Forced Hand

Chapter 1

Hissing, spitting noises filled the air. Anyone who was present to hear the strange noises might have had the thought "Snakes. This is how snakes talk."

The chamber was dark. The only light came from two torches, sunken into the crumbling stone walls, each emitting an unholy, reddish flame. The meagre light could not dispel the pools of darkness that seemed to writhe and shimmer in the corners, as if they harboured the creatures of nightmares. A large throne-like edifice adorned the centre. The edifice gleamed dully in the near dark, as though luminescent. Upon closer inspection, one would see the true nature of the materials that comprised it.

Bones. A multitude of human bones. Melded together in an obscene, horrible, beautiful meshwork. Femurs intertwined for the chair-legs, vertebrae fused together for the back and the seat, large shoulder-blades for the headrest. Tibulas, fibulas for the armrests. All so tightly fit that they seemed to have grown from each other, rather than having been placed there. Smaller bones from feet, hands and ribcages adorned the throne like ornaments. The bones of enemies, Muggle and wizard alike.

Seated in this organic nightmare was a towering figure, dressed in voluminous, midnight-black robes that covered it from head to foot. Underneath the black cowl of the hood, scarlet pinpoints of light shone, matching the light from the torches. It was from underneath this hood that the spitting noises came, directed at the enormous snake that slid along the stone floor in figure eights, the papery rustling of its scales the only other sound apart from the hissing.

Abruptly, all was quiet. The hissing ceased, and the snake stopped circling.

Long white hands appeared from underneath the robes sleeves and pulled back the hood. The face of the figure was revealed. A face to rival any nightmarish denizen of hell that may have inhabited the oily shadows. The skull-like countenance, the smooth, ivory-white skin stretched over knife-sharp cheekbones, the slitted nostrils, the nose so flat it was almost a nub of skin pointing out of the face. And the eyes. Those scarlet, hellish eyes.

The creature (for this was no man, not anymore) smiled slowly, revealing sharp, white teeth and purple gums. The smile was for the sounds he could hear in the passageway beyond the room. The smile was for the feelings and emotions he could sense radiating off his followers as they trudged towards his door. The feelings of subservience, admiration....and bone-chilling fear.

An intense fear was radiating off one individual in particular, who seemed to be struggling....that much he could sense. The smile grew wider. He hissed to the snake so it could understand: "Ah my sweet Nagini, it seems my men are not so stupid after all. I apologise once again; you will not get your promised rat."

The snake almost pouted, if a snake can pout, and hissed back to the creature on the throne. After cocking his head, he hissed back: "Not to worry. You will be fed tonight...who knows, it may be even more appetising..." and throwing back his hideous head, he laughed, the sound like an icy wind blowing through a snow storm.

The footsteps stopped and, hesitantly, there came a tapping upon the heavy door.

The monstrous creature on the throne lazily waved a hand at it, and it swung open noiselessly to reveal a group of white-masked, huddled men in the same black robes that covered their master. The men filed one-by-one into the room, slowing when they came to stand some metres from the throne. The last two men struggled in, dragging a large, moving bundle that thrashed and squirmed as if possessed. As they moved further in, the other men formed a large semi-circle around the throne; some fidgeted nervously while the bundle was dumped unceremoniously at the feet of their master.

One of the men who had dragged the bundle removed his mask. A pale, acerbically pointed face, topped by slicked-back, platinum blond hair was revealed, a lazy, satisfied smirk upon the thin lips.

"My Lord, we have found the coward," he intoned, looking more satisfied by the second.

Lord Voldemort's mirthless smile remained fixed upon his face. "And where is the traitor, Lucius?"

Lucius Malfoy's smirk quickly disappeared. "Master....he is too well protected. Dumbledore...."

Voldemort rose so rapidly the movement could not be discerned - one moment he was sitting, the next he was in front of Malfoy, his sinister features close to his minion's trembling face.

"Never, never use that accursed name as an excuse for your incompetence. Do you understand me, Malfoy?" His eyes burned brighter, seemingly looking into what was left of Malfoy's soul.

Malfoy twitched and grimaced, humiliated and absolutely terrified. "N-no, my Lord. Never."

Voldemort sighed, viewing Malfoy's fright almost piteously. "No matter, Lucius. You know I never said to bring back Snape. You know where he is, however?"

Malfoy once more hesitated. "M-my Lord, as far as we know he is at Hogwarts. He has no other home that we know of....." he trailed off.

Voldemort sighed again, bringing his face even closer to Malfoy's. "So, what you are saying is...you do not know?"

Malfoy forced himself to meet the searing scarlet eyes with his grey ones. "Not exactly, Master, no." With a bang and a flash of green light he was propelled into the air, slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. He slid to the floor where he lay dazed.

No one went to help him. The other men gazed, petrified, at their master, who had risen to his full height, eyes blazing hotter than ever, one hand clutching a long, thin wand which still pointed at Malfoy's crumpled form, the incantation having barely passed from his grey lips.

"You have disappointed me, Lucius. Greatly." He glared at the rest of the men. "You have all disappointed me. And you have the nerve to consider yourself Death Eaters. You are not worthy of the mark, NONE OF YOU!" The last words were roared, the high-pitched, glacial tones transformed.

He seemed then to collect himself, the wand disappearing as fast as it had been produced. He looked down at the now still bundle before him, as if seeing it for the first time.

"Well well well, now, what do we have here?" Dulcet tones barely disguised the menacing mockery behind his voice. Sitting back on his throne, he waved his hand at the other man who had dragged the bundle in. "Wormtail, be so kind as to uncover my gift. And Lucius, get up. You look pathetic."

The man called Wormtail hastily stepped up to the now shivering bundle and, revealing a hand that looked to be made from pure, moving silver from beneath his robes, grasped the cloth and ripped it away. Underneath was the quivering form of a man, curled into a foetal ball, his short silver hair sticking up in all directions, a messy goatee beard standing out in sharp relief to the heavy stubble on the rest of his face. His skin was pale and his eyes were wide, fixed upon the creature he had once pledged allegiance to. He began to snivel as the red eyes bored into him.

"Lucius, I apologise," Voldemort remarked amusedly to Lucius Malfoy, who had picked himself off the ground and was limping back to the semi-circle of Death Eaters. "Did I say you looked pathetic? It seemed I was wrong. Now this, my Death Eaters, is truly pathetic."

As the other Death Eaters sniggered appreciatively, the whimpering ball of humanity on the stone floor started quaking when Voldemort once again pulled out his wand from his sleeve, slowly this time, running it between his pale fingers and pausing to flick the tip with yellowed nails. "Welcome back, Igor. I trust you have been well?"

Igor Karkaroff cringed at the icy voice, his eyes stretching wider. He struggled to his knees and started shuffling towards the throne. "Master....master...forgive me....let me explain...." He whimpered in a thin, reedy voice.

"Forgive?" Voldemort mused, as Karkaroff stopped at his feet. "Forgiveness....." his voice trailed off as Karkaroff bent his neck even further, forehead to the floor in supplication.

"You would beg for forgiveness, Igor?" he went on, seemingly oblivious to the trembling man in front of him, and the nervous twitching of the men around him, all laughter forgotten. They had seen their master play with prey before, and had heard his voice become this distant....before he had made the prey realise their worst nightmares. "What is there to forgive, my faithful servant?" Voldemort sneered.

It was not possible for a man to tremble more than Karkaroff was. He tried to speak, but only a croak issued from the depths of his throat. Clearing it, he whispered, "I am sorry Master. I am sorry, so, so sorry...."

"How sorry are you, Igor?" Voldemort leaned forward and slid one long finger underneath the bowed chin and forced it up, meeting Karkaroff's petrified eyes with his own crimson orbs. "What would you do to show your Master just how sorry you are? And, come to think of it, what are you sorry for? Hmm?"

Karkaroff finally found his voice, and it rose hysterically as he shrieked: "Sorry enough to.....anything Master...anything! Please! Forgive me! I was a coward, I did not fulfill my destiny, I betrayed you...."

"Yessss..." hissed Voldemort suddenly, the eyes burning with malice. "Not only me, but also your family.....not only that, you dared to run. You dared to ignore the burning of the Mark, you had the audacity to run away..."

Suddenly, as if controlled by a puppet master pulling strings, Karkaroff's back straightened and his neck was elongated as he rose slowly from the floor into the air. He gasped and struggled against the invisible force holding him there as his face started to turn red. Spluttering and kicking wildly, he clawed at his throat as if invisible fingers were choking him.

All eyes were upon the Master as he looked intensely at the jerking, airborne marionette that was Karkaroff. "When I returned from the hell that was my existence," he commented almost conversationally, "I told those brave enough to return that I wanted repayment for thirteen years of neglect. That there could be no forgiveness until this debt had been fulfilled. My dear Igor, these were the men that returned." .

He waved his wand at Karkaroff, who started to spin around slowly, still clutching at his throat. "And now here you hang," he snickered evilly, "asking me to forgive you after running away. I am sorry," he spat sarcastically, "but there is no such thing as a second chance."

The wand that had been waving idly at the revolving figure suddenly issued another flash of green light and Karkaroff's flailing body rushed up to the ceiling, his head hitting the masonry with a solid thump, then crashing down to the ground, before rising again into mid air. Choked screams issued forth as he began to spin faster and faster, until he was just a blur. Then, he fell out of the air, still spinning wildly, his feet hitting the ground solidly and held there as if gripped by invisible hands, as his body continued rotate. The sound of bones breaking filled the air as his legs collapsed underneath him, and a shattering scream followed as Karkaroff stared at the sight of his ruined limbs, both sticking out underneath him at unnatural angles, splintered bone sticking out of his skin. He took a deep shuddering breath and screamed again, the sound echoing off the walls.

Voldemort laughed, and raising his wand, intoned, "Crucio!"

As Karkaroff writhed on the floor in agony, blood from his injuries smearing the floor, the Death Eaters looked on. Lucius Malfoy was observing the scene with typical coldness and detachment, having recovered his dignity. The other men were still masked, therefore their expressions were not revealed to him, though Voldemort sensed their fear and nausea, smelt it as a sweet stench. Wormtail's chest rapidly rose and fell, close to hyperventilation.

"Let this be a lesson to you all." Voldemort said quietly. "Let there be no mistake. You deserve this as well.....and more. Be grateful that this does not befall you. Not just the Cruciatus Curse, my friends. Oh no. I have something special in store for this.....filth."

Waving his wand, he ended Karkaroff's torture. The man ceased his writhing and lay back on the stones, his breath coming in hitches.

"I will give you a chance, Igor," Voldemort's voice was suddenly kind. "I know you would do anything to make this up to me."

Karkaroff started sobbing, his gratitude apparent on his ruined face. "Oh Master, anything, I promise! You are merciful..."

"Am I?" some of the coldness returned to the high voice. "We shall see. If you can stand and walk to me Igor, I may consider giving you the gift of your miserable life back."

Quickly silenced gasps came from the throng. Looking at his mangled legs, everyone knew there was no way he could walk. Even if he had had his wand, he wouldn't have been able to mend his bones that quickly, assuming he knew any medicinal magic at all.

Karkaroff's tears of pain and hopelessness kept running down his cheeks, as he tried to push himself up onto his knees. As pressure was applied to his ruined legs, he screamed once again, as though he was once more under Cruciatus. He tried to rise, and could not; every time the weight came to rest on his lower limbs, they collapsed underneath his body, prompting more ear-shattering shrieks of pain. Sweat and tears seemed to drench his body as the effort made him weaker and weaker. "Master..." he gasped, holding out his arm pitifully to Voldemort. "Please....it is unbearable..." and let out another long, wrenching scream as his crushed legs failed him once more.

Voldemort observed Karkaroff's despair and agony with amusement until finally, he said, "That is enough Igor. We have much to discuss tonight and we are becoming impatient. Are we not?" he asked his followers. Quick nods and noises of assent ensued as Karkaroff collapsed for the last time, his face finally crumbling as he totally lost control, sobbing hysterically.

Voldemort stepped up once more to Karkaroff. "You have made your last empty promise, and spoken you last lie, Igor. You shall not fail me again." He raised his wand, pointed it at Karkaroff, and quietly murmured, "Imperio."

Karkaroff's sobbing stopped. He raised his head, cocked it as if listening for instructions from an unheard voice. He slowly got to his feet, shattered bones creaking in protest as his weight came upon them. But he did not waver, or sway, though the sweat beads the size of marbles were forcing their way out of his pores and his legs were shivering as though caught in a violent storm.

He made no sound when the index finger of his left hand drove itself into his left eye with a dull pop, working its way into his eye socket.

He did not protest as his own finger gouged out his right eye.

As blood poured down his face, he opened his mouth as if to scream, but he could not make a sound. Blood trickled past his lips, down his throat, where it gurgled as the muscles in his throat twitched in silent shrieks.

And still Voldemort kept his wand raised.

Most of the Death Eaters watched in fascination and disgust. Many of them had tortured helpless Muggles and wizards, but never like this. Malfoy was the only one with no expression on his face as he watched proceedings with detached interest. Wormtail was openly gagging, his human hand underneath his mask, pressed against his mouth, his shoulders heaving as he fought back his nausea.

"Finding it a bit difficult are we, Wormtail?" Voldemort jeered the man. "Vomit and your punishment will make this look like a slap on your flabby backside. Learn to be strong, you pathetic fool!" he snarled. Wormtail swallowed raggedly, and gasped, taking deep breaths. When he tried to avert his eyes beneath the mask, somehow Voldemort knew. "Do not dare to look away, or you will regret having sought me out, Wormtail. I promise you."

Voldemort turned back to Karkaroff, who was still standing and working his fingers back and forth into his ragged sockets. He raised his wand, breaking the spell.

As Karkaroff collapsed once again, he found his voice. Spluttering and coughing up the swallowed blood, his tortured screams and wails filled the chamber. Any vestige of sanity he had held was now gone.

"Would you rather die now than have that second chance, Igor?" Voldemort sneered. But Karkaroff could not answer, for he could not hear, could not fathom anything but his own agony. Laughing coldly, Voldemort pointed his wand at the ruined man on the floor, and muttering "Silencio," Karkaroff's cries were silenced. "I think we'll let you learn your lesson a bit more, eh? Crucio!"

As Karkaroff writhed silently upon the floor, he sat back on his throne and faced his followers. "What you see before you is how I want Potter," he said softly, hatred dripping from each syllable like poison. "I want him lying on this floor before me, eviscerated but still breathing. I want him cursing my name and begging me for death. It is unfinished business now. I want him to damn his parents for having the amorous urge that created him!"

He breathed hard, his eyes shining like fire, lips curled back into a silent snarl. Members of the Death Eater contingent were silent, hanging on his every word, trying not to look at the bloodied figure thrashing about on the floor, or the massive snake sliding around it.

Finally, one stepped forward. "Master," he murmured, "To get hold of the boy, we would need an insider. One such as Bartemius."

"Yessss.." Voldemort mused, his fingers lightly stroking his shiny chin. "Hopefully one more effective than poor Bartemius. If not for that loyal Dementor silencing him, he would be spilling secrets as we speak." He looked around at the men. "Very good suggestion, Macnair. The question is, who?"

"Lord," Lucius Malfoy limped up beside Macnair. "My son Draco is a loyal supporter, I am sure he would jump at the chance to bring the boy down."

"Yes, Lucius, this is true. However, he also has not learnt to hold his tongue. The big mouth on your sprog has let all be known that he is a Muggle-hater. However honourable this may be, it is also very stupid if attending a school run by that disgrace of a wizard who fills its halls with common Mudbloods. Potter is not stupid. Neither is Dumbledore for that matter. Your son will not be able to get near him without arousing suspicion."

One hulking Death Eater tentatively edged himself beside Lucius Malfoy. "My Lord, my son is not as well known to the Potter boy. He and I would be proud to perform this service to your Lordship, so very proud."

Voldemort sighed. "I thank you for your offer, Goyle. But there is one problem. Your son is a moron. One day he will be an effective soldier for our side, but he hasn't an intelligent bone in his body. That goes for the fruit of your loins too, Crabbe," he said to another man of equal proportions who still held his rank in the semi-circle.

Leaning back into the throne, Voldemort murmured almost to himself, "No, I have another in mind. No one, not even that meddling fossil Dumbledore, would suspect this man. After all, a squib is hardly noticed at the best of times, is he?"

The Death Eaters muttered confusedly amongst themselves, as Voldemort appeared deep in thought. "A squib?" They asked, turning to each other.

Malfoy stepped closer, truly intrigued. "A squib, my Lord? You mean....the caretaker?"

Voldemort gave Malfoy a withering stare. "Do you know of any other squib that would be allowed into a school for witchcraft and wizardry? Then again, Dumbledore being the champion of plebs that he is, you never know...." He trailed off, smiling at his own joke, his eyes and wand remaining on the still-writhing form of the tortured Karkaroff.

"Master, he is indebted to the crooked-nosed fool. What could make him betray the boy?" Malfoy asked.

"Oh, never you mind Lucius. I shall make him a very attractive offer. One he shall not be able to refuse."

Voldemort rose once more and raised his wand, breaking the connection between it and Karkaroff, who lay facedown, shuddering. Looking down disgustedly at the man, he shook his head.

"Just think, Igor. If you had not fled your destiny, you might have been the one to bring Potter here. There he was, under your nose for months. Yet you did nothing. Just hid behind your carefully constructed disguise. Well, now we see you for what you truly are." Pointing his wand at Karkaroff, he made the body turn so the Death Eaters could see his wreck of a face, covered in dried blood, gaping dark holes where his eyes once sat, his lips pulled over his teeth in a rictus of pain as drool slowly worked its way into his beard. "Gah.." he uttered, unable to form a coherent word.

Voldemort looked up at the semi-circle. "Never forget this, my Death Eaters. For I do not."

"No master...."

"Of course not..."

"We are your humble servants..."

As their murmuring platitudes continued, Voldemort looked back at what was once Igor Karkaroff, now just a bundle of flesh, skin and bones with no thoughts. "Do not think I will be merciful, even in your death," he said softly. "Nagini! Come, beloved. You have been so patient, now you will be rewarded."

The snake slid forward, to Karkaroff's feet. Its massive head reared up and its jaws opened widely, revealing long fangs dripping poison to the floor, which sizzled as it hit the ground. Unhinging its jaws, it scooped up the feet and crunched down, as it proceeded to work its way up Karkaroff's body, devouring him alive.

Through the horrific screams that came from the dying throat, Voldemort's icy voice could be clearly heard. "Remember Nagini, leave the head. It is a present for a special someone...."