VII

JA_Japster

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 18/12/2005
Last Updated: 26/08/2006
Status: in_progress

AU- He was VII, one of the best in a deadly organization of assassins known as the Thirteen, until the day he failed to complete an assignment by refusing to murder her -a brilliant young witch who he had made the mistake of befriending. Now he must protect her while running from his past and a league of the most proficient killers in the world…all for a reason he can not begin to explain. (Inspired by the manga series Black Cat)

Chapters

1. Prologue

2. Chapter One: Lions and Serpents

3. Chapter Two: Hesitation and Mistakes

4. Chapter Three: Healing

1. Prologue

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.

Summary:

AU- He was VII, one of the best in a deadly organization of assassins known as the Thirteen, until the day he failed to complete an assignment by refusing to murder her -a brilliant young witch who he had made the mistake of befriending. Now he must protect her while running from his past and a league of the most proficient killers in the world…all for a reason he can not begin to explain. (Inspired by the manga series Black Cat)

Prologue

The air in the chamber was artificial, thin and stale, the product of the magic that protected it against any poison that a saboteur might think to slip in. It had a displeasing smell and its sterilized nature only accentuated the idea that the room was a morgue and its inhabitants, the men sitting across the middle on their raised thrones, were slowly rotting away into nothingness.

They looked like corpses, shrunken, pale visages of what used to be the most powerful men in the world. Covered in their black cloaks that obscured their faces from sight, it was as if the protection of anonymity was the only thing preserving them from decaying into dust like the fossils they were. Hints of withered flesh could be vaguely seen under their robes, alluding to the ancient human that resided beneath the shroud of secrecy. They talked amongst each other in inaudible whispers, adding to the illusion of mystery that the entirety of the room entertained.

"Lilith the Prophet," One of the men called loudly.

Their eyes all turned to a thin, young woman who was kneeled respectfully before them. She was young, far too young in the minds of all the men to have the privilege of an audience before them, but there was something about the stoic passiveness on her face that relayed a maturity far greater than her years. They were used to the apparent distaste of those who beheld them, the revulsion at the sight of their aged bodies, but this woman portrayed none of these things.

At the sound of her name, she looked up. She was beautiful with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair that spilled down the back of her robes and ended at her waist. One eye, however, was covered by a black eye patch with the Roman numeral I emblazoned onto it. None of them knew what lay behind the patch. While they knew everything else about her, the eye was the only thing a mystery to them. It was a secret she insisted on keeping, and the men respected this.

The respect was mutual between the woman and the group of men. The men knew that while she was young, she was also intelligent, powerful, and above all, extremely capable. In return, she knew the same to be true about them despite their feeble appearance. They were the Council of the Elders, an assembly of the seven most powerful wizards in the entire world.

"Yes, my lords?" She said quietly.

"We have an assignment for your Thirteen."

Lilith nodded.

"A man by the name of Gregory Winslow has ignored our warnings about dealing in illegal trade to the Americas and Asia. We can not allow his disobedience of the Council’s orders to continue. Our wishes are for your Thirteen to remove him."

A flash of mild surprise lit up in Lilith’s visible eye. "Excuse me, my lords, but I was under the impression that Minister Fudge requested him to be protected."

A flurry of whispers was the response to that. It sounded almost like a chant as one conversation overlapped with the other, creating an incoherent mess indecipherable to anyone but them.

"Minister Fudge, it seems, has been profiting from Winslow’s illicit dealings in the past," said one of Elders. "Do not worry about his desires. We shall speak with him shortly."

"Yes, my lords."

"This mission will not be easy. Winslow’s security is not to be underestimated. Bearing that in mind, who do you wish to use?" asked one of the Elders.

Lilith thought for a moment and then said, "Team Gryffindor led by Harry the Slayer."

A cruel, scornful laughter was the response to Lilith’s answer, but it did not come from the Council of the Elders. Instead, it came from the man who was kneeled beside Lilith.

"Voldemort the Serpent, do you have something to add?" asked one of the Elders irritably.

Voldemort smiled. He was obviously older than Lilith and had long brown hair that draped messily over his pale, emaciated face. Tattooed into the middle of his forehead was the Roman numeral II.

"Indeed I do." He said. "I question Lilith’s decision to use the Slayer yet again. I believe she has used him now seven times over the last month alone."

"You are correct," Said the Council. "And he has succeeded in all seven occasions. What of it?"

"Do I detect a faint hint of favoritism? There are many more individuals far more appropriate for this job than the Slayer. Is it not the purpose of the Thirteen to focus on the goals of the Council and not individual achievement?"

"Again, you are correct, but we see no problem with Lilith’s decision. And before you say another word, Voldemort, must we remind you that Lilith is your superior and leader?"

A few of the Elders smiled beneath the hoods of their robes. Despite her subordinate’s impudence, Lilith had not so much as frowned. It would have been completely in her right to rebuke Voldemort or to pull rank and silence him, but they all knew she would sooner die than cause a scene.

Voldemort scowled menacingly. "Of course you do not, my lords." He snapped. "I just wanted to point out that perhaps it is time for utilize the skills of the rest of the Thirteen."

"Who do you propose Lilith choose then?"

Voldemort smiled again, a wicked gesture that reduced his nostrils to thin, snake-like slits. "Team Slytherin led by Draco the Masochist."

Lilith visibly stirred at those words, but she refrained from speaking.

"Lilith, do you wish to comment?" asked the Council.

"Yes, my lords. I stand by my decision to utilize team Gryffindor. They have the highest success rate without unnecessary casualties…something that young Draco should consider long and hard before he decides to execute muggles for fun again."

"The evidence you presented on that matter wasn’t enough to determine any guilt." replied Voldemort with a shrug. "And don’t you think the three month suspension and imprisonment has taught him his lesson anyway, Lilith?"

"No, I do not. I petitioned for six months incarceration and expulsion from the Thirteen," said Lilith coldly, "but I abide by the Council’s wishes."

"The Council of the Elders decided that Draco’s talents would serve us better outside of a prison cell, Lilith." clarified one of the Elders. "The three month sentence was to remind him that he is obedient to us and us alone."

A prolonged, uncomfortable silence dragged throughout the room. Finally, the Council said, "Lilith, we shall leave the team selection up to you. You are dismissed."

Lilith bowed respectfully, rose and turned to leave, but Voldemort was not finished.

"What?" Voldemort yelled at the old men. "Elders, I request you to reconsider!"

The Council did not respond for a long moment, and then answered, "Denied."

"Fools!" screamed Voldemort. He started towards the Elders, but suddenly Lilith had moved to bar his path. While a full head shorter than him, the aura of power that radiated from the woman made even Voldemort hesitate. Their eyes locked and it was impossible to determine which contained more fury.

"We’re leaving." She said tersely. With that, she brushed past her subordinate and stormed angrily from the chamber. A second later, Voldemort scowled, and with a rude swish of his black robes, he followed her. The chamber doors slammed shut with an echoing bang, and then there was silence.

"Well that went better than usual." commented one of the Elders.

-------

It took several elevators and staircases before they reached the rest of the Ministry of Magic. For security reasons, the chamber of the Elders was located deep underground the primary compound, and a long trek through sunless corridors was invariably the price for meeting with them. It was still mid-morning by the time they surfaced, and the flow of traffic was at is peak as wizards and witches streamed into work.

Lilith and Voldemort made their way to a nearby security room where a team of Aurors guarded the passage leading down to the Council from behind a magically protected sheet of glass. A large sign written in several different languages declared that wands and weapons were strictly prohibited past that point.

"Good day," Lilith said politely to the wizard behind the desk. She slid him a small token which he inspected briefly. He disappeared into a back room for a moment, and then reappeared holding an elongated metal rod with a wicked looking crescent shaped blade attached to it. Carefully, he passed it to Lilith who thanked him, and placed the blade in a protective sheath across her back.

Voldemort’s lip curled as he tossed his token to the man. It was not unusual for magic casters in the Thirteen to use magically enhanced muggle weapons in place of wands, but the idea still seemed distasteful to him. To him, anything muggle was an abomination and warranted destroying. The wizard came back with Voldemort’s wand and passed it to him. He took it without a word of thanks and stowed it away into his robes.

"So you still insist on using Harry for this assignment?" asked Voldemort. Lilith began walking down the corridor and he fell into step beside her.

Lilith nodded, but said nothing more.

"He’s too passive if you ask me; too emotional. He doesn’t have the composition of a true killer, a man who does his job not because he has to, but because he wants to."

The leader of the Thirteen ignored him and continued walking.

"What is it with you anyway, Lilith?" Voldemort snarled. "Who cares if we go a bit overboard when it comes to muggles? The Elders don’t give a damn if a few die on a raid; neither should you."

Again, Lilith said nothing.

"You can’t protect them from us forever," The wizard leered quietly. "Harry Potter is one man. You can’t use him and those other muggle lovers all the time, and you know it. It’s only a matter of time before the Elders let us loose."

Lilith abruptly turned so that she was looking straight into the face of her subordinate. "Know this, Voldemort. You may be my Second in Command, but cross me again in front of the Elders and I will kill you."

"You will, will you?" Voldemort hissed. His hand involuntarily fell to his wand, but he paused when he noticed Lilith’s hand too inching towards the handle of her scythe. He had never seen the leader of the Thirteen in combat before, but there were rumors about how fast she was with her weapon. He was dying to find out how fast, but that would have to wait.

His hand fell to his side.

"Some other time, Lilith," He whispered. Before his superior could respond, he turned and strolled away down the corridor, a murderous look of hatred on his face.

----

Author’s Notes:

Well, I’m back with a new story that hopefully this time will get completed. This time around I’m following rather loosely the characters of the anime/manga Black Cat, an unlicensed series that finished its run in Japan but is still being subbed online, with liberal dashes of Bleach and tons of other anime influences. Do you need to have seen any of those mentioned anime to appreciate the story? Absolutely not. If you were a fan of Trust and Betrayal (my last story) then this will be more of the same. Lots of action with a H/HR relationship to keep the story moving.

If anyone is confused at the prologue, it’ll make more sense next chapter. Basically it’s a hierarchical structure of assassins with an Illuminati like council governing them. Definitely AU, but hopefully not OOC.

Thanks for reading. Please drop a review if you’ve gotten this far because then I would be happy. And I like being happy. Being happy is pretty cool.

2. Chapter One: Lions and Serpents

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.

3. Chapter Two: Hesitation and Mistakes

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 Two: Hesitation and Mistakes

Remus Lupin was not a particularly old man but already he looked as such. Speckles of gray in his neatly combed brown hair and deep creases that marred his otherwise comely features made him appear years beyond his true age. He looked exhausted, as if he might collapse at any moment, and the dark shadows beneath his eyes did nothing to suggest otherwise. Lupin sighed wearily and leaned against the polished exterior of the black automobile they had arrived in. It was so troublesome traveling in muggle transportation, but precautions against alerting muggles to the magical community was a priority these days. It would have been just as simple to apparate in and out; others had pointed this for quite some time now, but Lupin was not a man who questioned orders.

A soft growl brought Lupin's attention to a large gray wolf pandering at his feet, gazing up at Lupin expectantly. The beast reeked of death and splattered blood and gore stained its sleek coat of fur. The wizard smiled and ruffled its head. As he did, he noticed a large chunk of bloody flesh caught in between the wolf's pointy fangs. Reaching into the pocket of the black jacket he wore, Lupin extracted a handkerchief and carefully cleaned the wolf's mouth, ignoring the repugnant stench of the beasts' most recent kills.

“All better,” He said, tossing the bloody handkerchief to the side. “I suppose you want to go now?”

The wolf barked in response, wagging its tail happily in agreement. Chuckling, Lupin reached into his pocket and this time produced a wooden wand. Engraved into the pommel was the Roman numerals III. He muttered something, and suddenly there was a loud crack and a blinding flash of light. When the light subsided, the wolf was gone.

“I thought you said this was going to be a battle,” Ron Weasley muttered. He took a long drag on the cigarette in his mouth, and with a scowl he flicked it away. The smoldering remnants landed a few meters away. It rolled, spreading embers on the blood stained grass, and came to a rest beside the unmoving body of a man. “This was a massacre.”

Lupin shrugged and paused to survey his surroundings. He and Ron were waiting by the black muggle automobile in the lot of an elaborate house. It was more of a castle really. With the medieval architecture and towering security gates surrounding the enormous estate, all it needed was a drawbridge and maybe a moat to complete the illusion of being a remnant of the Dark Ages. Surrounding the mansion were the dead bodies of over a dozen men. They were sprawled about in the estate's expansive gardens, their lifeblood soaking into the meticulously manicured grass. It was a shame. Lupin was someone who could appreciate good botany when he saw it, and despoiling such a dedicatedly maintained garden was most regretful.

“What's taking Harry so long?” Ron wondered as he lit up another cigarette. He checked his watch. “He's been two minutes already.”

The moment after Ron had said that, the front door was thrown open and Harry stumbled out. He was covered in blood. Ron cursed loudly and, tossing aside his cigarette, he ran to help his friend. No sooner had he reached Harry, the assassin collapsed into Ron's arms.

“What the hell, Harry?” Ron demanded. “What happened in there? Is Winslow dead?”

Harry nodded, but said nothing as Ron dragged him back to the car. With Lupin's help, they managed to prop their wounded comrade on the hood of the car.

“What happened, Harry?” Ron asked again. Beside him, Lupin was perched over Harry, wand out and slicing away at Harry's suit. With a flick of his wand, he cut away the raven-haired assassin's sleeve, exposing a deep gash in his right arm.

“I…” Harry muttered. “I messed up.”

“Bollocks,” Ron said, shaking his head. “You never mess up.”

Lupin whispered something, and from thin air a bandage materialized and wrapped itself around Harry's arm. “I'm not much of a healer I'm afraid. This will have to do until we get back to headquarters.”

“What do you mean you messed up?” the red-haired wizard queried. “How?”

“I…I hesitated.” Harry replied, his voice soft and distant sounding. “Winslow…he begged me not to kill him…and…”

Lupin's eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Harry? You hesitated to kill Gregory Winslow?” This couldn't be true. Harry was still quite young to be in the Thirteen, but he was already a veteran of dozens of high-ranking assassinations. Freezing up when executing the target was a mistake only a rookie would make.

Harry nodded again. “I lowered my wand and he went for his. He hit me with something. I didn't have a choice. I…I killed him.”

“Of course you killed him!” Ron shouted incredulously. “That was the bloody mission!”

“I don't know why…” the dazed wizard whispered. “I killed the guards…seventeen of them inside. But Winslow…I paused. I can't explain it.”

“Don't worry about it,” Lupin assured Harry. “Ron, get him to the healers. I'll wait for the clean up to arrive.”

Ron nodded. They helped their injured team leader into the car and Ron hopped into the driver's seat. The automobile started with a loud roar and its tires squealed loudly in protest as its driver floored the gas pedal. It sped off, leaving tread marks in the flawless paved parking lot surface, and within moments it vanished from sight.

Lupin sighed and pocketed his wand, concern evident on his prematurely aged features. This was supposed to be an easy assignment and their team leader was wounded. That alone would not look good on their mission report, but when Lilith received word that Harry messed up, there was no telling what the consequences would be. The Thirteen killed people. That was their only job: to kill quickly, and remorselessly. To have a sudden crisis of conscience was entirely unacceptable to the Elders and had the potential to jeopardize any members' position in the Thirteen.

Personally, Lupin did not enjoy killing people in cold blood, but he had long ago accepted the necessity of his occupation. These were not good people the Thirteen eradicated. These were above the simple crooks who sullied the streets who were dealt with by the law. These were the real menaces to society, the ones who preyed on the weak from behind their protective wall of wealth or power. Their deaths only made the world a better place. To take another human's life was a terrible thing, but sometimes evil was needed to combat greater evils. If executing an unarmed man while he sobbed for mercy on his bedroom floor protected thousands of innocent from their evil, then so be it.

Harry understood this too, and that was what disturbed Lupin. The young wizard embraced the idea of destroying the corruptness in society, and he never questioned the validity of their targets. He trusted Lilith like Lupin did, trusted that the Elders were sending them to kill the kind of men who plagued the world with sin. That was part of why Harry was so good at his job. He believed in the cause of the Thirteen whole heartedly, devoting himself to ridding the world of evil no matter what the cost.

So why did he hesitate?

“Well, isn't this interesting,” A cruel voice said.

Lupin did not need to turn to see who the newcomer was. He knew that voice. A middle aged woman dressed in the same manner of the Thirteen had appeared beside Lupin. She was an older woman, but would have been still considered beautiful if not for the menacing sneer that was eternally branded on her attractive face.

“Hello, Bellatrix.” Lupin addressed his colleague politely, but the stiffness in his voice was all too obvious. It was hard to get Lupin to dislike someone. He was a tolerant person who could endure the worst of offenses without ever bearing a grudge. Bellatrix Black, however, was a person he did little to disguise his revulsion for.

The woman cackled and looked at Lupin, exposing the roman numerals V that were burned into her cheek. “What happened to the boy?” She asked.

“None of your business, Bellatrix.” Lupin said tersely. “Where's my backup?”

“On its way,” Bellatrix replied with a scowl. Just as it was common knowledge that Lupin despised Bellatrix, it was also known that the enmity between the two was mutual. She smiled, a perverse gesture that was distorted by the malice lurking within it. “You know, the Elders will not look favorably upon this.”

“That is up to Lilith and the Elders to discuss.”

“They have tortured us for less,” Bellatrix reminded Lupin, licking her lips at the thought. Bellatrix the Tormentor. That was her given name amongst the Thirteen, and like all the rest of their names, it was not assigned meaninglessly. Unlike Lupin who killed because he had to, people like Bellatrix enjoyed their job because of the pain she could inflict. She was infamous for torturing her victims to death, reveling in their screams as her victims slowly died. This unadulterated pleasure she received from hurting others was only a small part of why Lupin loathed her.

“Lilith would never allow that,” Lupin said confidently. A long time ago back when Lupin first joined the organization, perhaps Lilith's predecessors would have allowed such barbaric methods to punish the failure of their own members. Lilith the Prophet, however, had brought a touch of civility to the distasteful nature of their profession, and for that, Lupin was eternally grateful.

“She is weak.” Bellatrix said with disgust evident in every word. “Unfit to lead us.”

“She is stronger than you'll ever be.”

Bellatrix nodded reluctant agreement. “Me, perhaps. But not others.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Lupin asked suspiciously.

Bellatrix only smiled.

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The Dueling Room was the most private sanctum of the Thirteen's training facility. A large, windowless room with polished wooden flooring, the Dueling Room was everything its name implied. Rows of every type of weapon hung on racks and a variety of training device stood lined up neatly along the walls. It served as the sparring room for the Thirteen, a room isolated from the rest of the world where the combatants could hone their combat potential to the fullest.

Two figures occupied the room at the moment. One was a man with white hair who wielded a curved sword, a katana. The other was a young woman who held a double-edged short sword. They circled each other for what seemed to last an eternity, eyeing their opponent in search for an opening.

The young lady, barely more than a girl, was dressed the same as the man in the simple uniform of the Thirteen. She was small, a good head shorter than her opponent, and this combined with her dark hair and slightly slanted eyes denoted her obvious Asian heritage. However, her height and short reach did not deter her prowess in combat as she quickly proved, forcing her opponent back in an onslaught of lightening fast strikes.

“Good, Cho.” The man said. He parried a blow that would have taken him in the chest, and counter-attacked with a vicious cut at the girl's head. Instantly, her sword met it with a loud metallic clang that echoed throughout the large room.

“But you're holding back.” The man calmly said as he looked his opponent in the eye over their crossed blades. “Why?”

Cho Chang did not answer, but gritted her teeth and concentrated on overpowering the other swordsman. Allocating all her strength into her arms, she pushed as hard as she could until beads of sweat poured down her brow. However, the white-haired swordsman did not give an inch, effortlessly matching her strength with his own. Then, he began to push forward with his sword, forcing her to give ground to avoid being completely overwhelmed. Within moments it was obvious who was in control of their duel, and so with a snarl of annoyance, she disengaged her blade in a shower of sparks and leaped backwards.

The moment her foot touched the ground, she whipped her sword back up to defend herself, but already her white-haired opponent was upon her. He rushed forward and struck in a blinding blur of motion. Her weapon was battered away and knocked on the ground, and suddenly her throat felt the cold touch of steel.

“Surrender?” He asked, holding the tip of his curved blade pressed unwavering against her skin.

Locked in that moment of mortal peril, time seemed to stand still as and a cold chill descended down Cho's spine. She swallowed hard, gazing into those cold gray eyes that watched her like a predator eyeing a tasty morsel. Slowly, her head nodded, and immediately the blade withdrew, allowing Cho to breathe again. Involuntarily her hands touched where the sword's sharp point had pressed into her skin, feeling for blood that she knew would not be there.

“Your guard is still sloppy,” The man told her reproachfully. “And I know you can move faster than that.”

“I'm sorry, Kaji” apologized Cho. “I will do better next time I promise.”

Kaji glared at the girl. “Will your opponent allow you a second opportunity?”

Cho shook her head, though her shame was tempered by a tinge of irritation. She could not even count how many times Kaji had repeated the same lectures, the same criticism and corrections. Were she to one day duel perfectly, she had little doubt that he would still manage to find some flaw in her performance.

Fortunately for Cho, she was spared further reproach when Kaji suddenly noticed a young, blonde woman standing quietly on the side, observing them interestedly. It was Lilith the Prophet. Somehow, during their duel, the Commander of the Thirteen had slipped in so quietly that neither of the two combatants had noticed her entrance over the raucous clash of steel.

“Good afternoon, Commander.” Kaji and Cho said, offering polite bows.

“I'm sorry to interrupt your training session,” Lilith said after returning the bow. “But I need Cho's help.”

“Who's hurt, Commander?” asked Cho worriedly. As well as being an excellent swordswoman, she was also the Thirteen's healer. Whenever Lilith requested Cho's help for something, it was because one of their numbers had been wounded beyond the skill of the normal healers at St. Mungo's.

“I'm afraid Number Seven was wounded on his latest assignment.” Lilith answered.

“Harry's been injured?” Cho gasped in alarm. “Is he going to be alright?”

Catching the concerned look in her subordinate's eye, Lilith quickly replied, “It was a minor injury. Nothing too serious, but it needs to be tended to quickly.”

“I'll tend to him right away,” Cho said, sheathing her sword. She bowed to Kaji, then to Lilith, and after the bows were returned, she practically fled from the room, leaving the other two members of the Thirteen alone and looking quite amused.

“Cho is so hopelessly in love with that boy, I wonder if she even realizes it.” Lilith laughed. “She didn't even stop to wonder why I had asked for her help for something so trivial.”

Kaji returned his katana into his scabbard with a soft metallic clink and then slung it over his shoulder. He faced his Commander, a small smile on his face. “Why are you here, Lilith? You didn't come here to get Cho's help and I know you're not here to duel.”

The Commander of the Thirteen laughed again, a soft melodious sound that reverberated throughout the empty room. “You haven't defeated me since I trained under you at school, Kaji.”

She looked at Kaji, curious as to his reaction. Kaji, or Kaji the Blade as was official title of the Thirteen, was young, perhaps only a few years older than Lilith, with hair that could only be described as unique. White as freshly fallen snow, it spiked out erratically as if a constant current of electricity flowed through each tendril, keeping it pointy and erect.

“True,” white-haired swordsman reluctantly admitted with a shrug. “But then again, prodigies trained by prodigies should be difficult to defeat. If not, then what could be said about their instructors, Miss Adams?”

Lilith blushed at the sound of her surname, a name she had not used since her girlhood days as a student at Hogwarts. It was there that she had trained under the tutelage of Kaji, a young, foreign instructor from Japan who had come one summer during her sixth year to impart his knowledge about the unique aspects of Asian magic. One of them had been dueling using magically augmented muggle weaponry, an art that has fascinated Lilith and one which she quickly mastered. By the end of the summer, after countless hours of single minded practice, Lilith had done the impossible and defeated her mentor.

But that was then and this was now. It had been four years now since she had graduated from Hogwarts, and almost as long since she had entered into the service of the Council of the Elders. Four years ago she had abandoned her old life to embrace the will of the Council and allow herself to be transformed into Lilith the Prophet. Family, friends, memories of her past -all were sacrificed to become a member of the Thirteen.

They all had left something behind.

“Enough, Kaji.” Lilith said irritably, breaking out her brief reverie. Kaji was right. She had come here for an important reason. “I came here to talk to you about Harry and his team.”

Kaji nodded. “I guessed as much.”

“I was hoping this day wouldn't come, but Harry's mistake reveals that he and his team are not invincible. The Elders will not be so convinced to send him out again so soon.”

“You've been pushing his team too hard.”

“I've been pushing your team just as hard, Kaji.” Lilith replied. “Team Ravenclaw is the only team aside from Gryffindor I can trust to send out without risking the populace. Voldemort and his Slytherins have already proven that they're willing to kill or torture muggles for fun whenever they get half the chance, and Team Hufflepuff isn't that much better.”

The white-haired swordsman listened to all of this, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “What concerns me, Lilith, is that you're more worried about the damage the Slytherin are having on muggles instead of your career.”

“Muggles are humans too!” Lilith snapped angrily. “We have been entrusted this power to rid the world of the corrupt and evil, Kaji, not to terrorize the innocent and defenseless.”

Kaji shook his head sadly. “You're standing awfully alone on this, Lilith. You know most of the magical community doesn't given a damn one way or the other about muggles. You can pretend all you want that you keep sending teams Ravenclaw and Gryffindor because of their success rate, but the Elders know you're doing it just to protect the muggles and I'm sure they do not approve.”

“I know,” admitted Lilith woefully. “What do you think I should do?”

Walking over to his former student, Kaji put his hand gently on her shoulder. Lilith looked at him, finding comfort in his touch. Though she knew he was only a few years older, Kaji had always seemed like an eternal wellspring of knowledge, an omniscient cornerstone in her life that would never fail her. She might have surpassed him in skill with the blade years ago, but never for a moment did she think there was nothing more her former instructor could teach her.

“I'm afraid this is your decision to make, Commander.” He told her.

“Don't mock me!” yelled Lilith exasperatedly, pushing Kaji away. “I need your help! Please!”

Suddenly, Kaji's pleasant demeanor faded. His eyes narrowed, and his voice became cold and serious. “Lilith, you were chosen to be the leader of the Thirteen for a reason.” He brushed past his Commander and started to leave the room, his boots echoing ominously in the silence. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Lilith.

“Never forget that.”

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Author's Notes:

I received a review a couple days ago from soliel.lune that jarred me from my hiatus from Harry Potter fanfiction. I actually had the second half of this chapter done months ago, but I never got around to finishing it. I kind of lost interest in writing Harry Potter fanfiction, and my resolve in continuing this story faltered. I apologize to all the fans that have been waiting for an update for this -the review I got was a reminder that people are still reading and waiting for me to keep writing, and this inspired me to continue it. Thanks.

I have been busy with my writing over the last few months though. If you're a fan of the anime Naruto I've been working on my story “A Ninja's Guide to Surviving High School” for a while. It's nine chapters in and I'm going to split my time between that and “VII”. If you're interested, check it out on Fanfiction.net through my profile here:

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/42121/

Thanks for reading, and of course, reviews always make me write faster!

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4. Chapter Three: Healing

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 Three: Healing

The Healer's Ward was a magnificent feat of architectural achievement, even by the standards of the magical community. Carved entirely in gleaming marble, the ward with its towering columns and simple structure resembled the temples of ancient Greece where the blood of sacrifices were spilt to honor pagan gods. Yet there was something much more to it than that. There was an air of tranquility that surrounded the ward, a permanent presence that inspired calmness regardless of one truly felt. The faint aroma of burning incense lingered in the open hallways, and the relaxing melody of a running river echoed in the distance. There were no enchanted runes engrained into the marble; no touch of man or magic contributed to the serenity. The peace that was felt there was natural, a strange phenomena in this day and age.

Harry sat on one of the marble benches beside the river. The running water was beautiful, clear and pristine, unsullied by the pollutants so prevalently found in the muggle world beyond the temple. The upper portion of the simple white robes he wore was drawn down around his waist, exposing his bare skin to the healer stationed behind him.

“You need to be more careful,” Cho Chang remarked. She gently pressed her hands against the deep gash across his back, and a cool sensation danced across his skin. Harry could envision the healing process as his rent flesh magically began mending itself back together. The bleeding would stop, and before long the cut would be but a memory, just another scar in the growing collection that adorned his body.

“I know, Cho.” He replied perfunctorily. While he appreciated the young healer's concern, it made him feel like a henpecked child. Cho was only a year older than him, but the way she acted sometimes she might as well have been his mother.

“I read the report,” She continued. “But I'm still -let me see that one on your chest real quick.”

Harry dutifully turned around. He flinched as Cho's hands pressed firmly across the wound on his torso.

“I'm still not quite sure how it happened.” She closed her eyes in concentration, and once again the wound repaired itself as her magic accelerated the healing process.

Harry shrugged. “I got careless. Hesitated.”

Cho frowned, her pretty face showing dissatisfaction at his answer. Whatever was on her mind, however, she decided not to say and instead pulled Harry's robes back over shoulders. “There, I'm done. Lilith wanted me to confine you to bed for observation but-“

He groaned. If Cho's maternal-like mannerism was bad, Lilith was even worst.” You know I don't need to spend the night-“

“But I decided you can go home. Just take it easy and you should be fine in the morning.”

The raven-haired assassin smiled and tied his robes close with the white sash around his waist. “Thanks, Cho. You're the best.”

Cho sighed. “Be careful, Harry. I worry about you, you know.”

Harry paused and looked at the young her. He knew Cho cared him, but he had never really given it any serious consideration. It was probably just a camaraderie that motivated her concern. She knew the rules. It was against the rules to possess any personal relationships, especially within their own ranks. To his knowledge, nothing like that had ever happened before. Assassins were usually too busy doing their job to even think of romance with a fellow killer. But there was always a first he supposed.

“I will be.” Harry assured his team mate. He grinned and gave her a playful wink. “It's me after all.”

Cho did not return the smile. She turned away, a troubled look in her eyes as she stared out into the open sky. “That's what I'm afraid of, Harry.”

Lilith had arranged the meeting for seven o'clock sharp that evening, emphasizing the importance of promptness when she had scheduled it. So naturally he was late. Ron Weasley, number VI, strolled into the public park over twenty minutes past the appointed time, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips and the pungent smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. There was no need to demand an explanation for his tardiness -he had no doubt just arrived from a night on the town. Lilith sighed sadly as she watched her subordinate make his way towards the bench she was sitting on. She would have to reprimand Ron for being late and intoxicated, clearly the unprofessional behavior, but at the same time it felt hypocritical for her to condemn the vices she longed to divulge in. Youth had past the leader of the Thirteen so quickly, consumed by the rapid promotions instated by the Elders, and seldom had she the opportunity to enjoy the small pleasures of life.

“Tardy, messy, and drunk,” Lilith reprimanded harshly as Ron sat down beside her. “I suppose you have a very good reason.” Not a question, an order, and one that Ron would have done well to recognize, sober or not.

“Uh…” Ron muttered, rubbing his head, his thoughts no doubt trying to pierce through the alcohol induced haze muddling his brain. “I was playing cards…and I guess I got really lucky. And then there were these girls, you see, and they wanted to celebrate, and you know I can never say no to…”

Lilith didn't buy that for a second, and the fierce glare she directed at her subordinate was enough to shut him up. “You were using your magic to cheat, VI. Again I might add.”

Ron was quiet for a minute, unable to meet Lilith's gaze like. He was only a few years younger than the commander, but she might as well be his mother the way she rebuked and scolded him. “Maybe a little.”

“You're pathetic,” Lilith scowled. Ron didn't say anything, either because he knew it was time to be quiet in the face of his leader's anger, or because he was just too drunk to do otherwise.

She sighed deeply and tried to lose the edge in her voice. It wasn't just Ron that had her irritated; she was just venting her frustration out on him, and that wasn't fair. “I need your report on today's assignment.”

“Didn't you read my report?” Ron asked.

Lilith nodded. “I did. And I know it was complete bullshit and you're just covering VII's failure.”

Ron shrugged. That was about the size of it, but unless Lilith was about ready to probe that out of his brain using magic, he wasn't going to tell her that. “Harry's under a lot of stress, commander. Anyone could slip up.”

Lilith scowled. “Not, VII. I can't afford it.”

“He's only human you know, not a bloody machine. And even machines break down if you push them too hard.”

This wasn't good. She knew all along that pushing Harry and his team too hard was probably a mistake, but somewhere she had always justified her decision. Team Gryffindor had always seemed infallible, invincible, and it was unsettling to hear first hand from one of them that they indeed were not. It had always been a priority of hers to keep the other teams off the streets for as long as possible, but now she was beginning to realize that it was impossible. One team couldn't cover the responsibilities of four.

“If you don't tell me the truth, Ron, I'll have to put Team Gryffindor on suspension until the Elders can perform an investigation. You know that. And I know both of us won't like what the findings of that will be.”

She wouldn't have a choice. The Elders would demand it and demand that she put the rest of the teams back in active rotation. More and more collateral damage was inevitable, the very thing that Lilith had been trying all this time to reduce, and the Elders would deafen their ears to her complaints.

Lilith looked down at the ground forlornly. She had failed, and her failure would be all too evident in the eyes of her comrades, particularly Voldemort who would no doubt try to exploit this unfortunate turn of events to his favor.

Ron cocked his head to the side. “For someone so young and pretty, you sure do worry a whole lot.” He leaned across the bench and pressed his body against Lilith's, edging his face closer and closer towards hers. “You should lighten up some…”

Lilith actually smiled and playfully shoved Ron away. Well, maybe more than playfully. The drunken assassin pitched off the bench and collapsed on the ground with a loud groan.

“You're drunk, VI.” She told him.

He chuckled from somewhere on the ground. “Maybe just a little.”

Author's Notes:

Just a really short update that's long, long overdue. To be honest, I've kind of lost interest in HP fanfiction and become more and more absorbed in Naruto fanfiction (Twenty-three chapters to date! Check it out!) but I was browsing the old stomping grounds on Portkey.org and I noticed I had made it on someone's recommended reading list on an affiliated site. That made me all giddy on the inside and so I decided to dig this up and continue it for a bit.

Dunno how much longer it'll go on for, but I'll try to write at least one more chapter. I think the concept is great, but unfortunately my motivation is somewhat wavering. But who knows? A lot of reviews might change my mind, haha. So yeah, comments, questions, complaints -review box folks! Thanks!

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