Disclaimer: I'm too young to be Rowling so there is sadly no way Harry Potter is mine…
Placing: After the war - could be canon…
Just an idea I had, nothing more.
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Μύθος
(Mythos)
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"Every legend is based on at least a tiny bit of truth."
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The Summer Between Harry Potter's Fourth and Fifth Year
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Red Death: An immortal assassin wizard who goes against dark wizards. Presumed to be born around 900 AD. Presumed to be a seer and having the ability to be at different places at once. Known to show no mercy and brand his victims with the Red Cross. A known shape-shifter with the ability to circumvent any wards and using magic without it being picked up. He has never failed an assassination he set out to do. A myth.
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Voldemort stared at the book in his lap, his fingers tracing the words about Red Death on the page. When he had started his quest in the wake of Grindelwald's defeat, he had dismissed it as a myth like anybody else. He had refused to listen when one of Grindelwald's followers warned him about Red death. He had thought that the man had gone insane.
Just two years later he regretted it. He had been about to kill Cedrella Weasley, née Black – a blood traitor – when Red Death had made his first appearance.
At that day, Voldemort had lost three quarters of the squat he had taken with him. It had been the first and the last time he had been eye to eye with Red Death himself. He never met the exclusive assassin again – but that hadn't helped his quest at all.
Voldemort's hand again brushed over the innocent looking page.
He had never met Red Death personally again – but he had been sent his dead lieutenants as a greeting ever since.
Voldemort cursed his fate. He would have had the wizarding world in his clutches just a year or two after he had started if it hadn't been for Red Death. Dumbledore's Order had been an annoyance, but Red Death had been a threat. Unlike Dumbledore and his people, he was ruthless – and there was nothing about him but legends and myths. There was no one to threaten, no one to kill, no way to find out his identity. Voldemort, for all his power, had been helpless when it came to Red Death.
"A myth," Voldemort scoffed. "I wish he really was a myth!" With that, he threw the book threw the room where it hit the wall. From there, it slit down and landed crumbled with a soft thud on the floor.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door. Voldemort scowled.
"Come in," he hissed, the serpent tongue caressing his words.
The door opened carefully and a Death Eater peeked into the room.
"My Lord," he said, still half-hiding behind the door. "The squad is back."
Voldemort's eyes fixated the Death Eater.
"Did they succeed?" He inquired coolly.
The Death Eater hesitated. "I… I'm sorry, I can't say?" he finally stuttered. Voldemort's eyes darkened and he glared at the man.
"You can't say?" He hissed. "Didn't you ask?"
"Er… they…. They're all… dead?" the Death Eater whispered, ducking behind the door.
"DEAD?!" The curse Voldemort flung at the Death Eater barely missed the unfortunate man and embedded into the wall. The stones of the wall cracked under the force of the spell.
The Death Eater threw himself to the floor, still half-behind the door. He squeaked.
"Yes, my Lord," he agreed while shivering in fear. "They're all back and dead. There… There's a red cross mark on their necks."
At that, Voldemort stopped mid-curse.
A red cross.
The Red Cross.
His shriek of rage echoed through the manor.
Red Death – again!
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You shouldn't anger Red Death – and killing or trying to kill a Weasley was a sure way to do that exactly.
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1995
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"Where are you going, dear?"
The man stopped on his way out of the door, looking sheepishly back at his wife.
"Well, I thought about a little bit of tinkering in the shed before dinner," he said, blushing.
"Tinkering?" The wife raised an eyebrow and the sheepish look on the man's face deepened.
"I've got a new toy," he offered hesitatingly. "Amelia Bones brought it by today when I was still in the office."
The wife sighed then shook her head exasperated. "Alright, dear," she finally said. "Have fun tinkering. Just don't forget that dinner's at six!"
"Dinner's always at six, darling," he said amused. "Don't worry, I won't forget."
"Yes, dear," the wife said. "But we've got an Order meeting after that which is why I reminded you."
The man squashed his urge to roll with his eyes. If he had known that the Order would get even more passive in this conflict than it had been in the last, he wouldn't have bothered to join at all, this time around.
Oh well, what was done, is done. It couldn't be changed anymore…
"I remembered the meeting, darling," he said instead. "Don't worry, I'll be back in time."
His wife smiled.
"Then have fun, dear," she said and he returned the smile before he left to his shed for a bit more 'tinkering' before dinner.
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That day, Red Death stopped some Death Eaters from having their fun in Cornwell. Of course, he was back home by dinner – Death Eaters weren't worth angering his wife over, after all!
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I guess it took some time, but there it is. The third part of the story.
I hope you liked it.
'Till next time.
Ebenbild