by CrimsonNoble
A/N: I's having hella comp problems. Forgive me. Delayed to hell.
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.
WARNING: This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male
relationships, and definite female/female. Ye hast been warned. Should
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users
there.
Spoilers: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.
Chapter 11:
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0829, January 4.
Raye arraigned herself cheerfully in her seat, crossing her ankles as
she prepared for Dumbledore's imminent wrath. Old bastard didn't seem
to like her teaching methods. Oh well, that was his problem.
"I have spoken to you on this matter before! This is intolerable! Miss
Raye--" He began in an incensed manner.
Raye interrupted him, once again. "And I have spoken to you about my
name before. It is 'rok."
The old man glared. "That is irrelevant!"
Raye shrugged. "Your damn problem then. I do not care what happens to
those two. I believe I also asked you to pull them out, something you
had plenty of time to do. Your fault."
Dumbledore bristled, something that the woman snickered at. It wasn't
every day, after all, that you saw Dumbledore's beard standing on end.
Interrupting again, before he really had a chance to say anything, she
continued, in a delightedly matter-of-fact voice. "And do not think to
attempt to fire me. Do so and I can guarantee that all of my students
will die rather un-nice deaths. I personally like the 'cut-them-apart-
and-then-let-them-die' one. Kinda like a vivisection, but worse."
Sparklingly blue eyes narrowed. "You think to command me?" He demanded
angrily. "You think that you are a match for the entire Order?"
Raye bared her teeth in a vaguely unsettling grin. "I do not think so.
I know I could kill you, the Death Eaters, Voldemort, and anyone else
who stood in my way. Be glad then, that I am for the moment on your
side. Be afraid, because while I will kill for you, I will not die for
you. You have martyrs, but I am not going to be one. And at the rate
things are going, I'd suggest you hurry up and find a new Vishnu.
Because, as things stand, you are going to get your asses kicked to
Hel and back."
The old man's hair began to waft around him, displaying that he was a
poor wizard indeed. One who needed to show off to prove his power. Had
she actually done that once?
"The Prophecy speaks of--"
Raye snorted indelicately. "Prophecies are merely clues as to what may
happen. They are not absolute, though most times they come true
because morons like you, who buy into them, fufill the prophecy, and
thereby make it self-fufilling. I could kill him twenty times over. My
teacher could kill him a hundred times over, and still not take notice
of him."
A wary intrest caught in Dumbledore's eye. "Who is your teacher?" He
asked cautiously. This person could be a great tool... After all,
every body could be exploited. Maybe this girl would be the leverage
he would need to obtain her teacher...
Raye's eyes narrowed darkly. "Her... yes, her name is Cais. You will
not be able to find her. Nor could you use her against me. Or vice
versa. She... does not like me. And it would be an honor for me to
kill her."
She hadn't actually known the aged wizard was going to use them
against each other, but she knew people who would. It was best to nip
that kind of thing in the bud.
Of course, it was the height of self-confidence to say she could kill
her teacher. But that had been something the woman had drilled into
her, be proud of yourself. Because, in the end, that's all you have.
Of course, that had been pretty much the only thing Raye had listened
to coming out of the older woman's mouth.
Other than the profanity, of course. The woman was amazingly able to
dish out verbal abuse. A trait that Raye held more reserve in.
"Raye... I must request that you refrain from injuring my students
further." The old man pleaded.
Raye shrugged indifferently. "Get those two out of my class then. Any
that remain will be damaged. I'm willing to teach them to survive, and
it looks like I am the only one willing. Coddle them all you want, then
send them to their deaths. At my hands, at the Death Eater's hands.
Dead is dead. I will teach for you, kill for you, but do not make the
mistake of thinking I will die for you."
With that, Raye stood and exited the chamber.
Dumbledore waited a moment, letting her exit her presumed range of
hearing, before turning toward the fire. A handful of powder cascaded,
sparking for a moment before the flames exploded with green.
"Severus Snape!" He bellowed.
As he had been ordered, the man promptly appeared in the fireplace.
"Yes, headmaster?" His silken voice inquired.
"She has just exited my office. Shadow her. If at all possible, use
Legilmency. Find out who she is, and where she is from." The white
bearded wizard commanded imperiously.
"It shall be as you command," the sallow face responded, before
vanishing.
Dumbledore leaned back further in his seat. He would find out who this
woman was, and he would find out how to bend her to his will. One
could control anyone. One just needed... Leverage.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0901, January 4.
-------
DMNWLTFR, ????. 2338, January 4.
The amplified voice roared over the crowd, most of whom had been
waiting for this moment for a long time. "Welcome! The first round of
has begun, and already we have lost many of our own! But their
sacrifices will be remembered!"
The crowd echoed a roar of approval, and Snape was dragged further
into the seething mass of bodies.
"And now, the moment you have been waiting for, the final battle of
the first round!"
A wave of carnal humanity crushed against the cage, screams overwhelming
the delicate senses of the Professor. He was not cut out for this. He
was a Potions Master, and he flowered in the cool damp, with a potion
brewing.
"And now presenting: the shockingly lavender huntress," the announcer
bellowed, to a howl of approval from the spectators, "Low Key Lyesmith!"
Snape smirked, having been conscripted into this expedition against
his will. There had actually been some fairly omnious names. Of
course, they were vastly overused cliches, but thte Death-Eater-turned-
spy tended to ignore that.
This name, however, was just absurd.
The guttural chant that rose from the crowd, however, was terrifying
in its intensity, the way it hooked one and reeled them in, regardless
of one's personal desires. "Low Key, Low Key, Low Key, Low Key, Low
Key!" There had been no build-up to it, it had just begun from almost
dead silence in complete unison.
It was a powerful thing, primal in origin, it could have been a
worship ceremony for a God.
And in a way, it was.
Into the center of the ring stepped Raye. But she was... shockingly
lavender. Her hair was apparently dyed the light purple, and she had
discarded her standard white pantsuit, instead donning a pair of
lavender cargo pants, the same color as her skin was, not-so
incidentally matching her hair. It took him a moment to realize that
she was indeed wearing a shirt, the skin-tight tank-top matching her
skin exactly, revealing that the cold was enough to tease her nipples
erect.
Her bare feet slid with only slight difficulty across the icy stone,
slick with frozen blood as it was, her purple toenails invisible
against her skin. Against the overload of vauge purple, her dancing,
inverted eyes were almost a relief. The cobalt and onyx eyes would
have been a comfort, had they not been inverted as they were.
Presently they just added to the exotic surrealism.
Snape abruptly discovered that he too was chanting, and his jaw
clamped shut with what might have been an audible click elsewhere. In
the screaming crowd, however, even Severus himself couldn't hear it.
Beneath, at the center of the concave bowl-like structure, Raye waved
vaguely in the direction of her lover. Disgusting, Snape observed.
Women just... should not be involved like that. Further diluting the
wizarding blood. Severus ignored the fact that he didn't exactly help
in that area either.
The announcer's voice would have been drowned out, if not for the
muggle speakers blaring from over the roof of steel bars of the cage.
Despite the volumious nature of the cavern-like chamber, which was
large enough to send an agrophobic person into a seizure, the crowd
was thick enough that spontaneous combustion was a serious worry for
the greasy-haired professor.
"Brothers!" The man roared, and Severus felt a twinge of his bestial
rage at the man's audacity. "Welcome the one and only Death of Shadows,"
the chanting, impossibly, doubled for this new man, and the announcer
had to wait for the howls to subside, so loud were they that even the
amplifiers would have paled in comparison, before finishing, "Perio Di
Ctable!"
A moment of utter silence fell as the competitor slithered out into
the ring, during which Tonks glanced surreptitiously at her watch.
Faithful to Dumbledore's observation, the time was twenty miutes
before midnight. She was unaware that the observation had not been a
"Dumbledore Original", but rather he had stolen it from a book.
"Let the final match of the Non-Weapons legal deathmatch begin!" With
that the speakers unleashed their eighteen decible gong, followed by
the pounding chords of Feuer Frei.
Raye grinned, an open-mouthed thing, her eyes spastically wide, her
tongue flickering between her spread teeth. Her opponent, a man of
both uncertain age and ethnic origin (though his name sounded vaugely
like it was from Spain), grinned back, his lower jaw jutting forward
and his eyes hooded in an almost sultry manner.
He was built in the approximate size and shape of a coke machine, and
across the back of his shaven skull a barcode was tattooed. His skin
was somewhere between ochere and the color of decayed gunpowder,
giving him a half-rotten look. His eyes were disturbingly light blue,
to the point at which it was diffucult to tell the difference between
his irises and his corneas, giving the disquieting illusion that the
only non-white in his eyes were his pupils. He wore no shirt, showing
the hairless physique of a bodybuilder, shining in the erratic
lighting as if his skin was waxed. Around his waist, darker than the
depths of a cloudy night, hung a belt, though not one typically
attached to people, instead the kind that ran bullets into a
stationary minigun. With bullets in it, 30mm precisely. Around his
legs curled a pair of inky black leather pants, which shone oiled in
the dark, and reflected offensively when struck by a strobe of light.
His teeth shone golden--though that was from tartar buildup, rather
than having been actually made of gold. His hands had the tendency to
remind people of concrete blocks, with fingers gnarled and unable to
fully uncurl from intense conditioning.
The combination of his fetid breath, the strobing lighting, and the
torture of instruments by a German band combined to make an
intimidating spectacle.
Raye rocked back and forth on her feet, clapping her hands together
excitedly.
As one of the rather rarely interspersed actual lyrics tore from the
speakers, both combatants moved, the man drawing what looked something
like a number two HB pencil from somewhere, and flinging it at Raye,
who was skittering around the arena, alternating right to left bursts
as she neared the man, in much the same way that tacking worked. It
lodged in her pants, and Raye took note of where it was, though she
otherwise ignored it.
As she neared, one of the man's granite like hands slammed into the
side of her head, catching her in the midst of a step, sending her
rolling away from him. Due to the blood-ice on the stones however, she
didn't stop until she rammed into the cage, crushing the fingers of
some unfortunate members of the audience, who's screams of agony
failed to register in anyone's minds other than their own.
Raye stood up, watching blandly as the man lunged at her, trying to
take her to the ground. It reminded her of something she had seen done
once, a no-rules fight. The man had dropped his pants, and smacked his
opponent with his penis. From there things had just gone downhill, and
the entire thing had just turned into a freaking orgy.
Understandably, therefore, she broke into a laughing fit, and was
thusly crushed between the box of a man and the bars of the cage,
which deformed alarmingly.
She continued snickering as other, slightly more twisted 'fight-gone-
wrong' memories played.
In the mean time, Di was unleashing a chain of punches that kept her
pressed against the bars, bending them in a way bars were never meant
to bend.
As the instrument torture drew to a close, and looped into Ich Will,
Raye finally recovered from her laughing fit, and shoved the next blow
aside, and whirled away from the man.
As he turned, an idea snuck into the back of her head. Oh, yes, it
would be somewhat difficult... and it would likely take a while... but
Gods, would it be worth it. Yeah, she was a fan of pulp.
Distractedly, she took the next blow to her floating rib, and skidded
backward on the blood-ice, before focusing on the man approaching her
again. He swung, mindlessly.
Loki, this was getting boring. Was that all the man knew how to do?
She stepped closer to the man, so that his arm whipped behind her
head, before drawing her close to him in a perversion of an embrace.
Her foot rammed into his knee, bending it sideways, and dropping the
man to the floor with a grunt.
She hopped back, drawing the pencil from where it was stuck, and
pinning it in a sort of holster made of the non-weapon she had chosen,
safety pins.
Then, abruptly, he was lunging for her again, and she dropped,
sweeping his legs casually from beneath him. She rolled, coming up
kneeling on his chest, and rammed her thumb and forefinger into his
eyesockets, feeling a wet squelch as they popped beneath her nails.
She laughed as she bounced back, drawing the pencil, his screams
opening her target perfectly, also delighting her. There was a breif
instant in which she glanced upward, looking at the crowd.
And then she lunged again, driving the pencil into the back of his
mouth, and then through the bone.
She stood, grinning, and began to inspect her nails.
DMNWLTFRWR, ????. 2349, January 4.
taurial--Douglas Adams? I have an idea... mwuhahahaha... ^_^ SEP field
ahoy!
Queen Remmy--Of course, she's not by that name. You'll have difficulty
finding "her"...
ReginaLucifer--Hermione got... vastly messsed up in the last chapter.
Ron, on the other hand, is going to have a little trouble having kids
now. ^_^
Relle--You don't want to know. Suffice to say, I'm a perv. ^_^ Sounds
cool. Dumbly's gonna get pissed... But, suffice to say, Snape's gettin
massively PWNED! M/M: Go Sev/Albus slash! >.> Man, I'm messed up.
I actually hadn't put that much thought into it, though technically
Harry has been in a mM relationship (ie: with an older man. Thus the
capital M).
Mentions: Vishnu is the Hindu god-facet who preserves. As stated previously,
or rather, alluded to, Raye speaks of the opposing factions as
'Preservation' and 'Destruction'. Thus, Vishnu. Point, she also speaks
of Voldemort as Shiva. God-facet of Destruction.
Hel is the Norse underworld.
Perio Di Ctable, Periodictable, Periodic Table. >.>
"You men must understand what it is I call upon you to do. It is no
glorious battle as you think, where you move like pieces on a game
board. No tactics to outwit an opponent in a grand engagement. We will
not face them in the field of battle, but kill them in every other
way.
"There is nothing fair about having to fight, the only fair thing
would be to live in peace. The purpose of war is singular: to kill.
"You must all understand this, for it is central to your survival.
"There is no honor in killing, no matter the method. Dead is dead.
"Killing your enemy in war is done to protect the lives of those for
whom you fight. Their lives are no better protected by killing your
enemy sword to sword than by slaying him while he sleeps, but only put
at risk by it.
"There is no glory in this task. It's an onerous deed. We do not
intend to give them a chance to engage in battle, to see who is better
at the game. Our chore is simply to kill them.
"If the enemy is looking the other way, so much the better, because
they will not thrust a knife into you. If it is from a distance with
an arrow, so much the better, because they will not have a chance to
impale you on a spear. It it is while they have food in their mouths,
so much the better, they will not be able to raise an alarm. If it is
while they are sleeping, so much the better, because they will not
have the chance to cleave into you with their sword.
"What we do is done to save the lives of men and women yet alive and
yet unborn."
From Stone of Tears. Despite the fact that I utterly loathe Godkind
(sic) for his superiority complex, I like the speech. Well, sans the
last paragraph, but whatever.
"Sounds to me like the gazelle sitting in the fields eating grass
hoping the lion chooses not to kill him and feed his growling belly."
Solomon Kane.
Feuer Frei is by Rammstein. I reccomend them. The song is, pretty
much, instruments being tortured by German artists, interspersed with
lyrics. Though when I say tortured, I mean I have this mental image of
them putting a drumstick, for instance, through the drum. Ich Will is
also by Rammstein.
Tacking: it's a boating thing. Don't know much more than that.
How Raye kills Di: Taken from Battle Royale by Koshun Takami.
DMNWLTFR-Death Match Non-Weapons Legal Tournament, First Round.
(WR-Winner: Raye.)