A/N: Okay, a little background on this. The story starts off towards the middle of what would be Harry Potter's seventh year at Hogwarts. This story is going to be slightly AU, but not too badly. And don't worry, we'll get to see Tom Riddle in the second or third chapter. Reviews would be greatly appreciated, as they give me insentive to write more.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter....yet.

Chapter One: Death Eater

'He's extremely happy. On any day that's bloody terrible news, but today of all days, it's disastrous. He just figured out we're destroying his Horcruxes and honestly, I have no idea why the bastard would be excited to hear that. Something's wrong.

--Harry'

"What an insolent boy," Snape hissed under his breath. "Do you see this? Do you see whom you've entrusted your great task to?"

"I assure you, Severus, I have no idea why you're scorning him at a time like this." Dumbledore's portrait shifted uneasily in its painted chair. His blue eyes seemed to maintain their characteristic twinkle.

Snape was not consoled by the previous headmaster, "Has he no sense? This letter could have given away his location! Sending it to McGonagall! The whole school could have been jeopardized. Had this letter been caught my position as Headmaster would have come into question, as well as my loyalties. Potter must be losing the little mind he has out there."

With a quick billowing of his dark robes, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sank into the chair behind his desk. His head settled into his hands and he sighed deeply. "I never liked your orders from the beginning, Dumbledore; you could be handling this situation much better than me."

"Killing me was necessary to preserve Draco's innocence. Besides, I was dying already, thanks to the Horcrux ring; there was no other choice."

Snape waved a dismissive hand in the direction of Dumbledore's picture, "No use in discussing this further," he said simply. "What do you make of the letter? Why is the Dark Lord pleased if he has figured out Potter is getting closer and closer to making him mortal?"

The old painted wizard considered his words carefully before speaking, "I have my suspicions, though I believe it would be best to confirm them before I elaborate further."

"So I take it you're not going to share your ideas with me, as normal?"

"No need to sound bitter, Severus. I do not wish to cloud your mind with thoughts that may or may not have credibility." Dumbledore stood up from his chair and began pacing the length of the painting. "Tell me, is Voldemort coming to the school soon?"

"Yes." Snape straightened in his chair at the mention of the Dark Wizard visiting. "He has decided to start recruiting Death Eaters from a young age. He plans on coming to…test out the abilities of our sixth and seventh years. Those with abilities he finds fitting will be forced to join his following."

"I don't like this," Dumbledore sighed unhappily. "And there is no way out of it? No way to dissuade him from taking such actions?"

"The Dark Lord hardly rethinks decisions he has already made. You seem to overestimate his trust in me, Dumbledore."

"I suppose we should use the situation to our advantage then. I want you to try and find what Voldemort is so happy about."

Snape jumped from his seat and began pacing again, his teeth gritted. "That will be very troublesome. But I will…try." The reluctance in his tone was obvious.

"I believe, Severus, that Lily would be very proud."

At the mention of the woman whom he loved so desperately, Snape's face became an impassive mask. "Yes… I suppose she would."

---

"Right, well, thanks for coming, I guess." Neville pulled at his tie angrily, pacing the room as he surveyed the wizards and witches before him. "If you haven't heard yet, You-Know-Who is coming to the school in an hour. He's gunna try forcing students to become Death Eaters."

The circular room Neville had the Room of Requirement conjure up for Dumbledore's Army was fitted with multiple couches. Several D.A. members were seated on each one, their hardened gazes either burning into Neville or laying absently on the carpeted floor. No one said a word.

"I think we should take advantage of this."

Ginny Weasley jumped up from her seat, "What are you saying Neville?"

"That we should kill him," Neville stopped his pacing and leaned against the sole fireplace in the room. "Think about it, he would never expect a student to attack him. It's our perfect chance! We could do it! We could end this right now!" The D.A. leader couldn't help but let excitement distort his normally serious tone.

Seamus grinned nervously, "I think we might have to. I can't stand the Carrow's, or Snape for that matter, and the year's only half-way over. If we don't do this we could all go crazy."

Several other D.A. members let out tight-lipped chuckles. As they died out the room became deathly silent.

"Who's gunna do it?" Hannah Abbott locked gazes with Neville. "I think we all know what that would mean, to kill him."

No one responded.

"I'll do it." Neville said sternly after a long moment. "It's my idea, I'll do it."

"No!" Ginny spun around to face him, "You can't Neville! We need you here. Besides, you have your grandmother. I'll do it."

Michael Corner jumped out of his seat, "Ginny, you can't do it either!"

The red-headed witch glared at the Ravenclaw, "Just because we dated last year gives you no right to say what I can and can't do."

Michael blushed, "That's not – I meant – What about your family? Your brothers will kill us. You can't."

"If not me, then who!?" Ginny demanded. "No one wants someone to die! But it's the only choice. I can do it. I ca –"

The loud slamming of a door broke off the young witch's protests. A deathly pale and malnourished looking student had entered the D.A. headquarters. Holding a wet cloth to her head, the Gryffindor girl glanced around the room impishly, "Sorry to interrupt your heroic speech of sacrifice." Her voice was scratchy and hoarse.

Neville winced, taking long strides to the witch. Slowly, he reached out and removed the cloth from her forehead. A large beaten bruise colored her usually bland skin. "Ouch. What happened?"

"Alecto Carrow does not like being told her precious Dark Lord is a half-blood."

"Morgan, if you don't mind, we were in an important discussion!" Ginny glared at the late arrival from her perch by the fireplace.

Neville gave the angered Weasley an apologetic smile before taking the injured Gryffindor by the hand and towing her to one of the nearest couches.

In response to the pushing and budging Morgan frowned, her hair turning a deep mousy color – a sure fire sign of her discontent. "Important discussion? Ginny, as heroic as you might like to be, we all know you're not gunna kill Volde –"

Ernie Macmillan launched himself off his red colored couch and tackled Morgan roughly. "DON'T SAY HIS NAME!"

Morgan's hair turned vibrant red as she struggled against the heavier seventh year, "What's the deal Macmillan! I thought Hufflepuff's were supposed to be gentle, dammit!" The two students had collided onto the carpeted floor, their limbs twisted together as a result of Ernie's quick attack.

Hannah chuckled lightly before leaning off her chair to help detangle the two. "Sorry about that Morgan, but apparently there's been a taboo put on his name. Dunno if it applies to Hogwarts, but we're not taking any chances."

"Oh." The Metamorphmagus blushed slightly, her hair changing to a light pink color as her embarrassment took hold. "Right, sorry about that Macmillan."

Ernie scoffed, standing up to his full height and brushing off his robes indignantly.

"Can we please get back to the more important matters at hand?" Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. "Neville's right. This is our chance."

"But we still haven't decided who's gunna do it." Michael said, still calmly seated. "And before you start yappin' –" He pointed a small finger to Ginny, "– You're not gunna do it woman!"

If looks could kill, Michael would have been dead for over five minutes.

"Michael's right, Ginny, you can't do it." Neville rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, making sure to avoid the recent bump that Amycus Carrow, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, had inflicted upon him.

"I'll do it." Terry Boot, one of the younger students in Dumbledore's Army volunteered. The small Ravenclaw had been silent until then, choosing to brood over the recent turn of events rather than comment on them.

"Get off your knocker kid." Seamus said angrily. "You can't do it! Do you even know the killing spell?" The seventh year student rubbed a hand tiredly through his short cropped hair, ignoring the plentiful bruises that lined his cheeks. He gave Morgan a short lived grin when he found her observing his injuries. "We match!" His fake high-falsetto voice made the girl crack a crooked grin herself.

"But then who!?" Ginny snapped, frustrated.

Morgan dabbed the cloth against her head quickly, working to wipe off the dried blood coated there, "I'll do it." She said the words simply, her attention still focused on cleaning her swollen skin.

Seamus snorted loudly, "I don't think so. Come here," he patted to the available space on the couch he sat at. "I'll help you clean that up."

Morgan obliged, her hair – now its preferred auburn color – had been pulled up hastily to keep it from getting stuck to her wound.

"Seamus is right," Neville agreed, "You can't do it either."

Morgan frowned, wincing every now and then as her fellow Gryffindor worked on getting rid of the blood on her head, "For Chrissakes. People, someone needs to do it. And we need to stop thinking about how much we don't want to lose anyone in this room. What we need to think about is the logic. And the logic says that I should do it."

"How do you figure that?" Michael asked curiously.

Neville gave the pale witch a puzzled look as well. Ginny flushed an unpleasant red color as she realized that everyone had already disregarded her offer.

"Well," Morgan rolled her hazel eyes to the ceiling in thought, "I'm going in first –"

"What?!" Seamus smacked Morgan's head with the cloth forcefully in surprise. "How do ya know that?" He asked, ignoring the witch's feeble yelp.

"Alecto wanted to make sure I had the honor," The Metamorphmagus winced at the memory. "Wants me to call You-Know-Who a half-blood to his face," she gave a dry chuckle, "As if I'm that suicidal."

"And how the hell does that make us more inclined to ask you to kill him?" Neville asked wearily. "If Alecto tells him that you said he was a half-blood he'll already want to kill you."

Morgan waved away Neville's concern, "Don't worry. I'll deny it. But what I'm saying is that since I'm gunna be the first one to go in there I should try and kill him! That way he won't have a chance to forcefully recruit anyone else before he's dead. I dunno about you, but having the Dark Mark ingrained on my skin isn't exactly high on my to-do list."

Ginny, still standing by the fireplace, stared darkly into the flickering flames. "You do know the possible consequences. If you fail, You-Know-Who will personally torture and kill you himself. And if you don't fail, I'm sure his followers will do the job for him."

Morgan chortled, "Oh dear Ginny, your pessimism is really encouraging. Way more uplifting than the normal, 'Good luck, I know you'll do smashing' speeches one in my position would expect to hear."

"I'm not being pessimistic! I'm being realistic!" Ginny tossed back.

The truth of her statment smothered everyone in the room.

---

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Ginny sighed through gritted teeth. The Room of Requirement was surprisingly empty, seeing as the rest of Dumbledore's Army had gone down to the kitchens to have lunch with Morgan.

When it was mentioned by Neville that her last hour of preparation would be better spent, well, preparing for meeting the Dark Lord, the Metamorphmagus had just laughed cheerily, exclaiming that if Jesus got a last supper the least she could get was a last lunch.

Hannah Abbott was one of the few D.A. members that broke out in laughter at the comment. Apparently, Jesus was a Muggle thing.

"I think it's the best idea we've got." Neville admitted after a long moment of silence. Though he rarely let it show, taking over Harry's position as leader of the Hogwarts rebellion was having a tiring effect on him. He felt, most days, as if he was in over his head.

Ginny began pacing, "I don't trust her," she said defiantly. "She's out laughing and eating and acting jovially when she knows that in a mere hour she'll be in his presence. She should be scared out of her mind."

"Perhaps she could take the assignment more…seriously." Neville amended with a sheepish smile. "But I trust her." And indeed he did. The young Metamorphmagus witch, though a year younger than him, had proven herself on countless occasions; though those occasions may not have been as heroic as to gain the attention of others.

He remembered, specifically, in his third year when Goyle had spotted him running down the halls trying to get to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The burly Slytherin had pushed him into the wall and tried to curse him when Morgan showed up. She had spotted him and Goyle scuffling from down the corridor and broke out in a dead sprint. He could still recall the dark red color of her hair as she completely disregarded her wand and tackled the opposing Slytherin muggle style.

Needless to say, her force had surprised Goyle, and they both went tumbling to the floor. Filch had caught the third and second year fighting, Morgan going as far as to poke the Slytherin's chest roughly with her wand repeatedly, and pulled them apart before any more damage could have been done. Of course, she got a detention, as did Goyle. But after that incident and the many others that followed it, Neville couldn't help but see the struggling witch in a positive light.

And then there was the whole thing about her family, how she didn't –

" – Neville, I just can't help but be worried." Ginny said loudly, interrupting his train of thought. "There are so many ways this can go wrong, and I mean, Harry never exactly trusted her, did he?"

"It's not that he didn't trust her, Ginny." Neville placated the witch. "It's just that she never really grew into her magic until last year. And even now she's not the best witch. Besides from standing by Harry two years ago, which she did, by the way, there was no way that she could have really helped Harry. I have faith in her."

The last cackling flames in the Room of Requirement were dying out then, and Ginny finally let out a defeated gasp of air. "Well, she's an okay Quidditch player. That has to stand for something."

Neville couldn't help but smile at how much like her brothers Ginny was. The redheaded witch only glanced over things before forming an opinion about them. To her, Morgan wasn't to be trusted because she had never done anything to especially help or hinder Harry. Ginny didn't see the inner workings that made up the other Gryffindor witch. And, unlike Neville, she didn't register Morgan's deteriorating state.

Neville had noticed that Morgan had, undoubtedly, a rather big mouth, and the tendency to enjoy pissing off Death Eaters. As a consequence, her punishments over the past months had become more and more severe. He noted that she was deprived of food, sometimes for days on end, attributing to her malnourished and unhealthy looking appearance. The bags under her eyes didn't ease his worries either.

In truth, she looked like a complete and total mess, like someone who was nearing their wits end – physically at least. Thinking of such things made him question the decision to allow her to try and kill Voldemort.

But, then he recalled the ever-present glint in the Metamorphmagus' eyes. It was a glint that was akin to something Neville was used to seeing in Harry Potter's gaze.

The thought eased his worries.

---

Morgan Caldwell stood in front of the Great Hall doors. Her shoulders were slumped carelessly and her thin hands fiddled nervously with her wand in the pocket of her robes.

Glancing around, the Gryffindor confirmed that the two Death Eaters were still silently standing on either side of her. They were the reason she stood alone.

The unknown cloaked figures had been guarding the Great Hall before she had arrived. Their wands had been methodically drawn and aimed idly at the floor as they stood waiting for her.

Had it not been for them, the rest of Dumbledore's Army would have followed Morgan down to the hall from the kitchens. And, when she went in to try and kill Voldemort, they would have waited outside, wands readied, so that when the Dark Lord was disposed of they could rush in to Morgan's aid before the Death Eaters could harm her.

But of course, that brilliant plan was moot point once she had discovered the masked men. The D.A. members hadn't been able to get within twenty feet of the hall before they were rather viciously shooed and cursed away.

And so, Morgan was left alone. To try and kill Voldemort. One of the most powerful Dark Wizards to ever walk the Earth. Wonderful.

"It's twelve now. Go in." The taller of the two Death Eaters, the one on Morgan's left, barked the order in a low raspy voice. Ignoring the shivers that ran down her spine, the witch pushed her way into the hall.

Stepping in and looking around, Morgan found the hall to be extremely dark. The enchanted ceiling had been spelled so that instead of reflecting the clear day outside, it showed a starless night. Most of the tables had been removed, too. Only the staff table lay untouched on its raised platform, with the Headmaster Severus Snape lingering by its edge. He held a small roll of parchment in his hands, which he checked every few minutes or so. There was a dark figure seated at the table, whom she figured must be Voldemort, and two more Death Eaters standing next to him.

"Caldwell, Morgan. Sixth year student. Metamorphmagus witch. Blood-status: unknown. Gryffindor."

The way Snape said the information chilled Morgan to no end. It was like he was trying to sell her. And, in a way, she supposed that was true.

"Gryffindor?" A voice sneered. It was the black figure seated at the table.

"Green isn't really my best color. I look horrible in it." By this time, there was a small amount of space separating Morgan from the staff table. She straightened her shoulders and willed her hands to stop trembling.

"How dare you talk to the Dark Lord like that!?" One of the cloaked Death Eaters said in a rather wheezy, high voice. Morgan recognized the figure as Alecto Carrow. Alecto turned to Voldemort and hissed venomously, "Forget this one, my Lord. She insulted your name today! Called you a filthy half-blood."

"Dirty, dirty lies," Morgan defended herself, lightly. "I never said 'filthy'." Her hands started shaking faster than ever and she was unable to stop her hair from turning deep black with fear. She composed her face into a mocking expression, doing her best not to let her fear show. She had heard a rumor somewhere that Voldemort could smell terror. She didn't know if it was true or not, but she was gunna play it safe.

"Enough, Alecto." Voldemort snapped dangerously. He waved one hand and the short Death Eater was thrown backwards into the wall, though the interruption was otherwise ignored. The Dark Wizard considered Morgan with his small, red, slit-like eyes before saying, "Amycus."

The remaining Death Eater stepped away from the table, hopped down from the platform it sat upon, and stood in front of Morgan. A characteristic sneer was on his ugly face when he lowered his hood and pulled out his wand. "We will duel and you will be judged on your abilities." He informed her.

"If it isn't my favorite professor," Morgan chuckled cheerfully. "This is just like class! Except this time I actually get to kick your ass, you sorry son of a –"

Morgan's speech was cut short by Amycus tossing a dark spell at her. The student pulled out her own wand, yelling, "Protego Horribilis" just in time to stop the volley of purple flames that had been aiming for her head.

Backing away from the Death Eater, Morgan started out on her own attack. "Reducto! Stupefy! Bombarda!"

Each attack was dispelled with a short wave of Amycus' wand easily. He jumped onto the offensive, then, continuing to shoot dark curses at a break-neck pace. Morgan was forced to physically dodge the spells. As she rolled and dived through the Great Hall – conjuring a simple shield to deflect the more dangerous hexes – an idea wormed its way into her head.

Along the walls of the hall, gargoyle statues jutted outwards. Their stone hands clutched metal pans that usually contained enchanted fire. At the present moment, however, the statues were looking a lot less like crafty tools used to light up the room and more like weapons.

Ducking away from a shot of gray light, Morgan pointed her wand at one of the statues and shouted a levitation charm. Acting quickly, she tossed the hovering statue straight into Amycus, catching him off guard and causing him to topple to the floor.

Well. It was now or never.

Spinning away from her former opponent, Morgan raised her wand, pointing it determinedly at Voldemort. "Avada Kedavra!" She forced all the hate she had ever harbored into the spell, and for a fleeting moment, the figure whom she was aiming at looked less and less like Voldemort and more like a tall, lightly bearded man with striking black eyes. The mental image caused her hatred to expand even further.

A flash of green light exploded from her wand as a result of her efforts and raced across the room. Morgan watched in bated anticipation as it arched over the staff table to its intended target and –

Smashed into the glass windows at the back of the hall.

"Sectumsempra!"

A recovered Amycus shot the curse straight at Morgan.

She let out an audible gasp as she felt large gashes tear themselves into her stomach and chest. The curse had hit her dead on, and it dug deeply into her skin. She fell soundlessly to her knees.

"MY LORD!" Through the haziness that wallowed before her vision, Morgan was able to recognize Alecto's voice.

"Get away from me Carrow." She heard Voldemort snarl.

She was on her back now, unable to keep herself upright. She could feel her chest convulsing as her body struggled to deliver blood to her heart, an act that was becoming surprisingly difficult as less and less blood became available to use.

Weakly, Morgan tried to reach for her fallen wand a few inches from her lax hand, only to see a black boot kick it away calmly. A new wand positioned itself directly in front of her eyes and her face furrowed in anticipation.

"Crucio!"

It was a burning, stabbing, freezing, stinging, bashing pain all at the same time. It racked her thin body with shudders that had her thrashing against the floor. It felt as if claws were digging into her insides, chopping them up quickly, without remorse. It pulled her apart.

She writhed on the floor in agony, hoarse screams weakly escaping her throat. It felt as if the pain had been there for hours – years even – as if she had never been without it, when in reality it could have only been there for seconds.

And then, it was gone.

"Foolish girl." The voice was high and cold.

'Why, if it isn't old Voldy.'

"Did you really think you could kill me?"

Morgan honestly thought the question was rhetorical, so she remained motionless on the floor at Voldemort's feet.

"DID YOU!?"

Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite so rhetorical.

"Worth…a s-shot," Her voice was croaky, but she didn't expect anything else. Getting tortured really did have a rather detrimental affect on ones vocalization skills.

"Let me finish her off, my Lord."

Morgan refrained from rolling her eyes. Of course Alecto was just itching to murder her. Well, she should just get with her brother and start a club. They would certainly have enough members.

"No." Voldemort said simply.

Morgan cracked open an eye to see the Dark Wizard twirling his wand around in his thin and unnaturally long hands. Her own arms were busy, wrapped around her chest and torso, trying to stop the flow of blood.

He pointed his wand at her again, "You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago." His red eyes glared daringly into hers. "They too had the potential to be useful. But they were more trouble than they were worth, so I had to kill them. Buried them with the other filth I had disposed of back then."

"L-l-l-lovely." God, she wished he would just get to the point. Consciousness was getting rather hard to hold onto.

"The great Lord Voldemort values bravery." The Dark Lord continued. "You will make a good Death Eater, so long as you learn your place." He reached down and roughly grabbed her forearm. With a quick wave of his wand, the robes that covered her left arm fell away, leaving her pale skin exposed. He stabbed her skin with the edge of his wand and muttered a quick incantation.

Black, ink-like tendrils floated out of his wand, floating ominously in the air before becoming erect and stabbing downwards into her skin. The ink traveled deep under her pale arm, connecting and building upon themselves before they roughly began to take shape. A dark, icy cold feeling was left in the spells wake, and when it was finally done Morgan was left dumbstruck.

The Dark Mark glared at her from her arm.

"Severus, take care of her before she bleeds to death."

Moments later, a hooked-nosed face was kneeling besides her, "Vulnera Sanatur."

Morgan blinked rapidly, feeling her blood being pulled back into her body. It was a curious feeling, like having someone blow cold air onto an open wound. In reality, it tickled, and Morgan had to stop a weak giggle from escaping her throat.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts glared down at his student, healing her as efficiently as he could. Her cheeks were sunken in and her hair had turned to a dull gray color. Her eyes seemed colorless, an after-affect of losing so much blood, he figured. Though he couldn't really be sure, he had never studied Metamorphmagus witches and wizards.

Morgan glanced down at her arm, "D-d-dammit." Still on her back, the Gryffindor felt all strength leave her body. "I am…so…screwed."

And then, she passed out.