REQUIEM

by Flye Autumne

A/N: Disclaimer for the entire work: I do not own Harry Potter, I am merely playing in the playground J.K. Rowling left.

CHAPTER ONE: OLYMPUS CLUB

With the last of his foes kneeling before him, the Dark Lord Voldemort rose. 'There will be peace,' he said. 'There will be prosperity, and most importantly, there will be magic.' The people nodded, for they saw this was good, and under the guidance of our Lord, Magical Britain moved into a new Golden Age.

-Excerpt from Rise of Our Saviour, published in 1982 following the fall of the old Ministry

Knockturn Alley, London

18 July 1995

1:00 am

The scent of blood, sweat, and cheap whiskey lay heavy in the air. The odor was typical of the red light district of Knockturn Alley, although the blood was mostly unique to the Olympus Club. Coins clinked as money rapidly changed hands, and patrons jockeyed for a spot around the ring, eager to have the best view of the fights.

The black robed man moved effortlessly through the crowd, unnoticed by the majority of the club's denizens. Those who did notice him shied away instinctively. Most powerful men called attention to themselves, and those who didn't were dangerous. The black robed man fell squarely into the second category, for while it was one thing to gain the Dark Lord's attention, it was quite another to become his right-hand man, a position the dark man held for well over ten years.

He made his way to the edge of the ring, and with the shrewdness of a gambler, watched the fight. It was recruitment season for Requiem, and suitable candidates had yet to be found for the London district.

"Ares beats Apollo!" bellowed a voice. "Next round, Athena versus Hermes, starts in ten minutes! The betting pool is now open."

The fetid sea of humanity stirred, raucous voices filling the air as odds were hawked and coins changed hands once again. The hulking form of Eustace Preece, alias Ares, was hustled towards the exit while another employee quite literally pried Phineas Blane, alias Apollo, out of the bloody sand.

The man frowned. While the fight between Preece and Blane could be loosely qualified as entertainment, it wasn't the one he was here to see. Preece was a physical powerhouse, and well-qualified to bowl other people over. However, he wasn't the right sort for Requiem. Requiem required a certain precision and tact that a brute like Preece couldn't begin to understand. The bulky blond could possibly do in a pinch for a backwater district like Ballycastle, but he would not suffice for London.

A gong sounded, resonating deep in his sternum. Patrons hurried towards the ring, and one drunk wizard made the mistake of attempting to elbow the dark man away. A pointed glare left him cowering in fear, muttering an apology, and scampering away.

"I give you...Athena!" shouted the announcer.

The crowd bellowed its approval as a tall girl strode into the ring. She was quite pretty despite the nasty scar that cut from the corner of her nose to the edge of her jaw. Her short leather skirt and bustier certainly made the crowd appreciate her for her looks, if not her skill.

The man stared thoughtfully. Belle Chang was another one of the potential candidates for the London district. As halfblood whose parents made the mistake of siding with Dumbledore, Chang hadn't had it easy. When her parents were disposed of during the Purge of '84, Chang had assumed responsibility over her younger sister Cho, moonlighting at the Voiceless Sparrow to keep Cho in school and away from the streets. Eventually, the older Chang had found better employment at the Olympus Club, and Cho remained at the Gaunt Institute of Magical Learning, hopefully unaware of her older sister's nighttime activities.

"I give you...Hermes!"

The man's eyes furrowed. While his files were fastidiously accurate for most of the denizens of Olympus Club, 'Hermes' remained an enigma. He was very slight, perhaps 160 centimeters tall at most, and had close cropped brown curly hair. Extensive trawling through legal papers revealed 'Hermes' to be one H.J. Dagworth-Granger, an illegitimate and since disowned member of the pureblood Dagworth-Grangers. Allegedly, H.J. was the child of a Knockturn Alley whore and one of Corinth Dagworth-Granger's more insipid nephews, but that was entirely up to rumor and wild speculation.

'Hermes' stalked across the sand with the understated grace of a great cat. He truly was an odd looking boy - he had the big eyes and the delicate, almost feminine features of a child, but one look at his gait revealed him to be anything but that. Somehow, at the tender age of fifteen, H.J. Dagworth-Granger had become a seasoned fighter, and somehow, far before then, he'd gathered enough influence to make his records disappear.

The man gave the boy an appraising look. 'Hermes' was the real reason he had come to the Olympus Club. H.J. Dagworth-Granger was just the right sort for Requiem, and there was also the not so small question of the records. That spoke of a delicate touch, manipulation, and cunning - the tools of a true Slytherin that were so rarely found among adolescents.

"Combatants at the ready!"

Chang drew a wicked looking knife, and Dagworth-Granger crouched slightly, body tightly coiled like a spring.

"Fight!"

Chang lunged forward, knife flashing as Dagworth-Granger kicked up a veritable wall of sand, obstructing the man's view of him. Half a heartbeat later, the sand settled, revealing Dagworth-Granger armed with a pair of escrima sticks. The boy snarled, and the crowd cheered as he raised the escrima sticks. Chang slashed her knife, attempting to use her height as an advantage, but Dagworth-Granger was too fast, and her blade slid uselessly to the side.

It took only half a heartbeat for Chang to draw a second knife, but was enough for Dagworth-Granger to get a hard blow in on her ribs. They parried back and forth several times, the knives a deadly silver blur. Each time, the boy blocked the knives with the escrima sticks, and despite Chang's redoubled efforts, she couldn't break through his defense.

Dagworth-Granger advanced on Chang, escrima sticks tapping out a faster rhythm. Chang faltered again, and Dagworth-Granger lunged forward, aiming for Chang's head. Chang's knives flashed, and suddenly Dagworth-Granger's shirt was stained with blood, crimson standing stark against the white fabric.

The boy growled, the sound deep and predatory. For a split second, everything froze as Dagworth-Granger and Chang sized each other up. A tense look of concentration passed over the boy's face as the sand covering the ground began to tremble, then rise in a terrible wave.

Dagworth-Granger rushed forward in a flurry of motion, escrima sticks blurring together. With a jolt, he realized the boy had been holding back. Chang coughed sharply as sand particles found their way into her lungs, and within moments, one of her knives skittered across the sand. Dagworth-Granger swept his leg, and Chang fell to the ground, knife rendered useless by the pressure of the boy's foot.

He smiled - a blank, rote twist of the lips - as the crowd roared its approval. The escrima sticks rose one final time, then cracked sharply over Chang's head. Her body went limp, and Severus could tell she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

"Hermes beats Athena and remains undefeated!" the announcer shouted over the drunken din. "We have two special guests with us later tonight, fighting under the names Theseus and Minotaur. The battle will begin in twenty minutes. Place your bets!"

The man's lip curled. He knew all too well who Theseus and Minotaur were. Janus Lestrange, Rodolphus and Bellatrix's eldest child, had inherited his mother's bent for sadism in addition to her exhibitionist nature. Minotaur was most likely Vincent Crabbe, the latest victim in Janus' schemes. Bellatrix would almost certainly offer Janus as London's male candidate for Requiem. Janus was vicious, the man would give him that, but Janus lacked the finesse he deemed essential for Requiem. Luckily for him, and unfortunately for Bellatrix, the man all but had the final decision in who the Requiem candidates would be. For that exact reason, none of his children would ever compete. They weren't old enough yet - Sebastian was eleven, and candidates had to be at least fifteen to compete. He was certain Sebastian would ask, but unfortunately his son would never be permitted to so foolishly risk his life.

The man moved effortlessly through the crowd. He could never fathom why his fellow Death Eaters nominated their children for Requiem. With thirty-six candidates - one female, and one male from each settlement - there was no guarantee that their children would win and earn a coveted position in the Dark Lord's council.

"Alexander."

The club owner started, then blanched. He was a short man, balding, with a slight paunch and a weak chin. "Severus! I didn't expect to see you here of all places."

"I go where the Dark Lord bids me."

"Oh, yes, of course," Alexander said hurriedly, jowls quivering.

"I need to speak with the one called Hermes."

Alexander's brow furrowed, and the reek of the man's sweat laid heavily in the air. It was odd that he would be so nervous, but Severus wasn't the sort of man who inspired joy. "Hermes? Why?"

"The matter does not concern you," he said coldly. "Tell me where I can find the fighters' quarters."

Alexander figited uncomfortably. "The public isn't allowed upstairs."

Severus made eye contact, and he could practically smell the fear rolling off the other man. "I am certain you could make an exception for me," he said softly. "Of course, if you choose not to tell me, I can simply rip the information out of your mind, although I am certain we will not need to resort to such vulgarities."

Alexander paled. "I - I -"

"I should not need to remind you that I speak with the Dark Lord's blessing." Severus drew a small bag of Galleons from his robes. "You are lucky. Tonight, I am in a good mood, and if you cooperate, I could be persuaded to give you this -" he shook the bag lightly, and the Galleons chinked together, "- to ease your mind."

Alexander swallowed, eyes fixated on the bag. "O-of course. I would never wish to stand in the way of one of the Dark Lord's chosen."

Severus took a step closer. "Well?"

The smell of sweat became decidedly more pronounced. "The rear stairs are located five paces from the back wall on the left hand side. The password is nemesis."

"And Hermes?"

Alexander looked away. "Room three. The password is Thanatos."

Severus tossed the bag, and stalked off, not bothering to check to see whether or not Alexander was pathetically rifling through its contents. A whispered word made the grimy bricks in front of him fade, and he stepped through. The staircase beyond was a dingy shade of beige, but surprisingly well lit. Severus climbed the stairs idly and strode down the hall, pausing for a heartbeat before room three.

"Thanatos," he intoned. The door clicked, and he pushed it open. The room beyond was spartan, to put it generously. A cheap tallboy dresser stood against one wall, and a small desk and chair against the other. Dagworth-Granger was shirtless, and perched on the bed, stitching up the gash that ran from the top of his hip to the bottom of his breast - her breast.

H.J. Dagworth-Granger was a girl. A very thin one, based on the prominence of her rib cage and vertebrae.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked blankly, not pausing in her stitching. "You are aware, of course, that patrons are not allowed in the fighters' quarters, and that I could put a knife in you before you had the chance to draw your wand? The Voiceless Sparrow is the next building over, if that's what you're looking for."

"I'm not here for such base activities," Severus said, marveling at the girl's ability to remain nonchalant. He couldn't remember the last time someone spoke to him so brusquely. It was almost refreshing. "I'm here to talk."

The girl snorted. "As if I'm going to believe that."

"Perhaps I ought to further elucidate the reason for my presence," Severus began coldly, good mood dissipating. He was many things, morally questionable high among them, but he certainly wasn't a liar or an adulterer. "My name is Severus Snape, and I am here by proxy from the Dark Lord to officially invite you to participate in Requiem."

The girl's stitching paused for the briefest of moments. "Why was I, out of all of those residing in the London district, selected?"

"You are the most eligible female candidate."

"I never applied."

"Your actions speak for themselves."

"I don't doubt that. I am merely wondering how I, at not-quite sixteen, am the most qualified female candidate from London."

"You would be wise not to ask."

The girl nodded, and tied off the thread before reaching for a small tub of potion. It was vivid purple, and foul smelling. Much to his surprise, Severus didn't recognize it. The girl smeared it liberally across the gash, and her skin smoked for several seconds before clearing to reveal a half-healed scar. Twitching her fingers, she wandlessly summoned a shirt from across the room and put in on.

"You were saying?"

"One would be wise not to question the will of the Dark Lord."

The girl swallowed. "Odd that the Dark Lord himself would take notice of a penniless halfblood."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "We both know one of those things is not true."

The girl turned around, amber eyes wide with shock and a hint of surprise. "You think I have money?"

Severus gave her a measuring look. "Don't play stupid with me, I know just what sort of person you are."

The girl shrugged, somehow making the motion elegant. "Do I have any sort of choice in whether I participate in Requiem?"

"No." Severus summoned a roll of parchment from the depths of his robes. "You will fill out this form, I will give you the mandatory welcome speech, and we will each be on our merry way." He applied a light banishing charm to the roll to send it towards her, and she caught it easily. Her quill started scratching away as he continued to speak.

"Congratulations," he began, lips twisting ironically, "You have been selected to compete in Requiem for a position of power at the Dark Lord's side. Requiem officially begins on 31 October; however, you will be expected to enroll at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the observation period. Your transcripts from the Gaunt Institute will be transferred to Hogwarts, and you may take placement exams the week prior to the start of term should you deem it necessary. Your tuition has been covered by the Hogwarts Scholarship Fund, and you will receive a supply list along with an allowance in the upcoming week. Do you have any questions?"

The girl blinked, and handed him the parchment. "No."

"Excellent." Severus glanced down at the parchment. The name Hermione Jean Dagworth-Granger scrawled its way across the top. "Term begins on 1 September. I recommend you grow your hair out before then." He turned, robes twisting sharply around his ankles as he exited the room, glad to leave the repulsive club behind him.

Hogsmeade, Scotland

19 July 1995

2:39 am

The door shut with scarcely a whisper, and Severus toed his boots off before running a hand angrily through his hair.

Sod the Dark Lord.

Sod his policies.

Sod fucking Bellatrix Lestrange.

A sound of exasperation escaped his lips, and in the corner of the room a wand tip lit.

"Severus? Are you alright?"

Severus whirled around. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

"I wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"You didn't need to do that," Severus bit out.

"You know I worry."

"I know." Severus sunk onto the couch, knees apart, head balanced on his hands. "Doesn't mean I bloody well have to like it."

"Are you alright?" Aurora asked again.

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I want to drown myself in the shower and forget any of this ever happened."

"Severus…"

"Janus Lestrange is one of the London candidates for Requiem."

"Ah. I assume Bellatrix pushed hard for that?"

"Of course. Pulled a bloody favor with the Dark Lord to go behind my back about it. The bitch thinks it's bloody Yule, having her son compete, and was just fucking delighted to go behind my back about it." Severus could feel his accent slipping into the slurred vowels of Cokeworth, but couldn't bring himself to care.

"Who's the other candidate for London?"

"Hermione Dagworth-Granger. One of Chesney Dagworth-Granger's bastards. She's nearly sixteen, but looks to be about twelve."

"Oh, Merlin…" Aurora put a comforting hand on his thigh, clearly at a loss for words. "Did Bellatrix pull a favor for that, too?"

Severus shook his head. "She could kill Janus Lestrange in a fair fight. Possibly in an unfair one, too."

Aurora sighed. "Do I want to know how?"

"No."

"But you'll tell me anyway?"

Severus studied his socks, weighing his words carefully. "She's been working in the Olympus Club since age thirteen."

"Is that…"

"The one where they must fight wandless? Yes."

"Why…"

"When the other option is to work at the Voiceless Sparrow, one quickly makes alternate plans."

Aurora paled. "But why was she out on the street in the first place?"

Severus shrugged. He had several theories, each more likely than the next, but he didn't wish to share them. Not the true theories, at least. "She's one of Chesney Dagworth-Granger's bastards. That fat prick has fathered numerous children off Knockturn Alley whores, and the girl merely made the mistake of trying to get money out of her father. Obviously, that wasn't going to be possible, and she ended up on the streets. The records are as to where she was prior to age eleven, but it can't have been anywhere good." Severus swallowed, surprised at the level of emotion welling up. "There was this look in her eyes when I spoke to her...no child should look like that…"

"Oh, Severus…"

He stood, and forcibly clamped down on his emotions. They had no place here. "There's nothing we can do about it. And, Merlin willing, Janus Lestrange will be dead before the New Year."

A/N: Welcome to another relic of my Google drive, courtesy of COVID-19! I'm super excited to start posting this; this is quite easily the most AU fic I've written. I hope you enjoy it - I've got a bunch of chapters pre-written and I'm hyped to share this story with you!