Reconstruction of a Death Eater

Harry screamed, his back arching high off the bed as the scar on his head grew blood blisters which burst and sent thick, coagulated blood clumping down his face. Dean and Seamus came awake with their wands drawn, Neville grunted in his sleep, and Ron was there at Harry's side even before the first scream stopped echoing. He managed to catch his smaller friend as Harry convulsed and all but threw himself off the bed as he writhed in agony.

"Get Dumbledore," Ron commanded tersely as he struggled to hold Harry. Seamus grunted acknowledgement as he ran while Dean lent his strength to help Ron stop Harry hurting himself in his fit.

~~*~~

"My faithful few, holders of my trust, bearers of my Mark, welcome to my court," Lord Voldemort said in rolling tones only faintly underlined with a hissing mockery. "Tonight we welcome our brothers from overseas and those we have freed from durance vile. Come, come forward and allow my gaze to rest upon your faces, allow the sight to balm my soul and strengthen the bond between us."

There was a shuffling in the crowd that thronged the decaying grandeur of the Riddle mansion, eddies forming as certain people moved jerkily through the crowd, often not of their own volition. Those who had been newly freed from Azkaban and had professed a wish to join Lord Voldemort, those who had come from pure-blood families and recently come of age, those who had come over from Europe and even as far away as Africa and America, all came to kneel before the strongest Dark Lord since the rise and fall of Grindelwald.

Eyeing the gathering, Lord Voldemort hid fine contempt behind a mask of haughty superiority. In earlier times he had made his newly marked lieutenants prove their value with a murder of his own choice. Some had failed, some had succeeded spectacularly, but each had been tied to him with chains of blood, guilt and terror. Those days had been a luxury, the momentum of his ascent slow but steady as he tried to persuade the majority of the wizarding world to his side with honeyed words and clever politics. Well, that time of leniency was no more! He now realised that the wizarding world was populated by complacent fools and deceitful conniving liars with all the back bone and courage of jellyfish.

Oh, a few were worthy enemies, the damned prolific Weasleys, it being all that accursed Molly Prewitt's fault, although they were slowly being crushed under the weight of his ire. Moody and his little gang of thugs at the Ministry were somewhat of a pain in his side, but mostly they were just grist for his mill; his might would crush out all resistance as he rose to the ultimate power. Even if the resurrection of Albus Dumbledore was proved to be true, the resistance offered by the Order of the Burning Chickens had been negated by the enmity of their very own Ministry and all but sidelined in the real game of control. It was completely hilarious that they put their faith in a child with a scar who had been subverted and undermined from the very first day; by his Muggle relatives, then Dumbledore's complete mishandling of the brat and finally by Severus' natural and vitriolic, on-going antagonism. Oh, he had made some sort of showing at Lord Voldemort's own resurrection, but that little loophole would be taken care of.

The Ministry was broken and scattered, surviving on the charity of Muggles, an appalling thought; Diagon Alley was all but boarded up and deserted, most of the buildings and businesses destroyed. Azkaban was a farce, a proving ground for his latest batch of recruits and no longer a place of power for the control of wizarding criminals. Stonehenge... ah, Stonehenge was completely destroyed by the Muggle attempts to 'recreate' it in their bungling, pre-packed way. Their constant trampling over the consecrated ground, with their squalling brats, half-baked ceremonies and picnic lunches, had driven the protection left by the Druids deep underground where it was almost inaccessible except at a very few rare moments during the sun-year. Even the influx of magic his February working had engendered was not enough to heal the damage the magical centres of Britain had suffered, and it was his for the taking, as per plan.

Only Hogwarts remained as a power centre in the wizarding world, a fortress of Light in the darkness and at last on very shaky ground. The wards had been attuned to Albus Dumbledore and his death had been a blow like never before. Minerva McGonagall was a powerful witch, that he did not dispute, but she was not half as powerful as Dumbledore, not even as strong as Severus when all was said and done.

He paused for a moment in his gloating and examined the conundrum that was Severus Snape, twisting and prodding at the impressions and intelligences he had gleaned of his ex-lover over the last few months. Severus was a double-edged sword, always had been, and now Tom Riddle wondered if he was an assassin's dagger poised in the shadows, ready to strike at an unguarded moment. Surely not, after all, the boy had saved his life on a few memorable occasions and had always obeyed him... mostly obeyed him.... Never bowed to his dominion, only bowed to his person when it suited, Tom thought slowly and grimly, then shelved the thought to be dealt with later. He was unreliable and would be made to suffer!

To take Hogwarts he needed troops, willing bodies to be sacrificed as canon fodder to break down the defences and thus allow him to infest the school in the shortest time possible. Oh, he had an indestructible army of Inferi ready to throw at the fortress, thanks to his control of the Elements, but alas, Inferi were unthinking and were simply the battering rams of the magical army. Toss them at an obstacle, and they would not stop until it was either destroyed, or they were. However, if thought and strategy were required then living beings were necessary to guide the Inferi efforts.

The Vampire Families and the werewolf packs would have been perfectly suited to the role; all but a few minor Houses proved to be unusually stubborn in coming to his banner, damn them. He blamed a few die-hard snobs in the Vampire Families who would not even listen to an 'outsider' - even if he did speak flawless High Tongue - for turning the Vampire majority away. Of course Jonathon McCarthy and Remus Lupin were at the root of the majority of the werewolf refusals to cooperate, but they would be dealt with in the new order. They would all suffer the total might of his ire in the fullness of time. Already his European allies had attacked and destroyed one of the fiercest werewolf packs, wiping out the main core of the werewolf resistance, in a very successful surprise raid.

The rest of the wizarding world was so cowed by the series of attacks his people had perpetrated, they would not raise a hand to help the school, even if their children were in mortal peril. He gloated silently as he continued to survey the gathering, his foreign-born, especially imported and absolutely disposable army of European and African wizards, all ready to help with the 'cause' and glorify the pure-blood ideals of strength and dominion over the Muggles of the world, for a cut of the 'spoils'. They had no ties with Hogwarts and no ties to the children they would be disposing of, therefore there would be no messy and inconvenient crisis of conscience when the school fell.

The recruits knelt submissively at his feet, each head bowed before him, a sea of necks to be walked upon with impunity. At a muttered word, each obediently bared his left arm, and Lord Voldemort pulled out his wand to commence the first massed marking of over two hundred willing and warm bodies who would give up their freedom of will to take part in the reaving and rapine of the most magical school in the world; it was ironic, thrilling and empowering.

Morsmordre was powerful spell, burning into the flesh and psyche of a wizard or witch, binding his magic and branding it, siphoning off a certain percentage and feeding it to the new master of their soul. The rush of power made Lord Voldemort glow an eerie pale grey as he was reenergised and revitalised with the flood of new vigour. Many of the newly branded cried out in agony, not a few fainting with the pain of binding. One or two suddenly wondered what in Merlin's name they had done, but it was too late, they were now subject to the madman's dominion and orders.

"My loyal Death Eaters, the plans for the conquest and utter destruction of Hogwarts are finally coming to fruition, and soon, within days, we will go forth and tear the place down stone by stone with the help of our allies the Giants and the trolls who are renowned for their stone breaking abilities. By fire and flood, by wind and earth, we will obliterate the monstrous symbol of enslavement from the face of Wizarding Britain so that the magical folk of this Holy Island, once home to Merlin and the Druids, may take their rightful place as the rulers of this green and pleasant land!"

~~*~~

Harry shuddered and whimpered in his artificially induced coma, unable to wake and escape the nightmare meeting. The flood of power caused by the investiture of so many had ripped away all the Occulmentic barriers he and Severus had spent such a long time creating over the connection he shared with Tom Riddle. Now he saw with his eyes and felt with his nerves and shared the sick enjoyment of the hot, bitter flood as it rushed through their shared veins. Thoughts - some too alien to comprehend - battered at Harry's breached barriers, threatening to drown him in a tainted mill-race of irresistible wickedness. Plans and schemes, meetings satisfactory and galling, moments of terror and of unmitigated enjoyment flickered and pinged through his unwilling brain, layering him with a coating of filth and depravity that clung and mocked.

Faces, incidents, snippets of conversation and sly, voyeuristic peeps into unsuspecting minds melded with coldly logical planning and hot, bitter hatred. Hogwarts, the word/concept/love/terror stood out like a rock in the maelstrom; something to cling to, and Harry latched onto it for his sanity's sake. It was not his Hogwarts but an idealised and glowing representation, almost cartoon-like as it turned and moved. Waves of blobby darkness moved forward, some giant blobs, some smaller blobs, but mostly just undulating waves of bodies being tossed at the glowing walls until they began to draw away the unnatural lightness. The walls wavered then swelled into focus in places, wards flickering and moving, stones being removed and rearranged, holes appearing and corridors disappearing into unrelenting darkness. The light was gone and the stones exploded, tossing Harry away into the blackness and maniacally mocking laughter of a victory savoured past all sanity. Small, crawling figures were torn apart, some recognisable representations of well known people, others merely blobs without real form or focus.

It was all future dreaming, a week or a few days, it was hard to tell, hard to chart in this soul sapping pit of disgust. The small spark that was all Harry had left of himself was frantic, a mouse scurrying around on a wheel in the dark. All he could think of was escape, a way out of the morass, a guiding flame to lead him safely back to reality and himself. 'I want to go home,' his spirit wailed like a lost child, and suddenly a glow arose to his left and a cliché rekindling the slowly extinguishing spark of his consciousness. 'Home is where the heart is.' Ginny! The red glow became a flame guiding him bringing him out of the terror, dancing and bobbing but definitely leading him away from the swamp of despair and dissolution of his soul. The dirty black scarf of depression dragged across his psyche but could not resist the unquenchable glory of his Ginny's very existence. All taint burned away in the flame of his love for his beautiful girl, his love.

"I'm here, Harry, I'm here."

The voice echoed in the darkness, drawing him home, and his eyes finally managed to open a tiny squint, blurring and tearing until the glorious flame was right there in his face. A pale thing moved and he felt the liquid silk of her hair running through his fingers, grounding him and pulling him out of the quagmire back into the reality of the hospital wing of Hogwarts. "Ginny."

The anxious watchers let out a collective breath of relief as Harry finally awoke from his tormented sleep, recognising Ginny then sitting up to recognise them all. He slumped in relief then looked around wildly, startling Madame Pomfrey when he grabbed her arm. "A Pensieve, I need a Pensieve immediately," he gasped.

~~*~~

Fifty-one werewolves in less than thirty-six hours! Unbelievable losses, McCarthy thought grimly as he Apparated to Hogsmeade and began the fast lope toward Hogwarts. The Dog Devils, all thirty-eight pack members, had been slaughtered in Luttonvale, their bodies staked out and mutilated, the Morsmodre carved into their flesh as well as hovering in the sky. Thirteen members of the rather more stable Rothampton Ramblers had been killed before the rest of the group could drive off their attackers.

At his side ran Anaglypta Harkness, Alpha female of the Derry Girls, the female counterpart of the Dog Devils, blood in her eye and a snarl on her lips as she paced him step for step. Other Alphas had demanded they be part of the delegation to the Lord of Hogwarts, but Jonathon knew Professor Dumbledore would not appreciate his school being invaded by a pack of wild wolves with mayhem on their minds. Besides, there were other werewolf strongholds and lands to be guarded in the coming conflict.

Remus met them at the doors, nodding to his Alpha and lifting a lip to Lypy, who snarled back and grabbed his forearm to pull him into a rough hug. "We've come to kill some people, point us," she snarled in Remus' ear, and he nodded agreement with a growl of his own.

"There will be throats enough for all by the end of the month," Remus promised her grimly then yelped as McCarthy swatted them both over the back of their heads. Both wolves whipped around with bared teeth then backed down carefully when the Alpha Prime raised an eyebrow in supercilious questioning. "Sorry, Jon," Remus muttered. "Come this way."

Lypy sniggered and bumped his hip as they strode after their Alpha, glancing around curiously as they moved through the halls. She had not attended Hogwarts, being a Beauxbatons graduate and surveyed the heavy grey stone construction of the old castle with a favourable eye. It was well build and would withstand a lot of punishment before the walls cracked or broke. She could taste the wards nipping at her as she passed, testing her, finding her beast and making sure it was safely under her control. She wondered what would happen if she let it free within the confines and immediately felt the tightening of the wards around her. "This place doesn't like our kind, Lupin," she remarked as they approached a gargoyle.

"It doesn't mind werewolves as such, but it dislikes the bloodlust that you are presenting," Remus remarked as he guided the party up to the headmaster's office, opening the door politely.

"Welcome, Mr McCarthy, and Ms Harkness, please, have a seat. May I offer you tea?" Dumbledore asked hospitably, waving his guests to the conversation grouping around the fireplace.

Jonathon went graciously, but Lypy snarled her impatience, her anger spilling over, making Remus shake his head. "We don't have time for all this nitpicking..." she began but was quelled by McCarthy's quietly menacing growl. "Apologies, Alpha."

"Please accept my sympathy for your loss; the Daily Prophet was not very forthcoming with details, I'm afraid, but I infer that it was a grave one," Dumbledore began wearily.

"It was; one of the most fearsome packs was totally wiped out to a man, and one of the most liberal packs was very badly mauled. The Dog Devils protected a large number of our pack areas and meeting grounds during both Moon and other times. Their loss is something like the Ministry losing all the hit wizards at one blow."

"Will you be able to take care of your people now?" Dumbledore asked worriedly.

"Oh yes, werewolves are, by nature, protective of our own and others will step up to take up the guard duties. Mordecai Fontana's pack has stepped into the southern areas, and Bethsheba Greyback has stepped into the northern warding."

"Greyback?" Dumbledore couldn't help the note of alarm that entered his voice at the name.

Lypy laughed a harsh barking sound. "Beth's okay, a real Greyback, not like her rabid cousin Fenrir. I've known her for the past fifty years and a more honourable bitch doesn't exist. We are prepared to bring the girls up to play if Voldemort dares show his face anywhere near one of our kind again. Since Remus tells us that this is his most likely target, then we are yours to command. Between us, we can muster seventy wolves, most of us seasoned and capable fighters both as humans and as werewolves. The Alpha Prime has sanctioned the action, and we accept the Beta Prime as our commander for the duration of this action." She turned and nodded sharply to Remus who nodded back equally sharply.

"Seventy trained fighters? My, my, that's quite a force of arms. Er, are they all, er, wizards?"

"About seven are trained wizards, the rest of us are witches, most trained and schooled, a few home-schooled in the Dark Arts as well as basic witchcraft, one or two are totally untrained and quite random, but we tend to send them in first so we can see where their spells are going."

Jonathon and Remus exchanged mischievous grins as the Headmaster looked slightly taken aback at this proud and open assessment of the troops. "Female werewolves are more fierce when aroused than any male ever dares to be, believe me, and more cooperative in a pack action," Jonathon assured the old man with a grin.

"My girls will gnaw the faces off any bloody Death Eater that crosses their path, then tear their heads off just for fun," Lypy assured the Headmaster earnestly.

"Welcome aboard," Dumbledore smiled, offering his hand to the werewolf who grinned as she shook it firmly.

"So, where do we start?" Jonathon asked.

~~*~~

Scrimgeour glared at the Minister before they both flooed up to Hogwarts, stepping out into the headmaster's office and immediately pulling his wand as something grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him off the ground. A second later he was deposited on the nearest sofa as the Minister himself arrived. Glaring at the woman who was turning away, he wondered how the hell she had done that to him, but she was more interested in checking the Minster's arrival. Minerva McGonagall was sitting opposite him, grinning like a, well, a cat at his discomfort.

"Well, now that we are all here, we can begin," Dumbledore nodded and smiled, beckoning everyone over to the huge Pensieve set in the middle of the office floor. "We have retrieved this memory, and we would like some help interpreting it. We believe it is vital to the war plans of Voldemort and will give us an advantage if we managed to read it properly. Shall we begin?"

"Complete waste of time," Rufus muttered as he joined the group around the bowl, consisting of the Minister, Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin and, of all people, Potter.

He fell into the memory and immediately lost his footing as the spatial relationships were destroyed. Up was left drifting to down and down was right drifting to backwards, the model of Hogwarts tumbling and turning in midair or below him or above. He let out a small 'meep' of consternation and found himself meeting a pair of maliciously amused black eyes. Someone to his left gagged, and he almost smiled when he realised the Minister was suffering a bout of vertigo even more severe than his. Then what he was actually witnessing caught his attention and he forgot about scruffy school boys, arrogant spies and badly performing Ministers in his sudden intense interest. Watching the movement of the stones, the inflation and deflation of sections, the constantly changing ward signatures, he could almost get the sense of it, but it eluded his grasp as he tried to force himself forward and further into the memory.

"It's a video game," someone muttered to his right and Lupin suddenly walked into view apparently unaffected by the changing versions of 'down'. "Look, look here, ignore the changing perspectives and follow the main thrust of the colours. He wants to send a probe here and here and here, then actually assault here while no one is looking, then he is going to send troops down here, probably broomstick born, or - does he have access to dragons or thestrals? - broomsticks then. The wards... what does he plan to do to the wards, change them, recalibrate them..."

"Give them a virus?" Potter piped up, giggling.

"Merlin, Harry, that's brilliant! Give the wards a virus! Who are they keyed to, Headmaster? If you were ill or delirious, how would the wards react? Would he be able to re-key them to himself if you were out of action?"

"Always possible, Remus, brilliant supposition actually," Dumbledore murmured, patting the werewolf on the back. "Has anyone any idea of when the attacks might occur? Any feelings, speculations, possibilities? Then let us return to my office."

The group were somewhat subdued as they sat around the conference table the Headmaster had conjured. The Minister and the Head of the Aurory were interested in watching the interaction between the various heads of their new allies. Only Severus Snape seemed to be completely divorced from the lively debate that sprang up between the headmaster and the werewolf Alpha, his head sunk between his shoulders as he stared off into space.

"You are very quiet, Severus, any thoughts?" Professor Dumbledore asked into a moment of silence.

"About the attack date, no, but I think I might have a way of finding out without alerting the Dark Lord. It is a long shot, but anything is better than nothing at all, don't you think?" Severus mused, almost to himself. "After all, Dylantin does owe me a favour of my choosing, does he not?" The most evil smirk anyone had ever seen suddenly graced the Potion Master's face as he turned to face the headmaster fully. "Yes, Dylantin Rosier has owed me a favour for nearly twenty years, and I would imagine he has forgotten all about it by now. I think it is about time to remind him."