NPCing the Breach (![]() ![]() @ 2010-08-01 20:23:00 |
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The dust and debris hung thick in the air, sounds of rubble tumbling to settle mostly contained in the denseness. It wasn’t any surprise. The brick and stone which would have fallen directly atop Albus Dumbledore was lowered gently to the ground by an easy, controlled wand movement. “I know you were luring me out here, Tom,” he replied to the silent murk ahead. “But I do hope that wall was not meant to end this, as you can be assured by my voice that is has not.” A spiral of wind cleared out the centre of the cloud, leaving only the usual grittiness of Knockturn Alley in view. Moments ago there had been a figure standing there, as if his arrival had been foreseen, which Dumbledore had foreseen himself. There was always an advantage in as much, and a good wizard always had his wand in hand before advancing. The scene was observed from behind the half-moon spectacles, and when something shifted in his peripheral, he was quick to dodge, aim, and send a blast at the shadow. The skin of a second before there was a crack of Apparition, and the spell swept the drifting particles to the side, made impact with a storefront, glass splintered everywhere. The shards chimed as they fell to the ground, but they were hardly enough to mask footfalls on the other side. “Now, Dumbledore, perhaps I only wished to talk to you.” The voice was behind him now, and the headmaster turned, calm as ever. “Must you keep that raised at me?” Voldemort asked, his own wand levelled in height. “The Aurors are around the corner, and they will not be held back for long. If you mean to say something, I would be quick about it, Tom. You only have so many pawns to throw in their way.” Even though Voldemort’s eyes were almost serpentine slits, they were wide, focused on the unwavering wand that was directed at him. But there wasn’t a hint at a forthcoming strike. “You speak like you aren’t guilty of the same,” was the return, a twitch of thin lips as close to a smirk as the circumstances would allow. “I offer you a chance to surrender. Let us prevent any more death than necessary --” It was lightning fast -- a whip of a motion -- but Dumbledore caught the movement in its premature state, having been looking for just that precise thing. He countered. Voldemort was torn off the spot more than pushed. Straight back, down, unmoving for a moment. Then, arms began to push their owner to sitting up, nearly in a leisurely way. “No? You should have killed me when you had the chance,” was the conclusion. It was at that moment that Dumbledore could feel a weight settling on his shoulder, a gentle hiss in his ear as something slid down from the wire work of a ruined sign just above, which was concealed by smoke the whole time. It registered that there was a second hiss from in front of him, and then it was quick. A snap, a piercing, then spreading fire. “I call her Nagini,” Voldemort was saying, and as Dumbledore looked over, he saw that the other man had risen to his feet, lazily dusting off his robes. “She is very dear to me, so I am glad that you were able to meet her.” The Dark Lord stooped down, and when Dumbledore’s legs had given out, he couldn’t recall. White, skeletal fingers grabbed him by the cheeks to hold his head up. “You have been my every obstacle, but no longer. It won’t be long now.” He dropped his hold, and stood back once more. “Tom...” “And still a fool to use that name!” was snapped back, as if that one syllable had ignited a temper that was barely being contained. The face looking up at him -- finally looking up than down on him, like in that orphanage so many years ago. And those glasses -- he reached down, snatched them off and crushed them under one foot. A breath was sucked in. A state of control reclaimed. “But I want you to know one thing, headmaster, before you go. I was looking for someone worthy to make my next Horcrux out of. Your life will ensure that I live on, and, now, Dumbledore... good bye.” Wand lifted, it only took one spell: “Avada Kedavra.” |