Disclaimer: This story does not belong to me. The characters belong to the amazing J. K. Rowling, and the story originally belongs to Parvati-Blossom, who has wonderfully agreed to let me translate it. If able, you should really consider reading the original version in Spanish.
Also, anything that sounds slightly familiar was taken directly (nor translated) from the main series.
Warning: Some chapters may contain very strong language and images. Torture is a common occurrence in the dark side, please keep that in mind.
Just a reminder that I will most likely not publish new chapters during December. I will return to the two-week schedule the second week of January. However, unless something significant comes up, Chapter 8 should still be published in two weeks.
Thank you for reading! And thank you to everyone who left reviews! I can't wait to read some more!
Chapter 7
London, General Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix
August 11th, 2004
Time: 2:30AM
An odd feeling filled the room. Several members of the Order were on a meeting discussing several issues that had not been covered during the official meeting while they anxiously waited for news from the events at Hogwarts. Those present were part of the healer group, so they could not do much else but wait and be ready to take care of the aurors.
It was then when Remus Lupin interrupted the calm environment.
"Emergency!" He yelled with worry visible on his face. "Albus has been seriously wounded!"
"Oh, Merlin!" Ginny whispered, while her most specialized colleagues ran to the room where Lupin told the professor was. "What about the rest?" Her worry and frustration were visible in her chocolate colored eyes.
"Several have… passed away." Remus whispered, sitting heavily by her side. "And those who haven't are seriously injured."
"How…?" Asked the youngest Weasley, who could not believe that a small mission had brought so much damage.
"Filldeserp took Nagini with him…"
Remus did not have to explain more. Everyone knew the chaos the snake had caused for the Order throughout the history of that war. Her fangs were extremely poisonous and she possessed incredible agility. Besides, the Dark Lord had the advantage of being able to give her instructions through his ability to speak parseltongue, a skill that previous Dark Lords had not had. He also had an heir who functioned perfectly as a mortal weapon…
The werewolf took his hands to his face, not able to hold back the sob that escaped his lips. Everything was wrong and there was nothing he could do to help… to try to make the situation better. He had lost all hope since the day when Harry Potter betrayed the magical world… and in that world, he had betrayed Remus and the memories of Sirius and his parents. The hope the same child had lighted and kept alive throughout the years, especially during his last years at Hogwarts, when he had shown a mature and responsible attitude. Outstanding. He had been so proud of the young man… he had cared and worried about him… but to Harry, none of that had been useful. He had not fulfilled his expectations. He had been corrupted, just as in his time the brilliant and charming Tom Riddle had been, by the dark arts and power. The young man he had loved like a son did not exist anymore. He had died. He had abandoned him.
He had not seen him again since that day at Hogwarts. However, that tragic graduation day had been enough. His cold and bloody green eyes, his exceptional ability shown in class and training, all being used for the torture and murder of his old friends and classmates. His evil smile, the look of trust he had exchanged with Voldemort at the beginning of the battle, and his hate… his hate. He had never felt so many negative feelings coming from a single person who was not the Dark Lord. The generous boy… there was no trace left of him. In a second, everything had changed. Worlds and hopes had been destroyed to give way to a dark and evil era. Thousands of deaths, tragedies… and all because Filldeserp, the Boy-Who-Lived, was broken… or had been broken.
No, he really did not want to see that again. He did not want to face him. He did not want to know how he would feel then, other than betrayed. Would he feel a great desire to kill him, as it had happened with Peter? Or terrible sorrow for the boy who had died? Worries about the hidden Truths behind the betrayal? Perhaps… manipulated? He did not know. He did not understand. He did not want to understand.
"How is Neville?" Ginny asked with worry, pulling Remus back from his deep thoughts.
"I don't know. I know he's alive and he's been looked after… but I truly don't know." Ginny let go a big sigh of relief.
"Thanks, Merlin… thank you." She muttered. She then stood up and left the room, leaving Remus in his own pain.
She ran up the stairs in a hurry. She heard hurried whispers on the second floor, where Dumbledore was. She stopped in front of the door, as many members had done. They were whispering about a deadly bite Nagini had given him, how his magic had acted quickly enough to stop the spread of the poison in his system, and how they had miraculously saved him. However, Ginny knew that miracles like those had their cost. A lot of magic had been used and the professor would be weak for several weeks. But he was alive, and that was what mattered.
Ginny continued walking, asking different healers who came and went in which room she could find Longbottom. Everyone pointed her toward the hallway on the right side of the fourth floor, and they were correct. Neville was conscious and already had been attended by the looks of the bandages and the weak smile he gave her. The girl could not help herself and practically jumped on him, hugging him and thanking the heavens. Even if he took some time responding, the auror did and not reluctantly, but happily surprised. Actually, they did not let go of each other and Ginny was able to look at him more closely, noticing his blushing, something that had not happened for a long time, since Neville had lost his shy personality during his sixth year at Hogwarts.
They both smiled. It was not a smile of happiness, but of relief and comfort. A smile, nevertheless.
"I am so happy you are okay, Nev… for a moment, I thought…"
"Everything is alright now, Gin." He said, putting aside her worries. "Even if Malfoy is dead and we were not able to cause significant damage in the ranks of the Dark Lord…"
"Doesn't matter. What matters is that you're okay." She reprimanded him. "The rest… we can worry about it later."
A tense silence followed her words during which neither took their eyes from the other. A special connection had formed between them a while ago, and even if neither wanted to admit it, it was noticeable in the air and in every word they exchanged. The youngest Weasley decided to take the first step and got closer to Neville, even if not close enough to touch him, and held his hand between hers, letting all her feelings known through that simple gesture.
Unfortunately, Ron chose that moment to enter the room, accompanied immediately by Luna Lovegood, another member of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as healer, breaking the magical moment.
"Nev! You're…!" Ron said, but stopped when he noticed the scene he had interrupted. His cheeks turned a bright red color, though it was not clear if it was out of anger, embarrassment, or…
"I warned you, Ronald, that we shouldn't enter." Luna pointed out with her eyes shining with excitement. "However, as always, you ignored me. When have I ever told you anything that could cause damage?"
"Shut your mouth, Lovegood!" Ron yelled, although his anger was definitely not directed at her.
Following his suggestion, Luna took her wand out of her pocket and waved it in the air, writing some letters that said: "As you wish, Commander Weasley." Both Neville and Ginny laughed, feeling better because of the Ravenclaw's humor. Ron, however, groaned and muttered something that sounded like 'damn loony,' who merely raised her eyebrows, mocking him.
"What were you two doing?" Ron reprimanded them, looking with suspicion at Neville and Ginny's hands, still holding each other.
"Talking." Answered Ginny with defiance. "And even if we had been doing something else, it's none of your business."
"I am your brother! It is my business!"
"I believe I am old enough to choose and decide for myself, thank you very much, Ronald."
"But…"
"Seriously, Ron. Nothing happened." Neville intervened before the argument took a dangerous level. His friend looked at him with mistrust, though he gave in.
"How are you, Neville?" Luna asked.
"Fine." He answered dryly. His gaze lost for a moment. "I guess I should be thankful I survived…"
"Nev…" Ginny whispered, holding his hand more tightly.
"It's the truth, Ginny. As much as we don't want to think about it… today Filldeserp showed us he is always a step ahead of us. He was not only triumphant in his mission to eliminate Malfoy, but also, as a bonus, took the lives of some members of the Order, and Albus' magic… And we couldn't do a thing to stop him. We didn't even see him."
"The moment will come when they won't be so careful, Neville, and we'll take advantage of their weakness, and we will be the ones with the advantage. And we won't have mercy." Ron said, showing his anger in each one of his words. Ginny sighed with sadness. The future seemed so dark…
"I just hope Herm is alright… within possible…" A minute of silence followed his words.
Nobody was able to respond.
Fortress of the Dark Order
August 11th, 2004
Time: 2:00AM
When Filldeserp entered Lord Voldemort's study that night he was welcomed by his commanding yet relaxed presence, as he was sitting behind his desk with a posture barely formal. As well, the smile on his snake-like face that appeared when he saw his heir was clear proof of his delight. Filldeserp could not establish whether he knew beforehand, or if he had figured it out by the confidence and satisfaction he showed when he entered. It would not surprise him. The only person alive who could interpret his every move was the Dark Lord. Although he doubted anyone dead could do so either.
"I feel that you have great news to give me, my heir." The Lord greeted him, not worrying about straightening up as he would have done if it had been a meeting with one of his death eaters.
"That is correct, my Lord." Filldeserp answered before sitting down.
"Go ahead. I am anxious to hear what you have to say." The only proof that his words were truthful was the interest showing in his eyes and his posture.
"Let me begin by saying that we successfully completed the mission. Draco Malfoy is dead, after a long and painful process." He said with a grim smile remembering the torture he had prepared.
He had been looking for a long time for the right victim, and he had no doubt that Malfoy had been the ideal one. Nothing had ever been so enjoyable than seeing the Slytherin dying at his feet, eaten by the filth he had abhorred. However, if he thought about it, there were other events that had been just as enjoyable, or more, than the torture. Clear exceptions, actually.
"I trust Granger did not put the mission at risk."
"She did not, my Lord." Voldemort smiled pleased.
"What other news do you bring me then, Harry?"
"While we were leaving the castle, Nagini came across a patrol of aurors in our pursuit. Most of them are dead or are significantly injured."
"Was Longbottom among them?" He inquired, though it sounded as if he was already aware of the fact.
"Longbottom did not have enough time to cause more than superficial injuries, my Lord. She sends her sincere apologies."
"Then… we've only inflicted a slight decrease in the Order's numbers?" His eyes were narrowed, showing his frustration.
"That is not completely true, my Lord. Nagini, though she did not kill him, severely injured Dumbledore."
"How?" The Dark Lord asked, leaning forward on his seat, with a smile full of expectation.
"She bit his left arm. The poison entered his blood flow successfully, but Nagini is sure his magic blocked its circulation… at least, for long enough to insure a healer removes it from his system with no long-term damage. The only notorious consequence is exhaustion of his magic, which will obviously lead to weakness for some time."
"Perfect. Now, I have made the arrangements for your next misión. The new moon is near, so you have a week and a half still. You have my permission to be absent as long as needed."
"Thank you, my Lord." Without further comments, Harry left the study, ready to leave the Fortress that same night.
There was no margin for error. Everything had to be perfect, and he would make sure of it. But before, he had to pay a visit to a certain mudblood…
Rivers of blood running over the flat white surface; staining, ruining… corrupting. Muffled screams amongst the endless astonishment. Salty tears falling over the spilled blood, mixing with it, getting lost within it. It was impossible to see the horizon in such darkness. It was a night without moon and stars, with a sky covered by clouds, full of bad omens.
A stifled sob. She tried to get close to the sound, but it only seemed to get farther away with every step she took. The air grew tighter and tighter, making it impossible to breath. Something in it made it poisonous. Perhaps it was only a feeling, a game of her mind; nevertheless, she could not stand such environment. It brought back memories that she would rather keep buried deep down.
The smell of the red substance increased in intensity, causing her more nausea and dizziness. Her hands moved anxiously over the walls looking for something she could hold unto, but she only ended up staining them from that she was running from. She let out a shriek, but that only made the situation worse. From the ground more came out and it did not take long before it flooded the place. Paralyzed by fear she was not able to run or even scream.
What was happening?
She did not know where it came from or how it got there, but there was no doubt the thing crawling up her leg was a rat. She tried to get rid of it by slapping it, but every hit was avoided. She screamed and…
Everything vanished.
Hermione woke up very unsettled, with cold sweat on her face. Her heart was beating rapidly and she felt a twist in her stomach. She jumped out of bed and ran to the restroom, where she threw up her dinner, while her mind relived all the images of torture she had seen hours before.
It took her several minutes to calm down. She took a deep breath and tried to stop her hands from shaking, and the tears coming out of her eyes. But nothing worked. Without strength, she left the restroom and leaned on the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor where she let out her pain and desperation.
Her nightmare had been nothing more than a sequel to her trauma. Malfoy's blood, the rats… It was an experience that would always remain in her memory, and it would definitely not be a positive lesson for the future. She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands… only to find them cover in blood…
Damn Filldeserp for doing that to her. Why had he not killed her? She would never serve the Cause they were pursuing… Why did they insist on doing that to her then? Was it revenge? A twisted game fate fate? What she would give to be away from there… even in another dimension, where Harry would have never betrayed her… where they could live in peace… Where there was no need to experience such things…
She could not believe what was happening, what had happened. Since the day of her Hogwarts graduation she knew the evil actions done by her previous best friend, but she had never imagined something so… cruel. So… diabolic. She had never wished to kill someone so much as right then, just to relieve his pain, saving him from a death without peace. Not even Draco Malfoy deserved that…
"Why?" She whispered in her grief. "Why did you do this, Harry…?"
"Why not?" Answered a cold voice. When lifting her gaze, she was able to see the person guilty of her nightmare.
It hurt her seeing the indifference in his expression and his cold tone when speaking, as if everything was completely alien to him. Had he never regretted his actions? Had he never had nightmares about it?
She mentally wished that was not the case, even if her hopes knew the truth already.
"You are a monster." Hermione sobbed. It was too much. She could not distinguish the different feelings devastating her. She felt so confused.
Potter's strong hand took her from the wrists and lifted her from the floor. Observing her hands, she could tell the marks he had left on her skin before she tortured her that night. She did not know if it was a coincidence or if he had done it on purpose, but he grabbed her from the exact place, stirring up the small injuries.
"Look me in the eyes when you are talking to me." Filldeserp ordered in a threatening whisper. Suddenly feeling rebellious, Hermione replied:
"So you can use Legillimency on me? No, thanks." She said sarcastically.
"Stupid." He spat. Because of a slight movement of his hand, Hermione suspected he was tempted to slap her, but something was stopping him. "I do not need to scan your mind to know what you are thinking or planning. You are so stupid your face shows everything. Typical Gryffindor mudblood."
She was left without words. The insult hit her so hard that she would have preferred a physical attack. Filldeserp had called her that many times, but this time it had sounded different, as if he believed what he was saying, insinuating that, if it were not for an order from his Lord, he would have gotten rid of her already.
Her presence bothered him. More than that, it disturbed him.
"I will say it for the last time: I will not tolerate your indiscipline." Filldeserp said. "And neither will I tolerate your weakness. If you plan on keep living, get over it. You cannot cry over everything."
"I do not want to live anymore…" She whispered with distress.
"That choice is no longer in your hands. It is an order you must obey."
"I don't care."
"Obviously not. But you should."
Filldeserp turned and walked to the door with imposing steps. He stopped and gave a heavy sigh, as if he was regretting what he was going to say.
"There is a sleeping potion on the table. You will not have nightmares tonight."
A rigid silence followed, in which Hermione debated whether to thank him or not, although she decided on the second.
"Do not get used to it." Was Voldemort's heir final statement before closing the door behind him.
Time: 8:30AM
The next morning, Hermione had breakfast alone in her chambers. She was thankful for the moments of peace, which she wisely used to organize her ambiguous thoughts. After the torture, the nightmare, and Filldeserp's words, she was finally able to find herself, especially after a night of rest without any disturbances. It had cleared her mind and that helped her observe the situation from a more tranquil and objective point of view.
There was nothing she could do or try to change the decision of Voldemort's heir. Her complaints would not reach his ears, nor would affect him when he took innocent lives. And that was what she accepted when she resolved to remain alive in the Fortress, except she had only fully understood it that morning.
A weak attitude would only lead to her downfall.
And she was not ready for her Downfall. She wanted to keep living, even if it meant seeing the destruction of her world and ideologies. There were things she could not change, but perhaps… there was hope for others.
She had managed to finish reading the books Filldeserp had assigned her; however, her brain was overloaded with information. She suffered from an acute migraine and if she could, she would sleep more, but it was time for her class. She knew she was not in her best form, but Filldeserp had clearly expressed that he would not tolerate lack of responsibility or certainty. And she did not want to be humiliated again…
Despite that, the person who entered her chambers that morning to lead her to the training room was not Harry, but Voldemort, something which immensely surprised her, and relieved her. She could face Voldemort: she hated him with all her soul; and she knew how to react in front of him. It was Filldeserp who always confused her, because she did not know how to act in front of someone whom she loved and hated at the same time. Someone she knew and did not know.
"Good morning, Hermione." Voldemort greeted her politely. She held back the desire of raising a questioning eyebrow, and merely nodded. "I trust you had a good night of sleep."
Again, Hermione nodded, though this time with more caution. The victorious glow in the Dark Lord's scarlet eyes suggested different things. Something in his plan was going perfectly, and his response had confirmed it.
But… what would it be?
"Filldeserp has left for a very important mission. As such, he will not be available to instruct you today. However, I have canceled some meetings so I can take care of it myself. I am sure that will not be inconvenient for you, is that correct?"
Hermione remained quiet. She hated the fake kindness Voldemort showed her. It made her feel manipulated and stubborn, as if he was talking to a five year old child.
They walked to the training room, which took the same shape as the day before, and they sat on their usual spot. For a moment, they shared an uncomfortable silence, until Voldemort leaned back on his chair and began talking.
"Filldeserp has informed me he began sharing the dark but interesting story of Salazar Slytherin. And that he assigned a couple of books…"
"Actually, there were three." Hermione said and she placed them on the table. Voldemort observed their thickness with apparent interest.
"Did you read them all? In a day?"
"I had no other choice, did I?" She replied.
"Did you read them… by hand?" Voldemort asked, almost impressed.
"Yes." Hermione said with arrogance. Voldemort let out an exasperated sigh.
"Ignorant girl… Spell books and books of specific subjects must be read, but history books… have you never heard of information compiling spells?"
"What?"
Of course she had heard of them, during her seventh year at Hogwarts in fact. But they were forbidden for the exams, thus, she had never bothered with them. She had also never found a use for them later on: she preferred to read the books herself than to let magic do it for her.
Voldemort took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.
"When Filldeserp asked you to read those books, he was not expecting you to do so manually. Of course not! Nobody in their right mind would do something like that. However, you have impressed me. If in twenty-four hours (which were not completely free) you have read three books that thick…" Voldemort observed her for an instant, evaluating her. "Perhaps I should ask you some questions to see how good your comprehension and memory are…"
For forty minutes the Dark Lord interrogated Hermione. For forty minutes she answered the most twisted questions. For forty minutes she experienced the most intense history lesson of her life; and at the same time, one of the most educational. Voldemort had a special skill to highlight the most important events and the most noteworthy details that she had never seen in anyone else. Not even Dumbledore. She did not doubt a second longer that Tom Riddle was the best student that had ever been at Hogwarts. He was a genius… and she had not even seen him in action yet.
"I see Harry did not exaggerate when he said you were the most Ravenclaw Gryffindor Hogwarts has ever seen." Voldemort said with a pleased tone once he finished his questioning.
"Harry said that?" Hermione asked, not able to stop the light blush that covered her cheeks. Voldemort smiled.
"He used to do so frequently."
Hermione turned her gaze down. She was dying to ask, but she was aware that in front of her was the most powerful Dark Lord of all time. He did not have to answer her questions, much less provide her with any substantial information, but… she wanted to know. She wanted… to understand.
Voldemort seemed to notice her desire.
"It is understandable you are curious, Hermione." He said. "But curiosity is dangerous. As such, I will not allow you to keep expressing it so out of control." She bit her lower lip knowing that would be his response. However, she was surprised when Voldemort continued. "You will choose five questions. Five questions I will answer, obviously, on my own terms."
"Really?" Her brown eyes glowed.
"Four."
Hermione could not believe it. Voldemort had just made a joke and was openly laughing at the Gryffindor's astonished expression. It was an odd laugh. Cold, but had an unbelievable warmth, as if it was a mirage of old joyful laughter. And his red eyes shined… for a moment, resembling a shining gold.
"Hermione… have I not told you to choose your questions?" Voldemort said with amusement. She blushed embarrassed and nodded.
For a few minutes, she closed her eyes and carefully thought the questions that took priority on her long list. Once she was ready, she opened her eyes again and leaned back on her seat to begin a new interrogation, this time reversed.
"Why Harry?"
"Could you be more specific, Hermione?"
"Why did you choose Harry to be your heir? Why did you make him… Filldeserp?"
Voldemort observed her for a while, immersed in his thoughts. He was most likely looking for the best answer to give her, even if it was not the real reason. Her intrigue grew more while time went by. She recognized she needed answers. She needed to understand what had happened then to understand what was happening now; the mutual trust between the two old enemies, the drastic change of her best friend… There were so many things she wanted to ask and understand…
"First you need to discern Hermione that the connection between Harry Potter and me grew more since my rebirth. And it reached its peak when I tried to possess him that day at the Ministry. From that moment… everything changed. We were constantly in each other minds. As skilled as he was becoming in Occlumency, Harry Potter could not help but hear my voice in his mind the entire summer after his fifth year, away from the protective barriers at Hogwarts. The first weeks he wanted nothing to do with me. He ignored me and spent his time wandering in his thoughts which then were slightly… suicidal. But little by little he gave in and we established a… truce? All in order to coexist together that summer."
A nostalgic smile appeared on Voldemort's face, making her feel slightly uncomfortable. The image of the Dark Lord with affective memories was an unpleasant joke from her point of view. And that those memories were of her previous best friend did not help.
"I would have never imagined that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Dumbledore's golden boy, could be so similar to me when I was young. With some differences, but… his essence was the same. His power, which I had always thought would be pure white because of his famous kindness, was turning grayer every day. And yes…" Voldemort said when he saw a look of understanding in Hermione. "It was then when I came up with a brilliant plan: to turn Harry Potter to the dark side. Although then my plan was to use him and once he fulfilled his assignment, to kill him.
"Nevertheless… Harry Potter was a special boy. An extremely Sharp mind, an unexperienced but incredible power, and an exceptional will. He was clever and evaluated the situation for a long time. He remained neutral. It was a long and terribly dramatic time. You can imagine how careful I had to be with a Harry Potter who was showing qualities worthy of a Slytherin. I understood how that boy could be my downfall. And I was slowly falling in his game. Because even though it was me who was manipulating him most of the time, Harry was learning from the best. He knew what I was planning, he was not naïve and he anticipated me. Too bad he placed his fate in the wrong hands. He took a great disappointment from the Order of the Phoenix, especially from his closest acquaintances at the beginning of his seventh year, and he made his choice."
Hermione wanted to ask him about it, but Voldemort ignored her expression and continued with his monologue, his gaze set on nothing specific.
"But… why did I make him my heir? Why did I change my plans of merely turning him into another death eater? Harry impressed me with his character. We spent a lot of time together in our minds, especially at night. The circumstances were such that I forgot I had in front of me the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who had destroyed my power the first time. From my point of view, I helped mature a wizard born to be the Change. I raised a wizard… but also a person who simply reminded me so much of my younger self… and in whom I trusted. Because I knew and understood Harry as nobody else was ever able to. Not even you, my dear Miss Granger. And he knew and understood me, something only he has ever been able to. And one day I found myself thinking of Harry like a son. A son I would protect, and whom I would teach all my knowledge and beliefs… A son I would help succeed… and be happy."
"Harry is not happy here." Hermione complained, not able to believe what she was hearing. "Harry does not belong here…"
"Where does he belong then?" Voldemort objected with hostility. "With Dumbledore, the old manipulative geezer who has never been able to see beyond his nose? With the people who hurt him over and over, putting him in a position he never wanted, that he detested? With the burdens of an ignorant society? I do not want to see my son again with suicidal thoughts, Miss Granger…"
"He belongs with his friends." She muttered, angry because of everything he had said and because of the innocent role he was portraying to her. "He belongs with people who appreciate him for who he is, not for his power. He deserves to be away from this… massacre."
"Only he deserves a life away from this massacre, Hermione? What about the innocent people who die every day? Do they not deserve it as well?" Silence. "His friends betrayed him. Even you, Hermione Granger. He would have done everything for you. Always willing to be the one making the sacrifices… but you abandoned him…"
"He distanced himself from us because of you!" Hermione exclaimed, full of anger. She was even tempted to stand up and hit him, although she would never actually do it. "I never abandoned him…"
"Even when you thought he was your father's murderer? When you thought him capable of something like that? I am sorry to inform your conscience, Granger, that Harry was still neutral then. And he was not following any of my orders until the attack at Hogwarts." He smiled satisfied when he saw her astonished look. "It was only then he made his first kill. He would have never done anything to hurt you, Granger. Until that they when you silently… blamed him. Without words… but inwardly… you marked him a murderer. You rejected the thought, but believed in him."
"How…?" Her hands began shaking. She had never said anything and she had forbidden herself from thinking about it. How could the Dark Lord know?
"Harry was an expert in Legilimency, Granger. He knew exactly what you were thinking and feeling by just looking you in the eyes. It is obvious that Gryffindors do not value your own thoughts… not even a minimal Occlumency barrier to hide your deepest thoughts..."
Hermione bit her lower lip. She did not want to think about it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to fall again in her depression.
"By the way, you have used your five questions."
"What? But I have only asked two!" Voldemort gave her a clever smile.
"'Really?' 'Why Harry?' 'Why did you choose Harry to be your heir?' 'Why did you make him Filldeserp?' 'How?'" He listed. "Five."
"But…! You!"
"I am the most powerful Dark Lord in history." He said with apparent modesty. "I am definitely qualified for this kind of mental game, do you not agree, Miss Granger?"
Her cheeks flushed. He had deceived her. He had made her repeat questions on purpose, to remove questions with ease. How could she have been so stupid? The Dark Lord was obviously going to take advantage of her innocence!
"I want to ask you a favor, Granger."
Suddenly Riddle's face was expressionless and his serious tone filled the environment. Whatever he wanted to ask was extremely important.
"What we have discussed today… does not leave this room, is that clear? Filldeserp does not tolerate to speak of his… past, much less other people doing it. And I really do not want my heir to spend the night in the dungeons torturing you. There are missions more important at the moment." He did not even look at her to verify her response, assuming what it would be.
When Voldemort, after standing up, reached the door, Hermione got up the necessary courage to express one last doubt in her mind that she knew would not be answered… but had to be asked.
"You consider Harry as your son. However… does he consider himself as such? And if he does… why have I never heard him call you 'father'?"
Voldemort turned to observe her and, with a look that could have easily killed her, he answered with the coldest tone possible:
"That is for me to know and for you to find out."
August 14th, 2004
Time: 11:30PM
Night had fallen in a small town outside of London, a town where the unforgivable marks of war had not yet been revealed. Calmness reigned there, almost as a fantasy. The streets did not hold in their shadows thieves, or murderers. The bars were full of people, celebrating some special occasion. Nobody was looking over their shoulder, bewaring of threats. There was no distrust or insecurity. Everything was at peace.
As such, nobody questioned when a man, dressed with a black cloak that also covered his face, entered the bar. Nobody paid him any attention or worried about his disturbing presence. He sat alone at the corner and examined the place with his cold gaze, showing an apparent indifference that offset the joy of the people drinking on the opposite corner. Muggles. Naïve and defenceless.
The waitress walked toward his table and greeted him politely. She was an attractive girl, although not particularly stunning, of dark skin and with eyes that resembled honey. She seemed like a kind woman of warm spirit because of her simple and spontaneous smile; a person who had no place in the Dark Kingdom.
"Can I bring you something, sir? Do you wish to order a drink or are you waiting for someone?"
The stranger took off the cloak hiding his features, exposing his green eyes and his black hair, which fell on his shoulders with distinction. However, that was not what made the waitress take a step back, but his unnatural paleness. In that town everyone was of dark skin, but even so… he was much paler than she had ever seen. If she believed in vampires, she would have argued he was one.
The man was not offended by her shock. He merely smiled at her, which made her shiver from head to toes. He stood up and smiling allusively, he walked toward her until their bodies were almost touching. She could not move, paralyzed by fear. She wanted to scream or run, but he kept her there with his emerald eyes.
"You can help me with something." He whispered in her ear. "If you are still willing to serve me."
Many times the girl wanted to respond negatively, but she seemed to have lost her voice. Her entire body was shaking, although her mind was beginning to give in by the request of those green eyes. She never had the chance to see how the individual pulled out his wand from his robe and casted a sleeping spell on all her customers. The only thing she noticed was unconsciousness… and in her mind, the drowned scream of help.
Of blood and tears,
Of pain and death,
Are born the spirits who know no rest.
They zealously watch
In search of revenge,
In search of fulfilling their old debts,
With those who still keep with them
Life that has been kept from them.
He looks at you in the eyes. His emerald eyes shine in the darkness like a light of hope at the end of a tunnel. They exercise an untold power over you, as if they knew everything there is to know about you. From the first moment, you loved them and you would do the greatest sacrifice just to keep them there, with you, reflecting your soul, your darkest secrets… your deepest desires.
Strong though docile hands caress your cheeks, your shoulders… your neck. You feel yourself collapse to their touch… a warm but illusory touch. You do not think anymore. You are letting your instincts dominate you, sinking in forbidden wishes and hidden pleasures. Like a puppet, you fall on his arms, which lead you gently and with ease.
You do not reject his touch when he begins seducing you… neither while he strips you off your clothes with controlled anxiety. In the end, perhaps with desperation, he rips your shirt with roughness that freezes your heart in fear for a second, until you are again asleep under his spell. His eyes… those beams of light control you. Neither your purity or your honor matter anymore… you only want him to take you, to break every inch of your body, to make you scream until you reach insanity… to reach the highest pick, to go beyond the limits… to forget all mental schemes.
You love his kisses on your neck and chest. You love his sensual movements and his confident smiles. His teeth devour your skin, suck your untarnished blood, and empty your spirit. He plays with your hair, driving you crazy. You gasp and your body begs for more. You become addicted to his darkness, you just want more. To see Him, dressed with his elegant though bothersome black robes, exasperates you. You cannot stand to see him like that and you rip with insanity the barriers separating you from him. He smiles satisfied and with slight mockery, which intensifies your desire. You want to kiss every part of his body, marking him as yours, but he stops your craving and deprives you of your need, making it clear that he dominates you and controls you. For a moment you attempt to protest, but the fear of losing him stops you. No, you need him… you will attend to all his demands. You will be his. All his.
Fortress of the Dark Order
August 15th, 2004
Time: 11:30PM
Silence filled the room. Almost no light entered through the window, thus, a lit candle rested on her desk. Over the desk was also a considerably thick book, open in the middle, though Hermione was not paying attention to it anymore. Her exhaustion was visible on the bags under her eyes that darkened her face, and her worry did not allow her to focus.
She sighed tired, covering her eyes with her hands and leaning on the desk.
"Why did you choose Harry to be your heir? Why did you make him… Filldeserp?"
The conversation she had with Voldemort days before was still present on her mind. It had not calmed her doubts, but had increased them. She hated feeling so ignorant and powerless, and that was why she could not stop thinking about the words the Dark Lord had said. She had gone over the conversation so many times that she could not distinguish anymore between what he had actually said and what she thought he meant.
She did not understand. So many things did not fit well…
"We were constantly in each other minds."
She could imagine how much Harry had suffered during that time, having to coexist every hour with the murderer of his parents and godfather, besides his own sorrow and anger. It must had been frustrating for the Gryffindor to find himself in such situation, subject to Voldemort's will… knowing he was dangerous to everyone who came across him…
"He spent his time wandering in his thoughts which then were slightly… suicidal."
She did not want to think about that. She did not even want to imagine that Harry had needed her and she had not been there to give him her support. She had failed him thinking loneliness would be better company for him. What would have happened if her friend had remained on that path? If he had… killed himself and she had been, miles away, having the best holidays of her life?
Guilt.
She had failed Harry; that was true…
"We established a… truce?"
A truce that had only benefitted Voldemort in the beginning. She did not doubt he had threatened Harry with the lives of his friends and acquaintances. He must have used shameless methods to convince the Boy-Who-Lived to learn the dark arts. Knowing him as she had, she was sure that the young Potter would never have been willing to learn such magic if there was nothing worse pushing him into it.
But… what?
"He knew what I was planning, he was not naïve and he anticipated me. Too bad he placed his fate in the wrong hands. He took a great disappointment from the Order of the Phoenix, especially from his closest acquaintances at the beginning of his seventh year…"
What had Harry anticipated? What had been Voldemort's plan to influence him to make his choice? And what confused her most… what did the Order of the Phoenix had to do with all of it? After all, Harry had not been suspected of criminal activity until…
The death of Hermione's father.
Her world fell apart. Voldemort's voice resounded accusingly in her mind.
"Even when you thought he was your father's murderer?" "Harry remained neutral then…"
If it was true Harry had not killed her father… who had it been? Nobody had directly accused him until his choice was made public. Neither had there been any clues. Only… his indifferent and distant attitude. And yet, she remembered seeing his expression of worry when he had hugged her the night when Dumbledore told her the tragic news.
Why had she believed he was the murderer when he had never before shown being anything other than Dumbledore's wonderful golden boy? Why had she not trusted her best friend, with whom she had always felt the closest…?
Because Ron assured her of it. He said he had evidence… he had persuaded her of it being the truth. Had Ron been another one fooled or…?
"From his closest acquaintances…"
Ronald.
A deep void filled her heart. She could not believe it. She had probably misinterpreted everything. Ron would have never done something like that, he would have never blamed his best friend without proof… However, everything was there, in front of her, as clear as crystal water.
"Do you want revenge?
No. I want peace."
She closed her eyes, trying to remember the conversation she had with Ron so many years before. She had been so disoriented, so overwhelmed… She had not really listened to what the red-hair had been trying to say until he spoke of the traitor, and even then his words were diffused in her memory, almost as if it had been a dream.
"He told me himself. It's so horrible to see what he has become…"
"I couldn't believe it in the beginning…"
"He follows He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with true devotion. And to think we thought him our hero."
"He is the one responsible, Hermione. He is."
If only she could ask Ron why he had thought that… Had Harry really talked to him? Did Weasley came up with it, or who had made him think of it?
Voldemort would not answer any more of her questions, despite him being the origin of all the confusion; and she feared Filldeserp would never speak of the subject. The Dark Lord had made it clear: he did not like speaking of his past.
How would she then find all the missing pieces of the puzzle? She would not rest until everything was clear and she understood everything, and as a worthy Gryffindor , she would persist even if it meant her end. However… she needed a plan. A good plan…
She wanted to escape from that web of lies.
August 16th, 2004
Time: 1:30AM
"Is there any family you need to be rid off, Tom?"
"I know what you need, my heir, and I have the perfect candidates for your objective. The Rockbells."
"The auror?"
"Yes. Nathan Rockbell, prestigious auror, is a member of the Order of the Phoenix. His wife, Christine, is a mudblood, and works for the Department for Magical Catastrophes in the Ministry. She is an expert in memory charms. They have two children. A girl, Ravenclaw, in her third year at Hogwarts; and a baby no more than year old… Well, I think you know what to do with this information, correct?"
"Of course, my Lord."
That was how Filldeserp found himself at a muggle town, walking on the street and looking for the right address. All the houses had the same style, which made the scenery slightly monotonous. For some strange reason, it brought memories from his childhood time at Privet Drive; memories that only had misery and loneliness. The Dursleys did not have a place in his life anymore. They were only a wound from his past, people he would never see again even if he had the chance… not even if his life depended on it.
He stopped to observe the house of his future victims. They calmly slept, not knowing who was watching them. He smirked and his eyes glowed in the darkness of the night. He was very close to fulfilling his mission, of realizing the ritual. He just needed a few more ingredients… some more blood. Nothing he could not get at that house.
Give him that which he longs for most:
Blood, tears, pain, and death.
Corrupted innocence,
Given purities,
Stolen lives,
Violated bodies.
With a simple movement of his hands, the front door gave in, together with some of the security barriers set by the Order of Phoenix. He smiled to himself. Those useless people did not know how to protect their own, as valuable as they were. Dumbledore was very wrong if he thought such white magic scum would stop him. Perhaps his senility was affecting his brain.
The house remained in unbreakable silence; however, Harry could feel his anxiety. He scanned the living room with his magic looking for some artifact that could detect him. When there was no response, he continued with his mission, going up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. He scanned the hallway again, and the adjacent rooms to discover a surprising detail.
There were only three people, and none of the three presences belonged to a trained auror…
He turned quickly to the right, avoiding the curse Nathan Rockbell sent him by a few inches. The lamps in the ample hallway turned on and he was able to see the auror better, just like he could see him. For a moment they made no movements, observing each other and thinking their next move.
"You will not touch my family." Rockbell said, his eyes full of determination. "I'll hold you off."
"I'll hold him off."
Potter grimaced. Many had said that before, and all of them were dead. Nevertheless, he was ready for the challenge. The auror was one of the best, and that could be a threat. Some conditioning would do him well, although he should not take too long. The mission would not end well if suddenly half the Order of the Phoenix attended to help Rockbell.
"Chris, take the kids and go!" Nathan yelled before standing in a dueling stance and defending himself from the attacks coming from Voldemort's heir.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's Him! Go! Run!"
Rockbell proved to be an excellent wizard, moving with agility and casting incredibly varied and well-aimed spells. However, his weak point could easily be taken advantage off: his focus was not the duel, but his family. His brown eyes constantly turned to the closed doors in the destroyed hallway, and his actions showed his desperation and anxiety. He had no combat strategy, unlike Filldeserp. No defense plan.
The duel lasted a few minutes and it was intense, but not enough. Harry ended up getting bored and decided to promptly kill him. It was then when Nathan saw the thirst for blood in those green eyes and knew his end had come, not having fulfilled his promise, not having saved his family… leaving them to the mercy of a monster, to the mercy of death.
Suddenly, everything went dark.
Filldeserp walked over Nathan's corpse to then walk to the end of the hallway, knowing the rest of the family had not had enough time to run away. After all, the crying of a baby could be heard close by, and Christine's hurried steps revealed her location. The only chimney in the house was located in the lower floor, and jumping out of the window, despite being a witch, was not the best option when she also wanted to save the lives of her children from a high second floor. She could not disapparate either due to the barriers erected by Filldeserp. They were trapped.
He entered the room only to find a scene that would break any heart, except his. Christine was pointing at him with her wand, her hand shaking, and thick tears coming out of her eyes. Her daughter, dressed with a simple pink nightgown, was kneeled on a corner and was holding her younger brother tightly on her chest, trying to calm him down despite the fact she could not even calm down herself. Her wand laid forgotten in one of her pockets.
The room, he noticed without much effort, clearly belonged to the young boy. The wallpaper had bright colors and toys were lying all over the floor. The windows were closed, irrefutable proof that they had not even tried to escape. Filldeserp could not help but wonder the reason.
"You…" The woman whispered heartbroken. Hatred and disgust were clear in her eyes, next to pain and loss.
Harry knew just seeing her she had no hopes for her own life, that her only reason to live was protecting her children. She did not care if she died for them. She did not care if she had to sacrifice herself for them. The woman was suffering the death of the person she loved the most, and she had clearly decided her fate.
"Why? What do you get from this?" She whispered.
"More tan you can imagine, mudblood." He answered arrogantly, taking a step closer to her.
"Why? What could my children ever do to you? They have done nothing…! Kill me instead!"
Not Harry… Please… have mercy… I'll do anything
For a second Filldeserp wondered how could Christine know his main objective was not her, but her children. Nothing in the situation had shown it, however… the woman had been able to foresee his movements, something not even Dumbledore was able to do anymore.
Perhaps… maternal instinct…?
His stomach turned to the extreme feeling of déjà vu. He had lived that before… he…
"Please, not my children… please…"
Not Harry… Not Harry. Not Harry. Not Harry, please…
He felt overwhelmed by his own memories. That Halloween night, when he had lost his parents to the hand of who now took their place… That night when his father had fought Voldemort knowing there was nothing he could do anymore for his family, just like Nathan. That night when his mother had begged for his life, wishing to give him the chance to live… the chance of being…
For a moment, he wanted to fall down and cry. He wanted to stop, to forget the mission… to honor the memory of his mother. He wanted to kill himself to the horrifying guilt he felt in every part of his body. But he did not. For a long time he had assumed his parents were shamed of him, that he had not deserved the sacrifice and love of his mother. He knew he had made decisions he should have never taken, but circumstances had led him to it…
And he would not allow the memories to destroy his present, his ideals; those things for which he lived. Power was everything for him now, darkness had consumed him and there was nothing left from the old Harry, the one who would have given anything for his friends, for his family… and even, for people he did not know, for the innocents. In his place Filldeserp had been born, and he was not someone who would let himself be overwhelmed by his feelings.
He had another memory to honor. The one of his father, Voldemort's…
"Stand aside, girl." He ordered and with a slight movement of his wand, Christine was thrown against the wall.
Stand aside, girl… Stand aside…
However, Christine stood up again and stood in his way.
"Kill me instead… Take me. But I beg you… please… they have done nothing… Have mercy… I'll do anything… I'll swear neutrality… I'll join you, but please…"
Not Harry. Have mercy. Take me. Kill me instead… Not Harry, please. Have mercy. I'll do anything. Have mercy.
He tightened his hold on his wand, his eyes set on the woman. He hated her because she was the reason memories kept coming, creating shadows in his mind, shadows he thought would never come to the light again. He could almost see Lily, with her bright green eyes… eyes full of sweetness and hope… begging for him… and James, fighting with all his might against Voldemort, fighting for the impossible and with just one purpose in his mind: to save his family.
Not Harry… Not Harry… Please… I'll do anything…
He closed his eyes and focused again on the present. It was not the time to falter, nor was it worth it to live in the past. His parents were dead… dead because of a hollow and wretched cause. A war led by two wizards who had sacrificed and still sacrificed all their pawns without hesitation. His parents had been pawns in a manipulative game, of a manipulative leader. Mere pawns in a way without victors. Just blood, just sacrifices… just power.
He was not a pawn. He had been, at one point, when he had been naively under Dumbledore's tutelage. He had waste his energy and tears in a mission that had taken more lives than it had saved. He had followed the headmaster without questioning him, trusting his good intentions… in his calming words full of courage. He had trusted him, in his friends, in his foster family, and he had sacrificed for them… only to be betrayed. Only to be used. Only to represent a nonexistent Hope, a lost future, a Utopian society… He had given everything for nothing.
He was now the Dark Lord's right hand, his legitimate her… he was more than a pawn. He was not under the category of 'sacrifice.' He was not guided anymore by feelings, he did not allow anymore for appearances to cloud his judgment… He did not trust in anyone but himself, and perhaps in his Lord. He did not fulfill any orders that were not in his interest. He did not protect anyone who had not proven themselves valuable for the Cause. He had a power that went beyond anything he had ever imagined, beyond such war.
He had the power to survive, the power to adapt to changes… the power to forget…
To the small price of his humanity.
"Stand aside, Rockbell."
Stand aside… Stand aside, you silly girl…"
"NEVER!"
"The fates of your children and yours have been decided by something much more powerful than you. Nothing you do or say will save you. You are already dead."
Dead.
It was something beyond fate, beyond eventuality and inevitability. It was death, a consequence free of anyone's choice, and of life's twisted sense of humor. Perhaps the baby had done nothing, perhaps he barely knew how to walk, but he was the son of a pawn, and as such, a pawn he would be. Completely useless.
Completely useless.
He had bad luck for having been born in a rotten society, where the survivors are more capable, have greater power and opportunities. He had bad luck for having been born under the cloak of death.
A naïve child, lost in the darkness of the world,
An unblemished woman, unaware of carnal desire,
A woman stained by your deceit and persuasion,
An organ beating in the dream of death,
Blood of the successor, worthy of his work,
Blazing fire that merges planes,
Wind that intercedes and leads.
He casted a simple stupefy toward the woman. He would deal with her later, when there was no more risk of repeating the mistake his Lord had made on that disastrous Halloween.
His eyes set on the teenager who screamed horrified, not taking her eyes from her mother's motionless body. She was so inexperienced she did not know the difference between a Stupefy and a Avada Kedavra. Filldeserp questioned for a moment what was Dumbledore teaching at Hogwarts if that girl was the brightest in her year. Useless.
And he was not about to explain the truth to her.
She should die thinking she had lost everything. It would make the fact even more touching.
"Stand up, girl." He ordered her pointing at her with his wand.
She tried to obey, but she unavoidably failed. Her spirit was broken. She could not even feel properly the presence of her little brother in her arms. All her thoughts were on unease and hopelessness. There was nothing for her to fight for. In her mind there was no trace of a thirst for revenge. Nothing that would incite her to stand up… and above all she was being humiliated.
"You do not want to die standing?" Filldeserp mocked her. "You do not want to honor the memory of your parents, with whom you are soon reuniting with?"
The girl seemed ready to spit at him, but her intentions where abandoned when a Cruciatus filled her body of an intense pain that for a moment made her forget her sorrow. She screamed terrified, focusing her pain and sadness in action. She twisted on the floor, coughing blood, and begging nothingness for it all to end, to have mercy on her… she did not even had the strength to scream anymore. She had nothing to which she could hold unto and resist the terrible moment. Her life had lost all meaning, all reason to exist…
And Filldeserp rejoiced watching her suffer under his power. Blood decorated the walls, previously joyful. Blood splashed the baby's face, forgotten on the floor by his sister. The child cried with all his strength, trying to catch his family's attention… not knowing nobody would answer to his cry; not knowing his sister would not protect him again. Not knowing that suddenly a green light, identical to the eyes of his murder, would steal all his opportunities in exchange for nothing.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The body of the child lost all life.
His sister, next to him, did not notice the event. She was too busy pretending to recover her breath, even though her entire body was shaking uncontrollably.
It was time to wake up the mother and see what she thought now of him, of the Savior of the Magical World. Filldeserp smirked at the same time he cast an Ennervate on the Rockbell widow, whose eyes could not have shown more sorrow and hopelessness to the scene she found, but her heart finished breaking when she saw the corpse of her baby and her daughter, covered in pain and blood, lost in darkness.
Her eyes glowed with insanity, the distraught insanity that follows a trauma. With the little strength she had left, she stood up and walked to her daughter, hugging her and whispering kind words in her ear, although all her attempts were in vain as the young Ravenclaw did not seem to listen to her or pay attention to reality. She was lost in her own world, in her pain…
Rockbell began crying and held her daughter more tightly, as if she wanted to keep her away from everyone and everything. That action could have broken any conscience or any mask, except Filldeserp's. The wand in his hand did not tremble and his eyes did not soften. Instead, they were filled with more hatred.
It was time to send them to hell and fulfill his mission.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green light crossed the room until it ended the life of the young Rockbell girl. It had been so green it had reminded him of his mother's bright emerald eyes, and her immeasurable kindness. Too bad that green had been lethal and evil. Too bad there was no place for feeling in his life anymore…
…Or he would have noticed that a part of his soul had been lost that night.
Fortress of the Dark Order
August 22nd, 2004
Time: 11:30PM
The Fortress of the Dark Order had countless dungeons at his disposal. Some were used for hostages or prisoners, others had the perfect environment for torture, while the rest were not often used or were kept for certain ceremonies.
That day such was the case. He was going to use a wide dungeon, with a little window from where the darkness of that moonless night could be seen. Several torches were on the wall, eerily illuminating the place. A smell of moisture was in the air and he mentally thanked the house elves for cleaning the area. If not for that, he could not have breathed inside.
He had less than half an hour to finish his preparations. He had already drawn on the floor the symbol needed to the ritual: a pentacle, the legendary five-point star (pentagram) inside a circle. Four candles were placed on its four lower points in representation of the four elements. Filldeserp smiled pleased. There was not much time left.
A soft knock on the door informed him of the presence of a death eater. After turning he saw Alice waiting on the doorframe, and with her she brought an unconscious Hermione. The death eater, after a nod from her Lord, let the Gryffindor girl fall on the cold and hard ground with deliberate brusqueness. She gave her a look of deep disgust before turning her attention to Filldeserp.
"The Lord requested me to bring you Granger, my Lord."
"Thank you, Alice." Filldeserp replied.
However, the woman did not leave. Her clever smile turned playful and with sensuality she walked toward Filldeserp, he played along, not taking his eyes off her. They exchanged a knowing look and for a moment neither moved, their lips barely touching. It was a duel of wills, of seeing who would give in to passion first. The expectative grew in both of them…
Until he decided to give in. Potter kissed her in an impulse that she responded almost simultaneously. They began to play with an intimacy that greatly spoke of how many times they had those encounters. Their kisses were frantic, almost impersonal. There was no caring in their movements, barely some respect. Everything done in desire, in madness, in the frenzy…
"It will be better if we leave this for another time, Alice." Filldeserp interrupted a few minutes later, still not quite separating from her. "It is a very important mission…"
"Understandable, my Lord." Alice regained her serious stance, although her image was broken by a suggestive smile. "But you will have to compensate me for the sacrifice."
"Of course." Without adding more, the death eater left the room, leaving him alone again.
Filldeserp observed Hermione's body lying on the ground. He took a deep breath. It was time to proceed.
With a simple Mobilicorpus he placed her in the middle of the pentagram. He then stood between the points that corresponded to Earth (north), and Fire (south) and recited, lighting at the same time all the candles with a movement of his left hand.
"Spirit of the East, the Ancient Wind, I invite you to attend this Circle. Charge it with your Powers. Let it be done."
A breeze traveled across the room and Hermione's body began emitting a blinding yellow light that slowly declined until it transformed in a barely visible aura. It was without a doubt a positive response from the Element.
"Spirit of the South, the Ancient Fire, I invite you to attend this Circle. Charge it with your Powers. Let it be done."
The process was repeated with two differences: It was Filldeserp the one who was covered by a blinding scarlet light. His Element had answered just as he had commanded.
It was time to begin the second phase of the ritual.
From his elegant black robe he pulled out a flask which contained a red substance… Blood.
"An unblemished woman, unaware of carnal desire"
He spilled the liquid on the point which corresponded to water (west). The Blood ran through the entire pentagram, giving a sinister glow under the light of the torches. It was a vicious image.
"A woman stained by your deceit and persuasion."
He once more pulled out a flask of blood and spilled it on the point corresponding to earth, naturally mixing with the previous one.
"A naïve child, lost in the darkness of the world."
The content of the third flask was spilled over the point corresponding to the Spirit (the fifth point at the top). The mixture was renewed.
"Blood of the successor, worthy of his work."
He smiled with pride while he spilled his Lord's blood over the circle that surrounded the pentagram. He had barely needed to ask Voldemort for the blood, he had given it to him willingly, and had not scrimped on the amount, clear proof of the trust he had on his heir.
"Blazing fire that merges planes."
This time there were no flasks. He took one of the daggers he always had with him and kneeled over the point of his element. He did not show any sign of pain or closed his eyes when he let the dagger deeply cut his wrist. With delicacy, he allowed the blood to fall over the figure carved on the floor.
"Wind that intercedes and leads."
He once more had to spill the contents of a flask. This time it was Hermione's unintended contribution, which the girl had barely noticed. She had been completely sedated, as he was at the moment.
"An organ beating in the dream of death."
A sadistic smirk appeared on his face. If anyone had seen him they would have thought him insane, or just a dangerous killer; two characteristics that could be convenient.
He whispered a Conjuring spell and in a second the required organ was in his hands as if it had been removed that exact moment. Draco Malfoy continued being useful even after death. His evil laugh resounded throughout the cold walls that seemed to tremble to the sound.
Malfoy's heart was the last ingredient. Once placed on the point corresponding to the spirit, everything was ready.
He took the Athame in his belt and observed it with affection. It was a dagger for magical rituals, symbolizing the male principle associated to the elements of Air and Fire. It had a black handle, which had a pentacle to represent its purpose, and a sharp blade, which was rarely used. Its main function was to lead the energy of the Conjurer during the ritual. He had held it several times, and in all it had proven a loyal and effective tool.
He pointed it toward the north and moved around the circle counterclockwise, beginning from fire.
"Blessed be this time and place, and bless me, Harry James Potter-Riddle, who is with You. Let it be done."
He waited a few seconds before continuing.
"Without him, there cannot be darkness. Without her, there cannot be light." He sang with a soft voice, closing his eyes for the first time in the ritual. The chant was dedicated to the Goddess, mostly known as Mother Nature; and to the God, known as the Father of Strength.
He allowed his magical aura to expand through the room and to balance the energies of the ritual. The blood on the pentagram moved, but not even a drop fell out of the symbol. Hermione remained unconscious, although her face went paler as the ritual proceeded.
Far away a clock announced midnight.
"Spirit, answer the call from your master,
Answer and enter the mortal plane,
Answer and attend to whoever calls your presence,
Do not answer and you shall not rest.
Do not answer and doors of hell will welcome you.
The Circle shined intensely, loaded with the energy of the two Elementals, and the six combined bloods. The same breeze that appeared when he had called for the element dominated the room, and it was accompanied by the fire traveling through the pentacle.
The Circle was Complete.
Filldeserp opened his eyes. Nothing had changed except for Hermione. She was standing, still in the center of the star, her eyes closed and her skin extremely pale.
A triumphant smile crossed his face.
"Welcome to the mortal plane, Riocárd Ciaran Slytherin, son of Salazar Slytherin."