A Song for Severus ~ (Not Update, but Edit)

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 54 ~ The First Elimination Round

Death Eaters milled about the refurbished revel room beneath Pumbleberry’s mansion. A large oval space bordered by iron separators made a makeshift arena. The separators were charmed so those who entered the arena could not exit until the match was over. No one would be running away. The only way out was one leaving by foot and the other on a slab.

The spectator seats were elevated so the audience wouldn’t be struck by spells cast by the opponents. The seats were being quickly filled by excited viewers ready to witness battles to the death. Everyone clutched parchments in their hands listing the competitors and where they were in the line-up.

Pumbleberry and Rosier sat in a box at the end of the oval, the Lord of the Manor hemming importantly as he watched the seats fill up. Suddenly he stiffened.

“Isn’t that…erm…Bellatrix LeStrange?” he asked Rosier. Devon looked at the narrow-eyed witch as she mounted the stairs and slid into a row, sitting down with a frown.

“Yes it is,” he said darkly.

Rosier waved over two burly Death Eaters and muttered something in their ears. They both looked over at Bella with narrowed eyes, nodded then surreptiously walked to that side of the arena and took seats behind the witch.

Better to be safe than sorry. If she tried to disrupt the competition, Bella would be fried before she could get a single hex out.

Severus was already in his seat, up in the highest row where he could see the entire arena clearly from end to end. Suddenly he felt someone sit next to him. He looked over.

“Draco?” the Potions Master said, surprised.

Draco nodded somberly, his gray eyes sweeping the arena.

“Thought I’d better be here,” the pureblood said, “It made no sense to sit in the manor feeling sorry for myself, Professor. It’s not going to bring Malina back and there’s work to be done.”

Severus nodded, his black eyes washing over Draco a moment before he pointed out Bellatrix.

“As you can see, Bella has put in an appearance. She is alone. Probably here to size up the winners,” the wizard said.

“She doesn’t look very happy,” Draco observed as he looked at the frowning woman. He noticed the burly wizards sitting behind her, staring at the back of the witch’s head, “and it seems she has company.”

“Rosier is a fool if he thinks she doesn’t know she’s being watched,” Severus said, “If she does anything, those two behind her will be the first to go.”

Draco stared at Bella, then said, “We’re going to have to help her if she does do anything. She has to get back to Voltaire.”

”I know,” Severus muttered, “Let’s just hope the witch keeps her head.”

Draco looked down at the parchment identifying opponents.

“Hm. Fenrir Greyback vs. Desecratia Holly,” he mused, looking at the moving photos next to the names.

The red-head with the wild eyes looked pretty tiny compared to the snarling Fenrir. The photos made hateful faces at each other.

“Doesn’t look like a very even match,” Draco said.

Severus just shook his head in agreement.

Suddenly everyone went silent as Rosier stood up in the box and placed the tip of his wand against his throat, invoking the Sonorous charm, amplifying his voice.

“Welcome to the Competition, the purpose of which is to find the strongest and most worthy among us to become the next Dark Lord or Lady. Tonight’s event is an elimination. Out of twenty-six competitors only thirteen will leave this arena alive. There will be no Unforgivables used in the competition. Other than that, anything goes. Two opponents will enter this arena and only one will leave under his or her own steam. Tonight’s survi…er…winners will then face off in another elimination competition in one week. And so forth until we have two top contenders, who will challenge each other to prove who is the strongest. This final duel will not be to the death but to choose a winner and runner-up. Then the winner will be transformed into the new Dark Lord.”

A cheer went up from the Death Eaters, Bellatrix’s face turning black with rage as everyone applauded around her. They would pay. They all would pay.

Rosier held up his hand and the crowd quieted.

“In the event the winner does not survive the transformation, we will then give the runner-up a chance at greatness. If he or she succumbs, then the process will begin again with slightly different rules. Yet, this is not the time to discuss such things. There is dueling afoot!”

Again the crowd cheered, this time stomping on the floorboards and making an awful din.

Rosier sat down and Pumbleberry stood up, holding his thumbs in the lapels of his suit importantly as he eyed the crowd, which quieted. He then reached into his pocket, withdrew his wand and placed the tip to his throat, amplifying his voice

“Our…erm…first competitors, Marshall Thurin and…erm… Michael Woe, enter the arena, wands…erm…at your sides!” he bellowed.

The silent crowd watched as the separators at either end of the arena opened and two wizards entered, one blonde wizard in traditional robes and boots, and a dark haired wizard in what appeared to be a sweat suit and trainers. Both men snarled at each other, death flashing in their eyes as the metal boundaries swung back, locking them in.

“BEGIN!” Pumbleberry roared excitedly, plopping back down in his seat and leaning forward.

“Expelliamus!” Marshall cried, the blonde robed wizard charging toward his opponent, who parried the hex, lunging forward himself and making a slicing motion with his own wand but not saying anything.

“Non-verbal,” Draco hissed as Marshall twisted aside, the unspoken hex slicing through his robes, the fabric falling to the ground as the crowd cheered. Before Marshall could recover, Michael smashed into him, taking him down to the ground, the wizards struggling, each clasping the wrist of the other in an attempt to keep wands from being utilized as the crowd cheered.

The wizards wrestled desperately, Michael clearly the better fighter, smashing Marshall in the face again and again. Marshall twisted awkwardly, one hand disappearing between their straining bodies.

Suddenly, there was a flash of silver and Michael tried to scramble away as Marshall leaped on his back, driving a dagger between the wizard’s shoulder blades over and over until Michael lay still in a pool of crimson, his back wet with blood. He was dead of multiple stab wounds.

Marshall staggered to his feet, holding up the bloody blade in triumph as the crowd cheered.

”Well done! Well done!” Pumbleberry praised as a contingent of house elves walked into the arena and took Michael Woe’s dripping body away, one elf following behind cleaning up the spots of blood as Marshall exited the other end of the arena the same way he came in, smiling and waving at the cheering crowd. The Death Eaters were quite pleased…there had been plenty of blood.

Draco was scowling as he watched the victorious wizard leave the arena.

“That wasn’t fair. The other wizard didn’t have a weapon,” he said.

“Anything goes,” was Severus’ only comment.

As far as the Potions Master was concerned, in a life and death struggle anything was fair as long as you survived. Draco was surprisingly Gryffindorish in his comment. Maybe Love had made him go a bit soft.

“Erm…an excellent beginning!” Pumbleberry hemmed, “Next up, Elizabeth…erm…Yaxley vs. Thomas Muttonchops!”

The crowd cheered as Elizabeth and her opponent entered, both of their eyes narrowed as they sized each other up.

“You’re a pretty piece, witch. Too bad you’re going to be worm food,” Thomas called across the arena to her.

“Don’t count on it,” Elizabeth said back to him with an evil smirk, her body in an offensive position as she waited for Pumbleberry to give the word. Her blue eyes were narrow with purpose. Pretty piece indeed.

“BEGIN!” Pumbleberry cried.

Elizabeth immediately darted to the side, slipping the explosive hex Thomas flung at her, raising her wand and moving it in a wide arc.

“Nocturnus!” she cried.

Suddenly the entire arena was covered in thick, black smoke, the crowd shouting in anger.

“Infra Visiones” Elizabeth muttered.

Immediately she saw the outline of Thomas flailing through the thick smoke, shooting blasts wildly.

“Show yourself you bitch!” he screamed angrily.

“I’m coming,” Elizabeth said softly, easing toward the wizard. She could hear the crowd complaining and didn’t give a fuck. The witch was in this to win this.

All the crowd could see were flashes of light issuing from one place in the cloud and hear the crack of the hexes Thomas was throwing following each flash.

“He’s dead,” Severus said with certainty.

Sure enough, a hoarse scream sounded, then was suddenly cut off. All flashes stopped.

“Nocturnis nox,” Elizabeth breathed, and the cloud dissipated, leaving her standing over the body of Thomas Muttonchop, who was neatly decapitated, his limbs severed and still quivering, blood everywhere.

“Muttonchop,” Elizabeth said, looking down at the dismembered wizard as the crowd gasped then cheered, “At least you lived up to your name.”

The witch spun smartly and marched out of the arena, not even acknowledging the screaming crowd.

“Ooh, that was nasty,” Draco said.

Bellatrix watched Elizabeth leave the arena with narrowed eyes. The witch wasn’t as soft as she thought. And treacherous. She’d have to remember that if she made it to the finals.

Two more competitions followed. The first was ended by a blinding hex followed by the injured wizard’s throat being slashed so severely his head flipped back like Nearly Headless Nick’s. The next competition’s end was particularly nasty, the opposing wizard hit with a spell that swelled his body up until he exploded into pieces, chunks of flesh scattering all over the arena. blood even splattering some of the crowd, which loved it. Some rubbed the ichor into their skin.

“Next up…erm…Fenrir Greyback vs…erm…Desecratia Holly!” Pumbleberry called out.

Fenrir strode into the arena, wearing his too-tight robes, all his pointed teeth showing as he smiled wolfishly, his wand clutched in his huge, dirty hand. Even elevated, the crowd could smell him.

Then a small, anorexic, red-haired witch in black robes entered from the other end, her eyes shifting around the arena wildly before settling on the enormous wizard at the other end. The crowd groaned. This wasn’t going to be much of a match.

“You’re hardly a mouthful, witch,” Fenrir sneered at her, licking his teeth with his tongue.

Desecratia’s face was suddenly filled with abject hatred. She looked quite insane.

“Fenrir better watch himself,” Severus said, his black eyes resting on the tiny witch, “She’s out for blood. Size doesn’t matter.”

Draco looked at the witch. He was with the rest of the crowd. Fenrir was going to smash her, maybe literally.

“This doesn’t seem…erm…like a fair match-up, Devon,” Pumbleberry said to the wizard who sat with his arms folded.

“She knew what she was getting into,” he replied.

Pumbleberry looked at the crazed look on the woman’s face.

“Are you sure she was even capable of making a decision like this? She looks quite mad,” Pumbleberry said.

“Just start them,” Devon snapped.

He wasn’t going to take any responsibility for what followed. Everyone chose to compete. They should know their own limitations.

Pumbleberry enhanced his voice again.

“BEGIN!” he said half-heartedly.

Fenrir snarled at the witch pointed her wand at herself rather than him.

“Pronto,” she hissed, then streaked away at an amazing speed, a blur following as she zipped behind Fenrir, who had thrown a hex to find she was no longer there. The crowd gasped as the witch snarled, “Argenti Liquis!”

Fenrir roared as a stream of liquid silver flew from the witch’s wand, the werewolf bounding away only a speckling landing on him…but it burned like hell and his robes were smoking.

Desecratia streaked after him, again shooting silver at the werewolf, hitting him squarely in the chest, Fenrir tearing his robes from his body as he fled, not getting a chance to use his wand, his flesh burning now as he ran around the arena trying to avoid the pursuing witch. Damn, he had underestimated her.

He continued to bound about the arena, the witch in pursuit and the crowd jeering him for being such a coward. He couldn’t even stop to use his wand and his body was covered in burns. What could he do with the witch on top of him like this?

Then it came to him. He put on a burst of speed and the witch matched him.

Suddenly he stopped turned as Desecratia ran toward him and she couldn’t stop. She ran directly into the werewolf, her eyes wide with fear and screaming as Fenrir crushed her body to his, feeling her bones breaking, his pointed teeth closing over her face. The wizard bit down hard. Blood ran around his mouth, down his jaw and into his matted beard. There was a sickening crunch and the werewolf flung the witch’s body away and spit out her face.

The sound of gagging and vomiting filled the arena as the werewolf licked his lips then held up his hands in victory before walking up to Desecretia’s faceless body and urinating on it. The crowd went berserk, Severus shaking his head.

“The gods help us if he ever becomes the Dark Lord,” the wizard breathed.

Draco sat up, looking a bit green and pulled out his wand to scourgify the contents of his stomach he had spilled all over the floorboards.

“He won’t,” Draco said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Not if I have to blast the elixir out of his hand myself. He’d turn everyone into werewolves.”

Bellatrix stared at the departing werewolf, her eyes full of hatred. She would have to kill him for certain if he survived the competition. He was too dangerous. In fact, they were all dangerous. Well, let them weed themselves out…it was the final two she needed to concern herself with. When the decision was made, then she would make her move.

It would be a coup, she was sure of it.

Severus and Draco watched the rest of the competition until the final thirteen competitors were marched into the ring and cheered by the Death Eaters. They had done well, but eyed each other, particularly Elizabeth and Fenrir.

“You survived the first round witch. I hope to have you as my opponent next draw. Maybe I’ll publicly rape you before I dispatch you,” the wizard growled at her in a low voice as the other competitors grimaced.

“I’m going to cut your cock off and shove it down your throat before I kill you,” the witch seethed.

“Smoke won’t work on me,” the wizard replied, “I don’t need to see you. I can smell you.”

”I’ll be prepared, dogface, don’t worry,” Elizabeth snapped, “Enjoy your last days.”

The hatred between the witch and werewolf was palpable as they exited the arena. The drawing would be tonight in private and they would have a week to prepare for the next leg. There would be an odd man out however and someone would have to fight twice. That drawbridge would be crossed when they came to it.

Severus and Draco departed the mansion, both silent and thoughtful. The competition had been every bit as violent and horrible as they believed it would be…but at least it was Death Eater against Death Eater, and not innocents. Those deaths were easier to accept.

Suddenly Bellatrix appeared out of nowhere.

“I need to talk to you Severus,” she hissed, giving Draco a “get lost” look.

“I’ll see you later, Professor,” the pureblood said, nodding to Bella pleasantly then disapparating for his manor.

“It is time for another treatment for Voltaire. He is strong but he needs to be stronger,” she said to the Potions Master. “You must come and administer more elixir. His time is drawing close. Meet me by the stones Sunday evening at sunset.”

Severus noted this was not a request, but more of an order. Still he’d like another look at Voltaire.

“As you wish, Bella,” he said.

Bella nodded. She liked his easy acceptance of the situation.

“You will be rewarded for your help, Severus,” she said, “The Dark Lord will be pleased with you.”

Severus could only imagine the reward Voltaire would have in store for him. He had done his father a great service developing the elixir, but once he came into full power he tormented the wizard at will. His son would do no less.

Severus bowed.

“Sunday at sunset,” he repeated to the witch, then disapparated.

Bella looked back toward the secret entrance to the bowels of the manor, watching all the departing Death Eaters.

“Traitors. Blackguards. Voltaire will make them pay for trying to usurp his throne. Each one will feel his wrath…each and every one,” she hissed to herself before she too, disapparated.

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A/N: Thanks for reading.