Author's note: While I do
enjoy the "Harry Potter" books, I sometimes believe that the
"muggles" get a little shortchanged sometimes. They tend to come off
as either ignorant bullies or helpless victims of magic. I've always felt,
though, that "normal" people can rise to unexpected heights and show
surprising depths in stressful, unconventional situations. With that in mind, I
wrote this story.
Obviously, those
characters belonging to J. K. Rowling belong to J. K. Rowling. The other
characters belong to me (though it's hard to imagine somebody really wanting
them…) so please don't use them without my permission. Enough preliminaries: On
with the show!
Dogs of war and men of hate;
with no cause, we don't discriminate.
Discovery is to be disowned; our currency, is flesh and bone
– Pink Floyd "The Dogs of War"
Chapter
1: A Killing Frost
The game was called "Muggle-hunt" and Simone meant to be the winner. The rules were fairly simple: A muggle was released into the forest and told that if he could find his way out, he could go free. After a brief interval three Death-eaters (specifically Simone, that arrogant twit, Porthos and the sadistic, but rather stupid Denderal) would pursue him. Whoever retrieved the Muggle (dead or alive, preferably dead) would gain Lord Voldemort's favor (for a time, anyway).
In truth, Simone found this exercise to be a bit distasteful. She had no particular grudge against the muggles. They simply needed to understand their rightful place: as servants to their wizard-born superiors. A simple glance at muggle history revealed their innate incapability at managing themselves or the world they believed to be their own. Sadly, the muggles (and, absurdly, many wizard-born) did not share her view of the world. Not that it mattered, of course. Lord Voldemort (with her well-rewarded aid) would see that matters were set right.
But that was for the future. Concentrate, Simmy, she told herself. You have a muggle to catch!
*****
The muggle in question called himself Jack. He was a tall, muscular man who looked to be in his early thirties. He wore the camouflage shirt and pants of a hunter, along with black combat boots. He had no weapons with him, of course, that being part of the game.
Jack knew that making for the highway, or otherwise playing "by the rules" was useless in this situation. With their powers, the strangely dressed people pursuing him would easily find him and kill him if he acted predictably. So, rather than let the hunters run him down, Jack had decided to hunt them down instead.
He saw movement up ahead. A
coolly-pretty red-haired young woman with a wand was slowly approaching his
position. Okay, children, Jack thought. This is where the fun starts.
*****
Suddenly the muggle was before her in the clearing moving toward her at a charge. He was relatively handsome in a brutish way. Simone raised her wand, called out, "Imperio!" and then willed him to stop moving. Instantly, he did so, staring blank-eyed and awaiting her next whim.
Simone smiled in contentment. "There now, that wasn't so hard, was it? You muggles don't really need to be killed, just properly controlled. And control is my specialty."
"Hmm, I'd better test my control just to make sure," Simone said. In truth, she really didn't need to from what she could tell. The way the muggle responded indicated that he was under the spell.
"Let me see now… I know. Simone says: Cluck like a chicken."
The muggle began making the "Bawk-bawk" sounds of a chicken and a chicken in some distress at that.
"All right then, Simone says: Dance a pirate jig."
The man began a half-hop, half-dance near her. Simone giggled like a schoolgirl at the sight of it.
"Good, good. Now, come with me," Simone said.
The muggle walked toward her. Suddenly, he lashed out, smashing into her solar plexus with his hand held like a knife. The blow drove all the breath and strength from Simone's body. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even think. Her wand slipped from nerveless fingers and she dropped to her knees.
The muggle was smiling down at her, eyes clear and filled with a bright, amused malice. "Sorry, honey," he said with a snicker. "You forgot to say 'Simone says'"
Simone saw the heel of his hand blurring toward her face and then a thunderbolt knocked her into darkness.
*****
Jack saw the lady witch stir to consciousness.
"Congratulations," he told her. "You caught me on a very good day. That's why you're not dead. Yet, anyway."
The woman squealed with alarm and embarrassment. Jack had torn up most of her robe to supply the method of binding and gagging her. "Nice undies, by the way. I really like those baby dragons you've got on there."
"Okay, well," he said, giving her bonds a final tug and her butt a swat for good luck, "these oughta keep you under control for a while. See you around."
With that, he left her and headed into the woods where the other two hunters were tracking him.
*****
The wizard Denderal did not like the woods. The forest was cold, dark, and uncomfortable. Denderal did not like discomfort, his soft, chubby body spoke of that. He did not mind discomforting others, of course, but preferred to be safe, secure and relaxed, himself. Assuming Lord Voldemort's bid for power went better than it had the last time, Denderal expected to be quite comfortable, indeed.
Unlike many of his fellow Dark wizards, Denderal rather enjoyed the muggle world. He held a considerable amount of wealth and was able to use that money to indulge his… pleasures there. As opposed to the close-knit society of wizards, in the muggle world anonymity was possible. People could just… vanish with little comment. After this game was over, Denderal planned to take a trip to one of the seedier locations as muggles reckoned things. He could buy something young, firm and pretty. He could tie it up, play with it and listen to it scream for a while. For now, though, he had to deal with this irritating matter of the muggle in the forest.
Even the walk through the shaded forest had left him a bit winded and sweaty. Thus, he was gratified to see the object of his search, even if it was almost too late. The muggle leapt at him from the branch of trees. By sheer luck (specifically a previously cast luck spell), the man missed him and slipped on some deer feces as he landed.
Denderal scrabbled for his wand as the muggle, after a vicious curse, recovered his balance and came for him. As the man lunged for him, Denderal called out, "Crucio!"
Instantly the muggle staggered to a halt as the agony of the Cruciatus Curse exploded through his body. His muscles were clenched and his veins revealed from the effort of resisting the pain he felt.
"It's no use, muggle," sneered Denderal, safely holding the whip-hand with his spell. "Resist if wish. It just makes breaking you that much more interesting."
Then the man took a halting step forward. Then another.
"What!" Denderal exclaimed, not believing what he was seeing. He raised the wand again and loudly uttered the incantation. Then again. Then yet again.
It didn't seem to matter. Teeth gritted, eyes bulging, blood dripping from fists clenched so tightly against the pain that his fingernails cut into his palm, the muggle kept moving forward. He didn't look human anymore, instead seeming to be some spirit of murder born from the primal depth of the forest and set loose upon the world.
By the time it occurred to the astonished Denderal to flee, it was too late.
"You… like pain?" gasped the man as one of his fists sprang open like a claw. "I'll… give you… pain!"
Like a striking serpent, the muggle's hand slipped under Denderal's robe and seized hold of his crotch. And then began to squeeze.
Pain like lightning exploded from Denderal's scrotum to engulf the rest of his body. His Cruciatus curse withered away as the agony destroyed his will to concentrate. Weakly, he tried to claw at the man, who brushed aside his feeble attacks, squeezing all the harder. He looked into the man's face and saw only an expression of savage, predatory triumph with nothing of pity in it.
Then there came a final stab of agony, this time in Denderal's chest as his heart gave out from the strain. After that, it was a relief as the life left him.
*****
Jack watched as the fat wizard clutched at his chest and then fell back. Jack released his hold. The man hit the ground as Jack noted the blood on his hand.
"Guess you didn't have the heart for this kinda stuff after all, huh, Porky?" Jack asked the corpse. Then, after wiping his hands on the dead man's robe, he moved on into the forest.
*****
Fools, thought Porthos. All of them are fools. Simone thought that the muggle vermin could be ruled like conquered subjects. Denderal, thought they could be made into toys for his amusement. They did not understand.
The muggles were vermin, pure and simple. One does not rule vermin. One does not make playthings of vermin. One kills vermin, or one is killed by them. Even at the wizard academies, history was glossed over, painted with a deceptively bright sheen. The "witch-hunts" of the past were downplayed as hopelessly ineffective, even amusing in a sad, sick way.
Porthos knew the bitter truth. The muggles were vicious, brutal and lethal. He'd seen them in action. It had been twenty years ago, and he'd been a second-year Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. He and his father, mother and sister had been travelling on summer vacation in Egypt. His father had been interested in viewing the Sphinx and other ancient, wizard-raised monuments that the muggles were puzzling over even to this day. Dad got no end of amusement from reading about the more absurd theories the muggles put forth.
"The pyramids were built by aliens from the stars," he'd chuckle. "How ignorant can the muggles be to believe in such superstitious nonsense?"
They'd been on their way to a bookshop in Cairo when it had happened. A muggle-child, perhaps six at the oldest, had run out in front of a car, one of those vile-smelling vehicles the muggles used to transport themselves. Instantly, unselfishly and unthinkingly, his father had reacted. He pulled a wand and levitated the child to safety in the barest knick of time.
Did the people thank him? Praise him? "No," muttered Porthos. "They killed him."
The ignorant trash on the streets didn't see a good wizard who'd saved one of their worthless children. They saw a demon or sorcerer and formed a mob to destroy him. Father tried to reason with them, but it was too late. They seized him and Mother. Dragged them down. Beat them to death. He'd managed to flee with his sister and only just got away.
He was raised by relatives, but never forgot the shame, fear and hate that had been born in him that day. When Lord Voldemort had risen to power all those years ago, he'd joined, drifting away after that blasted Potter creature had crushed the one hope the wizards had against the muggle vermin.
But now our hope has
returned, Porthos thought. Now we kill them all, starting with the one
in these woods.
*****
Two down, one to go, Jack thought. So far he'd been good - and lucky. He'd fought off the one witch's mind control ability, played along with it and then nailed her when she wasn't expecting it. As for the fat guy, Jack was still a little shaky from that pain thing, he'd done. He'd felt worse that it in his time, but not much worse.
The problem was, both of those
folks had managed to tag with their mojo. Jack didn't think it would be a good
idea for that to keep happening. Like ol' Mr. Miyagi says, thought Jack.
"Best defense - no be there."
And as he looked at the trail in front of him, Jack thought he saw a way to take advantage of that defense.
*****
The sun was beginning to set now and Porthos muttered a spell to keep warm. The game was still on as far as he knew. Lord Voldemort had told them he'd let them know if the muggle were taken or managed to escape. Well, escape from them, anyway. There was no possibility of the man escaping the wrath of Lord Voldemort.
Porthos refreshed his tracking spell. The spell gave him a general fix on the muggle's location, but wasn't very specific. A rustle overhead snapped Porthos' attention to it. A rat was scurrying along one of the tree branches. A rat with a paw that gleamed of silver.
Wormtail? Porthos wondered. But he wouldn't be around here unless… Unless the game were nearly over. Unless the muggle had somehow overcome Simone and Denderal! Gods below… Porthos knew the muggles could be dangerous, but he'd had no idea they could be that dangerous.
He pulled out his wand, gripping it tightly and scanning for the faintest clue to his quarry's whereabouts. Suddenly, he heard it! Off to the left, something large crashing through the woods! A shape burst from the bushes in front him and Porthos cried, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" as loud as he could.
An explosion of green light shattered the gloom of the forest and a hungry, rushing roar sounded, as though Death itself were riding wings of wind to seek its prey. Porthos shook his head to clear his eyesight of the green glare and saw…
A deer. A dead fawn lying on the ground with something like a cord or leash tied around its neck-
Porthus heard the running footsteps and saw the man coming at him, charging like a tiger. He raised the wand. "Avada Kedav-"
Too late. Before Porthos could pronounce the final syllable, Jack punched him in the throat with all his strength.
Porthos fell back, collapsing to the ground. He tried to breathe, but no air would come. His larynx had been shattered.
"Tell me something," Jack said, resting a boot on the dying man's chest and leaning down. "You're a Death-Eater, right? So, what's death taste like? I've always kinda wanted to know."
A trickle of blood spilled from Porthos' mouth as the life began leaving his eyes.
"Ah, nevermind. I can tell you're a little busy chokin' on that death your eatin' to answer me," Jack told him in a cheerful, magnanimous voice . "Tell you what, though. When you have time, after you get to Hell; be sure an' tell 'em Jack Frost sent you there, okay? I like to get credit where credit is due."
After Porthos finished suffocating, Jack looked around and saw the rat perched on the tree, watching him with gleaming eyes. He smiled at it. "Hiya there, ratboy," he said to the animage. "Why don't you go scamper off and inform Lord Moldywart that I passed his little test?"
*****
After Jack had reclaimed a few of the items he'd removed before the "Muggle-hunt" game, he and the nervous Peter Pettigrew entered the gates of the abandoned but serviceable castle that was serving as the headquarters for Lord Voldemort. In the courtyard, Jack received a searing glare from Simone, who was clad in a fresh robe.
"Aw, don't be like that, sweetie," Jack told her with the smile of a predator. "After all, you were the lucky one. You got to live."
Pettigrew ushered Frost into a darkened hallway that led to the reception area. If Jack noticed the shadows and the shadows of those shadows lurking and hissing in the alcoves, he paid them little mind.
Eventually, they entered Lord Voldemort's presence. Despite the mystic torches set around the throne room, a perpetual gloom hovered like a suffocating blanket over the room. Acting as the Dark Lord's voice, Lucius Malfoy spoke first, while Voldemort crouched on the throne like a bird of prey. Other Death-eaters stood nearby, awaiting Voldemort's commands. Jack smiled merrily and looked at them, eyes full of mirth and empty of conscience.
"Lord Voldemort congratulates you on your survival, Mr. Frost," Malfoy said, the distaste of having to speak with (much less praise) a muggle evident in his voice.
"He believes that you may be adequate to accomplish a certain task."
"Well, that's just dandy there, Merlin," Frost said to Malfoy. "But I'd rather talk to the organ-grinder instead of the monkey, if it's all the same to you."
The insult hang in the air like an exploded bomb, stunning all (aside from Voldemort) into frozen silence.
Malfoy's hand moved to his wand when Voldemort said, "Stop."
Fighting down his rage, Malfoy complied. "Of course… my lord. As in all things, I obey you. Even those I may… fail to understand."
"I do not require your understanding, merely your obedience," Voldemort said. "However, I will tell you that I have a use for this man. And that you would have been dead before your first spell word had been spoken. Correct, Mr. Frost?"
"Absolutely, your lordship," Frost replied as something small, sharp and lethal disappeared back up his sleeve.
"I have use for your talents," Voldemort said. "And so I tolerate your… eccentricities. But only to a point." Voldemort fixed his cold, red gaze on Frost. Jack's smile slipped for instant before reasserting itself and he nodded compliance to the dark wizard.
"You are known as a 'troubleshooter' of sorts, correct, Mr. Frost?" Voldemort said.
"Yes sir," Frost responded in a professionally respectful tone.
"Excellent then," Voldemort said and smiled, a cold, awful thing that made the air in the room seem to shiver as though from fear.
"There is a trouble I want you to shoot. It's name is Harry Potter…"
Not even close to