The Hidden Army

The Hidden Army by Darque Queen7

Prologue

The expanse of the ocean always frightened her as a child. But now...now there was nothing in the deepest darkness of the ocean that could frighten her. She was re-created...no, reborn, if you will, to protect the Muggles and Muggle world from Their Kind. The funny thing was that they were the ones that helped in her creation...her re-creation. She wondered if they would quake at the sight of what their hands had wrought.

They - the pure-blood wizards - the Death Eaters that believed the likes of her mother, her brothers and sister, her family, were nothing more than chattel that needed to be destroyed. Her hand went absently to a scar across her neck. She had others on her face and body that matched it. They should...after all; they were all done by the same man. They tried to destroy her...she had been raped repeatedly and tortured to the brink of death. Then they would perform sloppy healing charms and start all over again. And when they were done - the last man to finish with her slit her throat with a knife. The idea was to leave her alive long enough for her to watch her family home burn around her. She had been brutalized more than her family because she was a Mudblood; she was gifted with magic. For all the good it did. Once they snapped her wand - she was just like any other Muggle. She was defenseless against their onslaught, both the magical and the physical. But in the end it was magic that saved her. That protected her from the inferno that engulfed her home and burned the bodies of her fallen family to ashes. She was found in a protective bubble that disappeared when the firemen came into the ruins of the house to search for survivors. She remembered the laughs of her attackers and the screams of pain and anguish that her family members gave as they died. She envied them at times.

They should have killed me, a voice whispered in her mind as she looked out the plane's window. Her voice. It was the voice that nursed her back to health; sent her back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after a year of recovery. It gave her the patience to learn everything about her attackers - for after all, they were her classmates. Disguised as students by day - they were the same Death Eaters that attacked her home during the night while she was there for Christmas Holiday. She knew...but she needed proof. Headmaster Dumbledore said she needed proof before she could go before the Ministry so that they could deal with them. But she knew the Ministry was as helpful during trying times as a hole in a hull of a ship during a high seas gale. The people she was going to accuse were of some of the oldest and most powerful houses within the wizarding community. No...she would never see justice in their courts.

What she really needed was time. Time for her attackers to forget; for them to get comfortable. Time for her magical and fighting skills to improve once her body had been repaired. And then...she was going to kill each one of them...slowly. She had made that promise the day she woke up in St. Mungo's to the spirits of her fallen family. She began by making contacts with fringe elements that knew of the Wizarding World within the Muggles' midst, with other attack victims that survived the attentions of a Dark Revel. And she fashioned them into a force. She fashioned them into an army. An army that was now 200 strong - and yet could disappear into the populace with a single word. A Hidden Army. Rumors of their existence circulated between the Wizarding and Muggle World. Her 'army' was wanted all over the Muggle world for 'messy conflicts' that could be contained within a short amount of time. Their average assault time was forty-eight hours from first call to final pull-out. The CIA, SAS, MI5, and Mossad were but a few of the clients on her impressive list.

It wasn't at all easy to build this army - it took time. She had to gain these people's trust...she had to prove that she could help them find justice when none was offered. That sometimes Justice could only be wielded by the ones wronged. She had to show them that there were times that sitting on your butt and crying only gave you red eyes and a wide ass.

She also practiced what she preached...she was the toughest witch of them all. She had honed her broken body into a fighting machine. She learned several types of magical dueling as well as several types of armed and unarmed combat. The only thing stronger was her will. Her army gave her the rank of General...because as one of her men put it - she reminded them of General Patton. She didn't just talk a good fight - she was knee-deep in the muck fighting right along side of you.

No...After that fateful Christmas Holiday - nothing was ever the same. They had broken so many of her bones it was easier to count that ones that were still whole. It took six months at St. Mungo's for her to learn how to walk again, to learn how to manipulate the magic within her to help her conquer her injuries. It hadn't been easy...especially for her father.

Professor Kenneth Marcus Darque wasn't there when it happened. That night he had been called away to his research lab - promising to return before midnight. But they had heard that promise before. He would be locked away in his research lab until Mum went there and collected him sometime the next day. He had been warned by members of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix that something could happen. He dismissed their concerns and wondered what it was his daughter saw in men in dresses. As far as he was concerned they weren't important to Voldemort - they were nothing to him. How could he have been so wrong? He was a broken man after the loss of her mother and siblings. He had walked in a fog for three years...until she came home from Hogwarts for the last time. Until she had shown him her cause - she gave him a reason to live again. The Ministry of Magic prefers to live in the past, she thought. They prefer to bury their heads in the sand and pray it will all just go away....

She smiled ruefully as the Leer jet glided through the dark skies over the Atlantic, towards the English Channel. Towards the United Kingdom; towards England. Once the plane reached the Channel, it made its turn towards Heathrow. Suddenly its' great engines roared as the reverse engines were engaged - roaring her arrival back to her ancestral home. Her father took a seat on their private plane next to her - his smile mirroring her own. She turned to him - he simply took her warm pale hand into his and squeezed it softly. "I'm home," he whispered. She nodded slowly, taking in his graying temples and brown darting eyes. It hurt him when he left England to take his daughter to Europe, North and South America and abroad...to help her on her path of self-discovery. To help her with her cause. To help with ways of controlling both magic and machine. He was a brilliant scientist. Thanks to him - her body wasn't as mangled as it was after the Death Eaters left her. His advancements in cybernetics were astounding - but combined with her magic - their creations was nothing short of breath taking.

No, thanks to her father's ingenuity and her brave marketing strategies, they had made an obscene amount of cash in many of their questionable pursuits. She provided the software (fighters) and her father provided the hardware (weapons and machinery). And now...now she set her sights to where they should have always been.

She was going to put the Wizarding World on its ear. She was going to show the purebloods that they were the dying strains of a long forgotten off-shoot of humanity. They were a cancer to the Muggle world...and it was time for the surgeons to step in - and excise them without prejudice.

She was pleased her cause brought her father back to her. Life had been so terrible after... after everyone was gone. He would spend hours just looking at pictures of her long dead family, silent tears coursing down his face. If it hadn't been for the few friends she had made at Hogwarts, she would have done herself harm a long time ago. Many of her friends had been killed during Voldemort's first reign...like James and Lily Potter. Or tortured...like the Longbottoms. She anguished at their demises. And then The Boy Who Lived changed everything. James' little boy did what none of them could. Almost...

But now - Voldemort was back - and with a vengeance. He had fourteen years of catch-up mayhem to make up for. She had been asked to return by her former Headmaster. Normally she would have told him where to go and given him explicit directions as to what he could do with himself once he had arrived. But his letter had discussed the possibility of collaboration and now she had her own reasons to return - and they had everything to do with certain Death Eaters that had yet to pay for their crimes against her and her family. She was going to find them out - and kill them all. Nott, Macnair, Avery... they were her contemporaries. They were two years older than she at the time. Malfoy was older than the whole lot...and he was the ring leader - she knew that without a doubt. And another that was protected by Dumbledore. She knew he had been there - but he did nothing. And as far as she was concerned, he was as guilty as those who did the killing. But now....now they were the Walking and Breathing Dead. They just didn't know it yet.

"The Ministry of Magic prefers to live in the past," she said softly, letting go of her father's hand. She ran her hand through her bobbed cut curly hair that she had dyed blood red for the occasion. Her green eyes glinted as hard as emeralds. "I think it's time to introduce them to the 21^st century, don't you Father?"

Professor Darque smiled broadly at his daughter. "Yes, Aliannas. I think it is time. Time for all of this to come to its final end."

"It will, father," she answered as the plane began its final descent towards its destination. "And I promise you, we will dance in their blood before it is all over."