Extra Ordinary

The war started before he was born, before his father had even been old enough to hold a sword, before anyone he’d ever met in his family had been born. It was a war unlike any in the history of the world to have last so long, wizarding or muggle and it all started with one man’s quest for power and obsession with his own perceived superiority.

There were four original kingdoms in the beginning. Surtse, the heart kingdom where wizards were more neutral than confrontational. It had been represented by Helga Hufflepuff at the first Council of Wizards. Then there was Hogwarts which had been led and represented by Godric Gryffindor. Espirit, led and represented by Rowena Ravenclaw and Marvolo ruled and represented by Salazar Slytherin.

Each kingdom had their own way of doing things from governing trade to dealing with muggles, but among them Salazar had always taken the approach that a wizard’s place was standing firmly on a muggle’s back.

When Salazar’s cruelty spread and the Blood Wars began, the other three were forced to ally with Marvolo to protect the wizarding populace from being exploited. No muggle could ever marry into a wizarding family, neither any muggle born. The closest thing people had to marriage between a muggle and a wizard were called Common Bonds and could be broken at any time. Only those with an established and verifiable magical lineage could officially be married in the wizarding way. They’d sealed it into an Unbreakable Bond between the four kingdoms that would last until the last day of their countries. Yet Salazar hadn’t been satisfied with ensuring the purity of the wizarding race. He wanted dominion for the wizarding race and while fear of extinction had fueled their first alliance, there was nothing to garner their agreement for that endeavor.

The war between the four should have ended with Salazar’s death, but he’d set the throne of Marvolo to be inherited by any who could wield his staff. Imbued with his power, his malice, and his prejudice it possessed every possessor in the line. With each successor, the staff absorbed more malice making each iteration more monstrous than the last.

Viktor was determined to end it in his generations so that his children, the children of his brothers, and the rest of Surtse would know true peace.

The country of Marvolo, currently ruled by Tom Riddle, the Lord Voldemort, took up Salazar’s mantle with such gusto that the war had spread beyond the four kingdoms. Grindelwald, Riddle’s predecessor as ruler and the murderer of Viktor’s grandfather, had chosen an heir far more vicious and monstrous than he was or any of his predecessors had dreamed.

Surtse, Viktor’s home country, led the fight against Marvolo along with Hogwarts and Espirit as well as other magical and muggle countries since before the time of Grindelwald. Though they battled and drove back the forces of Marvolo, they always resurged with the ascension of another ruler. In all the years of defeating rulers of Marvolo, no one had been able to capture the staff of Salazar Slytherin, the lifeblood of Marvolo’s line. Thus, the battles rolled on with each new ruler of Marvolo in a seemingly never ending line of succession through decades, then through centuries. Every battle and every death had been leading to this moment, culminating in the cry across the battlefield that finally meant that Marvolo had fallen.

This moment of victory for witches, wizards, mages, and muggle alike was something that couldn’t be expressed in the cry of one man. He can hear the roar echo through his , reverberating through his chest plate and shaking the ground beneath their feet. In one hand was the staff of Salazar Slytherin, the key to the country of Marvolo, in the other was the the leader of the opposing army. He lifted them both high above his head as he stood on the Morsemorde Cliffs overlooking the battlefield. It was littered with bodies and centuries of battle, yet today it saw its first ray of light and peace. The dark tower of Marvolo had fallen and the perpetual storm system that had always sat over Marvolo had broken with the death of the last successor.

It was finally over.

Viktor’s entire body ached. The adrenaline of nearly losing his life in the dark castle to the hissing remains of Lord Voldemort had was fading quickly, but he cannot feel the pain or latent terror it over the roar of triumph in his blood. It rushed through him, around the pain, and fear and came out of his mouth with a sure and loud cry.

“Surtse wins this day!”

His men cheered and the opposing forces stared up at him and their leader in awe.

It was over.

The man in Viktor’s hand whimpered and begged him not to drop him before  he lowered him to the ground on his knees.

“Kill me, go ahead!”

Viktor looked down at the man. He was more of a noble’s build than a warrior. Though he wore armor, it was more for show. He’d found the man feebly attempting to defend the throne, speaking about hostages he had to protect by stopping him. He remembered how old and how tired he looked then, pale from terror. His dark hair streaked through with silver grey and his face aged beyond his years.

It was true that being captured by Lord Voldemort weighed heavily on a soul, but he  had not expected such a ghoulish appearance after only a few months in Marvolon custody. He remembered shoving the man out of the way as Lord Voldemort hissed a spell that would have killed him. He remembered feeling his strength wane as he entered the hall as if the staff and Voldemort only existed so long as there was a wizard around to feed it with their life force.

It seemed that in all the panic, the man did not remember any of those moments.

“King Stefan, I have no reason to kill you.”

He looked up at the Surtsean knight, confused and then glanced to the ment below the cliff who looked up at him in terror.

“How did you--”

“We fight for peace.” Viktor said and lowered the staff to the ground. The dark aura thrashed against shield he’d erected over his hand. It would not remain subdued for long in Viktor’s exhausted state, but his protections would last long enough to get it wrapped properly. “Now that the fighting has ended, we can talk peace. Marvolo has fallen.”

He paled, “How?”

His eyes drifted to Viktor’s hand that glowed with a bright blue light around the dark staff of Salazar Slytherin. He drew back terrified of it, but gasped. If this knight had the staff, then that meant--

HIs eyes burned and tears fell from relief. Tom Riddle was dead and the line of Marvolo would finally end.

“He was more a monster than man at the end.” Viktor looked at the staff. “I will see to it that it will be destroyed so that it can never be used again.”

Stefan sobbed to himself as Viktor turned to Vladimir who came up behind him, still panting and on edge from the battle. He gawked at the blue aura around Viktor’s hand subduing black and dark purple aura around the staff though it fought against it.

“General…”

“Send word home that Marvolo has fallen and we hold peace talks here. Tell the men rest and bring here the leader of every army on this field.”

“Yes, Sir!” Vladimir grinned and turned.

“Come,” he said to King Stefan. “We have to talk.”

Stefan rose to his feet shakily, frightened and surprised that this victor over Marvolo, a man strong enough to resist the temptations of the staff of Salazar, existed and was so gracious as to let him walk down to his men with his head held high.

Viktor stopped to usher everyone he found in the castle out not excluding King Stefan’s daughters who clung to their father in terror.

“Father, are you--”

“I am fine, Lilu,” he said embracing her. “It is over.”

They and the entire castle staff followed them down to winding road to the battlefield. Men cheered their arrival and took them to be tended and fed. Viktor found his horse and eased it as it startled. The staff attempting to reach out to him as Viktor pulled the binding cloth he’d brought with him out of his saddle bag. He wrapped it tightly and activated the sigils to contain it before attaching it to his back.

He didn’t need any of his men encountering it acidentally and possibly being corrupted.

“They’re in the large tent,” Ivan said gesturing to the large tent that had been set up for the council of generals.

He thanked the man and told him to take a break before walking towards the tent. When he entered, he was surprised. Rather than proud generals facing defeat, they looked at him fearfully as if they had simply been conquered by another monster. He took a seat at the round table and laid out the terms of surrender set forth by the four kingdoms.

“He is dead?”One of them asked, stammering and nervous.

Viktor’s lips twitched. He’d never considered the idea that they were still terrified of Voldemort. Viktor pulled the staff off his  back and set it on the table still wrapped in the binding cloth. They didn’t need him to unwrap it, recognizing its distinctive shape and the glow of the symbols on the cloth. They stared at it with terror and Viktor offered any of them the chance to test the truth of what the staff’s presence meant.

It's the wizard of Manchester who tested it, casting the life-seeker spell and finding it unable to be fulfilled.

The man, the monster, was dead.

“What will happen to Marvolo?”

“The land is to be put under martial order until the reforms can be completed. In short, Marvolo is to be dissolved and revitalized once all over Voldemort’s followers have been captured and dealt with.”

Each of them looked at the terms of surrender and signed without hesistation. Tarrifs and reparations were nothing compared to the horror of being under Marvolo’s control and their loved ones held hostage. Viktor wondered how many of them had sons or daughters that had been held at the castle. How long it had been since any of them had seen them, held them in their arms and how much of a relief it was to be free.

“Tend to your wounded, good sirs,” he said and stood picking up the staff and standing. “We will be in touch. If you know anyone that was recovered from the castle, they are with the medic. Identify them and find rest. No harm will come to you.”

They nodded as he departed. Viktor crossed field towards where the wounded and the dead were being readied for transport to give a copy to the messenger. He saw them off and tended the rest of his duties. His men cheered his approach and offered him food. He ate and carried on until he returned to his horse. He pitched his small tent at the edge of camp and crawled in, glad for the sound of his men’s relief and happiness. They celebrated and sang songs of their impending return hom.

The war was over.

Truly over.

He looked over to the staff with relief.

Over.

Just as the truth if it all began to settle in, like a warmth that eased the tension out his entire body, he began to pen his official report to the King of Surtse and the Counsel of the Kingdoms. A shadow darkened the entrance to his tent and paced before it.

“Come in if you are going to, but do not pace at my door.”

The figure stopped with a sigh and moved the flap. He kneeled down to crawl inside, a letter tucked into his armor and a dark expression.

“Viktor,” he began, worrying his lip and refusing to meet his eyes.

“Why so blue?” Viktor asked looking at him. “We’ve won.”

“It's your father.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as Vladimir offered him the page.

“From your mother…”