Chapter Eight: Keeping the Appointment
A/N: Many thanks to foci, Quill of Minerva, Dumbledore, taRa JaZeL, and Subbulakshmi for reviewing the tiny chapter!
And a great big ginormous thank you to my beta Flying Auk, who ensures that nothing like 'ginormous' shows up in my writing.
My apologies to anyone (sorry, Clayre!) who got confused by the last update. The new chapter was chapter three, not chapter seven, and it takes place in July (before all the nastiness). It's just a short, fluffy explanation as to why Voldemort didn't kidnap Minerva sooner.
Yay, chapter eight! And so we come to the climax...
Just remember, all will be explained in due time...
It was time.
In unison the two men raised the glass vials to their lips and downed their contents in one gulp, grimacing at the taste.
Silently they handed their wands to Remus who pocketed them solemnly.
The older man was older; the younger man, younger.
They were ready.
When the clock struck midnight they reached out to touch the convoluted black stone phoenix, exchanging a determined nod just before their fingers brushed against the grotesque sculpture.
Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter vanished in a flash from the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Left behind in their wake was an anxious Remus Lupin, who offered up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening.
The white-haired wizard and his young companion appeared in the center of the circle exactly as the clock struck twelve. Potter eyed the Death Eaters surrounding them with obvious unease, shifting his weight and fingering his pocket as if to grasp his missing wand; Dumbledore's gaze remained fixed on the monster at the end of the hall.
The room had been prepared just as carefully as a theatre stage. Some thirty-odd masked Death Eaters encircled the two arrivals tightly, wands in hand, eagerly awaiting the fall of the "greatest wizard of modern times." At the end of the hall was a small dais, and seated upon its ornate chair was Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort himself.
It was poetic justice that Riddle's physical appearance was now as evil as his soul. Red eyes, little more than slits, stared back at his greatest nemesis.
"Ah, Dumbledore, so good of you to come," Voldemort drawled, his rasping voice shattering the silence of the room. Dumbledore simply stared at him, barely acknowledging his presence. The Dark Lord scowled. "Give me the boy," he demanded sharply.
"Where is Professor McGonagall?" Dumbledore countered, his voice equally harsh.
"Professor McGonagall? Is that what you call her in bed?" he leered, noting the sudden tensing Dumbledore's body with vicious pleasure. "She's been screaming your bloody name since the moment she got here." The old man flinched visibly, and Voldemort smiled triumphantly.
"Where is she?" Potter shouted furiously, moving forward to stand beside his mentor supportively.
Voldemort looked down from the dais at the boy as if he were a particularly unpleasant bug to be squashed, and did not answer.
"Where. Is. She?" Dumbledore bit out, straightening angrily.
Voldemort returned his attention to the older wizard and smiled evilly. "I'm afraid that she won't be able to join us. She's a little…indisposed at the moment."
"What the hell did you do to her?" Dumbledore roared, leaping forward and reaching out as if to strangle Voldemort with his bare hands. Half a dozen Death Eaters jumped forward from the circle to restrain him and Voldemort smirked. Dumbledore flung his hands up and the Death Eaters flew backwards, a few hitting the walls with audible cracks.
Cruel, delighted laughter and applause arose from the dais, freezing those in action. "Bravo, bravo," the Dark Lord intoned, startling his followers. Then his face hardened. "Enough games, Dumbledore. Don't forget who's in charge here," he threatened vaguely.
Dumbledore paused in his advance but did not back down. "Where is Minerva?"
"Ah, so it's Minerva now, is it?" Voldemort asked mockingly. Seeing the growing ire in Dumbledore's face, Voldemort waved to the Death Eater on his left carelessly. "Bring in the whore, then." The furious flash in Dumbledore's eyes was unmistakable, but every ounce of fire in him fled the moment the Death Eaters dragged in Minerva McGonagall and threw her at their master's feet.
"Minerva!" Dumbledore cried sharply, rushing forward as she crumpled to the ground. Potter gasped audibly at the sight of his professor.
"Don't move," Voldemort warned them coldly, holding his wand to Minerva's throat almost lazily. "I'd hate to have to kill her now." Dumbledore skidded to a halt, his blue eyes agonized as he frantically assessed her condition.
Her dress had been torn to shreds and hung loosely on her eerily gaunt body. Thin, pale legs spotted with dark purple bruises splayed out beneath her, and she shivered slightly, boneless as a flobberworm. Dried blood and mottled filth were splattered across her rags, and her right arm hung at an odd angle. Voldemort watched in amusement as she struggled to right herself and Dumbledore struggled not to run to her side. Finally, she managed to push herself into an awkward half-sitting, half-kneeling position and looked up at her would-be rescuers.
There were dark circles under her eyes and a deep bruise on her left cheek. Tiny scratches showed red against the white of her face. She was clearly exhausted and in great pain, but her eyes met Dumbledore's unerringly. Something passed between them in that instant, like a spark of electricity, and both straightened subtly.
"Let her go," Dumbledore commanded, the sudden strength in his voice making Voldemort frown. "It's me you want." Dumbledore studiously avoided the sudden anguish in Minerva's face.
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "You flatter yourself, old man. You know the deal. The boy for the woman."
"I'm here," Potter snapped angrily. "Let her go." The woman on the ground looked up sharply at the sound of his voice and gave a small cry at the sight of him, green eyes wide.
Voldemort turned to look at the boy in mild irritation. "Stay out of this, boy."
"Let me handle this, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder.
Potter shrugged it off agitatedly. "Let her go," he said clearly, taking another few steps toward Minerva. "You have what you want," he said, indicating himself.
"Harry, no!" Minerva cried, horrified.
"Silence!" Voldemort thundered, kicking her viciously as he raised his wand. Minerva collapsed with a soft cry, instinctively cradling her right arm to her chest.
"NO!" Dumbledore and Potter screamed, running forward at full speed. The Death Eaters rose up to stop them, but neither slowed their pace.
"ENOUGH!" Voldemort bellowed, rising from his seat and grabbing Minerva by her hair. His wand dug into the back of her neck painfully. "MOVE AND SHE DIES!"
Though she made no sound, Minerva's eyes were tightly closed, the slow tear trailing down her cheek testimony to her pain. Dumbledore stood just ten feet away, breathing heavily, body trembling slightly as his blue eyes registered more emotions than any one man could ever hope to contain. The expression on his face could only be described as stricken, and he shuddered violently at the sight of Minerva's tears.
Beside him stood young Potter, fists clenched fiercely, face flushed, also breathing heavily. "Leave her alone," he said loudly, but the tears in his tone made the words seem more of a plea than a command. "You can have me, just…just please, leave her alone."
Minerva's eyes flew open at his words, and she shook her head frantically at him. Sensing her movement, Voldemort jerked on a fistful of her hair violently. Minerva's head snapped back and she whimpered, falling still. Dumbledore gritted his teeth and breathed deeply, hands clenched into fists. The pure hatred radiating from him was palpable to everyone in the room.
"STOP IT!" Potter shouted.
"Silence, boy," Voldemort said coldly, jabbing his wand at Minerva's throat again for emphasis. "Here's how this is going to work," he began, looking at Dumbledore. "You will choose one, the woman or the boy, to take with you. You will turn around and walk out the door, and I will kill the other the moment you step out of this room."
Dumbledore's throat was working rapidly as his eyes darted between the two most important people in his life.
"Having trouble deciding, old man? I should have known that you were getting senile," Voldemort said mockingly. "Let me help you." Reaching down, he twisted Minerva's right arm savagely, his eyes daring Dumbledore to try anything. Her tortured scream sliced straight through Dumbledore's soul, and the old man faltered for a moment.
"Leave her alone, you bastard!" Potter screamed furiously, shaking from head to toe.
Voldemort's eyes glanced over the boy, meeting his glare evenly. A sudden, sharp pain sliced through Potter's skull as the Legilimens attacked his mind. Potter was too distracted to actively defend himself, and Voldemort slashed through his poorly-erected shields with ease. The boy fell with a sharp cry of pain, clutching his scar.
"So little Potter loves his professors, does he? How does it feel to be a failure as a father as well as a husband, old man?" the Dark Lord taunted his rival. Dumbledore looked sharply at Potter, who was slowly regaining his feet, the evident shock on his face only further amusing Voldemort.
"Didn't you know that your precious golden boy loves you, Professor?" Voldemort laughed harshly. "He was so crushed when you betrayed him when he was just fifteen. Poor, precious little Potter." Dumbledore seemed to wilt at Voldemort's words. "So, you can save your son by killing his mother, or save your wife by killing her son. The irony is lovely, isn't it?"
Dumbledore's blue eyes were dim, defeated, when they met Minerva's green ones. Her message was clear. Take him and get out of here! Dumbledore shook his head slowly. I won't leave you. The flash of pain in her eyes hurt them both. Albus, please…she begged, needing no Legilimency to communicate with him. His answer was emphatic and unyielding. Never.
She looked up at Potter, slightly uncertain but nevertheless determined. The boy's eyes widened as he read her message, confirming her conjecture. Then he too, shook his head definitively, no more than a slight inclination of his head, but it was enough to dash Minerva's hopes.
Her worst nightmare had just come to life.
A/N: Please review! What'd you think? It was a stretch for me as a writer to come up with this, so I'm curious as to what my readers think. Oh, and sorry for any confusion the chapter may have caused. Part II of this scene will be posted after I finish touching it up, followed by one or two chapters explaining this insanity.