Masquerade Act Two: When the Masks Fall
The Sixteenth Dance: Rising from the Dark to Face more Darkness
If the Resurrection is resurrection from the dead, all hope and freedom are in spite of death. Paul Ricoeur
She was in oppressive darkness, the weight of it pushing down on her and making it impossible to breath. It was wet, the dark, and smelt of living things and of decaying things. She didn't like it. She needed to leave it, her lungs burning for air that she could not draw in. She was out of place here, this dark something reserved for those who no longer required air to live.
She moved her limbs in the absolute dark, keeping her eyeballs shut so that it could not crumble and fall into her eyes. It shifted around her, inching slowly up and outwards. She could feel air sweep into the cracks she had made but still the pressure on her chest, on her face, didn't move and she knew she was running out of time. Come on, move! She pleaded and using all the strength in her numb body she heaved forth, kicking her legs up too. Bright light stabbed through her still closed lids and she let out a gasping breath, taking in the fresh air accessible to her. She sat up, rubbing dirt out of her eyes until she was accustomed to the light and could open her eyes again. She found that she was sitting up in a dirt hole, her lower half still somewhat buried underneath.
Her breathing regaining some regularity, she attempted to crawl out of the shallow grave she had just been buried in. Her limbs were shaking from the exertion of this and once completely out she collapsed by it, gazing up at the sky through the thick branches of the trees of the forest she was in as she tried to draw strength into her weakened body. It was midday given the intensity of the light, yet it was a bit subdued thanks to the thick foliage. In fact, this forest was dark in general and it was cold, the ground on her back chilling her blood.
Yet she didn't want to move, her mind whirling around her as pieces of who she was and what she was doing here came to her. She lay like that for a bit, the ominous magical silence of the forest around her unnerving her more than she would like to admit. Fragments of her past, of purgatory, collided in her head, reminding her of why she was here again. When at last she had reconstructed some sort of sense as to what was going on, she sat up and scanned the grave where she had been. She needed to find her wand and leave this place. She couldn't stay here for long. She had to take down Voldemort.
Digging in through the fresh dirt she wrapped her fingers around the familiar grain of her wood, cast a muscle replenishing spell on her limbs and set out of the woods.
Voldemort was alive. For the third time he had conquered and tricked death and walked the earth as a reward for his conniving ways. When he had first woken up he had been disoriented but he didn't let that bother him. Before long his memories came back to him, filling his body with anger and vigor. His limbs were weak and it took much effort to move but he sat up from the slab of stone he had been laid on. He was in a dark room filled with similar corpses. As he stumbled by them, all naked like him, he noticed that he recognized all of them. They had been his followers, going into battle against the Order, in a war meant to bring a reign of blood purity. And now they were gone, but he wasn't. He wondered how many followers he had lost and if he could possibly rebuild his legion once more. Harry Potter's face flashed before him and he grit his teeth in anger. That boy had taken everything from him not only once but twice! All of Voldemort's efforts laid to waste. But there would be no third time for Potter. Voldemort would succeed this time, he was sure of it. After all, what did they say, third times the charm?
First, he had to leave this place. His body had been carted away to the ministry, he was certain of it. And if not the ministry than some special place meant to deposit the evil dead. They had dumped his corpse here but for whatever specific reason he didn't know. He only hoped that no one checked up regularly on this place. Hopefully they thought he was good and dead and would continue to believe that as he secretly built up his army once more. Already he was planning and scheming the best way to get his power back.
Shivering in the strong chill of this place but refusing to huddle over like a weakling, he scoured the room managing to find some odd clothes that had been ripped off and tossed aside from several different bodies. They didn't fit him well but that didn't bother him. All he needed now was a wand...but no one seemed to have one. He had lost his to the Potter boy.
Where could he get one? As if the thought brought it about, Voldemort was aware of a weight in the pocket of the borrowed robes. He slide his hand in and pulled out none other than the Elder wand. Smiling widely to himself he looked it over, almost in disbelief. He knew Harry had won the wand from him in the last battle but now here it was. Was it because Voldemort was alive once more and thus Harry would not be recognized as the master of it since he hadn't truly beat the dark lord? Would it still work for him the same way? Only one way to test it out. Then with a cackle he disapparated. It was time to start the third wizarding war.
Voldemort didn't know if Bellatrix or Hermione had come back to life. With his memories of his past intact, he only hoped that Bellatrix had somehow managed to find a way to come back and that she would help him. She was the greatest fighter he had had and knew that with her help he could easily bring his army together once more. Her loyalty to him proved that no task was too much for her and where others had balked at his orders she had followed them through, sometimes with too much zeal. But that was what he liked about her. That was why she was his lieutenant.
He didn't waste too much time thinking about that. First he had to figure out how long he had been gone this time and what the status of his followers were. Sadly, his army had suffered a giant loss of moral when he had died. Their marks had disappeared this time and thus they knew he wouldn't be coming back again. They had turned tail and fled. With no leader to guide them they were useless. But he would change that shortly. It had been five months since he had been killed and the ministry was celebrating his demise and rebuilding all that he had ruined. Wiping away all his hard work. Not for long if he had his way.
Keeping a low profile so that he wouldn't tip the ministry off, he went about his business. His followers had been more than surprised to see him back and many had called it a hoax until he had jinxed them, proving it was him by his signature spell style. Then they had rejoiced and fallen to kiss his feet. There was so little of them and it worried him but not for long. He knew he couldn't start a war given the state of his side but he was patient if anything and so were his followers. Given enough time he would rise again, strong and powerful while the wizarding community would grow soft, thinking that he was gone for sure. He couldn't wait to see the look on their surprised and dumb faces when he made his grand appearance.
His expansive plans would have to wait. For now he had to make sure that the followers he had would be kept safe and out of the prisons. Aurors were hunting them down like there was no tomorrow and it was making things difficult to do. No doubt this would go on for a while, but like he had said, he was a patient man. He had waited fourteen years before, he could wait fourteen more. He would get what he wanted. And as long as he had luck on his side, his goals would succeed. And so he worked hard at his goals for three months after his revival.
It helped that Hermione, one of the golden trio, was incapacitated. It seemed she hadn't made it back. As for Bellatrix, he had no clue where her body was. His only guess was that since she hadn't been in the room of dead bodies in the ministry, that she had to be back at Hogwarts. He pondered if he could bring her back to life himself. With that thought he set out to the grounds of Hogwarts, careful to keep out of sight of any aurors or teachers there. They were rebuilding the school from rubble. The process was almost complete and Voldemort let his lips stretch thinly. He was going to make sure to raze this place to the foundations once more. No, he would completely erase it from existence.
Voldemort was walking around the woods, careful of the magical creatures that resided there. He didn't want them to attack him or to alert someone at the school of his presence. He walked silently through the shrubbery, his black clad and robed figure almost blending into the shadows.
A series of sharp cries drew his attention to the left, the yells unsettling a flock of magical birds and sending them flying past him. What was going on there? With quick powerful strides he approached, pushing aside low hanging branches in his way. The screams only got louder and he could discern some words that were being used.
"No! Not this! Not this!" The voice was familiar and as he brushed aside the last branch in his way his eyes glimmered with satisfaction. It seemed luck was already on his side. Before him was the black clad and dirt covered figure of his first in command, Bellatrix Lestrange. She had fingers digging in through her curls and was on her knees on the ground, hyperventilating.
"Bellatrix," he called out but she couldn't hear him, lost to the inner turmoils of her mind. He approached her instead, touching her gently on the shoulder. She flinched back and looked up, her eyes widening in fear and shock. She fell back onto her bottom and began to scramble backwards, trying to get as far away from him as possible. He followed after her, eyes never leaving her.
"It is all right. You are now back in the world of the living. There is no need to fear me. It's me, Voldemort, your lord and savior. Rise Bellatrix and take my hand."
She fumbled around in the grass behind her and grasping the object, she picked it up and pointed it at him, only to see it was a twig and not her wand. She tossed it aside and got up to her feet instead. "Bellatrix, calm down. You've just come back from the dead. I can see it has caused you to have some odd reactions, but we do not have time for that now. We must get out of here for we are on enemy territory. No doubt your screams already attracted some attention."
"I-I-how long has it been?" She stammered out, looking pale under her dirt smudged face.
"I will tell you once we leave this place. Accio wand," he pulled out his wand to summon Bellatrix's own where she had left it discarded on the grass due to her earlier outburst. It floated up to his hand and he tossed it to her. She took it and looked at it, her face strangely contemplative. She seemed to be struggling with something. Her wand hand raised, pointed at Voldemort. The man did not even flinch at this.
"Come, we must leave," he drawled, almost bored. Her hand shook, her chin raised up in what was meant to be a confident look, which was she failing at, and she stared at his face with dark eyes for a while as she debated something. Then she swallowed deeply before her arm dropped. He reached out a hand for her to grasp, knowing that she wouldn't have hurt him. She tentatively reached at it, her hand retreating uncertainly several times. "Don't dally," he hissed at her, her cowardly behavior bothering him. They needed to leave this forest before someone came and arrested them. Dark lord or not, there was only so many enemies he could fight. Already he could sense something moving ahead in the woods.
Bellatrix jumped at his words before she touched his cold flesh finally with the lightest of contact. Then they disappeared. A moment later Hagrid, his pet next to him, came out from the woods. He surveyed the now empty clearing with skeptical eyes. Fang had scented someone here, but now there was nothing here but the tall grass swaying in the breeze. Scratching his beard in confusion, Hagrid turned back to Hogwarts campus.
"Are you feeling better Mione?" Ron's puzzled and perplexed face stared down at the brunette who was now lying on her bed. The healers had been called in and quickly come to the aid of Hermione whose face had been turning different shades of alarming red as she was unable to make a sound. They had cast some spell on her and managed to get her back to normalcy. Now she lay on her bed, sipping some cool water to help with her pained throat.
"Yes, I'm better," she muttered into her glass, her eyebrows knit in concentration over what had happened.
"What do you wager occurred?" Harry turned to the head healer called Albert, the same one who had been on Hermione's case ever since she got here. He shook his head before answering Harry.
"It might be a symptom of the soul spell. Some magic that is still fading away."
"But why would it appear now, all of a sudden. She hasn't had this issue until now," Ginny asked, holding onto Harry's hand for support.
Albert shook his head. "Again, there is not much I can tell you except that our best healers are on the case. We will be monitoring her and keeping track of potential triggers for the magic. It's something very ancient. Almost didn't get it off in time."
The friends looked grimly at one another. Just when they thought the worst had been Hermione's loss of memory, now she had almost choked to death in front of them by some magical force. And they had no clue if it would occur again, and if when it did would Hermione be around someone that could help her?
The brunette was quiet, probably fearing to say another word. Ron went up to her and squeezed her hand. "It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. We just need to be patient. You need to be patient." He was reassuring himself more with those words, but he needed to think the best or else the stress of worrying over the girl he loved would eat him alive.
Hermione merely nodded her head and gave him a watery smile. The next day she was gone.
"What do you mean you don't know where she left?" Ron raged at the head healer who, to his credit, did not flinch back from the angry man that threatened to get physical at the slightest misuse of a word.
"Ron, stop yelling," Harry said, grip tight on his friend's shoulder as he held him back from jumping at the man in front of them.
"I'm sorry but we simply do not know." He looked as upset about this as everyone else. "Trust me I would not have let her go willingly if I had been around to stop her. As it is no one saw her leave, and she's too weak to disaparate so someone..." at this he spread his hands out, the implication clear.
"You're saying one of us helped her? That's bollocks! We would never do something that foolish especially given how fragile she is!" Ron spat, his face beginning to match his hair. He lurched in Harry's hold and the black haired boy struggled to hold him. "Ron stop this."
"Harry, I can't." Ron turned his ire on Harry now. "There's no telling where she went and what she's trying to do! We should have cast a tracking charm on her. In fact this is all your fault!"
"My fault?" Harry's voice rose at the accusation. "How?"
"You gave her the damn wand, didn't you?"
"What-no!" Harry spluttered. Harry hadn't told anyone about the exchange of the wand but Ron had been there when Hermione had first asked so it seemed the boy had put two and two together.
"You're lying to me, mate. You should have never given it to her. She wouldn't have been able to leave if you hadn't. If she gets hurt..." Ron walked away at this, overwhelmed and unable to speak anymore. Harry merely gave a heavy sigh.
"Mr. Potter, can I ask what it was you were thinking giving a flight risk a wand?" Albert's tone wasn't accusatory but it seeped with disapproval.
"I thought she was over it, and that she was smarter than to run away when she needed help." What Harry really didn't understand was why Hermione hadn't told them she was planning to go. They always did things together-be it saving the world or getting into trouble. So what had caused her to avoid their help, to avoid telling them? Was it because they had laughed at her for believing Voldemort was back? But the very thought was ludicrous. There was no way the wizard could come back, Harry had made sure of it. With a heavy sigh and one last look at Hermione's empty bed he left after Ron, trying to get the man to calm down.
Voldemort lead the way back to the shabby hole he was now residing in. It was a crummy little shack in the middle of a vast forest in upper Ireland, reinforced with protective wards and shields and invisibility spells to ensure no one would be finding it any time soon. Bellatrix followed him in wordlessly, frowning at the state the lord had fallen to. She could never have imagined him living like a hermit; it only seemed fitting that things of grandeur and high luxury accompanied his life. However, when she stepped inside she realized that the place had been expanded drastically with magic and it was like being back in the inside of a mansion. It was dark and chilly with furnishings of green and a lit fireplace that crackled but offered no warmth in this drafty room. Several conversing hooded figures sat at a large mahogany table in the center of it and as Voldemort swept up to stand at the front of it they stopped talking, and with trepidation Bellatrix realized who these people were. Death Eaters.
She stayed away from the table, her muscles trembling with the urge to run. So far no one had noticed her. Could she still make it? Disaparate before they could so much as glance at her?
"Today I have wondrous news," Voldemort started, calling their attention to him not that it wasn't already on him. They peered at him appreciatively beneath their hoods. "The fates had smiled down at me when they allowed me to live again. And the fates then smiled upon me once more when they brought a pivotal force back to our team. May I state that Bellatrix Lestrange once again walks among us!" He pointed his wand at her and the Death Eater's followed its line of sight.
There were murmurs of surprise as they turned to stare at her. Voldemort could see the woman take a step or two back, her face uneasy and obscured mostly by the unruly mass of dark curls. Her hands curled and uncurled slowly by her sides.
"Bellatrix, but how is she back?" roared Antonin, his face covered in stubble. He had once been a handsome man but living on the run for months, eating whatever garbage he could get his hands on-rats, leftover scraps from wizard bars and berries from the woods- had thinned the man considerably and his eyes were almost hollow sockets, indented deeply into his face. The irony of how Bellatrix had returned back from the dead mere hours ago yet looked better than them was not lost to her, and to them. It made them quite bitter. The dark witch's insanity was so great that even death could not tame her.
"How is she capable of resurrection!" Another demanded. Scabior, who like Antonin was a scrawny and pathetic mess. Bellatrix recognized the last three death eaters at the table- Alecto Carrow, her brother Amycus Carrow and Augustus Rookwood. It seemed they had all escaped judgment for now but bore the price of freedom. Worry, stress, and exhaustion lining all of their malnourished faces. Yet like weeds, they had not been wiped out, waiting once more to grow strong so they could take over the beautiful garden and turn it ugly.
"She's an impostor my lord!" Rookwood stood up, his chair falling backwards and he pulled out his wand with haste. Before he could fire off a spell, Voldemort had disarmed him with a simple flick of his wand.
"Settle down Rookwood. This is the Bellatrix we know, I am certain of it. We were both trapped in a sort of magical place in the afterlife, but we were able to meet there and plan a way out. I managed to escape first and I had feared she would not be able to either but I was proven wrong, my concerns unfounded."
"But my lord-" Rookwood hissed between his teeth, still standing, his fists curled up at his side.
"Sit down you git," Bellatrix snarled, finally chiming in. Voldemort wondered if the witch had lost her snappish attitude and banter in the afterlife. She would have been cackling with glee at the Death Eater's surprise at her resurrection. Maybe the death had done something to her- robbed her of what made her her. No matter, he would test her mettle later. See if she was still useful to him.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin up haughtily. "You dare question our lord after he has done the impossible in coming back a third time from the clutches of death and gathered your sorry arses together, saving you from a pathetic life on the run from aurors that you didn't have the balls to face? After he has given you another chance to serve him after you turned tail and ran like pitiful little girl's away from the battle of Hogwarts? You disgust me," she spat on the floor to her left for emphasis, addressing not only Rookwood but the others as well. They all shifted in discomfort, well aware that it was the truth but only the still standing Death Eater answered her, an insult on his tongue that went unspoken.
Rookwood grit his teeth with forced acceptance of her and muttered out a "welcome back you hateful old bitch. Try not to die like you did last time," before he sat down once more, pulling his chair up.
She sent a snarl at him and Voldemort beckoned her to join his side before she could launch herself at Rookwood. She did so, taking her time and giving everyone in the room a once over before letting it settle on the man who had given her the most trouble. "Perhaps it is you who we cannot trust?" She sneered as she passed by Rookwood. The man merely cast her a hateful gaze. "Who knows if in exchange for your life you did not sell your soul to the aurors and are going to inform them of everything we have done." At this she slammed her hands down on the tabletop next to him and he stood up once more, his rank breath bellowing in her face.
"How dare you accuse me of treachery when I had long ago committed myself flesh, blood and soul to the lord-"
"You didn't commit enough," she hissed, stepping away from him and stalking up to her lord's side who watched the exchange with something akin to mirth in his eyes. Perhaps he had judged Bellatrix too hastily-it seemed her fire had not left her after her death. "If you were truly devoted to his lord then you would have died in the battle rather then give up. Like I did."
Rookwood turned red in the face at this, so upset that words wouldn't even make it out of his mouth. "That is enough, from both of you," Voldemort set Rookwood back in his seat with a little help from his wand before the man could jump at the dark witch in front of him. "Rookwood will prove his loyalty to me eventually and if he should even waver in the tiniest way he shall be dealt with accordingly." The man paled at this and took to staring at the table, his anger dying. A cackle of amusement came from Alecto's lips, who didn't even bother to hide it. Bellatrix always did know how to stir up a room just with her mere appearance. She always did know how to entertain.
"Moving onto more pressing matters, we need to start gathering more supporters once more. We need to rescue those who are on our side being hunted down by the ministry as if they were mere dogs." Voldemort's lips curled in distaste on this. "I have already located a handful and I will be sending you all out to gather and rally them once again to our cause, to their cause. Bring them here only if they can be trusted. If they cannot, kill them. Antonin and Rookwood, take Scabior with you. Alecto and Amycus you will go together. And I will be going with Bellatrix to find our intended target. I expect to see everyone back here with results in an hour or so." The Death Eaters got up at this and without another word, turned into black smoke. Voldemort and Bellatrix were the only ones left behind. He extended a hand to her. "Shall we?"
"Yes my lord," she answered softly and touched his hand before they both disapparated.
They arrived in a dark alleyway, putrid smells of rot and urine reaching their noses. It was crowded with trash bags and the sound of rats scampering among the garbage. It was a Muggle alleyway, the unmistakable sound of weird Muggle contraptions and the noises emitting from their horns rising and slipping into the alley. Voldemort cursed these noisy monstrosities. Once his war was fought and won he would no longer have to listen to their horrendous sounds.
Almost mistaken as a trash bag himself, lay the man they were searching for: Travers. He was huddled up on himself so tightly it was impossible to tell if he was even alive.
"Travers," Voldemort spoke, his voice demanding yet soft. Travers head snapped up at this, his eyes wild and his beard unseemly and filled with bits of unnameable scraps. His eyes widened when he saw Voldemort and he stumbled to his feet, choking on his shock.
"My...my lord...my...lord," he sputtered. "How...and Bellatrix." Now he cast his gaze to the black haired woman next to his lord. "Both...how...you were dead."
"And now we are not Travers. Come with us, join us and help us raise the army of Death Eater's once more. Let us bring upon destruction to the filth who oppose us."
A wide grin spread on the Death Eater's face and he took a willing step forwards but then the smile slowly crumbled and he took a step back and then another, backing up to the wall which he had been huddled up against. "No. I'm hallucinating. This isn't real." He shook his head.
"I know you may have your doubts," Voldemort tried to not let the displeasure at Travers stupidity color his voice. "But there is only one of me, and there will only ever be one. I should not have to prove this to you Travers. Now come and let us leave this Muggle world behind. We have much to do."
"No," the man stoutly said, his jaw trembling in fear but he was not going to believe that he had the good fortune of having his lord back. "I've gone mad with grief is what has happened. Or the auror's have come for me, in the form of you, my lord. I cannot, I will not fall into your clutches. I will keep running. You will not find me!" Spittle flecked the excited man's lips and he pulled out his wand from his filthy pants.
Voldemort knocked the wand out of the other man's hand effortlessly with a spell and Travers watched the wand as it clattered to the cobbled floor. Then he turned his wide eyed gaze to the man before him. "You will not capture me you impostors. How dare you take the form of the most respected lord!" He madly grabbed the trash bags next to him and with a shriek launched them at the two adversaries in front of him. Voldemort put up a protego, the bags bouncing off and onto Travers who went down with a harsh thud. He tried to roll the bags aside and rise to his feet again but he was breathing heavily; the energy it had taken to fling the bags already taken a toll on his starved body.
"It seems you need a reminder who you are talking to, Travers. You dare throw mudblood garbage at me?!" Voldemort snarled. "Bellatrix crucio him, teach him that we are not mere hallucinations. Let him hurt." He ground out through clenched teeth. Bellatrix's head snapped to him at this request.
"My lord...?" She trailed off uncertainly.
"What are you waiting for? Cast the curse."
Bellatrix turned back to Travers who had given up trying to get up and was wheezing pitifully, his disposition having changed once more. He was going through so many mood swings in these few minutes that he was going to Bellatrix a run for her moody reputation. "I don't care any more. Take me in. I have no more cause to live. Everything I believed in is gone. Gone." He wailed loudly and let his head hit the dirty floor. Bellatrix raised her wand, her hand slightly shaking as she stared at the pathetic man below her. She stared like that for a while, a muscle in her jaw working furiously. Voldemort didn't have patience for this. Why was his first lieutenant hesitating? The crucio should have been out of her mouth and already inflicting the man with pain before Voldemort even had to suggest it.
"What are you waiting for!?" Voldemort snapped at her and she startled at the loud volume of his voice. Wetting her lips she sent a reproachful look at him as if he was asking her to do something horrid and not her favorite pastime, then cast the spell. "Crucio."
And nothing happened.
She could sense Voldemort's anger before it exploded on her. "What are you playing at Bellatrix?"
"I-I, it seems my powers, they aren't back yet." Bellatrix cowered as he raised his hand up, in an effort to restrain himself from flinging a curse at her. "I can't cast the crucio-"
"I can see that." Voldemort had his first lieutenant back and he had thought that he would have been aided by her presence not held back by it. Had she come back from the dead with no powers? Impossible! Casting this issue out of his mind he roughly brushed past her, shoulder checking her and she stumbled, grasping the shoulder he had hit. It looked like it would be up to him to torture Travers into seeing sense. "For your sake I hope you have not lost your powers. I would hate to see my most powerful more worthless than the filth we strive to kill." He threw over his shoulder at his subordinate and then cast a crucio on the man beneath him.
All Bellatrix could do was avert her gaze as her lord tormented Travers.
A/N: So I just want to clarify some obscurities about the wands. As we know, the two girls and Voldemort had their wands in the afterlife, yet once they came back to life they still had their wands. This is something I would call the result of not the physical wands going to purgatory with them, but the soul of their wands. Given the way the author of Harry Potter talks about how wands can choose their masters, or sort of have personality traits, made the ability of their 'souls' going to the afterlife with their owners while their 'bodies' can remain in the upper world possible. Thus this is why when some wizards or witches die and their wands get passed down, they can be useless or very weak and unhelpful to the new owner.
The Elder wand is a bit different from other wands in that whoever destroys the master is able to wield it. Yet Harry destroyed Voldemort but the lord still gets the wand. This is simply due to the fact that Voldemort comes back from the dead, in a way reversing all of Harry's efforts. The Elder wand will no longer perceive Harry as the victor and thus the wand goes back to Voldemort.
If these theories do not make much sense, then apologizes, but it is the best I can do. Someone pointed out to me that the whole fact that the wizards had wands in the afterlife and then in real life, didn't match up so I'm trying to explain this now. If anyone finds any other logical fallacies in the story, send me a message. I usually have a reason as to why it happened but forget to incorporate the explanation in the text or author's notes.