Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Wizarding World.
Chapter 4
A Global Menace
Nacana found himself treading the familiar back alleys of London in the midst of autumn. The crisp air carried a sense of urgency, matching the weight on his shoulders. He had braced himself for the impending discussion with his second-in-command, Anna, yet he knew deep down that this encounter wouldn't be easy. Anna was more than just a subordinate; she was his oldest friend, making it all the more challenging to assert his will upon her. Despite the inner turmoil, Nacana steeled himself to have the conversation that lay ahead.
A sudden noise disrupted his thoughts, causing him to halt in his tracks and assess his surroundings with a trained eye. To his chagrin, he realized that a careless nudge had sent a soda can skittering across the alley. Such a basic oversight as not watching his steps felt like a rookie mistake, and Nacana mentally berated himself for the lapse in awareness. After a final sweep of his surroundings, he resumed his determined march toward Anna Morrison. Each step carried him closer to a conversation he dreaded, yet understood to be necessary.
Navigating the winding path, Nacana eventually laid eyes on their designated meeting spot and the figure of his oldest friend, Anna, slouched there. Fatigue etched deeply on her face, giving away the toll recent events had taken on her. From what Nacana could gather, she had likely been deprived of sleep, burdened by thoughts of his alleged actions. He allowed his pace to slow, a mix of concern and apprehension welling up inside him. As he drew closer, he maintained a vigilant eye on their surroundings, keenly aware of potential threats lurking in the shadows, and the possibility of unwanted listeners.
"Anna," Nacana addressed her gently, his tone reflecting a blend of understanding and worry. While he recognized the importance of explaining his actions and offering solace, his thoughts were consumed by the defensive measures he needed to employ. With a swift, practiced gesture, he released a bronze disc between them, deploying an imperceptible barrier that would ward off any prying ears attempting to overhear their conversation.
Anna's voice trembled as she began to voice her concerns, recounting the gruesome details of the Bulstrode family's fate, particularly the unimaginable cruelty that befell their youngest child. The vulnerability in her tone was a stark contrast to the assertive attitude she often held when questioning Nacana. Her eyes, usually sharp with determination, now held unspoken pain and an almost imperceptible shimmer of unshed tears.
Nacana took in her words, sensing the depth of her distress and the internal struggle she faced. Her question hung in the air, heavy with uncertainty. His response carried a gravity that matched the weight of her emotions. "If I were to explain that it was because she was a Pureblood, aligning with our mission to eradicate them all, would that information alter your commitment to our cause?" His words resonated, enveloping the space between them with a somber intensity. Anna's breath hitched at his inquiry, her gaze meeting the enigmatic skull hovering in the midst of his shrouded identity.
"Do you really mean to kill all of them, even Them?" Anna's voice trembled as she posed the question that had been gnawing at her heart. Could Nacana truly mean to eradicate every last Pureblood, even those they had known personally, cherished, and held dear? She struggled to reconcile the person she had grown up with, the friend she had confided in, with the ruthless mission he had embarked upon.
Nacana met her gaze, his masked face giving no indication of the turmoil he felt beneath. Memories of laughter, shared secrets, and tender moments flashed through his mind, intertwined with the reality of his present path. Could he really bring himself to end the lives of those who once held his affection? His heart ached with the weight of his decision, yet his conviction remained unshaken.
"Yes, Anna. Even them. Especially them," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of his resolution. The turmoil within him was palpable, a stark contrast to the unwavering determination he displayed outwardly. His thoughts turned to those he once held close – the innocent smiles of children, the warmth of past lovers, and the steadfast loyalty of those who sheltered him in times of war. He knew, as painful as it was, that they could never accept the darkness he had embraced.
"I am what my family fought against, I am what she fights against," Nacana continued, his words heavy with the weight of self-awareness. With a solemn air, he produced a small envelope, his actions a reflection of the difficult choice he was about to make.
"Despite that, I would never kill a child Anna and I had hoped you knew me better than that. These are the new identities of both Theodore Nott and Milicent Bulstrode. I faked both of their deaths by using pieces of their relatives to make a homunculus. They have been given to a family in our organization, both the children and the parents have been made to believe they were adopted through legitimate means, and the paper trail other members of our Order have provided will guarantee no one will question the legitimacy of the adoption. The children have no memory of their former family, they are clean slates. Just because you are my main contact with the Order does not mean you are my only contact." Nacana said before placing the folder on top of a waste bin within reach of Anna.
"Feel free to check on them if you need to verify my words for yourself," Nacana added before he turned and began to walk away, his retreating form a reflection of the heavy thoughts that lingered in the air.
Anna watched him go, the gravity of their conversation sinking in. As Nacana disappeared into the shadows of the alley, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions churned within her. She glanced at the folder, her fingers tracing its edges as if seeking answers within its contents. The test he had presented her with wasn't just about trusting his words; it was about her trust in herself, in their shared history, and in the path they had chosen together.
Sinking onto the low wall she had been leaning against, Anna cradled the folder in her hands. The cool touch of its surface seemed to mirror the chill that had settled in her heart. She closed her eyes, a storm of thoughts raging within her mind. Nacana had been right – they were in a war where trust was a fragile commodity. But beyond that, it was a test of her own convictions, her loyalty to their cause, and her understanding of the complex individual Nacana had become.
As Anna clutched the folder against her chest, her mind spiraled through the labyrinth of doubts and questions that Nacana's words had unleashed. The weight of the choices before her felt like a leaden shroud, and the darkness of her thoughts threatened to consume her. The very essence of her convictions was being tested, and she found herself grappling with the uncomfortable truths that lay hidden beneath the surface.
The prospect of Theodore Nott, the offspring of that creature, being alive was a bitter pill to swallow. It was a test not just of her trust in Nacana, but of her own capacity for empathy and understanding. Could she truly overcome the deeply ingrained revulsion of all things Nott? Could she extend her compassion beyond the boundaries she had once staunchly defended?
The stark contrast between her initial reactions to the possible deaths of the Nott child and the Bulstrode girl was a harsh revelation. It laid bare her own biases and challenged the very core of her beliefs. As she stood at the crossroads of her emotions, she knew she had to confront her own hypocrisy head-on.
Tucking the folder securely under her arm, Anna turned her steps toward a new path. As she walked, the echoes of her internal struggle reverberated in her mind. The journey ahead was not just about validating Nacana's words; it was about discovering the nuances of her own character, about unraveling the complexities of her heart. And with each step she took, she hoped to find the answer to the burning question that tormented her: Was she a monster, a hypocrite, or something worse?
After regaining his bearings from the modified portkey that had transported him far from London's smog, Nacana swiftly enacted a series of spells designed to veil his presence and thwart any attempts at detection. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he began to assess his surroundings with a keen eye.
To his right, a majestic range of high mountains stretched into the horizon, each peak crowned with intricate magical dwellings that overlooked the picturesque valley below. These architectural marvels were a testament to the wizarding artistry that adorned the landscape. However, Nacana's discerning gaze saw past the enchanting façade to the malevolence that lay hidden within.
The Hohenberg family, occupants of the opulent home before him, were an enigmatic lot. On the surface, they projected an image of altruistic humanitarians, champions of the light who advocated for the rights of muggleborns and half-bloods within the magical community. Yet, beneath the veneer of benevolence, a darker underbelly thrived.
In the aftermath of Gellert Grindelwald's defeat, the German Ministry of Magic had embarked on a journey of reformation and renewal. But the tendrils of a malevolent force had gradually insinuated themselves into the corridors of power. Roughly three and a half decades ago, the Hohenberg family emerged as the orchestrators of this insidious influence. Their publicized efforts to uplift muggleborns and half-bloods masked a sinister reality: for every facade of progress they presented, three regressive laws were surreptitiously implemented to quash magical opportunities for those they claimed to champion.
These laws, designed to limit employment prospects and confine non-purebloods to marginalized neighborhoods, bore the mark of the Hohenbergs' true intentions. Their manipulative stranglehold extended beyond mere legislation, as they cunningly dictated the allocation of resources and control over industries, directing them away from the communities they purported to help.
Nacana stood, his thoughts a swirling tempest of contemplation. The picturesque beauty of the mountains and magical architecture juxtaposed the deceit and malice that permeated the very foundation of this society. As he considered the twisted hypocrisy that played out before him, a determination grew within him. The Hohenberg family may have ensnared the German magical government, but Nacana was here to unveil the truth, to disrupt their web of manipulation, and to dismantle their oppressive reign over the vulnerable.
Nacana moved across the ground with the grace of a wraith, his form melding into the surroundings much like the smoke he often used as a concealment. His enhanced senses honed in on the subtle fluctuations in magical energy, identifying the ward line that marked the boundary of the property. With a controlled touch of his magic, he initiated the intricate process of creating a clandestine entry point.
The creation of this concealed doorway demanded meticulous finesse, as the magical discharge associated with it could not be easily concealed. Normally, such a flash of magical energy might not have posed a significant problem, but the Hohenbergs were not merely wealthy elites; they were entrenched within the very fabric of their country's government. Their influence extended beyond their wealth, reaching into the echelons of power that safeguarded them. The heightened security was a testament to their connections and the dangers of their secrets being exposed.
Nacana had thoroughly researched the members of the Hohenberg family's protection detail. These were individuals skilled in the art of combat, posing a credible obstacle to anyone attempting to breach their defense. While Nacana knew he could handle the guards, he was mindful of the ripple effect his actions might create. Eliminating one guard risked alerting the others, thanks to their interlinked health monitoring. This interconnectivity was not limited to the protection detail alone; the Hohenbergs themselves were also under constant watch and their health carefully supervised.
He understood that incapacitating or eliminating any member of the security detail prematurely could trigger an instantaneous alarm that would compromise his mission. His objective was to infiltrate their stronghold unnoticed, subverting their defenses and revealing the truth beneath their carefully woven facade. He needed to make his move with precision, and absent of any mistakes.
Nacana was well aware of the formidable challenge that lay ahead with this particular mission. He had deliberately chosen it for its complexity, recognizing that it would test his skills and strategic acumen to the fullest. As the night unfolded, he carefully planned every move, considering the timing, the implications, and the impact it would have.
By tomorrow morning, during the shift change of the Hohenberg family's security detail, the aftermath of his calculated attack would be discovered. The chaos and disruption it would cause were not merely random; they were a message intended for the world to see. Nacana and the Order were not solely targeting Death Eaters—they were waging war against all those who shared their ideology, regardless of their status or location. The halls of power would echo with the resounding anger of those targeted, yet beneath that fury, they would ultimately realize the hollowness of their outrage and a seed of fear would start to grow.
As Nacana positioned the final piece, a sense of purpose welled up within him. With a controlled inhale, he activated the intricate ward tunnel, triggering a brilliant burst of crimson light that momentarily pierced the darkness. In an instant, the meticulously crafted pathway through the wards materialized, opening a concealed passage for him. Without hesitation, Nacana surged forward, his movements a blur of darkness against the night. He unleashed confundus and memory charm spells with precision and speed, each spell guided by his unwavering aim. The magic was cast even before his targets came into clear view, a testament to his mastery of his craft. As the first guard breached the tree line, they were met with the effects of Nacana's charms, their minds clouded and their memories altered. Before they could even react, Nacana's swift maneuver carried him into the protective cover of the trees.
In a seamless continuation of his strategy, Nacana's focus shifted to the second guard, who had emerged just moments before. With the timing of a seasoned duelist, he calculated the trajectory and timing of his spells, striking with precision. As the spells found their mark, Nacana's target succumbed to their effects, his senses dulled and his awareness compromised. The external wards remained intact, the guards effectively neutralized, and Nacana had bypassed the obstacles without triggering an alert.
Yet even as Nacana executed his plan flawlessly, he remained acutely aware of the unpredictable nature of life. Amidst the intricate dance of strategy and skill, he recognized that no matter how meticulous his planning or how honed his abilities, the element of luck was an ever-present variable.
Now came the most arduous phase of Nacana's mission, ascending the walls of the heavily fortified Hohenberg compound. He understood that drawing attention to himself with overt magical methods wasn't an option, as it would undoubtedly alert the formidable security measures in place. Instead, he opted for a more mundane yet discreet approach—climbing.
As he scaled the walls, Nacana's breath grew labored, the physical exertion of his ascent taking a toll on his body. However, he pressed on, his form shrouded in the protective smokescreen of his disguise. With persistence and a steely determination, he reached the first of the two houses that constituted the compound.
With practiced ease, he produced a new set of bronze discs, each inscribed with a different enchantment. This time, he combined a unique blend of potions, creating an effect that rendered the wall permeable, allowing him to pass through it as if it were liquid. While there was a risk of emitting a faint discharge during the process, Nacana deemed it acceptable. The resulting glow would likely be attributed to ambient light rather than being instantly recognized as a magical breach.
Drawing a steadying breath, Nacana steeled himself for what lay ahead. He visualized his targets, his objectives, and the importance of the mission at hand. With a determined focus, he pushed through the wall, his body seamlessly passing through the previously impervious barrier. From that moment on, one of the bloodiest chapters in magical history was set to unfold—a series of attacks that would challenge even the most skilled and resourceful wizards.
As Nacana embarked on his mission of chaos and retribution, he knew that the aftermath would be rife with confusion and disarray. Individual nations would grapple with their own incidents before any inkling of an international threat emerged. Nacana saw this as an opportunity, exploiting the lack of immediate cooperation to his advantage. The thrill of anticipation coursed through him, knowing that as the attacks multiplied across the world, the collective consciousness of the magical community would gradually awaken to the magnitude of the danger they faced.
In the ensuing days, a series of orchestrated assaults unfolded, each employing comparable tactics to breach the defenses of Pureblood homes across multiple nations. The organized turmoil struck at the heart of countries including Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Canada, Brazil, and other countries spanning Europe, Africa, and the Americas. The atmosphere grew tense and fraught with anxiety as the affected countries grappled with the surge of violence and the looming uncertainty.
The seemingly coordinated nature of these attacks sent shockwaves through the magical community, both within the affected countries and beyond. The strikes bore a common signature, a chilling reminder of the growing threat that the Order of the Ancient Heart posed to the existing power structures.
However, the true turning point arrived when the first fatality occurred during daylight. The audacity of the attackers, combined with the loss of life, sent shock and fear rippling through the population. Governments and magical authorities were forced to acknowledge that they were dealing with an enemy that was willing to take their crusade to the streets.
Etiene Montague, a prominent figure within the French Ministry, was a fervent advocate for imposing stricter regulations on Muggleborns, half-bloods, and individuals of Magical Creature heritage. His disdain for Olympe Maxime's appointment as the new Headmistress of Beauxbatons was not merely a difference in opinion; it bordered on an unbridled contempt that fueled his every move. Determined to overturn what he saw as a grave misstep, he pulled strings and leveraged connections to rally support from various sectors of the government, including the un corps legislatif.
Etiene's sentiments were deeply rooted in his belief that his cherished nation was compromising its integrity by allowing a growing number of creatures and Muggleborns to ascend to positions of influence. He viewed their presence as a dilution of true magical heritage, a sentiment that fueled his desire to resist these changes at every turn. Looking across the channel to his English cousins, he found a sense of validation in their efforts to safeguard their society. The fall of the Dark Lord had been a setback, but their collective determination persisted, bolstered by the political prowess of the Malfoy family—a facet of his national pride that he could take solace in given the Malfoy descended from his wonderful country.
As Etiene navigated the corridors of power, he remained unapologetically steadfast in his convictions, striving to shape his country's future in alignment with his ideals, regardless of the resistance he encountered.
As Etiene Montague made his leisurely way through the atmospheric Place Cachee, an abrupt halt befell him. His gait was replaced by an eerie stillness, and confusion etched itself across his features as an inexplicable agony took root within his chest. Breath, once taken for granted, became an elusive commodity as his lungs betrayed their duty to exchange air. The pain expanded with a relentless urgency, incapacitating him to the point of immobilization. In his eyes, a storm of bewilderment raged as he struggled against the overwhelming torment.
Amid the crescendo of suffering, a chilling whisper infiltrated his ear, weaving through the waves of anguish that enveloped him. The voice's sinister words seeped into his consciousness, resonating with a malevolence that reverberated within his core.
"Fear not, for all other purebloods will be joining you soon."
The minutes seemed to stretch infinitely as Etiene's writhing body succumbed to the merciless onslaught of pain. A gathering of concerned onlookers promptly sought help from both Aurors and medical professionals, the scene a testament to the abrupt and bewildering nature of the man's affliction. Amidst the clamor, a stroke of fortune favored the presence of a trained healer among the witnesses, whose efforts attempted to alleviate the suffering. Alas, these attempts merely prolonged Etiene's torment, drawing out the moments of agony like a cruel and disharmonious symphony.
In the beginning of the torment, Etiene had simply been convulsing, but shortly after the Healer started treatment, he started screaming. That wasn't the hardest part to listen to, the hardest part was the begging. Etiene Montague, a man many knew to be proud and steadfast, was crying and begging not to die. His pleas grew more frantic as the pain obviously increased. Despite the healer finally getting aid to transport the dying man to the hospital, Etiene started wildly convulsing, and his body moved as if it were being struck hard by invisible fists.
In the harrowing throes of this surreal ordeal, Etiene's heart finally succumbed, and his life ebbed away. The last moments of his existence were characterized by a gruesome display—a macabre exhibition of blood that streamed from his eyes, nose, ears, and a concealed wound in his chest. A crimson pool gathered around him, curiously coalescing into a message etched onto the street—a stark proclamation that left witnesses chilled to their bones, both by its sinister implication and the enigmatic symbol it bore.
"Death to all Purebloods," the chilling words declared, a decree of true malevolence. And beneath the ominous inscription lay a symbol, its unsettling familiarity accompanied by the equally cryptic phrase: "Ancient Heart."
The reverberations of Etiene Montague's public demise acted as a catalyst, igniting a metaphorical powder keg that would reshape the very fabric of the magical community. The abruptness of his death, the macabre message etched in his blood on the cobblestones, and the undeniable public spectacle surrounding the event all converged to form a spark that would set the wheels of change into motion.
The details of this shocking incident found their way onto the front pages of various newspapers within mere hours of the event. The stark message, written in blood, took center stage as headlines screamed their grim contents to the world. The magical world's communities were, by their nature, isolated and divided, but even this dramatic revelation was not enough to immediately connect the dots for those who had some knowledge of the previous attacks. Yet, the fuse had been lit, casting an ominous glow on the horizon.
However, the full magnitude of the threat only truly began to unfurl when an assassination unfolded on the hallowed grounds of the International Confederation of Wizards in New York City. The news of this audacious act resonated across borders, transcending national boundaries. The collective gasp of shock and disbelief echoed through newspapers spanning numerous member nations, thrusting the previously localized menace into the global spotlight. As inked words and poignant images spilled across newsprints, the world watched, aghast and perplexed, as the once-contained turmoil escalated beyond prediction.
A/N The storytelling for the remaining chapters is going to change, it is going to be more character based than event based. These first few chapters were more about setting the stage than my usual method of writing. Hope that doesn't throw anyone off.
