Chapter 32
Ziad appeared exactly where he intended to.
For the first time in far too long, he breathed the crisp air of Northern Scotland.
The twice-bloodied pen slipped from his hand and fell on the loam of the forest floor, beneath which was buried the bodies of a dozen or so Indonesian special forces soldiers.
"Good times, good times," sighed Ziad, remembering the events that kicked off his months-long truancy. He stood for a minute silently, in remembrance of Shlomi's sacrifice.
It was still late afternoon in Scotland. Ziad began making his way into Hogsmeade as the sun slowly set behind the mountains.
He passed through Hogsmeade, receiving odd looks from the villagers. Ziad assumed it was his clothing:
Russian army-issue combat boots (provided by The Mysterious Man at his compound).
Chinese army battle dress uniform camouflage pants (stolen during his trek across Xinjiang province).
A Googoosh t-shirt ("borrowed" from Golshifteh's house) (Googoosh is an Iranian pop-singer).
A Russian army-issue battle dress uniform jacket (obtained from Captain Karpukhin).
And that was it. He didn't have any of his belongings with him. No identification. His personal wand had been destroyed by the Indian government months ago.
No friends any more. He hadn't seen his Hogwarts "friends" for months, and for all they knew he was long-dead. Shlomi was missing, presumed dead. Captain Karpukhin had fled into exile with his sister and soldiers to Argentina. Dave McCormack was dead. Aya Cohen probably didn't remember who he was, nor could she really be considered a friend.
Fuck it.
Ziad was going to try to start over from scratch.
He passed through Hogsmeade and approached the gates of Hogwarts.
The were closed and locked.
"Awkwaaaaaard."
He sat down and leaned against them. Someone would be along sooner or later.
Ziad dozed off.
Ziad was awoken when he slumped over backwards and his head hit the dirt.
"Ouch."
The gates were opening.
He sat back up and glanced around.
Professor Snape was staring at him like Ziad was some bizarre demon.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"Hello! Yes, well, it's rather a long story. Do you want the long version or the short version?"
"Short."
"Well... I walked here."
Snape sighed.
"Slightly longer than that, Mr. Jarrah. You've been missing since early October. It's now early May. Where have you been?"
"Well, I've been to Israel, Indonesia, Tajikistan, Russia, Afghanistan, India, Nepal, China, and Iran."
Snape stopped walking and stared at Ziad.
"..."
"Yes, I know. It's all rather a blur. Now, can we please hurry up? I haven't eaten for a really long time."
Snape continued staring at him, giving him the evil eye.
"I'm really not intimidated by you," said Ziad, "I've faced down horrors even you can't dream of. Seriously though. Call me when you've been trained by the KGB in interrogation and torture. Call me when you've achieved Dark Lord status. Call me when you've released a mid-80's dance tune with homoerotic subtext. 'Cause I've dealt with all that shit these last few months."
Snape was silent for the rest of the walk to the castle. Ziad was apparently just in time for dinner.
He entered the Great Hall feeling far more confident than he would have at the beginning of the year. Social discomfort was nothing when compared to murdering a couple of dudes with writing utensils.
Ziad sat down at his usual place at Hufflepuff table. Only after demolishing a few plates of definitely not halal food did he realize the whole Hall had gone silent.
He took a final bite out of a piece of fried chicken and glanced up at the silent faces.
"What? Can't a guy eat some fried chicken in peace, without being stared at by you people?"
A young Hufflepuff Ziad didn't recognize spoke up.
"Why do you have blood all over your arm?"
"That's because when you poke a hole in somebody's jugular, a lot of blood squirts out. It can be a real hassle to clean up and I haven't really had the opportunity."
The Hufflepuff stared at him.
Ziad felt a presence behind him. Actually, two presences. Presencii?
He turned around. Parvati and Padma were standing there, shocked expressions plastered across their faces. Ziad suddenly felt very, very, very guilty.
"Hello." he said.
A single tear rolled down Parvati's cheek.
"Cheer up, girl. It's not a funeral. I'm alive, as are you. S'all good."
"Our dad's in the hospital, you know. He was assaulted on a business trip in Iran. Stabbed in the neck. It's awful. We don't know who did it," whimpered Padma.
"Oh, well... Uh... That's... Terrible. Mhmm..."
He awkwardly patted her on the back.
"What does your dad do for a living, anyway?" asked Ziad.
"He does international banking for Gringotts."
"Oh, really... Fascinating."
So. It seemed that the twins were either innocent to their father's involvement in an evil organization bent on world-domination, or they were very good liars. Either way, Ziad wasn't about to tell them exactly who stabbed their father in the neck. That wasn't exactly a good way to re-become friends.
Ziad finished his dinner in silence before walking back through the surprisingly familiar halls of Hogwarts to his bed, where, to his surprise, sat his trunk full of his belongings.
"Oh, thank God..." he whispered, as he found his two remaining custom-tailored Hugo Boss suits immaculately pressed in his trunk.
Eventually, Ziad went to sleep, still unsure of what the next day would bring.
The next day, apparently, would bring long conversations with Professor Sprout and the other heads of houses. Also Dumbledore.
Those weren't fun, to say the least.
For one, he was forced to recount the events of the months since his disappearance.
Ziad managed to leave out the whole "starting a war" thing as well as the "nearly murdering Mr. Patil and actually murdering DL Steve" bit.
Not that the Hogwarts faculty believed any of it, anyway.
They all assumed he was clinically insane, and sent him to be diagnosed by Madame Pomfrey.
Classy move, guys. Real classy.
Madame Pomfrey performed her tests and declared him completely sane.
Even Ziad found that mildly surprising.
Snape gave him veritaserum. Ziad told the same story (he still managed to leave out the same bits. After all, they didn't ask him specifically "did you attempt to murder Mr. patil").
Despite this, they still gave him detentions until the end of school.
Poor Ziad just cannot catch a break.
The next couple of weeks were stupendously dull. My God, it was so boring.
Not one single time did Ziad hear gunfire in the halls. No wars. No Pakistani bomber jets bombed the school. No special forces soldiers. No death. No blood.
No fun.
Ziad made the disturbing realization that he had become addicted to violence. He ached for the feel of a gun's handle.
He made the second disturbing realization that happiness truly was a warm gun, mama.
Ziad wasn't sure what to make of this, but he did know it alienated him pretty seriously from the innocent and naïve students.
Even Harry Potter, mentally-damaged-kid extraordinaire, had not seen a fraction of the death Ziad had.
Ziad was so bored by his classes. He didn't care one single bit about transfiguration, potions, herbology, defense against the dark arts, or anything. The wizarding world no longer seemed welcoming and weird. Just dull. Dull, dull, dull.
Ziad didn't re-make any of his friendships. He retreated into himself. Parvati and Padma didn't try and help. Nobody did.
So, Ziad decided to just leave. He knew he could make a living somewhere. Central Africa? Pakistan? Somewhere conflict-ridden and full of violence.
He planned to become a mercenary.
So, one evening in early June, Ziad stuffed all the things he wanted (two books, one suit, and a couple extra pairs of underwear and socks) into his USMC duffel bag and left.
He was wearing his army apparel again, assuming that school robes weren't exactly the best thing to wear when starting a new life somewhere totally foreign.
Ziad snuck out of the school, and began heading back towards Hogsmeade as the sun set fully, cloaking the village in darkness.
As he walked down the dark High Street, he heard a popping noise.
Two figures appeared a ways down the street, one clearly weak or injured, and the other looked like...
Harry Potter.
With Albus Dumbledore.
"We did it, Professor!" whispered Harry, clearly exhausted.
"We did it, we got the Horcrux!"
Ziad was thoroughly confused. He hid himself behind a corner.
"Sir, are you alright?" Ziad heard Harry saying.
Ziad then heard Dumbledore, his voice weak and painful.
"I've been better... That potion... Was no health drink..."
Interesting, thought Ziad.
"We need to get you up to the school, sir... Madam Pomfrey..."
"No," said Dumbledore. "It is... Professor Snape whom I need... But I do not think... I can walk very far just yet..."
"Right- sir, listen- I'm going to knock on a door, find a place you can stay- then I can run and get Madam-"
"Severus," said Dumbledore clearly, "I need Severus..."
"All right then, Snape- But I'm going to have to leave you for a moment so I can-"
Ziad heard running footsteps, then a woman's voice.
"I saw you apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains! Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to- but what's wrong with Albus?"
"He's hurt," said Harry. "Madam Rosmerta, can he come into the Three Broomsticks while I go up to the school and get help for him?"
"You can't go up there alone! Didn't you realize- Haven't you seen-?"
"If you can help me support him," said Harry, "I think we can get him inside-"
Dumbledore spoke, "What has happened? Rosmerta, what's wrong?"
"The- the Dark Mark, Albus."
Ziad looked back towards the castle.
Indeed, there was a big damn green skull with a serpent tongue just sort of hanging out up there. Ziad had learned enough in his months at Hogwarts what that green skull meant.
"When did it appear?" asked Dumbledore.
"Must have been minutes ago, it wasn't there when I put the cat out, but when I got upstairs-"
Ziad had heard enough. He turned one of his books into a portkey and disappeared.
He reappeared in a warehouse in central Russia.
He had been hear a few months ago, before transporting a large quantity of its contents to very serious men in Afghanistan.
On either side of him were thousands of guns. Assault rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, rocket launchers, anti-tank rifles...
Ziad was briefly in heaven, until he remembered why he was there.
He quickly emptied the contents of his duffel bag and filled it to bursting with guns and ammo.
An AKS-74 assault rifle with a few hundred rounds of ammo.
A SVD Dragunov Sniper rifle.
Two Makarov pistols.
A VSS Vintorez silent sniper rifle/assault rifle.
He also found a lot of equipment, such as load-bearing vests and helmets and uniform accoutrements.
He put on a vest and stuffed it with ammo, plopped a helmet on his head, wrapped his face with a camouflaged scarf, and put some shatter-proof goggles on.
He slung two extra AKS-74 rifles for good measure.
Ziad yanked the charging handle on his main rifle.
"Let's do this shit."
Author's Note:
I hope you like movies like Commando, Rambo, and The Raid.
Because it's about to get Schwarzenegger-y up in here.
Although I think Ziad probably looks a lot more like Iko Uwais than Arnold.
Speaking of which, all of you need to watch The Raid 2: Berandal. Good God, that movie is badass.