Fire & Ice: War Games

‘Men show their characters in nothing more clearly than what they think laughable.’
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1822)

Time passed quickly in the world within Hogwarts, the days easily slipping into weeks. The warm breezes of summer past were all but forgotten by the evitable arrival of autumn and its splendor. October found trees fawning bronze and gold leaves on their branches. With school and the Qudditch season in full swing, the students were not in want of activities. A lull had settled over the wizarding world as even the Dark Lord was absent from the scene, the Daily Prophet was occupied with lighter articles no activity of dark wizards on the near horizon.

With Qudditch practice over for the day, he made his way back to the dormitory as his thoughts wandered back over the last few weeks. Had it been only his imagination or had the transfiguration mistress actually been watching the Slytherins closer, well one in particular it seemed to him. Two years ago he wouldn’t have given a second thought to it, after all he was of the same mind and would have eagerly joined in his house mates’ in speculation. But things had changed since then, when Ripper had recruited him and he had gotten to the pair of Slytherins who he found himself suddenly working with.

Climbing the staircase slowly, he could feel the protests of his body as parts of his anatomy ached that he never knew could. His house mates would never understand the unexpected comradery that had developed or the small glimpses into the fiercely independent house his own was only too eager to shun. He had discovered to his amazement that contrary to popular belief, the Slytherins were not a gang of dark wizards plotting and trying to overthrow the world as they huddled in the shadows, laying in wait to ensnare any helpless Huffelpuff that strayed too near. But rather he had discovered that the Slytherins were fiercely loyal to those of their house and would willingly defend the honor of house mate at any price. Yes, Slytherins in general studied the darker aspects of the magical world, but they also believed in being prepared for the worst outcome possible.

As he approached the portrait guarding the entrance to his house common room, he thought again about the pair representing the Viper’s den and the day he first met them. While Soot was resigned to attempt at making the tenacious alliance that Ripper had demanded of them work, Shadow had been a different story all together. He shivered as the memory of his first real and up close impression of the raven haired Slytherin surfaced in his mind. He glanced at the portrait wearily, “refuge.”

The fat lady smiled, “poor soul. A nice, warm shower will work a miracle for you.”

He rolled his eyes and choked back a snort as the portrait swung open. He slowly walked through the entrance and on rubbery legs, towards the boy’s dorm. The driving desire to scrub away the sheen of sweat and dirt smeared across his skin under the steam of a good shower was making him crazy. “Marcus?”


Sighing, he paused in mid-step, “yeah?”

“Do you think that you could help me with Charms?”

“After I’ve soaked a bit, my skin is crawling with Merlin knows what.” He said running his fingers through the mop of greasy hair. “Just give me five minutes or so, Lily.” Retreating quickly, Marcus shed his robes and left them in a pile strewn across the floor.

Standing beneath the pouring water, Marcus could feel the muscles of his body slowly relax as the water kneaded his skin. Relief flooded his senses, washing over both the body and mind. Yawning, he stretched and felt his cramped, tired muscles and joints pop. Soaping his body, he massaged his skin beneath the steaming fray. Water cascaded down his body, washing the soap and dirt into the drain beneath his feet. A familiar silky voice whispered in his ear, words spoken years before. “Gryffindors’ rush in were Slytherins’ fear to tread. That is way so many of your house die young and so many of mine live to die on our deathbeds, surrounded by our families and at an old age.” In the haze of water, Marcus could see those cold eyes staring at him, burrowing into his soul as before. His hand jerked sharply as he turned off the flow of water. Toweling off the droplets of water clinging to his taunt form, Marcus’s shaking hand reached for his clothes.

Marcus stepped back into the common room and quickly located the auburn haired witch curled up in front of the fireplace. Her waist length hair was draped over a shoulder, an unlucky strand was captured between her lips and the Charms textbook was propped against her knees as she twisted the quill in her fingers. He shook his head bemused as he swatted at the witch’s knee, “hey, scoot the feet or miss my help.”

Emerald eyes glanced up in puzzled surprise, “what...?” She inhaled sharply as realization dawn and she shifted her legs to allow him room to sit on the plush couch. “Feeling better?”

“A mite. Let’s see what we have here, shall we.” Commandeering the textbook from her ink stained fingers, the pair of Grffindors hunched over it. Within minutes, both were immersed in the subject. Each rarely spoke, wanting to finish the task at hand.




Stretching, “thanks for the help.”

“Not a problem, Lily, its what mates are for.” Marcus said, cracking his cramped and sore neck with a sigh. As he turned to retreat from the common room, he absently noted a familiar snowy owl pecking against the window. Rubbing his eyes, Marcus slowly wandered back towards his dorm room as the window was opened.

“What are you doing here? A mite late for the mail, aren’t you?” A Gryffindor boy asked, flipping his black hair over his shoulder. The owl eyed him before bitting the boy, “bloody hell! What was that for?” He said cradling the wounded finger and glaring at the offending creature.

“Guess he don’t like you, Sirius.”

“Its nothing more then a white-washed rat with wings.” Sirius snarled pointing his wand at the owl. “Be the last time you bite someone, you monster.”

“Honestly, I think you’re a few knuts short.” Laughing, “leave it be and let it deliver the letter.”

“Not this time, James.” Sirius said before he started to mumble an incantation.

“Sirius, its only an owl.”

“Probably a Slytherin’s, sent it to spy on us.” Peter said, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he peered over James’ shoulder.

Remus glanced between his friends and the owl, “leave it alone. It’s not harming anyone,” the werewolf pleaded to unhearing ears.

“It’ll be fun to see what Sirius changes it into, don’t you think so too?” Peter asked casting the werewolf a sideways questioning glance and frowned.

James sighed, throwing up his hands, “I just hope you understand what you’re doing. Better hope that owl doesn’t belong to one of the professors, Sirius.” He turned and walked to his room leaving the Gryffindors alone, watching Sirius’ antics. Sirius was always doing something rash and rushing into things without thinking of the repercussions of his actions. The Gryffindors in general were content to watch and enjoy the amusement that would follow as it rarely endangered someone.

Peter stared after the retreating form for a moment before returning his attention back to Sirius and the angry owl hovering before him. He racked his mind trying to remember exactly when he’d seen the distinctive owl before and with whom. James’ warning about the possibility that the bird might belong to a professor rang in his ears like a church bell. His beady eyes widened suddenly, almost bulging out of their sockets as a memory slowly surfaced from the foggy haze of the recesses of his mind.

As Peter opened his mouth, the words of warning on the tip of his tongue, someone else spoke first. Stunned, all he could do was stare as Sirius’ body suddenly went rigidly stiff and collapsed to the floor amongst disappointed groans from his spectators, the last words of the spell dying on his frozen lips. Blue, glossy and glazed over, eyes stared up at the ceiling with surprise clearly etched into them. Peter turned and gapped openly at the caster with disbelief fading rapidly into fear.

Bright emerald eyes glared mercilessly at the petrified form lying on the floor beneath a seemingly smirking owl. The oak wand shook in Lily’s hand as her disapproving frown deepened and Peter shrank behind the frail looking Remus, using the werewolf as a shield from her simmering anger. “Of all the stupid, immature and childish things it has been my misfortune to witness by your hands Sirius Black, this has got to be the uncontested winner. Did you or did you not learn anything from the brilliant, idiotic prank of yours in fifth year? Isn’t it enough that you almost committed premeditated murder and tried to use someone who trusted you, someone who called you and still calls you ‘friend’ to do it for you, when he wasn’t in any position or condition to do anything to prevent it?”

Lily waved her hand, slashing the air before her with violent strokes in exasperation. “Now you’ve graduated to sadism! Torturing poor, defenseless creatures just because you got a little scratch.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed, feeling twice her natural age. “Given half the chance, would you torture Remus for your amusement as well? What about me or James, if it suited your fancy? I swear you have no control of your impulses and that will get you killed one day. Or maybe if you’re really lucky, Azkaban.”

Behind Remus and nearly forgotten by Lily, Peter snickered as his beady eyes soaked in the simmering scene around him. “And you, Wormtail, don’t think that I’ve forgotten you.” Lily said, her eyes darting passed the werewolf and locked onto the sudden, cowardly Gryffindor. “Maybe I should transfigure you into a fat, brown rat and use you to feed the owl with as we are suddenly out of treats. Tell me, how does it feel to find yourself suddenly on the receiving end?” She paused and tilted her head slightly before continuing. “You’re really pathetic, getting your jollies by urging other people to do what you’re to cowardly to do yourself. You’re more of a disgrace to Gryffindor then Sirius there is and that says a lot.”

Turning sharply, the Gryffindor witch stormed from the room. Her house mates stumbled over each other as they hastily parted to allow her a clear path to the girls’ dorm and leaving them in a sober silence as they stared after her. No one acknowledged the whimpering figure hiding in the werewolf’s shadow.

Though the witch’s temper was not unknown, the sudden explosion was. Everyone in Gryffindor tower knew of her temper, many had simple never witnessed it first hand. After all, Lily Evans was the cool headed one and rarely had sudden emotion ruled her in regards to her actions, she was the thinker of the house after all. But they knew when it did, it was safest to choose the path of avoidance and give the witch time alone tlow low her temper to cool.




Marcus watched the events unfold from the doorway leading to the main hallway of the boys’ dorm, having returned to the common room from half way down when recognition occurred. It was easy for him to see why the Sorting Hat had placed the Evan’s witch in the Lion’s Den. He found himself wondering again what the hat had snorted prior to placing both Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigew into the house. With Remus, Marcus liked to imagine that the werewolf was concealing a spine somewhere buried deep within and one day he would demonstrate it, instead of playing the sheep in wolf’s cing ing he always portrayed.

But Peter was a different issue of the Sorting Hat’s competency altogether. Marcus found himself agreeing with the Slytherin’s assessment of the Gryffindor boy, as he watched Peter’s beady eyes shift nervously across the room. In his opinion, Peter was an opportunist and attached himself like a parasite to those who were stronger around him, leaching off of them and then moving to the next.

His attention was brought back to the present by a nipping on his robe collar, “hey Horatio. Got something for me mate?” Taking the rolled piece of parchment from the owl, he stroked the crop of black feathers on its head. The owl fluttered off as Marcus quickly scanned the scrawl of writing and greened. “Good thing I don’t have a date.”

“Something wrong?”

“Just my life, Remus.” He softly muttered more to himself then the other boy.

“Are you going to the dance later?”

“Doubt it,” Marcus snorted. He glanced at the spidery writing on the parchment, “such a kill joy, Shadow.”

Remus stared at the doorway long after the Gryffindor had left the common room, the other boy’s last word, “Shadow,” had stirred a foggy memory. The werewolf knew that somewhere he had heard the nickname applied to someone outside their house. Sighing in frustration, he returned to his essay.




The doors to the Great Hall creaked open and revealed the wonders it held. Jack-o-lanterns were suspended through the air above their heads and mounds of treats lured the first students inside. Skeletons chained to the wall, floundered against their restraints as the enchanted replicas of Egyptian and Mayan mummies wandered through the room. The Headless Horseman charged at the students, his ghostly apparition passing through them like a hot knife through butter. Gingerbread people wandered the refreshment table and Welsh fairies hummed in the air above them, splinters of rainbow light danced off their small transparent wings. Soft music sifted through the air and seduced the last lingering students into the room. Quickly pairs filled the floor in a parade of costumes as others were content to remain lounging against the walls enjoying the festivities invoked by the night.

From her corner in the Great Hall, where the Head Table had been temporary converted to hold the evening’s refreshments, Minerva McGonagall watched the sea of bodies sway under the evening’s spell. Her eyes scanned the swarm of costumes, alert and ready to intervene should trouble arise amongst her students. “Looks like they’re having fun. With the attack on Surrey, they deserve it.” She faintly heard the voice as her mind carried her away on it’s own agenda.

Dark wizards, proclaiming allegiance to Voldemort, had attacked and murdered a quarter of the muggle town’s population the first week of October. The ramifications were still rippling through the wizarding world as Ministry workers scrambled to collect information and evidence while at the same time, aurors worked at erasing the muggle witnesses’ memories and write new ones to explain the deaths of others. If the gossip column in the Daily Prophet was anything to go by, the popular explanations these days was either gang violence or some new cult created by the Ministry to plant in place of the missing time. If the recent attack on the muggle world was any indication, Voldemort was bent on stretching the Ministry’s resources in anyway possible. This alone was cause for alarm and worry in the Gryffindor witch’s eyes.

Despite the morale uplifting that the celebration brought to the students, she worried that tomorrow’s reality would crush them beneath it’s weight. How long would Hogwarts stand, remaining a sanctuary against the growing darkness looming outside its walls like a predator stalking prey? Who amongst those here would be buried when the sunset tomorrow, cut down before they had a chance to live or who would be forced to age beyond their years because they were torn between the two sides; one that promised everything and the other that would deny them and keep them under a firm boot for the rest of their days? Her eyebrows scrunched in puzzlement at the direction her mind was taking.

“Voldemort is attacking, Minerva.” A calm voice whispered in her ear, she felt the color drain from her face.

The Gryffindor witch jumped, her hand reaching for the wand hidden within the folds of the robe. Adrenaline surged through her veins as her questioning eyes sought the headmaster\'s. “Albus.....?”





A/N

Hey, sorry it took so long to get out. Life happened, you know how that goes.

Please R & R, author thanks you.