Hogwarts, May 29, 1993…
The sloping grounds of Hogwarts were bathed in the deep red and orange hues of sunset. Shadows lengthened, adding an almost intimidating and ominous look to the castle.
As the sun slipped beneath the horizon, a teen-aged young man wearing a white cloak stepped out of the Forbidden Forest.
I'll never know why they call it the Forbidden Forest. It's really quite nice, though the assassin as he made his way up the grounds, heading for the large doors that were one of the obstacles barring his path to the famed Chamber of Secrets.
The Assassin Order kept a tab on everything, including the location of many 'secret rooms' in other schools of magic, such as Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. The Chamber of Secrets was one of such secrets, held by the Grand Master and his council. They allowed Assassins to look into the archives whenever facts were missing or damn near impossible to find. Like a sure lead on the Chamber…
The assassin walked up the path, checking his weaponry as he approached the door. He flicked his left hand, activating his hidden blade. Another flick sheathed the blade as he reached for his other weapons: his short blade in his back scabbard and his sword at his side.
He looked over the blades, checking for any faults. Finding none, he replaced the blades and flicked his fingers, sliding his wand out of the arm holster he wore. After checking the wand over, he put it back into the holster and pushed the heavy doors open.
It was late in the evening and the school was on a lockdown, so the halls were empty of teachers and students alike. The assassins slid through the halls like a shadow, slipping from alcove to doorway, blending in with the darkness even though he wore white.
"What about my sister?" cried a voice, causing the white-clad shadow to pause before a partly closed door. He pushed it open slowly, peering around the door to find a red haired wizard dressed in black robes with a lion on the lapel and a blonde-haired wizard wearing gaudy robes and curlers. The blonde wizard seemed to be in a hurry to be elsewhere, packing his clothes and portraits of himself as he sputtered about having an urgent call.
"What about all those things you've done in your books?"
"Books can be misleading!"
"You wrote them!"
"My dear boy, do you use your common sense? My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done those things," said the blonde. The assassin recognized him as Gilderoy Lockhart, the supposed superstar whose abilities were the stuff of legend, according to the current newspapers.
Stuff of legend indeed. I know for a fact that it was Antonio Marino who killed the werewolf who was terrorizing Tuscany. I was there! That field trip to the former hunting grounds of Ezio Auditore de Firenze was a nice way to finish our lesson on being unseen.
"You're a fraud!" cried the red-haired wizard, drawing his wand. "Is there anything you can do?"
"Yes," said Lockhart indignantly. "I'm quite good with Memory charms, otherwise all those other wizards and witches would have gone blabby."
He turned his back on the wizard, surreptitiously reaching for his wand. "Unfortunately, I'll have to do the same to you!"
He turned quickly, bringing his wand to bear on the red haired wizard. His lips formed the word for the memory charm, though it never made it past them.
His eyes bugged out as a white shadow loomed behind the boy, a sword in one hand and a wand in the other. "W-w-wha… wh-who are you?"
The redhead turned just in time to see the white clad assassin jump over his head, pulling a flip in midair before landing between the pair.
A quick reverse hooking kick impacting the DADA teacher's face left him sprawled across the floor. The redhead turned back to see the back of the assassin as he knelt by his head to test for a pulse.
"Who are you?" asked the boy, his hand falling to his side, wand clattering to the floor.
The assassin said nothing, standing as soon as he found a pulse in the blonde fraud. He paused, contemplating whether or not to give the downed professor a kick in the ribs, just for the hell of it.
The assassin left the room, walking towards the bathroom on the second floor. He didn't turn as he heard the red headed boy follow him, stumbling over the edge of his robe in his haste.
"Why are you here?"
"The chamber opened, the beast unleashed, on innocent blood, the fiend will feast. If not for a blade, a red entombed, a shade of old, his dark ways resumed," said the assassin, speaking the prophecy he had received from one of the Seers of the Assassin Order.
"What does that mean?" said the boy, skidding to a halt as the assassin entered the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, watching the white-clad, armed man examine the sinks forming an octagon in the middle of the circular room.
"What are you looking for?"
Circling the sinks, the assassin looked closely at the sink faucets, looking for a sign of Slytherin. Halfway around, he waved the boy forward, pointing out a serpent forming the letter 's' engraved on the faucet.
"A snake? Wait… this is the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets?"
"Open," hissed the assassin, speaking in Parseltongue.
The sinks began to spread apart outward, the octagonal stone that served as its top rose to the ceiling. Beneath the sinks yawned a giant pipe, its depths shrouded in darkness. The sink with the snake faucet sunk beneath the floor, leaving a grate to slide overtop with a sinister hiss and clank of machinery.
"Who are you?" asked a girl's voice, emanating from one of the stalls.
The assassin turned to look at the ghost, who was now sticking her head through the wall of the toilet stall. He nodded in greeting, turning away from the entrance of the Chamber.
"Do not follow me," he said as he leaned backwards, arms spread, falling into the Chamber.
Ghost and human shared a glance of incredulity before turning tail and running for Professor Dumbledore's office as fast as they could float and run.
Bottom of the pipe…
After rolling to a stop, the assassin took a look around, his Eagle Vision allowing him to see in the gloom. A step forward caused him to look down as the bones of rats and other vermin crunched underfoot. A forty-foot snakeskin lay on the ground, adding to the cheerful ambience. Well, well, somebody's been a might bit hungry… time to put it on a permanent diet.
He strode down the tunnel, alert for a telltale sound of attack, mainly the sound of slithering. A minute later he stood before a thick, circular steel door. Seven snakes stretched from where the hinges were to the outer edges.
"Open," hissed the assassin, walking calmly to the door. An eighth snake slithered out of the hinges, following the circumference of the circle. As the snake passed, the others slid back accompanied by the sound of bolts sliding back.
The door opened, surprisingly silent on hinges that haven't been used in fifty years, let alone being hundreds of years old. Leaning against the side, the assassin peers around the door, preferring not to charge in and meet the basilisk face to face.
A large, cavernous room lay beyond the door, snake head statues lining the walls. Water dripped from the ceiling, creating pools on the stone floors.
This place must be under the Black Lake, he thought as he walked through the door, sealing it behind him with a locking rune of his own design. If I don't live to get out, that bastard Riddle won't leave either.
At the end of the room was a statue, vaguely resembling the magical image in the archives. Of course… it's his secret chamber, of course he's gonna put his ugly face up on the wall…
An eleven year-old girl in Hogwarts uniform and robes was lying on the stone floor, a few feet from the edge of the pool separating the rest of the room from the statue. A fifteen year-old boy stood a few feet from her, twirling a wand between his fingers.
"Evening, Dark Lord," said the assassin conversationally, nodding to the teen as he checked for a pulse in the girl. Finding one, he took the black-backed diary from her cold hands.
Here it is, the cause of all this, he thought, turning to the memory-come-to-life of his enemy, the one who changed his life forever. If my parents hadn't died that night, I might thank you for getting me in league with the Assassins… no, probably not.
"Evening… forgive me, you have me at a loss… you know who I am, though I know you not," said Tom Riddle, still the polite, well mannered, suck-up he was back in 1943.
"Death," he said, as he tossed the diary into the air, completed a 360 degree turn as drew his sword and stabbed the diary directly through the center. Riddle's face contorted in horror as he watched his diary neatly skewered in midair, feeling himself torn apart as the magic that anchored him in this world was destroyed along with the diary. He was three minutes away from returning to life, having drawn on the life energy of the girl. If he had arrived three minutes later, I would have been fully alive again!
With a gigantic explosion of light, the wraith of Tom Marvolo Riddle disintegrated, leaving no trace that he had ever been there in the first place.
The redhead awoke with a start, nearly jackknifing off the ground as she sat up with alarm. Puzzlement crossed her face as she watched the white robed assassin pull the black diary she had been writing in off the blade of the sword he held.
"Who are you?" she asked, slowly standing as the assassin turned to her, sheathing his sword and placing the ruined diary in his belt. "Why are you here?"
The assassin pointed at her, then beckoned with his hand, clearly indicating that she should follow him. She took a step forward, hesitantly, as he turned and began to head back to the doorway.
A grinding sound caused the assassin and student to pause and turn, as the mouth of Salazar Slytherin's wall statue began to open. Once the mouth had fully opened, a sinister hiss replaced the grinding sound of gears.
"Run!" shouted the assassin, drawing his sword with his right hand and sending a pulse of magic from his left to disrupt the locking rune on the door. "Close the door behind you. Wait for me. I'll only need a minute."
The witch ran for the door, making it there in time for the basilisk to make an appearance. Its dull yellow eyes searched the room for its master, only finding a white robed teen, armed and ready for battle.
"Where is Master?" hissed the basilisk, swinging its head back and forth, still looking for Riddle.
"Dead, by my hand," the assassin hissed back, readying his blade. A full-grown, hundred-foot basilisk. I'm definitely gonna need my Assassin Runes, even if they have a great consequence…
Flashback: Masyaf, June 5, 1991…
"So… have you learned your lesson?" asked Talal, leaning over Harry's bed, an I-told-you-so smirk on his face.
"Yeah, the Assassin rune tattoos are to be used as a last resort. Use of the runes can leave even the most powerful assassin bedridden for twelve hours," replied Harry, shifting pained muscles on the bed.
"The tattoos accelerate your body, physically and mentally. It puts a tremendous amount of strain on the body. Prolonged use is very dangerous," he said, walking out of the infirmary of the fortress.
Present…
"Die!" hissed the basilisk, springing forward to attack the assassin, fangs bared with poison dripping off the dagger-like tips.
Harry reached under his hood and tapped the activation rune for his tattoos. Power surged through him, invigorating him, allowing him to see the basilisk charge in slow motion, his body and mind moving at a much higher speed.
A sidestep caused the basilisk's attack to miss and an underhand slice put a nice gash into the basilisk's hide. He spun on his heel to face the basilisk as it crashed into a pillar, hissing in pain from the wound his blade inflicted.
The basilisk roared in anger, bleeding on the stone floor. Never had it been wounded before, always killing with its eyes rather than its fangs. It roared, shaking the very chamber with its roar.
The assassin made no vocal reply to the monsters challenge, merely shifting into a fighting stance. He stretched out his left hand, pointed at it, drew his fingers across his neck, and resumed his stance. A smirk played across his lips as the basilisk wound up for another strike.
The basilisk charged again, poisonous fangs seeking warm flesh. A quick jump spin laid another gash on the basilisk's side, adding to the blood staining the floor.
"Shall we dance?" asked the assassin, executing a perfect bow, holding out his hand as if to take the hand of a dance partner, his head bowed. He looked up to smirk at the basilisk, once again readying itself for an attack.
End of the line, thought the assassin as the basilisk charged. He stepped into the attack, right into the basilisk's mouth. It tried to bite him, to crush him with its powerful jaws. Using his left hand, Harry nearly effortlessly held its jaws from closing as he stabbed the sword through the roof of its mouth, piercing the brain.
The basilisk arched in pain, its muscles contracting. Harry slid from its mouth, dropped to the floor and walked a few steps away, heading for the door. He reached under his hood to tap his tattoo, ending the enhancements.
He sheathed his sword with the ominous screech of steel on steel. As the hilt met the scabbard with a click, the basilisk's head hit the floor with a deafening thud.
Outside the Chamber…
The red-haired girl sat nervously on a rock a few feet from the door to the Chamber, playing with the frayed hem of her school skirt. What if he doesn't come out?
The door opened slowly, startling the girl, who shrank back against the wall. I'm gonna die!
The assassin's hood peered around the door, making her breathe a sigh of relief. "I was worried you weren't going survive."
The assassin made no answer, merely walking up the tunnel, heading for the surface. The witch followed, stumbling over rocks in the gloomy tunnel.
"How are you not tripping?" she asked, stumbling as her shoe caught on an outcropping.
The assassin turned, pointed at his head, and continued walking, leaving the witch confused.
After a few minutes, they came to the bottom of the tunnel. Looking up the tunnel, noting the smoothness of the walls, the witch asked, "How are we going to get back up?"
The assassin pointed at the wall opposite of the tunnel, a rough rock wall leading up to the surface. Again, the witch was skeptic. "How are we going to get up that?"
The assassin crouched, grabbed her arms and spun around, putting her arms around his neck. She squealed as she was lifted on to the assassin's back. It was slightly uncomfortable, since his back scabbard dug into her stomach.
"Hold on," said the assassin. He ran at the wall, took a couple of steps up it, and latched onto the wall. He began to climb, finding handholds that appeared invisible to the untrained eye. In a few minutes, they reached the second floor bathroom.
"Hello, Ginny. Nice to see you again," said Myrtle, smiling at the Weasley. She turned her spectral form to the assassin and smiled. "Nice to see you again."
He nodded in greeting as he placed the Weasley girl back on her feet. She turned to him and looked up at him, staring at the shadowed face. "Thank you for saving me."
"No problem," said the assassin. Turning to Myrtle, he asked, "Is the Headmaster expecting her?"
"Yes."
"Safety and peace, Ginny. You are safe now," said the assassin, bowing slightly in her direction. He turned and walked out the door, leaving her with Myrtle.
"Wait!" she cried, running after him. "Who are you?" she asked as she looked both ways up and down the corridor, searching for any sign of her white-wearing rescuer.
The torches burned brightly, illuminating the empty hallway.
Outside the Headmaster's Office…
A pale haired man walked off the gargoyle stairway that lead to the Headmaster's office. Dressed in black, he walked with an air of utmost arrogance, as if anyone in his path was beneath him. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes as his son.
A house-elf walked behind him, dressed in a ragged and dirty pillowcase, cowering from his master's rage. Lucius Malfoy was not a happy man.
"How dare that old fool come back! He's an incompetent, doddering old ma-" he cut himself off as an armed, white-clad teen appeared out of the shadows. "Who are you?"
The assassin smiled, placing one hand on his sword as he walked towards the 'former' Death Eater. "You would do well, Mister Malfoy, to keep artifacts of Voldemort to yourself."
"What are you talking about?"
The assassin pulled the ruined diary from his belt and tossed it at him, catching him in the chest as he tried to catch it.
"What is this?" he snarled, throwing the book at Dobby, enraged at the boy in front of him. "Do not mess with your betters, who ever you are. If you try, you will meet the same sticky end that many have met before you."
The assassin smiled wider, withdrawing into the shadows. "As long as we understand each other."
The Death Eater stood there for a moment before marching off down the corridor.
Dobby started to walk after him, though skidded to a halt as the assassin reappeared.
"Open the diary and undo the seal. If you want to join me, you'll know where to find me," he said, before teleporting with a crack.
Dobby opened the book and touched the rune written in blood, using his magic to undo the seal.
A shrunken assassin white outer robe fell out of the diary, falling in a heap at the elf's feet. Grabbing the garment, Dobby smiled for the first time. He quickly switched his ragged pillowcase for the assassins garment, pulling the hood over his head, a pair of slits in the hood allowing his ears to poke out.
"Dobby is free!" he cried, performing a jig on the spot. He quickly scooped up the diary and read the address beneath the used rune.
With his own crack, he followed the man who set him free.
I just couldn't let Dobby remain with the Malfoys.
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