Author's Notes: Yes, as a matter of fact, I am updating on the day after the new HP book because frankly, I won't get in trouble so much for not doing it in such a long time. As I am the only the kid on the block who HASN'T read it to completion, I can't tell you for certain if I will incorporate SOME aspects into the story or not. Without further ado, read and enjoy.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Day of the Dead
The words would flow like blood from a fine wound about this day; words of denial, fear, anger, pain, hurt, and despair. Words that would be murmured like some sort of feverish mantra meant to keep nighttime evils at bay. Words from the dying and dead, screaming for recognition and a reason for their sacrifice, words from those left behind demanding to know why. Words would be screamed to deaf ears demanding reason and retribution, forgiveness and forgetfulness, damnation and redemption, reason and rhyme, purpose and answers.
In the days to come, from well-meaning men who hadn't who hadn't live through this nightmare words like tragedy, and misfortune would be used in an attempt to describe it. Politicians and reporters would use glittering words and delicate terms to explain what the survivors were feeling. The words used then would be magical in their own right- they would bind the evils of the day and make them smaller, easier to understand, easier to cope with it.
Because of this, the day would take on an epic feel, leaving people with a feeling of awe, something mythic and surreal.
But to those who lived through that day, words seemed meaningless.
Across the globe, Aurors were driven to the brink of annihilation. Places of refuges, bases, and homes were targeted; from the private residences of famous and renowned Aurors to the Auror base in the English Ministry of Magic before Hecate herself was besieged.
The powerful Compound reared up like a wounded animal but found she was unable to defend herself from the onslaught. Her pristine white halls were painted with blood, the air poisoned with smoke and a melee of chaotic, panicked words played like macabre symphony.
It was music to Silas Malfoy's ears.
He walked through Hecate with his hands raised; one held his wand, the other was clapped over his mouth to fight off the odor. All around him, Death Eaters were openly challenging Auror superiority and winning.
And as the mastermind behind this all, Silas was making the nations tremble, a thought that gave him no end of joy. After this was all over, he would be Voldemort great heir. The thought made him smile under his white mask.
His musing was interrupted by a low, throaty growl. He paused and turned. "Is there a problem?"
The werewolf was standing tense, fingers outstretched in front of him as if he were transformed and waiting for a kill. Silas felt a twinge of unease being so close to such a violently hungry animal, and forced himself to remember that despite Ezra's clear, human eyes and handsome face, he was still nothing but a monster. Ezra looked back. "Jude's here."
"Good dog," Silas murmured. "Can you be more specific?"
"Near…and a woman is with him."
"Oh, this does get more interesting, doesn't it?" Lucius Malfoy mused behind them, "Silas? Will you be doing naughty things?"
"Of course."
"Both of you, silence." Imre Macardit ordered, tersely. Instantly the Malfoy brothers quieted and Imre motioned for Ezra to continue with his hunt.
Imre's allegiance to Lord Voldemort had always been that of opportunity. Despite his outer appearance, he was believed to be the oldest living Dark Wizard in the world, even though his exact age was unknown. Rumors claimed he was a Necromancer, or some sort of vampire that feed on the souls of others to remain strong and alive. To each of these rumors, Imre would smile but say nothing. He didn't need to explain himself. His business was with Voldemort only, and what he could get from this would-be lord. Voldemort wanted immortality and a supreme Death Eater, one who could act as Voldemort's hand in matters. Imre had given him both.
In exchange, Imre was receiving something from this bloodbath that only someone with his unique gifts could fully appreciate. He smiled softly, in anticipation. He glanced back, studying the motley crew he was with. Apart from Ezra, Silas, and Lucius, there were two other men. It was their happy duty to find Hecate's records and discover whatever little secrets the Compound might have to share.
But walking with this group, Imre couldn't help but feel something was lacking. While each man was unique and talented in his own right, and together they were even better, absent from the troupe was Voldemort's very own Kaga Companion, and the only one man in the entire underworld Imre trusted completely, Eoin Malone.
Like Imre, Eoin Malone's exact reasons for being with Voldemort was a mystery. The man was about twenty years of age, had skin the color of tanned leather and gray eyes that at first appeared green. His hair was so black that it looked blue, and he was well built, stronger then most men. He always courteous, thoughtful, and quiet, considered shy by some.
Eoin carried himself with the same amount of clam that penetrated the air before a storm. When in a crowded room, he would retire to a corner near the exit and watch with a sort of curious gaze as if he was experiencing this for the first time, every time.
And it was that stillness that made Imre trust him.
The Necromancer shifted as he recalled the events earlier in the day. This morning for the first time ever, Imre noticed Eoin had been angry and had approached him about it.
"You don't look well." Imre had said. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were nervous about today."
Eoin folded his arms in front of him and said nothing. Imre began to circle around the man. For a time both regarded each other and then, becoming annoyed, Eoin spoke. "I am not taking part in this attack, Archimage."
"Then what business have you with us, Co-Walker?"
"I've come to see the man who will be damned." Eoin motioned to the young Auror who was waiting on the balcony, ignorant to all that was happening in the room. Severus was pacing like a trapped animal, muttering to himself as if he was talking with some specter. "He doesn't know what you and Voldemort are planning, does he?"
"Wisely, he doesn't. He would never agree to it if he did."
"I wonder if it is too late for him." Eoin mused, stepping forward. "What would happen, mage, if I warned your would-be general?"
"He wouldn't listen. This is his fight."
"It is a fight he will lose."
"Perhaps, what do you care?" The Kaga glanced at him but became silent. Imre took his chance to draw his own conclusions. He picked up his cane and pointed at Eoin's chest. "Perhaps you recognize something in this man?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh it's a story I heard once before. An old legend told many times over, about a young man who left the place of his birth, his destined path and went in search of…who knows? Perhaps, it is wisdom or wealth, or love, or kith and kin. Perhaps, he was just looking for himself, but his reasons aren't important. It's the journey that I remember, the destination. This man does become a great warrior, yes but it is not how it was foreseen and while maybe he doesn't regret his choice to leave...he remembers those left behind." Imre shook his head. "Now this is where I forget the story; who did he leave behind?"
"His twin sister," Eoin answered, "who lingers still in the land he forsook."
"What's her name?"
"We called her Angel."
"Well, isn't this a sight!" Silas announced triumphantly. He had kicked open the door to a private room and sent Jude and the woman he was with scrambling for clothes and cover. Ezra shrank back to a corner to watch the festivities. Jude was cursing as he scrambled to the far corner of the room, towards his wand.
"Oh, don't do that." Silas chided softly as Ezra snapped at Jude, bearing his teeth. The Auror shrank back, frightened. "I would hate to kill you before Severus had a chance to do." The woman faltered then, an action not overlook by Silas. He turned, taking in the woman for the first time and nodding in appreciation. "This is a beautiful creature, indeed." He complimented, glancing at Jude. "Yours?"
"Angel," Jude called softly, backing into a wall and keeping his eyes on Ezra. "Go, now…please."
"Oh, charming. Heroics before your death."
"You promised, Silas. You said I'd get anything…leave her alone."
"Yes, I did. But, everything does come with a price, does it not?" Silas smirked and brought his attention to the woman, "Now, he called you Angel, didn't he? Tell me Angel, is it true he snores in his sleep?"
What happened next took Silas by surprise; the woman darted to the far corner to her dresser, where a display of Japanese swords rested. Pulling the smaller of two, she drove her full weight into Lucius who had the misfortune of being nearest to her. He dodged the first thrust she made, recovering only long enough to catch his breath before she drove a sharp kick into his midsection. Silas shouted to the two others to attack her while he stepped back in surprise.
It took a moment for Imre to break away from the trance he entered as he watched her but finally Imre chose to act. He picked up his cane and advanced to the woman who was wearing only a thin camisole and underwear; she was backed against a corner but seemed to have no trouble defending herself against the two men. There was a fluidity in her Imre had only seen in Eoin, a skill that made intense fighting seem melodic and choreographed. As the larger of the two men rushed forward, she stepped to the side like a matador to avoid the brunt force, and then brought her elbow down hard on his spine. Imre heard a sharp crack that caused him to flinch slightly as the woman turned on him.
"That's right Angel, you want to fight someone who's worthy of you." He whispered.
Her eyes were narrowed but she was moving with the same stillness of her brother. She paused only to readjust her grip on the sword's blade. "Where's Severus?" She demanded.
Understanding dawned on Imre, causing the Necromancer to smile. "Oh," he cooed, eyes flickering to the vampire bites that tore her shoulders. "It appears Eoin's Angel and Severus' is one and the same."
Again, the woman's expression faltered. "How do you know Eoin?"
"He's the one who showed us how to get in."
"You liar!" She shouted, enraged as she charged towards him. Because her anger clouded her judgment, Imre easily blocked her charge. He slammed his cane hard across her back; mirroring much of what she had done to Crabbe- only he brought the cane down harder, and with more force. The cane splintered and the woman fell to the floor, dazed by the hit.
"Silas!" Jude screamed in desperation. Ezra had Jude's massive arms behind his back but that didn't stop him from struggling against the werewolf. "Silas, leave her out of this!"
"Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife, Judas." Silas walked towards Imre, hands folded in front of him, with that calm, pleased look he always got before a kill. "My, my, a beautiful creature to be sure." He tilted his head, putting his boot on of her arms as he kneeled down to tug at her shirt. He pulled it down slightly to revealed her tattooed back. "Wings?" He mused. He chuckled slightly. "That's what Severus use to call you, wasn't it? He talked about you often, you know- over cups of tea and brandy when we'd plot and plan behind Hecate's back. He was a very useful little mole but now, he's decided to return home…" He leaned down so he could be close to her ear. "And I'm afraid he doesn't really remember you much anymore…except for your taste. He said you tasted delicious, and you know…I must admit, I'm somewhat curious."
The woman screamed in anger and desperation, turning over quickly and bringing up the small sword, slashing blindly. Silas howled in pain as he fell back, clutching his left hand. On the floor next to the woman were his pinky and ring finger. Blinded by rage and fury, Silas turned to beating the woman senseless, throwing the sword to Lucius. He picked up the woman by the hair after a powerful jab to her temple had silenced her. He dragged the limp body to the bed and tossed it there, before turning angrily to Imre.
"Damn you, Silas!" Jude was struggling against Ezra but was outnumbered. "Leave her alone."
"This bitch needs to learn her place," Silas barked viciously, tearing at the woman's shirt. "And me and my boys are going to teach her that. Wake up, whore, wake up!" He ordered, slapping her until she moaned softly. "That's right, bitch. I want you to be awake for everything that comes next."
Jude pulled against Ezra one final time, bringing him to the ground. "Don't you dare!"
"Ezra, stay here and enjoy the goods. Imre, take this Auror to his judgment."
"With pleasure." Ezra released Jude into Imre's grasp. Imre had to curse Jude to get the Auror to calm down and walk with him down the smoke filled halls.
The blunt of the fighting had already ended, per Jackie and Silas' instructions and now, apart from Silas' party, the only Death Eaters left at Hecate were the dead or dying. The only exception to that rule would probably be Jack the Ripper who couldn't resist finding some big, tall Auror to carve up. As Imre walked, he could feel the dead calling to him, empowering him with a sense of almost drunken ecstasy. The Necromancer closed his eyes against the call and wished he had his cane to lean on. The sound of each dying soul rang out like a bell chime, crying out for him to use his, the darkest of arts, to prolong life for a moment longer. Some souls, especially of those young and vigorous screamed louder then the rest. And each voice seemed to be saying the same thing.
No, I can't die. Not here, not yet…not like this. I can't die here…
He ignored the voices as best he could until he heard one resounding above the rest. The voice belonged to a man very near death, but was fighting to stay conscience, stay alive. It seemed tethered to this earth by some need or desire it had yet to fulfill. Usually, Imre would let such a spirit would become a ghost if it held on long enough but this one caught his attention. Despite the spirit's pain, it's total despair, it was clinging to life but a life that at the same time was something deeper then a mere existence. This spirit seemed almost like Imre's own. There was something immortal about it, as if he could fathom destiny and fate.
Or as if he understand eternity in just a touch.
Imre decided to seek out this spirit as quickly as he could and when he reached the designated door, he opened it quickly and threw Jude unceremoniously in.
After all, he had a prize to claim.
The room would have been better described as a cell. It was pitch black inside, with no windows and thick soundproof walls that blocked out any outside activity. Jude had been in rooms like this one many times before, with Alex as they interrogated the more problem criminals. This was the type of room that never got shown on public tours of Hecate, this was where a sort of street justice was meted out to those the Aurors thought worthy of such a fate. This was the room of Judas Judgments and torture although neither terms were used in the neat and polished world of Hecate Compound. This room was one of those people kept skeletons in. This was the room no one talked about, like the dark corner of your soul that you don't admit is there but secretly know the truth.
This was the place where all your nightmares came true, partially because no one could hear you scream.
It took Jude a moment to sit up straight, and shake off the effects of the curse. He rubbed his wrists wearily, and squinted as he tried to gain some sense of reality. The smell, sights and sounds of war were vacant from this room and he was almost tempted to forget they even existed at all.
That was, however, until he heard a calm, quiet voice from the corner of the room.
"Hello, Judas."
He wasn't quite sure if he ever got to scream.