The Book of Morgan Le Fey

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Dark Lord

'Let's go up, shall we?' said Malfoy, in a malevolent, honeyed voice. 'Bring them up!' he added to the Death Eaters.

At once Ron felt strong hands grip his arms and shoulders. Luna was pulled out of his arms and flung carelessly over the shoulder of a Death Eater: Crabbe. She moaned in pain and mumbled something incomprehensible.

'Gently!' Malfoy hissed. 'We need her healthy. Or at least, mostly healthy.'

'Leave her alone!' Ron yelled, as a second Death Eater grabbed his left arm and started to drag him toward the stairs.

'Shut up,' said the first Death Eater, cuffing Ron upside the head so hard that tears formed in his eyes.

'Don't!' Hermione cried, as yet another Death Eater pushed her up the stairs.

'Quiet!' Malfoy snapped.

'Let them go,' Harry croaked, struggling against a Death Eater who had him in a near-choke hold. 'He doesn't need them. I'm the one he wants.'

'How noble of you, Potter,' said Malfoy dryly. 'But I'm afraid the Dark Lord's plans for you also include plans for your friends. No, I'm afraid they will simply have to stay.'

They reached the top of the stairs and were met by more Death Eaters--these were still hooded and masked--who were holding a struggling Bill, Ginny and Neville. They looked, at least thus far, to be unhurt.

'Ron!' Bill yelled, and the Death Eater next to him slapped him in the face.

'Shut it!' he roared.

'Get them inside,' Malfoy ordered. The Death Eaters holding Bill, Ginny and Neville yanked them around and pushed them down the hall.

Ron struggled but it was useless--the two Death Eaters were massive and strong, and any time Ron resisted one of them smacked him on the back of the head so hard it caused stars to appear in front of his eyes. He quickly gave up on struggling and tried going limp, but this only earned him a very hard kick in the backside.

'MOVE!' the Death Eater on his left snapped.

They reached the end of the corridor. There was a large door on the left wall. Malfoy, having paraded to the front of the crowd, turned and said 'Silence!'

The Death Eaters fell quiet. Ron was tempted to start yelling but a swift look from both Hermione and Bill changed his mind.

Malfoy opened the door and beckoned the Death Eaters inside. Ron's captors shoved him through the door.

The room was huge, so huge that it had to have been magically enlarged. It was nearly empty of furniture, but for a gigantic, ornate bed in the far left corner of the room, a large desk along the opposite wall, and a single chair that sat facing a massive fireplace in the center of the room. The flames in the fireplace were the only light in the room. The chair was facing the fire and on either side was a large copper cauldron, both of them steaming and bubbling, with magic blue flames beneath.

Ron was shoved to the middle of the room, along with Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Bill, Susan and Neville. Luna, however, was carried to the far right corner of the room and set on her feet, where she stood weakly against Crabbe. Ron reached for Hermione and pulled her close. She was trembling with fear. Susan and Harry were clinging to each other, Harry clutching at his scar and trying not to moan out loud with the pain. Neville and Ginny were huddled close to Bill.

A figure was sitting in the chair, a very tall figure with almost no hair on the pasty, white scalp. A long, skeletally thin right hand was visible, and it was stroking the scaly head of a huge, sinister snake that was coiled next to the chair. The snake rocked back and forth, its forked tongue flickering in and out of its mouth.

Ron instantly felt his blood turn to ice. It wasn't the same kind of cold he felt in the presence of Dementors. It was a thousand times worse. A voice spoke, a thin, reedy, cold voice. It came from the figure seated in the chair.

'Malfoy,' the voice said.

'My Lord,' Malfoy answered, in a voice resonant with supplication. Malfoy approached the chair and knelt down on its left side, his eyes downcast.

'You have brought all of them?' the cold voice asked, as the hand continued to stroke the head of the snake.

'Yes, my Lord,' said Malfoy. 'Potter--'

'I KNOW you have Potter, fool,' the voice snapped. 'I can sense his presence. His friends?'

'All of them, my Lord,' said Malfoy meekly.

'Good,' said the voice, sounding pleased. 'Excellent. You shall be rewarded, Malfoy.'

'Thank you, my Lord,' Malfoy said, bowing low on his knees. Ron felt mingled horror and disgust at the spectacle.

'Your son,' said the voice, 'has done well. You should be pleased with him.'

Ron felt sick. What the hell did THAT mean?

'I am, my Lord,' said Malfoy.

'But he has one more test,' said the voice. 'One more test tonight, and he will be one of us. He is ready?'

'Yes, my Lord,' droned Malfoy, his eyes fixed on the floor.

'Bring him in,' said the voice coldly. Malfoy bowed so low now his forehead nearly touched the floor, then he rose gracefully and swept across the room to the left, where there was a door that, Ron realized, connected this room to the one next door.

Lucius Malfoy opened the door and said, 'Come, Draco.'

Ron and Hermione gripped each other even tighter as Draco Malfoy, wearing Death Eater robes, strode into the room. He shot Ron and Harry a triumphant look, and then took a place behind his father, who had returned to the left of the chair and knelt down again.

'Malfoy,' Ron growled. 'You bloody--'

'SILENCE!' The voice from behind the chair was so loud and piercing Ron jumped. Hermione gave Ron's hands a squeeze and looked at him imploringly, willing him to say nothing else. Ron didn't need the encouragement to shut up.

'We are all assembled, then?' the voice went on, as though nothing untoward had just happened.

'Yes, my Lord,' said Lucius Malfoy.

'Excellent,' said the voice. 'Go, Nagini.' The snake next to the chair suddenly gave a hiss and uncoiled its long length and began to slither along the floor in a menacing circle around Ron and the others. Harry stared at the snake in horror--was this the same snake that had attacked Ron's father last year? Harry opened his mouth to speak.

'Nagini will obey no one but me,' said the voice softly. 'Parseltongue is useless on her.'

Harry looked up and stared at the chair, his hand still pressed against his scar. He looked white, feverish, but also murderously angry.

'Once again,' the voice went on, 'we meet. How many times have you escaped me, Potter? Five? Six? I have lost count. Impressive. Not even your parents escaped me that often. But tonight, I think, the odds favor me.'

'Let them go,' Harry said fiercely, staring daggers at the back of the chair.

'YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO MAKE DEMANDS, POTTER!' the voice yelled furiously. 'You, arrogant boy, you have been a pebble in my shoe, a nuisance to me from the day I set eyes upon you. Taking your life tonight will not be enough to satisfy me, to give me back the years that you stole from me, the headaches you have caused me. No, your friends will stay here. They will know the full wrath of Lord Voldemort. You will all bear witness to the beginning of the end of the pitiful world you have tried to create and protect. And you will all die with the knowledge that you could not stop me.'

The voice stopped speaking and the figure in the chair stood slowly. Ron swallowed. The figure in the chair was tall and emaciated but radiated overwhelming, malevolent strength. Very slowly, the figure turned.

Ron wasn't aware of breathing in that moment. All he knew was that what he saw in front of him was so horrible, so frightening, that it couldn't be real. Hermione gasped in his arms and clung to him tighter.

The figure was that of a man, except that it was too terrible to be a human man. The man's face was barely a face. Eyes that were crimson red, with cat- eye slits for pupils. A nose that was little more than two gashes, forming grotesque nostrils; a mouth that seemed to have no lips. Skin so pasty white and stretched so tight that it looked like it might tear. Hands with fingers so long and sharp they almost resembled bone-white knife blades.

This was Lord Voldemort.

'Ah,' he said, smiling a lipless smile. 'The "gang" is all here. What loyal friends you have, Potter. All of them willing to follow you to their deaths. I must admit, I envy you. Well, perhaps not the part where you will die, of course, but certainly the loyalty of your friends. Would that all of my Death Eaters have always shown such loyalty to me.'

At this Voldemort scanned the room and the Death Eaters, as if being pushed a giant, invisible hand, all bowed to Voldemort. He smiled again; Ron could not remember seeing anything as ugly as that smile.

'Separate them,' Voldemort said, with a wave of his hand, and Ron felt Hermione yanked away from him; Susan and Harry were pulled apart; Bill, Ginny and Neville, too, were separated. All seven of them stood inches from one another, gripped by Death Eaters who pointed wands at their throats. Ron tried to reach for Hermione's hand, but was rewarded with a punch to the back of his shoulder that was so hard it made him gasp in pain.

'Keep still!' the Death Eater barked. 'Or I'll make you keep still, and it'll hurt.'

Voldemort chuckled, and backed up slightly.

'Now, I can get a proper look at all of you,' he said, and with that he began to pace; his stride was so smooth and light it was as if he were floating just a few inches above the floor.

'Let me see,' he said, and he stopped in front of Hermione. She looked up at him, her eyes defiant, but her chin trembled, just slightly.

'This must be the Mudblood,' he said. 'Tell me, have your parents recovered from their little...visit with my Death Eaters?'

Hermione bit her lip; she was fighting tears. Ron wanted to reach for her again but resisted the impulse; the Death Eater holding her might hurt her in retaliation.

'Let me guess,' Voldemort went on, and he moved closer to Hermione; she recoiled and tried to back away but only succeeding in bumping into the Death Eater gripping her from behind. 'You figured it all out, didn't you? My plan.'

'Yes,' Hermione said, her voice shaking but full of hatred.

'I thought so,' said Voldemort, smiling his thin smile. 'You're a very clever girl. A shame such a fine mind is wasted on a Mudblood.'

Hermione said nothing; she merely bit her lip again, as Voldemort moved past her and came to stand in front of Ron. Ron was absurdly pleased to see that he was taller than Voldemort.

'And here we have one of Arthur Weasley's brats,' said Voldemort. 'What is your name, boy? There are so many of you it's difficult to keep all of you straight.'

Ron said nothing, and the Death Eater behind him shifted and landed a swift punch in Ron's side. He gasped with the pain of it and nearly bent over.

'You will answer me when I ask you a question, boy,' Voldemort hissed.

'Ron,' he choked. 'Ron.'

'Ah, Potter's sidekick,' said Voldemort. 'Well, I think it's safe to say you are not the brains of this little outfit, or you might have been wiser in your choice of friends.'

Ron started to retort, but the Death Eater punched him again in the side, and he was made speechless. Hermione whimpered, and their eyes met. They were going to die tonight. It was just a question of how long it would take, and how painful it would be.

Voldemort moved on, passing Harry, and stopping in front of Susan.

'So this is Potter's little girlfriend,' he said, his voice sleek and sounding very pleased. 'I'm well acquainted with your family, of course, Miss Bones. Tragic about all those relatives of yours.'

'Leave her alone,' Harry growled. Of all of them, he seemed to be the only one who wasn't half-frozen in fear.

'I've already told you, Potter,' said Voldemort, turning to him and eyeing him with controlled fury. 'You are in no position to make demands, and unless you are keen to witness my Death Eaters have some fun with little Miss Bones, I strongly suggest you shut up.'

Harry glowered at Voldemort but said nothing else; Voldemort moved on past Susan, who was crying silently, and came to Bill.

'Another Weasley,' he said. 'The oldest son and the only fully qualified wizard. You've been helping Potter with his Occlumency and Legilimency. What were you thinking, allowing Potter and his friends to come here tonight? Because of you, your poor dear mother will lose three of her beloved children.'

Bill swallowed, and Ron saw fear in his oldest brother's eyes for the first time since they'd come here. Fear, and regret, and guilt. Before Bill could say a word, Voldemort had stopped in front of Neville.

'Ah, yes, Longbottom,' he said, smiling. 'How are your parents? Bellatrix sends her good wishes. She's thought of little but you since your last...rendez-vous.'

Neville whimpered and looked at the floor. Voldemort chuckled as he glided past him and came to a stop, finally, in front of Ginny.

'Well, well, what have we here?' he said, in a voice that sent a chill down Ron's spine. 'Can it be...Virginia Weasley, all grown up?'

Voldemort moved closer to Ginny. Her face was streaked with tears, but she looked up at him without flinching, with absolute hatred.

'Have you missed me, Ginny?' Voldemort asked, and he ran a thin, bony finger across her jaw.

'Don't touch her!' Ron snapped, and his Death Eater cuffed him once more, very hard, on the head. Voldemort, however, ignored Ron altogether; Ron shook his head to clear it as Voldemort moved even closer to Ginny. Ginny didn't back away, but met his eyes.

Voldemort pulled a wand from his robes; Ron and Bill both started to yell and were cuffed, hard. But instead of hexing Ginny, Voldemort muttered something unintelligible, and pointed his wand at himself. There was a flash, and in the next instant, Voldemort was gone.

In his place stood a boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen. Tall but not overly so, with waving black hair and brown eyes, and smooth, unblemished skin. He might have been handsome, but for the emptiness, the coldness of his eyes.

'Have you missed your Tom, Ginny?' the boy said. At this, Ginny whimpered.

'Go away,' she whispered.

'I've missed you. I've missed our little talks,' he hissed, smiling.

Ginny's defiance was melting and she trembled and cried silently.

'Do you still dream about me, Ginny?' Tom/Voldemort asked. 'Potter can't be the only one, can he? You and I...we had something special, did we not?'

He was very close to her now, and Ginny shrank into herself.

'No,' she whispered.

'You told me everything, spilled out your very soul to me,' he said, in a voice that was almost seductive. It turned Ron's blood to ice.

And in return, I gave you something, didn't I?' Tom/Voldemort went on. 'My friendship. My trust. My love.'

'Leave her alone,' Harry snapped, and he earned a swift punch in the stomach. But Voldemort didn't even notice this; Ron watched in horror as this monster, disguised as the boy Ginny had known long ago, taunted her.

'You were quite a useful servant,' he went on, and he brushed her cheek with his palm. She turned her face away, but he caught her chin and pulled her face back to his. He was inches from her now; it was almost as if he was about to kiss her.

'Leave me alone,' she begged. He smiled and his fingers trailed gently down her throat; it was a lover's caress. Ron felt sick.

'Do you want to come back to me?' he said. 'Sweet Ginny. You've become a lovely young woman. We can have so much more fun together now--'

'You sick bastard!' Ron bit out, because he couldn't stand it anymore. He had never really known what Voldemort had done to Ginny when he'd possessed her, because Ginny had never told him. And Ron hadn't wanted to know. Ginny had spent a month in St. Mungo's psychiatric treatment to deal with it, and whoever had treated her was the keeper of those secrets.

But now...now...there was white rage inside him. At himself, for never having asked her what Voldemort had done to her, for not being there enough for her. And at Voldemort...

What had Voldemort done to his little sister? What had this sick, twisted psychopath done to Ginny?

Voldemort's head snapped up at Ron's outburst, and Ginny flinched and jerked away as he changed from his Tom form into his present self; his dark eyes became the red slits; his hands became white and sharp, his nostrils became reptilian slits.

'I warned you to keep quiet,' said Voldemort, in a low voice. He pointed his wand right at Ron's chest and said the word so quietly, Ron almost didn't hear it.

'Crucio.'

Ron vaguely heard Ginny, Harry and Hermione all scream 'NO!' at the same time before the spell hit him. The pain was incredible, beyond anything he could have possibly imagined. Every muscle and bone and tendon in his body was on fire and pulled taut. He heard someone screaming, furious, blood-curdling, throat-shredding screams, and they were coming from him, and he was falling to the floor and writhing, writhing, trying to get the pain off him, to make it stop.

Suddenly, the curse lifted, and the pain of that was nearly as bad as the curse itself. Ron was panting and sweating and he heard Hermione and Ginny and Susan all sobbing. He opened his eyes and saw spots, and he heard Voldemort's voice, distant and cold.

'Get him up,' he said, and Ron felt rough hands yank him from the floor and force him to stand. He tried to, but his legs nearly gave out on him as the pain receded by the electric charge of the curse continued to pull at his muscles.

The Death Eater wouldn't let him fall, though, and Ron, by sheer force of will, made his legs remain underneath him.

'That hurt, didn't it?' said Voldemort, and Ron looked up. The Dark Lord was once again in the center of the room. 'I imagine we won't hear anymore interruptions from you.'

Ron shook his head, and he looked at Hermione, who had a wild, desperate kind of fear on her face. Ron swallowed. Merlin, if we're all going to die, at least let me hold onto Hermione when it happens.

'So, Potter,' said Voldemort, and his voice was grotesquely conversational, as though he and Harry were discussing the latest Quidditch rankings, 'you thought, of course, that by coming tonight that you'd have plenty of time to get Miss Lovegood away before she could complete the potion, didn't you?'

Harry said nothing.

'You cannot hide your mind from me, Potter,' said Voldemort, his tone cold again. 'I know your thoughts. Yes, you thought by sneaking in here and grabbing Miss Lovegood and getting her out of here, book or no, that you'd bring my brilliant scheme to a grinding halt.'

He paused.

'Really, Potter,' he said. 'When are you going to learn not to underestimate me?'

Ron glanced over at Harry, who swallowed.

'Did you really think,' Voldemort went on, 'that I would allow you even the slightest chance to interfere with my plans? No, dear boy. That is your problem. You never learn.

'You see, Potter, I already have a batch of the Draught of Death all prepared and ready to...disperse. So in the end, you and your friends came here for nothing. Even if you had escaped this house, your efforts would have been useless.'

'You bastard,' Harry growled, but his voice shook. 'It's me you want. It's always been me. Why did you lead us all here if you already had your poison? Why not just bring me here and kill me and leave them out of it?'

'Where is the satisfaction in that?' said Voldemort, smiling. 'I told you, boy, that your death will not be enough to satisfy me. No. You will watch your friends die. All of them. Slowly and painfully. And when the last one of them--your girlfriend, I think--is dead, you will beg me to kill you, and I'll still let you live. I'll put you through such torment you'll think the Cruciatus Curse is nothing but a faint tickle. And you'll beg me to kill you again, and I won't. I'll keep you alive for as long as your pain and suffering entertain me, and only then will I do you the mercy of ending your life.'

Harry stared back at Voldemort in horror, and Ron saw the other boy's shoulders sag, just slightly.

'Don't do that,' he said, his voice entirely pleading. 'Torture me all you want, just...just please don't hurt them...'

'Oh, how sweet,' Voldemort sneered. 'Potter the Martyr. Unfortunately your pleas fall on deaf ears. But don't fret. I won't kill your friends right away. I want to show you first the fruits of my labors. The way I will end the old world, and create the new.'

He moved to the two cauldrons that were bubbling gently over their magic blue fires. Ron's strength, which had been sapped from the Cruciatus Curse, was coming back. But even his renewed strength gave him no hope. They were outnumbered and had no wands. They were going to die.

'What is interesting,' said Voldemort, 'is that it was young Mr. Weasley here, who apparently determined which deadly disease I decided to use. The Black Death. It does have a ring to it, doesn't it? And of course using this particular sickness is a kind of poetic justice. Avenging the torture and persecution of wizard-kind with the very disease the Muggles blamed us, wrongly, for creating.'

Voldemort chuckled. 'Of course, finding reliable sources of Yersenia pestis required a bit of creativity on my part, but the Muggle scientists proved frightfully helpful in that regard. It turns out that Yersenia pestis is quite commonly produced in laboratories, and I was able to get a rather generous supply. The scientists worked very hard making it for me. Of course, I couldn't very well keep them here to do it--far too dangerous. No, I placed them under the Imperius Curse and had them make it in their labs and bring it to me. It worked quite well for a while but then the Muggle authorities began to get suspicious and laboratories started tightening their security. But by then I had plenty of Yersenia pestis to play with. Sadly, the scientists were no longer useful to me. I suppose I could have modified their memories but I tried that once with Bertha Jorkins and well, in the end, I think I did those scientists a favor by killing them instead. I've never been very good at Memory Charms.'

He chuckled again, and some Death Eaters, including Draco Malfoy, laughed sycophantically. Ron shot a murderous look in Draco's direction, but the other boy was too busy glowering and sneering triumphantly at Harry. Meanwhile, Nagini continued her slow circling and hissing. Ron resisted the urge to kick at her; if this was the snake that had attacked his father, she'd probably get in a strike or two before he had a chance to react, and he'd wind up poisoned.

'And the book?' said Harry. 'You used Eddie to get the book.'

'Ah, yes,' said Voldemort, tenting his hands together. 'Mr. Carmichael. That was not my idea, actually, at all. But Mr. Carmichael convinced me that he could not only very effectively infiltrate the school, but that he could quite easily ingratiate himself well enough to whoever the descendant of Queen Morgan happened to be. And it turns out that this was the case. Yes, Mr. Carmichael's involvement was inspired.

'Of course, not everyone was keen on Eddie,' Voldemort went on. 'Mr. Weasley, the youngest, for one. For someone possessing such otherwise uninspiring intellect, I must say, Mr. Weasley, you are rather an excellent judge of character.

'Once I knew that Potter's closest friend was suspicious, I was tempted to remove Mr. Carmichael altogether, but thank heavens, he convinced me otherwise.

'Weasley's suspicions worked to our advantage, it turns out. When Mr. Carmichael turned his favors toward Miss Granger, I'd say Weasley became intimately involved with trying to counter my plans. All to the better, for now Weasley is here as well, and Potter will only suffer more.'

'Go to hell,' Harry snarled.

Voldemort chuckled again. 'Dear boy, you have spirit. It will be a joy to see you broken.'

At this, the Death Eaters all hissed appreciatively. Ron struggled again, and his Death Eater kicked him hard in the calf, nearly sending him tumbling again.

'But, back to Mr. Carmichael,' Voldemort went on, either not noticing or not caring about Ron at all. 'He came to me with several likely names, candidates who might be the descendant, and of course my Death Eaters were quick to act. I suspected the book was in Hogwarts all along, but I had to be sure. Carmichael was quite sure the descendant was Luna, but he had no proof. Only suspicions. It was only when young Mr. Malfoy, who was also acting on my behalf, got a look at Luna's birth chart and confirmed those suspicions that I decided it was time to act. The Quidditch match was the perfect opportunity.'

'Eddie's been working for you all along,' said Harry. 'All this time--'

'Your suspicions of Mr. Carmichael only begin to scratch the surface, Potter,' said Voldemort. 'Eddie is not at all what he seems.'

'No kidding,' said Harry sarcastically. 'Tell us something we don't know.'

The Death Eaters hissed again, but Voldemort merely smiled.

'Do you really think Dumbledore would have allowed just anyone to be Head Boy, Potter?' he asked. 'After what happened at the end of last year? You clearly haven't learned enough about wizarding families. The Carmichael family is among the oldest in Britain--purebloods who have long been supporters of Dumbledore's cause. Dumbledore trusts the Carmichaels; he knows their son well. He also has been extremely wary of who to trust ever since my most faithful follower, Barty Crouch, Jr., infiltrated your school while posing as your teacher. Barty's plan was brilliant and very nearly worked, but Dumbledore would be on the lookout for another such attempt to use Polyjuice Potion. And in any case, it's a challenge, kidnapping someone and keeping them captive for months at a time.'

Ron stared at Voldemort, partly in horror but also in confusion. What was he talking about? Then Ron looked at Eddie, who smiled coldly back at him, his black eyes glittering.

And suddenly...suddenly everything fell into place in Ron's mind with a dull thud. Those black eyes, the eyes in his dreams. They weren't Eddie's eyes. Because Eddie...wasn't Eddie at all. And if it wasn't Polyjuice that caused the change in...whoever this person's eyes...there was only one explanation...

'You,' Ron breathed, his eyes fixed on the false Eddie. 'You're a...a Metamorphmagus, aren't you?'

Everyone gasped and looked at Ron.

'Ron, you--' Hermione began.

'Well, well,' said Voldemort, sounding mildly impressed. 'I suppose the sidekick isn't quite as dimwitted as I thought.'

'Close, Weasley,' the false Eddie said, in that eerie, shrill voice. 'Very close. But not quite.'

'What are you, then?' Ron spat.

It was Hermione who spoke. 'He's a shape-shifter.'

'Very good, Mudblood,' the false Eddie sneered. 'Surely you've heard of our kind, Weasley. No doubt Granger's filled you in. Morgan Le Fey was one.'

'But...but I've...I've never heard of...there's no record of a male shapeshifter,' said Hermione, shaking her head in disbelief. 'Not for centuries...'

'There wouldn't be a record of me,' said Eddie, smiling darkly. 'I've never been one to comply with silly Ministry laws. Being an unregistered shape-shifter has its advantages. And no, I'm sadly not related to the Queen of the Fairies, else I wouldn't have had to spend nine months of my time flirting with silly little schoolgirls and convincing them to tell me their deepest, darkest secrets. But of course, my work was for a higher cause.'

'If you're not Eddie,' said Harry slowly, looking at the false Eddie with a newly horrified expression on his face, 'then who are you?'

'Can't you guess, Potter?' the false Eddie said slowly, his voice rising still higher. 'Or perhaps I should ask Mr. Longbottom. He might know who I am. We met last year, right around this time.'

'Oh my god,' Harry said, for the first time sounding genuinely terrified. Neville gave a kind of strangled moan.

Eddie began to laugh. A horrible, wild sort of laugh that sounded like it came from a banshee. But then something else happened.

He began to change. His eyes, already black as coal, became more hooded, the lashes thicker. His hair, normally sandy brown, was turning black, and it was growing, growing out of his head and down his back in a thick black sheet. His skin grew paler and completely hairless, but wrinkles formed around the eyes and mouth. Ron felt his jaw drop.

Where before there had been the handsome, arrogant face of a youth, there was now the ravaged, evil, slightly deranged but still beautiful face of a woman.

Ron almost fainted at the sight. He'd seen this in his dreams. Eddie, changing into this sinister, evil Dark Witch.

'Bellatrix Lestrange,' Harry choked. Ron looked over to see Harry white with rage. And then Ron remembered. This was the woman who had killed Sirius Black. Ron looked at Neville, and saw on his face, too, hatred so deep it seemed to come from Neville's very pores. Bellatrix had tortured Neville's parents until they had lost their minds. And Ron suddenly hated this woman--who had spent an entire year posing as a student--more than anything. Even more than Voldemort.

'What did you do with the real Eddie Carmichael?' Harry snapped, gritting his teeth. But Ron and the others already knew the answer.

'I killed him, naturally,' said Bellatrix matter-of-factly, as though she were discussing the weather. 'There was really no other choice. I suppose it might have helped to have him around to write letters to his parents--they still don't know he's dead, poor things--but then I realized how difficult it would be to keep Eddie contained and quiet. It simply would have been too much of a headache. I didn't need the excess baggage, you see.'

Ron felt sick. This woman had killed a boy and to her he was nothing more than baggage.

'You're...you're sick,' Neville croaked, his own fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. 'You're mad.'

'Oh, no, Longbottom,' said Bellatrix, leering at him through her hooded black eyes. 'That description best fits your parents.'

'That will do, Bella,' said Voldemort, a hint of edge in his voice. 'You'll have plenty of time to have fun later. I'm afraid I simply can't share Potter with you, of course, but surely Longbottom will be a fine enough plaything.'

'Of course, my Lord,' Bellatrix said submissively, bowing to him and then looking up at him with supplicant, adoring eyes.

'Of course, Bella had help on the inside,' Voldemort said smugly. 'Draco Malfoy was a wonderful fount of information. But I cannot leave out the other help I received inside the school. Of course, the help was not always reliable, but then I do appreciate the difficult situation he is in, having pretended to have deserted me in order to be welcomed back into Dumbledore's loving fold. It is never easy, being a spy, but I daresay Severus has made it an art form.'

'What?' Harry snapped.

'Oh, Severus, of course,' said Voldemort, ignoring Harry. 'I think it's time these young people knew about their favorite teacher, don't you. Please, don't be shy. Say hello to Harry Potter and his friends.'

To a one, the seven of them gasped as Professor Snape stepped forward, removing his Death Eater hood. His hooked nose and black eyes looked grotesque in the sickly firelight.

'I knew it,' said Harry in fury. 'I knew you were a traitor!'

'Shut up, Potter,' Snape said in a bored voice.

'Dumbledore trusted you!' Hermione yelled, looking positively affronted that she had, in fact, been wrong about Snape. Ron could hardly feel good, however, that he had always been right.

'Dumbledore trusts a lot of people he shouldn't,' said Snape coolly.

'Yes,' said Voldemort, his tone of voice suggesting that Snape's part in the conversation was over. Snape immediately understood, bowed, and faded back into the crowd of Death Eaters. 'Dumbledore has always been a bit of a fool about such things.

'But let us not leave out one last important player in our little game,' said Voldemort. 'Wormtail, come and receive your due, won't you?'

Ron felt his stomach clench again as the short, squat man he'd seen in Hogsmeade crept his way through the line of Death Eaters and bowed before Voldemort.

'My lord,' he said, in his high-pitched, wheezy voice.

'Wormtail, I'm afraid these young people were under the impression that you would be doing me the service of spreading my little gift to the Muggle world,' said Voldemort. 'In this they were somewhat mistaken. There are much easier ways to infect Muggles with disease. I found that out from my lovely scientists, may they rest in peace. Wormtail will help, of course--he has, shall we say, a rather thorough knowledge of the sewer network in this country, and he can easily help spread my sickness among the vermin. But before I can do that I must make sure he is immune to the effects of Nectaris Mortiferum. The Draught of Life, Nectaris Vitale, in this cauldron here'--Voldemort indicated the cauldron to the right of the chair--'will serve as his protection. But in the meantime I think sending a little of my illness into the water and food supplies will be sufficient to...what's the phrase..."get the ball rolling." That said, I can hardly let loose my lovely little poison without testing it properly.'

'What do you mean?' said Harry sharply. He reached for Susan's hand, and it was slapped away, hard, by the Death Eater holding onto him.

'Well, you didn't really expect me to test my little concoction on one of my own people, did you?' Voldemort asked. 'What a waste of manpower that would be. No, I think one of you will do quite nicely as a test subject for the Draught of Death. And since this little elixir is meant to purge the world of filthy Muggles, it seems only fitting to test the formula on the Mudblood, doesn't it?'