--I own Desiree McDaniels. That's it. Everyone else is the product of that wonderful woman J.K. Rowling. Expect more chapters soon.--

Long, white fingers gently touched the ornate golden frame.
"You have found it," murmured a voice.
"Y-y-yes, Master," another whispered back. Its owner was hidden discreetly back in the shadows.
"Quite an excellent job." The fingers ran lightly over the delicate etchings, savoring every curve and impression as if the frame had suddenly become sweet wine. "Quite an excellent job, if I do say so myself." The second voice in the darkness let out a nervous laugh of relief.
"Th-thank you, M-master," it gasped. There was a very long pause as the fingertips took in the elaborate designs; after what seemed an eternity of nothing but silence and the shallow breathing of the second presence, the first spoke again.
"Bring me my wand," it said softly.
"Y-yes, Master." Footsteps shuffled off into the darkness. The owner of the quiet voice and the long, white fingers stepped back slightly in a billow of black robes.
"Quite a work of art. Quite a work in-deed." The second reappeared quite suddenly, a shaking silver hand offering a slender wooden stick.
"Y-y-y-your w-wand, M-m--"
"Quiet," snapped the one in black robes. "You're starting to sound as bad as that idiot Quirrell."
"F-forgive me, Master," the second whispered. "I do not wish to anger--"
"Then give me the knife." There was another long hesitation; the black-robed one turned slowly from the golden frame. "Are you deliberately defying my orders?"
"No, no--" The smaller, shakier figure shook its head hard. "No, it's just -- you're too weak, Master, to make such a sacr--" Folds of black robes swished in an angry, almost snakelike sound.
"Give. Me. The. Knife." A flash of blade shone sharply in the dim light; the long, white fingers overturned to expose an equally white palm. The first presence grasped the handle of the knife greedily, and the second drew back farther into the darkness.
"You are too weak, Master," he repeated in a hushed voice.
"Silence." Black robes swished again as the taller, thinner shadow turned back to the golden frame. There was a long, terribly tense moment of silence before it pressed the tip of the blade gently to the pad of its white hand. Slowly, the first drew the shining edge across the length of its palm, a steady river of crimson liquid following as if a red string had been tied to the knife's handle. It continued without even a grunt of discomfort until the blade ran out of pale skin to sever; the hand's owner lifted its palm to the smooth surface lying within the frame. It was a mirror. "With my blood I bear thee," the shadow whispered. "With my blood I bid thee. With my blood --" It lifted its palm to the glass and smeared the scarlet liquid in two large, interlinking circles. "-- I bind thee," it finished with a dry whisper. The white hand was pulled back, but the runnels of crimson down its fingers went unnoticed. "Smash the mirror," its owner ordered suddenly.
"B-but --"
"Smash the mirror," the one in black robes repeated, tone cold as ice. The second wordlessly clenched its fist -- the silver one -- and placed it parallel to the glass of the mirror. Its surface was flawless, aside from the two interlocking rings of blood. After a very brief pause, silver met silver and the mirror shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds, rising into the air like a horde of terrible jagged, shimmering insects. An unholy splintering noise filled the air; the owner of the silver hand drew back sharply, rubbing its knuckles even though there were no cuts.
"Are you sure this is right, Master?"
"You are acting as if you want to be punished," whispered the first voice.
"N-no, I don't --"
"Yes, I am sure," it went on, and lifted the white hand to its thin lips. Slowly, almost lovingly, it traced the rivulet of blood with its tongue, savoring the coppery taste like a scarlet wine. "As sure as I stand here before you, this is right." There was a dry, sinister chuckle; it licked the blood from its lips, careful not to miss a drop. "Right as rain." A thousand pale, horrible faces lay on the grounds in shards, glinting and glimmering in the dim light.
"As you say, Master," the second voice mumbled, and lapsed back into silence once again.