Operation CoJacks
Viopathartic
A/N: While I was searching through my stories, I realized that chapter 7 was missing. Then I checked the reviews and saw that there were reviews for Chapter 7. Either the system had a glitch…or another person from my multiple personality disorder had taken over my body and did something weird…
Well. Here it is.
Chapter Seven:
In a room in some faraway place, life seemed nonexistent. There were no windows, no doors, or anything that could lead a person to think humans actually existed in this place. Bitter drafts of air flowed into the room from an unknown source, its temperature low enough to create a makeshift freezer.
The room had four walls that formed a square.
Only the invisible, what could not be seen by the naked eye, showed signs of movement. Minuscule dust particles floated along, suspended in the air.
There was no such thing as light. Only the color black, leaving the room in perpetual darkness.
But the still air was abruptly disturbed.
Crack.
Five figures arrived in unison as if they had just materialized from thin air. A normal person would have said it was impossible.
But then again, nobody is normal.
A sudden phosphorescence of blinding radiance overtook the room, the light chased darkness into the far corners of the room, and life began.
In front of the mysterious group of people dressed in black cloaks, a body was slumped against the concrete wall. His brown-haired head lolled to the side and his eyes were shut in a peaceful but almost deathlike slumber. His everyday clothes were dirtied and torn, exposing the skin of his arms and legs. Bruises and bloodied cuts-still fresh-decorated the pale face of the man.
One of the cloaked persons stepped forward, pulling out a slender, brown piece of wood. It was a man by the looks of his muscled figure and the way he walked-with power and grace. The hood of his cloak covered his identity. Only the bottom half of his face, remained visible.
With his lips slightly curled into a sneer, he whispered, "Enervate."
As if struck by lightning, the body jerked, nearly falling on the ground. The man fell forward, placed his palms against the floor; his coughs racked his whole body. Blood spurted out, mixed with yellowish bile.
His chest heaved as he struggled to draw his breath. His wide eyes frantically roamed the unfamiliar room as panic reached its peak. He leant his head against the wall, lifting his legs so they were touching his chest. He shivered and hugged his knees, attempting to generate body warmth.
Where was he?
"Pathetic."
Daring to face his nightmare, the victim gradually lifted his face.
The man had removed his cloak, but he should have left it on for his face was horribly contorted-almost impossible to look at. It seemed as if pieces of his skin were cut up and sewed back together in place. A scar ran from the left side of his eye to the corner of his mouth. His eyes sunk into the sockets and his pastel skin tone made him look like the very image of death.
Antonin Dolohov swept his arm out as if he was presenting a showcase.
"Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle. Welcome to my lesson."
His sentence reverberated against the virtually impenetrable walls and stayed in the minds of the youngest.
"It's a muggle." The man stated simply.
"It" groaned, trying to move his body. But the pain was too much. His arms felt as if they were the weight of anvils and every time he blinked, a buzz in his head would momentarily come and then go.
"No." The command was simple. "It" forcefully flew against the wall and it cried out in pain. The body was spread out like one would when making a snow-angel. Except in this situation, there was no snow and no trace of merriment involved.
A force held the body up at 4 feet above the floor. The muggle grinded his teeth as he tried to desperately ignore another wave of physical torment. Though he tried not to, his eyes found the leader.
Antonin was sneering, staring at "it" as like a predator would its prey. His wand balanced between his index finger and thumb. The four other figures remained stock still.
"This thing," the instructor said, walking leisure steps to the body with his students following him in a horizontal line, "this pathetic, low-life piece of shite…is the reason why your uncle is dead."
Goyle, who was standing at the far right, stiffened for a moment when his uncle was mentioned.
Dolohov let out a bitter laugh, knowing he had caught one's attention. "Your uncle, is that correct, Goyle?"
With an impassive expression, the thuggish boy nodded.
"Yes, yes. On a mission for the Dark Lord, wasn't he? But before he could succeed, he was killed by a muggle," Dolohov spat the last word out with loathing. "A gun. Some sort of device that only inferior beings use."
"Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic." The Death Eater murmured, walking over to Goyle.
The Slytherin tightened his hold on his wand. His eyes were set on the man against the wall, jaw set and eyes narrowed.
Dolohov smirked.
This was what Dolohov wanted. To get their anger and their hatred to its maximum point. This will help them in their training to become loyal Death Eaters to the greatest sorcerer in the world. Lord Voldemort and their Dark Lord.
The body lifted his head; his eyes were augmented by sheer shock. They connected with the instructor's demon-like eyes and a zap of electric fear immediately struck his body.
"This thing," the instructor broke away from his stare and approached the target until his nose was mere inches from the victim, "is the reason why we wizards have to hide in seclusion every single day of our lives."
"A muggle!" He whirled around to face the students, a look of disgust and fury etched on his distorted face. "This is the kind that keeps our power from fully expanding outside of our limits."
"Why do we hide from these people? These pitiable animals are nothing to us! NOTHING! We have magic and they possess no power. We can kill them, and they," Dolohov voice softened into a fierce whisper, "and they will no longer have the upper hand."
"It is time, young ones, to obtain our rightful status in society. We must purify all who don't belong. Muggles, half-bloods, and mudbloods. Wizards above muggles and not the other way around like it has been for years!"
He jabbed his wand in the direction of the body and hissed, "Crucio."
The victim arched his back, his eyes widened, and his mouth agape. He tried to escape, writhed under the curse, screaming and yelling for mercy, but the invisible force held him back. His yells echoed throughout the chamber.
The young ones were watching the display in sadistic pleasure. They smiled wider as the muggle's cries of torture grew louder.
"The Dark Lord is asking for you to become one of his. Come and fight against all who are unworthy of existence."
"Malfoy," Dolohov whispered, pointing his arm to go up.
Draco Malfoy took four steps until he was in the center, right up front of the muggle.
"Nott, go." The Death Eater commanded.
Another figure stepped up, pushing back his mask, and withdrawing his wand.
"Goyle, make your uncle proud."
The four teenagers, under the force of evil, raised their wands up high.
Dolohov smiled and watched from behind.
The muggle, at the will of others, gasped for breath, kicking his legs and arms in hope of being free.
Crucio!
ALARMING NUMBER OF MISSING PEOPLE
By: Elizabeth Bennet
London police department have currently been struggling to solve the mysteries of five civilians. All were middle-class citizens living in London and all had relatives and occupations. Two were reported missing on Tuesday, one on Thursday and two the next day. The five cases appear to have no significant links to each other.
"We're walking around the clock to solve these cases, but we must say that we've never seen anything like this before," said Sergeant Bigen of the London Police Department in a public interview….
"That's extremely odd," Emma remarked, setting down her morning cup of coffee. The Grangers were at their usual table, eating breakfast together on a weekday morning. Even though she and husband set out to work early in the morning, Hermione rather wake up at the same time than later in the morning. Their daughter was definitely a morning person though Emma wondered how Hermione (a girl who stays up all night, reading and writing) can even get out of bed at a time like this.
At the corner of her eye, she spotted her husband stifling a yawn. Hermione sat across from him, lightly chewing on a buttered toast. Emma set her newspaper down and reached across the table for another while her daughter took her previous one.
"Do you think-"
She watched as a dark expression came over her daughter's face. Emma knew Hermione had just seen the title of the latest news.
"Of course," she whispered solemnly, immediately losing her appetite.
"Is it-," Emma wondered if she dare ask, "Are these related to Lord Voldemort?"
Eyeing her mom with a pained expression, she nodded.
"Voldemort is no longer attacking the wizardry world; he's moving on to this world too. It makes sense, right? The so-called tornadoes and collapses of buildings and bridges last year. The fires in intersecting towns! How is it possible that three fires, starting from different areas, spread to one town? Nearly every business in Dawlish has shut down because of the extensive damage done to the buildings! And now, this, the missing reports of 5 muggles!"
"Have you told Harry, dear?" suggested Mr. Granger as he got up to refill his coffee cup.
"I don't know. I've been so busy and Harry is probably busy over there with uncle for some reason. He hasn't answered me back so I suppose I should wait…" Even as Hermione said this, she looked unsure of herself.
"Just owl him then. You can never be sure." Emma said, giving her daughter a pat on the shoulder.
Once Hermione had set off to deliver her letter and Dan was out setting up the car, Emma cleared the breakfast table and went to grab her other keys. As she reached for the metallic instrument, the phone conveniently rang.
Looking at her watch and sighing, Emma answered the phone.
"Emma?"
The sound of familiarity rang in her ears and she immediately smiled. "Ben?"
A chuckle. "Hey Emmy. I'm sorry I haven't communicated with you for awhile…"
"I'll say. I've called you many times but you never picked up. Did you give me the wrong number?"
"No, no." Ben's voice seemed tired, but there was still a smile. "Work."
"Ah," Emma said in understanding. "Well, I was just calling before because Hermione wanted to ask you something."
"Oh, really?" Curiosity came back. "Where is she now?"
"Oh she's probably busy at the moment. But she wanted to know if you've met a boy named Harry Potter?"
Emma waited for the answer, but Ben did not reply right away.
"No, I've never heard of him." His answer was firm and she didn't suspect he was lying. Why would he lie anyways?
"Oh, okay then. Maybe it was just a little mistake."
"Alright. And Emmy? I promise I'll be in touch with you more often. Right now, work has taken up all of my time. I'm sorry."
Emma smiled. "That's alright. Just don't forget about me."
A laugh. "Alright. Bye Emmy."
The prime minister sat alone in his office, his forehead resting against his clasp hands. All of the blinds were shut, disallowing any light to pass through. It was soothing for the middle-aged man. Sun had always caused a certain effect of discomfort whenever he was exposed to it. Now, the prime minister decided that he won't need any more disturbances.
His face gave no indication of emotion, just an unwavering, eyes closed expression.
The letter, which the killers had left, was placed among a stack of other papers. The prime minister did not read all of it. Words like…kill you…your workers…dead…what you did to us…and at the end of the letter, written in blood, YOUR MUGGLES WILL DIE.
Muggles. The Prime Minister had taken a copy of the parchment and brought it into his room. This type of information inside the letter could danger the wizardry world, and even though he never exactly liked magic and its world, he had promised to never reveal its information.
The one thing he ruled out was the perpetrators, whoever they were, were either wizards or muggles affiliated with wizards. Judging on the weapons found near his workers, he leaned towards the latter.
If only the wizardry world had left us alone…he thought, foolishly. Wizardry and muggle world shared one planet. They were bound to interact after a certain amount of time. Fudge (and later on, Rufus) was just doing him a favor by keeping him "updated" on the latest news of the other world. But now, the problems of their world were becoming the muggles', and he already had enough to take care of.
John, Carol, Aaron, Jan, Sheehan, and some of the janitorial workers…killed. The thought of the slaughters happening in this very building nearly scared the prime minister to death. The perpetrators had attacked the ones from the bottom and would slowly make its way up. At once, the prime minister had called his secret services and Operation CoJacks. They were a bit too shady for his liking, but they did their work. CoJacks was known to track down the perpetrators and "finish the job". In what ways-the prime minister did not need to know. As long as threats were taken care of, he let them do all they wanted.
Slit, one of the most talented agent he had ever met, was scheduled to appear later in the week, along with two of his team mates. The prime minister knew his father and liked him. Slit can be trusted.
From the behind, he heard a soft tapping on his window. He froze.
Then he heard a tiny hoot and sprang from his seat. Along with making a copy for himself, he had sent another to the ministry. That is, the other one. The owl was given to him as a gift for the anniversary of his position. Although the bird was bloody annoying, the prime minister had to admit; the service was impeccable.
___
Harry sighed as he stepped out of the shower. The training that Harry had to endure today had taken its toll. He was exhausted; his arms throbbed, his legs felt as if they might break, and his eyes began to droop even as he dried his hair with a towel.
Just as his head fell upon Harry's pillow, the dormitory door opened. The lights were shut off so Harry squinted vainly to make out the shape of a person.
"Harry," it whispered. Harry relaxed and threw the covers off his feet.
"Slit? Why are you here?"
"Come with me. You're going somewhere." His voice sounded urgent. Slit remained at the threshold, patiently waiting.
"Somewhere like on a mission?" It better be, or else why would Slit wake him up?
Jasper rolled over on his back, producing a loud snore. Slit gave him a second glance then focused back on Harry.
The thought of him actually going on a mission--even though he barely had three days of training-puzzled him.
"Yes. Now get dressed before you wake your roommates. Head down to the shooting range; someone will meet you there to bring you to the meeting room. You must be quick."
Slit closed the door, leaving the room pitch black. He thought he was alone as Harry put on a pair of baggy jeans and a t-shirt but a voice made him stop in the middle of doing this.
It was Forest.
"Harry, did I hear right?"
Harry blindly grabbed his gun, which was stashed under his pillow, and strapped it to his waist.
Not knowing anymore then what Forest had just heard, he paused before saying, "Get some sleep. You have class tomorrow."
--
If anyone has read The Concept of Crushes, they know that Chapter 8 of OCJ was 15. Now it's 17. And I'm not finished yet. So you're getting something really big.
Viopathartic