July 13th

It had been three days since Harry's last dream, and he lay in his bed trying to relax enough to fall asleep. Harry felt woefully under prepared for the task he was set to perform. He had to get in Voldemort's head and outwit him to destroy the horcruxes. The thought was scaring the hell out of him. It wasn't so much that he was scared of what Voldemort would do to him, as that he was terrified of not living up to the wizarding world's expectations. The idea that he would have to try to think like Voldemort wasn't pleasant either.

"You're scared. I smell your fear," Kraxil stated as though it was a helpful observation. It wasn't.

"I'm about to play a game of wits and skill with one of the darkest wizards of all time," Harry replied with a shrug. Feeling ashamed, he added, "It would be like you fighting a basilisk." He had to admit, if only to himself, that it felt good to not have to be the fearless boy-who-lived and savior-of-the-light with someone, even if it was just a garter snake. He wondered for a second if that was why Voldemort kept Nagini around, then dismissed the thought with a laugh. Voldemort was supremely haughty. He had no doubts to share. He liked Nagini because she was a powerful, venomous snake: a mark of his position and bloodline. Harry laid back in bed, closed his eyes, and tried to forget his anxieties.

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Voldemort sat in his workshop at Slytherin castle, looking down at the items he had collected in his travels east. The pieces were high quality. They would make a decent prototype until he could create the enchantments he needed for the final product. On the table in front of him lay a hollow stick five feet long. One half of it was red oak for shields and countercurses. The other half was blackthorn for curses. They were magically melded so they flowed into each other seamlessly.

A pair of cores, one made of griffin bone, the other of erumpent horn, lay alongside it on the table. They were carved at one end into a griffin claw and erumpent head respectively. The other end extended in a rod with a hole drilled in the tip. He placed these in the hollow stave so the holes lined up with a hole drilled though the middle of the stick where the two woods melded, leaving only the carved heads showing. Next he grabbed a peg of snake-wood that he'd prepared with a special bonding charm and jammed it through the three holes, gritting his teeth as his shoulder jarred out of place. He watched as the staff glowed light blue at the joint, looking at the finished product with satisfaction. The result was a staff of red oak and blackthorn with a carved bone griffin claw sticking from one end, and an erumpent head from the other. A cobra's head carefully carved on the joining peg stuck straight out from the center like the handle of a tonfa.

Picking up his newly crafted stave, he went into his personal training room to test it. Since there were no witnesses, he took it easy. Ego had no place when training alone with a new weapon and still healing body. Pointing the griffin head left-handed, he fired a simple blasting curse and took out half of the practice dummies, the recoil forcing him back a few steps. Two of the other dummies fired curses and he spun the staff. A shield wall trailed the erumpent's head, twice as thick as it would have been with the same effort by wand. He switched ends again, taking out the other half of the dummies. He ended the set grasping both ends the stave with the cobra's head pointing out, summoning a dozen pythons with Serpensortia.

After a few more minutes he headed back to his quarters. He would certainly need more practice. He would hardly take the staff into battle right now, but it was everything he had pictured it would be at this stage. There was a meeting at the end of the week. He would have a prime target or two to test the stave with if he desired it. He almost smiled at the thought. Sadistic anticipation occupied those thoughts not on battles plans.

HPHPHPHPHPHPH

Monday morning Harry awoke with his scar stinging. He searched his memory and couldn't remember having any dreams, so he focused on the sting of the scar and was vaguely aware of a pleasant glow. It took him a moment to place the feeling. It was the same one he'd had when he'd received his firebolt. Well this can't be good, he thought ruefully.

Unable to get back to sleep he was awake when Petunia yelled for him. When he got downstairs she glanced at him.

"So you actually deigned to get your ungrateful rear out of bed today?" she sneered.

"Yes ma'am," he grated. The rest of the day passed in an uneventful blur of chores. Until about two o'clock in the afternoon, that is. Harry was weeding the garden when a scream pierced the quiet summer morning.

"Aaaarrrrgggg heeeelp!"

Harry ran around the corner of the house to see Kraxil cowering between two of the garden rocks with a fat gray tomcat swiping at him. Harry yelled at it and the cat took off with an extremely pissed yowl. Harry picked up Kraxil, who curled into a tight, motionless coil in his hand.

"Th-thankssss," he hissed, though his voice shook with fear.

"No problem," Harry replied, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Kraxil paused for a moment before answering. "I seem to be unharmed. Again thank you."

Harry smiled, happy that his companion was safe. Even the fear accent was gone. He had no idea why he still had the snake. He assumed that Voldemort's taste for snakes coming through the link was the main cause. That coupled with his own loneliness had probably caused him to befriend Kraxil initially. He couldn't explain why he was letting the snake stay, though. The very idea of a pet snake should have repulsed him. He chalked it up to loyalty. Well, that and the fact that the snake was actually better company than most people he'd met. At least Kraxil didn't judge him or make assumptions strictly based on his being the boy-who-lived. It was pleasant.

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July 21th

The night of the meeting had arrived and Voldemort was exhausted. He'd been working around the clock between training, battle plans and the upcoming election. That aside, however, he was used to keeping such hours. Thanks to his new body didn't need as much sleep as a human. No, his exhaustion was mostly of a mental variety. He had strengthened his occlumency shields, and kept them at peak strength all day instead of strengthening them just before bed. He was operating as though a mental attack was imminent even when he was alone, because apparently it was.

He wondered what had caused the strengthening of the bond, allowing him to see and interact with the boy. Potter had seemed too surprised by the turn of events for it to be likely that it was a conscious move on the child's part. That meant one of three things had happened. One: Dumbledore set it up as a fail-safe to activate when he died. That would be the best case scenario since it would mean there was a reason that he hadn't done it sooner. Inversely he could have been dampening it while alive as Voldemort had suggested to Harry. In which case it would prove detrimental to Harry and/or the light. Two: the boy was being used as a tool in someone else's attack. Three: some external force was acting on the link unbeknownst to all of the relevant parties.

The obvious conclusion was that he would need to know more about the link before he could fix the rather embarrassing and potentially dangerous predicament. He should have studied it immediately, but he hadn't thought that the boy would be alive long enough for it to matter. It had just seemed like a convenient avenue of attack. He allowed himself a tired sigh. One more thing to do.

He realized that it was almost eleven o'clock and he would have to call the meeting soon if he wanted Ratel to experience the full horror of what was being done.

With this in mind, he strode to the meeting room. His leg and other wounds had long since healed, though he still wasn't fully recovered from the accompanying infection and fever. He no longer had the infection; however, he found his endurance and strength hadn't fully returned yet.

He called his Death Eaters and surveyed the room while some sixty Death Eaters entered through the various doors or apparated in.

"For the first order of business: Lucius how goes the election?" Voldemort prompted.

"We have been campaigning extensively. However, it looks like Raul will only get about twenty-five to thirty-five percent of the vote, according to recent polls," Lucius replied, trying to keep his nerves at the failure from showing. Voldemort nodded. That was to be expected. They would simply have to either assassinate, bribe or Imperio whoever did win. He had hoped that they would have more public support, but that would come in time.

"Fenrir, I believe you have a matter to attend to," he stated. The man in question walked forward, still human—or as close to it as he got—the moon having not yet risen enough to trigger the transformation. He was dragging a filthy, bloody, teary Ratel by a dragon hide rope attached to a silver choke collar, hands and feet bound by silver chains. Pathetic. Fenrir threw him to the floor and waited, smiling horribly. Standing out from all the filth was a blood-soaked, poorly wrapped bandage. It had fallen off enough with his rough treatment to show an ugly bite mark already scabbed over, from the day before. After about five minutes, Ratel went from sniveling to full-on sobbing. Fenrir started kicking him to make him shut up. A couple of minutes later, Voldemort lost patience, silenced him, and fired a Cruciatas curse out of annoyance.

The change started at eighteen minutes past midnight. Voldemort watched with his Death Eaters as Fenrir turned, admiring the fluidity with which magic brought to the surface the beast that all humans had within them. Voldemort removed the silencing charm, letting screams and pleading fill the room.

"Oh god, oh god oh god. No. Please no!" cried Ratel

With a changing throat Fenrir rasped, "You got one thing right kid. You're gonna be one filthy wolllllf." He ended howling, and advanced on the silently sobbing young man. Fenrir circled, trying to maximize the fear.

"Noooooooooooo..." Ratel screamed in fear and revulsion as the change started taking effect. It wasn't uncommon for the first few transformations to come on later in the night and take longer to complete. Some silent legilimency showed that the wizard had in his ignorance actually thought that the bite hadn't infected him. The loss of hope was delicious. He transformed slowly, fighting it tooth and nail as his scream turned to pure pain.

Fenrir was now fully transformed. Voldemort moved fluidly through a complex wand motion and silently cast corporea obice, creating a shield wall through which no one could pass but spells could be cast. He then unlocked the restraints. Ratel didn't even try to stand as Fenrir, made cognizant but no less dangerous by wolfsbane, walked forward. Ratel scrambled back until he hit the shield and lay whimpering. Fenrir bent down, biting with as gentle a nip as he could while still breaking skin. A taunt. Fenrir stood nipping, teasing, waiting for Ratel to catch up and the action to begin.

When he was fully wolf, he rounded on Fenrir with a snarl and leaped. Fenrir rolled to the side, spun, and jumped on Ratel's back. Fur flew as he clawed skin off. Ratel howled in pain and with pure wolf instinct twisted around and tried to slash Fenrir's face, but missed. Fenrir rolled off with a twist that threw Ratel off his feet. Fenrir hit him with a growl, biting everything he could reach, and then it was over. Ratel was on his back exposing his stomach, backing down. He accepted Fenrir as his alpha, or at least his wolf did.

Voldemort spelled the silver shackles back on. The bands magically opened, expanded to the right size, then contracted tightly, causing the wolf to howl in pain. Voldemort dropped the shield and Fenrir walked Ratel to the dungeon with the leash in his mouth, looking as proud as a niffler with a bag of gold. Fenrir gave the dragon hide rope a vicious tug here and there, making the younger wolf yelp in pain.

"All of the new initiates, step forward," Voldemort ordered with no inflection. Draco and half a dozen others stepped forward. Voldemort looked at the line of teens with disdain, remembering the state of education Potter had demonstrated. Normally initiations were done in groups of two to five every couple of months; however, this was the new crop of Hogwarts graduates. They were all seventh year Slytherins, with the exception of Draco for obvious reasons.

"Cast the Cruciatas on the person to your right, starting with Draco." Draco's face and knuckles were bleached white with nerves, but he cast the spell and the boy to his right screamed. He held it for several seconds, until Voldemort nodded. The boy struggled to his feet. He was shaking so hard he couldn't even say the incantation. He finally got it right on the third try, his victim shrieking in pain, having been surprised by the sudden effectiveness, and so it went through the other new recruits.

Voldemort watched, using legilimency on both perpetrators and victims. He noted with disgust that with one exception they all screamed and none seemed to have the 'spark' of enjoying what they were doing. Soft purebloods, he thought. It's such a pity magical purity doesn't come with mental fortitude. On the other hand, all of the others performed the spell without an issue. When they had all cast the spell Voldemort spoke again.

"Sever the ring finger on your off-hand."

All the boys blanched, a couple gasped. Voldemort resisted the urge to curse them all in annoyance. He didn't remember even the greenest wizards being so soft during the first war. Slowly, screams filled the room, though the boy who couldn't cast the Cruciatas also couldn't get his Diffindo spell to work, and another simply wasn't trying. Ignoring the screams and moans, he approached the boy who wasn't doing anything. The boy started shaking, some of the defiance leaving his gaze.

"You were given an order. Why are you not obeying?" he demanded.

"I-I-I'm not going to m-multilate myself f-f-for anybody, sir," the boy stuttered.

"Then you shouldn't have sworn fealty to anybody," he replied with finality and walked away, hearing the boy's sigh of relief. He turned to see that despite their pain, the five boys who had obeyed without question now wore incredulous looks. He hid a smirk. He walked along the row, collecting a few drops of blood from each in vials and relishing in how they shivered as he passed. He returned to the dais, looking at the children. All were on the floor writhing, except for the one who hadn't screamed before, who was doubled over whimpering.

"You may heal yourselves." His tone suggested it was an act of great compassion.

Those that were able stared back with fear and confusion. The pride of Salazar, they are, he thought in annoyance, and contemplated just torturing them all until they bled out. That would be a waste of resources though, he reminded himself. He waved his hand, beckoning one of the Death Eaters forward. The Death Eater stopped the bleeding from each boy's finger and gave them a potion to regrow it.

"Consider this your first order: considering you will be going into battle, you should at the very least know a coagulation spell. Assuming, of course, that you wish to leave the heroic deaths to the Gryffindors. They have more enjoyable usssses assss well," he said, exaggerating the hiss for effect. He was pleased to see the recruits shiver.

"Now." On cue, a Death Eater walked up leading three muggles. They were maneuvered and magically bound in front of three of the initiates. Voldemort quickly immobilized and levitated the two boys who didn't perform the finger cutting in front of Draco and the other remaining child. "Cast Avada Kedavra," he instructed with a cold smile. He was careful not to actually cast the spell. In almost one motion the five victims dropped, though he noticed that the boy next to Draco hesitated slightly. They always had so much trouble when it was someone they knew, a friend. He sneered mentally, pathetic weakness.

"You hesitated. Why?" he asked the boy.

"H-h-he was my...we shared a dorm, my Lord," the boy stuttered.

"Ahhh, so he was your 'friend'. My apologies, I was unaware. For future reference do any of you have 'friends' who you prefer not to have to kill?" he asked, his voice dripping with false sympathy.

"I serve you, my Lord, I serve the cause. Nothing else holds value," they stated with one voice. Obviously their parents had taught them well. He silently executed the useless, sentimental boy.

"Step forward and submit unto your Lord." He enjoyed ritual even if it was somewhat inefficient. If nothing else it gave a sense of formality and discipline. It was the same reason aurors stood in formation for events. Draco stepped up onto the raised platform where the Dark Lord was standing and knelt, holding out his arm. Voldemort indicated that he should stand.

"Morsmordre," he intoned, touching yew to the boy's skin. Draco yelled with a voice already hoarse from screaming, but kept his feet. Voldemort transfigured the boy's robes into apprentice Death Eater robes, conjured a mask onto his youthful face, and dismissed the boy. While it was not common knowledge, there were actually three different death eater uniforms. All three were aesthetically identical. However, while apprentice robes were just robes, the standard and lieutenant versions were crafted with a cocktail of enchantments by his artificers. After the other recruits had repeated the process, he dismissed the lower ranks, leaving only his dozen lieutenants, minus Fenrir.

"Severusss." He made the name sound almost seductive. The man stepped forward to meet Voldemort's curse. The potion master would pay for his lies, however useful he was. Voldemort had contemplated using his new staff. However as much as it galled him to acknowledge he didn't know enough about the connection yet. For all he knew Harry could have been watching the entire meeting unbeknownst to him. No while he had no problem with using it to seed fear and doubt in the little lion there was no need to for him to see it's exact make and capabilities.

Snape didn't hit the floor until just before Voldemort needed to lift the Cruciatus to keep him from passing out. It wasn't until he started the fourth round that the man finally screamed. That was fine, the challenge Severus presented was amusing, and although he'd never say it he had to admire that kind of grit. He intensified the curse.

A/n Thanks again to my excellent beta PsychoLeopard.