-------------------------------------------
"Avada Kedavra."
The body collapsed on the ground in front of the group of Death Eaters. Some of them winced at the sound, no doubt fearing they were next in Voldemort's internal inquisition. A semi-circle of less than a dozen Death Eaters were standing in Voldemort's inner chamber, their bodies visibly tense as their master continued to relentlessly pace in front of them.
"MacNair," Voldemort said the dead man's name in an almost melodic whisper.
Bellatrix stood behind the Dark Lord, assessing the other Death Eater's reactions. Though it was difficult to see their expressions with their heads bowed so low, their tiny flinches and slight shuffling of their feet was enough to give away their discomfort. Voldemort continued to pace in front of them, his wand tapping his free hand in the beat of a steady metronome. It was an acoustic countdown for Voldemort's next kill.
"MacNair is dead because he cannot find me that traitor Snape. Would anyone else wish to fail at this task?"
"No," the group murmured.
"It is egregious enough that your incompetence has lead to the capture of your fellow peers. Yet you can't bother to even capture the one who dares turn his back on me at this pivotal time? You can't bother to recapture the one who dares defy my will? Severus Snape has fled from our arms and crawled back to that cretin Dumbledore. Find him before you find yourself here," Voldemort pointed at MacNair's dead body.
The Death Eaters took this pause in Voldemort's monologue as an indication to exit the chamber. As they filed out of Voldemort's presence, Bellatrix waved her wand and disposed of MacNair's corpse. As Voldemort sat in his chair and examined the sword of Gryffindor, Bellatrix approached him.
"My Lord, you know that I am with you until the very end, but is it wise to continue punishing the failures of our Death Eaters with death? There are very few of us left since the Battle of Hogwarts," Bellatrix dared to question her master's logic.
"Bella, you're all I've ever needed," Voldemort hissed.
Bella's knees almost buckled at his admission, a heat pouring over her in pulsating waves. Her face was neatly composed, though, as she nodded at her master's confession. Determined to return the sort of desire that her master evidently possessed for her, Bellatrix promised the Dark Lord that she would find the traitor Snape and return the turncoat to her master.
"There's no need for you to find him, Bella. I am sure that the rest of them will die on their quest to retrieve Snape from Dumbledore's lap. It's only a matter of time before our numbers will have dwindled to a paltry handful."
"But, why? Should we not strengthen our forces with your imminent raising of the tower?" Bella asked in confusion.
"When the tower is raised, there will be no need for them. You and Bates are the only ones who will survive the purge," Voldemort admitted.
"You," Bellatrix realized, "You've been systematically killing or getting rid of the rest of the Death Eaters. But why? I still don't understand, my Lord. Why rid yourself of your followers? Surely you will not be able to capture the minds of the corrupted Mudblood lovers."
"I confess that there will be very few in wizarding Britain that will follow me. Fear me? Yes. But follow me? Unlikely."
"Will you be that powerful when the tower is raised? Will you be powerful enough to conquer everyone with just Bates and I at your side?" Bellatrix whispered in reverent awe.
"No, I will not," Voldemort admitted again.
"Then who is to do your bidding besides the creatures already in our employ? They are not enough," Bellatrix pressed on.
"Calm, Bella," Voldemort smoothly intoned, "The wizarding world is not the only source of followers for Lord Voldemort."
"I don't follow," Bellatrix frowned slightly as her mind calculated the Dark Lord's words.
Voldemort eyed her thoughtfully, "Perhaps it's time for a little education."
-------------------------------------------------------
Harry was sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, idly eating a snack and scribbling notes into several pieces of parchment. It was late into the evening, nearing midnight, yet Harry was wide awake. He sat on one of the larger couches of the room, his arm slung across the right armrest as he examined some of his work. To his left, Hermione was busy doing homework for Charms or something of that nature. Harry did not care for her busywork at this moment.
He could see Hermione quietly stealing looks at him out of the corner of her eye. Every so and often, when she thought he wasn't looking, she would take a peek at his notes. Fortunately, Harry had set up the notes behind a small pile of books so it would be nearly impossible to read them unless you specifically asked. Harry knew that Hermione would respect his privacy enough not to ask, but her curiosity tended to overrule any of her other emotions. As he watched Hermione take another peek, he shifted the books so they obviously covered his notes. It was a not so subtle indication telling her to back off. She frowned and looked at him openly, her eyes trying to catch his attention. As Harry steadfastly refused to acknowledge her, she finally coughed to pull his attention away from his work.
"Harry? How are you feeling today?" she asked in a straight-forward voice.
"Angry."
Hermione sighed as this response was Harry's answer for the past week or so. Harry continued to remain withdrawn following the death of his parents. Hermione did everything she could to remain by his side, but as the week wore on, Harry found ways to escape her grasp. Worried that she might be smothering him, Hermione backed off and only reached Harry in less obvious ways. He was starting to function more; he worked and answered questions in class, but the same dead look in his eyes remained. Only late at night, when mostly everyone was in bed, did Harry regain the life in his eyes as he continued to work on this mysterious project of his.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. I'm just angry."
Harry's replies were succinct and final. No amount of arguing or debating could relieve him of this anger and frankly, Hermione wasn't about to try to circumvent said anger. She had no idea how she would react if her parents died and so she simply did her best to support Harry. At the same time, she knew he had to make some sort of progress. If anger was the next step in his progression through grief, then she would help him work through it until he moved on.
"Who are you angry at?"
"Voldemort."
Hermione noticed that Harry suddenly lost the fear to say his name. Before, Harry would flinch or at least hesitate when he heard or tried to say the Dark Lord's name. But now, Harry simply said it in a very ordinary manner. Hermione did not quite know what triggered the sudden change in his reluctance to say his name, but she was proud. It would not do Harry any good to continue fearing Voldemort's name.
"I'd be angry at Voldemort too," she insisted.
"You don't quite have a grasp of how angry I am at Voldemort," Harry said, his voice chilling the air around him. Hermione could feel the temperature drop in the room as Harry's jaw tightened and the fingers around the quill squeezed the offending object so hard that a few feathers fell out of end.
"Tell me," Hermione gulped, "Let me know."
Harry turned to her, his eyes inquisitive as he took in her insistent face. After a pause, he turned away, his face hidden from her.
"You don't want to know how it feels, Hermione. It's better off that you just keep to yourself."
"Can't really keep to myself. I'm a bit inquisitive by nature," Hermione replied.
"Well I hope you don't ever know how this feels. It's not pretty," Harry said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Somehow I don't think I'll have a say in the matter," she said in a soft whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"The War is coming, Harry," she wrung her arms nervously, "I'm not ever one who relies on hunches or feelings, but I can feel the War growing. Voldemort attacked Hogwarts and took the sword for a reason. He wanted the sword so bad that he left Neville and Dumbledore just to retrieve it. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
Hermione tried a different approach to coax Harry out of his shell. She mentioned the topic of Voldemort, and inadvertently his part in Harry's parent's deaths, in hopes that she could skirt around the topic enough for Harry to bring up his parent's death on his own. It would not do him any good for Hermione to forcibly pull the subject out of him.
"It's been odd for me the whole time. I don't understand what he would want with the sword," Harry clearly had thought of Voldemort's sudden insistence for the sword before.
"I mean it is one of the two lasting relics of the Founders, but it really serves no significance," Hermione accepted Harry's reluctance to talk about his parents for now.
"Does it really? I remember reading a book on how Gryffindor's sword is special in various ways. It assimilates the properties of those it slays. It also was Godric's most prized possession. It had to be his most prized possession for a reason," Harry mused.
"It was created for him by goblins. Goblin magic is quite strong though regular wizards are quick to shun them away to the mines and the tunnels," Hermione wrinkled her nose as she was quickly reminded of wizarding prejudice.
"I know, but I don't think that's why it's important. Voldemort must need it for something. It's what that something is that I don't know," Harry started piling his papers into one neat stack, an indication that he was finished with his work.
"Stay with me," Hermione said, hoping her voice didn't sound like a plead. "Neville's due to be back at any moment from his lessons with Dumbledore."
Harry shrugged and sat back down, "What does he do in these lessons anyways?"
"This is his first one. I doubt it would be anything in rigorous magical training. Dumbledore said that Neville wouldn't even need his wand," Hermione had been thinking of various things that Dumbledore could teach Neville that did not require her friend to have a wand.
Before she could postulate another theory, the portrait opened and a beleaguered Neville stumbled inside as he messily closed the portrait behind him. His face was pale and his posture sagging as he spotted Harry and Hermione sitting by the fire. He heaved himself down between Harry and Hermione as he closed his eyes and laid his head back against the couch. Harry and Hermione exchanged slight looks of concern over his head as Neville exhaled loudly.
"That bad?" Harry asked.
"No - maybe - I don't - I wasn't expecting that," Neville finally settled on an answer.
"What happened? What did Dumbledore do?" Hermione leaned forward in curiosity.
Neville opened his mouth to answer but shut it as his eyes flickered over to Harry. Harry caught the slight look and stood up in response. Hermione caught on and immediately stood up as well.
"No, Harry can stay for this," she stated firmly.
"It's alright," Harry's face was guarded, "I understand."
"No, it's not like that…" Neville trailed off.
"Harry, stay," Hermione ordered.
Harry's eyes narrowed at Hermione's rather firm request. Hermione's eyes widened at Harry's sudden anger, but she stood her ground nonetheless.
"I think Harry's been through enough to know what Dumbledore's been teaching you, Neville," she looked pointedly at Neville.
"You're right," Neville nodded, "Get Ron down here, will you Harry? Everyone needs to hear this."
Harry nodded and exchanged a brief look with Hermione before walking up the stairs and retrieving the dozing Weasley. He was slightly grumpy as he stumbled down the stairs but was wide awake when Neville recounted his meeting with Dumbledore. All ears were at attention as Neville told the story of Voldemort, his mother and father, and these objects called Horcruxes.
"He split his soul up six times? Six?" Ron asked incredulously, "How is that even possible?"
"But he wanted seven," Hermione pointed out, "Seven is always a good, balanced number. Wizards and even Muggles believe in the importance of the number seven. How come he failed?"
Neville pointed at his head or more specifically his scar, "I beat him."
"He wanted to make a seventh one on the night he came over to your house?" Ron asked, his jaw agape.
"That's right, but he failed," Neville responded.
"And so Dumbledore theorized that he wanted Gryffindor's sword to make his seventh Horcrux. It makes sense! After all, you said that Dumbledore said that Voldemort likes trophies. Gryffindor's sword would be the jewel of his collection," Hermione concluded.
"Not exactly," Neville frowned, "Dumbledore didn't mention anything about that. He just gave me a
very quick lesson on all the Horcruxes. Oh - and he's teaching me Occlumency."
"To block out Voldemort?" Harry asked, his expression curious.
"Mostly."
Hermione frowned and fidgeted with the ends of her bushy hair, "The question remains: why would Voldemort need the sword?"
"Dumbledore wouldn't say. Whatever it is, it has him scared," Neville informed them.
Harry abruptly stood and gathered most of his notes. The trio looked at him curiously as he held the pieces of parchment to his chest. He started to turn towards the staircase before realizing that the Trio were still staring at him.
"Oh - um - it's getting late. I'm sorry, Neville - oh - I'll see all of you tomorrow," Harry said as he retreated to the staircase.
Harry disappeared without another word, much to the puzzlement of the rest of the Gryffindors. Ron yawned and bid good-bye to Hermione and Neville as well, telling both of them that he would see them at breakfast the next morning. As Ron also vanished from the Common Room, Hermione twisted about to check her surroundings. Once satisfied, she retrieved a piece of fallen parchment from the underneath the table. Neville looked at her curiously as she picked it up and turned it over, examining it's contents.
"Hermione, what is that?" Neville asked.
"It's one of Harry's papers. He's been writing and scribbling on them all week, but he won't let me or anyone else have a look," Hermione continued to look curiously at the parchment, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Well, what is it then?" Neville questioned again.
Hermione wordlessly handed the parchment to Neville. As Neville turned the parchment so he could see the image in the correct orientation, he found that it was a sketch. A sketch of a tall, dark tower.
-------------------------------------------------
Harry walked into the Defense classroom the next morning and found a curious witch with shockingly pink hair standing in the front of the room. As he squinted his eyes to focus his view, he realized that he recognized Tonks from the Order. She caught his eye and winked at him as he took his seat. Harry turned to Hermione to ask her whether or not she knew anything of Tonks' sudden appointment as teacher but found her to be distractedly talking to Neville. A slight tinge of disappointment overcame him, but it was quickly squashed out as Tonks commanded attention.
"Hello everyone. I'm Professor Tonks and I'll be filling in for the short remainder of the year. I understand that most of you know how to hold your own," Tonks started.
The class murmured appreciatively at the slight comment by the teacher. Raising one open palm in the air, Tonks ordered for quiet and received it right away.
"So I won't go through any pleasantries or reviews. Frankly, I'm here because the Ministry is driving up the effort to train the students for their own protection. I know I'm no Sheppard, but I'll do your best to have you prepared," Tonks waved her wand and banished the remaining desks around the area.
"Prepared for what?" a voice called out from the back of the class.
Tonks hesitated during her wand movements but regained her composure, "I confess that the Ministry is looking to increase their numbers. Since most, if not all, of you showed extreme aptitude in the face of danger, all of you are the most likely to be picked for the Minister's Army. I'm here to assess your strengths and weaknesses."
There was a slight grumbling at being forced to join the Minister's Army. The grumbling was the loudest in the Gryffindor section as they were still bitter over Ginny's sudden departure at Fudge's request. Tonks gave them a sympathetic look.
"I know it's not easy hearing this, but I figured that all of you should know. Voldemort's attack on Hogwarts has only further enraged Fudge. He's calling for all sorts of arms to defeat Voldemort at any cost, including recruiting more and more teenagers. You didn't hear me say this, but I don't necessarily agree," Tonks earnestly spoke to her class.
"Why don't you agree? I feel as if we can all handle ourselves well," Ernie pompously stated.
"Do you now?" Tonks raised an eyebrow.
"Well," Ernie looked around at his classmates, "Yes, I do believe."
"Good, Mr…"
"MacMillan."
"Ernie MacMillan," Tonks pointed at his name on her attendance sheet, "You get to be my first demonstration. Up front."
Ernie stood after some urges from his mates and made his way to the front of the class. Tonks had cleared out an area not unlike Sheppard used to create during dueling sessions. As Tonks produced her own wand, it was clear that something close to that scenario was about to occur.
"Now, I know Sheppard has taught you very well in arena and field combat. He's taught you to use your surroundings and think ahead. Yet, against wizards, you will mostly face them in one-on-one battles. Thus, it is important to realize what you can and what you can't do against a Death Eater. It's easier to fight together, but you must know how to handle yourself alone as well," Tonks bowed to indicate the start of the duel.
Ernie raised his arm to cast a spell but found that his wand was already slipping out of his hand and flying into Tonks. Tonks had barely moved but Harry caught the slight movement in her arm as soon as Ernie finished bowing. It was almost imperceptible to the human eye, but the slight flick of her fingers was unmistakable to Harry. His father had taught him the technique well. Harry gnashed his teeth as the sudden reminder erupted several motions within him. He did not even hear Ernie sputtering at the sudden defeat until several moments later.
"Fighting together is easy. Fighting one-on-one is hard," Tonks repeated, "So while I certainly admire your bravery in the face of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, make no mistake; you are still just kids. You will need the proper training and I need to assess all of your talents."
"I will assign pairs in a moment to determine who you're going to duel. For now, you are not allowed to use any environment-altering charms for your benefit. This is strict dueling," Tonks summoned a piece of parchment and started listing off names.
As Tonks was assigning pairs, Harry absent-mindedly reached up to his neck and stroked the pebble. Hermione reminded him that his parents had given it to him as some sort of last gift from their Will. Truthfully, Harry did not know what purpose the pebble served but if his parents wanted him to wear it, he would wear it until the day he died. Harry was zoned out as he continued to touch the pebble and only Hermione's jostling forced him back to reality.
"Harry, you're with Nott," Hermione said to him.
Harry nodded, still not quite focused as he stood to greet Nott. The pairs split up into different parts of the classroom as they started their warm-up for their eventual duels against each other. As Harry cast a couple of easy jinxes against a target dummy, he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Tonks standing close to him.
"Harry, a word?"
Harry nodded and walked off into a corner, "Hey Tonks."
"Hi Harry," she smiled at him but had a worried look in her eyes, "This is awkward for me to ask this question, but it's procedure. Are you fit to duel? Will you be okay with it?"
"I'm fine, Tonks."
Tonks regarded him carefully and chose her next words wisely, "Harry…a lot of my friends and colleagues have died during the War already. There's a couple of people that their family have seen in order to…help them during these sort of times. Would you like for me to recommend you someone?"
Harry's eyes turned blank once again as his voice took on a decidedly formal tone, "No, thank you. I'll manage."
Tonks worriedly looked back at him but knew no amount of talking on her part would convince the stubborn boy otherwise. Nodding, she patted him on the back and sent him back to Nott to warm-up for their duel. After a few minutes of mindlessly hexing the target dummy with easy jinxes, Tonks called for the class to gather round and pay attention for the first duel. Harry tuned them out and turned to the window to see the large monument built for the deaths at the Battle of Hogwarts.
A large, white monolith stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a reminder of the light against the darkness. Harry remembered attending his parent's funeral just a few days before. He declined to speak, knowing no words could possibly describe the grief and anger he felt. Every single object was just another reminder of his parents. Each object sent different emotions coursing through his veins but the end product was always the same. He felt anger. Pure, unadulterated hate and anger at Voldemort. It was threatening to burst from within at any moment.
Harry clenched his hands as he replayed his father's last acts to help them escape. How noble it was for James to defend his wife and son against the Dark Lord. How foolish he was not to accept Harry's help. These thoughts ran through Harry's mind as he continued to grow angrier and angrier at Voldemort and the rest of the damn Death Eaters. Suddenly, a hand was softly placed over his. He turned his head to see Hermione writing notes about the duel with one hand and placing her other hand over his in a soothing manner.
She squeezed his hand tightly and muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "Calm down, Harry. I can feel the magic pouring off you."
Harry nodded, hearing her warning loud and clear. He fought to clear his mind but only continued to feel the anger pulsing through his veins. It was only after an extensive battle within his own head that Harry finally found himself in a more stoic area. He could still feel the after burns of hatred residing in his chest, but Hermione had let go of his hand to indicate that he was no longer affecting the area with his magic. As the rest of the duels played out, Harry finally heard his name being called into the ring.
Harry stood from his chair and accepted the good luck murmured by Hermione. He nodded to Tonks to indicate that he was good to go once he entered the dueling circle. Bowing low to Nott, Harry went on the defensive. He deflected two harmless jinxes and lazily conjured a lasso to throw around Nott's ankles. Nott deftly dodged them and surprised Harry with a rather quick Disarming charm. Harry felt the wand leave his hand slightly before snapping back into place.
"I forgot. Stupid holster," Nott groaned aloud, much to the class's amusement.
Harry immediately and quickly disarmed him, not wishing for the duel to go on any longer. Nott nodded at him with a look of annoyance on his face. He clearly did not care for Harry's advantage when it came to defending against the Expelliarmus.
"Good on you, Potter. I've been told of your special wand holster. Perhaps you'd care to share it with the rest of us?" Tonks asked.
"Can't. Gift from a good friend," Harry caught Hermione's eyes as his lips quirked ever so slightly. She did return his attempt at a smile but instead scowled at him.
"Well, good show as it is. We'll go more again tomorrow class. Make sure to be prepared to duel more in singles. It requires a different mindset and a different set of skills that what you're used to so far."
As the class exited, Harry found himself being hurriedly pulled along the hallway by Hermione. Harry attempted to pry her hands off of his upper arm, but it was no use; the girl was determined. Dragging him into an empty classroom, she rounded him with a disappointed look on her face.
"You didn't have the wand holster," she stated.
"Yes I did."
"No you didn't because you haven't gotten it back from me. I still have it, Harry," she informed him.
Harry shrugged dismissively, "Okay, I don't have it."
"That's it?"
"That's what?"
"You don't have it. That's all you have to say! You just performed more wandless magic at the blink of an eye and lied to Tonks about it," Hermione was quite upset.
"It's not anything I haven't done before," Harry coolly replied.
"Harry," she sighed in frustration, "Maybe you should talk to someone about this. I don't mean to bring up a sore subject but I saw you after - well after…"
"After what Hermione?"
"After," she bit her lip, "After your Mum died, I saw you do something I've never seen before."
Harry was quiet as Hermione breached the topic explicitly for the first time. He knew that Hermione was practically hopping on her tip toes in her eagerness to help him. While he knew that she was genuinely trying to help him, the selfish part of his mind answered instead.
"Don't talk about my Mum."
"But Harry," she jumped as Harry interrupted her rather forcefully.
"Don't but Harry me," Harry scoffed, "I can control my magic and I don't need you bringing up my Mum or trying to help me through this anymore, Hermione. I can take care of it myself."
"Harry," there were tears in her eyes at this point, "I'm just trying to help you. I need to help you."
"You are helping me, Hermione. You've helped me every day," Harry took one of her hands in his and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.
"But this is something I need to do myself. This is something that I have to take care of," he placed special emphasis on himself as he spoke.
"If you asked me before this year started, I would have never imagined myself in this position with you. I would have never imagined asking you to give me some space yet here we are. You're a wonderful human being, Hermione, not just a wonderful witch. But I need you to let me go through with this alone," Harry looked her straight in the eyes as he spoke, trying to convey the burden that was stringed across his neck.
There was a pause as Hermione soaked in his words. She suddenly surprised him and tip toed to peck him lightly on the lips. It was just a soft kiss, not one of deep, yearning passion nor one filled with overwhelming desire. The kiss was just a promise.
"I respect your decision, Harry. I'll give you some space, but don't expect me to go away. Ever."
Hermione swept out of the room without another word, leaving Harry to touch his lips and for the first time in a while, smile bemusedly at Hermione's dramatic exit.
------------------------------------------
Peter Pettigrew crawled along the rat-infested sewers of underground London. He wiggled his way through a couple of the smaller holes in his Transfigured form as he continued to navigate in the dark. It was definitely not Peter's greatest wish to be crawling in these dank conditions, but the Dark Lord requested it so and Peter would never deny the Dark Lord's wishes.
As he squeezed out of another sewage line, Peter fell out to find himself in a carved out tunnel. By the smoothness of the edges and the generally Muggle-ness feel of the tunnel, Peter determined that this tunnel was the one that some of his compatriots had dug out recently. Pulling his falling trousers so the waist line was at the appropriate level, Peter tip toed through the water, avoiding rats and bugs and other assorted creatures that dwelled in the underground.
He continued down the tunnel, his wand lighting the path in front of him. The tunnel winded around several turns and corners before it suddenly opened into a giant atrium. Peter's jaw dropped as he looked up and was unable to see the ceiling with the dim light of his wand. Gulping, he realized that this large dome was the location his master required. Tapping the dirty hat he brought along with him, Peter made a Portkey and sat down, awaiting his master's arrival. As predicted, the Portkey suddenly shook as it was activated from the other end. In the blink of an eye, Voldemort and Bellatrix were standing in the giant atrium. Peter scrambled to his feet and wiped the dirt off his clothes in an effort to look maintained.
"My Lord," Peter bowed.
"Rise, Peter," Voldemort encouraged with a sick smile on his face, "It is time for you to serve your master."
Peter nodded and extended his hand. Voldemort summoned the sword out of his robes and carefully handed the hilt to Peter. Peter gracefully accepted the sword, the weight of it weighing down his one undamaged arm. The Basilisk poison infected his severed arm to the point of no return. As Peter dragged the sword through the dirt, he finally found the required spot in the atrium. Turning back, Peter looked at Voldemort to confirm he was in the correct spot. Voldemort nodded.
Peter took a deep breathe as he found the small indent in the ground where the sword would need to be inserted. Voldemort informed him that neither he nor Bella would be able to perform the ceremony since they were both…tainted. Peter, on the other hand, could perform the ceremony and please his master greatly. Peter was grateful to accept the task. Anything to please the Dark Lord.
Peter plunged the sword into the small ditch in the ground. Nothing happened for a moment, but Peter found himself unable to remove his hands from the sword. He turned questioningly to Voldemort but found that his master was intently focused on the sword. The sword started to glow, starting from the very tip and spreading all the way to the hilt. Peter watched it glow but was still unable to remove his hands from the sword.
"My Lord! I can't - I can't move my hands!" Peter exclaimed as a burning sensation started to spread throughout his hands.
"Do not let go, Peter," Voldemort ordered as he brandished his wand.
Peter grit his teeth as the pain started to grow. He could feel a slight rumbling beneath his feet but paid no attention to it as the burning sensation continued to heat up where his hands held the sword. A low moan was emerging from his mouth as Peter struggled to pry his hands off the sword.
"My Lord! I can't! I must let go!" Peter attempted to pull away from the sword but found himself unable to.
"I know," Voldemort simply replied.
Peter suddenly felt the pain jolt his body and bring him to his knees. It filled very sensation and every fiber of his being as more and more pain overcame him. He was dimly aware that an actual fire was spreading on his skin, originating from where his hands held the sword. Peter screamed in agony as the fire consumed him, the blaze toasting his skin and destroying his nerve endings. Peter continued to scream, the echo in the empty atrium making the effect even louder. Soon, Peter gave in to the fire as he crumpled to the ground, his hands still holding the sword. The majority of his body was burnt beyond humanly and magical repair, his eyes welding shut and the smell of burning flesh filling the air. Yet, Peter was still alive.
Voldemort approached him as the fire died down around Peter's body. Peter moaned nonsense as he felt the vibrations of his master's feet pad along the ground. He continued to moan as Voldemort inspected the sword. He smiled gleefully as he watched the sword continue to glow and pulsate different colors.
"This is it, Bella. Tomorrow night, as the moon turns, I will raise the tower of the Founders and claim a power so great that I will finally be able to crush my opposition," Voldemort laughed in an almost childlike manner.
"I am pleased, my Lord," Bellatrix sank to her knees and kissed the hem of his robes.
"Rise, Bella. We will come back tomorrow as the tower rises," Voldemort walked away from the atrium, sneaking glances back at the sword in deep elation.
"What of Pettigrew?" Bellatrix asked, turning back to the rotten, burnt corpse of a man.
"Let him rot."
Several country sides away, Harry Potter and the rest of Hogwarts pulled the blankets over their heads as they succumbed to their slumber.