Young Again: The Rewrite

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Chapter Five: And There Was Laughter

by Taliath

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Tom Riddle watched through Pettigrew's eyes disinterestedly as the Potters disappeared, and casually swung his wand, blocking a belated spell from the Hogwarts nurse. Without turning his head to look, he jerked his wand in Madam Pomfrey's direction, and heard distantly as she choked and coughed. My Lord will be pleased. Everything has worked out just as he planned. Of course, he is my future, and I am always right.

Hogwarts, the safest place in the world, was not quite so safe in its infirmary, Riddle had found in his research. No, indeed; it was, in fact, the most vulnerable. Not because it was easy to penetrate--not at all, for in this regard, the infirmary was the most protected of all--but because of the ease in which a person could exit the place. Though Apparition was prohibited throughout the castle and the grounds, including the Hospital Wing, there was an opportune lack of Portkey wards that he and his future, Lord Voldemort, had taken advantage of.

There were reasons for such a lack, of course--it was not simply a fault that no one had caught and countered. No, it was simply because seriously injured Hogwarts students who needed to be rushed to St. Mungo's could not be Flooed, nor Apparated--for the first was too dangerous, and the second too time-consuming. The safest was to utilize emergency Portkeys that had been created with a key that allowed the user to bypass the wards surrounding the Hospital Wing. And of course, it only took Riddle several hours to find the hidden key, and create his own Portkey that could bypass the wards.

Besides, entering Hogwarts had been of no problem. After all, he was Slytherin's Heir, was he not? He had explored much of the castle during his years of learning here, had he not? Simple and easy. Nothing is impossible for me and my--

Riddle found himself on the floor, suddenly, as Black slammed into him, and growled as he heard the man yell, "Pettigrew, you fucking bastard!"

This will not do, thought Riddle in annoyance. How dare this mutt insult me by grappling with me like a common Muggle thug? He managed to point the rat's wand at Black--just barely, and straining with effort, he managed to do so, though he would never consciously acknowledge the fact--and Black shot off him with a clap of thunder, and Riddle heard the man's bones snap aloud gruesomely as he slammed into the wall. Like music to my ears.

Then Riddle was lifted off his feet, and his eyes widened, as a force of Black's magic spun out and struck, and he felt surprise flood through him. Black is powerful; he must be, to be able to release some wandless, Accidental magic--however uncontrolled. But it was of no matter to him, and Riddle proved it with an effortless flick that abruptly ended the force pushing against him, and heard once more as Black groaned with pain at the backlash of his magic being so suddenly severed. Yes, groan and grovel at my feet. It is a fitting place for you.

A bolt of red spat out from Riddle's wand a moment later, before the mutt could recover, and he watched coldly as life seemed to disappear from the man. You have greatly disappointed my future, you know, Black. My Lord Voldemort had hoped to count on the whole of the Black family's support. Imagine his surprise when the eldest heir to the family had turned against him! You should be glad, Black, that I am restraining myself from--

"Leave," whispered a trembling voice vehemently, and Riddle jerked around in surprise. Madam Pomfrey was standing before him, one hand gently massaging her throat--but it was the other hand that drew Riddle's attention. She held before her a Healer's Manifestation, a miniature medicine wheel the size of her palm, and she glared at him in anger. She spoke again, her voice tight with rage, "You will leave. Else I shall bar you from the wards of Healing for all eternity, and declare the Oaths of Healers Hippocrates and Imhotep void for you, and you alone." The medicine wheel hummed with a deep vibrating tune. She continued frostily, "You have dared to strike at a Healer, who has sworn the Oaths by Apollo the physician and Aesculapius. You have dared to land a hand on the Undeclared in the wards of Healing. You will go, now!"

Riddle's face twisted in anger--how dare she threaten me?--and lifted his wand to obliterate this foolish Healer, opening his mouth in order to curse--

My lord! My lord! Please, don't! squealed a voice from within his mind. Wormtail. My lord, she is a Mistress of Healing!

Riddle froze. And how, pray tell, worm, do you know this?

She told me, my lord! She told me! When I went to school with the werewolf, once, she told me! Please believe me, my lord! She can and will do as she--

Quiet! Riddle narrowed his eyes, meeting the nurse's--the Mistress of Healing's--enraged eyes. A mistress of Healing? Of course, I should have known the moment I saw her hold a Manifestation.

"Get out, Pettigrew! You're no longer welcome here! And if you don't leave now, you will be no longer welcome in any Healer's Ward. Go!"

I have had enough of her. He snarled, cutting into her tirade, "Do shut up, Pomfrey! You seem to be under the mistaken impression that your threats have weight. You are a Mistress. No matter. I care not for your arts of Healing! And quite frankly, I find you rather annoying. Discerpo!" He flicked his wand dismissively, confident that she would be quite unable to react fast enough to do as she threatened--and felt cold satisfaction as she screamed, clutching her head as the Manifestation clattered onto the marble floor, and rolled his eyes as she collapsed. Healers, he thought disdainfully, all of them are but weak fools, with their fool Oaths. My Lord Voldemort has not struck at them, yet, but there will come a time when even Healers will fear him, and me. Perhaps this will be the start, the beginning of spreading fear among--

Riddle screamed. His face burned; the flesh of his right cheek seared with white-hot fire. He was on the floor in an instant, writhing on the floor as agony shot spikes of utter pain through him, and his hands helplessly trying to pry the source of the pain from his face.

With a massive wrench, Riddle mentally pulled away, releasing control of Wormtail's body, and returned to the refuge of his locket, where he was kept safe from the pain.

Then Wormtail screamed. AHH! MY LORD! MY LORD! SAVE ME! MY LOOORD!

Riddle felt only fury as he waited it out, barely hearing Wormtail's desperate pleas. She has dared to strike against me! She has dared to lay a hand against me! I will punish her beyond hell for this. I will destroy her beyond all reckoning. How dare she? How dare she?

When Wormtail finally seemed to be released from the pain--it could have taken an hour, or one minute, he didn't know or care--Riddle reasserted his control, and ruthlessly suppressed the rat's mental whimpering. Carefully, he felt around his face, and his rage increased when he felt the source of the pain still clinging to his flesh. He pried it off, forcing himself not to wince, and looked down at the source with growing anger. It was the Healer's Manifestation.

With a silent roar, Riddle threw it against the wall, and glared at the one who had caused this. She will not survive this. I will damage her beyond all repair! But she was still unconscious, lying sprawled where she had fainted earlier by his curse. Her Manifestation reacted outside her control!

Baring his teeth in cold fury, he conjured a mirror, and with maddened eyes saw clearly the damaged skin on his right cheek, just below his right eye. It was a puckered, seared black mark that looked identical to the medicine wheel. She has marked me. She has branded me!

Hissing with barely contained wrath, he pointed his wand at the Healer and--

The Dark Mark burned.

You will die some other time, then, Pomfrey. You will feel my anger and beg for death, soon. This is my promise to you. You are safe today--but I will return for you.

You have marked me, Tom Riddle, the past of Lord Voldemort.

I shall not forget.

With a last glare, Riddle activated his Portkey and was whipped away, swept off in the direction of Diagon Alley, where his Lord Voldemort waited, and planned already in his mind what he would do to this child who had dared to brand the past of Lord Voldemort.

She will scream.

---

Minerva allowed herself to smile as she traversed the empty corridors of Hogwarts to the Headmaster's office. She allowed herself to feel, for a moment, the utter joy of knowing that things would work out. After all, she and Harry had talked, they had planned, and things had already begun to change--hopefully for the better, though it was unclear as of yet.

Lily was awake, and she had forgotten about Harry's outburst. James was perfectly fine. Minerva's two favorite students were alive and well, living past Halloween. All Hallow's Eve is not yet over, came a sudden thought, but Minerva ignored it. It might as well be over with--after all, it was nearly half past ten in the evening. It's not like Lord Voldemort will try anything within the next hour and a half. It was laughable to think so.

Minerva spoke the password when she approached the gargoyle guarding Albus' office, and briskly climbed the stairs to the top landing. It is curious, however, as to why Albus has yet to summon me. He has yet to tell me of what happened at the Longbottoms. And he has yet to call a meeting of the Order. I do wonder what this is all about. He should have contacted her already, and it concerned her that he did not. He may not even be in his office, yet. He may have been detained at the Ministry, or St. Mungo's. Yes, perhaps.

She was just about to knock, when her rather sensitive ears caught a deep, raspy voice speaking in thunderous volumes from just beyond. Frowning, Minerva stayed her hand, and listened.

"--WILL HAPPEN TONIGHT... THE DARK LORD HAS LEARNED OF THE CHOSEN ONE... HE WILL STRIKE TONIGHT AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT...AND THUS SHALL THE CHOSEN ONE BE MARKED... AN EQUAL TO THE DARK LORD AND THE ONE WITH POWER HE KNOWS NOT... BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES, BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, THE PROPHECIZED CHILD WILL BE REVEALED...AND ONE MUST DIE AT THE HANDS OF THE OTHER, FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES... TONIGHT... AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT... THE DARK LORD... SHALL MARK... HIS EQUAL... THE CHOSEN ONE... SHALL... BE... REVEALED...."

There was silence. Absolute silence. Minerva stood frozen, rooted at her spot just outside the office, as she listened, and realized quickly what she had just heard. A prophecy. Another prophecy!

"Minerva, you may enter," called a voice she knew, and Minerva quickly opened the door and stepped inside, seeing her colleague, Professor Trelawney, sitting in a seat before the Headmaster, and Albus himself just settling down, taking off his traveling cloak and hat.

"Oh, Albus, I didn't see you there," said Trelawney, blinking and shaking her head as though just waking from a nap. "I must have dozed off there, for a bit."

Of course, Sybill has never remembered her own prophecies. That is good, I think. Minerva fought the urge to rub her temples. Lord Voldemort shall strike tonight? He will mark his equal? Harry!

Albus only twinkled his eyes at the Divinations professor, then turned to look up at Minerva, silently forbidding her from speaking of what just occurred. "Not to worry, my dear Sybill. I'm afraid we are, all of us, getting older--and it is certainly natural of those light dozes to sneak up on us."

"True, true," said Trelawney with her usual breathy vagueness, as though she were floating along in the clouds. "I foresee many more years for you, Albus, to live, and must warn you to be careful of these dozes--"

"Or what, Sybill?" interrupted Minerva with her usual disdain. Just shut your mouth and leave, please. I am not in the mood for your usual worthless drivel! "Will Albus suddenly doze off and never wake? Is this what you are warning him of?"

Trelawney glared up at her, her misty façade vanishing like smoke, as she hotly muttered loudly to herself, pointedly in Minerva's direction so she would hear, "Those without the Sight will always feel jealous of those who do. I must remember this."

Minerva kept herself from rolling her eyes. Get out of here, Sybill. Albus and I must talk. Especially about this new prophecy you've just sprouted.

Light! thought Minerva, with a burst of impatience. The prophecy said tonight! Tonight!

"Minerva, we all have our separate callings," said Albus disapprovingly. "For you it is Transfigurations, as Divinations is for Sybill. Now, I know you have only known of each other for little more than two years, yet we must all still make an effort to get along." Minerva glared coldly, and he sighed. "Well, Sybill, why were you waiting for me in my office, if I may ask?"

"It was my Inner Eye, Albus," said Trelawney, her misty voice back. "I was given the Sight of my being in your office as being of utmost importance, and thus I came in accordance to Fate's will."

"Indeed," said Albus with a pleasant expression of patience. Minerva thought she would die with impatience. "We are fortunate that Fate visits you on such occasions. And I must say, you have been most helpful, and have accomplished your goal, though you may not perhaps remember."

Trelawney nodded, as though she expected that. "Yes, I did feel that my light doze was one that was induced. Perhaps you heard me speak of a prophecy of great importance?" This she said with a pointed glare in Minerva's direction, as though wanting the Transfigurations professor to know that she had just made a true prophecy. You are grasping at straws, thought Minerva wryly. You do not even know if it was a prophecy you spoke. Sybill, you are an utter fool.

"Perhaps," said Albus, with a gentle, indulging smile. "Alas, Fate works in ways none but the greatest of seers, such as yourself, understand. Thank you, once again, Sybill, for gracing my office, and with your Sight."

"It was no problem at all, Professor Dumbledore," said Trelawney, standing. At least she knows a dismissal when she hears one. "I will return to my rooms, now. Minerva, I foresee much trouble ahead for you. Do be careful where you step." Trelawney said the last as though she wished the exact opposite, but Minerva just looked on sternly at her, until the Divinations professor left. Yes, an utter fool.

"Minerva, I assume you heard the prophecy?" said Albus, the moment the door shut and Trelawney's footsteps receded.

Minerva nodded tightly. "We must move quickly, again, it seems. Lord Voldemort has decided to strike at the Chosen One, again."

Albus raised an eyebrow, and she realized two seconds too late that she had slipped up in her impatience. Of all the idiotic things I could have done, that is the very worst! But to her surprise, though she didn't show it, the Headmaster commented on a completely different part of what she had said. "I was not aware that you spoke his name, Minerva. I must commend you."

Thoughts racing, she forced herself to nod gracefully. Light, I am not in the mood for these games! We must move! "Yes, dueling with the Dark Lord tends to negate the foolish awe that surrounds him."

"Indeed," said Albus gravely. "I have heard of your duel, and of your misfortune. Is your shoulder healed?"

Albus, we have no time for this! In fact, Minerva decided a split second later, she would tell him so. She narrowed her eyes, and spoke coldly, "Albus, we have not time for this. You know of what the prophecy speaks. Before midnight, Sybill has said. We have not much time to move."

"True, true," said Albus, reaching for a lemon drop. "Very interesting, is it not, Professor Trelawney's true prophecies? The first one, we know but half; the second one, speaks of the marking of the Chosen One. Both pertain to Lord Voldemort, and both give us hope that there will one day come a time when peace shall reign. Marvelous to know that it may happen, don't you agree, Minerva?"

Minerva frowned. What is he doing? Why is he so calm about this? Why does he speak of these philosophical nonsense? "Albus," she said slowly, meeting his twinkling gaze, and enunciated clearly every word, "Lord Voldemort will strike tonight. Tonight, Albus. At the stroke of midnight."

"The most interesting thing about Sybill's prophecies, and of course, about true prophecies in general, is that they will always come true and occur just as they were predicted, Minerva," said the Headmaster calmly, as though he had not heard her speak. What is he trying to say? Their eyes met. What is your riddle, Albus? "No matter how we try to fight either for or against--what will come, will come. There is large hall in the Department of Mysteries devoted to these true Prophecies, and history has shown that not a one of them were false. Truly fascinating, is it not?"

The Transfigurations professor blinked in shock, then felt horror. No. She refused to believe him. He cannot mean that, he cannot mean--"You," Minerva's eyes were wide, "you will not do anything to stop him?" I did not know you were so lost, Albus. How could you? Even prepared, even having looked into the Headmaster's pensieve, she could not ever have readied herself for this. For this ultimate betrayal of the Light.

"You will stand by and watch as the Dark Lord marks a child?" Minerva realized in the back of her mind that her voice was starting to sound rather hysterical, but she did not care at this moment. "You will sit here and eat candy while Lord Voldemort destroys the life of a toddler?"

"Hardly destroy, Minerva," said Albus, with a slightly puzzled expression gracing his features. He seemed honestly confused at her reaction. "He will mark the child, whether Harry or Neville, and give us our chance to win."

"Albus," she said breathlessly in complete disbelief, "you are mad. You are mad."

The Headmaster smiled indulgingly, as if to a child. "Yes, I have heard many speak of my eccentricities, Minerva. Lemon drop, perhaps?"

Minerva stared. No. Albus, please, no. No, no, no. She could not breath. She could not think. She could only look at Albus, and feel her heart wrench. You have--you will--how could--no! At this last thought her magic lashed out, and she found herself standing, suddenly, with the Headmaster looking up at her in surprise. Her wand was tightly held within her grip, and the chair behind her spun away, lashed from her Accidental Magic, and crashed loudly against the wall.

"You will truly do nothing?" Her voice was tight, with rage, with betrayal, with disbelief. "You will leave a defenseless child for Voldemort to toy with?" Again her magic threatened to spin out of her control. "You will sacrifice a baby for a chance?" Her nearly hysterical eyes met surprised blue, and she hoped dearly that the Headmaster saw her disgust.

Albus, you are hurting me so greatly. Do you know this? Do you know how much you are hurting me at this moment? Can you see the tears of betrayal frozen within my eyes?

She spoke again in a last desperate whisper, a final question of her utter disbelief, a final cry of her horror. "You will betray the Potters and the Longbottoms?" You will betray Harry again?

The Headmaster narrowed his eyes. He moved his hand carefully, gently flicking his wand in a non-threatening way, as though he thought she were a dangerous animal about to bite at any provocation, and repaired the chair. "Minerva, please sit. It seems I was not clear in my explanation. Sit, and I shall attempt to explain better."

She stared at him, still standing.

He sighed. "My dear Minerva, I did not say I was simply going to allow this to happen, without a fight. I certainly don't intend to leave the children defenseless to Lord Voldemort--it is an image I shudder to think of."

"Then what do you plan? Why are you still here, instead of checking on the Longbottoms? On the Potters?" she snapped.

Albus only looked at her, and answered in such a way that made her magic explode in rage and fury.

"Because I know that they have already been kidnapped."

---

Harry was in a cage, a large cage, but a cage nevertheless. Like animals they had been herded inside and locked up, wands taken away instantly. His parents and he were not the only ones. There were many cages, some large and holding a dozen wizards and witches, other small enough to hold only one or two. James and Lily, and Harry, had been herded to one of the smaller ones, and the family were the only ones in their particular cage.

"Dolohov, I see your mission was a success," said Lord Voldemort from where he stood, beside a naked billowing fire. "I am greatly pleased. You have honored your name and the name of your family tonight."

Harry saw Dolohov, a darkly robed figure sprawling before the evil that was the Dark Lord. And behind him, bound by magic, with silent screaming, gaping mouths, and with terror and torture-filled eyes, were thirteen Mudblood children, all looking to be about seven years old.

The Dark Lord, a tall imposing figure, walked around them as though a wolf checking out his prey, and Harry could see with hatred the trembling of the boys and girls, the tears of utter fear streaming from their faces. They were sobbing silently, their voices silenced by magic for the time being--though one girl was soundlessly screaming for her mother--and Lord Voldemort finally spoke, "Excellent, Dolohov. These vermin will do. I trust you damaged them not?"

"No, my Lord," said Dolohov from his prostrating position. "I have only bound them and silenced them, as per your orders."

The Dark Lord said nothing for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Prepare them, then. You know what to do."

"Immediately, my Lord," said Dolohov as he stood.

Lord Voldemort turned back to the fire, as though contemplating something, before his harsh voice pierced the silence once more. "Minister Bagnold, I hope you are not too inconvenienced by this impromptu meeting of mine. I have been informed of how busy you were, planning to push various laws for better security and to provide a--what was it?--yes, to provide a stronger front against this so-called Dark Lord, I believe?" The Minister didn't speak. She was in her own cage, Harry saw, and was glaring silently and unafraid at the Dark Lord. "Ah, nothing to say? That is quite a disappointment, I must admit. After all, I went through all the trouble of arranging it so that you would be here today. Young Crouch's work will be wasted, then. Do you still have nothing to say? A pity."

The tall, imposing figure whipped around, and suddenly faced Harry and his parents. "And the Potters! What say you, Mr. Potter? It is a privilege that you are here today, I do hope you know."

Lily held Harry tighter to her from her position on the cage floor, for she was still too weak from her concussion to stand. In fact, as Harry caught a glimpse of her tired face, he wondered how she even managed to stay awake. Her eyes were watery from weariness, her face haggard with a lack of strength, and her eyes drooping closed every now and then.

James growled, baring his teeth, as he moved to shield his family from sight. "Shut up, Voldemort. You know as well as we do that this is no privilege! You--"

"I do not recall ever asking you, James Potter," said the Dark Lord coldly. "I asked Mr. Potter, Harry Potter." No, you did not just fucking do that, you evil bastard!

There was silence, and even the Death Eaters prowling around froze when they heard that.

"Ah, I see he has yet to tell you," said Lord Voldemort, amused. Of course I haven't, you stupid Slytherin snake!

Lily looked down at Harry, frowning, and even James turned around with bewildered eyes to look down at him. Well, let's see if they believe you! "Mama! Dada!" He giggled, and squealed. Lily smiled sadly down at him, and James laughed bitterly.

"You're crazy, Voldemort," said the baby's father, chuckling darkly. "You're crazy."

Lord Voldemort seemed to almost explode with rage as his magic wakened, the air turned vile to breath--but then it was gone, and the Dark Lord laughed with an insane pitch. "It is of no matter, Harry Potter. You have your parents fooled, of course you do. I would be disappointed if you had not." Then he spun around, back to the fire. "Yes, no matter. The eve of All Hallow is coming to a close, and the Day of the Dead draws near. Bellatrix!"

"My Lord," a slim figure detached itself from the shadows, and gracefully knelt before the fire and her Lord.

"I find myself getting impatient," hissed Lord Voldemort. "What is taking your husband so long?"

"My Lord," said Bellatrix, her former disgustingly sweet voice turning smooth before her Lord, "I don't know what is taking him so long. I haven't heard from him since he reported an hour ago."

"Excuses, excuses, Bellatrix! I shall accept none from my Death Eaters! Find him, and inform him that his Lord demands he hurry!" Bellatrix bowed and rose, Apparating away. "The end is almost here! The time has almost come! Soon, the Celebration of Darkest Night can begin in earnest!" The fire behind the Dark Lord suddenly exploded as he screamed with mirth--but the flames were not the red and yellow mixture of purity, but rather a sickly dark color with flecks of sickly green that gave it a tainted look. Lord Voldemort cackled with a crazy and insane laughter that pierced the air with its madness, a chilling--

Then there was an abrupt silence as Lord Voldemort froze. The fire died down to its usual size. Shadows once more filled the area. And the silence stretched.

What's going on? Why is he frozen like this?

And stretched.

Did he have a heart attack, or something? Harry thought hopefully. Is he having a seizure?

And still there was no sound, nor word, from the Dark Lord.

Okay, now I'm starting to get worried. This is not normal.

Perhaps three minutes passed, wherein Lord Voldemort did not move, before he seemed to shudder--then Harry heard him let out a hiss, almost like a sigh. "Young men are fools," he hissed, both with amusement and disdain. "I shall have to speak to that fool, later. But not now. He is still in pain." What is he talking about?

Lord Voldemort turned once again, and Harry saw his hood move from left to right, as he surveyed his guests. "The time draws near, indeed, my dear guests. All Hollow's Eve is drawing to a close, and soon the Celebration shall begin. The Day of the Dead is almost upon us. Yes, almost upon us."

There were three small pop noises, and three Death Eaters materialized at the edge of sight. Lord Voldemort turned to face them. "Ah, yes, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, and Bellatrix. Fortunate that you have arrived now. Have you done as I requested?"

"My Lord," replied a powerful voice, and Rabastan Lestrange knelt with a flourish. "We have done exactly as you have commanded."

"Excellent! You have pleased me, Rabastan," cried the Dark Lord, his voice a high-pitch. "Was there any trouble?"

"No, my Lord," answered the other Lestrange, Rodolphus, with a quieter voice, though just as deadly. "There was no trouble. We were careful."

Before the Dark Lord could reply, however, there was another soft pop noise, and a regal form materialized right before Lord Voldemort, and bowed low to the dirt floor. "It is ready, my Lord. The time has come."

There was a short silence, as though everyone was holding their breaths, and Lord Voldemort cried in delight a moment later, "The time has come, indeed!" He spread his arms out, and the fire behind him roared--though for some strange reason, the shadows surrounding the Dark Lord grew darker and shadier.

The Dark is rising, Harry thought with dread. All Hollow's Eve draws to a close, Halloween night is ending, and the Day of the Dead is soon to begin. Light, save us all.... He remembered, oh yes he did, the terrible night last year, in the future, when Lord Voldemort had reenacted the Celebration of Darkest Night. It had been horrible, atrocious to the greatest degree.

For tonight, Halloween, was the night when the shadows were boldest, when the influence of Light was at its weakest. For tonight was the night of deepest dark, when the passageway to Death was slowly opened. For tonight was the eve of the Day of the Dead, when the souls of dead children ran free and chained.

Minerva and I should have realized Voldemort would Celebrate this year. He had been stopped, sixteen years ago because of me, but this time he is free to invoke the Celebration. We should have realized this. We should have.

"Come! Come, my loyal Death Eaters! Gather to the Dark Mark, and join the Celebration of Darkest Night!" Suddenly Death Eaters were everywhere, becoming visible from where they once stood hidden in shadows, and the cages holding altogether thirty or so unwilling guests were lifted and tossed into the air. There was laughter, and there was laughter. There were screams, and there were screams. The moon seemed to disappear within the clouds, leaving only the source of light from Voldemort's tainted flames.

"TO DIAGON ALLEY!"

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK-CRACK-CRACRACRACRACARACK!

The cages were Portkeyed and the world spun, and spun, and spun. A mess of streaking starlight and dark clouds swirled, eight moons darted around, and the darkness gathered like shadows in the corners of a dark room. The world was a whirlwind of sights, silver clashed with green, black with white, and dark with light. It spun, and spun, and spun. It swirled, it twisted. There was screaming, and there was scream--

Diagon Alley exploded into view far below--an instant before the cages crashed into the ground a hundred feet under where they had appeared. Harry and his parents' cage landed in an empty space in the street, but some others did not. There were fresh screams, as several human bodies were flattened under the weight of heavy magically-reinforced steel bars. Blood splattered everywhere, and at times pieces of torn human parts flew into the air. There were more and more crashes as more and more cages landed home; some landing in the street, others into the shops and stalls. Harry looked around with dizzy eyes, and saw the spreading panic among the peoples of Diagon Alley.

Then Lord Voldemort appeared, his Death Eaters a second after, drawing more screaming and more panic, more fear and more terror. The masses of shoppers, of students, of adults, of shopkeepers, turned into a sea of terrified individuals out only for themselves. Friends shoved friends, husbands ran without care for their wives, and the vice versa alike. Parents left children, children left parents. Lovers ran screaming in opposite directions--

Then the harsh, cold voice of Lord Voldemort exploded and soared over the panic like a mighty fist of noise, and he cried powerfully with triumph, "I am Lord Voldemort!"

The Dark Mark burst into form in the cloudy sky above, surging with the darkness of the heavens above, a massive ghastly image of tainted dark that could be visible even in Muggle London. And with it more Death Eaters arrived, by Portkey or by Apparition, and even some stepping away from the masses, once hidden among them.

The panic became more manic and frenzied, if it were possible, and the screaming heightened. Children were trampled on, adults slipped on the blood of those who were crushed, and--

Silver fire sparked, and as though invisible lines of grease were caught on fire, so too did a hundred hidden lines laid down hours previous by Death Eaters catch onto that silvery spark. The flames, shining with an ethereal glow of dark silver, burst forth as though fanned, and, like following a spider's web, it raced along the prewritten lines of magic. It tore through human bodies with ease, it caged the masses along its lines. A net forbidding Apparition and Portkeys was laid down with the silvery lines of fire. The lines sped and flowed, swiftly encompassing the whole of the street, aided by more and more silvery sparks as the Death Eaters spread out and lit the hidden lines on fire.

Then it was done. Racing lines met racing lines, silvery fire flowed unending from one side to the other. A vast network of a spider's net was cast. The Shield of Scathach had been raised, invoked by the silvery lines of blood taken fresh from the living, drained from the unwilling, and poured fourth exactly three hours and thirty-three minutes before its invocation.

"The Celebration of Darkest Night has begun!" the Dark Lord's harsh voice thundered, commanding fear and terror from all. "Welcome everyone, welcome to my night!"

Lord Voldemort laughed shrilly and with maniac delight. The shadows seemed to take delight with him, and the clouds above shielded away the moon and its counter-light. Death, destruction, and above all the perversion of Light reeked evil into the nostrils and mouths of all those present.

There was laughter, and there was laughter.

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To be continued....

Chapter Six: The Boy Who Lived will be updated soon, but reviews help shorten the time. So take the hint and review! A simple, "Wonderful!" or a "Love it!" will do! Even simple messages like that inspire authors to write more!

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Ending Notes:

As you can see from the title of this chapter itself, my outline of the story has gone a little out of shape. Things happened that weren't supposed to happen, and the result is that the showdown between Lord Voldemort and the Chosen One will be encompassed in two chapters, instead of the original one that I was hoping for.

This chapter was rather short, but it couldn't be helped. It ended just in the right place. The next part will begin just in the right place. So, there is a bit of a cliffie, but not bigger than the last chapter. In any case, the twists that weren't supposed to happen are slowing me down, because I wasn't prepared to deal with them. But I think I have another outline in mind, and that I can incorporate it into what I had before. I hope.

So, anyway, here we are. I love this chapter title, And There Was Laughter. It, I don't know, just makes me want to shiver--which isn't necessarily a good thing, but it adds a certain touch to this story.

The next chapter will be hard to write. Lots of interaction with LV and Harry. Lots of interaction between Minerva and Dumbles. Oh, and let's not forget Snape. I have a lot of threads to keep track of, but I think I can manage it. I hope so, anyway.

Read the "To be continued...." section for the date of the next upload. Happy reviewing!

Comments always welcome.

-- liath

(5.14.06)

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