Complete summary: It is the start of Harry's sixth year, and through the
summer Voldemort has been silent, but not necessarily dormant. When the
Dark Lord surfaces again, this time accompanied by an army so much more
than human, Harry finds that, for the first time in his life, Dumbledore
may not be able to help him escape the Dark Lord. Thus he is forced to take
other actions in the pursuit of stopping Voldemort, but how far is too far
in the world of magic?
A/N: Hello my dear readers! My name is Adrienne, and up until now I had very little interest in serious writing. If you're an Invader Zim fan, you can click my name and see what other ridiculous, nonsensical stories I had amused myself with previously. But now, now I am making a much-enjoyed foray into the realm of serious fiction, and Harry Potter to boot! So, while I am not asking you to be less sincere in your reviews, I want to let you know that if it sucks, I have an excuse ;D
Notes: I do not speak Latin, I am sorry. For the Latin in this chapter I had to resort to translating it one word at a time using a Latin-English dictionary, and for words I couldn't find I just typed random letters. I am sure that the part of it that is actual Latin is far from grammatically correct, but it's the effort that counts, right? Also, I've only read Order of the Phoenix once, so much of this story probably conflicts with that book. I know it's wrong, but honey, I do not care =)
-
The battle at the Ministry of Magic was a failure. No, Voldemort thought as he apparated away from the scene, clutching Bellatrix Lestrange mercilessly by her thin upper arm. The battle was not a failure. If all had gone as planned, Harry Potter and Dumbledore would be dead. His Death Eaters were the failures. The Dark Lord's pale, lipless mouth twisted into a curl of disgust. His favored followers, the darkest of the darkest and the best of the best. Beaten by a feeble old man and a handful of school children. It was then he knew where they were going. He decided then that these mortals could not be trusted any longer. In the split second between their disappearance from the room at the Ministry of Magic to their appearance somewhere else, Voldemort knew what needed to be done.
He was taking Bellatrix to the Cavern of the Lord's Children. A scant fifty- six kilometers from Hogwarts, the dank cave was where the Dark Lord had once implemented the first stage of one of his plans. It had begun over a decade and a half ago, before that cursed night when he entered the Potter's home. He had not returned since he had been defeated, and not even after he regained his physical body. No one had entered or exited that chamber in fifteen years, and Voldemort knew what he would find there. But there was no choice now. Even though there remained no doubt as to what lay within that dark, damp cave, perhaps there was something salvageable...perhaps someone, something, somehow still lived. He might have to destroy whatever remained, he might have to start from the beginning...but Voldemort knew that with most of his Death Eaters in prison and the rest of them failures, he would need new soldiers to fight for him. It was an extreme measure to take when he was still weak, so weak compared to what he had once been. But it was the only way.
With his ragged nails still digging into Bellatrix's yielding flesh, the two of them popped back into existence in the center of an enormous, domed room. The walls and round ceiling were made of stone, but Voldemort could see it had cracked in places; trickles of wet earth had begun seeping through, and the trees and plants that grew above it had begun driving their roots ceaselessly through the ruins of the wall. The stench of death was a heavy blanket over the chamber, and Bellatrix gasped, retching, as the thick air clogged her throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He realized then that the torches had long since burned out, and Bellatrix's mortal eyes could see nothing but smooth, velvety blackness. He released the woman and she fell to the floor, gagging as the miasma of decay wound thick, deadly tendrils down her throat. With a wave of Voldemort's wands, all of the torches attached to the wall sprung to life, burning with a flickering flame that caused creeping shadows to play over the chamber and it's occupants. Another muttered incantation from the pale- skinned man, and the stale air disappeared, replaced by new air that was at least fit to breathe, though the fingers of ancient death still kept the room in an unbreakable grip.
Bellatrix raised her sunken eyes from the dirt, first to seek out her master and then to roam the unfamiliar room. She drew in breath after ragged breath, trying to comprehend what her eyes beheld.
The room was a good eighty meters in diameter, and it was a perfect circle in shape. Ornate carvings decorated the walls, and though they were too dim to make out in detail, Bellatrix saw several threatening stone renditions of the Dark Lord himself among the hieroglyphics. Two skeletons lay beneath one torch, nothing left clinging to their bones but bits putrefying flesh and shredded, decomposing remains of their clothing. They were twisted in an endless embrace, dusty yellow bones intertwined, but their abyssal, eyeless sockets were turned towards the middle of the room, towards Bellatrix and Voldemort.
But that was not what Bellatrix was shocked to see. Suspended by unseen forces about two thirds of a meter above the sodden dirt floor, were dozens upon dozens of green spheres. Two meters tall and 1 ½ meters wide, each luminescent emerald sphere encased a body. A human body...or, at the very least, humanoid. Most were dead, in various states of decay from bleached white skeletons to half-rotted corpses with sickly gray-green skin. Even more horrible, though, was that some of the prisoners still lived. Nearest to them was a globe containing the form of a young woman, quite naked, with pallid flesh and extremely pronounced ribs. The woman's features were sunken, skeletal, and her bones jutted sharply from her withered form. Her hair was a deep blue-purple, though it was matted and brittle like dried hay, and Bellatrix noticed that rather than normal hands and feet, fine jaden scales began at her elbows, mere outlines at first, but hardening and solidifying as they grew nearer to the hand. Instead of fingers and toes she had four wicked-looking talons on each extremity. Her eyes were closed and her skin had a slight ashen hue, but her breast pulsed with a weak rhythm of determined life.
"My Lord?" Bellatrix whispered, her voice hushed and querying. She reached a hand out to touch the glass-like surface of the reptile-woman's bubble, which upon closer inspection proved to be clear, but filled with a thick green gel. Before she could touch the outer layer of it, Voldemort had darted forward and grabbed her wrist in a crushing grip.
"Do not touch them." He hissed, throwing her arm from him in disgust. Bellatrix clenched her teeth in pain, pulling her bruised wrist too her as he released his hold. But Voldemort did not notice; his scarlet eyes were alight with excitement and fury as they roamed the room, skipping over the rotted bodies lying not far away.
"Master, what is this place?" The Death-Eater could not help but whisper as she cast nervous eyes about the room. She felt as though she were desecrating an ancient tomb, and if she spoke too loudly the souls who rested there would hear her.
"This is the Cavern of the Lord's Children, Bella." Voldemort responded, walking among the floating spheres and examining each occupant. She followed a few paces after her Lord, not keen on being left behind in such a place. The dry, cold voice of Voldemort wrapped her in a metaphorical cocoon of words as he continued his perusal. There was regret in his voice, sorrow at so many ruined opportunities... and... and a perverse kind of hope, as if praying to find something worth saving.
"These are my children." He told her, running one blanched, spindly finger over the surface of a globe that contained a youth with curving yellow horns and crimson skin stretched taut over his frame. "But not in the sense you may be thinking. I am not their father, at least by the conventional definition humans give to that word.
"But I created them. They are borne of my blood and my soul, borne of my magic and my power. In a way, they are me. It was a rare piece of dark magic that created them almost two decades ago." He paused, drawing in a deep breath, and waved a bony hand towards the two skeletons that lay against the wall in their final resting place.
"You may recall Blackwood and Lourdes. They were once Death Eaters, and I left them here when I created this chamber to care for my children. Every month, I brought them enough supplies to live on, but other than me they had no link to the outside world. Only I, and those I allow, can get in and out of this room. When Harry Potter," Voldemort paused here, his red eyes blazing with unquenched hatred, "destroyed me over fifteen years ago, they were forgotten. It could not have been long before they died." The Dark Lord's voice was pitiless. Bellatrix looked over her shoulder at the remains of her fellow Death Eaters. She vaguely remembered them; cold, ethereal, merciless Blackwood and hot-tempered, violent Lourdes. Their living faces, blurred but clear enough, surfaced in her mind and a cold shiver reverberated down her backbone. She looked away, tunneling her vision towards the opposite wall. She did not want to see them, grasping each other in a desparate, unconsoling grip, nor did she wish to see those held captive inside the awful, levitating prisons, whether they be dead, alive, or somewhere between the two. Bellatrix wanted out of this horrible chamber, swirling electrically with ghosts from a time long before. But as Voldemort had stated, there were no doors or windows in sight, and when Bellatrix experimentally attempted to concentrate upon Apparating, the only thing that came to her mind was a dull, faraway buzzing.
"And thus, my children were left without anyone to care for them." Voldemort continued, unaware of Bella's growing panic that she was stuck in here until he chose to let her go. "The globes are what prevented them from all perishing within the first week; they are designed to keep whatever is inside them alive and growing. Somewhat like an enchanted, artificial womb...but such complicated systems of nature are very hard to replicate, with or without magic, and as you can see many of them died despite the magic they were under. That was why I had Lourdes and Blackwood here, so make sure nothing went wrong. I had planned to free them when they were young, perhaps ten, and give them a proper education in the dark arts...but Potter nearly vanquished me when they were scarcely three years of age. And now they must be nineteen or twenty...those that survived, at least." The tall man turned and surveyed the chamber with an air of mourning for the lives that were lost. Not because he thought of his children or the two dead Death Eaters as living, feeling creatures whose lives were precious, but because to him they represented what could have been had he not failed to destroy Potter.
"There were 150 of them to begin. A suitable number to start with, factoring in the estimated that a rough 10% of them would not survive incubation despite efforts to keep them alive. Now..." His reptilian eyes closed, and the pale lids covering them fluttered in a moment of intense silence.
"There are only seventeen of them left." Voldemort stated. Bellatrix wondered when he had had time to count the number of survivors, but even if she had had the courage to speak at that moment in time, her master continued before she could open her mouth.
"Undoubtedly you noticed they are not human. I was born a mortal, but once I had transcended the affliction of my birth, I saw what unworthy, fragile, defenseless creatures humans are. Nothing but soft skin to protect them, to keep their soul bound to their body. And so my children are different. Better. Each one of them is a work of marvel, fashioned from my own blood and the blood of another creatures. Be it the blood of a giant, a gryphon, a viper, a spider, a wolf...they will not fall as easily as humans. And they will not fail...as you have, Bellatrix." At those chilling words, Voldemort turned to face Bellatrix with a ghostly rustle of robes. The woman blanched and averted her gaze, hurriedly mumbling a careful response.
"I am sorry, master...with my blood I offer my apologies and beg your forgiveness, for I am unworthy in your presence..." Her throat constricted and she clenched her dark eyes closed, preparing for the unbearable pain of the Cruciatus curse that was assuredly soon to come.
But it did not come. Instead, Voldemort's cold, soulless laugh grated Bella's ears. Although she felt no pain, her heart froze with dread and at that moment she much would have preferred the Killing Curse right then and there. Colorless fingers curled around her chin, drawing her face upwards. His fingertips chilled her skin, but she dared not pull away.
"No, Bella...I will not torture you." He told her, a cold facsimile of a kind smile on his face, but not once for a moment did Lestrange relax. She knew something far worse than torture was in store.
"I have something more in mind for you. Something much more important and wonderful. It will be an honor on your shoulders, my faithful servant." He chucked again and stepped forward, drawing his follower into an embrace.
It was the most frightening thing Bellatrix had ever experienced, encircled by the ice-cold arms of her master. She had never seen him so much touch one of his Death Eaters, much less in this way. Bellatrix knew it was not out of affection for her, for the Dark Lord's heart was as black and cold as obsidian. She had served him too long to think he could come to care for anyone other than himself. She could not see his face, but she heard his voice from somewhere above her her to relax, to abandon all her worries...despite herself, Bella felt herself floating away from her body. Sensation numbed and she found herself, or her spirit rather, drifting freely near the ceiling. It was not a sad feeling, nor was it a happy feeling...in fact, it was an un-feeling. Her mind was surrounded in fog, tied down by no restraints of the physical body. After a moment, Bellatrix looked down and saw her own body, held against Voldemort's, from a birds-eye view. It was as if she were looking down upon two strangers, and she could not seem to move her body, no matter how strongly she willed herself.
The disembodied Death Eater looked around, skimming the cavern for something that might be of help. Then she felt an odd sensation of pressure right beneath her solar plexus and looked down just in time to see Voldemort withdrawing a bloody knife from her now-lifeless form. And then consciousness faded, and Bellatrix knew no more.
-
Voldemort eased the body of his former servant into his arms, laying the soiled weapon atop her. His face showed no emotion as he carried her over to one of the green spheres, the form in which was still clinging to life, but only barely. When he reached his destination, he murmured 'wingardium leviosa,' and without even having to touch his wand, the spell worked and Bellatrix's corpse floated in mid air as he stood over the body and drew aside her long black robes to reveal the wound. At the sight of crimson liquid still seeping from her skin, Voldemort drew in an eager breath but quickly composed himself and dipped two slender fingers into the red blood, then turned and began writing strange symbols on the bubble with the macabre paint. Voldemort began chanting in a strong, icy voice that held not a hint of remorse for slaying one of his loyal followers.
"Valde vires, capio is ea id vitaricut mercedis nam vitaris ego esurio."
The blood letters began glowing a brilliant gold, but the man did not falter for a moment. His eyes remained fixed on his writing and he changed his mantra and recited it even louder.
"Valde vires, is ea id vitaris volo appono ego, ei curutte appono tu..."
Now the entire sphere was luminescent gold, throwing spears of copper lights into the gloom. Voldemort squinted his snake-like eyes against the blinding light as he finished writing and stepped back, pressing his bone- white hands against Bellatrix's bloody stomach. Both his palms smeared with red, he pressed them against the sphere on either side of the writing and then drew back once more as a crack appeared on the shell, spreading rapidly.
"Valde vires, ego gratis tu torre tur valde donum!" His voice rose to a strong shout at the last, and seconds after he had finished the globe split apart with the sound of breaking glass. Shards of the shattered shell, rapidly loosing their glow, were hurled outwards in all directions. Some narrowly missed Voldemort, some bounced harmlessly off the other spheres on the room, and some buried themselves in the walls or the prone body of Bellatrix, and one crushed the ribcage of Blackwood and rested within the long-deceased Death Eater's hollow chest cavity. Thick, translucent green liquid spilled to the ground in a small flood, washing over the Dark Lord's feet. But he did not notice; his eyes were focused reverently on the hunched figure that had landed on the ground before him.
The form had smooth, nut-brown skin and a shock of shaggy, matted white hair atop it's head. Twin rows of sharp, barbed spines ran along it's naked back, and curving, overgrown white claws sprouted from each finger. Large, pointed ears with a thin coat of fine fur sprouted from the sides of it's head. The creature lifted it's face, panting, too weak to do anything but stare mutely at the tall, alabaster-skinned being before it.
"Fff....ahhff..." The beast began breathlessly, it's pure ivory eyes alight with disparity. It was so hungry, so thirsty, it could barely think above the clamoring of it's pinched stomach and parched throat.
"Stand." Voldemort commanded, critically looking the bedraggled creature over. "My son." He added, a tone of something unfamiliar entering his voice. A surge of pride soared within the Dark Lord's chest as his child staggered to his feet, unable to disobey Voldemort's voice despite the horrible condition of his body.
"Fff..." The young man tried to speak again, feeling as though his lungs were wrapped in tight, constricting iron bands. At last he drew in a sorely- needed breath and met the gaze of his father. "Food!" He cried simply in a scratchy, pained voice. Then he dissolved in fit of creaky, violent coughs as Voldemort tossed back his head and laughed triumphantly to the indifferent ceiling high above them.
-
Valde vires, capio is ea id morea sicut mercedis nam vitaris ego esurio. Great forces, take this blood in payment for the life I ask.
Valde vires, is ea id vitaris volo appono ego, ei curutte appono tu.
Great forces, this life will serve me and in turn serve you.
Valde vires, ego gratis tu torre tur koldo donum.
Great forces, I thank you for your wondrous gift.
-
Tah-dah! Here ends the first chapter. Please review and tell me what you liked, didn't like, etcetera. Also, I am looking for an experienced beta- reader with a lot of time on their hands. If you'd like to try it out, leave your MSN/AIM address for me in a review! .
A/N: Hello my dear readers! My name is Adrienne, and up until now I had very little interest in serious writing. If you're an Invader Zim fan, you can click my name and see what other ridiculous, nonsensical stories I had amused myself with previously. But now, now I am making a much-enjoyed foray into the realm of serious fiction, and Harry Potter to boot! So, while I am not asking you to be less sincere in your reviews, I want to let you know that if it sucks, I have an excuse ;D
Notes: I do not speak Latin, I am sorry. For the Latin in this chapter I had to resort to translating it one word at a time using a Latin-English dictionary, and for words I couldn't find I just typed random letters. I am sure that the part of it that is actual Latin is far from grammatically correct, but it's the effort that counts, right? Also, I've only read Order of the Phoenix once, so much of this story probably conflicts with that book. I know it's wrong, but honey, I do not care =)
-
The battle at the Ministry of Magic was a failure. No, Voldemort thought as he apparated away from the scene, clutching Bellatrix Lestrange mercilessly by her thin upper arm. The battle was not a failure. If all had gone as planned, Harry Potter and Dumbledore would be dead. His Death Eaters were the failures. The Dark Lord's pale, lipless mouth twisted into a curl of disgust. His favored followers, the darkest of the darkest and the best of the best. Beaten by a feeble old man and a handful of school children. It was then he knew where they were going. He decided then that these mortals could not be trusted any longer. In the split second between their disappearance from the room at the Ministry of Magic to their appearance somewhere else, Voldemort knew what needed to be done.
He was taking Bellatrix to the Cavern of the Lord's Children. A scant fifty- six kilometers from Hogwarts, the dank cave was where the Dark Lord had once implemented the first stage of one of his plans. It had begun over a decade and a half ago, before that cursed night when he entered the Potter's home. He had not returned since he had been defeated, and not even after he regained his physical body. No one had entered or exited that chamber in fifteen years, and Voldemort knew what he would find there. But there was no choice now. Even though there remained no doubt as to what lay within that dark, damp cave, perhaps there was something salvageable...perhaps someone, something, somehow still lived. He might have to destroy whatever remained, he might have to start from the beginning...but Voldemort knew that with most of his Death Eaters in prison and the rest of them failures, he would need new soldiers to fight for him. It was an extreme measure to take when he was still weak, so weak compared to what he had once been. But it was the only way.
With his ragged nails still digging into Bellatrix's yielding flesh, the two of them popped back into existence in the center of an enormous, domed room. The walls and round ceiling were made of stone, but Voldemort could see it had cracked in places; trickles of wet earth had begun seeping through, and the trees and plants that grew above it had begun driving their roots ceaselessly through the ruins of the wall. The stench of death was a heavy blanket over the chamber, and Bellatrix gasped, retching, as the thick air clogged her throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He realized then that the torches had long since burned out, and Bellatrix's mortal eyes could see nothing but smooth, velvety blackness. He released the woman and she fell to the floor, gagging as the miasma of decay wound thick, deadly tendrils down her throat. With a wave of Voldemort's wands, all of the torches attached to the wall sprung to life, burning with a flickering flame that caused creeping shadows to play over the chamber and it's occupants. Another muttered incantation from the pale- skinned man, and the stale air disappeared, replaced by new air that was at least fit to breathe, though the fingers of ancient death still kept the room in an unbreakable grip.
Bellatrix raised her sunken eyes from the dirt, first to seek out her master and then to roam the unfamiliar room. She drew in breath after ragged breath, trying to comprehend what her eyes beheld.
The room was a good eighty meters in diameter, and it was a perfect circle in shape. Ornate carvings decorated the walls, and though they were too dim to make out in detail, Bellatrix saw several threatening stone renditions of the Dark Lord himself among the hieroglyphics. Two skeletons lay beneath one torch, nothing left clinging to their bones but bits putrefying flesh and shredded, decomposing remains of their clothing. They were twisted in an endless embrace, dusty yellow bones intertwined, but their abyssal, eyeless sockets were turned towards the middle of the room, towards Bellatrix and Voldemort.
But that was not what Bellatrix was shocked to see. Suspended by unseen forces about two thirds of a meter above the sodden dirt floor, were dozens upon dozens of green spheres. Two meters tall and 1 ½ meters wide, each luminescent emerald sphere encased a body. A human body...or, at the very least, humanoid. Most were dead, in various states of decay from bleached white skeletons to half-rotted corpses with sickly gray-green skin. Even more horrible, though, was that some of the prisoners still lived. Nearest to them was a globe containing the form of a young woman, quite naked, with pallid flesh and extremely pronounced ribs. The woman's features were sunken, skeletal, and her bones jutted sharply from her withered form. Her hair was a deep blue-purple, though it was matted and brittle like dried hay, and Bellatrix noticed that rather than normal hands and feet, fine jaden scales began at her elbows, mere outlines at first, but hardening and solidifying as they grew nearer to the hand. Instead of fingers and toes she had four wicked-looking talons on each extremity. Her eyes were closed and her skin had a slight ashen hue, but her breast pulsed with a weak rhythm of determined life.
"My Lord?" Bellatrix whispered, her voice hushed and querying. She reached a hand out to touch the glass-like surface of the reptile-woman's bubble, which upon closer inspection proved to be clear, but filled with a thick green gel. Before she could touch the outer layer of it, Voldemort had darted forward and grabbed her wrist in a crushing grip.
"Do not touch them." He hissed, throwing her arm from him in disgust. Bellatrix clenched her teeth in pain, pulling her bruised wrist too her as he released his hold. But Voldemort did not notice; his scarlet eyes were alight with excitement and fury as they roamed the room, skipping over the rotted bodies lying not far away.
"Master, what is this place?" The Death-Eater could not help but whisper as she cast nervous eyes about the room. She felt as though she were desecrating an ancient tomb, and if she spoke too loudly the souls who rested there would hear her.
"This is the Cavern of the Lord's Children, Bella." Voldemort responded, walking among the floating spheres and examining each occupant. She followed a few paces after her Lord, not keen on being left behind in such a place. The dry, cold voice of Voldemort wrapped her in a metaphorical cocoon of words as he continued his perusal. There was regret in his voice, sorrow at so many ruined opportunities... and... and a perverse kind of hope, as if praying to find something worth saving.
"These are my children." He told her, running one blanched, spindly finger over the surface of a globe that contained a youth with curving yellow horns and crimson skin stretched taut over his frame. "But not in the sense you may be thinking. I am not their father, at least by the conventional definition humans give to that word.
"But I created them. They are borne of my blood and my soul, borne of my magic and my power. In a way, they are me. It was a rare piece of dark magic that created them almost two decades ago." He paused, drawing in a deep breath, and waved a bony hand towards the two skeletons that lay against the wall in their final resting place.
"You may recall Blackwood and Lourdes. They were once Death Eaters, and I left them here when I created this chamber to care for my children. Every month, I brought them enough supplies to live on, but other than me they had no link to the outside world. Only I, and those I allow, can get in and out of this room. When Harry Potter," Voldemort paused here, his red eyes blazing with unquenched hatred, "destroyed me over fifteen years ago, they were forgotten. It could not have been long before they died." The Dark Lord's voice was pitiless. Bellatrix looked over her shoulder at the remains of her fellow Death Eaters. She vaguely remembered them; cold, ethereal, merciless Blackwood and hot-tempered, violent Lourdes. Their living faces, blurred but clear enough, surfaced in her mind and a cold shiver reverberated down her backbone. She looked away, tunneling her vision towards the opposite wall. She did not want to see them, grasping each other in a desparate, unconsoling grip, nor did she wish to see those held captive inside the awful, levitating prisons, whether they be dead, alive, or somewhere between the two. Bellatrix wanted out of this horrible chamber, swirling electrically with ghosts from a time long before. But as Voldemort had stated, there were no doors or windows in sight, and when Bellatrix experimentally attempted to concentrate upon Apparating, the only thing that came to her mind was a dull, faraway buzzing.
"And thus, my children were left without anyone to care for them." Voldemort continued, unaware of Bella's growing panic that she was stuck in here until he chose to let her go. "The globes are what prevented them from all perishing within the first week; they are designed to keep whatever is inside them alive and growing. Somewhat like an enchanted, artificial womb...but such complicated systems of nature are very hard to replicate, with or without magic, and as you can see many of them died despite the magic they were under. That was why I had Lourdes and Blackwood here, so make sure nothing went wrong. I had planned to free them when they were young, perhaps ten, and give them a proper education in the dark arts...but Potter nearly vanquished me when they were scarcely three years of age. And now they must be nineteen or twenty...those that survived, at least." The tall man turned and surveyed the chamber with an air of mourning for the lives that were lost. Not because he thought of his children or the two dead Death Eaters as living, feeling creatures whose lives were precious, but because to him they represented what could have been had he not failed to destroy Potter.
"There were 150 of them to begin. A suitable number to start with, factoring in the estimated that a rough 10% of them would not survive incubation despite efforts to keep them alive. Now..." His reptilian eyes closed, and the pale lids covering them fluttered in a moment of intense silence.
"There are only seventeen of them left." Voldemort stated. Bellatrix wondered when he had had time to count the number of survivors, but even if she had had the courage to speak at that moment in time, her master continued before she could open her mouth.
"Undoubtedly you noticed they are not human. I was born a mortal, but once I had transcended the affliction of my birth, I saw what unworthy, fragile, defenseless creatures humans are. Nothing but soft skin to protect them, to keep their soul bound to their body. And so my children are different. Better. Each one of them is a work of marvel, fashioned from my own blood and the blood of another creatures. Be it the blood of a giant, a gryphon, a viper, a spider, a wolf...they will not fall as easily as humans. And they will not fail...as you have, Bellatrix." At those chilling words, Voldemort turned to face Bellatrix with a ghostly rustle of robes. The woman blanched and averted her gaze, hurriedly mumbling a careful response.
"I am sorry, master...with my blood I offer my apologies and beg your forgiveness, for I am unworthy in your presence..." Her throat constricted and she clenched her dark eyes closed, preparing for the unbearable pain of the Cruciatus curse that was assuredly soon to come.
But it did not come. Instead, Voldemort's cold, soulless laugh grated Bella's ears. Although she felt no pain, her heart froze with dread and at that moment she much would have preferred the Killing Curse right then and there. Colorless fingers curled around her chin, drawing her face upwards. His fingertips chilled her skin, but she dared not pull away.
"No, Bella...I will not torture you." He told her, a cold facsimile of a kind smile on his face, but not once for a moment did Lestrange relax. She knew something far worse than torture was in store.
"I have something more in mind for you. Something much more important and wonderful. It will be an honor on your shoulders, my faithful servant." He chucked again and stepped forward, drawing his follower into an embrace.
It was the most frightening thing Bellatrix had ever experienced, encircled by the ice-cold arms of her master. She had never seen him so much touch one of his Death Eaters, much less in this way. Bellatrix knew it was not out of affection for her, for the Dark Lord's heart was as black and cold as obsidian. She had served him too long to think he could come to care for anyone other than himself. She could not see his face, but she heard his voice from somewhere above her her to relax, to abandon all her worries...despite herself, Bella felt herself floating away from her body. Sensation numbed and she found herself, or her spirit rather, drifting freely near the ceiling. It was not a sad feeling, nor was it a happy feeling...in fact, it was an un-feeling. Her mind was surrounded in fog, tied down by no restraints of the physical body. After a moment, Bellatrix looked down and saw her own body, held against Voldemort's, from a birds-eye view. It was as if she were looking down upon two strangers, and she could not seem to move her body, no matter how strongly she willed herself.
The disembodied Death Eater looked around, skimming the cavern for something that might be of help. Then she felt an odd sensation of pressure right beneath her solar plexus and looked down just in time to see Voldemort withdrawing a bloody knife from her now-lifeless form. And then consciousness faded, and Bellatrix knew no more.
-
Voldemort eased the body of his former servant into his arms, laying the soiled weapon atop her. His face showed no emotion as he carried her over to one of the green spheres, the form in which was still clinging to life, but only barely. When he reached his destination, he murmured 'wingardium leviosa,' and without even having to touch his wand, the spell worked and Bellatrix's corpse floated in mid air as he stood over the body and drew aside her long black robes to reveal the wound. At the sight of crimson liquid still seeping from her skin, Voldemort drew in an eager breath but quickly composed himself and dipped two slender fingers into the red blood, then turned and began writing strange symbols on the bubble with the macabre paint. Voldemort began chanting in a strong, icy voice that held not a hint of remorse for slaying one of his loyal followers.
"Valde vires, capio is ea id vitaricut mercedis nam vitaris ego esurio."
The blood letters began glowing a brilliant gold, but the man did not falter for a moment. His eyes remained fixed on his writing and he changed his mantra and recited it even louder.
"Valde vires, is ea id vitaris volo appono ego, ei curutte appono tu..."
Now the entire sphere was luminescent gold, throwing spears of copper lights into the gloom. Voldemort squinted his snake-like eyes against the blinding light as he finished writing and stepped back, pressing his bone- white hands against Bellatrix's bloody stomach. Both his palms smeared with red, he pressed them against the sphere on either side of the writing and then drew back once more as a crack appeared on the shell, spreading rapidly.
"Valde vires, ego gratis tu torre tur valde donum!" His voice rose to a strong shout at the last, and seconds after he had finished the globe split apart with the sound of breaking glass. Shards of the shattered shell, rapidly loosing their glow, were hurled outwards in all directions. Some narrowly missed Voldemort, some bounced harmlessly off the other spheres on the room, and some buried themselves in the walls or the prone body of Bellatrix, and one crushed the ribcage of Blackwood and rested within the long-deceased Death Eater's hollow chest cavity. Thick, translucent green liquid spilled to the ground in a small flood, washing over the Dark Lord's feet. But he did not notice; his eyes were focused reverently on the hunched figure that had landed on the ground before him.
The form had smooth, nut-brown skin and a shock of shaggy, matted white hair atop it's head. Twin rows of sharp, barbed spines ran along it's naked back, and curving, overgrown white claws sprouted from each finger. Large, pointed ears with a thin coat of fine fur sprouted from the sides of it's head. The creature lifted it's face, panting, too weak to do anything but stare mutely at the tall, alabaster-skinned being before it.
"Fff....ahhff..." The beast began breathlessly, it's pure ivory eyes alight with disparity. It was so hungry, so thirsty, it could barely think above the clamoring of it's pinched stomach and parched throat.
"Stand." Voldemort commanded, critically looking the bedraggled creature over. "My son." He added, a tone of something unfamiliar entering his voice. A surge of pride soared within the Dark Lord's chest as his child staggered to his feet, unable to disobey Voldemort's voice despite the horrible condition of his body.
"Fff..." The young man tried to speak again, feeling as though his lungs were wrapped in tight, constricting iron bands. At last he drew in a sorely- needed breath and met the gaze of his father. "Food!" He cried simply in a scratchy, pained voice. Then he dissolved in fit of creaky, violent coughs as Voldemort tossed back his head and laughed triumphantly to the indifferent ceiling high above them.
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Valde vires, capio is ea id morea sicut mercedis nam vitaris ego esurio. Great forces, take this blood in payment for the life I ask.
Valde vires, is ea id vitaris volo appono ego, ei curutte appono tu.
Great forces, this life will serve me and in turn serve you.
Valde vires, ego gratis tu torre tur koldo donum.
Great forces, I thank you for your wondrous gift.
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Tah-dah! Here ends the first chapter. Please review and tell me what you liked, didn't like, etcetera. Also, I am looking for an experienced beta- reader with a lot of time on their hands. If you'd like to try it out, leave your MSN/AIM address for me in a review! .