Amicus Draconis: 1st Cycle - Cycle of the Badger

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.

Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend:

Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

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Amicus Draconis

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First Cycle: Cycle of the Badger

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Episode 1: Children of Magic - Part A

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London, September 1998

Night had fallen over London, but the huge city was far from going to sleep. Honking cars blocked the streets alongside heavily drunk soccer fans, while bright coloured lights flashed lazily over the asphalt, and the ever-present smell of beer, petrol, and fish made the air hard to breathe.

It was unnaturally cold for an evening in late summer. Even peoples' faces seemed strangely frozen, their joy and laughter shrill and hysterical. But if you asked one of them how this sudden winter had entered his heart, he probably would not have known an answer.

Yet, a few nervous glances turned skywards, a few people wondering why the ever-present, thick, foggy clouds covering the city seemed so very dark and gloomy tonight, almost menacing. Faster than ever, their pointed shadows were gliding across the roofs and walls, and from time to time, a red glowing star would appear in between, like the sparkling eye of some large demonic animal.

Every sensible person would dispose of thoughts like that at once. Monsters in the mist, ghosts, witchcraft, black magic, creatures of the night. Something for lunatics and little children.

Something for nightmares....

Nightmares. The monstrous horses of the worlds below. Darker than darkness itself, their grisly bodies seemed to contain naught but smoke and mist, impossible to touch, impossible to feel, their shapes blurring before the human eye. As if they could gallop right through a human body, ripping out its soul. Hell's fire burnt fiercely in their eyes, flames of death emerging from their sniffing nostrils.

The ghostly creatures riding their backs concealed themselves under long, flowing, black robes, large hoods covering their faces. To anyone watching them, it would be impossible to see if they were human, or demon.

The Ghost Riders of Voldemort rode the skies again.

Tonight there were only five of them over London, but other groups might be roaming elsewhere to fulfil their quests of evil. Their steeds raced the sky as common horses raced the land, and they could cross incredible distances in a single night.

To the human eye, the horse and her rider were visible only as a misty cloud, making them the perfect tool to carry out the Dark Lord's commands. Yet, they had to return before daybreak, since their gruesome steeds could not bear to see the light of the sun.

The Ghost Riders of Voldemort rode the skies again, and only a selected few had the ability to see them for what they truly were. These few crouched into the corners of their rooms, climbed into their closets, or hid under the blankets of their beds, trembling with fear.

Hoping they would pass....

Just this once....

Maybe they won't see me if I close my eyes....

For these few were children, children born with the ability to use magic.

"Did you have another one of these nightmares, honey?"

"That was no nightmare, Mommy. The scary ghosts on black horses were outside my window again!"

"Don't talk like that; there's no such thing as ghosts! Go back to sleep, honey. You don't want to be late for school tomorrow."

Would any sensible person believe them?

The five riders changed their formation, assuming the shape of a triangle in the night sky. All of a sudden, their leader lost speed, holding out a copper amulet in the shape of a rooster. Dangling from his outstretched arm, the amulet spun fast around on its chain.

The hand holding the amulet looked quite human. The long slender fingers curled tightly around the chain, the knuckles turning even whiter than the pale skin.

Slower and slower the rooster spun, until he froze in mid-air, his beak pointing directly at the window before them. Careful not to move his hand, the leader turned to his companions, eyes of cold grey glittering triumphantly beneath his hood.

The Ghost Riders had found what they were looking for. The Dark Lord would be pleased with them.

* * *

The Seer's gaze remained fixed on the crystal ball, although the light inside had vanished quite a while ago.

"Well?" demanded the voice. "What did you find out?"

"Auspicious signs, my Lord." She lowered her eyes, hiding them beneath her long lashes. "Your power is bound to spread out over the world, mighty and unstoppable. There is only one small obstacle between you and your absolute triumph."

"I am listening."

"A wizard who could possibly achieve the power to defeat you."

"You dare to claim that another wizard could be more powerful than me? Do not taunt me, foolish woman." The voice became dangerously soft. "I have killed for far less insulting remarks."

Her face remained calm as ever; it did not betray whether his words had frightened her. "Forgive me my forthrightness, my Lord, but do you not have enough sycophants agreeing to anything you say? Lying to your face in fear of their pitiful lives? What I offer you is nothing but the truth. My life belongs to you, and it is your decision how it may serve you best."

The voiced laughed. "How clever you are, Narcissa. If you were a man, I would take you into the Dark Council without a second thought. However, as things are, you must leave politics to your husband and take care of your children at home."

The voice paused, possibly waiting for the Seer to argue, but she did not take up the challenge and remained silent.

"Very well. As soon as you find out more about the hideout of Har ... You-Know-Who," he corrected himself with a soft chuckle, "... I want to be informed at once. You know how to contact me."

The voice faded away. But an evil aura remained between the walls of her room, and it would not wither.

* * *

After her parents had told her off for the third time, Ophelia Flowerfield had given up and returned to her room. She grabbed an armful of stuffed animals, placed them on her bed, and hid them carefully under the covers, so anyone who looked would think that somebody was lying in there.

Then she crawled inside the closet.

And waited.

For a while, she wondered whether it would be safer to leave her room and hide somewhere else in the apartment. Or maybe she could sneak out and run away....

But she decided against it. If she ran about like a scared rabbit, they would probably see her.

They could see in the dark.

Maybe, they could see through walls.

She lay down flat on her belly, bending her head and trying to get a glimpse through the gap between the closet door and the carpet. There was only a little bit of light, probably from the other apartment building right across. Maybe some of the windows were still lit.

Her own room was dark. She could only see a bit of carpet and the foot of her desk. And a pencil lying on the carpet, next to the desk.

Why hadn't her mother noticed? She always made such a fuss about tidying up the room.

Flopp!

She pressed her hands to her mouth, and just in time managed to keep herself from screaming. Luckily, it was only one of her school notebooks; it had slipped from the upper shelves and fallen to the floor.

Flowerfield, Ophelia. 2nd grade. Mathema....

She couldn't read the writing anymore because the trickle of light through the gap had vanished.

Gone. The writing desk was gone... the carpet was gone... the room was gone.

Only the pencil was still there. She heard a loud crunch when it broke.

"Watch it, Goyle," said a drawling boy's voice with slightly mocking undertones. "We're not here to wreck the house, although that might be amusing. We're here for the child."

"Where's the little brat?" a second, somewhat croaky voice snarled. It also seemed to belong to a boy or a young man. From their sounds, the intruders seemed to be searching her room now. She could hear her covers being pulled off the bed.

"She's in here!"

The closet door was opening slowly with a creaking sound.

Ophelia held her breath.

There were three black-robed figures in her room, one standing close to the closet, another one next to the bed, and a third one by the window.

But not one of them had touched the closet door. It had opened all by itself.

Like magic.

Ophelia crawled back into the furthest corner of the closet. She tried to scream, but the dark creature in front of her, steadily approaching, beat her to it. A movement with the strange wooden stick he held in his hand, a word she didn't understand, a sudden harsh wind that seemed to circle her head, and she couldn't get a sound out anymore, not even a whimper.

"This is the safe way to silence annoying little children..."

The wind had blown her attacker's hood back, and she could see she was indeed facing a human, a pale boy with pointed, almost elf-like features, who couldn't be any older than twenty. His silvery blond hair was combed back from his forehead, and his glittering grey eyes were staring at her coldly. His nose was wrinkled in a sneer, as if he was seeing something particularly disgusting.

The corners of his thin mouth curled up in a cruel smile. "There are other ways, of course: far less pleasant ones. You don't want to find out, do you?"

He stretched out his hands as if he was going to reach for her, but then changed his mind, calling for his companions: "Crabbe! Goyle! Tie the Mudblood up and take her out to the others!"

Then he turned on his heel, swaggering towards the window.

One of the other two was approaching her now, some sort of vine shooting out of the wooden stick he carried. The vine wrapped itself tightly around the little girl's body, except for the end; he kept it in his hand and pulled her out of the closet and towards the window as if she were a dog on a leash.

Five black, horse-like creatures were floating in front of her window. On two of them sat more robed figures. But that wasn't the worst.

Children were dangling in the air beneath the horses. Like her, they had been tied up with those strange vines, and the vines were bound to the saddles of the horses.

What did these people want with the children? Why had they taken them away?

The door to her room opened. "Ophelia, if you can't sleep, we could..."

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green ray of light shot out of the pale boy's stick, and for one endless, terrible moment her whole room was bathed in a blazing green light. A hissing sound rung in her ears as if a horrible snake, invisible to her eyes, had appeared out of nowhere to throw itself at her mother.

In the very next moment, her mother dropped to the floor, lying motionless by the doorframe.

The girl screamed, but no sound came out of her throat. She struggled at her bindings, but it was no use; her captor was at least three times as strong as her.

Calm and completely unmoved, the pale boy was leaning against the window frame, as if he could care less. He smirked coolly, blowing the smoke from the end of his wooden stick.

With a nod, he signaled his companions to leave. "Come on, don't waste my time."

The night air was cold, much colder than Ophelia had expected, but it seemed some of the cold emanated from those creepy horses. Soon they were high above the city, and she closed her eyes, so she wouldn't have to look down. Her head was filled with questions, questions that didn't have answers.

Voldemort's Ghost Riders crossed the night sky, dragging the captured children along like a gruesome mobile.

* * *

"Say, Captain, how many troops are we still waiting for?"

Marcus Flint, captain of the Ghost Riders, raised his tremendously confused eyes from the Muggle map he was currently holding. He just couldn't read the damn thing. Who had ever heard of a map with no water in the rivers and the mountains as flat as the rest of the bloody thing! Not even the different layers of smog were visible on there, and Muggle cities were always covered in layers of smog. Even Marcus Flint knew that, and Marcus Flint could look back on six generations of pure-blooded witches and wizards and had never ever taken the subject of Muggle Studies while he was at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hogwarts ... Yes, there had been a time before the Dark Lord had taken his destined place as supreme ruler over the realm of magic. Back then, Marcus had been captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, and they had won one game after another... Oh, those were the days, my friend! He had hoped to be taken on by a professional Quidditch team after graduation, maybe even the national one. However, the Fates had had something different in mind for him.

Not that there was any reason to complain. He had gotten far in these three years since he had left school, extremely far considering that his family had never been an active part of the Death Eaters, and even now, they didn't rank high among the followers of the Dark Lord. However, joining the Ghost Riders was the best option an ambitious young man could have in order to prove himself to his master.

He took a look around. Since they didn't have anything to do right now, most of the guys were relaxing in the grass, gambling with magical cards or dice. Pretty much all of them were between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five; many of them had gone to school with him. Girls were a big exception to the Ghost Riders, and none of them had yet reached a position of command.

"We're almost complete," Marcus addressed Terence Higgs, who had spoken to him. "As soon as Draco's group gets back from London, we'll have everyone."

"I was just wondering..." Terence leaned a bit closer to be able to lower his voice. "You see, Grand Dragon Macnair is getting impatient."

"Grand Dragon Macnair will have to sit it out." Marcus frowned slightly; he didn't think much of the members of the Dark Council. In his opinion, they were a bunch of arrogant bastards. To speak that thought aloud, however, would be signing your own death verdict, and Marcus knew when to keep quiet.

Terence obviously didn't because he added with a glance to the map: "Looks like Malfoy could use one of those, couldn't he? You think the idiot got lost on his horsie?"

Under different circumstances, Marcus would have laughed at the joke, but not with Macnair approaching behind his back. Talking bad about the son of a council member in presence of other council members was one of the Don'ts as well; you could never know who was in allegiance with whom and what consequences it could have. Politics were complicated. And, if you didn't understand any of them, like Terence Higgs for example, you wouldn't get very far.

"The last group's in London, Flint?" Showing his usual patronizing smile, Macnair's face didn't betray whether he had heard the last remark. "So there's still Mudbloods left in London?"

"You heard me correctly, sir," Marcus nodded. "It's difficult to find them all; we have to search each section separately. As you know, the Flame Quill has never been found."

"We will find it." Macnair's voice sounded very confident. "It's just a question of time until Dumbledore will crack and tell us where it is. Then, you can simply go down the list and get them all."

"Yes, that would save us a lot of time." Marcus' eyes were searching the skies, but there was no sign of the latecomers so far. "Say, sir, do you require our assistance in guarding the children? There's still enough time till daybreak; I could leave you a few of my people...."

"No assistance needed, Flint. My own people are well up to the job. Call it an early night!" Macnair chuckled. "Won't your girlfriend be happy that you've got some spare time for her?"

Marcus swallowed hard and averted his eyes. What did Macnair know?

"Well, a kid your age's got to have a girlfriend, don't he?" Macnair added jovially as he sensed Marcus' confusion and a tiny trace of fear. "Don't worry about it, son. What's all the hard work for if you don't get to have a little fun afterwards?"

In an almost fatherly gesture, he placed a hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Well, as long as you know your limits and keep your private life to yourself, there won't be any trouble. I'll make sure of it, eh?" He gave Marcus a wink.

With a sigh, the young man nodded. In the realm of magic, it was hard to keep a secret. Well, things could have been a lot worse.

"You know, sir, my worries about guarding the children..." he said, hastily changing the subject. "I ... uhm ... permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission granted, Captain Flint." A tiny smile lifted the corners of Macnair's mouth. The boys were exactly as he wanted them: loyal, submissive, and a little too eager to prove themselves.

They didn't have any political influence at all; they were no more than a tool carrying out the Council's orders. However, they thought quite a lot of themselves.

Marcus' eyes darted left and right to make sure they weren't overheard. "I happened to come across a rumour. Only a vague one, of course, but it always pays to be careful."

"I'm listening."

"The Mudblood children we took last week; it's said, they have been freed. Freed by You-Know-Who!"

Macnair laughed heartily. "Oh come on, Marcus. You don't believe that rubbish, eh? Freed by You-Know-Who? A splendid joke indeed! You-Know-Who is busy hiding deep down some rabbit hole. Attack us? Never! He wouldn't even dare if his kiddy league was twenty times as powerful."

"If you say so, sir." Actually, Marcus knew pretty well that these rumours couldn't be so far-fetched. After all, Draco Malfoy had told them to Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle yesterday. Draco probably knew them from his father. In the realm of magic, not even a tiny mouse could stick his nose out of a hole without Grand Dragon Lucius Malfoy, Member of the Dark Council and Lord Voldemort's right-hand- man, hearing about it.

But, who was Marcus Flint to argue with a member of said Council?

"Look, sir!" Marcus pointed upwards. "The last group's returning. And they brought us some more children!"

* * *

Ophelia couldn't remember ever being so cold in her entire life. Her whole body felt numb, as if it were made of clay. When she finally felt solid ground beneath her feet, she wasn't able to stand up straight.

The other children weren't in any better shape; some of them even had lost consciousness. Others glanced around, their eyes filled with fear. None of them were able to speak; these dark riders had charmed away their voices.

A hand reached for the vine that bound her, pulling her to her feet. "Bring all the children over here!" a voice yelled.

The riders had gone now, but there was new group of these dreadful people, and their robes were not black, but dark red. Almost like blood. They were pushing the children along like a herd of sheep, dragging the unconscious ones.

The ground below them became sandy, and they walked downhill for a long time. Around them were strange rocks of red sandstone. Ophelia didn't think that they were still in London.

At the entrance of a huge cave, the group finally came to a halt. Some of the children were so exhausted, they fell to the ground right where they stood. Others hurried to the stone wall next to the cave entrance where a trickle of water was running down the rock, drinking the water thirstily. Their captors didn't stop them.

A man stepped up in front of them, a large fat man with a huge beer belly, a puffed-up face, and a shiny red nose. If Ophelia had been older, she would probably have realized that he was someone who fancied more than a drink or two.

"Listen up," the man barked. "I'm Steve Pinch, and you will remember the name! You will call me sir! And do you know who you are?"

Silence. After all, the children couldn't answer him.

"I'll tell you what you are! Scum! Mudbloods! You're nothing more than the dirt under my feet, and dirt should be cleaned away! So give me one good reason why I shouldn't just squash you like the bugs you are!"

No answer. With a malicious smile, he looked at the children, taking in their fear, which he seemed to enjoy.

"However." His voice calmed down a bit. "If you should prove to be useful bugs, the Imperial Wizard, our all-powerful master, supreme ruler over the magical world, may possess the grace to spare your wretched lives. Now, we will bring you down the mines to dig for fairy gold. You're small enough to crawl through the tunnels..." He raised his forefinger. "And about one-third of you might even grow big enough to get another, less troublesome job."

He spat on the ground. "But you gotta earn it first, scum!" .

Steve Pinch continued to talk about the Dark Lord, the worthlessness of Mudbloods and the glorious age they lived in, but Ophelia was far too tired to pay attention. During his long speech, even more of those red-robed people marched out of the caves, joining the other guards around them. Pinch ignored them and talked on. Olivia stared at all the red, desperately trying to stay on her feet. If she broke down now, they would probably...

One-third, Pinch had said. One-third. What happened to the other two?

The robed figure next to her looked so strange. She was smiling beneath her hood, a true smile, not one of those evil grins. As if she were truly a person, a human being and not a guard who was supposed to take her down into the mines.

But that couldn't be! Surely, her mind was playing a trick on her!

This person had such warm brown eyes. No doubt, it was a woman. A girl, maybe. But how was that possible? None of their captors were girls....

Pinch had finally finished his speech, and with a movement of his fat wobbly chin, he pointed towards the cave entrance. The guards pulled the children up again.

A little girl was crying....

Ophelia heard her sob....

A little girl was crying, really crying with her voice and all. Her voice was back.

All their voices were back.

In the very next moment, all the children started to shout and scream. Ophelia heard herself yell, as if her voice belonged to a stranger. She didn't realize yet, that it was her own voice making that noise, that she could control it. Had the spell truly been broken? But how? And by whom?

One grip into his blood red robes, and Steve Pinch held one of the wooden sticks in his hand. Ophelia had realized by now that those sticks were likely to be wands, even if they didn't look like the black and white wands wizards used on TV.

Steve Pinch drew in a deep breath and raised his hand, holding the wand: "Silen--!"

But someone else was much faster than him. "Expelliarmus!" yelled another robed figure; all Ophelia could see beneath his hood was a pair of sparkling green eyes behind silvery glasses, which flashed the light. Whatever spell Pinch had wanted to use, he could not finish it. His wand was blasted away, and all he could do was stand and stare unbelievingly at his empty hand.

As if the green-eyed boy had issued an order, all the others pulled out their wands as well, and for a moment, loud shouts and bright flashes of light made it impossible for her to see and to hear. The next thing she saw was Steve Pinch falling flat on his beer belly while thick ropes wrapped around him. The vines binding the children, however, withered and broke away.

It all happened so fast that Ophelia could hardly understand what was going on. Red robes fighting other red robes. More sparks, flashes, wands and people zooming through the air. Something exploded loudly....

And the girl with the warm brown eyes reached for her, pulling her onto a...

Broomstick???

"Hold on!" she yelled loudly, trying to make herself heard over all the noise. "Hold on tight, now. We're going up!"

The broom shot straight up, circling the cave entrance once and whooshing back down a moment later, so that the girl could grab another child, a very small boy, and put him on the broom in front of her. Then, they finally dashed off into the night air. More brooms rose around them; it was an entire squadron.

A red-haired boy floated directly over fat Steve Pinch, poking him with his wand. Trembling, the two children sitting on the broom behind him clung to him and to each other, while he had started to make a speech. "You can tell your Dark Lord that we will never surrender. As long as one last breath is flowing through our veins, Harry Potter and the brave rebels of Gryffindor...and, well, I suppose Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, too, will fight for the freedom of all witches and wizards!"

"Ron, you idiot, will you stop it!" the girl shouted angrily. "Come on, we have to go!"

"As long as one last breath is flowing through our veins...." giggled another girl, and a third one added, "Ron for president!"

The boy's face turned as red as his hair, and without another word, he raced past the girls.

* * *

Amicus Draconis - 1st Cycle: Cycle of the Badger - Episode 1: Children of Magic

"I wonder, I wonder, do you know what I wonder?"

"No idea."

"What's this?"

"Hello, dumb brother? This is the eye catch!"

"Right. We survived the alpha part of the first episode. And Sirius did, too."

"Good for him, considering he's not even in this chapter. So stay tuned for the beta part!"

"Beta sounds good. Reminds me of something we have to do."

"Ladihoh! Praise our wonderful beta readers bravely plunging their way through the dark and gruesome swamps of Yamato's writing."

"Praised be the betas, praise them, praise to them! May the light forever shine on Saint Ellie, Adorable Ann, Angelic Arsinyk and not so saintly, yet saintly Notsosaintly!"

"Stay tuned. Coming up next on AD: New Hogwarts, a secret hideout and lots and lots of questions."

Amicus Draconis - 1.Zyklus: Zyklus des Dachses - Folge 1: Die Kinder der Zauberkraft

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