Nemesis and Orion
Summary: Every wizard has heard the story. When he was a baby no more than a year old, Harry Potter felled the greatest Dark Lord in the history of the world. He then became a powerful wizard under the mentorship of the great Albus Dumbledore before he confronted the reborn Dark Lord once more and triumphed. It's too bad that last part is only that, a story.
Author's Foreword: ShadowAI here, sorry for the delay (what delay, no one really reviewed this yet?) Umm life happened? In all honesty I want to finish my fics but I have run into various blocks, school, work, writer's blocks etc. In any case I will be hopefully getting the next chapter up a bit faster than this one, depends on how my beta's and my schedules sync up. A little side not to those people reading MGR, I will be trying to reboot the story, so don't expect updates for some time.
Disclaimer: This is only here for the sake of formality.
Chapter 2 – Prison Break
------**Cé Cueran Political Prison**------
Found off the northern coast of Scotland, Cé Cueran, was a small island tucked nicely away amongst rocky outcroppings jetting out from the sea. Travel to and fro was difficult even if one already was aware of its existence and what wards were used to mask its location. There was no vegetation due to the lack of soil, proximity to sea water, and terrible weather conditions. The island's only landmark was a tall grey monolithic building surrounded by six-meter high walls. The building was one of many prisons built in the last decade during the transformation of the British Isles by Lord Voldemort. One reason why this prison stood apart was that it was not guarded by the Dementors, Vampires, or any other sort of 'unpleasant' dark creatures, rather it was guarded by regular wizards in order to facilitate the coming and going of special and important personnel. It was also unusual in that it received visitors, more so during the first five years of its existence than now, that consisted of prominent members of the current political regime, sometimes even the Dark Lord himself.
Currently inhabited by about one hundred guards and housing at least five times as many prisoners, Cé Cueran was a rather small prison in comparison to some of the larger ones found on the mainland, however its importance was due to the sensitive nature of the prisoners housed there. The design was dull, yet practical. Large metallic doors and walls charmed with soundproof spells separated several sections of the prison from each other allowing containment in the event of a break out or accident and to prevent communication between prisoners. The hallways were long and narrow with few places to hide. Most importantly magic use would trigger major alarms unless the user's magic signature is keyed into the wards and their wand is registered at the front desk.
However, exactly those features that made break out impossible were now proving to be very useful to the cloaked duo that was making their way through the narrow hallways of the Northern block of the prison.
According to their calculations, it had been 1730 hours on the dot when the duo had arrived at the dismal island. Most of the guards were relaxing or eating at the nearby barracks. Generally speaking they were usually rather laid back at this time of day, or so the intelligence reported. Thankfully due to the horrible weather, which the pair had known about and taken into account, their unceremonious entrance was rather smooth and several of the guards were currently lying dead outside with bullets in various parts of their respective skulls.
The duo consisted of a long-haired blond who had the visible streak of nobility in his facial features and a brown-haired man with a properly combed and a somewhat short haircut. The blond had a sharp pointed nose and thin lips that, at this moment in time, curved upwards in a smile that looked liked it belonged on the face of a mischievous little devil of a child. His eyes, which were normally cold and grey, were twinkling as if with the reflection of the sparks from the matches the child found. The second member of the duo was slightly taller and leaner than the blond. His features, just like his partner's, were also refined, with high cheekbones and a small nose. His eyes at that moment were seemingly frozen due to their icy blue color. While his partner radiated an aura of mischief and destruction, his was more akin to the icy touch of death.
As they made their way through the rather well-lit stone halls of the prison, the duo kept a brisk professional gait which, when combined with their cloaks, made them seem as if they were simply regular visitors to the prison for business. The first few guards they met were all fairly laid back. They waved and asked them about their identification assuming nothing was out of the ordinary. None of these requests broke the duo's stride, however, as they dispatched the guards with a few well placed 9 mm bullets from their silenced pistols. To add insult to injury, the duo never bothered to hide their weapons. Most of the guards here were trusted followers of Voldemort and therefore pronounced their hatred of mudbloods, squibs, and muggles rather vehemently. This, of course, meant that the concept of muggle weaponry was absolutely foreign to them. The duo decided to take advantage of this glaring weakness as much as possible; 'Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake' or so the saying goes.
After the first few minutes of their entry they reached the stairs. There were no prisoners on the first floor of the compound, rather the first floor served as a lobby of sorts for the visitors of the prison among other administrative uses. The north block's first floor functioned as storage space and a passage way for supplies that entered the island making it the least guarded of entry points to the prison and the best option for infiltration.
As soon as the duo entered the second floor they were assaulted by the stench of blood, decay, urine, and excrement. The brown haired man cringed slightly and covered his nose. The blonde fared slightly better, only wincing momentarily before his sense of smell adjusted.
"You all right there Nemesis?" the blonde asked. "I warned you it wouldn't be pretty."
"This smell is a lot worse than how you described it." The brown haired man replied.
"Stop acting like a child," Orion, the blonde, responded, "You'll get used to the smell in a bit. We have a job to finish. Your idea, remember?"
The two continued down the darker corridors, which were now dotted by only a handful of torches barely providing any light. With the absence of windows, the upper floors were bathed in perpetual twilight. While this made the guards' jobs harder, the guards were trained to stun or kill anyone without the proper badge needed to access the upper levels. The lack of light provided one other useful boon. From the outside it was difficult to look into the individual cells and determine just what horrible fate the victim within had met.
Sensing the worsening mood of his partner, Orion spoke up, "Penny for your thoughts? You look like you're going to start brooding on me again."
Rather than replying, Nemesis stopped in front of a relatively well-lit cell. "Look at this girl."
Orion stopped with his teammate and observed the figure in the cell. Inside was a gray haired woman. Her hair was disheveled and patchy, like it has been torn out in places. Her clothing was torn, revealing scars and bruises over her body. Her eyes were glazed over, reminding him of people he'd seen who had received the dementor's kiss.
"You'd think she's what?" Nemesis asked rhetorically, "Forty? Fifty?"
Orion knew the answer but opted to indulge his partner. "Her outward appearance suggests early forties." His answer was somewhat vague, but he was pretty sure that that would be the age people would guess. Her gray unkempt hair, wrinkled skin, and sickly appearance gave her the appearance of a fairly old woman.
Looking over Nemesis' shoulder, Orion noticed his blue eyes were rather bright as the brunette looked over the girl. "She's midway through her twenties." He replied simply.
"She's twenty seven." Orion countered, "Olga Semenovskaya, daughter of a Russian immigrant, she was a muggle-born witch who was a year below us in Hogwarts."
"You knew her?" Nemesis asked.
"She was in Slytherin," Orion replied, "so, yes, we had crossed paths on occasion. Now if I recall what I read in the Daily Prophet correctly she led a small quiet rebellion against Voldemort about four years ago or so." He sighed before continuing, "Naturally at that point Voldemort had his grasp over Britain solidified and her rebellion was crushed very quickly. As ringleader, she found herself imprisoned here."
"She didn't deserve this. She's a nobody."
"You know how this place started out as a political prison for some of the most prominent enemies of Voldemort, right?" Orion asked as he began to walk away from the prison cell.
"Yes."
"Well, the bastard found it amusing to let his followers 'play around' with some of them."
"What do you mean, 'play around'?" Nemesis asked cautiously.
"It goes without saying that when Voldemort recruited followers for his rebellion, he had to shake hands with some, how shall I say it, 'unseemly' people." Orion looked over his partner. He was fairly sure Nemesis knew all of this, however knowing and seeing were two different things. Adding to it was the relative isolation in which Nemesis had been kept in the last decade. While Orion was allowed to visit Britain periodically to maintain appearances, Nemesis was kept on Olympus, among other things, to prevent him from doing something stupid until he was mentally mature enough to handle the situation. "Suffice it to say; to please his followers, Voldemort used very cost-cutting measures. Essentially feeding his prisoners to his most loyal followers, sometimes even literally," He heard Nemesis grit his teeth, "until people were so frightened of what would happen to them should they fall out of line, all opposition essentially died out.."
"Of course," Orion continued as an afterthought, "most of these activities were kept somewhat underground and vague to make sure the details wouldn't cause too much unease. If Voldemort was to maintain some semblance of order in his country, it just won't do to have pedophiles, necrophiles, and some other rather unsavory –philes to be known as the highest ranking members of the governing body."
"So all this,"
"A deterrent to dissent, a punishment for rebellion, and a reward for loyalty. If there's one thing you have to hand to Voldemort, it's that he is as creative as he is efficient." Orion summed up.
Without replying, Nemesis cast one last look at the nearly dead girl before continuing down the corridor.
Sensing he hit a sore spot, Orion caught up to a few steps behind Nemesis. "You know I'm not praising him, right?" Orion asked with a hint of apology in his voice.
"Let's just hurry up." Nemesis replied. "This place is making me sick."
A few steps further along and a pair of voices drifted down the corridor, "I'm certain I heard something, you don't think some of them were talking do you?" A somewhat young male voice asked.
"If they did it would be the first time in two years one of them did."
"Guards." Nemesis said silently cocking his gun's hammer.
"I'll tell you what." Orion said sensing an opportunity. "Whichever one of us gets the most kills by the time we reach our target, gets to burn the place down."
"Wouldn't that kill all the prisoners who we won't break out?" Asked Nemesis cautiously.
"Trust me," Orion said, "they're better off dead by our hands than suffering their jailor's wrath once the break out is public. Should only set us back a few minutes, and it'll piss Voldemort off even further." Just as he finished, the pair of guards rounded the corner into view.
"Who's there? There are no visitors on the list for today." They both had their wands pointed with a stunner on their lips. While common protocol for these types of places would be to either stun or kill unknown intruders first and ask questions later, due to the sensitive nature of its visitors a modicum of caution was exercised. A pair of visitors under heavy black cloaks were not considered unusual and so the guards issued a warning first giving the pair all the time they needed.
With a pair of silenced shots which were barely audible among the leaky pipes and rats, Nemesis and Orion walked past the dead bodies of the guards before they had even hit the floor. Their footsteps were swift and light, and when combined with the dark cloaks concealing their faces, they looked like wraiths floating down the corridor.
Five floors, several dead guards, and a pair of pistol clips later, Nemesis and Orion continued walking through the halls of Cé Cueran in somber silence. It seemed that the mood of the duo soured further with each floor they had to traverse.
The architect of the prison decided not to create one staircase for each block, instead designing each floor with four pairs spread out throughout the floor. Half lead to the floor below, and half lead to the floor above. To ascend or descend, one usually had to traverse the entire floor of any given block to get between staircases. While Nemesis could think of some practical benefits to this design, like making sure any visitor would eventually run into a patrol at one point or another, he was fairly convinced Voldemort's twisted sense of narcissism was the reason why every floor of the prison turned into a gallery showing off his conquests.
"Almost there." Orion said as they ascended the staircase to the seventh floor, the highest level of the tower. Kept behind these walls were the oldest prisoners, relics of Voldemort's rise to power in magical Britain.
The large marble door was kept under constant vigilance of at least one guard as was the case when the duo reached the top. Even to those who knew about this prison, unrestricted access was denied except to less than a dozen people one of whom was the Dark Lord himself. Anyone else had to have permission specifically granted to them or be accompanied by one of the aforementioned persons.
The lone guard on duty was a man in his forties. He was pale, most likely from spending too much time amongst the sunless halls of the prison. His complexion was contrasted by his dark eyes and hair as well as the black and gray uniform. Upon noticing the cloaked pair he rose from his seat by the door and, unlike his predecessors, drew his wand.
"Hold it, you're not allowed up here without a pass." The guard spoke in a voice that he, at least, thought sounded authoritative.
Without breaking his stride, Nemesis covered the distance between himself and the guard in less than a second. Before the guard could react to the motion, Nemesis roughly grabbed the man's outstretched right hand at the wrist with his left. Like most wizards the man was in poor physical condition with fat rather than muscle covering the arms.
With a somewhat forceful jerk, Nemesis pulled the guard's hand down and to his right causing the guard to shift slightly losing his stable center of gravity. Continuing with the motion as the guard stumbled, Nemesis continued to side step around the guard's right as he grasped the man's wrist with his right. He placed his left hand on the guard's right shoulder blade to provide leverage as he twisted the guard's right arm in a vicious wrist lock behind his back. Rather than applying pressure and thus forcing the guard to submit, Nemesis savagely twisted and pulled the hyper-extended arm toward him. The result was a pair of loud, sick, satisfying cracks as the man's shoulder was dislocated, his elbow broken, and his radius pierced the dark fabric of his uniform.
It took less than a second for the pain to set in as the man fell to his knees, releasing his wand in the process, and began screaming in pain all while Nemesis held his broken right arm gingerly in his own.
Bending down to the sobbing guard's eye level Nemesis, with the guard's hand still in his own, raised the man's chin with his left and looked into his face. "We're here to pick up three prisoners. You're going to tell us where they are." Nemesis said quietly over the incoherent mumbling of the guard.
The guard seemed to quiet ever so slightly, meaning the endorphins were kicking in and dulling the pain in his damaged arm. "Won't… tell nuthin'." He managed to choke out. "Others… come and,"
"According to my calculations, the next shift isn't due for another half hour." Nemesis forcefully cut him off. "And whether or not they come and when shouldn't be your concern. You are already dead. Your only concern should be how much pain you can handle before you die."
Muggle doctors proposed five stages of dealing with the fact that one is dying.
As Nemesis looked into the eyes he saw the first stage, Denial. He couldn't fault the man for hesitating as he tried to come to grips with his prognosis, that is what normal people do. However Nemesis did not have much time. With a quick motion of his left hand, he gripped the guard's right pinkie and bent it back ninety degrees causing a soft crack akin to the one you hear when tearing out the drumstick of a cooked chicken.
Anger came next as the guard cursed from the sudden influx of pain. As the guard attempted to retaliate, his ring finger was broken causing him to scream even louder.
The next stage, Bargaining, occurred when the guard's eyes darted towards Orion who had been standing behind them the entire time. Whatever solace the guard sought, he did not find in the blood red eyes of Nemesis' partner, rather the slight twinkle in the eyes of the red-eyed demon seemed to chill his entire soul. It was then that Depression set in and he attempted to withdraw.
His broken middle finger drew him out quickly as he screamed once again, now begging for it to stop. Knowing he was close Nemesis pushed him a little further by letting go of his hand and standing up, giving his target the briefest of respites, before violently bringing his heel down on the guard's unprotected left hand shattering three or four digits. The howl of pain and subsequent promises of compliance suggested that the fifth stage, Acceptance, had been reached. Looks like the muggles were right after all.
"Prisoners one-six-one, two-seven-one, and three-one-four," Nemesis asked, "where can I find them?"
"North-western chamber," the guard gasped between pained breaths, "secure block, need password."
"Would you happen to know this password?" Nemesis asked casually.
"Greek." He said struggling to get up, "runes for phi, epsilon, and pi."
"I see," Nemesis said drawing his silenced pistol and storing the password for future knowledge, "thank you."
With a silent snap the bullet entered the skull of the guard, killing him immediately and causing the already bloodied floor to be sprayed with skull fragments and brain matter.
As the deed was done, Orion strode over next to Nemesis and admired the others' handiwork.
"Well?" Orion placed his hand on Nemesis' shoulder. "Need a moment?" He asked half jokingly.
"I can handle myself." Nemesis replied calmly, getting up. "It just felt a little too easy."
"Could have let me handle him." Orion said.
"Like I would have felt better about that?" Nemesis asked.
"Well killing was part of the deal, I know you don't exactly like it but hey we already did it like…" There was a pause as Orion seemed to have realized something important. "Fuck!"
"What is it?" Nemesis stopped and turned toward his partner's sudden outburst.
"I just thought about it, and if we count the guards we shot outside. We're at thirteen kills each."
They had both killed thirteen men apiece as they walked through this dungeon. According to both muggle superstition that was bad, according to wizarding superstition that was very bad, and they both knew that numbers held far more power than most people gave them credit for. They couldn't just leave it at that.
"Let's just get this over with." Nemesis said as he turned toward the door and started pushing it open.
"Well we can't just leave the matter unsettled." Orion said while pushing the other door. "How about a tie breaker?"
Once the doors opened, Nemesis' resolve faltered. The sight of the contents of the seventh floor paralyzed him on the spot.
"…Rock, Paper Scissors, or…" Orion too found his words had left him. For a few seconds they stood there, taking in the absurdity and horror of the scene that beheld them. Contrasted to the decaying stone of the lower floors, the seventh floor was brightly lit by magical crystals in a multitude of green, blue, violet, and amber hues. The floor was a checkered marble and the dome seemed to be made of crystal. There were couches covered in red velvet next to beautiful oaken tables with crystal wineglasses and silver plates. The entire room looked like it could have been lifted from a beautiful palace. However there was one thing that unsettled the lavish décor.
Bodies. There were bodies everywhere you looked around the room. Some of them were nothing but skull and bone, and yet others were preserved forever in their agony. There were cages of wrought spiked iron and rusted bronze. Heads were hung from the wall like mantle pieces and bodies were hung from chains like in a slaughter house. And there were many bodies. There were strong men, and fat men, and skinny men. Young and old alike decorated the room like grotesque sculptures. Children were left hugging the corpses of their dismembered parents. Lovers embracing as their bodies are ripped apart by various hooks and knives. There were people, some obviously related, frozen as they were killing each other, their mouths etched in a rigid fury and their eyes wide with horror.
"Father said," Orion began, regaining his voice, "They used to hold banquets here while torturing the prisoners in every way they could imagine and when they reached the pinnacle of the torture they would preserve them as some sick works of art."
And then there was that god awful smell. Maybe the Death Eaters were used to the smell of blood and death, but Nemesis was sickened.
There were no dementors in Cé Cueran and yet the images came unbidden. The sight of the death eaters, laughing, eating, listening to the screams of women and children as they cursed, cried, and pleaded filled his mind as the shrill laughter of Voldemort echoed in his ears.
And the spells. He knew all too well what spells they could use because he was trained to cast them as well. His mind filled in the blanks as it wove nightmarish scenario after nightmarish scenario. The sight of his friends force to maim, rape, and murder each other while death eaters looked on caused his eyes to blur and his throat to burn. A part of his mind wished he stood by his friends rather than hiding away on that mountain for a decade knowing full well he would be buried here if he had.
"Nem!" A familiar voice snapped him out of it. "There's something you need to see."
Orion stood several feet ahead and was looking at the ceiling. At the center there was a glass sphere raised above like a chandelier. The dried blood cast a red glow giving it the illusion of an artificial moon. Within that sphere was a body mutilated beyond all recognition. There were limbs and chunks of flesh missing with slash marks covering the white skin. There were various metals threaded through it like misshapen sewing needles making it seem less like a body and more like a slab of meat.
Nemesis began walking, his legs no longer his, toward the center where the lone body hung. Only the head remained preserved in frozen terror. His body began to shake as Nemesis saw the maimed head of his old friend, stuck forever in a silent scream of terror and hung like a cheap tapestry.
"I heard it took them five years to break him." Orion said placing a hand on his teammate.
There is nothing noble in dying for nothing and here was the gruesome monument. Defiant to the last like his parents, here were the remains of Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor to the end.
This was the price of their failure, the cost of ten years' time while Voldemort was left unchecked. And it will be higher if he broke down now. For ten years he learned patience, learned to swallow his pride and temper his anger. This was while his friends were thrown to the most merciless and ruthless wolves he knew of.
There was time for sorrow, there was time for rage, and there was time for guilt, and this was not that time. There was a schedule and they had to be done before the deadline. Taking a deep breath and forcing his eyes to remember the sight as a reminder of the cost to be paid if he failed again, Nemesis began walking forward with slow steady steps lest his body shake and betray his recovered calm façade.
In a secluded corner of the room stood a gilded iron door providing the only passage into the inner chamber. The door had several Greek letters carved into it. Nemesis tapped the runes for 'phi', 'epsilon', and 'pi' causing the door to slide open revealing a small stone chamber lit by neon blue torches that hung on the wall.
The inside had a circular layout with a semi-circular couch carved into the stone to the left of the door with a marble table at the center. The room almost looked like a private booth at a restaurant which wouldn't be too far off considering the previous room was, in a sick sense, a banquet hall. In keeping with the motif of strange decoration, across from the couch, two rectangular cells were carved out into the wall. The caverns were blocked out by a thin black film which was solid and opaque. No sound escaped from inside the cells.
"Greek runes," Orion remarked thoughtfully looking over the border of the cells, pointing out the pale blue runes carved into the stone. "Makes you wonder if the architects were Greek?"
"If they were, Athena help me I'll put to use every poison I know on them to see which one wins out." Nemesis said in what might have been a snarl. His tone was even as he too was observing the runes surrounding one of the cells.
"I'm guessing she would." Orion quipped. "Any ideas on how we can open these?"
"These runes factor into the wards that control these cells. There are wards for letting people in, allowing transparency, and allowing vocal communication." Nemesis said, mostly for his own benefit, "Taking them down will require some tricky magic. Maybe twenty minutes for both cells?"
"Isn't that a bit quick?" Orion wondered. He wasn't about to doubt his friend and they were on a time limit after all.
"Not really. These are complex but fairly weak. Once I find their structural weakness they'll go down fast." Nemesis replied as he holstered his pistol and took out a pair of white gloves from within the pockets of his cloak.
"Well in that case, I'll enjoy myself for the time being." Nemesis didn't look around, although he imagined his partner was licking his lips like a tiger awaiting his prey. Nemesis ignored the growing murderous intent radiating from his partner as he focused on the first of the two black cells.
The two white gloves on his hands allowed him a better and more refined control of the magic he focused in his hands. As he let the magic come in contact with the cell wards he vaguely felt the magic-sensing wards go off alerting all of the guards that there was a breach. Thankfully Orion's job outside was simplified by the fact that there was plenty of open space to see his opponents coming.
Nemesis crouched near the black film which was guarding the cell and placed his two white gloves directly onto it. Several silvery lines began to form as they traced out intricate patterns which seemed embroidered onto the gloves. Normally when ward-specialists, particularly curse-breakers, had to disable complex ward structures they would begin by casting a series of diagnostic spells which they had likely learned as apprentices to a more senior wizard. For Nemesis that was all needless busy work, he had a series of somewhat abstract detection spells that when cast on just about any ward or enchantment would give him a solid idea of the structure of the permanent.
His first battery of detection spells confirmed what he had already told Orion, the wards were not tied into to the ward network for the castle or even the island. They were merely appended for the sake of this room. This made logical sense as this room was unlikely the center of the castle. Most of the wards meant for outsiders were detection wards, most likely used to make sure no one tries to touch Voldemort's prized prisoners.
Five minutes into his spellwork, just as he began to understand the somewhat complex spell lattice for the wards, he felt several magic signatures flare up. That and the sound of people yelling and things exploding was somewhat invasive to his concentration. Using the mental exercise he had learned, he began consciously dulling the input from all senses not immediately related to his task. Slipping into a sort of trance, he generated a mental image of the black barrier's spell lattice in his mind. Calling upon the two special abilities he was granted, he felt his mind speed up as it began analyzing the wards. The ward structure was intricate but not very strong, lacking in both structural strength and a failsafe should the lattice be destroyed. After another four minutes he identified the structural weak points of the ward, as well as the combination of spells that would be needed to break them.
The barrier wards wavered and fell in less than a minute as he assaulted them with his magic. As he slipped out of his trance he saw the black film melt away revealing a rather non-descript semi-lit room. Although he was preparing himself for it, he still found himself speechless upon seeing the occupants of the room.
There was no way he could not recognize them. The two people lying in the cell were the most important people in the world to him. They had shared in his childhood and were his anchors in an otherwise dangerous and lonely world. However despite the fact that it was them, Nemesis realized that they were not the people he had left ten years ago.
His eyes drifted to the red-headed male. His face was cold, a mask of stone-like indifference. His normally bright red-hair too lost its shine and it was rather dark and poorly kept. His face was covered with a rough beard that, Nemesis noticed, had bits of food and saliva in it. Despite all that, there was still a very subdued aura of defiance around him. It may not have been his usual hot-headedness, but something was still there.
Next to the red-head was a woman, who would otherwise be considered rather beautiful if not for the various scars adorning her face. Her eyes were rather sad, and her bushy hair uneven giving her a rather ugly appearance, not that she seemed to care.
For a few moments Nemesis stood there, unsure of what to do or to say. He wanted to apologize, to ask them for forgiveness. However there was one element missing. "There should be one more person. Is she in the other cell?" He finally managed to ask.
"What do you want with Ginny?" The red-head, Ronald Weasley, croaked, eyes now focused on the blue-eyed intruder. Ron's voice echoed in Nemesis's ears for a while. His old friend's voice showed his weariness. They were, after all Voldemort's most prized trophies, and thus kept here in his private showing room. Most of the other prisoners from the war were tortured with impunity by Voldemort's inner circle. However, Nemesis's best friends from childhood were not touched without the Dark Lord's approval. They were not spared, but Voldemort made sure that any damage done was repaired enough so that they continued living. When he finished mentally comparing Ron from ten years past to the present one, he noticed that the girl, Hermione Granger, was now eyeing him cautiously. Although it wasn't as bright as it was before, the old spark of knowledge was visible in her eyes.
"Follow me." Nemesis commanded, trying to break the awkward silence. The duo got up slowly, inwardly questioning his motives and began walking toward him. Their gait was a bit uneven, and the ten-year long imprisonment showed in their rather thin bodies. Nemesis in turn walked out of the cell and towards its neighbor. The last prisoner he had to break out was here, and he felt himself tense. He knew what to expect, and he was dreading it. He placed his gloved hands on the black film of the second cell and began casting the same spells he used to open the first one. Within a few minutes the film began to melt away.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a loon right?" Ron asked him. Nemesis wanted to retort however his eyes were transfixed on the slowly melting black film. The film lifted to reveal a smaller but similar room with just one occupant. On a relatively well made bed there lay a beautiful red-headed woman, Ginerva Weasley, Ron's little sister. Unlike Ron and Hermione, Ginny didn't respond at all to the intrusion. Her eyes were cold and lifeless. The only sign she was still alive was the barely visible rise and fall of her chest.
"Ginny." Hermione whispered, her voice full of concern. Then both she and Ron made their way over to the girl that was their little sister, familial relation or not
Again, Nemesis found himself unable to move as he took in the scene. He never knew the details of what happened, Orion would never tell him, though Nemesis doubted Orion himself knew the whole story. It was kept somewhat concealed; however someone went too far in their behavior with Ginny and caused her to slip into a coma. Orion assured him that the perpetrator had been killed and that the prisoners would have been left unmolested for the most part. Nemesis himself didn't care. It took a lot to keep him from cursing his training and running back to Britain. It was after that he decided that the first thing he was going to do once he set foot on British soil was to break out his old friends.
He watched as Ron brushed the hair out of Ginny's mouth, before picking her up in his arms, despite his apparent frailness. "Now what?" He asked as Nemesis turned around.
"We're leaving." He said, walking out of the cell before either Ron or Hermione could reply.
Stepping outside into the banquet hall, Nemesis smelled fresh blood, and found himself slightly vindicated when he saw the bodies freshly added to the carnage that the previous occupants of the room left behind. He looked towards the source of the action and saw that Orion was dueling with three prison guards. Well, dueling wasn't the best choice of words, Nemesis mused darkly, 'playing with' was a more accurate description. The present tense was probably a poor choice on his part as well.
"You missed one." Nemesis said casually as Orion watched the blood of his latest victim drip from his saber.
"Did I?" Orion turned his head around while flicking his saber around to get the rest of the blood off like a rather large wand.
Nemesis nodded his head to the left, pointing out the guard who, despite the rather severe wound on his side, was trying to get up. "I got it." With a smooth motion he used his right hand to remove his left glove; they were designed for delicate and intricate spellwork after all. With a sharp motion he extended his left hand which only had two fingers up. A silent cutting curse split the man in half. It troubled him in the back of his mind, that no member of the present company showed any reaction.
"That barely felt like tweny minutes." Orion let a bit of a mock-whine slip into his voice. As he turned around he looked at the trio Nemesis had brought out with him. The mudb-, muggle-born he corrected himself out of respect for his partner, looked confused. The expression was not unlike that when they were school-mates and she would hear something that didn't make sense to her.
What surprised him was the male Weasley. He still refused to call him by his given name. The red-head was studying him intently, trying to assess whether or not Orion was a threat. It looked like he held up his Gryffindor spirit even after being broken and in a cage for ten years.
Orion's gaze turned to the red-head in Weasley's arms, his partner's former girlfriend, Ginny. The brown eyes of the youngest Weasley were unmoving, reminding him of the various golems he practiced his skills on when he was training. What little he knew about her condition he learned through various rumors at the Death Eater gatherings he attended. When his father told him that she fell into a coma, he felt obliged to tell Nemesis. He still recalled how painful the bruises he received that night during training were.
"Malfoy!" Weasley shouted as the realization dawned on his face. "So what, this is some sort of sick joke Voldemort is playing? Or are you going to try some half-arsed power play?" He spat. Granger, too, seemed to have realized Orion's identity and tensed.
"Well, I suppose 'half-arsed' and 'power play' could be used to describe what we're doing." He began, sheathing his sword after having made sure it was clean. "But seeing as how we're getting you out of here, a change of attitude wouldn't hurt." For the sake of familiarity he slipped back into his old drawl. He figured some familiarity might help the former Gryffindors adjust better to the rather chaotic turn of events they were about to see.
"More of them are coming." Nemesis said with a bit of force, then turned to Orion.
Orion met his gaze, before withdrawing his pocket watch. "Time for us to go, I'll leave you with the mop-up." He walked past Nemesis, who began advancing toward the door. As he reached into his pockets he added. "Don't take too long."
"Who said anything about going?" Weasley asked, taking a step back. "If you expect us to trust a slimy git,"
This is why he hated Gryffindors. "Look, Weasley, either you go with me, and quite possibly even live, or you stay here, and my partner will burn you along with this place."
"Burn this place?" Granger asked, "But there are still people here, you can't just,"
"You're the only ones Voldemort gloats to on a regular basis." Orion explained off-handedly. "So please hurry up and decide." As they still eyed him warily he added. "And please use your brains when you do."
"How are you getting us out of here?" Granger asked him, somewhat acceptingly. Weasley looked at her for a bit before cautiously nodding his head and turned back toward Orion.
"With this," he took out a bronze coin from his pants and showed it to them.
Granger momentarily regained her know-it-all look. "A portkey won't work; you won't be able to,"
"Not a portkey." Orion cut her off tartly and extended his left arm. "I'll need you to put your hands on top of mine."
Weasley and Granger exchanged a look before approaching him. Granger put her arm right arm around Weasley and her left on top of Orion's extended palm. "Will this work?"
"It should." Orion replied, mentally counting down until he could activate his spell. Apparating into the prison on his own and undetected was difficult but possible. However, the security breach activated stronger wards which made stealth impossible. On top of that he had three other people to transport. The coin in his hand was a temporary focus which would be useless after being activated. It allowed him to use a variation on an old spell which transported people by creating a magical 'path' between the caster's point in space and a second point; then pulling the caster through it. Nemesis's take on the spell would be able to more easily bypass barriers by making a pre-determined anchor point to which the caster then returns upon casting.
Orion channeled quite a bit of magic into the coin, feeling it grow hot. Even though the spell could pass through barriers it was still difficult and required quite a bit of magic. Without the focus, chances of success would be much lower. The focus did most of the complexity as well, Orion merely provided power and intent. As the countdown in his head neared zero, he tossed the now glowing coin into the air. As it reached the apex, Orion looked at Nemesis one more time and shouted, "Recall." The prison rumbled as Orion's spell shot through the wards with the force of an artillery battery's barrage.
After his partner, and old friends, vanished in a flash light Nemesis made sure the spell succeeded. Sensing the breach in the wards, he felt relieved that at least they made it out. If there was any trouble outside, he was sure Orion could handle it.
Turning his full attention to the door, he heard several shouts of "What was that?" and "Are the wards collapsing?" mixed with footsteps from the guards. Nemesis slipped the other glove from his hand and pocketed it. Momentarily closing his eyes, he called his magic to focus around his arms. He felt a familiar warm sensation as the magic responded to his call.
The first of a trio of guards, a somewhat short wizard entered through the same door Nemesis had entered earlier. Nemesis was slightly amused by the guard's moment of pause as he tried to find the source of the recent carnage in the room. As the guard's eyes met his, Nemesis thrust out his left hand to cast his first spell. A small, five centimetre, transparent sphere shot across the room kicking up some debris. The small wizard barely had time to raise his wand when the sphere collided with his chest causing him to cringe as his body was accelerated at thirty g's into the wall behind him.
The result of the Force spell, as Nemesis called it, was a rather loud crack and the target being embedded three centimetres into the stone. The guard's face was left in the state of shock he felt in his last moments. Overall the spell was similar to that of swatting a fly, and just as satisfying to Nemesis; even if its only purpose was as a warm up.
He recalled his old self would never condone killing people, and would be sick at the notion of feeling better after having killed someone; however he wasn't his old self anymore. He had just returned after a decade in exile, something he has been itching to do ever since his loss to Voldemort, only to find his home destroyed or otherwise corrupted to the point it was no longer recognizable. Having to hide from the man who had been destroying his life since he was one after coming so close to defeating him, was a bitter pill to swallow by itself, but after seeing the damage done in his absence, the haunted looks of his best friends, and Ginny, he was flat out pissed and mental training be damned.
He felt a cold sneer, the kind he had been on the receiving end of more than once in his childhood, form on his face as the guard's companions looked over the result of his Force spell. Nietzsche did say something about fighting with monsters, didn't he?
As his mind became more and more vindictive, he felt the magic respond, giving him a rather frightening aura. This phenomenon was known as killing intent, and required mental training, such as Occlumency, on the part of more powerful wizards to control. Normally Nemesis kept his in check as it alerted others to his presence; in this case however it served to frighten his opponents, giving him an edge in terms of speed and focus.
By the time the remaining witch and wizard raised their wands and their mouths began forming the 'a', Nemesis had already prepared his second spell. Shifting his weight toward the left foot, preparing to avoid the twin curses, he formed a little orb of light in his right hand and lobbed it like a muggle grenade. The Flash spell was yet another example of his simple yet practical spell casting. In essence an overpowered Lumos, the Flash spell would cause temporary blindness and possible eye damage if one doesn't shield their eyes.
As he pushed off his left foot, eyes closed, he heard the guards curse at their sudden blindness. The two Avada Kedavras crashed into the wall behind him. He could hear the panic in their voices as they sent another volley of curses blindly. Keeping low, he began a more complex spell. A menacing looking ball of blue, magical fire formed above his right hand. With a thought, the fire split into seven smaller balls that turned into, what looked liked, thin spindles. This spell would not be easily cast even with a wand for the average wizard, however Nemesis could create up to nine of these spindles without the aid of any such magical foci.
As the next volley of passed over his head, he flicked his wrist sending the spindles at the still-standing guards. Nemesis called this technique Hellfire Darts. Mostly this was because the magic used to cast these spells was similar to those of the Unforgivable Curses. Hellfire Darts could pass through a simple Protego, and the damage they dealt couldn't be healed by modern day healing charms meaning they were easily classified as 'Dark', though Nemesis preferred more scientific classifications. The seven darts shot out like bullets and each of the marks got at least one dart above their neck. Upon contact with solid matter the darts burned a hole two centimetres wide leaving the overall effect similar to that of a bullet or a laser.
He felt at least six more wizards approaching the floor. Checking his watch he saw that he still had ten minutes of quality time in this hell hole. Two transparent spheres began forming in his hands. Jets of green flew over his head and past him. Seems that the second wave of guards figured it was better to shoot first and then ask questions later.
Dodging the poorly-aimed spells was easy, and as the first of the wizards peeked through one of the doors leading into the main chamber Nemesis sent one of the Force spells in his direction, catching the man off guard and sending him tumbling backwards. The second scream indicated Nemesis had gotten lucky and hit a second guard as well. As more prison guards poured into the room, Nemesis alternated between cutting, blasting, and Force spells to kill them off. The occasional guard had the sense to put up a Protego, which prompted a quick Hellfire Darts spell to either kill him or set him up for a finishing blow. Sometimes, the shield wouldn't even hold up to the force of his spells. Cutting spells left gashes in the marble floor and force spells slammed bodies into the walls with the force of a cannonball causing the walls to tremble.
As Nemesis dodged the various counter-attacks his growing number of opponents sent at him, he checked against his mental clock: it was time for him to wrap things up. In order to leave, he had to apparate at the exact time there was an opening in the wards. On top of that, he still had the matter of burning the prison down to deal with. He had given some though to the latter and decided upon a rather dangerous but effective spell: Quickfire. Quickfire was a failed attempt at enchanting fire to keep burning for a long time. Instead, it spread rapidly through just about any container until it either reached water or was stopped by a powerful magical barrier.
Conjuring a powerful and dangerous fire while dodging killing curses and waiting for a breach in the wards suitable for escape was difficult, even for Nemesis. To help facilitate this he decided to use simple banishing spells to fling debris and furniture in the path of the killing curses cast at him. This freed him up to mostly focus on summoning the Quickfire. The original spell was a chant in Old English, however that spell spread fairly slowly despite its name. It would take it several hours to fully engulf the island. Nemesis had developed a modified version with an incantation in modern English. This version burned out quicker but spread much faster.
Focusing magic into his left arm while summoning a chair to block yet another killing curse, Nemesis began casting.
Wicked beast, sealed within nine hells.
Shed your chains of despair and rage!
Coils of fire began spinning around his left hand as the magic began to form. His chance to leave was less than a minute away.
Wandering beast, homeless beast.
Cry out toward the wicked heavens!
As the coils spun faster and the magic began to form, he had to focus his concentration exclusively on the fire. He began to rely more and more on his feet to avoid the killing curses which were now flying all over the room.
"He's letting up. Close in!" One of the guards yelled to the others. That was just insulting. For dramatic effect Nemesis decided to yell out the final part of the incantation.
Beast of terror, beast of despair,
With claws of flame carve your name upon this world!
The magic was ready and he now acted as the dam that prevented the fire from burning him to a crisp. With a well-practiced motion, he drew a rune that symbolized fire in the air in front of him. His attackers stopped and some even began to back away from the flare of magic that was coming from Nemesis. This magic was unlike anything they would have likely ever seen, even from Voldemort.
Once the rune was complete, the flames on Nemesis's left arm leapt towards it and began growing while spinning rapidly. In less than ten seconds they began to take the form of a massive serpentine creature. Although it was difficult to discern for those who had never seen one, the serpent of fire Nemesis had created was, in fact, a Basilisk, similar to the one he had faced fifteen years ago. The modified Quickfire spell forced the fire to take the form of a creature from the caster's mind like a Patronus charm. Since Nemesis was the only one who could use this variation of the spell, he had no idea how the manifestation of the fire was chosen, and he himself cared little about it.
The basilisk reared up to the full height of the room as if surveying his potential targets. The guards simply stood in awe of the frightening creature. With a quick motion it lunged toward the door Nemesis had entered through. The guards in its path were incinerated instantaneously. As the basilisk traveled across the floor, fire seemed to spread away from him like a liquid. The temperature of the room rose rapidly as everything started burning.
Nemesis felt it was time for him to leave. As he looked around the burning room one last time it occurred to him to say some witty one liner such as "This is getting too hot for me." Upon noticing that most of the guards were too flammable at the moment to appreciate his humor, he decided against it. Sensing the weakness in the outer wards was sufficient enough for him to apparate, he vanished with a rather loud crack as the inferno continued to consume the room.
-End.-
Afterthoughts:
-You know I keep thinking of stuff to put here but never really come up with anything.
Ron Weasley was not sure what he was looking at. A short while ago, his imprisonment (he no longer knew how long he was imprisoned) was cut short when a black-robed figure entered his cell and told him and Hermione to leave. After Ginny was broken out as well, they had exited into the main chamber on the seventh floor and found yet another robed figure finishing off some of the guards. The two robed figured talked, and it soon became apparent that one of them was none other than Draco Malfoy, which made this whole breakout business smell rotten. The other one sounded a bit familiar, but Ron couldn't place it, he didn't know every single Death Eater snake by name.
As the two cloaked men talked, Ron looked around the room to see if he could grab a wand while they were distracted. The duo began to argue, calling out numbers at random. Another guard walked in from the East, and Ron was about to duck, when the one of the robed men, Not Draco, blasted the man into the wall with wandless magic and announced, "Fourteen." What followed was an exercise in utter absurdity as the two began violently murdering every guard that came into the room while keeping score.
"32-27." Malfoy said as he sliced another guard's head off with his saber. "Got to keep your head in the game, eh Nem?" Ron didn't mind the culling of the guards; he had never had any compassion for Voldemort's servants, but did the two really have to make such bad puns?
A pair of guards walked into the room, and were suddenly paralyzed as the floor they were standing on became quicksand.
"I hate to sinkto your level Orion," The other robed man said, causing Ron to cringe, "but this matter needs to be resolved." The two guards struggled to free themselves from the floor, but the cloacked man ended that with a pair of brutal kicks causing their necks to twist at unnatural angles. "Besides," he added, "you know I can kick your arse."
"Keep dreaming Nem." Malfoy said as he sliced a man's hand off with his sword, caught it, and threw it in front of an oncoming jet of green light. "I've got the upper hand here."
"That has nothing to do with skill." The other retorted. With a flick of his hand, several plates flew out decapitating the guards that just entered the room. "You had a head start."
"Stop whining," Malfoy yelled, as he violently smashed a guard in the chest, causing him to cough up blood and fall backwards down the stairs. "You're going to have to step up a bit."
After another twenty minutes and an endless onslaught of bad puns later there were no more guards for them to kill so they stopped with a pile of assorted bodies and body parts around them.
"Did you keep count?" Malfoy asked. "I stopped at forty-seven."
"It was something like 63-60. I think you won." The other replied a bit sadly.
Reaching the breaking point of his sanity, Ron finally spoke up, "You two are brilliant you are. I can't believe you two spent all this time in a pissing contest about,"
"Oh bugger," the other cloaked man cut Ron off. "We're going to be late for dinner."
"Look on the bright side." Malfoy said with a smirk.
"What bright side?" His partner asked.
"We might miss dinner." A pause. "But you just got served."
Ron's screams were rumored to be heard all the way back in Greece.