Non-verbal spells: Stupefy!
Verbal spells: "Stupefy"
Money and power. They ruled the world that I lived in. Some would say that one provided access to the other but those people are ignorant to my world. I do not talk about the type of power that allows a person to command others, no, I mean magical power.
My world is hidden, more so then the underworld of the Normals. Rules are not enforced by the barrel of a gun but by the point of a wand. A flash of green light ends a person's life with frightening suddenness. With no more then whispered words a person can kill.
I am intimately familiar with the light. It has plagued me since that fateful Halloween when the course of my life was irreversibly altered. For years I dreamt of it within the confines of my cupboard that my loving relatives allowed me to sleep in. Then when I left the house, that still haunts my nightmares, and encountered the world where I truly belong with the help of a Squib who recognised my famous-or perhaps infamous- scar I encountered the green light once more.
Except I am no longer the target but I am now the wielder. Some would call me a killer or murderer…
… and I would agree. I have no illusions about what I am. Blood covers my hands and I no longer try to delude myself into thinking that none of it was innocent in some way. None of the people I deal with are truly innocent, much like me.
Death haunts my steps, it has for my entire life and some part of me revels in it while a smaller part reviles what I am. I could say that I have been forced along this path but that is a lie, it was my choice to disappear into the darkness, my choice to stay missing even when I knew who I truly was.
Do I have regrets? Only one.
Even that though is more of a want, a need for acceptance that I have never had but still crave when I am at my lowest. I stay away though. She exists in a world that I can never truly be a part of and I would never drag her into my world, though at times the temptation is almost overwhelming. I know that now but the decision still eats at me. When I think about what could have happened though I feel my resolve strengthen.
Still every time I see her it's like a knife in the gut and I have the scars to prove that I know exactly how that feels. Though I don't believe in it, our separation is for the greater good, hers that is. I even put that on the note I left her even though she knows how I regard the so called 'greater good'.
The robes are black and heavy; it's to be expected since they're reinforced with strips of dragonhide. Against the black material the damage that the robes have sustained stands out even more, it's the type of damage that comes from powerful spell fire and the fact that I'm still alive and wearing the robes sends a message that only a fool could miss.
I'm dangerous, stay out of my way.
Of course there is always the odd fool who ignores the warning but the truly talented killers see it and mark me as one of their own.
With a soft pop I appear in the Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic. For once I'm wearing my real face, scar and all, though it can't be seen behind my charcoal black hair. While it will identify me to anyone that I might encounter it will also stop them from shipping me off to Azkaban if this goes wrong, instead I'll be forced into Hogwarts.
Azkaban or Hogwarts.
Prison or school.
Dementors or children.
For me the choice is easy. Besides, I don't plan on getting caught but being prepared is better then being caught unawares. I didn't reach my teens by being stupid.
Well not overly so.
The guard in the security booth is asleep. I feel a sneer curl my lips, I despise laziness in any form. I had picked early morning because I wanted the guard to be at his lowest but I expected at least an attempt at professionalism.
Despite the guard's state the network of wards around his booth stop me from continuing, luckily I have prepared for this.
A jolt of magic passes through me as I get within ten feet of the desk and the guard jerks awake. At least he's smart enough to set a perimeter ward before sleeping, though the fact that it has such a small radius speaks of either inexperience or sloppiness.
He rises to his feet at my approach and starts to fidget when I focus on him. I resist the urge to smirk. A quick glance at the badge on the front of his robes gives me a name. Eric Levinson.
I eye his hand and then look up to meet his eyes once more.
"I'm currently in between wands. I ran into some trouble yesterday and haven't had time to purchase a replacement," I lie smoothly; it was one of the few useful skills that my relatives imparted on me.
Levinson eyes me carefully, as if he's trying to spot a lie. I meet his eyes, Occlumency shields at full strength just in case, and he looks away first. Very few people can match my stare or stare me down.
With a sigh he grabs a metal rod, similar to a wand and taps a symbol on his rune encrusted desk. A gap appears in the wards, framed by shimmering magic. Levinson steps through and extends the rod towards me.
It works in a similar manner to handheld metal detectors, except it searches for magical items, in this case a wand. I have no intention of letting him scan me.
I lash out with my left hand and grab his right wrist in an iron grip. As he shouts out in alarm I channel a wandless stunner through my left hand while parrying his desperate blow with my right.
The shout dies half formed in his throat and I step forward to catch him and lower him to the ground carefully. I twist my wrist awkwardly and a wand shoots from my right sleeve, I catch it in a motion that took me hours of practice to perfect.
Remember what I said about death haunting my steps. Cypress, twelve inches with Thestral hair for the core.
Cypress; representation of mourning, death and despair.
Thestrals; believed to be an omen of death by much of the Wizarding World.
Well the wand does choose the wizard so perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised that I picked a wand with a personality so similar to my own. Occasionally I wonder if magic is sentient but in the end it doesn't really matter, just as long as it works for me.
With an idle wave I erect a Notice-Me-Not Charm around the body and security booth. It will buy me seconds the next time someone is in the Atrium but seconds can make all the difference.
Keeping my wand out I head for the elevators a grim smile on my face.
Dumbledore would never leave something as seemingly important as this prophecy unprotected. I step into the Hall of Prophecies and my wand comes up.
Veneficus Deprehensia! The radar charm works similar to muggle sonar except it rebounds off of a person's magical core and the caster gets a picture in their mind of where the hidden witches or wizards are, if there are indeed any.
Stupefy! A slight twist, not taught to the general public, causes the red beam to be as long and thick as my forearm and significantly more powerful then most stunners.
A shield flared to life but it wasn't even half formed before my stunner tore it apart and collided with its caster who, from the lack of distortion waves that were common with Disillusionment Charms, I assumed to be hiding underneath an Invisibility Cloak. I summoned the cloak to reveal a tall redhead in dragonhide boots who looked to be in his mid twenties. A mirror lay on the ground next to him, I swore softly. I was officially on the clock, on the upside though I had gained an Invisibility Cloak that disappeared into the magically enlarged pockets that littered the inside of my robe.
The first feelings of anxiety made themselves known as I began to run down the length of the halls, checking the dates that were displayed at the end of each towering shelf. If the guard had managed to use the mirror then I had perhaps five minutes before Dumbledore turned up, less if he alerted the Unspeakables and Aurors.
I recognised the room from when Voldemort battered his way through Occlumency shields, causing me to blackout in a manner similar to some seers when they have visions or recite prophecies.
I've never put much stock in Divination, I despise the idea that I'm not in control of my own destiny. My Legilimency is far better then my Occlumency and Voldemort made a fatal mistake by failing to guard his subconscious as well as he did the rest of his mind.
By following the path that my scar offered I could enter Voldemort's subconscious after breaking through a series of lesser barriers. Searching for information relating to the Department of Mysteries provided a wealth of knowledge that I didn't necessarily need but was willing to take. I couldn't spend as much time looking around his subconscious as I would have liked however least my presence was discovered by Voldemort. Still, without the information that he held I never would have been able to get this far.
Row ninety seven appears quickly and I dart into the opening, rapidly scanning shelves for a specific orb. My eyes latch onto it. Dust covered it and written beneath it was a date but the black writing beneath the date held my attention.
S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.
Dark Lord and? – Harry Potter
I stared at it for a moment, the small part of it that I knew making its way to the front of my mind.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...
I wonder how much more there is to it and just how am I meant to beat a man who is widely acknowledged as the greatest Dark Lord to have ever set foot in England. It will change my life that much I know but by taking the orb I feel as though I am accepting responsibility for killing Voldemort.
Not for the sheep that he preys on though. I'll do it for revenge. For my parents and all the kids like me who won't know their parents.
When my fingers close around it a burst of warmth shoots up my arm, similar but not as strong as the feeling I got when I picked up my wand for the first time. It was brief but undeniable and any doubt that I might have had about being the one the prophecy spoke of vanished from my mind. The orb disappeared into my robe, cushioned by the purloined Invisibility Cloak.
I allowed myself to indulge in a moment of satisfaction that I had done what Voldemort had been attempting for the better part of a year as I headed back towards the main aisle. It was perhaps my biggest mistake.
As I stepped out from between the shelves I caught a glimpse of distortion patterns out of the corner of my eye, several figures were arrayed around the door that I needed to pass through.
I had taken two steps from the cover of the shelves in the time it took me to identify what I was seeing and when I did my wand came up blinding speed even I dived forward in an attempt to reach the shelves on the opposite side of the aisle.
Flammum Orbis! With no hope for performing complex wand movements while flying through the air I use a point and shoot curse. A ball of fire erupts from the tip of my wand and streaks towards my attackers, trailing flames behind.
Any competent duelist should be able to deal with it, after all I may be a killer but I dislike killing people who aren't trying to kill me or who are simply doing their job unless they've screwed me over in some way and then all bets are off.
I don't get to see the effects of my spell however as I land in the relative safety of the shelves. I look up in time to see a pair of feet appear as a Disillusionment Charm fails, evidently they were prepared for me. Against my will I feel the barest traces of respect for whoever was in charge of the ambush before the stunner impacts the back of my head. Evidentially my attacker recognized the robes.
Regaining consciousness after being stunned is similar to regaining consciousness after being hit in the head with a blunt object.
You feel like crap, curse yourself for letting it happen and then take a look around to see where the hell you are.
Now I've never been taken into custody by British Aurors and certainly never their Unspeakables but I have seen an interrogation room or two in my short fifteen years of life. I would like to stress though that I'll be sixteen in a month.
The room I'm in is definitely an interrogation room. The walls are grey and unadorned while the metal table and two, heavy looking wooden chairs in front of me are battered and old.
I'm not sure what type of chair I'm in except that it's made from wood so I would wager a guess that it's a match to the others. my wrist are secured to it with a spell, most likely a standard restraining spell that I can end with a simple finite if I put enough power into it.
Wandless magic is so rare that it's never really taken into account and while the stunner I used earlier along with a banisher and summoning charm are the most advanced wandless magic that I'm capable of it's still more then ninety nine percent of the population is capable of.
There is no two way mirror like in non-magical interrogation rooms but a simple spell used to make one of the walls transparent from one side but with no effect on the other works just as well.
How do I know?
Hold you wand to the surface you want to see through and speak the incantation; Videlicet Visum.
So I'm in an interrogation room, magically bound to a chair that I can escape at any time. Before I do anything though I need to know what resources I have to work with.
To start with I have my wandless magic but should try to get a wand, preferably my own, at some point. Next I have a stolen Invisibility Cloak and prophecy orb, I know that they haven't been taken off of me since the pockets of my robe magically seal themselves unless I'm the one doing the opening and I can feel the orb pressing against my ribs.
The bracer that I had strapped to my left wrist is still there but it's lighter so I know that the shrunken potions are gone and I doubt they left the two runic grenades I had in case I ran into any large scale resistance, or just got the urge to blow something up.
I press my ankles against the legs of the chairs and find the two, glamour covered, daggers that I usually keep there missing.
In short, I'm screwed.
Nothing strange about that, my day can't get any worse at least.
I just had to open my mouth didn't I?
By my count I've been conscious for about forty five minutes and three Aurors just walked into the interrogation room.
The first one is Gawain Robards. At almost six and a half feet and god knows how many pounds of solid muscle he's an intimidating sight. The fact that he's marked as the next Head Auror speaks of his competence and possible political aspirations. I recognize the wand that he's twirling around in his hand as my own and narrow my eyes at it, a plan beginning to form.
After him comes Kingsley Shacklebolt. Tall, black and unshakeable, he's not someone you want to face if you can avoid it. Like Robards he's a protégé of Alastor Moody.
The next person through the door however causes a range of emotions within me. Apprehension and happiness dominant among them.