261A dark figure crossed the formidable wards with a practiced ease. They were, after all, designed to allow only the Dark Lord's most faithful to cross. The house was unplottable, somewhere in the English countryside. The magic inside the small but elegant home felt oppressive with the Dark Lord's magic, and the resurrection had not even been completed yet.
It had been a stroke of genius to bring the Dark Lord here for the resurrection. Well, Barty Crouch Jr. was a bright boy, after all. His sketches and notes on the resurrection were much better planned out than most of the minions the Dark Lord had available would have constructed. Perhaps only Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape would have been capable of better. His own idiotic twin brother certainly coudn't have, although he had supplied the books.
Phillip Nott was thankful for the Crouch boy's genius, and now he carefully moved through Nott's Glen to the chamber that currently housed his Lord. Crouch had messaged him late in the night with a feverish idea that sounded foolish and unnecessary, especially with all the work that had been done, but after talking it through with Crouch and Rookwood, the idea had much more merit the longer the trio thought about it.
The adjustment was easy to make, would result in more stability and an accelerated timeline for the Dark Lord. Now all he had to do was present the idea to the Dark Lord and hope he approved.
Harry's training for the Final Task was intense. Every moment he was not in class, eating or sleeping he was working with his tutors or Sirius on dueling, spell detection, ward detection and any number of other items they felt he would need. They already had suspicions that the final task would be a maze, but nobody had an idea as to what challenges would lay within.
One benefit would be that the magic of the maze would mask any spell he cast. Only the Unforgivables would be off limits. Harry was sure that Krum and Delacour would come with a whole repertoire of spells not taught at Hogwarts, or even in England. That was the benefit of an international competition. Because spells and items were legal in their home country, many of the restrictions were lifted for the final task. That had been a revelation in and of itself, one that Dumbledore had probably preferred Harry not learn.
Not that Dumbledore knew he knew that tidbit of course. It was Moody who revealed that tidbit to him. The location of the Final Task was considered International lands, and thus any restrictions on magic from the host country were lifted once they entered the arena, only the ban on the Unforgivables remained. While it was a relief, it was also rather frightening. What could be awaiting a group of school children in the maze that they went out of their way to make sure that dark magic was permitted?
Harry reflected as he ate his 'fully balanced meal' as prescribed by his tutor. He had been told he needed to put on another two stone by his birthday in order to stop taking the potions he had been prescribed. His attitudes towards the different branches of magic had changed since taking his Rites.
Well, honestly, his attitude towards a lot of things had changed since his First Rites. Magic and power were just that. If someone had told him a year ago he'd be close to a group of Slytherins, including Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass he would have called them bonkers. Two years ago and he wouldn't have even deigned to stay in the same room as a group of Slytherins, much less enjoy being called Slytherin's Champion.
These days he took his meals at the Slytherin table as often as he ate with Hermione, Elizabeth and Neville. They didn't just strategize, and the conversation at the table itself surprised him. Blaise Zabini was a Quidditch nut, Millicent Bulstrode had been taking piano lessons since she was six, Crabbe and Goyle, while still a bit dull, both enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures and secretly enjoyed Rugby of all things. Pansy was a bit vain, but had ambitions of moving to Paris to study fashion, declaring that British fashion was far too outdated for its own good. She and Tracey Davis could be seen pouring over fashion magazines.
Sure, there was some talk about politics, and a lot of trash talk about Dumbledore in general, but he found himself agreeing with the statements more times than he liked to admit. Daphne had been right. Now that he'd been through some of the Rites and celebrated the 'proper' holidays he had been welcomed with open arms. Tracey was a half-blood and nobody at the entire table frowned at her heritage. Sometimes he sat with his other Slytherin tutors working on strategy or just quietly revising and expanding his spell knowledge. By the time the Final Task arrived he was sure he'd know just as many dark hexes and spells as he did the ones that were in the standard Hogwarts curriculum. Already he could probably take and pass the Sixth Year practical for Defense and probably get an O. Same with Transfiguration and Charms. All this extra work and tutoring would actually make next year a breeze.
He just hoped he survived the Final Task to see it.
"My Lord." Phillip bowed before the bundle containing the Dark Lord.
"Nott."
"Barty Crouch Jr. reports news regarding the plan for your resurrection." Phillip swallowed his nervousness.
"Speak it."
"He originally planned to supply Harry Potter for a portion of the ritual, but the boy has begun training heavily in the Dark Arts and has begun breaking away from Albus Dumbledore's control. He has also begun practising the Old Ways, and it is believed that he has been primed to become the Heir Black, if he has not already done so."
"And who does Crouch believe should take the boy's place? The boy who is responsible for my current state?"
"Alastor Moody. He has the old Auror locked away in a trunk still, and Crouch theorizes that while Potter may have dealt a temporary blow to you, Crouch has been actively fighting against you for years and is responsible for the deaths of many of your most faithful. He theorizes that the ritual will see Moody as an even bigger enemy of yours, rivaling Dumbledore, and his blood will make the ritual more powerful." Phillip reported.
"And your thoughts?"
"I tend to agree. I have been working out the ritual, preparing the ingredients, and a text from the family library suggests that the stronger the animosity between enemies the stronger the potion will be. While we cannot be certain of Potter's current state of mind, we know Alastor Moody would curse any of us to the ground if given the chance.." Nott replied.
"And what of Potter?"
"You test him, my Lord, when you have regained your strength. Losing Alastor Moody permanently will be a greater blow to Dumbledore's morale than losing Potter. Losing Potter, they could rally around the spare, Longbottom. Knowing that Alastor Moody had a role in your resurrection… and depriving them of their greatest wand since the deaths of the Prewitt twins would be almost a mortal blow. We could still capture Potter, but the uncertainty around his changing ideals makes the idea of using his blood for the ritual less than ideal. Once you have regained your strength you can ascertain the threat Potter is to you at any time and strike, but this first step is crucial. Getting rid of Alastor Moody, Dumbledore's most trusted advisor outside of his own brain… we may win without even having to try."
"Do we not have Moody in chains at the moment?" The Dark Lord's voice sounded skeptical.
"We do, my Lord. This would be a way to make his imprisonment most useful. Crouch could easily still arrange for the delivery of Potter, but he had heard whispers in the hallways of his growing disillusionment with Dumbledore. He could still be swayed to remain out of direct conflict. Moody, however, if some accident were to befall Crouch, should his subterfuge be discovered and Moody liberated from his confines… Barty feels it is safer to send the man here and use his blood instead. Barty has become increasingly uneasy about the idea of continuing to keep the old auror in the school should Dumbledore discover the replacement. Crouch has enough potion to last him until the term ends, and plans on escaping during the closing of the castle after the End of Term Feast. His sudden departure would be simply blamed on the curse on the position."
The Dark Lord was quiet. Nott feared for his safety for a long moment.
"Do it."
"We will need that old trunk of yours, after all, Barty." Phillip bent in front of the fireplace, talking to his comrade. He was still posing as Alastor Moody, and doing a good job of it by all accounts.
Barty Crouch nodded. "I'll go grab it."
A few moments later Crouch returned, dragging a trunk behind him. "I'll bring it through."
Phillip stepped back, allowing Crouch to step through, bringing the trunk behind him. "I've deactivated the portkey to the ritual site and reactivated it to go to the original destination. Now if you want the boy you'll have to do it the old fashioned way."
Phillip nodded. "Are you sure this is best? The Dark Lord was quite concerned about the change in direction."
Crouch rubbed his face. "He's done his First Rite and the Rite of Attunement. There are things going on in the boy's head that have changed."
Nott chuckled. "Strange of that blood traitor Black to let his precious godson go through the Rite of Attunement."
"Why so? Both he and James Potter did. You forget that James Potter was born half Black as well. Maybe all that time in Azkaban showed Black the error of his ways." Crouch replied.
Nott laughed. "Not likely, but if the boy is going full on Olde Ways then I agree that waiting to see what his stance is now that he's being raised properly is the best move."
Crouch nodded. "I also managed to get our Lord a Welcome Home present, so to speak."
Nott opened the trunk and saw a second body. One he immediately recognized.
"Dead?"
"No, just a powerful sleeping potion and a magically induced coma. Here's the potion to wake him back up. It helped that we managed to get him deep in his cups beforehand." Crouch replied.
Nott chuckled. "You're an overachiever. Sure they won't be missed?"
"Positive. We have an ally on the inside for this one. Snape let his name slip by accident as someone else for 'me' to 'watch out for' when it came down to Potter's entry into the tournament and the attack on the Malfoy Heir. Someone who would have reason to support the Dark Lord and want to curry his favor. They'll be replacing him till the end of term."
"And this 'ally' of ours won't be missed?" Nott was skeptical. This was all too good to be true.
"Nope. He's been 'called back home' due to a family emergency. HIs family will corroborate that he is indeed back home."
Nott smiled softly. "Finally things like things are looking up."
Crouch nodded. "Indeed they are. And having this trunk here rather than at Hogwarts with Dumbledore and half the Ministry crawling around everywhere is a great relief. I've been careful, but one missed dose and all our hard work would be lost. At least having these two here means they can't be rescued without considerable effort."
Nott agreed. "Ok. Back with you then. They can't trace this floo?"
"Nope. Technically doesn't even exist. Hogwarts Magic at work."
"Brilliant. I will make sure that the Dark Lord knows of your excellent work. See you on the other side, my brother."
Crouch nodded. "On that glorious mornin."
Harry stood in the line of Champions, staring at the impressively tall hedge in front of him. It had to be at least 10 feet high. They would be spread out across the front of the maze, entering from the same side at different points with but one goal: retrieve the cup inside.
He was wearing the custom battle robes Sirius had designed himself, with Narcissa's help. They were modeled after auror and hit wizard battle robes, and he saw that Viktor Krum had the same idea. Cedric was wearing what looked like a regular tunic and pants, but had study boots on. Fleur was wearing something that managed to look loose and free flowing, but economic at the same time.
His pants were black, in some kind of flexible fabric that would let him move quickly. His shirt was a dark green, to match his champion color. It was a loose tunic topped with a dragonhide breastplate. His outer robes were forest green, with the Hogwarts crest embroidered on the back in all silver. The sleeves of his robes were close fit to aid in movement. His glasses had been charmed with a darkness feature that would allow him to see better in low light conditions, which the maze promised.
He had two daggers, one strapped inside his belt and one hidden in his boot. The one in his belt had a dark handle that blended into his pants and had a silver blade. The other was a standard blade but had runes that enhanced pain and sharpness. He also had visited the Room of Requirement again and found a spare wand that didn't hate him. That was strapped inside his left arm on a holster. He would wield the Holly wand for as long as he could, but if things got dire in this maze designed to challenge wizards four years older than he was he had a backup plan. Finally he had two additional secret weapons: a pouch full of stones he could use to transfigure into projectiles against magically resistant creatures, and a little bit of phosphorescent glitter. He would use that to mark where he'd already been to avoid keeping to the same paths. Both his Slytherin tutors and Sirius had been proud of him for coming up with that idea on his own. After all, nothing had been banned from the maze except for the Unforgivables. A way to keep track of where he'd already been was not out of the cards.
Sirius had actually been doubly proud when he said he was going to take a spare wand into the maze. His Slytherin tutors had helped him practice dueling with both wands against multiple opponents, and Sirius had helped him as well. Last Saturday, instead of going on the last Hogsmeade weekend he'd gone home and spent most of the weekend pushing his body and mind to its limits.
Now he was as ready as he could be. He would be the first to enter, and then every two minutes another champion would enter. If they encountered trouble they could fire off sparks and one of the Aurors stationed would know where to enter. Harry looked around at the stands that had been constructed. They were packed with the students from all three schools, as well as a dignitaries press box. The teachers were in their own press box, and a third contained the families of the champions. While he couldn't see them, he knew that Sirius was up there, as well as Andi, Ted and Dora.
Ludo Bagman stood up to the podium, surrounded by the leaders of the tournament.
"WELCOME TO THE FINAL TASK!" Harry blocked out the sound of the crowd roaring.
"It has been a fantastic one! Now, our Champions will enter a maze based on current placement. Their task: reach the center. The first one to reach the end will be declared the winner! But that's not all! There are prizes for the second and third place winners as well! Only upon the retrieval of the third place trophy will the contest end. Should more than one contestant be rendered unable to continue, after the retrieval of the first place trophy the contestants who survive the maze the longest will be declared second and third place winners." More cheers from the crowd. Harry concentrated on his first steps. He would enter, cast a couple of detection charms, a shield charm, and work his way to the center.
"In First Place, we have Harry Potter! Upon the sound of the whistle, the hedge will open and you will enter. After two minutes our second place champion will also enter."
Harry watched carefully, there was no need to run. He had a whole two minute head start against Viktor. He just focused on calming breaths and going through the most important spells he would need. He'd practiced so many that would become instinctual in a fight, but this was not the arena for him to act like a rash Gryffindor. He could not afford to get himself lost and panicked.
A whistle sounded, and the hedge in front of him opened. Harry stepped into the dim light of the maze, which reminded him of the Forbidden Forest from first year. There was a semi canopy of branches above him, allowing some light from the moon to filter down. He didn't see anything unique, carefully studying around him as the hedge behind him closed again. He casts his detection spells, coming up with a few wards but not much else. He could hear the groaning and scraping of obstacles unknown from within the maze.
Squaring his shoulders, he proceeded forth.
Harry rolled to the left, dodging the club from an irate troll. He'd battled giant spiders, ghouls, a few other magical creatures he'd read about in Care of Magical Creatures and Defense, as well as quite a number of magical murderous plants. There had also been a few decoy obstacles such as boggarts and trick mirrors. The troll was by far the most dangerous thing he'd come across. He'd been battling it for a few minutes, trying to hit the sensitive eyes with a few spells. His conjunctivitis hex had hit home, and now the troll was doubly enraged. It charged and thrashed after Harry, and he would try and trip the creature and leave it if he wasn't certain that the troll wouldn't simply come after him after waking up from being stunned. After dodging another close call, Harry took action, transforming a a fallen branch into a rope that tripped the troll and made him lose his club.
Harry saw the opportunity and wasted no time. He took a pebble from his pouch, quickly transfigured it into a giant needle, and aimed it at the troll's left eye.
A loud screech rumbled through the small clearing, and the troll was dead in front of him, the needle driving through the troll's eye. Harry paused for just a moment, to make sure the troll was indeed dead, and continued on his way.
Harry could tell that he was getting close to the center. There was an unnatural mist in the area that clouded his vision and his judgment slightly, confusing him. It would have confused him further if not for the glitter he'd been dropping at random intervals that kept him from backtracking too often. Occasionally he'd run into a dead end and need to double back, but the increased presence of dense magic told him he was heading in the right direction.
A loud screeching sounded to his right, and he could almost feel the giant fireball's heat as it hit its target. Although he couldn't see, he could tell that somewhere over there was Fleur. He'd not seen any sign of the other champions up to this point, but he needed to pick up his pace if he wanted to win.
Harry continued to move through the maze, dodging more magical creatures and plants alike, as well as the maze itself. The closer to the center he got the more it seemed to shift paths on him.
Suddenly, to the right, he saw a shimmer through an opening he hadn't noticed before. A sudden sense of wrongness tried to seize him, but he pressed forward, wanting to see what it was.
As he entered the clearing a loud blast of something sounded to his left. He saw his goal, the cup, sitting on a pedestal. Harry carefully walked up to the cup, and cast a quiet detection spell. It revealed a portkey. No other illusions seemed to be on the cup.
Just as he reached forward to grab it Cedric stumbled into the clearing. He paused, for a moment, thinking about making it a Hogwarts win.
Then his brain flashed to those awful buttons, to the way that the first two years Dumbledore had stolen a House Cup victory from Slytherin, even if at the time it benefited him. A win for him was still a win for Hogwarts, and Cedric would be in second place.
"See ya round, Diggory." and Harry grasped the trophy.
Harry landed in front of Ludo Bagman, who looked startled for a moment and then shouted.
"WE HAVE OUR WINNER!"
The crowd let out a deafening roar, and Harry lifted the trophy high in the air. He was exhausted, covered in cuts and bruises, and he was sure that his battle with the troll had knocked something loose, but he'd won. Harry shifted to the side, just in time as Cedric appeared with the second place trophy, looking pleased as well. Looking around the clearing, Harry saw Krum off to the side being treated for spell damage. He caught the older seeker's eye and the boy nodded towards Harry. Harry returned it. It had been a well fought competition.
But he'd won.
He could not shake, however, the feeling of wrongness about the whole thing. Why enter him into a dangerous tournament like this? HE hadn't seen anything particularly dangerous after he'd started training in earnest after the second task. Was that it? Something dangerous to propel him into to taking his studies and magic more seriously? Was this spectacle designed to make him look bad? If that was the case the obstacles should have gotten harder in order to trip him up. There were plenty of other things they could have added to the maze to make it impossible for him to win. Viktor Krum's own battered body was proof of that. It couldn't be just to make his year harder so he'd fail his OWLS, those were a whole year away! Between his tutors and increased study habits he'd more than make up any instruction he'd missed, and in the end he had not missed much. What was he missing? The puzzle he'd been presented with did not make sense. If he was supposed to die during this tournament, whoever entered him must have held him in low esteem to think he wouldn't struggle and fight to win. Or maybe it was a test of his power? To see how hard and how far he could be pushed? Harry couldn't think straight, but maybe talking his concerns over with Sirius, Narcissa and Andi would resolve it. Between the four of them, maybe including Hermione and Draco as well, they could brainstorm and find out why he'd been entered in the first place. Now that it was over, maybe he could think objectively without trying to worry about the next task.
As relieved as Harry was for this nightmare to finally be over, he couldn't help the feeling like he'd actually escaped something far worse.
At the same time Harry Potter was navigating the maze, four cloaked figures were standing around a bubbling cauldron full of a potion that had been brewed under the Flower Moon, a symbol of rebirth and renewal. A runic circle surrounded the small group, heavily researched by Phillip Nott and Octavian Rookwood. While Octavian's brother, Augustus had been the Unspeakable of the family, Octavian was the runes expert and had designed the runes to add power to the ritual they would be conducting tonight.
Inside the circle, bound and gagged was the greatly malnourished body of Alastor Moody. The ropes that held him contained magic suppression runes, the cuffs that tied his hands together also had the same manacles, pinning his arms behind him and tying them to the chair he was in. The chair had been rooted to the ground, and his legs were tied to the chair as well. For good measure, all of his ankle bones had been removed. He had been stunned before being moved, and would be revenerated for his contribution to the ritual before being stunned again. His remaining days could be measured on two hands.
Phillip looked over the potion one more time, and judging it to be ready, he began.
"Tonight, my brothers, we bring back our Lord from the plane where he has been banished since that dark Samhain night. The road to bring us to this point has been long, and many have fallen from the true path. Octavian, if you will."
Octavian walked over, and slicing his hand, put it to the activation rune, which would begin to draw ambient magic. It was a careful balance, as the magic could not reach the cauldron until they were ready for it to be gifted to their Lord, but started too late and the point of the runes would be lost."
Phillip walked over to the stunned ex-Auror and awoke him from his slumber. The man, weakened from his captivity, struggled feebly against the ropes holding him, but both the ropes and the manacles held true. Theodore Nott Sr. and Octavian removed the pins holding the chair to the stone slab it had been attached to, ready to move it when Moody's portion of the night came in.
"Bone of the Father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
Phillip picked up the long femur laying by the cauldron, and added it to the potion. He then stirred seven times.
"Flesh of the Servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master!"
Theodore Nott Sr. walked forward, and with a ritual knife sliced off his left hand. Corban Yaxley similarly took the knife from Theodore and sliced off his left pinky. The last contribution was Octavian, who also sliced off his left pinky, letting it fall into the potion.
Phillip watched as the potion bubbled and settled, accepting the additions. Phillip stirred an additional seven times.
"Blood of the Enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"
Alastor Moody was dragged over to the cauldron, where his right arm was sliced from elbow to wrist, allowing it to bleed into the potion. Phillip watched, and when the potion turned a pearlescent white he nodded and Moody, chair and all, were taken back to it's position and reattached to the ground.
Meanwhile Phillip had stirred the potion a final seven times and watched as the potion turned a pale gold.
He then picked up the small bundle containing the Dark Lord, and, removing the cloth he was wrapped in, carefully lowered him into the cauldron, careful not to touch the liquid himself.
As soon as the Dark Lord was submerged into the potion, the potion began glowing brighter and brighter. Phillip stepped back and watched as the potion continued to glow and glow…
And then there was silence. An eerie quiet. The only light in the clearing was the bright moon, a faint glow from the cauldron and the glowing runes as they continued to increase in power. Phillp did not let the littlest bit of doubt creep into his mind, but the silence ate away at him and felt like an eternity.
Then, rising out of the cauldron was the Dark Lord. All of the assembled Death Eaters instantly fell to their knees as the Dark Lord continued to absorb the magic being powered to him through the runes. Out of the corner of his eye Phillip saw when even this was completed, as the runes faded away. A ruffle of fabric told Phillip that the Dark Lord had found the robes the group had laid out for him.
"Rise, Phillip Nott. Rise, Theodore Nott. Rise, Octavian Rookwood Rise, Corban Yaxley."
The three rose to their feet, and Phillip extracted the bone white wand he had been holding on to every since Crouch had given it to him.
"Your wand, my Lord."
The Dark Lord took the wand, and touched it to first Theodore's stump, and then to Rookwood and Yaxley's missing fingers. The ambient magic crafted silver limbs where before there had been only pain.
"A rejuvenation potion, my lord." Phiilip withdrew the vial from his robes, and the Dark Lord smelled it carefully before nodding and drinking it down in one go.
"You three have done well by me. And this? Ah yes the mighty thorn in my side. Alastor Moody. Let's have a test shall we?"
"CRUCIO!" The spell arched out of the yew wand and into Alastor Moody, who grunted against the ropes as the spell. Finally the spell stopped, and the Dark Lord looked at his wand and Moody, a nasty look of satisfaction on his face.
"You all have done very well indeed. Place him someplace useful. I will want to continue to test my strength over the coming weeks. Prepare my place! Let us see who returns to us this night!"
An hour later the Dark Lord stood in the grand ballroom of Nott Manor. A dias, constructed of onyx, black jasper and malachite stood at the head of the room. Upon it sat a throne of the same three stones carved through with runes of protection and renewal. The Dark Lord sat upon this throne, looking as the two Notts, Yaxley and Rookwood stood before him.
"You four have done me a great service. Your loyalty will be rewarded." The Dark Lord then took their Death Eater masks from them, which previously had been unadorned, and gilded the edges in green and silver
"Stand here, the elite among my elite, my trusted Inner Circle. Tell me, what have you done with Moody?"
Phillip stepped forward. "He is in the dungeons. His hands have been removed and placed in stasis. As long as Barty Crouch Jr. poses as him at Hogwarts, and as long as you have use for him we dare not harm him further, my lord. But he has been given a powerful sleeping draught. He will not stand against you again."
"Thank you. Remind me to reward Barty Crouch for his idea properly. Your arm."
Phillip placed his new mask on and presented his arm. The Dark Lord pressed his wand into the now visible Dark Mark and channeled his magic into it, summoning each that he could feel beyond the wards of the manor, taking care to memorize the magical signatures whose marks responded.
One by one, the ballroom filled with masked and robed individuals, who all fell to their knees, some openly weeping in relief.
"Rise, my children! Tonight a new era begins!"
They all stood, and the Dark Lord surveyed the group.
"I trust that Severus Snape and Barty Crouch could not be here because of their assignments. As many as are here, many more have been stolen from us by Dumbledore and his followers." Here there were hisses and jeers. The Dark Lord simply held up his hand and the crowd fell silent again.
"We must plan carefully, my children. We will have our revenge in due time. But we must not be rash, we must not be foolish. We must carefully move, taking back what is ours and restoring our numbers. We must be like the head of a hydra, where one falls two more must be ready to take their place. But we must be careful. Without your pure blood to guide society, what use is victory if we are overrun by mudbloods seeking out their own revenge" The Dark Lord stood, memorizing the magical signature of all that had returned to him.
"Those of you who were faithful, who were ready to return to my side the instant I was prepared to receive you shall be rewarded greatly for your faithfulness and dedication. We will retrieve our brethren from that accursed rock. We will prevail." The crowd cheered loudly, and once again the Dark Lord held up a hand to silence the group.
"But first, a treat, courtesy of my faithful who attended me at my rebirth." The Dark Lord nodded, and Corban Yaxley removed the concealment charm covering a bundle that was tied up directly in front of the dias.
Upon revealing the stunned and tied form of Igor Karkaroff, many spit and hissed at his body.
"How many of your fellow brothers and sisters did you sell for your own benefit? Augustus Rookwood? Evan and Delphine Rosier? Constantine Selwyn? Prudence Thicknese? Walden Macnair? Christopher Flint? How many of my followers languish in Azkaban or have been murdered by Dumbledore's men becasue of the words that came from your traitorous mouth?"
Karkaroff struggled even harder. He had no memory of how he had ended up back before the Dark Lord. One moment he had been sitting in his carriage speaking to Ludo Bagman and drinking before the final task, and now…
"Rookwood, Rosier, Selwyn and Flint, please come forward."
Octavius Rookwood, Felix Rosier, Mark Selwyn and Peter Flint stepped forward to the prone headmaster.
"He is yours. Just don't murder him. That reward is mine alone."
Curses poured into Igor Karkaroff, who screamed until his throat was raw and hoarse. Eventually the Dark Lord held up his hand.
"When did Barty say that the delegations would be returning to their schools?"
Phillip bowed. "Two weeks, my Lord."
"Excellent. Prepare his accommodations. Give him the Prewitt treatment."
Phillip smiled a nasty smile and dragged the still bound but now unconscious Headmaster of Durmstrang to the dungeons.
"Go now, go quietly. Gather those who will be faithful to our cause. Let this be a lesson to you. We must not suffer traitors again."
A/N. Sorry for the long wait, but my muse for this story remained elusive. I have a ton of half written stories that took it's place. Once the inspiration hit me late Sunday night this whole chapter basically wrote itself. For the maze scene, I had this honest-to-goodness montage running in my head with Harry going all slow motion through the maze during the resurrection, and that's when I knew my muse had returned.
I actually have rough drafts of the next four chapters finished. Nothing of substance will change, but I do have some revisions of this work planned so that things make more sense.
Thank you for your patience! I'm sorry for those of you who read this story in the way back when and have probably given up on updates.
