The Death Eaters

John took one look at Voldemort and fell away. His head pounded, his arm was still numb, and when he came back to the maze, he pulled his hand away from his face and found it covered in blood.

Sherlock held him up by his shoulders, pure terror on his face. 'John, tell me that wasn't…'

'He's back,' John mumbled thickly through his bloody nose. His lip trembled to match the rest of his body. 'I can't do this… don't make me go back… I can't…'

'I'm sorry, John, but we need to know,' Sherlock said, his voice wavering. 'If we're going to stand any chance of stopping him, we need to know what happens here tonight.' He wiped John's face with his robes. 'I know you can do it.'

'I don't want to,' John groaned, 'please… Sherlock…'

Neither of them could control their tears, but Sherlock squared his shoulders and made John sit up straight. 'I know it hurts,' he said. 'I know.' He held up John's head. 'But we have to do this. You know I'm right.'

'You're always right.'

'I am,' Sherlock said firmly.

John could feel that Sherlock was just as terrified as he was, but he could also feel his surety. John used it as a platform to shove himself off.

It took a moment, but Harry reappeared before him, still bound to the marble headstone. Wormtail knelt on the ground, his robes now shining with blood.

Voldemort was now holding his wand with his white, unnaturally long fingers.

'My Lord…' Wormtail choked,' my Lord... you promised… you did promise…'

'Hold out your arm,' Voldemort said lazily.

'Oh, master … thank you, master…'

He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed. 'The other arm, Wormtail.'

'Master, please… please…'

Voldemort bent down, pulled out Wormtail's left arm and forced the sleeve of his robes up past his elbow.

John fought his fear and disgust, and moved closer to Wormtail to look at the vivid red tattoo on his arm. It was a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth - exactly like the Dark Mark that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup.

'It is back,' Voldemort said softly, 'they will all have noticed it… and now we shall see… now we shall know…' He pressed his long forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm.

John's arm burned, and he grabbed it with his still-numb hand. Pain pierced his head, combined with all twenty-six other brands that burned at once. His vision went grey for a moment, until he could pull himself together. Everything was blurry now, but John could see that the red Dark Mark on Wormtail's arm had turned jet black.

'How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?' Voldemort whispered, straightening up. 'How many will be foolish enough to stay away?'

John's vision flickered, and once again faded back to the maze. He groaned and retched, holding his head in his hands. 'I can't..' he breathed. His ears felt wet.

'Lie down,' Sherlock said. 'Take a break, but we don't have long.'

'Why not?' John mumbled, staring up at the sky. 'I can see it another time.' His eyelids were heavy.

'John, listen to me. We need information and the sooner we get it, the sooner we can tell Dumbledore so he can put in place whatever countermeasures he has planned. Every moment counts, do you understand?'

John sniffed. 'Do you have any…?'

'Water?' Sherlock conjured a goblet full of water and helped John drink it.

The cool liquid cleared his thoughts somewhat, and though he stayed lying on his back, he reached deep inside himself for his last reserves of energy, and found Harry once more.

Cedric's body still lay beside the Triwizard Cup, but John did his best to ignore it. He stood beside Harry and watched.

The air filled with the sound of swishing cloaks. Between the graves and in shadowy spaces, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. One by one they moved forwards, slowly and cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled towards Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

'Master… master…' he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Harry, Voldemort, John, and the sobbing, twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces.

'Welcome, Death Eaters,' Voldemort said quietly.

John suddered.

'Thirteen years,' Voldemort continued. 'Thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it was yesterday… we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?'

John cringed at his tone and wavered again, but kept his grip.

Voldemort sniffed the air, his slit-like nostrils widening. 'I smell guilt,' he said. 'There is a stench of guilt upon the air.'

A shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare, to step back from him.

'I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! - and I ask myself… why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?'

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was still sobbing on the ground over his bleeding arm.

'And I answer myself,' Voldemort whispered, 'they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment…

'And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power, in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?

'And I answer myself again, perhaps they believed a still-greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort… perhaps now they pay allegiance to another… perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?'

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads.

Voldemort ignored them. 'It is a disappointment to me… I confess myself… disappointed…'

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.

'Master!' he shrieked, 'Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!'

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand. 'Crucio!'

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked, and John curled into a ball to avoid it.

'Get up, Avery,' said Voldemort softly.

'Avery,' John whispered to Sherlock. More information.

'Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of the debt already, have you not, Wormtail?' He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.

'You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?'

'Yes, master,' groaned Wormtail, 'please, master… please…'

'Yet you helped me return to my body,' said Voldemort. 'Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me… and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…' Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining, momentarily shapeless until it writhed and formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand. It soared downwards and fixed itself upon Wormtail's bleeding wrist.

Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly and he raised his head, staring in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. 'My Lord,' he whispered. 'Master… it is beautiful… thank you… thank you…'

He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.

'May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail,' said Voldemort.

'No, my Lord... never, my Lord…'

Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, then Voldemort approached the man on Wormtail's right.

'Lucius, my slippery friend…'

'Lucius,' John whispered.

'I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though ti the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius… your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay… but might not your energies have been better directed towards finding and aiding your master?'

'My Lord, I was constantly on the alert,' came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly beneath the hood.

'Lucius Malfoy,' John whispered.

'Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me-'

'And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?' said Voldemort lazily, and Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. 'Yes, I know all about that, Lucius… you have disappointed me… I expect more faithful service in the future.'

'Of course, my Lord, of course… you are merciful… thank you…'

Voldemort moved on, stopping and staring at a space large enough to fit two people.

'The Lestranges should stand here, but they were entombed in Azkaban.'

John couldn't stop them coming to him again, torturing the Longbottoms before his eyes.

Focus, Sherlock whispered. Go back.

John yanked himself away with a grunt, to hear Voldemort say, 'They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me… when Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honoured beyond their dreams. The Dementors will join us, they are our natural allies… we will recall the banished giants…'

'Break Azkaban,' John whispered with great effort. 'Dementors… giants…'

Voldemort walked on.

'Macnair… destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now? You shall have better victims than that soon. Lord Voldemort will provide…'

A faint flicker of anger rippled through John as he remembered Buckbeak. 'Macnair.'

Voldemort walked past a few more, and John did the same as he spoke to them. 'Crabbe… Goyle… Nott…'

Voldemort reached the largest gap of all. 'And here we are missing six Death Eaters… three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return… he will pay.'

John thought he saw the ghostly outline of Karkaroff where he should have stood. 'Warn Karkaroff.' He could feel his strength ebbing, but he remained.

'One, who I believe has left me forever… he will be killed, of course.'

Again, John saw the outline of the Death Eater that should have stood there, and this time it belonged to Severus Snape. Something felt off about it, but John relayed it to Sherlock anyway. He didn't have the strength to waste on questions.

'...And one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service.'

Once more, John could see who should have stood there, but this time he was even more confused. 'Barty Crouch Jr… How?'

'He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight…

'Yes,' said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth, as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. 'Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour.'

John couldn't hold it any longer. His nose was still bleeding, and thin trickles fell from his ears. 'Sherlock,' he mumbled.

Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's. 'I would do it for you.'

John weakly squeezed Sherlock's hand. 'A minute,' he slurred.

Sherlock nodded. 'A minute.' He cupped the back of John's head and helped him drink more water, fighting back the pain, doing his best to be strong for John. He was more frightened than he'd ever been, but they needed this. If Harry didn't make it out alive, someone had to tell Dumbledore what Voldemort had been planning. What were their powers for, if not for this?

He knew John's limits very well, but they had passed them long ago, and he didn't know how much further he could push them. But if he didn't, what hope did they have? He knew what they had to do, and the logic was sound, but that didn't stop him from feeling the heart-wrenching pain of having to force John beyond his capabilities. He gently wiped the blood from John's face and ears, with a section of his robes that he'd dipped in another goblet of water. He wished he had Castiel to help John, but it was far too late to go and get him.

He waited until he felt a small portion of John's energy return, then lifted him up again. John didn't bother arguing with him this time, just nodding resignedly, and wiping his nose one more time.

In that moment, Sherlock wanted more than anything to let John stop, but it was too big and too important to let his emotions get in the way.

John held Sherlock's hand, then went back.

He arrived in the middle of Voldemort saying something.

'...my last hope for regeneration. But Wormtail - displaying a presence of mind I never would have expected of him - convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a night-time stroll. He overpowered her… he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams… for - with a little persuasion - she became a veritable mine of information.'

John blocked out the images of Bertha as best he could, but her screams still rattled through him.

'She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwart this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things… but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her.'

Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless.

'Wormtail's body, of course, was ill-adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if seen. However, he was the able-bodied servant that I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail as able to follow the instructions that I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for my true rebirth… a spell or two of my own invention… a little help from my dear Nagini…'

John eyed up the snake circling the Death Eaters.

'A potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the venom that Nagini provided.'

'Unicorn blood… snake venom…'

'I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel.

'There was no hope of stealing the Philosopher's Stone any more, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen it destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortal. I set my sights lower… I would settle for my old body back, and my old strength.

'I knew that to achieve this - it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight - I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant…

'My father's bone, naturally meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe… Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me… as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter's blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of my power thirteen years ago, for the lingering protection his mother once gave him, would then reside in my veins too…

'But how to get Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy's future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy's protection as long as he is in his relations' care. Not even I can touch him there… then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup… I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the boy would be returning to Hogwarts, where he is under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool, morning until night. So how could I take him?

'Why… by using Bertha Jorkins' information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy won the Tournament - that he touched the Triwizard Cup first - the Cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is… the boy you all believed had been my downfall…'

Voldemort moved slowly towards Harry, turning to face him. He raised his wand. 'Crucio!'

John cried out again, wrapping his arms around himself, but he refused to let go. Sherlock was right, someone had to witness it.

'You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me,' said Voldemort. 'But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to protect him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which one of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini,' he whispered, and the snake glided away through the grass.

'Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand.'

One more for the road. Thanks to VegasGranny for the review!