He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named inspected his new body, as the man who had helped him create it rushed forward to cover his master with robes and hand him a wand.

You-Know-Who accepted the wand in one hand and ran the bone-white fingers of his other along its length. "My first wand. I've held countless others over the years, taken from those foolish enough to stand against me, but I've never found as fine a match."

He turned his livid red eyes to Neville. "Perhaps I strike you as sentimental, indulging in such feelings of attachment. But the connection between a wizard and the magical weapon he uses to impose his will upon the world… well, I'm sure you've felt it."

Neville didn't think of his wand as a weapon–or at least not just that–but he grasped the point, having experienced the vast difference between an inherited wand and a wand which was genuinely his.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nodded, as though Neville had voiced his agreement aloud. "You can see why I had to have it back. One does not pursue the path to greatness with inferior tools."

He turned to his follower and commanded, "Your arm."

"Yes," breathed the other man with fervor, extending his left arm to reveal the mark he bore there. "Let those whose faith was weak see with their own eyes how you have returned to us in glory."

"They shall, but not just yet. I don't believe we will invite the others to join us on this occasion." He gestured at Neville. "Our guest here sufficed for the ritual, but will not do at all for the demonstration I had planned for the Potter boy."

"I beg forgiveness for my failure, master."

"This is indeed a disappointment, Barty." He fixed his gaze on Crouch, who dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

Neville struggled with the terrifying reality of the two Dark wizards standing before him. He could no longer deny the identity of the one claiming to be Bartemius Crouch Junior, though he was supposed to have died in prison years ago, for the crime of helping to destroy Neville's family. If the face he wore now was just another trick, why would You-Know-Who go along with it? He couldn't see how either of them had any reason for further deceptions, now that they had him bound, alone, and helpless.

And the other wizard, He-Who-Must-Not… No, damn it, his name is Voldemort. No use in fearing that saying the name might summon the monster, when the monster had already appeared. Voldemort, the Dark wizard who had laid waste to so many families, was standing right in front of him. That shouldn't be possible either. When people dared to speak of him at all, they seldom neglected to reassure themselves that if he wasn't dead, the Potters had at least driven him away. And now he had returned as well.

Neville had begun the day with his biggest worry being the final exam for a class he'd struggled all year to stay awake in. Now he was at the mercy of two Dark wizards known for having none.

Voldemort spoke to his servant. "In spite of my disappointment, you have done more to prove your loyalty than all others. I forgive you, and will grant you your due reward. Stand and raise your other arm."

Crouch hurried to rise and obey. Voldemort waved his wand to conjure a silver hand, which floated over to join itself to Crouch's wrist, replacing the hand he had sacrificed.

"Thank you, master," Crouch murmured, flexing the fingers of his new hand.

"Loyalty and devotion deserve to be rewarded. And now that we've taken care of our most pressing business, I believe we can spare some time for a chat with young Neville here. Our deceptions have served their purpose. The truth may now be revealed, and your efforts on my behalf become known."

Crouch beamed at the praise.

"What's more," Voldemort continued, "It's about time the world saw your father for the hypocrite he is. Let us begin there."

Crouch's face darkened, but he turned to address Neville as instructed. "Hypocrite is far too kind a word. He condemned his own son to Azkaban to show the world how much he cared about the law. Then in secret, he turned around and engineered my escape–using Polyjuice, as it happens, so I suppose I can't claim he never taught me anything worthwhile. And that wasn't his sole transgression against the laws he pretends to cherish above his own flesh and blood. For years, he kept me a prisoner in my own home under the Imperius Curse. Unforgivable, indeed."

Voldemort shook his head. "What should we say of a man who prides himself in public on putting the law above all else, yet breaks it in private whenever it suits his purposes? And for what? Just to move his son from one prison to another? Not only a hypocrite, but a weak and useless one. Both of us have suffered the curse of inadequate fathers, Barty. But tell Neville the full story of how you came to stand before us as a free man today."

"Yes, my lord. Our house-elf persuaded my father to take me to see the Quidditch World Cup, hidden under an Invisibility Cloak… as if one day of a mockery of freedom could make up for years of confinement. When everyone fled through the woods afterwards, I shook off my father's Imperius Curse, but was still bound by that infernal elf's magic. I couldn't escape, or land any spells on her, but I did manage one spell she couldn't block. My father and the other Ministry fools saw the Dark Mark I cast in the sky, panicked, and started casting blindly. They missed me, but stunned her."

"An ironic twist, to be sure," Voldemort added. "But then, incidents of strange inevitability often herald great turning points in history, and my return shall surely be among the greatest. Continue."

Crouch nodded. "At that point, I had an Invisibility Cloak, the wand I'd earlier plucked from the spawn of the faithless Malfoys, and the freedom to use both."

"Barty," Voldemort chided. "We have yet to see where the Malfoys truly stand, now that I have returned to my full powers."

"As you say, my lord. In any case, with these advantages it proved simple enough to overpower my father when he returned to the woods alone to search for me. I have kept him under my control ever since. Far from a fair exchange for a year in Azkaban and the endless years he kept me under the Imperius, but it's a start. Once I was free and had made sure no one would come after me, I set off to seek out the Dark Lord."

"Something none of my other followers did for thirteen long years, despite how easily that idiot Quirrell managed it. I will not find it so easy to forgive the ways they have disappointed me. We will have to see how much repentance they prove capable of."

As this retelling of events continued, Neville didn't think it wise to stare openly at Voldemort, but couldn't help stealing glances. He noticed that when Crouch and Voldemort looked at each other, Voldemort's facial expressions matched his words. When Crouch turned to address Neville, Voldemort's expression would freeze in place for a long moment before falling away, leaving his face slack.

Despite Neville's attempt at subtlety, Voldemort must have noticed his wandering attention. He told Crouch, "I fear we may be dragging this story out too long to fully hold our audience's interest. Let us gloss over the details of how you found me and created a temporary body for my use. Neville might well find some of those particulars too disturbing anyway. But we can't neglect to give credit to the other friend who aided us. Ah, here she is now."

A massive snake slithered out from among the gravestones. It took up a position below Neville, rising up to stare and flick its tongue at him.

Neville had never minded the harmless grass snakes in the gardens at home. They left him alone, and he returned the favor. He'd never seen a snake anywhere near this size though. He didn't know where his wand was, but he'd settle for a large pair of hedge shears. A very large pair.

"I can sense her hunger," Voldemort said. When Neville managed to pull his eyes away from the serpent despite it being far too big and far too close, Voldemort gave him a brief, chilling smile. He then addressed the snake. "You will have to wait a little longer for feeding time, Nagini. We can't leave our dramatic tale unfinished. See if you can find some smaller prey to tide you over."

The snake hissed in displeasure, but slithered away again.

The smile Voldemort had given Neville had been the first expression to appear on his face since Crouch looked away from him, and it had only come when he noticed Neville's attention. When Voldemort thought no one was looking, his face showed nothing.

Neville had grown up knowing most of the families with the sort of generational wealth known as Old Gold, seeing the fake charm they plastered over themselves. His grandmother often reminded him of the importance of learning to see past the masks. She didn't think too highly of many of the people she socialized with, but had explained to him that if you're going to have a positive influence on society, maintaining your position in it can be a necessary evil.

Neville had never met anyone like Voldemort though. With other people, what slipped through the cracks in their facades were things like greed or insecurity or other forms of human vice and frailty. With Voldemort, catching his face in an unguarded moment revealed nothing but blankness.

His grandmother taught him to beware of people whose smiles failed to reach their eyes. None of Voldemort's smiles moved beyond his lips. Though as soon as the thought occurred, Voldemort began squinting at him, as though trying to force the corners of his eyes to crinkle. The sight was so disturbing, Neville had to look away.

He wondered why he was dwelling on such things, now of all times. Probably because he'd never learned any other way to defend himself. Lupin and Moody were dedicated teachers, each in their own way, but his struggles with his old wand had left him far behind in Defense, even with Hermione's help. The lessons his grandmother had given him in seeing through attempts at deception and manipulation were the only shield he carried. Not that it did much good against the Slytherins who were always jinxing him at school. They never tried to hide their contempt, so there was nothing to see through.

Even so, since he couldn't fight his way out of this with a wand, maybe he could talk his way out? As long as he still lived, he couldn't give up hope. But to have any chance at all, he would have to watch, listen, and choose his words with care. He couldn't start shouting at Crouch and Voldemort about how vile they were, no matter how the urge boiled inside him.

Though if they were going to torture him to the point he ended up like his parents, he resolved to say whatever it took to provoke them into killing him quickly.

Meanwhile, Voldemort had been watching the snake twist away between the gravestones. "It pains me to deny her anything. A poor reward for nourishing me with her venom. But we must finish the story."

Crouch asked, "Should I skip ahead to your triumphant return to Britain?"

"Proceed."

"With pleasure. Our first significant stop was the graveyard you find yourself in today, Neville. We had to confirm the availability of a key potion ingredient." He gestured to the desecrated grave he had summoned bone fragments from. "I won't bore you with our encounter with the nosy old Muggle who had the impudence to challenge our right to be here. We returned to my father's house, and once we had a chance to… ah, converse with him at length, we learned he was an organizer of the Triwizard Tournament. Fate had delivered us someone in an ideal position to manipulate events at Hogwarts." He bowed his head. "But even with fortune favoring our endeavor, this was where I failed you, my lord."

"Yes," agreed Voldemort, "but you have earned my forgiveness. Besides, whatever went wrong with the selection, there is another reason why Neville finds himself here today. Harry Potter is a coward."

Despite Neville's resolution to stay calm, or at least appear so, he couldn't resist speaking up to defend Harry–only to find himself prevented by Crouch's Silencing Charm.

Voldemort saw him try to speak, and responded as though he had. "I am aware of the absurd legend which has sprung up of the 'Boy Who Lived'. It must pain you to discover your hero is so much less than you believed, but you deserve to know the truth. Harry Potter survives by hiding behind others. First his mother, and now Dumbledore and Sirius Black. One day soon, his luck will run out, along with his supply of defenders, and then he will have to face me alone. But here and now, you find yourself in these circumstances because of his cowardice.

"The plan was to enter Potter in the Tournament, then take advantage of the final task's Portkey to bring him here. His blood should have brought about my return. Instead, his ridiculous luck somehow forced Barty into the Tournament in his place, which in turn led to you taking his place here today. His improbable escapes from certain doom have become a recurring pattern, so I can't be too upset with Barty. Everyone assumed the name which emerged from the Goblet belonged to Barty's father, but some judicious use of Polyjuice let Barty compete as required, while avoiding awkward questions about why he was neither dead nor imprisoned."

Crouch added, "I've always hated sharing his name. About time it came in useful for once."

Voldemort stepped forward to stare into Neville's eyes. "You must be wondering why I chose you to replace Potter in the great work performed here today. The reason is simple. Although Potter's blood would have offered certain advantages, the prophecy which Dumbledore believes is about Potter could also apply to you."

Although Neville wasn't aware of intending it, he suddenly found his mind rifling through memories of everything he'd ever heard about prophecies. He didn't know why he'd bothered, as he was quite sure no one had ever mentioned any which applied to him.

Voldemort drew back. "So. Dumbledore never told you. I wonder if he has seen fit to inform Potter." He shook his head. "Terribly selfish of him, to keep such knowledge from those most entitled to it. Whereas I am more than happy to share." He extended his hand as though bestowing a gift. "The most relevant section goes: born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"

He let the words sink in before continuing. "Unusually precise language for a prophecy, don't you agree? Strange that Dumbledore would keep it to himself. He knew it could draw my attention to you, and yet he said nothing? Quite the troubling lapse in judgment…"

Voldemort ended Crouch's Silencing Charm with a casual wave of his hand. "You must have questions. You may speak."

Neville swallowed and cleared his throat. "Is my grandmother really okay?"

"Of course," Crouch answered, with an air of mild affront. "I told you she was. What purpose would it serve to harm her? Or to lie about it now?"

"You didn't use the Imperius on her? Or the… or any other curses?"

"No. She struck me as too strong-willed to let the Imperius compel her to act against her own grandson."

"It doesn't sound like you had any trouble using it on your father."

"I didn't ask him to do anything against his nature. He already had a long history of covering for me, so establishing an alibi for himself while I did the real work wasn't such a stretch. He proved useful for that and a few other minor things, like attending the wands ceremony. His wand refused to accept me, and I wouldn't put it past Ollivander to notice its resistance if I'd been the one holding it. And he certainly would have noticed if I showed up with Draco Malfoy's wand instead."

"Then I don't see how you got close enough to my grandmother to replace her. She didn't trust your father, even before everything with the Tournament."

Crouch laughed. "I knew there was something I liked about her. It's true she was rather standoffish when my father–or someone who looked a great deal like him–first visited her several months ago, seeking to make amends for what his son did to hers, once upon a time."

Neville said nothing as he glared back at the man.

Seeing this, Crouch said, "Bad things happen in war. Your parents chose their side, and I chose mine. I won't apologize for that, but of course you still have hard feelings. You sure you want to hear this part?"

"I want to know what you did to my grandmother," Neville replied coldly.

"Alright, then. She did find it suspicious at first when 'my father' approached her after all this time, but 'he' explained that helping poor Enid Pettigrew through her ordeal of having a wayward son revealed had compelled him to revisit his own past. Though what really won Augusta over was when I told her I feared the people interfering in the Tournament might be a danger to you as well. It was easy to sound convincing, because I was telling the truth! Part of it, at least. I'm afraid you're her one weak spot, Neville." He shook his head. "Well, that's family for you."

"Caring about people other than yourself isn't a weakness."

"Anything that leads to bad decisions is a weakness. When I called her on the Floo today to tell her Sirius Black had taken Potter away, and that I had concerns for your safety as well, she insisted I step through and tell her everything. From there, all it took was a Stunning Spell, a few plucked hairs, then back to Hogwarts and… well, you know the rest."

Voldemort cut in. "What good did your grandmother's caring do either of you today? None. You must make yourself strong, and surround yourself with others who are also strong. That's how you keep your enemies from using your allies against you. Harry Potter will learn this when he runs out of caring but weak people to hide behind."

Neville started to speak, but stopped himself.

"You may share your thoughts," Voldemort told him. "As you have not yet sworn yourself to my service, you need not fear reprisals for expressing disagreement… within reason."

"When Harry is ready, he won't hide. He'll face you willingly."

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. "He would be a fool to think he could ever be ready to face me alone."

"I didn't say he'd be alone."

"We shall see." When Neville didn't reply, Voldemort said, "Go on, Barty. I believe you were almost done recounting today's events."

"I can't think of anything more to add, my lord. I'm still trying to make sense of how it all turned out. Although I prepared a backup plan in case I couldn't get past Dumbledore to get to Potter, I never expected Black to show up and grab him before I could. It seems unlike Dumbledore to let Potter leave the castle. He's always seemed reluctant to rely too much on others… I wonder what sort of dirt Black might have on him."

"Dumbledore is a great wizard!" protested Neville.

Crouch gave him a puzzled look. "Perhaps, but you don't become great by keeping your hands clean."

Neville shook his head. "Never mind. I still don't see why all this complex scheming was necessary in the first place. You were at Hogwarts all year. When you failed to force Harry into the Tournament, why didn't you just steal blood from one of us the first chance you got? Why go through this whole sick farce all year?"

"As long as I had the Goblet's magical contract hanging over me, I needed to tread lightly. A little casual sabotage to get the Tournament canceled was one thing. Attacking the Boy Who Lived, or even a less notorious student such as yourself, might have tipped people off to our real goals."

"If canceling the Tournament was an option, why didn't the organizers do it as soon as a fourth name came out?"

Crouch's face turned grim. "It may be that they can't. Or at least, not without putting all the champions at risk of breaking the contract. I was hoping if I put enough pressure on them, Dumbledore would find some loophole. I expected him to cave long before it came to this though."

Neville considered. "Okay. But you obviously don't mind hurting people. Why didn't you just go ahead and kill the real champions, and become the winner by default?"

"Ah, the direct approach!" Voldemort exclaimed. "There may be hope for you yet, Neville."

Neville scowled at this, but before he could reply, Crouch asked him, "Would you believe I'm just too softhearted? No? Well, there was one other reason. Killing another champion outright would violate the contract, but non-lethal attacks are fair game. Didn't it strike you as odd for the Tournament's three tasks to take up an entire school year? Duels outside the official events were a routine part of the Tournament back in the good old days, when our people were made of sterner stuff. This year's contestants needed a great deal of encouragement to get them to quarrel among themselves."

"You mean the only person using Unforgivable Curses of their own free will today was you."

Crouch shrugged. "Perhaps. Hard to say. Things get so confusing when you spend too much time using other people as masks or puppets. Sometimes even I lose track of who I'm supposed to be!" He burst into laughter, but then fell silent and took on an air of reflection. "Though my greatest role was probably that of the baby dragon. Portraying other people can give you a different perspective on human existence, but you haven't truly experienced losing yourself in a role until you've felt your mind teetering on the precipice of going fully native as a whole other species."

"You may have fooled everyone up to now, but today you went too far. They postponed the third task, but there's no way you can go back for it. That means you'll break the contract when you fail to show up."

"Your concern for me is touching," Crouch said dryly. "I'll just have to hope today's events are enough to finally convince the judges to risk canceling the Tournament. Either way, I was out of time, and the mission had to come before any personal considerations."

"Always faithful to the cause," remarked Voldemort.

When Crouch turned at this, Voldemort favored him with a smile of approval. Now that Neville knew to watch for it, he saw that once again the appropriate expression appeared on Voldemort's face only after Crouch turned to look for it.

Voldemort shifted his attention to Neville. "Magical contract aside, taking Potter on some arbitrary day would have provided less drama. People love a spectacle, and to strike down the winner of the Triwizard Tournament in his moment of triumph… Now that would have been a suitable tribute to my glorious return. I find such ironies lend a certain extra piquancy to any tragedy. But enough reminiscing and dwelling on what could have been. You must be wondering why we took the time to share this tale with you–gripping as you no doubt found it–if my intention was to simply dispose of you, now that you've served your purpose."

Neville went cold. It seemed impossible, but he'd gotten so wrapped up in the complex revelations, he'd almost forgotten how much danger he was in.

Voldemort continued, "Part of the answer is that Barty enjoys regaling people with tales of his cleverness, and it pleases me to indulge him. Of perhaps greater interest to you though… we are not going to kill you."

"You–you're not?"

Voldemort shook his head mournfully. "Alas, the lies people have spread about me, while I was away and unable to speak in my own defense. Every drop of magical blood is precious, Neville, every drop. There can be no magic without those who wield it, and a world without magic can have no possible justification for its existence. Those of us who are strong in magic walk through this world like gods. Without magic, the world would be a wasteland full of nothing but useless Muggles."

Neville didn't see how any of that followed at all, but didn't interrupt. Since hearing Voldemort dangle the possibility of letting him go, he was more determined than ever to consider the effect of his words before speaking them.

Voldemort went on, "I will offer every witch and wizard the chance to join me in the pursuit of these ideals. I can certainly offer no less to you, given the part you have played in my return. Only those who fail to accept the inevitable have cause to fear me. Now that you've heard what a trivial matter Barty found it to fool Dumbledore, carrying out our plans right under his nose, you must see how futile it would be to support his cause over mine. And everyone must choose one or the other."

Neville couldn't stop himself from risking a clarification. "You'll offer everyone the choice? Not just the pure-bloods?"

"I will, though I do not promise that all will have equal standing in the new order of things. But you can't be so naive as to think such is the case now? Consider the many vaunted positions Dumbledore holds, due to his greater command of magic."

"It's not the power he has. It's what he chooses to do with it."

"Choice is important. That's why I offer it to everyone."

Neville eyes shifted back to Crouch. They couldn't possibly think he'd ever consider joining them after the things they'd done.

Voldemort said, "I can see you still have reservations. As I said, I will allow polite questions."

"I'm sure you already know my biggest reservation. Say I did agree to join you. After what your followers did to my parents, what would it take to convince you I meant it?"

"The kid's got a point," Crouch said. "You can never fully trust anyone who switches sides. Or claims to. Look at the way that coward Pettigrew ran off."

"Now be fair, Barty," Voldemort said. "After all, you did try to kill him along with the rest of the hostages."

"Because I never trusted him."

"In any case, I can see the young man we have before us is far stronger in his convictions than Wormtail ever was. Wormtail. What sort of wizard would accept such a demeaning nickname? When Neville commits to joining us, we can be sure he will do so wholeheartedly, after giving the matter thorough consideration."

Crouch appeared unconvinced, but didn't argue with his master.

To Neville, Voldemort said, "Wars lead to casualties. Does your anger over the last war justify starting a new one, with all the new tragedies that would bring? Would you condemn other families to suffer for the sake of your hopeless quest for revenge? So much suffering could be avoided if everyone simply accepted the inevitable outcome right from the start. And consider this. When it comes to magic of the mind, none can surpass me. If you were to join me, I might grant you the favor of restoring your parents to you."

Neville felt a flicker of hope. It passed, and he shook his head. "No. That's impossible. The Healers all agreed–"

"Neville," Voldemort interrupted sharply. "Do not ever make the mistake of thinking that what is impossible for lesser wizards is impossible for me."

"Some things are beyond even you. You failed to get Harry, with months to prepare."

Neville winced at having blurted that out, but Voldemort merely smiled.

"Yes, but I got you as an effective substitute–a second claimant to fit the prophecy, with enough magical significance to make your blood worthy of giving me new life. Can you not see how fate arranges the world to suit my purposes? When Potter stopped that bumbling idiot Quirrell from retrieving the Philosopher's Stone for me, I found another path, through the ritual we performed here today. In the end, every victory that Potter and Dumbledore might think they've won will prove just as temporary.

"I am immortal, which makes my ultimate triumph inevitable. For I stand always as the future of this world, while any who stand against me are less than a passing dream. Hindering my plans for a year or a decade accomplishes nothing in the end, except to ensure that your children or grandchildren will one day curse your name when I return to visit my wrath upon them.

"I suspect Dumbledore hoped to bring about a stalemate, by forcing me to remain in spirit form. He still has the same distaste for direct conflict as in the days of Grindelwald–though few are brave enough now to speak of the true history of those times.

"I know you see me as your enemy. The success of the ritual proves as much. But that is today. Much can change with the passing of time, and so I will grant you time to reconsider. Think carefully before you make such a consequential decision. It would be a shame if you left this world without ever learning of the destiny which the prophecy promises as your birthright."

Voldemort fell silent, and looked at Neville expectantly.

Neville knew the proper response for a Gryffindor would be to tell Voldemort he'd rather die than join him. More than that, it was the only proper response for a Longbottom.

But then Voldemort would kill him, and for what? Giving your life for a worthy cause was one thing. Even if your death achieved no other immediate purpose, letting others see you refuse to bow to evil would inspire them to go on fighting after you were gone. As his parents' son, he knew the power of that sort of example all too well. But to die like this, accomplishing nothing, with no one to bear witness? What cause would that serve? And what if there really was a prophecy about him, telling of some important deed he was meant to do before he died?

As Neville considered the terrible, pointless consequences of flat out rejecting the offer, Voldemort smiled and said, "Good. A wizard who thinks before he speaks. Far too rare, these days. Yes, very good."

"Probably thinking how he can take advantage, to spy on and betray us," Crouch muttered.

Neville felt hopelessly out of his depth as he realized he hadn't even considered that option.

"Time will tell," answered Voldemort. "For now, return him to his home, then meet me at the new location."

With a crack, Voldemort Disapparated away.

Crouch dispelled Neville's bonds, letting him drop to the ground. His limbs were numb from how much time he'd spent tied up. Before he could gather the strength to stand, Crouch grabbed his arm, and Neville felt the wrenching disorientation of side-along Apparition for the second time that day.

When they arrived at their destination, Crouch let go and stepped back. "Do you know where you are?"

Neville pushed himself up to look around. He was maybe a mile from home. He nodded in response.

"Good." Crouch held up Neville's wand to make sure he saw it, then tossed it a short distance away, out of Neville's reach. "You can make your own way from here. Bringing you closer could lead to an unfortunate encounter, as I expect the Aurors are at your house by now. Your girlfriend burst in as we were leaving Hogwarts, wand out and ready to curse me into oblivion. If I were you, I'd watch my step with that one, and I'm not even kidding. I've seen that look before, back during the war. On both sides. People with conviction, and the willingness to act on it."

Crouch gave him a considering look then. "We'll be seeing you soon, Neville. Think about the Dark Lord's offer carefully. Make sure your answer is one you can live with."

Having delivered those parting words, Crouch Disapparated away.

Neville let himself slump back to the ground, where he remained for several minutes. It took the thought of how frantic his Gran must be, and possibly Hermione as well, for him to drag himself to his feet and start trudging towards home.