Authors Note: Well, here I am, with my second chapter, which is quite cool
considering I never thought that I'd have the courage to put up the story
in the first place! A big thank-you to my lovely reviewers! I'm gonna try
to make my chapters a bit longer, but I'm not promising anything, cos I
have loads of exams coming up :o( Please keep reviewing, cos it really
helps me!
Disclaimer: Own nothing.
Chapter 2: The Mistake
As the faraway church clock struck twelve times, the person furthest away from Draco in the circle moved slowly towards a covered altar that faced due south. The altar was covered with a black cloth that had indistinguishable symbols painted on it in red. The altar supported a large silver bowl that emitted a small amount of green smoke. As the cloaked figure approached the altar Voldemort called out to the gathered group.
"My loyal supporters, now is the time for you to show your true faith in me. For tonight's ceremony to go exactly the way needed to ensure my success as the new world leader, each of you needs to donate something to the cause." Voldemort paused and looked around at the now uneasy group of death eaters that shifted and murmured among themselves, wondering what sort of 'donation' would be required.
"If any of you wish to back out, now is the time, although I guarantee nothing in the way of your safety, should you choose to desert me like so many other spineless creatures." Nobody stepped up to leave, and satisfied, Voldemort continued. "It is a small thing really, I require one hair off each of you, so as to tie your power into mine for the duration of the spell, as I myself am too weak to do this on my own. This is an extremely complex spell to perform and each of you will feel slightly drained for a while afterwards, so I have arranged for transport for each of you after we have finished. It will be necessary for you to sleep for approximately twenty-four hours when you return to your homes, but after that you will be back to normal."
A collective sigh of relief rippled around the group as they heard the relatively simple request from Voldemort. Draco looked around in disgust at the people gathered around him, they were so worried about their own skins, and what they had to go through was NOTHING compared to what he would be forced to endure by the time the night was over.
The spell was a merging of his and Voldemort's minds. They would be able to hear each others thoughts, and in special circumstances, with an immense amount of concentration, Draco would be able to carry around Voldemort's conscious self. This was the latest plan to bring power to He-Who-Must-Not- Be-Named, keep him out of danger, and send in someone strong and youthful to do the actual work.
Sometimes Draco wondered if Voldemort would be able to stand up and survive if his death eater supporters revolted. No more thoughts like that now though, Draco thought bitterly. Is this worth it? I mean, sure I get unlimited power in the new world, but to never have a private thought again? It would be enough to send a lesser person mad! I can't think of anyone besides me who could stand it. Well, maybe one... Draco, what are you doing, thinking about a filthy Mudblood on the night when Voldemort's mind is joined with yours!! This doesn't bode well for the future.
A loud bang snapped Draco back to the matter in hand. The death eaters had formed one long line in front of the altar, and Wormtail was stood slightly to the left cutting off the hairs and dropping them one by one into the bowl. Each time a hair was dropped in a, the bowl emitted a bang and a puff of purple smoke. Draco watched as the line slowly went down, and the death eaters formed a circle around the altar.
"The time is nigh. Let the ritual begin"
Draco walked slowly toward the altar, outwardly calm, but inwardly seething with fear and hatred. He whipped out a dagger from inside his black robes and slashed a long cut down the inside of his arm, from the elbow to the wrist. Draco allowed exactly thirteen drops of his blood to drip into the bowl, and smiled with satisfaction as the potion seethed and turned a blinding white.
The death eaters began to chant 'Confundo Voldemort et Draco. Facio velut singuli.' (*) Voldemort didn't so much walk, as float up to the altar; he pulled out the twin of Draco's dagger and repeated the slashing motion. As his blood dripped into the bowl, Voldemort looked at Draco and hissed, "It's too late now, you're mine. You think that you will survive this, no my dear boy, you will be a shell for me to inhabit." The evil grin on his face sent chills down Draco's spine and he paled. "What?" A sudden realization filled him, as cold as ice, and twice as dangerous.
Voldemort smiled that terrifying smile once again. "Did you really think that I would let as powerful a wizard as you share power with me? No indeed, I just need your body and your powers, and you have just signed your own death warrant. Oh, and one more thing, your father knew all along of course."
Draco turned and looked into the still smiling eyes of his father and his legendary composure suddenly became a weapon. Quickly his mind flitted through the options open to him to get out of this situation alive. His silver eyes flashed with his thoughts, and Voldemort stared at him, wondering not for the first time what thoughts went on behind that cool façade.
Draco decided upon a course of action that would most likely end in his death, but seemed to be the only option left open to him. He looked directly into the eyes of the half-man stood opposite him and smiled. "You think that I didn't know? Poor old fool. It's not my death warrant that's been signed it's your own." He muttered a quick healing spell under his breath, so quietly that Voldemort didn't even notice. He pulled up the sleeve of his robe, and showed Voldemort his unblemished arm. "That wasn't my blood."
The panic showed on Voldemort's face as the thirteenth drop of his blood landed into the potion and it swirled. Draco knew that if the potion was done correctly it would go black, so he changed the colour from the black it would have gone into a deep red. Voldemort was panicking so much that he didn't even notice Draco's covert actions. Perfect. Draco thought. He's falling for it. I knew that his paranoia would come in handy one day. He's so scared of an ambush that he didn't even notice me!
Voldemort screamed out to the death eaters for them to stop, and in a split second, Draco could see how everything was going to go wrong. Voldemort was lunging out into the middle of the circle to attract everyone's attention, and he was going to take the altar with him. That meant that everyone the potion touched would be instantly killed, its potency was such that it could only be sniffed, never swallowed or touched, and everyone in the clearing was going to get drenched.
As Voldemort ran out into the clearing, the altar toppled, and the bowl fell. As the liquid flew out into the air, everything seemed to slow down. Draco stared as the liquid first reached Voldemort and splattered onto his face, he screamed just once, and burst into flame. The irony of it amused Draco, all those years the Ministry tried to destroy him, and when he finally went, it was by the hand of one of his most loyal death eaters.
He stood still watching the circle of death eaters burst into flame, one by one, and as the liquid spattered on his father, his lips curved into a smile. The liquid was making its way towards him now, and visions of his imminent doom flashed before his eyes. In desperation Draco tried something that he'd only successfully done once before. He apparated.
He felt himself start to go, but as he left the clearing, one drop of the potion struck the arm of his robe and a minute amount made it through to his skin.
* * *
Draco reappeared inside the Leaky Cauldron at exactly 5:30 a.m. with such an immense crash that the owner rushed downstairs fearing that he was the subject of a raid. He stumbled out into the darkness of the bar.
"Hello? Is anyone here? I'm armed to the teeth, so don't you be trying to do anything stupid down here! Lumos!" As the light spread around the room, he spotted the crumpled body lying in the corner of the bar, across a broken table. "MABEL" He screamed
* * *
At 5:53 Hermione was waiting in the emergency department of St. Mungo's and the sense of dread and anticipation was filling her stomach like always. Hermione loved emergencies, she was ashamed to admit, not that she wished people to be seriously ill of course, but the rush she got from saving lives couldn't be replicated. Every life that she'd saved was special to her, and she was the best doctor in the place for follow up care. Hermione was, for lack of a better word, dedicated beyond belief, which was also helped by the fact that she was by far the best doctor that the hospital had ever seen.
The wail of the Ambi-Broom neared, and Hermione and her team prepared for action.
Disclaimer: Own nothing.
Chapter 2: The Mistake
As the faraway church clock struck twelve times, the person furthest away from Draco in the circle moved slowly towards a covered altar that faced due south. The altar was covered with a black cloth that had indistinguishable symbols painted on it in red. The altar supported a large silver bowl that emitted a small amount of green smoke. As the cloaked figure approached the altar Voldemort called out to the gathered group.
"My loyal supporters, now is the time for you to show your true faith in me. For tonight's ceremony to go exactly the way needed to ensure my success as the new world leader, each of you needs to donate something to the cause." Voldemort paused and looked around at the now uneasy group of death eaters that shifted and murmured among themselves, wondering what sort of 'donation' would be required.
"If any of you wish to back out, now is the time, although I guarantee nothing in the way of your safety, should you choose to desert me like so many other spineless creatures." Nobody stepped up to leave, and satisfied, Voldemort continued. "It is a small thing really, I require one hair off each of you, so as to tie your power into mine for the duration of the spell, as I myself am too weak to do this on my own. This is an extremely complex spell to perform and each of you will feel slightly drained for a while afterwards, so I have arranged for transport for each of you after we have finished. It will be necessary for you to sleep for approximately twenty-four hours when you return to your homes, but after that you will be back to normal."
A collective sigh of relief rippled around the group as they heard the relatively simple request from Voldemort. Draco looked around in disgust at the people gathered around him, they were so worried about their own skins, and what they had to go through was NOTHING compared to what he would be forced to endure by the time the night was over.
The spell was a merging of his and Voldemort's minds. They would be able to hear each others thoughts, and in special circumstances, with an immense amount of concentration, Draco would be able to carry around Voldemort's conscious self. This was the latest plan to bring power to He-Who-Must-Not- Be-Named, keep him out of danger, and send in someone strong and youthful to do the actual work.
Sometimes Draco wondered if Voldemort would be able to stand up and survive if his death eater supporters revolted. No more thoughts like that now though, Draco thought bitterly. Is this worth it? I mean, sure I get unlimited power in the new world, but to never have a private thought again? It would be enough to send a lesser person mad! I can't think of anyone besides me who could stand it. Well, maybe one... Draco, what are you doing, thinking about a filthy Mudblood on the night when Voldemort's mind is joined with yours!! This doesn't bode well for the future.
A loud bang snapped Draco back to the matter in hand. The death eaters had formed one long line in front of the altar, and Wormtail was stood slightly to the left cutting off the hairs and dropping them one by one into the bowl. Each time a hair was dropped in a, the bowl emitted a bang and a puff of purple smoke. Draco watched as the line slowly went down, and the death eaters formed a circle around the altar.
"The time is nigh. Let the ritual begin"
Draco walked slowly toward the altar, outwardly calm, but inwardly seething with fear and hatred. He whipped out a dagger from inside his black robes and slashed a long cut down the inside of his arm, from the elbow to the wrist. Draco allowed exactly thirteen drops of his blood to drip into the bowl, and smiled with satisfaction as the potion seethed and turned a blinding white.
The death eaters began to chant 'Confundo Voldemort et Draco. Facio velut singuli.' (*) Voldemort didn't so much walk, as float up to the altar; he pulled out the twin of Draco's dagger and repeated the slashing motion. As his blood dripped into the bowl, Voldemort looked at Draco and hissed, "It's too late now, you're mine. You think that you will survive this, no my dear boy, you will be a shell for me to inhabit." The evil grin on his face sent chills down Draco's spine and he paled. "What?" A sudden realization filled him, as cold as ice, and twice as dangerous.
Voldemort smiled that terrifying smile once again. "Did you really think that I would let as powerful a wizard as you share power with me? No indeed, I just need your body and your powers, and you have just signed your own death warrant. Oh, and one more thing, your father knew all along of course."
Draco turned and looked into the still smiling eyes of his father and his legendary composure suddenly became a weapon. Quickly his mind flitted through the options open to him to get out of this situation alive. His silver eyes flashed with his thoughts, and Voldemort stared at him, wondering not for the first time what thoughts went on behind that cool façade.
Draco decided upon a course of action that would most likely end in his death, but seemed to be the only option left open to him. He looked directly into the eyes of the half-man stood opposite him and smiled. "You think that I didn't know? Poor old fool. It's not my death warrant that's been signed it's your own." He muttered a quick healing spell under his breath, so quietly that Voldemort didn't even notice. He pulled up the sleeve of his robe, and showed Voldemort his unblemished arm. "That wasn't my blood."
The panic showed on Voldemort's face as the thirteenth drop of his blood landed into the potion and it swirled. Draco knew that if the potion was done correctly it would go black, so he changed the colour from the black it would have gone into a deep red. Voldemort was panicking so much that he didn't even notice Draco's covert actions. Perfect. Draco thought. He's falling for it. I knew that his paranoia would come in handy one day. He's so scared of an ambush that he didn't even notice me!
Voldemort screamed out to the death eaters for them to stop, and in a split second, Draco could see how everything was going to go wrong. Voldemort was lunging out into the middle of the circle to attract everyone's attention, and he was going to take the altar with him. That meant that everyone the potion touched would be instantly killed, its potency was such that it could only be sniffed, never swallowed or touched, and everyone in the clearing was going to get drenched.
As Voldemort ran out into the clearing, the altar toppled, and the bowl fell. As the liquid flew out into the air, everything seemed to slow down. Draco stared as the liquid first reached Voldemort and splattered onto his face, he screamed just once, and burst into flame. The irony of it amused Draco, all those years the Ministry tried to destroy him, and when he finally went, it was by the hand of one of his most loyal death eaters.
He stood still watching the circle of death eaters burst into flame, one by one, and as the liquid spattered on his father, his lips curved into a smile. The liquid was making its way towards him now, and visions of his imminent doom flashed before his eyes. In desperation Draco tried something that he'd only successfully done once before. He apparated.
He felt himself start to go, but as he left the clearing, one drop of the potion struck the arm of his robe and a minute amount made it through to his skin.
* * *
Draco reappeared inside the Leaky Cauldron at exactly 5:30 a.m. with such an immense crash that the owner rushed downstairs fearing that he was the subject of a raid. He stumbled out into the darkness of the bar.
"Hello? Is anyone here? I'm armed to the teeth, so don't you be trying to do anything stupid down here! Lumos!" As the light spread around the room, he spotted the crumpled body lying in the corner of the bar, across a broken table. "MABEL" He screamed
* * *
At 5:53 Hermione was waiting in the emergency department of St. Mungo's and the sense of dread and anticipation was filling her stomach like always. Hermione loved emergencies, she was ashamed to admit, not that she wished people to be seriously ill of course, but the rush she got from saving lives couldn't be replicated. Every life that she'd saved was special to her, and she was the best doctor in the place for follow up care. Hermione was, for lack of a better word, dedicated beyond belief, which was also helped by the fact that she was by far the best doctor that the hospital had ever seen.
The wail of the Ambi-Broom neared, and Hermione and her team prepared for action.