and private House Elves. Slowly, professors entered the Hall and instead of going to the front of the Hall, as tradition dictated, sat around them in the Slytherin table, helping themselves to newspapers and the food the Winter brother's freely shared. No one would admit that they got up this early in the morning to eat breakfast with the brothers but the starving faces and minutes of silence while the food was inhaled spoke loud enough. After the plate of eggs and meat was clean conversation slowly started and as it often does with a table full of professors it turned to students, then to local events and eventually, the news.
Charles Winter and Tom Riddle were, undoubtedly, close to the staff of Hogwarts. It was not rare to see Charles Winter to drop by for a cup of tea with the Ancient Runes professor or stop by the infirmary to chat with the nurse. It was both because of necessity, it kept Winter out of trouble, and out of pleasure for the intelligent conversation. For reasons that eluded Dumbledore the professors were simply enamoured by Tom Riddle. Dumbledore ignored the conversation around him in order to think about what he had just read until it turned on the same subject as his worries.
"Do you really think China will go to war?" Griselda Marchbanks asked to the table, looking more interested than worried.
The potion's professor snorted, his toast covered in raspberry jam, a present from Tom Riddle, halfway to his mouth. "Of course not. It's just a ploy to have the Representative reveal his hand. But it will just backfire."
"How so?" she asked curiously.
"The Representative would be stupid to give into the demand," the potions professor responded, "It would just cause others to exploit the weakness. No, China will regret this move. Someone has to be the example of not crossing the line and China has just offered itself on a silver plate." He hummed, pleased with himself at his own brilliance and cunning mind.
"Does the Representative have an army?" she asked, this time with true worry in her voice.
Dumbledore looked across the table to see Tom mimicking to perfection her worried expression for a second before falling back to his normal blank expression. A shiver ran through his spine. Around the table no one seemed to have noticed. No one ever noticed that the boy only imitated normal patterns of behaviour and had difficulty responding to emotional situations with the appropriate response. Dumbledore sighed resignedly and continued with his breakfast. It was not as if anyone was going to believe him anyway.
"Unless he has it very well hidden," Slughorn continued thoughtfully, "I don't think so. Rumours would have spread of a large military force training."
"What I think we should be worrying," the caretaker interrupted, "is about Grindelwald. Doubt the Representative is going to do shit about it."
"You're right," Charles responded. Apparently he had been listening to the conversation but even now, his eyes did not stray from the paper in front of him, signing it before replacing it with another. "It's doubtful that the Representative will help. It would be very stupid to do so. And I believe, he or she isn't stupid." Dumbledore looked to the side to see the very rare sight of Tom Riddle snorting and laughing in what looked like true mirth. Apparently there was a inside joke because Charles Winter looked up to meet Tom's eyes and smirked before continuing with the letter he was now writing and the conversation. "This war precedes him and it's too advanced with too many factors to simply be stopped. It's a core problem of the Wizarding World and it won't be resolved until the people fight it themselves." After a moment of pause he added, "It's also time consuming and a money pit."
"The people?" the caretaker inserted with a snort, the bread in his mouth was clearly visible. Dumbledore kept his eyes on his plate and away from the moving white ball in the caretaker's mouth. "You are dreaming, child. The people will never fight. Bunch of puny cowards they all are. Too content to leave things be unless it's their ass on the line. And even then, they will leave it to the good for nothin' Ministry to resolve it for them." He spat on the floor. Dumbledore inched away. "Cowards, all of them!"
"And that is why many will die before the issue is resolved," Charles responded calmly. It stroked a cord in Dumbledore that a child could say this so casually, without even looking up from the table. Dumbledore has known the child long enough to recognize that he wasn't by any means normal (a genius with problems of addiction and difficulty adapting to a school environment), but for Merlin's sake, he was still a child. And no child should speak like that.
"If The Representative is so strong he would have finished this war by now," Dumbledore commented, looking at the boy pointedly with a disapproving frown.
Charles exhaled loudly, looking up for the first time to meet Dumbledore's eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. Cold, irritated, callous. They were not the eyes of a child.
"We've had this conversation before," Winter said with exasperation.
"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. Somehow, someway, even if the boy infuriated, saddened, and, on occasion, frightened him, they conversed of topics not related to school. Very rare occasions. Dumbledore made sure of that. The boy had the power of discourse and could be dangerously convincing when he set his mind to it. Dumbledore has seen greater men than he fall at the words of this child.
"Outside force will not help. This type of problem is like a Lernaean Hydra, it has many heads and for each one you cut two appear. For each leader you kill many more will appear to gladly replace its place. You have to go to the heart of the matter. It will be war after war until the people either decides to kill off all muggleborn or reduce the prejudice from their culture to a more manageable and less deadly level. Many people will die now, but many more will die if the problems keeps dragging on war after war for another thousand years."
"You misunderstand me. I follow your point of view. I just find it frightingly callous." But, Dumbledore thought, why should it surprise me? He had not forgotten Malcolm. And while he might never know what truly happened that day, he would not so easily dismiss it. Tom Riddle was not the only one he was watching. No, the boy was not malicious, he knew that. But pragmatic to a point where Dumbledore was not sure he could condone. Malcolm was alive and healthy, but did that mean that what was done to him was right?
Dumbledore could just feel the headache creeping in.
Charles Winter did not respond. In fact it seemed as if he had stopped listening all together. A deep frown marred the boy's face as his eyes trailed over an envelope, turning it over his hands without opening.
"These are dark times," Griselda muttered when the silence stretched.
Silence always followed when the boy talked, Dumbledore realized, because everyone stopped to listen to what he had to say. A very dangerous quality to have in someone that could not be trusted to do what's right and not what's easy. The biscuits in front of him begged him to reconsider. Dualities, shades of grey, contradicting, opposing natures coexisting in a person, it all gave him a headache. And Charles Winter was a constant source of migraine.
"Charles" Tom Riddle called, speaking for the first time. Dumbledore heard the silent question in the name.
"It's fine," Charles responded distractedly. "Leviathan wrote."
The name meant nothing to Dumbledore. But Tom Riddle's face transformed into one of outmost hate.
"It's been a year, what does the leech want?" Tom spat. Anger, Dumbledore decided, was the only real emotion Tom Riddle was capable of having.
"A meeting apparently," Charles responded. The frown had not left his face even when he got up hours later to leave for class. A fuming Tom Riddle followed behind like a dark shadow. Even before the doors to the Great Hall closed, Dumbledore could hear the start of an argument.
Griselda sighed, "It's a shame one of them isn't a girl. They would be married before graduation."
Dumbledore looked at her with sincere horror. Most of the professors laughed and snorted, quietly agreeing.
How can people be so blind? Dumbledore wondered.
It was just after dinner and the Slytherin common room had never felt as oppressive as it did that particular night. Everyone looked over their shoulders nervously or went to bed early with barely an excuse before fleeing. Conversations were hushed for no apparent reason, and no one moved too quickly or made too much sound. It was a cold night but only one fireplace had been lighted. Close to winter, it was unbearably cold in the dungeons. No one dared voice a protest.
Charles Winter was the exception or maybe the cause. He moved in fast, jerky movements as he paced in front of the fireplace like a caged demon. As a rule of thumb, a good indicator of Charles Winter and Tom Riddle's explosive moods were their roommates. And right now all of them were conspicuously absent. In the current atmosphere, no one wanted to ignite a possible fight with the usually calm and collected boy that was loved by almost the entire school but his fury was stuff of legends.
Tired with seeing Charles pace, Abraxas extended one long pale arm and when Charles was close enough, he circled it around the boy's waist and pulled him toward the sofa. Charles did not react to the movement at all. Abraxas' magic, skin, smell, his entire person, was as familiar to Charles as an old uniform. His eyes stayed fixed on the cold coals and the frown he has been wearing all day did not abate.
"Relax," Abraxas' breathed into his ear and that made him snap from his thoughts. Charles pushed, shoved and moved until he was confortable on the couch and Abraxas sat at a distance. He did not wished to be touched right now.
"You are making the firsties nervous," Abraxas commented softly. Charles looked at the group Abraxas pointed at with his chin and they did look rather terrified.
"I'm not doing anything," he responded petulantly. He looked around just to make sure. It was cold but that was because no one had bothered to light up more than one fireplace. And nothing was moving that shouldn't be moving but the students did look kind of tense and wary. He glared at Abraxas but relented after a few minutes. He sagged on the sofa and closed his eyes, one hand rubbing the crease between his eyes.
"You did not looked this stressed when China threatened war," Abraxas noted.
"No, of course not. I knew weeks ahead."
In spite of wanting to address Charles's current anxiety, Abraxas couldn't help himself from asking, "How?"
"China has a few spies among my people," Charles said distractedly.
Abraxas blinked and tried to work it out by himself. After a few minutes stewing, he finally cleared his throat and asked.
"China's Emperor, rumoured to be one of the most fearsome wizards of all time with the world's largest militia was spying on you and you knew but you let it... because?"
Charles finally turned to look at him and for the first time Abraxas thought he finally caught up in time and space with the present: that he was here talking with Abraxas on Slytherin's common room couch and not where ever his mind had been.
"I keep a few spies from every important regime to feed them information and keep tabs. The moment one of them starts behaving suspiciously, breaking out of their routine, getting out of the country, putting the dog up for adoption, I know something's up and investigate. It's easier, quicker and reliable. I publicly 'uncover' a few every few months and send them back in pieces so that they think that only the best of the best get past me and that the information they receive is reliable."
"That's…" disturbing, chilling, horrifying, "unconventional."
Abraxas knew that Charles dealt with things that he knew nothing of and that were very important and secret but it was something to imagine than to know exactly what he did. Charles was at the centre of a spider web he had carefully created and nothing moved without him knowing it. It was as awe inspiring as it was terrifying. And here Abraxas was, being proud of his good grades. His mood fell faster than a wingless snitch.
"Don't," Charles said sharply, assessing blue eyes turning sharply at him with an intensity that even after so many years Abraxas couldn't get used to.
"Hm?" Abraxas responded distractedly.
"Don't compare yourself to me. Trust me, you don't want to be me." I don't want to be me, was left unsaid but Abraxas heard it. Abraxas didn't know about that. Being Charles sounded wonderful. He was an addict, but that could be controlled. His mother was sick, but at least he had a mother that cared and that was better than the sorry excuse for a mother that he had. Knowing better than to argue, Abraxas let the topic die.
"Why is this worse?" Abraxas asked, going back to the original subject.
"It's a trap," Charles said with a troubled frown.
"Of course is a trap," Abraxas agreed, not really knowing how it was obvious it was a trap but going along with it. One explanation was enough for tonight. He threw one arm around Charles' shoulders and dragged Charles back to him. Charles' shrugged Abraxas off with practiced familiarity and leaned against the opposite arm of the small couch. Charles had enough problems with Black, Abraxas' ex-boyfriend, and the long line of lovers Abraxas left broken hearted to last him a lifetime. They were like a pack of rabid fans ready to tear apart any who threatened their golden bone.
"And I didn't expect it," Charles finally admitted.
Abraxas' eyebrows shot up. So that's what got him upset, Abraxas thought.
"It's in Leviathan's handwriting," Charles looked deeply troubled. Abraxas rarely saw him look like that, even in the midst of wars, councils and politics. "I haven't heard from him in over a year. But I know, I know it's his handwriting," he said fiercely. "It wasn't a fake."
Charles did not want to think he was being betrayed, but all signs pointed at that. He felt as if something heavy had settled at the bottom of his stomach. He felt old. And very, very vulnerable. Charles lived in a world of betrayal, changing allegiances, politics and backstabbing. Loyalty was something rare and priced, almost as mythological as unicorns were to muggles. Friend was not something Charles could call someone lightly. It was almost a political move. He had called Leviathan a friend in front of Vampires, Goblins, Werewolves and everyone that asked. How foolish he must look now. How weak. He should be used to this, but he wasn't. He felt betrayed.
"I knew a trap was coming. Of course I did. Ever since that stupid wolf made that stupid deal, I knew this would happen. I just… I never…" Charles mouth closed up and he stared sightlessly at the table in front of them.
"You mean the deal of you fighting in exchange of supplies for the victims you rescued in Germany?" Abraxas clarified.
"Yeah…It took longer than I expected, but after the Demons I guess they reconsidered the strategy…I just… I never expected it to be Leviathan, you know?" Charles looked at Abraxas, his eyes showing a small part of the confusion and hurt he truly felt. Abraxas closed the distance and put his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders again squeezing a little before retracting the arm.
"You still have a few hours. You want some distraction?" Abraxas offered.
Charles looked at him deeply irritated, but there was a trace of mischief hidden there as well. "I'm not having sex with you." It was said so seriously and without a trace of humour that Abraxas faltered for a moment before laughing deeply.
"That's disappointing, but not what I was asking."
Tom did not have to work hard to find Charles. He'd been headed to the dungeons when he faltered mid-step as powerful magic washed over him. Not just any powerful magic, but Charles' dark, rich, aggressive and barely-controlled magic. It was as close as earth-bound creatures could get to true, undiluted magic. It felt like a siren calling him in the sweetest song known to man. Impossible to resist, even if it led him to his death. Tom was certain that someday it would.
He walked the dark, empty corridors with long steps and climbed the stairs two at a time. He stopped in front of a patch of wall in the seventh floor and with only a thought, his magic forced it open, almost tearing the wall in the process. Tom never cared if he was welcomed or not, if he wanted in he had every right to enter.
He walked in to see the end of the fight. Or so he assumed because Abraxas looked in no shape to get up again, gasping and with no intention of getting off the floor. At a quick glance he determined that Abraxas had no lasting injuries, which was a pity and no way to end a fight. He sneered at the pathetic figure for a moment but his eyes darted around the room to find the true predator.
Charles looked up from where he had been crouching in a dark corner and Tom saw magic swirling in his eyes like blue flames. Power danced and flared hungrily around the room. And Tom's magic rose to meet it. Charles smiled, that smile he only gave Tom, dark and playful. Tom responded with his own smile. The only true smile that he was capable of giving: one that promised pain.
Tom did not hold back and attacked savagely. Charles was a lethal dueller. A mistake on Tom's part meant a world of pain, if not days in the infirmary. It had shaped Tom to be a ruthless, cunning fighter because anything else wouldn't have been accepted.
Tom had never fought with anyone other than Charles, Penelope and the Malfoys so he was ignorant at how he would fare outside his circle, but he was confident that at the very least he could hold his own. For their standards, the fight was light and playful and over in half an hour when Charles called it off by cutting Tom from his magic, something that to Tom's eternal frustration he hadn't learned to counter or mimic.
"Come on," Charles beckoned, "I have a trap to go to and it wouldn't do to be late."
It was disappointing. Tom didn't even get to try the skin-pealing curse he had learned that afternoon. They headed towards the door and passed a conscious but tired Abraxas on the floor that waved them goodbye. Abraxas' skin glowed with the light from the torches reflecting off his sweaty skin. Tom had never noticed before, but Abraxas had perfect skin: ivory and smooth with rosy glow from exertion. Flawless, really.
"Tom?" Charles called. Tom looked up from his inspection. "Are you coming?" Charles asked him warily, his eyes shifting from Abraxas to Tom.
Tom looked one more time at an increasingly worried Abraxas with a smile and continued towards the door.
The portkey dropped them in a hill that overlooked a large crowd that surrounded an outdoors arena. It had a carnaval feel. A dome of magic covered the arena and isolated the participants while hundreds gathered around in benches. Hundreds of floating bright, white magical lights illuminated the clear night. They passed busy food stands that offered everything from soups to fried frog legs and dark corners that smelled of piss while hags ambled around, offering apples and potions for "discounted prices".
"Next we have Bardam the Ugly Ogre against Batista the Dark Wizard," the voice enhancement spell screamed from all directions.
"Is it the right place?" Tom asked, looking with revulsion at a hag that shuffled by, her long, tattered dress dragging behind.
Charles did not look at Tom but answered, "Yeah. I think so." But his frown told Tom that he wasn't sure.
"Why is no one here?" While the place was full there was no one they recognized and expected to be there. It was also too public. They usually did things more privately.
"I don't know." Charles answered.
They walked around, occasionally getting pushed by the crowd in some direction. Most did not notice two twelve-year-old wizards in their midst but those that did sneered, snapped and growled.
"uuuhhh that's got to hurt. And that's the end for him, I guess. Next up with have history in the making. I present to you Leader of the Black Shadows, second time winner Kopa!" the crowd went wild with a mix of cheers and jeers. "and his rival for four decades, Leader of the White Knights and first time competitor Hel."
Charles did not bother with the announcements or with looking at the arena. His eyes were only for the crowd. But Tom's eyes had not left the arena. At Tom's insistence they sat in the benches to watch the fight.
"Buy me caramel popcorn," Tom demanded. "And pumpkin juice."
Charles gave him an irritated glance. "You ate not two hours ago…and besides, this is a trap, my trap, not a night out."
"You can die after you buy me caramel popcorn."
Charles responded with an irritated glance. "Buy it yourself."
"I didn't bring any money."
"Why?"
"Why would I?" Tom asked with a confused frown. "I'm with you," he said as if it explained everything and Charles was dumb for even asking. Charles' glared and vowed not to buy Tom anything, ever.
Three fights later, a large caramel popcorn bag, two hot dogs with everything and a giant pretzel later they were still watching the fights.
"She should have ducked," Tom commented blandly, sipping from his drink and moving the ice with his straw to get the last bit of the juice. The witch in the arena fell to the floor, her head several feet away. The crowd exploded in screams, applause and jeers. Money passed around as bets were won and lost. The next fight lasted longer, with both fighters equally matched.
"I never noticed how long it takes to cast a chain of spells," Tom commented, the half-filled popcorn bag forgotten at his feet in lieu of a bowl of fried frog legs with spicy sauce. Charles watched in fascinated revulsion as another frog leg disappeared and Tom licked his fingers. Tom's eyes left the arena to glare at Charles continued scrutiny.
"We did fight before coming here," Tom defended. "It always makes me hungry." Charles was almost tempted to tell him he was going to get fat ankles if he kept going but restrained. It was not worth the hours of trouble it would get him.
"It took long," Charles finally agreed with Tom's previous comment about chain spells, "But it was a rather clever combination."
Tom hummed in agreement.
Charles finally found someone he recognized among the crowd: a young vampire in his late teens with blond hair and brown eyes that Charles could recognize anywhere. Out of the top of his head, Charles could mention one thousand seventy two facts about said vampire, none of them useful, thanks to Leviathan's obsession with talking about the prick.
After publicly humiliating the vampire at Leviathan's birthday years ago the vampire fancied himself Charles' enemy. The animosity was mutual. Leandro's eyes gleamed when he finally picked out Charles from the crowd and he walked towards them with purpose.
"Surprise!" Leandro exclaimed happily just as the crowd jumped up in cheers after another gruesome end. "You know, I had my doubts you'd even show up," the vampire said when he reached them. Tom finally noticed the vampire but after a disinterested look and a mutter of bloodsucker parasite he dismissed the company and continued watching the arena. Leandro's eyes shifted minutely and tensed but he gave no other indication of hearing Tom.
"You are always hard to find when there are more than one person in the room. It's like you blend with the furniture."
Tom snorted at the weak insult, but his eyes did not leave the arena. Charles raised his eyebrows and smirked, his own amusement shinning through. Leandro was bad at being bad and ended up being more humorous than insulting. That's not to say that the cocky tone and the posturing did not have Charles imagining forcing all the blood out of the vampire by squeezing it out his pores. Two lackeys surrounded the vampire, both magical and obviously trained bodyguards.
"Leandro," Charles greeted calmly, his face not showing just how much he wished to kill the vampire in front of him. Charles reminded himself that killing the vampire was not worth the political trouble it would cause.
"Surprised not to find your friend here?" Leandro asked with obvious pleasure.
"Don't worry, you'll see him soon enough," Leandro continued with a malicious smile while the two vampires at either side smirked. Charles couldn't help the amused incredulity at their poorly rehearsed bad guy act.
"Where are the Leaders?" Charles asked, "The deal was made with Goblins who provided lands and the clans that accepted the new members. A representative should be present."
"The invite was sent. It might or might not get there on time."
"Then this is a waste of my time."
"Oh, don't worry. It will not be a waste of your time. Because you see," the vampire smiled; with a malice and hate that Charles had underestimated. "I finally know your weakness." In the same second someone bumped him from behind and the world turned black.
'And that's the end for Azo, better luck next time! Next we have a special case. Please welcome the youngest wizard to ever compete!'
"Charles!" Tom screamed. He sounded far away as Charles' magic resisted a portkey.
"You care," were the last words Charles heard from Leandro before he lost the battle with what had to be the strongest portkey he ever felt dragged him away.
He opened his eyes as the portkey dropped him a few feet from the floor. He bent his knees to accept the fall and stayed close to the floor while he inspected his new situation. He was inside the arena. He studied his surroundings with sharp eyes. The floor was made of compact sand with magical crystals. It appeared that someone figured out how he defeated the vampires last time…or that Leviathan talked. He would call the dome itself impressive if it wasn't being used to hold him prisoner. On the other side was his opponent with its head bowed down and long, greasy hair covering his features. Raggy, shapeless clothes dressed the tall, lanky frame.
The sand had not settled under his feet when his opponent rushed towards him with a speed that was not human and before Charles knew what was happening the thing was in front of him. He didn't even have to think of a spell before his magic reacted as a separate, individual entity and stopped the thing from leaping at his throat. While his first guess had been demon he could see now that it was a vampire. A starved vampire that was past the stage of cognitive thinking and had descended into hunger-induced madness. Even paralysed in the air the vampire fought against the invisible constraints like a wild animal and snarled furiously at Charles when nothing worked.
Charles walked forward until he was a palm away from the vampire. The vampire redoubled its efforts to attack with its meal so close but only managed to break bones and tear ligaments by thrashing in place. Blue veins were made visible under paper-thin skin that stretched past its limits. Wild, dark and hungry eyes screamed at him with frustration under dark shadows.
"Leviathan?" Charles asked in a whisper.
This creature looked nothing like his fashion-forward friend that was allergic to dirt, but his magic told him otherwise. Unfocused glassy eyes filled with insanity watched him with no apparent recognition and only increased his efforts to escape at the sound of his voice.
A year.
He hadn't heard from Leviathan in a year. He had assumed that Leviathan no longer wished to be his friend and that this 'trap' was a carefully planned out revenge by a former friend. But all this time Leviathan had been tortured and starved.
A fury like no other consumed him and he welcomed it with open arms. A door to the arena opened and seven more opponents entered, not one of them wizard. It became clear that Leandro was not stupid enough to think he could kill Charles, but he wanted Charles to break the treaties and start a war. It was starting to look tempting.
The wards that minutes ago looked like a daunting task to destroy dissolved like thin paper on water. The seven opponents that had been spreading out to circle him sought shelter from the flaying ward. His magic found Tom just outside the broken wards and Charles appeared in front of his brother with a trashing Leviathan floating in place besides him.
Most of the crowd had dispersed when the wards broke. Tom had a large, clear space around him even in the aftermath of a large crowd fleeing for their lives. Leandro's bodyguards were on the floor a few feet from Tom. One was skinless but still very much alive and in agony and the other was missing his head with a post-mortem mutilated body. The head had been carefully separated, wrapped in plastic and stored in ice to keep.
Tom met his eyes with a blank face. "I was savagely attacked," Tom said with no infliction or expression. "It was purely self-defence. I feared for my life."
Charles' eyes moved from Tom's perfectly combed hair, spotless clothes to the box of fried frog legs that he hadn't bothered to put down. It appeared that Tom even had time to close the bag of caramel popcorn and store it in a corner away from the pool of blood.
"I'm sure," Charles' responded when his eyes landed on Tom again.
Tom's eyes dropped to the floor where his foot unnecessarily rested on top of Leandro's throat. The vampire was nailed to floor by two-feet long spears on every joint like a frog ready for dissection.
"I was waiting for you. I wasn't going to kill him," Tom explained blandly, "Not until we decided on a politically correct way of dealing with this situation, of course."
Charles didn't bother answering the blatant lie and turned to look at Leandro's face.
"You can't kill me," Leandro screamed with both desperation and joy. "Leviathan never saw me, and you know he won't believe you. He loves me. I've known him for far longer than you," he smiled with a mocking twist to his mouth even as blood dribbled down his face.
Charles eyebrows climbed to his hairline, completely sure in the knowledge that five more minutes with Tom and Leandro would have been joining his bodyguard in ice for preservation and transport.
"What's it going to be Charles? Kill me and create an enemy with a friend's face or let me walk away?"
Charles smirked. "You have no imagination and that's your weakness." and apparated the four of them to Neutral Grounds.
An hour later, 2am
Neutral Ground
England
As Charles had guessed, the other half of Leandro's attack was a political one. He was greeted in Neutral Grounds like a criminal and rushed through the proceedings. They had all of his charges lined up like ducks. Months' worth of work carefully assembling indictments was coming to an end tonight. With the exception of asking for coffee Charles sat quietly through out the whole procedure. He wanted to know exactly who was involved in this and what they planned to get from this. Sadly for this he had to patiently wait it out.
Leviathan was receiving medical attention at his parents' castle. The only place that was safe for the vampire to be right now. From his knowledge of Vampires, Charles knew that it took at least five years of starvation to do any permanent damage to a vampire, but it did not stop him from worrying.
Charles opened his gold pocket watch to see that two hours had passed. Two hours of his young life had just been wasted in the opening statements. Tom had been interested in the beginning but even the most fervent listener had tuned it out. At some point of the third hour his traitorous brother had walked out in search of distraction. The only thing Charles had as a distraction was thinking in what he will do with Leandro when he was done here. The list was long and it was hard to choose.
There was a mix of Vampires and Werewolves in the room (surprisingly no Goblins and only a few other minorities), thirty-three in the room and at least fifteen others outside. No one important enough that he knew by name but close enough that he recognized their faces. Not one leader that signed the treaties was present, surprisingly enough. Charles wasn't naïve enough to think he only had fifty-eight enemies.
The thin woman with a smoker's voice and a mustard-colored dress finally concluded the long list of infringements to the treaty he had committed tonight (had everything gone according to Leandro's plan) and fell silent. A werewolf next to her stood up to read his sentence with the same incapability of summarizing but to this Charles paid careful attention.
"So you're saying that if I plead guilty I can just sign to be removed from the treaties?" Charles asked for clarification. Really, really wanting to make sure he got that part correct.
The werewolf gave him an annoyed look for interrupting. "Yes, Mr Winter, that is exactly what I just said."
"You have a way to releasing me from the magical and soul-binding properties in the contract without the approval of any other party?"
"Yes, Mr Winter. But if you insist on pleading innocent we will review the facts again and proceed with…" Charles stopped listening. Something about killing him if he was proven guilty after pleading innocent, which of course he would be proven guilty because it was the whole point of this charade.
Charles blinked two times and pinched himself to make sure he was awake. They did not know that the sole reason the treaties existed was to bind him into an agreement were he couldn't attack unprovoked and destroy a whole town, summon Valhalla warriors to fight in war or something equally destructive for an entire species. While a lot of good had come off the treaties, its main reason for existing was to control him. And now, this people in a bid for power were setting him free.
Charles still wasn't clear what they presumed they were gaining out of this. There was no way this would be kept secret and they were all basically dead when Seraphim discovered someone had let his current favourite pet free.
But either way, "I plead guilty!" he shouted before anyone could take the offer off the table. While, yes, he enjoyed creating a nicer, safer world, he also enjoyed late mornings and his freedom from the madness of the Magical World. He could donate money to the poor to fill up his quota of good citizen.
As if his happiness was a magnet for misery, the South Clan Leader of the Goblin Nation entered the room. Not long after Seraphim entered followed by most of the Leaders and he saw his chances at freedom evaporate.
Charles left not long after, still very much chained to the Magical World. Almost everyone involved was killed with one very important exception: Leandro. As a natural born son of a Leader the biggest punishment that he was allowed was a hundred years of solitude, a very small part of a vampire's long life. Something Leandro knew when he started this. But to Leandro's increasing worry, Charles insisted on the young vampire's innocence.
Seraphim seemed only too happy to comply and Leandro walked free. It was the only high point of the night.
Before Charles could go find his missing brother (and save whatever poor bastard happened to serve as entertainment to Tom's boredom) Seraphim stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.
"Try to break the treaties again and I will kill you." Seraphim's hand pushed Charles' hair back to uncover his neck. "Are we clear?"
Charles looked back but before he could do something extremely stupid, Demon magic surrounded him like a cloak and from his own shadow Amon materialized. Seraphim's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before the vampire covered the emotion. Charles closed his eyes, breathed deeply and let the air out slowly. Amon, unarguably the most powerful demon known to Wizards just appeared out of his shadow. It was time to leave. He nodded. Breakfast then bed then find out how much a ticket to the North Pole costs.
"Seraphim, you wished to meet my friend Amon. Amon this is the Vampire King Seraphim." An uncontrolled giggle with an edge of madness escaped him, "Say hi to Hades and Abaddon."
Immediately following the short introduction Charles turned around and left. He found Tom close to the wards with a suspiciously moving human-shaped black bag.
"Breakfast?" Charles asked. He ignored the bag. It was not part of the plan.
"Willy's Wacky Waffle House?" Tom asked with excitement.
"Sure," Charles easily agreed. "But leave the bag."
AN: Sorry for the long absence. Thanks for everyone that messaged and reviewed, even if I didn't get to respond, you were 95% of the reason this chapter got posted. I'm nervous about posting it, I hope that at least one person enjoys it or that at least no one is mean about it on the reviews. It was extremely hard to write after so long and I had to read the story a few times to remember what the hell was going on. Thanks for reading, review if you have the chance.
Good luck on whatever you are doing today!
