ShadowCub: No, Cedric and Viktor aren't part of the pairing now. I added Viktor to the character filter because he's become so important, and then I tossed in Cedric just because. The organizers didn't make Danny's path easier; that was all Barty's fault.

I'm letting you guys know now, this is a very strange chapter.

Disclaimer: Did Cedric seriously ask whether he and Harry should have their wands out after being Portkeyed from a deadly maze to a creepy graveyard? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.

Chapter 34
The Dark Lord Returns

Quid pro quo. Tit for tat. Equivalent exchange. No free lunch. All of these phrases meant the same thing: everything had a price. Jen's direct connection to the planet's supply of magic was no exception; while it came with a host of benefits, there were downsides. Her inability to metabolize ingested potions was what she encountered most frequently, but it was by no means the only one, nor the most important. She could burn out wands with a touch, and delicate secondary foci potentially faced the same fate, but with adequate preparation so as to avoid overloading the runes necessary for their enchantment, it was not impossible to handle them for brief periods.

No, what caused her the most grief was her pitiful innate resistance to outside magic. Spells cast upon her would last far longer than normal before fading, and it was not unusual for the effects to be more severe, as well. Such circumstances were rarely an issue as she avoided being hit whenever possible, but riding the Portkey on the Triwizard Trophy, she was beginning to experience some difficulties.

Portkeys were a rather odd application of magic, for they shared characteristics with both charmed objects and active spells. Like artifacts, they could remain inactive for long periods of time, producing their effect only when specific conditions were met. In this instance, the condition had been a junior and senior champion touching the Cup at the same time. When normal enchanted items activated, however, the stored spell only affected the object itself. Portkeys acted instead as relays of sorts, the magic engulfing the passengers and whisking them elsewhere in a miniature cyclone.

This was where the problem developed. Her previous experience with Portkeys was limited to just this past year, and the two times she had used them, she had found herself being introduced rather rudely to the floor due to her inability to determine up from down while spinning like a top, but nothing more inconvenient. Those had been quick hops, though, and the spell had been cast by a master wizard.

This Portkey was too rough to be Dumbledore's work, and the trip was significantly longer.

The crystal Cup finally reached its destination, and Jen felt her it slip out of her hand. Twisting madly and trying desperately to keep her stomach contents where they belonged, she could not brace for impact. Her right shoulder broke with a loud crack as she landed on it, and she tumbled uncontrollably along the ground until a flat object slammed into her back. She opened her mouth to scream when she vomited violently from the vertigo and pain.

"Jen! Jen!"

The world evidently decided it had had enough fun at her expense for the moment and righted itself, her sonar stretching sluggishly and stopping only three meters from her position. It was just enough space for her to feel two things. The first was Cedric sliding through her puddle of puke to her side. The second was the headstone she had impacted, as well as its nearby neighbors.

They had been dragged to a cemetery.

A numbing charm silenced the agony radiating from her fracture, and she pushed herself to a sitting position before cradling her spinning head. A graveyard at night; why do I not like the sound of this? "What did you say?"

"Are you okay?" the Hufflepuff asked. Though his concern was clear in his voice, she could feel his head swiveling around and his hand gripping his wand tightly. "I heard something snap when you hit the ground, and your arm doesn't look right."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just dislocated my shoulder." Focusing her sonar on the joint in question, she braced her upper arm against the marker behind her and fused the two pieces of bone. A shift in position and a low popping sound completed the deception. They stood, the nascent swelling rapidly disappearing as her magic healed what was left of the injury. "Where are we?"

"I have no ide— Who's there?!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

A cold gust of wind sprang to life behind her and shoved her to the ground. Her own magic wrapped around Cedric's wrist and jerked; he hit the dirt, rolling a few feet until his fingers brushed against the trophy. He vanished, and an instant later the Unforgivable sailed over her head and out of her range.

She was alone now. It was just her, a killer, and the faint scent of tobacco lingering in the air.

"Your Portkey-altering skills leave much to be desired, Barty," a second individual whispered. Jen forced away the expletives that came to mind; her earlier premonition was apparently correct. "When you diverted it here, you kept the initial conditions the same, but the next translocation was a simple touch-activation. That was… sloppy."

"My apologies, Master. It will not happen again."

"You are correct; it will not. However, we are being rude to our guest." The 'Master' raised his high-pitched voice. "You can come out now."

She scoffed inaudibly before calling out, "And get another Killing Curse hurled at my head? I think not." With a twist, she tried to teleport, but her magic was smothered the moment it reached towards Hogsmeade. Wards, wonderful. This is just getting better and better.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Black. Come here, and you have my word that I will not harm you."

"Your word?" she asked with a sharp guffaw. "Words cost nothing."

A childish giggle drifted over from his direction. "Your crest is a raven, but the more you talk, the more I think you truly belong in my old house. Let us speak plainly for a moment, my dear. You have two choices: you can trust me and reveal yourself, or I will send my servant after you. He will find you, and he will kill you. A chance for life or certain death; which will it be?"

Well, when you put it like that… She quickly took stock of her situation. Two enemies with unknown skills, possibly three if his 'servant' isn't this Barty character. My sonar is limited without there being enough wards around here to supplement my natural range, so I won't be able to defend myself until their spells are already practically on me. I can't teleport away, and while there obviously aren't defenses against Portkeys, I've never made one before. Now's a pretty bad time to experiment. Invisibility's an option, but when I designed it, I hadn't heard about the Hominem revelio spell Flitwick mentioned last week; I don't know if I would stay hidden or not. Maybe shapeshifting? Hearing the slight crunch of boots on dead grass as one of the two wizards began moving in her general direction, she hastily called back, "You say that you won't hurt me, and that I have nothing to fear from you. Assuming you even keep to that promise, how do I know your boy-toy won't curse me from behind as soon as I stand like he just tried to do?"

"Master!"

The second man's laughter continued undaunted. "Oh, I like you! Show yourself in the next three seconds, and I will grant you safety from us both."

"That's probably as good as I can get," she muttered before rising again, her hands spread wide and her blank wand in her pocket. In a situation like this, putting up an act as she had been doing at the school was beyond stupid. If things devolved further, she'd use her wandless magic freely and just make sure she killed her captors before they could spill the secret.

"Good, very good. Just come to me."

She walked slowly towards the voices, ready to conjure a stone wall before her to block another Unforgivable, and eventually stopped when she was close enough to feel their shapes and magic. Oddly enough, it was not the infantile form that caught her attention first, but instead the adult who was keeping his wand aimed at her. She knew that core.

"Crouch?" That was impossible, though. She might not know what he looked like, but she had heard his voice before, and this was certainly not it. Who was this?

The Department Head started at her question. "How do you know my name?!"

"Ah, I understand," she said, the pieces suddenly falling into place. That was why she could not feel the magical weave that transfiguration or glamours would leave behind. There was only one method she knew of that changed more than the surface features. "You used Polyjuice Potion, didn't you?"

The baby raised one malformed hand to his chin thoughtfully as he shifted in the loose cloth wrapped around him. "I take it back; you are most certainly a Ravenclaw. How in Salazar's name did you, a fourteen-year-old witch, figure out that Barty has been sneaking into Hogwarts disguised as his father when not even Bartemius's coworkers and social acquaintances could tell?"

Wait, father? So this is his real form? She forced herself to shrug nonchalantly even as she examined the texture of the 'Master's' magical core. It, too, was so familiar… "I'm not really sure, myself. Something about the cadence of his voice is distinctive." Deciding that taunting a complete unknown was more than a little foolhardy, she then admitted, "Honestly, though, until you said he was pretending to be his father all year, I thought this was the elder Crouch taking a younger appearance."

Again the strange entity laughed, rime forming on the surface of his core, and Jen's heart stopped. That was why she recognized the touch of this magic, even though she had never encountered it before. Only one other individual she had ever met had felt like this. Elsie.

The person before her now was a black wizard.

She swallowed thickly. This could be good for her… or very, very bad. According to her old mentor's tales, practitioners of the Black Arts generally offered a kind of 'professional courtesy' to one another, so should this be one of the more honorable examples and she revealed her own affiliation, it was possible that she would indeed be safe. On the other hand, black mages were serial killers almost by definition; if she gave him a tempting enough shot at her back and a reason to stab her, he would take it. It was what she would do in his place.

Either way, fighting him as she had half-planned to do was right out. Her most recent duel with Viktor had reminded her that for all her power, she was not invincible, and he was just her age. Admittedly, she could have beaten him handily had she broken out the dark spells she had been learning since she was six, and the same held true when dealing with other dark mages, though that would take either forgoing her charade or dragging the battle out until her opponent became exhausted. Against another of her kind, however, someone else blessed with powers beyond mortal ken? Not a chance. She had practiced black magic for the past eight years, over half her life, but this person still had years or even decades of experience on her. If that weren't enough, Voodoo was ritualistic rather than combat-oriented, which was not the case with other styles of black magic. Challenging him without know his specific skill set was a perilous gamble, though his current form certainly narrowed down the options.

Keep him talking. If I can get him to drop a few more hints, I might be able to figure it out. "You two know me, and I've met Barty before, but who might you be, Mr. Homunculus?"

"Oh?" the black wizard whispered in response. "You are full of surprises. What gave it away?"

She cocked her head. "You mean other than the fact that babies can't talk and definitely aren't called 'Master'?"

With a sigh, he nodded to her. "Touché. Still, what would a child like yourself know of homunculi?"

"I know a little," she said, rocking slightly on her heels. Would revealing the depth of my knowledge make him more or less likely to try to kill me? Probably the latter; someone doesn't delve into black magic without possessing a certain degree of curiosity, and most witches my age know nothing of this. He would want to figure me out. "Homunculi are made from an eight-month-old human fetus. You have to kidnap a pregnant woman and feed her a potion once a day for the remaining time. The specific ingredients of the potion are unique to the individual who is to be reincorporated, but the purpose is the same: killing the baby without inducing early delivery. When the mother does go into labor, you transfer the soul of the wizard into the fetus and murder the woman before cutting the possessed infant out of the corpse's still-warm womb. That's the easy part.

"After that impromptu Caesarian section, the reborn wizard needs to continue imbibing the potion used to prepare the fetus, or the homunculus will fail and kill the person inside. Unfortunately, since that mixture is toxic, it can't be drunk constantly, so there's a delicate balancing act between preserving the body and not poisoning it. Also, homunculi only last for a year and a day, and a soul can't be transferred from one to another. Before that time period ends, the wizard needs to grow a permanent form around his soul." She waved a hand over the graveyard. "Which, if I don't miss my guess, is exactly why you're here in the first place. There's not a lot of magic that has to be done in a place given to the dead."

"…I am not easily impressed," the homunculus stated slowly. "You, however, have done just that. Not even I knew that much about necromancy until after I had left Hogwarts and traveled the world for a few years. A witch so steeped in the Dark Arts at such a young age is a truly rare gem.

"You asked me for my name, my dear? I will tell you. I… am the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Oh, bugger me. This was not the absolute worst-case scenario she could imagine, but it was pretty high on her list of things she never wanted to happen to her. At the same time, the Dark Lord knowing black magic explained a few things she had heard from Sirius about the War. She had previously dismissed the idea that he could have really used zombies as shock troops, but with this new information, it was not an impossibility.

Voldemort continued, unaware of her panicked thoughts. "As for our purpose, you are correct. Tonight I rise again, and you… you will help me."

She staved off a wince; perhaps showing off hadn't been such a good idea, after all. "I don't think I'll be able to do that much. I know about homunculi, sure, but how you would create the replacement body? I haven't a clue."

"Thankfully, I do." He pulled a wand from his wrappings and twirled it idly in his little hands. "A foolish question, I'm sure, but do you consider yourself my enemy?"

"Not particularly."

The Dark Lord nodded. "I didn't think so. Barty, I believe you've earned a reward for all your hard work this year. Rape her until she worships you as her god."

Jen's mind stumbled for a moment at that hated word, but rage immediately poured hot and thick through her veins. Conjuring a fireball in her right hand, she erected a shield to block Barty's dark curse with her left. Unfortunately, both hands being occupied left her open to the stunner that came from Voldemort himself.

The jet of magic drilled into her belly, and then the void claimed her.

"Wake up, Miss Black."

A groan escaped Jen's lips as she struggled to escape the somnolence she was drowning in. A pulse of energy slid over her, and her recent memories came rushing back. She tried to stand, only to find herself tied to one of the many headstones scattered about the ground. Interestingly enough, however, all her clothes were undisturbed, and there were no aches as she would expect from Crouch taking advantage of her insensate form. The only pain came from a thin incision in the crook of her left elbow that was easily healed.

"I said it earlier, but I think it bears repeating. You are just full of surprises." Her fringe was brushed out of the way, and thin fingers stroked her blindfold. "A fourth-year holding her own against NEWT students is one thing, but to do that while unable to see? Most extraordinary."

She pulled her head as far back from the investigating hand as the cold rock behind her would allow. Though the core was the same, Voldemort was no longer in the shape of a babe. Squatting before her was a grown man, his skin completely bare of hair; not even a hint of fuzz could be found anywhere. His face, too, was strange, for she could feel no nose, just two thin slits that flared with each inhale. She sighed faintly as her sonar brought something else to her attention. "Could I ask a favor?"

"Perhaps."

"Do you think you could put some clothes on? Normally I don't mind men dangling their pride and joys in front of me, but I think it's a little inappropriate for our current situation."

"You can tell that I'm nude? How?" The Dark Lord frowned as the second part of her request filtered through his mind, and he looked down. "I did not expect to see those again," he muttered after a moment before tilting his head back up. "You have been a very bad girl."

Ignoring his own question entirely, her jaw dropped in disbelief. "How are your bollocks my fault?!"

"Because the ritual I used required your blood. As powerful as you are, I knew the body it created would be young and strong, but there is an odd quirk in the process. I could not have regained my genitals if the donor was a virgin, which, being only fourteen, I expected to be the case with you. Obviously, I was mistaken."

Please, I haven't been a virgin in a long time. Something else in his answer caught her attention, and she asked, "If you needed my blood, why not ask for it instead of stunning me and tying me up?"

"So you would freely give your blood to anyone who wanted it?" he asked mockingly. "That's a quick way to a messy death. All sorts of nasty things can be done with blood."

"I wouldn't hand it out to just anyone, no. A dark wizard whose body count is reportedly near the triple digits and who was fingering his wand when he made the request?" She shrugged as best she could with her arms lashed to her sides. "That's one hell of an incentive." Not to mention that I could have laid a curse on it before giving it to you.

He chuckled to himself. "A good attitude to have, child. Nevertheless, merely asking for your blood would have made it worthless to me. I needed to steal blood from an enemy, hence why I made my… little threat when you tried to be politic. You performed admirably. As for knocking you out, I couldn't risk you recanting and throwing the whole plan awry."

"Your apology is not accepted," she retorted, the knowledge that she had been so thoroughly manipulated leaving a foul taste in her mouth. "And you still didn't have to restrain me."

"It lent more metaphysical meaning to the ingredient. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken; bone of the father, unknowingly given; flesh of the servant, willingly given… which reminds me." Voldemort stood and spun on his heel, magic coalescing about him before becoming soft robes. Striding to the limits of her sonar range, he loomed over the kneeling man. "Hold out your arm."

"Yes, Master." Barty stretched out his left arm, shaking the sleeve down to his elbow. Barely swallowing an amazed gasp, she felt the icy patch on the middle of his forearm. The skin practically oozed dark magic. A multitude of textures danced in the tiny space, and she could not help but wonder just what abilities such a small but complicated thing could have.

The Dark Lord, on the other hand, slapped the proffered limb away. "Not that one, you fool. You are no good to me if you bleed to death." He grabbed the second arm and roughly ripped away the conjured rope acting as a tourniquet. A lazy whirl of his wand spat out a cloud of sparks that materialized into a glob of actual silver.

I really need to stop being shocked at what he can do, Jen told herself as the liquid metal flowed onto the bleeding stump and solidified into a replica of his missing hand before losing the distinctive texture of conjuration. Still, between surviving in a homunculus and creating noble metal – permanently, at that – I know what branch of the Black Arts he practices. He's a soul mage. She sighed and rested the back of her head against the headstone. Not that that's necessarily a good thing. Those who master soul magic can mimic other fields of black magic to a certain degree, and with his age, there's no telling just what he knows, though he obviously has at least a little Unseelie magic at his disposal. I'm very glad now that I didn't reveal my own talents; his get are notoriously unpredictable.

Barty caressed his new appendage lovingly for a moment before bending down and kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. "It is magnificent, my Lord. Thank you. Thank you."

"Let it never be said that I do not reward those who serve me with unwavering devotion. Now I wish to see your Mark." He pressed one long finger to his servant's enchanted flesh, energy swirling thickly before flowing into the symbol. "How many, I wonder. How many will be brave enough to return? How many will be foolish enough to stay away? We shall see.

"You do not understand what I mean, do you, Miss Black?"

"I can't say that I do," she answered quietly. Her bad feeling, the same one she felt when she and Cedric first appeared here, was back, and it was getting stronger.

"Not a surprise. After all, you would have been born near the end of the war. To you, I'm sure it is ancient history." The black wizard sighed and began to pace. "But it was not so long ago to us. Years of work, of progress, and we were at the cusp of complete victory. Had I not lost my body, I believe the Ministry would have fallen to me before the end of '81. I was lost, however, and my supposedly loyal followers fled to their places in 'polite society', disavowing any affiliation with me or our goals." He shook his head and moved closer to her. "A bit of hard-earned wisdom for you: leading a group of Slytherins is much like herding cats. Take away the stick and the bait, and they will go their own ways once more. We are not a trustworthy breed.

"But look…" He paused and turned to her, brushing her fringe down to cover the blindfold. "Or whatever you do to observe the world around you. They return now. What excuses will they give me for their desertion, do you think?"

He patted her shoulder in an almost fond manner before walking to a clear space in the field of graves. His arms crossed and his fingers tapping rhythmically, he waited as multiple individuals in cloaks and masks teleported to the cemetery. The pulsing marks gave a hint to how they had passed through the ward. Only when all eighteen were gathered did he speak.

"Welcome back, Death Eaters." The assembled magicals began to tremble at his soft words, not the Jen could blame them. The light tone he had used with her was gone, its replacement hard and sharp like the blade of a knife. "It has been… so… long since we last met like this. Yaxley!" he barked, and one man literally yelped. "How long? Tell me."

"Thir– Thirteen years, my Lord."

"Thirteen years. A dark number, a powerful number, perfect for such a reunion as this. You answer my summons so promptly; we are clearly still united in our grand purpose.

"Or are we?" He nearly glided to one Death Eater. "I smell fear on you, Alecto. Why do you fear your Master?"

"I-I am not afraid, my Lord. I am j-just excited at your r-return to power."

Voldemort hissed in sudden fury, and the woman flinched away. "Do. Not. Lie to me. You are terrified that I am not nearly so dead as you presumed!" He whirled on the others, all of whom took an involuntary step back, before he began prowling along the edge of the circle like a hungry tiger. "You all arrived so quickly, not even a minute after my call. You present yourselves as the very epitome of dedication. You are whole and healthy, your powers intact. And yet, not one of you sought me out. I left signs, my loyal followers, signs that any of you could have found and understood. Thirteen years I waited. Thirteen. Years. Why, then, did I see neither hide nor hair of any of you?

"'Surely they could not have forgotten', I reminded myself time and time again. 'Not they, who knew the steps I had taken to triumph over death itself. Not they, who saw the immensity of my power.'

"And yet… no one came. You scurried back into your holes, claimed that all your actions were the result of being under the Imperius Curse. You renounced your oaths of eternal obedience. I must confess myself… disappointed."

One of the Death Eaters broke under the pressure and threw himself into the wide circle. Laying on the ground, he shrieked, "Master! Forgive me! Forgive us all!"

"Forgive you?" Voldemort asked lightly, his back still to his follower. "Forgiveness is mercy. Abandoning one's sworn master is treason. Tell me, Avery; have you ever known me to grant mercy to traitors?"

"No… please…"

"Crucio!"

The Dark Lord spun around, casting the curse in mid-twist, and yet somehow the spell hit the prostrate man in the exact center of his back. Impressed despite herself, Jen whispered, "Wow. Nice shot."

He tilted his head to look at her for a short moment before lifting his curse from the screaming Death Eater. "Pathetic. You have grown soft while I was away. Get up." Avery staggered to his feet and returned to his place in the circle. "When you joined me, you made a pledge that you and your family would follow me always. Do you remember? I would be well within my rights as your Lord and Master to prune your entire family tree." The man whimpered, and that was apparently the right response, for Voldemort smiled wickedly then. "However, I am feeling exceedingly gracious tonight. You deserted me for thirteen years, and that is how long I expect you to work to regain the trust I once had in you. Do not make me regret giving you this single chance."

"No, my Lord… Never again…"

"I have been within Britain's borders for four years now; the first I spent possessing a man named Quirinus Quirrel. Those of you with children in Hogwarts might recognize that name as the man who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in the 1991 school year. I learned much of current events in that time, little of it pleasing to me." Several individuals fidgeted, no doubt considering just how easily he could have punished their children for their actions. "For two more I was a spirit, slipping through walls unseen and listening for secrets to help me reclaim my former glory. Imagine my surprise when in one of my searches I finally found someone willing and able to assist me, one I had believed beyond my reach.

"Barty, step forwards." Voldemort held his hand out to his servant, ignoring the shocked reactions of the others. "Yes. Bartemius Marcus Crouch, Junior. I, too, thought him dead; at least, I did until I discovered him hidden in his father's house under the Imperius. It took me an hour to break the Curse's hold over him, but when I did, my rise was virtually assured. Now, here I stand, corporeal once again. It is as if Halloween of 1981 never happened.

"Do not misunderstand the moral of this story. One servant. One, and yet in less than a year, I ascended from a near-impotent wraith to a living body. How much faster could I have returned had I had two loyal followers? Five? Ten? Twenty? Rather than thirteen years, you could have resurrected me within the week, and by now you would have been kings among serfs.

"But. You. Did. Not. I do not think I need to elaborate on just how angry that makes me.

"Lucius, how fare things at the Ministry?"

Lucius? Cissy's husband? For the first time, Jen regretted not having been introduced to her adoptive uncle; of all the cores stationed around her, she did not know which was his.

A man moved a single pace closer, shaking at the sudden demand and trying to hide it. "I have extended my influence throughout the government, elevating those either sympathetic to the cause or easily manipulated while hampering any who would seek to oppose your glorious reign. If you desire it, intelligence and propaganda operations can begin tomorrow."

"Excellent, though I wonder: were these individuals granted their positions for my purposes, or yours?" The Dark Lord raised his hand to cut off Lucius's desperate denials. "It matters not in the end. To whom do they belong now?"

"To you, of course."

Voldemort nodded as he resumed his walk along the inner edge of the circle to a gap in the ranks. "Here is evidence that not all have forgotten their oaths. Rabastan, Rodolphus, Bellatrix. The Lestranges chose Azkaban rather than renounce me, and for that, I shall recompense them beyond their wildest dreams.

"Macnair, I hear that you, too, work in the Ministry. What is it that you do, pray tell?"

The brute of a man, a head above even Voldemort's tall frame, trembled like a leaf. "I'm an Executioner for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."

"I see. But killing mindless beasts just isn't the same as feeling Muggles perishing beneath your blade, is it? Your axe cries out for better blood, more worthy prey. Lord Voldemort will provide… if you do not prove yourself unworthy once more."

"Never. I am yours, always." Macnair fell to his knees and bowed his head. "Command me, Master."

"Oh, I will. Have no doubt about that." He stopped again at a stooped figure being supported by another Death Eater. "Here we have Thaddeus and Timothy Nott. You two will do better this time, won't you?"

"My Lord, I have no excuses for my actions. Had I heard even a single hint of the signs you left, I would have come to your side in a mere breath, my son and grandson along with me. Nothing could have prevented us—"

"If you were half as dedicated as you are effusive, we would not currently be having this conversation." The elderly man ceased his babble immediately.

Directly behind Jen, the Dark Lord stopped again. "A full half-dozen of our comrades missing. Three dead in my service; they will be honored as martyrs. One in Azkaban, though not because he holds me above all else. He will need to be reeducated in the ways of the world. One too cowardly to return… he will learn that no one can hide from me. And the last… the last I believe has left me forever. If that is indeed the case, his punishment will be such a horror that it will still be talked about in fearful whispers centuries from now.

"While we are on the subject of the future, there is one more person who needs to be introduced tonight." He stepped closer and rested a hand on Jen's head. "May I present to you Jennifer Black, the Triwizard Champion. Like Barty, she was instrumental in my return, though as an ingredient rather than a true participant. Still, her help is much appreciated, and Lord Voldemort always rewards those who aid him."

Moving around her restrained form, he soon stood in front of her. "The House of Black has always been difficult for me to predict. Your former Head was decidedly neutral, though he was not averse to applying his political acumen when both of us would benefit. The decisions of the children of the family were likewise varied. Two joined my service, even if one betrayed me in the end. One, your current Lord, stood against me from the beginning. Two others were neutral like Arcturus, but leaned in opposite directions; the first married a Muggleborn while the other is joined to one of these men here. I trust you know the people of whom I speak?"

Bellatrix. Regulus, though this is the first I heard about any betrayal. Sirius. Andi and Cissy. She nodded hesitantly. "I do."

"Then you understand why I am… leery of just letting you go. My history with your family is rockier than I wish it were. So, I have a proposition for you."

"And just what would that be?"

Voldemort smiled wickedly. "Much like Lucius did when he was in Hogwarts, you would call together wizards and witches your own age who desire a world free of Muggle filth, a world where those pure of blood are in their rightful place of dominion over all. You would be my eyes, my ears, and eventually my right hand among your generation. Nothing too onerous, and the benefits would be well worth the minor inconvenience."

You mean nothing right now. The more I do for you, the further under your thrall I would fall, until one day my greatest ecstasy would be fulfilling your every command. I don't think so; Jen Black serves only one, and you aren't Him. Her magic flexed. "You make a tempting offer. Please, Lord Voldemort, I wish to know more about what being your 'right hand' would entail."

"This is pathetic," a man directly opposite her in the circle of Death Eaters muttered loudly. "The great and powerful Dark Lord, bargaining with a schoolgirl? No wonder a baby could do him in."

"What was that?" Voldemort hissed sharply before he whirled around to face his treacherous follower. "Would you care to repeat your words, Amycus?"

The woman beside him, Alecto, tried to shush him, but Amycus ignored her and scoffed. "You heard me. Killed by a kid, brought back by a kid; how can we be sure that you're even able to lead us to this wonderful world you promised us? The way I see it, we're comfortable enough just as we are. We don't need you anymore."

"I see. Tell me, what protection does your wealth and comfort give you against my wrath? Your life is mine to do with as I see fit, including ending it."

"I… I…" The outspoken Death Eater quivered before falling to the hard earth. "Master, that wasn't me! I didn't say those things!"

"So who did, Amycus? Are you renting out your body to a spirit?" the risen Dark Lord prompted derisively, his long wand prepared to kill the kneeling man.

"No, my Lord, it's not that. It felt… it felt like the Imperius. I couldn't fight it off."

"And just who here would have reason to cast the Imperius Curse on… you…" Voldemort slowly turned around to where he had left Jen, only to find the ropes tied around her were now lying empty on the ground. "You are too clever by half, my dear. Find her."

And that's my cue to scamper, the black witch thought as she continued running. The mouse form she had taken was too small to channel much in the way of magic, which also limited her sonar to a little less than a couple of feet, but she knew from experience that her animal shapes were naturally the same black as her hair. That should prevent her pursuers from finding her in the dark of night. All she had to do was scurry around until she was away from the graveyard, and then she could reclaim her natural form and escape.

With her range as small as it was, she had no warning when the snake struck.

Thankfully, the serpent only slammed into her rather than actually bite; at her size, being envenomated from the great beast would have killed her. Instead, she flew into a headstone and bounced off, her tiny body much more resilient to the impact than her human one would have been. Unable to discern where the next attack would come from, she shifted back into a girl and immediately wrapped her invisibility around herself.

That's one big snake, she could not help but note as she felt her opponent. Twelve feet long if it was an inch and thicker than her thigh, it also contained a sparking ball of magic with a signature identical to Voldemort's. His familiar? Snakes normally don't have cores, so that's the most likely answer. Like Loki, it's probably smart enough to ignore any rabbits I conjure to lure it away, too. Damn.

The creature coiled itself in preparation for another attack; she could only assume that while she had bent visible light around herself, her spell did nothing to block the heat she radiated. Dangerous as this confrontation was, she had her full repertoire of spells available to her now that she was a human, and the snake launched itself directly into the path of a severing curse. She stepped to one side to evade the corpse crashing into the ground.

"Nagini!"

Cutting blades and burning needles buried themselves in every square inch of her. A woman screamed in utter agony, and only later would she realize it had been her.

After centuries or seconds, the torment began to fade. She flushed her now-visible body with neutral magic to take the edge off, her mind still too muddled to reach for her wellspring of hate and purge the lingering energy entirely, while the soft crunch of grass being stepped on grew louder and louder. When she praised her opponent's marksmanship, she had not expected that he could hit an unseen enemy based purely on where a single spell had come from.

"That was ill-advised, Black. You have no idea what you have just done." Voldemort's bare foot slammed into her gut to roll her onto her back, and the cord of her necklace scraped against her throat. "I had hoped that you would take after Bellatrix considering your interest in the Dark, but it seems tonight is just a series of disappointments. Had you only accepted my offer, you would have become a lieutenant to the man who will soon rule Britain. Now, all you have done is earn my ire. Regardless of my personal sentiments towards you, destroying someone with such talent would be a waste, but I cannot allow a budding necromancer to run around unclaimed." The man's wand pointed at her heart, and eldritch cold gathered at the tip. "This is your last chance. Become one of my Death Eaters… or die right here."

The situation was dire, but his actions had revealed a potential path to salvation. "I…" Moving slowly, both to avoid startling the black wizard as well as prevent her muscles from shrieking in protest, she curled her arms towards her head in a position of surrender. "I choose…" The fingers of her left hand pinched the pebble at the end of the string. "…option c."

She pulsed her magic and vanished.

The wind swirling around her tore at her skin and wracked her body with more pain. After nearly a minute, she fell heavily to the stone floor, and she laughed even as she began to cry. It had worked; though wards blocked teleportation to anyone without Voldemort's mark, the cemetery did not have any against Portkeys. The advantage Bagman had given her at the start of the Task, a necklace that would advance her to the obstacle after the one she was in, had dragged her back to the final room of the course containing the dead Acromantula.

Relaxing against the hard ground, she let her adrenaline flow away, and with it her awareness.

Jen and Voldemort; talk about a match made in Hell. It's a good thing for everyone that they didn't join forces, isn't it?

I think this chapter felt so odd to write mainly because Voldemort was acting very differently here than he did in canon. With Jen, he was in "recruitment mode", something Harry never got to see. The boy Tom Riddle was a charming little bastard, and I doubt he threw that skill away when he grew up.

Finally, since I had so many perverts clamoring for this…

Albus dropped his gaze, unable to stop the tears slowly flowing down his cheeks as young Danny's shallow gasps finally ended. Yes, the boy might well have had to die to destroy the Horcrux in his distinctive scar, but he had thought such a passing would be as a worthy sacrifice to the Light, not an ignoble death from Acromantula venom.

The rest of the audience, students and guests alike, barely noticed the Potter heir, their eyes too riveted on the other windows and the expressions on their faces a medley of shock, fear, disgust, and – for some – a sick excitement. In total, four of the champions had perished today, and the other three were proving that, contrary to Tom's beliefs, there were fates worse than death. He turned to Pomona. "When you said the Tako-to-ama Bush was mildly poisonous, I expected it to keep them bleeding or make them dizzy or… not this."

"I'm sorry, Albus," the Herbology professor whispered. "I was just so excited to receive a sample of such a rare plant; it can't be found anywhere outside of Japan, after all, and the Emperor keeps a firm hand on its distribution. In my defense, Mr. Maeda never mentioned that it had such a dislike for boys. Well, mostly…"

He sighed and reluctantly turned back to the screens where the remaining champions writhed on their leafy beds while thornless vines sinuously caressed their naked bodies and thick branches thrust deep inside. As he watched, Black arched her back and shrieked in bliss, another orgasm ripping through her. Despite his dislike of the evil child and his lack of interest in women, he was reluctantly impressed with the degree of flexibility she had displayed this evening. Delacour lay mostly limp on the adjacent pane of glass, her mind overwhelmed from the sensory overload. The only one still putting up even a modicum of resistance was Diggory; Albus had always thought him an extremely pretty boy, and evidently the plant agreed.

Strange that it tore Eberhardt to shreds as it did Krum and Leroux, though. She didn't look that manly…

"I think we can safely assume that those three will not be able to complete the Task. Shall we rule Mr. Potter the winner as he actually made it to the Cup?" Olympe nodded, her face distinctly green, and Igor waved Albus's question off, his eyes glued to the girls' screens and his opposite hand hidden underneath the table. The British headmaster then aimed a glare at the culpable instructor, who immediately flinched away. "And as soon as the students leave for summer, I think we will need to go over what other plants you might have growing in your greenhouses that are inappropriate for innocent minds."

Her answering gulp did not inspire much confidence.

Silently Watches out.