Chapter Thirty-Six
BLOOD
Author's Note: Having trouble uploading this one. I think it might be too long. Part one of two.
* * *
Harry would not remember that followed in the days or weeks or even months to come, but at the time he didn't know that. So along with Ron and Hermione, he listened with rapt attention to Krum's story. It wasn't that he wanted to be listening to the Death Eater, and he especially didn't want to be hanging onto his every word, but as bad as the situation was, Harry recognized that beneath Krum's rants and raves were details of a story worth knowing. Though he would later have trouble identifying those details, he would never forget how collected Krum seemed, or how calculatingly he kept to the shadows.
"Accio cigarettes!" said Krum, and a package came whizzing sure enough through the chamber's back wall toward him. He opened it, pulled one out, and lit it. He took several long drags.
"There is no use denying that my master's resurrection did not go as planned," Krum said, exhaling slowly. "The Trivizard Tournament vos an affair doomed from the start. So many things vent so very wrong-Viktor, a more suitable champion than I? You and Diggory, duel Hogvarts champions? So very wrong.
"And you just had to be a Gryffindor. As the eve of the Third Task drew near, ve considered the possibility that von of the other champions might arrive at the cup first. No problem-ve vould simply turn them against von another. Ve however did not anticipate vot you vould do for Diggory-`Let's take the cup together, Cedric!'
"I hate those unvilling to fight to get ahead. I hate those unvilling to take advantage of the veak, the stupid, the innocent. That is vhy I follow vot path I do. That is vhy Death Eaters follow vot pathes they do. Even Vormtail, in all his incompetence, vos able to take care of Diggory.
"Vormtail managed to correctly perform the blood ritual to restore the master-or the first part of it, at least. Those few drops of your blood allowed the Dark Lord to rise again, but more vos needed in order for him to sustain the transformation." Krum lit a second cigarette. "He needed the rest of your blood but did not get it. Even the most dedicated Death Eaters failed the master that night. They allowed you to escape, allowed you to take avay the life force of our lord."
The Death Eater dropped his light. "Master vos too veak to go on. He vos forced to retreat to our most concealed chateau. I joined him there, and so did the others-in time."
* * *
Carteret, France - July 2, 1995
The embers glowed long after the fire burned out, and still the Dark Lord didn't speak. Shivering figures were gathered all around the ornate sleigh bed that sat in the master bedchamber of an unplottable chateau, grown men in the blackest robes, all utterly terrified of the pale, sickly creature before them.
"Failures," it hissed at long last. "Failures, the lot of you. What gives you the right to stand at my bedside when you in the first place put me here?" When none of the masked figures responded, the creature's thin, cracked lips broke into sinister smile. "No one? No one will be the first to answer? Well, then, who will be the first to beg forgiveness?"
With a choked sob, a round figure in the corner dropped to his knees. A murmur began in the shadows; others followed. "Please," the round figure cried. "Please, my lord, I beg of you. I would give even my other hand, my other limb! Anything, my Lord, anything if you'll spare me. My head-would you like my head, Master? I'll give it, if you'd like, freely. I'd give it freely, if you'll only spare me..."
The creature-Lord Voldemort-waited until the round man was merely blubbering to chuckle. "Wormtail, get up before you soil your nice robes, and don't be silly-I couldn't spare you and take your head both, and what use would your severed head be to me, really? Run along, Wormtail, run along. Fetch for me another tasse of unicorn blood with that new hand of yours-I'm still thirsty, so very thirsty, and you haven't been using what I so generously gave you nearly enough."
Wormtail scurried so quickly to his feet that he fell, and several more times on his way to the door he lost his balance. Again, the Dark Lord smirked.
"Pity he forgot to address me. I'll have to torture him for that later," said Voldemort. "Krum, my wand."
"My lord," another one of the figures breathed. This one stood just at the Dark Lord's bedside. "My lord, an honor, your vand, an honor... Master..."
Quick as a flash the creature's long fingers wrapped around the narrow piece of wood. In a bored voice, he said, "Yes, Krum, everyone knows you're my lap dog. Now step a little closer." The Death Eater did as he was told. "Crucio Merendé!"
With the exception of Krum, the Death Eaters dropped to the floor, howling and flopping. Light poured from the tip of Voldemort's wand until he fell gasping against his bed pillows. Krum threw himself at the Dark Lord as the others, many of the bleeding and all of them bruised, struggled to stand.
"Master, you are not strong enough!" Krum sobbed.
"Does anyone wish to speak now?" the Dark Lord whispered hoarsely. "I implore you, what gives you the right to stand at my bedside when you first put me here?"
Another figure dropped to his knees. This one's long, blonde hair was disheveled, now from the sides of his hood. "Master, we come seeking forgiveness."
Voldemort did not smile. "Lucius, you annoy me," he said at last. "All of you, you disappoint me. Thirteen years have passed, but I surely thought my intentions the other night were clear. Death Eaters you are, followers of the blood traditions and the old magicks! How could it be that you let Potter get away? Fools! Failures! Things more vile than the Potter boy himself! I meant to drain him, take his blood, regain my strength. Without blood, I cannot sustain my transformation, yet you allowed my new blood to escape."
Six or seven Death Eaters fell to the floor at once. "Drain me!" they wailed, their cries a sick chorus. "Master, drain me in exchange for forgiveness!"
The Dark Lord's scarlet eyes narrowed to slits. With what seemed like tremendous effort, he raised a pale hand, beckoning the closest of the wailing Death Eaters closer. "Remove your hood." The man did. "Yes, Parkinson, yes. You are willing to let me drain you?"
"Master, yes, my lord."
"Because I need blood but cannot have Potter's?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Tell me, Parkinson, does your blood unlock the forgotten gates?"
"No, my lord."
"Then is your blood of any use to me?"
"No, my lord." The man was trembling now.
"And yet you offer yourself to me anyway."
"Yes, my lord."
The Dark Lord's eyes flashed, for he had no brows to raise. He seemed to be daring the man. "Very well," he said finally, and before anyone in the room had blinked, his long fingers snatched beneath his pillow, drew out a small dagger, and slit the man's throat. The Death Eater's mouth flapped open several times, and he hit the floor. "I always liked him," said Voldemort sadly. "As for the rest of you fools-" his scarlet eyes fell on the others that had offered blood "-get up unless you mean what you say. Potter's blood has escaped me. I will drink the blood of innocents until the chance to kill Potter comes again. Wormtail?"
The Death Eater in question had slipped into the room not moments before. Quivering, his silver hand presented Voldemort a cup overflowing the liquid the same color-unicorn blood. The Dark Lord drank noisily, smoke pouring out of his mouth with every gulp.
"It burns," Voldemort hissed. "It strengthens me. Now, Nott, did you receive my owl?"
"My lord, yes," another Death Eater said graciously, bowing low. "I thank you for the opportunity to serve you. Potter indeed revealed young Crouch as expected. I arrived at Hogwarts in time to watch the experience harden the boy."
"Harden?"
"He rests only with the aid of potion."
"Good, good. And you tracked him from the train?"
"To the edge of Surrey, my lord. The magicks protect him. A more precise location escapes me. Forgive me, my lord."
"Forgiveness granted, Nott, and freely. We cannot yet fight the old magicks. The girl?"
"The reports seem at least in part true, my lord. I observed her bidding him farewell with a kiss. We may wish to-"
"Draw up the casting stones, Travers. Burn them for seven days in the eternal flame. May a curse of pain be on her henceforth. You were saying, Nott?"
Nott now spoke hesitantly. "My lord, I think we may wish to kill her and have it done with."
"We shall impress upon her the anguish to come should she remain his. She is an asset."
"But master, while her magical aptitude is great, it is unlikely her alliances will shift. We should eliminate her before she and Potter grow closer. The moment he gives and receives love-"
"We will have to deal with two keys rather than one," the Dark Lord finished dryly. His mouth was set in a grim line. "Do not tell me again what risks not to take. Crucio."
Voldemort let Nott's body spasm for a good minute. His eyes darted through the shadows, finally falling on a tall figure. His tone commanding, he rattled off a whole list of demands. "Neesley, open the other chateaus and estates. Reset the wards and prepare them all as though I could arrive at any moment. MacNair, bring me the blood of three slain unicorns and two to drink fresh later. Leer, obtain the old layouts of Beauxbatons and anything new you can about the castle's wards. The rest of you shall await my owl-you are dismissed. Everyone but you, Krum."
In less than thirty seconds, the Death Eaters had gone. Most of them Apparated, but a handful had left the room for the one next door, which had a fireplace they could Floo from. Others still had made for lower parts of the chateau, having been asked by owl at the beginning of the week to come serve their master. As soon as they had all gone, Krum drew his own wand. "Finite Incantatum!"
The glamour on his body lifted, the Dark Lord stopped looking merely ill-rather, he looked dead already. His face was covered in boils, his arms with sores, and his skin appeared translucent. "Potter," he groaned as Krum began to dab at his face with a wet rag. "I... meant... to... take... him. I... meant... to... preserve... my... strength."
"In time you vill be strong again, my lord," Krum breathed. "In time."
The Dark Lord shuddered against his pillow. "In time," he muttered. "And until then, you will work for me, my boy?"
"I vould be honored, my lord."
"Then we will go tomorrow to the house in Romania. You will within the week assume your brother's life and intercept the girl in Bulgaria."
* * *
"Ve left Carteret the next day for Deva, vich vos close enough to the Bulgarian border for me to safely Apparate between the Dark home and my parents' home. I caught up vith Hermy-own-ninny outside Pleven, but you already knew that." Krum, now finishing his third cigarette, chuckled. He reached again for his package, but this time paused before lightening a fourth. "Look at me here, smoking all over the three of you. I am so-inflamaré!"
Harry wasn't prepared for the burse of flame that shot from the Death Eater's wand. Fire seemed to consume the room, licking a little too close for comfort. Come to think, Harry hand to wonder if he still had eyebrows, as he was sure he had at least one shiny burn on his face. At least Krum hadn't shot flames in Ron and Hermione's direction as well.
"Carteret for a veek, Deva for three. Soon it vos the beginning of August and ve vere back in France-St. Etienne this time. Master vos growing strong vith every passing day. He loved to go in his veelchair alone through the gardens-" Krum's eyes flashed "-or so he said." The Death Eater suddenly advanced, hauling Harry up by the collar. "Because of you, I vos not allowed to stand at Master's side for his first great triumph."
* * *
St. Etienne, France - August 23, 1995
"Aloutte, gentille aloutte, aloutte, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai..."
Faint and far away as it was, the singing was about to drive the Dark Lord mad. He shook his head, raising his wand a little higher. Another brick from the wall crumbled. Though time consuming, Voldemort had always gone for the slow destroy. He'd been in the same room for hours, blasting each and every individual brick to dust. Some might consider it a waste of time, but the Dark Lord preferred to think of it as an investment. There would be no rebuilding Beauxbatons.
"...la tête, je te plumerai la tête. Et la tête, aloutte, oh oh oh oh..."
"By Merlin, if I have to listen to the other six verses of that song even once more," Voldemort muttered.
"Aloutte, gentille aloutte, aloutte, je te-"
"CHARLOTTE!"
The singing stopped, and Voldemort swore to himself. He hadn't meant to call out to the child, the five-year-old daughter of the French academy's former Potions Mistress and Charms Fellow. Her grandfather had been the school's head chef, her grandmother the nurse, and her uncle professor of Transfigurations. Like many of the other teachers and staff members, they lived at Beauxbatons year round. Voldemort hadn't had any trouble killing any of them when he'd arrived at the school days before. With the exception of the child.
Usually, he wouldn't have thought twice about killing her, either, but just in case her pathetic parents had been trying to save her when they'd attempted to fight him, the Dark Lord decided he'd best not risk it. Besides, the child had an unusual energy about her. She might be a sorceress, or at the very least, had the Sight.
So Voldemort hadn't killed Charlotte, but at times since he had wished he would have. Having witnessed the slaughter of her entire family, she had gone a bit mad. All she did now was wander about the castle, looking for her parents and singing a song her grandfather had taught her.
"Hallo?" Charlotte called, stumbling around the corner. Her dress was even more tattered than it had been the last time Voldemort had seen her, but the wear had not yet diminished the vibrancy of the bloodstains that covered it. Her appearance, however, had not startled the Dark Lord like her greeting had. An attempt at English.
Every day now, once if not more frequently, his path had crossed with Charlotte's, and every time she had spoken to him in French, only to have him pretend not to understand her. Now that she seemed to have caught on, Voldemort felt obligated to speak to her. He drew up his hood so she would not recognize his face.
"Well hello there, little one. Where'd you come from?" The Dark Lord even bent down so he'd be on her level.
But Charlotte just looked at him blankly, obviously not understanding what he had said. "My name... Charlotte. I mean... my name... is Charlotte."
The Dark Lord nodded sympathetically. "Well, Charlotte, I'm Tom, preferably Voldemort, but you'll call me `Master' if you know what's best for you. Is there anything I can help you with?"
Nothing. Charlotte bit her lip. "Est-ce que vous connaissez Maman? Elle est la maîtresse de Potions. Ou Papa? Il est un professeur aussi. Ou-"
"No, little one, only English," Voldemort purred.
"Mais... mais... je dois parler à Professeur Ménard. Un serpent viendra. Il tuera. Il détruira le monde. Je l'ai vu, et maintenant je dois parler à Professeur Ménard!" Charlotte said desperately, causing the Dark Lord to chuckle.
A snake will come. He will kill. He will destroy the world. A sly grin began to form beneath the hood of Voldemort's cloak. He had been correct in his perception of the young girl-a Seer. And she was asking to talk to the Divination professor. Well, the former Divination professor.
"Je ne parle pas en français," said Voldemort, trying his hardest not to taunt. The child's lip was already trembling.
"Mais..." Charlotte certainly was on the verge of tears now. Many times now, when she had wandered by, she had carried with her a delicate porcelain doll. She had it with her this time, and she currently clutched it more desperately than ever. "Maman. S'il vous plait, je dois trouver ma mere."
The Dark Lord had actually begun to hum, softly, to himself, unconsciously to the tune of "Aloutte." "Poor, poor little pet." He offered the little girl a boney hand. "You'll be all right. I'll take good care of you. Anyone who sees me destroying the world-well, I'd take care of anyone, if you know what I mean, which you don't, because you're five and don't understand a word of English." He reached for her with his other hand. Charlotte was trembling now, probably for his cold touch. "Don't be scared, little one. I'll give you things your parents couldn't. You'll be my little pet, my little Seer."
"Maman," Charlotte whimpered, and the Dark Lord let his hood drop.
Her scream was blood-curling. It stretched on for several minutes, at least, and by the end of it, she lie sprawled on the floor, holding handfuls of hair stripped from her doll's head.
"Papi aime faire le petit dejeuner. Il fait des oeufs sur le plat pour Mamie et moi. Alors elle reparer les trous dans Maman et Papa et Oncle François. Je dois trouver ma famille. Au matin, Papi aime faire le petite dejeuner. Il fait..."
Voldemort stepped right over the ranting girl, leaving her on the floor in the midst of the destruction. Having finally cracked the castle's sole remaining occupant, he decided he'd had enough. He wasn't even about to listen to even one more minute of Charlotte's pleas for breakfast, for eggs, for family and the coming morning.
The Dark Lord went about securing the castle, checking its every inch. The destruction of Beauxbatons had been two weeks in the making. He had decided to destroy the school to make a statement to the wizarding world, to destroy it alone over the summer holidays to make a statement to his followers. He wanted the European ministries to know of his rise so he could laugh at their feeble attempts to stop him, and he wanted to impress upon his Death Eaters the power he commanded, even with fourteen years gone. He also wanted to punish them for their errors the night of the Triwizard Tournament. Voldemort hoped not getting to participate would hurt them as they had hurt him.
Not even Krum, his current lapdog, knew of his daily escapes to the Beauxbaton's chateau in St. Etienne. He had been so incapacitated at first that not one of his followers doubted his claims of being weak still. Having turned the school almost inside out, he was ready to let his presence be known.
The plants of the interior courtyard had been trampled and uprooted. The main dining hall had become a place of dust and scrap metal, the gorgeous dining tables within it now in splinters. In the kitchen, there were twelve bodies, with two more lying in the hospital ward. The castle's south tower had collapsed all together, the north tower was charred and perhaps burning still, and the east and west towers would soon be reduced to rubble. Slow-effect spells were in place on both.
The Dark Lord triple-checked every square inch of the school before heading back to the entrance hall for Charlotte. Her rants and raves had changed from her family to her beloved doll. Voldemort scooped her up, despite her kicking and squirming, and hauled her to the chateau's exterior. He strode a significant distance away from the school, set Charlotte down at his side, and raised his arms.
"I call beyond the forgotten gates," he commanded. "I implore the ancient magicks. Destroy this place of impure blood. Amyantah!"
The black night went green. Sparks flew as the Beauxbatons castle collapsed in on itself. The roaring sound seemed never to stop, and when the smoke cleared, only flames lived among the rubble. "Morsmordre!"
There. Voldemort paused to admire his handiwork-a fallen castle, a broken child, a glowing mark high above. "Beautiful," he hissed, and he Apparated with Charlotte back to the Dark home in Romania.
* * *
Krum had traded his cigarettes for a small blade, a small blade dangled close enough to Harry's face that he could make out the thin, engraved snake on its handle. Harry disliked that very much, having somewhere gotten the feeling that any object that found its way into the Death Eater's hand would make its way around as a device of torture. He swallowed hard.
"Got his point across, don't you think?" Krum murmured. Harry was careful not to flinch, seeing as he could feel the Death Eater's knife against his cheek. He calculatingly withdrew the blade, replacing it with his thumb.
"Master meant to startle the Ministry. He didn't mean to startle it such that the Minister's Council vould turn to Dumbledore following Fudge's resignation." Krum's brow furrowed. "Bom. He vos perhaps the most harmful thing that happened to our cause last year. Master decided to let his feelings about that be known also-do you remember how that vent?" Krum paused, waiting for a response.
But he had earlier placed a Silencing Charm on the trio.
So no response came.
"Ah, yes. You can't talk, can you, but vould you know vot I vos referring to if you could? No?"
Knife for hand, blade for thumb. Krum cut into Harry's cheek.
* * *
King's Cross Station
London, England-August 29, 1995
"Lucius, might I have a word?"
Despite the surrounding chaos, the Dark Lord's voice was easily recognizable. He floated towards the Death Eater nearest the now broken train tracks, crossing over a pile of crushed brick and shattered glass. His servant looked up, lowering his hood and bowing to his master.
"My lord," said Malfoy, dropping himself so near to the ground that his flowing blonde hair grazed the platform's surface. "I was just destroying the tracks per your instructions."
Voldemort brushed against Malfoy as he floated by, hovering in a misty red light above the tracks. "No, Lucius, I believe I asked you to blast each tie into wooden splinters. It seems that you are only reducing them to playground bark. Next time, try harder."
Malfoy gulped. "Master, I reasoned that it would be acceptable, given the limited amount of time we have. I mean-"
"I do not know how many times I should tell you before it sinks in," Voldemort said bitingly. "You annoy me, Lucius, and I will in no way validate your opinions. In other words, just speak only when spoken to, and only in response to my exact questions."
"Master, I implore you-punish me! Torture me! I wish for your forgiveness only!" Malfoy begged, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I-"
"We just talked about how you annoy me," said Voldemort sharply. "Get up."
Malfoy got up. "Yes, Master, now I-"
"Shut up!" the Dark Lord demanded. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" He shook his head violently, floating so that he hovered before Malfoy. The red mist around him dissolved, leaving him standing on the platform. "That's better. You'll find that I will remain happy so long as you remain quiet. I actually did not come over to scold. I wished to inquire about your son."
"Master, yes. What would you like to know about Draco?" Malfoy whimpered.
Voldemort chuckled. "Only how he is. I enjoyed observing him last week at your estate. He possesses a quality and wields a spirit different than yours. When might we welcome him into the fold-that is to ask, when will you finish with the Malfoy blood rite nonsense?"
"Give me time for a few more lessons, Master," Malfoy begged. "Only a handful, I promise. Christmas! Yule, if it pleases you! I need only a few more days, but with-"
"Get on it," said Voldemort pointedly, recasting the red mist with a wave of his hand. He floated away from Malfoy's quivering form, clear to the other side of platform nine and three quarters.
"Master!"
The Dark Lord turned, or rather twisted about. Bowing low before him-though it was difficult to see through the haze of destruction that surrounded them-was Krum, his current lapdog. "Yes?"
"I only vished to tell you that I haff ripped apart the platform's southeastern corner," the Death Eater said eagerly. He rushed on, "I reduced the planks to splinters and the bricks to dust, just as you requested."
Voldemort's mouth twitched. "Why Vihar, you shouldn't have!" he said playfully, patting Krum's shoulder. "Did you remember that I like things done thoroughly, or did you overhear the conversation I just had with Lucius?"
Krum smiled sheepishly. "I did the job, my lord."
"You always do," said Voldemort proudly. "And the rest of the platform?"
"Also being turned to dust and splinter," said Krum. "And the magicks have been nearly dissolved. Travers has returned the barrier existing between this platform and the Muggle world back to a barrier, and the magical pocket that it exists vithin has been separated from those that contain the rest of the tracks."
"Then on Travers's signal, we leave," the Dark Lord directed. "The longer we linger, the more likely our paths cross with that of the headmaster. I doubt it not that Dumbledore already knows of our activity."
"Yes," said Krum. He started to scurry off, but not before remembering to address the Dark Lord. "I mean, yes, master."
Voldemort could only smile from that moment onward, despite the things he saw as he floated around the platform one last time. Price's section of the platform was less than adequately disassembled, Travers was chanting a little too loudly for his taste, and Malfoy still wasn't reducing the tracks to small enough pieces. But instead of torturing them, he just shook his head. He waited for Travers to stop muttering Latin phrases and then gave his Death Eaters the signal to clear out.
But the Dark Lord did not depart. He lingered for a few more minutes, turning his wand on a few of the platform's architectural aspects. Finally, he prepared to Apparate, but before he did, he noticed a small, antique clock hanging over the sign that identified the platform as number nine and three quarters-or, at least, it used to. The sign had been broken apart after the word "nine," and what remained was badly charred.
Voldemort cocked his head one way and then the other. He had noticed the clock earlier but decided that it should remain intact, figuring the headmaster would assume it symbolized that time did not pause for tragedy, or something ultimately more poetic. The Dark Lord now decided that it might bring the headmaster comfort of the oddest sort, and he smashed in the clock's front.
The air cracked as the Dark Lord departed, and not more than five minutes passed before it popped with the sound of another's Apparation. The Hogwarts headmaster, by all his skill and wisdom, managed at least to land on one of the platform's few solid areas. A single tear rolled down Dumbledore's cheek, but he wiped it quickly away. The sound of dual Apparation pops followed. Professor Snape, by luck, had ended up standing beside the headmaster, but poor Professor McGonagall would have disappeared beneath a broken out section of platform if not for the Potion Master's quick wand work.
"Thank you, Severus," said McGonagall, managing much poise for someone covered in dust and ash. She brushed her skirt off as she surveyed the damage. "Oh, Albus..."
"I'll cast the charms to transfer the magical energy of this place back to ten and one half," said Snape briskly, hopping to the next solid patch of platform.
"No, don't," said Dumbledore. He chuckled, adjusting how his half-moon glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. "I mean, it will not be possible. The magic linking this platform to the outside world has been all but destroyed. I will have to recast the spells, so you will need to help Minerva dispatch owls."
"Of course, Headmaster," said Snape. He sighed, separating himself from the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. Pulling out his wand, he began tidying the areas that had sustained the most damage.
McGonagall watched him move, then stepped closer to the Headmaster. "Albus, I-"
"Really, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. "Should you apologize for this mess when you did not make it?"
"I only meant-"
"Oh, I know," said the headmaster, actually managing a small chuckle. "I hope you are ready for a long two days. Owls to dispatch, space to create, wards to reset. I am going to need your help." He glanced in Snape's direction. "His too, and the rest of the staff."
McGonagall sighed, removing the hand she had replaced on Dumbledore's arm. "Should I contact the governors? They are certain to help finance the rebuilding-"
"Oh no," said Dumbledore. "I would not bother. I do not intend to rebuild, not for several years at least. It would probably only encourage Voldemort to return."
"Of course," said the Transfigurations professor, glancing in Snape's direction. She had to hide a small smile behind her hand, for the hem of his billowing robe had gotten caught on a broken board.
"Severus?" Dumbledore questioned, raising an eyebrow. He, too, glanced over his shoulder. His gaze lingered for a second only before returning to something far overhead.
"What are you looking at?"
"My clock," the Headmaster said sadly. "A gift from my grandmother. I hadn't any room for it in my quarters when I first began to teach, so I donated it, and it always looked so quaint there that I never had the heart to repossess it."
"It was there when I started at Hogwarts," said McGonagall. "Which grandmother?"
"Would I care if it was Granny Wittlewolf?"
"Ah, the gypsy Syeira," said McGonagall knowingly. "Well, I believe Severus could use a hand tidying things up. Trusting that you will aid him in not tripping over his own attire, I will see to it that the Aurors might access the other side of the platform also during their investigation."
"Yes," said Dumbledore, and the Transfiguration professor headed cautiously across broken boards. "Investigation." The Headmaster raised his wand, shattered what remained of the clock, and began clearing debris.
* * *
At first Harry had associated the frequent slashing at his face with Krum's anger, but about the time he realized how bad the scarring would be, he also realized it had more to do with the Death Eater's excitement. It actually had him a little angry.
"Got that point across too, didn't he?" Krum was saying. "Vards vere up on the castle vithin days, vards stronger and more powerful than ve anticipated. Dumbledore even allowed the Ministry to place hursels on school grounds, a decision that ultimately cost him. The fool never vonce considered vot vould-"
"Dumbledore isn't a fool."
The statement surprised even Harry, who had finally felt the thick sensation about his throat lift. That wasn't what startled him, though. He knew that Krum would eventually anger him enough to break the spell, but he hadn't thought that a mild insult-about Dumbledore, no less-would do it for him. Especially considering the anger had in regards to the headmaster's general lack of action.
"Oh, no? I though you might agree vith me on that von, but I... guess... not." Krum's smile broke, his tone changed entirely. He had ripped at Harry's flesh for each of the last words. He tilted Harry's head to once side and tugged over the collar of his shirt. "I... guess... not... at... all."
The hurt was almost unbearable. Now thinking in terms of whether he would actually make it out of there alive, Harry found himself deciding that at least the lightning bolt on his forehead wouldn't be so prominent any longer. Krum finally backed off, allowing Harry a clear view of his friends again. Ron had averted his eyes, but Hermione had not. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. `I'm okay,' he mouthed, despite how much worse it made the pain.
"The vards Dumbledore placed vere old, written before any of our times. Old, strong. But never tested. As vere the hursels, the vards vere meant to protect the castle, but the two together provided us vith an outlet.
"I in particular had been most displeased vith the ill-regard young Malfoy showed you, Hermy-own-ninny, but after his attempt to escape the hursels, I had to forgive him somevot. Vere he broke the vards, ve could cross from then on. The more often ve crossed, the more the vards there broke down. By Halloveen-vell, by Halloveen, Master had a plan. Trust that ve used that flaw to our every advantage."
* * *
Lochnager, Scotland-October 31, 1995
"But Master, surely you can appreciate that these are quality-"
"I said, not this set!" Voldemort said, his anger resonating through tone, thought, and action. He sent Wormtail flying backward into the room's far corner. "I rejected these robes not an hour ago. Did you really think the passing of sixty minutes would change my mind about them?"
"Forgive me, Master," Wormtail pleaded, edging around the room's exterior, purposefully avoiding the full-length mirror that stood in the room's center and the figure before it. "I forgot that you had earlier surpassed them."
"And did you forget that I earlier deemed black the wrong color for tonight's festivities?" the Dark Lord sneered.
Wormtail shrank further away from his master. "My lord, I remembered, but when Travers fire called, he did suggest it. Black is traditional for All Hallows-"
"Silver and green. Silver and green," said Voldemort pointedly. "A month ago I requested an order be sent out for robes spun of metal and hythe. What you presented me today was all of ordinary thread. I'll give you the fine emerald color, but I paid for precious metal and a nearly extinct animal's fur."
"I did not take the order, Master," Voldemort stammered.
"But you received it," Voldemort hissed. "Honestly, Wormtail-and you're one of the ones I almost trust."
Wormtail's eyes grew wide. "My lord... your words... they mean so much to-"
"It wasn't a compliment," the Dark Lord interrupted. "Wormtail, tell me what today is."
"Master," said Wormtail, confused, "you and I both know it's Halloween."
The Dark Lord just picked up his wand. "Crucio," he said lazily, with Wormtail shrieking through the curse's duration. "What day, Wormtail?"
"Do you wish that I call it Samhain, my lord?"
"Crucio!"
"All Hallows Eve, my-"
"Crucio!"
"Master, there are so many names for the upcoming festivals that you-"
"Wormtail, what day is it?"
"Please, my lord! Just tell me whether you wish it Shadowfest or Martinmas or Old Hallowmas, or even whether you wish the name for tonight's celebration or those of the coming-"
"Fool." Voldemort lunged at Wormtail, yanking the round man up by his shirt collar. He grabbed the rat's silver arm and with a tremendous tug, left a stump as raw and bleeding as it had been months before. The Dark Lord shook the prosthesis in his servant's face as he pinned him to the floor. "Tell me what this day means to me!"
But the rapid blood loss had rendered Wormtail speechless.
"Today I shall ascend, Wormtail, today I shall acquire power beyond my wildest dreams," the Dark Lord breathed. "So it is that few challenge me in terms of power now-soon it shall be that all shan't challenge me as a whole." He clutched a fistful of Wormtail's robes. "Tonight I shall unlock the forgotten gates, Wormtail. Nothing will stop me, but your incompetence will shame me." And, smacking Wormtail's head against the room's stone floor for emphasis, he bellowed, "The... most... important... day... of... my... life... and I lack the proper attire!"
Tears streamed down Wormtail's face. "Master, I am sorry!"
The Dark Lord just shook his head, snatching up Wormtail's bleeding stump with his free hand. He shoved the silver arm back onto it, sealing the two by incantation. Still, blood continued to stream at their intersection.
"Oh, Master," Wormtail croaked.
"Forget it," Voldemort hissed, slamming Wormtail's head to the floor once more for good measure. "You failed me. Get out of my sight, Wormtail. Fetch Krum, lick your wounds, and find somewhere to stand perfectly still without disturbing anyone. Wait there for further instructions."
"Master," said Wormtail, still sobbing, but he quickly dragged himself to his feet and out of the room, causing Voldemort's taut face to stretch into smile. He cast off the black robes, stepping nude across the room to his wardrobe. Third shelf, hidden drawer, false bottom.
The Dark Lord pulled out a thin package, brown paper secured with twine. He cut the cording with one of his unusually long (and sharp) fingernails. He unwrapped the package to reveal magnificent silver and hythe robes, the exact set he had described to Wormtail. He had no sooner slipped them about his shoulders and tightened their elaborate fasteners than a knock came at the door.
"Mas-"
"Come in, Vihar," Voldemort said solemnly. He had taken his place before the mirror by the time Krum had crossed the room's threshold and secured the entrance. "Ah, my boy-you come at last. Tonight I wear the colors of my old house."
Krum bowed low. "And I need nott remind you that you are returning to Hogvarts, my lord."
"No," Voldemort tittered, holding his arms out for the sheer purpose of admiring the way they hung. Krum stood in awe. "Suits me, yes?"
"Oh yes," Krum agreed. "My lord, should you not mind me saying so, I cannot imagine even the silver and hythe robes fitting so vell."
The Dark Lord turned on the boy. "These are the silver and hythe robes," he admonished.
"But Vormtail-"
"Wormtail had to pay some sort of penance for the other day, boy," Voldemort interrupted. "Surely you haven't forgotten his failures?"
"Of course I haven't forgotten, my lord. He vos to secure the book of Hogvarts vards vile on the premises yesterday." Krum chuckled nervously. "I-I did not think you serious, Master. After all, ve are speaking of Vormtail. He is incompetent."
It was the Dark Lord's turn to chuckle. "Don't I know it. My dear boy, you by now should have noticed that I enjoy assigning impossible tasks to my... should we say, lesser followers."
"Of course, Master." Krum sank lower.
"Speaking of lesser followers-Crabbe and Goyle. You've been reassigned. You'll take care of them for me tonight," said Voldemort, floating towards his dresser to slide snake-shaped rings onto each of his fingers. "Get up. I hate it when you grovel as I give orders."
Krum scrambled to his feet. "Yes, Master, of course. Vot vould you like me to do vith Misters Crabbe and Goyle?"
"Not Misters. Masters. Their sons, Vincent and Gregory, are Hogwarts fifth years. Might you kill them for me?"
"This evening, Master?"
"It would please me."
"Then it vould be an honor, my lord. At vich point in the evening should I kill them?"
"Well-run through the night's festivities with me, then I'll decide. Where is Travers in conjuring our tenth smoke?"
Krum was scrambling for a wooden chair about the room's exterior. It was as though they had been through all this before, which they had. "Master, as I told you this morning, Travers finally mastered the skill yesterday evening. He conjured the smoke at least twice more last night, and by noon today had managed it on the scale you requested. He Apparated to Hogsmeade at two, and just thirty minutes ago young Marks fire-called a message from him to say that he vos in place in the duct above the Great Hall."
The corners of Voldemort's mouth turned upwards as he circled the young Death Eater's chair. He even tousled Krum's hair. "You make me proud, Vihar, always on top of things. Let's see-Neesley?"
"He is also in place," Krum breathed. "My lord, they all are-Malfoy and Corner are in Hogsmeade, Immethun and Nott in the Forbidden Forest, Pembrooke and Updegraff and Zabel standing vith them until called for your finest hour."
"My finest hour," Voldemort sighed. "I do love it when you talk like that."
"Thank you, Master."
"My inner circle," said the Dark Lord, beginning to pace. "Hand picked to stand tonight with me. Maximilian, Lucius, Rose, Daniel, William, Poseidon, Aidan, and Peridot. Some I like more than others, but that's true of all my followers. Since Wormtail's helping too, I suppose he's in there also, but I don't trust him. No farther than I could throw him, though I could toss him reasonably far." Voldemort seemed to realize then that he had strayed from topic. "And then there's you, Vihar. Continue showing what initiative you have, and you will find yourself in a realm that exists even beyond that inner circle."
Krum hung onto his every word. "Master-vot shall I do with Crabbe and Goyle? That is, to say, Vincent and Gregory?"
Voldemort had been lacing and unlacing his fingers. "Why Krum, we went over this-and right when I thought you might be on the path of ascension. I want you to kill them. We went over this."
"B-but-" Krum stopped and composed himself. "Master, I only meant for you to assign a time to the slaughter."
Voldemort just chuckled. "There, there Krum. I know. I just wanted to get you going, my dear boy. You will enter when I enter, through the Hogsmeade passage that goes beneath the lake. While I unlock the gates, you will come up through the dungeons. Go towards the Potions classroom-you'll find the youth in a storage close three doors to the left, bound and gagged and drugged. Just the two, though-no slaughter tonight, my boy."
"And then, Master, I vill take the girl?" Krum asked, once again the all-too-willing Death Eater.
"No, no. Don't you remember what I said earlier?" Voldemort asked, avoiding the question. "I want you to float the boys' bodies to the Great Hall, after Travers conjures the smoke but before it clears. You'll have to work quickly-just use the Killing Curse. Get back down to the dungeons, where you will intercept a package from young Marks, if of course he is able to obtain it. Then, return to the lake passage. Weak from my ascension, I am likely to need your aid."
"My lord, you have not spared me any time to take Hermy-own-ninny."
"Tsk, tsk. Like I said, you've been reassigned. We'll leave Miss Granger alone for the time-and don't give me that look, Krum. I know you've big plans for her, but I have something else in mind for our girl." The Dark Lord, back before his mirror, straightened his collar and pulled his hood about his face. "I think you'll like what I've planned."
* * *
Krum's attitude had taken a surprising turn. Far from angry and sadistic, the Death Eater seemed rather sad. He had turned away from Harry, Ron, and Hermione and even pocketed his knife.
"No, no. Do not say it-not that two of the three of you can. Ve vere too optimistic. Even as the Rouge Apparation loomed overhead, as Dumbledore took heed and attempted to secure the castle, ve believed it vould be Master's finest hour. "It-" And Krum interrupted himself.
"Potter," he said, advancing slowly. "Harry. Do you mind if I call you that? You and I both know that vithout you, the ritual to open the forgotten gates can be performed again. According to the ancient prophecy, it vould be the first time in centuries-millennia, maybe. Seeing that killing you had so far proved difficult, Master asked Travers to examine the prophecy in its earliest recording rather than most recent translation. He vanted to know if there vos any other vay to open the gates.
"Blood, Harry. Your blood. Potter blood. Vouldn't that make sense? As connected as life and death are, so are yours. Your death and the ritual could be exchanged for your life force. Trust that it pleased Master to know vot Dumbledore had not yet realized, but that is not to say he did not feel foolish for not killing your mother before she could run vith you. He just alvays assumed her survival vos key because she knew how to perform the ritual.
Krum shook his head. He had again knelt before Harry's level, but Harry could not focus on the Death Eater's movement. Again and again he had mentioned some forgotten gates as if Harry knew what he was talking about. Now, Harry was sure that he should and quite confused as to why he didn't.
"But ve're talking about last Halloveen, not Halloveens long past. Master began thinking-your life force, his life force. Or vot should haff rightly been his. It does not matter. Your blood-granted, a very small amount of it-had mixed vith the master's. The prophecy said that a drop vould unlock the gates, and Master believed if he bled long enough, he could unlock the gates.
"And so ve vent. To Hogvarts. To the origin of mystic energy and vere the gates most surely used to stand. The Dark Lord never thought that opening those magical doors by blood vould require pure Potter blood. Ven Master's blood touched the gates, he vos very nearly ripped apart.
"And you blame me," said Harry, doing his best to manage a bored tone.
Krum actually smiled-this time, fortunately, not because he was carving up Harry's face. "Yes." He stood.
"Halloveen, however, vos not a complete loss. Traver's smoke, Hermy-own-ninny. Did you come across its purpose in your study?" Harry's head spun in his friends' direction. Hermione seemed to be shaking all over, not just shaking her head. "Now, now-clear your throat. You and I both know the silencing charm has since worn off."
"No," came Hermione's quiet response. "I never discovered the smoke's purpose in my study."
Krum smirked. "Naturally, ven the time comes to take sides, Gryffindors follow the Light and Slytherins take to the shadows. Hufflepuffs are drawn to the first to appeal to them, and Gryffindors are usually standing by vith their big talk of bravery. It is usually no loss... most are too stupid to carry our cause.
"But the Ravenclaws... vell, they go both vays. Intelligent, driven, and many every bit as crafty as the Slytherins. Master likes Ravenclaws, and Master really likes knowing who and who not to vaste time recruiting. The vons that could not stand the smoke are unlikely to stand in the Light. They vill align vith us." Krum focused on Ron. "Veasley-"
"Anna was on her feet. Don't you bloody bring her into this," Ron sneered.
"Nice talk for somevon still relying on the little lady to prop him up," said Krum. Harry fully expected his wand, or knife, or something to follow his words, but the Death Eater drew nothing. "I vos able to kill Masters Crabbe and Goyle, and the confusion at Hogvarts distracted all the European ministries such that pleas for help at Durmstrang vere not answer, or even heard."
All concept of time had been lost on Harry. He hadn't a clue how long they had been in that dank little chamber at the Death Eater's mercy. As Krum conjured himself a glass of water, Harry checked his watch, even though he already knew it probably had stopped working.
"It does not work," Krum sing-songed. "Did you not know? The magicks Master used to veaken the vards has made the energy of this area unstable. They allow the transmission of errant Muggle vaves, break vatches, shift veather patterns-but I am getting ahead of myself. Ve've done July, August, September, October-" the Death Eater ticked each month off on his fingers "-November."
"The first Quidditch match," Hermione whispered.
"After seeing how Hermy-own-ninny's injuries affected you, can you blame us for trying?" Krum said sadistically. He had been facing Harry but swirled suddenly towards the trio's other two members. "Before you can ask, Veasley, vhy ve used the Belvit Curse, it vos the only thing that ve could use. Dumbledore, after Halloveen, changed the vards to protect against violent magicks. But object magic-usually not anything to vorry about."
Ron, who had made indication that he was going to interrupt moments earlier, fell silent. Harry shot him a small smile, and Hermione, who had placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder and begun to rub in small circles. Keeping Ron's temper in check was always a good idea. They all waited for Krum to continue. But he just stared at the back wall.
"Well?" Harry finally prompted.
Krum spun around. "Crucio!"
Harry had only enough time to grit his teeth before losing control of his body. He came away from the pain belly-up, Krum standing over him, obviously waiting for some sort of response. "That was bracing."
"Ve though that the Quidditch incident vos sufficient reminder of our presence," said Krum, "but that vos not the alternative to taking you, Hermy-own-ninny. It vos merely fun for me vile Master recovered."
"Then what was the alternative?" said Harry through clenched teeth. He didn't want to endure the Cruciatus Curse again, but he also had to do something about the knot that had been growing in his stomach since learning that Voldemort had originally intended Krum to take Hermione at Halloween.
The Death Eater shrugged. "Take her in February ven I did. Subtlety-Master likes subtlety. He allowed me to attack you in November, Veasley, but only if I attacked the other Gryffindor Quidditch players and our boys in Slytherin alike. The papers made it seem like a prank gone awry.
"It tore at you but brought you closer. That observation made vot ve did vell vorth our time. Ve vanted to pick students off, von by von, until ve had the headmaster forced to take action. Then ve vould take you, Hermy-own-ninny, use you, kill you. Send Potter a message and send the other students back into the vorld, under the Imperius Curse and unable to remember anything about their time vith us. Ticking time bombs, Master likes to call them. They're just now starting to turn." Krum licked his lips. "Vhy don't you tell me vot Anna's brother did to her after another fun Quidditch match?"
Ron blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I did not figure she vould tell you," said Krum. "I know, though, because I made him do it. He found out about the two of you, and he did not like you-mostly because I made him not like you, but that is beside the point. But he expressed his anger to her phys-who I am kidding? He beat the shit out of her. Had her valking about under a glamour for veeks. As close to home as that must haff struck, it is no surprise to me that she did not say a vord."
Harry watched Hermione grab more firmly to Ron's shoulder. The redhead was seething.
"But back to Quidditch-that first match. You knew a real chance existed, Potter, that your friend vould die. To depart in friendship-it still tore at you. Ve realized then how much more impact Hermy-own-ninny's death vould have if you vere not friends. More tragic. I had begun to grasp the concept of the Affinity of Relations, and Master directed me to begin controlling you by vay of the Dark Scar on your pretty chest.
"I convinced you, Hermy-own-ninny, that you vould be the death of your friends. At first you thought you vere crazy, hearing voices and vhispers at this turn and that, but then I figured out how to enter your dreams. And once you began to have the dreams, it vorked. You turned your back on Veasley and Potter here. It allowed me to take you, to torture you, to-"
"-not kill her?" Harry cut in. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, but he didn't care. He'd already seen what had been done to her, and he wasn't about to hear about it again from the Death Eater that had caused her such pain. If she wanted to talk about it to him, he would listen, but he'd be damned to let the monster before him distort what had happened. "To fail your master? Did you just plain underestimate her, Krum?"
The Death Eater stepped forward, drew his wand, and jabbed it against Harry's throat. "Potter," he said calmly but then lost his cool completely. "I believe you haff underestimated me. Avada-"
"No!"
Both Harry and Krum's heads turned, and Ron of course was already looking at Hermione. Her cheeks red and eyes starting to glisten with tears, she started, "I mean, you won't-you, er, can't... if you curse Harry..."
"He vill die?" Krum suggested helpfully.
Hermione rushed on. "If you kill Harry, your master will kill you!"
The wand pressed harder into Harry's throat. "Death means nothing to me."
"But what about disappointment?" Hermione's tone had softened, almost as though she was trying to soothe the Death Eater. "What about your master's disappointment?"
* * *
Hogwarts
Outside of Hogsmeade, Scotland-February 23, 1996
Krum clasped his hands together behind his back as he paced the dimly lit chamber. Just hours before it had held the missing Hogwarts students captive, but the headmaster and several professors had come through earlier that afternoon for them, having found his map of the castle and environs with the Granger girl in the woods. Everything they had worked towards had in a minute been destroyed.
It was dangerous to return, but the Dark Lord had deemed it necessary. Officials of the wizarding school had yet realized the rooms existed beyond the one in which he currently stood, and since he, the master, and several other Death Eaters had resided in them for the past two months, there was much to clear out before the headmaster returned. Krum swallowed hard, unclasping his hands to run them over a particularly rough section of stone.
And he roared suddenly, a deep guttural sound that drew from animal instincts, and he kicked the wall with all the force he could muster. Krum slid down the wall, grasping fistfuls of his hair in his hands. Tears streamed down his face, for they had lost what they had because of him.
Years before Krum had chosen this path for himself. He had spent years now hating Viktor for being so humble and his parents for acting as though he was equally accomplished. He told those around him that his family had driven him in this direction, but he knew that it had been his choice entirely. Not once had he hated that fact, not once until now.
Viktor and Vihar had been equals in the beginning. They had showed Quidditch promise from the age of four, and by nine they had attracted international attention. When they started school, both had excelled-Viktor in Defense and Potions, Vihar in Transfigurations and Charms. When coaches began visiting Durmstrang to scout as early as third year, the twins had made it clear that if they signed in their sixth or seventh year, they would sign together, Viktor as Seeker and Vihar as Keeper.
Then there had been the summer with the national team, the late night banter and dares and risks. As Seeker, Viktor was used to flying higher and faster than his brother, but Vihar was determined to prove that he was just as good. When he had fallen, Viktor had even broken an arm trying to catch his brother, younger by seven minutes. Vihar had suffered severe head trauma and had not woken from a coma until the spring term of the next school year.
Vihar hadn't flown since that evening. His head could no longer handle altitude of any kind without suffering searing pain. The scouts had all but forgotten him, many of them secretly relieved that they would not have to boot their current Keepers to make room for him on their teams. So thankful to have his brother back, Viktor would have given up his own Quidditch career if Vihar said it would make him feel better.
After returning to Durmstrang the next school year, Vihar had attempted a powerful time-reversal spell in an attempt to change the outcome of that evening, but all it did was give him a taste for the black arts. He shut out his parents and his brother, refusing to accept that they loved him in spite of his accident. He took up with Karkaroff, accepting the headmaster's teaching as sworn until the day he turned on Vihar. That was when he became a servant of the Dark Lord. After finally receiving the Mark, he had sworn that he would not fail in this endeavor as he had in his last.
The way Krum saw it now, it hadn't even taken him as long to fall short this time.
Behind him the wall dissolved. Voldemort came sweeping into the chamber, his red eyes, if possible, appearing more like blood in color than ever. He did not look happy, but he did not have the anger about him one might expect. In one had he held a shimmering invisibility cloak, in the other, a small, worn book. He sighed when he saw his faithful servant huddled against the wall.
"Get up," the Dark Lord said. "Get up, Vihar. You know how I hate to see anyone-especially you-sulk."
"Master," said Krum, but when he scrambled to his feet, it was only with the half the vigor as usual.
"I've talked to one of our liaisons in Hogwarts," Voldemort began. "The girl, unfortunately, is out of danger. Despite what hope we had she would not live, she has. There will be a recovery time, of course, and I would expect her to be very shaken by what was done to her." He exhaled slowly. "I will not lie to you, Vihar. I am very disappointed by your shortcoming, but I under that there were extenuating circumstances. I did tell you to leave her broken and bleeding, not curse her to death, and until I figure out what might have interfered with her slow death, there will be no punishment."
"Thank you, Master," said Krum, still lacking in enthusiasm.
"We let her know too much to let her survive, my boy," said Voldemort. "You know that as well as I do. Everything we've worked for will be lost if we don't do anything to right this wrong."
"I vill try again to kill her if it pleases you, Master," Krum replied. "I vill-"
"You will not have an opportunity to kill her before she has the opportunity to share our secrets," the Dark Lord interrupted. He handed Krum the invisibility cloak. "So no killing. Memory charm her, but do not make her forget more than absolutely necessary. Whatever you did to her in the forest-that stands, but as little as possible until that moment. Take the cloak and go now to the hospital wing." Krum did, wordlessly, and was about to wrap it around himself when Voldemort grabbed his arm to stop him. "I'm not finished."
"Forgive me, Master."
"Of course, Vihar," said Voldemort. He slid the book into his servant's hand.
"Heinous Happenings, Heinous Harvest," Krum read. "Master, vot is this?"
"Required reading. Steal upstairs, modify the girl's memory, and come back here to collect your things. Then, return to the chateau in Carteret-that's where I intend to head. I want this book to be your priority once you arrive." The Dark Lord drew his flowing robes about him. He stepped backwards into the wall, which was still hazy in appearance. "Good luck," he said, and disappeared.
"Of course, Master," said Krum, despite his lord being unable to hear him. He wiped absently at his eyes and drew the cape about him. He stood there for a few minutes, invisible, while gathering himself again. In no time at all, his focus had returned, as had the steely look in his eyes.
He swept out of the room, able to walk quickly and without worry because the invisibility cloak he had been given was so oversized. Through the next room, and the next, and the ones after that he traveled, but once past them, he ducked into shadows. It was nearly impossible to tell that the tunnel branched off in two directions, but having helped his master construct the elaborate system, he knew about the dual corridors. He kept to the left, taking several before reaching a ladder that took him up to a storage closet in the dungeons, near Slytherin house.
"Hospital ving," Krum muttered, exiting the closet. It being near the dinner hour, students, most of them Slytherins, were rushing upstairs to the Great Hall. He fell in step behind Pansy Parkinson, her cousin Daisy, and their friends. Krum knew that Pansy already bore the Mark, as did three of the other four girls. Daisy had been on the list of initiates until several months prior, but he couldn't remember whether or not he had seen her since the master had killed her father.
He tramped out of the dungeons practically within the girls' pack, but he lost them quickly after the stairs as he continued towards the third floor. Just like he hadn't had any problem entering the castle, he hadn't any problem entering the ward. Never before had he actually entered the room, but it didn't matter. It was pretty typical as wizarding infirmaries went. Sterile and white, the hospital wing was actually a long room with a row of beds against each wall and an enclosed office in the far left corner.
Only one bed was occupied, a number of charms and talismans hanging overhead. The small figure in the bed was shivering beneath her thin blanket-standard issue. She had been badly beaten, and by him. Krum swept towards, relieved that neither Harry nor Ron was currently at the girl's bedside. He drew his wand, glancing around before slipping it outside the folds of his robes.
"Obliviate!"
Hermione just continued to squirm uncomfortably beneath the bedcovers. She whimpered a little also but did not wake. A satisfied smirk began to take place on Krum's face. He left the hospital wing with much more confidence than he had entered with. The few seconds he had been in Hermione's presence had provided him with a rush. He felt alive again, and his will to go on had been restored.
It didn't take him even half as long to get back to the chambers beneath the lake as it had taken him to get to the hospital wing. He discarded the invisibility cloak as soon as he dissolved the fourth room's back wall. The chamber beyond emptied into several others, and Krum headed into the room on the far right-his bedroom. He locked the door behind him and opened his closet door. Gagged and bound, Viktor Krum could only tremble slightly when he saw his brother.
"Get up," said Vihar in their native Bulgarian. "We're returning to France, and there's no where there for me to keep you. I guess that means its back to Pleven for you-I just hope that I can remember the incantation to conjure the long-lasting sort of chains."
* * *
Krum withdrew his wand but did not lose the coldness that had settled in his eyes. He hauled Harry up, punched him hard in the face, and threw him towards Ron and Hermione. Harry landed on her injured leg, which nearly elicited a yelp on her part. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but she held a finger up to his lips before he could get it out. Instead she hugged him, quiet tears now drying on her cheeks.
"Not that I vont to break up the charming three meter reunion-vait. Actually, I do." Krum stepped forward, hauling Harry up with one hand and Ron with the other. He marched Harry to one corner and recast the binding spell on the boys' hands; then, he shoved Ron across the room and repeated. "Hermy-own-ninny?"
"Yes?" she said tentively.
"Vere vos I?"
"You were saying that you memory-charmed me. After. Afterwards. When I was in the hospital wing," Hermione said. Krum just laughed.
"Yes, yes. Ven you should have been dead. It vos not the vorse thing that could haff happened, but it vos close. There vos von positive, only von." Krum whistled. "One Affinity traded for von much stronger. This time, I knew ven it vos established how it vorked. I knew how to use it. The headaches, the loss of appetite, the frequent illnesses. You experienced it all immediately.
"Vith Hermy-own-ninny alive still, ve had to take your year in a different direction. Ve turned to our agent vithin Hogvarts-I believe you vill recall several run ins vith young Master Marks?" Krum laughed, rubbing his hands together. "I love that entire family." He glanced at Ron. "You love one. I reckon that means ve have something in common."
"Doubt it," Ron responded. Harry finally snapped out of it long enough to note that the redhead, at least, sounded better-earlier, Krum had surely knocked out several of Ron's teeth. "Who could I possibly love that would be related to that filthy-"
"Anna." Hermione had done the interrupting that time. And I didn't actually get it from you, Krum, even though the Affinity is slipping. Joseph, Clara's brother-I never found anything about Joseph Lewick, but Joseph Marks-" Hermione shuddered "-awful. I checked into the Lewicks-Ada Marks married Leland Lewick, the pureblood princess married the pauper. Let me guess, Dad's blood wasn't pure enough, so his name was lost."
"And how long since you figured that out?" Krum asked, and he nodded when she said nothing. "Protecting Veasley, aren't you?"
"A person is not their family," said Hermione, teeth gritted.
The Death Eater just laughed. "The vay vizards lie about their relatives, how vould you ever know?"
* * *
The Hog's Head
Hogsmeade, Scotland-April 18, 1996
Geoffrey Travers had not attended Hogwarts School, Beauxbatons Academy, or Durmstrang Institute. He had not attended the Mact Timgill Academy or any of the dozen or so other, smaller European wizarding institutions. He had not been taught magic at home or in another country. Muggle-born and Muggle-educated, Travers was a made sorcerer. Working as the librarian and museum curator, he had begun studying ancient and ritual magicks as a young man. Just theories, he thought, until thirty years prior to that very day.
He had discovered a switching spell that allowed him to access power by rendering an actual wizard powerless. He had been practicing magic ever since, but never the summoning and levitating that so aided most witches and wizards. Only the ritual magicks, the Dark forces, the blood traditions-it wasn't that he couldn't learn basic magic, it was just that he had no desire. In fact, Travers had only learnt to Apparate when the Dark Lord had threatened to reduce his favorite set of conjuring crystals to powder.
Travers had those crystals out now. He was set up in the Hog's Head, having rented a room for the week. He had always been able to move freely through wizarding neighborhoods and towns, even while doing his master's bidding, on account of his nondescript appearance. Slightly built, he would pair secondhand tweed suits with thick glasses and worn briefcases, and nobody expected him to pull anything sinister at all. So, after securing a room and buttoning it up for the night, Travers had been able to set crystals in each of its corners and chalk the outline of Hogwarts on the floor.
"If I step across this threshold, will I interrupt anything important?"
Travers, who had been sitting in the middle of his supplies, was washing his hands in holy water. He had already surrounded himself with black taper candles and did not look up. "How did you enter, Master?" he asked.
"Smoke and mirrors," said Voldemort with a chuckle. "Turn around."
"That must mean you are in disguise," said Travers absently, still not looking. "Have you come to watch me read the Latin, Master?"
"I have actually come to bring you a fresher vial of Lewick blood," said the Dark Lord, sweeping into the room. Instead of his usual black or ceremonial green and silver, he was wearing neatly patched blue rooms and wore glamour to make him resemble an old man.
"Thank you, my lord," said Travers. He welcomed Voldemort into his circle and accepted the vial. Uncorking it, he smeared it across his palms. He stood, turned counterclockwise, and began lighting the tapers. He then circled clockwise on the outside of the circle, repositioning his crystals. He raised his hands from the room's south corner. "Reperio!"
The room grew very cold, and a magnificent wind blew through the room, breaking all the windows and extinguishing each of the candles. The blood flew from Traver's hands and settled on the chalked outline of the castle. It separated into five parts, all but one of which settled and did not move. The last headed steadily through what represented an interior corridor of the castle.
"Yes," Travers breathed. "Oh yes."
Voldemort, his hands behind his back, stepped forward to get a closer look at the blood splatters. "I don't know what this means."
"Well, four of the five stains represent the children born of Lewick blood," said Travers, sweeping a hand over the chalked square containing two of the splotches. "This area represents the male Slytherin dormitory, where the Marks brothers are certainly sleeping. Hence, two of the stains."
Travers walked carefully across his chalked diagram to the other two still smears. "Here are the Ravenclaw dormitories-boys," he said, gesturing to one of the two spots, "and girls. John-" he gestured at the first splotch, then moved his hand back over to the second "-and Anna."
"Then the moving stain represents the book of wards," said Voldemort. "The book of wards. It seems to me, Travers, that books cannot move by themselves."
"Of course not, Master," said Travers. He followed the moving blob for several paces before reaching down to scoop it into his hands. The droplets formed a rounded, crystalline ball. Closing his eyes, he closed the ball into one of his fists. It began to glow, and when Travers lifted his hand, he lifted off the ground. He released the ball, and his feet returned to the floor.
If the Dark Lord had had eyebrows, one of them would have arched. "Well?"
"The item so-moving through the lower corridor does not live," said Travers in a low, hollow voice. "It is a book besmeared with Lewick blood. Before this evening, it had for months rested in a blue box in a disheveled storage room, but tonight it is being carried away by a young sorceress." His eyes were glowing.
Voldemort frowned. "Sorceress?"
"Yes," said Travers solemnly, coming out of the trance all at once. "Master, I know it must displease you to watch the volume slip away, but know that the amazing magical aptitude narrows down the possibilities considerably. You will surely find the girl."
"Sorceresses." The Dark Lord's nostrils flared, mentally going through the possibilities. One was much too old to be considered young. One rested peacefully in the Ravenclaw dormitories. Three were unlikely, but one was a definite possibility. He stamped his foot, positively seething. Without another word to Travers, he stormed out of the room.
Travers watched his master depart, and he used a minimal amount of the magic he loathed to tidy the room before collapsing, exhausted for the spell he had just performed, to the room's chalky floor.
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