Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…
Placing: The end of HP's Fourth Year. Implied canon.
Poem by not strange just unique. Thank you for creating that!
Just an idea I had, nothing more.
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PROLOGUE
The End of Harry Potter's Seventh Year
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"Well, boys," Molly Weasley said and gestured with her wand towards the stove. "Make room for dinner."
Her sons pulled back. Ron, Hermione and Harry looked up from where they had been discussing their future plans.
"You should go back to school and finish it," Percy said while sitting down next to George. "You need your NEWTs if you want to have good job in a good position in the Ministry."
Ron scoffed.
"We're war heroes," he said and glared at his brother. "We don't need our NEWTs to get a good job."
"You might not need them now," Percy replied unbothered. "But you might need them later in life. Your status as a war hero won't open you all doors forever. Sometimes in the future, the war and your part in it will be forgotten."
Ron sneered at his brother.
"You're just jealous that you didn't manage to get anywhere near a good position in the ministry until now while they offered me, your little brother, the best positions I could want!" he replied.
Percy shrugged. "I don't mind where I am right now." Which earned him another scoff from his brother.
In that moment, Hermione leaned closer and looked at Percy.
"While we're already talking about it," she said full of interest. "What, actually, did you do while we fought in the war? I mean, I know you were at the last battle at Hogwarts but before that – what did you do?"
Ron snorted. "He hid behind his job and acted as if he didn't see anything, what else?" he countered before Percy could even try and say something.
Harry glared at Percy. "Well, he might have also said a few 'yes, Minister' and 'of course, Minister' while he was Thickness' lackey."
Hermione frowned and then looked from one boy to the other.
"Thickness was aided by Death Eaters. He dismissed the assistants of the old Minister and promoted Death Eaters in their places. I doubt that they spared Percy that fate, what with him being a light wizard and connected, no matter how loosely, to the rest of the Weasley family," she said and then looked at Percy thoughtfully.
Percy shrugged unbothered. "I wasn't spared. They let me go," he said, surprisingly calm.
Ron scoffed. "So, what else did you do in the last year, then?" he asked nastily. "Did you sit at home and cry?"
"You were awfully late in admitting that you were wrong," Harry added. "You could have come around long before the battle of Hogwarts! It's not as if Voldemort wasn't officially back after my fifth year, and all that!" The last thing was said quite sarcastically.
Percy hummed.
"I did things," he said. "I did everything I could at that time."
Ron rolled his eyes. "You weren't even part of Potter Watch like Fred and George," he pointed out. "Just confess it, Percy, you did nothing until the battle of Hogwarts!"
"Oh, come off it, Ron," George intercepted in that moment. "Stop picking on Percy."
Ron just glared at George. "Of course, you're defending him again!" he exclaimed unhappily. "You and Fred – you've always defended Percy! Why do you even always defend him? He's a bore! He's the absolute opposite of you! I just don't get how you three have always been as thick as thieves!"
George and Percy exchanged a look with each other.
Then George smirked and slung an arm around Percy.
"I love his research," he said. "And I adore how nerdy he is!"
"Haha," Ron rolled his eyes. "Very funny, George."
George stuck his tongue out at Ron and then ruffled Percy's hair.
"Don't worry, Perce," he said. "I know that Ronny thinks that you were sitting in a corner crying. But I know how brave you are. If you were crying, then you were certainly not sitting in a corner for that."
"Shuddup, George!" Percy tried to free himself from his brother's hold. "I didn't cry."
"Of course not," George immediately agreed. "I would never imply that you didn't do something important while we were at war."
Ron scoffed. "Oh, really?" he asked. "Then, tell me, oh brother of mine, what did Percy do that was so important?"
Percy and George exchanged a look as if they were twins.
"Nothing," they finally chorused – and that was the last thing they said to that topic.
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Weasley sons your fate is clear
Three of you have a cross to bear
As assassins you tear apart
The fire in the darkest heart
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The pranksters always come in pairs
Never touch what they deem theirs
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Knowledge is the sharpest sword
The researcher is judge and court
He assists the wheels of time
With gore and blood and death and grime
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Your enemies await a bitter end
For death will always be your friend.
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The End of Harry Potter's Fourth Year
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Voldemort had a good day. He had gained a body just a few days ago – yes, he had lost Potter again, but he now had a body that was safe from Lily Potter's sacrifice – his Death Eaters were back and he had still a spy in Dumbledore's ranks. His life was good.
Just yesterday he had gained about twenty new followers – all now grown-up children of his old followers – and had planned his next steps.
Of course, he would have to retrieve that damn prophecy that made him fail in the first place. He also had to free some of his more faithful followers from Azkaban.
But all in all, Voldemort felt quite content. With the wizarding world in denial about his return he had gained a lot of time to reach his goals without having to fear the aurors.
Of course, he would have to satisfy his followers with a raid or two while he worked on his bigger plans, but that shouldn't be that much of a problem. He'd simply sent his Death Eaters to raid a muggle town instead of a wizarding or a mixed one. The muggles wouldn't know where to look and the wizarding world would refuse to believe that it was one of them. Voldemort knew that. They had done the same at the beginning of the last war.
So he had decided to do his first raid in a muggle town in Wales today. At the moment he was waiting for his people to return and report their successful raid.
Death Eaters who hadn't gone on the raid – why would he send more than ten for a simple muggle town? – were waiting with him in the ball room turned throne room of Malfoy Manor.
The door opened.
One of the Death Eaters who had gone on the raid entered.
His robes were ripped and bloody, his mask missing. Voldemort had the dawning feeling that something might have gone wrong.
The Death Eater was one of those who had fought with him in the first war. The man was pale, blood coating his cheek, a gash adorning his forehead.
Of course, blood on the robes was expected – they killed people, after all – but the blood on the robes didn't look like just the blood of others…
The Death Eater didn't even close the door behind himself, instead he simply banged it open and carried on with his run through the room – something no civilized pureblood should do. The other Death Eaters started to murmur, commenting on his clothes, that he ran and his poor behavior and conduct.
The running Death Eater ignored them. Instead he ran up to Voldemort's throne and fell on his knees in front of it without properly asking if he was allowed to approach. The whispers of the Death Eaters grew louder. Most of them looked at the hurt one in distaste.
"What happened?" One of them sneered. "Did you lose against a few muggles?"
The kneeling Death Eater gulped and shook his head frantically while catching his breath.
"So what else happened that you decided to forgo any kind of proper behavior?" The Death Eater sneered.
"Lucius," Voldemort warned and the man shut up, his eyes widening in fear of a Cruciatus. And maybe Voldemort would have cursed him if the Death Eater in front of him hadn't chosen to speak up in exact that very moment.
"He's back," he gasped. "He's back!"
From one second to the other, absolute silence enveloped the room. Then one of the Death Eaters gasped loudly.
"NO!"
And suddenly chaos reigned.
Death Eaters started to run up and down the room, looking around the walls as if they were followed. They stared at their shadows in suspicion and ran into each other while trying to get distance between themselves and others.
Lucius Malfoy was the one who grabbed the kneeling Death Eater by his robes and shook him.
"Tell me you're lying," he said frantically. "Tell me you are lying!"
Unfortunately his shaking the Death Eater had the opposite effect. It exposed the evidence that the other man definitely wasn't lying.
The neck of the Death Eater bore a cross, a blood red cross.
The Red Cross.
There was only one Red Cross adorning a Death Eater's neck that was feared by the whole wizarding world...
The moment Lucius saw it, he released the Death Eater, looking at him as if he was contagious.
"Red Death!" He hissed.
The name travelled through the room as if carried by magic.
Everyone immediately stopped mid-track.
Silence reigned.
Then one of the other Death Eaters screamed.
"We're dead! We're dead as a doornail!"
And chaos returned.
Voldemort watched his Death Eaters darkly.
"Silence!" He roared finally, cursing some of them. The Death Eaters stopped again, looking at him with expectations in their eyes.
"We mustn't panic now," Voldemort hissed.
Silence.
One second.
Two.
Then Lucius spoke up hesitatingly.
"My Lord," he said fearfully. "What should we do now that he's back?"
"Whatever we do, Lucius," Voldemort said slowly. "We will have to do it carefully. With him around, it might be dangerous if we act too rashly."
"Whatever we do, my Lord?" Lucius repeated with a shaking voice. "That doesn't answer what we will do to stop him…"
"Crucio!" Voldemort said, lazily torturing his host. "Don't you dare to question my lead again!"
The other Death Eaters looked at each other nervously after seeing that display.
Silence reigned inside the ball room of Malfoy manor.
Then one of the Death Eaters in the crowed spoke up. "My Lord doesn't know what to do as well!" He screamed. Immediately, the chaos returned with a full blast and whatever Voldemort tried, he couldn't get them to stop.
In the end, Voldemort, bane of the British wizarding world, buried his head in his hands in dismay – a human gesture of weakness he normally didn't do even in private – and sighed.
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What had he done to deserve a mad, immortal assassin like Red Death out for his blood?!
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Well, this story has been on my computer for quite a few years. I was looking through my stuff and noticed that I had written this story but never posted more than a "trailer" in the form of my story "Burning Alive" (not needed to understand the story), so I decided that I should rework it a bit and post it.
I hope you liked the beginning.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild