Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter are not mine. They belong to J.K. Rowling. Anything that is mine (and there will be some things, don't worry) will be pointed out to you when you see them.

This is my first fic. Be nice and review. No flames please!

Legends

Chapter 1: Brave New World

Location: No Man's Land, Sector 12A

Date: July 31, 2004

Time: 1600 hours

The air was rank with the stench of death as a harsh, cold wind blew around the camp of figures moving quietly amidst scattered debris and craters of considerable size in the ground. The wind swirled around the group but did not seem to penetrate the black robes with hoods that hide their faces.

One of them, a tall, lanky figure who was bringing up the rear, suddenly stopped and fumbled around within his robes for something. Seeing that one of their company had stopped, the others halted, and looked at the tall one, but remained silent.

The tall figure grunted, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter from his pocket. He took out one of the cigarettes, stuck it in his mouth (or what might've been his mouth, the hood was still on his head) and stuck the rest of the pack back in his pocket. He then lit the cigarette and took a long, deep drag, the lighter disappearing into the back of his robes.

Noticing the rest of the group had stopped and were staring at him, he exhaled, blowing out a thin stream, and said, "Sorry 'bout that. Really needed a fag."

The group then proceeded onward in silence for a few minutes, moving behind the skeletons of once glorious building long gone. Another robed figure, slightly shorter and wider than his chain-smoking counterpart, hung back as they were passing by a blasted warehouse. "Don't see why you really need those," he muttered in a low voice, so that the others couldn't hear them. "Those Muggle things are poisonous-blocks out the lungs and such."

"Oh, come off it, Archer," the tall, smoking one responded. "I've seen you smoking that pipe of yours when we're off duty. Blowing purple smoke everywhere, the place starts to stink of old cabbage. Besides, it's not like I can't get someone to heal me up."

Archer started to say something more, but the figure in lead suddenly stopped, leaving the group standing in front of what used to be a very large tower. He pulled out his wand, held it up, and said, in a low raspy voice, "Surveous".

A small blue light, no bigger than a penlight, shone from the tip of the wand. The leader swept his wand back and forth in front of him, turning in all directions before being seemingly satisfied.

"Right then," he said, turning to the rest of the group, who were waiting expectantly. "Master Malfoy says there's been reports of a bogey hanging round this area, most likely hostile. We've been ordered to dispose of this fiend immediately. Now then," he said, looking over each member. "I want Rodenski and Rogers to take the south side of this area. Archer, Lyman, you take the east. Norton, you and Baxter search the north side. Chillings, you're with me for the west."

The smoker, Chillings, nodded and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Send up sparks if you need assistance, though I don't reckon the Master would approve of his agents needing any sort of reinforcements to take care of one person," At this, some of the group chuckled mirthlessly, and the leader smirked slightly. "You all have your orders. Carry them out."

Without another word, the group split up into their designated pairs and went off in different directions, wands raised. Chillings followed the leader, whose name was Samuels, as they headed off in the direction of an abandoned car, slowly rusting and falling apart. "Still don't know why the Master wants all of us searching for one man," he said to Samuels, who was scanning the area again with the Surveying Spell. "Couldn't half of us do the job?"

"Master Malfoy says that this one might be different from all the others we faced," replied Samuels, his eyes relentlessly searching the area. "Now keep looking and be quiet, fool, or you'll scare whomever we're looking for away."

Brushing off Samuels' last comment, Chillings looked around, his arms raised. Different? he thought to himself. How can this one be so different as to send eight of us out here in this field of death?

Stepping over what looked like to be a dried out skeleton with its head missing, Chillings shuddered involuntarily. This place really was a field of death, with rotted out bodies and destroyed buildings around. Once, it and the surrounding area had been relatively clean, with the air free of death and devastation. Many Muggles, as well as quite a few wizards and witches had walked along this region once, going about their daily lives in the city once referred to as Paris, the City of Lights. Now all the lights had been snuffed out, and the people, Muggle and wizard alike, were either dead or gone.

Shouldn't feel sorry for these people. Chillings told himself firmly. They deserved what they got. They should have accepted the Dark Lord and his new regime without hesitation.

Still, he couldn't help wonder if—

A sharp, sudden cry split Chillings' thoughts, as well as the dreary silence.

He whirled around, wand raised, and Samuels in front of him did the same. Their searching eyes scanned the landscape, but could not identify the source of the shout.

"What was that?" Samuels demanded. "It sounded like Baxter."

Another scream pierced the air. "And that was Norton." Chillings said, a hint of panic in his voice.

More shouts and yells rang out, coming from all directions. Samuels swore. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"There!" Chillings pointed to his right, where a shower of red sparks had gone up. He rushed off in that direction, with Samuels close behind.

No sooner had they gotten a few yards away from where they had been standing when a figure, black robes askew, hair disheveled and wild-eyed burst into view. He was looking all around like a crazed animal and his wand was missing.

"Rogers!" Samuels barked. "What's going on?"

Rogers ignored him, and continued to spin around even faster. Chillings noticed he was muttering fast to himself, something that sounded like "He's here, he's come to kill me, he's here, he's come to kill me…"

"Rogers, get a hold of yourself man!" Samuels grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look up. "Who is it? Who did this to you?"

Rogers' wild-eyed stare focused on Samuels. "He's here, sir," he said, his voice trembling with fear. "He's here and he's come to kill us all!" He struggled in Samuels' grasp. "Run…have to hide…"

"Control yourself!" But the order fell on deaf ears as Rogers' broke free of Samuels and ran off, disappearing behind an old building.

"Damn it!" Samuels cursed again. "Come on, let's see what he was going on about." Chillings didn't move, still staring at the spot where Rogers had gone. "Come on, let's move!"

Forcing his legs to start moving again, Chillings started after Samuels.

A loud scream, full of terror, came from behind them.

The two wizards spun around. "Rogers!" Samuels yelled out. There was no answer.

"Bloody hell!" Samuels spat. "Master Malfoy won't like this."

"Is that what Draco goes by now?"

Chillings and Samuels spun around yet again as a new voice spoke from behind them. In the shadows of a desecrated building nearby, they saw a dark outline of a figure leaning on the ruined wall casually. "Funny, I would have thought Draco would go higher than just 'Master,' " he said in an almost amused tone.

Samuels raised his wand. "Show yourself, whoever you are!" he demanded.

"Ooh, can't do that," the shadowy figure responded with a laugh. "That would spoil the surprise."

"I've got a surprise for you, you arrogant bastard," muttered Chillings, raising his wand and pointing it at the figure.

"Expelliarmus!" Chillings' wand flew out of his hand and soared towards the shadowy figure, who caught it. "Can't have that, now can we?" he said in a mocking tone. He then snapped Chillings' wand in half. "Now that's better—here you are." He tossed the broken wand back, where it fell a few feet in front of Chillings. Shocked, Chillings made no move to pick up his now-useless wand.

Samuels, meanwhile, still had his wand in one piece and was trembling with rage. "By order of Master Lucius Malfoy, Leader of the Order of Taraka, I order you to come out and face me like a man!"

"Oh, Lucius Malfoy, eh? My mistake," the figure replied. "But just as well—I should have known Draco would too much of a stupid git to be called Master. His father, on the other hand—well, he's a bigger idiot than his son, but there you go." He paused, as though they were having a normal conversation and he was attempting to keep it going. "And oh, by the way…STUPEFY!"

A jet of red light blasted from the stranger's own wand. It caught Samuels full in the chest, him not able to react in time, and was thrown back several feet, unconscious. Chillings looked in shock and horror as he realized that he was the only one left standing—and he no longer had his wand.

Before Chillings could even think of escaping, the dark figure suddenly grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him forward. Even at this range, Chillings still couldn't make out his face, but he noticed something near where his eyes should be glinting off the dim sunlight. He's wearing glasses.

"All right, scum, where is he?" The figure spoke, his words now harsh and cold. "Where is here?"

"I-I don't know who—"

"Don't play any bloody games with me, where is he?" The stranger shook Chillings hard. "Where is he? Where is Albus Dumbledore?"

"He-he-he—" Chillings struggled for words, not knowing how this apparent madman would react when he heard his answer. "He's dead. K-K-K-Killed by the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord," breathed the figure. "You mean Voldemort?"

Chillings cringed at the sound of his true master's name. "Y-Y-Yes. At the fall of H-H-Hogwarts."

This seemed to upset the stranger even more, and Chillings felt his grip on him loosen slightly. "Fall?" He asked, more to himself than to Chillings. "Hogwarts—fallen? Dumbledore—dead? But how--?"

Seizing the opportunity, Chillings broke free of the stranger's grasp, propelling himself back towards Samuels' dropped wand, which had fallen when Samuels had been stunned. Snatching it up, he pointed it at the shadowy figure and cried, "Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light lanced towards the stranger, blowing apart the rest of the ruined building, and Chillings exhaled in triumph. Then his heart stopped as he realized, after the dust had settled, that there was no body lying there where the stranger had been.

Chillings looked around wildly. Where had--?

Crack!

Chillings' heart jumped to his throat, and he let out a strangled cry as a voice shouted behind him. "Reducto!"

Chillings' body flew through the air and collapsed a few feet away from the wreckage of the building he had just destroyed. He was dying. He could feel his life force ebbing away.

Vaguely, he became aware of someone standing over him. The stranger. His would-be killer. And now, for the first time, Chillings could see who he was.

"My God," he choked out with his last breath. "How--?"

And then he was drifting away, darkness overtaking him, one last image burned into his mind…the face of his killer…wild, unruly hair…glasses…and a scar on his forehead, shaped in the sign of a thunderbolt.