The Phoenix and the Serpent

The Phoenix and the Serpent

Chapter VI : In The Lair of the Serpent

Onyx Isle is located many miles south of England, far from any sight of land. During the Phoenix War, the Isle defied all attempts of pinpointing its exact location as it had the tendency to vanish and reappear somewhere else, probably via a Permanent Apparate Spell System installed by the Death Eaters (See Apparation, EA Vol. 1) ... Made of dark igneous rock and hardened lava flows, the Isle emerged after an undersea volcanic eruption of substantial intensity. Sharp crags jutting along its shores create a treacherous natural barrier against ships...

..No one is certain who had built the ruins on the Isle. Some historians claim the Isle had been the hidden retreat of Morgan le Fay. Others say Havlan had used the Isle during the height of the Ogre Wars. Still others believe it had been Grindelwald's forward base for his aborted assault on Britain.

One thing for certain is that the Dark Lord rediscovered the Isle shortly after his second rise to power. When he landed on its shores, he had reputedly said, "Here shall I make my forge to darkness." He named it Onyx Isle and rebuilt the fortress in its heart.

-- Excerpts from "Onyx Isle", Encyclopedia Arcana

The Flying Dutchman had been alive once: a sturdy ship with tall masts and sails like the white wings of doves, running trade voyages as far north as Iceland and as far south as the Cape of Good Hope. That was long, long ago. Now her journeys were confined to but a handful of places. Her steady wooden planks had gone corpse-gray, her sails pale as an old crone's hair. Her own captain would not have recognized her, but then he now slept at the bottom of the sea, sent there centuries before by the ship's current captain.

The Flying Dutchman ferried only one passenger that day, a tall stranger who stood at the ship's bow. He was scarecrow-thin, pallid, and clad in black from the tall collar of his billowing cloak to the shiny leather of his boots. A long crimson scarf clung around his shoulders and a skullcap covered his bald head. His ivory beard was well-trimmed, his long, hooked fingers were lined with golden rings. A pair of dark round glasses perched on his aqualine nose.

He stood with his hands on the railing, staring into the mists beyond. The sea was choppy today--a storm wind stirred whitecaps from the waves, and he breathed in the heavy scent of brine. Presently, the captain of the ship, a stooped, gap-toothed shadow of a man, floated over to where he stood.

"Pleas'nt mornin' to ye, sir," he said in a disembodied voice.

"And to you, Captain," returned the man.

"Ye can't see it yet, not through this weath'r."

"Actually," he said, "I can see it just fine." Far off, the stone crags of Onyx Isle emerged from the mist, like a jaw of a gigantic sea monster. "How do we get past the barriers surrounding the Isle?"

The captain cackled, not a pleasant sound.

"Me bonnie ship knows how, sir, ye'll see."

The stranger did not have to wait long to find out what the Captain meant. Several yards from the jagged rocks the ship began to rise into the air. It flew higher and higher, clearing the massive spires with ease.

"Interesting," the stranger said as he watched the rocks pass beneath them. "Your vessel more than lives up to its name."

"Aye," replied the ghost, 'tis not bad place to be, me Flyin' Dutchman. Unless ye've to spend all 'ternity in it."

The stranger grabbed the rails for support as the ship landed on the rocky beach with a loud crash. When the ship steadied itself, he straightened up and adjusted his glasses.

"I thank you, Captain, for taking me here. It has been a pleasant journey."

The ghost bellowed his laughter as they moved to the gangway, "Thar's somethin' I won't be hearin' again! Them Death Eaters don't get a wink o' sleep in me Flyin' Dutchman--they be quakin' in their beds long into the night. But you..."

They stood at the plank for a moment. "I would shake hands," said the stranger, "but seeing as we're on different stages of corporeality, perhaps a salute will do?" He did so.

"Aye," grinned the captain, returning the gesture. "Glory to the Dark Lord."

"Yes," replied the man, "quite." He turned and walked down the sloping gangway onto the rocky shore.

The captain called after him. "The Death Eaters will be comin' to get their shipment. You did let them know yer comin', aye?"

The stranger said nothing, but turned his gaze up to his destination.

The fortress loomed before him, massive as a thundercloud. In the places where its walls touched the land's cliff edges, it created a hundred foot drop into the swirling ocean below. Its highest tower vanished into the low gray clouds overhead. Though hewn from the cold gray stone of the Isle, the fortress somehow did not seem part of it. It looked more like a huge claw clutching onto the heart of the land, an image reinforced by the steel, talon-shaped spikes running along its battlements.

"So this is where you live now, Voldemort?" the man whispered. "What a difference a year can make."

He began trudging up the path carved out of the volcanic rock. He had walked perhaps fifty paces when the air suddenly shimmered and eight Death Eaters Apparated around him, wands in hand.

"Halt," said the one directly in front of him. He did.

"Trespasser," the leader went on, "you have entered the territory of the Dark Lord Voldemort. You will drop your wand and surrender at once. Resist and you will be killed where you stand."

"You're rather late," the man said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I expected to be accosted the moment I set foot on the beach."

The leader narrowed his eyes.

"I have business with your master," the visitor went on. "I am Andros Gallowbraid. Perhaps someone here has heard of me? Ah, I see," he said, noting their blank looks. "All new recruits. Charming. Now stand aside."

"Be silent!" roared the leader. "I remember no Andros Gallowbraid on the roster of Death Eaters. Now yield, or die!"

"My dear fellow," Gallowbraid said mildly, "you do not remember my name in the roster because it simply isn't listed. I am no Death Eater..."

The others quickly raised their wands.

"...but I am an agent of the Dark Lord. He knows me from way back, and will be most displeased at the mistreatment of a comrade. Now, much as I hate to repeat myself, get out of my way."

The Death Eaters began to look uncertain at these words and at Gallowbraid's relaxed demeanor, but their leader remained adamant. "The Dark Lord will confirm that himself, when I bring you before him in a Full-Body Bind." Gallowbraid heard a grin in that voice. "I see no proof of your identity--all I have are words! And now, much as I hate to repeat myself, surrender or--"

Gallowbraid muttered something under his breath. The Death Eater abruptly stopped talking and stood motionless.

Gallowbraid nodded to him. "What's the matter, my friend? Weren't you just saying something?"

All eyes now turned to the leader, who kept staring straight at the trespasser.

"Come now, say something. I believe most of your sentences end with 'or die.'"

There was silence, then a low groan emitted from the leader's throat. The Death Eaters exchanged alarmed glances. The one behind Gallowbraid aimed his wand and began muttering a spell. His incantation ended with a scream as his own wand turned on him, igniting his robes. "Put it out, put it out!" he cried as he flailed about, flames consuming him.

Another Death Eater tried to cast a curse. Gallowbraid merely threw a glance at her, then her wand arm twisted like a corkscrew and she fell to the ground screaming. Her horrified companions could only watch as her arm kept deforming itself, and when it broke with a wet snapping sound she passed out from the agony. Some of her comrades dropped their wands. Others retreated several steps more from the intruder.

Throughout the chaos, Gallowbraid had kept his hands behind his back.

"My friend," he said to the still-frozen leader, "you have had the grave misfortune of being born after my time, and if I may add, being perhaps a tad too ambitious. But fear not. I will commend your bravery to the Dark Lord when I meet with him. Perhaps he will remember the devotion you have shown today, and will allow other youths to be inspired by your example." He smiled a cruel, pointed grin.

The leader suddenly hurtled backwards as if struck by an invisible giant fist. All eyes were riveted to his body as he flew through the air without so much as a scream, rocketing headfirst towards a lone pillar of solid rock--

And froze in mid-flight one yard from a deadly collision.

Gallowbraid turned his gaze up to the lone Death Eater who had Apparated on top of the pillar, wand pointed at the suspended body. Like his comrades, he was clad in black from head to foot, his features concealed by a mask. The sea breeze made his robes billow like a dark cloud. With a wave of his wand he countered the curse. The young Death Eater dropped to the ground, dazed but alive.

The newcomer's voice was deep and calm. "Magnus Aragon, Captain of the Onyx Wing." He slipped his wand into his belt. In an instant he Reapparated a few meters before Gallowbraid. Even on level ground, he towered head and shoulders over the others.

Gallowbraid tapped his chin. "Magnus. Yes, I've heard of you. Lucius Malfoy's kinsman, correct? I see the rumors about your skills with the wand are true..."

"You have hexed a Death Eater officer with intent to kill," Magnus interrupted coldly. "An act of treason on the Dark Lord's own Isle."

"Treason?" Gallowbraid repeated, smiling at Magnus. "I was merely instructing these young men and women on the dictum our Lord Voldemort wishes to ingrain into those who serve him. Death is power, and power is the raison d'etre of you Death Eaters. Surely you can see that."

Magnus's hood fell back as he removed his mask. He was young, but the hair that fell onto his shoulders was coarse and bone-white. His face could have been cut from stone, from his wide forehead to the solid chin above his thick neck. "What I see," he said, "is an officer nearly killed for performing his duty." His face remained empty, but his pale blue eyes blazed with ill-concealed fury. "And the Dark Order exists only to serve Lord Voldemort; you insult us all by saying otherwise."

Gallowbraid laughed. "How simple you are, dancing so willingly to every jerk of your master's strings. Very well, play your little games if you must. I have my business to attend to. Let me pass."

In response, Magnus drew back his cloak with his left arm. His wand hung like a sword from a leather sheath on his belt. His right hand flexed minutely.

Gallowbraid's grin vanished. "So be it. I will oblige you, Captain, since you're so eager to die."

The Death Eaters surrounding them faltered back another step. The two men were only staring stonily at each other, yet the very air between them seemed charged, as if they were about to be struck by lightning.

But before either could move, yet another man Apparated in their midst. He was short, rotund, balding, and his face was red with anxiety. A hand of pure silver glittered from his left arm.

"Cease and desist!" he bellowed, "Death Eaters stand down! What's happening here?"

"Nothing to be concerned with, sir," growled Magnus. "Merely disposing of some refuse that washed up on the beach."

Pettigrew whirled to face Gallowbraid and instantly paled, a look of recognition and horror crossing his face. "You! What are you doing here! How dare you simply barge in--"

Gallowbraid smiled again, but remained facing his opponent. "A pleasure to see you, Peter Pettigrew. Or do you prefer Wormtail? Are you well?"

"You're jeopardizing the Isle's security! Lord Voldemort will--"

"Yes, yes. I would love to discuss the virtues of a safe haven with you. Just now, however, I must keep a pressing engagement with His Lordship. Do you mind showing me the way, or must I persist on my own?"

"I-I received no instructions to let you in!" Wormtail said in a shrill voice.

"I received instructions to let myself in."

Pettigrew bit down on his fear and outrage, and turned to Magnus. "Captain Aragon! In the name of Lord Voldemort, I must ask you to stand down!"

Magnus did not budge, kept his gaze locked on Gallowbraid's dark glasses.

"Magnus! I said stand down! Lord Voldemort will not tolerate any further aggression!"

Several tense moments passed. Finally, Magnus allowed his cloak to fall back over his wand. His right hand, however, did not relax.

"Well, well," Gallowbraid said, "Looks like you have moved up in the world, Wormtail. Now, the Dark Lord?"

He began walking again without waiting for a reply. The circle of Death Eaters hastily broke to let him pass. All save for Magnus.

As Gallowbraid passed him, Magnus said, "As Officer-on-Duty, I must warn you not to wander freely through the fortress without Voldemort's expressed permission." His voice dropped a notch. "If you stray, one cannot say what sort of misfortune may befall you." Then he Disapparated.

Gallowbraid continued up the path towards the fortress. "Coming, Wormtail?" he called. "I don't think you want me stumbling about the castle. I might meet another zealous youngster intent on stopping me. Don't want to jeopardize security any further now, do we?"

Pettigrew hesitated, considered reporting directly to the Dark Lord, but decided his punishment would be more severe if he could not contain another potential disaster. "Don't just stand there!" he shouted at the remaining Death Eaters. "Bring the cargo inside. Be quick about it! We're behind schedule as it is!" Then he scurried after Gallowbraid.

When he caught up, Gallowbraid said, "I wasn't aware of the Isle's whereabouts, but the Captain was accommodating enough to take me here along with your new shipment."

Pettigrew's eyes narrowed. "How did you find out about the shipment? Who told you about The Flying Dutchman?"

"I was in France when I received Voldemort's summons. I contacted Crabbe while he was in Wales and he introduced me to the Captain. As for your precious cargo, I've no interest in that. I don't know what you're hiding in there."

"You expect me to believe you?"

Gallowbraid laughed. "Believe what you want, Wormtail. It matters little to me either way. Where is Lord Voldemort?"

"...He's in the North Tower," Pettigrew said through gritted teeth.

The main entrance was blocked by a portcullis of black steel. "Open the gate!" shouted Pettigrew. A confirmation rang down from the gatehouse and portcullis began to lift, groaning like a tortured man. The two of them walked into the gloomy maw of the castle. Pettigrew had to walk slowly, but Gallowbraid did not once stumble in the dark.

They came to the main hall of the fortress. Large, torch-bearing statues flanked the huge double doors of studded brass. Gallowbraid studied them as he passed. The one to his left was ox-headed: a minotaur. The one to his right was a horse-headed tikbalang, an earth spirit indigenous to Southeast AsiaGallowbraid noted that their eyes followed him as he walked.

The main hall itself was vast enough to fit a full army. Six stout granite pillars, carved to give the impression of monstrous, coiled serpents, supported the high domed ceiling. Long banners of the Dark Mark hung from the walls. Frescoes featuring scenes of death and destruction had been painted on the walls below them. Some Death Eaters were busily making yet another, each of their wands directing at least half a dozen brushes.

"I must commend your workforce, Wormtail," said Gallowbraid, "for creating such a fortress in but a year."

"The outer sections were from the original fortress," replied Pettigrew, "but many of the newer sections were taken from an old castle in Bulgaria. It took a tremendous amount of spellcasting to move it here piece by piece, but in the end we saved more time."

"The architects are graduates from Durmstrang, perhaps?"

"They are. His Lordship chose only the best to work on his home. As it is, we have completed only the structure of the fortress--"

"Leaving only the decorations unfinished. So who is handling that? You?" The cruel smile returned.

"Malfoy's wife is overseeing the final touches to the Dark Lord's home," seethed Wormtail. "I am his Adjutant. I work on military matters."

"Of course you do. Now, which way to the Tower?"

They walked to the center of the hall where lay a circular dais of black marble. The platform was surrounded by a round steel railing with gaps on opposite sides. Wormtail quickly climbed onto the platform through a gap, motioning for Gallowbraid to follow. When they both stood within the railing, Wormtail said, "This is His Lordship's private mode of transportation in the fortress." He pointed his wand at the floor and said, "North Tower."

The circular tiles dislodged themselves and lifted them soundlessly through the air. Gallowbraid looked down at the swiftly receding floor, then turned his face up to the ceiling.

Several large holes gaped in the stone, and the platform slipped into one of them. Inside was darkness and a warm draft, which for a moment gave Gallowbraid the impression of being in the gullet of some gigantic beast.

The tiles shifted direction beneath their feet. Seconds later, a pale green light seeped into the passageway from the exit above. It grew brighter as they approached, until they entered an antechamber. Gallowbraid saw that the light emanated from dozens of torches and braziers burning with yellow-green flames. Turning to his right, he faced a pair of massive ironroot double doors.

The platform stopped at the level of the floor and both men got off. Wormtail moved to the double doors, but they opened on their own and Lucius Malfoy stepped out.

"Ah, there you are, Peter," he said, then shifted his attention completely to their guest. "Andros Gallowbraid, a pleasure to see you again! It's been some time." If Malfoy had any misgivings about seeing Gallowbraid, he made certain not to show it. He even held out his hand, which Gallowbraid accepted.

"The pleasure is mine, Lucius. It is refreshing to finally meet a member of the Inner Circle," He ignored Wormtail's glare.

"I had just informed His Lordship of your arrival," Malfoy continued. "Let's not tarry any longer. The Dark Lord has asked me to show you into his Chambers."

"My thanks, Lucius."

Malfoy moved to make way for them. The walked through a long hallway, lined with similar green-flame torches.

"We received word of your arrival from the Officer-on-Duty," Malfoy said, "I understand there was some trouble..."

"Hardly," Gallowbraid replied. "Some upstart lieutenant wanted to curry the Dark Lord's favor. His Captain interfered with his schooling."

"I see. In any event, please excuse my nephew. He tends to be overly scrupulous in such matters. I have advised him to overlook such trivial things, yet he persists. Ah, the youth! To be fair, Voldemort allows him and his cohorts free reign on the military because of their unquestioned sense of duty."

Gallowbraid nodded. "I'll grant him that. He certainly did have balls."

"To put it that way, yes he does. Amazing, isn't it, the loyalty that may be gained from such men?"

"What did Lord Voldemort promise them?"

"What they wanted, of course. A new World Order, free from the shackles of incompetent civil governments, a world they could shape with their own dreams and their own hands. Or something to that effect. Whatever keeps them faithful.

"And the Dark Lord builds his army on the backs of such loyal servants. Why, it was this generation's efforts that allowed the rapid reorganization of the Death Eaters. We culled some of our people from Durmstrang, but others came from abroad--subversives hiding from their governments, mercenaries, riffraff, et cetera. We have more members in our ranks than we had last time, yet all are well-trained and disciplined. All thanks to our young commanders. So you see, it would be a grievous blow to the Dark Order should we, ah, lose Magnus's services."

Gallowbraid laughed inwardly. Malfoy had not changed over the years. If it was true that the Death Eaters had reformed into a well-organized syndicate, then he had made certain his family was built into the power structure before the time of victory. Magnus was an investment worth protecting.

"Tell me something, Lucius," he asked abruptly, "why did the Death Eaters attack Thistleberry two nights before? I do not find any merit in such a piddling little village."

"Ah," Malfoy said, smirking, "Lord Voldemort said our supply of Muggle volunteers was coming up short."

Gallowbraid frowned. "Volunteers?"

"I would love to give you the details, but His Lordship wants the pleasure of explaining it himself."

They reached the end of the hallway, where stood another set of heavy double doors. Upon them was a large steel sculpture of a snake biting its own tail. Gallowbaid recognized Orobouros, the Eternal Serpent.

"Welcome to our Master's--er, how should I say it--Meditation Chamber," said Malfoy. "It is not really wise to disturb him while he's in here, but I am certain this is a matter of great import. Would you do the honors, Peter?"

Wormtail did not look happy at all with this request, but he stepped forward and raised the knocker. He released it, and a loud bong sounded into the room.

"Master!" called Wormtail. "Your loyal servant brings you your honored guest, Andros Gallowbraid! We humbly ask for an audience, my Lord!"

There was a pause, then the steel serpent came alive. Eyes glowing a baleful yellow, it crawled in a fluid circle on the doors' surface. The sound of grinding gears filled the air. It halted when the snake's head reached the apex of the circle, then the sculpture split in two as the doors grated open.

For the first time in years, Gallowbraid heard the Dark Lord's voice, like the low keening of the north wind through barren trees.

"Enter."

The three men stepped into the room. A crimson carpet covered the floor. Heavy curtains blocked the windows, leaving the room deep in shadow. The fireplace at the other end of the room was a massive stone sculpture of a dragon's head, a crackling fire burning in its jaws. Before the fire, six high-backed chairs threw long fingers of shadow onto the carpeted floor. Near the center chair, an enormous serpent lay coiled, asleep.

"My Lord?" Wormtail called, shivering.

A figure stood from the tallest chair and turned to face them, and once more Gallowbraid met the carnivorous red eyes of the Dark Lord. He felt hatred flare in his heart, but it was matched by a cold spasm of fear. He suppressed a shudder and with a calm face bent on one knee.

"My Lord," he said, "I am at your service."

"Welcome back, Andros," intoned Voldemort. The last syllable came in a low hiss. "I trust you put the small time you had out of my service to good use?"

"Fifteen years isn't exactly small time, my Lord," Gallowbraid said. "I have scoured the Earth, gathering as much knowledge and power as I could, readying myself should the time to serve you come again."

The Dark Lord gave a hollow laugh. His red eyes remained fixed on Gallowbraid's hidden ones. The fire at the hearth seemed to waver, as if threatened by a gust of wind.

"In other words, you spent fifteen years trying to find a way out of your contract. You have changed little, faithless one. Tell me, have I changed? What do you see before you, through that sight of yours?"

Gallowbraid paused, taking in the slender, corpse-white frame swathed in long, dark robes. "...I see that my Lord is well and healthy, that he has recovered to full strength." Gallowbraid tilted his head. "Yet there is something else. I cannot decipher it..."

"Can you not guess, Andros?" Voldemort said as he moved towards him, arms akimbo. His long robe slithered behind him. "I have something else in this flesh that makes me more than what I was, fifteen years ago."

Gallowbraid instantly realized what this meant. He had known of such a spell and the terrible price it exacted, and was impressed that Voldemort had been able to snatch so much from certain doom. He was certainly more powerful now, with the blood of his enemy flowing through his veins, but there was something else. Something was amiss in the way Voldemort held his body, and Gallowbraid imagined he saw a subtle stiffness in those limbs, a tiny spasm in the muscles of a hand. He could not fathom what these meant, but his intuition, honed by many years of treachery and deceit, told him that the Dark Lord was not as strong and hale as he claimed to be.

Nonetheless Gallowbraid said, "...I see. You used the Necropotence Spell. It has restored your body and your power," he grinned as he remembered something, and slowly turned to Pettigrew. "I can see why you made Wormtail here your right-hand man."

Wormtail started to bluster, but fell silent as Voldemort said, "He has proven himself useful, Andros. You have yet to do so. Now, rise."

When Gallowbraid stood up, Malfoy said, "My Lord, good news. The shipment has arrived and is ready for use. The preparations should begin any moment now."

"Of course it is, Lucius. I shall begin my inspection shortly. Join me, both of you, and I will explain what needs to be done. We have plenty to discuss." He gestured to Wormtail. "Bring me the Felwing Skull."

Wormtail bowed and fled to a dark corner of the room. Voldemort led Malfoy and Gallowbraid to the circle of chairs and bade them to sit. They were close to the fire, but neither man felt the least bit warm.

"Tell me, Gallowbraid," said Voldemort, "what do you think of my new abode?"

"It is truly a wonder. I have not seen anything so quickly constructed, yet still formidable."

"It had to be as such, Andros. This fortress does not merely function as a Death Eater base." He steepled his fingers before him. "You have seen the shipment?"

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I have not."

"It does not matter. You shall know soon enough." He paused as Wormtail came to his chair, holding a large, ornate skull in his hands. Gallowbraid stared at it. It was bird-like in shape, it appeared to have had two pairs of eyes, and rows of jagged teeth still lined its massive jaws.

Voldemort ran his fingers over the artifact, as if in affection. "The Felwing, known also as the Sky-Shark. Cunning, savage, implacable, and now all but extinct. Yet during the Dark Ages, nothing was more feared than a Felwing hunting pack. They advanced over Europe in a black tide, savaging people, destroying whole communities. Feared not only for their ferocity and their numbers, but also for their relentlessness. Should a village repel an attack, it was certain that the Felwing would one day return in greater numbers, attacking again and again until the village was finally destroyed." He smiled, a terrible, rictus grin. "So shall my Death Eaters be."

He turned his gaze to the men gathered before him. "When I rose again, I decided that my followers needed a change. In the past we were too scattered, too disorganized. We knew what we wanted, but we allowed the path to lead us. We did not forge it, and thus were we easily scattered. But we shall do things differently now. The time has come to lead not a mob, but an army."

He raised the skull with one hand. "All of you, stand up and lay your hand on this."

When they did so, Voldemort whispered, "Necropolis."

There was a blinding flash of green, the sensation of being pulled through the air, and when Gallowbraid looked about, they were no longer in Voldemort's chambers.

"This is not merely a home, Andros," said Voldemort. "It is a factory."

"'Factory', my Lord?"

"A Muggle concept that I have borrowed. Factories are created for the purpose of 'mass production.' That is the function here."

Andros peered around him. They had been transported to the bottom of a huge cavern, perhaps the very bowels of the fortress. The ceiling soared at least a hundred feet above them. Levels were carved onto the stone walls, the widest being the topmost circle, then gradually shrinking to a small circle at the base that spanned some twenty paces. It looked like a hive turned upside-down. Everywhere he turned there were torches and braziers, yet somehow, instead of illuminating the place, they only made the shadows more pronounced.

On the walls of each level were cells fitted with thick iron bars. Things moved in the shadows within. Gallowbraid's ears caught the sound of snarls and low growling. Death Eaters were moving from one cell to another, buckets in their hands.

"I used to despise Muggles and all things related to them," said the Dark Lord as he moved to the circle at the base of the room, "but now I see they have their uses."

At the center of the circle sat a huge cauldron, its sides long grayed by the billowing flames. Beside it were rows of wax-sealed clay jars. Three Death Eaters were busy opening the jars and carefully pouring what looked like molten silver, streaked with black, into the cauldron.

"What is it?" Andros asked, approaching.

Beside him, Malfoy said, "I'm sure you're familiar with this substance. A prime ingredient in Sleeping Draughts?"

Gallowbraid paused for a moment. "Not wormwood?"

"It is."

"I've never seen wormwood like this."

"It is in its purest form," said the Dark Lord, "unadulterated by anthreise and other foreign matter." He dipped one skeletal finger into the cauldron and drew it out. It shone, reflecting the torchlight. "The giants were magnanimous enough to tell us of a place in Southern Ireland where we could mine 'pretty silver.' They did not realize it was something far more valuable."

Gallowbraid said, "And what, may I ask, do you need it for? Wormwood alone is a powerful toxin. Without the other necessary ingredients for the Sleeping Draught, any wizard who swallowed a spoonful would die in excruciating pain." He paused again. "This shall be your weapon, then? Poison?"

The Dark Lord grinned again and started walking. They followed him, Wormtail purposely falling behind as if he knew what was coming.

"It is true, Gallowbraid," said Voldemort, "that wormwood is a poison. And yes, it did cross my mind to use it as such. But many poisons have an antidote, as you should well know. Assassination alone will not assure a victory. No, I have found a much better use for our precious cargo.

"Wormwood is poisonous to our kind, Gallowbraid, yet have you ever wondered what it would do to Muggles?"

They were walking towards the cells. The sound of growling came louder, more ferocious.

"Two hundred years ago, the wizard Nightgaunt wrote of a strange behavior his Muggle test subjects exhibited when he fed them Sleeping Draught. Instead of falling into slumber, the Muggles...changed. In his journals he wrote, 'they transformed into vicious, twisted versions of themselves, as if they had been deformed from birth. Their strength doubled by madness, they snarled and clawed the doors of their prison in wild attempts to escape...'"

They were walking along the line of cells. Gallowbraid looked inside them in amazement. There were...things in there.

They were large and gray-skinned, with long, pointed ears, arms as long as a gorilla's, mouths lined with needle-like teeth and hands with dagger claws. Some were bald, others covered with shaggy, matted hair. They growled and snapped at him as he passed, yellow eyes glittering madly.

Before them, Voldemort continued. "Nightgaunt studied his concoction and eventually concluded that an overdose of wormwood had caused the effect. He believed it was pure wormwood, a very rare natural occurrence. He was captured before completing his research, however. Still, he would have been happy to know that his studies have not gone to waste."

He approached a particularly large cell. The Death Eater there rigidly bowed before him.

"Master."

"MacNair. How is my child?"

"My Lord, he has grown stronger, just as you predicted. Two days ago he succeeded in bending the bars of his cell despite the Reinforcing Charm we had installed, and we had to put up a stronger one. It seems the larger dose of wormwood is causing him to change further instead of killing him, as it had with the others."

Voldemort nodded. "He has not disappointed me. He will serve me well when his time arrives." He half-turned to Gallowbraid. "I would have liked to demonstrate a transformation for you, but the time is late, and our larder of Muggles is used up at the moment. You will have to be content with seeing the end result." He raised his palm and a sphere of orange light materialized over it. "Come closer and examine this one. He is my favorite."

With the exception of Wormtail, they approached the illuminated cage, peering at its lone occupant.

Gallowbraid had seen many wondrous and fearsome creatures in all his years of wandering, but he had met nothing like this nightmare. It was prowling about the cage on all fours. Its body was smaller than an ogre's, yet it looked very compact, its muscles twitching and rippling along its arms and chest like snakes writhing beneath its skin. Its skin was scaly and shiny black, from the tip of its dog-like face to its stub tail. Its eyes were completely round and bereft of eyelids, iris and cornea; in the gloom they shone with a pale, unnatural light. A clicking sound emanated from the creature. At first Gallowbraid thought it was the sound of its claws on the stone floor, but it turned out to be something else. Huge gray mandibles protruded from either side of the creature's slavering jaws. They clicked together noisily, reminding him of a grotesque and hungry mantis.

"Michael Dunn," said Voldemort.

The creature stopped pacing, sensing their presence. Then it raised itself on its hind legs like a man and let out an unearthly cry in two voices--an ear-splitting screech and deep rumbling roar. Its mandibles clicked furiously.

Malfoy took a step back. Behind him, Gallowbraid heard Wormtail whimper.

"I have waited a year," whispered Voldemort, "a full year for the final fruition of my plans. Now I have my fortress. I have my troops. And I have my children. Together, they shall lead the front lines, tearing my enemies to pieces. They shall tread on the heads of the infidels. They shall carve out my Empire with their claws."

He turned to face Gallowbraid and Malfoy. "Preparations need to be done. Your role, Andros, is vital. You will make sure no united force shall stand against my army."

"And by a united force, you mean the Order of the Phoenix?"

Voldemort smiled. "So you keep abreast of current events, after all. Dumbledore's little band of toy soldiers have eluded our grasp for some time now, but they will not do so for long. I have planned their defeat, and you shall be instrumental to it. I am sending you to the mainland. Lucius shall accompany you and provide the details. There are some people in London I wish you to meet."

"London, you say?" Gallowbraid adjusted the glasses on his face and nodded dubiously. "I will be much obliged to go there, Your Lordship. There is however, just one thing that brooks attention..."

"Speak."

"While I am virtually unknown here in Britain, I'm afraid that a certain person would recognize me on the spot should I meet him in the city. You know who I speak of, and you know that a disguise will not help me keep my cover."

Voldemort dismissed this with a gesture. "I have no interest in your petty feuds. Kill him if you must. Only, complete your mission by the appointed time."

"Thank you, Your Lordship. And what shall I do when I see these people you wish me to meet?"

Voldemort raised his hands, palms up. "What you do best, Andros. Make them our friends." Grinning, he turned to Malfoy. "Make sure you make the necessary introductions for him."

"I shall, my Lord," Malfoy said, bowing.

"Very well. Go, and do not fail." Voldemort gestured to Wormtail, who handed Malfoy and Gallowbraid the Felwing Skull. They touched it, and in a flash of light they were back before the fire in Voldemort's chamber.

Gallowbraid said, "That was...quite interesting."

"Indeed. Exciting as well, wouldn't you agree? They are even conducting experiments on animals, just to see what we might come up with." Malfoy adjusted the collar of his robes, smiling in satisfaction. "With such a force assembled, the Dark Lord's victory is all but assured. Still, there's a lot left to do. There is a room nearby where we may Disapparate." He gestured to the double doors. "Shall we be on our way?"

"Of course," said Gallowbraid. As they left the chamber, Malfoy said, "Well then, what do you have in mind for this person you mentioned? I can provide you with manpower, if need be."

"He's not the type easily surprised or fooled, I'm afraid," replied Gallowbraid. "I shall assess the situation first. I'll know what I'll need soon enough." He grinned. It had been a long time since he felt this keen, savage thrill, this anticipation one has only for his favorite game.

"It will give me distinct pleasure to finally destroy Alastor Moody."

After they had left, Voldemort remained by the cage, staring into the featureless eyes of his creation. Wormtail eventually worked up enough courage to come closer.

"My Lord," he said, "if I may speak my mind?"

"What is it?"

"Please forgive me, but I do not think it wise to trust someone like Gallowbraid with our secrets. He must certainly bear a grudge against you. What if he betrays us to our enemies? What if he changes sides?"

Again that humorless grin. "You tell me nothing I have not considered, Wormtail. Do you take me for an imbecile?"

"Of course not, my Lord! I did not mean to imply--"

"Enough. I know Gallowbraid's heart as clearly as my own. I have a guarantee against his betrayal. He will not turn on us."

"Why not, my Lord?"

"Let us just say I have him by the neck, Wormtail. As such, he is useful to me--you may content yourself with that. He remains the first of my three great servants."

Wormtail blinked. "Three, my Lord?"

"Yes. Gallowbraid, the first, goes to Britain to sow discord in the wizarding world. By the time they find him out it will be far too late. The second hides at this very moment in Hogwarts. Like a parasite killing a lion from within, my servant will bring that insipid old man and his school to ruin. And the last is here, in this very cage."

He slowly reached his arm into the cage, beckoning.

"Come forward, Michael Dunn. Come to me."

The beast sniffed the air, its mandibles clicking rapidly.

"Come, my loyal pet. Your hatred is potent but unfocused, a flashfire on a waterless plain. But I shall give it purpose. I shall give it aim. After my servants have fulfilled their tasks, you shall fulfill yours."

It crept forward and lay before Voldemort, its face turned up at his hand. Voldemort's sanguine eyes locked with its moonlit ones. He raised his arm high over its head, then his other hand snaked forth, bearing a shiny knife. He cut his right arm at the wrist. Blood flowed, dark red in the torchlight.

"Taste this blood, my child," he hissed. "A little wine to warm your guts. Let its scent fester in your mind until you can think of nothing else. When I set you free, you will not rest until you have tasted it again. Until you have drawn it from the other who bears it."

The blood flowed down his bone-white skin and dripped into the creature's waiting mouth.

"That's it, my Doom Hound. Savor this sweet draught. When the time comes, hunt him down. Bring him to me, dead or alive. Bring me the one who dared stand in my way. Bring me Harry Potter!"

The Doom Hound, so named, drank down the blood, then doubled over as if in agony. It growled and snapped, mandibles working as it writhed on the cold stone floor. Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. His shrill laughter carried throughout the cavern, and it seemed as if every shadow there was laughing with him.

To be continued