Chapter 251: The Event On The Horizon
If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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The evening moon rose in the blue sky, ushering in the time of night, tugging the cover off from over the arrays of stars, revealing all the constellations that peered down on the mortals of the world. But in a clearing by the woods, away from the excitement of the city — bright flashing lightbulbs strobing all around like a disco ball in an eighties nightclub, ushering a different sort of zest and zeal.
A gigantic multi-colored sign lined with bulky tinted lightbulbs hung on two beams under which people walked past from a put-up stall with bored attendants talking to each other while stamping tickets to a cityside carnival.
People with families, friends, or their lovers on dates entered the beat-down grounds, occasionally housing the visiting carnivals and concerts. The music climbed louder, recorded clown laughter cackled through speakers, and the melodies of children's joy as some ran around with carnival food in hand while others rode on the chugging motor powering the rides.
Outside the raucous circus establishment, near a growth of trees that cast ghastly shadows under the weightless moonlight, space itself twisted and turned like being sucked through a tube before the one by one, the fabric of space spat out people dressed in black robes with air popping loudly, but only to be drowned out by the loud circus music.
In a few seconds, twenty people stood blending in the shadows, all looking at the inviting put-together fairgrounds of wood and metal with life thrumming with vigor.
"I can almost taste it," said the woman with thick, shining dark hair, long eyelashes, and heavily hooded eyes, "the joy, the delight, ah, it's almost palpitating," she stuck out tongue as if wanting to taste the emotions.
Bellatrix Lestrange's companions turned their eyes hidden beneath their masked faces to the woman, many wondering how the woman could descend further into madness; she had been twisted as writhing horrors behind her once great beauty — but that was Azkaban for you, it never failed to leave its taint on its guests, and Bellatrix had stayed long enough to call it her home.
She cackled, her body shivered, and her shoulder involuntary twitched as she turned to a robed matchstick figure standing in the middle of the groups, a hood covering the bowed head that sat upon a slouched back.
"Rivers!" Bellatrix called as she hopped to him like a schoolgirl. "So what do you have planned today? Tell meee~! I. Am. So. Looking. To. Having. Some. Fun. Tonight!"
Rivers looked at the crazy woman swaying her waist in front of him as her curls bounced from shoulder to shoulder. How had it come to this? How was he roped into this?
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Rivers had heard tales about Azkaban and its notorious jailers, but never could he have realized that hallowed eyes and depressed voices couldn't even scratch the surface of the realities of the most harrowing prison on living lands.
Being imprisoned in a shoddy excuse of a room — something that even by the most losest of the standards couldn't be called a jail room. Floors and walls seeping with moisture from the surrounding sea kept the cell uncomfortably wet all around the year; the days and days he had spent trapped not being able to find a dry spot to rest with the crazy screams, crying, and the woman's laughter ringing in his ears had driven him longing for the simple bed back home — he would even beg for the cold wood floor, or anything as long as it was dry.
Then there was the chilling abrasive air coming from the barred window that scraped the skin, leaving it cold and raw. He and the prisoners were given an old matty blanket with a thick weave that did a poor job of keeping anyone warm — but that was a negligible problem when the only cover he had gotten wet like everything else.
The food was always cold mush that had left his teeth without exercise for years, and the water was limited, hastily thrown down their gullet by the Aurors who were always in a hurry to get out of the Dementor's sight that always stared at them from under their robes as if the Aurors were fresh, juicy prey.
No one talked in Azkaban. There was plenty of screaming, crying (and the woman's laughter) but never any talking.
Rivers hadn't minded it when he had newly arrived, but as the days passed by and the Dementors gathered around in his cell for a mint meal every day for weeks, he hoped someone would tell him that there was a way to escape the daily nightmare, but no one spoke a word — even after he called and cried for someone, anyone — no one spoke — not even an "It's no use," that he had read in the books.
Rivers had soon come to realize that in Azkaban, there was no hiding from the Dementors. As long one stayed in the fortress, they were nothing more than feeding beds for the hooded monstrosities.
As long as they stayed.
He couldn't lie if he hadn't thought of breaking out, but those mentations were squashed by his own hard logic. He wasn't a magical savant; neither he possessed a crew of minions for a breakout, nor could he assemble one — the people had long lost hope; he lacked leverage that would make the Aurors for him.
In short, there was no way out for him.
'Without help,' Rivers thought bitterly, 'I can't get out of here.'
Then the walls of hell broke open, and his face was hit by cold rain and windy gusts after years. He was so thirsty that he stuck out his tongue and let the raindrops hit his tongue — it felt heavenly.
It must be a dream, he had thought. But then he realized why the damned woman had been laughing for so long.
Before his mental faculties could catch up, he was dragged out of his cell. They, whoever they were, didn't technically drag him out; they didn't even touch him — magic lifted him off from the ground, and he was flown through what he inferred as corridors, he had only vaguely seen them only once when he was brought in, but at that time, he was taken by the sight of the doomed prisoners without light in their eyes.
Soon he was out of the fortress, just like that. He was out of the prison; he had spun his brain into hopelessness by thinking on how to escape — but here he was, seeing the moon without the rusted black iron bars in his way.
'It's raining,' he thought, but the shower wasn't falling on him — it was perfect.
"Rivers Lock."
For a second, there was no reaction from Rivers; it had after all been so long that he had been called by his name — he was always Prisoner — no guard had called him by his name, he doubted they even knew about it.
"Rivers Lock."
Rivers finally weakly lifted his thin neck up and fronted his gaunt face to the caller. In the weak light of the pouring and thundering rain, Rivers couldn't see the face; all he could see was a short and thin man dressed in heavy robes.
"It's nice to finally meet you after so long," said the man, "though I wished it would've been in better circumstances," Rivers could feel the man's eyes looking all over him, "hmm, your condition doesn't seem to be great," and he said it like it was surprising
How dare this man say that and have the nerve to be surprised, he thought. Rivers was sure this man was some sort of pampered imbecile who hadn't tasted a day of hardship.
Rivers growled at the man, but all that came out was a frail groan from his unused voice box, and his neck couldn't keep his head up, and it fell back down.
The man chuckled humourlessly, "It seems you have some vigor left in you. Good, that's good. Well, that aside, we are here to break out some friends, and I thought it would be appropriate if we took you with us, because without some help, there's no getting off this island without dying in the sea," there was a chuckle, "and it was sort of my fault that you ended up here."
Rivers painfully cranked his neck up: "What?"
"Hmm? You don't recognize me?" the man crouched down and pulled off his hood to reveal a thin but healthy face.
Rivers' blank eyes stared at the face; it took a few seconds for his muddled mind to pull up a memory. It was one of a half-torn, stained, wanted poster he had seen stuck on a pub wall, and on it was a chubby man, who sweated as his mugshot was captured.
The man in front of him was nothing like that, but his brain still brought up the memory, and even in his current state, Rivers trusted his mind, and another blink and look at the man's face, his pupils shrunk in recognition.
"You-you. . . are. . . P-Pettigrew. . . Peter Pettigrew!"
Peter flatly smiled, "Glad you recognized me. We have only conversed once through my sole letter to you, but that one time has led us to meet here again."
"You!" Rivers hoarse voice raged. "You are the reason I-I. . ." he fumed, anger fueling his weak body.
"That would be incorrect," said Peter, "I simply provided you information; it was your decision to act on it. Blaming me won't take away from your foolish choices. But let's put that behind us, cherish the present, and look forward to a bright present."
Peter's voice was so miserably flat that all his word sounded unmotivated and thus totally false. Rivers was left without words — there wasn't anything he could say; he was a man with a broken body, while Peter Pettigrew was a man who had seemingly just broken Azkaban.
"Now, I would like to meet my Master," said Peter. "I'm sure you had heard of him. . . he goes by the name. . ."
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And that's how Rivers Lock ended up banking up with the Death Eaters. He went from the leader of Novellus Accionites to a lower-middle circle member of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters.
For the first time in his life, he had been bound, his freedom chained. He was below the upper and inner circle members, any of them could order him around, and he couldn't refuse — not if he wanted to face the wrath of some individuals who wouldn't think for a second before either torturing or straight out killing him.
Then there was the Dark Lord, who would talk to him for hours about his work with Novellus Accionites. Rivers hoped to smooth talk to the Dark Lord, hoping to get into the good graces, but that went nowhere. The Dark Lord would call him to ask questions, and if he tried to deviate to build some relationship, the Dark Lord would put the conversation right on track.
It didn't help that the man was a Master Legilemens, and there was nothing he could hide. Rivers wouldn't even know that his mind was being read without his knowledge, but he did doubt that such was the case.
Finally, there was Peter Pettigrew, his handler in the Death Eater organization. He served the Dark Lord under Peter and was essentially Peter's subordinate.
Subordinate, Rivers had scoffed in his mind. Rivers' was sure that in Peter's mind, he was just a tool for Peter to use. His life was in Peter's hands, and it was all but a law because Dark Lord had decreed it.
He had no way of running.
Rivers was brought out his thoughts by a snapping of fingers in front of his face.
"Rivers? Mr. Lock?" called Bellatrix, and Rivers looked blankly at her.
"There are reports," he started, "that there is a pair of Aurors present there in that carnival today," Dark Lord's Death Eaters had a reach that his Novellus Accionites could only dream of, "both of them are muggleborns, and from what it seems, are on a date."
Bellatrix giggled, twirling her wand in locks of her hair, "Oh my~! Maybe we will play with one while the other watches."
Rivers ignored the mad woman's ramblings and continued with his plans, "Our motive today is to gain the pair's attention," he looked around the other Death Eaters. "All Azkaban ten members are here and will be entering the carnival without any disguises."
He was also part of the escapees, but he wasn't of importance and wasn't publicized as the escapees, which he was glad about.
"All of you will enter the carnival and make it look like that you're meeting in a muggle carnival, away from the wizardkind's eyes, but you're going to purposefully make yourself seen by the Aurors, so they will contact their friends back at the DMLE, and —"
"Have a party!" said Bellatrix, and there was a light on the top of her wand, thrumming with magic as wanting to rip free.
"We are not to use magic unless it's not necessary," said Rivers, "we need to keep the arriving Aurors here as long as we can, so please situate yourself near the muggles, so the Aurors won't use magic as well." He turned to the remaining Death Eaters, "All of you'll wait for my signal before doing what you were ordered to do and put the plan into motion. Be careful because we are going to be working with the place brimming with Aurors, one mist—"
"You don't need to tell us that, kid," said Augustus Rookwood, ex-Unspeakable, and one of the Azkaban Ten. "You just make sure that your ends happen smoothly."
". . . I see," said Rivers, "well then, I have nothing more to say. It's time to start."
The twenty Death Eaters trained their eyes on the carnival, planning to set off the biggest event of the year and a starting point for a chain of events to come.
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FictionOnlyReader - Author - I have no idea why, but I have gotten slow. I'm writing really slow, and the chapter content is going through a change I'm not liking. This is the second short chapter in a row. I'll try to figure it out by the new year. I'm not going to stop posting, so don't worry about it.
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Chapter 252: Plan Unfolds
If you want to read ahead, you can check out my Patreón @
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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Aurors Edward Moss and Isobel Dean were both relatively recent additions to the Aurors Office. Both made themselves known as all-rounders at their times in Hogwarts — one of the basic requirements of being inducted into the Auror training programs. Both passed said training programs with flying colors earning them their bronze shields, officially making them part of the DMLE as Junior Aurors.
Alas, while Trainee Aurors thought their lives were rough with training that went from early morning to the late evening didn't know they were nothing more than flowers soaking sunlight in a comfortable greenhouse shielded away from the harsh cold of the real outside world.
Passing in the same batch as each other meant Edward and Isobel joined the force at the same time, but that also meant that they entered the slave life of being a Junior Auror at the same time. Junior Aurors were worked to their bones — interrogative skills, deduction, dueling, stealth, potions and poisons, and more paperwork — everything they learned as Trainee Aurors was tested and tempered to the real-life standards. There was a saying in the Aurors Office — a rookie Auror wasn't really an Auror until they were broken down and rebuilt back together by Office.
It wasn't strange that Edward and Isobel, who went through the process at the same time, formed a strong bond of camaraderie forged through the fires of rookie hell. Moreover, DMLE putting forward the stringiest qualifications and requirements meant that only half a handful of people were ever made Junior Aurors every year. In Edward and Isobel's batch, only four made it out of training.
The long hours, workloads that even a mule would whine about meant that Edward and Isobel spent most of their days together for weeks and months at end, and after over a year, they began growing closer, and one thing led to another, and here they were visiting a traveling circus group for a date.
"It's too loud," said Isobel, pulling off a clump from the cloud of pink cotton candy. "Maybe we should've gone somewhere a bit quieter."
Edward nodded while sipping a soda from a bottle. "Is it strange that I miss the cubical? Because I really miss the cubical a lot."
"It's not strange, not at all. It's cozy and warm."
"So cozy."
"We can always bounce and go somewhere else. I think I remember a good restaurant that we can go to. It'll be in the range that I can apparate with you side-apparating."
"Hmm. . . okay, but I think we should see the show first — we did buy the tickets."
Isobel nodded, looking at the stub ticket in her hands. It felt strange to actually use the money on something. Junior Aurors made really good money, much more than their peers in other fields were making, but they worked so much that, believe it or not, Junior Aurors didn't spend much in the first year of their career because of the sheer amount of work they did which led to no downtime — zero work-life balance — no time to continue with hobbies — no money spent.
They had finally spent some coin; it would be a waste to let it go to waste.
Isobel looked head at the largest striped tent in the middle of the entire carnival — every path to the main tent was lined with concession booths and lines of multi-colored triangle flags hanging from the overhead grid.
She looked at the menagerie tent in the row of stands. "Edward, we should go to pet—" Isobel winced, feeling the sharp pain in her arm. She looked to her side and saw Edwards clamping her arm. "What are you —"
"I have Rabastan Lestrange in my sight," Edwards said with an unnatural stillness, "and he's with Rodolphus Lestrange. Don't look!"
Isobel freed her arm from Edward's grasp, looped it into his, and leaned into him. "Where are they?" she asked.
"They're standing in between two stands, dressed in simple pants and shirts. . . I can't seem to see any other Death Eaters," said Edward, observing through his peripherals.
"I see more," said Isobel.
Edward stiffened for a brief second before speaking with his bottle near his lips, "Who did you spot?"
"Antonin Dolohov at my two and further along the same line, I see Milkes Mulciber," she gulped, "that's four out of the Azkaban Ten."
". . . and if these four are here, there's a good chance that other six are also around somewhere."
"We need to call for backup."
"You have your shield?" asked Edward.
Isobel nodded, her hand going inside her satchel purse, feeling for the badge, and next to it sat her wand. "I sent for backup," she said, feeling her badge heat up.
"What should we do?" Edwards asked. "Also, let's walk; it's eye-catching for us to stand here in the middle of the street."
"We should keep an eye on them without engaging," said Isobel. "If all ten of the escapees are here, then they must be meeting here — you saw how they were dressed, none of them had a robe on, they are clearly not making their presence known."
". . . what if they're not here for a meeting. . . what if they're here to raid the carnival." Edward felt Isobel's eyes bore into him. "I mean, look around," they were surrounded by muggles and a distance away from the city, "isn't a place like this their preferred hunting ground?"
Isobel bit her lip, her other hand resting on her satchel tightened. "All we can do right now is to wait. . . and hope the backup arrives fast."
They didn't notice that another Death Eater was standing just behind them, listening to their conversation with a carton of popcorn in hand.
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- (Scene Break) -
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James Potter sat in his office, working through a week's worths of paperwork due the next day. Moreover, today he was a Thursday, and he didn't want to work through the Friday evening after-hours to get the work done, so he had brought in the blankets and sheets to grind the night away.
"I need to do this work daily!" said James, groaning and stretching his arms above his head as he leaned into his chair. After staring at the wall above for half a minute, he got back to dipping his quill into the inkpot and got back to the papers.
*Beep*
The Senior Auror jerked straight in his chair. His hand went to his wand, which summoned his Senior Auror badge to him, and it was hot to touch. James' eyes narrowed as he saw the badge number which had reached out to him and the message coded in Auror's in-house cipher taught to every Auror.
"1553? That's Dean's number," James stood up from his chair; if he had read the code accurately, then it was no time for paperwork, and off he went.
The Junior Aurors sitting in their cubicles looked up to watch as one of the most decorated Senior Aurors ran through the bullpen, thinking is it was time for another prank. They didn't know that a majority of them were going to be vacating their cubicles in a while.
As James ran through the corridors, he met Senior Auror Proudfoot, who similarly came running through a different part of the Aurors Office.
"Did you get it too?" asked James as both men fell into a power walk; he could still feel the badge go through the cycles of heating up and down — Isobel was repeatedly sending the message.
Proudfoot nodded. Every Junior Auror in the Auror's Office was assigned a Senior Auror mentor(boss), but at the same time, they were assigned to another Senior Auror as per department protocol.
"Moss. . . Edward Moss is there with Dean," said Proudfoot. "They're at a date if I heard the grapevine correctly."
The two men arrived at Captain Auror Gawain Robards' office, who was their immediate superior. James knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an answer. Inside sat Robarts, and Captain Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, who they weren't expecting to be there.
Robards looked away from Shacklebolt, who he had been talking to, and looked at his subordinates with a frown. "What do you two think you're doing entering my office like this?" He looked at Proudfoot, "I expect this from Potter, but you — you should know better."
"Sir, we got an emergency message from Junior Auror Isobel Dean," Proudfoot spoke, getting to the point. "She's at a muggle carnival with Junior Auror Edward Moss and reported that they have spotted four out of the ten Azkaban Death Eater escapees."
Robards' jaw set, and Shacklebolt's gasped. Robards' gaze sharpened as he asked, "Which ones have the identified?"
"The Lestrange brothers, Dolohov, and Mulciber," said James.
"Is it positive?"
"Yes, both of them are a hundred percent sure. They're currently watching them from a distance without engaging."
"Good decision," Robards got up from his chair and looked at Shacklebolt, "Go mobilize your unit. I'll go to Scrimgeour and talk to him about gaining access to Hit Wizards."
Shacklebolt nodded and set out to gather his Senior and Junior Auror.
Robards turned to James and Proudfoot and started, "Start briefing your Juniors and spread the word to the other Seniors to do the same and meet me with the status as soon as possible."
In a minute, the news reached the Head Auror Scrimgeour, and in the next ten minutes, Amelia Bones' home was floo-ed to call the already gone home Head of DMLE back
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- (Scene Break) -
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"Dean."
Isobel heard a rustle behind her and took out her wand in response, but the sound of the voice did put her to ease as she turned to see her superior, James Potter, standing behind her along with Captain Auror Robards and a couple more Junior Aurors from the same sub-unit as her.
"Sir, you're here," she said, sounding relieved.
"What's the situation?" James asked, looking around the woods where Isobel stood. "In your initial message, you said they were in the carnival; why did you call use behind it?" The carnival stood a distance away from them, the music just audible.
"Sir, the Death Eaters, eventually moved out of the carnival and arrived here," she pointed a couple paces, and in the dim of the night, Edwards could be seen crouching behind a bush, looking into a clearing, "Edwards is keeping a lookout on them — it seems that our guesses were right and the escaped Death Eaters have indeed gathered here for a meeting."
"All ten?" asked Robards.
"No, sir, ever since our last communication, two more joined — Travers and Barilier."
"Good job, Auror Dean," said Robards, "your and Moss' response was excellent in this situation. Now, please fall back, and have a rest while we apprehend the Death Eaters."
With Robards' words, people dressed in Auror robes stepped out from behind the trees — as if emerging straight from the shadows. Isobel's eyes widened at the density of Aurors gathered for one operation — she noted around a number just shy of four dozen — one Captain Auror, a handful Senior Aurors, and the numerous Junior Auros, all gathered dressed in their Auror overcoats, looking ready for battles.
Sirius Black stepped out from the group and reported to Robards, "Sir, we are ready on our end, but it would take time for Hit Wizards to arrive here on the scene," unlike Isobel and Edwards, who knew of the place and could apparate, others had to take the broom to arrive, "should we wait or. . ."
"No use waiting for the Hit Wizards for six people," Robards replied sturdily, "we will move strongly and swiftly." He paused in thought, "order for the anti-apparition wards to be drawn up. If the Hit Wizards don't arrive by then, we will proceed on our own."
Sirius took the order and took the batch of Juniors with the warding duties to cast an anti-apparition ward around the area.
"Any idea what they're talking about?" James asked Edwards, who was relieved from his watch duty.
"No, sir, I wasn't able to hear what they're talking about, but they do seem to be in a heated discussion."
"Does it look like they're waiting for the others?"
"It doesn't look like it, sir, but without actually listening to them, we can't be sure."
James nodded, but a thought stuck in his mind. Why were these Death Eaters meeting there? He knew Voldemort was back, so why would they meet here, far away from any wizarding location, especially this particular group of people who would despise any place that wasn't touched with magic in some way.
It didn't make sense to him.
"S-Sir."
Everyone turned to see a Junior Auror with his wand out toward the sky, with a frown on his face.
"What is it?" asked Sirius, who was coordinating the warding
"W-We can't cast the ward."
"What do you mean, you can't cast the ward?"
"The ward isn't pulling up, sir. Something is blocking it."
Robards and James looked at Sirius, who pulled out his wand to check the problem, but everyone got the answer before he could even cast the spell.
"Oh, dear little cousin~."
Those who knew the voice couldn't forget it even if it had been more than a decade since the last time they had heard it. The voice was unmistakably from that woman — the pitch, the tone, rhythm, texture, everything was the same as all those years ago.
Sirius looked down towards the place where the six Death Eaters were, and suddenly, there were now ten people standing — all of the Azkaban Ten, and in front of the group stood Bellatrix Lestrange in all her crazy glory.
"Look at you all grown up~, big Auror Black, hehe~," she said.
Everyone saw Bellatrix raise her wand, and so did Voldemort's other nine best duellers, trained by the Dark Lord himself.
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- (Scene Break) -
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In the Ministry Atrium with the Fountain of Magical Brethren, the air twisted and turned, black haze spread, and from within, stepped out — tall, thin, and black-hooded, his terrible snakelike face white and gaunt, slit-pupiled eyes — Dark Lord Voldemort.
He glanced around the empty Atrium. The golden gates that were passed through by hundreds of people were now open, with everybody having gone home. Even the security booth was empty because no visitors were allowed at night.
He cracked his neck and smoothly moved towards the golden gate, knowing the path that led to the Prophecy Hall, but the moment he turned to face the golden gates, he came to a stop.
Albus Dumbledore was dressed in white and grey robes, a long white beard and hair, and blue eyes peeking from behind the golden framed half-moon glasses and were standing in front of the golden gates.
"Hello, Tom," said Dumbledore, "do you know that Ministry is closed off to visitors, so it's not proper for you to be here. How about you turn away and leave."
Or so he said, but Voldemort watched the old man take out his wand.
"Dumbledore. . . how did you know?"
"I never expected this from you, Tom," said Dumbledore, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes at how Dumbledore said his muggle name. "I never expected for you to use stealth and distraction as part of your arsenal. From what I remember, you were always a fan of the flairs. . . maybe, you have changed after so many years — it has been more than a decade after all. How has all that time treated you?" Dumbledore smiled, "Was it pleasant?"
Voldemort gritted his teeth; the old man was mocking him, just like he had always done as if he was lower than him.
"You made a mistake, Dumbledore," he said as his wand slid out from his sleeves, "you shouldn't have come here; now you're going to die here with no one to see it."
Dumbledore tilted his head, "You're mistaken, Tom. Today, you won't be leaving from here. It was foolish for you to come over for the prophecy, and now I'm going to make you regret it."
The air itself started to tremble as magic thrummed from the two magical powerhouses — the two most powerful men in the country.
"Time to go to the next great adventure, Dumbledore," said Voldemort as his magic flowed into his wand, concentrating as green light sparked up at the wand tip.
"It must've been tough, all those years; it's time for you to rest," Dumbledore smiled as he drowned the death stick with his magic.
The decade's biggest duel was about to start.
The two supernovas of magic had finally met.
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Quinn West - MC - Question: "What do you think would be my favorite manga/anime?"
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Okay, this felt a little better; by the end, I felt that things were going back into sync. Let's see how the next chapter goes.
Dumbledore - 2nd Coming of Merlin - It's time.
Voldemort - Dark Lord - to DUEL!
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If you have any ideas regarding the magic you want to see in this fiction or want to offer some ideas regarding the progression. Move onto the DISCORD Server and blast those ideas.
The link is in the synopsis!
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
FictionOnlyReader
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Just like always,
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