A/N so um, a little warning to you all: This is what happens when you attempt to write at three in the morning on a caffeine buzz while watching Stigmata and sporadically listening to the Grease soundtrack. Doesn't make sense? It gets worse from here. So, abandon all hope ye who read past here; you have been warned.
Standard disclaimer applies, this story not valid in Connecticut, Canada and the Caribbean. Story availability subject to local laws. Some restrictions apply.
Chapter 7: Devil in a Black Jacket
Boredom was once again in the air as the Redhawks took their turn in the control room. It seemed the Dark Wizards of the world were keeping quiet for the moment, a prospect that suited Ryu Quing-Long quite fine. He was, after all, quite used to the quiet. He gazed at the large world map hanging on the wall in front of him, without really seeing it. A large green line of light rotated around the map in a steady circle, searching out the energy that accompanied dark magic.
In the chair next to him Ami stretched leisurely and let out a long yawn that drew his attention. When she noticed that Ryu was looking at her she smiled impishly back at him.
"So how come you never talk Ryu?" She asked as she leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the desk in front of her. "I know you can."
Ryu regarded her with a confused expression.
"You talk in your sleep." She explained. "I've heard you when you nap in the commons."
He smirked at her and shrugged his shoulders.
"Alright." She huffed "If you're going to be difficult, can I guess?"
Ryu gestured with one hand, like they had anything better to do?
"Hmm." Ami thought for a moment. "Did you take a vow of silence? There were some monks like that at the Temple where I was taught."
The silent wizard shook his head, though his eyes shone with amusement.
"No? How about this; Translations spells don't work on you and you know none of us speak Japanese?"
"I do!" Jack called over from the other side of the circular room. "I can speak four hundred and fifty languages. English and French, Latin, Old Dwarf, Lithuanian and Mermish and Centaur Common, Aborigine and Kuwanger and-"
"Hey was your tongue cut out?" Tonks asked. Apparently, the entire squad had been listening in to the conversation, and even the temporary relief of boredom was enough to draw them all in. Even as Ryu opened his mouth to show that he did indeed still have his tongue, they all started coming up with their own reasons for his self imposed muteness.
"Your mom was a banshee, so if you tried to talk you'd make our heads explode?"
"Don't be stupid Ramirez, banshee are undead, they can't mate vith humans." Krum muttered, rolling his eyes. "Besides, it's obvious he drank some Gibberish Gel vhen he vos younger, so now all he can do is mutter nonzense."
Ryu rolled his eyes, which was clearly a negative.
"Zhat is ze stupeedist thing I have evair heard Viktor." Fleur sniffed haughtily, but didn't supply her own solution to the puzzle.
"Maybe he really likes Kevin Smith movies?" Kara guessed, they all turned to stare at her. She looked at their staring faces. "What?"
"It's a muggle thing." John explained with a small grin. This seemed to satisfy everyone but Harry, who continued to look confused. "An American muggle thing." he amended, with an amused expression.
Ami regarded Ryu again, but as he didn't offer up an explanation, she sigh exasperatedly. "Fine. Keep your secrets." There was silence in the room for a few minutes, until…
"Say, did anyone catch the latest Chudley Cannons game?" Ron asked cheerfully before being pummeled with balls of parchment. "Ow hey! Alright, alright already! Stop it!" Harry shook his head as the pile of paper balls that littered the floor around Ron grew higher. Ever since the Cannons got on a seven game winning streak, Ron wouldn't shut up about them, even to the non-British members of the team who could care less what happened to the Cannons, so it was no wonder they'd started getting a little annoyed.
"What in the devil is going on in here?" There was a bang as the door slammed open and the distinctive smell of tobacco surrounded them as Collins thundered into the room. All activity ceased and the Aurors looked at each other like a group of guilty school children. Collins, head wreathed in smoke as it usually was, surveyed the scene before him.
"You all better knock that off right now. This is a serious duty. If you're not paying attention to those instruments in front of you, you could miss something important. So cut the crap right now, or I'll give you all a detention!"
A chorus of subdued yet slightly sarcastic 'Yes Sir.'s met this statement.
"Now, as I had been about to inform you, the interrogation of the prisoner has just been completed." Collins was inwardly pleased to note that he now had the group's undivided attention. "Unfortunately, as much as I'd like to report otherwise, we learned absolutely nothing of value."
"Who was he sir?" Asher asked, a piqued, interested look on the burly Canadian's face.
"A mercenary. Burglar for hire, he was sent into the compound to retrieve an item from a very specific room, however when he'd gotten to the room his employers directed him to, he was quite surprised to find himself in this room, facing a team of Aurors. He believes he was set up to take a fall by someone."
"Who was his employer?" Harry wondered.
"Doesn't know, never met the man in person. Did business through an associate, who he never saw the face of."
"Definitely sounds like a set up to me." John muttered, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "The question is why."
"A distraction perhaps?" Viktor wondered. "If there is a truly a mole in the organization, this man vould provide enough chaos for him to do vhatever he vos sent to do."
"That seems to be where the evidence is pointing." Collins affirmed with a nod. "However, I still don't like the idea of jumping to any conclusions as far as this 'mole' thing is concerned. The higher-ups are looking into the possibility, but we don't have any concrete proof yet. All I'm asking now is for you all to keep your eyes open." He took another puff on his cigar and left them to finish the rest of their shift in the control room.
"Are we prepared?" Voldemort asked, a look of restrained glee on his face as he turned an appraising gaze upon the large Yew tree planted in the center of the chamber, surrounded by a pool of blood. Flint, Crabbe and Goyle were busy tracing complicated runes on the Tree of Death's trunk in silvery unicorn blood.
Blaise glanced down at the silver Soulstone glinting in her hand, it's star-like beauty obscuring it's insidious nature. "Yes." Was all she said before MacDougal came stomping in dragging a barely conscious and badly bruised Draco Malfoy behind him.
"Here ye go lassie, the star o' the show 'imself." He laughed, throwing Malfoy onto the hard stone floor, where they heard his shoulder snap audibly.
Blaise regarded the brutish Scotsman with a quirked eyebrow. "Don't just stand there!" She snapped at Crabbe and Goyle. "Truss him up already." The two burly lummoxes lumbered forward and took hold of one of Malfoy's arms, with a heave they hoisted him against the trunk and bound his arms to the Yew's branches. Taking silver-bladed daggers in hand, they each made a long shallow cut in each of Malfoy's palms, drops of his blood dripped into the basin below him.
Crabbe and Goyle stepped back and they and the other remaining Death Eaters formed a circle around the basin of blood. Silvery-blue moonlight shined onto the tree from a hole in the ceiling directly above it where the full moon was clearly visible. The light reflected off the silver blood runes outlined on the trunk, throwing them into sharp relief against the darkened wood.
Blaise stepped forward and hung the chain that attached to the Soulstone around Draco's neck. Then she stepped back and joined the ring that the other Death Eaters had formed around the basin and tree. They began a slow haunting chant that echoed off the stone wall of the chamber, making it seem like there was a great crowd shouting, instead of just a handful of people in dark robes and hoods.
The young brunette watched as the moonlit basin of blood started to bubble slightly, the runes on the tree began to not only reflect light, but to glow on their own. She couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination as the Soulstone pulsed against Malfoy's chest. With a cracking sound it shattered, the pieces clinging to his skin for a moment before melting into a collection of mercury-like drops. With an odd sucking sound the molten metal was absorbed into his body, causing Draco to scream in pain, before blacking out again, his body convulsing like he was under the Cruciatus Curse, after a moment it was over and the blood dripping from his palms turned from red to jet black.
As soon as the now black blood hit the basin, the blood it contained started boiling over intensely, a gust of air blew violently through the chamber and the blood evaporated with a sudden explosion of red mist that obscured the view of Draco and the tree. There was silence for a moment, which was broken by a loud crack! of splitting wood, and a loud explosion of insane laughter.
Those assembled watched as a shadow formed just behind the curtain of mist, another gust of wind blew the red smoke away and the form was revealed.
The figure was dressed in black leather boots, dark blue jeans and a black tee-shirt covered by a black dragon-leather jacket. Fingerless gloves covered his hands and dark glasses obscured his eyes.
Blaise shivered, both because of the aura of unrepentant evil that surrounded the man, but because he looked oddly familiar. Then with a start she realized that it was Draco, well, it was …yet it wasn't. Where Draco's hair had been platinum blonde and short, this new Draco had just-below-shoulder length jet black hair that was bound into a ponytail at the base of his skull and his bangs were greased back.
The new apparition turned his head slightly and Blaise could see behind the dark glasses, where Draco's eyes had been a stormy Gray, this… person's…. eyes were completely jet black… pupils, iris, everything. Black.
Voldemort floated over and, much to the surprise of the gathered Death Eaters, he performed an elaborate bow before the unknown figure.
"Lord Sarezhade." He murmured, "Allow me to be the first to welcome you back from your four-hundred year exile."
'Sarezhade' turned to regard Voldemort with a cocked eyebrow expression. "Who are you, fallen one, and why have you released me?"
Voldemort made another short bow. "I require a favor, O' Demon-Knight."
Sarezhade let out a laugh, cruel and mocking. "A favor? Do you take me for some sort of Genie, Specter? Rub the stone and get a wish? I serve no mortal… even a dead one." He walked back over to the Yew tree, and Blaise was shocked to see that it had been split in half, right down the middle, the demon stood with one foot on either half and regarded Voldemort.
"You still have not told me your name." He said with a sadistic grin.
Voldemort bowed once again. "I am the Dark Mage Voldemort." Blaise noted the curious absence of the word 'Lord' in that title. Sarezhade, on the other hand, seemed amused.
"Voldemort? The Thief of Death? That's funny, coming from a ghost. It's a title that is ill-suited to you." He polished his glasses lazily. "I Believe I shall instead call you Morty."
Voldemort grimaced, and the demon noticed. "Oh. Don't like that? Shall I call you Voldy? Moldy-Voldy?" Sarezhade let out another laugh, obviously amused by himself. Blaise was forced to admit it was interesting to see her master cowed thusly. Sarezhade leaned against one half of the yew tree and put his legs up on the second half.
"You amuse me, Ghosty, so I'll listen to this no-doubt pitiful request of yours."
"I require, as you can see, a new body."
"Hmm." Sarezhade licked the tip of his thumb and snapped his fingers, a scroll appeared in his hands and he unrolled it, reading over it carefully. "According to your dossier here, you've already had two chances at life. Oh and looky-here, it says both lives were ended by the same person. One Harold James Potter. Well, isn't that something?" The scroll disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"You sound severely incompetent Morty. Why in the nine hells should I give you a third lease on life?"
Voldemort drew himself up proudly. "I," He said haughtily. "Am the last living descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin. It is my destiny, my right, to purge the world of filth, and rule all the earth."
There was a pause, then Sarezhade fell over laughing. Voldemort, by his expression, was not amused by this.
"Oh that's funny!" The demon guffawed. "The 'great' Slytherin?" He laughed for a few more moments before getting hold of himself. "Nevertheless." He continued. "It just so happens that I need something, so we may be able to help each other." He got to his feet and walked up to Voldemort. "I want revenge on the one who put me in that bauble… or at least, his descendant. So." He turned to the ghostly wizard and stuck out his hand. "Do we have an accord? I get you a body, you bring me the one who wields the Diamond Blade."
