As Harry lay propped against the stone wall, bound and gagged, with Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters looming over him he reflected that, perhaps, charging off to the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius at the drop of a hat had not been his brightest idea. At any other time he would be admiring the stadium-sized underground chamber he found himself in but at present he was more focused on frantically trying to come up with a way to escape his predicament and rejoin his friends.

Voldemort stepped forward and held one hand aloft; as it emerged from the sleeve of his robe, Harry could see the glowing prophecy orb clutched by long, pale fingers. The Dark Lord looked almost happy, which scared Harry far more than if he had been in a rage. "Harry, I really must thank you. This would never have been possible absent your unwitting help. Without you, so many things would have remained a mystery."

He took a step closer so that the tips of his boots were almost brushing Harry's feet.

Voldemort continued, in a stage whisper, "Would you like to know what it says?"

Despite everything, Harry found himself nodding.

"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…'"

Voldemort allowed the hand holding the prophecy to fall to his side. "If only you had accepted my gracious offer during your first year of magical schooling. You've proven yourself to be quite resourceful, and, judging from the way that your companions continue to search desperately through the Department of Mysteries for you even now, you inspire fanatical loyalty in those around you. We could have achieved great things, you know." He paused for a moment, then "We still could."

Harry yelled something incoherent and angry through his gag.

Voldemort let out a dramatic sigh. "As you wish, but never let it be said that I did not offer you a way out."

He snapped his fingers, and Bellatrix Lestrange rushed forward to kneel at his side, her worshipful gaze directed upward.

"Bellatrix, bring me the other object we retrieved from the Department of Mysteries."

She melted back into the darkness and returned promptly with a palm-sized chest seemingly carved from a single ruby, its sharp angles overlaid with silver filigree. After placing it gently in her lord's hand she moved to stand just behind his left shoulder.

"As I'm sure you've gathered by now, Harry, that prophecy only has two possible outcomes. Normally that would be of no concern; resourceful as you are, you are no match for me. It seems, however, that Fate has something else in mind."

Voldemort's voice rose in intensity as he began to pace. "How else could a mere baby survive the might of Lord Voldemort? Even last year, I myself believed the lie that it was your mother's sacrifice that had protected you, and so I took steps to remove that barrier. As before, Fate intervened to prevent the natural course of events; for two spells cast in the heat of battle to actually meet in midair is unheard of, and for it to then produce the Priori Incatatem effect? The precise outcome you needed to survive?" He shook his head with the incredulity of it all. "It was then I knew that the gods had set themselves against me."

The crowd of gathered Death Eaters all bowed their heads as if on cue.

"This, Harry," he indicated the small chest in his hand, "is an ancient relic from the Age of Fire. As you may know, we currently live in the Age of Magic, but Magic's power has begun to fade as Fire did before it. Fools like Dumbledore are content to stand aside and watch the decay." Voldemort gestured toward his chest, "I, and I alone, possess the will to do what must be done to preserve Magic, and I cannot allow the unwitting slaves of Fate such as yourself to stand in my way."

Voldemort took a step closer to Harry and leaned in slightly to speak in a carrying whisper, "Our gods have no power over what came before." He straightned up once more.

"As I myself have no intention of dying, and Fate will not allow you to die as you should, the only option remaining is to remove you from the cycle of life and death completely." He raised the ruby chest higher, and his voice increased further in volume. "With this relic of our ashen past I shall grant you true Undeath. That which is Undead does not live or die, but exists in a state apart. Make no mistake, this is a curse unlike any that we are capable of today, and there is only just enough of an ember left within here to cast it but once." He gave an ironic grin, "You should consider yourself lucky."

Voldemort brought the chest down to his mouth and as he began to whisper to it in in sibilant tones just below the level of what Harry could hear, the chest slowly began to swing open. As it did so, a faint orange-red flicker of light began to play across the man's pale face, casting ominous shadows as it shifted.

Harry blinked, and the flame was suddenly in Voldemort's hand; he was rolling it about in his palm like a marble, and it left a spectral trail of flame as it moved about. With a gesture from his off hand, Harry found himself being lifted slowly from the ground to float upward; invisible hands moved him so that he was upright, and then guided him until he was floating directly in front of the Dark Lord. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to move except to draw breath, and those breaths began to come faster and faster as the hand holding the flame was moved closer to his heaving chest.

With a sadistic twist to his expression, Voldemort looked him directly in the eyes as he pressed the flame to his chest, right over his heart.

For a brief moment there was simply a pleasant warmth, but the heat kept increasing, and increasing, up to and then far, far, beyond the level of pain that Harry could tolerate, and to his horror he found that a side effect of the spell holding him in place also prevented him from screaming. He was forced to hang there, impotent, as the fire raged through his body.

At the same time, those present all shuddered as one as they felt something strain to a breaking point and then snap; the light from the prophecy orb faded slowly into nothing, and there was a strange sensation of something draining away as it happened.

Harry collapsed to the ground, freed from the levitation spell, and lay in a pile of jumbled limbs as he whimpered and gasped for air through the gag. Voldemort laughed long and hard, his followers joining in as Harry continued to writhe as he felt the burning race through his body, until it felt as though his very bones had caught fire. Then, as though the pain had never been there at all, it faded away almost instantly.

While he was marveling at the novelty of his current pain-free existence, Voldemort spoke again, "Leave him locked in here; there is no longer any reason for us to be enemies."

Voldemort turned on his heel, his cloak swirling around him, and began to stalk towards the exit with Death Eaters in tow, with Bellatrix crying, "Nothing can stop us now!"