Seventh Turbulence

Disclaimer – Don’t own, don’t sue.

Previously—

The black captain made a failed struggle as Draco made his way to him, studying him closely.

He jerked his head as Draco raised his hand to his hood. Silver eyes hardening, Draco pulled the hood off roughly, and found himself staring into the brightest emerald eyes he’s ever seen.

Seventh Turbulence
Poisoned Ink
Chapter Two
About to Crash


… … … … … …

The emerald eyes hardened and jerked itself away from Draco’s hand. The black captain struggled against his bonds.

“Your name?” Draco drawled, his grey eyes sweeping through the kneeling body in front of him.

The captain remained silent, his green eyes glaring into Draco’s grey ones. A soldier behind him gave him a rough push, causing him for fall forward onto the battle ground.

“The Prince asked for your name,” The soldier grunted, glaring at the black captain with disgust.

The captain pushed himself up, wavering slightly at the dizziness the push caused. He raised his green eyes to Draco’s silver ones again, full of hatred.

“My name holds no value for you,” He spat, raising his head slightly.

“No value,” Draco repeated, straightening up and turning away from the captain. “Take him to the dungeons,” he ordered the soldiers “I will be questioning him later.”

The soldier frowned before he complied. After all, this captain seemed to spark great interest in the Prince.

… … … … … …

“Voldemort?” the Lord of the werewolves frowned, “Surely the great kingdom of Slytherin is not threatened by a lord of such low country.”

“The Riddles have grown, Lord Trimble,” Lucius replied, his silver eyes making contact with a much darker grey, “They have been looked lightly upon for too long. They are not of this World,” Lucius sighed, “The Riddle bloodlines have always been dark. There are myths saying the Riddles are the decedents of Hades, the lord of the underworld himself. Ever since their last defeat thousands of years ago, the entire empire disappeared. Rumors say they have returned to the underworld, waiting for an opportunity to declare war upon this World again.”

“And that opportunity would be now,” Trimble whispered, his hands wringing together, showing his nervousness. Silence fell upon the courtroom. Draco shuffled uncomfortably. It seems like this was just the beginning.

“Voldemort,” Lucius started again after a short silence, interrupting the court of its pondering, “His original name is Tom Riddle. He had given himself the nickname of Voldemort to silence suspicions in the West, where the Riddle Empire had been residing for 50 years. Their land is surrounded by sea, with only a small bridge connecting the mainland. Of course, it is very heavily guarded.”

“Over fifty years!” Draco exclaimed, speaking for the first time, “And they have not been ever suspected?”

The King of Slytherin fell silent for a moment.

“Gryffindors,” Lucius gritted his teeth, his face twisting, “The riddles have been under Gryffindors’ noses for fifty years, and their Kingdom built on the west shores of the Acora Sea, they have seen the bridge that crossed the sea into the Riddle Kingdom that they have done absolutely nothing about it, thinking they were just harmless pirates establishing their own island. They were too ignorant to see what is in front of their noses…”

“Lucius,” Trimble frowned as Lucius turned the blame onto the Gryffindor. “Now is not the time for old rivalries. If we are to defeat Voldemort, we must seek for allies. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, the three other human kingdoms in the World would have to be considered as allies, especially Gryffindor, as they come to power.”

Lucius’ nose twitched ever so slightly.

“Allies?” Draco asked unbelievingly, “With Gryffindor?”

The King snorted in agreement.

“King Malfoy,” Trimble sighed, “We need the Gryffindor’s alliance. Voldemort could be more powerful than we’ve thought…”

“Quentin, tell me. Why would we turn to a kingdom that rejected out alliance in the first place?” Lucius balled up his hands.

Quentin Trimble sighed. “Lucius…”

“We will not seek for Gryffindor’s alliance,” Lucius said with determination, his voice leaving no room for convincing.

He smirked in satisfaction as Quentin lowered his head in defeat. “Good,” He stood up, gathering his robes around him, “Prepare for a feast. We celebrate for our victory tonight.”

… … … … … …

The black captain winced as he was thrown into a damp cell. The guard in front of sneered before the gate was shut close with a slam, the sound of locks snapping into place in distance.

He sighed as he turned in his cell. There was no light except for a small window on top, much smaller for any kind of human to escape. He settled down in the cell, making himself as comfortable as possible. This was certainly a low point in his considerably successful career. Never in a million years would he have thought he would be captured. It was winning the battle, surviving, or die in the battlefield. But then, nothing ever goes as planed.

He never planned he would join Voldemort. Being in the Inner Circle and a captain was much unexpected. For God’s sake, he just wanted to revenge his parents.

He was just a villager living on west shores of the Acora Sea. He would have never thought the village would be attacked. What could possibly harm them? They weren’t an important village in Gryffindor. They were enclosed the sea, and surely, surely there could be nothing on the other side of the sea, only endless water and sea life. Nothing that will do any harm to anyone.

He was wrong.

The village was attacked in a summer night. His parents have fought to hide him from the black soldiers. He had survived from the attack. His parents didn’t. Ever since the death of his parents, he swore that he would do whatever that was needed to bring Voldemort down, to avenge his parents.

There wasn’t a single person in Gryffindor that believed the dark line of Riddle were back. They had laughed at him, urged him to visit asylums. Maybe someone in there will believe him. An attack on a Gryffindor village? Ridiculous. Oh yes, he had tried to tell everyone. Furious and frustrated, he left his country, Gryffindor, to seek for the wise wizard that lived in the North. Dumbledore.

He had heard Dumbledore was the wisest wizard in the World. He was kind and sincere, and always helped people that went his way. In a world where magic is scarce, Dumbledore was respected for his power by the Kings all over the World. If there is anyone that could help him, it would be Dumbledore.

Weeks and months of travel, through mountains and rivers, he had arrived at Dumbledore’s tower. He was welcomed, and was sworn into a secret order, The Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had listened to his story and told him all about the Riddle Family, telling him that there was only one way that they will ever get the chance to defeat Voldemort.

To have someone from the inside.

At first he didn’t understand Dumbledore. Did the wizard want to capture one of the servants from the Riddle base and question him? As time went on, Dumbledore’s intentions slowly became clear.

He wanted him to join Voldemort.

Ridiculous.

He remembered how he reacted at first. He screamed and revolted, deeply believing that Dumbledore was a supporter of Voldemort’s. But then, somehow, Dumbledore was able to convince him to do exactly what he wanted. He would join Voldemort and report back whenever he could.

Seeking out the dark lord wasn’t easy. He had known where the dark lord was, right across the bridge that extended out to the Acora Sea. But he wouldn’t go from the bridge. No. The bridge was heavily guarded and if he went by himself, all nice and together, asking to join whatever that resided on the island, it would bring suspicions. He might as well ask for his death.

He smiled at the memory.

He did the first thing that came into his mind. If Voldemort had the least of feelings, he might just take care of a wounded villager. And wounded he became. He remembered how painful it was, hurting himself, but he got in alright. He was right about one thing – Voldemort did have a heart.

Once he got in, it wasn’t hard to make Voldemort trust him. There was something in him, Voldemort had always said. Something in him that should be valued greatly and shouldn’t be looked lightly upon. Whatever that meant, it had brought him one step closer to avenge his parents.

And then it came to this.

He laughed bitterly to himself. Locked away in a cell, there is no way he would get information from Voldemort now.

He had failed. Failed Voldemort, failed Dumbledore, failed himself.

Locked away in a Slytherin dungeon. God, he wished he had refused when Voldemort suggested battle in Slytherin. He should have known…he should have known this would happen.

Now he wasn’t even sure if he can survive the next few days.

Somehow dying didn’t sound so bad to him. Maybe, maybe he would see his parents again.

He rolled his head to his side and closed his eyes, dozing into a light sleep.

… … … … … …

Prince Draco walked straight into his chambers, ignoring the servants that nodded respectfully to him as he passed by. He flung himself on the bed rather gracefully and buried his head in his pillow.

Merlin. He had only thought that was a simple battle. His father never told him much, and he never really bothered to ask. As long as it didn’t interfere with his status as the heir to the Slytherin throne—what could possibly go wrong?

“My Prince?”

The voice came muffled. It took Draco awhile to realize that his head was still under his pillow.

Draco pulled out his head gingerly, and squinted at the servant at the door. “Yes?”

“Your robes for the ball, my Prince,” the servant shuffled slightly, placing the robes at the foot of the bed.

Draco’s mood lightened up at the mentions of a ball. After all, a little music and dancing is just what he needed.

… … … … … … …

“Quentin,” Lucius frowned, and fisted his hands on the table, “I will not send my men to Gryffindor for alliance. I thought we have settled this…”

Draco groaned and covered his face with his hands. His father seemed to ignore the cheerful men with their goblets of rum around him and had taken up the same argument with the Lord of the Werewolves for the thousandth time this night. It was truly strange, for the King usually enjoys the feast after a victory very much.

This feast seemed to be the least enjoyable one of all. Usually there was always an atmosphere of arrogance and victory of the whole feast. This one seemed sullen and gloomy, despite the drunken men that staggered all over the ball room, laughing and joking. Looking over to his still arguing father, he decided that he needed a drink. Badly.

“Draco!” A voice called out in the crowd not long after he stepped down from his throne. Draco turned around, taking in the site of a slightly tipsy Blaise.

“Good battle, wasn’t it?” Blaise tipped over his goblet and took another long drink at his rum, “You should have seen us whoop those black soldier’s…”

“Yes, yes,” Draco snapped, “I was there, Blaise.”

Blaise frowned over his goblet.

“What’s with you? Cheer up. We’ve just won! What are you so grumpy about?” Blaise grumbled.

Draco sighed.

“You have attended the meeting. You know the trouble that has yet to come to Slytherin,” Draco gestured to the thrones, “Look.”

Blaise swept his gaze to the King, who was arguing vividly with Trimble.

“Wow. I’ve never seen him so upset at a feast before.” Blaise commented. He looked down into his rum. “I don’t know what we can do here,” He said, his finger tracing the rim of the goblet, “Its just…Merlin. It’s the Riddles. You remember the stories. You remember what happened the last time the Riddles were here.”

Of course. Everybody knew the story. It was practically told to every children in the Kingdom, false threats that if they were bad, the Riddles were out to get them. Having a father who absolutely loves history, Draco couldn’t avoid hearing the same stories over and over again. The stories always had a happy ending. Was this one bound to have a happy ending also? Draco wasn’t sure.

Blaise sighed again.

“Come on,” He abandoned his goblet at a spare table and took a hold of Draco’s arm. “I heard we’ve captured a black captain. Let’s go talk to him. Maybe we’ll get something useful against Riddle.”

… … … … … … …

A/N

Oh God. I know. I totally suck. The stories are just getting harder and harder to write. So if I’m not updating anything at the moment, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve been having this huge writer’s block for ages…one that I haven’t gotten rid of already. Well, make sure to review, because those are always appreciated.