Braving the Past

Chapter 63: Braving the Past

Another Death Eater screamed.

They're all gone.

He couldn't even feel satisfaction in the sound, too busy grinding her mind in a raging panic.

My horcruxes.

He sifted through her thoughts, her feelings, slowly...carefully...painfully.

My souls.

He took the entire thing apart.

My immortality.

He had to know who was on his side. Far too many had betrayed him already. Two of his most promising students. Delores Umbridge, who had that wretched girl in her grasp only to lose her by performing her blasted experiments instead of focusing solely on her task of interrogation.

Being torn apart by a werewolf was a mercy compared to what he would have done to her if she were still alive.

He slammed the pieces of the Death Eater's mind together, then released her, watching her collapse in a shaking fit. She didn't seem to notice her head smacking the hard stone floor.

The only upper hand he had now was that there was still one left. The very one he had been most careful with. Some of his followers had called him paranoid. It was really too bad he'd immediately killed them. It would have been gratifying for them to see now that he was right.

Lord Voldemort was always right.

He used his wand to brush the Death Eater aside, and the Imperius Curse brought the next one to his feet. A line of them still cowered, huddled against the wall like rats. The faithful kneeled before him in the Great Hall - those who survived anyway. And on every side, the rest of his followers were sprawled. Some turned to vegetables, staring up at the ceiling with nothing left behind their eyes. Others stark raving mad, talking to the air, and lifting their hands to ghosts only they could see, unaware of anything else around them. A few of them were unfortunately dead - anyone who couldn't stop screaming.

By the time he was finished, his forces had dwindled, but it was a small price to pay to know they were all completely loyal to him.

The Dark Lord looked down at what remained of his followers. Their eyes were all fixed securely to the ground in front of them. Some of their bodies still shook.

"Look at me," he commanded.

A mass of red and bloodshot eyes all forced their way up to meet his.

Just as he was about to speak, the doors to the Great Hall screeched open. Voldemort raised his wand to strike. Every one of his surviving followers was here already. So who could be trying to break in?

The figure that entered, however, came as a surprise to him. He didn't recognize her right away. Her usual black dress was in burned tatters, pieces dangling off her weak frame. Not one strand of her mangy black hair remained, and every bit of exposed skin was red and brown and blistered.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

She limped in, breathing heavily.

"I heard your call, my Lord," she rasped. "I am here."

Voldemort waited silently for her to make her way past the rest of his followers. A few shied away from her, pulling faces. Voldemort himself was beginning to smell the burnt flesh that wafted from her. She stopped at his feet, hissing and grunting as she kneeled her battered body at his feet.

"You return after the very thing you were charged with was destroyed," Voldemort said. "How...convenient."

Bellatrix bowed her head.