Author's Note: Hello there! If you've been to my profile today, you probably know this already, but I am moving to a new apartment on this Thursday (2 days from now). I've been procrastinating like crazy with packing, so I basically have the rest of today and then all of tomorrow to get all my stuff together. Ahhhh!

So, unfortunately, I might not be posting again tomorrow or the day after, depending on just how much time it takes for me to pack and move, and get settled in… bleh, I hate moving.

Anyway, on to the chapter!

Chapter 58

When Voldemort shows no sign of slowing down, the men in front of us begin to fire, and the guards on either side follow suit. I quicken my pace to stay closer to Voldemort, who's deflecting the spells easily while keeping up the same pace. It seems as though we're moving in a magic-proof bubble.

The two wizards who were standing in our path get blasted to the sides, crashing into the nearest pair of trees.

We reach the palace, and Voldemort throws open the giant doors with a flick of his wand.

"Dorian!" he calls out as we enter a cavernous great hall.

This is the first time I've heard him raise his voice in years.

"Tom Riddle calls for you!"

An old man appears, flanked by a number of servants.

"Ah, Tom, my old friend," he says in a clearly British accent. "Come with me—servants, begone!"

We follow him up a few flights of steps and into what is clearly a study.

"Old friend?" Voldemort says, responding to the man's greeting. "Hardly. You do not seem quite so keen on inviting me into your home as you were the last time we met."

"Well, I didn't know I'd have the honor—"

"Ah, ah, let's not lie to each other, Dorian. We're far past such silly games."

"Very well, then. Why don't you reveal the pet that you've brought along?"

Voldemort smiles, surprising me. Who is this Dorian? How can he speak to the Dark Lord like that and get a smile from the damn snake?

"Nothing gets past you," Voldemort says. "But I will not reveal his face to you. Not yet, at least."

"Why have you come, Tom?"

"Oh, I think you know very well the answer to that question."

"I will not—"

"I know that you met with Kingsley Shacklebolt. That you received him right here in this very parlor, in fact."

Dorian looks troubled.

"Your followers are not as strong as you believe them to be. So, I am here to see what your decision is."

Dorian turns and walks a few paces away, toward the window. "Well, you've come. I do not have much of a choice then, do I?"

"There is always a choice."

"But you will kill me if I make the wrong one."

Voldemort nods. "Unfortunately, yes. If you do not join me, then you will be worth more to me dead."

Dorian stares out the window at the snowy landscape. "Allow me to think on it."

"If I had allowed myself time to think on it, you would not be here."

I frown. It's hard to imagine that anyone could be alive because of Voldemort. But if this Dorian knows him as Tom, he must have known him before his transformation into Lord Voldemort.

"Yes, you are correct," Dorian says. "That's a wizard's debt. You have every right to reclaim my life."

"What is it to be, then?"

"I fled my beloved country to escape from you, Tom. I am not Dorian Langley anymore because of you."

"I am aware."

Dorian turns around. "What would you have me do?" he asks wearily.

"I thought that would be fairly obvious. Isn't that what you ran from, in the first place?"

"Then what makes you think I will join now?"

"You've seen the Death Eaters in your fields, the deaths of your farmers and workers, the pillaging of the villages under your protection. I can make it all stop with one order. My men here will be yours to command. Yanov, to the north—you can finally destroy his estate, with my men. Certainly, whatever meager assistance Shacklebolt offered cannot compare to my guarantee for the safety of your land."

Dorian closes his eyes. "You did your homework, Tom. Always were a good student."

"Only the best."

So they knew each other from school.

"Very well, Tom. You have my word—"

"I was not born yesterday, Dorian. You know that there is much more required than your word to convince me of your sincerity."

"Please, Tom, I—"

"Make your choice, and stand by it. This is all or nothing."

Dorian stares at Voldemort for a tense moment, and I begin to wonder if he's calculating the chances of attacking Voldemort and successfully making an escape.

But finally, he lets out a sigh and pulls up the sleeve of his left arm.

"Mark me."

"A wise choice."

He presses his wand to Dorian's forearm.

I haven't seen Voldemort draw a Mark himself since he drew mine four, almost five years ago. The Mark is supposed to be much more powerful when drawn by the Dark Lord himself, but any bearer of the Mark is technically allowed to Mark someone—this is how our forces have expanded so quickly.

I watch with a bit of morbid fascination as the skull forms and the snake slowly twists out of its mouth, slithering down over the white skin.

And then it's over.

"I will speak to the Death Eaters before the night is over. Tomorrow morning, fifty men will report to this estate. They will be under your command."

"Thank you, Tom."

Voldemort's eyes narrow.

"My Lord," Dorian emends.

A familiar sneer stretches Voldemort's pale lips. "I told you that a day would come when those words would slip from your mouth. Do you remember how you replied?"

Dorian nods. "Never."

"I was right, Dorian," Voldemort says. "I always am."

With that, he turns and leaves the room. I hurry behind him.

We move back down the same path. The guards appear again as we pass by, but they do nothing to stop us on our exit. When we reach the end of the path, Voldemort's hand rests on my shoulder, and we Disapparate.

[Insert line break]

"Why did you bring me?" I ask.

We're walking through the middle of the woods, stepping through snow. I'm not sure of our exact location, but I know now that we must be going to meet with the Death Eaters here, in Russia. Damn, is there any place that we haven't hit yet? Maybe Azerbaijan is still free of Death Eaters.

"Are you really so confident in yourself that you think you can inherit an empire without seeing all of it?"

"So I'm here to look at…"

"Your future."

Well… fuck.

"You seem so sure that this is going to happen," I say. "I thought it was only a precautionary measure."

"It's inevitable that I will be killed during your lifetime. It is a fact."

I frown. "How can you be so sure, My Lord?"

"Do not question me. You should know better by now."

"Of course. I apologize."

Then we reach a clearing, and he stops walking. "Now, you will meet our Russian brothers. You may speak, but you cannot be seen."

I bite back the impulse to ask why. I even have my mask on, so I wouldn't be visible anyway. But I suppose my hair color is somewhat distinctive, and hoods can fall off relatively easily.

Then dark, hooded figures appear at the edges of the clearing around us.

One man steps forward, speaking English with a thick Russian accent. "The Dark Lord has returned. Welcome."

The man takes a knee, and there is huge movement between the trees as dozens of people drop to their knees.

"Lenovsky. I see that recruitment has been successful," Voldemort assesses.

"Yes, very," the man—Lenovsky, I suppose—says. "We have followed your orders to the letter. No village has been left untouched in the province."

"You know of the former Dorian Langley, Lord of these lands?"

"Yes."

"He will be in command of your forces in this province—allot fifty of your men for his use."

Lenovsky is silent.

"Do you have an objection? If so, voice it promptly. I do not have time to waste."

"My numbers only just passed six dozen. Will you leave me with only twenty men?"

"Did you not start with ten?"

There's a silence.

"You are a talented recruiter," Voldemort says. "Take your twenty men and sweep west, toward St. Petersburg."

"Very well, My Lord."

"There is another reason for this visit."

Lenovsky nods.

"I have chosen a successor."

"Another Englishman, I suppose," Lenovsky comments in a voice that borders on disdain.

"It's only right, since I myself am an Englishman. Do not be so bold as to think that I will not punish you for disrespect simply because you are a valuable recruiter."

"I meant no disrespect."

Then Voldemort rests a hand on my shoulder. "Speak, so that they will know your voice."

"What am I supposed to say?" I hiss.

"Cast the Dark Mark."

Voldemort passes my wand back to me, and I'm relieved to feel the ten inch, hawthorn wand between my fingers.

I point it up toward the dark night sky and shout forcefully, "Morsmordre!"

A spark shoots up from my wand and flies into the sky. As soon as it disappears, the Dark Mark forms, the giant, ugly skull opening its mouth to release the serpent within. I glance around and notice that the Death Eaters are watching in almost reverent silence—they don't seem to have such strict regulations on wearing masks here, and about half of them are unmasked.

Voldemort smiles sinisterly. "I've always enjoyed your work. It takes a truly Dark wizard to create a Mark like that."

Well, I wonder what that says about me. Fuck. It scares me when he says things like that.

"We walk among you tonight," Voldemort says. Lenovsky calls out the translation in Russian as Voldemort speaks. "This province has been tested, and it is ours."

There's a loud roar of approval.

"Now, we move west. Let us leave no Muggle village untouched, no field unburned. Tonight, we will make this Russian winter night hot as the fires of the inferno."

Another chant.

"Tonight, we will show the Russian Ministry that it is time to choose where it stands!"

With this last statement, he grips my shoulder and dissolves into black smoke, taking me with him. It's an unnerving sensation—I feel like my body has come apart, and there's no guarantee that I'll ever be put back together again.

Then we're soaring above the trees, the wizards below us charging in the same direction, following the thick black streak in the sky—us.

Then I hear Voldemort's voice in my mind.

I will lift the Charm on you when we hit the ground. Blend with the others. I will come for you when it is time.

We land in the middle of a small Muggle village that has already been invaded by Death Eaters. There's chaos in the streets as Death Eaters rush through, Apparating and Disapparating, maiming and killing, regardless of age or gender of victims.

The Muggles are entirely defenseless.

Then the Disillusionment Charm lifts off me, and Voldemort takes off again.

A screaming child runs past me, and two Death Eaters push me aside, chasing her. But the wave of Death Eaters is already on the move—these Russians are extremely efficient. It seems from the number of corpses that litter the streets that they've killed or injured at least half of the village and set fire to more than half the buildings.

I race along with them toward the next settlement. The front of the group is already Apparating to the nearest village along this path of motion. Since I don't know where it is, I grab onto a group that's Apparating together and pray that whoever is in charge won't splinch us.

We appear on a hillside and race down toward an already burning town.

As I reach the small houses, I take a deep breath and seal away my conscience.

Author's Note: There was quite a bit of improv involved in writing this chapter, relative to the others. And as you can see, there are original characters! I'm usually not very fond of OCs, but I thought I could slip one or two in here. But yeah, I wasn't sure exactly where I was going, but I kind of knew what I wanted to come out of it. Give me your thoughts! I'm oh so curious.

By the way, I suck at "writing accents", so I hope you just sort of imagined an accent for Lenovsky… Hahaha xD