Year V

Chapter Eleven

Before the Storm

Lord Voldemort apparated outside of the large manor house on the outskirts of New Orleans and shook his head at the overgrown shrubbery that had taken over the driveway that led to the front door of the house. The house itself looked even worse. Windows were shattered, half the double-doors to the front of the house were broken, and it looked like the place had been on fire.

What in the name of Merlin happened here?

“M-My Lord?” stammered Wormtail, who looked nervously about. “Where are we?”

But Voldemort didn’t hear him, his red eyes focused on what had once been a small garden in front of the house. For a moment, the foliage and overgrowth disappeared to be replaced by a garden of exotic flowers. A small girl, who looked about six years old and had blond hair, sat at the end of the garden, using her wand to levitate a rock.

Voldemort approached the young girl who ignored him and kept her attention on the rock. A thin smile formed on his lips as he saw the girl flick her wand and sent the rock hurtling through the air where it embedded itself into a nearby elm tree. “Simone…” he said softly.

“Nicely done, Simone.”

Voldemort turned in the direction the voice had come from. He knew that this was a memory…one of his more pleasant ones. Sure enough, he saw his younger self coming down the steps from the front entrance of the mansion. He was in his late thirties and still had his black hair, though there was a slight hint of gray starting to creep in.

The Dark Lord watched as his younger self walked towards the girl who looked up at him and smiled.

“Thank you, Lord Thomas,” the young girl said with a slight bow.

The man called Lord Thomas chuckled softly as he sat down next to her. “You seem to be doing well for someone who’s only five. There are children older than you who still have problems with basic levitation.”

The little girl shrugged. “Father says practice is good…but…”

“But what?”

The little girl frowned. “I don’t understand. There must be easier ways to kill a man than by throwing a rock at him.”

Voldemort laughed as he saw his younger self barely cover his shock at a five year old girl mulling about how to kill another human being the way most girls her age would be trying to pick a favorite doll to play with.

“Yes,” said Lord Thomas, “there are many ways to kill a man other than throwing a rock at him. But one must learn to crawl before they can walk, right?”

The little girl nodded. “Have you killed anyone?”

Lord Thomas hesitated only for a moment before answering. He had known the Assassins Guild started training their young from an early age, but even he was surprised that he was having a quiet conversation with a little girl about killing. “Yes…I have.”

Simone St. Jean-Moreau looked up at the man, a curious look on her face. “Is it hard to do?”

The man sat there for a moment as he remembered his first kill…he couldn’t have been more than seventeen. He remembered the shocked looks on the faces of his father’s family as he cast the killing curse. He also remembered the slight fear he felt, but the fear was easily drowned out by the anger and rage he felt for the father that had abandoned him and his mother.

It was two simple words...Avada Kedavra. Those two words and his rage changed everything, Voldemort was certain of it and he knew that his younger self had realized it as well at that moment.

“The first time is always the most difficult,” said Lord Thomas. “But it gets easier with time. However, you’re too young to be learning the Death Curse, you’re not strong enough.”

Simone nodded, but she was still frowning. “Yes, and father still wants me to learn the old ways. He wants me to learn how to use swords.”

“Ah…the art of Fencing…one of the few worthwhile things Muggles ever came up with.”

“I guess,” grumbled Simone, who looked like a child who felt she was being unnecessarily punished. “But it seems so slow.”

“Ah,” said the man as he stood up. “But like I said, you are too weak to cast a killing curse. And use of a blade can come in handy…observe.”

He drew his wand out of his cloak and held it in front of him. “Accedosparus!”

Simone watched in amazement as the wand transfigured itself into a sword. Lord Thomas smiled at her and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the point of his blade. “Remember,” he said, “that even mundane skills such as fencing come in handy.” He tossed his sword in the air and it immediately changed back to his wand, which he caught and placed back in his cloak.

The girl smiled and nodded. “Will you teach me that someday?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. “But you must promise you’ll learn all your other lessons first…agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Simone,” called someone from the front porch. They both turned to see a tall man with long brown hair tied back in a pony-tail approach them. “You are to meet Dimitrias in the courtyard for your lessons in five minutes. Lord Thomas is a busy man.”

“Yes father,” grumbled Simone. She bowed slightly to Lord Thomas and then started to stomp her way up towards the front porch and into the mansion.

Lord Thomas shook his head and chuckled softly. “It never ceases to amaze me, Andre. I’ve heard stories about Guild children being different from others…focused, better comprehension skills than most children their age…but I must say watching her grow in these last five years has proven most informative.”

The other man shrugged. “We’ve had over two centuries of selected breeding, Lord Thomas, it only makes sense that our children would develop that way.”

“And let us not forget the fact that you Guilders inherit the memories of your parents. You are an excellent fencer, Andre. In addition to the early training you’re giving her, I have no doubt that Simone will perhaps surpass you when she comes of age and those memories unlock within her.”

Andre St. Jean-Moreau nodded. “Perhaps, but those skills and memories will not be of full use to her if the body is not properly conditioned.”

“She’ll come into her own, Andre,” said Lord Thomas as he picked up a stone off the ground and tossed it at the nearby elm tree. “She has a lot of potential, but then again, most assassins do.”

“Yes, and that is why the outsiders fear us.” There was bitterness in Andre’s voice as he spoke. “Because we do not conform to their definition of Wizarding life, they see us a freaks and abominations. Kind of ironic when you think about it, isn’t it? Here we live in America, a nation built by immigrants looking for a new life, and the damn Colonials treat us like a plague. As for the Old-Worlders, they don’t know what to make of us, so they prefer to keep their distance or pretend we don’t exist.”

“And that is your greatest strength, my friend,” said Lord Thomas. “When the world ignores you long enough, you become invisible to them and cease to exist.”

Andre nodded in agreement. “Yes, and it will be the fatal mistake that will cost them their lives.”

“Careful, Andre. The time will come for the world to change, but it won’t do us any good if we were to strike now. Our movement is still small, as is the number of our allies. But rest assured, we will both be there to see that time come…

“My Lord,” said Wormtail, his voice suddenly bringing his master back to the present. “I do not like this one bit.”

“Silence, Wormtail,” snapped Voldemort. “I could care less whether you like this or not. We came here for answers, and I do not plan on leaving until we find-“ Voldemort cut himself off as he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Wormtail looked up at his master. “What’s wro-“

“SHIVISIMPALUM!” shouted several voices from the shadows.

“Protego!” Voldemort shouted with a wave of his wand. He wasn’t quite sure what was thrown at him, but he had a suspicion when he deflected what appeared to be foot-long spikes of glowing energy.

“My Lor-Aaargh!” Wormtail dropped to the ground as he was impaled by three of the glowing spikes.

“Hmmm…the Shivis curse,” said Voldemort as he watched his servant writhing around in agony. “A nice Guild version of an old favorite.”

Seven cloaked figures stepped out of the shadows, surrounding the Dark Lord and his servant. “You are trespassing, stranger,” said one of the cloaked figures as he brought up his wand which glowed an eerie off-white color. “Coming here was your final mistake.”

“And threatening me was yours…Avada Kedavra!”

There was a sudden flash of green light and the other man was thrown back several feet before landing in a crumpled lifeless heap in front of his brethren.

“So,” said Voldemort as he pointed his wand at the others. “Who would like to be next?”

Without even hesitating, the attackers spread out, surrounding the Dark Lord with wands and other weapons drawn. Voldemort smiled. “Never let it be said that your kind was lacking in bravery.”

One of the attackers threw a curse of their own at him, but he deflected it back them and watched as the man went down, screaming in agony as his bones twisted inside his body. Voldemort spun and caught another attacker with a Cruciatus curse as they tried to sneak up from behind.

“That’s enough!” rasped a hoarse voice.

The remaining attackers suddenly stopped in their tracks and looked in the direction the voice had come from. Voldemort turned as well and saw a figure standing in the shadows. He could sense power emanating from the newcomer as well…but it felt as if it was subdued somehow…not properly harnessed.

“And who might you be?” asked Voldemort as he pointed his wand at the man.

The man stepped out of the shadows, limping slightly, and stopped a few feet away from the Dark Lord. “Lord Thomas, is that you?” asked the man as he leaned on his cane for support.

Voldemort studied the man who stood before him…a old black man with graying hair and a muscular build that boasted of years of physical training, but age was starting to take its toll and it showed. He also wore dark spectacles that concealed his eyes which, along with the scars on his face, made him look even more intimidating. But Voldemort looked past all that and recognized a man he hadn’t seen in over fifteen years. “Dimitrias?”

The black man nodded and smiled. “Long time no see, Lord Thomas…or should I call you Lord Voldemort?”

“I’d prefer Voldemort, but I do not expect you to break a tradition.” The Dark Lord lowered his wand then looked around at the place. “Dimitrias, what happened here? I see only the House Guard…what about the rest?”

“All dead, Lord Thomas.” The old man spread his arms as if to encompass the entire courtyard. “Welcome to a place of the damned and disgraced. I may not be able to see it, but I’m sure it hasn’t changed much in the last fourteen years, except for the overgrowth.”

“Fourteen years?” repeated Voldemort.

“Yes,” Dimitrias replied as he turned and started to hobble back toward the mansion. “I’ll explain once we get inside. We must hurry, the others tend to leave us alone since the ‘shunning’, but there are some who might want to kill us ‘outsiders’ for sport.”

Voldemort’s eyes widened in shock. “The shunning? Dimitrias…what happened to Andre and his sons?”

“As I said before, Lord Thomas, all will be revealed once we’re inside. Now come…before they sense us.”

“Who?” asked Voldemort as he watched Wormtail struggle to get back on his feet, the glowing shards of the Shivis curse now removed from his body.

“Shaders…hundreds of them, they patrol the area surrounding this property, and try to kill all who seek to leave or enter it.”

Voldemort shook his head in disbelief as he followed Dimitrias into the mansion. When he was last here, the Saint Jean-Moreau clan was one of the most powerful clans in Guild Society, three of their family members sat on the ruling council of the Mages Guild.

Who, or what, could have taken out a powerful family made up of assassins?

Aside from himself, Voldemort could think of no other, but one thing was certain, MacNair and Collier’s deaths were deliberate. The Shader attack was Guild-magic, which meant that someone from America was responsible for the attacks in London. And then, there was the other question…why?

* * * * * * * *

It had been a boring couple of days for Nicholas St. John-Dupuis and his little gang of misfits. After his spectacular assault on Diagon Alley, Nicholas was ordered to keep a low profile until DeBoer decided what to do next. So Nicholas spent most of his spare time hanging out and watching the dozen witches and wizards operate the fold-gate portal they had set up a week earlier.

Within that week, several teams had arrived from Lynden Township and dispersed themselves throughout England or took a boat over to France. Nicholas found it amusing that he had been in England for nearly two weeks and England’s Ministry of Magic still had no clue of what was going on.

If they only knew, he thought to himself as he watched DeBoer, flanked by two guards in cloaks and body armor, step through the fold-gate. Almost immediately, the workers who were helping maintain the gate and the magical defenses around the mausoleum stopped what they were doing and knelt down on one knee, heads bowed. Only Nicholas, Marie, and Lucas were still standing, but Marie and Lucas couldn’t hide the flicker of fear on their faces.

Nicholas only smiled and shrugged off the icy tendrils of fear that momentarily pulsed through his body. “Hello, boss. Couldn’t just apparate here, huh?”

Benjamin DeBoer shook his head and chuckled as he straightened the tie to his suit. “Well, it’s kind of hard to apparate with the Ministry carefully monitoring the London area since your little fireworks display Diagon Alley. Good work, by the way…what’s really amusing is that the Minister still wants to bury his head in the sand and think that Voldemort hasn’t returned.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” Nicholas gave his boss a sly grin. “Apparently, he got the idea that some third party might be responsible…I wonder where he got that idea?”

“Simple minds will believe anything, Nicholas…” DeBoer stopped in mid-sentence as he realized that nearly a dozen men and women were kneeling on the ground before him. “Oh for crying out loud…yes, I’m here, your respect is duly noted. Now get back to work before I trip over one of you and break my neck. Being worshipped just isn’t as fun as it used to be.”

DeBoer shook his head in disappointment as the workers got up off the ground and scrambled to their workstations, then he looked over his shoulder at his two guards and nodded. Confident that their leader was safe, they took up stationary positions on either side of the glowing rectangular portal they had just come through.

“Now…where were we?” he said as he looked around at the place and nodded in approval. “Nice location, by the way…now back to business…I see you’ve been getting a little restless these last few days.”

“Nah,” said Nicholas with a shake of his head. “Watching a bunch of Adepts assemble and operate a fold-gate from a fixed location has probably been the greatest highlight of my life.”

“Sarcasm, Nicholas, will get you nowhere,” said DeBoer disapprovingly. “However, I believe your next task will make up for the boredom you’ve had to endure.” He stopped for a moment as he reached into his jacket. “Now where did I put that thing? Hmmm…no…ah, here it is.”

Nicholas took the scroll that DeBoer handed to him and opened it. After glancing at it, he gave his employer a skeptical look. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You know I never jest about work, Nicholas.”

Nicholas looked back at the diagrams on the scroll. “Is this for real?”

“Oh yes…a floor plan for the Ministry of Magic…just the right tool you need for my little project.”

Nicholas looked over the floor plans one last time, then grinned at DeBoer. “How messy do you want it?”

When DeBoer spoke, there was no false humor in his voice, just cold evil. “Very,” he said. “Just remember, your objective is not to destroy the Ministry…just rattle them a little.”

“So the Ministry’s not the target?”

“No, Nicholas. As powerful as you are, I doubt you could destroy the entire Ministry.” Amusement flickered through DeBoer’s eyes as he spoke. “Your target is something that even the Ministry wouldn’t suspect. Azkaban.”

“The prison?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow in confusion. “But how do I…” his voice trailed off as understanding dawned on him. “You want me to get thrown in prison?” He paused for a moment to consider that thought and shrugged. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess. So when do you want the bloodbath to start?”

“Within the next week or two, if possible. Or do you need some more time to plan this out?”

“No,” Nicholas chuckled as his eyes started to glow slightly. “I think I can come up with something. How many survivors do you want at Azkaban?”

“The guards are expendable,” replied DeBoer, “as are most of the inmates. However, make sure some of the Death Eaters there do escape and at least one of them is tagged. Knowing them, they’ll go crawling to their leader because they have nowhere else to go.”

“And then?”

“And then, Nicholas, you get to make the biggest kill in your lifetime and I will have one less obstacle to worry about.”

* * * * * * * *

“We were attacked,” said Dimitrias. He took a sip of wine from a small goblet in his hand before he continued. “We had all gathered together that night, awaiting your signal. Andre was preparing for the first wave of assassinations when they appeared.”

“Who?” said Voldemort.

Dimitrias shook his head. “We didn’t know at the time, they were all wearing crimson and black cloaks, but it was obvious that some were Guilders, some of them were Colonials. They just apparated here all at once, targeted Andre first and slaughtered his sons. We fought back, but more of them came. We were prepared to fight to the last man, but they retreated after they had killed off Andre and his sons. The next day, we learned what had truly happened…someone had learned of our allegiance and managed to forge some alliance to take us out.”

“And you said this happened on the night of my fall?”

“Yes…at precisely midnight on Halloween. It was orchestrated, Lord Thomas, our enemies knew they couldn’t take us, so they banded together. The Dupuis clan now rules the Mage Guild.”

“Dupuis…” Voldemort repeated the name as though he were muttering a curse. “I should have known…you believe it was they who sided with the Colonials against you?”

“There is no doubt in my mind, Lord Thomas. The Dupuis have hated us for generations and given what they had done to Andre’s daughter…”

“Her name is Simone, Dimitrias.”

Dimitrias bowed his head. “My apologies, my lord. Old habits die hard…Andre ordered her name stricken from the bloodline since the incident.”

“Yes,” said Voldemort, “and while he was preserving his family honor, I still think it was a mistake to dismiss her.”

The Dark Lord closed his eyes for a moment as he remembered that night twenty years earlier.

He had been searching for six months…six months since he had learned that Simone was taken against her will. Andre was still recovering from the attack that nearly killed him. The man once called Lord Thomas cared only for one thing, to find his fifteen year old god-daughter and kill those responsible for taking her.

Six months of tracking, interrogating, and killing…he already had a reputation among the Guilds. They did not know his name, but knew him as the Dark Lord, and he had killed many people as he tracked the girl down. He had finally tracked the Dupuis enclave where she was being held. There were no guards to stop him…the place was burning and he could sense that there were several dead inside.

He found her kneeling in a courtyard, surrounded by corpses, dressed only in a bloody night-gown, a blank look on her face and her hands clutching a bloodstained wand tightly as she mumbled softly to herself…

“Simone…”

The girl said nothing, even as he laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Simone, we must go.”

The girl never moved.

“Lord Thomas?”

Voldemort opened his eyes and saw Dimitrias staring (if that was possible for a blind man) at him. “I should have brought her back with me, Dimitrias. I shouldn’t have let her run.”

“It wouldn’t have helped her, Lord Thomas,” said Dimitrias. “As far as Andre was concerned, she had defiled the bloodline, he would have had to kill her if she had returned.”

“She was taken, raped, and held captive during her pregnancy. The Dupuis only wanted the strength of her bloodline and were going to kill her after she was finished nursing the bastard she had given birth to. It was not her fault.”

“I know that, my Lord, and so did Andre. But he had no choice…the laws and traditions-“

“Laws and traditions be damned!” snapped Voldemort. “He may have placed great value in them, but it didn’t help, did it?”

“No, I suppose it didn’t. Our ruling bloodline nearly destroyed, our clan maimed, and the Dupuis are in power. If I believed in suicide, I’d ask you to use the death curse on me.”

“Nearly destroyed?” asked Voldemort. “What do you mean?”

“According to the Sourcestone, there is an heir.”

“If you are referring to the bastard of the Dupuis, your Sourcestone would not accept him. Though he carries the blood, it would be considered tainted.”

Dimitrias smiled as he shook his head. “No, there is another. Tell me, Lord Thomas…you kept in contact with Simone when she was ‘disavowed’, didn’t you? Did she have another son?”