VII
By: JA_Japster
Copyright Notice: Harry Potter is copyrighted to J.K Rowling. All manga/anime that served as the inspiration/basis for this fanfiction is the property of their respective authors and publishing companies. Black Cat is copyrighted to Jump Comics and Yabuki Kentaro. The fanfiction itself was written by me and should not be reproduced in any shape or form without prior consent.
Chapter One:
Lions and Serpents
He got the message just as he leaving the bathroom. Clad only in a towel and dripping wet from his shower, Harry Potter emerged into his apartment. It was a small studio room, equipped only with the most basic essentials. A bed lay in one corner, and a small kitchen rested in the other. The walls were bare, devoid of any personal effects like the rest of the room, and the floor and the rest of the sparse furnishing immaculately maintained. If it weren't for the tousled sheets on the bed there would have been little indication that anyone lived there.
Harry had just finished drying his unruly, black hair when it hit him. A brief, but searing pain shot through chest, and it took a second for him to regain his composure. Gritting his teeth, he glanced down at the Roman numerals that were etched into flesh directly beneath his right collarbone.
VII.
The numerals, burned into his skin with magical black ink, glowed underneath stray droplets of water, as if waiting patiently for something. Harry abided to its demands, pressing his fingers into the center of the tattoo before sitting down on his bed, breathing deeply.
"Your team is waiting outside," said a soft female voice in Harry's head, instantly recognizable to him as belonging to his commander, Lilith the Prophet. He sighed as he rose from his bed and walked to a nearby dresser. It, like the rest of his room, was meagerly equipped. There were only seven outfits in it, each one identical to the next.
On the hangers were a series of loose fitting, gray blouses, and black trousers. On a rack was a row of solid black ties. It was simple attire, almost boring, yet sharp, and above all, was highly effective in combat while simultaneously entertaining an air of deadly professionalism and style. This was their uniform, the embodiment of everything the Thirteen represented. For the last two years Harry had worn the same outfit, never deviating from their uniform no matter whether he was attending a funeral or a celebration. It was him; it was as integral to his existence as the blood that pumped through his veins.
He changed and then smiled at the image that looked back at him in the mirror that adorned the side of his dresser. In the pane of glass stood a young man with sharp features marred only by a small, lightening bolt shaped scar that crossed his forehead. Involuntarily, his fingers traced across it, feeling the groove where a curse had left its mark. The scar was a mystery to him, an enigmatic part of his life that perhaps would never be solved.
Harry shook his head irritably, snapping out of his reverie, and continued to dress. His uniform was not complete yet, not without perhaps the most essential component to his image. Reaching into a hidden compartment in the floor of his dresser, he removed a small wooden box that opened at his touch. Inside, resting on velvet cushioning that lined the interior of the box, was a set of wands. Each was one of a kind, custom fitted for Harry's hands and constructed of the finest wood and magical ingredients in the world. Etched in silver in the pommel of each wand was the name the Thirteen had given him: VII.
He picked up the wands and twirled them expertly in his hands, faster and faster until they were spiraling blurs of motion. They were perfectly balanced, streamlined to reduce friction as they cut through the air and polished until they reflected his image in their wooden surface. They were fine weapons, the finest Harry had ever used since he had first picked up a wand at the age of ten. That had been nine years ago.
Harry delicately placed his wands in a set of leather sheaths which he wrapped around his waist so that they could be easily accessed. Nodding with satisfaction, Harry drew one of his wands and gently flicked his wrist. Instantly, the dresser closed, and the sheets on his bed magically folded themselves.
With one more glance to assure his apartment was spotless, Harry sheathed his wand and slipped on a long, black overcoat before leaving his room. He did not even bother to lock it. There was nothing worth stealing inside; the only possession of his that he truly valued he carried with him. Were a muggle thief to stumble upon it they would just see an empty apartment, unworthy of their time to rob it; a wizard would see no different.
Standing in the smoke filled hallway outside his apartment, Harry sometimes wondered why he even lived there. It was a muggle building in a muggle part of London that wizards and witches rarely visited. It wasn't that it was an unsavory part of the city; it was just that because no one had ever bothered to install the anti-muggle spells that most wizards and witches users used to disguise their magical activity, there was very little reason for any of them to live there. They prided themselves with their magical blood and flaunted it with their ostentatious, magically enhanced mansions.
Maybe that was why he lived there. Harry spent his entire day mingling with the elite, the rich and the powerful. While wealthy and powerful from the job he held, that kind of lifestyle didn't appeal to Harry. The Spartan living accommodations in this run down apartment had everything Harry wanted.
He was about to take the stairs to the street below, when suddenly a voice called out to him.
"Harry!" The door next to his opened and a slim, young woman dressed in shirt and pair of jeans with a back pack slung over her shoulder -the typical attire for a muggle college student- stepped out of her apartment to join Harry in the hallway.
"Hey, Hermione," Harry said with a friendly wave. "Off to class?"
Hermione Granger smiled. It was a pretty smile to match a pretty face, a fact that Harry never seemed to overlook. It was an uncanny sort of beauty, one that defied traditional standards. With her long bushy, brown hair, it was obvious that Hermione did not invest an excessive amount of time in maintaining her appearance. Nonetheless there was something attractive about her, something that extended beyond just her features.
"Yes," she sighed. "I was up all last night studying for exams."
Harry raised an eyebrow at his neighbor. "You look like you've got enough books in that bag to kill someone with." He observed with good natured cynicism.
Hermione laughed. "Well, if I'm going to go to college I might as well learn all I can. In fact, I wish I could have taken more courses. I mean, only one level of arithmetic a semester is ridiculous and I would love take a deeper look into ancient Spanish history, but regulations say that…" She stopped suddenly and blushed. "I was rambling again wasn't I?"
"Sort of," Harry admitted with a grin. They both chuckled.
It had been about two months now since Harry had moved into this apartment and Hermione Granger was one of the nicer benefits. She was friendly and by far nicer than most of the people he fraternized with in the magical community. Every morning they left their apartments at the same time to go to their respective destinations, and every morning she would stop to warmly greet him. It was their little ritual that they went through everyday without fail.
"What about you, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Off to work at the bank?"
Harry nodded quickly. A job at as an entry-level banker at a branch several hours away was the fictitious occupation he had fabricated to cover his true line of work. It easily explained the suit he wore and the periodic trips he had to take out of the country. Between his cover and his simple lifestyle, Harry had successfully convinced Hermione that he was just another, white-collar, muggle trying to make his way into the world.
Hermione's watch suddenly beeped, and with a muttered curse she looked down at it. "Damn, I'm running late."
"Well, don't let me keep you."
"Thanks. Have a good day at work." She started jogging down the stairs, but stopped halfway down and looked back up at Harry. "Say, would you be up for some tea this evening after your get off of work? The usual place?"
"Sure. I'd love to." Harry replied.
Hermione smiled that pretty smile of hers. "It's a date then," She yelled up at him and then disappeared from sight.
As soon as Hermione was gone, the smile on Harry's face faded. He groaned softly, wondering why he had taken her up on her offer yet again. Friendships with other wizards and witches much less muggles were discouraged by the Elders, but there was something so enticing about Hermione's personality that made him temporarily forget about the rules. He didn't know why he did it. The countless conversations they had held over cups of tea or while watching television at Hermione's apartment were all built on lies that Harry invented to hide his true identity. It pained him greatly to do so because it seemed unforgivably wrong to lie to a friend, but mentally he justified his actions.
His lies protected her. Hermione was a muggle. He was a wizard. There was no way she would ever understand who he was or the work he did.
Harry walked down the stairs and left the building. It was another beautiful day, cloudless, and sunny. There was a green bench across the pavement, and sitting on it, sprawled out like a cat bathing in the suit, was a tall, red-haired man who was dressed identically to Harry. With his head tossed back over the top of the bench, the Roman numerals VI were visible on the side of his neck.
"Ron," Harry called out to him. The red-haired man stirred and sat up with a deep yawn. Harry walked over and sat down beside him.
"Too bloody hot to be out like this," Ron Weasley muttered. He reached into his breast pocket and removed a pair of sunglasses which he put on. "Oh, and why can't you ever call me by my full title? Just once?"
"What's wrong with your normal name?" Harry asked.
Ron frowned; an act that Harry noticed made the freckles on his skin stand out. It was a strange observation.
"Well, nothing." Ron said. "But I didn't work my ass off to become a part of the Thirteen so you could call me just "Ron" you know. It's Ron the-"
"But it sounds stupid, Ron, and continually denying it won't change anything." Harry interjected.
"It does not sound stupid!"
"I'm sorry, Ron. But it does. You're probably the only one of us who has such a lame sounding
title."
"Oh bugger off you prat." Ron glowered as Harry chuckled. He reached into his jacket pocket again and removed a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Harry. "What took you so long anyway?"
Harry waved it away and waited until Ron had lit his own. "Stopped to talk with my neighbor."
"The one who just came down the stairs just now?" Ron whistled and gave him a sly look. "She's a looker."
Harry glared at him. "It's not like that."
The red-haired wizard snorted. "So you claim, Harry. So you claim."
Harry punched him in the shoulder hard, but Ron only continued to laugh. They had both been recruited into the Thirteen at roughly the same time two years ago, and had been working ever since in Team Gryffindor together. They worked well together, and despite what the Elders encouraged or discouraged, they were also good friends.
"So what now, Captain?" Ron asked, taking a drag on his cigarette. While they had been in Team Gryffindor for the same amount of time, Harry's natural leadership had earned him command of the team following the abrupt retirement of Harry's predecessor. Ron never took Harry's rank too seriously, and as a mark of respect for their friendship, neither did Harry.
"Where's, Lupin?" Harry wondered.
"Already doing early reconnaissance." answered Ron. He stubbed out his cigarette and tossed the butt away.
"We're going to meet him there."
Harry nodded, and in unison they rose. "Let's do this thing then." He said.
------
Azkaban. The very word inspired fear in most men, and only the most fool hardy and brave ever ventured into the infamous wizard prison without reason. Housed within its magically protected walls were the most depraved and insane wizards and witches in the world, some of whom would never see the light of day ever again. There was despair lingering in the air. It was as tangible as the acrid odor of festering rot that would make most men gag. It was a dismal place. The thick iron bars that confined Azkaban's captives like wild animals in a zoo was a constant reminder of the hopelessness of their existence. Only the solitary rays of light that filtered in through windows hundreds of feet above the ground were their only comfort, the only thing that kept most from going completely insane within the prison's thick walls.
But Voldemort was going deeper into the bowls of Azkaban that seldom few ever ventured into. Down flights of stairs and past numerous checkpoints guarded by the most talented of Aurors was what the warden purposely christened as "Hell". Deep underground where the sun's light never shone, Hell guarded the worst of the worst, the wizards and witches who had been convicted of crimes against the magical community so terrible that they would never be released. If the conditions in the normal quarters of Azkaban were harsh, the small, metal cells the prisoners of Hell were locked away in were worse. Only the most basic necessities were provided for its inmates, and as a result, Hell was infamous for its staggering mortality rate. The weak died or went insane within days; the strong fared only a little better.
The Thirteen's second-in-command thought about this as he finished descending the last set of stairs. Draco had been sentenced to rot in this hellhole for three months on Lilith's recommendation, and while any member of the Thirteen was infinitely stronger than the normal wizard, even Voldemort was slightly concerned for his subordinate's welfare.
Two men stood guard over a small metal door at the end of the long hallway, and the immaculate black suits they wore indicated them as members of the Thirteen. One of the wizards was smaller than most and had short, straw colored hair. His companion, however, was a giant of a man. Standing over two meters tall, his black skin rippled with bulging muscles that easily supported the gargantuan battle ax resting across his shoulder. The dark skinned wizard nudged his partner at the sound of Voldemort's footsteps, and they both looked up to address the Thirteen's second-in-command.
"Seamus, Dean." Voldemort said by the way of greeting. They nodded back.
Seamus the Bard, number X according to the black tattoo on the back of his left hand, nodded and said, "Hello, sir."
"I trust you know why I'm here."
"Yes, we do." This time it was the giant, Dean the Ax, number XI. "You're early. Kaji said to make sure he doesn't get released until it's time."
Voldemort glowered at the two men, but neither as much as flinched. They might have respected Voldemort for his power and rank, but like any member of the Thirteen, they feared nothing. Not even a fellow member.
"It's been three months to the day." He growled irritably.
"Aye," replied Seamus. "But not to the minute. You're ten minutes early." He pointed to the watch on his wrist. "See?"
"Consider it a favor then." Voldemort said, his patience quickly waning. He did not have time for this nonsense. "And a courtesy."
Seamus seemed to mull it over for a few moments and then looked at his partner. He whispered something to Dean who muttered something back to the small wizard. They were inseparable the two, almost like brothers. They always worked together in the same team, and one would never make a decision without approval of the other. It was observed early on that they functioned exponentially more effectively together than apart, and their inseparability had earned them the appropriate nickname, "The Twins."
Voldemort watched as the Twins discussed their predicament, tapping his foot impatiently on the cold cobblestone. "Your decision?"
Seamus shrugged his shoulders. "Fuck it then. It's only a couple of minutes. Open the door, Dean."
Dean the Ax nodded and tapped the metal door with the butt of his ax. The two guards stood back as a hundred different protective spells and wards were dispelled. The Pit was the most secure ward in all of Azkaban. Nothing was put to chance when it came to security. As they waited for the procedure to end, Seamus grunted.
"Only because Kaji insisted on us following Lilith's orders," The small wizard muttered. "Harsh bastard that bloke is."
A loud clang announced the unlocking process complete. The metal door opened with a deafening creek that echoed throughout the prison. Slowly, a young man shackled in chains stepped out of the cell, blinking his eyes painfully. His skin was deathly pale from too many sunless days, and his sinewy torso was thin and emaciated.
"Hello there, Draco. Had a nice vacation?" Dean asked as he unlocked the shackles. Effortlessly, he picked up the heavy chains and draped them over his shoulder.
"Fuck off, Dean." Draco Malfoy sneered weakly. He was clad only in a pair of shorts, and every inch of his naturally pale flesh was covered in dust and sweat. He rubbed his wrists gently where the rusty chains had chaffed his skin and scowled painfully.
"Good to see you Draco the Masochist." Voldemort greeted.
"Same to you, sir." Draco returned, pausing to brush a strange of whitish, blonde hair out of his eyes. "Took you long enough to get me out of here."
Dean reached into his pocket, withdrew a wand, and offered it to Draco. "You'll be needing this."
Draco turned to Dean and took it. As he did, the black Roman numerals VIII could be seen burned into the back of his neck. He pointed the wand at himself, and with a muttered spell, his rags were replaced with an outfit identical to the ones worn by Dean and Seamus. Draco pocketed the wand and set off down the corridor with Voldemort.
"Hope you enjoyed your stay!" Seamus cried down the hallway after them. "Do come again!"
Voldemort and Draco walked down the dim hallway until they were sure they were out of ear-shot of the other two members of the Thirteen. Voldemort fixed his subordinate with an angry glare and said, "That's three months of my time you've wasted. Three months because you decided to have a little fun."
"I was careless, Captain." Draco muttered ruefully. "It will not happen again."
They began their ascent up a spiraling set of stairs that lead into the vast prison of Azkaban. Lining the corridor on both side were prison cells occupied by grim, despaired looking men and women who watched them as they passed. None dared to scream or yell at the two men as they might have for any other visitor. They knew exactly who their guests were.
"Lilith has used Potter's Gryffindors nine times since your incarceration, seven in the last month alone," informed Voldemort.
"Potter," Malfoy snarled. "He disgusts me. He's no better than those filthy mudbloods Lilith protects."
"The Elders love them." Voldemort warned.
"The Elders are fools." Spat Draco.
"Lilith has just sent Potter on another assignment over my wishes. With Potters every success, Lilith further consolidates her position in the eyes of the Elders, and this is something we can not allow."
"There isn't much we can do about that for now," Malfoy mused. "Not with Lilith being as selective as she is about the teams. Do you speak with Kaji?"
Voldemort's eyes narrowed at the sound of that name until they were reduced to murderous slits. "His loyalties lay where we predicted. He and the rest of Team Ravenclaw will not go against Lilith's orders."
"And Team Hufflepuff?"
"They're loyalty lies with the Elders."
"So we're alone on this?" asked Malfoy.
The massive doors of Azkaban swung open and they strolled out into the midmorning sun.
"For now, Draco." Voldemort said with a smile. "For now."
----
Author's Notes:
So we've introduced more than half of the Thirteen so far (numbers I, II, VI, VII, VIII, IX, and X) most of whom are based on characters from the novels. I haven't decided who all of them will be yet, so if you have any ideas for characters, feel free to send them my way. Forgive the typos in this chapter. I didn't spend a lot of time proof reading it. Might fix it up later. Not a whole more to say except I finally got around to watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Pretty awesome stuff. I felt it did a lot better job of developing the minor characters while still keeping the story running at a decent pace. And what about that Mad Eye Moody? Crazy!
Thanks for the reviews from the first chapter (thirteen -oh the irony). Keep them coming. Any questions, complaints, or criticisms are more than welcomed.