"You're heavier than I expected," Barty said as soon as the portkey spat them out.
Barty's warm chest was at her back, his hot breath in her ear. Far, far too close.
Finite. Finite. Finite Incantatem. She mentally repeated. The spell held strong. The only way out of this would be if he let her free, and that didn't seem likely.
Her shoulder hit the ground first, a bruise would form there later. And out of the corner of her eye, she watched his arm arc in a familiar pattern, one that had her floating in front of him, nothing but her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears to accompany her.
The stairs creaked under his weight, but the sounds weren't what pulled her from her frantic thoughts. It was the smell. The stale odor of dust and years of neglect. Death and decay hung heavy in the air.
None of it compared to the throbbing in her head, that burning that split her scar wide open, leaving a trail of warmth leaking down the bridge of her nose and across her lips. It only amplified with each of Barty's footsteps. There was no denying what was in that room, Mary knew it all too well. But it was one thing to see it happening in Harry's memories and another thing altogether experiencing it for herself.
The door opened and a high cold voice rang through her ears. "You've arrived."
With no range of vision, Mary stared at the wall in front of her, watching it come closer and closer until hot hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. He left her propped up against the wall like a mannequin, forced to take in the reality of her situation.
Dirt covered every surface, the bed to her right held a lump of rags, a pale foot sticking out from under the covers. So pale and blue. Like Fleur. Like Viktor. Dead. Gone.
"I'm sorry for the delay, my lord." Barty bent down next to the armchair, kissing the hem of the dark blanket. "Everything has gone according to your plan."
"This pleases me." A scaly thin hand reached out to touch his face. "And the girl?"
"She's here." Barty turned, the fire cast his face in a harsh light.
"Show me."
Mary wished she could look away, tried again to break free of the spell, but couldn't. All she could do was occlude her mind. Think of the clouds. But the clear blue sky and the rush of wind on her face only brought the image of Viktor flying next to her into sharper focus. So young and alive, which snapped her back to the image of his broken and bleeding body.
Her heart clenched, eyes watered, but there was no release from this spell. Grief wasn't something that could be countered or reversed. But it could be diverted. The cursed scar burned so hotly she thought it would catch fire. And when she thought she was at the point of gaining control enough to centre herself, it intensified.
Those pale red eyes met hers, leaving her powerless to stop his intrusion. Memory after memory flowed from her mind to his. Life at Hogwarts, researching spells in the Black family library, detention with Snape. Then it turned to the things that she didn't want to relive. The Dursleys. The Dementor attack. Fleur's death. Viktor's death. The pain erupted ten fold while he lingered over those events, savouring them.
"You've done well, Barty."
The connection was severed.
"Almost there, Master," said Barty.
Horror enveloped her. Dying like this. Stuck under this spell. Every hopeful thread of getting out of this unscathed unravelled before her eyes.
Something moved in the corner of her vision. It was on the bed, slithering through the corpse, its head sliding down the footboard and across the floor. It was huge, not that Mary hadn't expected that, but in person, it made it that much worse. Nagini tasted the air and continued to slowly creep forward until she was out of Mary's range of vision. A heavy weight settled on her foot, then slowly coiled around her body, the thick muscles contracting and moving as Nagini wrapped herself around Mary's torso.
A cold forked tongue flicked out to taste her cheek and Mary wanted nothing more than to scream. Nagini ran her scaly neck against Mary's face, continuing upward until the snake settled around her shoulders, resting her head on top of Mary's like a crown. Again Nagini's tongue darted out to touch the scar on her forehead and Mary felt revulsion roll through herself. Could Nagini sense another… Mary didn't let the thought go any further.
"Patience, Nagini," Voldemort said. "You will be fed, but not now."
Shit, Mary just knew that she'd be the first course.
"It's time. Are you ready, Master?"
"I've waited years for this day."
Nothing was going right. There were still three… of them left, one of which was currently nuzzling her face in a manner that could almost be considered curious. There was no backup plan, she'd told no one what she knew, told no one of the ones she'd destroyed. If she died tonight, everything she had worked so hard to change would still come to pass.
"Remove the spell, Barty. Simple bindings will do. I wish to speak to her."
Barty lifted his wand. The snake around Mary's shoulder's coiled up tighter, a hiss spitting from its mouth.
"Stand down, Nagini. Barty means you no harm."
"She tastes odd, Massster." Nagini hissed in return, rubbing her scaly face against Mary's cheek. "Ssspecial."
Mary felt the thick ropes wrap around her ankles, and with another snap of his wrist, Mary felt the petrification spell dissipate, her knees giving out at once. With the ropes around her arms and legs, she barely had time to prepare herself, leaning heavily against the wall. She turned her head, teeth gnashing at the snake. Nagini hissed and slithered out of the way just in time.
Barty grabbed her arm, hauling her to her knees, and dragged her closer to the armchair that Voldemort sat in.
"What does being a Death Eater pay these days?" Mary asked, her fists clenched behind her back. "Are you being properly compensated for washing his scaly ass?"
Barty let go, not caring that Mary fell hard on her side. "Master?"
"As you wish."
"What you gotta ask permission to go to the loo?" Mary scoffed. "Pathetic."
"Crucio!"
The spell hit her at once. A fire burned through her bones. Her muscles cramped up, forcing her body to seize inward. The sensation intensifying with each moment. She sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from crying out, but every part of her yearned to scream, to let her wails shatter the windows.
"Enough!" The spell ended, a coughing sound erupted from the grotesque form of Babymort. "It is time."
Mary scrambled back to her knees and struggled to stand, only for Barty's wand to be in her face once again. The blue spell hit her full on.
When she woke again her back was against the cold headstone, arms splayed out and feet spread apart, bound by invisible ropes to the statue that stood above Tom Riddle Sr's grave. The stabbing pain in her scar had reached an intolerable level and it was all she could do not to pass out. Barty's arms wrapped around her while he made sure she was secured in place.
"Good, you're awake." He whispered into her ear, his nose touching her neck, lingering there. "He can't wait to have you."
Mary stretched out, sinking her teeth into the tough flesh of his neck, shaking her head and tugging, not caring that he was screaming and that his blood was dripping down her chin. Death was all he deserved.
"You taste like the piece of shit you are!" Mary spat on the ground. "He can have you!"
"Barty! Don't waste your time with her. She's a savage."
Mary smirked, watching Barty stumble away, a hand clutched to his bloodied neck. "Have fun! Break a leg! Lose an arm! I'll be happy to watch!"
"Silence her," Voldemort ordered.
The spell hit her at once, but Mary didn't care. All she needed was a little time and she could figure this out. First, she needed her wand, then she needed to figure out where Barty had put the cup. A portkey! She had one stuck to her wand holster! She focused on her leg, on the leather straps wrapped around her calf.
Only it wasn't there. The bastard had not only gotten too close for comfort, but he'd taken her last chance of escape.
But what was there to go back to? It'd been hours since she was taken. They'd likely found Viktor and Fleur. Who else was there to blame but her? Hogwarts wasn't an option. But the portkey would have at least taken her to Grimmauld Place. Sirius and Remus would believe her. They'd make sure that she was safe.
Her scar burned again and Mary let out a silent scream. Letting it pour out of her now that no one could witness or hear her pain. The rage erupted from her like a volcano, but she felt no release.
The magical ropes around her tightened and she opened her eyes to see Barty carrying the scaly piece of dung towards the large cauldron. The stench of the potion wafted toward her, making her retch and vomit on the grass below. Blood continued to trickle down her face, leaking into her eye and then her mouth.
It couldn't happen this way! No one knew what needed to be done. She'd been stupid and headstrong, keeping everything to herself. And for what? So that the maniacal being could come back into power and kill her? Where would that leave Sirius and Remus? Where would that leave Ron and Hermione? None of them would believe the evidence. They would know she had no part in Viktor and Fleur's deaths. Even Dumbledore would know that. But he'd be so stuck on finding and eliminating all of the the….things… that he wouldn't realize that she'd already taken care of four of them, five if that included her own death.
In her own fit of stubborn independence, she'd likely sentenced everyone she loved to death. They'd fight, that was a given, but would they win? How could they when he had a constant tie to the mortal plane?
The darkness seemed to pull closer, accentuating the fire beneath the cauldron. It made her eyes burn just looking at the flames, knowing what it was giving life to.
Barty carefully lowered Voldemort into the bubbling cauldron, causing sparks to drift into the sky. The liquid sparkled and hissed as Mary waited and watched on bated breath. She had not but a fool's hope that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord would drown.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
The stone cover of the grave beneath her feet cracked open. Entranced, Mary watched as a fine powder floated before her and fell into the mixture. The potion hissed and flared once again; turning the air around them into a dark poisonous-looking green fog.
"Flesh of the servant… willingly given…" Barty pulled out the long dagger; the same one he'd used to slit Fleur's throat, and held it tightly in his left hand. His voice was strong and his grip was sure, driving the blade downward and slicing off his own right hand. "You will," Barty hissed through his pain, "revive your master!"
Mary laughed at the sight, tremors running through her body. The sheer stupidity of this scum could not be matched! Here he had sliced off his own hand to resurrect a master that would no doubt torment and torture him for his ignorance. How she wished that she was the one who wielded that dagger. She would have taken far more from Barty than just a hand.
But just as she was about to give in to the stupor and delusions the pain caused, Barty stood, grasping both the dagger and his stump of an arm and moved toward her. His face set in a manic smile; no doubt in shock, and she knew exactly what he wanted from her. The ropes holding her arms lowered significantly and Mary had the brief idea that she could fight her way out of this situation, but the magical bindings kept her in place. Her arms stretched out in front of her as though she was presenting a gift. Mary bit down on her lip as Barty held the dagger to the crook of her right arm.
More blood, Mary told herself as she held completely still and took a deep breath to calm herself. It has to be taken by force. Another way I can muck up his plans.
He didn't know. No one knew outside of Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and her guardians. Not what the blood in that arm contained. Not what it could possibly do to him.
"Blood of the enemy forcibly taken!" Barty called out, his hot breath wafting over her face.
The silver dagger sliced through the main artery. Mary felt the hot liquid running down her arm and pouring off her fingertips into a small bowl.
Barty lifted his dark eyes to hers, a smirk on his face as he walked back to the cauldron and lifted the knife covered in her blood.
"You will resurrect your foe!" Barty let a few drops of her blood fall into the cauldron.
The effect was instant. Blinding white light shot up from the cauldron and the dark plumes of smoke engulfed everything in the area. Orange sparks danced in the air. The cauldron bubbled and its contents overflowed onto the ground below it. The bright light diminished and was replaced with the sickly glow of blood in the firelight.
The bright red blob, the size of a small child, lay at the bottom of the cauldron; stretching and moving grotesquely as it grew. The awful stench of burnt meat and hair overpowered everything else and Mary had to swallow down the bile and hold herself back from retching again. Her eyes stayed focused on that figure, watching as it transformed, twisted and changed, before standing up. It looked like a man, a tall naked man. His skin was red and splotchy like a newborn's. Thick dark hair, soaked through with the nasty green potion, clung to the sides of his pale face that held thin lips and a long regal nose.
It shouldn't have been this way. If Dumbledore's theory had been right, the warring magics would have killed him. The basilisk venom, the phoenix tears, even the werewolf saliva. Her giving her blood of free will. Voldemort should have died. Not come back whole and hearty, looking far more human than he had any right to be.
The pain in her scar had escalated to a whole new level, making her eyes water and whole body shake with the force of it. With all her might she tried to summon her wand. Time and time again she failed. Forced to watch her nemesis rise and stand before her.
"My robe, Barty," said Lord Voldemort, "it is time to call on those who turned their backs on me."
The man turned, revealing his glowing scarlet eyes. His tongue flitted out of his mouth, tasting the air for the first time, and a low moan emanated from his throat. He was nothing like was in Harry's memories.
Voldemort bent over and grabbed the bowl of her blood that sat next to the empty cauldron. His eyes focused upon her intently as he put the bowl to his lips and drained the container of every drop of liquid it held. He let it fall from his hands when Barty reappeared with a black robe that seemed to flow fluidly as though made from the darkest of magic. The gaunt-faced man gently robed his master, careful not to let the blood of his own arm touch the cloth in any way, then backed down to kneel at Voldemort's feet.
"Your arm, Barty, I feel my strength returning."
"My lord." Barty bowed his head, holding out the limb that held the Dark Mark.
Voldemort grabbed the man's arm and forcefully pressed his index finger into the skull of the Dark Mark.
Barty bit his lip and put his head down once more, the brand on his arm glowed bright red and slowly turned jet black. Mary let out a scream. Her scar burst open, threatening to crush her skull from the inside out. She could feel the stream of blood flowing from the lightning bolt shaped scar as darkness encroached.
Voldemort's eyes fluttered shut. The loud crack of others apparating into the area reverberating through the graveyard. Mary could hear their mutters and gasps. The low hum of fear and disbelief, when they looked up to find their former master standing whole and unharmed before them. Voldemort's distraction had Mary trying once again to summon her wand.
"Reborn of the bones of the filthy Muggle father that I killed," Voldemort whispered, moving to stand within a foot of her. "Faithfully served by the man who delivered you into my hands. Your blood though. That was the key ingredient. Twice this year I tried to apprehend you. Twice you escaped. That failure was not borne lightly. No, Barty paid for it quite dearly. But you were worth it."
"Go fuck yourself, Tom," Mary ground out.
"I was so disappointed when I was unable to kill you as a baby. I will admit that it was my own mistake. I underestimated your blood. But it will become my most powerful weapon. You see, Mary, with your blood flowing through my veins, you are no longer safe from me." Voldemort laughed, pulling a lock of her hair free and rubbing it between his fingers, his touch trailed down her bruised and burning cheek. "I can touch you now."
His scaly fingertip pulled at her bleeding lip. Mary couldn't resist. With one swift move, she jerked forward headbutted him. The sound of his skull cracking against hers was music to her ears.
Voldemort stumbled, eyes wide, then swung his arm out and hit Mary full in the face with the back of his hand. He turned his back on her to face his followers. "To think that others believe this pitiful child to be more powerful than I, Lord Voldemort. To think that my own followers fled and abandoned me over such a weak girl. Look at her now. She is nothing compared to me. A simple savage. Her power is nothing next to mine! Who would be the first to come forward and accept the honour of cursing her in my name?"
A robed and masked man stood to his feet and took a step forward. Bowing regally, sleek pale blond hair draped onto his robes. "I will, my lord."
"Lucius," Voldemort crooned, his eyes flashing in amusement. "The Cruciatus if you will."
The words had barely left the thinly lipped mouth and the curse was already hitting her. Mary gasped and sunk her front teeth into her lip, biting down as hard as she could to keep from screaming again. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. But to her immense surprise, the pain was fleeting.
Voldemort shook his head in a mockery of disappointment. "This displeases me, Lucius. Barty, reward him."
Barty lifted his wand, pointing it at Malfoy and chuckled as the man fell to the ground screaming.
"Get back in line!" Voldemort hissed at them both. "There is only one of you here tonight that has the right to hold such a place of honour! Barty, step forward."
Barty stopped a few feet away from his master, kneeling and bending again to kiss the mud-stained robes. "I am at your command, my lord."
Voldemort reached down to pull Barty's injured arm up. The evil wizard waved his wand and then stopped. His whole body seemed to stiffen.
"Heal yourself, Barty, you're making a mess."
"My lord?"
"Need I repeat myself?" Voldemort's tone was razor sharp.
"No my Lord."
While Voldemort's attention was pulled away, it gave Mary the distraction she needed. Focusing on a wand, any wand, with her eyes tightly shut, a chant echoed in her mind. Accio wand! Accio wand! Accio wand! Accio wand! A soft whooshing sound caught her ear as a wand flew through the air and smacked loudly into the palm of her hand.
Finite Incantatem. Finite Incantatem. Finite Incantatem. The ropes disappeared and she fell to the ground with a muffled thump, masked by the sound of Voldemort's infuriated scream.
Mary scrambled to her feet and dove behind a headstone. Voldemort's rage intensified, almost knocking her back down. She held a hand to her scar, pressing against an effort to ease the ache.
"Do not let her escape!" Voldemort hissed at the group of Death Eaters that had moved to surround him. "Lucius, Macnair, Nott, I want her brought back to me alive! Barty, replace the wards and return my wand! No one is to leave until she is found!"
"Yes, my lord!" The four men replied quickly, moving away from there master and joining the others in the search for Mary.
Mary pulled her father's cloak from her pocket and wrapped it tightly around herself, leaning against a crypt and trying to catch her breath while working on an escape plan. She crept from place to place, constantly checking her surroundings and hoping for a safe way out, but Death Eaters were everywhere.
A twig snapped and she spun around, her foot catching on the hem of the cloak and pulling it down to reveal her face. The grisly looking man smirked and dodged her disarming charm, casting a bright yellow curse at her feet. She jumped out of the way without a moment to spare and grasped the edge of the cloak to hide again.
"Crucio!" A loud voice boomed from behind Mary.
It was the fourth time she'd been hit with that damned curse that night and it only hurt worse. The bones in her body felt like they were on fire, slowly burning her from the inside out. Her hand clutched the yew wand with a death grip, her eyes snapping open as she ground her teeth and glared at MacNair. A wave of magic burst forth, knocking the man to his feet and sending his own wand flying off into the darkness.
With the cloak covering her once again, she slowly crawled over to a nearby tombstone, knowing that she wouldn't make it too much farther. A cold sweat washed over her, her stomach rolling while her limbs cramped up and acted as though they would snap under the pressure.
"She's close," Malfoy told the others from just a scant twenty feet away. "Just to the north. Nott, go around and cover from the gate. We can't let her get past the wards."
Wards! Mary's eyes widened and her breathing picked up. I have to get out of the cemetery!
Mary launched herself to the left, taking off at a dead sprint. The streetlights in the distance called to her, showing the path to safety. A spell sizzled past her face and she zigzagged, using the headstones for cover. Another curse blasted apart a marble bust, shooting bits of debris in every direction.
"Stupefy!"
Mary ducked, shooting up a shield charm just in time, then rolled to her feet and continued to run.
The hedgerow grew closer and closer, the shadows cast by the streetlight putting her into near darkness. Her foot caught on a rock and she tumbled forward, sprawled out in the wet grass.
"Bombarda!"
"Protego!" Mary pulled her wand upward, her shield holding true, while another spell sat ready on her lips. "Confringo!"
Nott, Sr couldn't get his shield up in time. He tried to duck, but the spell caught the top of his skull, caving it in and sent a splatter of gore and blood onto Lucius Malfoy's robes.
Mary stood, her legs trembling and her eyes burning, as the body fell with a muffled thump.
A flash of orange and then she crumpled to the ground. The bones in her left leg crunched together with the sound of stone on stone.
Malfoy laughed, his steps calm and sure. Her hands shook, but her grip on the yew wand didn't falter. It wanted blood. "Expulso!"
Malfoy batted the curse away as though it were a fly. "Expellia-"
"Imperio!"
Mary's curse hit Lucius full in the face. His eyes glazed over and he tripped on the hem of his own robes, still ambling toward her.
"Go away," Mary ordered him.
Lucius turned and walked in the opposite direction, heedless to the voices calling out to him.
"She's 'ere!" Macnair's gravelly voice called out.
Mary spun around, hopping on one leg, backing away from the group that walked toward her. "Bombarda Maxima!"
Macnair's hoarse laugh echoed through the graveyard as he jumped in glee, wand raised in the air, and he cast another Cruciatus curse at her, but she was able to roll out of its path and fired back. "Stupefy!"
"Protego!"
"Bombarda Maxima!" Mary yelled again, watching in mild fascination as the spell shot through the air like lightning, hitting Macnair full in the chest.
The force of the explosion charm made Macnair explode in a shower of meaty chunks, blood and bone fragments.
"Very nice, Potter!" Voldemort clapped stepping through the fog. "I thought there was no hope for you, but I now see that you can be useful." Voldemort didn't even spare a glance at his fallen servant. His movements swift and fluid as he stopped and stood in front of the others. "You have a quality that I've rarely seen. Do you know what that is, Potter?"
"Good hygiene?" Mary snarled, still moving backwards.
"Not quite." Voldemort hissed at her, red eyes glowing brighter the closer he came. "You don't have any reservations about killing. I can see it in your eyes. You have no remorse for the life you have just ended, only satisfaction."
"Of course I'm satisfied!" Mary replied, "he tried to kill me!"
"You intrigue me, Mary Potter. But I do believe it is time to end this charade once and for all."
"Have at it then." Mary shrugged, steeling her nerves and grasping the yew wand.
"Kill her!" Voldemort ordered his Death Eaters.
Shouts rang from every direction, a race to see who could kill her first. "Avada Kedavra!"
Mary darted behind a headstone, a flash of green light flying far too close to her face.
"Incendio!"
The large ball of flames created the distraction she needed to limp out into the street.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Mary stopped and spun on the spot, the green light growing closer.
With a faint pop, she disapparated, leaving nothing but a trail of her blood behind.
A/N: Thank you for reading!
I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories about this chapter and the story moving forward. :)
