Chapter Twelve: Si Mian Chu Ge
Her tremulous whisper of his name caused a horrible, slitted smile to crack across Voldemort's face. He stood taller, looming over her like a cobra threatening to strike, horrible face hooded in flames.
The silence was choking in her throat and burning in her lungs. Each time she blinked, she prayed everything would disappear, replaced with the safe, silk-draped canopy of her bed. But this was not a dream: Voldemort was circling her with a soft hiss.
"Ssssooo…Miss Elizabeth Lee, is it?"
She didn't answer. Couldn't.
"I must confess I never expected to see a Lee standing before me," he said, continuing his tight ring around her, eyes bent on her face. "What makes you so different?"
She swallowed. A question. A question. And this time he expected an answer. Worse yet, she had none. "I—I don't know—sir." She did everything possible not to flinch or look away as his gaunt body and cruel face brushed past her. Part of her dully realized that she had called him 'sir.' She wasn't sure whether to feel disgusted with herself or relieved at her own cunning.
"I do." His voice was a horrible, throaty whisper that sent shivers straight through her skin and to the bone. Her heart pounded.
Voldemort circled her a few more times then contented himself resting against the nearby fireplace, spying her coldly through his flashing, snake-like eyes. "Well, as far as I can remember, I don't think a Lee has ever felled a Mudblood at Hogwarts." Lili didn't have to look up to see the smile curling across his stretched skin. "And gotten away with it too, I might add."
Her heart drummed with a heavy doom. Hermione.
"I have also heard you possess interesting magical skills—Eastern—and somewhat more unfamiliar to even the most learned at Hogwartsss." He was running a spidery finger along the edge of the fireplace, casting gnarled shadows across the floor. "The Aurors will not being expecting such things. Skills such as yours could be very—useful to me."
Doom. Lili felt overcome with panic. She kept her eyes bolted to the floor, watching the shadows loom ever closer to her feet.
"You can do magic without a wand? Controlled magic?" It was an accusatory tone and, looking up from the fire, his eyes flashed violently.
For a moment she felt as if in the heat and the shadow and the flash of his eyes, she might faint. Her throat tightened and the encroaching blackness overcame her for a second. "Well—sort of--sometimes," she stammered, still not daring to meet his gaze. "I—I mean anyone can do it. With the proper training."
He hissed loudly, sliding past the front of the fireplace and settling before it, his thin form blotting out most of what little light dripped into the room. "And you could provide such training, if you were called upon to do so?"
Doom. Doom. Blood pounded in her ears, and every muscle felt tense enough to snap. Stupid answer, damn you. Stupid answer.
Words tumbled wildly in her mind, but none seemed strong enough; none seemed right.
But then, what words could be said? There was either a yes or a no. Anything else was just some embellishment or evasion.
And really, only one answer would be accepted: the other was too horrifying to say. She heard herself swallow.
"I—I don't know." Her voice shook, and she found it impossible to steady. "My—own magic is not—fully developed, and teaching wuzhang is really quite diff—"
"Ahh, false modesty." He spit the words out as if they were poison on his tongue. "You have the skillsss…" With a long hiss he grabbed her chin quite suddenly, pulling her face up towards his and locking with her eyes. "I can see it in you."
Once again she felt a wave of weakness wash over her, and, in the heat of the fire, her stomach seemed close to retching. His hands were frozen across her face, her trembling pulse throbbing between his fingers. He could clearly feel the racing of her heart, thin lips twisting up into a taut sneer. "There's no need to be nervous, child. Here, among us, you will be appreciated for who you are—for your talents. This is the circle of acceptance." He swept his free hand around loosely, but kept a firm grip on her. "We offer you the opportunity to exercise those talents to help bring about the greatest change in wizarding history." His eyes were burning now, and, though he took away his hand, his gaze held her with even greater ferocity. Every part of her felt naked before him, and she was unsure how much longer she could keep from vomiting or passing out.
Behind her Lucius Malfoy shifted his weight across his feet, and Jeremiah Avery cleared his throat quietly.
But, in the moment, she felt it was only Voldemort and herself, eyes locked and her heart drumming so loudly it drowned out every sound save the rough hissing of the Dark Lord's breath. Doom. Doom.
"Missssss Lee." Lili thought for a manic and split second of Professor Snape and the way he said her name, the syllables all draped in self-effacing silk. Voldemort's voice was shrill and coarse. "Draco and Lucius Malfoy have asked that you be offered a position in my service. I am more than eager to offer it." He leaned in even closer, slit nostrils flaring and thinning with deep, wheezing breath. "Join us, Miss Lee. You belong in this circle…"
Something rose in her throat, but she was too afraid to splutter or cough. She was too afraid, even, to faint. Voldemort's breath was hot on her face and his serpentine eyes flashed at her with a cold question.
Doom, doom, doom. It was the question she had feared the most. She looked about her, searching for Snape, finding him, of course, absent. Only cold, pale and flame-drenched faces stared back, unfamiliar and examining, seeming to loom over her like shadowy and flickering sentinels. She spied the door longingly, but it was squared distant between the shoulders of the two Malfoys. She searched Draco's eyes but found the same cold leering she had come to associate with his father.
She was si mian chu ge—surrounded by enemies on all sides. Her knees were shaking, close to giving way, and her stomach roiled so fiercely she began to swoon with the nausea. She was painfully aware that her body was shaking under the heat and weight of the fear, and her heart seemed ready to explode from her chest. She moved her tongue up and down in her dry mouth, trying to form some words to reply, but found that nothing was brave enough to emerge.
His hand was on her face again, this time with such icy force that it seemed almost to burn. He turned her eyes to his once more. "Miss Lee—will you join us?"
Her world was spinning now, her stomach turning, twisting. Everything seemed to dissolve into those horrible, red eyes and, soon, it was all she could see or feel. Will you join us—He hissed the last syllable and the static seemed to burst her already fragile heart.
Snape. She needed him here—she needed to know what to do. She was too afraid. She didn't want to be the Queen of Slytherin anymore…What should I do?
Her lips were moving now trying to form words. The flashing of his eyes had swallowed her, and she felt herself struggling, drowning in the firelight and the shadow and the hissing, hot static of his breath…
What should I do?
No answer came, only that fierce sea of red. She felt the burning of tears behind her eyes. He wasn't there. He couldn't be there. She was alone—and there was only one answer.
The word barely passed her lips, barely lasted for a second in the stiff, crushing weight of the air.
"Yes."
Voldemort's thin-lipped mouth curled up like smoke, and his eyes widened, fingers falling down from her face in triumph. "You have made the best decision of your life, Miss Lee. This will change the course of your future, as it will change the face of the world." When he lifted his gaze from her, she felt like a puppet who, strings cut, could do nothing more than collapse to the ground. The Dark Lord's voice seemed oddly distant now as he addressed the others, asking them to accept Lili into the fold, spitting forth many strong words about the rewards for those who would join him and aid in his return to power.
Lili was folded over herself, gasping for breath and sanity, her knees digging into the hard wood floor. She dropped her head down, wondering if she would be able to hold in her nausea much longer. Even in the overwhelming heat of the room, goose bumps pricked across her skin.
It was over now. Her life was over. She had been so foolish—rushing headlong into Slytherin. She thought back to her father. Why hadn't she listened? What had made her think—
And then there was Snape. He, too, had tried to warn her. And what had she done? Gone on cavorting about with Malfoy. And where did it get her?
The answer: here, hunched over herself on the floor, at the feet of Voldemort and a ruined future.
She was too numb to think fully about what lay before her.
The thick air once more heaved into a silence, and she felt the heavy look of the Dark Lord on her neck. She raised her eyes to meet him--the feeling of looking up from a tomb.
"Miss Lee."
Tears were threatening, and she was unsure how long she'd have the strength to hold them back. They burned her eyes, and Voldemort watched her there, lips pressed tight and white, cheeks flushed with heat. He smiled. "Miss Lee—kiss the hem of my robe and rise, one of my loyal and most trusted—a Death Eater." He put one leg forward, the end of his robes billowing out towards her. A simple, red-threaded hemline glared forward, falling to the hard, wood floor with a rustle that seemed loud enough to burst her ears.
A tiny part of her, settled somewhere deep in her gut, remained strong enough to object fiercely, demanding that she stand, firm, and refuse, walk out—no, storm out--and never look back. Kiss the hem of his robe? Absurd, demeaning and horrible. Saying yes had been one nightmare—this was too much.
And yet her body sank towards the floor, exhausted, and knowing of no other choice. Perhaps a Gryffindor would have had the strength to stand—she had none left. The cloth brushed rough and hot against her lips.
She felt her stomach churn and, suddenly, she knew she would be able to hold back no longer.
With what little energy she could muster she managed to crawl past him and towards the fireplace. She vomited, the flames lashing up towards her face. Her body, weak, slumped against the wall, still rasping for breath.
In the heat of the fire, she remembered the night she sat in the Slytherin common room, imagining herself wreathed in fire, flames crawling over her skin. Once again, this seemed a welcome escape.
But, she reminded herself, there was no escape now. She had worked herself into this place. She had none but herself to blame.
It was a long while before she could turn to face him again—him and the others about him. They all seemed vaguely surprised, small pouts of indignation tickling their lips. She swallowed hard and met Voldemort's eyes as deferentially as she could. "I—I'm sorry. I think I might be ill."
His gaze remained unconvinced.
Painfully, her heart almost refusing to beat, she knelt down once more and kissed the hem of his garment again. Her tears dropped down on the robe's end, soaking into the cloth like the blooming of a black flower. She prayed for deafness to shield her from what she was about to say. "Thank you, my Lord. I am honored and humbled." Her stomach objected again, but had already been emptied.
When she rose, the frowns and disapproving sneers were gone. Her empty stomach turned and turned, but she was resolved. She wiped the tears from beneath her eyes, and tried, with a wrenching pain, to stand up to her full height.
"Welcome to the circle, Miss Lee." Voldemort's voice had changed. It was deeper, slower, and, she thought, more kingly. Across the room, Lili saw Draco and the tall woman, Junia, part quietly. She gritted her teeth, refusing the tears.
"There is but one task left for you," Voldemort continued, walking towards her and laying a spidery-fingered hand on her shoulder. Her muscles strained to prevent a shudder. "You will take the Dark Mark."
Her heart jumped, her lungs collapsing from the weight of the words. She was not certain exactly what this mark was, but she had heard enough, through Slytherin gossip, to guess at the pain. She began to tremble once again and gave up any pretense that she was not utterly terrified.
The circle of Death Eaters had closed in, and Draco and his father were stepping towards her. In the raging firelight, the two pale Malfoys shone like ghosts.
Doom, doom came the drumming of her heart again. She looked up at Draco, pleading, but he would not meet her eyes. He seemed only to follow his father's lead, taking hold of one of Lili's arms tightly, and moving her towards the cold, stone end of the fireplace.
The tears burned once more, despite any efforts to stop them. The two Malfoys were holding her hard against the fireplace, flames licking behind her legs. Eyes surrounded her, all reflecting the orange and red, pale imitations of their master's.
He pulled his wand from his robes and held the tip of it in the raging fire.
"Elizabeth Lee." The Dark Lord's voice was strong, but she could barely make out the words over the crackling of the fire and the panicked beating of her own heart. She smelt the thick smoke of cinders behind her as Voldemort removed his wand and held it up, glowing, before his face.
"You take now the Mark of Lord Voldemort as a pledge of your loyalty." He moved the wand closer to her skin.
Doom, doom. Flickering flames caused the shadow of his wand to slide across her face. Blinking, she felt she might not be able to escape the darkness.
"Taking this Mark, you are my servant and my trusted soldier."
She was shaking so hard that both Draco and Lucius tightened their grips, pushing her firmly against the stone.
"The pain you endure will be a testament to your strength and the strength of our cause."
Her lips parted, weak, trying to cry out, but her voice was gone, throat squeezed close in terror. Her lungs burned, weighed heavy with smoke. For a moment, she felt everything slipping away. Voldemort's voice drew her back.
"With this Mark, you are bound to me and to my future."
The end of his wand was near the skin of her left forearm now, and she could feel heat radiating from its tip and straight through her. She was gasping for what breath she could find in the heavy, scorching air.
"With this Mark, you, Elizabeth Lee, are a Death Eater." The wand moved closer to her arm.
Then, oddly, she felt Draco's grip tighten, his hands shaking. She forced her neck to turn, meeting his down-turned face. He did not look up at her but kept his pale eyes riveted on her arm, his own face flushed with fear. He was clearly terrified, lips pressed tight together, cold, strong hands trembling around her upper arm. It was enough to distract Lili for a split second from her own terror. He seemed, suddenly, unlike his father: very young, very innocent, and very scared.
And then the pain. A horrible, searing pain that radiated down her bones and wracked her entire body with fierce fire. She was vaguely aware of struggling against the two holding her, but her mind itself had melted away, giving over only to the desperate wish for the pain to stop. She opened her mouth once again to scream, and this time was successful, though she was unable to hear her own shrieking over the jarring sizzle of her own flesh. Her back arched, muscles stretched, aching as if to break. Time dripped away, and the pain seemed to freeze into an eternity. Her voice ran out, choked by the burning muscles which strangled her lungs in desperation. Please, make the pain stop—make it stop—Along her arm the skin cracked and blistered and seemed to peel away in a heavy black shape. Her lips continued to move though she could not speak. She mouthed frantically, silently, writhing under the cold grips of the Malfoys.
Please—stop—no—she gave one last jerk of a struggle but was held tight—please--
And she felt her body grow too weak to hold on. Her mind winked in and out of darkness, the pain seeming to fade.
Please—. Her mouth formed the silent words in gasps, slipping away. Snape.
The Malfoys let go of her arms, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.