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A Dying Legacy by ForgottenFace
Chapter 1 : Prologue
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 70


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Research Institute for Magical Diseases, Moscow, Russia

17 August 2004


Although it was summer, the sky was covered in dark grey clouds. The institute’s building was located in the far east side of the city, hidden in the woods. Its magnificent late Muscovite period architecture would amaze even the most insignificant Muggle, if they were able to see it.

A white owl flew into the fifth floor window of the institute’s building. It carried an envelope with the initials RIMD written in large, curly crimson letters. The owl landed on the desk in the far and darkest corner of the room.

Behind the desk was a man dressed in a white coat with a tag displaying the name Dr. Grigory Solovyov. His thick glasses reflected the dim light that came through the window, showing the bleak sky as clearly as if the sun had been shining. He was sleeping on the chair, with his head leaned back and mouth hanging open, snoring lightly.

The owl chirped, and the man woke, startled, his paper white skin now illuminated by the light, his brown hair an untidy mess. His beautiful face showed that he was no more than twenty-five years old.

He petted the owl and took the letter. The owl chirped again and flew out the window. The man turned the envelope. On the back side of the envelope his own name was written in the same colour and handwriting as the initials. He tried to open the envelope but it wouldn’t open.

Solovyov examined the envelope for a minute, examining it from every angle, curious as to its contents. He grabbed his wand and buried it in the red solidified wax that kept the envelope closed. It left a black hole in the wax, like a cigarette burn. He tried to open the envelope again and this time he was successful.

He removed the letter from inside, written on new parchment and folded delicately. He carefully unfolded it and read the message that was inside, written in the same curling crimson ink as on the envelope.

It read: 

Dr. Grigory Solovyov,

It has come to my knowledge that you are studying how muggleborns are born with magic.

It has also come to my knowledge that your research has no funds.

I want to help you. My wealth knows no boundaries and I am willing to fund your research, as long as you do something for me, of course.


The rest of the letter was written in Russian. Grigory Solovyov’s green eyes read the rest of the instructions in disbelief. When he finished reading the letter he grinned with desire.
________________________________________


Research Institute for Magical Diseases, Moscow, Russia

19 June 2024



The man in the black travelling cloak contrasted with the pure whiteness of the laboratory.

Almost twenty years had passed since the day that the institute had been nothing more than an under-funded pit of squalor, and in that twenty years it had been dramatically revolutionized. The walls and floors were gleaming white, and carried no trace of the filth that had been there in the past, and the laboratories really were laboratories, with real experiments going on within them. Not that all of them were legal, of course.

Grigory Solovyov had also changed in those twenty years. His hair was now thin and graying, and his beautiful face looked stretched and gaunt. Dark purple rings had formed underneath his eyes, making him look as though he had not slept in weeks. Which, in fact, he had not. He had been busy preparing his little experiment that had been twenty years in the making, the very reason the institute had not become desolate and abandoned. Grigory stared at the cloaked figure standing across from him, his eyes wide open in fear. He held a flask in his left hand and his wand in his right. The flask contained a rich purple liquid that was frothing slightly.

“Give it to me, Solovyov, I am growing impatient,” the man in the black cloak said dryly.

“But it has not been tested yet,” Dr. Solovyov pleaded with a thick Russian accent. “If you give just a bit more time-“

“You have been given enough time already” the cloaked man hissed, raising his wand and pointing to the flask. “Now give it to me, Solovyov!”

 “I just need a few more months-”

The doctor made another feeble attempt to stop the man.

“Enough! Accio flask!” the cloaked man yelled.

“No!”

The flask Dr. Solovyov held in his left hand flew to the left hand of the cloaked figure.

“I do not know if it is ready!”

 He tried reaching the flask before the cloaked man could grab it.

“After twenty years it should be more than ready,” the cloaked figure told him. Solovyov went to argue, to tell him that he did not understand. The contents of the flask could be volatile, and could have the exact opposite effect that they were designed to.

The cloaked man pointed his wand at Dr Solovyov’s chest. He opened his mouth to plead with him, to beg, even, to make him understand before he performed the spell, knowing perfectly what was going to happen to him.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The green flash of light hit the doctor square in the chest, and he fell back onto the spotless white floor, his green eyes now completely grey and his stare cold as ice.




A/N: This chapter has been edited and beta'd by my two wonderful betas Jianne and Liam R. Liam added a bit of description. ;)



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