TEN

"Yesss, well done, my faithful servants."

Lord Voldemort stood at the top of the hall, looking down on his Death Eaters, all kneeling before him. The ones that were still alive, that is. There had been another incident after they had arrived with the Weasley girl and the Potter brat, but the girl had been subdued with a heart attack curse to the back of her head followed up by a healthy dose of stunners. She had only managed to kill five of them before she had been subdued, which Voldemort took as a good sign. He had no idea what she was, but it was exciting to know that somebody with the power to corrode no less than five stunners in ten minutes was in his power.

"And the blood?" he asked.

Pettigrew came scurrying forward, carrying two covered, glass cauldrons. Blood sloshed in both of them, enough that everybody present knew that the two teenagers in the dungeons must be close to death.

Voldemort waited patiently for Pettigrew to reach him, idly peering into the enormous, smoking cauldron beside him. The cauldron had only the tiniest amount of liquid in the bottom to which the Dark Lord added a page from an old diary. The page had a jagged hole punched through the middle of it, but the magic still lingered. Not enough to serve as a tie to this earth anymore, but enough to hold an imprint of what it had once been.

Finally, Pettigrew reached the top of the hall and the blood was poured into the cauldron. The blood of the two human beings who had been possessed by the diary. The diary had left traces of its magic in them as well, an imprint of Lord Voldemort's soul, small enough to go undetected but large enough to make this potion work.

Smoke bellowed from the cauldron, filling the room to the extent that the death eaters could no longer even see the floor below them. Their lord began to chant, a monotonous drone in some dead language. Time passed, Pettigrew passed out. The lack of air was beginning to make its effect known on many of the other death eaters as well, and so a lot of them thought that they were hallucinating when the smoke finally cleared.

At the top of the hall was their Lord Voldemort, the one that they served, whom they pledged their lives to. And next to him, rising naked from the cauldron was a snake-faced man with red eyes and a malevolent grin.

No stretch of the imagination could deny that the pub in which Draco Malfoy was currently working was a shithole. It was dirty, smelly and filled with the lowest of the low- the sort of scum that even Death Eaters would have nothing to do with. Well, any self-respecting Death Eater, which, Draco mused, was not many.

All the same, Draco was grateful for the work. It was a nice feeling to be able to eat food that he hadn't stolen from muggles. It was an even nicer feeling to know that he wouldn't need to venture into the muggle world at all anytime in the foreseeable future. He could happily go his entire life without going there again. Forget his father's spiel about muggles being little better than animals- they were bloody terrifying! There were so many of them, and everybody was rushing and there were lights everywhere and those… car things speeding around with no concern for anyone's safety. No. Never again. He would take a smelly pub in the backwaters of Knockturn Alley over that world any day.

Even better, it had given him a chance to test out his disguise. It seemed to work perfectly. There hadn't been any Death Eaters bashing the door down to kill him, and nobody had said anything, anyway. Dyed hair and a bit of dirt smeared over him and he could hardly recognize himself in the mirror as a Malfoy.

He'd introduced himself as Daniel. He sort of liked being Daniel, to tell you the truth. When he was Daniel all he had to do was concentrate on serving people drinks and wiping down the bar. He could forget that his father was most likely currently being tortured in his own home; he could forget that his mother was dead and that he could never go back to his school again. He could even, for a short time at least, forget that he had murdered Albus Dumbledore. That was the part he liked to forget the most. Unfortunately for him, it was all the scumbag clientele seemed to want to talk about these days.

Well, until today that is.

"Oi, Berny, did you hear?"

"Hear what? Get me a firewhiskey, boy."

"Only that the fucking boy-who-lived has gone and gotten himself kidnapped. Him and some girl, one of that red-headed lot of wankers."

"The Weasels?"

"Yeah, that's them. Anyway, they killed about fifty students and then went and got themselves fucking kidnapped."

"Who by?"

"Who by? Who fucking by? Who do you fucking think would kidnap the fucking Chosen One and his little bint? The Dark Lord, that's who!"

Draco tuned out the rest of their conversation (which had mostly degenerated to calling each other names) in favour of cleaning a few glasses with a dirty rag and having a mild panic attack. It was the same panic attack that he had been having all day, since he had first heard the news that Potter and Weasley were gone. Dumbledore was dead and Potter was gone. Hogwarts really wasn't having the best time of it, lately.

Draco knew that Voldemort needed Potter and the Weasley girl that Pansy had been hanging around with for something, but he didn't know what. He had wanted their blood at first, but then he had said that it hadn't worked. What hadn't worked? Draco tried with all his might to remember exactly what the Dark Lord had said, but all he could remember was pain and fear and… and red eyes staring at him from a corpse. He had been trying to block it from his memory, sure that if the Dark Lord realized that he recognized those eyes that he would be punished. But he couldn't exactly fear any more punishment now.

A second Dark Lord. The realization hit Draco so hard that he dropped the glass he was cleaning. It smashed on the ground at his feet and the two arguing men stopped to look at him. One of them started yelling expletives but he paid them no mind because right now, they were nothing. Not even a drop in the ocean compared to the possibility of there being a second Dark Lord. One was almost unstoppable, two would be… He couldn't even imagine. How many more mothers would be killed with two Dark Lords?

Why would Potter and Weasley's blood be important though? He had read about potions that did this sort of thing, but generally they needed blood from close relatives, children preferably. Potter and Weasley weren't related to the Dark Lord. Well, no more than any of the pureblood families were.

Draco suddenly became aware that there might not be two Dark Lords yet. He also became aware that he knew where the Gryffindors would be held. Then he became aware of the fact that this could all be a trap set for him. Though why Potter would be used as bait, he didn't know.

And then he stopped thinking and started doing.

He kicked the man who had been yelling at him in the head as he vaulted over the bar and ran for the door, a fact which he would only get to appreciate when he reviewed the memory in a Pensieve later on.

"What do you mean you can't do anything?" Pansy hissed through her teeth, her eyes flashing dangerously and her fingers itching for her wand.

"I mean there is nothing I can do! What do you think I mean, you idiotic child?" Snape snapped back, just as incensed as she was.

They were in his office in the dungeons along with Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna, the last two of whom had insisted on coming along for the ride. The three Gryffindors, scared and angry and worried beyond belief, were standing back to let the Slytherins have their shouting match.

"But you are the spy! What fucking good is a spy if he can't even find out where the prisoners are kept? We already know that they're probably in Malfoy Manor- it isn't that fucking big, you know!"

"Well, if you know the manor so well, then why don't you tell us all where exactly the cells for holding extremely powerful prisoners are? Lucius Malfoy is not stupid and neither is the Dark Lord. They will have been put somewhere with the utmost protection on it, somewhere warded to within an inch of its life. There is no way we can get in and it would be suicide to try."

Ginny swam her way out of the darkness for the third time in the last twenty four hours. She groaned at the pounding in her head and cracked her eyes open. She was alone in a tiny square room with no furniture. There was no window, and no door. The walls looked like they had originally been white but were now more of a grey colour- smeared in dirt and grime and… was that blood? She sat up only to immediately fall back down again. Her head was swimming and she felt weaker than she had since the Chamber of Secrets incident.

This time when she pulled her head from the ground, she did so slowly. Very slowly. And still she swayed and her eyes blacked out for a second. But she stayed upright. She couldn't even hear the thunder, she felt so weak. She had spent so long with it rumbling away in the back of her mind that she almost missed it now that it was gone. She could have done with a bit of reassurance, a reminder that she still had more power than they did, even if they had managed to capture her. They had captured her. She should feel angry, scared, desperate to escape even. But instead she just felt… vulnerable. First they had stolen her blood, and now they had captured her. And stolen even more of her blood, judging by the smears on the floor and how frail she felt. She had all of this power but it had done her no good at all when it came down to it. She was still just a weak little girl, after all of these years.

Ginny did not even have the strength left in her to get angry. She slumped back to the floor and watched the specks of light float across her eyes. Her arm throbbed painfully and she guessed without looking that there was an angry wound across it. She would have a scar that matched Harry's now. Although, she was fairly sure that she had glimpsed Harry when the Death Eaters had been attacking her, so it was probable that he was in a nearby cell with yet another scar.

She began to wonder what on earth Voldemort could want her blood for but she quickly realized that her brain wasn't working anywhere near quick enough to come up with any plausible answers. Or at least, it wasn't working quick enough to narrow the myriads of plausible answers down. She laid her head on the ground and began to wait until some of her strength came back, or the Death Eaters came for her. Whichever came first.

In a cell down the hall, Harry was having a somewhat similar experience, although his was worsened somewhat by the splitting headache originating from his scar. However, he didn't have the disconcerting lack of thunder in his mind (that is to say, he had never had the thunder to begin with and so it's absence was not such a problem as it was for Ginny), and so I suppose their situations could be said to be equally unhappy.

However, Harry's was about to get quite a bit better, whilst Ginny still had to wait a few minutes.

He dragged his head off of the hard stone floor at the sound of footsteps coming closer. He didn't want the Death Eaters to see his weakness after all. Never mind that they had already seen him knocked unconscious having his blood drained. When the footsteps turned into voices, he managed to sit up, though the action made the room spin, and when the voices turned into somewhat of a commotion, he was managing to kneel. He was about to attempt getting to his feet when the door crashed open and a boy about his own age stepped into the room.

"Come on, Potter, we have to be quick," the boy said, putting one arm under Harry's and hauling him up. Harry knew that voice. That voice was very, very familiar, and not in a good way. Luckily for everybody concerned, that was the point that Harry's brain decided it had had enough and that stopping all thought processes other than 'escape' was a good idea.

Harry half walked, half let himself be carried into the hallway, taking care to step over the unconscious, bleeding and possibly dead guards outside the door.

"Do you know where they put Weasley?" the boy asked, glancing up and down the corridor anxiously. There was one door to their left, right next to the way out, which was standing open and two to their right. Harry's gut told him far right, and he said so to the boy. A swish of his wand later, and their rescuer had that door open as well. Ginny was inside, sprawled across the floor, her magic pulsing lightly around her. It wasn't anywhere near as hypnotizing as usual, a fact which Harry was rather glad of. He didn't need to screw up their escape because he couldn't stop staring at Ginny's power.

Evidently, she had been ignoring the commotion, but when they came into the room she raised her head. The boy let go of Harry for a second so he could help her up, and although she narrowed her eyes for a second, she took his hand. Harry missed the exchange, busy trying to stay upright.

"Which way out?" Ginny asked when they were back out in the corridor. She was stumbling along by herself, having insisted that the boy's ability to use his wand to defend them was more important than her comfort. Harry was hanging onto the brown-haired boy's shoulder, but in his defense, he had offered it to Ginny first.

"Left," the boy panted, dragging Harry towards the right door. Harry knew that voice. He knew that voice very well and it brought up a whole host of bad feelings. He swiveled his neck slightly so that he could see the boy's profile. That pointed nose and chin. The pale skin, the grey eyes.

"Malfoy-"

It was at that moment that all hell broke loose.

Ginny turned at Harry's yell. She had known who their rescuer was as soon as he stepped foot in her cell, but she had been rather hoping that Harry would remain ignorant at least until they had reached fresh air. As it turned out, Harry's yell saved her life; had she not turned when she did, the green light that made a crater in the wall behind her would have hit her straight in the back of the head. There was an angry yell and a screech. The yell was from Harry who had thrown himself away from Malfoy, and the screech was from Bellatrix Lestrange, who had somehow appeared behind them.

Bellatrix Lestrange, who had killed Sirius. Ginny had liked Sirius. Sure, he was somewhat unstable and acted like a fifteen year old, but after all that time in Azkaban she couldn't blame him. He had been good and noble and he had treated them like they were adults. And this thing in front of her had killed him.

She let go of the wall. The ground swayed beneath her feet for a second but she regained her balance and stood up straight and proud. Thunder rumbled, and it took her a second to realize that it had not just rumbled in her mind. Lightning flashed, and Bellatrix grinned.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Ginny hissed in a voice that was not quite her own, "You killed Sirius Black. You tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom to insanity. These are but the tip on the iceberg and you will pay for your crimes."

Bellatrix laughed then and Ginny recognized it as the same one that Sirius had laughed before her had died. And then Ginny's hand was trough the older woman's throat. It was a curious feeling, Ginny mused as she stood there watching the light leave Bellatrix's eyes. Electricity was rippling down her skin, causing the blood rushing over her hand to boil and the flesh of the torn out throat to cook and burn.

"That's enough, Ginny." She could tell that Harry had been going for soothing, but he could not stop his glee from spilling out.

"I am the Thunderbird," Ginny told him, turning, her hand still full of bits of Bellatrix's throat, "And I am Ginny Weasley. I am in control. And I will kill them all."