"For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!"

- George Gordon Byron, The Destruction of Sennacherib

London, 1981

Benicio Fernandez, a nineteen-year-old who spent most of his days attending university in London, had always been told that he was the splitting image of his father. He had short black hair, brown eyes, and an athletic body from years of playing rugby for his school. John Fernandez, a fifty-one-year-old police officer whose wife was currently in Mexico, had always been told that he was the splitting image of his son. He had short gray hair, brown eyes, and an athletic body from years of service in the British SAS. The two lived in neighboring flats near Piccadilly Circus.

Despite living together, the two could not have been farther apart.

Benicio Fernandez had already finished his classes for the day as he sat in a nearby café, the rest of London bustling around the building as he waited for his father to say something, anything to him. After what seemed like five minutes, his father finally spoke up.

"…Grades holding up?" John asked his son.

Benicio nodded. "Quite nicely. I'm passing all my classes."

His father smiled as a horn honked in the distance and someone shouted. "That's great, son. With that and the rugby game you're guaranteed to win tonight, I'd say that the next few days are going to be pretty good for you."

John's son closed his eyes and let out a deep breath as his father's expression changed to concern.

"What's wrong, son?"

"The game was yesterday, dad." Benicio opened his eyes and leaned back in his chair, disappointment evident in his expression.

John groaned and put his head in his hands. "Damn it. Listen, Ben, I'm so sorry. I'll-"

"-You'll try to do better next time," Benicio finished his sentence for him. "But you've just been so busy with work lately."

John looked at his son, startled at the sudden outburst. There it was: the same fire that his wife Nila had with him whenever she was fed up with him. However, his son was right. He had gotten so enveloped in his work as a police officer that he had completely forgotten the most important person in his life. He knew that there was still time to make this mistake right before he created a permanent rift between Ben and him. He leaned forward, determined to make things right.

"Ben, you have every right to be angry with me. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to spend time with you lately. How about we go to a football game next week? Arsenal is playing Brighton, and I know how big of an Arsenal fan you are." John smiled.

As Ben opened his mouth to respond, two voices ran out from across the street.

"Get over here, you fat little runt! They're dead because of you! I'm going to make you suffer!"

A short, fat man with messy blonde hair and several moles ran past Ben and John, with a well-built man with gray eyes and shaggy black hair in hot pursuit. Ben looked at his father, who turned and began to rise from his seat as the black-haired man pulled something from his pocket.

"Hey! You! That's enough!" John shouted, flashing his badge.

The man with black hair paused, looking back at John with wide, crazy eyes for a moment, before turning and running after the shorter man. Swearing, John shoved his chair away and ran after the two men. Ben shot to his feet and ran after his father, completely forgetting the fact that he was just a student. The men ran from street to street, with the black-haired man shouting obscenities at the shorter man while John shouted at the two to stop. The four men spilled into Piccadilly Circus, the crowds of people bustling around them as horns honked and massive billboards flashed advertisements for Coca-Cola and Philips.

Sweat pouring down his face, the fat little man was backed against the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain in the middle of the square. A small crowd began to form, watching the confrontation with interest as the black-haired man spoke in a booming voice.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you where you stand, Peter Pettigrew!" The man bellowed, fury blazing in his eyes. Eyes flicking between the faces in the crowd, the man called Peter Pettigrew had a sudden idea. He rose to his feet, chest puffed with fury.

"Because it is you who killed them, Sirius Black! You murdered Lily and James Potter in cold blood!" Pettigrew bellowed. The two plunged their hands into their pockets, causing Ben's father to pull his service weapon as the two men drew their…wands?

"Both of you!" John Fernandez stepped forward, his SIG-P220 aimed at Black, then at Pettigrew. "Lower your, um, sticks, now! I will not ask again!"

The crowd scattered at the sight of John's handgun, with only a few remaining as the confrontation reached its climax. Ben stood near his father, looking past him as the three men faced each other. The tension in the air was so thick, it could have been chewed like taffy. The three men stared each other down, a bead of sweat rolling down Pettigrew's face as his eyes moved between John and Sirius. John's finger flinched over the trigger for just a moment, and Peter Pettigrew raised his wand and shouted.

"CONFRINGO!"

The resulting blast was deafening, echoing through the square as the heat seared Ben and the shockwave knocked his father into him. Father, son, and Sirius were sent flying as the fireball killed the bystanders instantly, shattering the windows of nearby cars as a deafening cacophony of car alarms, screams, and wails enveloped the square. Benicio landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him as he felt the skin of his elbows get torn away from sliding across the asphalt. John slammed into a nearby bench, an audible 'snap' sounding as his lower spine broke. Sirius, incredibly, seemed fine, but Pettigrew was nowhere to be found.

Groaning and coughing, Benicio propped himself up and winced, trying to crawl away. He felt a hand grab his arm and turned around, eyes widening at the sight of his father. Roughly half of John's body had mutilated and burned by the blast, reduced to a red and black mess. He twitched as his eyes, bloodshot and bleeding, looked at his son for one last time. Ben felt something heavy and metallic being pressed into his hand: his father's SIG.

"Go… to Nogales, Mexico." His father coughed, blood leaking from his mouth in a thin stream. "Find your mother. She will take care of you."

John's son said nothing, crying as he looked down at his father's body. Tears traced paths through the ash that covered his face. Eventually, he found the strength to nod.

"I will, dad." Ben choked out.

His father smiled, looking up at his son. "So… proud…"

James Fernandez, the splitting image of his son Benicio Fernandez, went slack as the light of life left his eyes. His hand fell to the concrete as the cacophony filling the square was joined by the loud wail of sirens. Another hand grasped his shoulder, yanking him roughly to his feet. Benicio Fernandez looked up at the gaunt, ash-covered face of Sirius Black. The man glowered at him, raising his wand as the nineteen-year-old stepped back and aimed his father's SIG at him with shaking hands.

"You heard what Pettigrew said and saw what he did. Now are you with me, or against me?"

Benicio, tears streaming down his cheeks, kept his father's pistol trained on Sirius as his other hand hung limply at his side. Eventually, he lowered the gun.

"That's what I thought. You seem sensible enough." Sirius spoke, then turned to the sound of more shouting voices and various flashes of color through the thick smoke. "Now go. Run! If you don't go now, they'll wipe your memory. Leave the country and never return!"

Benicio attempted to say something else, but only a strangled sob escaped his lips. He turned and ran as fast as he could in the other direction, hearing the insane laugh of the man known as Sirius Black behind him. His vision became a blur as tears streamed down his cheeks, and heavy sobs wracked his body as he ran through alleyway after alleyway in order to avoid the strange men in robes that had begun to crowd the streets near Piccadilly. Eventually, he skidded to a stop in a derelict alleyway, his foot landing on a discarded fast-food cup that leaked old soda onto his shoe. He leaned forward, breathing heavily and throwing up more gray gunk – his lungs rejecting the ash that had invaded them.

"Ahem."

He turned, facing the man that had cleared his throat. A tall, thin man blocked the alleyway's only exit, dressed in dark robes with silver accents and a silver mask made up of the upper part of a human skull and the lower jaw. The man chuckled, looking down at the boy.

"Oh, you poor muggle." He laughed. "I can't believe that a simple blasting curse is enough to kill you people. Especially one performed by the likes of Peter Pettigrew."

Rage flooded Benicio's veins like liquid fire as his grip tightened on the gun lowered at his side. Who the hell did this man think he is, dismissing his father's death like it was nothing more than a simple inconvenience? He tried to speak, but only ended up heaving as his body continued to reject the ash that had coated his lungs. The man simply laughed, rummaging through his robes as he searched through his wands.

"Don't bother, young man." He chided. "No matter what you do, Lord Voldemort and his loyal Death Eaters are going to take over the country in a matter of days. It was only a matter of time before your father had his spine snapped like a twig."

Perhaps it was the sheer amount of pent-up rage, sadness, and fear inside Benicio. Perhaps he simply caught the Death Eater off guard. Whatever the reason, Benicio raised his father's gun in a flash and fired three shots before the Death Eater had a chance to pull his wand.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Two of the shots went wild, one snapping the tip off the Death Eater's wand and one hitting a nearby garbage can, causing a cat to go scampering away. The last shot embedded itself in the man's chest, knocking him on his back as his blood sprayed against the pink graffiti behind him. The man looked at his wand, then at Benicio in disbelief.

"Killed by a… muggle?" He coughed, splattering blood against Benicio. "How?"

Benicio knelt in front of them man, roughly pulling his mask off as he looked at the man's old, wrinkled face. He looked down at the mask, then at the Death Eater. He wanted so, so badly to scream and yell at the man whose people had turned his entire life upside down in a matter of minutes. Alas, words failed him once again and all he managed was a wheeze in response to the Death Eater's question. He chose instead to press his father's gun against the Death Eater's head, determined not to let the shot go wild this time.

CRACK!

The Death Eater's body jerked as the 9mm parabellum round entered his brain, killing him instantly. Satisfied, Benicio got to his feet and left the alleyway. For the first time in his life, he had been given true purpose, and now the desire for revenge consumed his thoughts as he trudged back to his flat and took a shower, the hot water washing away the ash as well as the day's events. Stepping out of the shower, Benicio took a long look at his flat. It was nothing more than a single bedroom connected to a smaller living room and, somehow, an even smaller kitchen. Sighing, Benicio flopped down on his couch and turned on the television.

"According to officials overseeing the site at Piccadilly Circus, the explosion that rocked the fountain today has been attributed to a gas leak. Currently, officers are asking that-"

Benicio roared, throwing his remote at the TV and shattering the screen. The people below them slammed something against the ceiling and shouted at him to shut up. He laid down on his cough as tears quietly soaked the cushions. How could they do this? How could they cover up his father's death so nonchalantly? The city would recover quickly, sure, calling the event a "tragedy". But what about the rest of the victims? Would they ever recover?

Eventually, sobs turned to quiet snoring as Benicio fell asleep.

"Let me make sure I am understanding you correctly, Benicio. The explosion that killed your father was caused by men wielding magic wands. You then proceeded to kill one of these men after they cornered you in an alleyway?"

Nila Fernandez had seen a lot in her lifetime. Born to a poor family in Nogales, Mexico, Nila had been forced to learn to survive on the streets until a British couple adopted her from an orphanage. After finishing her education in London, civilian life didn't stick and so she decided to enlist in the British Army. After rising through the ranks and participating in operations worldwide, the government recognized her talent and allowed her to enter the SAS, where she participated in covert operations in Jebel Akhdar.

Eventually, as part of an agreement between the two nations, Nila was sent back to Mexico in order to use her experience with the SAS to train the Fuerza Especial de Reacción, Mexico's special forces. During her time with the FER, she performed regular covert operations against the Sinaloa and Golfos cartels. She had seen some crazy things during her operations and had certainly heard rumors about los magos, but nothing concrete. But then those rumors had begun to pile up.

Cartels began whispering about las brujas, witches that used their magical expertise to smuggle drugs across the Gulf of Mexico for profit as the United States increased their operations in the region as part of their "War on Drugs". The rumors came to a head when Nila Fernandez fought a witch herself. It took all her training, strength, and willpower just to defeat one. As she looked back on that fateful day, she believed her son Benicio with absolute certainty.

"Si, hijo." She responded, her voice deadly calm. "Based on what you told me, you fought an inexperienced wizard that follows Lord Voldemort."

"Lord Voldemort?" Her son inquired.

"El que no debe ser nombrado." She spoke. "He Who Must Not Be Named. He is an incredibly powerful dark wizard, perhaps the most powerful that our world has ever seen. The entire FER would not be strong enough to take him on."

The truck the two were in shook slightly as Nila drove her son into the Nogales countryside, the AC doing almost nothing against the arid Mexican heat. Nila explained to her son what she knew of the wizarding world, including the British Ministry of Magic and American Magical Congress that oversaw magic near the US Border between Nogales and Tuscon. After explaining things to her son, she looked at him expectantly.

"You want to avenge your father's death at the hands of this Peter Pettigrew, correct?" She studied her son carefully, recognizing the blazing desire for revenge in his eyes.

"I do. I want him dead. I don't care what it takes." Fury filled Benicio's voice as hot tears spilled down his cheeks.

Nila waited for her son to stop crying before she spoke. "You are not ready. To avenge your father's death, you must train with the FER in order to gain the skills necessary to fight these "Death Eaters" you speak of. It will be hard. You will be broken down, built back up, and then broken down again. I will not make things easier for you just because I am your mother. Are you certain, hijo?"

Benicio Fernandez, the striking image of the late John Fernandez, nodded. As if on cue, the truck the two were in pulled up to an old military compound, with a soldier stepping out of the booth at the checkpoint to inspect Nila's ID. The gate at the checkpoint slowly opened as Benicio Fernandez's normal life ended.

"Good." Nila Fernandez, commander of the Fuerza Especial de Reacción, spoke. "Let's begin."