Disclaimer: Dropped idea, half written.
Legend
Every patron and staff member dropped to the floor as the gang of masked thugs burst into the bank. Life in Gotham tended to weed out anyone who didn't learn how to deal with near constant violence.
"Where's the manager?!" screamed the apparent leader of the gang, an orange masked giant. "If he's not in front of me in five minutes I swear I'll start burning people alive until he gets here."
"I am the manager," a weedy man in an expensive suit stated, rising to his feet. "There's no need to resort to violence."
"Open the vault!" the leader demanded.
"I can't, you see-" a bullet to the head silenced the man.
"Deal with the vault door," the orange masked figure demanded, shoving the only unmasked member of the gang, a redheaded teen towards the door.
"It's going to take me a while," the redheaded girl cautioned.
"Things will get unpleasant for your younger sister if they take too long," the masked villain growled. "She's got five of my men with her and the longer you take, the more bored they become. Take too long and they'll start thinking of ways to entertain themselves."
"The vault door is made of hardened steel," the girl spat. "It doesn't matter what you threaten, steel takes time."
IIIIIIIIII
Batman began to speak the moment everyone was present.
"There was a robbery attempt on the Gotham Savings and Trust two hours ago. The thieves were accompanied by a magic user that they forced to open the vault. Gotham PD was on scene within fifteen minutes."
"Hostage situation?" the Flash asked.
"Looked to be developing into one until someone intervened. I got this from one of the bank's exterior security cameras. Watch," he commanded.
The grainy video seemed to freeze for a moment and more than one of the assembled members thought that there'd been a technical issue until they noticed a lone figure making his way through the motionless police. The figure entered the bank and the video seemed to resume. One of the police pulled out a bullhorn and, presumably, issued a demand for the criminals to give themselves up. To the surprise of everyone watching, it appeared for a moment that the bank robbers were going to comply.
The gang stumbled out of the bank, looking more like extras in a bad zombie movie rather than living breathing humans. There was just enough definition to see that they were saying something before each of the criminals drew a pistol and shot themselves in the head.
"They took one of mine," Batman growled.
"What?" Superman turned to regard his friend.
"That's what they said before they killed themselves."
"The Master of Death," Zatana sighed.
"You know something?" Superman prompted.
"One of the European magical societies had a war. It went cold about twenty five years ago before heating up again about ten years ago. He's the one that ended it." The woman took a breath. "The government gave amnesty to most of the people on the losing side after the first stage of the war and most of those same people caused trouble throughout the cold period and immediately rejoined the other side when the second the war restarted."
"What was the war about?"
Zatanna pursed her lips. "The losing side was of the opinion that anyone with non-human blood should be killed. That anyone who couldn't trace their lineage a thousand years was a second class citizen. That anyone with magic that had two non-magical parents had stolen their magic and should be killed for their crime. A lot of people on the winning side weren't much better, but they were better. The war ended and they had to decide what to do to the losers."
"The government decided not to repeat its mistakes and he's the result," Superman sighed, completing the story.
"No, the government did the same thing the second time they'd done the first time. Accepted the excuse that they'd been mind controlled and let most of them go. Several prominent members of the winning side argued that the losers had to be given a chance to redeem themselves and several more argued that their population was too low to absorb the loss of the other side. The Master of Death, the one that had ended both stages of the war, was not happy with the fact that they were letting people he considered to be killers and rapists go."
"What happened?"
"The losing side was quiet for a couple years. Then things started happening, mainly a drop in the number of children from non-magical parents entering their educational system. They went from having a quarter of their number from non-magical families one year to less than ten percent the next. The Master of Death determined that it was due to the actions of the losing side and he publicly announced that he would not allow the war to heat up again. In one night, he killed every supporter of the losing side. The government tried to stop him so he destroyed the government. The rest of their society offered their unconditional surrender. He laid down a set of rules and allowed the government to reform. They mostly boiled down to resolve your problems peacefully or I will resolve them for you."
"The bank robbers took one of his," Batman stated. "Is he going to be a problem?"
"So far as he's concerned, the world can burn so long as his little piece of it is left alone."
"How do we stop him?" Superman asked, unhappy at the thought of a mass killer going lose.
"First you'd have to find him," Zatana replied. "Then you'd have to kill him. His title, 'The Master of Death' isn't just a name. The living have no secrets from the dead and the dead have no secrets from him. He has access to magics thought forgotten for thousands of years. Through his spies, he'd know every plan you made and through his advisors he'd have a hundred counters ready. Best thing for us to do is to try to prevent things like this from happening again.
AN: Too much tell, not enough show. Worse, it's not original at all. Still, have idea-write idea. May revisit the concept at some point, but the above is abandoned.
Typos by porphyrian_delight
Omake: The Duelist
Note: Omake for 'Make a Wish,' 'Back in Black,' etc.
"Good afternoon class. My name is Lavender Brown-" every hand in the room shot up. "-and yes, I'm also known as 'the Duelist' thanks to my time on Black Island and my work with Black Ink. Questions?" She nodded to the student on the far left of the first row.
"What's Mr. Black like?"
She let out a breath. "Starting with a difficult one, huh? Mr. Black is like Mr. Black." She pursed her lips. "One minute he can be laughing and joking, the other he can be the scariest thing you've ever experienced. Is everyone familiar with Professor Hamilton's series on the History of Mr. Black?"
"We've been studying it in History of Magic since first year," the student replied. "The professor says that the history of Mr. Black is so linked with the history of the world that it just makes more sense to do it that way."
"All we learned about was goblins when I was a student," she laughed. "And don't ever say just 'The Professor' without a name after it. I don't think he would mind, but Henchgirl might and Henchgirl is not someone whose bad side you want to find yourself on." She nodded to the next student.
"How did you get your code name?"
"I got the name after I beat Mr. Black in a duel," Lavender said with a grin, enjoying the sudden silence. "It convinced a group of terrorists that he wasn't the real Mr. Black and they all came out of hiding to have a meeting. None of them survived," she giggled. "They were right of course, it wasn't really Mr. Black, but it was enough to convince them that he wasn't around and for me to get awarded a code name."
"What was Harry Potter like?" a boy stammered. "I'm sorry, but my parents named me after him and no one ever talks about him."
"Harry?"
"McGonagall, miss."
"A sweet boy," Lavender sighed. "One with terrible luck, but he always managed to muddle through things and we all thought he always would. Till he didn't, but we didn't know that at the time. Professor Hamilton believes but hasn't been able to prove that it was Harry's death that brought Mr. Black out of retirement. There was a prophecy that Harry was the only one able to defeat Voldemort. Harry disappeared, meaning the prophecy was voided or that Voldemort had managed to-" she swallowed the lump in her throat. "-anyway, Professor Hamilton believes that whatever happened drew the attention of Mr. Black. Something that's never a good idea if you're not on the side of the angels."
"I thought they were called the deadly trio?"
"Not if you don't want them to blow up your house," Lavender said quickly. "And those weren't the angels I was talking about."
"Why is that what it took to get Mr. Black involved? Why didn't he get involved earlier?"
"The answer is that no one knows and he did," she giggled. "The reason I started work as the defense professor this year is because I could. I couldn't before now because I was on Black Island tutoring Harry Potter in defense until his first year at Hogwarts. Time, space, dimensional walls, nothing means anything to Mr. Black. The Harry I taught isn't the same one I went to school with. The Doctor has herself as an apprentice, Henchgirl's chief assistant was, for a brief amount of time, herself until she introduced herself to the Professor who was at the time arguing with himself about who should get the credit for the invention they created after meeting themselves. Think of a string of pearls, most of us live on one of the pearls. Mr. Black can cross from one pearl to the other, hop to other strings, and may well exist on a plane above it all. No one, save maybe the closest members of his family, knows."
She allowed her gaze to sweep over the class. "No more questions about Mr. Black today or we'll never get to the lesson." She smirked at the group groan. "You may ask a few more tomorrow and every other day after that. The first thing we need to start out with is rule one."
"Um, we learned that one in Professor Hamilton's class, Professor Brown," one of the students in the front row volunteered.
"Learn the rules from as many people as you can," Lavender advised. "Each one of us has different examples that go along with them. Rule number one is that one must never, ever, anger Mr. Black. An angry Mr. Black is one that murders hundreds of blood purists in a day, an angry Mr. Black is one that destroys civilizations and sinks continents, an angry Mr. Black is one that traps groups of assassins in sewage tanks after teaching them spells that will keep them alive." She let her gaze sweep around the room. "An angry Mr. Black is something I saw once and it still gives me nightmares."
AN: Have idea, write idea.
Typos by porphyrian_delight
Omake: A Conversation with the Minister
"Who's there?" Fudge cried out, his voice breaking. "I'll warn you, two dozen Aurors will flood into this room three seconds after I say the code word."
"You shouldn't say that, you know," a voice stated from the shadows.
"SWALLOW!" Fudge squealed.
Nothing happened.
"If I hadn't known about that, you telling me may have given me enough time to stop you or prevent the charm from working."
"SWALLOW! SWALLOW!" Fudge screamed.
"You're wasting your time," a figure stepped out of the shadows.
"Harry Potter?" Fudge gasped. "I hope you know what a serious crime you've just committed, sneaking into the Minister's Official Bedchambers!"
"I hope you know that you're at my mercy," Harry replied calmly. "That is one of two things I wanted to tell you."
"What?" Fudge asked dumbly.
"I can come into your bedchambers and do anything I want to you, I can torture you, kill you, ruin you. You can do nothing to stop me, that was number one."
"What's the other thing?" Fudge asked nervously.
"You've been slandering me in the papers, calling me delusional, doing your best to destroy me."
"You're misunderstanding thins, my boy, if you'd just give me a few moments to explain then I'm sure we can clear up this misunderstanding."
"You're doing it because you think it will help hurt Dumbledore, you're also taking several bribes, and you're terrified that there will be a panic if the public were to find out that I'm telling the truth. Oh, and naturally you're worried you'll be blamed for everything."
Fudge's mouth snapped closed.
Harry grinned. "Looks like there's nothing to explain. The second thing I wanted to tell you is that I'm the wrong one to go after if you really want to hurt Dumbledore."
"What?" Fudge asked dumbly.
"If you really want to hurt Dumbledore, don't go after me. There is a much better target, one that has the advantage of being softer and more vulnerable than I am." Harry nodded his head. "Thank you for your time, Minister, I hope you enjoyed this talk as much as I did."
"Who?"
"What's in it for me?"
It took some time but the two were able to come up with a deal that satisfied both parties.
"Well?" Fudge prompted.
"Snape, Dumbledore's pet death eater. You want to hurt the old man? To force him to burn through his store of favors? Get Snape into an open court, get him to talk, and sentence him to die. The public will turn on the old bastard in a heartbeat when they see the length he's willing to go on behalf of a murdering terrorist."