Chapter Thirty: Answering the Call

Beth opened her eyes into blackness.

She had no idea where she was, or why her every limb ached, or why she was laying on something soft yet heavy that smelled peculiar. She groaned and blinked a few times.

Slowly the dark room came into focus; as it did, she remembered. She looked around. The whole of the Inquisitorial Squad lay sprawled on the floor of Professor Umbridge's office. A single bat bogey, now indistinct, hovered around Draco's face plucking feebly at his eyebrow. Outside the window, the night had settled in; all the lights had been turned out and the door, as far as Beth could tell, was closed.

She struggled off of Vincent Crabbe and staggered to her feet. How long had it been? What was going on...?

Potter. Potter had gone with Umbridge and Granger. The others knew that, they must have followed them ... but that had been hours ago. Where had they gone? Why hadn't anyone returned?

She forced herself to take a deep breath. Wake up, Parson. Think. Snape would need to be told - they were his students, after all, laying here hex-marked. Madam Pomfrey must be notified of her (Beth counted) six new patients. Of course Melissa would want to know, both as prefect and Society president ... the Guild would be curious, but that could wait. She decided that her first stop would have to be Professor Snape.

She stumbled out of the office and into the black corridor, shutting the door carefully behind her. She had no fear of walking the empty halls after curfew: the I.S. had been given powers far above Filch's. Even Peeves would be manageable with the threat of a Ministry edict. Regardless, she wasn't in a position to care - Luna's stunner had been a good one, and Beth still felt as if she had been hit by the Knight Bus.

She made it to the dungeons without incident. Passing the Potions classrooms, the laboratories and the dormitories, she went up to the door of Snape's office and pounded on it hard.

The sound of her banging bounced off the stone walls and echoed down the halls. Still too sore to care, she went on knocking until she was certain that she would wake up not only Snape, but the dead.

The office door swung open. Severus Snape loomed in the doorway. He had thrown on a black robe over what was unmistakably a pair of gray silk pajamas; a matching sleeping cap was stuffed into one pocked. Unsurprisingly, his face was twisted in cold anger.

"This had better be good."

"The Inquisitorial Squad is all laid out cursed in Umbridge's office," Beth told him, not flinching. "We caught Potter and some others sneaking into the Floo, but then Umbridge left with Potter and Granger to see some weapon or something. The rest of them revolted and got away. I just now woke up; everyone else is still Stunned."

Snape looked fairly stunned himself.

"Come in," he snapped, "and tell me exactly what happened after I left that office."

He slammed the door behind her.

Seated across the desk from Professor Snape, Beth told as much as she could remember, with increasing coherence - by the end she had gotten most of the story straight, although she'd had to go back and amend her words several times. Snape listened intently. When at last she described the scene she had woken up to, he nodded and stood.

"Go and fetch Madam Pomfrey," he ordered. "I shall meet her in our Headmistress's office. You were the first one awake?" Beth nodded. "Then I expect that you'll be fine. I want you to stay in the infirmary tonight, Miss Parson."

Beth nodded again. Feeling more alert, she hurried out of the dungeons and up to the infirmary.

The halls were enchanted so that it never took very long to get to the hospital wing; Beth made excellent time. Madam Pomfrey, it transpired, was easier to awaken than Snape, and looked better put-together when she came to her door; no doubt, the ability to rise to an emergency was an important one for the school nurse.

"You need to go to Professor Umbridge's office," Beth told her. "The whole Inquisitorial Squad has been hexed."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened. "Really."

"Yes," said Beth calmly. "Draco Malfoy's in bad shape."

Madam Pomfrey let out a sigh and began gathering an armful of equipment. "I suppose I'd better go have a look. Things have been slow, I ought to have known it was just saving up for something big..."

Feeling sure that there was nothing more she could do, and not really wanting to help anyway, Beth turned to go. She had no intention of staying the night in the infirmary, as Snape had ordered. The cots were terrible - besides, she felt as if she had work to do. The least she could do was let Deirdre know who had been captured ... maybe the Guild would want to take some kind of action...

The Guild? she thought, with a nasty inner snort. Take action? The Ravenclaws hadn't done anything but think and talk all year. They would be of no help. She would wake Melissa in case there was something that the Society could do. The Guild could be told in the morning.

She reached the dungeons, opened her mouth to say the password to the common room ... and paused. Snape's light still flickered far down the hall. Hadn't he gone to fetch the Inquisitorial Squad? Well, she thought with a sigh, she had better see if there was anything else she could do to help. Teacher's-pet points. Although it was almost too late in the year to matter...

Her feet made no sound on the stone floors. A few yards from the open office door, she paused. Someone was talking ... Professor Snape was talking, not loudly, but urgently, and someone was answering back.

"...is gone as well. The wretched woman could be anywhere. Perhaps half a dozen children - my own students were so addled they could hardly tell-"

There came a rough voice that Beth did not recognize. "If you sent my godson off to die, Snape, I swear I'll-"

"I sent your godson nowhere," Snape broke in again, coldly. "I had no idea that the fool would go after you without at least checking-"

"Silence, the pair of you!" This voice was Dumbledore, but it was Dumbledore at his finest: strong, forceful, deadly serious. "There is no time to waste in bickering while the fate of us all may be in danger. Severus, you are certain of his destination?"

In a sneering tone. "I have seen that corridor in his thoughts dozens of times, Professor. He has played directly into the Dark Lord's hands."

"Then we must meet him there. I will send as many as possible to the Department of Mysteries. Severus, you must-"

"I'm going with you." This was the rough voice again.

"I could hardly prevent you, Sirius. As I was saying: Severus, you must remain where you are, you are our last member at Hogwarts. We will contact you when we can, I pray that may be by dawn. Protect the school, Severus. We all trust you."

There was a twin snort from Snape and the harsh speaker; then a soft chime rose and fell, and Snape began shuffling around his office. The interview was indubitably over.

Beth realized, in a jolting awareness of her surroundings, that she still stood in the middle of the dark hallway. She gave a start and ducked into one of the Potions laboratories. If Snape were to catch her, after hearing all that-!

She had understood very little of the conversation. Dumbledore's voice lent urgency to the words but little to their meaning. In fact, she was sure of only one thing - and that, absolutely, instinctively certain.

The Dark Lord was going to be at the Department of Mysteries, and he was likely to be occupied there all night.

Beth's path was clear before her. She did not permit herself to stop and think - there was no time, she must act from the gut. As silently as a shadow, she slipped back into the hall and fled upstairs to Umbridge's abandoned office. A few lazy flames still licked the black logs in the floor of the fireplace; Beth took a handful of Floo powder from the mantle and hurled it in, making the flames leap and turn green.

"Hogsmeade Village."

The Floo Network spat her into the empty Owl Post building, with its warm fetid air and shed feathers from the many owls perched in the rafters. Beth did not bother to leave the building; she took out her wand and cleared her mind.

"Apparate."

The familiar winds rose and fell around her. She saw a whirling town, clouds spinning, trees dancing - then there came the jolt, the sudden stop of the carousel. Her feet landed in the marshy earth of the Little Hangleton graveyard.

She ran, half-crouching, through the churchyard and up to the Society sepulcher.

The Dark Lord would be in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore himself had said in. If he was in London, he was not in the crypt - they knew his location without fear of being found - he could not spy on them, for a few scant hours - they had the crypt to themselves.

Beth burst into the crypt, her heart pounding with excitement. The time had come, the moment was at hand. She needed Richard. She needed to call him. How to get a message to him so quickly-?

Her eyes fell on the upper corner of the crypt.

Of course!

She lit her wand with a golden glow; then, squarely facing the sensory amulet that sent images to Richard's eye patch, she traced backwards in the air:

COME NOW AND
BRING THE BOMBS

Her words hung, golden and shimmering, in the air for many moments. When they faded she traced them again; halfway through the fourth time, there was a soft whoosh as someone materialized through the door of the crypt. She broke off and whirled to face him, dispersing the words with a hasty wave of her hand.

It was Richard. Beth let out her breath in a rush; she hadn't even realized she was holding it. His brown hair was mussed; his cloak was askew on his shoulders. He had the crate of dynamite in his arms.

"I've got them," he said breathlessly, dumping the crate onto the ground. "Hope you don't mind - I took some time to call in some reinforcements..."

The door shimmered again; this arrival wore a black ribbed turtleneck and a cap.

"Blimey, ain't it Miss Parson! Oughter guessed -"

"Croaker!" said Beth delightedly.

The former Unspeakable stepped aside to allow a dark-haired girl inside, who went straight up to Rich.

"Is it time?" said Gypsy, very excitedly. "Is that what you meant?"

"Beth says it's time," Richard grinned, gesturing towards Beth.

Two more people had come in: Professor Grubbly-Plank started looking over the explosives, while Dave Gudgeon came up to crush Beth in a hug. "Polyjuice do all right for you, then?" he asked, shaking Richard's hand enthusiastically.

"Like a charm," said Richard, who was now positively beaming. Another several members had appeared through the enchanted door: Vivian Sicklewise and Daedalus Dellinger, followed closely by Celestina Warbeck and Melissa's uncle Mr. Ollivander. Behind them came Uther Bole, wearing torn robes and covered in mud.

"This had better be worth it, old sport," he roared to Richard, clapping him on the shoulder, "I was in the middle of a perfectly good victory celebration!"

"I was about to begin a lesson," came a reedy, irritable voice. Professor Vindictus Viridian elbowed his way through the crowd and stopped before Richard, hands on his hips. "You're certain this is the time?"

"The Dark Lord is in London right now," Beth spoke up, elation rising within her. "He'll be completely distracted for an hour, at least." Another several people had appeared, some of them only faintly familiar. "We can act right now."

"What," said Professor Grubbly-Plank, still peering at the contents of the crate, "are we going to do?"

Richard picked up a stick of dynamite and held it over his head. "This is a Muggle explosive," he said, raising his voice so that it carried over the crowd, "and we're going to blow that wall of names into kingdom come!"

The crypt filled with excited, flustered voices - but Richard was already calling out orders above the tumult. "Vivian, Dell, Madam Fox and Jerome, you four go to the far corners of the cemetery and keep watch. Mr. Ollivander - Celestina - Ace Arendt - Professor Viridian - you four will patrol closer to the crypt. If you see anything you know how to contact me. The rest of you need to stay inside to help wire these things in place. Beth and I will show you how."

It was amazing to see the Society alumni, spanning decades of age, obey the orders of the youngest among them. They dispersed according to Richard's directions. The half-dozen remaining members stayed and listened attentively as Richard explained the workings of a stick of dynamite.

"We need drill holes in the walls, all round, and across the face of them so we can be sure that all the names are at least broken, if not demolished. One stick goes in each hole-see? Now, this is the time fuse. All of them link back to it by wire ... here's how you rig it up - put that down, Uther..."

After a furious twenty minutes the walls of the crypt were strung with dynamite like paper chains on a Christmas tree. Richard had all of the fuses rigged up to the time fuse, an ominous contraption of wires, devices, and an ancient, brass-belled alarm clock. Dave tinkered with the timer while Richard examined the work one last time.

"Splendid. Just splendid. Untangle those lines, will you, Croaker - wonderful, that's it."

Dave finished with the time fuse and stood up. "Fifteen minutes," he told Richard. "Let's move."

Richard turned to face the rest of them, breathless, with his color high. "This is it. Now clear out and grab the patrollers - I want you all to stay close but be sure to be outside of the range, and be absolutely sure you cast shielding spells. All this will be worthless if part of the crypt comes crashing down on your head."

He paused, then reached out toward the walls and plucked something down. It was the ring that had rested in the notch beside his name. "I've been wanting this back."

The members laughed, nervously, and dispersed, leaving the crypt empty and cold. Quickly, creeping like shadows along the grim rows of tombstones, they caught the rest of the patrollers and brought them into a shallow ditch, just past the ridge on which the crypt stood. Its straight square walls loomed against the night sky, as if ready to bear down on them ... its solidity and surety were terrible to behold. If this works I'll never see this sight again, Beth thought, staring at its crisp outline among the proletariat of lesser stones. Please, please let me never see this again.

Richard turned and counted them one last time. "Are we certain we're all here?" He scowled a bit, examining the inside view of his eye patch, and glanced down at his watch. Finally he nodded and let out a tense little breath of air. "Five minutes and counting. We're ready."

Gypsy nodded and touched his arm. "We're very ready, Rich."

"I helped build that crypt over fifty years ago," Professor Grubbly-Plank declared, hunched down beside Croaker with smudges on her nose. "It's time to blow the damn thing to pieces."

"Hear hear," said Dorothea Fox grimly. "Well done, Shaw."

Richard took a deep breath. He checked his watch again. "Four minutes." His voice was terse. "Ready those shielding spells. Immediately after we have to-"

"Hold up, laddie," came Grubbly-Plank's shrill voice. "Something out there."

They turned their faces to see a solitary figure in black moving quickly toward the crypt. Richard's face paled. "Who-"

"It's Riggs," breathed Daedalus, squinting into the near-dark.

Now that his name had been said, Beth could make out the familiar form, the unmistakable stride of Randall Riggs. He made a beeline for the crypt, all the while casting glances right and left.

"He'll be killed!" cried Vivian, sounding near to tears. "Rich, turn it off!"

"You can't turn it off!" barked Richard, and his voice held a note of real panic. Brashly, he stood up and waved his arms. "Riggs! Get away from there!"

Riggs drew up at the sight of the faraway figure waving at him from the ditch. For one long moment he hesitated, just feet from the door of the crypt. Then he turned his face and began once more to approach the sepulcher.

"Riggs!"

Randall Riggs cast a derisive glance at his former President and disappeared into the crypt.

Uther Bole leapt to his feet as his classmate vanished. "We've got to get him out-!"

"Uther, there's no time!" cried Beth, trying to hold him back while a dozen other arms did the same.

"He's trying to dismantle them," Richard said, in a faraway voice. He stared forward, one eye fixed on the crypt and the other focused within on the blurry inside view from his eye patch, wavering from foot to foot as if he wanted to join Uther and go after him, even while Uther struggled against the alumni holding him. "Messing with the-"

He turned to the others suddenly, face pale. "Get down!"

They threw themselves to the ground. A half a dozen wands raised in the air and shouted the incantation for a force field - but their voices were drowned by an earth-shattering explosion.

Pebbles and smaller grains rained onto the earth and bounced off the field, like raindrops on a roof. They settled along the edges and collected: sandstone dust, suspended in thin air. Finally the pattering sandstorm came to an end. The fields were removed and bits of rock showered into their hair and onto their backs. One by one, they raised their heads to peer out at the ridge where the Society crypt had stood.

The skyline was empty.

For a moment the Society crouched, stunned, in their makeshift foxhole, staring at the bleak outline of foundation that remained barely a foot high, a bleak square in the scorched earth that bore no testament to the fabulous rooms it had housed. The crypt had been annihilated.

The Society erupted in celebration.

Professor Grubbly-Plank grabbed Croaker's hand and wrung it exuberantly: "We did it, that'll show 'im!" while slow tears rolled down the Unspeakable's face at the thought of the partner this came too late to save. Gypsy Arendt threw her arms around Professor Viridian, almost dancing with delight, while Celestina Warbeck did the same on his other side.

Dell lifted Vivian by the waist and swept her around in a circle. "Now will you marry me?" he shouted to Vivian, who cried, "Yes! Yes!" and planted a kiss on his mouth.

Richard tore the eye patch from his face and threw it to the ground. "Hope you don't mind-" he tossed to Dave Gudgeon, who shook his head ferociously, and set the round leather patch on fire. It burnt with a scarlet flame, curled in on itself and vanished into ash.

"Now," he said, turning to Beth with his eyes vivid and taking her by the elbows - but that was all the further he got before she lunged into his arms and kissed him triumphantly, with passion and relief and love.

They broke apart to find Professor Grubbly-Plank tugging at their arms. "The deed is done, Shaw," she muttered, "now we got to get out of here."

"Take a bit of your name, if you can find it," Rich called to all of them. "Take it back and destroy it. I want to know that he can never rebuild this thing. I want it to be gone forever."

One by one the members advanced to the rubble and began to pick through it for pieces of names. A few took large chunks, some small - many chose pieces of any name they could find. Some collected the twisted, melted rings that fused to the shattered sandstone. As this final job was finished, one at a time, they came to Richard, shook his hand, and Disapparated.

Beth came up to Uther's side. He stood alone and still, gazing at the crater with his fists clutched tightly at his sides. "I wish we had been able to do something," she said quietly.

"Evil git," he said through his teeth, "bloody traitor..." He ran the back of his hand across his eyes. "But you live with a chap for six years..."

Beth gave his shoulder a comforting rub and left him alone.

By now nearly everyone had gone; Dave Gudgeon came over and shook Richard's hand, then swept Beth into a brotherly hug as he left. "We'll be hearing from you, Rich," he called over his shoulder, with a lopsided grin.

"Count on it," Richard promised. He watched Dave vanish, then turned his head back to Beth. "Well," he said, his voice breaking slightly, "we did it."

"We're free, Rich," said Beth softly.

In answer he took hold of her wrist and pushed her sleeve down to reveal the burning red mark on her arm. "Not yet," he said. "But soon. I'm going to take Evan's potion and keep working on it - Hosea can help, he's trustworthy and there's nothing he doesn't know about potions - I'm going to get this thing off you, Beth..."

"Do that later," Beth said, kissing him again gently. "You did good, Rich."

"Well." Richard gazed over his shoulder at the ruins of the crypt. "Yeah. I guess so."

He turned back to her. "We need to get out of here. I'll write you soon; we need to make summer plans. I want to know what you think we should do next..." He broke off. "Later. Right." He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Be careful, Beth."

"You too." She felt dangerously close to tears. "I-"

Taking a deep breath, she gave Richard a brief, brave smile, took out her wand and Apparated to Hogsmeade Village.

The roaring winds cast her down onto the dark streets at the edge of town. For long moments she stood there in the barren street, her mind back at the Little Hangleton cemetery. They had done it. They had actually eliminated the crypt ... there was no need to fear the Dark Lord's gaze ... they had done it, and survived.

But there was Riggs...

Beth gazed at the dark storefronts, without seeing them. Riggs had made his choice. He had served his master. Now he was no longer a threat. She wished that he had never gone wrong, she wished fervently that he had never died ... but now his chapter had ended. One less thing to fear.

She heaved a deep sigh and started walking down the road toward the school, her mind full of what she had seen. A year ago she had done the same, after that first terrible Death Eater meeting - she wondered what Lycaeon was doing at that moment - the awful explosion of the Society sepulcher still echoed in her ears - she thought of Dell and Vivian, spinning around together, desperately in love, and a little smile crossed her face. There was still some good in the world after all.

It was a long walk back to the castle. Beth took it at her leisure; surely no one at the school would be much concerned about her whereabouts, they were all asleep or busy themselves - she thought of Snape and wondered precisely what he had been up to that evening. Well, she thought, mounting the steps to the Entrance Hall with a long-postponed yawn, there would be plenty of time to find that out in the morning...

She trudged up to the infirmary, as Professor Snape had ordered her to do hours ago. To her amazement, Madam Pomfrey was still awake, ministering to the Inquisitorial Squad even in her nightdress and robe.

"I wondered where you went," she clucked, taking Beth by the arm and pulling her over to an empty cot. "Nodded off, have you? I want you here overnight, young lady. Open your mouth, now-"

Beth opened her mouth dutifully and let the school nurse peer down her throat. For once she wanted to feel taken care of. The long night was beginning to wear on the edges of her mind. She held out her wrist to let Madam Pomfrey take her pulse, her eyelids drooping under long-postponed sleep.

The mark on her forearm burst into pain like the scalding of a brand.

"Ow -" Beth said aloud, clutching her arm. "Shoot..."

That was when Evan Wilkes began to scream.

Both Madam Pomfrey and Beth froze in horror. They rotated toward him. Evan was writhing on the hospital cot, arching his back, grabbing at the bedsheets convulsively. The terrible noise echoed through the infirmary and down into the halls. Some of the Inquisitorial Squad jerked awake and sat up in their cots to gape at the agonized boy.

The ache in Beth's arm intensified. The Dark Lord called to his followers in pain ... whatever potion Evan had taken had spread the Dark Mark all over his body...

"I have to go," Beth stammered. Madam Pomfrey, who had rushed to Evan's side and was struggling to hold him down, didn't look like she heard her over the screams. Aware that, as always, the Dark Lord would not wait, Beth hurried away and left Evan in excruciating pain.

She turned a corner and ran smack into a large black figure.

Beth reeled backward, too flustered to apologize. She started forward again, but the man she had bumped into caught her arm. "Miss Parson."

She turned and looked into the face of Professor Severus Snape.

There wasn't time for careful speech or pointless concealment; the sounds of agony, dulled by many walls, still hung in the air. "Yes, it's Evan," she said bluntly.

Snape pursed his lips. "I suspected as much. We'll use the unguarded fireplace in our Headmistress's office," he said, glancing up the hall toward the infirmary. Side by side, they turned and hurried down the corridor.

Professor Umbridge's office was dark and empty, an utter shambles, just as it had been left. Professor Snape didn't bother to turn on the lights; rather, he flicked his wand to send a blue fire roaring into the fireplace. He grabbed some Floo powder and chucked it in among the flickering logs.

"The Riddle House, Little Hangleton." Snape took her by the arm and they both stepped into the fireplace.

Grates and mantles swept past them like the cars of a passing train. Beth had always been weak-stomached on the Floo network, but Professor Snape was a bastion of calm, a tower amid the raging winds. She let him be her support as the network flew by. Finally there came a jolt like a stopping train, and they stepped (Beth stumbling) into a wood-and-velvet room, of magenta, paneling and lace.

The cobwebbed room may have been a drawing room once, or a smoking room. High-backed chairs and round wooden tables still cluttered the edges of the tightly-packed little room. Apart from the two of them, the room was empty.

"I shall accompany you back to the castle," Snape murmured, and brushed past without so much as a comforting hand on her shoulder.

The room was shabby with age. Beth took a moment to herself, gathering her courage, gazing from tapestry to portrait to chair. Had the room not been so dark, it would have looked almost ordinary - she imagined it had once even been inviting.

"Ordinary," she murmured to herself, barely moving her lips. There wasn't a magical object in the room. This was a house of Muggles. It seemed a strange headquarters for a man who despised them.

"B-Beth."

Beth turned before she realized that it was imprudent to respond to her own name. At the sight of the speaker, she snatched up her wand. "Get away from me."

Chris Parson held up both hands. "I w-won't hurt you. I'm s-so sorry. I know you n-now, see? I d-didn't - I can hardly remember coming h-home..."

He had the features of their father, but it was the haunted expression that struck her - it was identical to the one that Lycaeon had worn, even a year after his release. She lowered her wand.

"Dad didn't wake up for a whole day," she said harshly. It was all she could think to say. "He almost died."

An almost pitiful expression of relief washed over Chris's worn face. "Oh," he said, shoulders sagging. "Oh, I'm s-so glad ... I thought I had ... and I was af-f-fraid to go back..." He put his hands over his face.

Beth acted purely on instinct. She put her wand in her pocket, went up to him, and wrapped her arms around him.

She expected him to tense or recoil. Instead he melted in her embrace, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder. She realized that he had not been hugged in fifteen years.

"You used t-to be so small," he whispered. "And I thought I w-w-would always p-protect you..."

"Don't come home," she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. "The Ministry will catch you."

She felt no fear now, though she held her attacker in her arms. Chris had been broken back to childhood. She possessed all the strength of will, mind and spirit that he had lost. She felt him feed on it and grow stronger. Now that he knew her, now that they had met, she had nothing to fear from him.

A strange and lonely sound, smooth as a mountain horn and resonant as a gong, filled the air. Chris raised his eyes, turning his face toward the doorway. "He calls."

Beth had been dreading this. "Stand by me," she said, taking his hand even as they pulled apart.

"I c-c-can't." Chris still stared at the open door. "I have a p-p-place."

Beth knew that and hated it.

"We m-must go," said Chris, starting toward the door.

"Masks," she reminded him kindly. She conjured one for herself and Chris cast his own spell - his mask was lopsided, cockeyed and tattered, much like the mind which had made it. Beth let her brother pass and followed him out of the drawing room.

The hall led into a vast and shabby ballroom. Broken chairs cluttered the walls; across from the entrance, a bar counter had sagged in the middle, littered with long-empty glass bottles. The great crystal chandelier was dark, though beneath the years of dust a few gems still sought to twinkle. The room was crowded with men - identically hooded, quietly mingling, brothers in the giving and getting of terror. As the echoes of the gong faded away, they took their places in the now-familiar ring, each one in his position, though there were many places unfilled that night. Beth thought of Evan, in agony but far away, and wondered whether she felt pity or envy.

Just as the last of the Death Eaters stepped into his position, the crystal chandelier burst into green flame.

From the floor rose the Dark Lord himself, a swirl of black robes, the hood throwing shadows on his gaunt pale face. Instantly, Beth knew that this was going to be bad. His eyes crackled with fury. Heat waves seemed to emanate from his very being; whether by the tensely curled fingers or the tightly pressed lips, he was clearly at the very height of his anger.

Some fool spoke up. "My lord? How did it-?"

"Crucio."

The screams went on for far longer than Beth expected, almost longer than she could stand. When the Dark Lord raised his wand at last, it was with no satisfaction, as if even the inflicting of pain could not undo his wrath. He turned from the victim, still panting and whimpering on the floor, and swept his eyes around the ring.

"The best among you have failed me. I have been utterly denied."

A few hesitant murmurs of apology and denial.

"My wrath will be felt!"

The rage of the Dark Lord was terrifying. His red eyes burned around the circle. Beth had never seen him in his fury; she understood, now, how he had become the most powerful wizard of the age. Who could dare to stand against that torrent of hate?

"As if the irretrievable bungling of my plans was not enough, in my absence my headquarters was infiltrated," he gnashed out, the reedy cold voice almost shaking. "The graveyard was defiled. A tomb was destroyed. I want to know who is responsible."

There was a harsh motion from the other side of the circle, and one of the wizards tore off his mask.

It was Riggs. His face was battered and swollen, with blood down the side of his face and one eye totally eclipsed in a nova of black and blue. He took two lopsided, painful steps toward the Dark Lord.

"I know," he said, and his voice was harsh.

He aimed a shaking, bloody finger at directly Beth.

"It was her."

Time hung in stunned stillness.

Beth took a step back, unwittingly. Instantly, the Death Eaters on either side of her backed away, leaving her alone and exposed at the edge of the circle.

The Dark Lord flicked his wand in her direction. A powerful updraft breezed around her and tore the mask from her head.

Until that moment, Lord Voldemort had never looked her full in the face. The instant his red eyes fell on her, all Beth's strength seemed to melt and run from her body, leaving stark paralyzing terror. She felt naked, she felt weak - the palms of her hands ached with fear and her head swam at the sight of his pitiless inhuman face. She had neither the strength nor the presence of mind to wonder what would happen next. The dread that settled low in her chest was borne not of fear or doubt, but of certainty. She had finally reached the end.

"My Lord." Riggs's voice was thick with madness. "I beg you."

The Dark Lord cast him a glance; then a half-smile crept to his face and he swept his hand toward Beth, still frozen, petrified and helpless in expectation. "You may."

Riggs raised his wand, a mad, malicious smile splitting his torn and bloody face. Beth's chest hurt, her heart pounded as if willing her to feel those last precious beats. There was no time, no time. A thousand images crowded her mind so that she lost them all. In her last living act, she closed her eyes.

"Avada Kedavra."

There was a whoosh of air.

The world went silent.