Yay! Chapter Two of the revamped fic is here! Dedicated to Ella Paladino and evilevergreen (I'd be lost without you! )
I must say I'm so terribly happy with the way thing came out! I really hope you all enjoy it! Consider it my contrition for S.T.'s ending (though you'll see why I'm not REALLY sorry).
Please Read and Review! I HAVE to know what you think!
Thanks, and enjoy!
"My Lord, I must protest. This is not a good idea." Right-Hand knelt before the Dark Lord as he held court with his Death Eaters. "If they already know we are going to attack the Alley-"
Her words were cut short by a wave of his skeletal hand. "We must test our source. If he can convince them his tip is true, we can trust him to bring us valuable information on the Order's plans. We will continue with the attack. Dear Messenger, you may summon your troops."
"If I may, Dark Lord, you mean my troops." From the left side of Lord Voldemort, a tall Death Eater stepped forward. "And for once I agree with Right-Hand. I will not lose men over some litmus test for a spy."
A pallid eyebrow rose, and Voldemort's lips spread into the beginnings of a sadistic smirk. Calmly, he withdrew his wand and wordlessly cursed his General. "Never think you can take that tone with me."
The General dropped to all fours and silently trembled with pain at the Cruciatus curse. "But you may lead my troops in the attack on Diagon Alley. It is the right I've so graciously extended to you."
As the General shakily stood and gave orders to round up the other Death Eaters, Right-Hand quietly protested by the Dark Lord's side. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to hand over this affair to such a young-"
"Bellatrix," Voldemort's voice became noticeably edgier, "I endure you because you are my most loyal follower. But I won't tolerate you questioning my judgment."
"Forgive me. Perhaps I should then…"
"You will remain here, and let them do their work."
"Yes, My Lord."
Right-Hand stood and resumed her namesake position beside the Dark Lord as Wormtail entered the Hall and shuffled up to Lord Voldemort. "Master, they are assembled and ready to leave."
The Dark Lord looked up from the balding, breathless man kneeling before him and nodded curtly as his General bowed and turned, signaling the Death Eaters as they all disapperated with a resounding crack. As Peter Pettigrew looked up at the vicious creature he now served, the content smile across his tightly drawn face sent waves of nausea through him.
In a secluded corner of Knockturn Alley, 50 Death Eaters stood indistinguishable from one another with blank white masks and billowing black robes. One spoke forcefully but quietly to the mass.
"We have made sure every wizard in the world knows we exist. They know we are capable of great and terrible things. But consider that all but an appetizer for what will begin at this moment. Why are we attacking Diagon Alley in broad daylight? Because we can. Today, we will remind them why they dare not speak His name."
The crowd stirred anxiously, excited for their task. "You know the drill."
The General, wand raised, sent up a shower of green sparks. Beneath the eerie glow, monochromatic villains eagerly flooded the alley and immediately set to work. Some targeted buildings, some people. Within minutes, the area was overrun with a cacophony of screams and destructive commotion.
Partly disgusted, the General looked on as the Messenger cried out vaingloriously among the chaos. "Fear him…serve him…join him or die by his hand! The Messenger calls out to you! His patience wanes…this is your last chance! All will bow to him soon enough…we will see to that!"
"Lucius…" The General spat vindictively on the ground and stealthy moved into the masses of black and joined the fray. A few well-placed fire-spells made quick work of one of the smaller shops and quickly sent its inhabitants scrambling from the building. The General picked off one of them and knocked him back with a potent disarming spell.
The man came to him senses in time to see his attacker cutting single-mindedly through the crowd, like a predator relishing the hunt. He scrambled backwards, shards of glass tearing at his palms. His back came flush against an alley wall. There was nowhere else to go. He had no wand…his store was up in flames…only God knew how the rest of the Order was faring…
Fred winced, the pain in his hands finally reaching his frantic brain. Unable to tear his gaze away from the dark and lifeless sockets of the porcelain mask before him, he watched as the Death Eater came to a stop over him.
"Y-you aren't a regular DE, are you?" Fred tried to steady his voice as he stalled for time. Perhaps someone would see him and help him.
A soft snort, and the mask slowly shook its head. He's playing with me, Fred thought. "Which one then? The Messenger, Lucius? Wormtail? You can't be Right-Hand…there's no sign of Voldemort here. And he's never seen without him, is he?"
Fred was answered with a soft, throaty laugh and a second shake of the head. "Well I'm running out of choices aren't I? I'll have to go with General, then. But does it really matter? You're a coward regardless, serving a vile thing like him…"
The General's wand was quickly raised, aiming at the dead-center of Fred's chest. No more games, his number is up.
Fred reflexively threw up his hand, shielding himself for what he knew would be the last moments of his life. The General hesitated, taken aback by the desperate movement. But not just that. The sleeve of Fred's robe fell away, and a steady stream of blood trickled from his hand down his forearm and across deep black ink that marred the unblemished porcelain skin of his inner arm. A tattoo. A word, ornately written. "Angel".
It was strangely captivating, and the General's eyes narrowed in contemplative thought. The heavy moment was broken when a flash of green grazed the stoic mask. "Get away from him!"
George raised his wand, ready to send a second killing curse at the scum hovering over his brother. Before getting another shot off, though, the Death Eater sent up a sudden burst of green that formed into the terribly familiar Dark Mark over the alley. Every eye was turned to the sign, and with a crack each Death Eater knew his job was finished and disapperated away.
Lit in a dull green, hundred of terrorized shop owners and bystanders stood dumbfounded as Diagon Alley lay strewn around them, broken and burning. The Order of the Phoenix, roughed up but still whole, quickly went about putting out the last of the fires and attending to injured witches and wizards.
George, Cho, and Tonks knelt around Fred as he dazedly stared out into space and breathed labouredly. "You look pale, Fred. Are you hurt? Do you need us to take you to St. Mungo's?"
Lip trembling, Fred turned and braced himself on all fours. "He…he saw her name. He saw it and stared and didn't have time to kill me. She saved me…again."
Fred suddenly vomited, a mix of nerves and emotion, before breaking down into a fit of sobs. George quickly cleared the others away as he simply waited with his brother and rubbed his back soothingly as he calmed down and regained his composure.
Back at Lord Voldemort's lair, the Dark Lord and his followers reveled in the success of their attack. "My Lord, we have turned their dread to panic," Lucius sweetly relayed, "you should have seen the fear in their eyes."
"Yes," the Dark Lord replied, his eyes focused on another, "and we have our General to thank for that."
"Here here!" One of the masked masses cried out, sending the group into a rowdy cheer.
"You know I act only to please you, My Lord. May I be excused, sir? I am tired."
Voldemort cocked his head to the side and pondered for a moment, before dismissing his trusted follower with a nod. He sensed something was weighing on his General's mind, but was too wrapped up in plans for the future to think much about it. A second pair of eyes watched the retreating form closely, with greater interest than most would understand.
In the cool and peaceful stillness of the darkened room, the General exhaled wearily and surveyed the messy space. Only Bellatrix and Lucius had been granted rooms of equal size and splendor. The General moved towards a large mirror draped in pale gold fabric. Taking wand in hand, a small burst of white light emitted from the tip and illuminated the mask.
Black gloved fingertips ran across the hard, colorless porcelain cheeks, over the forehead, and pulled back the dark hood. The fingers quickly returned to the edges of the mask, where pale white met deep brown hair. With an effortless tug, the mask came free.
Idly inspecting the mask as it lay on the dresser, a pair of eyes moved slowly up the mirror to behold their owner. Dark brown eyes surrounded by smooth cocoa-colored skin. Still-gloved hands released thick, wavy hair that had been pulled tightly into a bun.
She stared at herself a bit longer, trying to force out the knots in her stomach caused by thoughts of the shopkeeper's tattoo during the attack that day. Something about that had unsettled her. Was she growing soft? No.
"I am the Dark Lord's mighty sword," Angelina muttered sternly, "and I will serve him unquestioningly in whatever way I can."
Her self-reassurance was cut short as she spotted a mask peering into her room as it passed. Angrily, she snatched up her wand and flicked it, slamming her door shut and locking it. Her moment of weakness now forgotten, she moved to her desk and began working on drafting plans for the next strike for the Dark Lord's approval.
A/N: I hadn't intended on revealing the big secret this soon, but it just felt right! See? Salvation Touniquet's ending was planned ALL ALONG! Did I get ya? Ah well, I hope this is worthy of you, my beloved readers. Did I mention how much I like reviews?
Well, I hope to get the next chapter out there pretty soon! Thanks in advance!