Chapter Two: The Draft Thulsa Doom Style
Chapter Two: Gathering the apprentices.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot…takes place after GOF in HP and Crosses between S2-3 of BTVS
Dumbledore had just lowered the goblet from the last salute to Cedric Diggory when he noticed the robed figure standing before the high table. The hall fell silent as they noticed the figure. He was immediately alarmed as the power from this being very presence was more terrifying and darker than any he had ever felt. The man drew a crystalline staff like object from his robes and cast it at the floor at his feet. The staff’s spiked bottom slammed upright into the stone with a deafening crack and every witch or wizard present felt their skill crawl at the green pulse of light that shoot through the fabric of the building.
All the doors to the great hall slammed shut. The roof lost its veiling illusion and the ghost where blasted beyond the walls of the great hall. The flames of the torches took a flickering green and purple hue. Casting weird light and shadows across the hall. Dumbledore immediately stood and drew his wand, keeping it down at his side as most of the rest of the staff stood and drew their own wands.
The robed man pointed his hand at a water pitcher and it floated up from the Hufflepuff table and emptied into the bowl like affair around the crystal at the top of the staff. The emptied pitcher was cast to the floor and shattered as an intense white and purple light began building in the crystal. Small points and flickers of light began building within it and dancing through staff and the stones of the building. The crystal staff began pulsating at a higher and higher rate and the wizards and witches in that hall found themselves unable to use their wands.
“I hope that you will forgive my rudeness… I am required to address the student body at large… if I may?” The robed man said to Dumbledore in a voice accented by the British English of West Africa.
“May I ask who you are, your reason for this address and the manner in which you came here?” Dumbledore said in a dangerous tone. His mask like features imperfectly hiding his fear.
“You may ask,” he laughs softly. Then taking a black folded envelope from within his robes and sets it before the Professor with a skeletal pale white hand. “I am not with Voldemort or any of his demonic allies and the time for answering questions is not at hand…,” he turned and faced the great hall, with a strong clear voice he began speaking, “The young wizard you mourn was the first victim of Tom Riddle or Lord Voldemort as he styles himself in this round of the war; regrettably he will probably not be the last...,” he paused and let that cold fact set in and ignored the staff’s attempts to open one or more of the side doors or the main doors at Dumbledore’s direction. “I have been told to warn you that things beyond the shelter of our enclaves are no longer stable. Two great battles between the forces of light and darkness were fought not long ago. In their defeat the forces of Darkness have made alliances and are raising armies to move against us all; Wizard, witch, those you call ‘muggles’ and those of us beyond your enclaves who use magicks.” That last brought looks of surprise and wonder from many of the students and not a few of the staff members. Magicks? Beyond their enclaves? The robed man kept speaking, “One of those alliances was between Voldemort and the Demon Lord Aaquerafet.” The news stunned the staff and sent whispers through the students at the table. A demon lord? A real demon. Fear became a common expression on those students in the hall as the robed man looked around the hall.
“The victories of the forces of light where great, but at a cost to the Champions of this world…that was very steep. In normal times hero’s of the light would step-up to fill the ranks of champions to fight the forces of darkness. But with the alliance between Voldemort and Aaquerafet, the Old gods… those beings who first showed our ancestors magick and your ancestors the shielding your enclaves use to segregate themselves, require more and have called that debt for the protections given due…”
Dumbledore paled because as an Elder of the Wizarding world he knew the open ended bargain that their ancestors had made. The robe man’s voice snapped him out of his inner terror and the turnings of his own mind. “You cannot ask this of them, the debt…”
“Was laid on you all…*as a people*,” said the robed man “It is *due* and it is not your decision to make headmaster.” He turned and looked back at the students, most of them nearing panic. “The old gods said that they where sorry but that they would have to ask you to grow up sooner then you would have liked… and for what it’s worth children… so am I,” he turned and fixed two flaming dots of red light on Dumbledore and said just three more words
filled with a terrible whispering power, “*READ THE LIST*”
Gripped in the thrall-like state of this beings power, Dumbledore opened the envelope with a distinctly unnatural cracking sound when the seal broke the seal breaking. The crystal staff began pulsating at an even higher rate. While the wizards and witches in the hall found themselves unable to move as a cold blue fog rolled out of the envelope for a moment and filled the great hall knee deep. With great reluctance Dumbledore began speaking, like the deep tolling of a bell the names came forth filled with power…
“Harry James Potter…,” with a flash of white Harry disappeared, “Draco Malfoy,” Malfoy followed suite, “Ronald Bilieus Weasley” Ron was looking at Hermione and she could only see the look of near longing in his eyes, its meaning would haunt her for many nights to come. “Blaise Zabini…Pansy Parkinson…Millicent Bulstrode…Luna Lovegood…Neville Longbottom,” by now
Dumbledore’s eyes and ears began to bleed as he tried to fight the power coursing through him“…Fredrick Weasley…Susan Bones… George Weasley …Hannah Abbott… Cho Chang…Katie Bell…Ernie Macmillan…Guinevere Molly Weasley… Alicia Spinnet… and Gregory Goyle.”
As Dumbledore spoke the last of the twenty names the staff gave a single tremendous pulse and then bleeds like quicksilver into the stones of the great hall leaving crystal facets to sparkle around the rooms walls.
Dumbledore collapses like puppet with its strings cut, in a boneless heap across the table in front of him, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He is not alone, every person in the hall fell to the floor and it is several minutes before the occupants of the Great Hall can stir themselves.