Beth fell to her hands and knees onto a patch of soggy earth. A wave of nausea broke over her head, almost indistinguishable from the astonishment already soaked through it. She opened her eyes. She was somewhere different ... what had happened? Rothbard ... the Society rings ... he must have transported them. But where were they?
Evan let out a faint groan from nearby. She turned toward him, arm outstretched -- but Jules Rothbard seized her arm and pulled her upright.
"Not a word," he said quietly, and his grandfatherly voice was alight with excitement. "Creo persona!"
Something soft seemed to fall over Beth's head; she raised her hands and felt the cloth of a mask over every inch of her face. Rothbard had conjured one for Evan too, although the boy was still on his hands and knees, woozy from the Apparation.
"Up!" whispered Rothbard.
He jerked Evan to his feet. Evan swayed but stood his ground.
"Now," murmured Rothbard, "you see what it means to bear the Mark!"
Beth took a good look around. They stood on the edge of a forest; a graveyard spread before them like a dead city, bleak and unkind under the new-risen moon. She suddenly realized that they were not alone. The puffs and whooshes of Apparating wizards filled the air -- like the three of them, all wore masks. Then one of them let out a cry.
"Master ... Master ..."
The hooded figure fell to his knees and crawled to the center of a clearing. Beth's eyes finished adjusting to the dusk (Where was her Alchemy potion when she needed it? she thought) and suddenly she became aware of what was around her.
Dozens of wizards, all in hoods. A vast gravestone, strangely shaped -- something was tied to it -- an animal -- no, a man -- mewling in pain at the roots of a yew tree -- and at the center of it all, someone tall, someone fierce, someone to whom the hooded wizards were crawling, kissing his robes, circling around. Rothbard took Beth and Evan by their upper arms and yanked them into the ring of wizards.
The moon came out. The creature tied to the tombstone was Harry Potter ... and Beth knew who the tall wizard in the center was.
"Welcome, Death Eaters."
His voice was quiet. The masked men fell into a hushed silence that was part reverence and part fear. The icy tone of that voice reached out fingers to squeeze at Beth's heart. She couldn't move. She couldn't understand. In the light of the moon she saw still another figure that she had not noticed before, this one prone in the grass, unmoving. It was Cedric Diggory.
"Thirteen years ... thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday ... We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"
He sniffed at the air.
"I smell guilt," he said at last. "There is the stench of guilt upon the air."
This is not happening, thought Beth. Beside her, Rothbard gave a shiver.
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact -- such prompt appearances!" the Dark Lord continued. "And I ask myself ... why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"
Something brushed against the back of Beth's hand and she very nearly cried out -- but it was only Evan. He quietly took her hand and let his fingers lace among hers. The unexpected warmth of human touch jarred Beth from her shock. She began to shake.
"And I answer myself," the Dark Lord whispered. His voice was the thin crackle of windblown leaves, broken only by the sobs of the man behind him. "They must have believed me broken. They thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence ... and ignorance ... and bewitchment ..."
Beth squeezed Evan's hand a little tighter.
"And then I ask myself ... but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?"
Rothbard's mask twitched.
"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort ... perhaps they now pay allegiance to another ... perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles ... Albus Dumbledore?"
Muted denials and inaudible murmurs swept the circle. Beth felt only despair at the name. Where was he now, the champion of commoners? More importantly, where had he been when she -- and Evan, and Potter, and (not dead, just stunned, couldn't be dead) Cedric had been dragged into this impossible nightmare?
The Dark Lord shook his grotesque head. "It is a disappointment to me ... I confess myself disappointed ..."
Without warning, a man at Beth's right threw himself at the Dark Lord's feet. "Master!" he cried, his face in the dirt, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"
For a moment the only sounds were the man's fevered breathing. Then the Dark Lord began to laugh. He raised his wand.
"Crucio."
Beth winced backward involuntarily -- many of the Death Eaters did -- but the only man affected was he who had begged forgiveness ... he who now writhed on the ground, screaming not with guilt but torment, gripping his head with clawed hands ...
The Dark Lord moved his wand away and the screaming broke off into gasps and panting.
"Get up, Avery."
The Dark Lord's voice was brushed with disdain.
"Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years ... I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you." He gestured to the sobbing man beneath the tree. "Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail? You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"
The strange figure beneath the yew tree rocked back and forth, whimpering.
"Yes, Master ... please, Master ... please ..."
"Yet you helped return me to my body. Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me ... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers ..."
Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at the whimpering man and for one swift cold second Beth felt sure that he was going to kill him and put him out of his misery. Instead, a fine silver thread drifted from the end of his wand and swirled around the man's arm before swooping down and attaching itself to the man's wrist -- a severed wrist, Beth realized with a sickening jolt. The silver swirl formed into a perfect hand, slick as quicksilver, and the man's strangled sobs trailed away. He stared at his new limb. Then he picked something from the ground and crushed it to powder between his shining fingers.
"My Lord ..." he whispered, voice fringed with awe. "Master ... it is beautiful ... thank you ... thank you ..."
Abruptly he crawled forward and kissed the hem of his Master's robes.
"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail."
"No, my Lord ... never, my Lord ..."
The man called Wormtail stood up and slunk into the circle, unable to take his eyes from the glimmering new hand.
The Dark Lord nodded satisfactorily and clasped his slender hands behind his back. He began to pace around the circle of Death Eaters, murmuring to some, stopping before others, ignoring many. Beth froze as he came slowly nearer. He paused before a gap in the circle and the word "Lestranges" drifted along the wind. The word "Azkaban" came with it ...
And before Beth could have prepared herself, the Dark Lord stood before his Society president and the two young members.
"The young ones," said Voldemort, his voice barely audible. "Offered by their parents. My new generation ... well done, Rothbard."
"My Lord," said Rothbard breathlessly.
The Dark Lord met each of their faces in turn. Beth shook behind her mask, unable to take her eyes away from his piercing gaze. She felt faint. Just when she thought she would lose her mind, Voldemort turned and began to pace around the circle again. She drew a ragged breath. It hadn't been so long ... only a moment. But it had been eternity.
"Macnair ... destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me?"
Rothbard fairly shivered with pleasure. "Our Dark Lord is pleased with you!" he whispered rapturously. "We will honor him -- we will return our Society to its true purpose --"
Ebenezer Nott's voice came floating to their ears.
"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful --"
"That will do," said Voldemort quietly.
Evan tugged lightly on Beth's hand and leaned up to her ear. She glanced fearfully around the circle to be sure the Dark Lord's back was turned; then she leaned imperceptibly down to meet him. For the first time since this horrible thing had begun, Evan Wilkes spoke.
"We need to get out."
Finally, Beth's mind began to clear. Evan was right. There was no telling what would go on tonight, but whatever it was, she didn't want to be a part of it -- and look what had happened to that Avery man. She forced herself to ignore Voldemort's low voice and the vows of loyalty from his followers. Potter was struggling with his bonds, but not getting very far. Behind him stood a vast, wide-mouthed cauldron which Beth suddenly, starkly recognized ... Salazar's missing cauldron had been found. Her gaze fell on a thick, tattered spellbook lying open and forgotten in the grass beside it. She was not even surprised when she recognized that too.
"And here we have six missing Death Eaters ..." Voldemort's lazy voice was hypnotizing. "Three dead in my service."
"Your father stood there," Rothbard murmured. Evan did not reply.
"One, too cowardly to return ... he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever ... he will be killed, of course ... and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service."
Evan squeezed her hand again sharply. She glanced at him and met his dark eyes through the slits in his mask. Did he mean Riggs? Beth thought suddenly, and Evan's cold stare seemed to concur.
"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight ..."
Not Riggs, then. But did that mean that someone else -- another student -- a teacher? How, in fact, had Potter happened to be here at all?
"Yes," said Lord Voldemort, content as a cat, "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor."
It would have been funny, but for the reality.
One of the Death Eaters dared take one step closer to his Lord.
"Master, we crave to know ... we beg you to tell us ... how you have achieved this ... this miracle ... how you managed to return to us ..."
"Ah," said the Dark Lord, sounding perversely pleased with himself, "what a story it is, Lucius." He strolled toward Harry Potter. "And it begins -- and ends -- with my young friend here."
"Listen."
Evan's voice was barely audible. Beth leaned subtly towards him, trying to divide her attention. With one ear she listened to the amazing story of Lord Voldemort's return to corporeal power. The other was tuned to Evan's low, quick, clear voice.
"Potter is tied to the Riddle tombstone. I remember it. The Society crypt is just over that rise. If we can get there, we can plan -- hide --"
"Some of these people can follow us," Beth hissed. She cast an anxious glance at Jules Rothbard, but the man was apparently absorbed in his Dark Lord's every word.
"We must leave while they're distracted," Evan hissed back. "We must watch for our chance."
"But he's watching all the time. We'll never have a chance to leave," Beth whispered.
"We will," murmured Evan, "while he's killing Potter."
The cool statement stung through Beth's consciousness and startled her, but immediately the truth of it became clear. Lord Voldemort was going to kill Potter, and he was going to do it in front of the Death Eaters. It was obvious. When everyone else was distracted, the two of them would be able to slip into the woods unnoticed.
"Yes," said Beth quietly.
"...and a little help from my dear Nagini..."
Both of them looked up at the sound of Gina's name. An extremely familiar-looking snake wound coolly around the circle of Death Eaters, eyes fixed on her new master.
"A potion concocted of unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided ... I was soon returned to an almost human form ..."
He doesn't know Gina's nickname, Beth thought. The knowledge gave her a weird sort of pride -- she was better friends with Voldemort's pet snake than Voldemort himself. She had to muffle an uncalled-for giggle.
"Can you turn invisible?" Evan asked quietly.
"No. Can you?"
"I wouldn't be asking if I could," hissed Evan. "Apparate?"
"Yes -- I've never done it -- but I've had class --"
Mervin's pet snake came sliding through the grass at their feet. Evan's eyes darted to her long, graceful form.
"Gina!" he whispered.
Gina lifted her head slightly. She veered off of her course and wound around his feet, forked tongue flicking experimentally at his shoes. She slid her head along Beth's ankle, like a weird caress -- and she continued on her endless circling path.
"Crucio!"
Beth and Evan both flinched this time. For a fraction of a second Beth was convinced that Voldemort had heard them whispering and borne down on them like ... well, like McGonagall. But she wasn't on the receiving end of the curse, or in any case she wasn't the one screaming in agony. That turned out to be Potter.
The Dark Lord raised his wand. Harry Potter hung limp from the gravestone, and behind him the bold name TOM RIDDLE gleamed in the moonlight. The ring of Death Eaters broke into laughter. Beth joined in hollowly a moment later.
"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," the Dark Lord said, cool and triumphant. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger."
Beth's mind was already made up on that point.
Voldemort looked at his feet and whispered gently, "Just a little longer, Nagini."
Gina slithered away from her master and began to wind around the gathered Death Eaters again.
"Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."
The man with the silver hand stepped forward and slashed Potter's ropes with one swipe. Potter stumbled forward. Almost as if they had been cued, the Death Eaters began to step closer to their master, tightening the circle until it was continuous the whole way around. Beth felt Rothbard clamp down on her arm and drag her forward. A wave of despair hit her stomach. They'd never be able to escape if they were all crammed so close together. The silver-handed man left for a moment and came back with a wand, which he thrust at Potter like the plague.
"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?"
Beth glanced at Evan, but he was staring straight ahead.
"We bow to each other, Harry. Come, the niceties must be observed ..." Voldemort himself made a small, polite bow from the waist that was like the arc of a cobra. "Dumbledore would like you to show manners ... Bow to death, Harry ..."
Potter remained upright. The Death Eaters around them laughed. Beth thought that it wasn't the sort of hollow, uncertain laugh that Crabbe and Goyle were wont to provide whenever Draco cracked a joke. This was genuine laughter. They actually found it all funny.
"I said, bow," said the Dark Lord, raising his wand, and immediately Potter bent forward in an unnatural imitation of a bow. "Very good." He lowered his wand and Potter sprang upright again, angry and scared. "And now you face me, like a man ... straight-backed and proud, the way your father died ... And now -- we duel. Crucio."
Potter never saw it coming. His screams echoed through the graveyard and through the clear night sky. Beth was grateful for her mask -- it hid the fact that her eyes were tightly clenched shut.
Then there was no sound but floods of cruel laughter. Certain that Potter was dead, Beth opened her eyes to see the boy stagger to his feet and stumble toward the ring of Death Eaters, only to be shoved backward again. He was shaking like a leaf.
"A little break," said the Dark Lord, and Beth suddenly hated him almost as much as she feared him. "A little pause ... That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"
Potter did not speak. Beth had never seen anyone look so vicious and courageous.
Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes and raised his chin slightly. "I asked you whether you want me to do that again," he said, cool voice dangerously low. "Answer me! Imperio!"
For just a moment there was deadly silence. Then Potter opened his mouth, as if against his will ...
"I WON'T!"
It was like the crack of a gun. The Death Eaters murmured and fell quiet. Lord Voldemort's stance changed subtly.
"You won't?" His voice was the hiss of a basilisk. "You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die ... Perhaps another little dose of pain?"
Beth closed her eyes again. She heard the curse cried out and a sharp crack -- involuntarily she opened her eyes to see the Riddle tombstone cracked from stem to stern.
Voldemort circled in front of the tombstone, like a cat with the mouse in its sights; Beth realized that Potter was behind it. "We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry. You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry ... come out and play, then ... it will be quick ..."
One step closer.
"It might even be painless ..."
Closer still.
"I would not know ..."
Advancing slowly, wand outstretched ...
"I have never died ..."
Without warning, Potter leapt from behind the tombstone. He thrust his wand out and shouted "Expelliarmus!" at the top of his lungs.
The Dark Lord cried, "Avada Kedavra!"
Red and green curselights crashed together in midair. Instantly, the expression on both wizards' faces changed to astonishment as gold swept along the bands of light, melding them into one brilliant, blazing strand. The wands shook in their hands. No one spoke -- no one knew what was happening, Beth had never heard of anything like this before --
And the dueling wizards were lifted into the air, wands still bound by the shimmering gold light.
Beth watched thunderstruck as the pair of them floated over the graves and off to a clear space several yards away. Both were fighting, it seemed, to keep hold of their wands, which leapt in their hands like newly-caught trout. They landed and the golden light shattered into a fantastic web of gold that surrounded them both in a celestial dome.
Somebody grabbed Beth's arm.
"Now," barked Evan.
The Death Eaters were disbanded, confused, out of control. Without looking back, Beth turned on her heel and sprinted after Evan, across the graveyard, toward the swell of earth where the Society crypt stood.
She skidded and slowed as they passed the Riddle tombstone. "Hang on --" She turned and pulled her wand out, even in mid-stride, and screamed, "Accio Ledger!" The enormous old book came soaring into her arms. She tore off after Evan again.
Evan reached the crypt first. He thrust his ring against the broad marble wall and sank through without a glance back. Beth shifted the Ledger to one arm and pressed her ring into the indentation of the crest. The wall enveloped her like a warm mist and set her free inside the tomb.
It was just as she remembered. The smooth walls were covered with the carved names of members past and present, flanked by the year of their induction. Some bore a ring in a little niche beside the name: the members who no longer lived to wear them. There was no ring beside Tom Riddle's name.
"Apparate us."
Beth looked at Evan. The boy had torn off his mask; it lay crumpled at his feet, while his dark eyes danced feverishly. Beth reached up and ripped away her own mask. Her legs went weak as she suddenly realized everything she had seen, everything that still lay outside the crypt walls ... everything that might still be after her ...
"You can't Apparate onto the grounds ..." she said, voice trembling.
"Apparate to Hogsmeade!" cried Evan. "We can walk from there!" He thrust his hand against the carved name of Jules Rothbard, high on the stone wall, and reeled back. "I can see him -- he knows where we are -- he's coming -- but Gina's in the way, I saw her lunge ..."
Beth barely heard him. Her eyes were drawn to the wall of names.
"Look! Look at Riddle's name --"
The stone around the carved name of Tom Riddle gave a shiver. The smooth granite shuddered and began to melt together. In a moment, the name of Riddle was entirely gone. Then, with barely a pause in between, a new engraving rose in its place.
It was as Beth expected. The slot now read "Lord Voldemort."
"He's replaced himself," said Evan softly. Beth didn't try to process what he had said. She shook her head sharply and strode away from the wall.
"I need to think. I can't just Apparate -- I've only done it in class ... I need to concentrate ..." She put down the Ledger. "Attenuus." The book shrank to the size of a postcard. Beth picked it back up and stuffed it into her pocket.
"If you don't concentrate, we're both going to be killed!" Evan roared. He turned and pressed his palm against Rothbard's name again, then drew away as if burnt. "He's dead."
"What?" Beth felt like she was on a broken carousel.
"Gina has him ..."
The masks which Rothbard had conjured faded back into thin air.
"Oh ..."
"Think," Evan urged. "We don't know who else was following us. We need to get out before anyone else realizes we're gone."
"I ... just a minute ..."
Beth felt sick at the thought of Rothbard and dizzy with fright. Which was worse, a horde of Death Eaters or splinching in a place where no one could find you? She looked helplessly back at the door, as if she could find the answer carved there along with the Society crest.
"We don't have a minute," Evan hissed. Without warning, he reared back and slapped her across the cheek.
Clarity shot through Beth's brain as sharp as the sound of Evan hitting her. With it came resolve.
First she slapped Evan back, as hard as she could. Evan stood his ground with a perversely proud expression on his face. "Come on, give me your hands," she barked. She reached out and grabbed his hands before he could offer them. "Now shut up and let me concentrate."
Beth took a deep breath. "Ceteris paribus." The rings flashed red and faded. She closed her eyes and forced her whirling brain to slow down and be silent. Hogsmeade, she must think of nothing but Hogsmeade and Madame Hooch, drilling instructions into their brains. She must concentrate ...
"Disapparate."
There was a sickening lurch and a flash of bright light that Beth saw even through the lids of her eyes. A rush of air whistled past her ears and died down. Her feet felt strange -- were they in midair, or on solid ground? She couldn't tell --
The whooshing noise stopped and the two of them were plunged into silence.
Beth swallowed hard and opened her eyes. Her heart leapt -- they stood in the middle of the dark street in Hogsmeade village, surrounded by familiar shops and restaurants and -- and people safe in those buildings who knew nothing of what had gone on in the graveyard -- people who would kill them if they knew --
Evan swayed dizzily for a moment; then he let go of Beth's hands and opened his eyes.
"I'll be back by tonight," he said.
Without another word, Evan took off down the dark streets of Hogsmeade and disappeared into an alley.
Beth stared helplessly after him. Where could she go, with this skull like a brand on her arm? Who could she speak to, when she had seen death rise before her, when she had seen good and evil do battle, but didn't know the outcome? She looked down at her hands and her gaze was drawn to the skull, charcoal-black and stark in the nighttime pallor. I wish it had been burnt off, she thought fiercely, and for the first time tears began to rise in her eyes.
There was a whoosh behind her -- the unmistakable sound of Apparation -- and Beth leaped backward, simultaneously whirling around and drawing her wand. "Get away!" she said shrilly, not caring who it might be, but a pleading voice came through the darkness:
"Bethy. Don't."
Lycaeon emerged from the shadows. His eyes were hollow as they had been a year ago, in the dark cell of Azkaban, and he clutched a wand in one hand as if he were clinging to life itself. Clutched in his other hand was a rumpled mask.
Beth shook at the sight of him but didn't lower her wand from where it pointed at his chest. "How could you do that to me?" she shrieked, hot fury rising to mingle with the fear.
"Beth ..." Lycaeon held out his hands pleadingly. The sight of the mask only made Beth madder.
"How could you go back?" she demanded shrilly. "After what you said at the trial -- he left you in prison --"
Lycaeon dropped his hands and clutched the mask more tightly. "You don't know what it was like!" His voice rose to a shout. "You don't know how strong he can be -- He knows who I am. I can't stay away. Those who run will be killed -- you heard him --- but this way ..." He threw his wand to the ground. "I stole that so that I could Apparate at the Dark Lord's call. They'll send me back to Azkaban for it ... but it's better than betraying our Lord. And it won't be for long -- he'll break me out soon, you'll see -- it won't be long ... then I'll be honored, instead of tortured ... glorified, instead of killed ..."
There was a wild light in his eyes, and for a moment Beth was tempted to think that he was as mad as Chris or their mother. But he was sane, if haunted, and that was more frightening: a man in his right mind chose the drain of dementors over the wrath of Voldemort.
"You don't know what it was like," Lycaeon said again, and his face was ashen. "He kept wanting us to kill Dad, for being a Squib -- he threatened to kill you --" He broke off. "I don't know about Mother -- she was always -- well -- but we, Chris and I, we did it to protect you."
Beth stared at him, stunned, and lowered her wand.
"He was all-powerful," Lycaeon went on, half muttering in the shadows. "He was everything. He was the future. It was life or death. And I ... I've had half a life ... but it could have been none at all."
Neither of them moved.
A whooshing noise came from behind them and suddenly a large hand was on Lycaeon's shoulder. "Parson, I thought you had more sense," came a rough, disgusted voice. "Stealing a wand. That move'll get you straight back into Azkaban."
Lycaeon barely moved as his parole officer hoisted him into the light of a street lamp. "Sorry, miss," the officer said to Beth, binding Lycaeon's hands with a flick of his wand.
Beth shook herself out of her stupor. "No!" she cried, leaping forward. "It was me -- I mean, he took it for me -- it wasn't him --" But her lies were tangled on her tongue and fell useless into the air. "Stop, don't --"
And suddenly she was alone in the dark street.
