A/N: I'm back. Thanks for all reviews of this fic and my other fic. Please review this fic…
Heavy changes have been made to this chapter to make this tale more interesting and bring it in line with expectations of readers. Please note that I have borrowed some from my other fiction, Embrace of Death. Updates very soon.
Chapter 13: His Dark Materials
Harry, Ron and Hermione pulled out their wands and struggled through the panicky crowd in the corridor. Things now seemed to have settled down and people ahead were generally silent. Harry slipped past Dennis Creevy, who appeared to be mortified. A group of teachers were huddled around the limp form of Argus Filch.
"You noticed him lying here?" enquired Professor McGonagall kindly.
"Y…yes Professor, no one noticed him until I pointed him out and we were all alarmed. We thought he was dead," said Dennis, for a second he seemed almost regretful before implementing an expression of innocence.
"He's stunned," replied Appleby who had just crept to the rather shocking scene. "Enervate."
Filch groaned and moved his head awkwardly.
"Are you alright, Argus?" squeaked a concerned Flitwick.
"Yeesss," replied Filch bleakly.
"What happened to you?" asked Appleby appraisingly.
"Dun no who dun nit, Professor, I hears a noise and turns around and then someone stuns me," replied Filch weakly.
Professor McGonagall looked at the old caretaker before saying gently, "Horace, take him to Madam Pomfrey for some rest."
"Up you get, my good man," Slughorn beamed at Filch as he helped him through the gaggle of students.
"Everyone back to your common rooms, NOW," barked Professor McGonagall, "Heads of Houses will be with you shortly."
There was quiet whispering as the whole populace of Hogwarts emptied the corridor and those who had taken asylum into the surrounding classrooms were ushered out by Professor Sinistra.
Harry turned to leave and join Ron and Hermione who were lingering somewhere at the back.
---
It had been another trying day. Dinner was accompanied by an inferno of rumour- filled whispers as students discussed yesterday's events. Even eye-witnesses had started believing that Dennis Creevey had single-handedly defeated ten Death Eaters—and a dog—to rescue Argus Filch who was being tortured by them.
"Did you hear how he stunned the second one?" Seamus asked excitedly. "Hit her with jelly-legs then petrified her and then stunned her."
"If they want to turn Dennis into a hero, at least they should be able to create sensible rumours," said Ron snickering sarcastically. "Petrified her and then stunned her. Some other idiot was saying that the house elves have joined Voldemort…" He clapped a hand to his mouth; Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.
"Doesn't hurt you, does it Ronald?" said Hermione coolly. "I have been trying to get him to say it for ages now…"
Ron went red as a beetroot, embarrassed—or angry—with Hermione.
"I think we'd better go to the library to research that Curse," said Hermione shifting her attention to Harry. "There's only an hour left before it closes."
---
Harry peered hopelessly at the copy of Encyclopaedia Magicka, only to find Ron looking eagerly at a picture of an aged man scratching his head. "Doesn't do much, the old man," said Ron kindly before breaking off in a fit of laughter and collapsing into silence after being pierced by the Madam Pince's icy stare.
Hermione gasped. "Look…"
The Kaethron Cycle — Doom -impending Curses
The lesser known of the Babylon curses was the 'Slytherin's Curse.' This curse allowed Salazar Slytherin to gaze into the world of shadows. Later, however, Slytherin learnt to manipulate this world. This curse was later dubbed 'Slytherin's Gift.'
"That's what stunned Filch," said Hermione as they finished reading. "Stupefy doesn't really cause any real after effects that need healing. He was stunned by someone. That's why he was sent to see Madam Pomfrey."
---
Lord Voldemort paced on the ancient stone floor of a windowless, high-ceilinged room framed in darkness, despite the emerald fire cackling intensely in an ornate marble fireplace, now coated in centuries of grime. Outside, thunder rolled back and forth across the rain-lashed hills; a few night birds screamed in the silent eaves of the forest. There was a crack like that of a stone trouncing against a window, loud yet muffled by old architecture. Lord Voldemort's pale and frail looking face twisted itself into a cold, expectant smile. With the grace of a snake, he glided to a black-swathed chair lying in a dark corner of the room.
A figure appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a dark cloak with the hood cast aside to reveal a handsome, wheat-coloured face of a man just beyond his middle years, eyes hard as the sapphires they resembled.
"Do you have it, Galenne?" Lord Voldemort hissed at him before he had taken two steps into the room.
"Yes, my master," the man addressed as Galenne replied, bowing his head and lowering his eyes, though only slightly. He presented to Lord Voldemort something long wrapped in silver cloth, smooth as silk.
"Are you ready to begin your new job?"
"Yes master."
"Good," replied Lord Voldemort coldly as he toyed with the fabric of the parcel. His voice gained heat and froze at the same time. "Make yourself scarce now." Galenne started to leave with a final bow. "And send in Bellatrix and Goyle."
---
"Yes master. It will be as you say master," murmured Bellatrix at the same time as Goyle, who stumbled on his feet and fell, earning himself a glare from Lord Voldemort, cold as ice, promising pain should he fail.
"It comes to it at last. Potter shall fall and then, truly, Death shall serve me for eternity." Lord Voldemort laughed, coldly, madly. "Go now, my death eaters and bring good news of your task."
After the two left, Lord Voldemort slowly and carefully unwrapped the bundle. Within it held a short ivory baton marked with complex runes. It was hot as molten iron to touch in Lord Voldemort's icy touch. He waved it elegantly. The raging emerald fire died down in the fireplace and formed a thing trail of smoke. From the shadows that now completely engulfed the room words etched themselves in Lord Voldemort's mind and if words were weight these would anchor a ship. "What orders, my liege?"
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