Dumbledore's Black Hand Novels & Stories

"He took my life, my identity, and now he's living with my name, my degrees. How can I just let that go?" I gave his back a comforting pat and met his gaze. "In a few days, when the weird end of days rolls in, we'll make him pay." Jim gave a small nod, his skin cooling down, no longer fired by my blood. Right then, I noticed something odd, the weak Haunts that had barely any strength were suddenly frantically feasting on my leftover blood. Their once translucent bodies filled with vigor as they started to circle and swoop around me. "I've got a plan!"

Daisy replied with a straight face. "I'm surprised your lazy ass thought of dropping me off at the office doesn't fit right," I teased, hoping to get more out of her, but Daisy's grip tightened on the stirring wheel. An awkward silence spread in the car for a few minutes as I stared at her and the road ahead. "You know the Alphas of the Blackmoon, Alpha Xavier and Alpha Kai. "They are not here only to merge business deals but to find the mystery behind their father's killing," Daisy said, her face grim.

Perhaps he had already set up his plan to unify the wizarding world. "I've heard talk about it. It is said in the street that a black wizard with immense power has recently appeared. I think it must be Bennet. But I won't suggest you kill him now. Bennet is considerably stronger than before. Killing him is not going to be an easy task. He still controls Jack’s life. As long as the Noose curse remains on his body, Bennet can make it take effect at any time. We have no way to stop it. It's too dangerous," Zoe advised us.

Luna wondered aloud about the mysterious circumstances that led to the capture of Alpha Zephyr's family. In response, Alpha Zephyr, a stoic presence in the Blackmoon palace, began to unravel a tale woven with threads of treachery. He spoke of the insidious grip the sinister group held over him, a malevolent force shaping his very essence from the inception of their influence. The once-autonomous Alpha Zephyr, revered in Blackmoon, was but a puppet dancing to the clandestine strings of this nefarious organization.

Their faces were long and slender covered with the thin skin of the elderly. “Good evening, Brother Blake and Sister Clarissa.” Melchior greeted them. The black pendant that hung around his neck indicated that he proudly used shadow magic, otherwise known as black magic. In these times, many people would rather die than mess with black magic. But then, the olc order had never been known as cowards. Blake nodded. “Good evening Brother Melchior and Brother Casper.” He glanced at Clarissa, knowing they would expect the same greeting. “Good evening Brother Melchior and Brother Casper.” She said collectedly.

Instantly, all eyes shifted from me to the newcomer. The warriors and the small crowd of onlookers immediately turned and bowed deeply as the man approached. Lifting my eyes, I saw a young man with an air of undeniable charisma. His spiky brunette hair, square jaw, and deep blue eyes exuded a quiet strength. Despite his imposing presence, I found it hard to believe he could be the Dark Lord. Beside him stood a younger boy, whose face seemed like it had been meticulously sculpted to perfection, radiating a similar aura of authority.

Kaelen choked out, pointing a trembling hand forward. ​Through the shifting black fog, I saw it. ​The Black Cathedral. ​Alaric's ancient parchment hadn't done it justice. It was not a building; it was a monstrosity. It loomed against the bleeding crimson sky, a towering, massive structure built entirely of twisted, jagged obsidian and solidified blood magic. It looked like a clawed hand thrusting out of hell to grab the earth. It radiated a wave of necrotic malice that was so heavy it made my stomach churn.

James said. His words made eyes turn to Hannah and Lilith. All these years, witches have been getting bolder. Was it because they knew that James was unconscious? They might have even guessed that he was dead and the family was hiding it to look strong. “The Black Hand!” James called out suddenly. His voice echoed throughout the clan. The Black Hand were his personal guards. He was sure that even if he was gone, the protocol for transferring to the next generation would remain. And he was right.

“The council believes the cult is regrouping under a new creed. They call themselves the Twilight Hand.” Kaelira frowned. “They serve the Black Moon’s remnants.” “They claim to serve balance,” Senn corrected. “But their balance involves a great many corpses.” The bridge shuddered under a gust of wind. Somewhere far downstream thunder rolled. Zevran looked skyward. “Storm brewing.” “Not weather,” Kaelira said. “Magic.”