Well of Shadows
The Spread of Chaos
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Ten
~ The Spread of Chaos ~
Summer had finally been blown out like a candle confronting the northern winds that ushered in the chill beginnings of autumn. The sky was covered in a low blanket of leaden grey clouds that brought
with them a bitter and continuous drizzle. The rain would fall in sheets which billowed out at the occasional gust of wind.
The full moon was lost from sight behind the low ceiling of dark clouds this night, save for a soft glow in that region of the sky. The seemingly endless light rain had dwindled down to almost nothing, allowing the Death Eaters gathered in the forest clearing some comfort.
It was a small congregation, only a dozen or so, of the lower ranking Death Eaters. They had been summoned together by the Dark Lord and charged with the task of striking a small wizarding hamlet on the other side of the woods. Under the cover of the darkness and the trees, the Death Eaters would easily be able to wreak havoc upon the unsuspecting villagers, all of whom Lord Voldemort had deemed unworthy to live under his rule.
"Are we going to get a move on any time soon?" asked one, a relatively new recruit, called Thomas.
"Yes, it's almost time," confirmed Avery, the most senior Death Eater present. He had served Lord Voldemort during his previous reign of terror and had been chosen to lead this raid. He lifted up his hand and motioned for the other Death Eaters to gather round.
As they came together in the centre of the clearing, a frigid wind rushed unexpectedly through the air. The Death Eaters huddled together, trying to ignore the freezing cold and the stirring of the air in the clearing.
Avery waited to make sure they were all paying attention, or something similar, then spoke. "Very, well, let's get started. The village is three miles south of us, through the forest. Once we're there we'll split up; one per house. Check every room, kill anything you find, then move on to the next building. Remember, our Lord demands no survivors. Not even pets."
"I just hope this mist doesn't get too thick," muttered someone. "I don't want to get lost and spend the rest of the night wandering around the forest."
The group looked around them and saw that a fine mist was indeed beginning to encroach upon the edges of the clearing. Its milky white haze was rolling through the gaps between the trees, keeping close to the ground.
"The Ministry Weather Service never said anything about fog," complained Thomas with an audible whine in his voice.
"Idiots," cursed Avery.
The fog continued to drift into the clearing, seemingly at an accelerated pace. It was no longer hugging the earth, but was now sweeping towards the Death Eaters in banks that were obscuring everything caught within them.
"Thick for this time of year, don't you think?"
By now the Death Eaters were beginning to twitter nervously as the thick mass of vapour had completely surrounded them. It was not a plain and featureless wall, but instead churned and swirled around them as if it were a living thing.
There was also a sudden silence that seemed to have fallen over the woods. The wind was no longer whistling softly through the trees. The trees themselves were quiet, their branches and leaves still. The few owls and night birds that had been filling the background with faint sounds were now silent.
It was an unnerving, unnatural silence.
"This fog..." muttered the solitary female Death Eater in the group, a young woman by the name of Lauren. She was standing in a tense posture and was nervously fingering her wand. "I don't like the feel of it."
"Where'd it come from?" asked Thomas, looking about in puzzlement. "I don't understand..."
Avery, who had a cold shiver running up and down his spine, pushed through the tight knot of nervous young Death Eaters. He pulled off his mask and sneered, glaring out in the shifting wall of fog that surrounded them. "Simpletons! Isn't it obvious? It's a trap, and we've been caught in it."
"That's right, Avery. Caught like animals," confirmed a drawling voice. The Death Eaters spun about, searching for the speaker, but unable to find him in the thickening fog. The air now had a chill that penetrated their robes and cloaks. An unnatural chill. Then, as if emerging from the depths of a shadow, he appeared before them.
It was a Thestral. One of the rarest breeds of winged horses known to the wizarding world and considered by many to be a sign of ill fortune. It was massive, standing taller than a full-grown man at its shoulder. Its coat was the pitch black of the darkest night, and it emerged from the fog like a spectre, jets of steam billowing from its nostrils.
Sitting astride its broad back was a man cloaked in what seemed to be living shadows, hiding him from view even as he urged his supposedly untameable steed towards the apprehensive clutch of Death Eaters.
Elegant, but pale white hands emerged from the depths of the darkness and reached up to throw back the cowl which hid the rider's face from sight. The hood fell back, revealing his sharp and aristocratic features, topped in crown of silvery hair. His eyes were now an impenetrable black that seemed impossibly deep, almost without end.
Draco Malfoy smirked. "And now it's time for the slaughter."
"Avada Kedavra!" shouted Avery, drawing his wand and levelling it at Draco. He knew that his Lord had transformed the Malfoy heir into... something. He knew that Draco had managed to battle with Potter and emerge unscathed. He knew that Voldemort would in all likelihood be displeased with him for killing Draco. He knew that the young wizard was being completely serious, despite his playful tone.
The green flash of the Killing Curse streaked through the misty air, straight at Draco's chest. The young rider, sitting imperiously on his Thestral, watched the curse speed toward him with an expression of open humour. The curse hit his chest, just to the left of his heart. It splashed against the black robes that enshrouded him, writhing as it enveloped Draco in its deadly embrace.
Avery's desperate expression briefly became one of satisfaction as the curse stuck its target. A thin smile reached his lips, only to die a rapid death as Draco remained upright. His poise did not shift so much as an inch, though his mount stirred uneasily. He gazed at Avery from across the short span separating him from the small group of immobile Death Eaters.
"Wooooo... I hope I'm not supposed to be impressed," purred Draco, his black eyes flashing with evil satisfaction, "because I'm not."
Death Eaters, as a rule, are considered to be the vilest and most wicked witches and wizards on the face of the earth. They are expected to know no fear of anything save their master and the possibility of failing his will. They might not be combat-hardened soldiers, but they tend to be able to face down their opponents without flinching.
Naturally they turned and started running.
They broke away from each other, fleeing in all directions in an attempt to get away from the laughing form in the centre of the glade. It was not a particularly large clearing, only a rough fifty or so yards across, so it did not take them long to reach its edge. Whereupon they found that they were indeed trapped within.
A writhing and undulating wall of black shadow rose up from the ground, reaching high into the skies above. Realizing that they could not escape through the now sealed off woods, the panicked Death Eaters managed to gather their wits enough to attempt Apparating to safety. When this failed to work, resulting in splitting headaches that hinted that their brains might start oozing out their skulls, blind terror began to consume them.
By now the fog had swept fully into the clearing and enveloped it. Everything was hidden from view and those trapped within could see from one side to the other. This helped fan the dread they were feeling, as they were unable to see what hunting them.
"Where is he? Where is he?!" asked a frantic Todd Baddock, whose younger brother Malcolm was in his third year at Hogwarts. After discovering himself unable to Apparate, he had spun around to face the centre of the clearing, keeping his back to the safety of the wall that surrounded the clearing. "Where is he?!"
"Right behind you."
The eldest of the two Baddock boys, who had finished studying at Hogwarts the year before Harry Potter had come to the school, flinched and spun wildly around as something cold brushed against the back of his neck.
"Avada Kedavra!" he screamed, only to find himself facing down nothing but thin air.
Todd began to turn in tight circles, hoping that in doing so whatever it was stalking him would be unable to catch him unawares. Waves of terror and apprehension were breaking and frothing over him as he tried to penetrate the murky gloom of the fog surrounding him.
Before he could move to resist, something wrapped itself around his waist. A chill, colder and deeper than anything he had ever experienced seeped through his robes and into his flesh. His tried to move his arms and legs, to ward off or flee from whatever it was, but he found himself completely immobilised.
"!!!"
He tried to scream, but the coldness assailing him had clamped itself around his throat. Todd gasped for breath in short, barely audible wheezes. He pulled and pushed and twisted and stretched and wiggled and thrashed and squirmed, in desperate hope of breaking away. But he couldn't manage to tug even one hand free from his invisible assailant.
He was loose.
Todd, taken entirely by surprise at his sudden freedom, collapsed to the wet ground. He sucked in deep gasping breaths, hunched over as he lay there. He was shivering from the intense cold, which seemed to pervade his entire body.
He struggled to push himself up, but froze in mid motion as he spotted a pair of black boots standing not three feet away from him. Behind the boots, lying prone on the sodden earth, was a desiccated corpse that he vaguely recognised as one of his fellow Death Eaters.
He looked up and saw that Draco Malfoy was standing over him, his ghostly white face smiling as it seemed to hover amidst the all-encompassing blackness which surrounded him. Draco smirked at Todd and reach up to brush a hand through his thick silver hair.
"Thank you," rasped Todd, his throat raw.
Draco looked at him quizzically. "For what?"
"For letting me go."
"What makes you think I'd do that?"
Todd knew then, in that instant, that he was going to die. When Draco squatted down next to him, his cloak of living shadows flowing around him, Todd simply closed his eyes and waited for the end to come. His last coherent thought, as a pale hand reached out to stroke his cheek, was that Lord Voldemort had never promised him anything like this.
"You are at my mercy," said a soft and almost loving whisper, "and believe me - I have none."
In the distance, deep within the forest's gloomy interior, a wolf howled. There was a sickening, wet noise followed by an indistinct gurgle that was barely human. The chilling howl of the wind blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves and stirring the underbrush.
All was still as the rain began to softly drizzle down.
.oOo.
Harry jerked awake, Ginny by his side. She was clasping his shoulder with one hand, digging her nails painfully into his flesh. He reached up and gently pried her hand off. She turned to look at him, her face so pale that every last one of her smattering of freckles stood out in stark relief. He licked his lips and swallowed, trying to wet the dryness of his mouth and throat.
"Dear Lord, Harry," Ginny whispered hoarsely, "he killed them all."
"Yes, I know," he agreed, "we were expecting him to go rogue, out of Voldemort's control, but I didn't think it would happen so soon."
*He has clearly been spending a great deal of time communing with the Shadows within his depths,* observed Isis.
*The more the Well draws on his source the faster his descent into madness,* agreed Sun Tzu,
Ginny was breathing deeply in an effort to slow the rapid beatings of her heart. She looked at Harry and shook her head in bewilderment. "How did we see that?" she asked. "Tom wasn't there, so how did we see what was happening?"
Harry sighed and leaned back into the pillows. "I don't know."
*That was the Order's doing, Harry,* admitted Merlin.
Ginny looked up at Harry in surprise and asked, "You did that?"
*Not ours exactly,* Merlin responded. He then explained, *The Order itself is not sentient, but it does possess an awareness of sorts. It deemed it necessary for us to witness what was transpiring there.*
You saw it that too? asked Harry.
*Unfortunately,* replied Joan, her French accent thicker than normal.
Ginny ran her hands through her hair, throwing it back. Satisfied that her hair was out the way, she turned to Harry and asked, "So what d'we do?"
Harry glanced over at her and felt his mouth go dry again as he saw her properly. She had foregone wearing one of her nightshirts or nightdresses, choosing instead to wear a simple faded orange Chudley Cannons tee-shirt, which had once belonged to Ron. Now, thanks to the cold sweat that had gripped them both during their vision, it clung to her body in the right places, causing Harry's mind to stall momentarily. Clearing his throat, and focusing his attention above her shoulders on her face, he pondered their options for a moment.
"Professor Dumbledore has told me more than once that his door is always open," decided Harry. He stood up and started pulling on his dressing-gown, handing Ginny hers as he did so. "Let's see if that offer still stands."
They hurried out of the sixth-year boys' dormitory, not particularly worrying about whether they made much noise or not. There were so many Silencing Charms around Harry's bed and between it and the door that a herd of Hippogriffs could stampede through the room unheard.
Harry led the way down to the common room, one of Ginny's hands grasped in his own, vaulting the stairs three at a time. It was actually quite an impressive feat that Ginny managed to keep her balance during this rushed descent. The common room was empty, as they expected it to be at two o'clock in the morning. Without pause the couple pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and slipped out the portrait hole.
~Ah, Harry?~ asked Ginny, after they had sneaked their way through the patrolled hallways of the school and into the final passage leading to Dumbledore's office. ~D'you know the password?~
Nope, he replied with a grin, we'll have to guess.
They stood in front of the stone gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office for nearly five minutes trying to guess the password. After exhausting most of the more common wizarding sweets that they knew of, Ginny began trying to think of any obscure delicacies that could be the answer, while Harry started working through what Muggle sweet he knew.
"Mars bars?"
"Blood-flavoured lollipops?"
"Ugh. Snickers?"
"Toothflossing Stringmints?"
"Humbugs?"
With a shiver the gargoyle shifted out of the way, nodding for them to enter. Ginny beamed up at Harry as they bustled through the exposed entrance and half ran up the moving staircase. They reached the top, almost crashing into the closed door in their hurry, and nearly tripping over each other in their haste to knock on the door.
"Come in," called Dumbledore's voice through the door. Ginny twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, stepping into the room with Harry right beside her. Dumbledore, who was standing by his fireplace, fully clothed in a set of vibrant purple robes, smiled at them. "Harry, Virginia. What brings you here at this time of the night?"
Harry, who had paused alongside Ginny just inside the doorway, took note of the room and its occupants. Professors Snape and McGonagall were seated in plush chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk and a wizard he recognised as Mundungus Fletcher, was standing on the other side of the fireplace.
"Do not worry," assured Dumbledore, "you can trust everyone present with anything you have to say."
Ginny nodded their acknowledgement and then cut to the chase, stating the reason for their visit before Snape's disapproving scowl could deepen. In a bland tone of voice she said, "Draco Malfoy just killed a dozen of Tom's Death Eaters."
She could not have achieved greater consternation if she had tossed a rampaging Chimera into the room and slammed the door shut. Snape was out of his chair in a swish of black robes, while McGonagall had clutched a hand to her breasts. Fletcher, who had been smoking on an old, decrepit-looking pipe, started choking after hitching his breath at the wrong time.
"I see," said Dumbledore gravely, peering at the two teenagers over the rims of his spectacles. "Perhaps you could be so kind as to-"
The headmaster was interrupted as Fawkes, his Phoenix, hopped of his stand in the corner and glided across the room to settle on Harry's shoulder.
"Hullo, Fawkes," Harry greeted as the Phoenix made himself comfortable.
~Lord Phoenix. Lady Phoenix~ trilled the crimson and gold bird, dipping its head, ~It is gratifying to see you both here on this troubled night.~
"Thank you, Fawkes," Ginny returned, "but what do you mean, 'troubled'?"
~Albus and the others have been waiting~ replied Fawkes, nodding his head towards the others in the room. ~Severus brought warning of an attack to come. Remus, Sirius and others of our cause are laying in wait to challenge the Dark Lord's followers.~
Dumbledore was staring at the two students, and his Phoenix, with frank astonishment as Fawkes finished explaining. Hs shared a look with McGonagall and Snape, before shaking his head and then clearing his throat. "The two of you can understand Fawkes?"
Harry and Ginny simply nodded. Dumbledore shook his head once again, with a tired smile, and then asked them, "So, once again, what brings your here at such an early hour?"
"Is what Fawkes told us true?" asked Harry in return. "Are Sirius and Remus waiting to ambush some Death Eaters?"
"That's right," grumbled Snape, looking decidedly unhappy.
Harry shared a look with Ginny. She said, "You'd better get them out of there. Now. Draco just killed all the Death Eaters that were gathering in the forest by the village and I don't think he would be opposed to killing any of our people as well."
Alternating with each other, Harry and Ginny began to take turns explaining what they had seen in their vision. With help from the Order they were able to recall great amounts of details and Harry was able to identify Avery as the leading Death Eater. By the time they were finished, not once having been interrupted, the faces of all four adults were grave.
"I'd always hoped, always believed, that Draco would be able to escape his father's shadow," asserted Snape, sinking into his chair. He sighed dejectedly, as if defeated, "It would seem I may have been mistaken."
At least I lived long enough to hear that! thought Harry. This took Ginny by surprise and she was unable to repress a short burst of giggles that earned her puzzled looks from Dumbledore, McGonagall and Fletcher. Snape simply glared at her, which in turn gave her cause to glare at Harry, blaming him for her lapse.
"What?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't say a thing."
***
"What are we going to do in the mean time?" Ginny asked Harry as they stepped out from behind the gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office.
"I was thinking we could maybe stop by the kitchens on our way," suggested Harry.
Ginny looked at him incredulously. "You can't be hungry after that."
"No," he admitted, "but I was thinking that maybe a nice hot cup of mint tea would help me get back to sleep." He looked at her and raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. "Or at least present us with something to while away the hours before breakfast."
"Harry Potter, what are you suggesting?" she asked in an innocent tone as they quietly walked down the corridor, silhouetted in the flickering torchlight.
"Nothing," Harry replied in an equally innocent voice.
Ginny shook her head and coyly asked, "So, when we get back into bed, you're going to behave yourself?"
He pretended to think about it before admitting, "Probably not."
"Good."
The two teenagers strolled down the hallway, arms linked around each others waists. The faint murmur of their conversation grew steadily softer as they moved away.
Neither of them noticed a pair of cloaked figures detach from one shadowy corner which offered a clear view of the entrance to Dumbledore's office. The figures, cautiously keeping out of the scattered torchlight, watched until Harry and Ginny disappeared from view.
"Come on," said Gregory Proteus, motioning his wife in the general direction of their quarters. "I'm going to get a big pot of black coffee ready."
"I thought you hated coffee," observed Hilary as they started walking.
Gregory nodded and then gave her a helpless shrug as he explained, "I do, but I remember being exceptionally bouncy next week and my excuse was that I indulged in great quantities of extra strong coffee."
"I thought you refused to believe that the future is predetermined."
Gregory's smile as a wan one. "This isn't the future, love."
***
Dumbledore was slightly perturbed by the fact that, for the first time in many years, he had missed breakfast in the Great Hall. He had simply not shown up, choosing instead to remain in his office and spend the time rapping his knuckles pensively against the top of his impressive oak desk, Fawkes perched behind him on the tall back of his chair.
His mind was wandering about, thoughtfully contemplating recent events. The past, the present and the future were all becoming entwined, affecting each other in ways that he had not expected or prepared for. So many unforeseen developments had presented themselves over the summer and first week of term that the proverbial chessboard had effectively been swept clear.
Gregory and Hilary Proteus, showing up on his doorstep with the most unlikely tale he thought he would ever hear, but vouched for by a letter he could not refuse.
The revelation that Draco Malfoy was now the wizarding equivalent of a Muggle time bomb, with more than enough destructive power to bring about the end of the world.
A hundred witches and wizards dead, but no signs or indications that anyone had been missed. Was Cornelius truly so blind or did he ulterior motives, as Percy Weasley suggested?
Severus' report that Voldemort was frankly delighted by the success of his sacrificial lamb, but also troubled with the news that Draco had failed to return.
The imminent withdrawal of Hermione from Hogwarts. It would be the loss of possible the brightest witch to have attended the school, yet he could do nothing to prevent it.
Harry and Ginny's recent assertion that Draco Malfoy had indeed gone rogue, apparently having decided that Voldemort would make a better servant than master.
Remus and Sirius' confirmation that a dozen Death Eaters had been found dead three miles north of the where they'd been lying in wait. All twelve had been brutally butchered.
Yes, the chessboard had definitely been swept clear. In fact, it was now an entirely different game with entirely different rules. And, if the Defence Against the Dark Arts professors were to believed, the stakes had just become that much higher as well. Even worse was the problem that a great many of the pieces were not obviously white or black anymore and were moving about the board of their own volition.
"Professor Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore looked up at the voice and soft knock. Standing just in the entrance to his office was Fleur Delacour, Hogwarts' new professor of Ancient Runes. The striking young woman, her luxurious long blonde hair done up in a professional yet elegant French twist, was waiting for Dumbledore to bid her entry into his domain.
"Ah, Fleur," he greeted, "come in, come in. What brings you here?"
"I 'ave news on ze assignment you gave me," she said, walking up to his desk. Dumbledore saw that she was holding a manila folder in her slim hand. "Ze stone tableet zat William brought to uz for translating at ze start of ze summer. It eez nearly complete. I 'ave 'ere ze preliminary work."
The elderly wizard smiled as Fleur mentioned Bill Weasley by his full name. He had noticed that the two seemed quite taken by each other when they had spoken in his office. Taking the folder Fleur held out to him, Dumbledore briefly recalled his meeting with Bill at the start of the summer holidays, only minutes before Molly had frantically called him through the fireplace with news of Vernon Dursley's attack on Harry.
"Excellent work, Fleur," he praised. He set the folder to one side of his desk and planned to owl Bill sometime before lunch to let him know the work was almost completed. He smiled across the desk at her and asked, "Would you care to join me for a cup of tea, my dear?"
"Non, Professor," Fleur refused. She indicated the unopened folder. "I zink it would be best if you read ze translation, Professor."
Dumbledore saw the faint signs of apprehension in Fleur's stance and manner as she picked the folder off his desk and handed it back to him. There was a tightness around her mouth and eyes and he felt himself becoming slightly concerned about what Fleur's translation said that could possibly worry her so much.
He opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of crisp parchment. Fleur's neat copperplate filled the page, line after line. The bulk of the writing was done in a royal blue ink, but there were short annotations scattered about in deep red, like blood. As his eyes scanned down the page, Dumbledore began to realize what had caused the young quarter Veela's agitation.
"If this is an accurate translation..." he muttered, brows furrowed deeply.
"Trust me, it is," she assured.
Dumbledore drew an unsteady breath. "Then Harry is going to die."
TBC...