(Brian's POV)
Fenrir HQ reeked of stale magic, sweat, and anticipation. A dozen figures, cloaked in shadows, huddled around a rough-hewn table, their gazes fixed on the map spread out before them. No polished mahogany or gleaming projections here. Just a battlefield crafted from necessity – crude, functional, and fueled by a raw hunger for chaos.
I traced a finger across the map, my touch lingering on two red dots. The Parliament building. Van Doren Enterprises. Symbols of unity. Pillars of Vincent's new world. Soon, they would be monuments to fear.
"Breaching Parliament security will be no walk in the park," Gareth muttered, his thick Welsh accent filling the room. Our explosives expert, his face a roadmap of old burns and scars, tapped a dot representing the Parliament building. "Wards, Aurors, bloody cameras everywhere. Even armed guards these days. Sneaking anything past those defenses… it's suicide."
"Not if we exploit the cracks," I said, my voice a low, confident rumble that silenced the murmurs of doubt.
I pulled out my phone, the screen casting a cold, blue light on the faces around me. "We have an informant, gentlemen. A wolf in the sheepfold."
Their eyes widened, eagerness burning in their gaze. They'd tasted victory, these followers of mine. The bombings in London, Paris… each success a shot of adrenaline, a reinforcement of their faith in me, in Fenrir's cause.
I let them relish the news, a predator savoring the anticipation of the hunt. But they didn't know the full story. Not yet. They thought this was about shattering the illusion, about exposing the hypocrisy of Vincent's "perfect" world, about driving a wedge between magical and non-magical societies.
And they were right. It was about all of those things.
But for me, it was personal.
"He's given us this," I said, tapping the screen. A detailed floor plan of the Parliament building shimmered into view, along with security protocols, shift changes, even Auror patrol routes. A digital blueprint of vulnerability.
"We hit them hard," I continued, my voice a smooth, persuasive cadence. "And we hit them both at once. The Parliament – the heart of their government, the symbol of their unity. And Van Doren Enterprises – a monument to his power, built with Muggle technology, a shining beacon of their collaboration. We'll bring both crashing down."
"But how do we finance all of this?" A young witch, her face hidden beneath a dark hood, spoke up. "Explosives, potions, artifacts… These things cost money."
"Not all goblins are happy with the new world order," I said, my gaze lingering on the witch. "Some miss the old ways. The days when gold flowed through their vaults, when they held the keys to power. Let's just say… we have… investors. Those who understand the true cost of Vincent's ambition."
My gaze returned to the map, my fingertip tracing a path towards the heart of the Parliament complex.
"This time, gentlemen," I said, my voice a low growl, "We're not just sending a message. We're going hunting. And I have a particular prey in mind."
Later that night, alone on the rooftop, the wind whipping at my hair, I dialed James' number.
Time for my pawn to play his part.
"James," I said, my voice calm, measured. "I need you to do something for me."
(James Potter POV)
The phone buzzed in my pocket, the insistent vibration a jarring counterpoint to the quiet hum of the telly. I glanced at the screen. Brian. A knot of apprehension tightened in my gut.
It had been two weeks since he'd revealed the truth. Two weeks of stolen meetings, whispered conversations, and a growing understanding of the darkness that had taken root within my own brother. He was charismatic, persuasive, and filled with a cold fury that mirrored my own. His plan, however…
"I need you to do something for me, James," Brian said, his voice a low, urgent murmur that cut through the static of the phone line.
I hesitated, my gaze drifting to the picture on my mantelpiece. Mom and Dad, their smiles a bittersweet reminder of a life shattered, a future stolen.
"What is it?" I asked, the words a reluctant surrender.
"Things are about to… change," Brian said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We need to act. Soon. I need your help, James. I need you… on the inside."
"What are you talking about?" My gut twisted with a growing suspicion.
"I can't say much over the phone," Brian said, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "But trust me, James. This is about… justice. About making things right."
His words echoed the dark whispers in my own head, the thirst for vengeance that had become my constant companion.
"When?" I asked, the word a breath.
"Thursday. Parliament convenes at 10:00 a.m. Be ready."
He hung up, leaving me alone in the silence of my flat, the weight of his request pressing down on me.
What was he planning?
(Brian's POV)
I disconnected the call, the corner of my lips twitching into a satisfied smile. James was in.
He hadn't asked too many questions. Hadn't demanded details. The grief, the anger… it was clouding his judgment, making him pliable.
I walked back towards the table, the Fenrir members watching me with a mix of awe and apprehension. Gareth, ever the impatient one, spoke first. "Well? Did he bite?"
"He did," I said, my voice a low rumble of satisfaction.
A cheer, rough and eager, erupted from the group. They were ready. They'd tasted blood. They craved more.
"We'll hit them on Thursday," I announced, my gaze sweeping over their faces. "Parliament convenes at 10:00 a.m. The security shift change is at 9:30. We'll strike then."
I laid out the plan. James was key, he would let us in then A team of wizards, armed with advanced combat spells and cloaking charms, would infiltrate the building, targeting key infrastructure, creating diversions, sowing panic.
"And Vincent?" A young witch, her eyes burning with a fanatic fervor that made even me uneasy, asked the question that hung heavy in the air.
"He'll be there," I said, my voice a cold certainty. "He always is. This time… we'll make sure he doesn't escape."
And as I watched their faces, alight with anticipation, a chilling truth settled over me.
This wasn't just about revenge. This was about legacy. About proving myself. About surpassing the father who'd abandoned me, the brother who'd inherited everything.
This was about showing the world… showing Vincent… who was truly in control.
(James Potter POV)
Thursday morning arrived, a gray, oppressive dawn that mirrored the churning anxiety in my gut. I stood before the mirror, adjusting my tie, my reflection a stranger staring back. Dark circles under my eyes, a tightness around my mouth, a haunted look that wouldn't go away.
I was a traitor.
I'd met Brian the previous evening, a clandestine rendezvous in a deserted alleyway. He'd been vague about the details, talking about "exposing the truth," about "shaking things up." He'd asked for my help, needed me to be "ready" at a specific time and location – a side entrance to the Parliament building, used mostly by staff.
"Just… open the door, James," he'd said, his blue eyes intense, a hint of pleading in his voice. "That's all I need."
I'd agreed. It felt… wrong. But the anger, the grief, the desire to see Vincent Van Doren pay for what he'd done… It was a fire that consumed all reason, all sense of right and wrong.
Now, standing here, my Auror badge a heavy weight on my jacket, my wand a cold comfort against my thigh, I knew there was no turning back.
I Disapparated to the designated alleyway, my stomach churning with a mix of nausea and dread. Brian was waiting, his face a grim mask in the pre-dawn light. He was dressed in black, a tactical vest strapped over his shirt, his wand holstered at his side. Beside him, two other figures, cloaked in shadows, their faces obscured by balaclavas.
My gaze flickered to a duffel bag at Brian's feet, its bulk unsettling. What was in there?
"You ready, James?" Brian asked, his voice a low murmur.
I nodded, my throat tight.
We walked towards the side entrance. Two Aurors, their faces drawn with the usual pre-shift fatigue, stood guard. They barely glanced at us as I swiped my pass, the door clicking open with a hiss of compressed air.
But then, I heard footsteps behind us. "James? What are you doing here? Who are these people?"
It was Isabella. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was about to answer, to make some clumsy excuse, but it was too late. Brian had already drawn his wand, the tip glowing with a sickly green light.
"Avada Kedavra."
The curse hit Isabella before she could even react, the green light engulfing her, a silent, deadly wave that stole her breath, her life, her very presence. She crumpled to the ground, her eyes wide and unseeing, the people following brian had done the same with the other guards.
I stared, my blood turning to ice. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even scream. Horror paralyzed me, the world shrinking to the sight of Isabella's lifeless form.
"Stay back," Brian said, his voice a sharp, cold command as he pushed past me, the two masked figures flanking him. Their gazes lingered on me for a moment, their eyes dark and empty behind the balaclavas, a chilling reminder of the darkness I'd aligned myself with.
They went into the Parliament building, the door swinging shut behind them. And as I stood there, alone in the deserted alleyway, the corpse of my partner, my friend, a chilling weight at my feet, the first distant rumble, a tremor that shook the cobblestones, echoed in the silence.
(Brian's POV)
The Parliament building. A symbol of unity. A monument to Vincent's power.
Soon, it would be a tomb.
We moved through the corridors, a silent, deadly current. Gareth's charms had disabled the security cameras, scrambled the wards, bought us precious minutes.
The first explosion, a carefully controlled blast that targeted a structural support beam, echoed through the building, a thunderclap that shattered the illusion of safety. Screams erupted, echoing off the marble walls, the panicked scramble of fleeing staff blending with the clanging of alarms.
"Go!" I barked, my voice a sharp command as we reached a junction, the floor plan etched into my memory.
The two Fenrir wizards, their wands already glowing, split off, disappearing into the chaos, their targets – the communications hub, the emergency floo network – crucial nodes.
I headed towards the Chancellor's office. My target.
The Aurors and the armed guards, caught off guard, scrambled to react, their spells and bullets a desperate barrage against the carefully planned chaos. But we were faster, more ruthless. We'd trained for this.
I blasted through a barricade of overturned desks, a wave of stinging jinxes and a well-placed Confringo clearing my path. Screams echoed behind me, the stench of fear thick in the air.
The Chancellor's office door loomed before me, a heavy oak barrier adorned with intricate carvings and a gleaming brass plaque: VINCENT VAN DOREN, CHANCELLOR.
I raised my wand, a chilling smile twisting my lips.
"Bombarda Maxima."
The door exploded inwards, splintering wood and shattered glass flying through the air. I surged into the office, wand raised, a wave of triumph surging through me.
"Vincent," I snarled, ready to unleash the fury I'd held for so long.
But the man facing me wasn't Vincent. This one was younger, his face contorted with surprise, but those blue eyes, the set of his jaw…
He was Vincent's son. Arthur. I recognized him from pictures, from files.
The shock was fleeting, a momentary flicker before the fury returned, hotter this time, fueled by a fresh wave of betrayal. Vincent wasn't even here to face me. He'd sent his son to die in his place.
"Who the hell are you?" Arthur snarled, his hand already gripping his wand.
"Your worst nightmare," I growled, and launched a Stupefy spell before he could even utter a counter-curse.
The spell slammed into him, sending him crashing against the wall. But he was up in a flash, his reflexes inhumanly fast, a faint blue glow emanating from the runes etched across his arms. The same runes Vincent had carved into his own flesh. The same runes I now bore, a testament to the power we both wielded.
"Protego!" Arthur roared, a shield shimmering into existence just as my Confringo erupted from my wand.
The office became a whirlwind of magic and chaos. Spells collided, sparks flew, the air crackled with raw power. He was good, I'd give him that. Faster than I'd anticipated, stronger. But he was fighting on instinct, fueled by adrenaline and surprise.
I, on the other hand, had trained for years, honed my magic in the crucible of vengeance. I knew how to fight, how to kill, how to break a man's will.
I pressed my attack, a relentless barrage of curses and hexes. He dodged, blocked, countered, his wand a blur of motion. But he was tiring, his breathing ragged, the initial shock wearing off.
I disarmed him, his wand clattering to the floor, a mocking echo of his father's defeat. He lunged, his fists clenched, desperation fueling his attack. I didn't even bother to block. I let him hit me, a satisfying thud against my jaw.
"Is that all you got?" I taunted, a savage grin splitting my face.
He roared, a primal sound of frustration, and lunged again. This time, I met him head-on.
Our fists collided, a brutal symphony of bone against bone, our grunts of exertion blending with the crackle of magic still swirling in the air. I headbutted him, the sickening crunch of cartilage a counterpoint to his surprised grunt. He staggered back, blood trickling from his nose.
I pressed my advantage, a relentless assault of punches and kicks, each blow aimed at breaking him, at punishing him for being Vincent's son, for inheriting the power I'd been denied. He tried to fight back, his runes flaring, his magic surging, but it was too late. I'd broken his rhythm, his spirit.
"You… you're a monster," he gasped, his voice a broken rasp.
"We're more alike than you think, Arthur," I said, my voice a soft, deadly whisper.
He stared up at me, his eyes widening as he saw the runes on my arms, mirroring his own. Recognition dawned, a flicker of horror in his gaze.
"You… You're…"
He didn't get to finish the sentence.
I grabbed him by the throat, my fingers tightening, cutting off his air, his struggles becoming weaker, his eyes bulging with a terror that mirrored my own.
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light engulfed him, erasing the fear, the pain, the fleeting connection that had sparked between us.
Silence fell, a heavy, suffocating blanket.
I stared at his body, a wave of nausea washing over me. He was gone. Another life extinguished. Another score settled.
But it wasn't Vincent. It wasn't enough.
I grabbed the duffel bag, its weight a grim reminder of the task at hand. I placed it in the center of the office, near Arthur's body, opened it and pressed the trigger 30s started counting down.
Then, I Disapparated, leaving behind the echoes of death and the promise of more chaos to come.
(General POV)
The Parliament building erupted in a symphony of destruction. Screams echoed through the corridors as the carefully placed charges detonated, shattering walls, collapsing floors, sending a wave of terror through the heart of the wizarding world.
Fire raged, consuming everything on it's path.
People scrambled for exits, their faces contorted with panic, their cries for help drowned out by the roar of the inferno. The carefully crafted illusion of unity, of a peaceful integration, shattered into a million pieces.
It was a scene of carnage, a testament to Fenrir's carefully orchestrated chaos. The Parliament building, a symbol of Vincent's new world order, was no more.
And as the dust settled, as the flames consumed the last vestiges of that fragile peace, a chilling question hung in the air.
What would Vincent Van Doren do now?
(James Potter POV)
The world was a whirlwind of fire and smoke, the air thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and magic. I stumbled back from the inferno that had been the Parliament building, my ears ringing, my vision blurred by the swirling ash.
The screams, the explosions… it was all a blur now, a nightmare unfolding before my eyes. I'd seen people running, their faces contorted with terror, their clothes burning, their cries for help swallowed by the roar of the flames.
I looked down at my hands, covered in soot and ashes. Isabella…
I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. The weight of what I'd done, the consequences of my actions, crashed down on me like a ton of bricks.
Brian. His words echoed in my head, a poisonous whisper. "Justice. Revenge. Making things right."
Had I been a fool? Had my anger, my grief, blinded me to the truth?
The Parliament building, a symbol of unity, of progress, Now, it was a smoldering ruin, a monument to my own betrayal.
I'd helped them. I'd opened the door. I'd let them in.
And now… Isabella was dead. Countless others were dead or injured.
And Brian… He was just getting started.
I stared at the flames, their orange glow a macabre dance against the darkening sky. A wave of nausea washed over me, the world tilting precariously.
What have I done?
(Adrian Pucey's POV)
The air in the Cerberus HQ training room crackled with a familiar energy. A group of new recruits, their faces grim with determination, were practicing disarming spells, their wands flashing. I watched, a grim satisfaction settling over me. Vincent had built a powerful machine, a network of loyal, capable agents. And I, his first Hound, was tasked with ensuring they were ready for anything.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, a jarring interruption to the rhythmic clang of training wands. I pulled it out, expecting the usual status update from one of our field agents.
The message on the screen, however, made my blood run cold.
Parliament building. Bombing. Multiple casualties. Structure compromised.
"What the…"
I stared at the phone, my mind reeling. It couldn't be. Not the Parliament. Not with our security protocols, our informants, our…
I rushed to the command center, a bank of screens shimmering with live feeds from across the city. The images that greeted us were a nightmare.
The Parliament building, a smoldering ruin, flames licking at the sky. Aurors swarming the wreckage, their faces grim, their spells a futile attempt to contain the chaos. Medics tending to the injured, their white robes stained crimson.
I grabbed my phone and sent. "Cerberus alert. Top level. Emergency meeting. HQ. Now."
The message flashed across the screens, an urgent beacon summoning the heads.