Lily hit the ground, hard, Fleur landing right after, both their hands still clutching the Triwizard Cup. Lily heard cheers and laughs, and she wrenched the trophy out of Fleur's grasp and hopped straight to her feet, holding her prize above her head, let out a triumphant roar, and beamed at the-

She froze, her smile fading and her arms dipping, as her eyes finally adjusted to the much brighter lights of the room. She was surrounded by people wearing frilly dresses and extravagant dress robes, clapping politely, clinking glasses together happily, and shouting jeers at her. Above their heads, she could hear the distant thrumming of music and a chattering crowd. A party, she realized. She vaguely recalled that Lucius Malfoy was hosting his masquerade on the same day as the Third Task.

Most of the people down here were wearing masks shaped like skulls.

"Lily?" Fleur asked, pushing herself off the ground and looking around warily. "Where are we?"

Lily could feel her stomach sinking, but she didn't answer. Her eyes locked on to the pale, unhidden face of Severus Snape, and she knew then that she was about to die.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" A man with slick blonde hair stepped forward, arms spread wide and a cane with a snake's head figure grasped tightly in one hand. "It seems our guest of honour has finally arrived!"

Lily clenched her wand tightly in her hand, warily lowering her the cup to the ground. Her eyes scanned the crowd, trying to get a good idea of their numbers, when they found the back of the room. There was a raised dais at the far side with a single throne, a bundle of blankets resting in the seat. The walls were painted with large, twisted, grotesque murals, and the ceiling above was gilded and adorned with runes. Shihesh, she read. Silence. The music was still playing, unaware of what was happening below; she could feel it in her bones, but sound would only travel one way. If she fought, she was confident that the wedding guests wouldn't hear a single thing, but she was damned if she wasn't going to at least go down fighting.

Fleur was standing, now, and staring nervously at a large, bubbling cauldron at the very center of the room, the only figure sharing her space. She looked terrified, at a complete loss of words. Lily took a deep breath.

Time to be brave, Gryffindor, she thought.

"Sorry it took me so long to get here," she said, her hands slick with sweat. "Never got my invitation."

The crowd laughed again, Lucius Malfoy the loudest from behind his mask. Snape laughed, too, his face back to normal colouration.

"Courageous until the end, I see," he said, removing his mask and revealing his confident sneer. "We will see how long that lasts. You are not the first guest to enter my cellar, and I can promise you will find it just as unwelcoming as they did. Master, I will leave you to it; I have guests to see to upstairs. We wouldn't want the Minister noting my absence."

"You are dismissed," a hiss said from the dais, a pang of pain rattling Lily's skull. "You have done well. Enjoy your evening, as well as your new bride. And as for your reward- I promise you, Lucius. I will see your son returned to you."

"Thank you, Master," Lucius said, bowing out of the room and closing the thick doors behind him. Lily, for one brief moment, thought she saw a look of terror before it was blocked by the thick, mahogany wood.

"Quirinius," Voldemort called. "I have waited long enough. Let us begin."

"Right," Lily said, flexing her hand and wiping at her forehead, and sincerely hoping that Fleur had her wand in hand. "Bye, then."

Lily raised her wand and, in one sharp motion, swung it upwards, casting a silent bombarda. The quick jet of red bounced off the ceiling instead of blow through it, reflecting it back down towards a group of Death Eaters.

"Right," Lily said, flicking her wand up again to make a barricade out of the marble tiles. "Can't get out that way, then."

"What's the plan?" Fleur said, sliding in right next to her.

"Escape, if we can," Lily said, knowing full well it wasn't going to be possible. The scared, determined look on Fleur's face was keeping her off of the truth.

The French girl nodded, just as everything went silent on the other side. Lily assumed they were forming up to end this as quickly as possible.

"We won't have long," Lily said quietly. "There's just too many of them. Get to the doors and get out." Lily thought for a moment, thinking about the aurors stationed upstairs. She didn't think Fleur would be able to make it that far, and if she mentioned it, the girl might be foolish enough to die trying for it. "Can you apparate?"

"Not from here," Fleur said with a grimace. "They've got wards up."

Lily nodded. She expected that. It'd be too convenient if they could leave of their own free will.

"Just get outside and get to Hogwarts," Lily said, hoping Fleur didn't notice how thick her voice was. "Tell- tell Dumbledore."

Fleur nodded again. "And you?"

"I'll be right behind you," Lily lied, sidling close to the right side of the wall. "I promise. Don't turn to look for me, I don't want you distracted." Lily swallowed again. "Just- be fast, Fleur."

Lily was about to jump out when Fleur placed a hand on her knee.

"Good luck, Lily," she said, giving her a strong smile.

Lily swallowed down the lump in her throat, hoping Fleur would forgive her eventually. Briefly, she wondered if she should ask her to deliver a message. Sirius and Hermione, at least, would never understand. But if Fleur knew the truth, she'd never leave her to die just to escape on her own.

"See you at Hogwarts," Lily said, squeezing her hand and then moving away from the barricade.

She ducked immediately to avoid a haze of stunners and then rolled into a slide, firing three quick bursts from her wand. One connected with the ankle of a woman in a yellow dress, and thick steel cords coiled around her legs and sent her sprawling to the floor. Another hit a man's face, sending his mask clattering as his hair burst into flame. He dropped his wand and began frantically trying to pat it out. When a friend tried to spray water on it, it exploded, spreading the flames to the lace and cloth of those nearby. She didn't see what happened to her third spell. She turned just in time to spot a killing curse coming her way, and with a little squeak of fear, she created her usual barricade. It shattered under the force of it, and then she was running again.

"You fool!" she heard Voldemort shout. "We need them alive!"

Lily found her path blocked by ten Death Eaters. She cast a quick fumos to obscure their vision of her and then turned to run the other direction, wondering when the Death Eaters would cotton on that she wasn't trying to escape. Sparks of red and green flew through the haze, and Lily tapped her wand to her head again, creating a dozen illusions of herself. They could create their own spells, now, although that was just an illusion, too. She just needed a bit of time to catch her breath. She crouched down low, a stunner flying just over her head, and breathed deeply.

Merlin, she thought, swiping sweat from her face. She was exhausted. She wasn't sure she even had many spells left in her; she felt like a sponge being wrung dry, and her limbs were thick and hard to move. Still, though, she stood back up again. She needed to buy Fleur a chance to get out of here, and that meant she needed to distract enough of them that the girl could break through. She didn't care what happened to herself, but she would not stand idly and let somebody else die. She took another deep breath, created a few more illusions of herself, and then broke into a sprint along with them, swinging her wand back and forth in long arcs, just like the clones were doing. The moisture from the fog congregated around her, beads of heavy water dripping from the end of her wand as the lighting crackled and swirled.

When she reached the end of the fog, she was surrounded by Death Eaters. But she didn't care. She let loose the storm.

Every time the lightning struck, a thunderclap followed, shaking the ground below them. Lily hoped that was enough to reach the partygoers above, but she doubted it would be. She aimed in discriminately. Lightning was hard to control; it wanted to be free, but she could guide it and hope. Thankfully, there were a lot of targets for it to seek. Death Eaters screamed as it struck them, igniting their clothes or dropping them straight to the floor. Lily kept swinging, ducking and dancing under hostile movements. She had no time for defense. She could feel attacks making their marks. Burning Curses, jets of fire, poorly aimed cuts, stones, stunners, even another couple of killing curses. Most, she dodged. Others, she didn't bother; they were too far off, aimed in too much haste. Some, she had no choice but to take. She felt a Choking Curse constrict around her throat, but, still, she kept going, not even caring if she could breath.

And then her lightning ran out, along with the rest of her magic.

Lily collapsed to one knee, breathing hard, and looking through the smoke and rubble she'd created with sharp eyes. Maybe a quarter of the Death Eaters were now laying on the ground. More were still standing, or getting back to their feet, glancing around anxiously and cautiously. A few even laughed when they realized that she was well and truly spent. She could still hear the band playing above her. She paid it no mind and scanned the room for one person in particular; she could feel herself losing consciousness, but she needed to know she would be safe before she could go.

Fleur was nearing the exit, fending off only two attackers. One was clearly stunned, and the quickly frozen in a solid block of ice. More importantly, though, she was near the door, and in another heartbeat, she was there, wrenching them open, and the music got louder.

Thank Merlin, Lily thought, managing a wan smile. At least her death would be good for something. She hoped Hermione wouldn't be too mad at her.

Fleur took one step, hesitated, and then turned back around, nervous eyes scanning the room.

Please, just go, Lily thought.

And then Fleur found her, stuck in the far corner of the room, surrounded by Death Eaters, and the complete opposite direction of where she was supposed to be going. Lily could see the decision on her face.

"Go," she mouthed.

Fleur took a step towards her, just as she passed out, slamming on to the cold marble tile.

When she woke up, she couldn't move. At first, she thought she'd just pushed herself too hard, but when she managed to open her eyes, she found she was being held upright, her arms and legs bound by marble protruding from the ground, shaped like sinister serpents. She tried to wriggle her wrists free, her eyes focused on finding Fleur in the crowd around her. There wasn't even any sign of their battle; everything was back to how it should be. That only made her wonder if this was even real at all, or all some sort of terrible dream.

If it is a dream, she thought, pulling upwards with all the strength in her arms to try and free her legs, then I won't even remember all this in the morning.

"None of that, thank you," Quirrell said as he walked past her, his mask turning to smoke with a quick flick of his wand. The man, once handsome, was now sickly and pale, his face gaunt with stretched skin, his head shaved smooth.

"I'm going to kill you," Lily said with all the confidence of a terrified mouse. Ignoring his words, she struggled harder, every fear she had boiling up inside of her. It was getting hard to breathe, and when she blinked, all she could see was the cupboard door.

"We shall see," Quirrell said, waving his wang again. One of the marble snakes coiled around her neck, locking her head in place before clamping firmly around her mouth. The crowd laughed at her renewed struggling, but Quirrell didn't. His dark eyes studied her curiously before going back to the cauldron simmering near them. They turned back to the throne, where his master was waiting for him, and he walked off towards it.

Lily could do nothing but watch as the hall fell silent around them, the only noises coming from the party still raging above them. She couldn't find Fleur anywhere; her only hope was that the girl changed her mind and fled. She did find Snape.

Help me, she thought, praying he was reading her thoughts.

He shook his head, just subtly enough for only her to notice. Lily clenched her jaw, wondering if any of the killing curses she dodged had been his. That would be just his idea of mercy.

Quirrell climbed the dais and took the bundle of blankets into his arms. All eyes were on him as he carried his master slowly towards her. He had the gall to smile at her as he dumped the fetal form of Lord Voldemort into the cauldron.

Please drown, she thought, knowing her luck would never permit it.

"Bone of the father," Quirrell said, producing a yellowed skull from his robes. "Unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"

Quirrell dropped it into the potion, and with a great hiss, it turned a chilling white.

"Flesh of the servant," he said, placing his wand confidently on his left wrist. "Willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master!"

There was a flash at the tip of his wand, and a disgusting wet sound as his blood hit the white floor, his severed hand dropping into the liquid. Quirrell didn't flinch, nor make even the slightest noise of discomfort, as he turned from the brew and approached her bound body, the silver knife in his one hand. He smiled at her as he got closed, and Lily thought he smelled like death. One more time, she looked at Snape, determined not to look at Quirrell as he killed her. His lips were a tight line, but he otherwise showed no signs of distress.

She hated him.

"Blood of the enemy," Quirrell said, plunging the dagger into her stomach with a smile. "Forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

Lily let out a muffled scream of anguish as the dagger was withdrawn from her abdomen, her blood quickly pouring from the fresh wound and spilling to the pristine floor below. She refused to watch the next step, her eyes frantically scanning the crowd, desperate for any sort of escape, when they locked onto the pale, clammy face of Severus Snape. She tried to beg him silently to help her when his eyes met hers.

Please, she thought, willing him to read it. Please.

He looked away.

There was another hiss from the cauldron, and as hard as she tried to resist, she couldn't help but watch as the naked, pale mass rose from the roiling surface. Her scar was screaming, the bile rising in her throat as quickly as her blood pooled at her feet, and there wasn't a single thing she could do.

She was stuck, and she was going to die. She wished she hadn't dodge those killing curses. This wasn't how she wanted to go out. Better to die with wand in hand than be anyone's captive again. She could only watch as the Dark Lord rose, his servant eager to pull a robe over his freshly born shoulders. There wasn't a single hair on his smooth, pale head, and his nostrils were two slits, like those of a snake. What grabbed Lily's attention, though, were the eyes.

Red, and filled with a hatred and anger that she could feel in her own mind.

He stepped from the cauldron, his feet spreading stains from both her blood and Quirrell's, staring in awe at his hand. Another Death Eater, this one a broad-shouldered man, approached with a black robe, and Voldemort allowed him to drape it over him, all the while staring at his own body. Seemingly as an afterthought, he took a bone-white wand from Quirrell, and with a twirl, produced a hand of cool silver over his stump.

"Thank you, Quirinius," he said, his voice deep and without any semblance of emotion. "You have been my most faithful servant in these trying times. Allow me to seek an end to my remaining troubles, and the power you wished for shall be yours, I swear it."

"Yes, Master," Quirrell said, bowing low and kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. "Thank you, Master."

"The Dark Lord always keeps his promises, Quirinius," Voldemort said. "Never forget that. The rest of you," he added, turning to face the deathly silent crowd. "You answered my summons, but do not think that means you have been forgiven. Your punishments have merely been delayed. I will provide you the opportunities to prove your loyalty. Do not fail me again. Even my mercy has its limits."

Not a one of them answered him, and quite a few shivered from their fear as he approached them, taking the moment to look each and every one of them in the eyes.

"There are some present I do not know," Voldemort said, stopping in front of two strangely familiar figures. "You are new to my service, then? Who invited you?"

"I did, My Lord," the same thick, balding man that clothed his Lord said, kneeling quickly and bowing his head.

"Ah, Crabbe," Voldemort said, looking over him appraisingly. "You have been recruiting, even now?"

"Of course, Master," Crabbe said, his voice just as thick and stupid's as the son's. "Always, Master."

"You are forgiven, then," Voldemort said, turning his attention back to the newcomers. "Please, by all means, why don't you introduce yourselves?"

"Hermann Bell, My Lord," Mr. Bell said, his voice trembling as he joined Crabbe in kneeling.

"And you?" Voldemort said, turning his attention to Mrs. Bell as she did the same.

"Margaret Bell, my Lord," she said, her deathly whisper carrying even to Lily's ears.

"You are a Muggleborn," Voldemort said plainly. "I can see it in you."

"Yes, my Lord," she said, shoulders trembling.

"You have nothing to fear from me, dear woman," Voldemort said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Contrary to what you may have been told, I do not seek the eradication of all Muggleborn. I seek only for them to embrace our culture, our way of life, instead of spreading their own filthy, unnatural beliefs to the rest of us."

"I have, my Lord," Katie's mother said quickly. "Always."

"Then you are a true paragon of your race," Voldemort said approvingly. "I will have a special role for you in the coming days."

Voldemort kept moving, rotating slowly around the circle and talking with his followers, some of which he punished with a cruciatus, some of which he would nod at approvingly, perhaps even compliment, until he stopped before Snape, appraising him silently. Quirrell came towards her, picking her wand up from the pool of her life and holding it in his silvered hand. Lily wanted to protest, but she didn't even have the strength to groan, let alone escape from her marble tomb.

"Severus," Voldemort said coolly. "I am surprised you attended. I would have thought you were quite comfortable with your position at Dumbledore's side."

"I remained only because you ordered it, my Lord," Snape said, not a hint of fear or doubt in his voice. "I knew that, when you returned, you would want to know everything the old fool has been up to."

"You have remained loyal, then?" Voldemort said.

"Always," Snape said, his eyes flicking towards Lily as if he could sense the spike of anger she felt.

"Ah!" Voldemort said, turning to follow his gaze. "Dear Potter! How could I forget you so easily!"

Voldemort moved quickly, now, closing the distance in just a few strides. He jabbed her wound with the tip of his wand, eliciting a scream from her, followed by another as the white hot pain from his cauterization closed it.

"Severus!" Voldemort said, whirling with a theatric swirl of his robes, releasing her to fall to the ground with a flourish of his wand. "Prove yourself!"

Lily hardly managed a single gasp of wonderful, cool air before Snape was upon her, wand drawn. Lily looked up at him, pleading silently with her eyes. Please, she thought, although whether it was to help her escape or to give her a quick death, not even she knew. Snape looked her straight in the eyes. He didn't hesitate.

She screamed, then, for what felt like an eternity as her muscles writhed in agony, convulsing and popping from the Cruciatus he laid upon her.

When it ended, and Lily nearly threw up from the sheer agony of it all, the laughter began. And, loudest of all, Voldemort's cold, inhuman laugh echoed throughout the chamber.

"It is true!" Voldemort said, his voice silencing the others. "Potter is a Metamorphmagus!"

Lily couldn't stop coughing. Her hair must have changed under the cruciatus again, just like it had in third year.

"Interesting," Voldemort said, pacing excitedly and smiling widely. "Very interesting. Waxley! Your turn! I wish to see more while I think over this wonderful news."

A short, smooth-headed man came forward next, drawing his wand eagerly. His spell didn't last nearly as long as Snape's had, but it hurt just as much. Lily prayed that it was over, and that whatever Voldemort was thinking over, he'd reached his decision.

"Goyle!"

Lily screamed again, until she had no voice remaining, and even then it continued, over and over, as Voldemort instructed his followers one by one to have their turns. The weakest two came from Mr. and Mrs. Bell, even if they were still the greatest pain she'd ever experienced. By the time it was all over, and she was left curled on the floor, still twitching involuntarily, her belly wound was reopened. She kept one hand kept pressed tightly against it. Her brain kept telling her to go away inside, to just forget until she was dead and it was over.

Instead, she maintained eye contact with Severus Snape between every turn. She no longer begged. She just wanted him to know what they were doing to Lily Evans's daughter- to never forget that he stood by and did nothing.

To his credit, Snape did not look away.

"Still not begging, Potter?" Voldemort said, crouching down to look her in the eye.

Lily spat some blood onto his bare feet and met his gaze, her head pounding.

"Never," she said, her voice hardly even a whisper.

"All you need do is ask, and I will end it all, here and now," he said, pressing his wand to her forehead.

"Go to hell."

"Surely, you must realize you are already dead?" Voldemort said. "Surely, you must realize you have lost? That refusal only means your own prolonged torment?"

"Don' realize nuffin," Lily said spitting again.

"Perhaps a bit of rest will teach you otherwise, then," Voldemort said. "Quirrell, fetch our other guests. I'm sure Harry has many questions he wants answered."

Lily inched forward, crawling slowly towards the Cup. If she could just reach it, maybe it'd bring her back to Hogwarts. She had to try something.

"Tell me, Potter," Voldemort said, as the sound of clinking chains reached her ears. "Do you recognize this man?"

Lily turned her head. If she blatantly refused, somebody would notice what she was doing, assuming they hadn't already. The man Quirrell was practically dragging towards her was bound in shackles, his face dropping and his head bald in patches, as if somebody had been tearing hairs from it. Lily thought it was a complete stranger, at first, since the shape of his face was all wrong, and his skin was mottled with runed tattoos, but she definitely recognized the moustache.

"Crouch," she said, her voice still hoarse and painful.

"Yes, yes, exactly!" Voldemort said, clapping his hands together. "And when, pray tell, did you first meet him?"

"Quidditch," Lily managed.

"Ah, see, but that is where you are mistaken," Voldemort said disapprovingly. "It was a trick question, I'm afraid. You see, this is the first time you have met Barty Crouch."

Lily just stared at him, not quite understanding, her brain too foggy from all the pain. Voldemort let out a little sigh and shook his head.

"It seems she is as slow as you've made her out to be, Severus," Voldemort said.

"She takes after her Mudblood mother in that regard," Snape said. Lily wanted to kill him for that, but she needed her wand, first.
"The man you met at the Cup was not Barty Crouch, dear child," Voldemort said, running his hand gently over Lily's cheek and sending a spike of agony through her scar. "Not the senior at least."

Lily spat at him again, but he just tutted at her.

"You see," Voldemort said, standing and taking on a tone eerily similar to the one McGonagall wore during class, "after your little escapade at the Shrieking Shack the last year, you left our plans in shambles. We had to scramble quickly to fix the mistake you made. Luckily, Fudge was kind enough to tell Lucius of the Triwizard Tournament personally, although he refused to give any details.

"That meant Lucius had to go elsewhere to get the information we needed, and we had precious little time to do so. Thankfully, with his recent divorce, it was easy to schedule a meeting with one Bertha Jorkins, from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. She has a reputation for being a gossip, you see, and Lucius thought getting her to talk would be easy. She arrived at this lovely manor expecting a lunch date. She did not expect to be met with me. Lucius was right. It was easy to get her talking. And, during the process, we even found far more than we'd been hoping for.

"As it turns out, during a previous trip to Crouch's family home, she discovered a terrible secret our prim and proper Department Head was keeping from the world at large: his son, an embarrassed and quite loyal Death Eater did not, in fact, die in Azkaban. He was being held hostage by his own father and his elf, kept Imperiused and hidden underneath an invisibility cloak. It was his mother that died in his place, disguised under Polyjuice.

"At first, we tried to free my faithful servant through the Imperius. Lucius invited him to the manor, and I placed him under it myself. Unfortunately, he was stronger than expected, and I could feel the bond breaking when I tried to force him. We tabled the matter for the moment, believing we could grab you at the Cup easily enough. So, you see, the first time you met him, it was me. I was looking through his eyes, so we would know your position during the distraction. The others were-"

Lily grabbed onto the Triwizard Cup, closing her eyes shut tight and praying it'd whisk her away. When she felt nothing, no tugging at her stomach, no wind whipping past her, and heard only the laughter and mocking of the Death Eaters, she felt like it really was over.

"Stupid child," Voldemort said, hauling her back into the center of the room with a flick of his wand, her blood a long streak on the floor. "Did you not think Lord Voldemort saw what you were doing? I didn't think you were stupid enough to actually believe it would work. I thought that, surely, you must be trying something else, and I allowed the attempt out of sheer curiosity. Has nobody ever taught you how Portkeys work? Has the Hogwarts education truly fallen so far, Severus?"

"I'm afraid so," Snape said.

"A pity," Voldemort said, shaking his head at her. "Very well, if your attention is waning so quickly, we will move on. Have you enjoyed your break? Ready to beg for forgiveness yet?"

"Go to hell."

Voldemort sighed and kneeled down next to her.

"I believe I owe you an apology, Potter," Voldemort said, stroking her hair with a hand. "I sympathise with your situation. Really, I do. It's not your fault you are here, either. You and I were both lied to, and both by the same people."

"What?" Lily asked.

"Your parents," Voldemort said simply. "It has been a difficult journey, but it is time I admit I was wrong: you are not Harry. You are not a boy, and you were never the subject of the prophecy. I will rectify that mistake, now, Hazel, and I will punish those responsible on your behalf. Starting now."

Voldemort turned, aiming his wand into the face of Barty Crouch, and then with a muttered pair of words, and a flash of green, the man fell dead.

Lily didn't understand, and her face must have revealed it, because Voldemort started laughing again.

"You see," he said, crouching and running another hand on her, this time over her cheek. "I've come to a realization, and one I'm afraid you won't enjoy."

Lily said nothing. She couldn't stop staring at Crouch's dead body.

"Don't you wonder why Crouch was first, Hazel?"

She stayed silent. She felt like she'd be sick again, if there was anything left in her body to come up.

Voldemort sighed and stood again. "I killed him for imprisoning your father, dear girl- your real father."

"What?" Lily asked, her gaze finally turning away from the corpse.

"The Potters have never, in all their years, produced a Metamorphmagus," Voldemort said. "Curious, don't you think, that the Black line often produces one every other generation? Sometimes, they even produce multiple."

"Go to hell," Lily said, again, her insides twisting.

"Curious," Snape said for her. "So everything was a lie, then?"

"It seems so," Voldemort agreed. "It is not surprising- her mother was a Muggleborn whore, after all. I'm sure she would have had the pleasure of siring many half-blood bastards, had she lived long enough to do so. Perhaps, if he was lucky, even James Potter may have managed one."

Lily shook her head. It wasn't true- Sirius would have told her if she was. He promised he wouldn't keep secrets from her. It was a trick- he was just trying to get into her head, and, for once in her life, she wasn't going to be stupid enough to fall for it, no matter how loud the Death Eaters laughed. She glanced up as it began to die, noticing that Snape, alone, remained quiet.

In fact, until he met her eyes and corrected his posture, he looked more furious than Lily herself felt.

"Still, I would hate to spill magical blood, even if it is sullied," Voldemort said, clicking his tongue. "I will offer you one chance, Hazel. You need not die today, nor any day."

Voldemort kneeled and offered her his hand.

"Join me," he said. "And, together, we will punish everyone who has ever wronged you."