The Malfoy Manor was beautiful. It had charms. It had protections. It had peacocks strutting about on the hedge walls fanning their beautiful white feathers. It had large, wrought iron gates that would question all intruders. It had large windows, stern-looking spires, and thick masonry. A man would lose hours looking for a particular person within it, much less avoid causing a scene.
The portable watch floating gingerly by my side ticked the ten minutes mark to six o'clock. At six o'clock in the afternoon, the Hogwarts train would pull up at London's station, and to this day, it had yet to arrive late. Hence, it was time.
"Do not doubt, do not waver," I whispered to myself, more than to anyone else. "Until it's done, do not falter."
I held my breath, and then lifted my wand up high, straight at the gates that had yet to realize there was a wizard in front of them, that had yet to understand what was about to happen. I brought up in my left hand the Elder wand too, and then I thanked the gods of magic that Bombarda Maxima did not require movement of the wand in peculiar flicks or twists.
I exhaled, brought both of my wands slightly back, and then jabbed them both forward at the same time. "BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" I howled with every single drop of emotion I could pour through the spell, with every single insignificant smudge of power I could thrum and deliver. There was no such thing as a 'Magical Core' those things didn't exist in Harry Potter, but if you believed strongly in throwing a deadly spell, then you'd throw it as deadly as it could ever possibly be.
The wrought iron gates had, perhaps, decades of protective enchantments, charms to make them animate, charms to make the ask the reason of someone's visit, charms to make them fight the rust, or hold back against simple, or even complex, siege spells.
They crumpled. They fell. They shattered into countless shards of wrought iron that became molten bullets of slag, thrown forth to hue the otherwise flawlessly white path to the main door with their colors.
The peacocks shrieked, and then they ran away, strutting their large feathers in a desperate attempt to survive.
I walked forward, passing through the gates and twirling both of my wands very gently, like the coaxing of a mother eager to see its child rise and walk on its own two feet.
Waste not, want not, I say.
The molten shards of iron coalesced, grew, reformed. Hungry-looking dogs of iron formed with fiery, burning eyes of crimson fire. "Hunt," I said to them amiably, and off they dashed forward, the grinding of steel and the clumping of claws on the dirt echoing as I walked forward, my mind filled only with the present, my eyes cast on every single troublesome thing that might arise.
The hedgerows shifted angrily, tendrils of verdant green trying to push through the air towards an assailant they couldn't properly see.
I lifted both wands up towards the sky, my fingers tightening their grip as I began to make them lazily spin over my head.
"GUBRATH INGLE!"
Billowing flames of bright, white light plummeted out from the tips and billowed high, rising in strength and shape as they became terrifying clouds of hungry, ravenous fire. I kept circling one last time, and the flames spread evenly in a circle like a wall of sentient fire.
With a pulse of oxygen and a sharp slamming down motion to my right and left, the flames didn't just spread. They flew. They flew like angry, swirling snakes that coiled and twisted, surrounding the manor and rising up in the air. There was a brief flickering and then a figure appeared right in the middle of the path.
It hesitated ever so briefly, and that hesitation was all that it took for my wand to jab forth, sending the Death-Eater on its back. The rope that surrounded the man's body tightened painfully, as his screams made me aware of the pain running through his body.
With a twitch, the mask was shattered by a peculiarly vicious lashing of a flaming tongue from the veritable inferno around us, and Macnair's face appeared beyond the mask, eyes wide with fright, skin flushed white from sheer fear and yet already turning angrily red from the heat emanating from the hellish landscape around us.
"Macnair," I spoke, my voice low. "Where is the lady of the house?"
"She's out-" I slammed him down with the chains. The impact made something snap, I could hear the bones crunch.
"Once more," I said. "The lady of the house."
"You're not gonna get anything out of me-" I slammed him down, again. "You're not-"
I laughed. "You think I care whether you live or die, Macnair? You're the worthless to the great game of kings. A pawn-pitiful, weak, unneeded. The purity of your blood will not spare you Azkaban again. Your life is mine; you live if I allow it, you die by my command. I am not Dumbledore, I am not your Dark Lord. Answer me and live, stay silent and die." The ropes turned into chains, tightening the grip and making the grown up man shriek wildly, the iron starting to heat up. "Answer me, Macnair. Where has she gone?"
"Partis Temporus!" someone screamed, the voice hoarse and yet maddeningly familiar to my ears. The flames split from the house's entrance, a female figure standing at the door with a wand in hand.
"So she was in," I said, flicking my wand and dismissing Macnair's body, his screams dying out as the flames fully engulfed him.
"So this is what Dumbledore does? He sends a thug? A hit wizard?" Narcissa Malfoy's voice was cold, and cruel. Her expression was morphed in a sneer, and she wore no dress, but a fully bottomed-up suit with trousers, one that a man would wear. Her hair was cut short, and darkly colored. Evil, crimson orbs shone behind her eyes. "He sends a worthless man to fight the last, true Pureblood house of Great Britain? How many have you killed, assassin? How much is my pureblood life worth?"
I didn't interrupt the grandiose last speech of Narcissa Malfoy-Voldemort. I didn't, because I had a silent non-verbal spell to finish.
Then, I thrust and swung. Twin sizzling jets of crimson pulsed through the air, and the very walls of Malfoy Manor detonated as if an artillery barrage had impacted with high-yield shells against them.
Narcissa's wand seemed to disappear, but it was merely the motion and the heat. A greenish curse rushed forth, one which I deflected mid-air, the Elder wand eager to show the challenger that true might could not be so easily challenged.
I twisted my wand, sparks of lightning forming across the air. "Fulgurs Percutiens!" the lightning bolt sailed in the air with a blasting and deafening cacophony, one which was soon joined by a second, identical spell from the Elder wand. If possible, the latter's lightning was even more blinding, ever more terrifying, even more powerful than it had any right to be.
It pulsed and tore a path through the entire manor, the grisly remains collapsing down into a mess of molten bricks and burning wreckage.
And amidst it all, the frame of Narcissa Malfoy stood with both of her hands holding tightly to her wand, a thin, wobbling Protego holding her safe from the deadliness of the attack.
"So you have bite," Narcissa hissed. "But you have come alone," she growled, "And that is a mistake you will not repeat." Her free hand squeezed against her wand arm, a coiled snake upon it clearly visible.
I lifted my right wand up in the air, silently calling forth a spell even as the flames around us began to dim, and die. Masked figures appeared from the sides, having apparated from whatever place they were previously, called back by their master in his time of need.
I had words to give to Wayne's incredible ability at asking others, because he clearly hadn't asked Susan's aunt to check for Polyjuice infiltration, and someone had taken a page out of Barty Crouch Junior's method of escape to free other prisoners.
"He can't even hide behind an Invisibility cloak!" someone cackled behind one of the masks, laughing madly all the while. "He didn't expect us to come, did he?! Let's torture him for all his worth for what he did to the Dark Lord's house!" that had to be Bellatrix. It really had to be Bellatrix. It couldn't be anyone but Bellatrix. Wayne, rest assured that if I survive this, I will never let you live this down.
My left hand weaved a protective spell around me, something that wouldn't last an extended barrage, but would last just a few good hits.
"Surrendering would be wise," Narcissa spoke, "It might grant you a chance at living through the night," she turned her head to look briefly at the wreckage of the Malfoy manor, feeling safe, "But that will be all. We will need to find more suitable accommodations, perhaps Hogwarts-"
"Which of you is Malfoy Senior?" I asked, loud enough for everyone to hear around me. "I offer you this, as I am your son's friend. Remove your mask, stay down, and you will live through this night-and your wife will be freed from the possession ailing her," I glanced around, the masks not moving an inch. "Because I guarantee you all, as my name is Shade Umbrus Dumbledore," I smiled. My smile grew wide over my face, "I will put the fear of my presence, and name, into the souls of each of you that dare raise your wand against me and mine."
"Dumbledore's son?" Narcissa's face morphed into a scowl, "That old man managed to find someone to have a child with?" she sneered, "I think I will enjoy hearing your screams as you beg for mercy, and once I am done, I will mercifully grant you death...and parade your corpse all the way to your father's doorstep."
My pocket watch began to ring.
It was Six O'Clock, and the Hogwarts train had arrived in London.
It was Six O'Clock, and thundering masses of stone, steel, claws and flaming fire landed with devastating noises and pulsing mass against the ground around me. Their wings were tightly wrung around their bodies. Their limbs held against their chests of stone, protecting them through the air. Then, they unfurled.
I didn't need to fly on my Draghuls to my destination.
Not when they were an Accio spell away.
Those that remained smeared beneath them had the mercy of a quick death.
Those that didn't began to chant spells, hoping to be faster than a Gargoyle's stone teeth against them.
"I think," I said amiably smiling in the most Dumbledore-like way possible, "That I will have the pleasure of leading this symphony of screams to its natural end, Tom."
My right hand dropped and then rose, and music began to play over the carnage.
"You're no Dumbledore," Tom Marvolo Riddle spoke through Narcissa's mouth, the fighting stance, the dueling pose, everything changed and altered once the gig was off. There was fury in his eyes, there was anger in his scowl. There was cold, merciless hatred in the dark pits of his soul. "Do not think you can defeat me."
"Of course not," I shot back, smiling. "As is always the case in these situations, defeat will come through another, more powerful mean. The one power you know not of, Tom," I quietly took a small breath. This was the shot that meant it all. Rowlings, if you're listening to this foolish man, then please, demonstrate that I am not wrong, and that your silly notions of Love being the most powerful force of them all stands above all other things.
"Narcissa, if you love your son Draco, fight Voldemort with all your strength-for if you do not, when my pocket watch marks six o'clock and ten minutes..."
I smiled.
It was the serene smile of the Italian Godfather.
"The Gargoyle within his school baggage will activate, and he will die."
As Voldemort's wand began to tremble in the woman's hand, I knew my words were having an effect.
Sic Transit Gloria Voldemort...
...with a kind and gentle threat to someone's loved one.