Retribution is Mine
This was inspired by Kgfinkel's "My Proof that I already have too much in my story queue line" collections of prompts. I posted this as a comment to a comment to another comment. I have done a little fine-tuning for this entry, so there are some differences here between that comment to this submission. It's already a part of my omake file and may well appear in that work whenever I get around to actually putting it up in a hopefully non-fragmented form.
From a Chapter One Prooflet:
It's said that angering a Highland witch is a bad thing because when Minerva gets angry, her Look promises painful retribution through loud rants in Gaelic. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, gets...creative.
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The air in Hogwarts Castle was stifling in its presence. Not with heat or humidity, but with dread. The dread was such that it seemed to cling without mercy to the rough stone walls and reach out for the nearest unwary head. The corridors had torches illuminating their corners to varying degrees, but that didn't help drive away the uneasy feeling that chased everyone around. Even Peeves was a bit skittish, and the poltergeist couldn't explain it as well as others would have liked for the jumpiness he was showing. None of the ghosts felt comfortable discussing it, and even the Bloody Baron was reticent about whatever was going on. He wasn't the most social to start with, but everyone could see that he was wary. Of what, no one quite knew and seeing the Bloody Baron peek around corners before breathing out ghostly sighs of relief chilled everyone worse than if he had passed through them.
The rumor mill, that most vaunted source of information at Hogwarts was found wanting in this case. There was nothing to tell, and over a week's time with each day revealing nothing more than the day previous, people were on edge with the passing of each day.
Even Luna Lovegood was affected. She was giving clear and concise answers to practically everything she was asked, which didn't always bode well for whoever asked. Indeed, there were quite a few in Ravenclaw House that were so traumatized by the verbal devastation that they decided that maybe they needed to spend some time in nature and get themselves realigned with whatever they was really supposed to be doing at Hogwarts. The keenness of Luna's answers cleaved all resistance to whatever she said into twos, threes, or more. There was not much to say to the eyes that peered into your soul and destroyed queries with a briskness that was at odds with her usual demeanor.
She didn't show it so much, but she was worried. The last person that asked who exactly Mh'aazoss was after hearing her pacing around muttering it to herself had been found gibbering to herself with keloidal scarring marks over much of her skin. No one could explain what had happened, least of all Luna. There was a distinctly disquieted look in her silvery-grey eyes, such as practically never been seen. Professor Flitwick was instantly on his guard as some of his Goblin senses perceived something the humans couldn't.
So much so, that it became common to see him wearing a Goblin baldric and a wicked sword that gleamed in an unholy fashion. When asked about it, the same unholy light sparked in his eyes and the avuncular Professor retreated quickly in favor of the warrior. Charms class was changed, and everyone that attended left exhausted day after day. Flitwick steamed on, untiring and unflinching. His eyes never stopped moving, much like Luna's. He wasn't jumpy, as Peeves was, but it was obvious that Professor Flitwick knew something was out there to be guarded against and he was going to be damned before he let it happen in his presence.
It wasn't until blood was found on the walls – or what might have been blood, no one was sure – that a clue was given to the jittery staff and students. There was a quill made from a raven's feather left near the probable blood. It was floating in the air, rotating around with another quill from a vulture's feather, bound by an angry red thread. The shade of red matched the maybe-blood perfectly. The older students were reminded of the Chamber of Secrets and the 'Heir' that supposedly was directing the events of that horrible year. They huddled together into the evening, and no one was left alone for practically any reason.
Speculations about what the paired feathers meant ran rampant. Books were consulted, theories hatched and discarded for lack of evidence, and outright guesses were made. They ended up being about as successful in figuring out what was going on as anything else.
"It's nearly here!" Luna suddenly screamed, late one night. She was standing in the Ravenclaw Common Room, staring out the window toward the Forbidden Forest. That didn't creep out everyone within arm's reach of the small blonde. The fact that the sclera and irises of both eyes had shifted into a stormy grey and darkened into a deep blue – almost black – had people forking the signs of the evil eye at her. This had no effect, of course, since she knew that she wasn't the threat.
"Luna!" The voice of a younger boy cut through the babble. "What's happening?"
He was able to talk to her without derision as he had some experience with those with otherworldly talents in his own family. He didn't, as far as he knew, but he knew enough to not discount what he was seeing from Luna. She still confused him as much as the others, but at least he had the mental flexibility from his family knowledge to see that many there was something there.
She turned to him, and everyone gasped to see the pale skin even paler and the eyes affixing them like a bug on a pinboard without any means of escape. The blonde hair had darkened its sheen somehow, making the contrast between it and her skin that much more distinct. The sound of her voice, wavering with her own fear, sent icicles throughout everyone in earshot. That was most of Ravenclaw House.
A harsh whisper rolled through her lips, heard easily in the stock-still Common Room by all present.
"Revenge approaches upon the hour. It cannot be removed, cannot be averted, cannot be denied. It approached with the silent steps of the cat and the viciousness of the wolverine. Ye who have wronged one, be warned! Your transgressions will find you out and demand its measure this very night!"
The moment the last word passed her lips, her eyes rolled back into her head and she dropped to the hard floor without another moment passing. Even insensate, she had collapsed with dignity and grace. The moment her body thumped to the floor, every torch, fire, Lumos, and light in the castle snapped off.
There was a scream, followed by another, followed by more. Wails of terror from one part of the castle competed with quivering moans of panic in another, slamming up against hysteria running rampant in all directions. Even the usually steadying presence of Albus Dumbledore did little, once they could see the widening of his eyes and even then it was by using a magic trick he knew to illuminate his magical aura.
The magical eddies within the castle swirled here and there, growing more and more vicious and disturbed from the usual placidity, slamming up against the mental shields of those who had them and ripping into the magical cores of those who didn't. Moans of pain arose from various areas, lending more disquiet to the general interior of the castle by all.
In the middle of the Great Hall, there was a lone figure standing in the middle of the cavernous room. The enchanted ceiling had the figure's full attention, as it was a commanding link into the magics that had run Hogwarts for a millennia and would run it for another. Had anyone been there, they would have noticed a few things.
One, the bushy brown hair had calmed from the flow of Magic. It could be seen channeling the flow into parts of Hogwarts in some ineffable manner. The strands moved of their own accord, it seemed.
Two, the figure's small hands were splayed parallel with the floor, directing more magic. It seemed that there was a loop of energy, some being sent, some received but there wasn't a definite pattern. Occasionally, there was an arc of energy that blazed from hand to floor, or floor to hand, and rarely hand to hand. Those arcs mostly purpurated themselves with the excitation of the magical energy before blending in with the other directional flows.
And three, the figure's eyes glimmered maliciously as it directed innumerable ergs of magical heat and light into similarly innumerable directions apart from the arcs. There were many distinct directions, but no indication of distance, so any possible onlookers wouldn't have been able to decide what the targets were.
There was a passionate shout of something in a long-dead language, and a thunderclap of Magic rattled the castle to her very foundations. That thunderclap was the acquiescence to the molding the figure had been performing and now everyone that heard the stupendous noise knew something was here.
It didn't take long to find out that something had happened.
There was a throat-ripping shriek, from where no one knew. All they knew was that it could be heard from anywhere in the castle, from any of the Common Rooms, from any of the professors' quarters, from Dumbledore's office, from any point within Hogwarts. It screamed into all points before a horrendous sucking noise was heard, accompanied by an ominous rumble.
The lights blazed back on without warning, glare-blinding everyone that had been trying to get some kind of light to see what was happening without any hope of success. No one knew where the shriek had come from as it felt and seemed like the very walls had been carrying the sound of abject terror without a chance of knowing where it was.
"Look! Out there!"
The cry was repeated with increasing fervor throughout the castle. People rushed to flung-opened windows, paintings left inconveniently placed portrait frames for better ones, ghosts flew to the scene in as many straight-line directions as they could plot.
They all were shocked into silence.
Suspended in mid-air over the Black Lake was one of the seventh-year Slytherins. Blood trickled out of every pore, only to be transfigured into molten lead and returned into the same pores. Skin bubbled and flowed around the bones underneath while the musculature rippled in spastic symphonies of agony. Every hair stood out, forming an array of pins that was but a breath away from sinking into the body each was attached to. Everyone could see that every hair had transfigured into steel, awaiting the distant command to strike. The poor soul was kept conscious, brutally denied the release of insensibility, and afforded the transport of every blazing synapse and every scorching nerve impulse. He could be heard babbling in his terror even from the distance he was confined in, far from the castle's walls.
Everyone recognized him as the Pureblood that had months ago slammed Hermione Granger into the wall, shattering her jaw and breaking two ribs. He'd ripped her books, torn her bag and some of her clothes, and blackened both eyes. He acted, secure in the knowledge that the laws protected him and his blood status. The derision he'd packed into the calls of 'Mudblood!' as she stumbled into the walls had affixed him in almost everyone's mind as a dead man walking, the date of execution known only to when she was to finally be released from the Hospital Wing.
That date came and went. Nothing had happened for seven weeks and most had forgotten all about it, thanks to the usual things that a school had like classes and Quidditch.
Until now.
Now... there had been a reckoning.
It was obvious as the Pureblood's savaged body was hurled upon the shore of the Black Lake, still emitting the glow of magical energy. It was definite, as easy to see as the tremors than ran throughout his body as each spark and arc left his body to find the grounding in Hogwart's ley-lines. The most shocking thing was that he was still alive, if the moaning was any indication.
In the restored light inside the castle, everyone looked at everyone else and wondered what was going to happen next. There was no clear answer.
O-O-O-O-O
Author's Note:
This is a stopgap measure for everyone's entertainment. I have not been able to work on Like Tenfold Shields, due to personal events. My mom had her purse stolen and I am in the process of helping her deal with that. As she lost her cards, cash, and cell phone, there are a lot of things that needed and still needs doing as far as changing accounts and information. If you've ever had a purse or wallet stolen with your financial life within, you can understand.
Mom also was affected physically – not directly as in attacked – but the stress of the event has been triggering some heart issues that she has. I've been spending time with her to help with her as I can, and away from my own computer. Cellphone access is one thing, but it doesn't lend itself very well to composition or editing.
I will return to writing long-form as soon as possible. In the meantime, I'm a bit (a lot) aggravated and hope that the police are successful in catching the guy seen on video surveillance.