Chapter 134: August 25, 1994: As The Night Sets (2/2)
”Age?”
”Older... look at the magic. They could take out fifteen people, use unknown magic… Those shields aren't a simple Protego. It also looked like neither your or my attack didn't phase them much.”
”Gender?”
”Your guess is as good as mine, mate.”
”How do we narrow it down? We don't have a visual clue.”
”From the top of my head, we should look at people who have lost family members to Voldemort and the Death Eaters.”
Sirius looked up at James with a 'really?' expression. ”That doesn't narrow it down. You know how those days were, right?”
”Of course, I know that,” said James. ”But if we add someone good with magic, we can narrow it down by a lot. It's just a matter of choosing how good with magic they are.”
”Hmm... if we are going with that... we can record the spell residue here to get matches against wands,” added Sirius. Spell residues against wands was a technique used by Aurors to check if a specific spell came from wands. The caveat of the method was a low accuracy rate and wasn't taken as evidence in court hearings. But Aurors still employed it to narrow down their suspect list.
”Ugh, I wanted to go to a bar and discuss the game... being an Auror can suck sometimes,” sighed James.
Sirius laughed at his ex-partner during their Trainee Auror and Junior Auror days and patted his shoulder, ”Come on, let's get this logged in quick. The quicker we move, the earlier we will be able to go home.”
The following day, the Auror Office would get the shocking information about the condition of the admitted people and would realise what the spell had done to them.
The 'invisible vigilante's' infamy would travel far and wide.
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The door creaked open as Barty Jr. carefully stepped inside a large room, trying not to make any noise so as not to disturb the room resident. Barty's eyes were drawn to what lay ahead as, standing on a nightstand adjacent to a king-sized opposite the door was a candle, illuminating a small portion of the large bed.
As he gently closed the door behind him, Barty heard a man's voice, but it was strangely high-pitched, rough, and cold, as a sudden blast of icy wind. ”You've returned, Barty.”
”Yes, my lord,” replied Barty, standing still in his spot.
”Did you do as I asked?” asked the voice.
Barty gulped before answering honestly, ”... No, my Lord. I didn't.”
There was a straining silence of seconds before the voice returned, and Barty could hear the much colder response he feared. ”Tell me why, Barty. All I asked was to brand my symbol in the sky.”
”T-There were complications, my Lord.”
”What complications, Bartemius...”
”Some of your servants decided to play with the muggles and muggleborns after the game, my Lord,” replied Barty Jr.
”And how is that a complication? Wouldn't that have been the perfect time to launch my mark. It would have shown my servants that I have returned, and, as planned, the marked ones would have confirmed it at the sight of the mark growing stronger,” said the voice, and by the end, the shrill voice had turned into a hiss.
A cold touch on his leg made Barty Jr. flinch into a still stop. He looked down with bated breath to see a thigh-sized green snake slither by as it surrounded him with its long body. He could hear a whispered hiss around him as the snake circled him.
”My Lord, someone annihilated the Death Eaters who were causing the ruckus,” spoke Barty quickly as he felt his Lord's familiar slowly reduce the radius of the circle. ”I-I couldn't see all of it... but when I arrived... all your servants were lying on the ground under the effects of some kind of magic. I couldn't see the wizard who cast the magic, but there was someone there.”
There was a hissing sound from the bed, and the snake around Barty Jr.'s feet slithered away from him without a hiss. Seeing the giant snake leave made Barty Jr. feel safe. He had seen the snake's fangs, and the venom would keep injury wounds open.
”Come near me, Bartemius.”
Barty Jr. followed the commands and quickly walked towards the bedside, not wanting to keep the Dark Lord waiting even a single second. His legs bent as naturally as he breathed. He showed his respect by getting on his knees and staring down at the floor.
”Look at me, Bartemius,” ordered the Dark Lord. Barty didn't hesitate. It was an ugly sight: the shape of a crouched human child, hairless and scaly-looking white pale skin. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble. Its face had a flat nose and overall a snakelike appearance. Its eyes shone blood red.
When Barty Jr.'s eyes met the gleaming red eyes, a sharp pain assaulted his head. It felt like his brain was being poked with multiple hot needles: heat, pain, burn, cold... Barty Jr.'s screams filled the room, but the next second, his screams abruptly went silent. Voldemort had used a silencing spell to quiet down the screaming Barty Jr. He was in no mood to enjoy the screams and wanted to see what his servant had seen.
The Dark Lord dove into the mind without any care, and soon he found the fresh memory of the World Cup. Through the eyes of Barty Jr., Voldemort watched the scene in front of him. A dozen or so of his Death Eater servants were laying in the middle of the campsite while Barty Jr. stood behind the remains of a burned tent, observing the scene.
Voldemort's expert and experienced reptilian red eye slits stared at the magic of soot, haze, and smoke emanating from the middle of the circle up from his servants. The reddish-black mist flowed down like gas and yet, the magic remained within a boundary, all over his minions.
'African... how rare, I have never seen this magic in Britain.' His eyes shone with interest. Voldmert continued to look in interest, and curiosity flashed his eyes as the memory continued. He couldn't stop but look at the magic, but even he failed to get any useful clue. He only could confirm that there was someone there, and the caster had used magic that wasn't British.
Barty Jr.'s memory ended when James Potter and Sirius Black blasted the ice doom into smithereens, but the person who cast orange shields had already apparated out of the campsite. Voldemort released Barty from the Legilimency, and the servant collapsed on the ground, curling up and shivering.
'I shall take care of this when I get my body back,' thought Voldemort. 'For now, I need to announce...'
”Give me your arm, Bartemius... the left arm,” said Voldemort, ignoring the terrible state Barty was in.
Barty stood up. His head buzzed and he had shivers. He groggily and painfully raised his left arm. The shirt sleeve was violently ripped, leaving the faded Death Eater mark in all its glory.
A thin, boney hand with an ash bone wand appeared from the shadows of the bed. The Dark Lord tapped his wand against the mark and it grew deeper in colour. The faded ink slowly regained some of its deep black glory.
Some wizards and witches around their houses, pubs, shops, clutched their arms as they had a short, yet intense, burst of burning pain on their arms. All of them curled up their sleeves to see the dormant mark which had faded thirteen years ago had regained a shade of black. Every marked servant shivered. Some out of fear, others out of joy, while many felt both.
Down in the Crouch home, Peter Pettigrew had put down his fork and knife, while he, too, looked at the darkening mark. ”So it begins.”
A solemn and bleak fortress stood on an island in the middle of the North Sea surrounded by turbulent water. A place where the scums of society were sent as punishment and spent time with the vilest creatures known to man. A place where hope and joy were lost, and all that remained was misery and grim, making it hell on Earth.
But on this day, with heavy rain pouring down the fortress and seas raging in the distance, the loud laughter of a woman rang out, filling the void and breaking the silence. It was a burst of maniacal laughter that somehow suited the fortress; if there was a type of laughter that existed in the place, then this was to be it. But her laughter wasn't shallow, for there was pure joy, unprecedented delight, and unadulterated elation. Emotions that weren't supposed to exist in the fortress known as Azkaban, but yet there they were.
A message had been sent.
The Dark Lord had returned.
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Quinn West - MC - Hypocrite of a high order...
Voldemort - Dark Lord - Let the servants know... their master is back.
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