So, still some more story advancement now. I'm not revealing everything by a long shot though...
I hope you're enjoying, sorry about the delays. caught up on emails, but still four Doctor Who DVDs to go... If anyone's complaining about a lack of Draco, Luna and Neville, they'll be in next chapter. They were going to be in this chapter, but it's already gone on a lot longer.
Also, one detail about the HP universe made up, though it does make sense. Enjoy!
I enjoyed writing Amy this chapter. Also, on the topic of the new series of Doctor Who having started, Rory is amazing. Thank you.
Amy launched herself at the stone wall again; whatever it was that had brought her here had refrained from killing her, perhaps because she wasn't a student, or perhaps because of the strange, bubbling anger she felt inside herself. Whatever the case, she was alive, and imprisoned in this stone cell, and furiously scratching at the walls, her inner rage boiling over.
Soon she collapsed back down, falling to the floor. And thought. It was that little undercurrent she'd been experiencing lately, that new layer to her mind. Sometimes, if she forgot to pay attention for a moment, or maybe even at random, anger broke through.
It was the stone around her. The room; she'd never seen anyone in her imprisonment. She was hungry, thirsty, and the oppressive blocks that formed her prison, they made her rage. At unforeseeable times, she felt the urge to scream, to shout, the need to inflict pain, make something else scream and share the rage burning away at her.
Then her thoughts froze. She'd figured it out; well, she thought so.
It had all started around the time she'd left the Doctor. To her family, her parents in the twisted world created by everything Voldemort had done here. But if she was right, it had happened earlier; slightly earlier, a burst of impulsiveness making her act on her choice to leave the TARDIS. She'd even struggled to be present at Dumbledore's funeral. At the time she thought it was just sadness, but it was more than that; thinking back, she was very nearly repulsed by the proceedings. She hated to think it, but there it was.
Since Rory. Since Bellatrix.
Hogwarts, last year, Bellatrix had tried to kill her; and failed, Rory's sacrifice reflecting the curse. Like Lily's had, for Harry.
In the case of Harry however, more had happened. Voldemort was flung away, yet part of him, still struggling from the recent murder, part of his soul wrenched away as he cast the curse. Harry had become a primitive kind of Horcrux.
It was different for Amy though, it had to be; Bellatrix was truly dead, well that timeline's version of her was. Unlike Voldemort. But in every other aspect.
The curse was the same; the defence was the same. The girl who waited; the girl who lived. And now part of Bellatrix's soul, a last, feeble remnant of the formidable Death Eater, now lived inside Amy.
The redhead felt sick.
A sudden grating; the walls were retreating. Repressing her Lestrange side, Amy stood up, looking around, tense. It was only on one side, the bricks like those in Diagon Alley, curling aside until they formed prison-like bars. The other side, a man stood, clad in black leather and robes; one of the Snatchers no doubt. He stared dismissively, almost cruelly, into the stone cell; it was evident that he cared nothing for this duty. There was a moment of curiosity, unaware of what the castle was showing him, then simple boredom as he saw it was just another human.
"You don't belong to this school," he muttered. Stating the obvious; Amy couldn't suppress a flash of irritation. "Must be why you're still alive. Rest of the people like you just die." He said it with a mild annoyance, as if reporting bad weather.
In the cell, Amy paused. She looked across to the man, meeting his eyes with ease; and paused. She felt that little bubble in her mind rage. She hated it, a small spark of Rory's murderer in her head, continually influencing, even when she thought it was controlled.
I will attempt to refrain from killing the boy, master.
The words just flashed into her mind, Bellatrix's voice speaking. The redhead gasped, breathless for the instant; the intensity of emotion suddenly broadcasted to every spot of her mind. Like a siren, a wailing; for a split second, she thought she could see something else, Voldemort, instead of this Snatcher and the stone bars.
An idea came to her, quickly, in the few seconds since the Snatcher had spoken. She stood up, meeting his eyes with disconcerting ease. A glint in her gaze; her Lestrange side. The Snatcher tensed against his better judgement, almost afraid of the look.
"I would highly advise you let me out," Amy spoke; but they weren't her words, well, not completely.
Harry had a connection to Voldemort, but that was only because both of them lived: Bellatrix had died, but Amy was a time traveller, her connection seemed to connect to whichever Bellatrix was in the same time as her regardless of whether or not the witch had formed the connection yet. It frightened her to know that the Death Eater was in the same time, but the fact would have its uses. She could use that connection, though it made her almost physically sick to think about it. She'd heard Bellatrix's thoughts, and with strange ease, she found herself able to see and feel more.
"Polyjuice potion," Amy spoke, walking over to the bars, resting one hand on the stone, eyes surveying her arm, "You know me," she hesitated imperceptibly, remembering his name, "Roan."
Though she didn't know it, the fact her body was Flesh helped. Her mind wasn't fully connected; so it was possible for it to lightly skim through Bellatrix's, more so than it would normally be when fixed in its own body.
The Snatcher, Roan, stiffened at her use of his name. He was about to speak, when Amy continued; wincing as the Bellatrix within her took almost full control.
"I'm Bellatrix Lestrange," her voice was cooler now, noticeably different, and her hand slipped through a gap in the bars, her fingers gripping the front of Roan's throat. Not gentle by any means, but not too harsh; yet.
The redhead hated the motions Bellatrix made her carry out, yet she couldn't bring herself to stop them; there was the odd, sickening, savage joy it brought her, the need to trick the Snatcher, but most of all, she wasn't certain she could take control of her body back from the Lestrange side of her. Not now, not when raging at imprisonment.
The Snatcher laughed, despite the pincer-like grip on his throat. He tried to take a step back; blinking as he realized Amy's grip was too tight, soon becoming serious once more.
He didn't notice the torment behind Amy's eyes. The relish the remnant of Bellatrix caused, against the redhead's own morals. The casual cruelty, the perceived superiority all emanating from the fragment of the witch. Amy regretted giving her control, yet she was struggling to suppress it now.
"I think the Dark Lord would have a few things to say about that," Roan was laughing, from a dark amusement at the thought, "Bellatrix," he said the word, sneering, sarcastic.
"Let's ask him," Amy's posture was entirely dictated by Bellatrix, as was her tone, her voice; even Roan was surprised. "Perhaps the Dark Lord will also have some things to say about you. About how so many Mudblood families went free and how you've become several Galleons richer with each one, about how you don't believe in purity, you believe in pathetic bribes. You know I found you, and you know I…punished you. I wonder if the Dark Lord would be interested in punishment also."
Roan was pale by the end of Amy/Bellatrix's quick, breathless monologue. There was no way anyone else could know, Roan had been quiet, subtle with it; letting Muggle-born families go free in return for an often extortionate sum of money. Bellatrix had caught him; the memories came from the real Bellatrix, across time and into the fragment in Amy's head. Harry read Voldemort's mind, and Amy was doing something similar to Bellatrix.
There were some differences of course; the connection was by no means the same. It was enough to fake an identity, and have that repulsive Lestrange fragment in practical control, as if Amy's body was Bellatrix's own.
"Crucio!" Bellatrix's voice, filled with relish. Roan screaming, galleons falling from his hands and scattering along the floor as he writhed. The coins turned red hot-
Amy winced, the momentary memory of Bellatrix's punishment overwhelming her. It was just another of those things which made her hate the Death Eater inside her mind.
"No one knows that," Roan spoke, firm, but pale, shaken.
"I do," Amy replied simply; this time with her own voice, a small reprieve. She hated having the Lestrange fragment in control, yet it seemed necessary all too often.
Harry had gained the echo of Voldemort when he was a baby, there was no way to compare how he would have been with how he was. With Amy however, she felt all the changes, her formed mind rebelling against the other mind; unlike Harry, she wasn't growing to encompass it, she was fighting it. In any case, Harry no doubt had less of Voldemort in his head, too much of Voldemort was elsewhere; his soul had fled, and much lay in the Horcruxes. Bellatrix's soul however, none of it could have been elsewhere. And while some of it may have truly died, some more had moved into Amy. The remnants of Bellatrix's soul were so pronounced that Amy found herself almost thinking of Bellatrix in first person, as if she truly was the witch, and always had been.
"And why do you look like that?" Roan spoke again, each of his hands on a stone bar, as if he were locked away. Amy's hand was still pinching the front of his throat, even though the redhead herself hated the gesture.
"I've told you," her voice was scarcely more than a breath, "Polyjuice."
"And why?" Roan spoke once more, the same tone, the same, gruff voice.
"The tasks granted to me by the Dark Lord are none of your concern." Amy found herself simpering, as if talking to a young child. Roan's eyes flashed; but at the memory of the 'punishment', of his acceptance of bribes, the Snatcher paused.
"Tell no one," Roan said, hoarse, stepping back. Amy, with a reluctance she found chilling, released his throat, and watched as he tapped his wand lightly on the bars.
So the servants of Voldemort seemed to know more about what had imprisoned her in that cell; Amy made a mental note to tell the Doctor, nodding as the stone opened into a clear circle. She stepped through, free now-
The Bellatrix in her raged, and for an instant, she felt a need, a hunger. She could see herself, turning, forcing Roan against the wall with her forearm pressed against his throat, for real this time, her back arching, her teeth by his ear, whispering how much she despised traitors and liars as the air was drained from his body. She could feel Roan's body slump to the floor, and feel the sick joy Bellatrix felt at the man's death; accepting money and freeing Muggle-borns, it made him evil in the witch's eyes. And Amy could feel herself tensing, ready to turn and-
The redhead walked away, sauntering gently, traces of Bellatrix's mannerisms in her walk. Roan watched her depart, unaware of the rage in her mind.
O
The Riddle House. Voldemort sat where he was, relaxed, mind running through so many possibilities. He'd felt a strange pain, an odd foreboding, but it was nothing major yet, he didn't recognize the feeling and at this moment, he couldn't care.
There was no way he would die. Harry was dead; and the prophecy stated that only Harry could kill him.
Hogwarts was cursed, the Dark Lord remembered how it felt, murmuring that spell softly, watching the light drift into the stone and seep through the once-sanctuary. Impermoen. Now any resistance would be crushed by the stones of the school they sought to protect. The irony was delicious.
An instant later, the pale face turned, hearing a creak, a step. He gave a grating hiss as a man casually walked into view.
"Hi Tom," the Doctor met Voldemort's eyes; intense, and warning. The wizard's pale, skeletal fingers lifted his wand, pointing it towards the Time Lord; the Doctor didn't move, instead speaking. "Now, I wouldn't do that. Think about it, I walked in here, materialized through all the security, and I'm walking into the same room as you. Why would I risk that just to be killed?"
There was a momentary pause; the Doctor inwardly wishing Amy didn't have the sonic screwdriver. He didn't have any protection from magic, well, aside from his words; but he'd learnt to be wary of trusting the reason of people like Voldemort. They tended to have little. Still, he was alive; that was a good start.
"I've got something to say, and I really think you need to listen," the Doctor's eyes never left Voldemort's, focused, powerful.
"Speak," the Dark Lord lifted his wand further, resting his arm comfortably on the edge of the chair and holding his wand in a loose grip, pointed directly at the Last of the Time Lords. He seemed almost indifferent to the Doctor's fate.
Another few seconds of quiet as the Doctor did his best to arrange his thoughts. The Ood had mentioned 'one man's mistake'; and that man had to be Voldemort, he'd been using technology that should be impossible, and seemed to have some kind of arrangement with the… the Doctor's thoughts trailed off, half-afraid at the possibility of an alliance between two. It seemed impossible, neither would be happy with the other.
"You've found…something, trusted it," the Doctor spoke, off-balance, stuttering somewhat, "Creatures, metal if I'm right. They're called Daleks, and they've given you something; magic and Muggle science, combined when it shouldn't be. Am I right?"
"Most impressively so," the tip of the Dark Lord's wand moved in an easy circle, "I shall have to have my Death Eaters interrogated; though your knowledge is lacking. There is but one…Dalek granting me hybrid technology."
"Hybrid technology hm? So that's what you're calling it, makes sense," the Doctor blinked for a moment, mentally chastising himself for rambling in the face of the deadliest wizard in the world;, before blinking again and mentally congratulating himself for doing so. "It's wrong, you have to realize that. Any area saturated with magic, and science fails there: and any area that's truly saturated with science, and you'd struggle to perform any magic. The two aren't meant to be combined-"
"Yet they can be," Voldemort's voice was little more than a grating exhalation. "Power. It is all that matters; and if that's all you have to say…"
Voldemort did not have to finish the sentence, moving his wand in a circle, before starting to jab forwards, the beginning of a spell on his lips. The Elder Wand's tip started to spark green in anticipation, a small electrical light anticipating the spell; a piece of hybrid technology.
"No! Wait!" the Doctor yelped, hoping to ask at least one more question before dying; "The Dalek, the pepper-pot thing, what colour was it?"
"Colour?" Voldemort seemed almost amused. "Orange, if it means that much to you," he again moved his wand, ready to cast the killing curse.
"Orange!" the Doctor shouted; the Dark Lord paused once more, now annoyed though, in spite of himself, willing to hear what the Doctor had to say. "That's the scientist; no wonder. They've got ranks, the Daleks; colour-coded now. The orange one, that's the scientist, its task is to find new technologies and weapons for them. That's why it's helping you, it's just trying to use you. Believe me, given the chance, the Daleks would destroy you and Muggles alike."
Voldemort paused once more; irritated by the Doctor, yet understanding his words. The Dark Lord did not like the Dalek, indeed, he liked nothing, but the only reason he continued any arrangement with the metal creature was for the power it gave away. In a way, he suspected that they were being used, but he tolerated it for that same reason. A pity.
The Doctor's hands were frantically patting through his pockets. Voldemort observed it for a moment more, amused, before deciding to cease the Doctor's annoying babbling.
"Avada Kedavra," the wizard recited the incantation as little more than a cold statement, an almost blinding, intensified flash of green illuminating the room for several long seconds, appearing almost the instant the Doctor pulled something from his pocket.
As the light faded, Voldemort snarled, seeing the Doctor still standing, holding out what looked like a phone, though it was slightly in advance of the technology of the time.
"I wondered where that'd gone," the Doctor murmured to himself, interested, tilting his head as he faced the mobile. "Sonicked up phone, no biological component," he snapped the phone shut, before grinning triumphantly at the Dark Lord; "Concentrated science, Time Lord and human, a hybrid in itself. Cancels out magic; you see Tom, it shouldn't happen, magic and science. Not together."
The Time Lord was more than happy to continue his impassioned plea; yet a glance into Voldemort's eyes assure him that it might not be the best course of action. A split second later, and he was running from the room, phone in hand.
The Dark Lord did not chase, instead pausing, thoughtful. He gripped his wand slightly tighter, drawing it closer to his robed frame. Still.
Nagini slithered from a hole in the wall, through the legs of the chair and circling Voldemort's feet. The serpent listened to a few hissed words in Parseltongue, before moving quickly, silently out the door; eagerly searching for the Doctor and ignoring the strange blue box it passed.
The Dark Lord waited for several seconds more, contemplating. There was one more reason to distrust the Dalek: while he bore no sympathy for the Doctor, he was happy to use the Time Lord's advice as corroboration for his existing suspicions. A pity. In that case, they would require more aid for the coming assault on Hogwarts: even though the stones were crushing resistance, there still were people and creatures encouraging others to fight the Death Eaters. While Voldemort knew, by the Prophecy, none were a threat to him, it still inspired anger to know that some had the temerity to resist.
A quiet, almost gaseous wisp of light from his wand. White, then blue, slowly spreading until it formed an oval roughly the size of a door, two dimensional, in front of him. The Dark Lord didn't take his eyes from the light, watching as it seemed to clear, like mist; yet still noticeably there, a different scene present at the place where the blue once was.
Hogwarts. He could see Hogwarts; though it was the Hogwarts of several years ago. Bellatrix walked through the corridors. Voldemort watched, a smile curling his lips; almost of fondness had he not left such feelings behind long ago. Bellatrix had her wand pointed towards a man; not one Voldemort recognized, and as such one he would normally have no hesitation in killing. He heard the start of the killing curse, and for a moment considered allowing her to do so; before remembering something the creature had said. Time travel, temporal manipulation, there were only a set few points which could be affected, and a certain degree to which it would work.
A pity. While they'd succeeded in great changes, including his murder of Harry Potter in the forest, some were still, temporarily, beyond them. They needed to be careful.
"No killing," the Dark Lord spoke; commanding, yet reluctant. "Yet." He paused for a moment, thinking; before reaching forwards with his wand, and pulling Bellatrix back to him, back to his present.
The witch stood before the pale wizard; she turned around, tangled hair loose, spinning. She couldn't be furious with her master; yet regretted the lost chance.
"Now Bella," Voldemort spoke softly, "There is to be no…unwanted death in the past."
"My Lord," Bellatrix nodded once, wand still clenched in her hand. It was a force of will for her, a challenge to not kill.
"Of course," Voldemort gave a cold smile, "If you miss the chance to kill, you are welcome to stay with us. We are to take over Hogwarts soon, and it would be a most efficient use of your talents."
The tangled hair woman's eyes lit up behind her metal mask. While she enjoyed the harm she could do in the past, and the coming summoning of Vetis, it didn't compare to the freedom she was granted in this present.
"Of course, my Lord," her voice was scarcely more than a breath, yet it was full of exultation. She knew it almost instinctively; especially with the changes she'd made, Hogwarts would fall.
