A curt bark of laugher as he looked up. Moonbeam pale hair, a pointed pale chin, and pale blue eyes glowing with the look of a cat with a mouse beneath its paw--a face aristocratic and icy cold. He looks like Professor Malfoy, he realized dimly. "I should think you will not," drawled his captor. "Move." He gestured the four of them towards the Forbidden Forest.
Indeed, Harold moved, stumbling over tree roots and stones in the darkness, too terrified to look down to see what was underfoot, all too aware of the wand pointed at their backs. If he raised his hands to try and retrieve his wand from the sleeves of his robe, he'd be dead before he could blink.
"Where are we going?" Joe asked nervously. Silence was the only reply. Dimly Harold heard the sounds of the forest all around him-mysterious rustles in the bushes, snuffles and grunts from some Puuas, weighing as much as six men and with wickedly sharp tusks as long as one of those men's arms. A shriek somewhere in the darkness as some hunter of the night caught its prey. Not a one of those creatures sent a prickle up and down his spine half so much as the man behind them. What's he going to do with us? His greatest fear at the moment of capture, being disciplined by Headmistress McGonagall and in turn, Professor Granger, paled sickeningly as he realized what was in store for himself and his companions was likely far worse than deducted House Points and detention cleaning bedpans for Madame Pomfrey.
Suddenly Thomas stumbled over a tree root, letting out a cry of dismay. Malfoy's attention was solely on him for a moment, so he took the chance and quickly reached for his wand. Pulled it out, clutched it in his sweating hand, and shouted one of the few spells he knew. "Expelliarmus!"
Ollivander had been right--Welsh Red dragon heartstring and palmetto was an powerful combination. Malfoy actually lost his wand, and even was knocked off his feet. But before the elation could sink in and he could shout for the lot of them to run for it he heard a laugh that called to mind the cackle of every Disney cartoon villain he had seen. But less hysterical; it was coldly malevolent. "Lucius, my my. Outdone by a mere child."
He turned, ready to scream in horror when he beheld the gaunt figure before him in the clearing. Skin white as chalk, eyes burning an unnatural red in a snake's face. That lipless mouth sneered at him, studying him. "A Gryffindor too, and Mudblood filth." How did he know that? "Now, boy, why don't you let me have that? It's not good for children to be playing with dangerous toys." One curt spell and all four of their wands were in his hand. He didn't need to ask who their captor was. Every fiber of his being was screaming it: the Dark lord Voldemort.
"Now, Lucius," Voldemort continued in a smooth tone as his henchman appeared, brushing dirt and leaf matter off his robes with a disgruntled expression, "have you nothing better to do than chase some stupid children?"
"Master," Malfoy said smoothly, with only a faint whine of obeisance, "I thought they might be of use. You know that they will not risk their own. If you demand anything for their safe return, they will give it."
"Very good, Lucius," again that mocking praise. "And that is why they will never defeat me. Always unable to make the sacrifices." He stared long and hard at the four of them. "I am disappointed in you, young Lightoller," he said with something approaching gentleness. "Consorting with Gryffindors and filthy Mudbloods such as these?" He gestured to Harold and Joseph. "Slytherins are meant for greater. Your family is one of the most powerful in our world. Join me and see where your true destiny lies. I can give you power and riches beyond your wildest dreams." The tone was seductive, cajoling, almost hypnotic.
If he betrays us, I'll kill him myself! Harold stood there, hands clenched into fists. His mind ran with wild accusations. Had Bert purposely led them out here to defect to Lord Voldemort, bringing the three of them as a present for his new master? No, no, he was a sodding idiot sometimes and a bit of a snob, but he wasn't evil like that. He couldn't be.
"Don't you dare, Bert Lightoller!" he shouted.
"Silence!" Voldemort hissed, hatred shining in his eyes.
Bert's blue eyes were wide with sheer fright, but he managed to say in a firm tone, "No."
"Then you'll suffer their fate," Voldemort shrugged coldly, sounding no more bothered by insinuating a gruesome death awaited than a normal man would have been had he heard that he was out of sugar.
Soon enough the four found themselves in a Body-Bind, being Levitated back in the direction of Hogwarts. He could no longer ignore the voice inside telling him that tonight was his night to die. And his parents wouldn't even understand what had happened to him. Cold to the bone, he started to pray harder than he ever had in his life.
No sign of the missing boys. Hermione was almost sick with worry--God knew what might have befallen them. But as the Death Eaters came closer to the doors of Hogwarts, she prayed they were hidden away safely in some forgotten room in the castle. She gripped her wand, ready to cast a spell as soon as they destroyed the door, as they would inevitably do. They were outnumbered slightly, and the element of surprise would be on their side now instead of Voldemort's, thanks to Tosca's keen eyes. Where was Tosca? For that matter, where on Earth was Severus?
"Stand fast!" Minerva shouted. Hermione heard faint whimpers from some of the students from their fear. She could barely remember being sixteen any longer--she had aged decades in the few years since.
Years of terror, months or preparation, and so many dead. It all finally came down to this, here and now. But there was no sound of spells hitting the ancient oak of the door. It was all eerily silent. She exchanged a dumbfounded glance with Persephone Sprout. What happens now?
He flew with urgency in every wing beat, eyes frantically scanning the ground below for any sight of the missing students. But in his heart, he knew. He knew young Lightoller's proclivity for sneaking outside the gates after curfew. They wouldn't be anywhere in the castle. They were out beyond the castle walls, and the Dark Lord had them. He'd bet on that down to his last Galleon, and the thought terrified him. He best of all knew Voldemort's tactics, and that indeed included taking hostages. And once they lost their use as bargaining chips, he would kill them.
It was foolish to leave the castle when they needed every wizard and witch there was in its defense, but he couldn't just leave the boys to their fate. Finally he spied them coming out of the Forbidden Forest and entering the hole in Hogwart's gates. But he made no move to attack the doors, and the Death Eaters sat there silently. In the castle we have the advantage, he realized with a sick feeling. He wants us to come out in the open. And the first years were the bait.
The Death Eaters looked as one at their master, awaiting command. Snape could sense the eagerness for the kill rolling off some of them like the stench of rot. "Minerva!" he shouted mockingly, his voice booming out with the assistance of an Exaudio. "Shouldn't you keep a better eye on your young ones?" Silence in the cold night, and Voldemort went on. "And where is the noble Harry Potter? A Gryffindor hiding instead of fighting? My my. Have your allies face mine, Minerva, else the first death tonight will be this little Mudblood here--Lowe, isn't it? Then his three chums here, too: one dead for every five minutes you delay. I give you one minute."
The older witch's face was a study in misery. "Because that's Tom Riddle for you. He won't win with anything besides a beau geste. Won't have it said that he won by murdering his foes in their beds."
"What the hell has he being doing these past years if not that?" she demanded.
Minerva sighed. "He wants a complete victory to savor. He won't have it said that if he had faced us fairly, we might have won." She smiled sadly, remembering the boy she had loved. "He always did have a slightly twisted sense of chivalry. Brutal, dishonorable tactics are all right for his Death Eaters. But not for him personally."
"What do we do, Minerva?" Aylmeri murmured.
"We face him," Minerva replied, squaring her thin shoulders. "What else is there to do? I'll not have those boys' blood on my hands."
Harry was suddenly at Minerva's side. "Please," he said, his look fierce. "It has to be me to face him. He knows it as well as I do." There would be no denying him. It was obvious to anyone present. And what reason was there to keep a young man from his destiny?
Minerva hesitated only a moment before nodding. "Take care," she murmured, clasping Harry's hands in hers for a moment. "Come along," she called, and headed for the front door, head held high. Then came the scream.
He saw Voldemort raise his wand and point it at young Lowe, the word out of his mouth. "Crucio!" Lowe screamed in pain, a high-pitched keening. He knew the feeling--every nerve gone white-hot with pain, pain such as could never be imagined. Like being methodically flayed alive--you were made of pain. With a renewed sense of urgency, he dropped to the ground about fifty feet behind the Death Eaters, behind all the turned backs, and assumed his human form. He drew his wand. Voldemort would never see it coming.
Just as the first syllable was forming on his lips, the front door of the castle hurriedly opened. Voldemort immediately cut off the spell. "So good of you to join us," he purred. Snape stared at the expanse of black-robed back. There was no need for any to die save Voldemort, and here was his chance. One good spell. That's all I need. One good spell and the man responsible for the death of his parents, and the deaths of so many others, would be no more. But for the first time in his life, fear of the sacrifice stayed his hand for a moment. He wanted to live, desperately. But at what cost? He looked towards the front door and saw her, wavy brown hair wild as always. Hermione. A smile came across his lips.
Her love was the best thing in his life without question. He allowed himself a moment of memory--the first time he saw her in the Great Hall, Sorting Hat on her head. Exasperation and pride in her Potions genius over the years. Then there was that first project of the Forgetfulness Potion, and feeling the fierce urge to protect her when he found her Animagism out. The way she looked coming back to Hogwarts. Hearing her confession of loving him, the grief of that night in the dungeons, the feel of her kiss, her whispers in his ear and the touch of her hands as they made love. Dry-eyed, he then raised his wand. Spoke the fatal words with a calm voice. "Avada Kedavra."