A/N: Hello all. This is an idea that hit me after reading TheBlackHand724's excellent story "Unspeakably Retired". This is a continuation of that story and is written with TheBlackHand724's permission.

The hooded figure's eyes scanned slowly around the dimly lit chamber. He was seated, along with twelve other hooded beings, at a semi-circular table located in the deepest dungeon of their hidden fortress. As his eyes met the others at the table, he had the feeling that they were all thinking the same thing.

Ashes.

All that remained of the Red Hand now were ashes. Their vast armies of wizards, mercenaries, and dark creatures, dead. Their storehouses of dark artifacts and potions, meant for subjugating the populous and caring for their troops, destroyed. Their huge reserves of gold, currency, gemstones, and other valuables, stolen. Everything they had worked for, everything they had built, their cause, their purpose, their life, was now gone.

How did this happen? How? For almost two years, the Red Hand steadily increased their hold over most of the continent, from the Urals to the Atlantic, ruling the wizarding communities with an iron fist. Whenever they came across an individual wizard or a magical community that wouldn't convert to their views, they killed everyone there and burned their structures, leaving nothing behind. So this attack on them couldn't have come from the continent, they had no enemies here.

He initially thought that it could be that half-blood bastard Potter who was hunting them down, but after the failed attack on the agent's mansion four months ago, not a single trace of him could be found. The two other attempts to draw him out by abducting his family members as bait for a trap also failed in that the teams couldn't even find a trace of his family's existence. Whatever magic Potter employed to hide himself and his family resisted every attempt of the Red Hand's wardmasters to break the enchantments. Even the one who dropped the port key stone and gave them access to Potter's mansion, the traitor Brown, disappeared as well, so that was another avenue closed to them. No, he was sure it wasn't Potter that was causing their current dilemma, he was hiding behind his wards with the rest of his mudblood family.

Besides, just how in Hecate's name could one single person bring about the destruction of their entire organization in just a few short month's time? Raiding parties that were sent out would suddenly explode in a shower of blood and bone, burn to ash in seconds, or simply vanish without a trace. Strongholds they previously thought impenetrable would crumble into dust, explode in massive fireballs, or have the ground turn to quicksand underneath them and sink out of sight, taking any occupants with them. Caches where they stored their wealth would be discovered completely empty with no clue as to the identity of the perpetrators.

Even going out in the daytime without their masks and robes became a hazardous venture as someone started killing them in droves. Either singly or in groups, Red Hand wizards would have their throats cut, their heads falling off their shoulders, or have their hearts explode in their chests. What was truly frightening is that witnesses reported that they saw no one firing curses or engaging their wizards in spell battles, they just dropped dead. Needless to say, recruitment fell off sharply after that.

On and on and on the dismal reports kept pouring in. Whatever steps they took, whatever orders they issued, whatever measures they put in place did nothing to stanch the hemorrhaging of their organization. In a panic, the founders of the Red Hand called for a conference to discuss what they should do, hence why they were seated at this table.

"What are we going to do?" a high-pitch, reedy voice said to his right. He never could stand Lord Boshwyn's voice when he got excited or frustrated. It was like nails on a blackboard.

"Please calm yourself, Lord Boshwyn, there's no need to get excited. Our troops will soon have this situation well in hand." Lord Vickers was another one he couldn't stand for an entirely different reason. He spoke in a soothing baritone, but his empty platitudes and skewed view of reality irritated him in a completely different manner. Before anyone else could comment, Boshwyn screeched his reply.

"THE TROOPS HAVE THE SITUATION IN HAND? Have the potions you've been taking finally rotted your brain? What troops would that be, Vickers? The only troops I know of are the ones who came with us to this castle! Unless you have a fully staffed secret base that none of the rest of us know about we have NO ONE left!"

"Of course not, my good sir, of course not!" Vickers laughed in his jovial manner, letting Boshwyn's insults roll off of him like they were water. "Our cause is a just one and soon our troop strength….."

BOOOOMMM!

A loud, deep, rolling tremor shook the entire room and caused a fair amount of dust to rain from the ceiling. The founders looked around in a panic while the guards at the door bolted it shut and activated the runes carved into the door frame. The glow from the activated runes spread over the door, walls, ceiling, and floor sealing the room tight. When the glow faded into the stone, Vickers stood with his palms out in a placating gesture.

"My Lords, please calm yourselves. I'm certain our soldiers will repel whoever is foolish enough to attack this castle. In the meantime, we are perfectly safe in this chamber. As long as the wards remain activated, nothing outside this chamber can penetrate the walls, ceiling, or door and reach us here."

His words had everyone starting to calm down. They were aware of how well this rune array worked and were confident that they were safe. However, that illusion of safety was shattered when an unknown voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. The founders looked around, but there was no one else visible.

"That would be all well and good if I wasn't already in here with you."

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